#princess of the silver woods

[wondereads]

An Extended List of Retellings

It was recently Tell a Fairy Tale Day (02/26), so here's an updated and expanded list of retellings for all fairy tale- and folklore-obsessed readers!

*Key at the end of the post*

The Hazel Wood by Melissa Albert (Fairy Tale-esque)

Alice's grandmother is known for her collection of stories that has spawned a cult-like following, spawning plenty of fanatics to follow Alice and her mother around. But this new group is strange, weirder than the rest, and when they take Alice's mother, she must literally dive into the world of her grandmother's stories to save her. (YA, low fantasy)

Damsel by Elana K. Arnold (Fairy Tale-esque)

Ama remembers nothing. All she knows is that she was saved by Prince Emory from a vicious dragon. It seems she will be taken care of for the rest of her life as a pampered princess, but as she learns more about her new home, the more darkness seems to well up around the edges. *read trigger warnings* (NA, high fantasy)

The Frog Princess by E. D. Baker (The Frog Prince)

Princess Emeralda is about to be caught in an unfortunate engagement, but she finds an escape in a talking frog. A frog who claims he is a prince, a perfect excuse to escape a betrothal. What she doesn't expect is being turned into a frog herself with no clue how to change both of them back. (MG, high fantasy)

The Wide-Awake Princess by E. D. Baker (Sleeping Beauty)

Princess Gwen was tragically cursed to fall into a magical sleep, so when her younger sister, Annie, is born, she is given only one christening gift—the ability to resist any magic. When the curse comes true and Gwen falls asleep, Annie sets out to find her sister's true love and wake the kingdom again. (MG, high fantasy)

Peter and the Starcatchers by Dave Barry and Ridley Pearson (Peter Pan)

From an orphanage in London, Peter and his mysterious friend, Molly, arrive at a faraway island. There, pirates and adventures abound, but nothing is as exciting as a precious new substance that can cure wounds, give flight, and keep people young forever. (MG, low fantasy)

The Looking Glass Wars by Frank Beddor (Alice in Wonderland)

When Wonderland, land of dreams and imagination, undergoes a bloody coup, Princess Alyss Heart is forced to flee to the real world, taking on the name Alice Liddel. Years later, she is needed to win Wonderland back, but is it time for Alyss' imagination to be saved? (YA, low fantasy)

The Sisters Grimm by Michael Buckley (multiple)

Sabrina and Daphne Grimm have bounced from foster home to foster home before their formerly-unknown grandmother takes them in. She seems like everything two children could want, but Sabrina doesn't trust her. Not only does she serve outlandish foods and have an outrageous amount of locks on her house, but she seems to believe their town is full of fairy tale characters, all with mysteries that need solving. (MG, magical realism)

The School for Good and Evil by Soman Chainani (multiple)

Agatha and Sophie are best friends, but they couldn't be more different. Agatha is ugly and unpleasant and Sophie is pretty and kind, so when they're taken to the School for Good and Evil, it seems obvious who's Good and who's Evil. However, when the girl's places are switched, they must put things to rights. (MG/YA, high fantasy)

To Kill a Kingdom by Alexandra Christo (The Little Mermaid)

Lira is a vicious siren, known for her collection of prince's hearts. However, a serious mistake of hers leads the Sea Queen to transform her into a human, trapped until she can bring her the heart of Prince Elian. Lira is a practiced killer, but Elian is a trained hunter, and sirens are his prey of choice. (YA, high fantasy)

The Land of Stories by Chris Colfer (multiple)

Alex and Conner have had it rough since their father's death, but they find comfort in their grandmother's book of stories. When she leaves it to them on their birthday, they never expected for it to be a portal to another world. This world is full of all the fairy tales they know and love, but they're trapped there, and ways back are hard to come by. (MG, low fantasy)

Legendborn by Tracy Deonn (King Arthur)

In an attempt to move on after her mother's death, Bree attends an early college program. However, she starts to see things, things her friends can't, and she soon discovers a secret society on campus made up of the descendants of King Arthur and the Knights of the Roundtable. However, this group, the Legendborn, may be tied to Bree more than she knows. (YA, magical realism)

Midnight Robber by Nalo Hopkinson (Caribbean and Yoruba Mythology)

In a futuristic world modeled off of Afro-Caribbean history and mythology, criminals are sent to the world of New Half-Way Tree. No child has been sent before until Tan-Tan is taken by her father, who is on the run from the law. When Tan-Tan's experience takes a turn for the worse, she finds strength the figure of the Robber Queen from myth. *read trigger warnings* (adult, science fiction/fantasy)

Splintered by A. G. Howard (Alice in Wonderland)

Alyssa is a descendant of the famous Alice Liddel, but it's not all roses and tea parties. Madness runs in the family, and Alyssa has heard bugs and flowers speak to her since she was young. It's only when she's a teenager that she learns it's a curse, and the only way to free her family from it is to return to Wonderland and put the original Alice's mistakes to rights.

Stain by A. G. Howard (very loosely The Princess and the Pea)

Princess Lyra is destined to bring her kingdom, one of perpetual day, and their rival, a kingdom of perpetual night, together. However, when her wicked aunt steals her identity and casts her out, she loses her memories and is taken in by a witch from an enchanted forest. There, she lives in disguise, known as a young boy named Stain. (YA, fantasy romance)

Enchanted by Alethea Kontis (The Frog Prince)

Sunday is the seventh daughter of a seventh daughter, a powerfully magic number. Anything Sunday writes comes true, so she takes care to only write what has already happened. She finds someone to share those stories with in a talking frog near her home. Little does she know that the frog is an enchanted prince; specifically, the prince responsible for the death of her older brother.

Ella Enchanted by Gail Carson Levine (Cinderella)

Ella was given a gift at her birth from a fairy, but it's done nothing but make her life miserable. Forced to obey every direct order, Ella loathes her gift of obedience, especially when she is forced to deal with a demanding father and a horrible stepfamily. Ella takes it upon herself to track down the fairy who 'blessed' her with some help from her family's cook, Mandy, and the charming Prince Char. (MG, high fantasy)

Fairest by Gail Carson Levine (Snow White)

Aza is by no means the fairest of them all, but she has the unique gift to imitate others and throw her voice. In the kingdom of Ayortha, which values song above all else, it's an invaluable trait. One the new queen of Ayortha, Queen Ivi, plans to capitalize upon. Ivi lacks singing talent, so she hires Aza to help her deceive the kingdom, but how long can they keep up the charade? (MG, high fantasy)

The Princess Tales by Gail Carson Levine (multiple)

Six stories: The Fairy's Mistake (Diamonds and Toads), The Princess Test (The Princess and the Pea), Princess Sonora and the Long Sleep (Sleeping Beauty), Cinderellis and the Glass Hill (Cinderella), For Biddle's Sake (Rapunzel), and The Fairy's Return (The Golden Goose) (MG, high fantasy)

Ash by Malinda Lo (Cinderella)

Abused by her horrible stepmother, Ash finds solace in stories. Those stories seem to come to life when she encounters a faerie, and her wishes of being stolen away may finally be granted. However, Ash begins to doubt that course when she meets the king's huntress and she finds herself torn between two worlds. (YA, fantasy romance)

Unhooked by Lisa Maxwell (Peter Pan)

Gwendolyn has always thought her mother was crazy for thinking monsters were chasing them, but then she and her best friend are kidnapped. The place they're taken to, Neverland, is full of deception, and Gwen must find out how to get them both home and whole again. (YA, low fantasy)

Cinder by Marissa Meyer (Cinderella)

Cinder is a cyborg in a futuristic world ravaged by sickness and prejudice, but she scrapes by as a mechanic. One day, during a job for no one other than the prince, she discovers information that could tip the balance between the people of earth and the dreaded Lunars. (YA, science fiction)

The Squire's Tales by Gerald Morris (King Arthur)

A series retelling the tales of the Roundtable, beginning with Terence, an orphan who becomes squire to the famous Sir Gawain. Together, they must foil a plot against King Arthur as Terence discovers his own abilities. (MG/YA, historical fantasy)

Uprooted by Naomi Novik (Beauty and the Beast)

Agnieszka is forfeited by her village to the wizard known as the Dragon in exchange for his protection against the horrible Wood. She finds herself more of an apprentice than a servant, but the Wood is stirring, and it's up to her and the Dragon to drive it back. (NA, high fantasy)

Spinning Silver by Naomi Novik (Rumpelstiltskin)

Miryam has brought her family's moneylending business back from the brink of bankruptcy. All is going well until an ill-timed boast on the roads lures the attention of the king of the Staryk, fae-like creatures made of winter and obsessed with gold. But there's a bigger threat that threatens to consume humans and Staryk alike. (NA, high fantasy)

Queen of Hearts by Colleen Oakes (Alice in Wonderland)

Dinah has trained her whole life to become queen of Wonderland alongside her father, finally earning his love. However, out of the blue, her father brings home her half-sister, his illegitimate daughter. With conspiracies brewing, Dinah must hold onto her throne now that another candidate has entered the picture. (YA, high fantasy)

The Girl Who Fell Beneath the Sea by Axie Oh (Shim Cheong)

As their home is ravaged by storms and floods, the people of Mina's village sacrifice a young girl every year, hoping she may be the "true bride" of the sea god. One year, the offered girl is Shim Cheong, Mina's older brother, Joon's, beloved. In an effort to save her, Mina throws herself into the sea to find a fantastical world under the surface. (YA, historical fantasy)

Dorothy Must Die by Danielle Paige (The Wizard of Oz)

Amy is a friendless teenager from modern-day Kansas, so a surprise trip to the land of Oz would seem like a blessing. But this version of Oz is twisted, dark, and ruled by none other than the other girl from Kansas, Dorothy herself. (YA, low fantasy)

The Shadow Queen by C. J. Redwine (Snow White)

Lorelai is the crown princess, but she's also a fugitive. Ever since her kingdom was taken by a wicked queen, she and her brother have been forced to run for their lives. She and the queen share one quality, magic, but if Lorelai ever uses it, she'll be guiding the queen straight to her. (YA, high fantasy)

The Blood Spell by C. J. Redwine (Cinderella)

Blue is an aspiring alchemist, hoping to turn other metals into gold to help the people of her city. However, when her father tragically dies and a cruel woman seizes everything Blue knows, she has to turn to her childhood rival, Prince Kellan. Kellan has his own issues, such as a growing pressure to marry, but the worst is the disappearances that seem to rise in number every day. (YA, high fantasy)

Half Upon a Time by James Riley (multiple)

Jack the 13th is supposed to be a hero, save a princess. He thinks that isn't likely to happen until a 'princess' from our world literally falls into his arms. Soon, Jack realizes that this girl's grandmother can be none other than the famous Snow White, but she's been kidnapped, and it's up to Jack and the 'princess', Meg, to save her. (MG, low fantasy)

The Evil Queen by Gena Showalter (Snow White)

Everly lives the life of a normal teenager until she discovers she's not of this world. In this other land of magic, she's a part of a prophecy, one that mirrors the classic tale of Snow White. That would all be great if she weren't destined to become the story's villain, the Evil Queen. (YA, low fantasy)

Daughter of the Moon Goddess by Sue Lynn Tan (Chang'e)

Xingyin's mother, Chang'e has been imprisoned on the moon for years for stealing the Celestial Emperor's elixir of immortality. When Xingyin's magic flares and she is in danger of being discovered, she must flee the moon. She ends up in the Celestial Kingdom, where she works her way up, hoping to find a way to free her mother. (NA, high fantasy)

Breadcrumbs by Anne Ursu (The Snow Queen)

The Snow Queen made a mirror meant to show people the worst in the world, and when it shatters, a shard gets stuck in the eye of Hazel's best friend Jack. When the Snow Queen whisks him away, Hazel must travel through a treacherous, wintery forest to save him. (MG, low fantasy)

Malice by Heather Walter (Sleeping Beauty)

Alyce is the infamous Dark Grace, whose powers bring curses and misfortune, unlike her sisters, who can conjure gifts and beauty. She dreams of escaping the prejudiced Kingdom of Briar, but her growing powers and an involvement with the royal family could keep her trapped forever. (adult, fantasy romance)

KEY

MG: middle grade, ages 8-12

YA: young adult, ages 13-18

NA: new adult, ages 18-early twenties

adult: ages 18 and up

high fantasy: fantasy stories set entirely within another world

low fantasy: fantasy stories split between our world and another

magical realism: fantasy stories set in our world, often interwoven with aspects of modern life (not the Latin American literary movement!)

historical fantasy: fantasy stories set in a historical setting of our world

fantasy romance: fantasy stories focused on romantic plotlines instead of other forms of plot

[black-salt-cage]

Stimboard prompt: Send me a character from our whitelist and I'll make a stimboard based off what I believe their queer identity is (and/or their canonical identity) Character: Princess Luna (My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic) Answer: Pansexual ☽ - ✰ - ☾ ☽ - ✰ - ☾ ☽ - ✰ - ☾

ଘ(੭*ˊᵕˋ)੭* ੈ♡‧₊˚ Question by anon!

[frankensteinmutual]

Hello! You seem like someone who reads a lot to me so I was wondering if you have any recommendation on books like 'Princess Mononoke' thank you so much! Your pinned post is amazing I hope someday be smart as you, you must read a lot and that's impressive

honestly don't know if this is supposed to be some kind of bait but I'm just going to respond to it as if it wasn't

unfortunately I don't really read all that much anymore, at least not outside of uni, and I can't really think of anything that truly feels like princess mononoke, but here are some books that came to mind as close enough:

descriptions under the cut!

the word for world is forest by ursula k. le guin

probably comes closest with its very strong environmental message, as well as themes of war and colonisation. it does have some magical and spiritual elements here and there, but still very much falls on the side of sci-fi rather than fantasy, and lacks the whimsical nature even the darkest of ghibli films at times possess. nevertheless my top recommendation!

lanny by max porter

if you're more interested in explorations of the mysterious character of nature, then you'll find that here. lanny also explores the relationship between humans and nature in a very interesting and unique way, and the way it's written makes it an almost dreamlike experience. it's a narrative of much smaller scale, but reading it is kind of what I imagine it must feel like to be part of a forest.

silver in the wood by emily tesh

speaking of being part of an enchanted forest, this little fairytale was basically made to be adapted into a ghibli movie. mythical forest creatures, fae law, gay love and a bit of a gothic twist – maybe mononoke isn't necessarily the best of miyazaki's works to compare it to, but it's not hard to imagine something like this story unfolding somewhere in those ancient woods.

ghost wall by sarah moss

this one might be a bit of a stretch, but I think it's worth a shot. a feminist narrative set in the woods and also very deeply thematically rooted in nature, with a subdued dark tone and occult atmosphere. the female protagonist's relationship to her wild and tamed environments is central, and throughout the novel there is a kind of quiet violence unsettlingly simmering just beneath the surface. I think san herself would love this book.

(honourable mention:

the buried giant by kazuo ishiguro

this is an honourable mention because I haven't actually finished reading it yet, but so far I think it might deserve a place on this list!)

[calavanitas]

I've been sitting on the last three of these maidens for like four months because I realized that I forgot to the put the glass reflections on Yellow and Green and my anxiety punished me lol (I made a queue for the others, they're coming I promise this time)

SO ANYWAY WHITE MAIDEN, EVERYBODY

[mysteriouslotuscasebookreference]

[ins4nebxtch]

ultimate IT girl guide

a guide to looking effortlessly perfect

"You’ve got the false narrative of a girl who spends 30 seconds on her appearance, when, in fact, you probably spent hours.”

1. basic hygiene:

having clean teeth and good breath

smelling good 24/7. i highly recommend finding a signature scent as a scent is associated with memory, id suggest something sweet yet not too overpowering like vanilla.

being clean in general. regularly shaving and exfoliating your skin to get rid of bodily hair and dirt that accumulates on your skin to make your skin glow.

clean nails. having clean and maintained nails (with a simple design if you wish) looks better than having acrylics that are wayyy too long and appear tacky.

2. hair :

having smooth healthy hair looks much better than dry and damaged hair. take care of your hair by finding the best products for your natural hair. get rid of your split ends as they make the hair appear really damaged.

in my opinion, loose waves look the most effortless yet pretty. but don’t ruin your natural hair by applying too much heat! you can try heatless styling methods to achieve this look.

3. diet and exercise :

being toned is the way to go to fit this aesthetic

avoid oily foods or sugary foods that damage your skin. don’t completely get rid of these as we all have our cravings, but try your best to avoid it

find a workout plan that works best for you, keeps you healthy but doesn’t burn you out! moreover exercise releases endorphins that improve your mood.

4. makeup and skin care :

natural makeup on clear skin fits this effortless aesthetic perfectly!

take care of your skin by finding a routine that fits you the best, consult with a dermatologist for the best results.

having smooth, blended makeup creates an illusion that you aren’t wearing any at all! this appears much effortless than a full face. also try to avoid those really huge false lashes that make you look tacky.

maintain your eyebrows and find a shape that fits you best!

5. outfits :

having a signature style which suits your body type is essential. experiment until you can find what suits you best! you can use a body analysis app for this.

wearing outfits you’re confident in, hot but not too revealing goes a long way. confidence is key. wearing overly revealing clothing might seem like one is trying too hard, but if you can carry it with confidence then that’s great!

jewellery : having dainty, signature pieces is key! find out which suits you better (gold or silver) through an ai analysis and invest in timeless pieces. personally, i think minimalistic pieces such as solitaires, simple pendants, classic hoops etc. look much more effortless.

6. personality :

don’t be too judgemental towards anyone as you don’t know what they’re going through and this makes you seem unapproachable

don’t talk too much or overshare! this creates a mysterious aura which draws people to you more

confidence is key! posture is very important too, carry yourself with confidence and walk with your head held up high.

7. examples and references :

serena van der woodsen (gossip girl)

mia thermopolis (the princess diaries)

cher (clueless)

elle woods (legally blonde)

rory gilmore (gilmore girls)

robin scherbatsky (how i met your mother)

gigi hadid

[targaryen-dynasty]

LITTLE LIGHTS. (4/5)

Maegor Targaryen x pregnant!niece!Reader

WORDS: 2 K

WARNINGS: childbirth, swearing, blink and you’ll miss Maegor being his cunty self again

NOTES: Here is the highly requested Part 2 of Precious Delights! Tbh, I haven't put much thought into the exact details, so most of it probably doesn't make any sene, but Reader is Rhaena's twin. Tyanna died before the wedding.

Tyanna of the Tower had been long dead before Maegor had claimed your hand in marriage and that alone seemed to be as fruitful as it was, since your pregnancy had lasted full ten moons.

You were exhausted beyond belief, pacing your chambers up and down with screams of despair and heavy groans leaving your throat at any contraction that rippled through your body. The maids had been calling for Maegor five times by now, but your husband was nowhere to be found. 

“He is meeting with the small council, I fucking know!“ You groaned as the guard stepped into your chambers to inform you about his unsuccessful mission, your ladies-in-waiting taken aback by your sudden outburst for you had been notorious for nothing else but being soft-spoken and calm. 

The maids, and Grand Maester Benifer, more often than not had advised you to lie down on your bed for reasons of comfort and safety, yet your body told you not to. 

“Where is he really?” you hissed through gritted teeth when a particularly harsh contraction forced you to your knees, clinging to the bedpost as if your life depended on it. Clad in nothing more than a thin, white underdress, you still felt confined, the linen scratching your skin as you ached to tear it off your body. 

Talisa rushed to your side, her gentle hand on the small of your back not mending your discomfort and the confusion and fear you felt at the thought of mastering the birth all by yourself. “We must begin, Princess,” she urged, and despite not being able to think straight at that point, you still heard the tinge of worry in her voice.

You threw your head back, groaning in agony as another contraction followed that forced you to push. Your arms clasped around the bedpost, your sweaty forehead resting against the wood, while you became busy focusing on pushing. 

Too lost in the burning sensation of the babe’s head beginning to crown, you barely noticed the door to the chambers opening, revealing none other than your husband himself. 

Your maid lifted the skirt of your underdress to gauge the process of the birth, paying much less attention to Maegor than you did, as your safety and well-being seemed to be her top priority. Or perhaps it was the well-being of the heir that concerned her most. 

“Where have y–” The words caught in your throat at a harsh contraction and the heightened pain. Your knuckles turned white from how tightly you clung to the bedpost, your maid’s words not making it easier for you. “I can see the head, Princess, just a few more pushes.”

If it wasn’t for your mind dealing with all the different sensations coursing through your body at once, you surely would’ve noticed the way Maegor stood completely frozen in the doorway at your maid’s words. 

“Please… make it stop,” you pleaded with a strained voice, clenching your jaw as you pushed once again. Then, the pain settled for a few moments, allowing you to steady your breath and calm down for the time being. 

A sheen of sweat covered your skin, silver strands of your hair clinging to your face, and the white linen of your underdress was slightly dampened at your back and arms. You raised your head to lock eyes with Maegor, and the sheer audacity of him just standing there useless made your blood boil and soured your mood. “This is… this is all your fault,” you hissed through gritted teeth, though the words were interrupted by groans, “gods… you cunt!”

Perhaps the maester had informed him beforehand about what was going on in a woman’s body during her labors, or perhaps he was cunning enough to put one and one together, but he hardly took any offense to your harsh words. Quite the contrary happened, as the insult seemed to pull him out of his shocked state, prompting him to pass the maids and maester, dismissing all their efforts to talk and inform him about the process of the birth to crouch down beside you. 

Talisa was flabbergasted by Maegor’s movements, her mouth agape with no words leaving her lips for a few seconds, before another scream of you brought her back to the task at hand. “Bear down and push, Princess,” she instructed, and you did as she told. 

Maegor’s paw replaced the maid’s hand on your lower back, his other one raising to cup your folded hands, and you were quick to seize it to squeeze it instead, causing him to take in a sharp breath. “Just a few more,” he encouraged, and you merely groaned in despair. He could be lucky you were occupied by birthing him his long awaited heir, fulfilling your wifely duties, because otherwise you probably would’ve smacked him across his face. 

When the pain got worse all of the sudden, you released a scream that was louder than the ones before, and pushed not once, but twice, until a sudden wave of relief washed over you and you heard the cries of the babe. It lived. 

Your husband’s attention immediately shifted from you to the newborn, and when the maester cut the cord, Maegor forced him and the maid to usher the babe out of your reach. “What is it?” you asked, your voice weak from the exhausting procedure you had to endure. 

But every sense of calmness and comfort washed away when another contraction soared through your body, and a scream of yours seized the attention of Talisa. “It’s the afterbirth,” she tried to reassure you, but her loud gasp proved otherwise, more so as she rose to fetch the maester. 

The urge to bear down once again was too strong to ignore it, pushing yet again. “Gods,” you whimpered, tears running down your flushed and sweaty cheeks, “it hurts.”

Maegor towered over the maester, while he lifted the skirts of your underdress, to spot yet another head breach your body. “Another child,” he proclaimed, whereas you only groaned an ‘I can not do this again’ in your state of shock and pain. 

But you could, and not many moments after, the second babe’s cries pierced through your agonizing groans and pants, only to be seized by your husband and the maester again. This time around, the maids tended to you, gripping your arms to help your weakened frame onto the large bed. 

When the screams of both children grew silent, a certain uneasiness washed over your body, and you would’ve loved nothing more than to get up and grab both children to leave the goddamned Keep altogether. “Bring them to me,” you demanded, but when no one seemed to move to your orders, you merely managed to whine a desperate ‘please’. 

Maegor was the first one to act, slowly creeping closer towards you. He held a bundle of linen in his arms, looking ridiculously small in comparison to his muscular chest and arms, and presented one babe to you. “A boy,“ he said, and you already smiled when you spotted the silver tuft of hair peeking from beneath the cloth. He bowed toward you to show you the small, scrunched face, and you reached forward to take him in your arms, but Maegor just tsked and pulled him back, “you’re too weak, my love, get some rest first.“

“My apologies, Your Grace,” Grand Maester Benifer came forward, looking at the King, “but at the Citadel they say that it’s best for the mother and the child to let it nurse right after birth.” 

With a grim expression on his face, Maegor’s eyes darted to you for a moment. “That is what wet nurses are for.” At this point, your bottom lip trembled, realization settling in that you had been nothing more than a pawn to your uncle. 

Grand Maester Benifer brought a hand to Maegor’s shoulder and ushered him a few steps away from you, their deep voices suddenly turning into whispers you could barely hear. “She has given you two healthy heirs, my King. You ought not risk her life, for she can give you even more.”

Maegor merely nodded at that, and when he turned around, the soft look in his eyes was unsettling you. He handed you the boy without any fuss, but didn’t leave your side as you pulled down the neckline of your underdress to free your breast and allow your child to latch. While his eyes were pale blue, you couldn’t wait for the day they’d be as lilac as yours, staring up at you with the same intensity they carried now. You smoothed his tuft of silver hair, the soft smacking and cooing while he swallowed your milk calming your worries and fear a bit. 

In less than an hour after birthing twins, you had taken on a motherly aura that no doubt even softened the cold heart of your uncle-husband for he gently brushed the knuckle of his index finger over the small boy’s cheek. “I have named him Aerion,” Maegor stated matter-of-factly, and you just nodded, admiring the memorial of your great-grandsire. 

“And the girl?” you asked, not able to tear your eyes from the delicate creature in your arms. “That is up to you,” your husband replied, and with a come hither motion of his fingers, the maid brought over another bundle of linen. That piqued your interest, and Maegor seemed to notice, since he pulled the cloth down enough for you to spot her scrunched face. She was just as beautiful as her brother. Despite her being barely an hour old, you spotted a few similarities to your grandaunt in her features, and hoped she would grow up to be as fierce as her. “Visenya.”

Maegor raised his brow at that, obviously not expecting you to name your daughter after his mother, but he welcomed the sentiment by pulling his lips into a soft smile that perhaps even sparked a hint of admiration and affection to flicker in his violet eyes. 

Once the boy was done nursing, his place was taken by his sister, though you placed her so she latched on your other breast. The relief it brought you was unmatchable, and the peaceful, nurturing feeling the nursing granted made your heart swell with love. 

“My sister has placed dragon eggs in the cradles of my younger siblings, and I want the same for our children,” you said, your fingers mindlessly dancing along the crown of the newborn’s head. “A clutch of eggs laid by Dreamfyre is still kept here in the Keep.”

You lifted your head to gauge where Maegor had taken Aerion, slightly panicked that you had seen the last of the boy, only to spot him sitting on a chaise not too far away with the sleeping boy cradled in his muscular arms. His head was bowed forward, and his whole attention was focused on his son. It was a moment of unusual softness, and you didn’t know he possessed a trait like that–or rather that he kept it up even after the children were born. 

When he raised his head to meet your expectant gaze, he was quick to address the maids with a stern tone he had rarely used in your presence for the past few moons. “You have heard your Queen’s demands. Bring her the eggs, so she can choose the ones most suitable for your King’s heirs.” 

You hadn’t noticed the silence surrounding you four before, maids and maester alike silenced in awe, and only appreciated it once it was gone with the hurried rustling and stomping from the staff exiting the room. 

And when night overcame King’s Landing, two cradles carrying the most precious creatures standing in front of your marital bed, your uncle-husband joined you for the first time since the start of your pregnancy, sharing the bed with you without any bawdy intentions on his mind. 

Ever since you were forced to leave your mother on Dragonstone to take Maegor’s hand in marriage, you felt at ease in the confines of the Red Keep, despite not knowing what the forthcoming summers might hold for you. 

Maegor Taglist: @hypocritic-trash-baby

General Taglist: @watercolorskyy @nothingqueens @urmomsgirlfriend1

[pumpkin-writes]

— ୨୧ kinktober day 12

pairing: old man!logan howlett x reader

warnings: 18+, nsfw ( obv ) established relationship, age gap ( logan is, well, he's logan & reader is in their mid 20s ) daddy kink, lap sitting, jealous!logan, petnames ( bub, princess, good girl, sweetheart, baby ) fingering, hair pulling, dirty talking, multiple orgasms, unprotected vaginal sex & logan comes inside of the reader ( don't be dumb ) not proof-read, just absolute filth below the cut

word count: 2.7 k

notes: i really liked enjoyed writing this, so don't be surprised if you see more old logan from me in the future 🫣 this was the longest kinktober fic i've written so far & also the first one so far that i've had ready to post on time lol hope y'all enjoy it as much as i did <3

the evening had gone perfectly. you and logan had gone to a quiet dinner at a place he liked—nothing fancy, just the kind of spot with dim lighting, rustic wood tables, and good whiskey. you loved how he looked tonight, sure he was much older than other guys you'd been with, but he was still ruggedly handsome. his beard was streaked with silver, his hair tousled in that familiar wild way, and he wore a dark button-up shirt that stretched across his broad chest. but he had been quieter than usual on the way home, brooding, his hand gripping the steering wheel a little too tightly. you knew something was up. it wasn’t like him to stay this quiet, especially after a night out with you. he pulled the truck into the driveway, cutting the engine and letting the silence between you hang there for a moment before stepping out. you followed him into the house, the door clicking shut behind you as he tossed his keys on the table. his silence continued as he walked into the living room, taking off his jacket and running a hand through his hair, still looking a bit stiff.

"logan," you started softly, setting your purse down and stepping closer to him, your heels tapping lightly on the floor. "what’s wrong?" he paused, standing by the window, staring out at the night. his back was tense, muscles rigid under his shirt, the years weighing heavily on his broad shoulders. when he finally spoke, his voice was rougher than usual. "that kid at the restaurant," he muttered, almost too low to hear. "he couldn’t take his damn eyes off you." you blinked, surprised, before a soft smile curled at your lips. so that’s what had been bothering him. his jaw clenched, the muscles tightening. "he was lookin' at you like… like he had a chance or somethin'. made me wanna break his damn neck." there it was—his possessiveness, that fierce, animalistic side that sometimes surfaced when he thought someone was threatening what was his. you stepped closer, your fingers brushing over his arm. "lo," you cooed, your tone light, teasing. "are you seriously jealous?" he gently turned to look down at you, his dark eyes still stormy, but there was a flicker of mischief behind them, his heart skipping a beat a the familiar nickname.

"i ain’t young anymore, bub," logan sighed, sitting down heavily on the worn leather couch, his usual brooding expression softening just slightly as he leaned back, the tension still lingering in his gaze. you could feel it—his insecurity still nagging at him, even though you’d tried to brush it off. that younger guy at the restaurant had really gotten under his skin. but you weren’t going to let him sulk. without saying a word, you stepped closer, standing between his legs as he looked up at you, the creases in his weathered face deepening. his brows knit together, as if he didn’t quite know what you were up to. you reached down, your fingers gently brushing through his hair, the silver strands catching the light. "hey," you murmured, voice soft and warm, "stop thinking so much." then, with a slow smile, you shifted forward, sliding onto his lap, straddling him. his hands instinctively moved to your waist, his grip firm, holding you in place as if he needed to keep you close. you felt his body stiffen beneath you for a second, but then he let out a deep breath, his shoulders relaxing under your touch. "what're you doing, princess?" he questioned softly, though his hands stayed exactly where they were, fingers splayed against your hips. "tryin’ to make me feel better?"

you tilted your head, your lips curving into a playful smile as you leaned in closer, your chest brushing against his. "maybe," you teased, brushing your fingers down his jaw, the roughness of his scruff making you tingle. "or maybe i just like sitting here." logan grunted, his eyes narrowing at you, though you could see the faintest hint of a smirk pulling at the corner of his lips. "you like sittin’ on an old man’s lap, huh?" you laughed, a soft, sultry sound, and leaned in closer so your lips were near his ear. "i like sitting on your lap, daddy." that got his attention. his grip tightened on your waist, pulling you a little closer, his breath hitching just slightly. his eyes darkened as he looked up at you, that familiar hunger flickering beneath the surface. "god damn, you drive me crazy," you smirked, brushing a light kiss against his neck, feeling the way his pulse quickened under your lips. your kiss incited a low growl from the older man, his calloused hands sliding up your sides, pulling you closer against him. his lips found yours in a rough, heated kiss, the earlier jealousy now burning away in the intensity between you. his hands moved possessively down your back and up your skirt, his fingers quickly finding the hem of your panties and hooking around them to pull them down your thighs. he pulled back from your kiss for just a moment, his forehead resting against yours, his breath warm and ragged. "so fuckin' wet for daddy already, huh?" he muttered, his voice deep and gravelly. his words sent a jolt of desire straight to your core, and you bit back a moan as your hips rocked subtly against him, seeking more friction, more heat. you could feel the hard length of his cock pressing insistently against your center, and you ground down, relishing the sensation of being filled and wanted so thoroughly. "fuck, logan," you breathed, your hands roaming over his chest, as his fingers delved deeper, stroking through your slick folds and circling your clit with maddening precision.

a low, guttural groan rumbled in logan's throat as your hips undulated against him, your wet heat coating his fingers. his own arousal throbbed in response, straining against the confines of his slacks. he captured your mouth in another searing kiss, swallowing your breathy moans as he worked two long digits inside you, curling them to stroke that sensitive spot within. "gonna make you forget all about that pretty boy at the restaurant," he rasped against your lips, pumping his fingers slowly, steadily, driving you higher with each thrust. his thumb rubbed relentless circles around your clit, the pressure building to a crescendo. "this pussy belongs to me, understand? no one else gets to touch you like this." withdrawing his fingers, he brought them to his mouth, sucking your essence off with a low, appreciative hum. his other hand slid up your back, tangling in your hair and tugging your head back to expose the column of your throat. he leaned in, dragging his tongue along the sensitive skin before grazing his teeth over your racing pulse. he punctuated his claim with a sharp thrust of his fingers, burying them back deep inside you.

a shudder ran through you at his possessive words, your walls fluttering around his invading fingers as he stroked you deeper, harder. "yes, daddy," you gasped out, arching into his touch as his laved attention on your neck. "only you. always you." your hands scrabbled at his shoulders, nails digging in as pleasure coiled tighter and tighter in your belly. the rough drag of his stubble against your sensitized skin only added to the sensations overwhelming you. "please," you whimpered, not even sure what you were begging for anymore. you just needed…more. logan growled low in his throat, pleased by your wanton submission. his grip tightened in your hair, holding you in place as he continued his sensual assault on your neck. sharp teeth scraped over your racing pulse before he soothed the sting with his tongue. "good girl," he praised roughly, fingers pumping faster, harder, driving you towards the edge. his free hand slid under your shirt, calloused palm skimming over the soft swell of your breast before he palmed the weight fully. he rolled your nipple between his fingers, pinching and tugging, feeling you tightening around him. hearing the needy little sounds spilling from your lips stoked his own desire to dizzying heights. he wanted to feel you come apart on his fingers, watch you shatter completely before fucking you. "that's it, sweetheart," he crooned, his voice a dark rumble against your skin. "let go for daddy. wanna feel this sweet cunt squeeze my fingers when you come."

your body jerked, a high-pitched whine escaping your throat as he tweaked your nipple. you were teetering on the brink, every stroke of his fingers, every pinch and tug of his hand on your breast pushing you closer to the edge. "logan!" you cried out, unable to contain the plea as you felt the first waves of orgasm crashing over you. you clenched rhythmically around his pistoning fingers, milking them for all they were worth as you rode out the intense climax. stars burst behind your eyelids, and you bucked wildly against him, lost in the throes of ecstasy. it seemed to last an eternity, each aftershock leaving you trembling and gasping for air, and logan was loving every second of it. he watched intently as you came undone and held you steady, fingers still buried deep inside you, riding out the waves of your orgasm with you. the sight and feel of you falling apart on his hand was almost too much, and he had to bite back a groan of his own desire. once the tremors subsided, he slowly withdrew his fingers, bringing them to his lips once more. savoring your flavor, he hummed in approval. "fuck, bub, that was beautiful," he chuckled, brushing a strand of sweat-dampened hair from your forehead. his gaze dropped to your breasts, still heaving with ragged breaths, and his cock gave an impatient twitch in his pants. "but we're far from done here, sweetheart."

as the final tremors faded away, you slumped bonelessly against him, utterly spent. his words met with the predatory gleam in his eyes told you there would be no rest for the wicked tonight. a thrill raced down your spine at the thought, and you licked your lips, "is that so?" you purred, reaching down to palm the thick ridge tenting his pants. "well, i'm not finished with you yet either, daddy." you deftly unfastened his belt and zipper, freeing his impressive erection from its confines. wrapping your fingers around his shaft, you gave him a slow, teasing stroke from base to tip, marveling at how he twitched eagerly in your grasp. a harsh exhale escaped logan's lips at the warmth and gentle pressure of your touch, making him throb with need. he watched, transfixed, as you pumped him slowly, reveling in the sight of your delicate fingers encircling his thick girth. his hips jerked involuntarily, seeking more of your touch as you worked him over. he could feel the precum beading at the tip, and it took every ounce of willpower not to grind against your palm. "keep touching me like that and this will be over before it starts," he warned gruffly, his large hands gripping your waist, effortlessly lifting you off his lap and turning you around to face away from him. with a swift tug, he pulled your skirt and panties off entirely, baring your glistening sex to his hungry gaze. he nudged your legs further apart with his knees, settling himself between your spread thighs. the blunt head of his cock prodded at your entrance, swirling your arousal around.

a gasp left your lips as he spun you around, your heart pounding in anticipation. his dominant stance, the way he filled the space between your thighs, sent a rush of excitement coursing through you. you arched your back, pressing your ass against his groin, silently urging him to take what he wanted. the head of his dick teased your slick, and you couldn't help but rock your hips, trying to coax him inside. "please, daddy," you slightly panted, voice heavy with need. your pathetic pleads incited a guttural growl from logan, the sound vibrating against your back as he notched the broad crown of his cock at your entrance. he paused for a moment, savoring the heat radiating from your core, before surging forward with one powerful thrust. he buried himself to the hilt in one smooth motion, a low moan rumbling in his chest at the tight, wet clasp of your cunt around him. he stayed still for a beat, relishing the sensation of being sheathed so deeply within you, before beginning to move. logan set a relentless pace, pulling nearly all the way out before slamming back in, the force of his strokes rocking you both. the lewd slap of flesh meeting flesh echoed through the room, punctuated by your cries of pleasure and his grunts of effort. your moans turned to screams of delight as he pounded into you mercilessly, the sheer force of his thrusts driving the air from your lungs. the thick, hard length of his dick stretched and filled you completely, hitting all the right spots with each brutal plunge. your nails dug into the worn leather of the couch as you struggled to keep up with his relentless rhythm, your hips bucking wildly to meet his every stroke. the pleasure was overwhelming, bordering on pain, and you reveled in it, surrendering yourself fully to the primal, animalistic act unfolding behind you. "oh my god, logannnn," you wailed, your voice hoarse and desperate, as if begging for mercy even as you craved more of his punishing thrusts. logan's grip on your hips tightened, his fingers digging into the soft flesh as he drove into you with increasing ferocity. he could feel the telltale flutter of your walls tightening around him, signaling your impending climax. he doubled his efforts, fucking you with abandon, chasing your release and his own. the obscene sounds of your coupling filled the air—the slick squelch of your arousal easing his way, the smack of his pelvis colliding with your ass as it bounced back onto him, your shameless cries and his guttural snarls intermingling in a symphony of debauchery. he leaned over you, one arm banding around your waist while the other slid up to cup your breast roughly, pinching and rolling the stiff peak between his fingers. "come for daddy, baby," he rasped in your ear, nipping sharply at the lobe.

and just like that, your body began to quake and convulse, overwhelmed by the intensity of his assault and the demand in his voice. the coil of tension deep within you snapped, sending shockwaves of ecstasy rippling through your veins. a strangled cry tore from your throat as your orgasm crashed over you, your muscles clamping down on him like a vice. waves of pure bliss washed over you, leaving you breathless and trembling in the aftermath. through it all, logan continued to pound into you, prolonging your climax until you were sobbing and mewling, lost to the world except for the feeling of him splitting you open again and again. his hips stuttered, losing their rhythm as your velvety walls spasmed around him, milking his cock for all it was worth. he threw his head back with a guttural groan, the tendons in his neck standing out in stark relief as he found his own release. he ground against you, working himself through the aftershocks. only when he was spent did he collapse against your back, his weight pressing you into the cushions as he fought to catch his breath. he peppered your shoulder blades with lazy kisses, murmuring words of praise and adoration against your sweat-slick skin. "that was… incredible", he was out of breath, his voice roughened by exertion. as the fog of post-orgasmic haze slowly lifted, you felt a warm sense of satisfaction wash over you. you slowly turned back around to face him and your eyes locked, a tender smile playing on your lips as you gazed at him. "yeah, not bad for an old man," you teasingly downplayed the state of euphoria he'd been able to put you into so easily, thinking back to how this all began. if that didn't reassure him that your eyes were only for him, despite your age gap, you didn't know what would.

[novaursa]

You are an absolutely amazing writer and I adore all your stories.

If your requests for short stories are still open, I would like to request one with Cregan Stark and Targaryen reader where she is pregnant with their first child and gets jealous because Cregan is being secretive and she catches him few times talking to some of his closest men and mentioning an unknown female name. One day she can't take it anymore and confronts him. It turns out he found injured pregnant female direwolf and was taking care of her and her pups which he wants to gift to their child. (It would be fun if reader has already dragon but bonds with direwolf mom as well).

Daisy

Requests are closed!

- Summary: Heavy with your and Cregan’s first child, you get suspicious when your husband starts to sneak out to see Daisy. 

- Paring: targ!reader/Cregan Stark

- Note: The reader is bonded with Silverwing. For more of my works, visit my blog. The first list is pinned to the top.

- Rating: Mild 13+

- Tag(s): @sachaa-ff @alyssa-dayne @daeryna @melsunshine @21-princess

You pace back and forth, hands resting on the swell of your belly, anxiety bubbling like a cauldron on a fire. Your gaze drifts to the furs on the floor of your chambers, the large bed that feels far too empty most nights as of late, and the flickering light of the hearth that does little to soothe the unease gnawing at your mind. Cregan has been… distracted. He leaves early in the morning, returns late, his excuses as thin as the northern air.

And Daisy.

You’ve overheard him whispering that name, hushed and guarded, always to his most trusted men. Every time you approach, the conversation stops abruptly, like the snap of a trap. It's enough to make any woman suspicious—especially a woman heavy with child, swollen with not only your firstborn but a mix of anticipation, anxiety, and perhaps a bit of jealousy.

"Silverwing," you murmur, glancing toward the small window. Though your beloved dragon isn't visible from the Keep, you know she’s nearby, perched on the cliffs, her silver scales glinting in the pale sun. "Do you know what he’s up to?" But if she does, she offers no response.

You frown. Even your dragon seems to be in on this secret. Traitor.

Another morning arrives, and Cregan departs before dawn breaks. The soft murmur of his voice filters through the stone walls as he speaks to his men again, and you catch it—Daisy.

That’s it. You’ve had enough. It’s time for answers.

You pull a thick cloak around your shoulders and storm down the stone corridors of Winterfell. The biting northern wind whips at your face as you march toward the stables, where Cregan is often found before heading into the woods. Your feet, swollen and heavy, protest with every step, but nothing can stop you now.

There he is, standing with a few of his men, his tall figure unmistakable even through the morning mist. You watch as they exchange low words, but the moment he spots you, they scatter like children caught stealing sweets. You fix Cregan with a glare that could burn the snow around you.

"What is going on, Cregan Stark?" you demand, hands on your hips, the weight of your belly only adding to the intensity of your stance. "And who is Daisy?"

He blinks at you, clearly caught off guard by your sudden confrontation. "Daisy?"

"Yes, Daisy," you repeat, not giving him a chance to deflect. "I’ve heard you speaking about her. And don’t lie to me, Cregan, I’m pregnant, not deaf."

He opens his mouth, closes it, and then rubs the back of his neck, a nervous habit you’ve come to recognize. "Y/N," he begins slowly, "it’s not what you think."

"Oh, it never is," you snap, your voice rising. "You're sneaking around, speaking in hushed tones, all while I’m here, waddling about, wondering if my husband has taken to… to some northern woman!"

"Some—" Cregan’s eyes widen, and for a moment, his usually serious expression cracks into a brief smile. He quickly wipes it away, knowing well enough that your temper is not to be tested right now. "No, no, love. You’ve got it all wrong."

"I do, do I?" you huff. "Then explain. Who is Daisy?"

There’s a pause, then he sighs, realizing there’s no more avoiding this. "Follow me."

Still seething, you follow him into the woods just beyond the walls of Winterfell. The snow crunches under your boots, and the cold air stings your cheeks. You consider demanding answers again, but before you can open your mouth, Cregan stops beside a small thicket, gestures for you to come closer.

He kneels, parting the branches, revealing a small, hidden hollow where something stirs. Your breath catches as you peer inside.

Lying there, curled up with her pups, is a massive female direwolf. Her fur is thick and silver, speckled with dirt and a few patches of blood—recent wounds from a hunt gone wrong, it seems. But even in her injured state, she exudes strength, a fierce protectiveness as she shields her young.

"This is Daisy," Cregan says softly. "I found her a few weeks ago, injured and alone. Her pack must’ve been killed, but she survived with her pups. I’ve been taking care of them, bringing them food, tending to her wounds."

You blink, feeling the confusion melt into something else. "...You’ve been sneaking out to care for wolves?"

"Aye." Cregan chuckles lightly, glancing up at you. "Not just any wolves, love. I wanted to surprise you. I thought… a direwolf pup would be a fitting gift for you and our child. A symbol of the North, something to protect the little one, like Silverwing does for you."

Your heart softens as you watch the direwolf, her eyes meeting yours for a moment. "So… you weren’t keeping secrets from me about another woman?"

Cregan grins, a lopsided, boyish smile that makes your irritation melt away. "No. Only Daisy here."

You cross your arms, feeling more than a little foolish now, though your pride won’t let you admit it outright. "And why didn’t you tell me sooner?"

"I wanted it to be a surprise," he says, rising to his feet and wrapping an arm around you. "But you caught on quicker than I expected."

You narrow your eyes at him playfully. "You know what’s worse? Silverwing knew, too. She didn’t say a word."

Cregan laughs, pressing a kiss to your temple. "Ah, dragons and direwolves—more loyal to each other than to us, it seems.

You huff, but you can't help the smile that creeps onto your face as you lean into him, the warmth of his embrace chasing away the chill. “Next time, Cregan Stark, no more secrets. Wolves, dragons, or otherwise.”

“Agreed,” he murmurs, his hand resting on your belly. “I’ll share everything with you from now on, Y/N.”

As you both stand there, watching the direwolf and her pups, you feel a sense of peace settle over you. The North, with its biting winds and endless snow, feels a little warmer now—filled with the promise of new life, both yours and the wild creatures that will grow beside your family.

"Perhaps we'll name our child Daisy," you tease, elbowing him gently.

Cregan groans. "Gods, no. One Daisy in this family is enough."

[halcyone-of-the-sea]

Main Masterlist || Navigation || All works are F!Reader || All images sourced from Pinterest ||

SONGS THAT SOUND LIKE SEA-FOAM || Mini-Series || Completed

PAIRING: Fisherman!John Price x F!Mermaid!Reader

SYNOPSIS: In which a lone mermaid finds good company with a handsome fisherman who trespasses in her cove. But the word isn't what it used to be...hunting ships patrol the waters.

CHAPTERS: Part I, Part II, Part III

FANART: “You’re somethin’ beautiful, y’know that?” & "Mermaid Interpretation" by @thedevillovesflowers

2. RUN AWAY TO ME || Mini-Series || Completed

PAIRING: Blacksmith!Johnny 'Soap' MacTavish x F!Runaway Bride!Reader

SYNOPSIS: The night started with wine and ended with blood. Racing through the woods after having escaped your wedding, you find a lone homestead in the middle of a rainstorm. Alone, wounded, and bordering on unconsciousness, you have no option but to knock.

CHAPTERS: Part I, Part II, Part III

3. BLOOD-STAINED WOOL SPUN AT MIDNIGHT || 18 + Mini-Series || Completed

PAIRING: Werewolf!Ghost x F!Tailor!Reader (Set in Van Helsing Era/Aesthetic)

SYNOPSIS: When you left the town in the year of our Lord, 1897, to buy more wool from the local farmer, the cobblestone streets had come up to meet the hooves of your neighbor's horse.

Along this trip of false hope, the open fields at your sides had led to the backdrop of a brimstone forest; an old shadow seems to loom there. A black thing. A devil with eyes like a burial mound. You were told to fear the Ghost of the Forest, but never had you known you'd be caught in his blackened claws.

CHAPTERS: Part I, Part II, Part III

4. BLACK METAL AND BOURBON || 18+ Mini-Series || Completed

PAIRING: Biker/Mechanic!Ghost x F!Bartender!Reader

SYNOPSIS: You've been in this small town for your entire existence, giving up dreams and aspirations to carry on life as a simple bartender despite your hatred of two things: the smell of cigarette smoke and the disrespect from regulars, namely, your ex and his buddies. But on a still-air Sunday, almost overnight, a mechanics shop pops up right across the street - giving sight to new faces and a fresh group of men with a love of motorcycles. One, in particular, seems to only like Bourbon.

CHAPTERS: Part I, Part II, Part III

5. TO HUNT A SILVER STAG || Mini-Series || Completed

PAIRING: Knight!Kyle 'Gaz' Garrick x Fae!Princess!Reader

SYNOPSIS: Promised to a greedy king to try and preserve the magic of the land, a princess instead finds herself drawn to a chivalrous knight and his gentle words. But everyone knows magic has a mind of its own.

CHAPTERS: Part I, Part II, Part III

6. HOW TO ADAPT TO FIRE || Mini-Series || Completed

PAIRING: Fireman!John 'Soap' MacTavish x F!Journalist!Reader

SYNOPSIS: There is an arsonist in your city, and you're going to catch him. As one of the most prolific investigative journalists in the city, you make a lot of enemies the second your papers are released to the public. Your informant - and perhaps something more - in the local fire department makes a point to tell you to be careful.

But everyone knows he's right beside you when the fires start sparking.

CHAPTERS: Part I, Part II, Part III

7. MOSS, BONE, AND A FALLING STAR || Mini-Series || Not Started

PAIRING: Witch Hunter!Price x F!Witch!Reader

SYNOPSIS: Humans have not been kind to you, but they usually are to things that they don't understand. You're offered a deal when a rugged-looking Witch Hunter shows up at your secluded hut. Make him see you for what you truly are in three stories or less. You oblige and give him the limit - a story of moss, of bone, and of a falling star.

CHAPTERS: Part I, Part II, Part III

8. VIVAMUS, MORIENDUM EST || Undetermined || Not Started

PAIRING: Kyle 'Gaz' Garrick x F!Reader (Reincarnation AU)

SYNOPSIS: In every lifetime you made a promise to one another: even if you must die, you will find a way to live together for all of eternity, be that five or a hundred years from now. You'd not broken your promise yet.

CHAPTERS: Undetermined

[ophelieverse]

Hii there Lia,i’m a little embarrassed because i’ve been following you since the beginning and i loved all of your posts,this time i wanted to be brave and ask for a request.I’m a Daemon girly,so can I request an imagine where he and reader kinda have a thing going on?Like it’s not official but they do😏😏things?Thank you for your service and your works,luv u💕💕💕💕💕💕💕

✦ ⟢balance

Daemon Targaryen x fem!reader

—Summary:reader is a dragonseed,the daughter of bastard child of one of the Targaryens,when the Rogue Prince went to search for dragon riders to fight in the war he sets his eyes on her for more than one purpose.

—Warnings:poor smut writing,reader will have the valyrian silver hair,kinda of incest,Daemon cheats on Rhae with reader(i apologize my Queen i love you)age gap(reader is legal)and Daemon being himself as always.

•—thank you so much for requesting and let me know what you think🫶🏻🩷

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

If as a child they had told her that balance would be one of the basic requirements to ride a dragon,Y/n would never have believed it.

Because after all,even though she could have guessed it with the strength of the intellect,she was just a child who loved to dream and saw soldiers as heroes who had become such thanks to the strength of training.However,the truth was in the middle:it took talent and strength to become a good soldier,then a good dose of willpower and finally balance.

Y/n had lived her whole life on the island of Dragonstone and she was pretty sure that she was also going to die of old age,maybe in her warm bed or with her feet deep in the sand,in the place that she had always called home.

Her father was a fisherman from Essos,Volantis to be exact that loved to take her on his boat and tell her stories about his home in the other continent.A simple man,an insignificant part of sand in the sea.Nothing special.Her mother however,was definitely something more special and it could be seen in her wild silver hair that danced in the morning breeze.

The white tangle of mess that crowned her head was the only thing that Y/n had inherited from her mother.The stained and not pure Valyrian blood that circled in her veins,the proof that the fairy tales about dragons,princesses and castles that her mother used to whisper to her at night before putting her to sleep,were part of them.Her mother was a bastard child,daughter of the princess Gael Targaryen.

And Y/n was her granddaughter,her mother made sure that she remembered that before her death,that she was also the blood of the old Valyria and that the dragons that she had saw on the island were hers by birth right.That she shouldn’t be settling down for an ordinary life but that she could be so much more.A dragon rider.

Balance.

And she would have never believe it as a child that that word would be one of the keys to her entire future:of choices made on the spot that could aim for the balance of the situation in just a few seconds.

But also of balance merely on the physical side: she remembers how long it took to find the balance necessary to stand straight on Vermithor,the bronze fury who seemed to have taken a liking in her choosing Y/n as his new rider. When from the bottom of her eight years and with a few teeth missing it seemed so easy to her for the Targaryen to fly up there.

She had spent years of her life,running up and down the docks,nose up in the air,eyes never leaving the sky and the beautiful creatures flying back on the hills of Dragonstone.Never in her life Y/n thought that one day she would have been up there with them,riding King Jaehaerys dragon for the coming war.

She remembers it as if it were yesterday:the heavy wood on her shoulders, the suspenders pulling on her dress,the smell of sweat and fish -by who stood still under the sun,like her,to look at the Rogue Prince,Daemon Targaryen walking through the dirty streets.She remembers the gravel under his feet,the clean smell of his clothes,the way his purple eyes seemed to shine under the light and the way they were studying her whole body from the top of her head to her bare feet.

Y/n could also remember the way she felt her skin catch of fire,they way her father trembled next to her without saying a word,as the prince took a strand of her hair between his fingers.Carefully,as if he was counting every single hair,he brought them to his nose to give them a sniff.

«Yes.»his voice was low,it made her shiver,his eyes never leaving hers«You smell like a dragon.»it sounded like he was disgusted but on his face there was no trace of it.

It’s been months since then,but Daemon hadn't aged much from that day,or at least,she remembered him exactly with that aspect.The long pale hair styled to perfection,the nails well-groomed,the voice deep.Clean clothes.The blade of his sword shiny and sharp.Purple eyes with pure fire behind them.White skin and beard shaved to perfection.

He is sitting in front of Y/n with his legs apart at the foot of the bed as he finishes reading a report.The war was closer each day and they needed to be ready.Y/n slipped into his room like every night.

Daemon was married to Queen Rhaenyra,but he didn’t spend much time with her.He had a war to prepare and to win.He was the one that suggested to find more dragon riders,the one that went searching for them and the one that trained them.All of them,four to be exact,were simple people before a dragon had claimed them.

Y/n was chosen by Vermithor,a massive creature with more teeth than anything else,whose roar shook the very foundations of Dragonstone.

«The best for the best.»Daemon had commented,holding her hand as he helped her getting down.

«I’m sure he is.»Y/n had muttered once she was steady on her feet,on the solid ground«But i don’t know if i will be able to be of any help.He will be better without me on him.»she said,placing a insecure hand on the dragon head.

The Rogue Prince observed the way the creature nuzzled against her touch«You have blood of the dragon in you.He knows it,you know it.You exist and there are no more excuses,you were born to do this.»his voice was more gentle this time.

He hadn’t been this caring and careful with Ser Hugh or Addam,keeping his face stoic and his eyes cold while he was telling them what to do with their dragons.But the war was closer each day and the last thing he needed was a scared little girl that didn’t knew how to ride a dragon.

Y/n was young,naive,soft and pure.Everything that he wasn’t,everything that he saw in his niece when he was just a child,everything he took from him previous wife,that he had lost in the daughter he didn’t met and in the one that he ignores.Everything that he craved and wanted,that was pulling him to her like a moth to a flame.

In the beginning he thought it was because of that.Y/n was much younger that he was,she didn’t had any manners,he would think of her as a ignorant and savage girl that didn’t knew how to read or write,which silverware to use at the dinner table,how dress properly or how to take care of her beautiful moon hair.

So he took care of her.He thought her how to read and write,how to sit at a table,how to hold a sword .Once her face was clean from the dirt and her skin smelled of roses and vanilla,dressed in one of Rhaena pastel pink dresses,he saw in her the purity and familiarity he had lost in those years.The innocence that he took from the women in his life without asking,the perfect immaculate skin that he didn’t stained yet,the hair,just like his,that he didn’t pulled,the beautiful heart shaped lips he didn’t tasted.

It was like looking at a ghost from his past,as she was in front of him so unsure and with the desire to please in every possible way,to make him proud,to have him pay attention to her,to just become his favorite.

«The key is in the balance.»he had explained to her,his big hand covering her lower back as he walked her back to the castle.

«Balance?»Y/n asked confused with a little voice.

Daemon nodded«Once you will find your balance and be steady on your own feet,everything will be easier.»he said.

Balance.

Y/n marks it in her mind,every letter as a stepping step.It's what she thinks she's found for the first time in her life:Daemon gives her a sense of calmness,peace after the battle,even after the biggest losses,even if he seems more broken,more broken after every defeat or every time that he has a fight with Rhaenyra.

But his presence is still reassuring.It's like a hot tea when you have a sore throat.Like honey in milk.Reassuring,comforting.Somehow.

Daemon was the first person that had spent so much time to take care of her and Y/n knew it was wrong.It wasn’t proper the way he would sit next the bathtub while she was washing,in the way he would brush her hair every night,kiss her forehead and cradle her head on his chest before falling asleep.It wasn’t proper when he was married,to the Queen no less,it was treason and it mean death penalty.But that didn’t stop them.

He had a perfect balance between Y/n,the young and virgin girl,the pure maiden,the new thing in his life and Rhaenyra,the old mad Queen,the one thing he already had possessed and had nothing else to offer him.

Daemon is all Y/n knows about life.He made sure to teach her that.It is the balance of the spirit and the balance of the body.It's the beauty of his armor and in the way he stands proudly on Caraxes,the way he spend his time to clean Dark Sister.The shirt just opened and messy hair on his head.

He is tired.He is already half undressed.The cloak hung him on the chair.

Y/n,on the other hand,is not as balanced as he is,she had tried for him but she had failed:she still feels the adrenaline running through her blood, running through her veins and singing her soul.She knows what she wants to put out the fire,to turn off the brain,to regain balance.

And she waits with all her might just like Daemon with patience.

Balance.First duty then pleasure.He had talked with Rhaenyra about the battle plans and then he went to call for Y/n to spend the night with her.

Y/n is learning to be patience,so she observes him:she looks at his long silver hair tickling down his neck,the first buttons of his shirt open and his lips reading.His purple eyes are hidden behind the paper in his hand:he has a curved back and his arms resting on his thighs.

Y/n can't help but think about how much he likes Daemon,even with sweaty hair,especially like that. So human,so true.In that little corner that is created between them,in the late evening,in that room.

It seems to her that everything else does not exist,that the world is not that terrible place dominated by fire and blood,that human beings are free,that she can love Daemon and that Daemon can love her.

And so she wait impatiently on the bed with her bare feet rubbing placidly on the sheets«Do you still have a lot of those?»she whispers not to be heard outside the room and perhaps not to be heard even by Daemon himself,because she knows how this war is important and how easy he is to piss off.

«Yes.»Daemon answer was short and he didn’t moved a inch from his previous position.

Y/n didn’t responded.She barely snorts and drops her head on the pillow.Her mental balance is quickly faltering.After that day all she wants is Daemon,she wants to forget,she wants sex and to hold him.

She wants to tell him all those things that can only be said in bed.Where she could pretend to be princess,the only woman in his life,the only one that he has ever touched and wanted like this.

«I'm almost done.»Daemon then adds without saying anything else.

But Y/n smiles.She knows that message.Daemon does this when he realizes that he has been too rude,too unpleasant or cold especially after a battle.

«Alright.»Y/n lifts her back from the mattress and leans with her forehead against his.

It's hot.She breathes his perfume and goes straight into her veins and it's like wood on the fire:she can't do it and grabs him by the jaw and makes his head turn to the side,she kisses him with her tongue,puts it in his mouth as much as she can and then bites his lip.The breath hiss against her cheek because there is not enough room for the air to pass through.

Y/n hears him moaning with annoyance but he doesn't move.And the balance is lost in that fire of souls and bodies that is being consumed.

He puts a hand in her hair and kisses her again.He wants it,he wants it more than anything,more than revenge,more than blood.Daemon indulges her because after all he needs it too,he needed the taste of skin,the smell of her body,that balance was broken,broken like them.

Then he turns around and puts a hand around her neck and pushes her forcefully against the mattress.That's enough to start to make her feel the familiar warmth between her legs.

Daemon notices it right away.He knows she likes it,he knows it excites her.He blocks the air in her throat and sticks his index finger in her mouth.

«Do you want me to fuck you,little girl?»his voice is far more gentle than the one he use to commands armies,but still it made her shiver«Is that what you want?»he could still sound so authoritative.

«Yes.»Y/n mutters with his finger in her mouth and the air that lacks in her lungs.

«I told you that I’m almost done.»he reminded her,referring to all the papers that were now on the cold floor.

Y/m mumbles something similar to a «I’m sorry.»her eyes are shiny.She’s red in the face and looks so desperate.

Daemon loosens his grip«Never mind,you made me want it too.»he said.

He kisses her without taking his hand off her neck,he kisses her vigorously,his tongue that caresses hers and in that moment she knows that Daemon has also lost control,the balance.

Y/n stretches her hand on his dressed erection and squeezes it,feels it hard,feels it warm and tense and this makes her arch her hips while they still kiss.

He once told her that dragons prefer heat and right now she feels like she's in a hot bath:her body is on fire.Daemon is able to do that to her,she doesn't understand it,she doesn't control it.She can't.

Y/n bites his lip and slowly unbuttons his shirt, discovers his chest like the first time and finds it – like every time – beautiful.

Even after a battle he always looks so clean,in this he reminds her of her mother.But Daemon more, he’s cleaner,more beautiful,more like fire and balance at the same time.He’s is the greatest contradiction of her life;yet,her greatest certainty.

Daemon hikes the material of her nightgown up her soft legs,keeping them open with his beautiful and muscular thighs.Trapping her in his spider web of pleasure and warmth.

Before Daemon,Y/n had never been interested in sex,or men.To anything that wasn't living another day on the island.Then he came looking for her,first as a soldier then as a man.

And he killed and at the same time gave birth to a part of her.By now her life was divided into before and after of Daemon.

He let the nightgown slide over her rib cage,his fingers feels like fire as they trace a path on her pure skin leaving goosebumps all over it.Her breast,her perky little nipples,the way her chest rise and fall so fast was enough to drive him crazy.He takes the nightgown off and leaves it at the foot of the bed with the grace that distinguishes him.

He leaves her neck flushed just to place a messy kiss on her puffy and rosy lips«It's really too easy to get you excited,little girl.» he murmurs,perhaps more to himself than to her.

However,Y/n is not embarrassed because she sees him in the same state:then with a tacit look she asks him for permission to undress him and finishes untiening his shirt, in a hurry as only she can do,then she moves on to his belt and pants.

He feels her skin on fire when his naked body matches with her own,when his erection and her wet flower meet and dance like their tongues.There is something poetic in that dirty dance,because everyone knows they shouldn't do it,but it's the only thing that makes it stable in that life devoid of any meaning,devoid of balance and certainties.

Daemon and his body,Daemon and his perfume,Daemon and his mouthpiece.Daemon and his tongue digging into her mouth as if to want to suck even the last particle of oxygen into her lungs.Daemon and that rude and delicate way of doing things at the same time that sends him into ecstasy when he fights and fucks her.

He takes his time preparing her,caressing and tasting the sweet wet flower in between her legs.The purest ambrosia gifted by the gods,the most delicious sounds of pleasure.She feels his hot erection pressing against her little entrance,ready to ravish her.

Y/n tries to relax just like he taught her but her heart is stally and suddenly she feels like she is in a battle:she clings to Daemon hair,loses her balance on her elbows and leaves herself totally to him.

Daemon enters her with a blow drier than his hip,he mutters something in her mouth,as he bites her lips red as blood and she scratches his back.There is no need for words:he begins to push,and she feels her flesh give way,widen for him and make room for him,squeeze him in that welcoming way that vaguely reminds Daemon of home.

He pushes and Y/n tries to breathe as best as he can,she looks for oxygen that is not there,touches him on his back and spreads her legs more:she wants it more,more,more.She doesn't even have the strength to call his name for how strong the thrusts are and he touches that point so sweet and secret inside of her that makes her tremble.The one she,sometimes,looked for on her own but never found.Daemon knows how to touch it,he knows how to loosen her every uncovered nerve.

He knows how to make her lose her balance and then find her in that bath of sweat and moods,saliva and scratches.

The bed squeaches and no one cares,not even that anyone can hear them at that moment because,when they are together there is nothing else.The sheets are a disaster under their bodies, they are the perfect synthesis of what is going on in that bed.

Y/n welcomes the thrusts of Daemon,welcomes the moans with her mouth,squeezes him between his thighs and does not let him go but indulges him in that fluid and dancing movement.

The hands that squeeze her neck,then her arms and then her ass.

And then the orgasm comes like a thread that suddenly breaks;like a rubber band that breaks and bounces into the body and mind.He hits her deeply and can't help but indulge in those sensations.To that sea that invests her at the same time while Daemon comes inside her but she no longer understands anything.

Y/n feel like she is on a cloud,she feel like she is flying.The sweat-soaked back doesn't touch the bed but the sky.

And all of a sudden everything becomes calms and quiet.

Daemon kisses her shoulders as if to console her because he knows her thoughts,he knows his little girl.He cautiously gets out of her and moves to her side.And the balance in silence returns,as the beats of their heart slow down.

Because after all,life was a game of balance,and that was the perfect balance for them.

[cxce15]

Creagan Stark fic recs

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[mysteriouslotuscasebookreference]

[madamabelladonna]

𝐀𝐝𝐦𝐢𝐫𝐞𝐫 𝐟𝐫𝐨𝐦 𝐀𝐟𝐚𝐫

𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: Young Lady Dayne, awaiting Jacaerys' lesson's end, enjoys tea with Princess Rhaenyra, who grants her access to the Royal Library due to her rare gifts. As she reads beneath the heart tree, a prince in green watches her, sparking jealousy within the eldest son of Rhaenyra. With Jacaerys' eighth name day nearing, their growing relationship seems to be all the court can talk about. 𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠: Jealousy & Criston 'Rice Krispy' Cole 𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

Ser Ryak led you through the dim corridors of the Red Keep, his heavy boots scuffing against the cold, uneven stones. The predawn air hung thick with a damp chill, a sea mist that clung to your skin and settled like dew on your hair. It was a still, quiet hour, that mysterious time when the castle seemed to breathe in its sleep, the distant sound of the waves crashing against the cliffs the only indication that the world outside was still alive.

The mist wrapped around the castle like a shroud, casting a ghostly pallor over everything. The torches along the walls had burned down to embers, and their dim, flickering light barely held back the shadows. The wind from the bay swept through the open passages, carrying with it the salty tang of the sea mixed with the faint, sharp scent of the cold morning air.

You pulled your cloak tighter around your shoulders, clutching the wooden bucket of carrots close to your chest. “My lady, are you quite certain you don’t require assistance?” Ser Ryak’s voice broke the silence, low and cautious, his eyes darting to the heavy pail in your grip. He was a tall man, with a lined face and sharp blue eyes that always seemed to watch you more closely than you would like.

“I can manage,” you replied, a touch of firmness in your tone, your fingers gripping the rough wood even tighter. You would not be seen as weak, not today. Merek had made it clear that Whisper was your responsibility now, and you would not allow yourself to fail. If it meant waking before dawn and trudging through the cold with a bucket of carrots, so be it. You had taken it upon yourself, and you would see it through.

The stables loomed ahead, their thatched roof barely visible against the gray sky. As you neared, the smell of hay and manure grew stronger, mingling with the scent of damp earth. The doors were ajar, a faint glow spilling out into the mist like a buoy. You could hear the muffled sounds of the horses shifting restlessly in their stalls, the soft clinking of metal against wood as they moved.

Inside, the stables were dark, save for a single lantern hanging from a beam. Its light flickered and danced across the walls, casting long, distorted shadows that seemed to stretch and writhe like living things. The smell was stronger here, a pungent mix of straw, sweat, and the earthy scent of the horses.

The floor was covered in fresh hay, the sound of your footsteps muffled as you made your way towards Whisper’s stall. Whisper lay on her side in a bed of straw, her coat a dappled gray that seemed almost silver in the dim light. Her breathing was slow and steady, her sides rising and falling in a gentle rhythm.

Her head was tucked close to her chest, her eyes closed in sleep. You paused for a moment, watching her, a small smile tugging at your lips. There was something calming about the sight, something that eased the tension that had settled in your shoulders.

“Whisper,” you called softly, careful not to startle her.

Her ears twitched at the sound of your voice, and her eyes fluttered open, dark and deep, like pools of ink. She lifted her head, her nostrils flaring as she caught the scent of the carrots. Slowly, she rose, her muscles rippling beneath her skin as she stretched out her long neck towards you, her eyes bright with curiosity.

You stepped closer, holding the bucket just out of her reach, a playful smile on your lips. “Not so fast, girl,” you teased, your voice barely more than a whisper in the cool air. Whisper snorted softly, a sound of mild impatience, and nudged your chest with her muzzle, her breath warm against your skin.

Her large eyes met yours, and for a moment, you could almost swear she understood you, understood the game you played. You laughed, a soft, genuine sound that echoed in the quiet of the stable. “Alright, alright,” you relented, holding out your palm with a few carrots.

Whisper took them eagerly, crunching them between her teeth, her ears flicking back and forth in contentment. You watched her, feeling a warmth spread through your chest, a sense of satisfaction that had little to do with the task at hand.

You moved closer, reaching out to stroke her neck, your fingers tangling in her silvery mane. Whisper leaned into your touch, her body warm and solid against the chill of the morning air. She had begun to recognize you now, to see you not as a stranger but as something more—a friend, perhaps, or at least a familiar presence.

She nuzzled your shoulder, her breath hot against your ear, and you closed your eyes, just for a moment, letting the sensation wash over you. The stable seemed to hold its breath, the world outside fading to a distant hum.

You could hear the soft sounds of the other horses, the rustle of straw, the creak of wood settling in the cold. It was a small, enclosed space, but for a moment, it felt like the center of the universe, a place where nothing else mattered.

“Whisper,” you murmured again, almost to yourself. She flicked her ears, as if listening, her dark eyes watching you with an almost unnerving intensity. You wondered, not for the first time, if she could truly understand you, if there was some deeper connection between you and this horse that went beyond mere words.

The silence was broken by the sound of Ser Ryak clearing his throat. “The sun will be rising soon, my lady,” he warned, his voice low and respectful. “We should return before anyone notices your absence.”

You sighed, a small, reluctant sound, and gave Whisper’s neck a final pat. “I will return soon,” you promised her, though you doubted she understood. She nickered softly, as if in response, and you turned away, your heart feeling strangely heavy.

Ser Ryak waited by the door, his expression unreadable. You followed him out, glancing back over your shoulder one last time. Whisper was watching you, her eyes dark and unreadable, her ears pricked forward. You smiled, a small, private smile, and then turned back, stepping out into the cold morning air.

The sky was beginning to lighten, the first hints of dawn creeping over the horizon, painting the mist in shades of pink and gold. The wind had picked up, tugging at your cloak, and you pulled it tighter around you, feeling the chill seep through the fabric. You moved quickly, your footsteps light and swift on the cobblestones, Ser Ryak close behind.

The castle was waking around you, the sounds of servants beginning their morning chores, the clatter of pots in the kitchens, the low murmur of voices in the halls. You kept your head down, moving with haste, hoping to avoid any unwanted attention. The last thing you needed was questions about why you were up so early, why you had been in the stables.

Your chambers were blessedly empty when you returned, the fire in the hearth burned down to embers, the room cold and still. You tossed your cloak beneath the bed and kicked off your boots, feeling a wave of exhaustion wash over you.

You fell onto your bed, the sheets cool against your skin, and closed your eyes, a tired but satisfied smile playing on your lips. You still had a few hours before Isla would come, and you intended to make the most of them.

But even as you drifted off, your thoughts lingered on Whisper, the feel of her warm breath against your skin, the sound of her soft nicker in your ear.

The air was warm that day, the kind of warmth that felt like a soft embrace, gentle yet firm, coaxing the skin into a subtle sheen of sweat. The sweet aroma of rooibos tea mingled with the delicate perfume of the garden blooms—roses, daisies, lavender—all blended together to form a picture of scents.

Birds sang in the Keep’s gardens, their cheerful notes rising like prayers to the gods, as the sun hung high in the sky, a blazing orb that ruled over Kingslanding with a relentless glare.

You sat with Princess Rhaenyra, the two of you alone at a small wooden table. The chairs creaked as you settled into them, savoring the quiet and each other’s company, finding solace in the rare stillness of the afternoon.

A tray of cakes and fruit lay between you, untouched save for a few crumbs—plum cakes drizzled with honey, slices of apple, and grapes, their skins bursting with juice. 

You waited for Jacaerys, who had gone off to the Dragonpit to see Vermax, his beloved dragon. You found solace in the calm, feeling the gentle breeze that whispered through the leaves, carrying with it the laughter of children playing somewhere nearby. 

In the moons since your arrival, you had grown close to Princess Rhaenyra and her family, finding a place here that surprised even you. You and Jacaerys had become inseparable, roaming the Red Keep like shadows of one another, your laughter echoing through the stone corridors. Even your brother, Merek, seemed to have eased his worries. 

The godswood incident had faded into distant memory, like a bad dream half-forgotten upon waking. Merek had taken to sparring with Ser Harwin Strong, the “Breakbones” they called him, a man of muscle and might who moved like a dancer despite his size.

The training yard had become his sanctuary, the clash of steel his new rhythm, finding purpose in the routine. Kingslanding, with its stench and squalor and intrigue, had become almost like home to the two Daynes, much to your surprise.

"I must say," Rhaenyra began, setting down her teacup with a gentle clink that seemed almost too loud in the stillness.

She leaned forward, resting her chin upon her hands, her violet eyes—so much like her mother’s—studying you with an intensity that made you shift in your seat. "Luke has grown under your guidance. You have become quite the teacher, despite your young years."

You felt the heat rise to your cheeks, ducking your head in a bid to hide the blush. "Thank you, Your Highness," you murmured, your voice barely more than a whisper. "Prince Lucerys is a fast learner. I fear he will surpass me before he reaches my age." A soft laugh escaped your lips, an attempt to deflect the praise with humor. But Rhaenyra did not laugh.

Instead, she tilted her head, her expression one of quiet contemplation. "Oh, we can’t have that now, can we?" she mused, tapping her chin thoughtfully. For a moment, a flicker of worry crossed your face.

Would she bring in a new tutor, someone older, wiser, more accomplished, to replace you? You had grown to cherish your time with Lucerys and Jacaerys and feared losing it more than you cared to admit.

As if sensing your anxiety, Rhaenyra chuckled—a rich, warm sound that felt like sunlight breaking through a cloud. "No need to fret, dear one. I have no intention of separating you from my boys." Her words were a balm, and you felt your shoulders relax, the tension ebbing away like the tide.

She gestured to her handmaiden, Elinda, who stepped forward, carrying a scroll bound with red silk, the seal of House Targaryen gleaming in the sunlight.

Rhaenyra took the scroll, her fingers deftly untying the ribbon. "I have spoken to the King of your goodwill," she began, her voice light with excitement, "and he wishes to reward you for your efforts with his grandson." She opened the scroll, her eyes scanning the words written there, a smile playing at her lips as if she were savoring some sweet secret.

Your heart pounded in your chest, a wild, frantic beat. "P-pardon?" you stammered, unsure of what to expect, caught between hope and dread.

“The King has granted you access to the Royal Family’s Library,” Rhaenyra announced, holding the scroll out to you. “You may come and go as you please.”

For a moment, you could hardly breathe. At just seven summers, you had been given a privilege reserved for only the most trusted and learned in the realm. "Thank you, Your Highness. This is an honor," you managed to say, though your voice trembled like a leaf caught in the wind.

You took the scroll with hands that felt too heavy, as if it were made of gold and not parchment. "I… I don’t know what to say."

Rhaenyra's smile widened, her lips curling like the edges of a rose in bloom. "Say nothing at all, dear one. You have earned it." Her voice was as warm and soft as the breeze that stirred the petals of the garden flowers.

As you looked down at the slip of parchment in your hand, your own smile grew, blossoming like the flowers that surrounded you. The thrill that bubbled within you was almost too much to contain, the urge to race to Merek and show him the gift you had been granted nearly overwhelming. But you knew he was at the training yard, and you would have to wait. And you knew why.

One name lingered in your thoughts like a shadow.

Criston Cole.

The Queen Consort’s sworn sword, dark and brooding as a storm cloud on a summer's day. Of him, you knew little more than the stories whispered in the shadows of the Red Keep, tales of dishonor and betrayal, of his contemptuous treatment of Princess Rhaenyra and her children.

Merek had called him a "pompous prick" more than once, a slight grin twisting his lips whenever he spoke the words. And more often than not, Ser Criston would challenge your brother to sparring matches, a ceaseless endeavor to test if Merek was truly worthy of bearing Dawn, the ancestral sword of House Dayne.

You’d often catch Ser Criston’s cold, appraising eyes upon you and Jacaerys whenever you passed him in the corridors of the Keep, his gaze as sharp and unforgiving as a blade. For a Dornishman, he was strangely rigid, his sense of honor sharper than any steel. Sometimes, you worried that life at court might turn you into something equally stern and unyielding, as if the castle’s cold stone walls were creeping into your very soul.

His arrogance was boundless, like the vastness of the Narrow Sea—frowning upon the heir to the Iron Throne was one thing, but questioning your brother’s worthiness to wield Dawn? Unforgivable.

No, you did not like that man. Not at all.

Then there was “Crispin Cole,” as Lucerys liked to call him, despite your many efforts to correct the boy. Jacaerys would often encourage his little brother’s jests, his laughter a bright, lively sound that seemed to fill every corner of a room with its light.

Your relationship with the young princes had flourished in your time here, a bond forged in the fires of shared glances, whispered secrets, and childhood mischief. With Jacaerys especially, you had grown close.

The two of you would often take walks along the beach, the sea air tangling your hair, or wander through the gardens where flowers of every hue and fragrance bloomed in wild abundance. It had become a comforting routine—waiting for him after his lessons, seeing his familiar form approaching with a grin, Lucerys trailing behind, his smile just as wide.

But speaking of Jacaerys, you were pulled from your thoughts by the soft sound of Rhaenyra's amused cough. She seemed to see through you, catching the spark of excitement dancing in your eyes, the rabbit hole of contemplation you had wandered into. "I do believe Jacaerys should be back from visiting Vermax soon," she remarked with a knowing smile, her violet eyes twinkling with unspoken mirth.

"Why not head over to the library and find something to read while you wait?" She leaned in a little closer, the conspiratorial light in her gaze almost playful, and gave you a wink.

You nodded eagerly, unable to suppress your delight. “Thank you, your highness,” you replied, offering a quick curtsey. “I will not disappoint.” Rhaenyra waved a hand, dismissing you, her lips curling in a smile that was both fond and faintly amused, as if she could see into the future from now. 

You shuffled into the Royal Library, excitement thrumming through your veins. The air was thick with the crisp, leathery scent of old books, and you breathed it in deeply, savoring the smell of history and knowledge that stretched far beyond your years.

This place was everything you imagined it would be—a sanctuary of knowledge and wisdom, a vault of secrets. Jacaerys would return soon, so you figured it best to start with something small. 

You wandered from shelf to shelf, fingers grazing the spines of the ancient tomes. The choices were overwhelming, each title seeming more intriguing than the last. Finally, you decided to let fate decide for you.

Closing your eyes, you continued to meander around the shelves, oblivious to the watchful gaze fixed on you from a distance. 

Eventually, you stopped and reached out, your hand landing on a random book. “The Tongue of the Horse Lords,” you murmured to yourself, turning it over in your hands. Cracking it open, you quickly realized it was a beginner's guide to learning the Dothraki language. A smile tugged at your lips. You’d always wanted to learn another language besides the common tongue.

High Valyrian would have been your first choice, of course—it was the mother tongue of the Targaryens, Velaryons, and even the Celtigars. But many high-born lords and ladies knew it, so it wasn’t exactly a rare skill. Dothraki, though… now that would be something different. A good read, you decided, tucking the book under your arm.

A glint of silver caught your eye, a flicker in the corner of your vision.

You turned quickly, but whatever it was had vanished. The sensation of being watched settled over you like a cold mist. You hesitated, glancing around the room, but there was no one—at least, no one you could see.

“Hmm… Strange…” you muttered, half-hoping for a reply. But the only answer was the faint whisper of a draft brushing through the room. You shook your head, deciding it was just a trick of the light. Clutching the book tighter to your chest, you headed for the door.

The open halls of the Keep greeted you with a breeze, tugging at your hair. “I promised Jace I’d meet him at the godswood,” you reminded yourself. The godswood had become your place, the spot where you’d meet after his lessons or your tutoring sessions with Lucerys. It was a peaceful corner of the Red Keep, a slice of greenery amidst the stone and mortar.

Your mauve dress swished around your ankles as you made your way to the godswood, your thoughts still lingering on the strange flicker of silver in the library. You glanced over your shoulder once, twice, but nothing was behind you except the quiet shadows of the early morning.

Brushing the odd feeling away like a speck of dust, you slipped through the arched entryway and into the godswood. The air was cool here, heavy with the scent of damp earth and fallen leaves. The soft rustling of branches overhead was the only sound, mingling with the distant murmur of the castle beyond the wall of trees.

Here, the world seemed hushed, the canopy casting dappled shadows across the ground. The heart tree, with its pale bark and carved face, loomed in the center of the grove, its red leaves rustling like whispers of an old song.

You made your way to the base of the weirwood, the ancient tree towering above you, its carved eyes seeming to watch you as you moved. Settling against its thick trunk, you shifted into a comfortable position, feeling the rough bark press against your back. The weirwood's roots twisted like old bones around you, giving you the sensation of being both sheltered and observed, held in the embrace of something far older than the Red Keep itself.

Opening the book, you began to read, tracing the unfamiliar letters with your fingertips. The first few pages were simple enough��basic phrases in Dothraki, the language of the horse lords across the Narrow Sea.

You sounded the words out softly, your breath clouding in the cool morning air. “M���athchomaroon,” you whispered, your tongue stumbling over the guttural sounds. "Respect to you." It was strange to shape your mouth around the words, but oddly satisfying. You repeated the phrase again, more slowly, letting the syllables sink into your memory.

You made a mental note to ask Merek to find a proper tutor for you—someone who could help you with pronunciation and grammar, someone who knew more than just the basics this book offered. This wasn't for any formal education, just a pursuit born of personal curiosity. To learn a language so different from your own, to understand the people who spoke it—there was something thrilling in that thought.

The godswood was silent except for the whisper of leaves and the occasional caw of a distant crow. You found comfort in that stillness, letting it envelop you as you continued to read, sounding out the phrases with careful deliberation. "Thira anni," you murmured.

"My sun and stars." It was a phrase that spoke of deep affection, a fondness as fierce as the riders who spoke it. You couldn't help but wonder if the Dothraki felt their words as deeply as they sounded.

Leaning back against the weirwood, you took a deep breath, feeling the cool, rough bark press against your spine. You allowed yourself to imagine, just for a moment, what it might be like to stand on the vast grasslands of Essos, to ride across the open plains with nothing but the wind in your hair and a language on your lips that no one else in the Red Keep could speak. It made you feel bold, different—a small spark of adventure kindling within your chest. 

As you repeated the words again, slower this time, you felt the weirwood’s presence—ancient and steady—watching over you like an old friend, the red leaves above stirring softly as if whispering their approval.

A rustle in the leaves caught your attention, and a smile touched your lips as you lifted your head toward the approaching footsteps. "Took you long enough," you began, ready to chide Jacaerys for his tardiness. "I was waiting for y—" The words died on your lips when you realized it wasn’t Jacaerys standing before you. 

The boy who appeared was older than you by a few years, though not by many. His hair was a shade of silver so bright it almost seemed to glow in the dappled light of the godswood, and his eyes—a deep, vivid violet—marked him unmistakably as a Targaryen.

He stood half-hidden by a bush, his expression wary, his hands fidgeting at his sides. He wore a tunic of deep green, the color of House Hightower. Too young to be Prince Aegon, you quickly realized this must be Prince Aemond, the second son of Queen Alicent.

Aemond’s gaze flitted nervously from you to the ground and back again. He swallowed, his throat bobbing with uncertainty, clearly unaccustomed to these sorts of encounters. He had been in the Royal Library, practicing his High Valyrian, when he noticed you.

His days usually consisted of lessons, reading, and dreaming of dragons, often alone. He would have been at the Dragonpit if he had a dragon to visit—if only his egg had hatched instead of turning cold and dead like stone in his cradle. His birthright felt like a broken promise, a void he was desperate to fill. 

He had heard the door to the library open and close and dismissed it as a maester's passing, only to look up and see you wandering among the shelves, a small figure lost in a sea of ancient tomes. He was surprised to see another child there, especially one so intent on the books. His nephews were far too busy bonding with their dragons to bury themselves in reading, and his brother Aegon had no love for such pursuits. 

"I—I saw you in the library," Aemond stammered, his voice soft, almost hesitant, as if he wasn't sure you’d want to hear him. He hesitated, struggling to find the right words. Up close, he could see you more clearly: the way the light fell on your face, the way your eyes scanned the pages of your book.

You seemed at home here, calm and sure in a way he envied. "I… I thought you looked… interesting," he added, though his voice caught on the last word, as if he weren't quite sure it was the right thing to say. 

He shifted on his feet, unsure of what to do with his hands. "You were reading… Dothraki," he murmured, glancing at the book in your lap. "It’s… not a language many choose to learn." Aemond spoke quietly, as if he feared his voice might shatter the tranquility of the godswood.

You could see the uncertainty in his eyes, the way his fingers curled into the fabric of his tunic. He had been drawn to you without quite understanding why, as if the godswood itself had pulled him here. 

You tilted your head, studying him for a moment. “It interested me,” you replied simply, lifting the book to show the cover. “And it seemed like no one else would bother.” You smiled gently, noticing how his shoulders relaxed, just a little. "What were you reading?" you asked, trying to draw him out of his shell.

“High Valyrian,” he answered, a flicker of pride in his voice. “It’s… It’s our tongue, our true tongue.” There was a brief, almost imperceptible glint of hope in his eyes, as if he were reaching out, yearning for something—a connection, perhaps, or just understanding. 

You nodded thoughtfully. “Perhaps you could teach me a word or two,” you offered, and for the first time, you saw Aemond’s lips twitch into a small smile. It wasn’t much, but it was something.

A start.

“Wren!”

You turned at the familiar call of your nickname, a name Jacaerys had chosen for you on a whim, saying it suited you. You never asked why, but you didn't mind—it made you think of the little bird, quick and curious, flitting about the gardens. 

Jacaerys approached, his dark curls bouncing slightly as he moved with purpose. You didn’t notice the way Aemond’s fist tightened at the sight of his nephew, but you felt the sudden tension in the air. Jacaerys’s gaze landed on Aemond, his expression hardening slightly, eyes narrowing. “What are you doing here?” he asked, a hint of challenge in his voice. 

To Jacaerys, Aemond was always just… there. Always standing in some corner, always watching, always so quiet. It was unnerving, but Jacaerys hadn’t given him much thought—until now. Something about seeing Aemond standing there with you didn’t sit well with him. 

Jacaerys strode forward, his eyes locked on Aemond’s, his hand outstretched to help you up. He never broke his gaze, sizing Aemond up as if trying to decide whether he was a threat. Aemond stared back, unblinking, his face an unreadable mask. 

Aemond tolerated his half-sister's sons at best. His mother, Queen Alicent, had made it her mission to keep her children away from Rhaenyra’s, whispering in their ears all sorts of things about their half-sister and her sons, things that shaped Aemond’s view even if he never voiced them aloud.

He knew better than to openly question the legitimacy of Rhaenyra's sons, especially not in front of King Viserys. But that didn’t mean he didn’t think it. 

Jacaerys pulled you to your feet, his hand firm in yours, then shifted, stepping in front of you, as if to shield you from Aemond. He placed himself between you and his uncle, his stance protective, his chin lifted in silent defiance. Aemond’s eyes flicked to your face, and then back to Jacaerys, his jaw clenched tight, the tension crackling in the space between them.

Aemond’s mouth opened slightly as if he were about to speak, but then he hesitated. You watched him, noticing the flicker of uncertainty in his violet eyes. He looked young then, younger than you expected—a boy caught between pride and some silent longing. The same look he’d worn in the library, staring at the books he could read but didn’t seem to love.

“I only wanted to see what she was reading.” Aemond finally said, his voice almost a whisper, as if afraid it might break if he spoke too loudly. He turned his gaze to you again, something softer in his eyes.

Jacaerys didn’t relax. He kept his posture tense, his shoulders squared. “She doesn’t need you watching over her,” he replied coolly, still keeping himself between you and Aemond. You could feel the heat in his words, the simmering edge of protectiveness. This had been the first you have seen of it, “Jace…” You held his hand, “Be kind.” whispering a plea in his ear.

Aemond’s lips pressed into a thin line. He looked as if he might say more, but then, instead, he turned his head slightly, his gaze moving past you and Jacaerys, to the Weirwood tree looming above, its red leaves rustling softly in the breeze.

He had always been fascinated by the godswood, though he’d never say so aloud. There was something ancient about it, something unspoken and holy, and he felt that whenever he stood beneath those blood-red leaves.

“Doesn’t matter,” Aemond muttered, his gaze returning to you, just for a moment. “I’ll leave you to your… study.” His voice was tight, controlled, as he turned to leave, his green tunic blending into the shadows of the trees. But before he took a step, he paused, hesitating again. “You… You shouldn’t be alone here. Not without someone who knows this place,” he added, almost like an afterthought.

Jacaerys scoffed. “I know this place well enough. And she has me,” he said firmly, his tone dismissive. “Go back to your lessons, Uncle.”

Aemond’s eyes flashed at the word, ‘Uncle,’ a reminder of his status, his place. “As you say,” he murmured. His face went cold, the expressionless mask sliding back into place. He turned away, his steps light and quick, almost too quick, as if he couldn’t get away fast enough.

You watched him go, feeling a strange mixture of emotions—pity, perhaps, for the boy without a dragon, the one who seemed so lonely despite being surrounded by people. But you also felt a warmth blooming in your chest at Jacaerys’s side, his presence like a solid, reassuring wall against the world’s uncertainties.

Jacaerys let out a breath he’d been holding and turned to you, his face softening into a smile. “Come on, Wren,” he said, his voice gentler now, his hand still resting on your arm. He guided you away from the godswood, his steps light and quick as if eager to leave the encounter with Aemond behind.

You followed, but a frown creased your forehead. “You didn’t have to be so rude back there, Jace,” you said, your voice holding a hint of reproach. Aemond didn’t seem to mean any harm. He was just… awkward, for lack of better words.

Jacaerys shrugged, his shoulders rising slightly as if to brush off your concern. “It’s not that I don’t like him,” he said, his tone dismissive. “It’s just… he’s different. And he’s always got this way of standing in the corner, watching us. It’s unsettling.”

You bit your lip, glancing back toward the godswood where Aemond had disappeared into the shadows. “But you have to admit, it’s not entirely his fault,” you said softly. “He’s always been on the fringes, hasn’t he? With the way things are at court, I imagine he feels isolated.”

Jacaerys’s expression softened, though he remained guarded. “Maybe,” he conceded. You could understand Jacaery’s reproach to a certain degree. Given that House Targaryen has been divided into two factions, Black and Green, the bad blood between Jacaerys and Aemond, both their mother’s sons, comes as no surprise.

As you walked together, the cool post-meridiem air brushed against your cheeks, and the sky above was turning shades of deep blue and gold. The quiet of the Red Keep settled around you, the hum of the city distant but ever-present.

Jacaerys guided you to the dining hall, where the warm glow of lanterns cast a comforting light. “Come on,” he said, his tone brightening. “Let’s forget about the godswood and enjoy the evening. I promised you a story, remember?”

You smiled, letting the conversation drift to lighter topics as you entered the hall. The evening stretched ahead, full of promise, and you felt a sense of contentment as you settled into the comfort of Jacaerys’s company. The troubles of the day seemed to melt away, if only for a while, as the warmth and laughter of the dining hall embraced you both.“I brought you something.”

He stopped in the middle of the hall. “I brought you something.” He reached into his tunic and pulled out a small bundle wrapped in cloth.  “For you,” he said, his eyes bright with anticipation.

You took the bundle, unwrapping it carefully, to find a small, carved wooden bird—a wren, its delicate wings outstretched as if in mid-flight. It was finely crafted, and the wood was smooth under your fingers.

Your heart swelled at the sight, and you couldn’t help but smile up at him. “You made this?” you asked, touched by the gesture. He nodded, a blush creeping up his cheeks. “I thought… well, I thought it could keep you company,” he admitted, looking almost shy. “When you read.”

You laughed softly, feeling a wave of affection for him. “Thank you, Jace,” you said, holding the small bird close to your chest. “It’s perfect.” He grinned, his face lighting up, and for a moment, the tension that had hung in the air seemed to melt away.

The godswood was quiet again, the only sound the soft rustling of the leaves and the distant call of a raven somewhere high above. Jacaerys sat down beside you at the base of the Weirwood, his shoulder brushing against yours. “Now, what were you reading?” he asked, peering at the book in your lap.

“The Tongue of the Horse Lords?” He chuckled, “Dothraki? Why would you want to learn that?”

You shrugged, a teasing smile playing at your lips. “Perhaps I’m planning a trip across the Narrow Sea. Or maybe I want to surprise everyone when I curse them in a language they can’t understand.”

Jacaerys laughed, his arm slipping around your shoulders. “I’d like to see that,” he said, his voice warm. “And if you do decide to go to Essos, you know I’d go with you.”

You leaned into him slightly, “Do you think Vermax will grow large enough to carry two riders?” you asked, your voice a soft murmur. Your eyes remained fixed on the path ahead, but your thoughts were with the dragon.

Vermax was still young, his scales the color of deep green sea glass, his eyes like embers. But you wondered now if he would grow big enough, strong enough, to bear the weight of two, to carry you and Jacaerys both across the sky, far from this place with its whispered rivalries and bitter feuds.

Jacaerys’s lips curled into a small, amused smile. "Perhaps,” he replied, a hint of laughter in his tone. “Vermax is still growing, and who knows what size he’ll reach? Dragons are unpredictable creatures.” There was a glimmer in his eyes, one of mischief and wonder. “But I think he could bear us both if I asked him to. Dragons know when they are needed. They sense it… like we do.”

You slipped your arms around Jacaerys’s arm, pulling him a little closer as the two of you continued to walk through the godswood, your steps crunching softly on the fallen leaves underfoot. “I can’t wait!” you exclaimed, your voice bubbling with excitement.

The thought of you and Jacaerys, riding Vermax together, flying across the skies to far-off places, seeing lands you had only ever heard about in songs and stories— it was a dream that sparkled in your mind, bright and vivid. The idea of traveling together, especially at your young age, filled you with a sense of adventure that made your heart race.

Jacaerys chuckled, a warm sound that matched the smile on his lips. “Where should we go first, do you think?” he asked, looking down at you with an eager glint in his dark eyes. “Maybe the Free Cities? Or the Summer Isles?” He spoke as if the whole world was open to you both, as if no walls or rules could ever hold you back.

The mention of distant lands filled your head with images of bright markets, exotic spices, and strange, beautiful places where no one knew your name. But another thought soon surfaced, one that brought you back to the present.

“Your eighth name day is coming soon,” you reminded him with a grin, watching as his expression shifted to one of surprise and then a touch of delight. “A grand feast, a tourney… I imagine King Viserys will make quite a celebration for his first grandchild.”

Jacaerys rolled his eyes playfully. “Another tourney, more knights prancing about,” he said, though you could see the hint of pride that flickered in his gaze. He was growing into his princely role, even if he liked to pretend otherwise. He was a boy who was slowly learning the weight of the crown that might one day rest upon his head.

Resting your chin lightly on his shoulder, you leaned in closer, feeling the comforting solidity of him beside you. “Do you want anything special for your name day?” you asked, voice soft with genuine curiosity. “A sword? A new cloak, perhaps? A book on dragons?” You tilted your head slightly, the question hanging in the air like the last leaves of autumn, waiting to fall.

Jacaerys looked thoughtful, his brow furrowing slightly, his eyes narrowing as he pondered. “A gift?” He seemed to savor the word for a moment, as if tasting its possibilities. “I don’t need anything grand… but perhaps…” he said softly, a rare, almost wistful tone in his voice.

“A dance?”

Your face contorted into an exaggerated expression of contemplation, your eyes narrowing just slightly before you nodded, a soft laugh escaping your lips. “I think I can manage that,” you whispered.

Jacaerys’s eyes remained fixed on yours, his expression softening. He turned his head just enough that his dark curls brushed against your cheek, the brief contact sending a shiver through you. His gaze was earnest, the kind that spoke of trust placed in something precious.

“Good,” he murmured, the ghost of a smile playing at his lips, his voice barely louder than the whisper of the leaves around you. “I look forward to it, Wren..” The nickname made your heart flutter, a warmth spreading through you like a small, secret joy.

You had always liked that he called you that, a name that felt light and free, like the bird itself, flitting from branch to branch, never staying in one place too long. It was a name that suited you, in this moment and in his company, where everything felt a little less heavy and the world seemed a little more open.

It had not gone unnoticed in the halls of the Red Keep that young Lady Dayne had earned a place of prominence within the Royal Family. Though new to the court, the Dornish girl had quickly caught the attention of many, not least of all the Crown Princess Rhaenyra and her sons, who seemed particularly fond of her.

The courtiers whispered about it with raised eyebrows and knowing looks, their voices hushed but insistent in the shadowed alcoves and echoing corridors. But what set tongues wagging most was the unmistakable closeness between Lady Dayne and Prince Jacaerys Velaryon, Rhaenyra's eldest and the heir to Dragonstone.

They spoke of how the boy, usually so reserved in the presence of strangers, seemed to soften when Lady Dayne was near. He laughed more freely, his dark eyes alight with an unguarded joy that seemed rare in a young man who bore the weight of such high expectations.

He was often seen walking with her in the godswood or lingering overlong at her side during lessons in the library, his attention more on her than on any maester’s teachings. There was speculation, of course. Lady Dayne had become a favorite subject of idle talk, her every movement watched with keen interest by those who thrived on court intrigue.

The courtiers noted her bright laughter, her easy manner, and how she moved through the palace as if she had been born to its halls, despite her Dornish blood. Some wondered if there was a purpose behind the Princess's fondness for the girl; others questioned if the girl herself had ambitions beyond what seemed so innocent and childlike on the surface.

And yet, whatever schemes or machinations the courtiers imagined, none could deny that there was a genuine affection between Lady Dayne and Prince Jacaerys. It was there in the way his gaze sought hers across crowded rooms, how he seemed to lean into her words as if she spoke with a wisdom beyond her years.

It was there in the way she seemed to calm him with just a touch, a quieting presence amid the storm that often surrounded him. It was a bond that seemed to defy the usual coldness of court alliances, a friendship that bloomed against the backdrop of political tension and whispered accusations.

Even the Queen, Alicent Hightower, had taken note, her green eyes watching the pair with a mix of curiosity and something darker, something guarded. She did not miss the way Jacaerys’s gaze lingered on Lady Dayne or how his smile widened in her presence.

If Lady Dayne was aware of the scrutiny, she gave no sign. She moved through the court with an easy grace, her expression open, her laughter free. She seemed untouched by the whispers, unbothered by the endless eyes that followed her, as if she had grown used to such attention or cared little for the judgments of those who hid their secrets behind courtly masks.

Yet the murmurings persisted.

Some wondered if a betrothal might be in the making, a match that would strengthen Princess Rhaenyra's claims by tying her house to the ancient and noble blood of Starfall. Others thought it impossible—that the realm would never accept a union between a Targaryen prince and a girl of Dornish descent, no matter how favored she was by the Princess.

For now, the court could only watch, and wait, and wonder at what lay beneath the surface of this growing friendship—and whether it might change the course of the realm in ways that no one could yet foresee.

So it did not come as a surprise to the court when you were invited by Princess Rhaenyra to sit in the Royal Box for the tourney in celebration of Prince Jacaerys’ name day. The Royal Box, a place of high honor, was traditionally reserved for the royal family, the Velaryons, and members of the Small Council.

To be granted a seat there was to be acknowledged as more than just another highborn guest; it was to be included in the inner circle of power, to be seen by the realm itself as favored by the future Queen. You reclined on the plush loveseat, the delicate fabric cool against your skin, as Lucerys settled with a contented sigh, his head resting on your lap.

The tent around you was a sanctuary from the bustling energy of the tourney grounds, where the roars of the crowd and the rhythmic beat of drums created a distant but persistent backdrop. Outside, the noise of the tourney was a cacophony of excitement and tension, but within the tent, a comforting calm reigned.

Lucerys, eyes half-closed, let out a soft yawn, his breath warm and steady against your legs. His sleep-rumpled hair and the faint smile on his lips spoke of a sleepy contentment, even as he mumbled incoherent words, drifting between dreams and wakefulness.

The ungodly hour of the morning had come far too early for all of you, dragging you from the warmth of your beds and into the chill of dawn. The carriage ride through the crisp air outside Kingslanding had been a blur, and now, here in the tent, time seemed to stretch in its own lazy rhythm.

“Why is Jacaerys taking so long?” Lucerys grumbled, his voice muffled by the fabric of your gown. Impatience edged his tone, the frustration of being late mounting with every passing minute. The tourney had been set to start in the morning, and as the moments ticked away, the spectacle outside waited for no one.

You absently smoothed Lucerys’s hair, offering a soothing touch to help him stay calm. “I’m sure he’ll be out soon,” you said softly, trying to ease his growing impatience. Your own excitement was tempered by the worry of being late, and you couldn’t help but glance toward the screen where he was getting dressed, hoping for a glimpse of Jacaerys.

The tent itself was a haven of rich textures and colors—a stark contrast to the grittiness of the tourney grounds outside. Silk banners in deep crimson and gold adorned the walls, their luxurious fabric shimmering softly in the filtered light.

The scent of cedar and fresh straw lingered in the air, mingling with the faint aroma of roast meat and spiced wine that hinted at the feast to come. It was a far cry from the raw energy of the tournament field, where knights clashed and lances shattered in a display of strength and skill.

As you waited, you could hear the distant sounds of the tourney's beginning—an occasional cheer from the crowd, the sharp crack of a lance meeting its target. The excitement outside was almost tangible, seeping through the tent walls and stirring a restlessness in your own heart. You glanced again at the entrance, the flutter of fabric heralding the arrival of Jacaerys.

The screen finally parted, and Jacaerys stepped out, his cheeks flushed with the combined exertion of dressing and the thrill of the day. He was dressed in a crisp black shirt, buttoned up neatly, with a vibrant red vest emblazoned with intricately embroidered golden dragons. His eyes sparkled with a mix of embarrassment and excitement as he took in the sight of you and Lucerys.

“Sorry to keep you waiting,” Jacaerys said, his voice carrying a hint of apology and a touch of playful exasperation. He moved toward you with an easy grace, his attire swishing with each step. His presence seemed to light up the room, dispelling the lingering tension.

Lucerys’s face brightened at the sight of his elder brother. He scrambled off your lap and bounded toward Jacaerys, his earlier irritation melting away in the warmth of family affection. “Finally!” Lucerys exclaimed, his tone a mix of relief and impatience.

You rose from the loveseat, smoothing out the folds of your gown and offering Jacaerys a reassuring smile. “You look splendid, Jace,” you said, your tone light and encouraging. “Now let’s not keep the entire tourney waiting.”

Jacaerys took your hand in his, guiding you confidently through the tents that were also set up for other noble houses. You clutched Lucerys’ hand tightly with your other, careful to keep him close as the three of you made your way toward the arena. The ground was soft and uneven, and you lifted the hem of your gown to avoid the risk of mud splashing up.

“I’ve got your back,” Lucerys piped up from behind you, his small hands reaching out to lift the back of your skirt, ensuring it wouldn’t drag through the muck. His gesture was both earnest and endearing, a show of his determination to help despite his young age.

You turned to him with a grateful smile, your eyes reflecting your appreciation. “Thanks, Luke,” you said, the warmth of your gratitude evident in your tone. The three of you quickened your pace, Jacaerys leading the way.

As you hurried through the shifting crowds and past the scattered tents, the sounds of the tourney grew louder—cheers and the clash of armor creating a symphony of excitement. Each step quickening with elation as you approached the arena.

However, that excitement was abruptly dimmed by the sight of a certain knight striding past. Ser Criston Cole, clad in his polished armor, was preparing for his own participation in the event.

Jacaerys stopped abruptly, his expression darkening as he fixed his gaze on the knight. Criston Cole’s eyes swept over the three of you with a look of disdain, his posture radiating an arrogance that was as palpable as the clamor of the approaching tourney.

“Young Prince, should you not already be in the Royal Box?” he drawled, his voice dripping with condescension. The tone was unmistakable—an attempt to belittle Jacaerys under the guise of polite inquiry.

You couldn’t help but roll your eyes at the audacity of the knight. It was well-known that Criston Cole had ingratiated himself with Queen Alicent, and his inflated sense of self-importance had become a tiresome fixture at court. His haughty demeanor was as grating as it was predictable.

Not wanting to be anymore later than you already were, “And don’t you have a tourney to get ready for, Ser Crispin?” you retorted, your voice carrying a touch of sharpness. The nickname was a deliberate slight, a way to remind him that his favored status did not entitle him to look down on others. The words hung in the air between you, a challenge to his presumed superiority.

Jacaerys shot you a grateful glance, though his own gaze remained fixed on Ser Criston. The knight’s eyes narrowed slightly, but he said nothing further, his expression a mix of irritation and calculation. With a curt nod, he turned on his heel and continued on his way, leaving the three of you to resume your hurried path toward the arena.

You three reached the Royal Box, a grand structure elevated above the arena, offering an unrivaled view of the proceedings below. The box was an opulent display of House Targaryen’s heraldry, its banners fluttering with a regal grace. The three-headed dragon, embroidered in red on a field of black, rippled in the breeze, a constant reminder of the Targaryen legacy that presided over the event.

As you entered the Royal Box, a hush fell over the assembled guests, their murmurs ebbing into a sea of quiet anticipation. The space was a grand display of Targaryen opulence, with banners of the three-headed dragon fluttering above, casting their shadow over the esteemed company within.

King Viserys occupied the central position, his regal presence augmented by the grandeur of the box. His face, lined with the weight of many years and decisions, was nonetheless softened by a subtle smile as he surveyed the festivities below. Beside him, Queen Alicent maintained an air of grace despite the snobbish wring on her face.

Her gown, a masterpiece of intricate embroidery, matched her poised demeanor. Her children were scattered nearby: Aegon, already showing the effects of too much Arbor Red, slouched with a vacant stare; Helaena, fiddling nervously with her fingers, lost in her own world; and Aemond, who sat apart from the rest, his expression a mask of quiet contemplation.

Princess Rhaenys, known as the Queen Who Never Was, was ensconced in a seat of prominence. Her eyes, sharp and discerning, took in the scene with a mixture of pride and critical appraisal. By her side was her husband, the formidable Corlys Velaryon, his presence as commanding as his reputation. His gaze swept over the assembly with an air of both authority and quiet anticipation.

The Small Council members were present as well, their faces a study in formality tinged with restrained eagerness. They whispered amongst themselves, casting occasional glances towards the arena below, their expressions reflecting the gravity of their positions.

Completing the distinguished lineup were Rhaenyra Targaryen and her husband, Laenor Velaryon. Rhaenyra’s posture was straight and proud, her eyes alight with the excitement and weight of the day’s significance. Laenor, ever the supportive consort, stood by her side, his demeanor a blend of reserved elegance.

You, Jacaerys, and Lucerys shuffled to your seats amidst the curious eyes of the assembled nobility. Lucerys settled on Jacaerys' left, his youthful face bright with the thrill of the day’s events, while you took the seat to Jacaerys' right, your presence creating a subtle stir.

The whispers of the court grew louder, a low hum of speculation and intrigue weaving through the Royal Box. As you settled into your seat, the murmurs of the crowd seemed to acknowledge the significance of your place among the royal family.

To many, it appeared as though you were already being groomed for a more prominent role, a sign of your growing importance within Princess Rhaenyra’s inner circle. The eyes of the court lingered on you, reflecting a mixture of curiosity and speculation about the young lady who had captured the Princess's favor.

As the heralds called for the first joust to begin, you felt the eyes of the court upon you—Lady Redwyne whispering behind her fan, Lord Beesbury nodding thoughtfully, and even Queen Alicent herself casting a quick, measuring glance your way.

To some, your presence in the Royal Box might be an audacity, an unexpected elevation of a girl from Dorne; to others, it was a sign of favor, a new piece in the game that was ever unfolding in the halls of the Red Keep.

From your seat, you could see the bright colors of the tourney ground, the lords and knights resplendent in their armor, their horses prancing and snorting with eagerness. The trumpets blared, and the crowd's roar rose like a wave as the first pair of riders charged toward each other, lances poised. 

Jacaerys leaned closer, his dark curls brushing your cheek as he whispered, "I don’t see your brother." His gaze swept over the line of knights preparing for the tourney, searching for a familiar face. You followed Jacaerys' gaze, sweeping over the bustling field and crowded stands until your eyes found the familiar lavender banner of House Dayne.

There, in a separate box, sat Merek, looking every bit the noble he was. He was dressed not in armor but in ceremonial attire—a deep indigo tunic adorned with the silver star of Starfall, chosen to mirror your own gown, which shimmered in a shade of tropical indigo. A goblet of wine rested casually in his hand, his posture relaxed, his expression serene as he observed the unfolding spectacle.

A flicker of guilt pricked at your conscience. Though Merek had insisted you sit with the royals, it felt somehow wrong to leave him alone, even if he did not seem to mind. You and Merek had always been close; his presence had been your shield and your strength.

But he had offered you his usual playful grin earlier, urging you to enjoy the festivities with your friends. Still, the pang of regret lingered, a quiet ache of longing to be at his side, sharing in the day’s excitement.

As the Sword of the Morning, Merek could have easily joined the ranks of the knights below, his skill with a blade and reputation for honor were more than enough to secure him a place among the competitors. Yet, such theatrics were beneath him.

House Dayne valued honor and loyalty above all else, just as the Starks did in the North. In many ways, the Daynes were seen as the Starks of Dorne—both houses with a proud heritage dating back to the First Men, their values shaped by the same ancient traditions of integrity and duty.

“Merek doesn’t participate in tourneys,” you whispered to Jacaerys, your voice low, intimate, meant for his ears alone. “He sees them as a waste of time and honor. He prefers the real battlefield over one made of painted lances and staged glory.”

Jacaerys glanced again toward Merek’s box, where your brother now raised his goblet in a quiet salute, catching your gaze from across the field. A small smile tugged at your lips, and you lifted your hand in response, a silent promise that you would find time to join him later.

The crowd's noise swelled, and the heralds’ trumpets cut through the air like a knife, announcing the commencement of the tourney. The knights on their steeds began to line up, their armor glinting under the pale autumn sun. You could feel the anticipation rising like a tide, filling the air with an almost palpable energy. Lucerys shifted restlessly in his seat, excitement sparking in his bright young eyes.

Jacaerys leaned closer, his shoulder brushing against yours, a light, reassuring touch amidst the growing frenzy of the crowd. “Mother says I should cheer for Ser Harwin, but I think I’ll cheer for Ser Erryk instead,” he whispered, a playful grin spreading across his face. “I’ve heard he’s the better rider.”

You chuckled softly. “Why not cheer for both? Or better yet, place a bet and see which of them proves you wrong.”

His grin widened. “A bet? With you?” He feigned shock. “Let me guess, the loser will have to forfeit their lemon cakes for a moon.” You leaned in closer, your voice a conspiratorial whisper. “I promise not to take all of them… just a few.”

Jacaerys laughed, and for a moment, the weight of his name and all that it bore seemed to lift. He looked every bit the boy he still was, his youthful face bright with mirth. You felt a warmth spread through you, glad to see him at ease, even if only for a short while.

From across the box, you could feel the sharp gaze of Queen Alicent upon you, her eyes flicking between you and her sons. Aegon was already half-slumped in his chair, flushed with wine, while Aemond sat with a stoic expression, his singular focus on the field below. Helaena seemed lost in her own world, whispering to herself, her hands weaving through the air in some intricate pattern only she understood.

Aemond's sharp gaze found yours, his expression neutral at first, his lips thinning slightly as if deciding whether to acknowledge you. But when you offered a small wave, a subtle, almost reluctant smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. He returned the gesture with a discreet wave, his movements careful, quick, so as not to draw too much attention.

His smile faded as he turned back to the tourney, his posture straightening under the ever-watchful eye of his mother, Queen Alicent. You could sense the tension in him—the weight of expectations and the constant scrutiny from those around him. You’d seen that guarded look in his eyes before, a mixture of judgment and restraint, the way he seemed to always be preparing himself for the next challenge or judgment.

You turned your attention back to the field, the knights now charging at full speed, lances aimed and armor clashing in a vivid display of strength and skill. 

King Viserys rose from his seat, his hand resting heavily on the arm of his chair as he steadied himself. The crowd hushed, their voices falling silent in anticipation. He stood tall, his golden crown catching the sunlight, reflecting a brilliant gleam that danced over his worn features.

Despite the lines etched into his face and the signs of age weighing on his shoulders, his eyes still held the spark of authority, a sovereign who had seen much and ruled through even more. He lifted a hand, signaling for the crowd's full attention.

His voice, though not as strong as it once was, carried across the tourney grounds with a commanding presence. “Lords and ladies, knights and squires, good people of Kingslanding,” he began, his voice a deep rumble that reached every corner of the arena. “Today, we celebrate the eighth name day of my beloved grandson, Prince Jacaerys Velaryon. In his honor, we gather to witness the valor and might of the realm's finest knights.”

A cheer erupted from the stands, a wave of excitement and anticipation rippling through the crowd. Viserys allowed a smile, nodding in approval at the response. He continued, “This tourney shall not only be a test of strength and skill but a testament to the bonds that hold our great houses together. Let us remember that even in competition, there is unity, and in our unity, there is strength.”

His gaze swept over the gathered nobles, lingering for a moment on Queen Alicent, whose expression remained unreadable, and then on Princess Rhaenyra, who met his eyes with a look of quiet pride.

“May the Seven watch over each of you, may the best among you prove your worth in honor and courage, and may the gods grant us a day of sport to remember.” He paused for a heartbeat, his face softening with a touch of affection as he glanced toward Jacaerys, who stood beside you with a small, eager smile on his lips.

“And to my grandson,” Viserys added, “May your name day bring you joy and may your future be as bright as the flames of your ancestors.”

A louder cheer rose from the stands, the crowd clapping and shouting their approval. The sound of drums began again, a steady beat that quickened the pulse of those in attendance. Viserys lifted his cup of wine, a gesture mirrored by the lords and ladies around him. “Let the tourney begin!” he declared with finality, his voice strong and resolute.

At his command, a flourish of horns erupted, signaling the start of the event. Knights on their steeds trotted to their positions, banners flying, lances in hand, ready to charge down the lists. The tension in the air was palpable, a mixture of anticipation and excitement that hung over the field like a storm about to break.

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[daydreaming-nerd]

The Prophecy (Lucien Vanserra x Rhys! Sister)/(Azriel x Rhys! Sister) Part 3 (Lucien's Version)

Part 1 , Part 2, Part 3 ( Azriel's Version)

AN: I'm not really sure if I like how this turned out, so if you're new here I promise my writing it typically so much better. ALSO there are so many new faces on here! I wanted to say hello and thank you for the love once again! If you liked this fic and you love drama, forbidden love, protective acotar boys, a bit of a slow burn, and political intrigue you would LOVE and I mean LOVE my fic Young Love and Old Money. I’m still writing it but it’s almost completed! Go check it out you won’t be disappointed!

and of course check out my masterlist

Summary: The only thing worse than having Azriel not know about the bond is watching him and Elain carry on like she doesn’t have a mate as well. Lucien and you have been long time friends but things change after one fateful starfall celebration. It’s not wrong if both of your mates don’t want you right? 

Warnings: smut, so much lucien fluff, happy ending for lucien (for once) :)

Word count: 5057

We arrived in the house in silence, the only thing to fill the void was the crackling of the enchanted fire that always sprang to life whenever I walked through the door. My eyes were fixed on the floorboards, studying every grain of wood as I put together what had just happened. 

I had told Azriel about the bond, and I did it in anger. I had imagined telling him a million different ways over the past 400 years but never did imagine doing it out of spite. I was just so angry with Elain and her insufferable entitlement that had me seeing red. If anyone should act in such a manner, it should be me, I was a princess after all. 

I was furious with Elain there was no doubt about that, but the voice that kept echoing in my mind was Azriel’s. How he yelled at me. I had known him my whole life and I had never once been afraid of him,  until today. 

As if he was tired of the silence, Lucien brushed his hand under my chin bringing my gaze to his, it wasn’t until then that I realized I was crying. I didn’t even give him a chance to ask if I was alright before I started blubbering. 

“Lu I’m so sorry I didn’t mean to. She just got under my skin and I-” 

“Shhh” he cooed, pulling me into his chest. “It’s okay, I understand. I didn’t react much better when Azriel started talking.” he chuckled, no doubt remembering how he preemptively called me his wife, the words had rolled off his tongue so effortlessly it was admirable. 

“He’s never raised his voice to me like that. Not ever,” I hiccup into his chest, his scent like apples, spiced berries and woodsmoke. 

“I should’ve burned him to a crisp for doing so he has no right to treat you that way,” he said, pressing a kiss to my forehead.

“It’s alright, now that he knows he’ll be entitled to act possessive of me,” I sigh, starting to feel my pulse slow in his arms. 

“And I’m not granted that same right? To protect you?” Lucien said, tilting my chin up to meet his gaze. 

“Well, you aren’t my mate,” I laugh looking into his eyes. 

“And what if that doesn’t matter to me? That we aren’t mates? What if I think that the Cauldron made a terrible, horrible mistake by not binding me to you in every way imaginable?” he confesses. 

I search his face for a hint of that playful gleam I saw earlier. The trickster, the silver tongued fox who might be playing me for a fool. But I didn’t find it, for all those fiery eyes bore was sincerity. 

“What do you mean Lu?” I ask earnestly. 

“Exactly what I said, you aren’t my mate, but…” he stops as if to consider his words. “But I still feel like you are in a way, I feel protective of you. In a way I always have, remember when you scraped your knee climbing that cherry blossom tree in the spring court all those years ago?” 

I smile remembering the event, I had wanted some cherry blossoms to braid into my hair. “Yes I do, I still have the scar.” I laughed. 

“I know you do, I see it every time I make love to you,” he smiled back. “I remember carrying you to the healers at the spring court from half a mile out. Even then I couldn’t stand the thought of you bearing any sort of scar. What I’m trying to say is that you may not be my mate, but I love you like you’re mine. Because you are, you are mine.”

My breath gets caught in my throat and my eyes go wide at those three little words. The ones I thought I might’ve felt too these past few months. 

I love you. 

For a year now things between Lucien and I had been strictly situational, just a means to an end. Then I started noticing the little things, his toothbrush next to mine, his laundry in my hamper, him having his own side of the bed. Things changed, but it wasn’t a bad change, which was a new idea for me, as I had always resented change. But not this, this was good. 

I thought I had felt that emotion with Lucien before. The night that I came home and he had made us both dinner. The time he bought me the second book in a series just because he noticed I was almost done with the first. The week I was sick he nursed my back to health. I thought I felt love each and every one of those times, but I wasn’t sure. I always teetered on saying it but never caved. But as I stood here in his arms, watching his eyes light up as he said those words to me, I knew I felt the same.

“I-I love you too Lucien,” I said quietly so only he could hear, even though we were the only two people in the house. 

He wastes no time bringing his mouth to mine, for so long our kisses had been fervent, needy. Both of us desiring pleasure and the codling that came after it. This kiss was different than all the rest, in it I felt real love. The kind I had only read about in my numerous romance novels. I dreamed of being kissed this way my entire life. 

I felt strong hands grip my waist hoisting me up. My legs instantly wrapped around his waist as he started bounding up the stairs, his enthusiasm making me giggle.

“Believe me my love, there is nothing funny about the way I’m going to ravish you tonight,” he smirked before kicking open the bedroom door. 

The next day I woke up slowly, not wanting to move from where Lucien had placed me on his chest last night. Both of us took our time to have a steady morning knowing that later in the day there would be chaos. Lucien got up first, always the more responsible of the two of us. When I murmured a sleepy protest he simply chuckled and placed me back in bed, where I snuggled into the warm sheets that smell faintly of him. 

When I woke for the second time I smelled that delectable scent of pancakes wafting through the small townhouse. The aroma pulled me from the sheets in a sleepy haze as if my body was controlled by some other worldly force. Slipping on my blue nightgown and padding downstairs into the kitchen I found Lucien half clothed and cooking breakfast for the two of us.

“Blueberry pancakes, not chocolate chip,” he assured me, sprinkling fresh blueberries onto a pancake. 

“You remembered,” I sighed leaning against the counter watching him intently. When Lucien had first made breakfast for me I was taken aback by his cooking skills, there was no way that this man was the complete package. 

“How could I forget?” he laughed, flipping a pancake. “Last time I made chocolate you were on your cycle and you were so befuddled that you yanked the spatula out of my hand and spanked me with it.” 

I slid between him and the stove, “Don’t act like you didn’t like it,” I say my voice low and sultry as my hand slowly reaches for the spatula he’s hidden behind his back. 

“You little minx,” he teases when he feels my fingers searching for the torture weapon. The mischievous gleam flashes in his eyes and before I can run he swipes a blob of whipped cream from a nearby bowl onto my cheek. 

“Lu!” I scoff going to wipe the cream off my cheek but he grasps my wrist to stop me. 

“Fair is fair my dear,” he smirks before licking the sweetness off my cheek. I immediately feel my toes curl at the fiery sensation.

“You are insatiable,” I laughed, moving away from him to properly wipe my face.

I feel a quick slap to my arse with the spatula and I turn to see my fiancé standing with a self satisfied smirk. “Says you little miss ‘more Lucien more!’” he teases recalling how I begged him to touch me last night.

“I knew you would  tease me about that!” I shouted, pushing his study form as hard as I could, he didn’t even teeter. “I’ll never beg for you again!” 

He smiles, grabbing my left hand and pulling it to his mouth, placing a kiss on the ring adorning it. “There will never be a need,” he smirked. “Now go and set the table, babysitting Nyx duties can’t be put off for forever.” 

I had told Rhys and Feyre that I would happily watch Nyx this afternoon. Of course that was before they knew about Lucien, who might’ve gotten away with a pleasant afternoon in my townhouse with a new book but now? He was shackled to me to watch the young one.

 While the little High Lord in training was typically quite docile, he had just learned to crawl and had begun flapping his little wings, which meant trouble was becoming the new normal. Which is exactly what had happened today…

“Nyx no!” I shouted as he reached for a heavy book on one of the bookshelves, his tiny wings helping him to gain the extra inch or two of ground he needed. 

I grabbed him from underneath his shoulders and brought him into my arms, bouncing him on my hip as his eyes caught the shiny necklace I was wearing. His little hands grabbed at it and I figured it was better than a vase or another heavy book. 

“Just imagine till he can actually fly,” Lucien chuckled, coming up behind me.

“That won’t be for quite a while thankfully,” I laugh, bouncing the babe up and down.

“Are you so sure about that? Cassian seems to already be giving him lessons.” he points out. 

“I don’t even want to think about a flying toddler,” I scoff and Lucien chuckles behind me. 

 He pressed a kiss to the top of my head and I could feel his lips curling into a smile.“Is it bad that I’m enjoying watching this?” he admitted. 

“Watching what?” I laugh as Nyx puts the necklace in his mouth. 

“You, with a baby in your arms,” he said. 

“I’ve always wanted children,” I said and a beat of silence passed until I decided to be bold. “Lu, do you think we could ever have children?” I ask, afraid to turn around and possibly see a wary look on his face.

I felt Lucien’s chuckle reverberate behind me, “As many as you would like my darling.” he laughed. 

I whipped around with Nyx to search his eyes for a hint of uncertainty, but he seemed happy about the idea, “Really?” I asked in disbelief. 

“Of course,” he assured me. 

“I want a million just like little Nyx here,” I smile looking at the babe in my arms. 

“Minus the wings of course,” Lucien laughs behind me and I pause. 

My entire life I had always pictured my children with wings. Small, delicate little things that I would ‘ooo’ and ‘ahhh’ over.  I remembered seeing the Illyrian children in Windhaven growing up, I was always so happy when mothers would let me hold their babies, their wings so adorably small. I looked forward to having winged children of my own, but now things had changed. 

“What is it my dear?” Lucien asked, breaking me out of my trance. 

“Oh it’s nothing, it’s just that when I pictured my children I always figured they would have wings,” I say, pressing a kiss to Nyx’s temple. 

As if summoned, Azriel walked in, Rhys and Feyre in tow, signaling that their meeting was over. His eyes flitted to me, no doubt having heard what I had said. Lucien’s hand tightened on my hip. 

“How was he? Was he good?” Feyre smiled crossing the room to take her son in her arms once more.

“He was, but those wings are going to give me grief one day,” I smile watching Nyx snuggle into his mothers arms. 

“Don’t worry I’m terrified too,” Rhys laughed, approaching his mate and child. 

A comfortable silence ensued as I watched the little family reunite, smiles and warmth surrounding them. Lucien’s hand came to my shoulder, as if promising that we too would have that same picture perfect family one day. 

“Can we talk?” Azriel asked timidly, taking a step away from the doorway he leaned against. Feyre and Rhys take out of the room, no doubt feeling the change in the atmosphere.  

I searched his eyes for a hint of aggression but all I found was remorse, “Yes we may,” I say quietly.

“If you lay one hand on her spymaster I will burn you to ash,” Lucien growled, his hand on my shoulder tightening possessively.

“You have my word that I will not touch her in anger,” Azriel said earnestly, not a hint of teasing or mockery. Instead, a new found respect for Lucien showed in his eyes. 

I go to follow Azriel into the other room when I feel Lucien grab my hand pulling me into his broad chest. 

“Wait,” he said before slamming his lips to mine. The gesture was so passionate I couldn’t help but let out the slightest of moans as I felt him cradle the back of my head. This wasn’t just a kiss goodbye, it was a display of power to Azriel, letting him know how serious the two of us were. I couldn’t help but feel my lips turn up at Lucien’s sudden daring. 

I felt him back away to survey my face, as if looking for any hesitancy to enter into a conversation with Azriel. When he was certain I was comfortable he placed a kiss on my brow, “I’ll be right here if you need me.” he said as I dropped his hand and followed Azriel into Rhys’ study. 

The doors to the office closed with a resolute click as Azriel turned to face me, his eyes somber. 

“First and foremost I wanted to say I’m sorry for the way I behaved the other night. I shouldn’t have yelled at you like that or said the things I did” he said leaning against the desk a food meter away from me, as if Lucien had scared him from coming any closer. 

“It’s alright I forgive you. I shouldn’t have blurted out such an important thing anyways. We were both at fault.” I say earnestly. 

Azriel pulls his gaze from his boots to me, “I heard what you said in there, about your children having wings. Did you ever picture that those children would be?” he starts leaving me room to finish the sentence for him. 

“Yours? Yes.” I say timidly.

Azriel sighs as if weighing what all this means, “How long have you known?” he prompts. 

I think to lie, but it wouldn’t bear well on my soul. It was best to get it all out in the open. 

“400 years.” I confess and he curses under his breath. “I knew it the night you danced with me at the solstice ball in the Hewn City.” 

“Fuck y/n,” he curses again, turning to brace his hands on the desk behind him and I take a tentative step towards him. 

“I’m sorry I never told you, that wasn’t fair to you.” I sigh, but he doesn’t reply so I continue on. “It’s just that every time I thought about it you were pining for Mor and then Elain. I never felt I stood a chance. But you would talk to me about them, and even though it broke my heart to hear how you loved them so, it was better than losing you. I told myself that if I couldn’t have your love I would cherish your friendship, and maybe that was selfish of me but I did it.” 

Azriel finally turned from the desk to meet my gaze and I tried to offer him the most sympathetic glance I could. 

“I understand why you never told me, but I still wish I had known. Thing’s might’ve been different.” he said, running a hand through his hair. 

I pause to consider his words, “Would they be?” I ask. 

He looked at me in confusion, like I was dispelling the idea that the sky was blue. I understood his disarray. For thousands of years things had always been the same, mates were mates and that was that. But maybe what Lucien said last night did have merit. 

“Are you not happy with Elain?” I prompt him with a light heart, as I finally started to feel some solace in my own words. 

“y/n I don’t want to-” 

“You do not burden me Az.” I interrupt him, knowing what he was going to say. “Tell me truthfully.” 

A blush tints his cheeks as he averts his gaze to his boots once more, “I am happy. I am very happy.” he smiles as if he can’t help it. 

“I think it was meant to be this way,” I say honestly watching the shadowsinger reeling in front of me. 

“What about you? Are you?”

“Happy?” I ask, glancing to the door where I know Lucien waits for me on the other side. “I’m happier than I’ve been in a long time.” I smile answering him. 

“How long have you and him been… you know?” he asks, seemling losing all tension in his body as he sees me at ease.  

“Since starfall,” I answered, remembering the first time Lu kissed me. 

“A year?!” Az balked, raising his voice in disbelief. 

I laugh watching his face drop, “it’s interesting the things you don’t notice when you’re in love,” I wink at him, knowing he was too caught up with Elain to pay any mind to Lu and I. 

Azriel shakes his head as if processing this new information before he turns to me again, “And do you love him?” he asks. 

I smile remembering last night, “I do, I love him very much.” I answer. 

“And does he love you?” Az presses further, as if he needs to tie up all loose ends before he can be at ease with the entire situation. 

“I think he made that pretty clear a couple minutes ago,” I laughed, referring to the kiss he gave me. 

“Yeah I suppose I got that message loud and clear,” Azriel chuckled as a pause of silence fell over us. “I think… I think in another lifetime we would’ve made each other really happy.”

“Maybe even this lifetime.” I say sadly thinking of what could’ve been. “But I love Lucien, he chose me when I thought no one else would, and maybe I’m making a mistake by marrying him. But somehow it feels like the first right thing I’ve done in the past 400 years.” 

“He’s a very lucky man,” Azriel remarked with a certain sadness. “I hope that you will be happy with him,” he finished seemingly giving me his blessing.

“I think it was meant to be this way, don't you?” I ask, finally feeling my heart and my conscious lighten. 

“I do,” he smiles before holding his hand out to me. “Friends?” he asks. 

I nod clasping my hand in his, “Friends.” 

“Let’s get you back to your fiancé before I find myself in a pile of ash on the floor,” Azriel chuckles, putting his hand on the door. 

I laugh with him and when the door to the living room opens I find Lucien and Elain hugging. 

My heart is caught in my throat as I realize that perhaps Lucien might’ve changed his mind. I wouldn’t have blamed him if he did. She was his true mate after all and, she was astonishingly beautiful. Maybe I was misled when Azriel and I settled our differences. 

Both their heads whipped our way, and Lucien’s smile shined brightly. I was unsure of who that smile was for until he ran over to me, grabbing me by the hips and spinning me around. 

“It is done,” Lucien cheered and out of the corner of my eye I saw Azriel throw an arm around Elain’s shoulders. 

“What is?” I laughed once my feet were back on the ground. 

“I don’t want to wait any longer. I want to call you my wife by sundown.” Lucien said affectionately. 

“And why shouldn’t you wait? She’s a princess after all, you should snatch her up while you can,” Elain called out affectionately from Azriel’s side. I couldn’t help but look at the two of them standing there.  

A hand snaked its way under my chin taking my attention to him before he planted his lips on mine. “Be mine, forever.” he proposed. 

I couldn’t stop the smile that graced my face, “Okay,” I said quietly. 

A cheer from Elain erupted behind me and suddenly it felt like all the pieces were falling into place, like everything I had ever wanted for myself had now come true. 

The ceremony was short, just like Lucien and I had wanted. However, instead of an elopement it was a small gathering, Cass and Ness, Amren, Mor, Az and Elain and of course Rhys and Feyre were present. I wore my mothers dress and at some point Lu had slipped out to buy me a proper ring, not that I minded the old one. 

The rest of the night was filled with drinking and frivolity. The whole family laughing and telling stories, and for the first time in a long time, I felt like I belonged with all of them, as I sat on my husband's lap. It wasn’t until many glasses of wine later that I found Lucien carrying me bridal style over the threshold of our home. 

“This really isn’t necessary,” I laughed, holding a spare bottle of wine in my hand as he stepped through the doorway, the fireplace roaring to life. 

“It’s traditional for a husband to carry his wife over the threshold of their home after the wedding.” he retorted, stepping inside the house and closing the door with his foot. 

“For humans not for fae,” I corrected him as he finally set me down on slightly unsteady legs. 

“Maybe I just wanted an excuse to carry you,” he laughed, taking the wine from my hand and setting it on a side table by the door. 

“You never need an excuse for that,” I laughed, throwing my arms around his neck. 

“Well in that case,” he smirks before picking me up again and bounding up our stairs.

My feet don’t hit the floor until we’re in our room, his lips finding mine in an instant. With a wave of my hand I remove my dress, magically placing it back to wherever my dear brother found it. Lucien tossed his shirt over his head so that my hands might wander the plains of his toned chest. His hands find my hips pushing me away ever so slightly so that he can see me.

His eyes graze the expanse of my bare body and I’m suddenly frustrated by the fact that I’m the only one laid bare in the room. 

“My wife,” he says, kissing my lips, pulling me closer. “My, beautiful, beautiful wife.” he kisses me again, smiling like he can’t help it. 

I try to speak but he deepens the kiss once more, robbing me of words as he uses his body to overpower me with sheer force. His hands find my arse, giving it a squeeze before lifting my feet off the ground and tossing me onto our bed. 

In a turn of events, my eyes wander the expanse of his body. Toned from years and years of training. His eyes sparkle with amusement and suddenly I feel like a sitting duck awaiting his mouth on me once more. 

He falls onto the bed, hovering over me as he places yet another kiss on my lips. I use his imbalance to knee his hips towards the bed, my body weight pinning him beneath me as his eyes look up to me with pure lust. Large hands dance up my sides as if to encourage any next move I might make. 

“My handsome, cunning, silver tongued husband,” I smirk, placing a kiss on his bare chest. My mouth trails over his chest, to his shoulders, and his collar bones. Needing every part of him on my lips. It isn’t until I get to his neck that he lets loose a groan and flips us back over. 

“While I enjoy the sight of you pleasuring yourself on my cock wife, I shall be the one to take you tonight,” he smirks, biting my neck hard, no doubt trying to leave his mark there. 

“Oh Lu,” I breathe, feeling my  body come alive over his lips and wandering hands. 

My eyes shoot open as I feel his breath hovering over my sex, the warmth causing my blood to burn. 

“What a lucky male a I am to be able to taste this sweet cunt whenever I please,” he smiled mischievously before licking a stripe up my center.

I let out a breathy moan as he continues to lick and suck every inch of me. His hands parting my thighs warm and hard as he circles my clit with his tongue. My fingers thread through his hair pulling him impossibly close, earning a groan from him that reverberates through me. 

“Like fucking honeysuckle,” he moans before trailing more kisses up my body. 

I slink down moving towards where his cock peeks out of his untied breeches. Needing to feel the weight of him in my mouth, needing to hear the whimpers of pleasure on his tongue but he stops me. 

“No not tonight,” he fusses pushing me back down into the mattress. 

“But Lu-”

“No buts” he interrupts. “I want to pleasure my new wife tonight. Let me have that,” he moans silencing any protest I might have with a kiss as he slides home. 

The all consuming feeling of being taken by him as me gasping for breath as my back arches off the bed. My tits rising towards his mouth and he easily grasps a hardened nipple between his lips, sucking eagerly. 

“Lucien,” I breathe feeling him all around me.

“I love you,” he rasped, thrusting deeper. “My wife I love you.” he grunted watching where he slammed into me with intensity. 

My hand came to cup his face bringing his eyes to mine. My fingers trace the scar over his golden eye as I see the emotion flood his russet colored eye. “I love you too, husband,” I whisper to him. 

A gleam finds his eyes and he drives into me harder, the sound of skin slapping reverberating throughout the room. It was as if me uttering his new title spurred him on. 

We’re a tangled mess of sweat slick limbs and ragged breaths as I feel him deeper and deeper inside of me. My nails scraping his back, trying to find purchase or something to anchor me as pleasure rips through my body. His pants become whimpers as I feel myself tightening around him. 

“Always so perfectly tight,” he curses, driving through my tight heat. 

His words are enough to have me falling apart under him, my legs shaking from pleasure as I cry his name. 

“Lucien oh gods!” I cry, my hands no doubt leaving marks in his skin. 

“That’s right my love, cum for me,” he groans before sputtering himself. “Fuck,” he mutters before I feel him burry his seed deep inside me. 

His whimpers fill the space between my neck and shoulder as he finishes inside me. Once he’s spent he rolls over taking me with him so I’m cuddled into his side. 

“I’m so unbelievably happy,” he whispers into the world, still coming down from his high. 

“I’m told that’s often a side effect of an orgasm,” I laugh running a hand up and down his chest, soothing him.  

“No,” he says breathlessly, turning so that he is hovering over me once more. “I’m unbelievably happy because of you. You have not only given me your love, but you’ve given me a house, and a family. I never thought I would have those things. You are… you are everything and I promise to be the most amazing husband I can be.” he smiles, pressing a kiss to my brow. 

“You already are,” I smile, pulling him into another heated kiss. 

It would undoubtedly be like this for many years to come. However long the Cauldron allowed me  to live, I knew I would always have a place here, with Lucien. And maybe things didn’t go as I had always planned, but gods was I happy, and more importantly I was loved. 

Lucien Vanserra chose me, not because I was his mate, or because the world told him to. No, he chose me because he loved me, even when it wasn’t convenient for him, and I chose him too. I would choose him until the end of my days. 

Epilogue: Five Years Later

“Careful my darling,” Lucien fussed, helping to lower me down onto a sofa. 

“Lu I’m pregnant not fatally injured,” I laugh waving him away as I rest my hands on my ever growing bump. 

“Of course, pregnancy is a walk in the park, I’ll remember that next time you beat me for serving you chocolate pancakes instead of blueberry,” he chides, pulling a blanket over my lap. “I spend a year telling myself you like blueberries and this little one comes along and all of the sudden you want chocolate.” 

“Pregnancy cravings are no joke my friend,” Rhysand laughs from the adjacent couch. “I find it best to satisfy your wife’s cravings as soon as possible before she asks for another ridiculous request.” 

“Especially when one’s wife is a princess,” Lucien teases, pressing a kiss to my temple.

“You married me!” I protest.

“And I thank the Cauldron every day that I did,” Lucien smiles, pressing a kiss to my lips finally.

Part 3 ( Azriel's Version)

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