#royal court dynamics

[joncronshawauthor]

Secrets and Schemes: Why Royal Courts Captivate Fantasy Readers

In fantasy literature, few settings captivate readers quite like the royal court. These hubs of power, intrigue, and danger serve as perfect crucibles for character development and plot twists. But what makes royal courts so appealing in fantasy storytelling? Let’s explore this fascinating aspect of worldbuilding, with a particular focus on the courts depicted in my novel, “The Fall of…

[a-most-beloved-fool]

absolute travesty that there are NO royalty-au spirk fics centered around the overwhelming amounts of devotion and loyalty between the two. WHERE are my fics with Spock on his knees pledging fealty to King James Kirk????

they're all about princes falling in love and arraigned marriages and political intrigue and YES that's GREAT and i do love them, but what if i want kings???

I need a fic about the bond between a king and his loyal advisor-slash-nobleman which has been slowly developing for DECADES before anyone involved gets their shit together, or a fic where Spock has practically taken on the role of King Consort before either of them notice simply because Kirk trusts him so much, or a fic where it slowly becomes apparent that King Kirk's loyalty is first to his kingdom, yes, but second to Spock alone, and he will go to war for him.

I need crazy stupid devotion, that's what I need!!!!

[luckyricochet]

"Gloire au grand défenseur de la liberté." "Charles. De quelle taverne avez-vous été jeté aujourd'hui?" "Aucune. Mais il est encore tôt. Quand partez-vous sauver l'Amerique?" "D'un jour à l'autre, le cour m'honore d'une commission."

THÉODORE PELLERIN as GILBERT DU MOTIER, THE MARQUIS DE LAFAYETTE

EVERY LAFAYETTE SCENE, 7/? ✧ 1x02, FRANKLIN (2024)

[bumblingbabooshka]

St Voyager Memes: Command Trio Edition [Voted 'Most Toxic VOY Polycule' by the people]

[raayllum]

don't get me wrong callum is undeniably a prince and it plays into his family dynamics and his initial sense of unworthiness when the story starts a lot, but i'll never fully understand the hang up that it's a Big part of his ongoing story when his own brother, the king, says "remember who you are" and just refers and reiterates his mage identity (4x06), and that's the only one that callum seems to significantly care about either (5x07)

[possamble]

realizing im kind of a weirdo about laios and marcille

[chaotic-orphan]

A Benignant Mischief (5)

Part one here

Continued from here

Back to my favourite Kingdom~

*~*~*~*~*

Cosimo managed to walk at a respectable pace with Henrik’s arm around him, supporting him as they followed the King’s trail through the palace. It felt nice to have freedom of movement in his arms, the iron cuffs were a welcome weight off his wrists.

This part of the palace looked less… formal. Less imposingly grand as the trial court had been. There were also less people, less humans, so maybe that had something to do with Cosimo’s sudden easement.

They turned a corner which opened up into a large room. Not as tall or grand as the court, but clean. Clinical. The walls were the same bone white, but three beds made up the back wall with cabinets full of bottles scattered around everywhere else, filling the space.

Nikolas was there, smiling and charming off the other grumpy human that could only be Artzet. He was taller than Nikolas, and where Nikolas was fair Artzet was dark. He had long dark, raven hair pushed back off his face, that stopped just above his shoulders. He had a wide face and a strong jaw, lined with dark stubble. His eyes were blue, when he turned his head to Cosimo and Henrik, like ice.

“Ah, there he is now,” said Nikolas with a smile, walking over to Cosimo and Henrik to stand beside them. “The man of the hour. He had a rather unfortunate arrival and I was hoping you could bandage his wrists from the cuffs.”

Artzet cocked an eyebrow at Cosimo, silent as the grave. He had a strange aura about him, unapproachable and stormy. His eyes flicked to Cosimo’s ears and Cosimo felt the shame rise in his face as he looked down.

“The boy’s an elf,” Artzet said, his voice like gravel, with a strange accent. Not unlike Henrik and Nikolas but certainly different. Foreign, like Cosimo.

“Yes,” said Nikolas brightly. “He’s a boy. His name is Cosimo, and he was mistreated in my name, Artzet.”

Artzet’s eyes were hard when they cut to Nikolas. “Don’t you usually execute elves?”

There wasn’t a malice in his words, nor anything else really. It was more… matter of fact, as if trying to glean understanding. Cosimo was dizzy with the range that humans came in. Evil, kind, happy, grumpy— and then Artzet who just… confused Cosimo.

Maybe he was going mad.

“Yes,” Nikolas replied in the same matter-of-fact tone. “Adult elves with intentions to kill me first. This boy is a child, Artzet. He doesn’t even know of our tumultuous history with elves.”

Artzet looked at Cosimo again with those icy eyes, calculating, searching Cosimo’s face for what Cosimo didn’t know. Then his face broke into a smile and it made him look a couple years younger.

“An innocent elf,” Artzet said with a bark of laughter and a shrug. “Well. It’s not everyday I get to treat an elf, please put him on the bed.”

Nikolas grinned in return, flashing his smile down at Cosimo and then patting Henrik on the back. “Marvellous!”

Henrik helped Cosimo over to the bed while Artzet milled around the room, humming a tune to himself. “You okay, kid?” Henrik whispered as he lifted Cosimo onto the bed.

“Yeah,” Cosimo replied, the room swirling slightly. “Yeah I’m fine.” Henrik smiled and grabbed Cosimo’s legs, helping him to stretch out on the comfortable bed and it felt so good. So nice and soft and warm. So unlike the cell’s cot.

Nikolas smiled at Cosimo from the entrance of the room. “I have to go and see to some arrangements about fixing you a room, Cosimo.”

Cosimo frowned. “A room?”

“Yes,” Nikolas said, smiling kindly.

“You’re not letting me go?”

The humans stilled in the room. Cosimo looked between Nikolas and Henrik, Artzet’s humming stopped. His heart was beating hard in his chest.

They weren’t going to let him go? What about? He had to save the boy and the fox he had to return to them, he had to—

Darkness encroached on the edges of his vision, Cosimo’s breath getting away from him and thrumming his chest in a staccato rhythm.

“I have to— I have to— my brother, I have to—” Cosimo wheezed, clutching his chest but it was no use. His thoughts were against him, his mind turning in on him and shattering. He couldn’t breathe. He had to—

Henrik was beside him, hand on his and squeezing. “Hey. Cosimo! Hey! Look at me, it’s okay! We’re not keeping you here. Cosimo!”

Cosimo’s eyes darted around the room searching for escape, everyone, everything was too close to him, the mattress too soft so he would struggle to run and could he even run?! In his state?

Icy eyes appeared in front of him and then smaller golden eyes. Cosimo stared, stunned at the furry creature that Artzet held in front of his face. Tears flowed in steady streams down his face but even then he couldn’t understand what was happening.

A cat?

It was a cat… Artzet… was holding a cat up to Cosimo? To take it?

“There we go. See? Everyone loves Myshka. Eh? Pet her if you like,” said Artzet with an encouraging nod. Cosimo lifted his hand and stroked the cat’s head. The cat purred under him, grey fur so soft and fluffy. “She is my nurse, helps me with all my patients. Isn’t that right Myshka?”

Myshka purred in reply. Cosimo let out a small happy laugh at her, as the grey cat curled up on his lap, content. Cosimo raised his head to see Henrik and Nikolas sharing a look of bewilderment. Cosimo swallowed, embarrassed at all the fuss he had caused.

“Mmm,” Artzet hummed in response to Myshka. “I agree. He is a lovely boy. Too tall for his age, but that means he will grow strong.”

“Cosimo.”

Cosimo looked up to Nikolas, who was frowning his brows forming a furrow at the top of his nose. His green eyes met Cosimo’s, with something heavy in them.

“You said…” Nikolas began then stopped, worrying his lip between his teeth. “You said you had a brother?”

Cosimo’s chest swelled again. He looked to Henrik who stared at him with the same tentative look that was on Nikolas’s face. So he must have said it. Cosimo didn’t remember saying it…

“You didn’t run away on your own,” said Henrik softly. Cosimo glanced down at the cat, fearing if he looked at anyone else he would start crying again. “Did you?”

Cosimo swallowed the lump in his throat.

Artzet spoke first. “Cosimo, if you wouldn’t mind stretching your arm here so I can clean it.”

Cosimo was happy for the distraction. His tongue had turned to sand in his mouth, too dry and thick and much. What would they do to the boy? To the fox? Would they kill them? Sure, Henrik liked Cosimo but that didn’t mean they liked elves. Would they put him in irons too? Force him to be in a cell? To stand trial, and then bandage him up again with an apology and an offer to stay and live with them.

“Cosimo,” it was Henrik this time. His eyes soft and trusting. “You can tell us, okay? We just want what’s best for you. And for your brother.”

Cosimo felt tears building behind his eyes. He couldn’t tell them, could he? He remembered during the trial, how Henrik had just stood back as he was tied down to an iron pole and it flared something angry in his chest. He couldn’t just tell them.

“If I tell you,” Cosimo said, tone guarded, shielding himself from the answer. He raised his head and stared straight at Nikolas. He had to hear it from the King. “Will you subject him to the same thing you did to me?”

The question seemed to suck all air out of the room. Henrik straightened, turning his body a little away from Cosimo, to look at Nikolas. Nikolas’s green eyes didn’t leave Cosimo’s. He walked closer to Cosimo’s bed and stopped at the end of it. Nikolas lifted his right hand, tucking his left behind his back and formed a fist over his chest.

His eyes solemn as he stared at Cosimo.

“I promise you, Cosimo. That your brother will not come to any harm in my care. I will treat you both as if you were my subjects. If you wish you can pass through my territory if you would prefer to keep running from where you’re from. I will provide the King’s escort so you can pass safely through.” Nikolas’s gaze softened then. A small flush fell over his cheeks, and Cosimo realised with a start that the King was… embarrassed.

“Or, if you prefer, you can have a room here in the palace. In my court. You would be treated with the utmost respect and kindness, as well as I would treat any other human. More so, because I know what pain you have been caused under my care. This, I give you, my vow as King. No harm will come to you.”

Cosimo stared without words. It felt as if his breath was taken from his chest. The only thought running through his head was that: Nikolas really did look like a King. The kind of Kings from stories Cosimo grew up with; good Kings, kind Kings, brave as knights and chosen by Gods. His golden brown hair like a crown, standing like a soldier in front of Cosimo, offering him a salute.

A King saluting Cosimo.

A human saluting an elf.

His enemy.

Maybe he was like everything Henrik had said. Maybe he was too good to be a King.

Cosimo broke down into another round of sobs. Nikolas blanked, like he had done something wrong immediately looking to Henrik who shared his look of confusion.

Artzet was bandaging Cosimo’s wrist, movement unbroken as if there was no life changing exchanges happening behind him. Myshka purred on Cosimo’s lap happily.

“Cosimo, I—” Nikolas began but Cosimo cut him off.

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m sorry for causing all this trouble, I’m sorry for forcing you to be kind. I’m sorry—” Cosimo blubbered, looking up at Nikolas with watery eyes, as wide as saucers. “I’m sorry… that I’m not strong enough to say no. I— I ran with my brother, we— I didn’t have a plan, we have nowhere else to—”

Henrik engulfed Cosimo in a hug, stopping him mid sentence. He was so strong he could take the weight of them both as sobs wracked through Cosimo like a storm. Blubbering up and broiling over in waves.

“We’ll find your brother,” Nikolas said, and he was so certain. “As soon as you’re rested and—”

Cosimo’s eyes flew open, panicked. “No. Please, we have to find him now.”

Nikolas softened. “Of course. As soon as Artzet has looked you over we will set out to find him, Cosimo.”

“How wonderful,” Artzet said happily, returning Cosimo’s bandaged wrist to his lap. “I am already halfway through! Henrik, please. Let us swap sides.”

Cosimo flushed at Artzet’s manner of speaking. He spoke from the back of his throat, pausing as if for effect after every couple of words. His voice happy and upbeat, his face still the same imposing sternness that had initially scared Cosimo.

Henrik pulled back from Cosimo, and Cosimo offered him a smile. It was all he could do. Henrik returned one and walked around the bed to where Artzet was before, sitting on the edge of the blanket.

“How far away was your brother from where we were camped?” Henrik asked.

“Not too far,” Cosimo replied. “I’ll know when we get there. I left him in an elfbow. It should protect him from humans.”

“And from elves?”

Cosimo looked at Nikolas who had an unreadable expression on his face. Cosimo frowned, he didn’t even think of that.

“No,” said Cosimo softly. “No it wouldn’t.”

“No trouble,” said Artzet with a smile. “I will just work faster.”

Nikolas nodded at Artzet. “Thank you, Doctor. Henrik will stay with you Cosimo, while I send word to the stables to prepare the horses so we can leave as soon as you’re finished here.”

“Okay,” said Cosimo. “Thank you.”

Nikolas nodded and then he was gone.

“Oh no,” said Artzet not a second later. Turning Cosimo’s and Henrik’s head to him.

“What?” Henrik asked, his eyes flickering to Cosimo’s wrist.

Artzet grinned. “I think the King likes you, Cosimo.”

Henrik rolled his eyes and let out a soft laugh. Cosimo didn’t know how to react to that statement, but it did make something warm around his heart. It was good if the King liked him, that meant he would survive. The boy would survive. They would be okay, that Cosimo didn’t actually doom them. That he saved them both.

That all this had meant something.

Artzet smiled when he was finished and straightened. “Now, Cosimo. You are good as new! Well, not new, but better.”

Artzet spoke at Henrik next: “make sure he doesn’t ride his own horse in case the pulling of the reins aggravates his wrists.”

“It’s okay,” said Henrik, getting to his feet. “Cosimo will be riding with me anyway.”

“Marvellous. Now, Myshka,” said Artzet with a sigh. He leaned down and hooked his hands under the cats belly to her mewl of protest. “I know, I know. Terrible. Cosimo has a brother to rescue, Myshka, don’t be selfish.”

Cosimo got to his feet, his head only slightly dizzying now. The stress seeming to have left his body with Artzet and Myshka.

“Thank you,” Cosimo said to Artzet who was cuddling Myshka to his chest.

“Anytime, Cosimo. Now go, save your brother. I will see you again.”

Cosimo walked beside Henrik out of Artzet’s room and turned a different corner than the one that led back to the court room with the throne and the iron pole.

“Cosimo, are you sure you’re okay to ride?” Henrik asked, the skepticism evident in his voice. Cosimo for his part was doing his best to stay focused and upright.

“Yes,” said Cosimo. He did feel better, much better than before. He was a little woozy but he just attributed that to the blood loss. His hands looked a little funny with the white bandages wrapped firmly around them. Soft, yet strong. “We need to find him.”

He could feel Henrik’s eyes on him as they walked down the steps they had come up from the stables. They were so close to being safe, Cosimo could rest when he saw the boy, didn’t Henrik understand that? He could relax and let Henrik fuss over him then, but not until he saw the boy.

If the elves had got to him…

No, Cosimo couldn’t think like that. He wouldn’t. They would find the boy and everything would be fine.

They emerged from the side door of the palace to find Nikolas and some soldiers preparing horses outside the stables. Ebony was already geared up, tied off beside a white horse that Cosimo could only presume belonged to Nikolas.

He seemed like the type of man to have a white horse. It made him look more like a Hero. Henrik walked them around to where the gathering of the soldiers were to see Nikolas in the middle, sitting on a bale of hay and laughing at something with the stable boys.

He perked up when he saw Cosimo and Henrik, smiling and standing. He clapped one of the stable boys on the shoulder and then he was in front of Cosimo and Henrik.

“You’re all patched up,” said Nikolas.

“Yes, Artzet worked quickly.”

“Good. Then let’s not waste anymore time, hmm?”

They didn’t. Henrik helped Cosimo onto Ebony again and then climbed up behind him, while Nikolas mounted the white horse beside them. Henrik offered something to Cosimo and he took it, realising it was the hood and cloak Henrik had given him before to hide his ears from the other humans.

Cosimo frowned at the green material. Did he still have to hide? Was he not free by the king’s decree?

“People won’t know that you’re pardoned yet, Cosimo,” said Henrik behind him as he walked Ebony towards the palace gates. “They will still have reason to fear you if they see your ears. People have the tendency to think the worst. It will just cause panic.”

Cosimo swallowed his pride. He didn’t really have any grounds to fight Henrik who had only been kind with him. Henrik was doing this for Cosimo too, so he wouldn’t have to see the fear and hatred in the people’s eyes.

With a few orders from Nikolas they were out the palace gates and walking through the city to the border. Cosimo was awed with the reception Nikolas got from his people.

“Your majesty!”

“Your highness!”

“Three cheers for King Nikolas!”

A street band from the upper city followed the precession with lively music as they walked through the streets. Nikolas, Cosimo observed, smiled and waved and nodded when he needed to. He had no crown and yet everyone knew he was the King. He was adored by his city.

When they got into the outer parts, the poorer parts Cosimo expected some of the love to dwindle but if anything it just got louder.

“Nikolas!”

“King Niko! Where’re’ya off ta?”

“Your highness! We named our son after you,” a woman cried, holding a baby up to him. Nikolas laughed and stopped his horse beside the woman to gaze down at the sleeping child in her arms.

“Mmm, he’s going to be a handsome one, Sierra. Look at that, he’s got his father’s strong nose.” Nikolas looked up at her and smiled, what Cosimo could only assume was his charming kingly smile. “I wish you three all the happiness in the world.”

Then they continued on.

More music.

Flowers thrown at his horses feet. It’s like a festival.

Cosimo can’t help but feel a stab on envy. He can only watch as the humans fawn and fuss over their King, and with good reason, because he’s wearing a cloak right now to cover his features. His ears, his skin, his eyes. All too strange to humans, all hateful. That’s why they were greeted with flowers instead of curses and words of praise rather than hatred.

He shrunk a little into himself, pulling the cloak tighter around himself. It didn’t matter. None of it mattered. Not until they rescued the boy, that’s why they were leaving Oskana at all. If the humans knew why… well, they wouldn’t be cheering as much.

Or maybe, some tiny voice said at the back of Cosimo’s mind, maybe they would cheer even louder.

It was just a thought, fleeting, and yet somehow heavier than anything Cosimo had thought in the past day. He ignored it. The voice could be right, but Cosimo couldn’t be sure until he saw the boy again.

Until he saved him.

Cosimo raised his head as they reached the city gates, staring out into the Kingswood, as one of the soldiers in his trial had called it.

I’m coming back with help, Cosimo promised. Please, be safe.

*~*~*~*~*

Orphanage roll-call (lmk if you wanna be tagged or removed): @annablogsposts

[mongo-the-liensis]

The party (on the fourth floor). Tell me I'm wrong!

[fideidefenswhore]

Had circumstances been just a little different, Anne Boleyn might still have lived. Had she produced a son, Jane would have been a passing distraction, Anne's enemies would have been silenced, and her fiery character might again have seemed, at least at times, beguiling to Henry. During the course of their brief marriage, which lasted just over three years, there had been many fluctuations. After the final miscarriage, Anne fought back, saying she had been frightened by Henry's accident, but also broken-hearted at his paying attention to another woman. This kind of criticism was not something Henry was prepared to tolerate in a wife; one of Katherine's strengths, as she herself acknowledged, was that she had never shown any sign of animosity or distress in response to the king's infidelities. Henry and Anne's relationship had been a genuine love-match, however, and the volatility which helped bring about the extraordinary events of the break with Rome remained a part of their relationship ever after.

Henry VIII, Lucy Wooding

[beeapocalypse]

[thewriteadviceforwriters]

The Mini Guide to Crafting Compelling Royal Characters for Fiction Writers

Creating royal characters can be both exciting and challenging. These regal figures often play pivotal roles in stories, capturing readers' imaginations with their power, privilege, and the weight of responsibility they carry. Whether you're writing historical fiction, fantasy, or contemporary novels featuring monarchs, this comprehensive (mini) guide will help you develop authentic, multi-dimensional royal characters that will resonate with your readers.

Understanding the Basics of Royalty

Before diving into character creation, it's essential to have a solid grasp of what royalty entails. Royalty typically refers to members of a ruling family, including kings, queens, princes, princesses, and other nobles within a monarchical system. These individuals are often born into their roles, though some may ascend to power through marriage or other means.

Key aspects to consider:

Hierarchy and succession

Royal duties and responsibilities

Protocol and etiquette

The concept of divine right (in some cultures)

The relationship between royalty and their subjects

Remember, while these elements are common in many royal systems, you have the creative freedom to adapt or reimagine them for your fictional world.

Developing Your Royal Character's Background

Every character, royal or not, needs a rich backstory. For royal characters, this background is particularly crucial as it shapes their worldview, values, and decision-making processes.

Consider the following:

a) Lineage: What is your character's family history? Are they from a long-standing dynasty or a newly established royal house?

b) Upbringing: How were they raised? Were they groomed for leadership from birth, or did they have a more sheltered upbringing?

c) Education: What kind of education did they receive? Was it formal, focusing on statecraft and diplomacy, or more well-rounded?

d) Relationships: How do they relate to their family members, courtiers, and subjects?

e) Personal experiences: What significant events have shaped their character and outlook on life?

Crafting a Unique Personality

Avoid the trap of creating one-dimensional royal stereotypes. Your character should be as complex and nuanced as any other well-developed protagonist or antagonist.

Consider these aspects:

a) Strengths and weaknesses: What are your character's admirable qualities? What flaws do they struggle with?

b) Motivations: What drives them? Is it a sense of duty, personal ambition, or something else entirely?

c) Internal conflicts: What personal struggles do they face? How do these conflicts affect their rule and relationships?

d) Hobbies and interests: What passions do they pursue outside of their royal duties?

e) Sense of humor: How do they express humor, if at all? Is it dry wit, sarcasm, or something else?

Balancing Power and Vulnerability

One of the most intriguing aspects of royal characters is the juxtaposition between their immense power and their human vulnerabilities. This balance can create compelling internal and external conflicts for your character.

Consider:

The weight of responsibility and its impact on their personal life

The isolation that often comes with a royal position

The constant scrutiny they face from the public and court

The struggle between personal desires and duty to the crown

Creating a Believable Royal World

Your royal character doesn't exist in a vacuum (I hope not). They're part of a larger royal ecosystem that includes family members, advisors, courtiers, and subjects. Developing this world adds depth and authenticity to your story.

Key elements to consider:

Court dynamics and politics

Relationships with other noble houses or kingdoms

The role of advisors and how they influence decisions

Traditions and customs specific to your royal setting

The economic and social structure of the kingdom

Addressing the Challenges of Royal Life

Royal characters face unique challenges that can drive your plot and character development. Some common themes include:

a) Succession disputes b) Balancing personal happiness with duty c) Navigating political alliances and conflicts d) Managing public opinion and maintaining legitimacy e) Dealing with threats to their rule or life

Use these challenges to create tension and drive your story forward while revealing more about your character's personality and values.

The Impact of Historical Context

If you're writing historical fiction or a fantasy inspired by real-world monarchies, it's crucial to consider the historical context. Research the time period and culture you're drawing from to ensure authenticity in your character's behavior, beliefs, and challenges.

Key areas to research:

Social norms and expectations of the time

Political systems and power structures

Technology and its impact on governance

Religious beliefs and their influence on royalty

Gender roles and how they affect royal duties and succession

Avoiding Common Pitfalls

When creating royal characters, be mindful of these common mistakes:

a) Making them too perfect or too villainous b) Ignoring the realities of royal life (e.g., lack of privacy, constant duties) c) Overlooking the impact of their decisions on their subjects d) Failing to show growth or change over the course of the story e) Relying too heavily on stereotypes or clichés

Incorporating Royal Etiquette and Protocol

Royal characters often adhere to strict codes of conduct and protocol. While you don't need to become an expert in royal etiquette, incorporating some of these elements can add authenticity to your story:

Forms of address (Your Majesty, Your Highness, etc.)

Court ceremonies and rituals

Dress codes and regalia

Rules of precedence in social situations

Diplomatic protocols when interacting with other royals or dignitaries

Exploring Different Types of Royal Characters

Remember that not all royal characters need to be ruling monarchs. Consider exploring other royal roles, such as:

The rebel prince or princess who rejects their royal duties

The reluctant heir thrust into power unexpectedly

The exiled royal fighting to reclaim their throne

The royal spouse adapting to life in the palace

The illegitimate child discovering their royal heritage

Each of these archetypes offers unique storytelling opportunities and challenges for character development.

Balancing Historical Accuracy and Creative License

If you're writing historical fiction featuring real royalty, you'll need to strike a balance between historical accuracy and creative interpretation. While it's important to respect known facts and timelines, you also have the freedom to explore the inner lives and motivations of these historical figures.

Tips for balancing accuracy and creativity:

Thoroughly research the historical figure and their time period

Clearly differentiate between historical fact and fictional interpretation

Use author's notes to explain any significant departures from known history

Focus on filling in the gaps in the historical record rather than contradicting established facts

Developing Royal Character Arcs

Like any well-rounded character, your royal protagonist should undergo growth and change throughout your story. Consider how their experiences might challenge their beliefs, alter their perspective, or force them to confront their flaws.

Possible character arcs for royal characters:

From naive idealist to pragmatic ruler

From reluctant heir to confident leader

From isolated monarch to connected leader who understands their subjects

From power-hungry tyrant to benevolent ruler (or vice versa)

Remember, character growth doesn't always have to be positive. Sometimes, the most compelling stories involve characters who face moral decline or tragic falls from grace.

Remember, while the trappings of royalty may be grand, at their core, your royal characters are still human. They love, fear, hope, and struggle like anyone else. It's this humanity, set against the backdrop of power and responsibility, that makes royal characters so fascinating to read and write about.

Happy writing, - Rin T

Hey fellow writers! I'm super excited to share that I've just launched a Tumblr community. I'm inviting all of you to join my community. All you have to do is fill out this Google form, and I'll personally send you an invitation to join the Write Right Society on Tumblr! Can't wait to see your posts!

[raincitygirl76]

And great tags from @crownedwille including the fact that Kristina was probably rebellious once herself. She and Wilhelm seem to be very similar in their temperaments.

What we saw of Erik was that he was a “don’t rock the boat”, “let’s compromise so there’s no awkwardness” type like their dad Ludvig. Whereas Kristina and her younger son are both headstrong and determined.

I suspect the family dynamic prior to Erik’s death was Kristina and Wilhelm frequently butting heads, because they both have strong opinions, and Ludvig and Erik smoothing over their arguments. Pouring diplomatic oil on troubled waters because Erik and Ludvig are conflict-avoidant and want a quiet life.

Kristina is essentially who Wilhelm will be in thirty years or so if he lets the crushing weight of the royal court and the general public’s demands take over his life. Kristina has drunk the koolaid that preserving traditions and preserving the image of the monarchy are the sacred purpose of her entire life.

Wille hasn’t yet drunk that koolaid, although he tried hard to be the perfect Crown Prince in S1 by doing the lying media statement in 1.06, which led to him getting dumped by his boyfriend. But he had a lot of character growth in S2. After the jubilee speech in 2.06, I suspect Wille’s parents, the royal court, and the upper classes will have trouble trying to shove him back in the closet. Or drink the koolaid and truly believe, as his mom does, that tradition and secrecy are objectively good things.

YOUNG ROYALS S01E06 - “Episode 6″

[homunculus-argument]

Random character dynamic: A ruler of a massive, mighty empire, and his pet wizard who foretells the future for him. The emperor has absolute, unwavering trust in the wizard's abilities, and never makes a desicion before consulting the wizard first. The emperor's wizard is of no noble birth nor formally educated, and the way they'll casually break courtly etiquette and speak like a peasant instead of a scholar is used to highlight their power - this is a true wizard, with powers natural born, not someone raised and trained to act like one.

Everyone knows the story of how the emperor encountered his wizard. The emperor's party was on a hunting trip in a distant region, and while going out to pursue some unusual game, they encountered a shepherd who warned them to not go this way, a storm will rise and kill the whole party. The emperor and his party ignored this warning and went after the beast they were hunting. A horrible storm came down on them and killed the whole party, save for the emperor.

As the sole survivor of this calamity that appeared out of nowhere, that nobody could have seen coming, the emperor suddenly remembered the shepherd, and realised that hold on, that strange hermit had foreseen this. Had we heeded their warning and not pursued the game, there would have been no storm. So he goes back to the village, finds the shepherd and goes holy shit are you a fucking wizard. And since only a true wizard would deny being a wizard, the emperor takes them with him.

Most of the things the emperor consults the wizard for are matters of common sense, that the wizard learns to weave into flattery - saying that the emperor's utterly idiotic idea would be a masterful move in any other time and place, but there is wisdom in knowing when to bide his time. Other members of the court and clergy start slipping the wizard requests of things that they should herd the emperor into doing, or not doing.

When the wizard admits to the other advisors that they don't actually have any kind of power of divination, they're told that the court already knows. This is how it has always been. The line of the emperors knows that the rulers who heed the warnings of their royal wizards tend to prosper, and the ones who ignore their sages or neglect to have one at all will fail.

This has been the case ever since the one emperor whose wizard had warned him to not let his wife drink so much while pregnant, or his heir's reign would be fated to be disastrous. The emperor ignored the warning and 30 years later, the aforementioned heir struggled to rule before being assasinated by his cousin, who took over the throne and whose line has ruled ever since, adamantly drilling it into every new generation to not ignore their wizards.

One might not be able to convince an emperor about things like "local peasants know how to predict the weather patterns of where they live" or "fetal alcohol syndrome is bad for your child", but they sure can believe in fate, and those with the power of divination.

[amethystarachnid]

Hey! I wanted to request Loki x reader fanfic. Can it be arranged marriage with slow burn au where the reader is a princess of a small kingdom who never thought she'd be marrying into a higher kingdom let alone Asgard. So is surprised when is betrothed to loki. She tried to give him benifit of doubt but we'll he acts like an ass and she decides to give it to him back equally. They both banter and throw sarcastic jibes during the courting period and after the marriage but over time they become friends and then lovers. Maybe She calls odin out on his bullshit and bias towards thor, and all the fun family dynamics with frigga and thor.

Thank you! And wishing you a happy new year!✨🍀

THE ROYAL LOVERS

⤷ LOKY LAUFEYSON

ᯓ★ Pairing: Loki Laufeyson x fem!reader

ᯓ★ Genre: romance, some angst and some fluff

ᯓ★ Requests status: open (only by asks)

ᯓ★ Story type: one shot

ᯓ★ Word count: 11k (I dont think I can make it more slow burn than this lol)

ᯓ★ Summary: just what the ask said

ᯓ★ TW(s): nothing I think

ᯓ★ My Masterlist

ᯓ★ MARVEL Holiday Special

ᯓ★ MARVEL Multiverse - choose an AU, pair it with your favorite character and make a request!

ᯓ★ Songs & Superheroes tales - The Game (to make a request, follow the rules on the link!)

ᯓ★ MARVEL Bingo

ᯓ★ English isn’t my first language

You sit in the grand hall of your father’s castle, the sunlight streaming through the stained glass windows, casting kaleidoscopic patterns on the cold marble floors. The room feels heavier than usual, the weight of your father’s words pressing down on your chest. Betrothed. You turn the word over in your mind, trying to make sense of it, trying to figure out how this has become your reality.

“To one of Asgard’s princes?” you repeat, unable to mask the disbelief in your tone.

Your father nods, his expression grave yet tinged with pride. “Yes, daughter. This alliance is a great honor for our kingdom. A union with Asgard strengthens our position, ensures our prosperity, and secures peace for generations to come.”

Peace. Prosperity. You’ve heard these words countless times before, always in speeches or during court gatherings when foreign diplomats visit. Now they’re being used as the justification for altering the course of your entire life.

You swallow hard. “And which prince?”

A pause stretches between you, long enough for your heart to skip several anxious beats. Your father finally answers, his voice calm, though his eyes betray some unease. “Prince Loki.”

The name settles over you like a shadow. You’ve heard stories of Asgard, of its golden spires and indomitable warriors. Tales of its princes, too—Thor, the golden-haired god of thunder, beloved by all, and Loki, the sharp-tongued trickster whose reputation is far more ambiguous.

You straighten in your chair, forcing yourself to remain composed despite the storm building inside you. “I see. And when am I to meet this... prince?”

“Soon,” your father says. “King Odin and Queen Frigga have agreed to host a meeting at their palace. You will accompany me to Asgard in three days' time.”

Three days. That’s all the time you have to prepare yourself for the encounter that will determine your future. You nod stiffly and rise from your seat, excusing yourself from the conversation.

Once you’re alone in your chambers, the weight of it all crashes down on you. You pace the room, the rich fabrics of your dress swishing around your legs, your mind racing. Betrothed to a prince of Asgard. It sounds like something out of a storybook, but you’re no naïve dreamer. You know enough to understand the realities of political alliances.

Still, you can’t help but wonder: why would Asgard—a kingdom so vast and powerful it dwarfs your own—be interested in such a union?

Three days later, you stand before the shimmering Bifrost Bridge, its prismatic light almost blinding. The sight of it steals your breath, though you quickly compose yourself as the Asgardian guards usher you and your father toward the grand palace that looms in the distance.

The palace is even more magnificent than the stories described, its golden towers piercing the sky, its halls adorned with treasures from realms beyond your imagination.

You feel small here, insignificant. But you refuse to let it show.

In the throne room, King Odin sits atop his gilded seat, his presence commanding, even intimidating. Beside him stands Queen Frigga, her beauty and poise as striking as the rumors claimed. The sight of her eases your nerves slightly; she seems kind, her gentle smile a stark contrast to the stern expressions of her husband and the guards flanking the room.

And then you see him.

Prince Loki.

He stands a step behind his parents, dressed in sleek black and green, the golden accents of his attire catching the light. His dark hair is neatly combed back, his pale features sharp and angular. There’s an air of arrogance about him, a cool detachment that only adds to his enigmatic aura.

Your father bows, and you quickly follow suit, keeping your gaze fixed on the floor.

“Your Majesties,” your father begins, his voice steady. “It is an honor to stand before you. I thank you for welcoming us into your home.”

Odin nods curtly, his single eye fixed on your father. “We are pleased to have you here. This alliance is of great importance to both our realms.”

Frigga steps forward, her smile warm. “And you must be the princess,” she says, addressing you directly.

You lift your head, meeting her gaze. “Yes, Your Majesty. It is a privilege to be here.”

Frigga’s smile widens, and for a moment, you feel at ease. But the feeling is short-lived as you catch Loki’s gaze. He’s watching you, his expression unreadable.

“Loki,” Odin says, gesturing toward you. “This is the princess, your betrothed.”

The words hang in the air like a thunderclap. Loki’s lips curl into a faint, almost dismissive smirk. He inclines his head slightly but says nothing.

You suppress the urge to bristle. Fine, you think. If he’s going to be curt, so be it.

Frigga notices the tension and steps in, her voice soothing. “Why don’t the two of you take a moment to speak privately? Get to know one another.”

Your father nods in agreement. “An excellent idea.”

Before you can protest, you’re being led to a nearby chamber, Loki following behind you at a leisurely pace. Once the door closes, you turn to face him, your hands clasped tightly in front of you.

For a moment, neither of you speaks. The silence is thick, uncomfortable.

“So,” you begin, forcing yourself to sound calm. “It seems we are to be married.”

Loki leans against the nearest wall, his arms crossed over his chest. “Indeed. Though I must admit, I find the arrangement rather curious.”

You raise an eyebrow. “Curious? In what way?”

He shrugs, his tone casual but laced with condescension. “Our kingdoms are not exactly equals. One might wonder what my father hopes to gain from such a union.”

The words sting, but you refuse to let him see it. Instead, you smile sweetly, matching his tone. “Perhaps he hopes I’ll teach you some manners.”

Loki’s eyes narrow slightly, a flicker of surprise crossing his face before he regains his composure. “Manners? How quaint. I wasn’t aware my betrothed was a tutor.”

You take a step closer, meeting his gaze head-on. “And I wasn’t aware mine was a child.”

His smirk falters, and for a moment, you think you’ve won. But then he chuckles, low and amused. “You have spirit, I’ll give you that. It’s almost endearing.”

“Almost?” you echo, tilting your head. “I’ll take that as a compliment, though I doubt you intended it as one.”

Loki studies you for a moment, his green eyes piercing. “You’re not what I expected.”

“And neither are you,” you reply, refusing to look away.

The tension in the room is palpable, an unspoken challenge hanging between you. Finally, Loki straightens, his expression unreadable once more.

“This should be interesting,” he says, his voice quiet but carrying an edge.

You don’t respond, watching as he strides toward the door and leaves without another word.

When you return to the throne room, Frigga gives you a knowing look, as if she can sense the clash of wills that just occurred.

“I trust you had a productive conversation,” she says gently.

You offer her a polite smile. “It was... enlightening.”

Loki says nothing, his expression calm but his eyes glinting with something you can’t quite place.

As the meeting concludes and you prepare to return to your chambers at Asgard for now, you can’t shake the feeling that this is only the beginning of a battle of wits and wills. And for the first time since hearing of the betrothal, you find yourself almost looking forward to the challenge.

The news spreads faster than you’d expect. Within days of the announcement, the realms are abuzz with the most unlikely engagement of the century: Loki, the so-called “trickster prince” of Asgard, and you, the princess of a modest but proud kingdom.

You learn of the reactions secondhand—your father shares reports from neighboring realms, some of which range from incredulous laughter to outright disbelief. Even within Asgard, whispers fill the air. Servants, courtiers, even the warriors of the great halls exchange furtive glances as you pass, clearly wondering how and why such a union has come to be.

You, however, have no answers for them.

Forced to stay in Asgard for the duration of your courtship, you find yourself in a whirlwind of carefully orchestrated meetings, formal dinners, and—most excruciating of all—dates.

The first one is planned with all the subtlety of a lightning bolt. Frigga herself announces it over breakfast, her tone pleasant but brooking no argument.

“The two of you will take a walk through the gardens this afternoon,” she says, her serene expression giving no indication that this is a royal decree rather than a suggestion. “It’s a lovely day, and I’m sure you’ll find the fresh air invigorating.”

Loki, seated across from you at the lavish dining table, barely looks up from his plate. “Invigorating,” he echoes dryly, his tone implying that being dragged into the sunlight is the last thing he finds appealing.

You sip your tea, determined not to let him ruin your mood. “It sounds delightful,” you say, forcing a bright smile.

When the time comes, the “walk” is as awkward as you anticipated. The gardens of Asgard are, of course, stunning, with vibrant flowers and towering trees that look as though they were sculpted by the gods themselves. But the beauty of your surroundings does little to ease the tension between you and your betrothed.

“You seem thrilled to be here,” you remark as you stroll along a cobblestone path, glancing at Loki. He walks a step ahead of you, his hands clasped behind his back and his expression neutral.

“I’m beside myself with joy,” he replies without missing a beat.

You roll your eyes. “If you hate this so much, why not just tell your parents you’re not interested? I’m sure they’ll understand.”

Loki stops, turning to face you with an arched brow. “You think I haven’t tried? My father, as you may have noticed, is not particularly accommodating when it comes to matters of ‘duty.’”

You shrug. “Neither is mine. But at least I’m trying to make the best of it.”

“Ah, yes,” Loki says, his lips curling into a smirk. “You’re positively brimming with enthusiasm. Tell me, is sarcasm a custom in your kingdom, or is it just your natural talent?”

“It’s a survival skill,” you shoot back, crossing your arms. “Particularly useful when dealing with insufferable princes.”

Loki laughs—a genuine laugh, though he quickly masks it with a cough. “Touché.”

The rest of the walk is less tense, though the banter continues. By the time you return to the palace, you’re both mildly annoyed but also—if you’re honest with yourself—mildly entertained.

The dates that follow are no less eventful.

One afternoon, you’re coerced into accompanying Loki to the library, which he claims is his “sanctuary.” You quickly learn that by “sanctuary,” he means a place where he can hide from people and indulge in his penchant for mocking their intellectual inadequacies.

“You know,” you say, trailing your fingers along the spines of ancient tomes as Loki lounges in a nearby chair, “if you put half as much effort into being pleasant as you do into being smug, you might actually be tolerable.”

“Why would I aim for tolerable when I can achieve perfection?” he counters, not looking up from his book.

You grab the nearest volume and plop it unceremoniously onto the table in front of him. “Here. Enlighten me, oh wise one.”

Loki picks up the book, glances at the title, and smirks. “A Beginner’s Guide to Asgardian History? How quaint.”

You grin, leaning on the table. “Well, I wouldn’t want to overwhelm you with anything too advanced.”

For a moment, his eyes meet yours, and you swear you see a flicker of amusement there. Then he closes the book with a theatrical sigh. “Very well. Sit, and I’ll educate you—though I can’t promise you’ll retain anything.”

By the end of the afternoon, you’ve learned more about Asgardian history than you ever thought you’d care to know. And, despite his constant teasing, Loki is an excellent teacher.

Another date—a “ride” across the Bifrost on enchanted steeds—proves to be even more chaotic.

“Have you ever ridden a horse before?” Loki asks as you mount your steed, his tone suggesting he already knows the answer.

“Of course,” you reply confidently, though your grip on the reins betrays your nerves.

As the horses take off, galloping across the shimmering bridge, you quickly realize that Asgardian steeds are not like those of your kingdom. They’re faster, stronger, and seemingly unbothered by the laws of gravity.

You let out an involuntary squeal as your horse leaps into the air, soaring above the bridge for a heart-stopping moment before landing gracefully.

Behind you, Loki laughs—an infuriating, delighted sound. “Having fun, princess?”

“Shut up!” you shout, gripping the reins tighter.

By the time the ride is over, your hair is a mess, your heart is pounding, and you’re thoroughly mortified. Loki, of course, looks as composed as ever.

“Well,” he says as you dismount, his smirk firmly in place, “that was exhilarating. Shall we go again?”

You glare at him, brushing strands of hair from your face. “Don’t push your luck.”

Despite the constant banter, you find yourself… not hating his company as much as you expected. Loki, for all his arrogance, is undeniably clever, and his sharp wit keeps you on your toes. He’s also surprisingly observant, occasionally making remarks that reveal a deeper understanding of you than you’re comfortable admitting.

For his part, Loki seems to enjoy sparring with you, though he never lets on too much. There are moments when his smirk softens, when his eyes linger on yours a little longer than necessary. But just as quickly, he retreats behind his usual façade of indifference.

The days pass, and the courtship continues, much to the amusement of the palace staff and the frustration of your parents.

“They’re impossible,” Odin mutters one evening after dinner, watching as you and Loki exchange yet another round of playful insults.

“They’re perfect for each other,” Frigga replies with a smile, her gaze warm as she watches the two of you.

Perfect. You wouldn’t go that far. But as you lie awake in your chambers that night, replaying the day’s events in your mind, you can’t deny that something about Loki intrigues you.

And though you’d never admit it, you’re starting to think that this arrangement might not be so terrible after all.

The day of your wedding looms ever closer, and Asgard hums with preparations. The golden halls are adorned with garlands of flowers, banners bearing the crests of your kingdom and Asgard hang side by side, and the palace is abuzz with activity. Servants scurry to and fro, courtiers gossip behind jeweled fans, and Frigga oversees every detail with her characteristic grace.

You, meanwhile, feel like a tightly coiled spring, caught between nervous anticipation and the persistent irritation that comes from dealing with Loki.

If the prince’s attitude was difficult before, it’s positively maddening now. You’re not sure what changed, but he’s been colder, more distant, his biting remarks sharper than usual.

One day, as you’re walking through the palace gardens, you decide to confront him.

“Alright, what’s your problem?” you demand, stepping in front of him and blocking his path.

Loki arches a brow, clearly unimpressed by your attempt to corner him. “You’ll have to be more specific, princess. I have so many.”

You cross your arms. “Don’t play coy. You’ve been acting like an even bigger ass than usual lately, and I want to know why.”

His lips curl into a smirk, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. “You flatter me with your concern.”

“I’m serious, Loki.” Your voice softens, though your gaze remains firm. “If I’ve done something to upset you, just tell me.”

For a moment, his expression falters, and you think he might actually answer you. But then his smirk returns, colder than before.

“Perhaps I’m simply preparing you for the reality of being married to me,” he says, his tone light but laced with something darker.

Your stomach twists, but you refuse to let him see how much his words sting. “Fine,” you snap. “Be an ass. See if I care.”

You storm off, leaving him standing in the garden, his hands clenched into fists at his sides.

The tension between you only worsens with the arrival of Thor.

The golden-haired prince returns from a long mission, his presence immediately commanding attention wherever he goes. Thor is everything Loki is not—open, friendly, and effortlessly charming. He greets you with a beaming smile, his blue eyes sparkling with genuine warmth.

“You must be the princess,” he says, clasping your hand in his large, calloused one. “I’ve heard so much about you.”

“Good things, I hope,” you reply, returning his smile.

“Of course!” Thor’s laughter booms through the hall, drawing the attention of everyone nearby. “I can see now why my brother is so reluctant to share his time with you. He must be afraid I’ll steal you away!”

You laugh politely, though the comment catches you off guard. Before you can respond, Loki appears at Thor’s side, his expression carefully neutral.

“Thor,” he says smoothly, his tone deceptively light. “How delightful of you to join us. I see you’ve already met my betrothed.”

“Indeed, I have!” Thor claps a hand on Loki’s shoulder, grinning. “She’s delightful. You’re a lucky man, brother.”

Loki’s smile tightens, and you swear you see his jaw clench. “Yes,” he says, his voice a touch colder. “Lucky indeed.”

From that moment on, Loki’s demeanor shifts even further. He grows colder, more distant, and his once playful banter becomes outright cutting.

During a dinner with Thor and the royal family, you find yourself on the receiving end of one of his more caustic remarks.

“Tell me, princess,” Loki drawls, leaning back in his chair. “Have you been enjoying your time here in Asgard? Or is it too overwhelming for someone from such... modest origins?”

The table falls silent, all eyes turning to you. Thor frowns, clearly disapproving of his brother’s behavior, while Frigga gives Loki a sharp look.

You take a deep breath, forcing a smile. “Oh, it’s been lovely,” you reply sweetly. “Though I must admit, the company has been a bit... mixed.”

Thor bursts out laughing, while Loki’s eyes narrow dangerously.

“Well played, princess,” he says, his voice low and icy.

The tension between you only seems to escalate as the days pass, culminating in a heated argument the night before the wedding.

“You know,” you say, standing in the middle of the grand hall where the ceremony will take place, “if you’re so miserable about this marriage, why don’t you just call it off?”

“And bring shame to both our kingdoms?” Loki replies, his voice dripping with sarcasm. “I think not.”

“Shame?” You scoff. “Oh, please. Everyone knows you don’t want this any more than I do.”

“And yet here we are,” he snaps, his eyes flashing with anger.

The argument spirals, both of you hurling insults and accusations until you’re both breathing heavily, standing far too close to each other.

For a moment, neither of you speaks. The air crackles with tension, and you half-expect Loki to say something cruel, something to end the conversation once and for all.

But he doesn’t. Instead, he steps back, his expression unreadable. “Goodnight, princess,” he says quietly, before turning on his heel and walking away.

You’re left standing alone in the empty hall, your chest tight and your mind racing.

The day of the wedding arrives, and you wake with a mixture of dread and resignation. You’re dressed in an elaborate gown, the finest your kingdom has ever produced, and escorted to the ceremony by your father and a contingent of Asgardian guards.

The hall is packed with dignitaries and guests from across the realms, their eyes fixed on you as you make your way down the aisle. At the end of it stands Loki, dressed in black and gold, his expression a perfect mask of calm.

As you approach, you search his face for any sign of emotion, any hint of the man you’ve gotten to know over the past weeks. But he gives nothing away.

The ceremony proceeds smoothly, the vows exchanged without incident. But as you stand before the gathered crowd, your hand resting in Loki’s, you can’t shake the feeling that something has shifted between you.

When the officiant finally declares you husband and wife, Loki leans in, his lips brushing your ear as he murmurs, “The games begin, princess.”

You pull back slightly, meeting his gaze with a mixture of exasperation and amusement. “Bring it on, prince.”

The crowd erupts in applause, oblivious to the battle of wills raging between the two of you.

And as Loki leads you down the aisle, his hand resting lightly on yours, you can’t help but wonder what the future holds for this strange, tempestuous union. One thing is certain: life with Loki will never be dull.

The wedding feast is a blur of golden light, laughter, and endless toasts. Your smile is painted on, your cheeks aching as guests from every realm offer their congratulations. Loki plays his part impeccably, charming the crowd with his wit and occasional glances in your direction that are just shy of affectionate.

Inside, you feel like a tightly coiled spring, wound tighter with every passing moment. You know what comes after the feast. The thought sits heavy in your chest, making it hard to breathe.

The hour grows late, and when the last of the guests have finally departed, you’re escorted to the chambers that have been prepared for you and Loki. The halls seem longer than usual, the distance to your destination stretching endlessly as your nerves build.

When you reach the door, the servants offer you both polite bows before disappearing down the corridor, leaving you and Loki alone.

He opens the door, gesturing for you to step inside. His expression is unreadable, though his usual smirk is noticeably absent.

The chambers are stunning, of course—richly furnished and illuminated by soft, flickering candlelight. But all you can focus on is the massive bed at the center of the room, its silken sheets and embroidered pillows looking more like a throne than a place to rest.

Loki closes the door behind you, and you hear the faint click of the lock.

You stand frozen in the middle of the room, your hands clasped tightly in front of you as you stare at the bed.

“Well,” Loki says after a moment, his voice breaking the tense silence. “I suppose this is the part where we consummate the marriage.”

Your stomach flips, and you force yourself to turn and look at him. “I... I know,” you manage, your voice barely above a whisper.

Loki studies you, his sharp eyes narrowing slightly. Then, to your surprise, he sighs and moves to the nearest chair, sinking into it with an almost theatrical air of exasperation.

“Let’s make one thing perfectly clear,” he says, resting his elbow on the armrest and propping his chin on his hand. “I have no intention of forcing you—or myself, for that matter—into anything tonight.”

You blink, taken aback. “What do you mean?”

“I mean,” he replies, his tone dry, “that we don’t actually have to do anything. All anyone needs to know is that we sayit happened. As long as we both stick to the story, no one will be the wiser.”

Relief floods through you, so sudden and intense that your knees nearly buckle. “You’re serious?”

“Deadly,” he says, his lips twitching into a faint smirk. “I find the idea of spending the night in awkward silence far more appealing than the alternative.”

You let out a breath you hadn’t realized you were holding, nodding quickly. “Alright. I... I agree.”

“Good.” He stands and moves to the other side of the room, unfastening his cloak and draping it over a chair. “We’ll sleep in the same bed—appearances and all that—but I promise to stay on my side. You won’t even know I’m there.”

You hesitate, glancing at the bed again. “Alright,” you say softly, your voice steadier now.

Loki changes into a loose tunic and trousers while you slip behind a screen to remove your elaborate gown and don a simple nightdress. When you emerge, he’s already lying on one side of the bed, his back to you.

You climb in cautiously, keeping to the very edge of your side. The mattress dips slightly under your weight, and you can feel the faint warmth of Loki’s presence, though you’re careful not to look at him.

The silence stretches between you, heavy but not entirely uncomfortable.

“Goodnight, princess,” Loki says after a while, his voice quiet but laced with his usual sarcasm.

“Goodnight, Loki,” you reply, your lips curving into a faint smile despite yourself.

The next morning, you’re awoken by a knock at the door. Loki groans softly, rolling onto his back but making no move to get up.

“Come in,” he calls lazily.

The door opens, and a group of servants enters, carrying trays of breakfast and fresh clothing. They’re followed by Frigga, who takes one look at the rumpled bed and your mussed hair and smiles knowingly.

“I trust you both slept well,” she says, her tone light but her eyes sharp with curiosity.

Loki sits up, running a hand through his disheveled hair and flashing her a lazy grin. “Like babes in a cradle, Mother.”

You flush, quickly busying yourself with the tea that one of the servants has placed on the bedside table.

Frigga’s gaze lingers on the two of you for a moment longer before she nods, clearly satisfied. “Good. The court will be eager to hear that the union has been properly sealed.”

You nearly choke on your tea, but Loki remains perfectly composed, raising an eyebrow at his mother. “Of course,” he says smoothly. “They needn’t worry about that.”

Frigga gives him a pointed look, then turns to leave, her skirts sweeping gracefully behind her.

When the door closes, you let out a shaky breath, your cheeks still burning.

“Well,” Loki says, leaning back against the headboard with a smirk. “That was convincing enough, wouldn’t you say?”

You glare at him, though there’s no real heat in it. “You could have warned me she’d ask.”

“And deprive myself of the pleasure of seeing you flustered?” He grins, clearly enjoying himself.

You roll your eyes, but you can’t help the small smile that tugs at your lips.

The rest of the day is a whirlwind of public appearances and well-wishes from guests and courtiers. You and Loki play your roles to perfection, standing side by side and accepting congratulations with polite smiles.

But every so often, you catch Loki’s eye, and there’s a flicker of something there—something you can’t quite define.

As the sun sets and the festivities wind down, you find yourself wondering if this strange, tentative partnership might become something more.

The passing weeks blur in a mix of royal duties, public appearances, and private moments that seem far too fleeting. You and Loki settle into an unexpected, but not unwelcome, routine. It’s not one born out of affection, nor of any deep romantic feeling—at least not on your part—but something else entirely.

It’s friendship, of sorts, though it has an edge of guardedness on both sides.

Loki is still as sarcastic as ever, his barbed words often making you want to throw a pillow at him, but there’s a subtle shift in his attitude. He doesn’t try to make you uncomfortable, nor does he push you into situations that force your discomfort. Instead, he lets the two of you share moments of quiet companionship, moments that pass without him demanding anything more than just… being together.

At times, you even catch him offering a rare, genuine smile when the two of you exchange witty banter, the edge of coldness in his eyes softening for just a moment before it’s hidden away again.

It’s those moments—small, fleeting—that make you begin to wonder if there’s more to Loki than meets the eye.

But then, every time Thor is around, Loki retreats into himself. His demeanor hardens, his eyes become colder, and the playful teasing he once directed at you disappears, replaced by something almost resembling disdain.

It’s frustrating. You had grown used to Loki’s sharp wit and dry humor, but around Thor, he becomes a stranger. It’s as though he’s a different person entirely.

It’s in those moments that you realize just how much Thor’s presence affects Loki. The way his brother’s easy charm and warmth seem to have earned him the favor of everyone around them, especially their father, Odin.

The stark contrast between the two brothers becomes painfully obvious during family dinners.

On this particular evening, you’re seated at the grand table in the palace hall, flanked by Frigga on one side and Thor on the other. Loki sits at the far end, his posture rigid and his eyes fixed on his plate. The tension between the two brothers is palpable, though it’s subtle, buried beneath layers of carefully crafted politeness.

Frigga chats lightly with Thor about his latest battle, her soft voice carrying through the room. You listen attentively, though a part of you can’t help but glance over at Loki.

You can feel the weight of his silence, the way he seems to withdraw into himself whenever Thor speaks. Loki only offers the occasional half-hearted comment, his tone distant, as if he’s not really a part of the conversation.

Frigga, ever perceptive, seems to notice as well. She glances between Loki and Thor, her expression one of quiet concern.

“Loki,” she says gently, her voice carrying the weight of unspoken understanding, “is there something you wish to add?”

Loki straightens slightly but doesn’t look up from his plate. “No, Mother. I’m simply… observing.”

You can’t help but notice the way his jaw clenches, his gaze still fixed on his food as though he’s avoiding looking anyone in the eye.

Thor, ever the optimist, tries to break the tension. “Come now, brother. Surely you have a better tale to tell than mine. You’ve always been the more… creative one when it comes to storytelling.”

Loki’s eyes flicker toward Thor, but the look he gives his brother is colder than you’ve ever seen it. There’s something there, something unspoken that hangs heavy in the air between them.

“I have no tales to tell,” Loki replies coolly, his voice flat. “Not tonight.”

The silence that follows is thick, awkward. You shift in your seat, unsure of what to say, and Frigga clears her throat, clearly attempting to shift the atmosphere.

“I’m sure Loki has many stories to share when he’s in the mood, Thor,” she says, giving her son a kind smile. “But for now, perhaps we should allow him the peace to enjoy his meal in silence.”

Thor seems to take the hint, though there’s a flicker of confusion in his eyes as he nods. “Of course, Mother.”

But you notice the way he glances at Loki one last time before he turns his attention to you. He smiles, his usual warmth returning.

“It’s good to see you again, Princess,” Thor says, his voice easy and kind. “I trust you’ve settled in well?”

You smile back, grateful for the change of subject. “Yes, thank you, Thor. Asgard has been… more than welcoming.”

Loki stays silent, his fork moving absently as he pushes food around on his plate. You try not to let your gaze linger too long on him, but it’s difficult to ignore the way he seems to withdraw further with each passing moment.

Later, after the dinner has ended and the courtiers have dispersed, you find yourself walking the halls of the palace, your thoughts a tangled mess.

Loki’s behavior continues to trouble you. It’s clear that there’s something between him and Thor, something deep and unresolved. You can sense it in the way Loki acts when his brother is near, the way he retreats inward, shutting everyone else out.

And then there’s Odin. You’ve seen it too—the way the Allfather seems to favor Thor in ways that Loki could never seem to earn. The way Odin’s praise comes effortlessly to Thor, while Loki is left in the shadows, forced to fight for every scrap of recognition.

You’ve begun to notice the small things—the way Loki’s expression shifts when Odin speaks to Thor, or how he watches them both with an almost painful intensity when they stand together.

It’s hard to ignore the dynamic between them. Loki’s desire to prove himself to his father, to gain his approval in a way that seems perpetually out of reach, is something you can’t help but empathize with.

But you don’t know how to talk about it, how to approach him without making things worse.

That night, after the dinner, you retreat to your chambers, the silence of the room settling around you like a weight. Loki is already there, seated on the edge of the bed, his back to you as he stares out the window.

The flickering light from the torch on the wall casts shadows across his face, making his expression seem distant and closed off.

You hesitate in the doorway, unsure of what to say. But the longer you stand there, the more the words seem to push their way out.

“Loki,” you begin, your voice tentative, “I know things have been… difficult lately.”

Loki doesn’t turn around, but his shoulders tense at the sound of your voice. “Difficult? You mean the constant parade of Thor’s victories and Father’s adoration?” His words are sharp, laced with bitterness.

You step further into the room, your heart aching at the venom in his tone. “I didn’t mean it like that,” you say quietly. “But I can see it, Loki. I can see how much it hurts you.”

For a long moment, there’s nothing but silence. Then, Loki sighs deeply, rubbing his temples as if trying to stave off a headache.

“I don’t need your pity,” he mutters. “I don’t need anyone’s pity.”

You take a careful step closer, your voice soft. “I’m not pitying you, Loki. I’m just… I just don’t want you to feel alone in this.”

He laughs bitterly, his shoulders shaking as he turns to face you. “You think I don’t know that? You think I don’t understand what it’s like to be cast aside, to never be good enough no matter how hard you try?”

You swallow hard, your throat tight as you look at him. “I don’t know what that’s like,” you admit, “but I know what it’s like to feel like you’re constantly trying to prove yourself to someone who doesn’t even notice.”

Loki’s gaze flickers briefly to yours, and for a moment, there’s a crack in his armor. But it’s gone almost instantly, replaced by that familiar coldness.

“I don’t need your sympathy,” he repeats, though there’s less conviction in his voice.

“I’m not offering you sympathy,” you reply firmly. “I’m just saying… if you ever want to talk about it—about anything—I’m here, Loki.”

He stares at you for a long while, his eyes unreadable. And then, with a quiet sigh, he nods once, his voice barely above a whisper. “Thank you, princess. But I’m not ready to talk about it yet.”

You nod, though your heart aches at the weight of his words.

“I’ll be here when you are,” you say softly.

Loki doesn’t answer, but the silence that falls between you is… less heavy somehow. Less lonely.

You’re not sure what the future holds for the two of you, but in that moment, you both find a small measure of peace.

And for now, that’s enough.

The days following your conversation with Loki are a strange blend of light and shadow. The weight of your words lingers in the air between you two, but there’s an undeniable shift. It’s subtle, at first—a slight softening in the way he looks at you, a rare but meaningful smile that occasionally plays at the corners of his lips.

But it’s clear, too, that there are walls around him, walls that are not easily torn down. You don’t press him further, content to let him open up in his own time, if at all.

Then, one evening, when the palace is quiet and the rest of the court is engaged in a distant gathering, Loki surprises you.

You’re walking down one of the many hallways, heading back to your chambers after a rather dull meeting with various nobles, when you hear his voice.

“Princess,” he calls softly, his voice carrying through the silence of the corridor.

You turn to find him standing a little ways down the hall, leaning against the stone wall with his arms crossed. There’s something different in his stance—less guarded, more… open, though he still holds that impenetrable air around him.

You raise an eyebrow. “Loki? What’s the matter?”

He shifts, a subtle but noticeable tension in his posture as if he's deliberating whether or not to speak. Finally, after a beat of silence, he steps toward you, his footsteps soft on the stone floor.

“I… I’ve been thinking about our conversation,” he says, his voice quieter than usual.

You give him a careful look. “What about it?”

Loki glances down, avoiding your eyes for a moment before meeting your gaze. “About my father.” His voice tightens slightly, but it’s not the usual bitterness. It’s something more raw. “You were right. I… I’ve been carrying a lot of things for a long time.”

You wait, not wanting to interrupt, giving him space to speak.

“I don’t know if I’ve ever told anyone this, but…” Loki exhales slowly, his breath shaking as if he's letting something go for the first time. “I’ve never felt like I was enough for Odin. For my father. Not in the way Thor is. Not in the way that he needs me to be.”

You step closer, drawn in by the vulnerability in his voice. “Loki…”

He shakes his head, as if frustrated with himself. “I’ve always tried to do everything he wanted. Prove myself, be the son he wanted. But it’s never been enough. Every time I think I’m close to earning his favor, Thor does something. It doesn’t even matter what. Odin just… adores him.” Loki’s words come out with a sharpness, like they’ve been pent up for years, and yet there’s an unmistakable sadness there.

You want to reach out, to comfort him, but you don’t. Not yet.

“Thor…” Loki scoffs, though it’s not with malice—more a mixture of frustration and helplessness. “He doesn’t try. He just is. And Odin… he praises him for every little thing. Meanwhile, I’m left to pick up the pieces, to try to carve out a place for myself. But nothing ever works.”

A knot forms in your chest as you listen to him. It’s impossible to ignore how deeply Loki’s words cut, how much he craves the recognition and love he feels he’ll never receive.

“I know it’s not Thor’s fault,” Loki adds, almost as an afterthought, as if the words pain him. “But sometimes, I just… I can’t help but resent him.”

There’s an ache in his voice that hits you like a physical blow, and without thinking, you step forward and place a hand on his arm.

“You don’t have to explain yourself, Loki,” you say quietly. “I can see how much this hurts you.”

His eyes soften for just a moment, a flicker of something—something like gratitude—before the walls go back up. But it’s a start.

“I know you understand,” he mutters, his gaze dropping. “It’s just… hard to admit, even to myself.”

The silence between you two stretches, but it’s not uncomfortable. It feels like a shared understanding, an unspoken bond that has formed between you.

“You don’t have to carry it alone,” you say softly, stepping back a little but keeping your eyes on him.

Loki looks at you, his expression unreadable. Then, with a small, almost imperceptible nod, he gives you a faint smile. “Thank you.”

It’s more than he’s ever said to you in any of your interactions, and it makes your heart flutter, though you don’t show it.

“Anytime, Loki,” you reply, your voice steady, though your hands are trembling ever so slightly.

The next day, Odin makes his usual rounds through the court, his presence like a weight hanging over everyone. He speaks with courtiers, listens to reports from the generals, and gives out orders. But as usual, his praise for Thor is effusive, his voice rich with admiration.

It’s when you’re walking through the hall toward the council room that you catch the conversation between Odin and Thor. They’re speaking loudly enough for you to overhear, and you can’t help but wince as Odin lauds Thor’s latest achievement.

“Thor,” Odin says, his voice full of pride, “you’ve done the kingdom proud. Truly, your battle strategies are unmatched. I’m so glad to see you take your place as the leader Asgard needs.”

Thor laughs, clearly pleased, though there’s no sign of arrogance in him. “Thank you, Father. But I couldn’t have done it without the support of my allies.”

Odin waves off the sentiment with a chuckle, his voice warm. “Your humility is one of your finest qualities, my son.”

And that’s when it hits you—how blatant the favoritism is. How obvious it is that Odin is always quick to praise Thor, but Loki, despite his brilliance, is always left in the shadows.

Your chest tightens with the unfairness of it all. You’ve heard whispers before—how Odin has always placed Thor on a pedestal, how his approval has always been out of reach for Loki.

You’ve seen it yourself, in the way Odin looks at his sons. Thor, with his easy smiles and loud boisterousness, is clearly the favored one. Loki’s quieter, more calculating nature doesn’t seem to earn him that same adoration.

And something inside you snaps.

You’ve had enough of watching Loki suffer in silence. Enough of the obvious bias that Odin so openly displays.

With a deep breath, you step forward, deliberately interrupting the conversation between father and son.

“Lord Odin,” you say, your voice steady and louder than you expect. Both Odin and Thor turn toward you, surprised by your sudden interruption.

Odin’s eyes flicker over you, but his expression remains neutral. “Princess,” he greets, his tone polite but distant. “What is it you need?”

You take a step closer, finding the courage you’ve never had before to speak your mind. “I think it’s time someone pointed out something that’s been bothering me for some time,” you say, meeting Odin’s eyes with unwavering resolve.

Thor looks at you, clearly surprised, but Odin’s expression doesn’t change.

“I’ve noticed,” you continue, “that you never seem to acknowledge your sons equally. You give Thor praise, constantly sing his virtues, while Loki…” You glance over at him, who stands with his arms crossed, looking more uncomfortable than usual. “Loki deserves the same recognition, and it’s time someone said it.”

Thor’s eyes widen at your words, and Odin’s gaze sharpens, though he doesn’t immediately respond.

“Princess, this is a matter between my sons and I,” Odin says, his tone calm but with an edge that warns you to back down.

But you don’t. “It’s a matter of fairness,” you say, your voice unshaken. “Loki is just as capable, just as brilliant, and he deserves the same respect as Thor.”

For a long moment, there’s silence, a heavy, thick silence that seems to hang in the air. Odin’s eyes study you carefully, as if deciding whether or not to chastise you.

But then, to your surprise, he lets out a slow breath. “Perhaps you are right,” he says, his voice thoughtful, though still carrying the weight of authority. “I will consider your words, Princess.”

You nod, your heart pounding in your chest as you turn to leave. You know you’ve probably made a powerful enemy, but for once, it feels worth it.

As you walk away, you can’t help but glance back at Loki, who is now watching you with a look of surprise—and something else, something softer.

Later that night, you’re in your chambers, lost in your thoughts when a quiet knock at the door pulls you from your reverie.

You open it to find Loki standing there, his usual composed demeanor in place, though there’s something different in his expression.

“Loki,” you say, surprised to see him. “What’s wrong?”

“I wanted to thank you,” he says, his voice low and sincere. “You didn’t have to do that. But you did.”

You shrug, trying to appear casual despite the flutter in your chest. “It was the right thing to do.”

“I know,” he replies, his tone soft. “But that doesn’t make it any less… meaningful.” He hesitates, then takes a step closer, his eyes meeting yours. “You’ve… you’ve done more for me today than anyone has in a long time.”

The words settle between you, and for a moment, everything is quiet.

You don’t know what to say. But somehow, it doesn’t matter. The air between you is charged, but calm, like a storm that’s waiting to break.

And then, without thinking, you step forward, closing the distance between you.

Loki’s breath catches slightly, but he doesn’t pull away. His hand brushes yours, tentative but warm, and that’s when you both understand.

You look into each other’s eyes for a moment, the words unsaid but understood, and then you kiss—softly, tenderly, as if this moment, this connection, is something you both desperately need but never quite expected.

It’s gentle, quiet, and everything in between, and for the first time in a long time, you feel as though the walls between you are starting to fall.

The day after you stood up to Odin, something subtle but undeniable changes between you and Loki. The lingering tension that had once surrounded him, the cold barrier he had erected between himself and everyone, especially you, seems to soften just slightly. He still wears that aloof mask he’s perfected over years of deflecting people’s attention, but there are moments when he looks at you differently—like he sees you, really sees you, as something more than just the princess he was supposed to marry.

But of course, Loki is Loki, and despite the small shifts, he’s still a master of maintaining distance. He keeps his emotions locked away as tightly as his wit, but you’ve begun to notice the cracks. Maybe it’s in the way he lingers a little longer when you’re together, or how he catches your gaze in passing, holding it just a little longer than necessary.

Despite the changes between you two, the world around you continues to spin, and your role as the Princess of Asgard, as Loki’s wife, only grows more public.

The next day, after an awkward breakfast with Frigga, where she kept giving you knowing looks and you were pretty sure you heard her suppressing a sigh, you find yourself walking through the gardens, trying to escape the subtle whispers of court life.

As you stroll among the flowers, you hear footsteps behind you. A familiar, booming voice calls your name.

“Princess Y/N,” Thor’s deep voice rings out, and you stop, turning to face him.

Thor looks even more like the golden child of Asgard today, his wide smile blinding and a glimmer of guilt in his eyes. “I’ve been meaning to thank you, for what you did yesterday. Defending Loki like that.”

You tilt your head, puzzled. “What do you mean?”

“I never saw it, you know?” He rubs the back of his neck sheepishly. “The way Father favors me and how much it’s hurt Loki. I’ve always thought he was… I don’t know, distant, difficult. I didn’t realize I was a part of the problem.”

You blink, a little surprised by his sincerity. You’ve never seen Thor look so humble, so… vulnerable. It’s a stark contrast to the loud, boisterous warrior he usually presents to the world. “You didn’t know?” you ask softly.

He shakes his head, his broad shoulders slumping a little. “No, not really. And I’m ashamed to admit it. But I never thought about how he might feel when all the praise I get… it takes away from what he deserves. Loki’s clever, more than anyone gives him credit for. I see it now. I see how I’ve made him feel… less.”

Your heart aches a little. There’s so much more to Thor than the world gives him credit for, and perhaps there’s more to Loki’s pain than you even realized.

“Thor,” you start, your voice a little unsure but kind. “I think you need to tell him that. He needs to hear it from you.”

Thor gives a tight nod, the look in his eyes both heavy and sincere. “I will. But… I wanted to talk to you first, because I didn’t want you to think that I… I didn’t care.” He pauses, as if weighing his next words carefully. “I know you’re in a difficult position, Y/N, especially with Loki…”

You shrug lightly. “It’s not difficult. He’s my husband, Thor. I have a duty to him, yes, but I also want to see him happy. I don’t want him to feel this way anymore, either.”

“I understand,” Thor says with a soft smile. “And I promise you, I’ll try to make things right between me and Loki. But thank you. Truly.”

He offers a warm, brotherly smile and pats you on the shoulder, making you smile back, a little touched by the earnestness in his voice. It’s rare to see Thor so serious, but in moments like this, you realize just how much he cares about his family—even if it’s a little too late.

As the conversation dies down, Thor bids you farewell, walking off in the opposite direction to presumably find his brother. You remain in the gardens for a few more minutes, deep in thought. There’s a strange, almost bittersweet tension in the air now, an unspoken understanding of the dynamic between the brothers.

The next day, you find yourself walking the palace halls when you catch sight of Loki. He’s talking to a group of Asgardian nobles, but the moment he notices you, his demeanor shifts instantly. His sharp, emerald eyes cut toward you, his mouth forming a thin line. He says something to the nobles, and they scatter quickly, leaving him alone in the corridor.

You pause for a moment, unsure of how to approach him. But before you can decide, Loki walks toward you, his footsteps purposeful. You can feel the chill of his presence before he even speaks.

“What was that, then?” Loki’s voice is cool, his usual aloofness cloaking his words.

You raise an eyebrow. “What are you talking about?”

His eyes narrow. “You and Thor,” he sneers slightly, as though saying his brother’s name leaves a bitter taste in his mouth. “You two spent an awfully long time together yesterday, didn’t you? Talking about me, no doubt. What was it this time? His concern for my well-being?”

You bite your lip, taking in the sharp edge of jealousy in his voice. You feel a slight pang of guilt, but you stand your ground. “We talked about you, yes. But it wasn’t to criticize you, Loki. It was about… understanding.”

Loki scoffs, crossing his arms tightly over his chest, and his gaze shifts toward the floor. “I see. Understanding.”

“You don’t have to do this,” you say, your voice softer now. “You don’t have to push everyone away. Not me. Not him.”

Loki’s head jerks up, and his eyes flash with something unreadable. “I push people away because I know how this ends, Y/N. Thor always takes what he wants. He took Father’s love, and now he wants to take you, too.”

The words hit you harder than you expect, the raw, vulnerable emotion in his voice twisting something deep inside you. You take a step toward him, but he recoils slightly, his posture rigid.

“You don’t have to be afraid of that,” you say, your voice barely a whisper, but there’s certainty in it. “Thor won’t take me from you. I won’t let him.”

Loki’s eyes flicker toward you, the flickering of something darker in his gaze before he presses his lips together in frustration. “How can you be so sure?” His voice cracks slightly, and you don’t know how to respond, except to step even closer to him.

His face softens for a fraction of a second—just long enough for you to see how fragile he really is, how deeply the idea of losing you, losing anything, is etched in him. You place a hand gently on his arm, your voice even softer now.

“I know because we talked. Thor and I. He knows the way you feel, Loki. He’s going to make things right between you two. You don’t have to push him away.”

Loki’s jaw tightens, and you can see the battle within him, the struggle to trust his brother again. But then, something shifts in him, and his gaze softens, if only for a moment.

“I don’t want to lose you,” Loki admits in a low voice, the words barely audible, as though he’s afraid of speaking them too loud, afraid of what they might mean.

You reach up, gently cupping his cheek, your thumb brushing lightly over his skin, and he leans into your touch. “You won’t lose me, Loki. I’m not going anywhere.” Your voice is steady, and you see his breath hitch slightly as his emotions threaten to overwhelm him.

He looks away quickly, his throat tightening, but the tremor in his shoulders betrays him. “I don’t deserve you,” he mutters, barely holding it together.

“Don’t say that,” you reply firmly. “You’re not perfect. None of us are. But you deserve all the love and respect in the world. And I’m here, Loki. Always.”

He looks at you then, his expression softening with that familiar vulnerability you’ve seen fleetingly in the past few days, but it’s stronger now, more present than ever before. Without thinking, you pull him into an embrace, wrapping your arms around him tightly. For a long moment, he doesn’t respond, his body stiff in your arms, but then he exhales slowly, his breath shaky, and finally, he holds you back.

The weight of everything between you two finally lifts, and the walls crumble a little more. The steady rhythm of his breathing in your arms is all you need to know that he feels safe.

Later that night, when you retire to your chambers, Loki follows you, a quiet presence in the doorway.

You look at him, feeling something deep inside you—a need for closeness, for reassurance that everything will be okay. “Stay with me?” you ask softly, and for the first time in what feels like forever, you see something like relief wash over his face.

“I don’t think I can ever go back,” he says quietly, his voice laced with exhaustion, vulnerability.

You reach for him, and without another word, Loki walks into your arms, settling beside you on the bed. You pull the blankets up around both of you, and without a word, you curl up against him.

His arm drapes around you naturally, and you breathe in the warmth of his presence, the security of knowing that, no matter what happens, you

’ve found something real between you two.

“Thank you,” Loki murmurs softly, as if you’ve given him everything he’s ever wanted, even when you haven’t fully realized it yourself.

You smile, tracing circles on his chest with your fingers, whispering back, “No need for thanks. Just stay here, with me.”

The night deepens, and the world outside your chambers is cloaked in quiet, but inside, there’s an unmistakable warmth that envelopes both of you. Loki’s arm around you feels like the most natural thing in the world. As the minutes pass, you rest your head against his chest, listening to the rhythmic thrum of his heartbeat beneath your ear. There’s a comfort in the silence, in just being close to him. You feel safe here, as if this moment is yours and yours alone, something you both can keep in the quiet intimacy of the night.

Loki doesn’t speak, but the occasional brush of his lips against your temple is all the words you need. Each kiss is a small promise, gentle and soft, as though he’s trying to tell you everything his voice cannot. The warmth of his lips against your skin lingers long after he pulls back, and the weight of the past few months—the distance, the uncertainty, the doubts—slowly begins to dissolve. You realize now that it was never about the marriage contract, nor the obligations that bound you together; it was about this—this connection between the two of you that had always been there, waiting for the right moment to surface.

You kiss him back, tentatively at first, but as you feel him pull you closer, your kisses deepen. They’re slow and deliberate, as though you both want to savor this, to make sure it isn’t just a fleeting moment but a beginning. His lips are warm and soft, and every time they meet yours, there’s a spark—a connection that has been years in the making, one that now feels as though it’s blooming into something beautiful, fragile, and new.

The kisses grow longer, more meaningful, as if both of you are learning how to express the things you’ve kept hidden for so long. Loki’s hand gently cradles your face, his thumb tracing the line of your jaw, as if memorizing the feel of your skin. He deepens the kiss slightly, and you meet him with equal fervor, the world outside fading away until there’s nothing left but the two of you, tangled in the quiet intimacy of shared tenderness.

When the kiss finally breaks, neither of you moves, just breathing in the same air. Loki’s forehead rests gently against yours, and you can feel the warmth of his breath, still heavy with emotion.

“Stay here,” he murmurs, his voice low and filled with something you can’t quite put into words. It’s a question, but more than that, it’s a plea—a quiet request for this peace to last.

“I will,” you reply softly, your hand resting on his chest, feeling the steady beat of his heart under your palm. And you mean it, more than anything. You know that, in this moment, everything between you has changed.

The night goes on quietly, both of you finding comfort in each other’s presence, the soft and tender kisses gradually fading into the warmth of shared silence. It’s a perfect peace, a moment of vulnerability and connection that neither of you had ever expected but now can’t imagine living without.

As the days pass, the dynamic between you and Loki shifts. What once seemed like a forced relationship, something borne out of duty and circumstance, is now something more. The distance that once existed between you two has shrunk, replaced by an ease that only comes when two people begin to trust each other in ways neither expected. Your interactions are now filled with light touches, shared glances, and quiet smiles. There’s a softness in Loki’s demeanor that wasn’t there before—a gentleness that’s slowly replacing the walls he’s built around himself.

You see it in the way he looks at you, the way he seeks out your presence even when there’s no need for it. There’s an undeniable shift in his behavior, one that others notice, too.

Frigga, ever observant, notices the change in the air the moment she steps into the palace halls. She smiles knowingly when she sees the way Loki watches you during breakfast, his eyes soft and full of affection. It’s the first time she’s seen him like this in a long while—less guarded, more present. She watches you both from across the room, her heart swelling with a mix of pride and relief. For all the missteps and misunderstandings, she’s always known that the two of you could find something real.

Thor, too, sees the change, though he’s not as subtle in his observations. He slaps Loki on the back one afternoon, his booming laugh echoing through the palace halls. “Well, well! Looks like someone’s finally figured it out,” he teases, a wide grin plastered on his face.

Loki stiffens at first, but then the corner of his lips quirks up, a smirk that’s less mocking and more content than it’s ever been. “What do you mean?” Loki asks, raising an eyebrow.

“Don’t play coy,” Thor says, his tone playful. “I’ve seen the way you look at her. It’s about time, brother.”

Loki sighs, rolling his eyes dramatically. “I’m not in the mood for your commentary, Thor.”

But even as he says this, there’s a subtle flush to his cheeks, a fleeting moment of embarrassment that makes you chuckle softly. Loki’s pride may be as sharp as ever, but there’s a vulnerability there too, one that he tries to hide behind his biting sarcasm and quick wit.

As the days go by, your connection to Loki only deepens. The two of you spend more time together, finding moments of quiet solace amid the chaos of palace life. You talk—about everything and nothing at all. You learn more about each other in those quiet, unspoken moments than you ever did in the months before. It’s in the way he brushes your hair out of your face when it falls in your eyes or how he looks at you when you laugh at something absurd he says. It’s in the way he remembers small details about you, like the way you take your tea or how you always tie your shoes in the same knot.

The change doesn’t go unnoticed by the people around you. The courtiers whisper about it, the nobles gossip behind their fans. They notice the way Loki looks at you when you enter the room, how his eyes soften when you speak. They notice how the two of you sit together at dinner, heads close, sharing small private jokes no one else seems to understand. The shift in the way he treats you is almost palpable, and it doesn’t take long for the rest of the palace to catch on.

But the real surprise comes from the children.

It starts innocently enough. One evening, as you walk through the palace gardens with Loki, you hear giggling in the distance. When you look around, you see a group of young children playing near the fountain. They stop as soon as they notice you, eyes widening before they run over to you, their faces alight with excitement.

“Princess Y/N!” one of them exclaims, a little girl with bright red hair. “Is it true that you and Prince Loki are really married now?”

You raise an eyebrow, surprised by the question, but before you can answer, another child chimes in.

“Yes! I heard you two are so in love!” The child’s voice is full of awe, as though this is the most magical thing they’ve ever heard.

Loki scoffs, but there’s a teasing glint in his eyes. “I assure you, we’re simply fulfilling our duties. Nothing more.”

But the children aren’t convinced. They gather around you, bombarding you with questions. “When will you have babies?” one of them asks innocently.

You blush deeply, not quite sure how to handle the question. Loki looks absolutely mortified, but there’s an amused edge to his expression.

“Well,” you start, unsure of what to say, “we haven’t really discussed that yet. But we’re very happy.”

“Oh, I bet you are!” another child giggles, clearly not taking you seriously. “You two are always together now. You must be so in love!”

Loki looks at you in mild horror. “What have we gotten ourselves into?”

You laugh, feeling the warmth in your chest spread. “I think we’ve just become a fairytale, Loki.”

The children’s excitement doesn’t end there. The next day, they’re playing again, this time reenacting your supposed “love story” with elaborate costumes. They insist on calling you and Loki the “Royal Lovers of Asgard,” and you can’t help but smile at their innocent enthusiasm. It’s impossible not to see the joy they find in the idea of your relationship, an idea that, in their eyes, is full of magic and wonder. The way they view you both—so wrapped up in this imagined romance—is innocent and sweet, and it makes you realize how far you and Loki have come.

As the days go by, the children’s stories spread throughout the palace. The courtiers begin whispering more frequently about the Royal Lovers, and soon enough, even the servants are in on the tale. You and Loki have become the subject of countless stories, both real and imagined. The court’s expectations of your relationship have shifted, but for the first time, it feels like you’re not just playing a part anymore. You’re both actively shaping this life, together.

And for all the teasing from Thor and the gossips from the children, there’s a part of you that feels proud of what you’ve built. It may have started as a duty, a contract forged by fate, but now it feels like something more. You and Loki are no longer bound by obligation alone. There’s affection, there’s trust, and there’s something deeper—something far more real.

It’s not the fairytale the kingdom expected, but it’s yours. And somehow, that feels perfect.

part 2 with royal kids? ;)

[skzdarlings]

the kingsguard ; jisung x reader ; part vi

part one| part two | part three | part four | part five | part six | tba | ao3 link

pairing: han jisung/reader summary: You are a queen. He is a kingsguard - a member of a holy order that vows to defend the king in the name of the gods. They forsake all earthly goods and swear a vow of chastity to avoid all worldly temptation. When he stands in as proxy for the royal wedding, all those vows are tested.

content info: reader described with curly hair. this is the second to last chapter.

content warnings: the previously established story dynamics continue in this chapter. this chapter has a very explicit sex scene with reader/jisung. desperation, vow-breaking, grinding, making out, cunnilingus, piv, secret forbidden love affair, having to be quiet to not get caught, covering each other's mouths, generally lots of description of worship in a sexual context.

chapter word count: 14000 words.

enjoy <3

-

You dream about Han Jisung.  As if he has not entirely consumed your waking thoughts, he has even stolen into your dreams.  He is there with a smile, a song, and so much tenderness that you are aching from the moment you open your eyes.

“Oh,” is all you say, a whisper in your empty bed.

You rise and dress yourself, already mentally bracing for the long day ahead. Though you are determined to navigate yourself through the viper’s nest that is the king’s court, you must be very cautious while doing so.  There are real, deadly ramifications for what you did – for what you want to do again.  Though you will strive to maintain whatever possible liberties, you must not become complacent in the meanwhile. 

You do not want this to end before it can truly begin. 

You fear the light of day will reveal everything that transpired.  You feel a revolution in yourself, not just in the literal aches and tingles, but something in the very core of your being.  You feel like someone will see it a glance, in the way you move or carry yourself.  How could they not?  It changed everything. 

Your first encounter is Changbin.  There was another guard switch in the early hours of morning, sparing Minho some rest before due departure.   You are glad.   Minho heard everything last night and you were not keen on starting the day with that confrontation.   He has proven himself to be reliable, having returned the sleeping draft with little reservation, and he is clearly an intimate companion that Jisung trusts wholeheartedly so it is not doubt for his stalwart dependability that makes you hesitate – just pure embarrassment. 

Changbin does not seem to notice anything untoward.  He does not make a single remark against your disposition, so you safely exhale as he escorts you through the camp. 

The king is still sleeping and no one is brave enough to prod him awake.  He will probably be angry in either scenario, so it has been decided to let him lay until he stirs on his own. 

It feels as though the entire contingency has released a long-held breath.  There is chatter and some games, people wandering about, eating and ambling without the stress of a holy gaze and its accompanying vocal thunder. 

Foot soldiers mill about the camp.  Chan guards the king.  Seungmin and Jeongin scout the perimeter for dangerous activity, on greater alert because of the assassination attempt. 

That leaves the remaining few kingsguards nearby.   Minho is slouched against a tree, peeling an orange and laughing at Hyunjin and Jisung who are locked in a very theatrical swordfight.  Changbin is clearly eager to join so you get some food then happily head in that direction. 

“Yah, you call that fighting?” Changbin teases.

Jisung turns, just a brief glance of acknowledgement until he sees you and stumbles.  His sword is loose in his grip, like he has forgotten all his training, like he doesn’t even remember being a kingsguard. 

You forget yourself too.  Your mouth is open with some pleasant greeting utterly obliterated in the face of his longing gaze.  Last night should have tempered all this quiet yearning but it seems to have exacerbated it. 

This exchange is only seconds, though it feels like hours.  Jisung might have forgotten himself but Hyunjin has not.  He knocks Jisung on the back and Jisung falls over, sword flying and palms skidding across the forest floor.  He coughs through the little puff of dirt that bursts under impact. 

“Tsk, task,” Changbin continues to tease.  “You make it too easy.” 

“Ah-ha-ha,” Jisung says, clapping his hands to clean them.  He stands then bends at the waist, bowing to you.  “My queen.  Good morning.” 

“Good morning,” you reply, dipping your head respectfully in turn.  You greet Hyunjin as he bows too. 

You look at Minho long enough for him to bow his head then smile.  It is not taunting, at least not with any true malice.  An amused dimple indents his cheek and there is a sparkle in his eye.

“Your Majesty,” he says.  “I hope you slept well.” 

“Quite fine,” you say, feeling very hot in the face. 

“Ah.”  Minho wiggles an orange slice.  “Just fine, hm?”  He looks at Jisung and cackles maniacally at his exasperated expression.   He pops the orange slice into his mouth and smiles while chewing. 

Hyunjin looks at him funny but Changbin is non-plussed, unintentionally diverting the conversation when he says, “The king is sleeping more than fine, hey.” 

This distracts Hyunjin who immediately scoffs. He tosses his sword, spinning it with a flick of his wrist, and catches it just as smoothly.  He opens his mouth to speak. 

Changbin interjects, “Ah, ah, ah, you watch your pretty mouth.  You’ve blasphemed enough, kingsguard.” 

“Kingsguard.”  Hyunjin looks at his sword, runs his finger up the shiny reflection with a contemplative regard.  “There’s no king here right now,” he says.  “That makes me a queensguard, doesn’t it?” 

“It’s the same thing,” Changbin says, diplomatic. 

Hyunjin smiles, though it lacks amusement, just a dry upturn of his lips. 

“If you insist,” he says. 

“Hey, hey, hey,” Jisung sings, wiggling into the middle of their rapport.  “King, queen, god, man – a vow is a vow.  We all know why we’re here, right? Right. Right. Awesome.” 

“I know why you’re here,” Hyunjin says, tapping Jisung with the blunt flat of his sword.  “It was to lose against me, as usual, wasn’t it?” 

“Ohhhh-ha-ha!” Jisung slashes his sword through the air with an ostentatious flourish.   “The pretty boy has jokes now.” 

“Bard boy,” Hyunjin retorts, teasing.  He curls his fingers, gesticulating for an approach.  “If you dare.” 

The boys return to their fighting, as playful as it is impressive.  You seat yourself beside Minho, though the sight of the queen on the forest ground does make Changbin squeak.  Regardless, he does not protest and Minho seems to understand your character well enough that it does not surprise him at all.  He simply hands you an orange slice. 

You watch Hyunjin and Jisung, smiling as they parry.  Minho and Changbin explain some of the manoeuvres, bringing an understanding to the harmony of their frantic steps and slashes. 

It is not surprising there is so much detail in even the simplest action.  The kingsguards do not fight with half-hearted swings, nor do they stumble with overemotional, retaliatory strikes.  Every step, every parry, every breath, is so carefully planned, so meticulously practiced, so utterly engrained in their every movement. 

In truth, you see it even when they are at rest.  Chan is the most natural with his authoritative air and quick reactions, having trained for so much of his youth.  Hyunjin moves with a dance-like fluidity even when he is not fighting, as if his long limbs are cutting through water.  Minho has a limber quick-footedness, sometimes disguised in an insouciant slouch, but quick to action when the inclination so strikes.  Every action that Changbin makes is a powerful one, as precise as it is strong.  Jeongin and Seungmin both have keen eyes and quick reflexes, their training and perseverance plain in every dedicated movement. 

Han Jisung is good at everything.  He can play at unassuming, so much so even the king does not see his utmost capabilities, but it is obvious that he has a vast repertoire of skill to call upon at any given moment.

Watching him and Hyunjin fight is exhilarating.  As you begin to understand their footwork and motions, it becomes even more impressive. 

“Show her the double knot,” Minho says, calling out like a spectator at a show.

He clearly delights in pestering his friends but Jisung and Hyunjin are having fun.  They both relish the opportunity to flaunt their skills so they happily indulge his request. 

With wide eyes, you watch their swords clash.  Sparks burst where the metal scrapes at the angle of collision.  The men whirl around each other and bring their swords together again.  They continue to weave and parry, every step lightning quick.  It appears to be a defensive manoeuvre rather than an assault, but it is an extraordinary feat of speed and fortitude regardless. 

“Well done,” you say, applauding. 

Jisung sweeps into an exaggerated bow only for Hyunjin to kick him over.  You laugh as he chases after Hyunjin as if he intends to clobber him with his sword.  It makes Hyunjin laugh too, his face so bright when overcome with delight.  He clearly feels all his emotions very strongly.  You believe all these brave young men fight with as much as emotion as skill.  The kingsguard service is not just about soldiership, but faith and all that which is contained in the heart. 

They deserve a far better companion than the tyrant king.  That is what their monarch should be, a companion, a friend, a being more heart than ego. 

“I am duly impressed,” you say when the boys finish another bout. 

By now, their breathing is a little heavier. The morning is creeping toward noon, the heat intensifying with each passing moment.  You are tucked in the shade but the kingsguards move in and out of sunlight, no doubt warm in their black robes.  Still, they do not remove it. 

Not right now at least, you think, looking at the swish of Jisung’s cloak, remembering as it fell from his shoulders and he fell into your arms.  You feel flustered, letting the memory of each touch wash over you.  When Jisung finds your gaze, you swear you can see his own recollections teeming. 

“Show her the Levanter,” Minho calls, interrupting your shared daydreaming. 

Jisung snaps out of it.  He looks at Minho with a sardonic quirk of his brow. 

“Oh, now he’s got jokes too,” Jisung says, pointing to Minho while Hyunjin laughs. 

“The Levanter,” you repeat the word slowly, letting the weight of it linger.  “Levanter – like the god?” 

“The god of guardians,” Hyunjin says with a blazing look in his eye.  He tips his head back, gazing heavenward as he points with his sword to the skies.  “Levanter stands guard at the gates of the heavens.  The eternal vow-keeper.  He has never surrendered his post.” 

“Yes,” you say, nodding respectfully.  “I imagine the kingsguard revere him most of all.” 

“All the scripture is important,” Changbin adds, nodding too.  “But yes, the kingsguard order prays to Levanter for guidance before the rest.” 

“You do him a service,” you say.  “I suppose the Levanter manoeuvre must be particularly noteworthy to be named after him.” 

“You can say that,” Jisung says with a little laugh.  He runs his fingers through his hair. 

You feel like a prepubescent girl again, warm and flushed just watching his dark hair feather through his fingers, watching those fingers come down to his sword hilt, watching the movement of his hand as he grasps and twists. 

Truthfully, you forget your question – or was it a statement? – and it takes Minho gently nudging you to remember. 

“Levanter,” you say, shaking your head.  You smile politely.  “What is the manoeuvre then?”

Minho cackles.  Changbin reaches down to cuff him across the back of his head.  Minho snaps his jaws in return, like he intends to gnaw on Changbin like a disgruntled kitten. 

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Changbin says.  To you, he speaks more politely, “The Levanter is not a manoeuvre that can actually be performed.” 

“Well, it can be,” Jisung corrects, slashing his sword through the air.  He grins, a big, theatrical smile, wiggling his eyebrows.  “But it can only be performed once.” 

“Only once,” you say.  “What do you mean?” 

“All kingsguards are trained to master all manoeuvres and operations,” Hyunjin says, speaking a little more seriously than the others, still with that reverent look in his eye.  “But the Levanter has only been used a few times over the centuries.  It’s an… honourable death and killing.”

“Death and killing,” you repeat.  Your stomach twists with a little bit of anxiety, the weight this implication landing.  Though you know there is no real danger right at this precise moment, considering such dramatic circumstances makes you uneasy.  “You mean…” 

“It kills your opponent,” Jisung says, voice a little softer, perhaps seeing the unease on your face.  “It just… also kills…”

“Yourself,” you say, to which they both nod.  “Surely, there would never be a reason for such a manoeuvre?”

“Not necessarily,” Hyunjin says, a little less attuned to your discomfort, more excited to explain himself.  He sheathes his sword while speaking.  “It’s the last and final option for a kingsguard, when he has no other choice in front of him.  If death is inevitable, there is no dishonour in ending your own life if it means fulfilling your service to defend the crown.  So… in example… if a kingsguard was taken by an enemy who meant to torture or use them against heaven’s earthly sovereign, then it would be appropriate for the kingsguard to take action, to kill his opponent and himself so he could not be used.”

“My goodness,” you say.  “That – that’s very – ”

“It looks like this,” Hyunjin says. 

He draws a dagger from the folds of his robes, a weapon you did not even realize was concealed in the swathes of dark fabric.  In a blink, he draws back his arm and hurls the dagger.  It whizzes past Jisung and thuds into a tree.  You do not even have the chance to gasp before Hyunjin has drawn his sword and turned it towards himself.  He slams onto his knees, sliding the sword safely along his side and tucking it under his arm. 

You understand.  The kingsguard would throw a dagger at his opponent, killing them with a fatal injury, and he would just as swiftly fall on his own sword.  It would not slide past his side, but through his ribs and into his own heart.  He would kill both of them in one stroke.  It would take a lot of precision, but that would be easy for a soldier like Hyunjin, who is primarily a bowman.  Aim and precision is his specialty. 

You don’t want to imagine it, though. Jisung is right; this manoeuvre can only be performed once.  Hyunjin’s demonstration is harmless but you understand the visual. 

“My goodness,” you say again.  “I knew the kingsguard was devout, but that… that…” 

“Like we said before,” Jisung says gently.  “It’s easy to be devout when the queen is true.  Your Majesty, you are worth that.”

You are worth dying for, he means, gazing at you with those shiny dark eyes.  It is an extraordinary proclamation.  It makes your breath catch. 

“I appreciate the sentiment,” you say.  You manage to speak softly though your heart thumps heavily.  “But I would prefer my queensguards live for me instead.”

“Your Majesty,” Hyunjin says, bowing.

The conversation is swiftly halted by a familiar raging voice.  The king has risen and he is not happy. 

What a surprise, you think.  Though no one vocalizes the sentiment, the frowns and sighs reveal a similar thought in your guards.  Despite the obvious reluctance, the king must be greeted, so the guards sheath their weapons and compose themselves. 

Changbin offers his hands and pulls you to your feet.  You accept his arm as he escorts you towards the centre of the camp.  Servants are bustling about, frantically tearing down what remains of the encampment.  They were taking their time as the king slept, but now it is well past departure time and he has no patience for dithering. 

Chan is beside the king, looking gloomy and austere.  His hand flexes on the hilt of his sword.  He stares at the king and only moves when he sees you.

Flanked by guards, your approach is difficult to ignore.  The king stutters in his speechifying.

“You.”  He hurls the word. 

You do not match his conduct.  You remain stoic and graceful, simply dipping into a respectful bow of greeting.  You say nothing and hope nothing is all he sees.  His glare is so fiery that you believe he might suspect you are responsible for his impromptu slumber.  However, he clearly cannot comprehend how that would be.

You are not forthcoming.  You simply stand before him, eyes downturned, with no answers to be given. 

He takes a breath.  It sounds like preparation to bellow. 

Before he can shout or accuse or even blink, there is a mad disruption in the camp.  The kingsguards grab their sword hilts, forming a protective circle around just you.  Chan grips his own sword hilt, striding forward to see what is causing the commotion. 

It is Seungmin and Jeongin, riding into the camp like there are devils on their tails. 

“Assassins,” Seungmin says, stopping just in front of Chan.  It takes him a second to calm his excited horse, trotting back and forth as he looks down at the kingsguard captain.  “We were scouting the perimeter, behind and ahead,” Seungmin continues.  “Some of the bandits from the unit the other day – they were camped not far from the main road.  They know we’re travelling that way.  They know—”  He looks at you, solemn.  “They know we have something they want.” 

“The queen is in danger!”  Jeongin blurts.  He looks a little more frantic than Seungmin, his horse equally agitated.  His expression is screwed up tight with lines of anxiety.  “Chan – Captain – We have to do something.” 

“Ridiculous,” the king says.  “There’s no more bandits on these roads.  The queen is not in any danger.  We cannot waste more time with delays.  I want to be back in the capital by—”

“Your Majesty,” Chan says, facing him squarely.  “Can you confirm unequivocally there are no more bandits waiting in those trees?”  His expression perceptibly darkens, downright menacing with the intensity of his stare.  “And if so, would you mind explaining where and how you acquired that knowledge?” 

The camp feels very silent.  Only the horses dare to make noise, plodding back and forth.  Seungmin soothes his animal, brushing his hand along the mane.   He, like everyone else, is looking at the king. 

Chan’s accusation is plain.  He looks at the king and challenges him.  He outright dares him to admit that the previous attack was targeted against you and that he arranged it.   Of course, the king does not admit this, but he has no other answer prepared either.  He stumbles over an aggrieved retort.  In the time it takes him to think, Chan shakes his head. 

“There is only one road between here and the capital big enough for a caravan to pass,” Chan says.  “It doesn’t surprise me enemies would wait on it.” 

He approaches you.  You hands began trembling from the first mention of the assassins, but your fear is somewhat assuaged by the protective circle of your guards.  Chan looks at them, then bows his head to you. 

“Your Majesty,” he says.  “It’s obvious these roads are not safe at this time.  If I may, I would like to separate you from the rest of the royal train.” 

The king scoffs indignantly but you feel relief regardless.  Chan is separating you from the royal retinue.  More importantly, he is separating you from the king.  It feels like a weight slides right off your shoulders.   You have won some more time and distance. 

“There are faster paths to the capital,” he says.  “But they won’t fit the wagons. Changbin, I’ll leave you in charge of leading the train back to the city without me, and I’ll personally take the queen ahead.  You continue as planned and be mindful of any attacks.  We’ll be long gone before anyone realizes we’re not with the caravan.” 

“You will do such thing!” the king snaps.  “Am I to be used as bait to lure these assassins while you protect that disobedient creature?  Remember your vows, captain!” 

Chan is facing you, his back to the king.  You watch his expression contort with frustration, a muscle in his jaw twitching as he holds that anger within.  You do not remotely blame him.  It is preposterously insulting for the king to accuse him of disrespecting his vows after everything the king has done.

Despite his aggravation, Chan maintains composure, turning to face the king. 

Chan is not especially giant, not in physicality.  The king is technically taller than him.  However, the kingsguard captain has such a domineering and confident air that it somehow dwarfs other men in relation.  The king has to make a point of holding his head up, but Chan overwhelms him with his sheer presence. 

“You’re right, Your Majesty,” Chan says, an edge to his voice despite the respectful address.  “I’ve sworn a vow as kingsguard leader to always stay at your side.”

“Precisely,” the king says.  He looks at you with a smug little smirk, clearly feeling that he has wrestled back his control. 

It takes a great deal of effort not to return a glare.  You let a breath shudder past your lips.  Hopefully it is mistaken for nerves and not irritation.   

“Yes,” Chan continues.  “That’s why I and the lower soldiers will stay behind to take you back to the capital.”  He looks at the guards gathered around you.  “And the rest of the kingsguards will escort the queen.” 

“What!”  The king reacts like he was slapped. 

You try not to laugh, swallowing the sound.  Hyunjin barely restrains it as his shoulders jump.  Jisung bites his bottom lip and looks at you sidelong.  You look back, smiling the subtlest smile you dare. 

“It’s the only choice of action, Your Majesty,” Chan says to the king, speaking with saccharine sweetness, as if explaining a complicated concept to a child.  “The gods-chosen queen has to be protected.  And because I have to stay with you, it goes without saying that the remaining guards have to stay with her.  We can’t allow any harm to come to her, can we?  Because that would be a violation of your vows.”  With that, Chan’s expression turns menacing again, brows slanting into an angry furrow.  “And you don’t want to be the first king in centuries to stand in violation of his vows.  Do you?”

The king has no reply.  The blatant threat stuns him into uncharacteristic silence. 

“Good,” Chan says, smiling.  “I’m glad we agree.  It’s the will of the gods, after all.  Seungmin, Jeongin.”  He turns to the guards.  “Pack the horses accordingly.  Bring a tent and bedroll for the queen.  Pack lightly, though.  Speed is imperative. Changbin, Minho, come with me and we’ll map your route to the capital.  If something happens, you’ll send a rider out to me.  You should arrive at least a week ahead of us if you maintain pace.” 

The king flounders, his mouth open with an interjection, but he is not afforded a moment to speak.  Chan is moving from person to person, issuing orders. 

“Hyunjin, Han,” Chan says.  “Ensure the queen has everything she needs.  My Queen, I apologize, but for the sake of your safety you may not be able to travel in the most comfort, and I would recommend you bring only the necessities.  We will safely deliver the rest of your trunks and belongings within the week.”

“Captain.”  You lay a hand over your heart, full of gratitude.  “I understand completely.  I commend your quick thinking.  You are an exemplary credit to your gods and the crown.”

“I’m glad you think so, Your Majesty,” Chan says, bowing.  “Safe travels.”  He turns to the king and gestures ahead, lifting a pointed brow.  “Well, we better hurry, Your Majesty.  As you were saying before, we don’t want to waste more time, do we?  It’s you and me now.  Without all these distractions, we’ll have opportunities in the nights ahead to pray to the gods for their revelation, provided you don’t fall asleep before we can.” 

Remarkably, you keep a straight face as Chan and the king retreat.  You, Hyunjin, and Jisung quietly make your way to the wagon with your trunks.  When safely out of sight of the sovereign and his clever captain, the three of you exchange a glance and promptly dissolve into laughter.  You try to contain it, desperately shaking your head, but it’s no use.  Hyunjin leans against the wagon, eyes closed while a laughing tear slides down his cheek.  Jisung doubles over, hands on his knees and shoulders shaking. 

“Did you see his face?”  Jisung wheezes.  He stands up, holding his middle like the laughter caused a strain.  “Ohhhh, sweet gods.  Forgive me.”  He makes the gesture of a blessing, crossing the symbol over his body and gazing heavenward.  It doesn’t stop his incessant giggling. 

“Shhh,” you say because it is appropriate, though your own laughter is still flowing.

Hyunjin covers his mouth and releases the rest of his laughter in the cup of his hand.  When you are all settled, you finish your task, only the occasional giggle as interruption.  You pack a small bag of necessities then meet the other kingsguards where they are arranging the horses.  The rest of the camp continues to prepare its own journey, though a few people watch as the kingsguards gather.  They make quite a sight, forming arrangement on horseback, their black robes flowing around them. 

Of course, the king does not see the value of their presence.  He focusses on a ridiculous detail, pointing to Hyunjin as the kingsguard mounts his horse.      

“She is not to ride with that one!” the king says. 

Hyunjin lays a hand over his heart, closing his eyes and looking dramatically sorrowful. 

“Han,” Chan says.  He sighs and gestures to Jisung.  “If you don’t mind taking the queen again.” 

Minho laughs.  He is perched on his own horse, reigns in one hand, rubbing the bridge of his nose with the other. 

“Of course,” Jisung says.  He bows quickly to Chan then spins towards you.  His hand emerges from the dark layers of his robes, held out to you in offering.  

He is wearing riding gloves, leather covering each finger to the knuckle.  You gaze at that hand and remember every tender touch. 

You lay your hand in his.  Even with the leather barrier, sparks ignite where your palms touch.  A frisson ripples all through your body, a still pond brought to life by a dropped pebble.   

He smiles at you.  The tips of his ears are more than a little red but no one else looks for that detail.  The king is glaring at Hyunjin who is simply staring at his own nails.  Chan is speaking with Minho who has assumed position at the front of the little contingency. 

Jisung holds your hand and takes the reigns of his horse with the other.  He guides you to the middle of the protective circle of guards.  Minho takes the lead, Seungmin and Jeongin flanking either side of you, with Hyunjin and Changbin defending the rear. 

You nod at them, smiling.  Jisung squeezes your hand as he turns you around to face him.  Your breath catches yet again when your eyes meet.  You fall into those dark eyes so easily, deep brown and fathomless.  You like his face so much, the softness of his features, the openness of his expression. 

He takes your waist in his hands.  There is a swooping rush in your belly as he lifts you.  So distracted with his eyes and face, you almost forgot what strength is hidden in the layers of holy black cloth.  He helps you onto the horse then smoothly swings up behind you. 

He lands with a soft little bounce, comfortably settling himself.  He flicks his robes with an unnecessary flourish and you bite your bottom lip to keep from giggling. He puts a finger to his lips, playfully scolding you. 

“You are incorrigible,” you murmur. 

His arms move around you as he picks up the reigns. His hips come forward, his chest against your back.  A flush of warmth moves through you.   It starts somewhere intimate, lower than that swooping rush, your body remembering all the ways he touched you and aching for it again.  It startles you, how easily that feeling comes when you never felt it before.  Now it is all you can think about, his body against yours, his breath on the nape of your neck. 

“Am I?” he asks in a soft, light voice. 

“Oh yes,” you answer quickly.  It makes him laugh. 

The king is not pleased with laughter but the king does not have a chance to say anything.  Chan steps back and waves his men forward.  Minho whistles and the kingsguards rear into action.  The guards answer with a shout here and there, the horses kick with adrenaline, then the whole party bursts like lightning, fast as they fire across the earth and away from camp. 

You look over your shoulder, watching as the waiting figures shrink in size.  The king disappears and you smile, safe with Jisung’s arms around you.

-

You ride fast, careening down forest trails and cresting small hills far faster than the royal retinue would lumber along.   

Rest comes sooner too.  The kingsguards dismount to water their horses and themselves. 

Jisung leaps off his horse and holds out his arms to you.  You thank him, sliding into his waiting embrace where you linger just a moment too long. 

His eyes stray to a frizzy curl on your head.  Instinctively, he smooths it out.  You feel it all the way down your body, right to your toes.  You are a little sore from such hard riding and it does not help your shaking, knees knocking as his fingertips sweep down the side of your face. 

“There,” he says, meeting your gaze with a smile. 

“Quite,” you reply. 

It is not what you want to say.  You want to ask when you can touch each other again and if he even wants to, though you suspect he does.  It’s in his eyes, the way he looks at every part of you.  It’s all-encompassing, fond and wanting, lingering too long in the places he dares to look.  He stares into your eyes, studies your expressions, gazes at your mouth. 

Your lips part as if in natural obedience.  His tongue touches his bottom lip and you feel tingles.  You know what that mouth feels like on your skin.  Just the recollection makes your insides melt.  How did you even survive that?  You want to try again and find out.   

Now is not the time.  The king might be far away but the kingsguards surround you.  You trust Minho but it is hard to say how the others might react.  Hyunjin clearly does not respect the king, having decided he is not the true representation of the gods, but it is obvious this feeling derives from a steadfast devotion.  Just because he does not like the king, it does not mean he will be okay with Jisung breaking his vows.  The same goes for the others.  They are your allies for now and you need to keep them on your side before pushing further. 

This attraction is difficult to navigate.  You are not experienced with desire, having avoided it thus far in life.  It suited you then but things are different with Jisung.  You find yourself reaching for him without thinking, brushing some hair across his forehead, then letting the back of your knuckles skim his cheek.  When he makes a light sound, an airy whine just from that simple touch, your poor trembling legs nearly give up altogether. 

Fortunately, you maintain your faculties.  You manage to separate when Jeongin approaches.  He does not appear to notice the intimacy of that fleeting exchange.  His eyes are locked on some distant point, brow furrowed with deeply set anxiety.   His hand is on the hilt of his sword, gripping it so tightly it shakes a little.  His hair is dishevelled and not just from the exertion of riding, but like he has been frantically jamming his fingers in it, tugging at the scalp with fright. 

“Kingsguard Jeongin,” you say with a nod of acknowledgement.  “Is there something you need?”

He shakes his head.  He nods.  He shakes his head again.  

“Uh, you all right, man?” Jisung asks. 

Jeongin abruptly drops to his knees and throws his hands together in supplication.  He closes his eyes but it does not stop the few tears that fall.

“Oh!” you yelp, startled. 

“Whoa, hey!” Jisung says.  “Kid, what’s wrong?”

“Your Majesty, please forgive me,” Jeongin begs.  “And please ask the gods to forgive me too.”

“Jeongin,” you say, touching the top of his head.  It makes him shiver.  “Jeongin, what is it?”

“I lied to His Holiness,” Jeongin whispers.  He opens his watery dark eyes and looks up at you, brows knitting with his sorrow.  “I lied to Kingsguard Seungmin too.  And Captain Chan.  And to you.”  This final syllable is punched out with a sob.  He wipes his eyes.  “I know I shouldn’t have.  I’m a kingsguard.  I always have to make an honest report.  But I – I couldn’t – I didn’t want to watch—”

“Jeongin.”    You sink into a crouch so you can meet his gaze properly.  It makes his eyes widen and you think he might leap away, but your hand on his shoulder seems to steady him again.  “What did you lie about?”

“There were no assassins on the road,” he says.  “I told Seungmin there was.  I lied and I said it was too many for us to fight alone.  I said we had to tell Chan first.  I hoped if Chan thought there was a threat, he would send you down a different path, and I was right.” 

“Jeongin,” you say, rubbing his tense shoulder.  “Jeongin, it’s all right.  If I may, I just don’t understand why you did it?”

He obviously did not lie for the sake of itself, given he is so distraught.  It must have been a drastic decision for it to weigh so heavily now. 

He sniffles. 

“I’m sorry,” he says.  “It wasn’t my place.  The king has – the king has rights.  He’s the king.  I know.  I know.  But—”  He wipes his face and looks at you, imploring with his eyes.  “But he was going to hurt you the first chance he had,” Jeongin says.  “But you’re so – you’re so kind.  Your Majesty, it’s not right.  I didn’t want to watch him hurt you.  I couldn’t watch him hurt you.” 

“Oh, Jeongin,” you say.  You are so moved by his emotion that you throw your arms around him.  Though it startles him at first, he slowly returns the embrace.  “You’re a very thoughtful man,” you say, your chin on his trembling shoulder.  “I could never hold any grudge against such a heartfelt action.”

“So I’m forgiven?” he asks. 

“You were never blamed, Jeongin,” you say, leaning back to look at him.  You cup his face and smile, your own eyes watery.   “Thank you,” you whisper. 

He nods and accepts your hands when you offer them.  You stand first and he bows his head to you, forehead pressed to your knuckles, then he rises as well. He bows one more time before he looks at the other kingsguards.  They went silent at his confession, all standing near their horses, contemplative looks on their faces. 

“Do we… go back?” Seungmin asks. 

They look at Minho.  Minho looks at you.  His face is pensive, not at all like that laughing jokester from this morning.  When he wants to be, his face is the most stoic, not revealing a single thought despite the scrutiny of his gaze. 

Finally, he shakes his head.  He looks at his horse, rubbing its nose. 

“There’s no harm in continuing our course,” he says.  “The king would just be agitated, hm?  We’ll spare him the trouble.” 

“Agreed,” Changbin says, though he cuffs Jeongin on the arm.  “You will pray for revelation tonight.  And you’ll take care of the horses.” 

“I will too,” Seungmin says, stepping forward and bowing his head.  “Honestly, I thought something was suspicious with his report.  I should have investigated myself and I didn’t, because I wanted the same thing as him.”

“Fine,” Changbin says.  “Both of you then.”

It is menial as far as punishments go, though you wish there was no repercussions at all.  They both acted on your behalf, but a kingsguard is not supposed to have such an emotional response and certainly never to the end of betraying his vows for even a moment.  Lying is a sin.  Lying to holy king, more so. 

You look at Jisung.  Perhaps surprisingly, he does not look especially shaken.  He exhales heavily, noisily fluttering his lips as if to make a point of his resignation.  When he looks at you, he winks.  It makes your voice catch, mouth open but words caught. 

He smiles and puts his hand on your lower back, guiding you forward. 

“Your Majesty,” he says.  “Come on.  Let me get you some water.”    

If Jisung is not afraid right now, then you will not be either.  Still, you look at Jeongin over your shoulder.  The guards all return to chatting while you let your mind wander. 

You are determined that no one will ever again be punished on your behalf.  You do not know how you will handle the king and the days to come, but you will think of something.  You must think of something.  Things cannot continue the way they have been.  Jisung’s affection has caused a revolution inside of you.  You will use those feelings for good.  Through his bravery and kindness, you will similarly impact your world.

You have spent your life passively receiving your fate.  You were never motivated to seek more.  That has changed.  You have feelings now. 

Things will change.  You will change them.

-

You stop in a riverside clearing just before nightfall.  Though your journey cuts through the forest, you weave back towards the water to make camp.  

Changbin and Minho take some time to peruse their maps and confirm their bearings, meanwhile Seungmin and Jeongin build and organize your little tent.  The boys will sleep on their bedrolls under the stars, the clear summer night permitting it, but it would not be appropriate for the queen to lay on the ground all night. 

You refuse to be totally useless so you go with Hyunjin and Jisung to collect some firewood.  They cut some larger pieces of wood and collect rocks while you gather sticks for kindling.  They show you how to arrange everything, then how to ignite a flame using a couple of twigs. 

The sun teeters on the horizon, a slash of orange darting through the lavender light of evening.  The faintest breath of wind stirs through dark locks of hair.  The boys decide they want to wash themselves while it is still relatively warm enough.  They go in groups of three so you are never left alone. 

The kingsguards may be tasked with watching the royal personage at all times in all circumstances, but that does not run the opposite direction.  It would be rather inappropriate for the queen to sit shoreside and ogle her naked guards as they splash around in the river. 

The nudity of bathing does not carry any shame, but these are kingsguards.  Their black robes feel like a part of them.  Even Jisung has not fully stripped in front of you.  The most skin you have seen came from Hyunjin when he was forced to disrobe for a whipping and that was not consensually granted.    

You are content to sit by the fire and listen to them on the other side of the treeline.  Jisung, Seungmin, and Jeongin bathe first, a rowdy little trio by the sounds of it.  Changbin and Hyunjin chuckle at their theatrics while Minho smiles.  They share some food and conversation with you.  

It is very calm and pleasant.  You feel like you can truly relax for the first time in days.  Even when the king was unconscious, the camp itself was always bustling with so many bodies and animals.  The encampment felt like a small city unto itself.  This is very different, slower and quieter but still very safe.  Yes, despite the darkening woods and the eerie quiet of its shadows, you are not afraid.  Changbin is at your side, Jisung is laughing somewhere, and Minho’s keen eyes are darting to and fro.  You have never felt more secure.

Of course, this arrangement is so intimate that you suspect it will be harder to be truly alone with Jisung.  It was easier to slip away in the busy crowd, but there is no where to hide in this clearing. 

You can wait.  Patience, temperance, and self-denial are well-practiced traits of yours.

So you think until Han Jisung jumps some shrubbery and skips towards the fire.  He is wearing his shirt and pants again, though his outer robes are draped over his arm.  He is still damp, droplets of water slipping down the subtle but firm curve of his biceps.  He runs his fingers through his wet black hair, pushing it out of his eyes.  When he smiles at you, it makes you understand how poets like him can write endless songs about a single muse.  You wish you could better articulate just how deeply that smile touches you. 

Certain you will give yourself away otherwise, you do not smile back, dipping your gaze back to the fire and cramming some food in your mouth.  Minho gives you an amused look from the other side of the fire and it makes your face feel even hotter. 

Jisung takes a seat beside you.  A bedroll has been unfurled for your comfort and he sits just beside it, laying his robes on his other side.  He groans with satisfaction as he stretches his arms towards the fire. 

You chew your food with more concentration than it warrants, trying to ignore the flush caused by his unthinking moan.  It might be part of his silly theatrics but you will never hear that sound without thinking of the noises he made when inside you: his heavy breathing and the low pleasured moans exhaled softly into the tender skin of your throat as your bodies came together again and again. 

Jisung glances at you but you avoid his gaze, still too flustered to look at him.  Fortunately, Seungmin and Jeongin arrive seconds later.  They are also in their shirts and pants. While it is undoubtedly strange to see the kingsguards in that state, it does not affect you the same way.  It really is just Han Jisung, with his laughter and poetry, his silliness and seriousness alike.

Changbin, Minho, and Hyunjin leave to bathe.  Seungmin, Jeongin, and Jisung eat their share, continuing some silly jesting they started at the river.  They tease each other and make you laugh. 

Jeongin is the first to stand, sighing to himself.

“I’m going to say my prayers now,” he says.  “Like I was told, until I feel the gods’ revelation.” 

“I’ll go too,” Seungmin says, standing as well.  “Like I promised.”

You and Jisung nod.  You spare the boys a final glance that you hope conveys your gratitude.  You think it does because they both smile back.  They take their robes and venture further into the woods, presumably to be alone with the gods. 

Hyunjin, Changbin, and Minho are noisy but it is in the distance.  In the little space between you and Jisung, there is silence, only the fire crackling. 

You finally dare to meet his eye, each of you shyly glancing at the other.  He seems to have a slight blush but maybe that is the flames. 

“So,” you say.   

Changbin shouts something silly at Hyunjin.  Jisung looks in that direction before smiling an awkward sort of smile.  He rubs the back of his neck as he gazes at you.

You both understand that you are not truly alone.  He knows how precarious the situation is.  He clearly trusts Minho but is not sure how the others will react.  It is safer to keep your distance for now. 

“Are you excited to be back in the capital?” you ask.   

This causes his eyes to light up, bright as the flames.  His smile similarly jumps.

“Yeah, actually!” he says.  “You know, there’s some places I think you would like.  I wish I could take you there.”

You do not want to feel sad tonight, do not want to lament a life you do not have.  You want to imagine a reality where everything is possible.  Although poignancy tugs at your heartstrings, you rise above it, smiling at him.

“Talk to me as if we will go,” you say.

Some of the sadness seeps from his gaze.  The corners of his eyes crinkle when he smiles, a true smile. 

“There are some amazing gardens, you know,” he says.  “Acres of tulips in more colours than you can imagine.  And an orchard of cherry blossom trees.  It’s – it’s very beautiful in the springtime.”

“Oh,” you say, swallowing.  “I think I will love it.”

“You will,” he says.  “You definitely will.  I can’t wait for you to see it.  There’s a tea house on the property.  They make a cherry tisane.  It sounds like something you’d enjoy.  I’ve noticed you have taste for sweet things.  You were—”  He giggles now, miming licking his fingertips.  “You were licking some sugar off your fingers in the first village when you thought no one was looking.”

“I should have known I would be caught,” you say, laughing. 

“Yes,” he says, still grinning.  “I couldn’t take my eyes off you if I tried.” 

“I know what you mean,” you reply softly.  “There was a bard at the banquet who caught my attention.  He sang so beautifully that it pulled me out of a lethargy I did not even realize I had slumped into.” 

“Oh wow,” Jisung says, his eyes comically wide.  “He sounds amazing.  Was he that good of a singer?” 

“The best I’ve ever heard,” you say, giggling helplessly. 

“Oh wow.”  He shakes his head.  “Was he handsome too?” 

“Mhm…”  Your face feels hot and you fidget with a loose thread on your gown.  “Very handsome, if I say so.”

“You are the gods-chosen queen,” he says solemnly.  “Your opinion is a sanctified one.  He must have been really good looking then, like, stunning, like probably the best looking bard who ever lived.  Fuck!  I can’t compete with that guy!” 

You laugh again, playfully shoving his shoulder while he giggles at his own silly joke. 

“This is probably a foolish confession,” you say, a little shy.  You think the growing darkness and loud flames might encourage your bravery.  “But when you stood in as proxy at the wedding… for a moment… I imagined what it would be like to marry you instead.”

His eyes widen but not overdramatically, his surprise pure and honest. 

“I didn’t know you yet, of course,” you say.  “I couldn’t truly imagine what that would look like.  It was a momentary fantasy.  I just – I imagined a life with music and a smiling face.” 

You stare back at him, your gazes locked.  The boys are still making noise by the water and the other two are off in prayer.  Darkness falls around you and the fire keeps you safe.  All this makes you bold, so you reach across the small space between your bodies and you touch his face.  When your palm cups his cheek, he takes in a breath and holds it. 

“I thought I would stop thinking about it as the days went on,” you whisper.  “Instead, now I see it better.  I think I would like to explore cities with you, and try sweet things.  And I think I would like even more to sit somewhere quiet at the end of the day, and do my needlework while you write songs.  And I think I should stop thinking about it…”  You drop your hand from his face, curl your fingers into your palm, and tuck your hand against your heart.  “Because I’m making myself sad again.  And I told myself I would not be sad tonight.” 

“I wish I could take it away from you,” he says earnestly.  “I like making you smile.  I could write a song about the way you laugh but the sound wouldn’t be half as beautiful.” 

You laugh at that, bashful as you shake your head.  He wags a scolding finger in your face.

“Hey!” he says.  “Don’t laugh at that.  I was completely serious.”

“I know you were,” you say.  “Trust me.” 

“I do,” he says, smiling.  His eyes roam your face, seeming to make a study of you.  He sighs, a sweet sound.  “I wish I could say I imagined marrying you,” he says.  “But honestly, never in my life would I have ever dreamed such a thing would be possible.  That you – that you – would ever look at me like—”  He is trying to be jovial but his tone drops, finishing in utter seriousness, “Like this.” 

“You speak so ill of yourself sometimes,” you say.  “I know you come from a small background, Han Jisung, but that is a testament to your character, not a fault of it.  I feel like I am the clumsy, foolish one, that I will forever be trying to reach the places you go.” 

You lift your hand above your head.  He takes it in his own, lowering it so your clasped hands are between your hearts. 

“I think we’re somewhere here now,” he says. 

“Yes,” you say, swallowing again.  “I believe we are, against all odds.” 

“Against all odds,” he says and smiles.  It is that true smile again, the corner of his eyes so crinkled with joy.  It fills you with a similar happiness. 

The warmth of that delight simmers hotly when he brings your hand to his lips.  Surely, a kiss on the back of the hand is the most chaste kiss imaginable.  It should not summon a torrent of butterflies in your belly, yet you swear they burst so quickly that you could similarly take flight. 

He kisses that soft skin.  Your hand is so unblemished next to his.  You feel a sword callous where his thumb strokes you, a rough touch, though his lips are soft and warm. 

When you are not interrupted, he gets bolder, turning your hand over and kissing your palm.  He looks at you when he does.  His gaze is so penetrating that you feel it thunder through you, right down to your core.  This is not a chaste kiss despite its softness, his eyes and mouth irrevocably claiming you. 

The voices get louder as the three guards approach.   He releases your hand and you take it back, cradling it like something delicate.  You can still feel the place his mouth touched, radiating heat more thoroughly than the campfire. 

He is quicker at feigning indifference, immediately joking with his fellow guards as they approach the fire to dry off.  You smile politely but remain quiet, still so flustered inside. 

You spend the evening by the fire with the guards, talking about the days ahead.  The other guards also speak fondly of the capital and some residents.  You talk about your home too and they listen attentively. 

The day eventually catches up to you.  You yawn and apologize for the impolite action, covering your mouth.  It just makes the guards laugh fondly. 

“I suppose I best excuse myself for the night,” you say. 

You begin to stand and they all move, prepared to rise and help you.  Jisung beats them to it, on his feet in a matter of seconds. 

“Here,” Jisung says, holding out his hand.  “Let me, my queen.” 

You take his hand.  Sparks ignite all over again, tingling all the way up your arm as he helps you to your feet.  Your tent is not far but Jisung walks you to it anyway, holding open the canvas as you step inside.  It is certainly not as big as the one in the encampment, the narrow space just big enough for a bedroll.   It is tall enough you can stand, but only barely. 

“Thank you,” you say, turning to face him.  You smile.  “Good night, Jisung.” 

“Good night, Your Majesty,” he says.  He is still holding your hand. 

A heartbeat passes.  He glances over his shoulder.  The other kingsguards must be occupied because he steps into the tent.  He is fast, taking the scarce second afforded to him. 

He does not waste it. 

He pulls you towards him.  His hand darts past your waist and circles your body so he can haul you up against him.  His other hand touches your face, his thumb on your chin to tilt your head. 

He kisses you.  Deeply, desperately. 

“Good night, Your Majesty,” he breathes, stealing one more kiss before he withdraws. 

It happens so fast but the effect lingers long after he is gone, your heart still racing and body still humming with desire. 

Your dreams the previous night do not begin to compare to the thoroughly involved and deeply sinful dreaming that comes to you tonight. 

-

You wake in a state, still flushed from a stimulating dream.  Your hands fumble on the ties of your dress as you prepare for the day.  You shake out your limbs before you open the tent canvas and step into the early morning light.

The kingsguards took shifts in guarding your tent.  Last night, you woke to some noisy nightingales and recognized Changbin’s silhouette outside your tent.  Content you were safe, you went back to sleep. 

The morning is crisp and cool, the air a balm on your warm skin.  That heat has no time to lessen, however, because the kingsguard standing post right now is Jisung. 

You look at each other.  It is very safe to say this regard is blatantly provocative.  He does not touch you but it feels as though he is undressing you with his eyes, the dark depths skimming the loose ties of your bodice like he is calculating how quickly he can unravel it.  It would probably be fast.  He could crook his finger inside the knot and everything would come undone, yourself included. 

He is wearing his robes again.  It should make him little more than a shadow, but your body is imprinted with the feeling of his arms around you, his hands deft and firm where they touch and press.  

He looks over his shoulder.  You follow his gaze.  Hyunjin and Jeongin are still sleeping, dozing atop their bedrolls.  The others are nowhere to be seen but you can hear them in the distance, down by the river.

Jisung looks at you.  You do not doubt your hearts jump in unison with the same thought.

Seconds later, you are back inside the tent, his mouth on yours and his hands frantically squeezing your sides. 

“Jisung,” you whisper, throwing your arms around his neck.  You bury your fingers in his hair, thoughtlessly tugging at it and pushing your body right against his. 

He makes a low sound, passed between your lips.  He pulls you into his arms so your bodies are flush against each other.  Even with the layers between, you feel him as he feels you, the plush curve of your breasts pressed against his flat chest, your fuller thighs against his, the softness of your middle against the unmistakably stiff interest of his. 

“Gods help me,” he curses.

You think he tries to be graceful but you are both intoxicated with the kiss and it makes you clumsy.  You thump down to earth, sprawling across on the bedroll.  It deters you for mere seconds then he is back on you. 

You don’t have time to think, your body commandeering full control of your senses.  You lean back on your elbows, your legs falling open so he can fit his hips between them.  His hands come down on either side of you, leaning you back as he kisses you until you are dizzy. 

“I thought about you all night,” he whispers.

He kisses you again, his mouth open, his tongue on your lips.  You open your mouth for him.  The place between your thighs seem to follow the same command, heat flooding so fast and intensely when he licks into your mouth.  You suddenly feel so empty down there in comparison, your body begging for more.

“I couldn’t stop thinking about what you said,” he continues, then kisses you again, then moans.  “About us,” he says.  “If you were my wife – oh – gods be good—“

You mewl.  It is the only word to describe your whimpering when he lays you out and presses against you intimately, his hips rocking so you can feel exactly what he means. 

“I would have taken you right there,” he whispers, staring down in your eyes as he rolls his body against yours.  “I would have had you under those stars.  I’d have you again right now.  You’d never know anything but happiness and pleasure.  I’d make you feel so good.  So, so good. Always.  If you were mine.” 

“I am yours,” you whisper back, at least halfway delirious but nonetheless passionate.  It is your only coherent sentence before your head tips back and your eyes close, your hips raising to meet his with a frenetic desperation. 

He whimpers too.  His expression is almost pained, his shoulders shaking. 

“It takes me apart when you say things like that,” he says.  “Do you understand?  How you change everything?  My whole world?”

“Yes,” you say, nodding quickly.  You are certain your own expression borders pain and pleasure.  “Yes, I understand.  Jisung.  Jisung.” 

“Jisung?”  That voice is Changbin from outside the tent. 

It is effective as a bucket of cold water.  You and Jisung look at each other, wide-eyed and panting, then mutely rip apart.  He is the first out of the tent, practically bursting into the morning light.  It startles Changbin who nearly topples over.  He has barely righted himself when you emerge too. 

“Is everything all right?” Changbin asks, looking quickly between you.

“I fell,” you blurt.

“She fell,” Jisung repeats. 

“You fell?” Changbin asks, lifting his eyebrow.  He steps back to look at the tent, then he looks at you.  “Are you all right?”

“No,” you say, then shake your head.  “I mean, yes.  My apologies, kingsguard.  It just really startled me.  I hit my head.”

“She hit her head,” Jisung repeats.

“Jisung tried to help me but then he fell too.”

“I tried to help her but then I – wait—”

“That does sound like you,” Changbin says, frowning.  “Tsk, shame.”  He swats at Jisung before bowing appropriately to you.  “Your Majesty, are you all right?  Do you need anything?”

“Umm, some water if you don’t mind?” you say. 

“Of course,” Changbin says.  He puts a scolding finger in Jisung’s face.  “Try not to fall on her when I’m gone.” 

“I’ll certainly try,” Jisung says.  “No promises.”

When Changbin is out of sight, you playfully kick Jisung.  He feigns immense pain but then he winks at you. 

Your heart skips a beat. 

This might be a long journey after all.

-

Hyunjin and Jeongin wake not long after.  You depart earlier than scheduled. 

Jisung never gets a moment to calm down, still half-aroused when he sits behind you in the saddle.  It provokes your own arousal, impossible to shake the all too clear fantasy of him pressed against your backside, his body moving against yours, not entirely unlike the up-and-down sway in the quick canter of the horse ride. 

“Are you all right?” you ask after some time.

“Ha-ha,” he says.  “Fuck no.” 

It makes you laugh, though it also leaves you feeling very warm. 

Jisung sprinkles himself with water at the next rest stop, dabbing his neck and face while you pet his horse.  Minho and Changbin are conversing over a map, gesticulating and debating something.  Minho nods definitively and rolls up the paper. 

“We’re making better time than anticipated,” he says.  “If we don’t delay at our rests, we may be able to reach one of the outermost villages before nightfall.” 

“Sounds like a good plan to me,” Seungmin says, to which everyone concurs.  Finding an inn would be preferable to another night on the forest floor. 

You reach the first town just after nightfall.  The capital, itself, is at least another day’s ride, but towns and villages dot the landscape leading up to it. 

It does not take long to find an inn.  The kingsguards are an unmistakeable order, especially a pack of them, walking into a room with their black robes and shining swords.  The innkeepers fall over themselves, rushing up to greet the holy soldiers as they let themselves into the downstairs tavern. 

The kingsguards do not need to introduce you.  Though you must look a little wild with some undone curls and a well-worn dress, there is only one female figure the kingsguards – queensguards – would be escorting. 

At first, the guards are better received than you.  It is obvious these men have earned a good reputation with the people, regarded as a separate entity from the king.  If the king was unpopular with the common people in the country provinces, it becomes abundantly clear he is even less popular here.  You suppose that makes sense as he is much more likely to visit one of these provinces. 

You let your decency and good nature speak for itself.  The innkeepers warm up to you in no time, happily holding conversation while a couple of the kingsguards give the building a walkthrough.

You are all given some food and board.  The upper level has been cleared for privacy, which somewhat embarrasses you, but the kingsguards claim it is a worthwhile safety measure given the events of the last few days. 

Changbin takes the first shift, guarding you.  It is early and you are very awake from so much socializing, so you invite him inside to sit with you.   The room is not overly ostentatious but it is more than suitable, a decent size with a wide bed and a seating area. 

You and Changbin sit across from each other at the table.  You brought a small embroidery hoop and some thread so you work on that while chatting with Changbin.  He expresses some interest in what you are doing so you show him.  He takes to it as naturally as last time, giggling gleefully at his handiwork.   

The hours tick past.  There is a knock at the door, one of the kingsguards to relieve Changbin from his post.  They will continue to take turns through the night.

Though you mask your thoughts, you are disappointed when the door opens and it is Minho standing there.  Maybe it is for the best.  It would have been hard to explain why Jisung felt the need to guard you from inside your room all night – to say nothing of guarding you under the covers. 

Changbin bids you a good night.  Minho nods to him as he departs, then he looks at you with a rather drole quirk of his eyebrow.

“Try and get some sleep, Your Majesty,” he says, then he bows his head respectfully and closes the door. 

His tone was a little odd but you suppose Lee Minho is a rather quirky character at times. 

Shaking your head, you bolt and lock the door as you were advised.  You hum to yourself as you move around the room, supposing it is an appropriate hour to prepare for bed, though you are still quite awake.

You take your hair down and remove your shoes and stockings.  You have only just grasped the front ties of your dress when there is a knock.  You step towards the door when the knock comes again.  This time, it makes you pause, because the sound does not seem to resonate from the door.  You linger in the middle of the room, waiting and listening.

The knock comes again.  You turn around.  It is coming from the other side of the room.  Is someone knocking at the window?  That can’t be possible; you are on the third and uppermost floor of a building.  

You are about to turn and alert Minho when someone says your name without any title or honorific.  You recognize the voice immediately. 

You hurry over to the window to unlatch the casement and throw it open.  Sure enough, Han Jisung is dangling from the ledge, grinning but sweating and looking rather strained. 

“What are you doing?” you whisper frantically. 

“I’m climbing,” Jisung whispers back.  “It’s romantic – whoa!” 

He nearly slips in an attempt to get his bearing, making you squeak with alarm.  He laughs nervously when he strengthens his grip. 

“Just give me a second,” he says.  “I promise, this is gonna be super romantic as soon as I get up there.  Oh.  Ouch.  Oof.  I really should have taken the robe off first.  Ouch.  Hold on.  Okay.  All right.  Here we go.”

He manages to lift himself onto the window ledge.  It is a rather narrow window so it is something of a comical sight, watching him try to find a way inside.  When he realizes he can’t turn enough to swing a leg in, he opts to tip into the room backwards, landing on his back with a thud. 

“Shhh,” you say, trying not to laugh, putting a finger over your lips.

He puts a finger over his lips too, eyes darting back and forth with joking panic.

“You are ridiculous,” you say, helping him to his feet.

“I thought I was incorrigible,” he replies.  He shakes out his robes, flapping them like wings.

“You’re that too.”  You close and lock the casement, firmly bolting the latch. 

The amusement and giddiness fades, though the adrenaline remains.  You and Jisung look at each other, completely alone in a locked room for the first time in a couple days.  It seems impossible that you were similarly alone in a room at a different inn, just a handful of days past.  So much has transpired in so little time.  You can only imagine what else could happen.  You think the possibilities are limitless, so long as he keeps looking at you like that. 

Even if his gaze does make you feel flushed.  You have already been very intimate and it is obvious you both want to continue that, but it does not get easier to proposition it.  The more you want him, the more tension you feel. 

“Right,” you say with a weak little laugh as you march past. 

His eyes follow you.  You hear him cross the room, the slow thud of booted steps as he moves.  He takes off his outer robe, the swishing slither unmistakable as the fabric sweeps the floor.  

You approach the table with your embroidery, keeping your back to him as you organize your tools. 

“Um, so I suppose, um,” you start and stumble.  You do not know what to say.  There is so much and yet there are no words. 

You struggle another moment, mouth open around empty, airy syllables.

He touches your arm, just the gentlest sweep of his knuckles from your shoulder to your elbow.  You did not even hear him step behind you but now he conquers all your senses.  You feel him even where he is not touching you.  You close your eyes and his face is there, those familiar eyes and that devastating smile. 

“Your Majesty,” he says, his voice light, undemanding yet so seductive.  It makes your core tighten.  “If I only keep one vow my whole life – I want it to be this.”  His hand sweeps back up your arm, across your shoulder, brushing some hair off your neck.  “The gods brought me to you to keep you safe and to serve you.  You have let me keep the first vow.  Please.”  His tone is truly pleading.  “Please let me keep the second vow.”    

It is not a surprise you cannot formulate a reply.  Your voice and breath are caught, no doubt trapped by your pounding heart.  You are captivated and glad to be. 

You turn around.  Your eyes meet.  The eye contact alone stirs your arousal.  You remember him looking at you through the mirror, the most he dared, at least until he snuck into your tent and made love like he was writing songs of worship. 

Your eyes remain locked as you gather the front ties of your dress and begin to unravel the knot.  Without looking down, he takes them from you.  He tugs the ends, drawing you closer to him.  Closer and closer until you are pressed between him and the table edge.  You lean against it and surrender, sliding your hands up his bare arms until they are resting on his clothed shoulders. 

He kisses you.  It is different than earlier, not so frantic but just as searching.  He makes a sound like pain, his brow knitting together, mouth opening against yours.

Your dress comes apart in his hands.  You murmur his name as he pulls the material down, leaving you clad in your shift.  You expect him to let the dress fall and lift your shift over your head, but he follows the fabric of the dress down, carefully guiding it over your hips.  He sinks lower, lower, and lower still, until he is down on one knee, still guiding the dress.  It falls past your knees and puddles on the floor, leaving you in your shift. 

“Jisung,” you say, touching the side of his face. 

His eyes are closed.  He shudders when you touch his face.  It makes his eyes fly open, flickering with something like fear until he looks into your eyes and it all goes away. 

“I want…” he says.

Suddenly his other knee drops.  He sits back on his heels, tilting his head so far back to gaze up at you imploringly. 

“I don’t know,” he says, laughing at himself.  His eyes wander down your body, the plain shift that he has seen in so many revealing stages, down the curve of your breasts and their excited peaks, down over your hips, down between your legs. 

Yes, he focusses there, taking a deep breath.  He kneels upright, taking the hem of your shift in hand. 

“I don’t know what I’m doing,” he says, gathering the material, guiding it up.  “I mean, I do.  I know but I – I don’t.”  He glances up at your face then he looks down again, eyes once more between your thighs as he reveals more and more skin.  His fingers are trembling where they clutch the material.   “I want to, though,” he says.  “Please. Please. Your Majesty.” 

“Jisung,” you say softly.

You run your fingers through his hair.  He positively melts under the gentle ministration, pressing his face over the material between your legs.  His nose swipes somewhere sensitive and it makes you jump, tugging on his hair. 

“Jisung, you can do what you want with me,” you say.  “You know that.  You know—”

“I do,” he says, kissing you through the material, making your thighs twitch.  “I do.  I want.  I want.” 

He lifts the hem up past your belly.  You take the material, holding it as you hold your breath.  His hands skim your sides and the curve of your hips, his eyes nearly crossing each other with his hypnotized concentration. 

You are not sure what he is doing, not when he kisses your thighs, not when he touches you behind the knee and guides it over his shoulder.  You just know the sight of him on his knees makes your whole body weak.  You are glad the table is behind you, offering support, or you would already be a useless puddle on the floor, much like your discarded dress. 

You think he is just kissing you, just teasing you, moving further along your inner thigh.  Then he kisses the place between your legs, no barrier between his mouth and the soft, wet place that is begging for him. 

“Oh,” you say. 

It is the only thing you can say for a while, mouth frozen in a round O of surprise when he continues to kiss there.  Chaste – if they can be called that – kisses until his tongue pokes through.  His fingers press into your thigh as he moans and buries his face between your legs, his open mouth ravishing you. 

Your head falls back, chest rising and falling rapidly, not a coherent sound crossing your lips as he puts his tongue inside you and coaxes all those half-mad noises from within you.  It goes on until you are so hot and dizzy that, when he takes your leg off his shoulder, you must fully slouch against the table to stay standing. 

You look down at him, so desperate for more that you must look feral with want.   He wipes his face, glancing down at the wetness that has touched his black shirt.

You realize now why he stopped.  He reaches back over his head, taking the fabric in his fists and pulling.  He tugs the shirt off and throws it to the side, exposing all that honey-smooth skin to your hungry, roving eyes. 

Then he dives back in, putting your leg on his bare shoulder and his tongue inside you.  You cry out, gripping his hair, your hips bucking of their own volition as he runs his tongue back and forth, back and forth, tormenting that bead of pleasure until little waves of anticipation start to build inside you. 

“Jisung, Jisung,” you whisper, the roughness of your own voice unrecognizable to you.  He is the one on his knees but you sound like the one in prayer, uttering his name with so much reverence as he takes you over an impossible crest of pleasure.  One hand is buried in his hair but the other you use to cover your mouth, eyes closing as you ride the height of your pleasure on his eager face. 

You both take a gasping breath when it is over.  You look at each other the way romantics gaze at the heavens, full of wonder and awe. 

“How—” he begins then clears his throat.  He wipes his face as he stands, yearning eyes rivetted to yours.  “How do you feel?”

“I feel – I feel—”  You really think about it, following each tingle as it bolts, lightning quick, back to its source.  Your thighs twitch and your body clenches, tightening around nothing, and you know the answer.  “Empty,” you say.  “I feel – I need—”

“Oh,” he says, nudging your legs apart and standing between them.  “Oh, my darling.” 

You grab his face with both hands and pull it to yours, tasting yourself on his lips and tongue.  He kisses your mouth as eagerly as he kissed down there, his hands on your waist, moving up under the shift.  You quickly lift it off, tossing it blindly behind you.  You lean back and he follows you, his mouth in a quick but hot chase, moving down your throat to your breasts. 

You plant your hands behind you, sitting fully on the table now.  You let your head fall back as he stands between your open legs and kisses so many sensitive places. 

“The king won’t see you for at least a week,” he murmurs, leaving little kisses around the stiff bud.  It makes your back arch, offering yourself up to him.  

You lift your head to look at him.  He meets your gaze, his dark eyes turned up as his open mouth descends. 

“Jiii—” is the only syllable you manage, biting your lip to stop because it was too loud. 

It is hardly fair, though, when he bites the tender skin only to love at it with his tongue. 

“Oh, sweet gods,” you say, watching, hips bucking, as he does it again.  “I thought you were a chaste virgin.” 

“I am,” he says, then smiles.  “Was.  But—”  He leaves another love bite, then kisses his way back up to your face.  He smiles at you.  “I’m good at everything.”

“Oh, I see,” you say, laughing at his playfulness.  “Vanity is a sin, you know.”

A laugh bursts out of him, louder than all your previous moans.  You both slap a hand over his mouth, barely stifling the giggles that follow. 

Smiling at each other, you take your hand off his mouth.  You tuck some of his hair behind his ear.  His neck is already a little sweaty and there is a line of sweat in the middle of his bare chest.  You trace it, your finger circling his pectoral, almost as sensitive as your peaks given how his eyelids flutter and get heavy with want. 

“Jisung,” you whisper.  “I want you.”

“You want me,” he says, all at once intoxicated with desire.  “I want you.” 

“Have me,” you say, wrapping a hand around the back of his neck and pulling him to you.  “Jisung, I’m yours.  Please.  Please.”

“Oh gods.” Despite his playful cockiness, his hands are shaking when they go to the ties of his trousers.  He fumbles with them like last time, needing your help to undo the knot.  Your fingers weave through the string, loosening it, and he releases a breath when he can pull the front material apart. 

You wrap your legs around him, guiding him towards your centre.  He nearly topples you and the table, practically falling into your arms.  He laughs nervously, then closes his eyes as you put your arms around him.  He groans with deep-set pleasure when you drag your fingernails from his shoulders all the way down his back. 

He has himself in hand and he is shivering as you scrape your nails down his back.  It makes him as wet as he is hard, the tip of him gliding along your wetness in a way that leaves you shaking. 

“You’re torturing me,” you whisper, grinding against his tip, shuddering when he rubs up and down over that still-sensitive bead of pleasure.   “What are you – what are you—”     

“I’m not torturing you, ‘m not,” he says, slurring just a little, kissing your cheeks and your jaw and your neck.  “Majesty.  Queen.  You.  My – Oh.  I’m just – I want to see you – I want to feel you—”

He wants to make you reach that climax again, which he does, just by grinding against you.  It washes over you with so much intensity that you rear up then fall back.  It causes a table leg to crack.

You look at each other with wide eyes, glancing beneath you to see the damage.  You both fail to stifle another giggle, exchanging a shocked expression, then mutely changing location. 

Your feet touch the ground for mere seconds before he picks you up, hands on your waist, the same gentlemanly touch when he helps you onto his horse.   This time he puts you on the bed, crawling up after you as you scoot to lay in the centre of it. 

His pants are still on but low slung.  He pushes them further until they are around his thighs, nothing more than a useless hindrance as your legs open for him.  He hooks his arms under your knees and pulls you to him.  You are so wet and so open and ready. 

It is easier than the first time, but still a momentary sting as he enters you, one that disappears as he sinks in deeper until you are as intimate as two humans can be. 

“Yes,” you say.  It feels so good that you release a tear.

“Oh, my – my darling, my queen, I—”  He kisses that tear track, then moves his arms so he can plant his hands on either side of your head.  He moans at the depth afforded to him in that angle, rocking against you with an energy more needy than calculated. 

“Be – be careful—” you say with a little laugh, because he is thrusting so haphazardly that it is making the bed squeak.  “Unless you want everyone to know what you’re doing to me.”

“Well,” he says with a laughing exhale.  “Maybe I do.  I mean, I don’t, that would be very bad.  But also—” 

He moves slower, mindfully, counting each stroke and measuring its impact by the look on your face.  He is slow, then a little faster, but not enough to squeak the bed again – just enough that you forget how to speak, staring at him through dizzy eyes as he takes you so deeply and so precisely. 

“No one else has you like this,” he whispers.  “You are – so beautiful – and composed – and gr-graceful – but for me—”

He covers your mouth when you moan too loud, but it just makes you whimper pathetically into his hand.  Your eyes close as he rolls his hips into yours, relentlessly riding you to an entirely different precipice of pleasure. 

“For me,” he says.  “You’re like this.  I know you.  I know you.”  He emphasizes this with a hand between your bodies, stroking that place again as he takes you. 

It’s no wonder the kingsguards are considered deadly; his coordination is truly fatal, never faltering for a second.  He is even quick enough to cover your mouth when you reach that crest, sobbing into his palm with nothing but sheer pleasure. 

“Yes,” he says and kisses your wet face, down your throat.  He puts his face against your neck and rocks his hips a little more frantically.  “You feel – you are – I never want to stop – I want – oh gods – it’s you.  It’s you.  You’re everything.  You’re my – you’re mine, you’re all of it.  Fuck.”

He pulls out before reaching his climax.  This time you finish him, taking him in hand.  It takes only one stroke for him to come to you, his face twisted up with his pleasure and a whine in his throat as he releases himself all over your thighs. 

He falls on top of you after, his head on your chest and his eyes closed.  You run your fingers through his messy hair, then down his spine and back up again.  He trembles a little but every exhale sounds like relief. 

Eventually, he lifts his head.  You are not sure who initiates the kiss, only that you fall into it with the same all-encompassing desire as all the others. 

“Will you stay a while?” you ask. 

He nods.  His dark eyes are a little shiny and his laugh is a little watery when he says, “I’d stay forever if I could.”

“I know,” you say, swallowing down the same emotion as you take him back into your arms.  “I know, Jisung.” 

You really do.

It is for that reason, you will make it happen.   

[theheartoftheheir-if]

The Heart of the Heir

DEMO // CHARACTER INTROS // BLOG INFO

status: currently writing & coding

To the Members of the Ton,

It is so nice to be able to come to you for another social season. I can already hear the air buzzing with anticipation on the new couples and the everlasting ties that they will bring to our strong community. People are already parading around like gallivant horses to impress the masses as well as the royal family. It is truly a sight to behold. However this year, my fellow Ton, the tides have changed. This year, instead of the members of high society fighting out in the field for love and marriage opportunities, the King and Queen are announcing their child, the new heir to the throne, to be the one whose hand is up for marriage.

This comes as a bittersweet surprise. After the recent and devastating passing of the King and Queen's first child, the high society’s dazzling Emerald, it would have seemed that the line to the Crown was at stake. To lose a precious jewel is a true defeat. But with every wondrous heir, there will be a spare to fill in the shoes of our perfect Crowned Royal. Our Emerald’s younger sibling will finally have a place to shine in the Sun.

This is a change that no one expected. The Royal Family doesn’t deal with the social season to this caliber. Instead of watching from the sidelines, they will be front and center. It will be interesting to watch and see if our new heir is the right pick for the Crown and the high society that we have all built. Will this new heir be our diamond in the rough or will this be an example of a stone with none of the shimmer and shine that is needed to sit in the throne?

Throughout the season, there will be thoughts and gossip to gather, and I will be your humble servant in the collection and distribution of any and all information I can get. My darling members of the Ton, everything I know, you will know. That’s a promise. Enjoy this season, and to the heir, remember to shine like the gemstones of the past, or you will sink like a pebble in the Thames.

Until we meet again,

The Royal Record Holder

Inspired by Bridgerton and The Pride and Prejudice, the interactive story The Heart of the Heir, is a historical romance that takes place in the Regency Era. You, a young royal and the second and younger child of the King and Queen, unexpectedly become the next in line for the throne when your older sibling passes away. Without the knowledge your elder sibling has gotten, you are trusted into the world of high society and must navigate through the social season. Besides the expectations of being a future ruler, you are expected to find a suitor by the end of the season to lead by your side. You, the heir, must balance the future responsibilities of your nation while staying true to your heart. Will you be what the kingdom expects of you or will you lead by example and break away from tradition that was planned for you?

The Heart of the Heir is an +18 interactive fiction that includes topics of death and grief, race and sexuality, substance use (drugs and alcohol), topics of mental health, and skippable sexually explicit scenes. This is a romance book, romance will be the focal point. If that isn’t your cup of tea, you have been warned!

A customizable main character including gender, pronouns, sexuality, physical appearance, a skill fit for a royal, your sibling’s gender, family dynamics, and basic morals for your character to start on.

Decide on what type of ruler you want to be: do you lead with compassion and the knowledge that your kingdom comes first? Do you march to the beat of your own drum? Do you wish that you didn’t want the responsibility of the crown?

Navigate the tight community that comes with the Ton. Don’t lose yourself in the hushed secrets that hide behind cups of tea, the art of conversing via fan, and the walk around the lake.

Get courted by one of the four romance options: your royal match, your childhood best friend, the mysterious newcomer, or the lover who lost it all?

Romance Options:

The Royal (Duke/Duchess Edward/Edwina Drake of Exeter): In the eyes of your parents and the Ton, they are the picture perfect suitor for your hand. E was born and bred to be a royal, your partner. Extremely smart, poise, dedicated to their country, E fits the bill and still has amazing qualities. They’re perfect through the rose tinted glasses. But just like you, they have baggage. The expectations to be the best and to prove themselves worthy of their title and their name. The phrase heavy is the head that wears the crown rings true for both of you. The level of perfection that weighs on both of you, could break and destroy the hardest of stones, and to leave them in a disarray. But if you both were there to burden the stress and build each other up, it wouldn’t be all that bad. If you two crumble, at least it will be together.

Trope: Marriage by Convenience.

The Widow (Victor/Violet Clarke): The one that lost a love too. Planned to marry your older sibling, you’ve always seen V as someone respectable and honest. You’ve watched how their and your sibling’s love has blossomed and how their mutual love and understanding for each other stood rival to only your parents. So when someone you both loved died, pieces of your sibling, and their love, died with them. No one can understand the loss like you do. To lose your best friend, your sibling, or your better half, your lover is a level of pain no one should endure. Navigating the hardships of death and grief can be a lonely time, but thankfully you have each other. A budding companionship is on the horizon, or is there a tie of romance that bounds these two mourning souls?

Trope: Second Chance at Love.

The Knight (Helena/Henry Barnes): From birth, it always seemed like you and H were destined to be with each other in some way. H’s father served under yours, and now H serves under you as your right hand, protector and best friend. They’re the most active person in your life, besides your parents. H has always been supportive and protective of you, both as a requirement to the Crown and because no one knows them the way you know them. H knows your next move, your witty comments, and all the minute details even your parents couldn’t pick up. When you look at them, you see yourself in someone like you: dedicated to the role they were given. When they look at you, there’s a great level of fondness, respect and admiration. But is that all, or is there something deeper behind the gazes they give you?

Trope: Childhood Friends to Lovers.

The Outsider (Sayyid/Safiya Bashar): A sponsorship. Since the Viscount and Viscountess Beaumont have no heirs to their name, they decided to send word to an old friend to sponsor for the season. As the new arrival to the Ton, S made a name for themselves as the new and allusive candidate for your hand in marriage. The only issue is, you don’t like S. They don’t follow the customs you’re used to, and have no need to fit in. Their forward thinking and bold personality clashes with you, and you’d be damned to have someone mess up your new reputation. S always itches at your patience, and seems to get a rise out of you. It’s infuriating, annoying. They’re like a gnat. Then why do they challenge you to the point where they swarm your mind? Is the level of combativeness something you seek? Is this what you want?

Trope: One-sided Enemies/Rivals to Lovers.