#masquerade ball chapter two | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

retroellie · 10 months ago

Text

Little black dress

Summary: After wearing a little black dress that gave nothing to the imagination, Daryl decides to drag you to the bathroom and remind you who you belong too.

A/N: It's been awhile y'all! Omfg, I have been so busy writing a book that started out as a passion project but now I'm like really into it lol. But this is filth, and honestly took me 6 days to write no mf joke. It didn't really read through it so it might be messy lol, anyways miss y'all!! enjoyyy <3 (also it is so fucking long, omfg...I'm used to writing long chapters in my book HKAHKSHFJA)

Warnings: Sexual harassment, public sex, face fucking, unprotected sex, BDSM, mentions of SA (kinda?), just men being gross tbh, dirty talk

Word count: 13.7K

It had been years since you actually had to worry about what you were wearing, even longer since you had to dress presentable. But here you were, caressing every inch of your body trying to decide if your short black dress was "presentable" or plain slutty. You were teetering towards plain slutty, the way it hugged your curves slightly... showed a bit too much of your scared-up legs, you're breast perking to attention as if they were made just for it.

You examined your body, wondering what everyone would say if you showed up to something so classy wearing this. The dress code was nothing special, "Halloween costumes and formal!" the flyer said. You had nothing that would be considered either of those, maybe you're old bloodied shirts from before the commonwealth... you could dress like a walker. However, you had to look approachable... as if you were a reporter of some sorts.

You sigh softly, brushing your hair from your face as you exited the bathroom. You don't even know why you cared so much, it's not like you actually wanted to go to this stupid ball. You were only going because you were helping Connie out with her story. You promised her that you would talk to some people there, and write down their opinions of the commonwealth. You told her you would look presentable and approachable, something you didn't look very often.

"Plain slutty" wasn't a bad thing, before the fall you would dress that way on a night out anyway... But you weren't who you were back then. You didn't want all the male or female attention, especially in a new town like this. They would whisper, they would gossip... no matter how pretty you looked in your cheap dress, you knew they would be merciless.

You walked to yours and Daryl's shared room, grabbing your bag you've had since the fall... it didn't match the outfit at all but you needed something to remind you who you actually were. You placed the bag on your shoulder, turning around only for your attention to be drawn to something shiny on your bed. Your husband's knife...

"At least Daryl will be there." You thought to yourself, biting your lip softly as you stared down at the knife. This new life has been a fairytale almost, almost like the entire apocalypse thing never actually happened... like you and Daryl were just a normal married couple with normal problems. It was so weird worrying about small things again, like what you were going to wear for this stupid masquerade ball.

You two had been "married" since you became a part of the commonwealth. It was strange, especially since everyone called you "Mrs. Dixon". You had been with Daryl for around 7 years, but you weren't married. However, when coming to the commonwealth there was an option for you two to be married "legally". You couldn't help but laugh when they brought it up, there was no government, and there was no "marriage" anymore. They were dead serious though, looking as if you were crazy when you laughed in their face. But you signed the papers basically stating yours and Daryl's "marriage"... so now you guys just are.

Daryl was a security guard at the ball, leaving much earlier than you to go do his job, so he had yet to see the way the dress showed off what was his. Suddenly your mind went another way, remembering the last time you wore a low-cut shirt or too short shorts... It was a decision that had you wobbling for 3 days, kiss bitten down to your calves and completely fucked. You blushed at the thought of it, hoping you could get through the night without Daryl scolding you for the too-short dress. Maybe you wanted that... maybe you wanted to tease him.

Daryl was completely comfortable in the relationship, he had no real problem with you showing your body off sometimes. But if anyone knew how a man could think, it would be Daryl. He knew the disgusting thoughts that would go through a man's mind when they saw a woman's upper leg... He knew just how they could spin that to make it sexually gratifying. It made him sick to his stomach knowing what men think when they see you... he fucks his anger out, hard and fast just like how those men think they can do to you... only he's the one doing it.

You shook the thought away from your head, making your way down the hallway of your dingy apartment. You realized how sad and depressing your apartment was, you made a mental note to get some art or posters to hang up... you needed to make this apartment into a home, or at least something ya'll feel safe coming home to. You passed by Judith and Rj's room, peeking in to make sure everything was in check... "in check" meant there was no one or thing hidden within it. The fall had done that to you, made you cautious, and made you the type of person to make sure each room was clear before leaving. Even though you personally went through every inch of the house trying to find RJ's hat just this morning... you just had to make sure there were no changes.

You finally were able to leave the apartment after making sure the door was locked 4 times. It was a short walk to the ball, about a 7-minute walk, but with heels on it was 15 minutes. You were never much of a heel walker before the fall, you envied women who could... but you never got that walk down. You would have killed to look so classy in heels, but you never got that kind of feminine gene. So you took it slow, walking with caution as you brought down your foot for each step. You looked stupid, maybe even drunk to some of the passersby.

You finally made it though, only 10 minutes late... but you found Connie and Kelly waiting for you at the entrance. You gave them a small smile, wobbling over to them. You were super close with Kelly and Connie, ever since they stepped foot in Alexandria... you guys were insufferable. So it didn't come as a surprise for Connie to come to you first when she needed help gathering "stories", which really meant gathering dirt about Pamela. You were more than happy to do it, it was something to get you out of the house and even landed you getting an invite to the most talked-about party of the year.

As you wobbled to the 2 women, it seemed as if you took them off guard for a second, completely unrecognizable as they didn't know who you were. It wasn't until you got closer that they saw who you were.

"Y/n?" Kelly asked, almost in disbelief that you could get all dolled up like that. "Jesus I could hardly recognize you with all that... boob."

You looked down at your figure, seeing just how different it was from your usual attire. It was strange being this... naked. You started to feel a bit uncomfortable, almost nauseous as you looked down at your heels. You weren't used to attention, you were but you weren't. You are not the ugliest person out there and you know that, people seemed to think quite the opposite which you didn't really agree with. You would catch people looking at your ass while walking past them or catching a feel of your breast while hiding from hoards.

You were no stranger to that attention, hell that's even how you and Daryl became what you were. Daryl couldn't keep his eyes off your hips and your lumps... that's the only attention you wanted though. The rest of them, it didn't matter to you. You could live without it, you were over wanting that attention just to validate yourself... that was in the past for you.

"what? Is it too much?" You asked, pulling your dress up just for it to almost flash your ass to the world, causing you to pull it back down just for your boobs to pop out again. There was no winning in the dress.

You searched both of the women's faces, hoping they would say all they needed to say. Kelly's eyes were focused on your face, probably noticing the cat-eye look you were trying to do... which used to be your specialty, but now you're out of practice. She was probably not used to seeing your lips so red as well, which that part is what you were most proud of simply because you made the mix yourself. You wondered what she was thinking, maybe you should run home and put on some normal clothes. Maybe this was a bad idea and you should have just stayed home. Connie brought a hand to your arm, bringing you back to reality.

"No! You look beautiful." She signed, making you feel a bit better. "Thank you for helping Y/n."

All of your worries slowly melted away just by this gesture, making you relax a bit. As said before, Connie was one of your best friends, you even learned sign language from her. Ever since you met her, she was always so gentle with you. No one really understood your insecurities or your panic attacks or the reason why you were so damn quiet all the time... but Connie did. She read you like a book, you hated it... but it was nice to know that someone could. Especially someone like Connie who would speak up for you if you needed her to. She knew you could never stand up for yourself.

You just gave her a small smile, nodding your head basically telling her that you were okay and you could do this. It was just for a night and you've taken out hordes, you've bashed a man's head in with his own leg bone before... you can take a night in a skimpy dress, you can take the attention it will give you. Plus Daryl was there, he would kill a man for touching you if he needed to and he has before. So you felt more than comfortable walking into that door and forcing stories out of men to get dirt on their leader.

"Yeah, well I'm your girl when you need to get information out of a man." You said, trying to lighten up the mood even if you were the one who needed some lightening up. "All you need is a small waist and huge knockers, Take notes ladies."

Connie and Kelly both let out laughs, boosting your confidence a bit. You smiled softly at their laughs, looking at the doors and seeing how crowded they were getting. Women in big dresses and men with fancy little tuxedos made their way into the double doors, Some were even wearing their own handmade Halloween costumes. They all were trying to get into the door, only to be met with the security who had to pat them down for weapons and whatnot. You once again felt a wave of relief, knowing you weren't the only ridiculous-looking one there. You suddenly were so thankful for it being Halloween. You sighed softly, putting your smile back on as you looked back at Kelly and Connie.

"We should probably get in before the line gets too long." You spoke, signing as you did so.

You all made your way to the double doors, Connie's hand on your arm as a way to make sure that you knew she was there with you. You appreciated it, this was a big crowd of actual people and you weren't used to that... especially with live people. You knew this night was going to suck, you were probably going to be a nervous wreck by the end of it. But at least there will be alcohol.

“But seriously, Y/N…” Kelly’s voice cut through your distraction, drawing you away from the parade of ridiculous-looking rich people. Her eyes were fixed on you, a playful suspicion lacing her tone. “You don’t strike me as the type to pull off this kind of glam… were you some kind of model or something?"

You just let out a soft laugh, walking up the stairs to the soft light illuminating the doors. You couldn't help but let your mind linger on your past. It wasn't something you were proud of that's for sure, you were a mess. You were freshly out of high school, going to college away from home so it was pretty much guaranteed that you would be doing something you would grow to regret. You would do it all... men, women, drugs, alcohol, partying until the crack ass of dawn.

It was a time in your life that was so confusing and being around people who were half your age, you weren't sure what was right and what was wrong. That phase lasted until you found Daryl, suddenly something inside you switched. He was nothing but soft and gentle with you, at least as soft and gentle as he could be. You meant something to him and that's when you realized that you weren't some drunk college girl that men and women could tear down for their own pleasure. You were someone, and that was enough.

There had been countless nights where Daryl had to carve that fact onto your skin, kiss your soft lips until you could say nothing but who you were, fuck it into you. You had lots to work on, Daryl did too... that's what made you two such a power couple. You worked on your shit together, made sure the other knew where they stood in life... who they were and who they weren't even though multiple untrue things have been drilled into your heads. You let the thought wander through your head before coming back to the moment.

"I am full of surprises." You joke back. You knew you could tell her what you really were back then, you're confused and you're hurt... but you left it at that.

The night went too slow for your liking, not even halfway through the night you were at your limit with men and you were ready to go home. As you sat at the bar, sipping on some fruity drink one of many men had bought for you, you pulled out your notepad from your dirty bag. It was almost empty, only 3 stories collected simply because the men were too focused on the way your dress laid against your breast. You swore you talked to almost 20 men tonight and only 3 of them actually had the decency to keep their eyes to themselves and answer your questions.

Most of the men didn't want to hear you talk, they just wanted to undress you with their eyes. You gagged at the thought every single time, even more disgusted by how some of them thought it was their right to put their hands on you. You could still feel a hand on the small of your back or placed softly on your hip. This dress started to feel like not a good idea and you should have caved into your desire to change into something different. You will say, that at least a lot of the men bought you drinks... you could have only gotten through this night with "Sex on the Beach" and "Strawberry Daiquiri". You would much rather have whiskey if you were being honest, you had been hanging out with Daryl too much.

You started to read through the notes you wrote down, jotting down some keywords in their stories so Connie could rearrange them for her story against Pamela. You were almost halfway through the second story and your 3rd Strawberry Daiquiri when you felt a hand on the small of your back once more.

"My, my... ya here all by yourself sweetheart?" You heard a deep voice say, you could almost feel their breath on your neck.

You jumped at the sudden touching, yelping as you turned around in the spinny bar chair. You were ready to swing on the perpetrator, you were too frustrated and grossed out to have another man try to get into your pants tonight. You lifted your hand up, ready to slap the shit out of the man... only for your hand to fall back down as soon as it went up.

It was Daryl. His shit-eating grin spread on his face as he chuckled softly at your sudden burst of violence. Little does he know, he's not the only guy tonight to say those same words and touch the same spot just above your ass. You would probably tell him later, but for now, you kept it to yourself... you knew he'd be furious, probably dragging you to the bathroom and fucking you till you couldn't walk properly anymore. The more you think about it, the more you want that to happen.

You sighed softly, closing your eyes softly and leaning against the bar. You were so glad to see him though, you hadn't seen him all night. You tried looking but you were far too busy trying not to get groped by old men or beat up by their wives. You knew this night would have been 100% better if you found Daryl earlier, he would have really made the night somewhat fun or maybe at least been your bodyguard.

"Not alone... My deadbeat husband is somewhere around here." You joke, turning back around to face your notes.

You could hear Daryl chuckle behind you, he set himself between you and the empty chair next to him. He looked down at your notes and your 3 empty cups, he knew these were not your first and definitely not your last drinks of the night... then his eyes trailed down to your dress. You had told him you would be here and what you were doing here, but he didn't know just how you were going to show up. The dress was going to get you in trouble, especially with the way that it caused Daryl's pants to tighten.

His eyes drifted down your body, the sight of your almost bare breast made him almost choke on his own tongue. Daryl watched as you brought the last bit of drink from one of your cups, watching you slurp it down. He let out a soft cough, clearing his throat as if it would clear the thoughts of what those lips could do.

"Deadbeat, huh?" he started, watching you bring the cup back down to the bar counter. You licked your lips, getting every ounce of the alcohol from it. "Well then, your deadbeat husband should be ashamed of letting you go out in something like that."

He brought his hand up to touch the fabric of it softly, placing his hand on your hip and giving it a soft squeeze. You tried to stay up straight, even if the alcohol was creating a glorious feeling between your legs that made you feel like you could melt into his touch. Even the smallest of gestures from Daryl could have you at his feet, just the tiniest softest touch could create a fire deep within you. You were feeling bold tonight though, maybe it was just the 7 drinks you had but something within you burned with the need to be devoured.

You bit your lip softly, feeling the loose skin that resided there. You looked up to him, eyes full of lust. Daryl couldn't help but feel the same kind of fire erupts in the pits of his stomach. Your glazed-over eyes, the smell of the pure alcohol that he knew was affecting your ability to think, the way the black dress was still on you even though he wanted it off. You leaned in close to him, his hand still wrapped around your hip softly.

"if only he was here to put me in my place." You spoke, words flowing off your tongue like honey.

Daryl let out a soft breath, his clothes suddenly feeling so constricting against his skin. He never knew all he needed to do was get a couple of fruity drinks in your system for you to be so... feral. It made all the blood in his body rush straight to his cock, making the head of it rub up against his jeans so uncomfortably. You were everything but a perfect angel... you knew how to talk dirty, you knew how to get Daryl's cock up and ready to pound into the first hole he could get to. But something about the way your tits looked in your dress and every single man wanting to tear you apart with their bare teeth... and yet you only wanted Daryl to fuck you in the ways only these men can dream.

Daryl looked around, being sure of his surroundings before making any stupid decision he knew he would make with you. No one was paying any attention to him... some of the men you talked to earlier were still trying to catch a peak, hoping that maybe your thighs would spread wide enough so they could see just in between them. So they could store it in their minds and use it for spank material when they need a little push. That made Daryl's breath get heavy, hands shaking slightly on your hip as you leaned closer into him... he could smell a hint of your perfume and it was giving him a slight high.

Daryl looked back down at you, seeing your soft stare... watching your eyes move down his body and then back up to his eyes. Daryl placed a hand on your cheek, rubbing it softly as he debated on dragging you somewhere more private. His lips ached, his cock already leaking with need... if anything could make daryl dixon be reckless, it was you. He almost gave into you, almost engulfed your lips with his, and made you whimper... made you his in front of everyone. However, something caught his eye... his abandoned post.

He was supposed to be guarding the door, making sure no one else came in, and making sure everyone was on their best behavior. Rosita was there, on one side of the door as she too watched the dance floor. He had a job to do, a very important one that would have you both moving up in life if he did it right. He shouldn't even have left in the first place, but something about the way your thighs looked from afar... he found himself stalking towards you just to get a better look at them. He let out a soft smile, pressing a soft kiss to your cheek before he retracted away from you.

"Ya look beautiful sweetheart..." He said simply, giving your body one last glance before stepping away from you completely. He could feel your energy fall slightly as you groaned at the loss of warmth... your dress did nothing to cover you up, so his warmth was appreciated. "I gotta go do my job, I just wanted to see you before I got too busy."

You wanted to pout, you wanted to kick your feet and scream like a child... that's how drunk you were, you would beg for him if he wanted you to. You didn't find that fair that Daryl could get you going, put his hands on you, and warm you up just to pull away like it was nothing. You were too drunk, too cock starved, too horny to let him leave you like this. Your legs were wobbling already, you're cunt throbbed and every time you would move your legs it would create irritating friction that you wish were from his fingers. You sighed softly, not done with this just yet...

"Well that's too bad..." You said, hopping down from the bar stool. Your dress came up a little too high, showing just below your ass. You pulled it down, which once again caused your breasts to pop out... but this time you wanted them too. You watched as his eyes focused on them. "I'm wearing my best panties... I was really hoping someone could help me put them to use."

You sighed dramatically, grabbing your bag and throwing it over your shoulder. Daryl gulped back a comeback because there was nothing good that was going to come out of his mouth. He was torn between two nasty names.... some of the most degrading names he could think of. All he wanted to do was slam you against the bar counter, tell you how fucking slutty and how much of a fucking whore you were... 2 things he knew you loved, he knew it made you weak in your knees just thinking about it. But he had to keep it cool, y'all were in public and he would like to keep those names between the two of you.

You stepped up to him, looking down at his obvious erection... you smirked to yourself knowing just by your words you did that. You looked back up to his eyes, reaching up to adjust the buttons on his shirt and patting his shirt down. You could tell just by his eyes what he was planning on doing to you, you could tell you were in trouble. You leaned up to his ear, standing on your tiptoes just to make sure he was the only one to hear.

"I will be in the men's bathroom if you need me..." You whispered, pecking his cheek with your lips just as he did to you. You swear you could see his eyes twitch, his anger rising within him as you teased him softly. You gave him a soft smile. "I hope to see you soon, Mr. Dixon."

You said, teasing him even further and not giving him any time to even react to your words before you walked away. You could feel some eyes on you as you walked away, except they weren't Daryls... they were the countless men that weren't Daryl, their eyes boring into your skin but you paid no attention... they weren't your target audience right now.

You were able to slip into the men's bathroom without anyone noticing, which was tricky since every man and women's eyes were on you the entirety of the night. You knew you would get some attention but the amount you got was overwhelming... you forget sometimes that a lot of these people have been in the commonwealth since the fall, most never experiencing the horrors just outside of their walls. So when a woman who is covered in scars speaks so confidently to them, it is intriguing. Not to mention the way your body curves, how it dips and stands out so perfectly. Not a lot of women in the commonwealth have that kind of "fighting for your life" kind of body type.

You open the door to the men's bathroom, slipping in before anyone notices you even did. You choose the men's bathroom simply because you knew it would be easier for Daryl to slip into and away from his post for a bit, allowing him some time to fuck the shit out of you. Luckily the bathroom was empty but you didn't spend too much time making sure since you knew someone could walk in at any minute, so you entered one of the stalls and locked it.

The bathroom was one of those nice ones you see in fancy restaurants, the stalls were almost like little rooms that only held a toilet and a trash can. The walls surrounding the toilet were painted a cream color and went all the way to the ceiling down to the floor. These were the types of bathrooms that were perfect for fucking if you're being honest, I mean the privacy... it was almost as if they were made for horny couples who need to let some steam off.

You sat on the toilet, imagining all the possibilities and positions you could find yourself in the small confinement of the 3 walls and door. Your eyes locked themselves on the door which was the only "stall-like" thing in the small area. There was a large gap between the door and the floor, making it so you were able to see the shoes of people who walked by. Luckily you could see none, but the anticipation of seeing those black boots with the mix-match shoe laces... Jesus, you hoped he would come, you didn't even give him time to answer.

In this moment, the anticipation and the hope you don't get caught brought you back to when you and Daryl started seeing each other. while on runs or even around the small time you and the group were on the road... Daryl would get sexually frustrated from watching you, his cock rock hard and eventually he couldn't take it anymore. He would grab your shoulder, bringing his mouth as close to your ear as he could... growling into it that he needed you, ordering you to go to a secluded area and "wait like a good girl" for him. You were so needy for him that you did exactly that, sometimes waiting an hour before he showed up and fucked you into the dirty ground.

That was around the time when your relationship was kept hidden, Daryl's choice. He told you it was because of the 15-year age gap between the two of you, he was worried about the things that would be said about the two of you. It was strange for a 37-year-old man to be romantically involved with a 22-year-old. But deep down you didn't believe his words, you subconsciously knew it was because he didn't want to get close to you. He had this thing with trust, so it came natural for him not to want to trust you at first... he was okay with just fucking you and leaving you limp on the forest floor. However, somehow along the way... he fell so deeply and utterly in love with you, that now he feels ashamed if he has to hide you.

Suddenly, you were pulled from your thoughts when the bathroom door opened. A slight tingle made its way through your body and it wasn't the good kind. You placed your feet on the toilet along with your body, hoping the person didn't see your high heels, and called security to come to escort the woman in the men's bathroom out of the ball... that would be embarrassing. You heard the person's heavy footsteps, not able to see their shoes because of the walls of the small bathroom covering your view. You held your breath, trying to keep yourself quiet as the person made their way to the stalls.

You listened closely to the steps, hearing them walk closer and closer to your stall. Questions filled your mind, did someone see me come in here? Is it one of the men who now thinks this is his chance? Am I completely fucked and was this a bad idea? Fortunately, it didn't take too long for your questions to be answered because when the two heavy-duty work boots with the mix-match shoe laces appeared between the gap of the floor... your body relaxed slightly.

You chuckled softly at your worry, realizing how fucked the fall actually left you. You were expecting Daryl yet your mind went to the worst that could happen... Jesus, hopefully, the commonwealth will ease your paranoia.

Knock

knock

Those three knocks were too familiar to you. It was the knock you and Daryl used when hunting or when you holed up in a random cabin for the night... it was just a way for you two to say "Hey it's me. You're safe.". You smiled softly, standing from the toilet and wasting no time in opening the stall door. The stall door opened to reveal your angry-looking husband, he did not look too happy about the fact he had to fuck some sense into you while he had to do actually important things, like make a living for you two. You couldn't help but laugh softly at his face, how angry he looked... you were feeling the buzz of the alcohol throughout your body and it was hitting hard. You leaned yourself against the door frame, making sure your hips stood out as you did so.

"Mr. Dixon!" You exclaimed, almost as if you weren't waiting like a little dog would for its owner... You placed a hand on your hip, head laying against the door frame. "I didn't expect to see..."

You couldn't even get your words out before Daryl pushed you into the stall, shutting and locking the door behind him. He pushed you against the stall door, attacking your neck roughly. The warmth spread across your body, your body going limp for only a second before you threw your head back onto the stall door you were pushed against.

"Shut up..." He whispered into your neck, biting and sucking at your soft spots. He wrapped his arm around your waist, keeping you in place as he worked his mouth on your neck.

You wrapped your arms around his shoulders, trying your best to stay up straight as he basically touched you in all the ways you craved. It was fast, very fast as he basically speed ran trying to make you as wet as he possibly could get you. You knew this was going to happen, you basically begged for it to happen... but that doesn't make you any less surprised by his sudden touch. He licked a strip up your neck, biting your ear lobe softly before going back to leaving down your neck... you knew this was his way of marking you up, making sure the mark would show so pretty on your neck in your black dress, scaring away the men's attention.

His kisses led down to your chest, leaving bite marks here and there as he did so. You could come undone from his abuse on your neck, your body arching into him as you tried so desperately to quiet your soft moans. Daryl pushed you further into the stall door before pulling your dress down, exposing your breast to him as he softly kissed down your body. He stopped his kisses, taking a moment to take in your squirming figure and how red you had gotten from just kissing. He leaned down, taking your breast in both of his hands, and squeezed them together before sucking on your already hardened nipples. It all happened so fast, making you not only drunk but also now high off sudden pleasure. Your hands went to his hair, pulling it softly as his soft sucking on your breast sent small zaps of pleasure straight to your clit.

He went back and forth between the right and the left, squeezing one while he sucked and licked the other. Your world was spinning, not sure if it was the 7 strawberry daiquiri or if it was the way his mouth felt on your tits. You could feel yourself getting so close to the edge, embarrassingly close... he barely even touched you and you were almost coming undone in your panties. You gave his hair a particular rough pull, trying to remove his mouth from your nipple... you were too close to the edge, not wanting to cum now... You didn't want to give Daryl an even bigger head than he already has when it came to making you feel good.

"Jesus... Daryl, I'm too drunk for the foreplay, just fuck me." You whispered out, your words shakey as you shivered from the cold air brushing against your now slobbered-up tits.

Daryl detached himself from you, your hands still in his hair as he did so. He tried to hide the smile from you but trust and believe the way you were begging made his own high come to him. He couldn't tell which one of you was drunk, and he hadn't touched a drop of alcohol this entire night. You leaned against the stall door, the lock from the door digging into your back. You squirm underneath his gaze, feeling his hands make their way back to your waist. Your tits are still standing to attention, red and puffy from his kisses.

You breathed heavily, looking into his lust-filled eyes as he brought his face closer to yours. You could feel his breath fan across your face, the smell of your shared toothpaste bringing memories of the nights you would have together in your small apartment... All the nights spent bent over the sink as he rammed his cock into you, praying Judith and rj were asleep, or even the days where you two just had to be with each other. So you filled the bath, lit some candles, and spent hours making out with each other... no fucking, no dry humping, no cumming onto each other. Just you two, taking in each other's presence and exchanging saliva.

"You beggin' me?" He whispered, lips hovering over yours as he spoke. You debated on reaching up, touching his lips with yours... speeding this entire thing up. But you couldn't deny you loved a long drawn-out fucking session in a fancy bathroom.

"No..." You teased, smiling up at him as you brought your face even closer. Your eyes make their rounds from his lip back to his eyes. "Simply asking for a favor."

You had a way of getting underneath Daryl's skin in the most delicious ways, with your innocent-looking eyes and your silky smooth voice. He knew better though, he knew you were far from innocent. Not only have you done things, murderous things that to this day you will never be able to repent from... but also sexual things that have the angels crying. You have allowed Daryl to fuck you on the dirty floor of an abandoned cabin while your people were only mere inches away from you. You have fucked him while covered in blood, even going as far as to cover yourself with more blood because it turned you on so much. You have asked to be held at gunpoint while you sucked his cock, asked to ride the handle of his knife, asked to be slapped in the face until your nose bleeds.

You liked pain, you loved every ounce of it and it was heartwarming that you trusted Daryl enough to be so open with these things... but it was disgusting how you did these disgusting things with such innocent eyes. However, Daryl was a sucker, because he did everything you asked him to with a smile on his face. He never knew he held such a disgusting pervert deep down inside of him until he came the hardest he ever had while fucking you by a trapped walker. Although, with age and the further you got into the relationship, you both settled down a bit. You two were so fucked for each other, you were basically cumming at the sounds or each other's names.

"Real cute... Just asking for a favor huh?" Daryl mocked, his hand running down to the top of your cunt... stopping so he could watch your squirm. He had other plans than to give you what you wanted, you guys were already fucking in a public restroom while hundreds of people were outside.. might as well go the full mile right? "Well then, you're gonna have to ask a lot better than that sweetheart. Knees."

He didn't have to say anything more than that before you were dropping to your knees. Daryl could cum from just knowing you would do anything for him in a heartbeat, especially sucking his cock when he wanted you to. You were never the type to turn down sucking his cock, you loved watching him come undone on your tongue... you even thought he looked so much more pretty at the angle.

You stared up at him with big eyes, your lips red from you biting them and your tits hanging from your dress. Daryl hummed in contentment, reaching down to wrap a hand through your hair as you looked up at him innocently. He ran a soft hand through at first, making sure you knew you were safe with him... making sure you were okay with what was happening. You nodded softly, a way for you to say "I am okay with this". He shot you a soft smile, running a hand once more through your hair to get it out of your face.

It started off so soft, it always started off so soft because you brought out this softness in Daryl... a softness he had never known he had until he met you. But it always ended up rough, because that is how Daryl loves and that is how you love it. Daryl suddenly gripped your hair, a tight grip that had you gasping and wincing. You groaned softly, chuckling softly at his sudden outburst... you knew you were about to get destroyed and in such a pretty dress.

"Want you to suck my cock..." he said, keeping hold of your hair but reaching down to the top of his pants. He unbuttoned them, almost ripping his belt off as he did so. "Gonna cum all over your pretty little face, then maybe I'll fuck that hole of yours."

You watched up at his hands as he unzipped them, pulling them down slightly so only his cock could come out. The sight of it almost had your mouth watering, not able to think coherent thoughts as you watched it twitch slightly. It was rock hard, the tip already covered in precum and flush red as it desperately craved friction. You knew your teasing left him desperate, and needy for your touch… but it’s as if you hadn’t touched him for days which was not true. You could not keep your hands to yourself around Daryl, so fucking was an everyday thing.

Daryl watched your eyes go wide at the sight of it, his grip on your hair tightened which pulled your attention away from his cock and back to his eyes. He couldn’t help but pump himself a few times, more precum dripping from the tip as he did so. You smirked at him which told him you weren’t done with your teasing.

“Is that any way to speak to your wife?” You asked, your words making his cock twitch even more. "Bet none of those men out there would ever talk to me like that..."

As said before, you had this way of getting under Daryl’s skin… and a little part of you enjoyed the way it affected him. It caused this fire within him that you were able to see from the outside, it was a small change in his demeanor, a small twitch of his eye that was probably only noticed by you. It was that small change that had you slightly terrified but completely and utterly exhilarated. That is the main purpose you teased him the way you do, just to see that small fire build up inside of him until he couldn't take it anymore and he just snapped. You were able to get him into so many dirty positions with that fire, so many nasty things just because of your teasing words.

Daryl's hands shook slightly, a slight hint of jealousy coursing through his blood. He gripped your hair harder, pulling some of it out, as he tried to stop his hand from shaking so much. He pulled you closer to his cock, causing a soft yelp to escape from you. His cock was now laying on your cheek, twitching softly.

"Well, those men don't know you like I do..." He said, pumping his cock one last time before setting his hand on the base of it. "They don't know my wife is a horny sex fiend who can't shut her fucking mouth... open."

You didn't have to be told twice, your mouth opening, and Daryl didn't give you any notice or any warning before he shoved his cock almost completely into your mouth. You held back a gag, feeling the head of his cock in the back of your throat already. Daryl kept your head in place, watching you fight with the urge to gag and recoil back from his cock. He can not deny how much pleasure it gave him to see you in pain, obviously the good kind of pain. The consensual pain that you allowed him to give you and enjoyed every single bit of it.

Daryl stayed still for mere seconds, allowing you to get used to the feeling of a cock in your mouth. You eventually allowed your throat to relax, looking up at him with your watery eyes as you went further down his cock. You wrapped your lips around him, staring him right in the eye as you took his entire cock in your mouth... until your nose was buried into his happy trail. Daryl almost collapsed, seeing the bulge in your throat... he could cum down your throat at this moment.

"good girl... good fucking girl." He said, trying his best to keep you like that for a couple more seconds so he could burn this image in his brain for later use.

He knew that you would be giving him that shit-eating grin that you usually give him when you get a big ego... but you couldn't since his cock was down your throat and you were loving every second of it. Once Daryl stored every single detail of how angelic you looked right now, he pulled your head back with your hair. As he pulled back your head, his slobbered-up cock was revealed... this would be another thing he would store in his mind for later.

Daryl didn't keep your head off his cock for long before he slammed your head back down on his cock, once again forcing his cock down your throat and causing you to want to gag again. You couldn't get used to it this time, you weren't able to stop yourself from gagging before Daryl pulled your head off his cock once more but like he did the last 2 times... he forced your head down on his cock once again. You couldn't help but feel your cunt flutter away as your throat was burning slightly. It was a delicious kind of burn, the taste of his cock making its way down your throat.

before you could even almost gag for a 3rd time, Daryl pulled your head away and then slammed it back down. Now his movements were quick, his cock massaging your throat as you just kept your mouth open and your lips wrapped around his cock. You dug your knees into the bathroom floor, your hand holding onto his thighs as you allowed him to use you like a literal sex toy. You felt so degraded, so disgusting... but you wanted more, you needed more. The feeling of someone walking in excited you even more, knowing that any of those men from earlier can walk in just to relieve themselves and be met with the sounds of gagging... gagging from the woman that they wished would do the same from them.

The thought of that alone, the look on their face as they realized what the gags actually were. The cold sweat that runs through their bodies, the red tint that spreads across their cheeks, the inevitable boner that pops up simply because they imagined how you looked while doing such a disgusting thing. You didn't mind someone walking in and that alone left a sense of shame within your stomach, you begged for it really. You knew it could lead to Daryl losing his job, knowing how they would look down on him because he left the partygoers he was supposed to be protecting so he could get a blowjob from his wife in the bathroom. But you would risk it all. The sudden burst of shame and excitement and complete lust caused you to bob your head along with Daryl's hands. Setting your hands on his ass so you could force him into your throat yourself.

"God... fuck, such a fucking whore huh?" Daryl moaned, keeping his hand entwined with your hair. He looked down at you, watching you work his cock in and out of your throat like it was nothing... your slobber dripping from every crevice of your mouth and onto your already spit-covered tits. "Ya like my cock in your mouth, the only thing you're good for huh?"

The degradation of it only made you speed up your movement, the sounds of your choking and gagging filling the air completely. You kept your eyes on Daryl, watching as he finally pulled his attention away from you and lost himself to the feeling. He threw his head back, eyes fluttering closed as he tried to steady his breathing. You looked up at him like he was some kind of god and in this moment... he was to you. You would have licked the floor he walked on if he asked you, in this moment and in any. Daryl was the closest thing to god you have ever believed in, because how can someone so fucking perfect be real? He must have been made from everything good in the world, like candy or fresh laundry.

You got too ahead of yourself, feeling Daryl pull your head back roughly as your rhythm becomes too sporadic, too messy. Daryl pulled your head completely off his cock, a string of salvia was now the only thing connecting you and him now. Your throat burned, it ached as you coughed softly... trying to catch your breath as you waited for what he was going to do next. When Daryl was in these moods when the fire sparked within him, he was unpredictable and that made your liquids leak from your cunt.

Daryl had a plan to destroy you completely and he was going to go through with it. You weren't going to be able to talk to another man without thinking of what Daryl would do if he saw you... you won't be able to speak for the next few days to come, or walk, or get out of bed. He was going to completely fuck you. Daryl took the base of his cock once again, placing his cock back on your cheek... watching it cover your face in your own saliva. You chuckled softly, closing your eyes as his cock drenched your face with spit. That soft chuckle made Daryl's blood heat up again, he didn't want you to laugh... he wanted you to beg for his mercy, cry so hard that you could barely speak, he wanted you to be a ruined puddle on the floor.

"Sit on your butt, head against the wall." He demanded, pulling your hair back and giving your face a harsh slap as a way to tell you that you would regret it if you didn't.

You did what you were told, sitting flat down on the floor and laying your head back on the stall wall. Daryl moved closer to the wall, so one of his hands was resting on the stall. There was only a small gap between the wall and Daryl, you between the both of them. Daryl's cock slid across your face once again, his hand pumping it softly as he made it so you were between his legs.

"Tap on my thigh if you need me to stop." He said softly, running a hand through your hair comfortingly. He was planning to destroy you, but if you genuinely needed him to stop he would in a heartbeat. "Okay?"

You nodded, repeating back a little "okay" before giving him a soft smile. You adjusted yourself so you were closer to his cock, sitting so you were face to-face with it. You were so ready... your mouth begged for it.

"Alright, sweetheart." He reached down, pulling your mouth closer to his cock as he bent his knees slightly. "All you gotta do is keep your pretty little mouth open for me alright?"

You nodded, opening your mouth once more. Daryl smiles, watching you so eagerly waiting for him. He let you catch your breath for a few more seconds, not wanting to completely overwhelm you all at once. But before you knew it, Daryl's cock was back in your mouth... his thrusts started slow. He allowed you to get adjusted to his cock once more, choking slightly as it hit the very back of your throat.

He didn’t wait too long though, after a few soft thrusts he didn’t go so nice on you. His thrusts became rough and fast, his cock slipping in and out of your throat, making your head almost bang into the stall every single time. As his cock assaulted your throat, hand wrapped in your hair as he used it as a way to keep your head back so he could fuck your throat until it ached, he imagined the way the men looked at you.

He saw you from afar all night long, watching you closely as you collected your stories. You pulled your dress down throughout the night, your tits looked heavenly under the softly yellow light. Then you would pull your dress up, revealing skin inches away from your lace black underwear. It was almost as if you were playing with him, making him a hot mess at his post. Then there were the men, all looking everywhere but your eyes... trailing down to the necklace he had found for you, but not staying there very long before looking directly at your tits. They had no shame, they slowly undressed you with their eyes and you knew it.

His thrust became even faster, your nails digging into his thighs and your eyes watered... Your choking and gagging only egged him on more as he violently banged your head into the wall. You loved every second of his abuse, throat throbbing and raw but so was your cunt. You were clenching around nothing, rubbing your thighs together to get some kind of friction. You would even go as far as to say... you were just as close as Daryl. You could cum from the sight of him alone, that's all you needed for your cunt to feel satisfied.

You could sense his orgasm nearing, his moans started to intertwine with your gagging and choking. He had to keep his hand on the wall to balance himself as his legs started to shake violently, thrust getting messy as you started to lick the vein of his cock so softly with what control you had, his hand gripping your hair roughly. If his cock wasn't in your mouth right now, fucking your throat till it bled... you would be begging him to cum down your throat, wanting to taste his salty seed as he came undone from fucking your face.

"So fucking close baby... so close." He groaned softly, trying to keep his voice below a whisper but the feeling of your velvet throat made him lose control of his own voice. "gonna fucking cum."

You hollow your cheeks, closing your lips around his cock and running your tongue down his shaft. You could feel his cock twitch on your tongue, basically begging to cum. Daryl continued his fast, rough thrust... the knot in his stomach was thrust away from bursting and you did everything in your power to send him over the edge, you craved to see the way his face contorted into pleasure as he came... how his eyes squeezed shut, his mouth opening into a slight O shape, his entire body shaking softly.

Suddenly, just before his breaking point, Daryl pulled his cock out of your mouth. You couldn't help but whine softly at this action, your throat needing to feel his warm cum slide down it. Daryl took his cock in his hand, pumping it at the same pace he was fucking your throat. It only took him a good 3 or 4 pumps before hot strings of cum shot out of his cock, landing directly on you. He milked his cock, watching as it spurted on your cheeks, your nose, almost into your eye but you closed them before it could.

"Fuck..." He let out, huffing as he leaned against the wall... his cock still in his hand as it twitched, almost overstimulated now.

You stayed underneath him, your cunt throbbing in your panties. You were sticky with Daryl's cum, with your own spit, and your sweat. You felt disgusting, you felt so disgusting that not even 10 showers could wash away this feeling... this degrading, embarrassed feeling. But somehow, your cunt still screamed for Daryl's abuse. You looked up at Daryl, his cum now dripping from your face as you did so. He looked so tired, so out of it as his orgasm still sent soft shocks down to his cock. You've noticed as he's gotten older that he has had to take more time to recover from his orgasms, it really takes it out of him.

You remembered when you first started fucking him, Daryl wore you out before he could even think about stopping. After every single nut, he would be hard all over again. It was heaven, but also physically draining. Now in your older age, you would much rather 2 or 3 long drawn-out rounds more than multiple quick fucks. Your and Daryl sexual relationship has come a long way, from quick fucks to long passionate, and kind of perverted sex. It was kind of sweet to you in a way, how you both experimented with each other and picked and chose what you liked and what you didn't. It was something no one in the past would have done for you, it was why you "married" Daryl in the first place.

"So beautiful..." Daryl said, pulling you out of your thoughts. He was caressing your face, wiping away his own cum while he did so.

You blushed softly, leaning into his hand... kissing the palm of it softly. Daryl was always so nice afterward, so gentle and sweet. Nothing like he used to be, so distant and cold... not even helping to clean you up. However, as sweet as this moment was... in a weird and fucked up way, your cunt still throbbed. You still needed your cunt stuffed, still needed it fucked raw to match your sore throat. So you dug deep into your chest, trying to find your voice and force out of your beaten voice box.

"Are you up for round 2 or are you gonna need some time to recover?" You teased, your voice raspy and almost barely there as your throat was quite literally broken.

Daryl couldn't help but chuckle, placing his head on the hand that was keeping him upright. Daryl was never the type of person to leave you all high and dry, even if you truly deserved it. He would always give you what you wanted, only he would give it to you over and over and over again until you begged him to stop. He loved watching you cum as much as you loved to cum, so he couldn't deny you the very thing he held dear to him.

Daryl finally was able to get his legs to stop tingling as much, pushing himself off of the stall wall. He now stood inches away from you, just needing to see you in your entirety. You were drenched in his cum, legs sprawled out and shaking on the dirty bathroom floor, your tits hanging from your dress, your hair matted to your forehead and neck... you already looked so destroyed, but you wanted more? He could never understand the pleasure you got out of being destroyed, he loved it too... but being in such degrading positions? Maybe that's why he was the one giving it to you.

He reached his hand out for you to grab it. You did it in a heartbeat, struggling to stand up but balancing on his arm as you did so. He took you softly into his arms, holding you up with one arm as he wiped more of his cum off your face. He slowly brought his knee up to your cunt, you gasped softly as it made contact with your puffy clit. You wanted to move your cunt up and down it, feeling the delicious friction it would give off... but you knew how much of a dick Daryl could be and how easily he would tease you, denying you of his actual cock.

"Old man huh?" He chuckled, still holding you close to his chest. He could feel your heartbeat in not only your chest but also your cunt that was throbbing against his knee. "I'll show you an old man."

He suddenly turned you around, shoving you into the stall door so your face was flat on it and your ass was pushed out. You yelped as he did so, feeling his hands pull your panties down... he wasn't going to take it slow with you this time, he wasn't going to ease you onto him and let you adjust yourself. No, he was going to continue to teach his lesson... make sure it was carved into your brain that what's his, is his, and if you allow another man to look at you like a hungry bear would to his prey... you'll know what happens.

Daryl pumps himself in his fist a couple of times, getting his cock hard again before lining it up to your cunt. You grabbed onto anything that you could, preparing yourself for the devious stretch that you begged for the entire time he fucked your throat. Daryl collected the slick from your dripping cunt onto his cock, making it nice and wet... as if he needed to, your own spit was still covering it. He teased your hole, putting the tip of his cock inside before dragging it down once again. He was trying to tease you, make you feel an ounce of what he felt the entire night with you prancing around in the slutty dress that was now bunched up around your waist. You subconsciously bucked back on him, trying to fit his cock inside your needy cunt... but he held your hips in place, gripping them so painfully that you could feel it throughout your entire body.

He kept this motion up for only seconds before he got tired of it, he got tired of your whines and your pleas, deciding to give you what you craved. In one swift movement, he slammed his cock inside of your wet folds, bottoming out in one thrust as he did so. This action made you moan loudly, almost screaming when you felt the sudden stretch of your cunt around his cock. Daryl revealed this noise, like it was his favorite song... making you scream from pleasure, making you feel so good you didn't care that hundreds of people were just outside of this door... some of those people being the family you have gathered along the fall.

Daryl didn't waste a second, doing the same thing to your cunt that he did with your throat... he pulled his cock all the way out before slamming it back in. You could feel his cock in your stomach, moving around your organs as if it was meant to be in there. You don't think you will ever get used to the size of his cock, because each time you both fucked you would always have to get used to the shape of him all over again... and each time it took you off guard. His cock was merciless, nails digging into your hips, cock buried so perfectly into your cunt... it was pure light.

You were so lost in pleasure, your moans just dripping from your mouth and Daryl allowed it... he was far too lost in his own pleasure to mind. You hoped that the loud music playing just outside would cover the noise and since no one had come running in to make sure you weren't being murdered yet, you felt it was doing a good job of covering up the noise. Daryl kept up his harsh thrust, one hand coming up to your hair to pull your head back so he could attack your neck. His teeth sunk into your skin, causing your body to go almost limp... balancing on Daryl's cock was the only thing keeping you upright.

He watched your eyes roll back into your head, face flush red as he pushed himself further into you as if there was any room for him to do so. He reached his hand that was placed on your hip, sliding it down to between your thighs... rubbing your bundle of nerves slowly. He knew you were close, he knew you could have gotten off his cock down your throat alone.... so he knew you wouldn't be able to hold on very long from his cock being deep inside you. He touched, licked, fucked every single spot of your that he knew would send you off the edge, he was proving pretty successful with it too.

But suddenly, all his movements stopped and so did the entire world for a second. While you were lost in your pleasure, the bathroom door was slammed open and voices now replaced your moans... engulfing the bathroom with their noise. You were too lost in your own pleasure to notice, your moans still slipping through your mouth and your hips trying to once again buck back into his. Daryl however was now in his "security/guard" mode now, reaching up with his hand to slap it around your mouth... pulling you flush to his chest. You gasped into his hand at the sudden action, eyes widening as you felt his cock dig deeper into you. Even though that was not Daryl's intention, it still caused his cock to twitch inside of you.

"Shhh." He cooed, his mouth hovering over your ear.

But how could you be quiet when Daryl's cock was so deep inside of you, how could you be quiet with how close his body was to yours, how could you be quiet when you could smell his toothpaste and the college he wore. but you obeyed, knowing that if you did then maybe you would get a mind-blowing orgasm out of it. You could hear two sets of footsteps, they sounded heavy... almost like 2 men. IT would make sense, if you were in the men's bathroom... You couldn't hear what they were talking about, you could hear them but you couldn't understand them with Daryl's cock grazing your g-stop.

Daryl peaked through the small gap between the wall and the door, watching the men through it. You could tell by the way his eyes relaxed slightly that the men had no idea you two were in here, that they were lost in their own conversation to pay any attention to the stall you two had been hidden behind. Daryl took a step back, pulling you along with him... his movement caused his cock to almost slip out of you, but him pulling you close to his made it once again thrust inside of you. You squirmed against him, his free hand keeping you still.

"Did you see that girl...uhh she had that black dress on? She was going around interviewing people about how they like the commonwealth?" One of the men said, you could hear him unzip his pants as he did so... soon after the trickling of urine could be heard.

"Dixons girl? yeah, I saw her alright." The other man said, his voice almost laced with lust.

You froze at the mention of you, more specifically how you were labeled "Dixon's girl". You had a name and you even gave it to them, fucking assholes. If it were any other time, you would correct them with a fist through the teeth and a knee to the groin... but right now, you were too occupied getting stuffed by Daryl's cock. Your senses were completely filled with Daryl, your cunt full of him... it made it hard to think any coherent thought, especially with how his cock pulsed inside of you, rubbing you from the inside softly.

"Dixons girl huh?" The other man chuckled, finishing up his business as he did so. You could feel Daryl's ego grow a bit, especially with how his hips started to move softly into yours. He got such a big head when it came to you, knowing you were his. "So what's the deal with them? I mean, she's like 20 years younger than that old fuck. Does she have daddy issues or does she just like me older?"

You would have corrected them once again, telling them that you just liked Daryl. You didn't go after him because he was older or because you lacked a father... They would probably have done the same thing with what Daryl did with his cock, how it turned you into a madwoman every time he pulled it out. You huffed into Daryl's hand, which caused him to chuckle silently. This was entertaining, to say the least, this entire situation was.

"With the way she was dressed tonight, I think maybe she's just a whore." The man said, causing your blood to go cold. "Maybe Dixon was just lucky enough to be the first guy she fucked."

You loved being degraded, you loved being called a whore, you loved being told you are nothing but a hole for a man to cum in... but only when Daryl said it. It was like when it came out of another man's mouth, it sounded so wrong and so degrading but in a not good way. Daryl had a way with his words that made it sound like pure honey, like candy dripped from his lips and you couldn't wait to get a taste. Daryl felt this too as if your genuine degradation actually affected him... like he could feel it flowing through his veins too. Daryl thrust his cock into you, trying to make you forget what they were saying, making you present with him instead of them.

"She seems like the type. " The man replied, the sink running as he said. Daryl once again thrust his cock into you, the knot in your stomach coming back. "Those outsider girls, man, I hear they let you do some weird shit to them."

One more sharp thrust from Daryl, his hand pressing harder on your mouth so they wouldn't hear your moans. He let his free hand roam down to your clit once more, rubbing it in small tight circles. To him, Daryl thought that maybe if you were too focused on your nearing orgasm, you wouldn't let the words of disgusting men get to you... he was slightly right because after that last sentence, their words turned to just background noise. You could feel yourself giving in the pleasure, you threw your head back on his shoulder, your back arching as you pressed your ass more into him so the gaps between your bodies were nonexistent.

"Damn, I might have to pay a visit to Dixons girl huh?" The man chuckled, the sound of zipping pants and water filled the air. "You think she'd take us both at the same time?"

Daryl's thrust started out as a way to comfort you in a way, but now with the venomous words these men were letting out... he was doing it out of anger, and jealousy as they talked so grossly about his wife. His thrusts were deep, and rough as he imagined what he would do to these men when he got done with you. How he'd cut off every single finger of one man's hand as the other watched. How he'd slit the throat of the man who even asked that stupid question in the first place, basking in the way his blood sprayed on him.

You took your hand and reached back to set your hands on Daryl's hips as he dug his cock so violently into your cunt. You couldn't take it anymore, your juices had dripped down your legs, now soaking the floor as you let Daryl abuse your pussy. You gave his hip a soft squeeze, a way to tell him "Keep fucking me, I'm gonna cum." He didn't slow his movement, instead, he sped up. Hacking away at the knot that was about to explode inside of your stomach.

"If she's fucking that old redneck... shit, she should be glad we would even consider fucking her." The man spit out, heavy footsteps leading to the door as he spoke.

And that was it, those words caused Daryl to thrust so harshly into you that it broke the knot inside of you. You almost screamed into Daryl's hand, your body tensing completely, your toes curling, your vision going white as he didn't stop his abuse. He fucked and rubbed you through the earth-shattering, mind-blowing, entire life-changing orgasm. Your cunt spasmed around his cock, liquids puddling up on the floor as you came around his cock. His fingers that were playing with your clit while you came were now covered in your slick.

"I call fucking her tits first." The other man said, another pair of footsteps followed the first ones you heard... both of the men now leaving the bathroom. "You can have him..."

The door shut, silencing the men's words which were now just jumbled as you came on Daryl's cock. You heard the door click shut, suddenly being shoved against the door once again in just seconds. You were still having the aftershocks of your orgasm while Daryl thrust into you, shoving your head further into the stall door. You moaned loudly, you're an overstimulated pussy trying to reject his cock but also craving it, his hand no longer silencing your moans. He shoved his cock inside of you, over and over again until the door was shaking along with his thrust.

You could feel his anger, feel the way that he tensed... the way that those men's words got more to him than they did to you. You could tell with every thrust of his hips that he was furious. He thrust into you only a couple more times before he groaned loudly, almost growling as he felt his own orgasm consume his body.

"Gonna cum in your fucking pussy..." He spit out, his grip on your hip tightening now and you could cum again just by his anger. "Gonna fill you up so fucking good baby... so good baby."

His words filled your brain, your body still so exhausted from the orgasm. You let him use you though, let him use your body so he could fuck his anger out. It was only mere seconds before you could feel his thick, warm cum paint your walls. When he said he was going to fill you up, he fucking meant it. He gave your pussy a few more good thrusts before he drained himself completely, his body allowing his veins to fill with pleasure. There's something about anger that makes orgasms feel so much better, feel so much more intense... and Daryl was a very angry man.

Daryl's cock softened inside of you, throbbing against your walls. He kept himself in you though, allowing you both to recover from the pleasure that filled you both. Daryl leaned down, kissing your back softly as he came down from his high, rubbing your hips to ease the bruises he left on them. This night was not supposed to go like this, you two were not supposed to fuck in the bathroom of this new town you had just been welcomed into. This was behavior that you two would do in your earlier years when you were both reckless, both so horny your hands never left each other. It is comforting, how things never really change.

"You okay?" Daryl asked, brushing your hair from your face... your face still pressed against the door and still very much covered in his cum.

You nodded softly, not able to speak well because Daryl's cock really took a number on your throat. Daryl smiled softly, slipping his cock out of you... watching his cum leak out of you. It was rare for Daryl to cum in you, he was always so adamant about cumming anywhere but inside simply because....he didn't want to knock you up, kids weren't supposed to grow up in this world. But something about tonight, he wasn't worried about you getting pregnant. A part of him actually welcomed it.

Daryl stepped back from you, pulling his pants up and buttoning them back up. You straighten yourself up, legs shaking as you attempt to pull your dress down. You weren't sure if you should bring up what happened, about the men who said those things but the words left a tension between you two. The words did hurt, you did feel massively sexualized by those men and you didn't like the feeling of it. But you thought maybe you could ignore it, it will go away on its own. Daryl noticed your struggle to put your dress back on, feeling a slight twinge of sympathy.

"Let me help..." He said, reaching over to help fix your dress. Covering up your body, his hands grazing your soft skin as he did so. He too was having that debate in his head, if you two should talk about it. "You know, those men. They're dead, you know that?"

It was almost like he heard your thoughts, could read your mind, and laid out what you needed to hear. This entire night you had been sexualized, but you didn't mind it... it was just attention to you. But hearing it while Daryl was there, feeling the way it affected him as well. It made you feel so gross like maybe all you were was actually just a piece of meat to some men. You could never imagine a life without Daryl now, how respectful he was even with his degradation.

Daryl was 2 steps ahead though, he already planned on making their life a living hell. It was one thing to gawk at you in front of your face, imagining what you tasted like or how you would look butt naked on top of them... all the while you just wanted to collect stories. But it was another thing to write you up as some lust-filled woman who would give herself any man who would ask her nicely. You weren't what they made you out to be, but then again they made every woman who liked sex like they did out to be some kind of whore. You liked sex, you liked it rough... but so did they, so why were you any different?

"Don't get yourself in trouble because of that asshole diary." You said although you urged him not to... a part of you really wanted him to. Men like them deserved to be put in their place, they deserved to be made to feel just how they made women feel. Plus you wouldn't mind Daryl coming home all bloody...

"Who said I'll get caught..." He smiled, inching closer to you, and laid a soft kiss on your cheek, wrapping an arm around your waist while he did so. Daryl was good at his craft, he knew how to be careful."So, I want you to go home... Take a nice bath, make some tea or something.... maybe get some rest. And I'll be home before you know it."

He kissed your forehead, brushing your hair from your face. It did sound so nice to just give in to sleep, especially with being a nervous wreck all night and then being fucked so hard in a small bathroom. But the feeling of Daryl going to hunt down these men, staying up till the early ends of the night punishing them for what they said... something inside of you flips, causing a small knot in your stomach to form wants more. You reached up on your tiptoes, bringing Daryl into a passionate, long kiss. This hinted to Daryl what kind of mood his actions had put you in, he pulled away when he realized... he'd already been away from his post for long enough, he couldn't go another round with you.

He chuckled softly, stepping away from you... he slid his jacket off and placed it on your small body. You were completely engulfed by it, it covered your body more than the black dress did, and you couldn't help but feel so safe in it.

"I'll leave the bathroom first, you wait a couple of minutes and sneak out. There should be a backdoor in the kitchen you can slip out of, but then I want you to go straight home okay?" He said, pulling the jacket closer to your body before setting another kiss to your lips. "And clean your face off before leaving, it's already bad enough i fucked you in here... don't need them to see the evidence of it."

You couldn't help but let out a soft laugh, zipping up the jacket as you did so. You did completely forget about the cum that still dripped from your face, you were covered in so many liquids that his cum was completely forgotten by you. You nodded your head, watching him unlock the stall door and slip out of it. You poked your head from it, making sure the coast was clear before you also slipped out of it. You looked in the mirror, jesus... you were a complete mess. You watched as he peeked out of the bathroom door, making sure he could slip out successfully.

"Round three when you get home..." You called out, making him whip his head around to look at you. He scoffed, shaking his head softly.

#daryl dixon fanfiction #daryl dixon smut #the walking dead fanfiction #daryl dixon x reader #daryl dixon twd #daryl dixon #daryl dixon imagine #daryl dixon the walking dead #the walking dead daryl dixon #the walking dead #the walking dead daryl #twd daryl dixon #twd daryl

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dilf-docs · 4 months ago

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series masterlist. +18 (minors dni). reposting and/or translating is not allowed.

There's only two things you know: money and heartbreak.

Born into New York's posh society, all your life you've been surrounded by the lavish of the elite world.

It is this why you meet him: Harry Castillo, the only person in the whole world to get under your skin, enough to know the mask you wear akin to those of the masquerade balls you've attended since twelve.

It is too the reason why you despise him.

Is it too the reason you happen to fall on his bed?

Or, alternatively, the one where you, New York's top divorce lawyer, tries to break off a couple that isn't even married, and that may or may not involve a certain million dollar man whose name you'd said before in a shaky plea.

Chapter Index

I: Strobbing Lights, Circled Calendars

II: Champagne Symphony, Caviar Dreams

III: Foul Promises, Forbidden Games

🔗: main masterlist / tlyitky: the mixtape / wattpad ver.

IV: High Heels, Hushed Whispers

V: Terrible Pretenses, Trembling Hands

🏷: @io12n @dowscal @oscar-isaac @joelscowgirl @jxvipike @klarkapascal @lostinmyownmaze @folklore-barnes @alinacecee @sukitruqui @youusunshineyoutemptress @hermionelove @noisynightmarepoetry @ann-gell @suzysface @joelmillerpascal @ennvsco (comment if u wanna be tagged!)

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arcane-vagabond · 2 months ago

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Slow to Burn Masterlist

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader

Summary: A life spent as the unwanted stepchild to your father’s wife has left you more than used to the shadows. You make your debut alongside your two stepsisters, but your stepmother is determined to keep your spark as dim as possible. It’s only at Lady Romanoff’s annual masquerade ball that you feel on even footing, and you happen to catch the eye of your very own prince charming. The problem? You didn’t catch his name, and now you have no idea how to find him. On top of it all, you appear to have gained the unwanted attention of Duke Barnes who’s back from his travels abroad. Will you find your happily ever after, or are you doomed to a life of loneliness?

Series Content Warning: Regency Era, Historical inaccuracies, Period typical sexism, Flirting, Neglect, Courting rituals, Awful family dynamics, Angst, Fluff, Possible Smut. Individual chapters will have their own warnings.

All chapters will be tagged with “STB” and “Slow to Burn”.

Bucky Barnes Masterlist || Main Masterlist || Writing Info || Blog Rules

Series;

Prologue (Coming Soon)

Drabbles;

Nothing to see here yet…

#masterlist #stb #slow to burn #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky barnes x female reader #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes fic #Bucky Barnes fanfic #bucky barnes imagine #Bucky Barnes series

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spookwriter-xo · 6 months ago

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Coppélia

Chapter 12 - The Muscle

Chapter Summary - the cobra is active once again, and someone close to Y/N has a target on their back.

warnings: mentions of murder

Series Masterlist

MINORS DO NOT GO BEYOND THIS POINT

I awoke the following morning to yelling from downstairs. It seemed the appearance of my father had caused some tension to arise.

"How did he even get onto the property? The guards know not to let him in unless we say so." I heard Wooyoung say, his voice strained from stress.

I could imagine the fallout. Not only the impact of me leaving halfway through my own party, but also the fact that the majority of the guests that were there hated my father equally as much. Seeing him supposedly invited to a party at the ATZ Manor could cause some damage to their reputation, or worse, cut ties with allies all together.

"It was a masquerade ball. He probably snuck in as a plus one." Yeosang answered Wooyoung, his voice indifferent. Yeosang had gone radio silent since our time in the library. He wasn't avoiding me, at least not on purpose, I suspected he was busy with work.

"With everything going on, why would he think it would be a good idea to show up here?" Mingi grumbles. By this time, I had made my way out of my room and was now hiding on top of the stairs. By the sound of it, they were gathered in the living room.

"He obviously wanted something. Yunho, did Y/N say anything?" Hongjoong asks.

"She didn't want to talk about it. Honestly, I didn't realise it was her father until she outright told me." Yunho says. I could imagine him sprawled out on one of the couches, his head resting on the arm with a hard expression on his face, his dark hair messy from sleep.

"She didn't say anything about why he could be here? Anything at all?"

"No, I don't think we have to worry about her. She wants nothing to do with him." Yunho says, his words causing a pang of confusion to prick at my stomach. Worry about me?

"Good, just in case, Yeosang can keep an eye on her since he's finished with his work." Hongjoong says, causing Yeosang to let out a groan.

"Are you really making me babysit? Yunho just said she's not a threat." Yeosang asks, his voice almost whiney.

"We don't know her well enough, she could be a spy." Hongjoong says.

"I think work is making you paranoid." Seonghwa says, his voice low in warning.

"Maybe you should all be paranoid." Hongjoong hisses, the sound of a chair scooting on the floor tells me he's stood up now. "The Cobra is on the move again, Y/N's father shows up uninvited to a party he shouldn't have known about. Not to mention, two of our generals were killed in their own homes."

"That still doesn't mean Y/N has anything to do with it!" Seonghwa argues, probably standing also. "Do you think she's the Cobra?" He scoffs.

Hongjoong laughs bitterly. "I don't know! It's possible, just like it's possible it could be one of us. But I trust you more, don't I? More then -" He stops when he sees me, now standing in the doorway of the living room with a heart broken expression.

Did they really think that of me? That I was a spy? Did Hongjoong not trust me even after all those nights we'd spent alone together?

The others turn to see me, Mingi and Jongho mirroring a saddened expression. The others just stared, probably not knowing what to do. Hongjoong looks down at his feet in shame.

"You're right," Hongjoong says, sighing deeply as he takes a seat once more. "I'm paranoid." He sounded more disappointed in himself, more than the fact that Seonghwa was right. I felt attacked yes, a little heartbroken sure, but I understood his worries.

He had a family here, one that I still needed to fond my place in, one that he needed to protect.

"The Cobra is back?" I ask, my hands fidgeting with the string of my night dress.

"A body was found last night." Mingi confirms softly, standing up and walking over to me. He reaches for my upper arms and gently rubs them with his calloused hands, giving my biceps a gentle and comforting squeeze. "Nowhere near here, but it was a his M.O."

"Were any of you going to tell me this?" I ask, glancing behind him and, for some reason, looking directly at Yeosang, who stared right back at me. It was like he was talking to me with his eyes, and I understood every word.

'Be calm, and all will be told.' Patience was never one of my strong suits.

"There's a lot to unpack." San says, the boy lounging in only a pair of sweatpants and a coat, his bare chest and abs distracting me for a breath moment.

"Like what?" I ask, moving away from Mingi and towards the empty spot beside Yeosang. "I want to know."

Hongjoong and Seonghwa share a look, before Seonghwa lets out a sigh.

"He's announced his next target." Hongjoong tells me, his expression serious. "It's someone you know."

"Who?" I ask, a sick feeling in my stomach.

"Mia Hua." Wooyoung answers for him, his voice soft but loud enough for me to catch the name.

"Mia? But she's not involved in this world! What would the Cobra have to gain from her death?" I question, my words coming out in a shout as I stand.

"Doll.." Seonghwa says, reaching forward, but I move away. I had to get out of there, a moment of peace to collect my thoughts.

The only girl who had been nice to me in 3rd grade, and had never left my side since. The girl who protected me, and gave me a home when life at home got too much. My best friend.

My sister.

She had a target on her back, and for what? Being a painter? Did The Cobra know I was searching for him already? Why has everyone I'm close to become a target?

Then it clicked.

Why did everyone I know become a target?

I made it to the library when I had my epiphany, the gears turning in my head, making it spin in turn. I hadn't noticed I'd been followed, not until his hands cupped my face.

Yeosang stared back at me, slowly bringing me back to earth with his gentle gaze. He understood the pain and fear. He had to have, especially with Aurora. I let my breathing settle, matching the patterns with his.

"There you are." He says gently, his thumb gently stroking my cheek. "It's okay, baby. Everything is going to be fine."

"It's me, Yeosang." I say, my breath heavy. "I'm the big target."

"What're you talking about?" He asks, his eyebrows furrowing. As I move towards the back windows.

"Everyone I know, every single target aside from Aurora I have met or known at some point. Yeosang, I'm a common factor." I say, starting to pace. "The Cobra has to be someone close to me, or someone associated with my family."

Yeosang stared back at me, genuinely considering my words. "I'll bite; if you're right, who could possibly be a mindless serial killer?"

"My father probably." I grumble.

"It can't have been, he was here last night." Yeosang says.

"When was the body found?"

"Early this morning." Yeosang answers, not missing a beat. It felt refreshing in an odd way.

"Do we know the time of death yet?" I ask next.

"Around 7:30 last night." He says, his voice going quiet as we both stare at each other. I could see the gears turning in his head now. "This is insane." He says. "As much as I hate that man, he's got too much going for him. Besides, would he really try and kill you or your sisters?"

I thought for a moment, sure he was a cruel father, but he'd never kill any of us.

"But you believed it." I say, taking a step forward. "Even if it was just for a second."

Yeosang relaxes his shoulders, looking away briefly. "If you're right.."

"Yeosang we could put a serial killer away!" I whisper, closing the gap between us and taking his hand. "The man who killed Aurora, the man whose been tormenting my family."

"That's not what I'm worried about. Not anymore." He says softly, his eyes gazing into my own again. "If it is your father.. Y/N that would destroy you, no matter how much you hate him."

I look down at our entwined hands. A small part of me didn't want to believe it.

"He is not my father." I say, "If putting him away saves whats left of my family then so be it."

I jolt slightly as I feel Yeosangs lips brush the crown of my head. "Just.. Let us do the dirty work." He whispers, cupping my cheek as I loft my head again. "I'm not letting history repeat itself."

I always had a feeling Yeosang was a romantic at heart, but this? This was a whole other level. I felt like I was in a movie with the way he was looking at me.

"I'm not going anywhere, Yeosang. You have my word."

I slept beside Seonghwa that night, the mans arm draped over my waist as he slept soundly behind me. My mind couldn't stay in one place, my thoughts muddled with worry. Hongjoong had agreed to allow Mia to stay in a safe house deep in the city. Mark would love with her for added protection, though I'm sure the only thing he could do was talk them out of it (To which I had faith).

I felt Seonghwas lips on my shoulder, just above the elastic of my night dress.

"Doll, you should sleep." He murmers. "If you keep worrying about one thing, you'll never have any new ideas about other things."

I pondered his words for a moment before speaking. "Have any of you ever had a target on your back?"

My question seemed to humour him, a soft chuckle escaping his lips.

"All of us had, but they were empty threats." He says. "The only time the Cobra targeted one of us was after he killed Aurora." He says.

"He targeted one of you after?" I ask.

"Yeosang." Seonghwa answers softly. My eyes softened at the thought. They really couldn't catch a break.

"The Cobra went into hiding before he could make anything of it." Seonghwa continues. "Until now at least."

"Would he still come after Yeosang?" I ask, feeling Seonghwa hold me a little tighter against his chest.

"I hope not." He whispers.

a short one cause I've got two big chapters coming up! sorry I've been away for so long, I've been absolutely hounded by work right now, not to mention I start up again at Uni next week.

on a positive note; updates should return to normal once i set my routine up next week. so look forward to some more chapters! also, questions and feedback are always welcome! i love reading your comments!

taglist:

@bellaptv @arilevenatz @my-atiny-kookie-rkive @hecateslittlewitchling @starhwacore @neuviloved @monstacheol @latisthegenderfluidwannabealone @vtyb23 @bigbabygremlin @professormingisglasses @nuggiesnuggetdog04 @pinuspot @astral-trashcan @ateezswonderland @joonhasjiminsjams @atzlordz @lightwxodd

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yandere-daydreams · 2 years ago

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Title: Final Girl.

Pairing: Yandere!Chrollo x Reader (HxH).

Word Count: 1.4k.

TW: 'Girl' Is In The Title But Reader Is Gender Neutral, Death and Blood, Mentions of Guns, Manipulation, Implied Kidnapping, and Spoilers for the Ninteenth-Century Novel Dracula.

The night you met him was, by no coincidence, also the night you learned what it meant to feel your blood run cold.

‘Met’ might’ve been an exaggeration. You didn’t meet him so much as you stood still and stared at him – lumbering down the hallway, clutching a gore-splattered butcher's knife, his suit disheveled and stained with a dark, blotting substance you couldn’t bring yourself to put a name to, in your fear-induced paralysis. With the manor's high ceilings and dim lighting, he seemed impossibly tall, his black eyes blank and terrible, his smile manic in a way that sent a chill up your spine, that left you frozen where you stood and unable to run as he came to stand in front of you, as he raised a hand and—

And pointed to the book tucked under your arm, a yellowed paperback beaten to hell and back from weeks of loving abuse. You’d spent hours wondering if you should bring it with you, if there was anyone else on the face of the planet who’d be stupid enough to bring a book to a mascarade ball, but you figured you’d have to step out for a breath of fresh air at some point, tonight, and phones weren’t really an option at this kind of thing. Looking back on it, you struggled to remember why you’d spent so much time agonizing over something so inconsequential, especially when whoever found your body likely wouldn’t pay it a second glance. “Is that—” He started, pausing to wet his lips before correcting himself. “Is that Bram Stoker’s Dracula?”

You blinked several times, shifting your weight. “It is,” you managed, eventually, just before the point of no return. “I… I’m only a few chapters in, though. They’re only on the second blood transfusion.”

His smile widened. “I’m reading it for the second time, now. That’s one of the best passages - you can practically feel the dread mounting in the prose.” While he spoke, you stole another glance at his attire. With your shock beginning to fade and your nerves given a few seconds to cool, you could see that he clearly hadn’t just walked out of a crime scene. His clothes were wrinkled, but not torn, not displaced the way they would’ve been if he’d been in a real fight, and he was covered in a cartoonish amount of (presumably fake) blood. He couldn’t have meant for it to be realistic, not unless you were supposed to believe he’d bled twenty people dry on his own.

He must’ve noticed you staring. His rambling trailed off into an airy chuckle, his free hand drifting to his blood-soaked shirt. “I’m afraid I might’ve misread my invitation,” he admitted, with a slight shrug. You were almost in awe of his nonchalance. Showing up to a masquerade ball in a costume fit for a b-rated haunted house would’ve left you catatonic for… god, the rest of the year, at least. “That’s how I found my way back here, actually. You can understand why I wouldn’t want to stay in the ballroom for very long, considering I’m dressed for a very different party.”

“No, no, that makes a lot of sense! I mean, a costume party would be more in-season.” You felt like an idiot. You could only hope you hadn’t looked as scared as you felt. “Honestly, I’m just surprised they let you in with a prop.”

He glanced to his ‘knife’, too, as if he’d forgotten he was holding it. “Oh, this little thing?” He took the blade in his free hand, bending it downward. Unceremoniously, it snapped into two pieces as easily as if it’d been made of little more than tin foil and plastic - which, to be fair, it probably was. “Most people struggle to see me as a threat, for whatever reason.”

“The doormen probably just felt bad for the strange man who showed up to a charity gala covered in blood.” You spared a small smile, then genuinely brightened, taking up your novel and fishing out the spare mask you’d shoved between the pages while you were getting ready. He should’ve counted himself lucky that you could never be bothered to find a real bookmark. “Mine came in a set of two,” you explained, signaling for him to bend down. A little too easily, he obeyed, stooping just low enough for you to work your spare mask over his head. It was cheaper than anything you would usually like to show off – the base simple black cloth, the embroidery meaninglessly gaudy, the main body kept in place by little more than a simple white ribbon that never seemed to sit just right, but he accepted your offering with a grateful hum. “It’s not much, but—” You paused, buttoning his suit jacket, doing your best to make it look a little less like he’d just walked out of a bad slasher movie and a little more like a tragically color-blind, but ultimately well-dressed party-goer. “It should get you through the door.”

He straightened his back, and you thought you might’ve seen something spark in his dark eyes. Then again, it could’ve just been the moonlight. “I don’t think I ever got your name.”

Oh, right – that was something most people did before offering to fix a stranger’s clothes, wasn’t it? You rushed to introduce yourself, and he did the same. “Chrollo Lucilfer.” And then, offering you his hand, “Perhaps I’d be more warmly received with a plus one?”

As hesitant as you were to slip back into the ballroom on the arm of a disheveled stranger who’d already made an impression of his own, it would’ve broken your heart to turn him down. That, and you might’ve had a weakness for disheveled strangers who fell on the more handsome side of the spectrum.

You laughed as you threaded your arm through his, letting Chrollo guide you back to the main event. A second passed with only the sound of your footsteps and distance music to fill the quiet, then another. Eventually, you broke the silence. “It’s very well-written,” you started, trying to fight the urge to fidget. “But… I don’t think I’m the right audience. I care too much about Lucy. Seeing her go through so much and knowing she’s not going to make it is just—” You sighed, shook your head. “It’s agony. Especially when the villain is literally in the title. I mean, I know the characters don’t know that, but still.”

“The benefit of a voyeur's perspective.” For all his glowing praise, he didn’t seem very offended. “I think the dramatic irony is part of the appeal. By the time the tension breaks, it’s nearly too painful to keep going.”

“Which is exactly why it hurts to read,” you groaned, slumping into his side. “I get why it’s happening, but I just can’t stand spending so long on the build-up knowing how it’s going to end. It probably doesn’t help that Lucy’s one of my favorites, either. Well, aside from Mina, but it wouldn’t be fair to compare her to the author’s self-insert.”

The two of you came to a pair of rounded oak doors. There’d been a pair of attendants stationed outside when you left, but Chrollo didn’t seem to mind shouldering it open himself, ushering you inside with a smile and an idle gesture. You took a second to steel your nerves, still not entirely prepared to throw yourself into a very crowded room filled with very loud music and very eager socialites, then crossed the threshold, coming face to face with—

Carnage. Pure, unadulterated carnage.

There were bodies everywhere, each corpse mangled and bruised and broken in every possible way. Dark blood and broken glass covered the formerly pristine ivory floor, and the walls were painted with the remnants of gunfire. A few people were still standing – the murderers, you figured, judging by the blood on their outlandish clothes, the weapons in their hands, the indifferent agitation written across their expressions as you stared at them in horror, as your heart threatened to give out for the second time that night. The tallest man you’d ever seen pointed a hand-held machine gun in your direction, but Chrollo found his way back to your side, resting a hand on your shoulder as he spoke. “Hold your fire,” he said, casually, as if you weren’t standing at the edge of a bloodbath. As if he’d known what he was leading you into. “I think I’m going to keep this one.”

You didn’t say anything. You couldn’t speak. You couldn’t move. You couldn’t breathe. The air hitched in your throat as he brought a hand up to your chin, tilting your head back and forcing you to meet his unblinking stare. You’d been right the first time. There was never anything his eyes could’ve been but terrible. “I always did like Mina.”

There was never anything he could’ve been but a monster, prowling for his next kill.

“I guess I just have a soft spot for survivors.”

#yandere #yandere x reader #yandere x you #yandere imagines #yandere oneshot #yandere hunter x hunter #hunter x hunter #hunter x hunter imagines #yandere hxh #hxh imagines #yandere chrollo lucilfer #chrollo x reader #yanderecore #yancore

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starsforxavi · 3 months ago

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Heart of a Diamond ⁘ Xavier (Ch. 1)

······•✦ description: Dearest gentle reader, the time has come for us to place our bets on the upcoming social season, where news has spread throughout Linkon that the rarest jewel, Her Royal Highness, the Princess of Linkon, has announced her hand for marriage.

While many men of all nobilities have certainly placed themselves into the race, will she settle or perhaps shoot for the stars? For a diamond like her, she needs a Prince who will provide only the best, unlike some who have declared themselves suitors…

...

Though, not all is hopeless and lost. In fact, there has been word of two very eligible and highly sought-after bachelors who are likely to ask for her hand. They are friends, nonetheless! Though hailing from starkly different kingdoms, these two princes have certainly made their own mark on the Ton and amongst mamas alike.

·······•✦ pairing: prince xavier x princess reader ·······•✦ word count: 19.2k ·······•✦ genre: fluff, build-up, strangers to lovers, regency au ·······•✦ general tags: Alternate Universe - Royalty, Alternate Universe - Regency, Prince Xavier, courting, Fluff, Slow Burn, Light Angst, Slow Build, Romance, Ballroom Dancing, Marriage Proposal, Choosing Between Two, Prince Sylus, Lady in waiting Tara, Right hand man Jeremiah, Xavier is Prince of Philos, Carriage Rides, Fencing, a lot of yearning, and thinking about the right decision, To Be Continued, Awkward Conversations, Awkward Tension, Rumors, Scandal, Masquerade Ball, Princess MC, POV Second Person, No use of y/n, Xavier is closed off and MC hates it

·······•✦ posted on: ao3

chapter one (chapter two coming soon)

However, one has heard of a most scandalous tale involving a certain Prince of Philos. Certain mamas have heard word that he was once betrothed to another, a fine young lady of good character, and yet now he is vying for the Ton’s precious jewel. This author wonders what circumstances led to the young prince breaking that poor girl’s heart and the scandal that must have occurred. Will the young prince run this time, or will this young upstart finally snatch this rare jewel?

The newspaper is spread amongst the people of the courtyard, their mouths hanging open at the news of their Princess’s announcement to attend the recent season in search of suitors. It is silly to assume that the Princess of Linkon, recently named the diamond of the season, no less, wouldn’t have the majority of the men at her beck and call.

In the main square of Linkon, you sit on a bench with Tara. She has always been your favorite lady in waiting, knowing exactly what to say and even teaching you some of her own clever slang she’s learned. Royal Guards stand behind you, making sure that nothing is to come of their precious Princess and soon-to-be Queen.

“She is speaking as if you are some object to capture!” Tara giggles, her eyes skimming the article. It’s all about you, the announcement of your search for a perfect suitor. There’s a bit of trepidation in your mind, the weight of the kingdom on your shoulders, to pick the right man to support you as Prince Consort. “At least she wishes you luck in your pursuit, though I do not wish for you to turn to dust.”

Her humor always amazes you, and a chuckle comes from your parted lips. She brings an air of comfort as she is perched beside you. Despite the many eyes directed your way, you keep your wits about you, knowing that one wrong move can mean a scandal, and who knows where the author of that article is. At times, it was overwhelming, but having people around who were always attentive and willing to help made all the difference.

“I am sure if he breaks my heart, there will be many people coming for his head,” you try to joke back, feeling Tara’s hand on your satin-covered bicep. There is a slight chill to the air, but your gloves, as well as the intricate long-sleeved dress you picked out for the day, cover you enough. “You, my parents, and the whole of the kingdom just will not stand for it.”

It was true. You have garnered the affection of the entire kingdom from the day you were born. They all sit in waiting for the day you become their Queen. The day you marry… That will be the day your parents will bestow the crown to you. Now, all you had to do was pick your husband.

“My parents have always liked him.” You shrug, remembering the talks they’ve had with you about the upcoming season. They reminded you that you could choose whomever you liked, but that they absolutely adored Prince Xavier of Philos. He always seemed so put together in royal meetings between kingdoms, but you had never gotten the chance to speak to him. “Though I wonder if this new scandal will change their hearts.”

“Surely not, My Lady.” Tara shakes her head, her eyes finding a few men staring at you. They look to be not of nobility, but the darkness in their gazes has her pulling you up and guiding you back to your carriage. “The King and Queen are not easily swayed by some article…” She pauses as she helps you up into the carriage, climbing in and sitting beside you. “However, I do think there is some truth to her words.”

Her statement weighs heavy on you as you watch the scenery change from brick and stone buildings to the fresh green land that leads to the palace—a palace that will soon be entirely yours, though your parents will still reside in it. Knowing that soon you will be sharing the royal bedroom with your husband was half exciting and half nerve-wracking.

“She is rarely wrong.” Your fingers play with the silk front of your dress adorned by gold accents. Recently, your parents have insisted on you wearing more intricate dresses with darker colors, and you can’t deny that it does make you stand out even more than before.

This author has always been able to gather the best gossip among the nobles, making sure such scandals are aired out to each and every kingdom. How she got everything, you did not know, but the fact that it was scarily accurate every time meant she was good at what she did. “I do not doubt her details.”

“There is even dirt on the Prince of Tarus!” Tara leans in, her eyes shining bright. Both of these Princes are asking for your hand… Just the thought makes your heart race. “If both of these men will be asking for your hand, it will be a big decision.” There’s a twinkle in her irises as her smile widens. “I will gladly take the one you do not want, My Lady.”

Your laugh stretches out amongst the green grass, through the herds of animals that graze there between tiny plots of forest. It’s a beautiful scene and one that you can see the entirety of from your balcony. At night, you can even catch the streetlights and lamps of the kingdom stretching out before you, reminding you of the people who look to you and your family in times of need.

“You are free to attempt the hand of whomever I do not choose. They would be lucky to have you. Though I will definitely miss you as my lady in waiting.” There is jest in your words. “If you were to become Queen, we could have daily lunches together. Should I even choose one of them…” The last sentence is more of a whisper, but Tara hears it all the same.

With a dramatic sigh, she cups your elbow. “Upon seeing the lineup of suitors so far, I am afraid that you might have to choose one of them, lest waste your first year on the market – as the diamond of the season, no less – waiting for a better option.” She is right. After being named diamond of the season by all the other kingdoms, the pressure began to mount merely hours after you announced your hand. Who knew if you would garner that same attention if you waited another year?

“I have to admit, I am quite excited to meet them.” Prince Xavier, in particular, caught your interest. The quick glances you caught of him during hectic royal meetings told you he was incredibly handsome, with soft silver hair and bright blue eyes that seemed to see through everything. He is everything your parents want for you, though they haven’t really seen the man smile, nor have you. Granted, you’ve only ever seen him in high-stress situations or large groups of people, so perhaps he is different behind closed doors. “I hope the Prince of Philos is not too emotionless. You know I wish to marry for love above all, and I worry that he will not feel the same.”

Though there are rumors circling about him asking for your hand, nothing is set in stone. You wouldn’t know for sure until the morning when there would be a gathering of suitors at the palace so you could mingle and meet with the men who would be vying for your hand. A part of you hopes that the Prince of Philos will be there, but a seed of worry sprouts in your stomach at the thought.

“You seem smitten with him already.” Tara jokes, leading you out of the carriage in front of your palace. “And if he does not seem to reciprocate your affections, then I can always knock some sense into him.” Tara knows that she can’t just hit royalty, no matter how lax you and your parent's rules are for your ladies-in-waiting, but the statement pulls a genuine laugh from you. The smell of dinner wafts toward you, and Tara rests a hand on your waist, guiding you in the direction of the dining hall.

“This is why you are my favorite, Tara.” You laugh, your eyes closing slightly as you hear your parents greeting you from their seats at the front of the room. “Come and eat, we can discuss more about these men.”

“With pleasure, My Lady.”

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

The morning comes a long while after you retire to your bedroom. All throughout the night, you toss and turn with worry. Although the article stated that both of the highly sought-after princes would be there to ask for your hand, there is a real possibility of you walking out there and seeing all the duds.

Sleep doesn’t happen quickly, and by the time the sun is rising and Tara is knocking on your door with breakfast and your attire for the gathering, it feels as though you haven’t gotten any sleep at all. A large yawn stretches your jaw as she walks in, setting a tray of breakfast in front of you while holding up your gown.

It’s exquisite , you think as you take a bite of toast. Deep green satin is the base color, with gold droplets falling from the short sleeves and bottom. It flares out beneath the waist to give you volume, and with each step, you can imagine the droplets reflecting the light and leaving you shining. The bodice looks like it will hug you just enough to keep you together but not enough to cut off your airflow.

“Wow,” you nod, finishing up your breakfast quickly. “It looks stunning. Where did my mother and father manage to find this from?” “A neighboring kingdom gifted this for your first gathering of the season, My Lady,” Tara explains as she helps you into the dress. Her hands make quick work, knowing exactly how tight you like everything after years of being by your side. “It is exquisite, and you will surely catch the attention of the two special princes.”

“Are they here?” You can’t help but ask, face heating up at the thought.

“Oh yes, they are.” A giggle comes from the lady behind you, her fingers brushing your temples as she sets your tiara on your head. It’s one you’ve worn since you were a teenager. With winding golden streaks that are dotted by small stars, it fits with Linkon’s love for space and science in general. Your kingdom has made amazing advancements thanks to the support of your parents, and in return, you are given beautiful clothes with said stars and planets adorning them.

Once she is finished, she turns you around to look at her. There is a spark in her eyes, fingers squeezing your shoulders as she leans forward. “They look dashing, and the Prince of Philos, in particular, has already asked for you.”

Butterflies erupt in your stomach, head turning down toward the floor as you fight the smile on your lips. “He has?” The question comes out as more of a whisper.

She hums in confirmation, cheeks nearly splitting from the wide smile. “Though the prince is a bit monotone in his expressions, he seems genuinely interested in getting to know you.” Her excitement transfers to you, the corners of your lips curling just enough to give away the happiness in your expression.

With a gentle push, you’re led out to the front yard. Your parents are already there, and you can see many people – men, women, and children – standing under umbrellas with drinks and snacks in their hands. Young women blush as their hands are held by prospective husbands, and parents watch with a smile as their children are courted.

As soon as you step out, you’re met with so many bows that your back can barely keep up. They all have their eyes on you, giving small greetings while you make your way to your parents. Men stop and stare, their eyes dark and hungry while also trying to remain respectful. It’s as if you are truly a prize to be won, and there is a sense of discomfort as your fingers fiddle with one of the golden droplets by your side.

“My princess!” Your father beams, giving you a hug as your mother presses a kiss to your forehead. “I see you have gotten the special dress made for today. You look absolutely stunning.” He cups your cheek, his expression full of glee. “It is no wonder you have been named the diamond of the season.”

Your eyes roll playfully. “Thank you, Father…” Though you pretend to act embarrassed, your heart warms at the affection shown by your parents. They have always been there to provide the best advice and shower you in love from a young age. You’ve heard from other kingdoms of princesses being raised by maids and ladies in waiting, and you wouldn’t wish that on your worst enemy.

“Please, mingle with the gentleman, sweetie.” Your mother cups your chin, looking at you with the softest gaze. “Many of them have come to us for your hand, but the decision is ultimately up to you. And remember…” Her other hand adjusts the tiara on your head. ”You are not required to choose this year. You may wait. We do not want to force you into a loveless marriage.”

Nodding, you look around to find everyone’s eyes on you. It’s not something you aren’t used to, so you smile and nod to the crowd. Wow … Most of these people here for you? Just because you’re used to the attention doesn’t make it all the more odd to know that the young men here are all wishing to be your husband.

“Alright, I shall.” With a hug to your parents, you let Tara clear the way for you to grab a drink and a snack as you greet some of the men.

Then, a low grunt of someone clearing their throat comes from behind you as you’re listening to a man talk about his farm. It’s not that he isn’t interesting, but your eyes immediately brighten as you excuse yourself and turn to see the one you’ve been hoping to catch.

“Hello, Your Highness.” Xavier’s palm is sweaty, but he hides the quick wipe of his hand on his elegant suit pants before holding your gloved hand and bowing. He’s much more handsome up close than far away, but as he stands straight again, you notice the thin line of his lips closed in a stoic expression.

“Oh, uhm.” You bow, trying to give him a smile, but it’s immediately quelled by the seemingly forced one he gives you. “Hello, Prince Xavier.”

“You remember my name.” His eyebrows disappear behind his silver hair that hangs down in front of his forehead. The warmth of his fingers still rests under yours, and there’s a moment of silence as Tara taps the middle of your back.

Snapping out of your daze, you pull your hand to your side once more. When you speak, you can’t help the slight stutter in your words. “Yes, I do.” Your brain tells you to collect yourself, that you shouldn’t be so affected just by him speaking two words to you. “It is hard to forget when you would speak about the many advancements Philos has taken during the Royal Meetings.”

It’s true. The way he conducts himself in the meetings, despite being surrounded by so many elders, is admirable, and you also find yourself becoming entranced by his deep yet gentle tone.

He seems even more taken aback by your remembrance of him. The seam of his lips parts slightly, and you feel the air around you becoming a bit awkward. A part of your mind thinks that maybe the rumors in the article are true, that for some reason or another, he denied his initial betrothed and sought you out… But why wasn’t he showing any emotion?

“Yes,” the deep timbre of his voice breaks the silence. Even though the chatter around you has turned a bit hectic, with men glaring at the Prince of Philos for just a moment to talk to you, it’s as if there is a bubble around you, the prince and Tara. “Our advancements are vast, and that is all thanks to the scientists we have working tirelessly.”

Tilting your head to the side, you hum. “So you do not have anything to do with such advancements?” It’s a bit of a teasing question, one meant to entice him into more conversation. “I thought you were the head of these missions, but it seems as if I was mistaken.”

A hint of a smile flashes past his face, but it’s gone in the blink of an eye. With his arms behind his back, he rocks on his heels, looking around as if he were searching for an out. Before you can excuse yourself, he speaks. “You are very mistaken, Your Highness.” The way the title rolls off his tongue has your heart speeding up. “Along with being Crown Prince, I am the head of our research team and work long nights with our scientists to ensure successful experiments.”

“Oh?” Your intrigue gets the better of you, and you drop the regal act for just a moment. You are you, the Princess in you sitting down to reveal the lover of information. “What kind of experiments? We are conducting our own here, but I am rather busy with lessons and meetings with my parents to attend.”

There’s a spark of something in his eyes as he takes a step closer. It’s not enough to make you uncomfortable. Rather, it’s the right distance away to admire the glow of his skin in the rising sun or the sparkle of blue that flashes as he darts his gaze across your features.

“We have been charting the stars recently.” Xavier’s voice has a hint of excitement in it, the normally stoic deepness of his sentences making way for a longing to share his knowledge. “Our kingdom has vast, beautiful forests and salt flats that make way for the most stunning view of the night sky. You can nearly see to the edge of the galaxy from the highest point of the palace.”

It’s the most he’s spoken in one breath, his cheeks tingling pink as he flattens out the bottom of his vest. Clearing his throat, his eyes fall to the ground for a moment before he meets your gaze, his expression flattening to one of near indifference. There’s a familiar awkwardness surrounding you, but it’s to be expected of two people who have just met, especially with the implication of marriage hanging between you.

“If you wish, I would love to welcome you to our palace. There is a meteor shower next month, and it is a rare occurrence, according to my research. You can catch a perfect view of it from one of our observatories.” He can’t seem to look at you for long before directing his gaze somewhere else, and while you don’t want to hold it against him, you wish you could find the secrets hidden in his deep blue irises.

Tara’s hand presses into your back, but before she can speak, you smile. “I would love that, but perhaps I can visit sooner? I am able to see the meteor shower perfectly fine from my observatory, so I think an earlier visit would be more suited for me.”

He hums, hands folded in front of him as he rocks on his heels once again. There is a frown on his face, and a hint of some unknown emotion swirls in his words. “Ah, very well. We can arrange something sooner, then.”

“Wonderful. I can work out communications to have a visit arranged.” As you open your mouth to speak further, Tara stands closer to your side.

“Apologies, Your Highness, but she must get going.” Her eyes follow the floor, bowing in front of the prince as she holds your elbow. “There are many suitors for her to meet.”

A light blush flits across his cheeks, and he simply nods. Right, other suitors . Though you are intrigued by the mysterious Prince of Philos, you know there are many other men who are vying for your hand. Maybe you will find someone better.

In fact, a certain Prince of Tarus was certainly not a sight for sore eyes, and you also wanted to know more about him as well.

“So,” Tara’s whisper was a little louder than you wanted, but the excitement in her voice was one you couldn’t ignore. “What do you think?” Both of you bow and acknowledge a few people who can’t keep their eyes off you as you stroll through the grass. “Is he everything you ever imagined?”

Leaning into her side, you let out a chuckle. “I suppose I did not imagine much when I thought about him.” It is true… There were the obvious fantasies of grandeur and sophistication that always followed him around, but other than that, you didn’t have any expectations for him. “Though I was surprised that the stoicism is not just an act, that is truly what he is like.”

Taking a bite of a scone, your eyes scan the remaining suitors. No one catches your eye quite like Xavier does… Perhaps it is because all the other nobles don’t possess the same mystery and intrigue? You’re not sure. The one thing you are sure of is that you wish to know more.

“I do have some trepidations…”

“Like what, My Lady?” Tara cocks her head, pouring you another drink.

“He does not seem interested in me, correct?” Like a child pouting, you dip your head to blow on the hot tea. “I know that it is important for me to find a husband, but I do wish to have some semblance of affection between us.”

Her short hair is rustled by the wind as she shakes her head. “You are such a romantic.” It’s said with no bite behind it, a fond smile finding its way onto her face as she moves a little closer. “He is quite handsome, though.”

Your nod is accompanied by walking as you make your way through the crowd. There are a few men that spark your interest, and you decide to push the thoughts of the Prince of Philos to the back of your mind. It is the time to explore options, and it is okay to dip your feet in unknown waters.

“You are right, Tara. He is extremely handsome, but those rumors still weigh heavy on my heart and head. What is to come if I choose him and he grows bored of me?” The words are kept to a whisper to avoid anyone else eavesdropping. “I am sure his betrothed is a lovely woman. Why is he here? Should he not just accept his arrangement? Has he grown bored of her before they were even wed, and I am his next conquest?”

A loud laugh interrupts your anxious rant. Tara holds out a plate for you to set your scone on before pulling you even further away from where the prince is surely still standing. “I do not know why he is here. I can only pretend and play into your saddened delusions.”

Your hand lands a light smack on her arm, but the smile that follows betrays you. “I am serious, Tara. What if I choose him?”

“Then,” Tara bows to an older gentleman who looked as if he wanted to speak to you. Ew . “He will become your Prince Consort, sitting on his throne beside your magnificent one.” Her expression becomes serious once more. “Do not get hung up on him, My Lady. There are plenty of men. Dip your feet in the water before diving headfirst.”

As soon as she says that, a man in a dark red suit and stark white hair approaches. Sylus . With his hand outstretched, you look back at her. She nods, pushing you lightly toward the man. Go ! Her mouth moves, but no words come out, and she turns to leave.

His smile is smooth, but his movements are more stiff and forced, as if he had been practicing it in front of the mirror. “Your Highness.” He purrs, an eyebrow raised when he stands back up. Heat radiates from his digits as he continues to hold your hand. “You look rather stunning today.” As his gaze rakes up and down your body, you shiver. It isn’t predatory like the other men around, lustful desire swimming in their eyes, but rather extremely confident as if he knows you are going to eventually end up picking him.

“Does she hate me that much?” The Prince’s words startle Tara as she watches you. Her head turns just enough to see Xavier standing a fair distance away. His eyes – already deemed cold and faraway by passersby – are also fixed on you.

Your lady-in-waiting only shakes her head. “On the contrary, Your Highness.” Both of them are staring at you, seeing your shuffling feet and wide eyes as you listen to Sylus speak of his conquest over the zealots of his kingdom. “She already seems quite fond of you.”

That takes Xavier by surprise. His eyebrows rise imperceptibly, head dipping to hide the blush that threatens to take hold of him. “Really?” He forces himself to remain calm, his beating heart the only thing he can hear for a few moments.

“She does not think you share the same sentiment or affections toward her.” Tara clears her throat, sipping on her tea before continuing. “And if I may speak so candidly, she worries about the rumors circling.”

An awkward silence settles between them. The weight of Tara’s words sit heavy on Xavier’s heart. The rumors are the bane of his existence, and as soon as he thinks about it, his jaw clenches.

“What must I do?” He sounds almost desperate, staring at his teacup in contemplation. “I want her to know I am sincere in my pursuit of her hand.”

“But are you just after her hand?” Your lady-in-waiting interrupts him, and she knows it’s impolite, but she’s also your friend. “Or are you after her heart as well?”

Another awkward silence inches in, but before it can linger too long, you meet Tara’s eye. With a bow, Tara begins to walk away. “Farewell, Your Highness.” Looking back, she smiles. “And good luck.”

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

Tara’s expert hands tie up your corset, and her eyes stare over your shoulder as your gown shimmers in the light. “You look exquisite, My Lady.” Her smile beams in the mirror, pulling away to let you examine the fabric. “Truly the diamond of the season.”

It’s a beautiful combination of lace and silk, all put together by small diamonds like a net over the bottom of the gown. It resembles stars that glimmer with each step you take, leading the way to the one you will choose at the end of the aisle. As soon as the moonlight hits through your window and you know under the large chandelier that it will look as if the sky is dancing on the large ceiling of the ballroom.

You met many interesting men during your walk in the garden just a few days ago, and as the article said, only two caught your eye. Prince Sylus and Prince Xavier. The two princes with the rumors and scandals each have their own types of baggage that would serve to tear you away from them. Or perhaps, build the relationship up even stronger.

Prince Sylus is obviously physically strong, with glowing red eyes that stand out even in the brightest sun. An aura of darkness surrounds him, but you can tell from the softness of his smile that he is not inherently evil. However, when forced to really reflect on it, and maybe it is just due to only meeting him a few times, you don’t think about the prospect of marriage with him.

Prince Xavier seems like the opposite, but his stride is one of a warrior. He backs down when he knows he has to and doesn’t force an issue further than it needs to go. Everything about him looks gentle, but the ice in his gaze and the straight line of his lips make a pit of anxiety well up inside you. It makes you question his intentions, even with the feelings that are swelling up like a balloon in your chest.

“Thank you, Tara.” You can’t help the way your head dips to admire the gown up close. The bodice is simple, forcing everyone’s eyes to the bottom of the gown, the elegance of your stride fit only for a future Queen. For a ball in your honor? It’s perfect. “I love it.”

As she escorts you down to the ballroom, Xavier stands with his friend and right-hand man. Jeremiah sips from a tall glass, scanning the room. “You know, I saw her chatting with Prince Sylus the other day in the garden.”

Xavier hums, nodding as he looks around. It’s obvious what – or who – he is looking for, but his friend still chooses to let it be. “Well, should your advice work, I hope that I am able to pull her attention away from my dear friend .” His words are sour at the end, as if a part of him is actually worried about you choosing the Prince of Tarus instead of him.

In reality, he’s terrified of you choosing someone else. His feelings have festered inside him, stealing glances during royal meetings and listening with a lovestruck expression as you spoke to the room of elders. He’s enamored, and once he heard about you announcing your hand, he knew he had to jump at the chance.

“I hope so, as well.” Jeremiah sighs, bumping his shoulder. “I did not spend the whole day yesterday flirting with women in the town square just for you to not use any of my advice.”

“There is a difference between observation and practical use, isn’t th–” All of Xavier’s thoughts go out the window as soon as he watches you walk down the large staircase in the foyer. Your smile shines like the brightest star, and there isn’t much the Prince of Philos can do except hum along to Jeremiah’s words. Was he still talking?

He wants to be the first to approach you, ask for your hand, and dance the night away, but he must relent. You are meant to mingle with the men there, to find the one whom you want to call your husband, but just the thought of watching you twirl around the ballroom in another man’s arms has Xavier’s Adam’s apple bobbing. Worry about rejection also murmurs in the skipped beats of his heart. Should he ask for a dance and you say no? He thinks he will just lie down in the pasture and wait for the stars to call him up.

Masquerade masks decorate the top halves of everyone’s faces because there’s something even more interesting in shrouding people with mystery. Sure, you would be able to pick them out without their masks, but there’s an impersonal aspect that strips a person down to just their soul.

The silver mask is tight around his eyes, but it matches his suit and fits him quite well. The accents only serve to accentuate the shimmering blue of his eyes, and he hopes that it is enough to leave an impression on you.

No . It’s not enough to leave an impression. He wants to open up, show more of his emotions and feelings, just as Tara told him he should do. It’s hard. It’s going to be hard. But he’ll do it.

There’s no one else in the entire world he wants other than you. The first time he saw you, he was entranced by your appearance, but observing you from afar, the one thing he truly fell for was your mind. Every little bit of your words and thoughts culminate together to form who you are. He wants to know more. He wants to know all of you.

By the time he has finally gathered the courage to walk up to you, your back is to him. Tara catches his eye, a small glimmer of amusement. For what, he’s not sure, but you’re turning around to face him before he can even ponder.

“Hello, Your Highness.” You know exactly who it is. His mask is exquisite, covering the sharp lines of his cheekbones, but the stunning blue of his eyes could be picked out of a lineup. Just as the rouse of a masquerade ball, there is an added mystery hiding behind his eyes. “Are you enjoying the ball?”

You aren’t wearing a mask. It was an idea that you entertained, but your parents insisted you were the star of the ball; therefore, everyone needed to see every feature of your beauty. Their words made your skin heat up, a soft “Thank you” echoing in the air before you made your way down the stairs.

“Yes – uh…” It’s not often Xavier stutters, but now with your attention solely on him, he can’t help the momentary lapse of thought. “It is beautiful, but not as beautiful as yourself.” It’s a line he learned from Jeremiah, but the monotone delivery hurts his efforts just a bit.

“Thank you.” It’s obvious he isn’t used to this; his mouth still curves just slightly into a smile that seems genuine, but it isn’t enough to convey the depths of his emotions. “Your mask is quite handsome…” A playful smirk makes its way onto your face. “But not as handsome as yourself.”

The harmless flirting has Tara nearly squealing, her eyes focused on Xavier and his expressions. His ears are currently painted bright red, while his lips part just enough to let out a light cough.

“Thank you.” There’s a moment of silence, but Xavier doesn’t let it linger for too long. “I was going to ask if you would do me the honor of dancing with me?”

His outstretched hand is met with your gloved one. The colors match your gown perfectly, and Xavier wishes he could feel the full warmth of your skin.

Xavier’s been through too many dancing classes to mess this up. On the flip side, you’ve also had your fair share of lessons in ballroom dancing. The result of that is a calculated dance that is equal parts alluring and beautiful.

The way you both move so in sync with one another maybe peaks your heart rate just a bit. It’s the fact that after listening to so many of these princes drone on and on, it’s nice to focus only on the man in front of you. Perhaps a spark goes off, a small stop to your trepidations about the prince.

You’re still stubborn in your right to decide, but the way he looks at you, even in a fleeting moment before he turns at the crescendo of the song, is maybe making this decision a bit easier. You still have time. The thought echoes in your mind as you hold your palm out to Xavier. You can’t make such a hasty choice based on one dance.

The music bleeds into the background, making way for you to listen to your heart. It thrums with a strange rhythm that you can only think of as matching the prince’s own. Over and over and over, crescendoing into a climax that has goosebumps rising beneath the soft silk of your gloves.

As the dance slows, you giggle when Xavier stumbles over his feet. He’s not perfect. Even princes make mistakes.

“May I accompany you back to the drink table?” He asks when the song finishes, letting you lead the way with a nod. Tara is nowhere to be seen. Neither is Jeremiah. But you’re both sure that the two are lurking somewhere out of sight.

“Your Highness,” despite being your title, sounds different coming from his lips. "If I may be so bold, may I ask you a question?”

A light flush of pink kisses the tips of his ears. “Of course. Ask away.”

Xavier clears his throat, taking a moment to admire the way the light highlights your features. “What are you looking for in a future husband?” It is a bold question, but one that he feels so compelled to ask. He wants to know everything about you, but he can only hope he fits your ideals.

It catches you off guard. So much so that you have to take a moment to stare at the ground. The tile is an intricate pattern, one that, if you look at it for too long, will make your head start to hurt. “Well…” You say to stall for time. It’s hard putting your finger on the pulse of your desires. “I do not dwell on physical attributes, but I do wish to be attracted to him.” The filter leaves your brain as you keep talking. “It will help when we make an heir to my kingdom.”

The flush on Xavier’s ears only deepens at the implications, but he nods and listens nonetheless. He always admired how well spoken you were, how candidly you debated with the elders of the nobles, but the direct statements still throw him for a loop.

“I admire honesty above all else. A man who would lie to me would betray me.” Your eyes refuse to meet his, somehow feeling just a bit shy under his watchful eye. Other suitors have asked this question before, but none have received as detailed an answer as Xavier.

“I also need loyalty. The man whom I marry will be swearing an oath to me, his wife. I must be his one and only devotion.” Conviction lines your words, but they soften when you think about one last thing. “And despite the pressures of society, my parents have always told me to marry for love. So, I must love him, or at least be able to plant a seed that will grow into love.”

Xavier can’t do anything but stand there for a moment, his eyes the slightest bit wider. He’s lucky you can’t hear his heartbeat, which is going even faster than before. It is the most he’s heard you speak, and yet he yearns for more.

“I see…” He trails off, trying to think back to his lessons with Jeremiah. It all becomes fuddled in his brain when he looks at you. His own heart betrays his head, wiping out all of his thoughts. “Those are admirable traits.”

Even he realizes just how uncaring that sounded, so he nods, holding out a hand to the beautiful atmosphere around you. “How has this night been for you?” His question lingers in the air as you think.

With a hum, you stare down at your scone. It’s your favorite flavor, and you wonder what his favorite is. “It has been alright. The other suitors are not as good of a dancer as you are.”

Xavier laughs a genuine chuckle that strikes the bottom half of his cheeks a light pink right below where the mask ends. “I have always been praised for my swordsmanship and my dancing.”

“Those are two very different things, are they not?” Your eyebrows rise, leaning an inch closer to hear his voice. It’s a sweet melody that you think you could dance to should you try hard enough.

He shakes his head. “On the contrary, Your Highness.” His deep voice strikes a bit of excitement, the tone shifting into one with just a tinge more emotion than you’ve heard from him before. “Both require the right amount of poise and accuracy. If I take a wrong step, I will ruin your beautiful shoes.” You laugh lightly, but his expression remains a light smile. “And if I miss my opponent with my blade, there goes my head.”

“I scarcely think those two are the same.” It is as if bubbles float up and burst inside your chest, soaring into the night sky. There are no clouds in sight, and from this angle, you can catch a glimpse of a few stars through the large windows of the ballroom.

“Well, next time we dance, I will step on your feet and see if you have my head.” You know it’s a joke, but your skin prickles at his boldness of another dance. Of course, another dance. You think, already anticipating another song.

A comfortable silence settles over you, but before Tara can come in and sweep you away, Xavier speaks up once more. “My offer to visit Philos still stands. Whenever you wish to accompany me, just say the word.” The words are much more gentle and full of a quiet hope that you will want to visit his kingdom.

“I would very much like that.” You’re already going to Tarus Kingdom, Sylus’s domain, so it’s only fitting for you to visit Xavier’s as well. The two were the most eligible bachelors, and your head was growing fond of them both. Visiting their kingdoms would surely push you along in your decision. “Perhaps after the fencing tournament.”

Xavier nods, bowing deeply and holding onto your hand before standing up straight. His bright eyes shine behind the mask. “What will I get when I win the tournament?” There’s a hint of mirth in his tone, but it’s serious all the same.

“How do you know you will win?” You banter, an eyebrow raised. “All of my suitors will be participating…”

Just the mere mention of your other suitors has Xavier’s mouth settling into a thin line. He catches himself quickly, clearing his throat before smirking. “It seems you are mistaken once again, Your Highness.”

Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Jeremiah and Tara standing together, most definitely plotting on something , though you are unsure what it is. “I was raised on the notion that to be a noble, you must learn to fight for everything.” A hint of something flashes in his eyes, but with the shadows of his mask darkening his irises and the fleeting feelings that pass, you can’t catch it. “In more recent times, if I want to win a battle, then that is what will happen.”

“So there are battles you want to lose?” His mystery only serves to frustrate you. There are more questions than answers, but perhaps it is a bit of impatience on your part. Impatience breeds annoyance, which in turn can sour all feelings that threaten to develop.

A curt nod is your answer, followed by another quick bow. “I will ask you to accompany me once more when I win the tournament.”

You watch as he walks away, giving Tara a smile and nod before saying something and gesturing for Jeremiah to follow him. The two men disappear into the crowd, and you��re left with a frown and a scone still uneaten in your hand.

“He said something to Jeremiah about ‘lessons’.” Tara chuckles as she saddles up by your side. Her eyebrows move as she leans closer. “His friend was telling me how Prince Xavier forced him to go flirt with women in the town square to help him be more expressive.”

“Well, it did not work.” You don’t mean to sound sour, but it comes out with a bitter tone. “There was banter, yes.” A shrug jerks at your shoulders, and you avoid the eyes of hungry men waiting for the chance to ask you to the dance floor. “But he is so mysterious. It is frustrating.”

“I am sorry, My Lady.” Tara rests a hand on your bicep, giving you a porcelain plate to put your scone on so you don’t get crumbs on your gloves. “Perhaps we should see how he does at the fencing tournament?”

“He said he was going to win.”

“What?” She can’t help the incredulous chuckle. “Does he know how many suitors will be fighting? He cannot be that confident.”

“He is.” You nod with an almost slanted smile that displays no happiness on your face. “He said if he wants to win a battle, then that is what will happen.”

Tara scoffs, rolling her eyes as she watches where Xavier and Jeremiah left. “He sounds oh so humble.”

“We shall see during the tournament if his words hold any weight or if I am to let him sink in the weight of his deceptions.” You sigh, letting Tara lead the way to another table, only to be caught up in a swarm of men asking you to dance. While you allow them to step on your feet, smile, and apologize before beginning again, you think about Xavier. He would never step on your feet, but would he lose the battle?

The statements replay in your mind, along with the intense stare from the Philos prince as you described your ideal husband. He was interested, that was certain, but was it because he was studying you as if you were some textbook to be memorized? Or was he interested in reading between the lines?

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

The setup for the fencing competition takes a little longer than you anticipated.

It’s days of waiting, of stealing glances at the suitors that filter in and out of the main area of the palace. Day in and day out, they chat, sit with you for tea, but their conversations are superficial and one-sided. Instead of talking with you, they talk at you.

As if you are some prize to be won. But in some of their eyes, you are.

The diamond of the season, assessing all her options to pick the lucky man who can say he was chosen by the most desired lady of the marriage market. It’s a bit sickening to think of it that way, but the stares of some of your suitors are hungry only for title and notoriety, not for your heart.

Even Prince Sylus chats with you, his eyes expressive beyond a shadow of a doubt in showing some semblance of interest. Yet he talks as though the marriage would be one of convenience, driven by politics. Merging kingdoms instead of giving up his title. What would become of your people should you agree to that?

The one person you really want to talk to does not approach.

Xavier stays by Jeremiah’s side, whispering in hushed tones as they sip cups of whatever liquid they are being served. Tara doesn’t even bother going over because the frown on your face when you pass by the two men and the silver-haired man does not call out for you only causes more heartbreak. It further drives the wedge of doubt in your heart, slowly snuffing out the glimmer of hope that perhaps he is actually interested in you and not anything else.

“I do not understand, Tara.” You whisper, taking a deep breath as she ties your corset for you. Your outfit for the day’s activities is casual, just a simple gown with no special adornments. In fact, you prefer the soft, silken purple that accentuates your bodice and hips.

“I am afraid I do not understand it either, My Lady.” She sighs, smoothing out the back of your dress before looking at your face in the mirror. “I cannot pretend to understand what goes on in the mind of these men.”

“Indeed.” Meeting her eyes, you blink slowly. “At least the Prince of Tarus is straightforward in his intentions… Perhaps it would be easier to marry him.”

“My Lady,” Tara adjusts the back of your dress, giving you a once-over to make sure everything is pristine. “I have not heard you speak of Prince Sylus once besides when you spoke of settling for him.”

“Yes but-”

“I believe you should follow your heart. You never know what may transpire on the long journey to your true feelings.” She whispers, her eyes sparkling in the candlelight of your room.

With a sigh, you slip on your gloves. The silk is soft on your skin, and you smile before speaking again. “I just do not understand Prince Xavier.”

Shrugging, Tara sets your tiara on your head. “Once again, I do not wish to be in the minds of these men.”

You chuckle, your spirits always lifted by her comebacks. “He is here for my hand, yes?” The question is answered by a nod. “Then one would think he would want to win my hand … Yes?” Another nod. “Exactly.” A huff falls from your lips, one of pure confusion and exasperation.

“Well, I suppose we must get this over with.” Your short heels click on the ornate flooring. “He said he will be winning this battle, so let us see if he is a man of his word.”

Your presence halts all conversation when you make your way through the garden. The stone steps are laid out for you to the seat next to your parents. It’s quite an extravagant setting, with a clearing blocked off for the duels as well as supplies and seating for the people not competing.

Despite your better judgment, your eyes immediately find the one you’ve been searching for.

White padding sits in front of his regal attire, a dark vest and thin slacks, paired with an even brighter white shirt that has been rolled up to showcase his biceps. A genuine specimen of a man, you think. But the lingering grievances still poke their heads up in the back of your mind.

“I believe he is doing that on purpose, My Lady.” Tara leans over to whisper to you, her seat right next to yours. You’re insistent on having her by your side at all times, as you feel most comforted by her outlook on things. “Showing off his assets as if he were some sort of animal doing a dance for a mate.”

“You are detailed in your words, Tara.” You speak between bouts of laughter. “And I love it.”

Your mother, wearing an intricate crown and an even more flamboyant outfit, sets a hand on top of yours. As reigning Queen, she knows just what it’s like to be in your place, especially considering she will be giving up the title to you when you are wed.

“How are you faring, sweetheart?” Her soothing voice calms the raging insanity of your own thoughts, if just for a moment. “Are there any suitors you have your eye on?”

She already knows of both the Prince of Philos, his charms catching her eye lest she know of his severe lack of emotion, and the Prince of Tarus, his prowess towering over the others in terms of political alliances, but your other endeavors are secrets to her. As her eyes scan the crowd of men that have already started to battle, she commands the people with just a flick of her eyes.

You've always admired her strength and power, but when faced with a difficult decision such as this, you wish you had even an ounce of her conviction. However, you assume it all comes with age, and you need to pick a husband who will grow with you and support you in your journey.

“I am faring well, thank you.” One glance is stolen toward her before you find the Philos prince’s gaze once more. “And perhaps I do, but I have some worries I must work out first.”

“Is it Prince Xavier?” Her voice tells you all you need to know, eyes following yours until they land on the silver-haired man who has not once taken his stare off you. It’s intense, the unwavering expression of determination and slight cockiness that is displayed as he twirls the sabre between his fingers.

“It is.” You confirm, straightening your back and watching as he steps up to his first match. She has always told you how much she liked him, yet she knew nothing of him despite how he handled himself at royal meetings. She does not see the mystery that lingers behind his words, sending you further and further into a spiral of your own emotions. “How did you know?”

“Mother’s intuition, my dear princess.” She mumbles, her mouth barely moving, but the words are crystal clear. “And I have seen the way he has been looking at you since he arrived in Linkon.” Finishing her sentence with a nod, she goes quiet as the match begins.

There is an ease to his movements as he faces off, and for the first time since you caught his gaze, he’s looking away from you to focus on his opponent. It doesn’t take long for him to gather the appropriate amount of points to advance to the next round, but before he slinks back into the crowd, he faces you.

A bow, yet his blue eyes sparkle as they stay stuck on yours. He does not acknowledge the other royalty sitting beside you. They do not matter to him. It is your expression that he wishes to read, to have some idea of what you're thinking. All he gets back is a gentle smile and a nod.

“He is good.” Your mother whispers, her smile betraying her excitement for you.

“He is.”

“Then what are your worries, sweetheart?” She can see the blossoming of realization inside you, the way your fingers drum on the armrest of the chair while all the other men who aren’t Xavier take turns. They are underwhelming.

You sigh, taking a moment to collect your thoughts. “You have seen the article.” It’s a start, but there is much more to your trepidations. “I have made efforts to get to know him, but I am met with mystery and a lack of emotion.” Another sigh comes as a victor is crowned between two men who look as if they could be your father. “He is here for my hand, and I wish he would be more straightforward.”

“He needs time.” She rubs her thumb across your knuckles, her attention pulled away by the next round of battles. Xavier steps up once more, his face obscured by his helmet, but his stature changes just as it did before. His soft elegance morphs into a harsh, squat stance, his arm outstretched. “There is obviously a reason for his refusal to his assigned betrothed.”

“But I do not have time.” You counter, your eyes narrowing as Xavier delivers quick strikes and jabs that render his opponent helpless to the rising point total. “If I do not marry this season, I fear that I will be looked at as wasted potential.”

The Prince is so confident in his strides, and the buttons of his sleeves strain against the hidden muscles of his biceps. It’s unorthodox to fight like that, with arms bare to any unwanted slice of the sabre. In fact, he looks interesting … With the white padding across his chest and the helmet over his head, he is akin to one of those test dummies that the guards use for archery practice.

Your mother chuckles, shaking her head. “Nonsense, my sweet.” Her gentle tone wafts over you, and you give Xavier another smile and nod as he bows with his second win. One more left, and he will be crowned the winner of the tournament. “You have time. Your father and I want you to marry when you are ready.”

There is a moment of silence before she speaks again. “Though I hope you do not wait until you are well in your middle ages.” Her joke makes you laugh softly. “We just wish for you to be happy. You are not wasted potential.” She pulls her hand away from yours, the cheers of the battles drowning out as you listen to her. “You will always be a diamond in our eyes and in the eyes of your future husband.”

“Thank you.” Your words are sincere, and you give your mother a warm smile before you’re brought back to the tournament in front of you.

The finals…

“You know, My Lady.” Tara pokes your arm as the two men prepare for the final. “The Prince has not taken his eyes off of you besides when he needs to fight.”

She’s right.

Xavier’s eyes are locked on you, even as Jeremiah smooths out his padding and helps him adorn his helmet. The sabre glitters in the light, and his opponent stares at him with a smirk before putting on his own helmet, bowing, and clinking weapons.

Then, the fight begins.

It seems more like child’s play for the Philos prince. Each jab is countered to near perfection, and even as his opponent plays a good defence, it is no match for the quickness of Xavier’s step and the strength with which he pierces the protective padding.

It is true that he is a skilled swordsman. That much is evident by the beauty and grace with which he conducts himself even on a mere ‘battlefield’ such as this one.

He is right when he compares it to a dance, you realize. The poise and accuracy required to predict your opponent's next move and counter it with practiced ease are akin to dancing. Except, as he said, in one, you would ruin your shoes, and in the other, you would be rendered lifeless.

The battle lasts only a bit longer than Xavier’s previous ones, his back flexing against the fabric of his shirt that is darkened by a light sheen of sweat that wouldn’t be noticeable if you weren’t so intently focused on him. It isn’t until he has delivered the final blow that he goes back to his much more rigid and calculated movements.

“Congratulations, Prince Xavier of Philos.” Your mother’s voice carries through the crowd, and a light applause waits for him as he stands to attention and bows to the queen. “You are the winner of the Linkon Fencing Tournament.”

“Thank you, Your Majesty.” His voice is different, more controlled, and with a measured level of grace.

In a moment of silence, his attention drifts back to you, but not before your mother's next words have him teasing a hint of a smile.

“Is there anything you wish to say?”

Your hands grip the armrests of the chair, and you fight the urge to lean forward, focus your mind on every syllable that leaves his soft pink lips. Stop it. You think, your heart running on overdrive as he steps closer until he is right in front of the raised platform you are sitting on.

He bows, eyes boring into your own. Pure elegance fills his actions, and his words leave the rest of the suitors blinking back in surprise. “I wish to speak to the princess directly.” You nod, unable to say anything lest you make a fool of yourself by stuttering over your words. “I wish for you to accompany me to my kingdom. It would be an honor to be graced by your presence in the palace I grew up in, and perhaps it would be a better opportunity for us to get better acquainted.”

It’s a bold move to speak like this in front of all of your suitors, but there’s a spark of intrigue and interest there that you can’t deny. So you nod, your voice giving away with a small waver. “I would love that, Prince Xavier.” There is a moment where you contemplate your next move, but your natural progression of thought falls from your lips before you can stop it. “I am glad you made well on your promise to win.”

“As I have said before, Your Highness.” His face remains nearly expressionless save for the hint of a smile curling at the edge of his lips. “I had to learn to fight for everything. And fight I will.”

The way he carries himself as the tournament is called to an end and the men begin to meander around for a bit longer catches you off guard. Yes, he does have a bit more pep in his step after the win, but there is a hesitance to his movements while he chats with Jeremiah.

“Mother,” you whisper, looking over at her. “How does one know that they are in love?”

“I am afraid you must feel it with every inch of your soul, sweetheart.” She takes a breath, squeezing your father’s hand as he chats with an elder about kingdom matters. Despite being the Prince Consort, he still deals quite a bit with political decisions. After all, marriage is a joint effort, as your mother always said. “But you will know. It will strike you subtly because it is impossible to fall in love at first glance.”

“It seems to me that you are thinking about something… Or rather, someone.” Tara nudges your side, a nearly inaudible laugh coming as you lightly smack her arm. “I am just saying, My Lady. You have not spoken much about anyone else besides him.”

“It is because he consumes most of my waking thoughts.” With his back turned to you, there is an imperceptible frown that makes its way onto your face. Perhaps you have gotten used to his eyes, so deep and blue like the ocean, that the mere absence of them is disheartening. “He is an enigma; that is why. I just wish to know more about him.”

Tara rolls her eyes, taking a sip of tea before rising and holding out her hand. “Of course, My Lady.” Her smile only makes your stomach turn. “Let us get you changed and ready for dinner. We can also prepare for our trips to Tarus and Philos.”

“Our?”

“Of course, sweetheart.” Your mother nods. “You are not to just wander off alone without an accompaniment. So Tara will be going with you. Though I am sure she will be keeping a distance.”

“Very well.” Deep down, you’re glad that she is coming, just in case things go awry. After all, she is somewhat skilled in combat and will be able to assist in any takedowns should you need it. “I will be getting ready for dinner.”

Tara follows behind you, taking notice of the way Xavier turns and watches you depart. Despite the set line of his lips, his eyebrows rise half an inch. “My Lady,” she whispers, both of your shoes clicking on the linoleum floor of your palace. “Shall we go to Tarus first?”

“It is farther away than Philos…” you comment, your bottom lip stuck between your teeth for a second of contemplation.

She sighs, taking the tiara off your head and going into your closet to find a more suitable dress for dinner. “Yes, however it does make sense to go to the farthest kingdom first.” A sneaky smirk makes it’s way onto her face as she unties your corset. “I also believe it is smart to go to Philos last… As I think that you will be able to make up your mind after talking to them both.”

“I am not sure, Tara.” Letting her slip off your dress, she pulls the new one up your body. “It is stressful to pick my husband from men whom I have barely met.”

“You’ve met Prince Xavier at royal meetings, correct?” Her correction has you nodding. “And you have taken the time to remember his name throughout those meetings.”

“Yes, but Prince Sylus–”

“Does not make your heart sing in the same way Prince Xavier does.” With an eyebrow raised, her hands swiftly tie up your corset to hold the silk fabric against your bodice. “The only time you have mentioned Prince Sylus was to second guess your feelings for Prince Xavier.”

You sigh. “You are entirely too attuned to these things.”

“I have been your lady-in-waiting for years.” Tara puts the tiara back on your head. “I am a lot more observant than I seem, and it seems as though the Philos Prince has taken your interest, moreso than the Tarus Prince.”

With a roll of your eyes, you pout at her. “Though all of this pining will not matter if he does not feel the same.”

“You never know what will happen, My Lady.” She pauses, looking back at the door to your bedchambers. “Now, let us attend dinner.”

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

The day before your outing to Philos, Tara finds Xavier in a hidden corner of the ballroom, seemingly hiding from you as you chat with an older gentleman and his son. He’s not sure why he is so persistent on not talking to you, but as soon as your lady-in-waiting approaches, he dips his head, trying to hide his guilty expression behind a shroud of silver hair.

“You know, Your Highness.” She starts, leaning against the wall as she keeps an eye on you from afar. “To win her affections, you must actually talk to her.”

“I know but–”

“There are no buts to that sentence.” Tara is much more stern in her convictions, her eyes never leaving your figure as your gown sparkles in the chandelier lights. “Apologies, but I do not wish to sit idly by and watch My Lady’s heart get shattered because she is too stuck on someone who will not fight for just a moment of her attention. That is what she deserves.”

Xavier is silent, his stare also fixated on you. It’s infuriating watching you idle around and talk to these men when all he wants to do is pull you aside and dance under the stars for hours.

“I do not know how.” He whispers, a hint of broken sadness inching into his words. “I have been told that intellect and strength are far better than emotions, and it is hard to force myself to think differently. All the lessons from Jeremiah are good in practice, but for once in my life, it is impossible for me to put practice to work.”

Tara hums. “That is quite the predicament.” There is a pause as she thinks. “I am not asking you to change yourself completely. She is beginning to fall for you, that is certain, but to show her you feel the same and solidify the bond that is forming, you must tell her that.”

A light blush paints his cheeks. “I will try to do it during her visit to Philos… But I am worried that I will mess it up.” His insecurities shine through, heart threatening to beat out of his chest when he thinks about bearing his soul to you. It’s an essential part of a relationship, yet he feels as though his feelings are locked behind a cage, wanting to get out yet seemingly unable to do so.

“The only way that you will mess it up is if you do not do it.” She reassures him. “I am close to her, ever since we were children. I am confident that it will work in your favor if you are just honest with her.”

Her advice washes over him, causing his muscles to loosen up. His back is still pin straight, the air of royalty still lingering around him, but it’s obvious that her words have some sort of effect on the prince.

“Alright…” Xavier pauses, the muscles in his face relaxing into a soft smile as he watches you chat with another suitor. “I shall keep that in mind. Thank you.”

“Of course, Your Highness.” Tara bows, seeing the way you fiddle with your fingers and look around for your lady in waiting. With a bow, she meets Xavier’s eye, her lips curling into a smile. “My lady needs me, so I shall take my leave. We will see you in the morning to depart for Philos.”

“Wait.” The urgency in his voice stops her in her tracks. Before she can ask what is wrong, he continues. “I – uhm… I would like if you both accompanied me in my own carriage, if… if that is something that would be okay?”

Tara beams, her eyes crinkling with the excitement of her smile. “I am sure my lady would love that, Your Highness. I will let her know of the arrangement for the morning.” The prince’s hand clutches the plate, nearly shaking with the nerves of asking such a bold question, but it seemed like the best opportunity to talk more with you. “And I promise not to intrude on your private conversations.”

“Thank you.” He bows to her, a genuine smile on his face as she walks back over to you. For a fleeting moment, he contemplates going to the town doctor, asking him about the ailment that has affected him to the point that his heart feels like it is going to burst out of his chest.

But he knows the answer.

It’s you.

“Should our kingdoms merge, I know that our armies would be nearly unstoppable.” Sylus’s lips curl into a proud smile. “We have made remarkable advancements in the fields of weapons, and as you have seen, I have a room of specialty-made flintlocks of my own.”

Humming along to his words, you rock on your heels. Tarus is stunning, and his palace itself is unlike any other. Yet, him speaking as if it were a political movement had your heart sinking just a bit.

It isn’t until Tara comes up to your side that you smile genuinely. “It was a pleasure speaking with you, Your Highness.” You bow, shaking his hand while leaning against Tara. “Thank you.” You whisper as soon as he is out of earshot, a soft giggle coming from your lips as she leads you further away.

And you realize something.

The whole time you spoke to Prince Sylus, your mind was stuck on Prince Xavier.

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

Being up before the sun even rises should be outlawed.

The thought comes to you as you watch Tara folding pajamas and outfits for the next day before placing them in the small case. It’s not much, but then again, the trip is only for a day. You'll be going to Philos, touring the kingdom, and talking more with the prince about everything before taking your leave the next afternoon.

There isn’t much time left before the end of the season, when the suitors will leave with their engagements while they give up on chasing the diamond. Some of the men have already found their wives, which doesn’t help your predicament because you are stuck .

With it coming to an end, you are determined to find a husband. Your heart tells you that both Prince Sylus and Prince Xavier hold some affection for you, but you’re not sure which path to take.

The Prince of Tarus has strength and audacity, while the Prince of Philos is elegant and gentle. In the back of your mind, you’ve already made your decision, but the anxieties of picking the man you’ll spend the rest of your life with eat at every fibre of your being.

“There is one more thing before we depart, My Lady.” Tara has a glint of mischief in her eyes, her smile turning sickeningly sweet while you slip on satin gloves almost up to your elbow. “We have… changed the arrangement of the carriages.”

“Oh?” It isn’t until you are walking through the halls that she continues.

“The Prince has asked for us to accompany him in his own carriage to Philos. He came to me directly last night while you were busying yourself with trivial matters.” Those trivial matters were meeting with other suitors, but she was right. “And I agreed for you.”

“So you can just make decisions for me now?” It’s said with a teasing tone, your eyebrows raising and a smile curling the corners of your lips up, before you’re rendered into silence by your mother clapping.

Her arms wrap around you, pulling you close. “Some of the men that have found wives have already left.” Good . “And your special suitor awaits you, sweetheart.”

You roll your eyes, but the smile on your face betrays your excitement. “He is no special suitor –”

“Nonsense, of course he is!” She interrupts you, cupping your cheeks with her hands. “He and I had a nice conversation whilst waiting for you.” Another roll of your eyes, though the rapid pace of your heart quickens. “And I think he would make an amazing son-in-law.”

“We shall see about that.” You don’t mean to sound picky, but after growing up with loving parents who devote time to each other despite ruling over a kingdom, you could say you are just a bit spoiled. “I am hoping that this trip will help finalize my decision, and I may take myself off the market by our next garden party in a week.”

Her hands squeeze your face, eyes flickering across your features. Oh, how you’ve grown up. She thinks, her smile morphing to one of nostalgic melancholy as she lets you go. “Do not rush into things, sweetheart. You know what your father and I have told you.”

“I know, and I am not.” Your fingers wrap around her wrists, squeezing as if to offer some sort of comfort. “I… am starting to understand the feelings in my heart, and I must confirm them. Then, I will be able to make my decision.”

“That is my princess.” Your mother’s eyes are windows to her heart, showing you the infinite love and affection she has for you as she watches you grow up. “I am so proud of you.”

The only thing you can do is nod because as soon as you look toward the front of the palace, you catch the eyes of the prince.

It is as if the sky has kissed him, adorning his suit with a blue reminiscent of the most beautiful forget-me-nots in the garden. Remains of the morning clouds are too faint to see in front of the wide expanse of cerulean that greets you as you let your eyes wander up.

It is beautiful. It is Xavier.

“Good morning.” You bow, trying to steel your expression, but his hand reaches out for yours. He dips low, hiding his face as the tips of his silver hair dust your satin-gloved wrist. The warmth of his fingers transfers through the fabric, and there is an inexplicable tension that has been ever-present between you.

“Good morning, Your Highness.” His eyes are a bit more intense as he looks back up at you, as if you are the sun, and he is prepared to go blind looking into your center. “The ride to Philos is not long. I hope you do not mind the arrangement I asked of your lady.”

You can already see a mop of curly brown hair inside the carriage - which is huge . There are seats on either side large enough for him to nearly lay down on, and dark curtains obscure any passersby from peering in. His friend, Jeremiah, is finishing up setting the cushions down, and he smiles at you while straightening out his jacket.

“I do not mind.” Your breath is taken from you when his fingers wrap around your hand, tugging just enough to have you following his lead. “In fact, I think I prefer this. It will give us more time to chat.”

“Very well. Shall we set off, then?” His fingers are still gripping you, walking just enough to allow you the space to pull away should you want to. You do not want to.

“Yes, let us set off.” Jeremiah gives you a smile and nod as Xavier helps you into the carriage. Luckily, the dress you are wearing doesn’t impede on the entrance, nor does it become uncomfortable as you take a seat on one of the plush pillows sitting on the bench.

Tara follows, setting the bag of clothes to the side as Jeremiah holds out a hand to help your lady-in-waiting inside. There is a pillow beside him that she sits on, nodding and smiling while also keeping an eye on you.

As the horses set off, the carriage becoming but a blip on the horizon, the air in the carriage turns tense. Nobody dares to speak, your eyes flickering between the other three people until you catch Tara’s. Her head jerks toward the man sitting next to you, his knees nearly brushing against yours with each bump of the wheels on the pavement.

“I have never visited Philos before.” The start of the conversation is always awkward, dancing between emotions until you finally settle on an airy and excited one. “You have told me of the endless forests and infrastructure, but it will be different to see it for myself.”

Once your eyes meet the prince’s, you are mesmerized by the way the rising sun casts a gold hue on his features. If he didn’t look like royalty before, he is something akin to a god now.

“It will be different, but I hope that you find beauty in the contrast between my kingdom and yours.” He clears his throat. “My father – the King – is gone on a trip to another territory, so you will not have to worry about him meddling in our business.”

Business? Is that what this is? You think, your expression turning sour before you force a smile on your face. Though you are curious about the specific details of the King’s endeavors, you don’t push the matter, especially not with the word choice he has made.

Another bout of silence comes and goes, your fingers playing with the laced band around your middle. The warmth of his body radiates around you, and you find it hard to relax when he is sneaking glances at you every chance he gets.

Grasslands morph into thick brush, which is filled with the harrowing caws of birds and the clicking of some unknown animal. A bit of fear strikes you, but after seeing the prince perform so well during the fencing competition, you don’t believe that a mere animal would be able to take him down easily.

“How have you enjoyed the time in Linkon?” Tara is the next to break the ice, her smile directed at both Xavier and Jeremiah.

The two exchange a look, and it is impossible to determine exactly what they are thinking when more than a second passes by before they sit back in their seats. It is as if whatever Jeremiah does, Xavier copies, but the almost imperceptible bob of his Adam’s apple gives away his nerves.

“We have, Your Highness.” Jeremiah smiles, the apples of his cheeks poking out slightly. He has a charm to him that is undeniable, but the intrigue just isn’t there. It is not like you haven’t tried to find that spark in others. It is impossible to start a fire with no kindling.

“Your palace is beautiful.” Xavier interrupts, nodding along to his words as if he’s agreeing with himself. “And the Queen is a delight to speak to.”

“She told me that you spoke to her.” You frown, tilting your head and putting on a rather exasperated look. “Please tell me she did not share stories from my childhood.”

The prince laughs, his whole chest shaking with delight as he leaned forward. His knees sit on his thighs, and it’s the first time you’ve seen him look so relaxed. The curve of his spine isn’t one allowed in royalty, for the elders would snap you back to the right posture, but it’s a welcome change to the pin-straight back he always portrays.

“I – I can assure you she did not.” One of his hands rubs the back of his neck, and with slow blinking eyes, he tips his head up to look at you. “But now you are making me want to ask her next time we meet.”

“There will be a next time?” Your surprised expression brings another chuckle from his lips, and you forget all about the other two people in the carriage.

“I told her that whenever she wishes, just call upon me, and I shall arrive.” His smile turns a bit somber. “Regardless of the outcome, she is a lovely woman, and I think that our kingdoms will prosper for years to come.”

You don’t say anything, your mind too caught up in his admission. Was he giving up? It surely seems as though he is. The way he is speaking as if he assumes your choice will not be him. It still weighs heavy on your heart, but you are steadfast in your approach to everything.

Lifting the curtain, you watch the houses and communities of Philos pass by. Some people stand in the streets and stare as your carriage navigates winding roads. They look pleasant, with smiles on their faces and arms waved in greeting.

“Your people seem to like you.” You comment, thinking about if they would be happy to see their Crown Prince give up his title just for you.

“They are fond of me, not my parents.” The smile doesn’t reach his eyes. “There are many scholars that meet with me regularly to assist in our research at the palace. In return, they are offered appropriate compensation for their efforts.”

Generous . The trait drifts into your head, and you can’t help the flutter in your heart as he speaks so highly of the people of Philos. There is a light in their eyes as they wave at you that has a natural glow.

Children play in the street, their happy cries filling the air even as the morning breeze sweeps through. Toys sit in front of homes without being taken. Bikes fly through the streets as they gather to get a glimpse at the Crown Prince.

One of them even raises a hand to the carriage, her eyes shining blue like the most stunning diamonds. Her smile is contagious, and you find yourself mirroring the pure glee on her face.

“Hello! Who are you?” With it stopped, the other children stand a respectable distance away, knowing the dangers of those large wheels. This little girl, however, gazes up at you with a whimsy that you match with a soft laugh. A yellow dandelion dress flows in the wind, and glitter moon clips decorate her dark brown hair.

“Hello.” With the window open, you are able to reach down and shake her tiny hand. “I am a princess from a neighboring kingdom.” Her eyes light up even more than you thought possible. “It is nice to meet you.”

“Are you going to marry Prince Xavi?” The nickname pulls a giggle from your lips, and you’re all too aware of the three sets of eyes watching the interaction. It takes everything in you not to look back at Tara for assistance or even gauge the reactions of the two men in here as well.

“Perhaps.” It’s the best answer you can give, and as she holds your finger in her chubby hand, you see hints of Xavier’s light in her. Maybe all people of Philos have that innate brightness in them that follows them wherever they go. “I am still making my decision.”

She giggles, holding a small jump rope in her other hand. A few other kids call out to her to come back and play. “Prince Xavi is very nice. He reads to us sometimes, and he lets us come into the palace!”

“Does he?” You smile, seeing the children calling out to the little girl. “Well, thank you for that information, cutie. Your friends are waiting for you.”

Her wide grin shows off all her teeth, and she nods before giving you a wave. “Bye–bye, Princess!”

“Goodbye, cutie.” You wave as the carriage begins moving again, your head tucking back inside to face three smiling people.

Tara raises her eyebrows, Jeremiah glances at Xavier, and the prince himself has a deep red blush stretching across his cheeks. His eyes are wide, lips parted, but as he catches your eye, he immediately looks down to his feet, his hand massaging the back of his neck as if he has a cramp or something.

“She was adorable.” You break the silence and are met with nods of confirmation before another stop. A knock comes from the front of the stagecoach, and Xavier tries to stand, only for his head to hit the roof.

His movements are a bit awkward. His cheeks flush red, and his eyes cast down as he opens the door and holds out a hand to you. “Welcome to my palace,” he says.

Resting your hand in his, you step out into the sunlight, and your jaw drops.

It is a magnificent palace, with large towers bookending the sides and one tall building in the middle. A part of you compares it to your own, knowing that yours is slightly bigger and has more intricate arrangements on the outside, but this one seems perfect for the aesthetic of the kingdom.

“It is beautiful.” You nod as he leads you inside. Behind you, you hear Tara and Jeremiah whispering, but the weight of his hand under yours guides you in through the entrance to see the large foyer. Paintings litter the walls, and a high ceiling makes way for a chandelier with warm white light radiating from it.

“Thank you.” His voice is gentle, not like the deep and somewhat harsh tone from when you first made his acquaintance. Though it does not sound like he is very happy with the compliment. “My father redesigned it after he took the throne.”

There is a bitterness there, hiding beneath the surface of each syllable that forms with his lips. You don’t dare comment on it, lest some of the workers in the palace hear and relay the message. The last thing you need as the diamond of the season is a last-minute scandal.

He takes you on a quick tour, showing you important rooms such as the ballroom and banquet hall. All the while, his hand stays in yours. His fingers wrap around your palm, and you wish that you could take the barrier of satin fabric away to feel him directly.

The warmth of his hand in yours is a constant reminder that he is right by your side, and it brings a strange comfort to your beating heart. Being in an unknown land, with only your lady-in-waiting to confide in, is quite scary, you realize, but with his presence beside you, the scent of some musk mixed with a clean soap washing over each step you take, there is a safety in that feeling.

There is a moment of respite as a chef brings some tea and a small bite of food before you retire to your bedroom.

The bedroom in question has two beds, one for you and one for Tara. You insisted on sharing with her just in case anything happened. It seemed comfortable from the glimpse you had before Xavier pulled you away to see another room of paintings. His family loves art, with multiple rooms dedicated to specific artists.

“I will need to step away for just a moment.” The prince says, his hand leaving yours for the first time since you stepped off the carriage. “Excuse me.”

The moment he is out of the dining hall, Tara steps in front of you. “He has not stopped blushing the entire tour of the palace, My Lady.” Her eyes are wide, and her smile is even wider as Jeremiah also slips out to follow his friend, leaving you both alone. “It is as if he is a lost puppy at your beck and call.”

“I would not say that.” You shake your head, still suspicious of his intentions. Perhaps you are just being overly cautious, and perhaps your own feelings are starting to cloud your judgment.

“Well, I would.” She laughs, her hands landing on your shoulders and shaking slightly. “Do not keep downgrading his efforts.” Her voice dips down low, trying to avoid the echo in the large room. “He has invited – no, begged – for you to visit his kingdom. Nothing he has done has given you the inkling that he is just doing this to jest with you, My Lady.”

Her smile turns into a smirk, and your heart tightens as she leans in even more, your gloved hand gripping the teacup to avoid dropping it. “And you do not know just how he looked at you as you spoke to that adorable little girl. It was like…” She pauses, looking up as if recalling the exact moment. “Like he was imagining you with a child of your own… His child. ”

With your bottom lip tucked between your teeth, you dip your head. Heat rushes through your entire body, and what is this strange feeling ? Your head is spinning, feeling a bit like you’re floating at just the thought of him looking at you like that. It overwhelms you, fills every crevice in your body until your heart threatens to burst out of your chest.

Then everything goes black.

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

Voices…

They mumble and whisper around you, but you can’t discern what they are saying as your vision is clouded in darkness.

“I do not know what happened, Your Highness.” Tara whispers, fanning your face that is damp with sweat. In one moment, you are smiling at the prospect of his affections being genuine, and the next, you are collapsing in the banquet hall. “She just fell.”

Xavier sits on the edge of your bed, the bed he arranged for you in his palace. It’s high in a tower, overlooking his kingdom while also giving you a good glimpse of the stars, with many stairs he had to climb with your limp body in his arms. He was not letting you go, even as the palace doctor rushed in to examine you, stating that there was nothing wrong and you would be fine once you awakened.

As you finally stir, there is a throbbing sensation in the side of your head, and an involuntary groan falls from your lips. Light pierces your eyes, and you’re met with a hand on your forehead and three people looking at you as if you are a ghost.

“What… Happened?” You ask, your voice a bit hoarse. The sun is already beginning to dip down toward the horizon, bathing the room in a glow akin to a rising flame.

“We are not sure, Your Highness.” Xavier is the first to answer, his hand resting on your bicep through the satin glove. “I stepped away for a few moments only to hear a noise and your lady in waiting calling for a doctor.”

“You just collapsed.” Tara dabs at your head with a cloth, grabbing a pillow as you try and sit up. “Be careful, My Lady.”

The prince’s gaze is intense, as if he is trying to read every single thought that is running through your head. At the moment, it’s not much.

“Oh.” It’s all you can muster, but your energy already seems to be coming back to you as you look around at the worried expressions. The intense pain in your head lulls into a gentle throbbing, and you find your voice in the back of your throat. “I will be fine… It was just a little fall.”

“Please listen to her, Your Highness.” Xavier’s deep voice cuts through the air in the room, sucking it out until you can barely breathe. It’s like he is back to the stoic and emotionless man he was in the garden weeks ago. “I do not wish to have to carry your limp body again.”

He carried you ? Tara is silent as you look to her, but there is a hint of a smile that confirms his words.

“So you wish to carry my alert body?” Even in your weakened state, you force a laugh at the joke. It’s just a small tease, but the rosy blush on the tips of his ears, as well as the way his eyes flicker down to his hand on your arm, gives away his nerves.

“Of course.” It’s the only thing he can say without stuttering, but even then, there is an almost imperceptible hitch at the end of those two words.

The prince clears his throat, tearing his gaze away from you to Tara and Jeremiah, who are gathered around your bedside. “May I have a private word with the Princess?” It’s the first time he has addressed you as ‘princess’ and not ‘Your Highness’, the title sounding even sweeter coming from his lips.

His request is met with nods of confirmation. Tara finishes wiping the sweat from your brow before giving you a wink and following Jeremiah out of the room.

Then, silence.

He is not speaking, but his thumb begins to stroke the side of your arm. Even through the satin glove, you feel his warmth. It’s then that you hear his ragged breathing, his flushed cheeks, and the slight pause before he speaks again.

“You worried me.”

It is the most straightforward he’s been, and in the depths of his blue eyes, you feel the sincerity in every syllable that is punctuated by a graze of his thumb on your wrist. His eyes travel across every one of your features, memorizing them as if you would disappear.

“I am sorry.” You respond, and you mean it. The influx of emotions that overwhelmed you came to a point that your heart could not take. Maybe it was the true realization that you wanted him, or maybe it was the fear that he might not want you in the same way. But it all culminated when Tara gave you an outsider’s perspective that you actually chose to believe.

“Do not apologize.” Another short sentence, but he follows it with a deep breath. “I was going to ask if you would like to go see the stars tonight.” A breathy chuckle leaves his lips, along with a hint of a smile that you know is completely genuine.

“You can still ask.”

“But–”

“I. am. fine.” In a bold move, you reach out to wrap your hand around his wrist, tilting your head and giving him the same smile that you did the night of the ball. “Ask me.”

He relaxes at that. “Alright.” His fingers release your wrist, turning instead to grip at your other hand as if it is his lifeline. “Would you do me the honor of accompanying me to get a glimpse of the stars tonight?”

His formality causes a giggle in your throat. Energy seeps into you from just being around him, and despite the slight throb in your temple, you dance your gloved fingers across his palm.

“I would love to, Prince Xavier.” He helps you sit up further, and your eye catches the setting sun in one of the many windows. “Where are we going?”

“I know of a salt flat not far from the palace.” His voice is back to soothing and gentle, like knowing you're okay is bringing about peace in him. “I can bring a blanket, and we may sit and watch the sky.”

“Should we depart soon, then?” It’s exciting, going on an outing such as this. Back at your palace, it is all flatland with little forests to create the aesthetic and mystery of the unknown. Though your kingdom is beautiful, there is a certain intrigue in the difference.

“If that is alright with you.” He stands, holding onto your hand and helping you up as well. For a moment, he observes you, the way the moonlight trickles in and creates shadows that dance along the walls. As soon as he is sure you aren’t going to fall again, he moves to drop his hand from yours.

You catch it.

The hesitance with which he touches you is disheartening. At some points, he is holding your hand as he shows you his palace, and the next, he is keeping his distance. So you force yourself to be bolder, your hand finding his once again. You hold it as if you were new lovers, an awkward grip that causes both of you to direct your eyes to the ground.

“I need you to lead me there.” You whisper, your voice unable to reach higher as you revel in the way he holds tight.

“Very well, Your Highness.” The dulcet tone of his voice strikes deep within you, and you wonder if he will ever cross the threshold into more than just the impersonal formality. “Follow me.”

With his hand in yours, he keeps a close eye on you as he pushes open the door to your room. On the other side, Tara and Jeremiah are gathered together, their heads nearly touching. Both of them straighten up, head turning to face you.

“My Lady, are you okay?” Tara rushes over but is stopped by your hand.

“I am okay, Tara.” And it is true. Despite the slight headache and the lack of energy, you feel otherwise fine. “Truly.” She backs off a bit at the insistence, nodding and looking between you and Xavier.

Xavier exchanges a look with Jeremiah. “We are going to take a stroll to see the stars.” Your hand leaves his, sliding up his bicep and nestling in the crook of his elbow. He tries to say something else, but the words are stuck, his face colored red.

“I will not need your accompaniment.” It’s said as a whisper, but it feels as if you have shouted it to the heavens. “I do not believe we will be long.”

Tara tries to keep her composure, but it looks as if she is going to burst at the seams. Looking back at Jeremiah, she is met with an almost matching smile and nod, and she takes a step back. “Very well, My Lady.” There is a warmth in her gaze, and you think about how grateful you are to her for always being by your side. “I will be waiting in the chambers for your return.”

Xavier looks over at you, an eyebrow raised. “Are you ready, Your Highness?” With your nod as confirmation, he takes a blanket from a closet down the hall and leads you out of the palace and down a winding stone walkway.

The forest is beautiful, you think as you take in the sights. Large trees line the small road along which you are strolling. He leaves you in silence, his steps measured and controlled. There are a few moments of tension as your hand grips tighter to his arm, wanting some sort of contact so you don’t lose him in the brush.

“Wow.” The breath is stolen from your lungs when you walk into the clearing.

A circle of trees makes way for a floor of grass. It’s big enough to frolic and run around in but not enough to seem vast and endless. A sanctuary in the middle of everything, where you can get away and enjoy the night.

Up above, the stars shine bright in the sky, and you must admit that it is a stunning sight to be able to sit down beneath the vast universe and not feel its crushing weight. So many twinkling lights, and yet the darkness still seeps between the cracks.

The air is cool, brushing against your bare arms as Xavier spreads out the blanket. His shoulders flex, and it takes you a moment to realize you're staring, appreciating the light flush of pink on his ears that descends down his neck and to the apples of his cheeks.

A hand reaching out pulls you back to reality, and despite the cold air whipping around you, a warm hearth sparks inside you. Accepting the hand, you discard your heels and cross your legs under your dress, the silky fabric soothing you from the biting wind.

“It is beautiful, is it not?” His voice is somewhat between awe and indifference, his eyes reflecting the twinkling lights up above. You can’t force yourself to follow his gaze, too stuck on the man in front of you who is such a damned enigma that you truly can’t figure him out.

“Yes…” You whisper, your stare never wavering.

His eyes stay glued onto the stars, and while you admit they are beautiful from your periphery, there are much better things to see on the ground. Several minutes pass, his body heat radiating from him like a fireplace while you shiver at the slightest of breezes that ruffle the blanket by your bottom.

As if he senses your eyes on him, he turns to look, taken aback by the proximity. Leaning onto his palms, he puts just a bit of distance between you, his attention back on the sky.

“That one is my f–”

“What are we doing here, Your Highness?” Your legs curl under yourself, anger suddenly coursing through you at his dismissal of nearly everything you say. He is so mysterious, so emotionless, that you think at times it is impossible that he even has a heart.

“What do you mean?” There it is. A semblance of disappointment as he furrows his brows. “I mean,” you stand, your bare feet exposed to the chilly air, “you are indifferent to me. Why have you even taken the time out of your busy life to travel to my kingdom and participate in the marriage season if you are not looking for someone’s hand?”

Xavier stands as well, caught off guard by the sudden outburst. “How are you so sure that I am not there for someone’s hand?”

A pause, and your nose scrunches up in annoyance and even more anger. How dare he act so calm about this? His soft tone of voice sinks into your skin, telling you that he’s sincere, but you’ve believed it too many times. Never again will you get your hopes up that he’s changing, that he’s giving you what you need in the hunt for your hand.

“You have not spoken to anyone!” Your voice carries across the cosmos. “Besides me and your gentleman friend, I have not heard a word uttered to anyone else.”

“I have spoken to the Queen.” His short sentence only infuriates you more, your eyes beginning to well up with tears of frustration.

“Fine. If you are to be that way, then–”

“I have not spoken to anyone because I do not have the desire to speak to anyone.” The words drip from his lips as if just speaking them into existence is painful. His cheeks are red, the tip of his nose akin to a cherry as he takes a step forward. With a shaky breath, his eyes widen just enough to take in your crossed arms and the emotion swelling in your eyes.

“Years.” He starts. “I have watched you from afar for years. Your grace. Your beauty. Your intellect. All of it has haunted me at those meetings. I have hung off of every word that has come from your pretty lips, gripping at each syllable as if I were listening to my favorite piece of music. Your voice sings me a symphony that I wish to play on repeat until the day I draw my last breath.”

Your heart is in your throat, eyes wide, and lips parted slightly at his outburst. It is unlike him to lash out like this, and the frantic look in his normally peaceful eyes is alarming.

“I have spent hours mapping out the contours of your face, so much so that should you give me a pen and paper, I would be able to draw you from memory, and it still would not hold a candle to how beautiful you are in front of me right now. At times, it was hard to believe you were not an angel sent from the heavens above to show the masses what true perfection looks like. But I am also selfish, and I want you to myself. I know which seat you prefer around the table of elders, and when given the floor to boast about your kingdom’s achievements, I can recite every pride-filled word you have said.” He takes one more step forward, waiting for you to push him away, but you don’t.

“What of your betrothe–”

“She is nothing to me.” He clenches his teeth, sucking in a breath as if to compose himself. “A ploy sent my way to appease factions in this wretched kingdom while seducing me into a sense of autonomy. But with all the paths laid before me, I realize there is no other option. They all lead to you.”

“I know I have not been the most cordial of your suitors.” Just the mention of the other men has him swallowing the lump in his throat. “I know that my dear friend, Prince Sylus, has caught your attention as well. I have flaws…” There is a furrow on his brow as he fights with himself. “I may not show it, but my heart has never been at rest since I first laid eyes on you so many moons ago. It yearns for you. I yearn for you .”

Another step.

Then another.

One more and he is right in front of you.

Your vision is full of him. Of the way his eyes twinkle, of the rosy tinge in his cheeks, of his warm breath that comes out in pants. He seems almost feral, a need to speak like a dog has the need to bark at intruders.

“You will lose your title. Your kingdom.” You reason, wanting to make sure he knows the ramifications of his decision. “I will become Queen of Linkon, and you will be my Prince Consort. You will not even be a King in the eyes of the kingdom.” Breaths mingle together in a tornado of intensity that feel as though you will fall over at any instant.

He is speaking right as you finish your sentence, as if he had been waiting for that excuse. “I will gladly bestow my title to someone else. I have no need for this crown, and the people will not have to miss me often as I will be visiting my dear friend Jeremiah for his coronation as next Crown Prince.”

“I only have need for you. In this vast nothingness of space, I want nothing more than to be by your side to the very end. I would face death with a smile if it means that you will be waiting for me at the steps of heaven.” He takes another breath, his hand reaching out, hovering over your hip. “I remember you speaking of the atoms that make up the stars being the same we are made of. Nothing would make me happier than knowing we are from the same star.”

There is a beat of silence, and all you can hear is your ragged breathing and the steady thrum of your heart in your ears. His hand hovers so close, and your eyes flicker from his speckled blue irises to his pink lips.

“Ever since I was a child, I was raised to fight.” Pleas weep from his words, drowning you in your own feelings. “No emotions, just the heavy metal of my blade connecting with everything in sight. I did not know how to use my heart for anything other than to keep me alive. Though I do not want anything except for you to breathe life into me.” His sentences are slower, as if soaking in the emotions for himself.

“I am sorry for the sorrow I have caused you. Jeremiah’s courting lessons were lackluster, and after hearing the way Prince Sylus spoke to you, I was sure you would pick him.” His own eyes drift down to your tongue that pokes out to wet your bottom lip. “That still may be the case but… I wished on a shooting star moments ago that I would gather the courage to speak about everything going on in my heart and my brain.”

“Your Highness?” Your voice cuts through the tense air. Unsure of what else to say, your hands shakily sit on his shoulders.

“I…” Another pause, eyes closing for a mere moment before finding yours again. “I want to fight for you. To court you properly. It is hard to ignore the way I was brought up, but I wish to change for you. I wish to fight for you, just as I have these past few weeks, and to show you what true emotion feels like at the hands of someone who cares.” He’s almost pleading, and if you had told him to get down on his knees, he would gladly drop like a pin.

He takes another breath, dropping his arm back down to his side. “Do not tell me your decision tonight. Spare me the fantasy of just one last sleep that I may hold you in my dreams and not be reminded of the harsh reality when I awake. But please understand I am true in my intentions. I came to your kingdom to ask for your hand in marriage despite the objections of my father. I want you, Your Highness.”

You don’t say anything, caught swimming in the ocean of his eyes, as even the trees grow silent. Nothing will come out, and you just force yourself to nod, too taken back by his sudden burst of emotion and sincere words to form thoughts of your own.

“Let us head back, Your Highness. I am sure our chaperones must be anticipating our return.” His tone is much softer, the deep timbre still there but lined with a vulnerability you have not seen from him before. Before you can walk away, he steps in front of you, holding out his arm after gathering the blanket in the other.

It is not often you are rendered speechless like this, the clicking of your heels and rushing intensity of the wind a backtrack to the synced beating of your hearts. His arm is bent into a perfect rest for your gloved hand, and you imagine him leading you down the halls of your palace after your wedding ceremony.

As soon as you are back in the palace, your headache subsides into near nothingness. You are greeted with Tara’s concerned face. It is as if she senses your change in demeanor. Her arm wraps around you, bringing you toward your chambers.

“Your Highness,” Xavier calls out, and when you turn to meet his eyes, a spark of electricity shoots through you. You see the subtle nuances of his jaw as he smiles, the crinkle of the corners of his eyes… “Good night. I shall see you in the morning.”

“Good night.” You bow, your waist still supported by your lady-in-waiting. Shaky legs bring you to your bed, and you refuse to tell Tara anything that happened except for the muttered excuse that you are okay.

That night, you dream of an extravagant wedding.

Of course, your parents would put on only the best wedding for their daughter. With decorations throughout the entire palace, extending out toward the streets, the people of the kingdom cheer and celebrate with glee at the emergence of their new Queen.

Your crown weighs heavy on your head, knowing that you will be shouldering the responsibility of your kingdom. Should anything happen, it will all be either your downfall or your golden opportunity.

People cheer, waving and jumping at the front of the palace as you walk out to greet them. Your heart is a steady beat, and although the nerves begin to creep up at your feet, a steady hand wraps around your waist.

“You are going to be an amazing Queen, my love.” Xavier looks over at you, letting you bask in the limelight.

You wake up before you can share a kiss.

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

After an awkward carriage ride and a million questions by your parents on what transpired, you’re tired of answering. The confinements of your room are enough to satisfy you for the time being, along with the heavy weighted decision. Your mother made it clear you did not have to choose this season, yet what if you didn't? The thought of Xavier going and finding someone else threatens to break your heart in two.

There it is…

“Are you ready, My Lady?” Tara puts the finishing touches on your tiara, pinning it to your hair to make sure it doesn’t fall off. “This is the end of the season.”

“I know my mother told me I do not have to choose, that I may wait until next season…” You trail off, turning around as soon as she steps back. “But I think I am confident in my decision.”

“Really?” Her sly smile creeps back onto her face. “And am I right to assume it is one of the two very eligible bachelors from Tarus or Philos?”

Your smile gives you away, and she grabs your wrists and shakes them. “Oh my goodness! I always wondered what went on in that forest…”

“Oh, stop it.” The way your eyes cast downward to your heels, the fabric of your dress kissing the tops of your feet. “I understand what my mother said about love, that it is very subtle. I have not felt anything like it, and I do not want to let the opportunity slip through my fingers.”

As if she were the one getting married, she lightly tugs you out to the garden. Many sets of eyes stare at you, and Tara leans closer, her voice just a whisper. “Go to your husband, My Lady.”

You see him before he sees you. His suit jacket is nearly the color of the sky that night in the forest, with specks of diamonds littered along the seams.

All your life, you thought of this moment as one filled with nerves, and when you were named the diamond of the season, it only skyrocketed your anxiety to new levels. However, despite the hardships of battling emotion and logic, one look at him, and you could feel your heart settle in your chest.

A soft tap on his shoulder causes him to turn around, cheeks flaming instantly as soon as he meets your eye. With his hands glued to his sides, he bows, only for you to stop him with a hand on his bicep.

“You do not have to bow, Prince Xavier.” It’s the first time in a while you have said his name, and he thinks he might pass out, and when you smile… wow . His lips curl up into a matching smile, and the warmth that blossoms in your heart is more beautiful than any sparkling star in the sky.

He watches as you slip your satin glove off your hand, extending it out to him in an invitation. “If you still wish for my hand, then take it. It is yours, just as I wish to be yours.”

There is a moment of silence, his eyes focused on the lines of your palm that are oh so inviting to him. Time seems to stop, and you think for a split second that he was not sincere, that the forest meant nothing to him. But before you can rescind your offer, you hear a soft release of breath.

Prince Xavier takes your hand.

143 notes · View notes

yungistiny · 2 months ago

Text

THIEVES GUILD

[ J. Yunho ]

chapter one: The Job

╚═════════

summary: yunho has been with the thieves guild half his life, he was there best thief, however, this particular treasure to steal will sit him on a path to his undoing

warnings: descriptions of violence, blood, fighting, virgin reader, eventual smut

pairing: werewolf yunho x elven/human afab reader

genre: epic high fantasy, romance, drama

word count: 5.1k

chapter two

masterlist

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The room smelled like smoke, leather, and a hint of blood, recent, but not enough to stain the rug. A single bulb swung lazily from the ceiling, casting long shadows over the cracked brick walls of the hideout. It was quiet, save for the sound of Seonghwa sharpening a dagger in the corner and the low hum of Yeosang drawing new runes. Wooyoung was asleep, or pretending to be, sprawled across the couch like a cat in the sun. Mingi and Jongho were running a recon job downtown. That left just three of them in the room when Hongjoong finally walked in.

Yunho knew it was serious the moment he saw the file in his hand.

“New job,” Hongjoong said, his voice even and low. He dropped the folder onto the center table. It landed with a heavy thud, like it already knew it was going to ruin someone’s life.

San sat up straighter in the armchair across from Yunho. “High end?”

Hongjoong didn’t smile, but his eyes gleamed with something sharp. “Royal.”

Yunho’s gaze flicked to the folder. Gold embossed. Sealed with the emblem of House Virelis, the ruling family of the northern provinces. Nobility. Dangerous territory. Too many cameras, too many guards, too many spells woven into the air itself.

He reached forward and flipped the folder open.

A photograph slipped out.

The girl in the image looked like she didn’t belong in the world she’d been born into. Eyes almost lost, and pointed ears that marked her elven blood. Her dress shimmered like starlight. Her smile didn’t reach her eyes.

“Princess Y/N,” Hongjoong said, folding his arms. “Half elven. Half human. Turning twenty one in four days. There’s a masquerade ball in her honor at the royal estate outside Elaris. You’ll be there.”

Yunho raised a brow. “To steal her jewelry?” He joked, clearly knowing this was more than just a robbery.

“To steal her,” Hongjoong stated.

Silence thickened. Even Seonghwa stopped sharpening his blades.

Yunho leaned back in his seat, jaw ticking. “You want us to kidnap a princess?” Was he crazy? They didn’t steal people.

Hongjoong nodded once. “There’s a buyer. Private, high end. Says she’s…special. Worth enough to keep us all comfortable for a long time.”

“What kind of buyer?” San asked, voice quieter than usual.

“The kind who doesn’t ask twice. And doesn’t take no for an answer.” Hongjoong replied, he himself not knowing who the mysterious buyer is yet. Or what the buyer wants a princess for.

Yunho’s stomach coiled as he glanced at the photo again.

The girl’s eyes seemed to stare straight through him.

Two moons, something in his memory whispered. The mark of two moons.

His fingers twitched.

He hadn’t thought about that night in years. The seer in the woods. The prophecy he’d dismissed. She will be your undoing.

He shook it off.

“What’s the plan?” he asked, keeping his tone neutral.

“You and San go in under cover,” Hongjoong said. “You’ll be guests, dressed to kill. Get close. Charm her, if you have to. When the fireworks start at midnight, we trigger the power surge. Lights go out. Chaos follows. That’s your window.”

“And if she doesn’t come quietly?”

“You make her.”

Yunho felt the weight of it settle in his chest. He wasn’t a kidnapper. He was a thief. Stealing jewels, artifacts, even spells? Fine. People? That was another game entirely.

But he didn’t say no.

He looked over at San, who gave him a small, grim nod.

“Gear up,” Hongjoong said. “You leave in two hours. Don’t be late.”

═════════ ═════════ ═════════

Back in their quarters, Yunho pulled on his tailored suit in silence. The fabric was enchanted to fit like a second skin, lined with hidden seams that concealed thin blades, smoke beads, and a charm or two from Yeosang. San adjusted his cufflinks, glancing toward the mirror with mild distaste.

“I hate these things,” he muttered.

Yunho gave a low chuckle. “That’s because you’re a werepanther, not a politician.”

“I’d rather break into a fortress than dance with some drunk king’s daughter.”

Yunho slid a dagger into the sheath at his thigh. “We’re not dancing.”

“Speak for yourself,” San said, picking up his silver mask. “I plan on blending in.”

Yunho adjusted his collar, then paused. His fingers brushed the scar on his wrist, thin, pale, nearly invisible now. A job gone wrong. A lesson learned.

“Hey,” San said from behind him, voice dropping slightly. “You good?”

Yunho didn’t turn, something inside him telling him this was going to be more than just a job. “I’m fine.”

“You’ve got that look.”

“What look?”

“The I don’t like this but I’m doing it anyway look.”

Yunho offered a ghost of a smile. “Maybe I don’t like dressing up.”

San didn’t buy it, but he didn’t push.

The masks waited for them on the table. Polished, gleaming. Deceptive. Yunho picked his up and studied his own reflection for a moment.

There was a strange feeling settling in his gut, one he couldn’t name yet. Not dread. Not fear. But something was coming.

He could feel it.

═════════ ═════════ ═════════

The estate outside Elaris rose from the hills like something out of a dream, or a nightmare, depending on how you looked at it. Built centuries ago, and enchanted to stay pristine, it towered over a vast sea of gardens and marble statues, every inch glowing under the enchantments laced into the air. Pale, floating lights lit the winding path to the main entrance, and behind the estate, fireworks had already begun blooming over the horizon.

The carriage Hongjoong had secured for them slowed to a halt at the gates. Their names were false, their invitations forged and enhanced with glamours courtesy of Yeosang. Yunho felt the wards ripple as they passed through, checking for threats, enchantments, identities. Their cover held.

San adjusted his mask, a sleek piece of silver trimmed in black, cat like at the edges, sharp enough to be unsettling. His suit was tailored flawlessly, dark navy with accents of shadowy gray. Beside him, Yunho wore black on black, a quiet kind of deadly, with a mask of carved obsidian edged in gleaming silver. Not a wrinkle out of place. Not a weapon visible, though they were both armed to the teeth.

The doors to the grand ballroom opened with a hiss of magic. Music poured out like honey, rich, slow, seductive. The air inside was warm and glittering with spells woven into the chandeliers above. People moved in a slow, elegant swirl of silk and velvet, masks hiding smiles and secrets alike.

“Elites,” San muttered beside him, eyeing the crowd with quiet distaste. “I can smell the money.” And it was certainly as if you could, a tinge of spice, citrus and bitterness.

Yunho didn’t answer. His eyes were scanning already, windows, exits, security wards in the walls. The crowd was thick, the lighting dim, and the room pulsed with magic. Perfect for blending in. Perfect for slipping away unseen, if you were fast.

And somewhere in all of it, she was here.

The target.

The princess.

They didn’t know where she would be, not exactly. All Hongjoong had said was that she’d be making an appearance for her birthday shortly after sunset, part of some elaborate ceremony celebrating her coming of age. Tradition. Politics. Show.

“She’s probably in the east wing,” San said, low enough that only Yunho could hear. “Guard patterns are thicker there. Either that or they’re guarding something expensive.”

“Or both,” Yunho murmured.

They moved slowly through the crowd, nodding politely, offering smiles to passing nobles, accepting drinks they didn’t sip. Yunho’s gaze kept drifting upward, past the floating candles and charmed lights, toward the golden mezzanine that overlooked the ballroom.

Then he felt it.

A shift in the room.

The music didn’t stop, but it changed, subtle and slow, a deeper thread woven into the rhythm.

Yunho turned.

The princess had arrived.

She stood at the top of the grand staircase, poised like a blade. Her gown shimmered in silver and pale blue, catching the light like moonlit glass. A mask covered the upper half of her face, but it couldn’t hide the sharp cut of her cheekbones or the slight point to her ears. Her hair spilled down her back, braided with pearls and starlight.

And even from here, Yunho felt it.

Not magic. Not power.

Something else.

Like gravity bending around her.

Target acquired, San murmured through the charm tucked in Yunho’s ear.

But Yunho didn’t answer right away.

Because something in her gaze struck a match in the back of his mind.

Like a door creaking open somewhere inside him.

Like a whisper in a language he almost remembered.

She was just a girl.

And yet…

He couldn’t look away.

═════════ ═════════ ═════════

Y/N hated the masquerade.

The gowns. The music. The eyes.

All of it.

She stood at the top of the stairs, her spine held straight by years of practice and pressure, her chin tilted just enough to suggest confidence. A mask of silver filigree shielded most of her face, but it couldn’t hide the way her jaw clenched. Her dress shimmered under the floating lights, soft silver with a bodice threaded in silk vines, designed to make her look like a vision of elven nobility. But she felt like a prize horse paraded before bidders.

Behind her smile, her teeth ached.

She was only half elven, but nights like these made her feel like a stranger to both halves of herself. The court adored her when she was quiet, poised, and pretty. But when she asked too many questions or disappeared into the archives for hours, the whispers started again.

Too human. Too stubborn. Too wild.

She wanted to run. Gods, she ached to run.

Instead, she descended the staircase like she belonged.

Gloved hands reached toward her almost immediately.

“Princess Y/N,” purred a lordling with far too much cologne and breath dripping with something strong. “Might I…”

“No,” she said sweetly, gliding past him before he could finish.

The next one she evaded with a glance. The third with a sip of wine and a fabricated cough. She lost count after the sixth.

Somewhere in the crowd, her father watched her with a proud smile.

He had no idea how badly she wanted to disappear.

Y/N slipped away toward the shadowed edge of the ballroom, where the light dimmed and the music was gentler, quieter. A balcony door stood cracked open, letting in a whisper of cool night air. She started toward it.

And ran straight into someone.

Solid. Tall. Warm.

She blinked, startled, and looked up.

A man stood before her in black and silver. His mask was carved obsidian, elegant and sharp, hiding most of his face. But his eyes, his eyes were unreal. Dark brown with the faintest specks of gold, glowing faintly even in the low light, ringed with shadows like smudged kohl. He looked like something out of an old story. Or a dream.

“Forgive me,” she said quickly, stepping back.

He didn’t move. Didn’t speak.

Just looked at her.

Y/N heart ticked a little faster. Not from fear, but from something. “You’re not from court,” she said, studying him. “You don’t smell like politics.”

That earned the ghost of an almost wolffish smile from him. He tilted his head, just slightly. “I could say the same about you.”

His voice was low. Velvet and smoke. She felt it more than heard it. “Are you going to ask me to dance?” she asked, trying to keep the edge from her voice.

He stepped closer. Not enough to be improper, but enough that she felt the heat coming off him in waves. “No.”

She blinked. “No?”

He leaned in, voice almost a whisper. “I don’t think you want to dance with anyone.”

Y/N swallowed. Hard.

He wasn’t wrong.

“I’m good at pretending,” she said quietly.

“Maybe,” he murmured. “But not tonight.”

A pause.

For a moment, they just stood there, her in the glow of a dozen floating lights, him half in shadow. She couldn’t see his full face, but she didn’t need to. There was something dangerous about him. Something magnetic. And yet… she didn’t want to walk away.

She didn’t know his name.

But gods help her, she wanted to.

She should’ve walked away.

Should’ve curtsied, offered a polite goodbye, and disappeared back into the sea of silk and sharp smiles. That’s what a good princess would’ve done. That’s what they expected of her.

But Y/N didn’t move.

Neither did he.

Strange, she thought. For all the gowns and gold threaded into this ballroom, all the carefully tailored masks and over perfumed nobles, it was this man’s silence, still, clad in shadows, who made the air feel alive.

He hadn’t bowed. He hadn’t introduced himself. He didn’t ask her to dance or flatter her title or even offer his name.

And she couldn’t look away.

His gaze drifted across her face, not with hunger like the others, but like he was searching for something. Noticing. Mapping. Learning.

She wasn’t used to that.

“Are you going to keep staring,” she murmured, “or are you waiting for me to vanish into thin air?”

“I don’t think you’d vanish,” he said softly.

“Oh? And what do you think I’d do?”

His head tilted. “I think you’d run.”

A flicker of something sparked in her chest.

“I might,” she teased. “if someone gave me a reason.”

He took a step closer. Deliberate. Unhurried.

She didn’t move.

The music behind them swelled, something string heavy and mournful, and the flickering lights of the chandeliers above shifted, throwing moving shadows across his face. His mask caught the light, but not enough to show what he was hiding underneath.

His voice lowered again, almost conspiratorial. “So what’s keeping you here?”

She hesitated. Just for a breath. “Maybe I’m curious.”

That smile again, barely there. But this time, it reached his eyes.

“I should go,” she said, not moving.

“You don’t want to.”

He was right. Again.

And that bothered her more than y/n expected.

Because she didn’t know him.

But her pulse had already started to dance.

Y/N took a step back, not away, not yet, and gestured toward the open balcony door behind him. “Walk with me,” she said. It wasn’t a request.

He followed her without hesitation.

The air outside was cooler than she expected, tinged with the sweet scent of night blooming jasmine. The gardens beyond the balcony were lit by floating lanterns that drifted lazily above the stone paths, and the walls were tall enough to block out most of the city’s light.

For a moment, it felt like they were the only two people left in the world.

She leaned on the railing, fingers brushing the carved stone. “You’re not from Elaris,” she said without turning.

“No.”

“Are you a merchant’s son? A diplomat? A visiting lord?”

“No.”

She turned her head slightly. “You’re not very talkative.”

“Only when I need to be.”

Another pause.

Then, quieter, she asked, “And do you need to be now?”

He looked at her for a long moment, and in that silence, the breeze picked up, carrying the scent of him to her. Earthy, dark, faintly wild. Like pine and leather and rain.

“No,” he said.

But he stepped closer anyway.

They stood there for what felt like forever. Not speaking. Not moving. Just existing in the same space, while the world inside went on spinning without them.

She should’ve felt uneasy.

She didn’t.

If anything… she felt seen.

It was dangerous. She knew that. She felt it in her bones. There was something about him that didn’t belong here, something raw beneath the mask and polish.

But still…

“I never got your name,” she said.

He hesitated. “I don’t think I should give it.”

Y/N arched a brow. “Why not?”

“Because,” he said, his voice just above a whisper, “you’ll remember me either way.”

Her breath caught.

Somewhere deep in the estate, a bell chimed.

Midnight.

She turned toward the sound, and just like that, the moment shattered.

The ballroom roared to life again. A sudden shift in music. A new dance. A second wave of guests entering through the grand doors. The ceremony had ended. The distraction was over.

She blinked, pulling herself back.

“I should go,” she said again, this time meaning it.

He didn’t stop her.

But he watched her leave.

And her heart beat just a little too hard when she glanced back and saw him still standing there, half in shadow, watching her like a wolf scouring his prey. Like she was the only thing in the world worth seeing.

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The signal came with a small tilt of San’s head.

Yunho saw it across the ballroom, just as the string quartet transitioned to a sweeping new arrangement. San stood near the far pillar, swirling a flute of champagne he hadn’t touched, his mask catching the glint of crystal lights. Behind him, their contact, a black market smuggler in a teal coat, disappeared through the servants’ corridor.

Time to move.

Yunho slid through the crowd with practiced ease, eyes trained on the target, the half elven princess with silver lace threaded into her hair and suspicion in her spine.

She hadn’t seen him yet. Good.

She was speaking with one of the stewards, likely angling for another brief escape from the endless parade of nobles, and it gave him the opening he needed. He stepped into the shadow of a marble column, one hand at his belt where the spelled rope Yeosang had given him was tucked beneath his coat.

No blood. No noise. No magic unless absolutely necessary. Hongjoong’s voice echoed in his mind.

He exhaled.

Then she turned, and saw him.

She paused.

A small smirk tugged at the corner of her mouth. “You just can’t stay away, can you?”

Yunho froze for half a breath.

Even now, surrounded by danger she didn’t know was coming, sharp as a blade and twice as fast, she still managed to tease him. Still had the nerve to look at him like she knew something he didn’t.

He stepped closer, voice low. “You should’ve stayed inside.” Then he removed his mask.

“And missed your brooding silhouette skulking in the halls?” she replied, taking in his features like she were trying to remember the brush strokes of a painting. “Never.”

“You should run.”

She arched a brow. “Why would I do that?”

He reached for her.

She moved fast, twisting, her hand going for a dagger, gods, she had one hidden in the side of her gown, but he caught her wrist first, the other arm slipping around her waist and pulling her against him.

“What….”

He clamped his palm over her mouth.

“Don’t scream,” he whispered at her ear. “You’ll only make it worse.”

She thrashed.

She was fast. Stronger than he expected. It had to be the elven blood running through her veins.

But Yunho was stronger.

San appeared at the end of the corridor in a flash of black velvet and motion. “Now?” he mouthed.

Yunho gave a sharp nod, already pulling her into the dark hallway leading to the service stairs.

They moved fast, her heels dragging across the stone before she kicked them off with a growl. She nearly elbowed him in the gut, gods, she was fierce, but he didn’t let go. San got the door, and they half dragged, half carried her down the narrow steps into the undercroft where the exit tunnel waited.

“I’m going to scream,” she hissed.

“Try,” Yunho said calmly. “See what happens.”

She did. Of course she did.

Yunho sighed and tapped his ring to the spelled rope at his belt. It unfurled like a snake, shimmering faintly in the dim light. Before she could bolt, San grabbed her wrists. She cursed in Elvish, very colorfully, and then the rope slid around her arms and pulled tight.

The moment it locked, she froze.

She felt it. The hum of power. Yeosang’s enchantment was subtle, but effective, it adjusted to her strength, tightening when she strained, loosening only enough to keep her circulation alive. If she tried to scream, it would muffle her vocal cords. And if she ran….

Well. The rope would stop her.

Yunho hated it.

Not because it didn’t work. Because it did. Too well.

Her wide eyes met his now, furious and disbelieving. Her chest rose and fell rapidly with each breath, and the wild defiance in her expression sparked something in him he wasn’t ready for.

She looked like something that couldn’t be tamed.

Like something that shouldn’t.

“We’ll remove it when it’s safe,” he said, not unkindly.

“Safe?” she spat. Long gone already was her teasing behavior from before. “Do I look like I care about your idea of safe?”

San raised a brow. “Feisty. You sure she’s the right one?”

“Yeah,” Yunho said.

The words left his mouth without thought.

But as soon as he said them, a flicker of unease twisted in his gut.

He didn’t mean right as in target.

He meant something else.

And he didn’t know why.

They moved through the escape tunnel quickly, San leading the way, lantern held low to avoid attracting attention. Behind them, the masquerade continued as if nothing had happened. Music. Laughter. Lies.

And Yunho… he didn’t look back.

He couldn’t.

Because when she turned her face away and refused to meet his gaze again, something about that felt far too much like regret.

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The tunnel stretched on for what felt like miles, the air growing thick with the musty scent of damp stone. It was eerily quiet, save for the sounds of their footsteps and the occasional flicker of San’s lantern casting long, distorted shadows along the walls.

Yunho kept his grip on her wrist, the rope pulling tightly against her, though she didn’t fight him. Not yet, anyway. She walked with an angry, determined pace, but there was a certain tension in y/n that made him want to look over his shoulder. She hadn’t said another word, but her silence was far from peaceful.

He kept his eyes ahead, keeping his own pace even, mind racing.

Don’t think about it. Don’t think about her.

A few more steps. A sudden stop.

The tunnel ahead widened into a small clearing, the stars had begun to scatter across the velvet sky, the moon a silver sliver hanging low on the horizon.

The forest greeted them with open arms, tall trees arching overhead, their leaves whispering secrets on the wind. The damp chill of the underground gave way to crisp night air, and Yunho’s lungs filled with the scent of pine and distant rain.

They moved quickly through the woods, following a narrow trail that only those like San or Yeosang would’ve known existed. Hidden paths. Smuggler routes. Roads the crown had forgotten, or wanted to forget.

Yunho glanced behind him. Y/N trudged along between him and San, silent and glaring. Her hands were still bound, but she carried herself with a defiant sort of pride, chin up, eyes burning.

She was trouble.

He felt it in his bones.

They reached a sheltered grove near a stream. It was defensible, remote, and thick with canopy, just what they needed. San dropped the packs while Yunho untied one of the enchanted bags, pulling out the tent sheets and warding stones.

“We’ll stay here for the night,” Yunho said, mostly for her benefit. “Don’t try to run. The wards and that rope will stop you.”

“I’m not stupid,” she muttered under her breath.

He gave her a look but didn’t argue. The fire crackled to life minutes later, thanks to San’s skilled hand and a flick of flint magic. It bathed the clearing in gold and orange, casting sharp shadows over Yunho’s face as he crouched near the flames, warming his hands.

Y/N sat opposite him, roped loosely now but still within their circle. She didn’t look tired, but he could see it in the way her shoulders drooped, the way her eyes blinked a little longer each time she closed them.

San joined him beside the fire, unrolling an old map, corners worn and edges curling.

“We’ve got two main routes,” he said, keeping his voice low. “Through the Wraith Marshes, fast, but we’d need to cross the hunter lines. Dangerous.” He tapped a long path etched in faint silver ink. “Or north through the Verdant Hills. Slower, but mostly abandoned.”

Yunho frowned. “The marshes aren’t an option. If they catch wind of her…”

“I know.” San sighed, rubbing his jaw. “I just figured I’d lay it out. Either way, we’ll have to pass through the Wildbreak border.”

Yunho nodded, eyes flicking briefly toward Y/N. She hadn’t moved. But he could tell she was listening.

He looked back down, pressing a finger to a winding road through the hills. “This one. We keep a low profile. No spells unless absolutely necessary.”

San nodded slowly, then tilted his head back to look at the night sky. The moon was climbing now, a pale gleam through the trees.

“It’s going to be full in two nights,” San said, voice quieter now. “You ready for that?”

Yunho stiffened.

He didn’t answer right away.

“I’ll manage.”

San gave him a look. Not one of judgment, just concern. They’d been through enough together for San to know what a full moon did to him. What it did to all werewolves, really. The difference was, Yunho was strong. Controlled. Until he wasn’t.

“It’s not like the rest of us,” San said gently. “You don’t shift and stay sane. You lose time. You forget. You hunt.”

“I said I’ll manage.” The words came out sharper than Yunho meant, a little too loud. Y/N head turned slightly toward them, her brow furrowing. Yunho felt his jaw clench.

He lowered his voice.

“We’ll make camp early that night. Set the perimeter. You handle the rope.”

San’s eyes lingered on him, reluctant but understanding.

“Fine. But if it starts before you’re ready…”

“I’ll be ready.”

Yunho didn’t add that he hated the full moon. Hated the way the bloodlust clouded his mind, the way he woke up naked and covered in dirt…or worse..with pieces missing from his memory. He hated the way he’d once bitten through metal just to break free.

But that was the part of him he’d buried deep. The part the guild trusted but never dared to provoke.

He turned his head, catching Y/N watching him from across the fire.

She didn’t look scared. Just… curious. Intrigued, even. Her elven hearing catching their whispered conversation in snippets.

And her intrigue and non fear, for some reason, that unsettled Yunho more.

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Morning came with the first notes of birdsong, cool mist curling low across the forest floor like a lazy serpent. The fire had burned itself down to embers, but the scent of ash and smoke still lingered in the air, mixing with damp earth and pine.

Yunho stirred first, already awake by the time the sun broke through the leaves. He’d barely slept, too many thoughts, too many risks ahead. His senses were on high alert, even with the wards still in place. He could feel the energy shifting. Something coming.

San emerged from his tent looking far too awake for someone who’d only had a few hours of sleep.

“Packed us up,” he said casually, rolling his shoulders. “We’ll move soon.”

Yunho gave a short nod, already tugging off the last of the formal jacket he’d worn to the masquerade. The dark fabric was wrinkled, stained at the hem from the tunnels. It felt wrong now, like a costume that had served its purpose.

San was already half dressed in his usual gear, fitted leather pants, a lightweight black shirt, utility straps across his chest. Practical. Silent. Ready to vanish into the trees.

Yunho pulled on his own gear, black beanie, charcoal tunic, reinforced with plates at the shoulders, dark trousers, boots laced up to the knee. He adjusted the daggers strapped to his sides and threw his coat over his shoulders, pulling the hood up, the familiar weight grounding him.

Behind them, Y/N shifted, watching the transformation with an arched brow. “Well,” she said, brushing some dirt off the torn hem of her masquerade gown. “I take it I’m supposed to wear this for the rest of my kidnapping?”

She gestured to the once elegant dress, now wrinkled, dusty, and snagged in three different places. The lace sleeves drooped slightly, and her braid had come mostly undone, strands curling around her face.

Yunho looked her over, then shrugged. “We’ll find you something else to wear along the way.”

“How generous,” she muttered.

San snorted.

Yunho rolled his eyes but didn’t argue. He did mean it. She’d never make it in that dress, not through forest, swamp, and whatever else waited ahead. The hills alone would shred it to ribbons.

“Try not to rip it before then,” San teased. “It really brings out the hostage energy.”

Y/N gave him a slow, unamused blink. “You must be the charming one.”

“I have my moments.”

Yunho finished adjusting the straps on his pack and stepped past her, the morning sun breaking clean through the trees now. It glinted against the silver of the spelled rope still wrapped around her wrists.

“We’ll be hitting nymph territory by nightfall,” San said as they started walking. “Not exactly avoidable if we’re taking the hills.”

Yunho glanced sideways. “You’re sure?”

“Yeah. Yeosang marked it on the map. They’ve spread since last season.”

“Great,” Yunho muttered.

Nymphs were… tricky. Beautiful. Unpredictable. Feral, even. Their magic was primal, seductive. Dangerous.

“Last time we passed through,” San went on, grinning, “one of them touched me.”

Yunho raised a brow. “Touched you?”

“Oh, just my shoulder,” San said, waving a hand. “But it was enough. Had me sexually ravenous for days. Couldn’t look at a fruit stand without thinking filthy thoughts.”

Yunho groaned and shook his head. “You’re a menace.”

“They’re the menace,” San shot back. “I’m just the victim of circumstance.”

A scoff came from behind them. Y/N adjusted the folds of her dress, expression dry. “You boys going to keep flirting, or are you finally going to tell me where you’re taking me?”

Yunho turned slowly, eyes meeting hers. She was pushing again, pressing for cracks. She wanted control, information, something to give her leverage.

“You’ll know when we get there,” he said flatly.

“Of course,” she replied, lifting her chin, eyes gleaming with defiance. “How very vague and morally ambiguous.”

“Would you rather we knocked you out?” San offered helpfully, jokingly.

Y/N gave him a look like she’d happily knock him out instead.

Yunho tightened the straps of his pack, drawing in a long breath. He could feel the weight of the journey settling on them already, miles ahead of them, the road uncertain.

Nymph territory. The Wildbreak border. The full moon.

And the princess with the sharp tongue trailing behind him, unknowingly dragging fate closer with every step.

They began to walk.

═════════ ═════════ ═════════

permanent tag list: @straycat420 @autieofthevalley @dejatiny @hannahlilibet411 @xh01bri @jintastic-yuyu @maddycline @ultrapinkvoidbouquet @wooyoungsbrat @lucid-galaxys-world @ecriggs1990 @straytiny127

tag list: @ateezbbys @juicyjaxxy @waywardstaytiny @inkling-things @hartsablaze @metalheadatiny

#putting all my love for elder scrolls and lotr into this!!!!!#yunho #jeong yunho #yunho x y/n #yunho x reader #yunho fanfic #ateez #ateez fic #ateez fanfic #san #choi san #hongjoong #kim hongjoong

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seraphinitegames · 1 year ago

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The Wayhaven Chronicles—Update 31/May/2024

A busy one this week! But it always feels good when it’s been busy but you can check so many things off your list. Especially seeing as it was a bank holiday I forgot about last Monday, so a shorter week! :D

After some amazingly encouraging comments on Patreon, I did decide to go back and put in the Unit Bravo POV for Chapter Two. Not only that, but I decided to make it individual love interest POVs, because I can’t help myself, hehe! But it was actually kind of perfect, because it gives a nice small glimpse into what the vampires get up to when the MC isn’t around and they aren’t working…well, unless it’s A, and then they’re pretty much always working anyway, lol!

After that, I started on the end scenes for Chapter Two, and let me tell you…they are some doozy scenes! Bringing out some angsty punch right from the start, hehe! But also finished with some rather lovely soft romantic moments which help to soothe that intensity… ;D

They were scenes I have been waiting agggges to write. It certainly sets up how things that are happening might come between the building romances!

I was a bit worried that adding in the extra POV scenes would push me back, but I really went for it this week, and I’m going to be finishing Chapter Two today as planned!!!

So next week that means I can start on the editing and rewriting. Next week will also be social media days, which I will be heading elsewhere to do because internet here is still intermittent at best, and I really want the asks to be more consistent again!

Got some really fun stuff coming up on Patreon this month too, including the initial sketch idea for Mason/Morgan’s masquerade ball mask! Looking forward to working on all of that :D

Hope you all have the most amazing weekend and enjoy the demo—as well as get excited for what's to come after checking it out, hehe! We’ll be offline as usual, so I’ll update you all again next week! <3

#the wayhaven chronicles #interactive fiction #unit bravo #twc detective #romance #vampires #update #twc book 4 #the wayhaven chronicles book 4 #choice of games #hosted games #choicescript #creative writing

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zaynessbeloved · 2 months ago

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A Duke's Silence

Co-author: @astarry-moon

Synopsis: They called him cold. Distant. Impossibly composed. The kind of man you should never try to love because he would never love you back.

You believed that, too. Until you didn’t.

You weren’t the type to be tamed. You were too bold, too curious, too free-spirited for the quiet fate society carved for you. But when your path crossed with the enigmatic Duke of Ashbourne, everything began to unravel—your expectations, your composure, and eventually, your heart.

He was a man no one understood—not even you, not at first. But behind the silence was something raw and aching, something that burned just for you. And once you saw it, once you touched it, there was no turning back.

Together, you didn’t just defy society and its expectations—you rewrote them. One stolen glance at a time.

Content warnings: Regency Era AU, Slow Burn, Emotional Repression, Misunderstood Male Lead, Strong-Willed MC, Tender Domestic Moments, Protective Family Bonds, Healing from Generational Judgment, Mutual Pining, Late Realizations of Love, Deep Yearning, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Courting to Marriage Progression, First Time in a Semi-Public Setting, Love Confessions, Fingering (implied), Oral (female receiving), Wedding Night, Honeymoon Seclusion, Established Relationship Intimacy, Tender & Rough Sex, Spicy Domesticity, Semi-Public Intimacy, Marking, Praise Kink, Possessive Touches, Desperate Kissing, Soft Dom Energy, Manhandling, Obsessive Affection, Gentle Restraint, Insatiable Zayne Energy, Bath Sex, Mirror Sex, Against a Piano Sex, Aftercare, Soft Epilogue, Pregnancy Reveal, Happy Ending.

Pairings: Zayne x reader

Word count: 7.2k words

Chapter 5

Autumn arrived dressed in auburn and gold, sweeping away the heat of scandal with crisp air and falling leaves, but it did little to silence the whispers. The masquerade had come and gone, but the aftermath lingered like perfume on silk. No one dared say the name George Berkeley too loudly, but they all said it often.

The black eye and bloody eyebrow had done more than confirm the rumors—it immortalized them. One look at his face when he returned inside that night, dazed and bleeding, had been enough. He and his brother fled shortly after, vanishing from London like smoke from a snuffed candle. Good riddance.

You didn’t dwell on it. No, you refused to. Which meant you didn’t sit with it. Instead, you ran from it. You overwhelmed your own mind with an unrelenting pace, accepting every invitation thrown your way. Balls, gallery viewings, luncheons, promenades. You were the it Lady of Autumn, the one everyone wanted to see and yet no one dared approach. You smiled at everyone, a little too much, a little too sharply, as if you were always on the verge of laughter, or madness. Even your laughter had changed. Lighter. Harsher.

You read—devoured—books, returning to the library so often that even the elderly librarian had begun to eye you with motherly concern. “My dear, are you quite alright?” she had asked one afternoon, peering over the rim of her spectacles. “This is the third novel in two days.”

You only smiled. “The endings keep disappointing me.”

And truth be told, they did. Especially when every book you touched lately bore the initials Z.E. in the reading log. Always borrowed before you. Always returned neatly. Always just ahead of you. A ghost with the same taste. You still didn’t know who it was and that bothered you more than you let on. Still, you never spoke of it.

Jace noticed the difference first—he always did. Seraphina said nothing, but her gaze lingered too long whenever you smiled too brightly. Isabella poked fun, but her jests were sharp enough to carry worry beneath the surface. They knew. And the Ton whispered.

The woman who broke Lord Berkeley’s face? She was laughing over tea now. Dancing at every event. Smiling as though her heart hadn’t been torn and trampled and scraped raw. They said you were terrifying. And maybe they were right.

The three of them had become something like a silent guard. At first, they gave you space. Waited. Each of them assuming—hoping—you would come to them. That you’d sit down one quiet evening with a cup of tea and say, “Actually, I am not alright.”

But as the days stretched on, their patience started to fester into worry. A different kind of worry. The kind that tastes like smoke and knows a storm is coming. Jace was the worst at hiding it. Still furious about Lord Berkeley, he burned with protective rage so loud you could almost hear it in the way he walked. Every time he looked at you for too long, his jaw would tense, like he was holding back a thousand words he wasn’t allowed to say. And sometimes late at night, when Seraphina wasn’t looking, he would mutter, “I should’ve killed him.” Not loudly. Not seriously. But not quite joking either.

Isabella had simply refused to leave your side. She dragged you to events, leaned close during dances to whisper outrageous commentary in your ear, and stayed late into the night just to braid your hair or sneak rum into your tea. But really—really—she was waiting. Watching. Worried that one day she’d show up late and find you burning a manor to the ground with your bare hands. Because if anyone was capable of doing it, it was you.

Seraphina… Seraphina was quieter in her concern. Gentle, soft-spoken, infuriatingly graceful. She didn’t push. She didn’t pry. She simply said, one night while brushing your hair, “You’ll come back to yourself when you’re ready.”

And you hated that she was probably right. Because you hadn’t come back to yourself. Not really. You were still all coiled edges and glass smiles, laughter like shattered porcelain. You were not sleeping. You were not resting. You were running, and not one of them had managed to catch you yet.

————

The ballroom was awash in candlelight and gold. Autumn had claimed the evening in full—leaves stitched into gowns, warm cider passed on silver trays, bursts of orange and crimson tucked into the floral arrangements along the walls. The music fluttered. Laughter spilled.

And once again, he stood in the corner. The Duke of Ashbourne. Still. Silent. Watching. He hadn’t missed a single event. Not since the masquerade. Not since Lord Berkeley bled. He never danced. Rarely spoke. But you felt him. Always. His gaze was a weight pressed between your shoulder blades. His presence was a shadow stitched to your hem. He haunted every party like a man with unfinished business—and tonight, you’d had enough.

You moved across the ballroom, wine-dark skirt brushing marble, jaw set, chin lifted. You didn’t look at him until you were beside him. You stood with perfect posture. Poised and bright.And then you smirked, eyes ahead.

“It seems I cannot escape the intensity of your gaze, Your Grace. Even if I try.”

He turned only slightly, acknowledging you with a barely-there bow of his head. His hands were clasped behind his back, boots polished to an unforgiving shine. “Miss Everthorne.”

The silence curled again, thick and waiting. You let it sit for a beat. Then you tilted your head, voice light. “Do you find me so dreadful that you would rather stand here than be in my presence?”

A little laugh escaped you, practiced and casual. His answer came without hesitation, voice as calm and deadpan as ever. “No. I keep my distance because I must. Not because I wish to.”

Your smile faltered. Just slightly. Just for a breath. The words slipped through your carefully held composure like a blade under silk. He said it without flair, without softness, without flirtation. He simply meant it.

You looked away first. But only for a second. You drew in a slow breath, eyes focused on the dancers swirling across the floor.

“Well,” you said after a beat, voice recovering its brightness, “perhaps one day the universe will permit you a step closer.”

He didn’t respond, not immediately. His eyes stayed forward, fixed on the distant motion of dancers wrapped in silk and pretense. But then he spoke, low and quiet.

“Perhaps,” he said softly. “But I fear the universe is cruel, Miss Everthorne. And I have never known it to favor my desires.”

It wasn’t a declaration. It wasn’t even pity. It was just… the truth. You swallowed. You shouldn’t have asked. You shouldn’t have come. You shouldn’t have looked at him. But you did.

Your eyes lifted, slow and unwilling, studying the lines of his profile. The collar of his coat, perfectly pressed. The slight crease between his brows. The way his jaw tightened whenever he was holding something back. And gods help you—you held your gaze there for a beat too long.

You looked away, biting down the breath that wanted to escape. You cursed yourself, silently, viciously. Because there was too much inside you. Too much you had refused to feel. The betrayal of Lord Berkeley still sang like acid in your veins. The exhaustion of pretending you were fine, of smiling at every gathering like you weren’t one frayed hem away from unraveling entirely.

And this man—this maddening, restrained, cold, complicated man—you remembered everything. The way he proposed to you in the rain, unaware that his words carved instead of soothed. How he looked at you when he spoke of your mother’s birth with such detached conviction. How he watched you at every gathering, silent but never absent. How he never denied what he felt. How he never asked for forgiveness, only the chance to still be near.

You closed your eyes. And saw him. Again and again. The chapel. The library. The Masquerade ball. The coldness of his glove when he pulled off your mask to speak the truth.

You opened your eyes again. He was still there. Still standing beside you. Still silent. And for the first time in a long time, you didn’t know if you wanted to run away from him…or take that one step closer.

The music swirled around you, violins and murmurs and candlelight wrapped into one humming blur, and you took a long, steadying breath. You composed yourself. The way a performer does just before a curtain rises.

When you finally spoke, your voice was low, the softest version of yourself you had ever offered him. “I hope… one day… the universe will surprise us both, Your Grace.”

Your words hung there, suspended in the quiet between you. And then, with a nod—gentle, not cold—you stepped back. You didn’t wait for his reply. You didn’t look back.

Your footsteps carried you toward the refreshments table, heels silent on marble, satin skirt trailing like shadows behind you. The warmth of the ballroom met your skin again, a strange comfort after the frost of your own thoughts.

And then you saw them. Jace and Seraphina, standing near a tray of seasonal pastries that looked entirely too decorative to eat, yet both of them had powdered sugar clinging to their mouths like they didn’t care. Seraphina was laughing, head tilted and radiant, while Jace tried—and failed—to argue that he had not stolen two of the pumpkin tarts.

You stopped a few feet away, just watching for a moment. And despite everything, despite the storm behind your ribs and the ache still humming in your jaw, you smiled. Just a little. Because here, with them, the world still made sense. And for a moment, it was enough to remember that you were still here. Still fighting. Still holding on. Even if barely.

————

The countryside rolled past the carriage windows in muted greens and browns, autumn beginning to tip the trees toward fire. You had one arm propped against the side, your glove half-off, the other hand balancing a book in your lap you hadn’t turned a page of in over twenty minutes.

Across from you, Isabella looked suspiciously relaxed. Too relaxed.

“I still cannot believe,” she was saying, “that you agreed to come. You, willingly chaperoning me. Imagine the scandal.”

You lifted a brow. “Imagine the dishonor of your chaperone being unmarried, younger than you by five months, and one ill-timed headache away from murdering someone in a silk cravat.”

“Exactly,” Isabella grinned. “It’s perfect.”

You sighed. “And is Lord Greystone's estate far?”

“Brighton. Seaside. Delightful this time of year,” she said with a careless wave of her hand. “There’s this charming garden and a library I think you’ll weep over. You’ll be left alone the entire time. You can read. Mope. Drink tea in peace. It’ll be just the three of us—well, two, since I’ll be busy being courted shamelessly.”

Your eyes narrowed. “The three of us.”

“Yes,” she said breezily, adjusting the cuffs of her sleeve. “Me, you, and my desire to see the ocean.”

You tilted your head. She blinked. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

“No reason.”

“I promise you,” she said again for the fifth time in an hour, adjusting her gloves with exaggerated focus, “he won’t be there.”

You didn’t answer.

“I mean it,” she added. “Lord Greystone assured me. Swore to me.”

You tilted your head slightly. “And when has a man’s word ever been anything more than an elaborate fantasy, Miss Fitzroy?”

Isabella huffed. “You're insufferable.”

You smirked, turning back to the window. “You’re dragging me to Brighton to third wheel a slow-burn courtship and you expect gratitude?”

By the time the carriage pulled into the long winding driveway of Greystone Estate, you had seen enough trimmed hedges and marble statues to last a lifetime. The place was a palace. All symmetrical windows and towering columns, as if the Duke of Ashbourne’s own home had sprouted a seaside twin.

The butler opened the door with practiced elegance and an unreadable expression. You stepped out, the sea wind immediately tugging at your skirt, salt and cold biting gently at your face.

The butler cleared his throat. “Announcing Miss Fitzroy… and Miss Everthorne.”

The drawing room at Greystone Estate was lavish and still, every corner perfectly symmetrical, the sea breeze whispering faintly through the open windows like it, too, sensed the tension. You walked in and saw them. The Duke of Ashbourne and Lord Greystone, both seated in the drawing room, deep in quiet conversation over something serious-looking and decidedly not about tea.

Both men had risen the moment your names were announced, which would have been polite—expected, even—if not for the way Lord Greystone’s eyes immediately darted to Isabella, then to you, then back to Isabella with a face that could be nothing else but embarrassment.

Isabella's smile was a twitch too wide. “Your Grace, what a surprise,” she said, with a tone so falsely bright it might’ve curdled milk.

Lord Greystone bowed slightly, ever the gentleman. “Miss Fitzroy. Miss Everthorne. Welcome.”

The Duke simply bowed his head toward you with that same unreadable calm. “Miss Everthorne.”

You offered the faintest curtsy. “Your Grace.”

And then, as if this weren’t enough theater, the butler appeared again with a silver tray bearing tea, and the four of you sat. Tea. As if anyone here had the nerves to digest.

Lord Greystone and Isabella, gods bless them, carried most of the conversation. Or rather, tried to—his voice dipping toward reverent affection, hers climbing higher in the way it always did when she was trying to seem perfectly unfazed.

“Brighton’s view is unmatched this time of year,” he said gently, pouring her tea.

“Indeed,” she replied. “And the salt air is rather good for the lungs. Isn’t it, Miss Everthorne?”

You lifted your teacup with a delicate grace that was so practiced it made your fingers ache.

“Oh, I imagine it is good for all manner of ailments,” you said, your tone light and vaguely damning. “Headaches. Exhaustion. Emotional whiplash.”

Isabella made a quiet choke sound that she quickly disguised as a laugh. The Duke said nothing. His gaze flicked toward you once—once—but lingered too long. Long enough for your skin to burn where his eyes brushed across it.

You didn’t look at him. And you certainly didn’t acknowledge the quiet, thrumming awareness that he was seated this close. Close enough to catch the edge of your perfume. Close enough to be felt even when he didn’t speak.

————

The banquet at Greystone Estate was as decadent as expected—long, white-draped tables, flickering candles in crystal sconces, and every dish polished within an inch of its noble life. You had spent most of the evening being polite, quiet, and watchful.

Isabella had carried the conversation, Lord Greystone had laughed like a man in love, and The Duke had said very little—though you felt him the entire time. His presence was like the weight of a gaze between your shoulder blades, like a thought you couldn’t chase away.

After dinner, you were all ushered into the sitting room, larger than most people’s entire homes, where the fire danced lazily in the marble hearth and a grand pianoforte waited quietly in the corner. You should’ve known.

“Play something,” Isabella said suddenly, her voice all airy command, nudging you with her elbow as the rest of the room began to settle into chairs and couches with brandy and tea.

You blinked. “I—pardon?”

“Oh, come on,” she grinned. “Don’t act shy now.”

Your body tensed. You smiled, but it didn’t reach your eyes. “Truly,” you said, laughing it off, “it’s been so long—”

“Nonsense,” she waved her hand. “You still have that muscle memory. Besides, you love the attention.”

And maybe once, that would’ve been true. But not now. Not with him here. Not when your fingers felt numb and your chest felt tight and your lungs forgot how to breathe. For a beat too long, you just stood there—frozen in place, pulse stammering, heat rising in your chest in a panic you couldn’t name. You stared at the keys like they might bite.

And then, without a word, he moved. The Duke stood from his seat in one smooth motion, as though he hadn’t just spent the past hour pretending he wasn’t watching your every move. Without a glance at anyone else, he crossed the room and took your place at the bench.

“I believe Miss Everthorne prefers a break this evening,” he said calmly, voice low as ever. “Allow me.”

You stepped back, too stunned to stop him, too relieved to protest. He sat with ease, adjusted his cuffs, and placed his hands on the keys. Then he played. And you stood, tucked into the shadow of the mantle, watching him.

He didn’t play something grand. Nothing showy or meant to dazzle. Just a quiet, elegant melody, melancholy at the edges, delicate and controlled like everything else about him. It wasn’t just skill—it was years. Decades. You found yourself wondering—how long has he been playing like this? And why did it feel like he hadn’t shared this side of himself with anyone in years?

When he finished, all three of you gave polite applause. The flicker of firelight danced along the polished piano lid. You tilted your head, managing a smirk. “Did you not think I could do it, Your Grace?”

He turned slightly toward you, his expression unreadable—but his voice, when it came, was soft and certain. “I know better than to underestimate you, Miss Everthorne.”

And for the first time that evening…you smiled. A real one. You didn’t leave, not immediately. Instead, once the conversation drifted back to Isabella and Lord Greystone near the hearth, you moved—carefully, like the moment might shatter if you breathed too loud—and settled onto the piano bench beside him.

Not close enough to touch. Not close enough to be improper. But close enough to feel the weight of his presence like a pull beneath your skin. Your fingers grazed the keys lightly, pressing down three notes in a scattered, idle rhythm. Nothing melodic. Just noise to fill the silence. Or perhaps to mask what you weren’t ready to say.

“You play beautifully,” you murmured, eyes fixed ahead. “I almost believed you had feelings.” you tease, just a little bit.

His head tilted slightly, but he didn’t look at you just yet. You smiled faintly. “It must be exhausting, pretending to be made of stone all the time.”

“I do not pretend,” he replied softly.

You hummed a dry note on the piano, amused. “Of course, Your Grace. You simply play soul-wrenching pieces at twilight, in coastal estates, like a man with no feelings at all.”

Now he looked at you. And then his eyes dropped briefly to your hands. To the way your fingers still danced across the ivory absentmindedly, brushing over the polished keys like you were speaking in a language only he could translate.

“I do not play for others,” he said after a beat. “Not often.”

You turned your head, just enough to meet his gaze. “Even so,” you said, softer now, “you did tonight.”

The silence stretched, thick yet comfortable in a way that made you feel uncomfortable. But then—thank the stars—Isabella’s laugh rang across the room. You turned to see her holding a glass, her other hand tugging at Lord Greystone’s lapel, whispering something scandalous into his ear as he turned the color of wine.

“I do not believe she needs a chaperone,” you said dryly, leaning back ever so slightly.

He didn’t respond with words. But the corner of his mouth lifted—just barely. And you didn’t say anything else.

After some time, the manor had quieted. Only the soft creak of old floorboards and the distant hum of the sea remained—both steady, both ancient.

You slipped into your room without a word. The fire had been reduced to a glow, casting shadows across the polished furniture. You stood there a moment longer than you needed to, fingers curled gently around the doorframe, as if anchoring yourself in something that still made sense. But everything inside you felt unsettled. Not broken. Not quite. Just… aching.

You undressed in silence. Slipped into your nightgown with movements too slow, too deliberate. It wasn’t that you were tired—it was that your thoughts refused to settle. You sat on the edge of the bed, your back straight, your eyes fixed on the window. The moon was silver tonight, full and unblinking. The kind of moon that saw everything.

You should have been thinking of books. Of tea. Of the day’s journey. Of the ridiculous things Isabella whispered about Lord Greystone when she thought no one could hear. But instead, you thought of a hand on ivory keys. Of music that said more than the man ever dared. Of how he looked at you when you joked—not amused. Not offended. Just… watching.

And you hated the way it stayed with you. The weight of his silence. The memory of his voice. The simple, devastating line, “I know better than to underestimate you.” He didn’t say it for praise. He said it because it was true. And truth, from him, always cuts a little deeper.

You lay down slowly, gathering the sheets over your waist, your fingers finding the pillow like they didn’t know where to rest. Your eyes stayed open far too long. You didn’t cry. You didn’t sigh. But you did think of him. And for a woman who spent every waking hour avoiding herself…that was perhaps the most dangerous thing of all.

————

Sunlight streamed through the tall windows like it had no shame. You groaned and dragged a pillow over your face, regretting every deep thought from the night before. But before you could burrow too deep into your denial cocoon, the door creaked open with the unmistakable flutter of skirt and mischief.

“Up,” Isabella said cheerfully, already halfway into the room. “The sea is waiting. And so is Lord Greystone, who sent me to ‘gather you both like sunlight on a cliffside’—his words, not mine.”

You groaned into the pillow. “Disgusting.”

“I told him to drink less poetry and more tea.”

You peeked out from under the pillow. “You’re disturbingly chipper this morning.”

“And you are suspiciously not.” She plopped down at the edge of the bed and gave you a narrow-eyed smile. “Anything to do with the fact that you’re being haunted through a seaside estate by a man who plays the pianoforte like a confession?”

You gave her a look. “You swore he would not be here.”

“I didn’t know!” she laughed, holding up her hands. “Do you think I would willingly put you and His Grace of Brooding and Silence under the same roof again without warning?”

You narrowed your eyes. “You are lying.”

“I don’t lie.” She smirked. “I miscalculate.”

You threw the pillow at her. She ducked, grinning. After a bit more complaining on your part and some soft, knowing laughter on hers, she helped you pull out a few choices for beach attire.

“I’m going with something breezy and unassuming,” Isabella said, already half-dressed in a pale gown with soft embroidery at the cuffs.

You, of course, reached for the deep navy muslin, the one with the subtly scandalous cut along the collarbone and the cinch below your chest that refused to not make a statement.

“Unassuming,” you echoed flatly. “How novel.”

Isabella glanced at your choice, then arched a brow. “Planning to duel someone on the rocks, or simply hoping His Grace falls into the sea?”

You didn’t miss a beat. “Why not both?”

She laughed. But when she added, “He looked at you the entire time last night, you know,” you didn’t smile. You didn’t scowl. You just shrugged. Which was new.

You hadn’t deflected before, not like that. You’d always rolled your eyes, offered some barbed joke, and changed the subject with noise. But now? Now you just evaded it. Subtle, but not subtle enough.

Isabella, perceptive as ever, didn’t push. She only offered you a sly glance, then said, “You know, the wind by the sea does terribly improper things to necklines.”

You grinned. “Good.” And with that, the two of you swept from the room in a rustle of skirts and salt-bound secrets.

The scent of warm bread, citrus marmalade, and sea air drifted through the high-ceilinged dining room, the morning sunlight spilling gold over polished cutlery and crisp linen. Everything about the Greystone estate was tastefully elegant, even breakfast.

You entered beside Isabella, your skirts brushing softly against each other’s on the tiled floor, and immediately caught the faintest shift in the room. The Duke and Lord Greystone were already seated, posture immaculate, voices low in quiet conversation. But the moment you stepped in, he looked up. Not obviously. Not impolitely. But long enough for you to feel it.

His eyes traced you with a precision that was both clinical and devastating. From your neckline—just slightly lower than propriety preferred—to the way the morning light kissed your cheekbones, then down to the rings of your fingers where they flexed subtly as you smoothed your skirt.

No one else noticed. But you did. And for a single breath, you smiled. Internally, of course. Outwardly, your expression remained the same refined grace you always wore like armor.

“Miss Everthorne,” the Duke said with a polite dip of his head.

“Your Grace,” you replied smoothly, and sat directly across from him at the table.

Isabella and Lord Greystone slid into the seats beside one another, their conversation picking back up like no time had passed, as if they lived in their own little bubble of conspiratorial laughter and soft smiles. You were happy for her. You were also desperately trying to ignore the way the Duke’s gaze lingered on your mouth as you lifted your teacup.

“So,” you said, your voice light and dry, “what does one usually discuss over seaside breakfast? Weather? Trade? The importance of linen imports from Calais?”

The Duke didn’t miss a beat. “Or perhaps the ethics of necklines at breakfast tables.”

You raised a brow. “I was unaware fashion had entered the realm of philosophy.”

“In my experience,” he said calmly, taking a sip of his tea without breaking eye contact, “most topics eventually do.”

You tilted your head, considering him. “And here I thought you preferred silence.”

“I speak when something warrants a response.”

“Well, I do hope this morning proves worthy enough for conversation, Your Grace. I’d hate for you to be bored.”

For a flicker of a second, the corner of his mouth curved, but only barely. You didn’t know what annoyed you more. That he seemed amused, or that you wanted to keep him that way.

Breakfast continued, the four of you tucked into warm scones and poached eggs, but only two seemed wholly at ease. Isabella and Lord Greystone were in their own world, leaning close, sharing the same cup of jam like some kind of lovers’ code. She nudged him with her knee beneath the table. He flushed like a boy.

You said nothing. But your eyes drifted once more across the table to the Duke. He was already looking at you. You only half expected it. You’d just finished cutting a small bite of toast, hands delicate, movements languid, and when you glanced up, there he was.

You lifted your gaze fully, met his hazel eyes with calm precision, and didn’t look away. He didn’t either. The air between you was still polite. Still proper. But something soft had begun to fracture the chill. A shift. A thread tugged loose.

You tilted your head slightly, your voice smooth as buttered velvet. “Is it my poor breakfast etiquette that offends you this time, Your Grace?”

He blinked once, slowly. “Not in the least.”

“Then I must assume you find something… worthy of observation.”

You didn’t say it as a flirtation. Not quite. It was the same tone you used when teasing lesser men into silence at balls. Except this wasn’t a lesser man.

He held your gaze, his expression composed, but something flickered behind it. Something that felt less like judgment and more like… curiosity. As though he was still figuring you out and wasn’t sure he wanted to succeed.

And you shouldn’t have smiled. But you did. Just a breath of it, barely there. Because it was the first time you had seen him look at you not like a mystery, not like a storm…but like a woman. A complicated one.

You turned your attention back to your teacup, acting as though your remark had meant nothing more than idle breakfast chatter. But you felt it. The shift. The crack. And you hated that it made your heart beat louder in your throat.

————

The shoreline was alive with motion—waves crashing against the rocks like applause, gulls wheeling overhead, and people actually wading into the freezing sea, shrieking with laughter. You narrowed your eyes at one cluster of bold young men splashing waist-deep through the icy water.

“They’re mad,” you muttered under your breath, hugging your shawl closer around your arms. “It’s autumn.”

The wind tugged your skirt around your ankles, crisp and insistent, sharp with salt. The rocks beneath your feet were slick and uneven, flecked with tide-smoothed pebbles and bits of seaweed.

Isabella and Lord Greystone had long since outpaced you and the Duke, lost in their own world of soft laughter and not-so-subtle touches. Every now and then Isabella looked back at you with a grin, one you responded to with a flat stare that said, I know what you’re doing. She did not stop.

You and the Duke walked behind them, a respectable distance apart. But the silence wasn’t uncomfortable. It was… held. Measured. The sound of your footsteps brushing over stone, the occasional squall of seabirds, the distant roar of the tide, it filled the air between you like a slow, steady heartbeat.

You didn’t speak. And neither did he. But you were aware of him. Gods, so aware. Of the way the wind teased strands of your hair loose, and how his gaze occasionally flicked toward them, not with heat, but with something a little more quieter. Of how your boots faltered slightly on a slick bit of rock, and though he didn’t reach out to steady you, he noticed.

He always noticed.And still… no words. Because sometimes silence said more than speech ever could. Especially his silence. And in this silence, walking along the edge of the world beside him, you felt something shifting again. Not dramatically and not even devastatingly. It was just… undeniably.

Your eyes had drifted after a while. Not far, just enough that the voices ahead blurred into the wind and the crashing tide. Your gaze had slipped toward the horizon, that soft line where the grey-blue sea melted into the sky. You weren’t really thinking, which had become your favorite new way to think.

And then there was movement. Your eyes focused immediately. Further down the rocky stretch, the sea churned differently. Something—no, someone—flailing. Small. Too small. Your heart stopped.

“Oh my god,” you gasped, voice tearing from your throat. “There’s a child—he’s drowning!”

Everything snapped into motion at once. Before you could even lift your skirt to move, you saw him. The Duke was already moving—fast, silent, efficient. His jacket was discarded in a breath. Cravat yanked loose. He didn’t hesitate, didn’t bark orders, didn’t wait. He ran. Across the slick rocks, through the foam, straight into the sea like it was nothing more than fog and air.

Lord Greystone was shouting, scanning the crowd. “Where’s the mother—who let their child—Is anyone missing a bloody child?!”

A frantic voice screamed in the distance. A woman came stumbling forward, crying, incoherent. Lord Greystone turned to meet her, hands raised, doing his best to calm her. “He’s being helped—my cousin’s gone in, just breathe, madam—”

You and Isabella stood stock-still, your skirts soaked by the tide, wind whipping at your faces.

“Is he—?” Isabella whispered.

You didn’t answer. Your eyes never left the water. After a while the Duke rose. Dripping, powerful, impossibly composed, carrying a coughing, sputtering child in his arms like he weighed nothing at all. He trudged out of the surf, every step purposeful, like the sea itself couldn’t dare try to take him down.

Your eyes locked on him and promptly betrayed you. His shirt—white, soaked to transparency—clung to every inch of him like a second skin. Broad shoulders. Muscled arms. Strong chest. And the way the fabric cinched at his waistline? Unholy. Your mouth may have gone dry.

Next to you, Isabella elbowed your ribs with all the subtlety of a cannon blast. “You are staring.”

You tore your gaze away and hissed, “I am not.”

“You were practically drooling.”

“Hush.”

Isabella was wheezing, but composed herself quickly as the Duke approached. The child was crying into his shoulder now, coughing but alive. The mother ran forward, apologizing through sobs, and Lord Greystone gently peeled the boy from the Duke’s arms to hand him over.

It was over. The boy would be taken to a physician. The mother would cry for hours, probably. Someone would write a poem. And you…you were still trying to remember how to blink.

He turned around then. Wet black hair slicked back, water dripping from his sleeves. His shirt still plastered to his body in ways the Lord would not approve of. And he looked at you. Directly at you. There was just the faintest twitch of a smile. Almost a smirk. Your stomach flipped.

You were fine. On the surface, you were the picture of composure. Your posture perfect, your expression unreadable, your mouth tugged into a soft curve of polite interest. But inside? Inside, you were a goddamn inferno. Your throat was dry. Your pulse, loud. And the sudden, unfamiliar heat that had bloomed between your thighs was enough to make your knees feel unreliable.

You had read about this. In the pages of books hidden beneath your bed. In novels smuggled from the back shelves of the library. But feeling it? Living it? That was something else entirely.

You cursed him silently. And yourself. Because even as Isabella and Lord Greystone chatted beside you, dissecting the near-tragedy, worrying over the child, praising the Duke’s quick action, you could barely string two thoughts together. You stood silent, unusually so, barely hearing a word of what they said.

Your eyes kept betraying you. Drawn back to him. To the water still dripping from his collar, down his chest. The way his hair curled wet at the nape of his neck. The way his hand flexed once—just once—as he tucked his shirt tighter at the waist.

And then, as if summoned by your own disgraceful longing, he looked at you, with that same unreadable expression. That same quiet intensity.

“Pardon me,” he said to the group. His voice was steady, low, just enough. “It’s... quite cold. I ought to change. Before I catch a chill.”

He spoke to all of you, but his gaze never left you. You nodded just once. He inclined his head, and then turned and started walking back toward the estate. You didn’t watch him walk away. Not openly. But your eyes trailed after him anyway.

And you hated—hated—the ache that bloomed just beneath your ribs as his form disappeared around the edge of the bluff. Because suddenly, you weren’t quite sure who you were anymore. Not the girl who laughed at him. Not the girl who hated him. Not even the girl who said no. Just a woman...with fire in her blood, and his name silently unspoken on her tongue.

You kept walking, because you had to. Because Isabella and Lord Greystone were still enjoying their promenade along the sea, and you were still her dutiful chaperone. But your mind? Gone. Every step you took over the pebbled path echoed with the ghost of soaked linen clinging to muscle. Every gust of wind against your body reminded you how the breeze had raked over his, cutting cold across skin and taut lines and collarbones that had no business being visible to the human eye.

You had watched him before. Always composed, always layered in fine coats, pristine gloves, and formality like armor. You knew he was handsome, the whole Ton knew. It was common knowledge. A fact of the universe, like gravity or the inconvenience of corsets.

But you had never seen him like that. And now you could not unsee it. Because it wasn’t just the shape of him. It was the power in how he moved. The silence of his strength. The way his restraint, his discipline, had cracked just long enough to rush headfirst into a freezing sea. Not for attention. Not for glory. Just because someone needed saving. And somehow, without touching you, he had set your thoughts aflame.

You tried, truly tried, to stay in the conversation. Isabella’s voice beside you was soft, light, filled with laughter and teasing remarks. She was tucked into Lord Greystone’s side now, her joy as radiant as the sea foam.

She noticed your silence. She noticed the way your eyes kept drifting, like your mind had wandered into a storm and hadn’t found its way back. But she didn’t say anything. Not yet. And you were grateful for that.

By the time you returned to the estate, your steps were too fast, too determined, skirt snapping behind you like the tail of a comet. “I shall get ready for dinner,” you murmured.

“I’ll join you,” Isabella said, breezing in beside you without missing a beat.

The door had barely closed behind you when your eyes met Isabella’s. She was already grinning. Wide. Knowing. Borderline feral.

“Oh my God,” she whisper-screamed, her hands gripping the air like she was trying not to explode. “Oh my actual God, he ran into the sea like a Greek tragedy, and you stood there like—like the heroine in chapter nineteen!”

You raised your brows. “Please lower your voice or the footman might come ask if one of us has been murdered.”

“I should be murdered,” she hissed, pacing in a tiny circle with both hands pressed over her mouth. “Because I saw you. You looked like your soul left your body. Like you were seconds away from passing out or pouncing or both—”

“I was cold.”

“You were thirsty.”

“Isabella.” She clapped her hands once. Loud. You scowled. “Control yourself. The house is ancient. Every word you speak echoes into the next bloody county.”

Isabella grinned, pleased. “I shall go to my grave knowing what you look like when you finally realize you feel attracted to someone.”

You turned away toward the wardrobe before she could see the heat rising on your cheeks. But you felt it. That something. That hunger that had never truly belonged to you before now. That desire that came with too many teeth, too many consequences. You had never cared to be looked at, not really. Even so…you could still feel the way he had looked at you. With no heat.No arrogance. Just awareness. And it had undone you.

You pulled open the wardrobe. Your hand hovered. Without quite knowing why, you reached for something darker. A gown in wine-red velvet, daring at the neckline, dramatic at the sleeves, cut just low enough at the back to feel like a question without words.

Isabella looked at you in the mirror and just beamed. “You’re dressing for murder.”

You gave her a cool, perfect smile. “No. I’m dressing for dinner.”

“Please, you’re dressing for bloodshed. You’re actually trying to kill the Duke.” Isabella said with a barely-contained smirk as you finished pinning your hair.

“Don’t be dramatic.”

“You’re wearing war, and it’s velvet.”

You arched a brow. “I thought I was murdering him?”

“Well, you’re doing it slowly. One exposed shoulder at a time.”

You rolled your eyes, but there was laughter beneath it. A breath you hadn’t realized you were holding until she helped you laugh it out. And yet, as you followed her down the staircase toward the dining room, your hands itched at your sides. Not from nerves, from awareness.

Because you knew he would look. Just as he had this morning. Just as he always did. And as soon as you stepped into the dining room, you felt his gaze. The air was thick with spice and roasted meats and the clatter of porcelain as the maids glided in and out. But none of it touched you, not at first.

Because he was already seated. And the moment your heels clicked against the floor, his head turned—slowly, unhurried—and his eyes found you. They didn’t linger in one place. They didn’t roam. They studied. Neckline. Sleeves. The way the color bled against your skin like a bruise blooming just beneath the surface. You met his gaze directly and you smiled. Cool, composed and unbothered.

Then you sat across from him, and the four of you fell into the expected social rhythm. Conversation. Sips of wine. Lord Greystone and Isabella fell easily into their usual orbit, voices lowering in ways that suggested private jokes and not-so-private affections. Which left you and the Duke to your own once again.

“Tell me, Miss Everthorne,” he said, calm and unbothered as ever. “Did you find the walk this morning… enlightening?”

You tilted your head. “Enlightening?”

“Your silence was quite profound. I assumed it must have been a philosophical moment.”

“I was reflecting,” you said smoothly, slicing into a bit of roasted squash. “On how some people throw themselves into freezing water without thinking, while others merely scream.”

“Some would call that instinct.”

“And others would call it stupidity.”

“I’ll take stupidity over hesitation, in most things.”

“You don’t seem like the type to act on impulse.”

“I am not,” he said, meeting your gaze. “But there are exceptions.”

You paused, fork halfway to your mouth. The silence stretched between the two of you. You broke it lightly, dryly. “And here I thought your reading preferences leaned toward political treatises and naval warfare. Not… emotional recklessness.”

He reached for his wine. “I’m more familiar with Letters Written in Sweden than naval charts, actually.”

You blinked. That was your book. The one you had returned last week. The initials on the checkout card still fresh in your mind—Z.E. Your eyes narrowed slightly. He took a slow sip of wine, like he hadn’t just dropped a live match into your lap. And he didn’t look away.

You hadn’t planned to speak to him much over dinner. However, you did. What began as sarcasm gave way to unexpected interest. You had prodded him on literature, fully expecting a list of dry, moralistic drivel or economic critiques. Instead? He named A Vindication of the Rights of Woman without blinking. Camilla. Evelina. The Sorrows of Young Werther.

You didn’t react—not visibly. Not with words. But you took a mental note of every title. You remembered the way he spoke about them, not like a man trying to impress, but like a man who had felt them. Quietly. Alone. The conversation shifted, and the four of you resumed pleasantries until the night wound down, and one by one, you all drifted off to your rooms.

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