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jezebelblues · 2 months ago

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forsaken | h.s

summary: florence 1583. a woman of fire, a man of fuel.

cw: smut18+ penetration (piv), oral fem!receiving, parent death, fem!reader, unedited. unrealistic happy ending if u seek tragedy 😔

world count: approx 17.2k

| omg will be writing more on these 2, renaissancerry is my heart <3 not rlly thinking a series, more like extras on them fosho. ps: am not a historian or time traveler–if u see something incorrect no u didn’t

masterlist

Florence, 1583

Harry Edward Styles was born to a mother, an older sister, and two fathers—one of blood, one of choice.

The man that bore his blood to the two Styles children preferred the sound of the way glasses of ale would clink in warm evenings, the twinkle of gold coins in the sunlight. Children were the continuation of a name, a bloodline—and that’s all he thought them to be. The only fathering a man was made to do was the ritual of burying their seed in a woman, her duty was to grow them.

So, after a son with his same eyes drew his first breath, he rose a dagger and marked his heel with one singular, vertical dash.

He had done the same when his sister was brought into this world, but he marked her with a horizontal dash.

Their mother, Anne, didn’t understand why—and hated it with every fiber in her being—watching her newborns cry for any other reason then being pulled from the comfort of their mother’s womb.

Once their father left after Harry’s first week on earth, she understood why, his words messily printed with ink on parchment.

Dearest Anne,

Thank you for bringing my own flesh and blood into this world. You are a woman I entrust most with them, having been chosen by God to bear such souls.

Which is why I must leave. A man has more to do with his time on this Earth than to nurture, I shall pour my being into others and bring forth more Brothers and Sisters for sweet Gemma and Harry.

My blood with course through this nation and find itself basking within the kingdom of heaven. I’ve marked my children to find them when God finally calls us forth.

Your womb is a gift from the angels above.

Until then,

– Desmond.

For a while, she mourned the loss of her lover and children’s father. But as time continued, as it always does, she realized that she had dodged the fatal strike of a sword.

She was unsure of the crimes committed by the hands of their father, but she remembers hearing the news of him being hung in the southernmost village of their country.

On Harry’s second birthday, she had fallen in love with a woodmaker, Robin. Shortly after, they moved to Wiltshire and Robin was always known as their papa.

Of course, Harry and Gemma had learnt their true parentage before the dawn of Gemma’s thirteenth birthday, but it was hard to mourn a man you had never known.

Anne would have never told them he was hung in a town’s square, but ascended to heaven of natural causes—the inevitable kiss of an angel.

The scent of turpentine and drying oils had long become as familiar to Harry as the earth beneath his feet. In the cool stillness of his studio, he paused, fingers stained with ochres and umbers, to stare at the remnants of his father’s brush—the one he had used all those years ago, before the fever came.

Harry’s father had been no renowned artist. He was a man of simple trades, a woodworker from the hills of Wiltshire, far from the splendor of Florence’s sunlit domes. But in the evenings, when the day’s labors were done, his father would sit by the window, painting quietly by candlelight. It was there, beside him, that Harry had first seen the magic of creation—colors flowing like rivers across rough wood and fraying canvas, ordinary scenes transformed by the wild, unspoken emotion in every stroke.

His father had painted not for fame, but for peace.

Harry had only been fourteen when his father’s hands, once steady and sure, began to tremble with sickness. His chest had grown tight, his breaths shallow, until finally they stopped altogether. He remembers the way the pads of his fingertips would prune from bringing a water soaked rag to his lips, how his father would drink from the drops of it.

For a while, he hated the color red and grey. His father’s lips would crack with peaks of crimson, leaving faint stains of red on the water rag in its wake. His skin greyed in a speed he didn’t think possible once his heart fell absent of a beat.

In the days that followed, the house had filled with the clamor of neighbors, mourners, and merchants, but Harry could only hear the quiet absence in the stillness.

In the flickering silence, he had picked up his father’s brush.

The years after his father’s death were a blur of movement, as though he had been running from some unseen ghost. He had wandered south, across valleys and mountains, always chasing the sun. By the time he arrived in Florence, he was a man of twenty three and had little more than the clothes on his back and a single paintbrush to his name.

Florence had embraced him like a reluctant lover. The city’s streets were gilded with Renaissance splendor, yet heavy with the weight of expectation. It was a place of grandeur and art, where even beauty was a form of currency—where the Medici and other noble families wore their wealth as a crown and commissioned artists to immortalize their names in frescoes and portraits.

Harry’s talent had bloomed in these streets, but it had come at a price. Every stroke of his brush, every commission, felt like an unspoken promise to a father who would never see what his son had become. The bright colors of his palette were often mixed with the shadow of his grief, and though his name was now whispered in the gilded halls of Florence’s elite, Harry felt as though he were forever painting in the twilight between joy and sorrow.

Sometimes his mind would wonder to the possibility of if he was an angel banished by God, his punishment being to bear the pain of not having lost one, but two fathers.

Three if he counted the absence of Jesus in his life. He felt fatherless, in all senses of the word.

Or maybe it was all well circulated fairytale, conjured in the thoughts of his father’s, the one he shared blood with, brain.

He had grown to resent the mark on his foot, and in the depths of his heart he would refer it as the the kiss of the devil, rather than the mark of God.

He would blame his struggle with faith on his fathers, the three men who sat behind the title.

Desmond, for abandoning his family.

Robin, who loved him like a son and died in front of his eyes.

And Jesus, who had ignored his prayers for his papa to stay and to take him instead.

But it was the pain, the deep and gnawing ache within him, that had given his art its soul. His patrons spoke in reverence of his ability to capture more than a face—how he painted the delicate tremor of a moment, a fleeting look, a breath before the breaking. His works were praised as vibrant, yes, but they also carried something deeper, something tragic. A hidden sadness, like the ghost of a love lost too soon.

In his heart, he knew: he painted because the world was filled with such unrelenting beauty, and that beauty was fleeting. To capture it was to hold on, however briefly, to something that could not last.

One afternoon, as golden light filtered through the shutters, a letter arrived. The wax seal bore the mark of a powerful house—the Candela family. A commission for their daughter’s portrait. A noble request, one that might cement his place among Florence’s greatest. But it was not the promise of riches or recognition that made Harry’s heart stir with something close to fear. It was the girl herself, the rebellious daughter who, rumor had it, could not be tamed by family or duty.

As Harry read the letter, his thoughts drifted back to the girl he had once seen in the Candela gardens. Her eyes had been bright, but wild. Free. In that moment, he knew what she was—a living echo of the spirit he had long tried to capture in his art: untamable, elusive, yet heartbreakingly beautiful.

It was a portrait that might change everything. Or destroy him.

He set the letter down and turned back to the canvas, but his hands trembled once more, just as his father’s had in those final days. A reminder of mortality. A reminder that every brushstroke was borrowed time.

But still, he would paint.

The heavy velvet curtains of the Candela palazzo had long felt like a prison to her. Born into one of Florence’s oldest and wealthiest families, Y/N had spent her life in the shadow of their legacy—one that was both gilded with fortune and bound by duty. From the moment she took her first breath, her future had been decided for her. Her days were filled with lessons in etiquette, music, embroidery, and diplomacy, while her nights were a symphony of forced pleasantries at banquets and balls, always under the watchful eyes of her mother and the judgment of the city’s elite.

But from a young age, Y/N knew she was not made for such a life. Beneath the layers of silks and jewels, beneath the carefully orchestrated smiles and curtsies, there was a fire burning in her—one that she had learned to hide from everyone around her, for fear it would consume her entirely.

Her earliest memories were not of the marble halls of the palazzo, but of the gardens beyond its walls, the wild olive groves that stretched out toward the hills. It was there, in the quiet spaces between her responsibilities, that she found her freedom. She had spent her childhood escaping into the fields, where the wind would tear through her hair and her laughter would echo through the trees, free from the rules that shackled her in the world of men.

Her father, the head of the family, was a cold and distant man, more concerned with his political alliances than with his children. He rarely spoke to her except to remind her of her place—her duty to the family, her obligation to marry into another powerful house and secure the Candela legacy. Y/N’s mother was no different, though her scoldings came wrapped in sweet, deceptive smiles. She had been raised to be an ornament, a living testament to her family’s wealth and power, and Y/N was expected to do the same.

But she refused to be molded by their expectations.

She had always been different from the other girls of her station. Where they dreamed of betrothals and courtly love, she dreamed of escape. She would slip out of the palazzo at night, dressed in the simple clothes of a servant, and wander the streets of Florence, blending into the crowd, invisible for the first time in her life. In the dim glow of lanterns, she would listen to the street musicians, watch the painters in the piazza, and breathe in the freedom that was denied to her by daylight.

By the time she reached womanhood, her spirit had only grown wilder. Her parents, exasperated by her refusal to marry the suitors they paraded before her, tightened their grip on her life. But the more they tried to contain her, the more fiercely she fought to break free. She began to push the boundaries of what was expected of a noblewoman—her wit was too sharp, her temper too bold, her opinions too dangerous. Whispers spread through the Florentine courts, branding her rebellious, unfit for the delicate role of a noble wife.

It was not that Y/N wanted to be unwed. She simply refused to give her life to a man who would cage her like a bird. She longed for something more than what Florence could offer her, more than a life of duty and appearance. There were moments—fleeting though they were—when she felt she could see the world as it truly was, raw and beautiful, and she wanted to live in that truth, not the carefully constructed illusion of noble society.

That was when her mother decided it was time to have her portrait painted, a desperate attempt to remind the world of her beauty, her value. It was, of course, more for show than for art—another piece in the game of noble alliances, another way to lure in potential suitors. But Y/N saw it for what it was: a final effort to tame her.

And that was when she had first heard his name—Harry, the painter from the north.

Her mother spoke of him with the same dismissive tone she used for all the artisans they employed, but there was something about this Harry that intrigued her. He was not born of noble blood, and yet his name carried weight in the circles that mattered. The Medici spoke of him with admiration, and even the Pope had once commissioned his work. His paintings, it was said, had a rare quality—they revealed not just the outward beauty of a subject, but the soul beneath.

Y/N had seen one of his works in the home of a distant cousin, a portrait of a young woman who had died tragically young. The face had been serene, the colors soft and gentle, but the eyes—the eyes had told a story of longing and loss that no courtly painter would dare to capture. It had haunted her ever since.

For days, she tried to convince herself it was just another scheme of her parents—another attempt to make her fit the mold she had spent her life breaking. Yet, she could not deny the flicker of curiosity that sparked within her. What would this man see in her? Would he, too, try to make her into something she was not? Or would he paint the fire she had spent her whole life hiding?

The day her mother informed her of the first sitting, Y/N had felt the familiar weight of resignation settle over her. She would sit for this portrait because she had no choice. She would smile, she would pose, and in the end, her mother would hang the portrait in some grand hall for every eligible bachelor to admire. It was all part of the game they had been playing for years.

But when the day came, and she finally entered the makeshift studio lended to Harry for the length of his time here, she felt a shift in the air, as though the fates had turned their gaze upon her.

Harry was not what she expected. He was younger, rougher around the edges than the other artists her family had employed. His dark curls were wild, and there was a certain sadness in his eyes, something she recognized all too well. He was no stranger to loss, that much was clear. His eyes were a vibrant green she had not seen before, unless she counted the gardens that sat in a rainy haze. Perhaps he was a painting himself. And he, too, seemed out of place in the glittering world of Florence’s elite. It was as though he was merely passing through, as though he belonged somewhere quieter, more distant.

Draped in heavy silks, with eyes as sharp as a hawk and a posture that suggested defiance rather than decorum, the daughter of the noble Candela family was unlike any of his previous subjects. Her name was Y/N, and she exuded an air of mischief that the delicate ladies of Florence rarely allowed themselves to entertain.

He did not greet her with flowery pleasantries, as other painters had. Instead, he regarded her quietly for a moment, his eyes flickering over her face—not in judgment, but as if he were searching for something hidden beneath the surface.

“You’re the one they cannot tame.” He said at last, his voice low, almost amused. His accent confirmed he did not have deep roots in Italy, it sounded more of the English suitors her mother would introduce.

It wasn’t a question. It was a statement. And somehow, in that moment, Y/N knew that he had already seen more of her than her family ever had.

She smirked, meeting his gaze without hesitation. “That depends on what you believe needs taming.”

Harry’s lips quirked into a half-smile, and for the first time in years, Y/N felt as though she could breathe just from the few seconds in his presence.

Her eyes gaze around the studio as she waltzes further in, her lips in a closed smile. Her skin held the glow of the sun beautifully, hair bouncing with the scent of lavender. Her fingers feather across a few empty canvasses he has on stilts, messes of paint and brushes scattered onto a table. “They say Hephaestus molded your flesh and bones before sending you to Earth.” She eased, a smile still on her reddened lips. Her steps clicked closer to where Harry stood, eyes still drawn out the windows surrounded by nature. “I heard Aphrodite herself kissed your wrist, frame still soft with clay.”

He couldn’t help but chuckle, though her tone soft, there was anything but sincere admiration laced in her words. “I assure you that there’s no markings of her kiss pressed unto me—m’just a man with a brush.”

She hummed, rounding the stilt between them and watching the sunlight glimmer in his eye as the sun would in the waves. There was no denying the shift in the air between them, an unspoken understanding that went beyond the typical dance of polite conversation. In this studio, amidst the scent of oils and pigment, they were stripped of the titles and roles society had thrust upon them.

“A man with a brush.” She repeated softly, almost to herself. She reached out, her fingers grazing the surface of one of the unfinished canvases. The texture of it was rough, still raw with potential, much like her own life—full of promise, but still undefined. “I wonder,” she continued, her voice barely above a whisper, “what you see when you look at me.”

Harry’s hands, stained with the colors of his art, stilled for a moment. He had painted many faces, each one a portrait of both beauty and sorrow, but this woman—this subject—was different. There was something about Y/N that made him hesitate. She was not like the others who sat for him with plastered smiles, eager to be frozen in time, their beauty immortalized for the world to see.

No, Y/N did not want to be captured in that way. She wanted something more, something truer. Her spirit was restless, untamed, and her gaze held a challenge, as though daring him to see beyond the layers of silks and expectations. To see the woman beneath.

Slowly, Harry moved closer to her, the distance between them shrinking. He studied her face, not with the detached gaze of an artist trying to perfect his subject’s likeness, but with a quiet intensity that sent a ripple through the stillness of the room. His voice, when it came, was low and deliberate.

“I see a woman who was never meant t’be caged.” He mumbled. “I see fire and wind—a calm in an eye of a storm that would bring no ruin; something wild, something the world doesn’t understand.”

Y/N’s breath hitched slightly at his words. It was as if, in a single moment, he had unraveled all the masks she had carefully worn her entire life. The world she had known, the roles she had played, felt fragile and false in the face of this raw truth.

“And yet,” Harry continued, his voice dipping lower, “they try to fit you into a frame, don’t they? As if y’could ever be captured.”

For the first time in what felt like years, Y/N let herself be vulnerable. She turned away from the canvases, facing him fully, the light catching the strands of her hair like molten gold. Her eyes met his, no longer guarded, no longer deflecting.

“I don’t belong in that frame.” She whispered, the words slipping past her lips like a confession. “But they’ve been trying to fit me into one for as long as I can remember.”

Harry nodded, his gaze never wavering from hers. “I know.” He said simply. “I’ve spent my life painting what people want to see. But you–”

He trailed off, as though the thought itself was too bold, too dangerous to speak aloud.

“Me?” she pressed, her heart beginning to race in her chest. She stepped closer, drawn to him in a way that felt both terrifying and inevitable.

“With you,” Harry continued, his voice a hushed murmur, “I want t’paint what the world can’t see.”

For a moment, neither of them spoke. The tension between them was palpable, charged with the weight of unspoken desires, and the world outside the studio seemed to fade away. In that small, sunlit room, there were no titles, no expectations, only two souls who had somehow found one another in a world that had tried to break them.

Y/N’s hand hovered near Harry’s arm, and then, slowly, as if testing the waters of some forbidden sea, she let her fingers brush against his. The contact was light, fleeting, but it sent a shockwave through both of them.

“I want that too,” she whispered, her voice trembling with the vulnerability of the admission.

Harry swallowed, the pulse of his heartbeat thrumming in his ears. He had never felt this way about a subject before, had never let himself blur the lines between artist and muse. But with Y/N, those lines had already been crossed the moment she had walked into his studio.

They stood there for a moment longer, hands barely touching, eyes locked in a silent conversation. And then, as if by unspoken agreement, they both pulled back—just enough to remind themselves of the roles they were meant to play, even as those roles were beginning to crumble.

Harry stepped away first, turning back to his easel, his voice steady as he spoke. “We’ll begin the portrait today. But I won’t paint what they expect.” He nodded toward her, “A caged dove to be set free.”

Y/N’s lips curved into a soft smile, her heart still pounding in her chest. She knew, in that moment, that whatever Harry painted, it would be the truest version of herself she had ever seen. And it would bind them together in ways neither of them could yet understand.

“This will displease them.” She smiled, pausing her words. “I wouldn’t have it any other way.” Her voice carried the weight of a promise, though she wasn’t sure who it was meant for—him, or herself.

Without another word, he jutted his chin toward the chair in the center of the room. “Sit.” He instructed, his tone soft but firm.

She followed his gesture, looking toward the seat and ambling toward it silently. She sat, keeping her spine stiff—something that was embedded into her through her training over the years. His eyes narrowed onto her face, cataloging each curve, line, and hint of emotion that sat in her eyes.

Their sittings became a ritual over the last month—an escape from the suffocating demands of her family, from the world that sought to control her. Each time she stepped into his studio, it was as though she left the weight of her name behind, shedding it like a heavy cloak. Here, she was not the Candela daughter, not the rebellious heiress trapped by duty. She was simply Y/N, a woman with dreams and desires that no one had ever cared to ask about.

Harry painted in near silence, his brush moving with a precision that bordered on reverence. But as the days passed, the silences grew warmer, more comfortable, and slowly, they began to talk. He spoke of his father, of the quiet life in England he had left behind, and of how he had found himself in Florence, painting for men who would never understand the depth of what he was trying to capture.

And she, for the first time, spoke of her own longing. Not for marriage or jewels, but for freedom. For the wildness of the world outside the palazzo gates. She told him of the nights she wandered the streets alone, the moments when she felt most alive, when the weight of her name fell away and she became just another face in the crowd.

With every word, with every glance, they both knew they were crossing a line—one that could never be uncrossed. Their relationship was not one of artist and subject. It was something deeper, more dangerous. And Florence, with all its grandeur, was not kind to those who broke its rules.

As Harry’s brush moved over the canvas, he realized he was no longer painting just a portrait. He was capturing the essence of a woman who had lived her entire life behind a mask, forced into roles she never wanted to play. With each stroke, he revealed her fire, her vulnerability, her defiance.

And Y/N, who had spent her life being told what she should be, saw herself reflected in his eyes—not as the noble daughter, not as the prize her family sought to offer to the highest bidder, but as she truly was.

In those stolen moments, as the sunlight filtered through the shutters and the world outside seemed to fall away, they became something Florence would never understand. They were freedom itself—dangerous, fleeting, and unbearably beautiful.

Y/N’s portrait only neared its finish as time continued to pass. They would always meet three times a week for about an hour or two. She would never say it out loud, but it began to become a favorite part of her weeks—meeting Harry. His soul was anything unlike she’s ever known, and all she wanted to do was linger.

They sat outside the cobblestone studio, lying upon a blanket adorned with fresh vegetables, cheeses and meats. Her mother and Father had been out for the day, and she thought it’d be a perfect opportunity to see Harry as he is, rather than the painter.

He spoke of his travels as he would eagerly show her he could catch the bites of cheese he would throw into his mouth—and he would order her to rank each catch one through ten.

Harry lied back, weight on his elbow as his curls tousled perfectly in the warm breeze. Y/N lied on her belly, kicking her feet in the air behind her as she lie her head on her folded arms.

The afternoon sun peaked from the trees above them, catching the light in her eyes perfectly. Harry always found her to be beautiful, but at this moment she looked ethereal.

He tossed another piece of cheese into the air, leaning his head back and catching it deftly with his mouth, smiling proudly as he chewed. “Well?” He asked, his voice teasing. “What say you? Surely that was a ten.”

Y/N laughed, the sound as bright as the sun and as sweet as the strawberry he head earlier. “A six, perhaps.” She grinned, voice lilting with playful challenge. “Surely you could do better.”

His smirk widened, and he threw another piece of cheese, catching it again with exaggerated flourish. “A six indeed.” He mumbled, feigning offense. “I think you’re quite mistaken, my lady.”

She bit her lip to suppress another laugh, shaking her head against her forearms. “Perhaps your talents lie elsewhere.” She mused, her voice dripping to a soft, flirtatious murmur as she gazed at him through her lashes. “Catching cheese seems beneath you.”

His eyes sparkled with mischief, but there was something else in them too—something she hadn’t seem from him yet, something that sent a shiver down her spine. "And what talents might you suggest, then?" he asked, his voice low and teasing, though the undertone was laden with meaning.

Y/N's breath caught for a moment, her heart fluttering in her chest as the playful banter between them took on a new edge. Her gaze lingered on his lips before she tore it away, focusing on the light streaming through the leaves above them. "I think you know the answer to that.” she replied, her voice barely above a whisper.

For a moment, the world seemed to still around them. The laughter and lightness faded, replaced by the palpable tension that had been simmering between them for weeks. It hung in the air now, thick and undeniable. Harry shifted beside her, his playful grin fading into something more serious as he watched her carefully, as though waiting for her to give him permission to step closer to that edge.

He wanted to toss away the platter that lay between them, to grab her waist and flip her onto her back and show her the talents he possessed. It made his heart go into a sputtered mess, to cloud his gaze with need. He wondered if she knew how beautiful she was in that moment.

“Did you hear me?”

Harry blinked, shaking his head before letting a sheepish smile spread across his lips. “No. I suppose not.”

“Have you ever thought of leaving Florence, H? Of leaving all of this behind?"

Harry narrowed his eyes, the question pulling him from whatever unspoken thought had been lingering on his lips. He exhaled softly, rolling onto his back and staring up at the sky. "I've thought of it," he admitted after a moment, his voice quieter now, thoughtful. "But Florence has become something of a home. Even if it binds me, l've learned t’live within those bounds."

Y/N frowned, her heart tightening at his words.

"But don't you wish for more? Don't you long for freedom?"

He turned his head to look at her, and in his eyes, she saw a reflection of her own yearning, the quiet desperation that they had both been trying to ignore. "Of course I do," he murmured. "But freedom is not something easily won. Especially not for people like us."

She swallowed, the weight of his words settling over her like a shroud. She had always believed that Harry, in some way, was freer than she could ever be—an artist, a man without title or the crushing expectations of nobility. But now, she saw the truth. He was as trapped as she was, bound by the invisible chains of his station, his livelihood tied to the whims of men like her father, men who would never derstand the depths of what he truly wanted create.

"And you?" he asked, his voice soft but filled with quiet intensity. "If you could go anywhere, if you could leave all this behind, where would you go?"

She hesitated, the question stirring something deep within her, a longing she had never dared to voice. "Anywhere," she whispered, her gaze distant. "Anywhere but here. I want to see the world, to lose myself in it. I want to go where no one knows my name, where I can be just Y/N—not the daughter of Candela, not someone's prize to be won."

Harry's gaze softened, and for a long moment, neither of them spoke. The sun dipped lower in the sky, casting long shadows across the garden, but the air between them crackled with an intensity that neither of them could ignore.

"And if l asked you to go with me?" she said suddenly, her voice trembling with the weight of the question. "Would you?"

Harry's breath hitched, and for a moment, he didn't answer. When he finally spoke, his voice was low, almost pained. "If you asked me, I would follow you anywhere."

Y/N's heart pounded in her chest, the enormity of his words settling over her like a heavy cloak. The desire to reach out, to cross the boundary they had been skirting for weeks, pulsed through her veins. But fear-fear of the consequences, of what they would beer if they gave in to this—held her back. Harry could feel the weight of her thoughts, the far away look in his eye. He sighed gently, propping himself back onto his elbow as he took a cheese from the platter, lightly throwing it toward Y/N.

It pulled her from her thoughts with a smile as it bounced from her shoulder onto the blanket spread beneath him. He laughed, leaning across the space between them and stealing the cheese for himself. “That’s a zero, I’m afraid.”

Before meeting Harry around the same time she had been, she brought forth a bowl of fruits from the kitchen—both a snack and a small gift. The heat was unforgiving today, adorned with the same silk gown she was supposed to wear during these sessions, but her feet were bare. The ground was cold beneath her, blades of grass leaving kisses from the dew left behind.

The temporary studio Harry resided in was across the courtyard, a small, cobblestone building hidden between trees and a small pond.

As she reached the studio, the door slightly ajar, she paused, listening. Inside, she could hear the faint sound of Harry moving, his footsteps light as he adjusted the easel or mixed colors on his palette. Her heart quickened, not out of nervousness, but out of anticipation. Each day spent with him had become an escape, a release from the weight of her family’s expectations.

Pushing the door open with her hip, Y/N entered the room, the bowl of fruit balanced in her hands. Harry was bent over his canvas, his shirt sleeves rolled up, revealing the sinew of his forearms, streaked with paint. His dark curls were unruly, as though he had been running his fingers through them absentmindedly. When he looked up and saw her, a smile tugged at the corners of his lips.

“You’re early today, my dove.” He grinned, his voice warm, the familiar hint of amusement dancing in his eyes.

“I brought something.”Y/N murmured, holding up the bowl of fruit. “A peace offering, perhaps.”

Harry raised an eyebrow, setting his brush down and wiping his hands on a nearby rag. He stepped toward her, his eyes flicking from the bowl of fruit to her face, as though trying to discern the real reason for her gift. But there was no pretense between them here, only the quiet truth of what they had started to build—a fragile, unspoken connection that neither of them dared to name.

“I did not understand us to be at war.” Harry teased gently, his voice dropping to that low, familiar murmur that always seemed to make Y/N’s pulse quicken.

She smiled, setting the bowl down on a nearby table. “In these walls, we are always at war.” Her tone was soft, the weight of her words lingering in the air. Her gaze shifted to the canvas behind him, where her likeness had slowly begun to take shape. He was capturing her in a way no one had before—not as the carefully polished daughter of Florence’s elite, but as the restless, untamed spirit she had always been. She stepped closer to the easel, studying the way he had painted her eyes, the intensity of her gaze, the subtle fire that simmered beneath the surface.

“You paint me as though you know me.” She paused, her voice barely above a whisper.

Harry’s eyes softened, his expression unreadable as he stood beside her. “I am beginning to.”

Her heart skipped a beat at the quiet intimacy of his words. She felt exposed, vulnerable in a way she had never allowed herself to be before. For so long, she had worn her defiance as armor, a shield against the world that sought to control her. But here, with Harry, she didn’t need that armor. She could be raw, unguarded, free.

Y/N turned to face him fully, her bare feet making no sound on the cold stone floor. She had spent her life being afraid—afraid of disappointing her family, afraid of not living up to their expectations, afraid of being trapped in a life that wasn’t her own. But standing here, inches away from Harry, she realized that the only thing she was truly afraid of was losing this—this feeling, this connection, this fleeting glimpse of what life could be like outside the constraints of duty and decorum. “I am no artist, but your own beauty belongs on canvas.”

For a moment, Harry’s hand hovered near hers, as though he was about to reach out, to close the distance between them. But instead, he stepped back, turning to the easel once more, a breathy chuckle escaping him. “Okay, Shakespeare. Let us thank our lucky stars that you are not.”

She laughs with him, placing the bowl of fruit on the table beside the paint. She shook her head, popping a grape into her mouth. “Here I thought you to whisper me something poetic—we all have an art about us, we are art ourselves.” She mocked in his accent, rolling her eyes.

“Well that would be simply untrue.” He grinned, adjusting the canvas before him. “I am much too talented for you to compare your hand to my own.”

She scoffed, though it was humorous. Through her feigned offense, his lips only spread wider. “Show me to be wrong.”

“Show you wrong?” She raised her eyebrow, parting her lips. “You want me to paint you?”

He nodded, glancing at the blank canvases behind him. She only rolled her eyes as she gently grabbed his wrist, pulling him to the chair into the center of the room. He sat expectantly, his dimple cratering his cheeks as she retreated back toward the bowl of fruit, fishing out a deep red cherry, skipping back toward him. He knit his brows in confusion, but Y/N’s lips parted to speak before him. “You are to be my canvas.” She smiled, bring the cherry to his lips like a challenge. His expression was amused, though he couldn’t deny the way she made his chest tighten with tension. His eyes flickered between both her eyes and the fruit as he gently bit into the fruit, his lips brushing against her fingertips.

It was slow, deliberately intimate. Their eyes still burrowed into each others, she watched as the bead of crimson juice dribble down his chin. She thumbed it away, her touch light and fleeting before she feathers the fruit across the apples of his cheeks, adding to the already flushed pigment. Hesitantly, she pressed her fingers into the glistening flesh, patting it in and leaving his cheeks and lips painted red.

She steps back ever so slightly, putting the rest of the cherry into her mouth and letting a quiet laugh escape her lips. “Consider yourself to be painted.”

He shook his head, his cherry red lips widening into a smile as he stood. “Somehow, I don’t think that’s how it works.” Harry leaned in close, his breath a whisper against her cheek, but he made no move to wipe the remnants of cherry from his skin. His eyes, still dancing with amusement, searched hers, lingering with a quiet intensity. “I’ll grant you this.” He murmured, his voice low, carrying the hint of a jest. “Your methods are..most unconventional.”

She smirked, refusing to be daunted by his nearness. “Unconventional?” she quipped, her chin rising with a flicker of defiance. “I would call it a work of art. Would you not?”

Harry raised a brow, feigning deep thought as he smeared the red juice across his chin with a casual flick of his finger. “A work of art, you say? If by that you mean I appear as though I’ve just stumbled from a duel with a fruit cart, then aye, I’ll concede to your genius.”

Her laughter rang through the studio, a sharp contrast to the quiet that had hung heavy in the room moments before. It echoed off the stone walls, a sound so free that it banished all thoughts of duty, of propriety. The half-finished portrait on the easel, the weight of her family’s name—all of it melted away. In that moment, it was just them. Two souls bound in a fleeting absurdity, lost in shared laughter.

“Delicate sensibilities,” she teased, her brow arching as she wiped the last of the cherry’s stain from her hand. “I never thought to find such in a man.”

Harry’s lips curled into a slow, wicked grin. “Delicate, am I?” He drawled, his voice thick with mischief. In a single swift motion, he swiped his thumb across her cheek, leaving a streak of red in its wake. “There. Now we are even.”

She gasped in mock indignation, taking a step back as her fingers flew to the sticky mark on her face. “You’ll rue this day, Harry Styles.”

“Will I?” he challenged, his tone now deep and laden with mischief of its own.

Y/N moved closer, closing the space between them with a deliberate slowness. Her heart raced, but not with the trepidation that had gripped her so often in this room. No, this was something far more exhilarating. The world outside this studio—the rules, the expectations, the rigid walls of her life—it all felt distant, unimportant.

“I’ve never claimed to be a master of painting,” she whispered, her voice dropping like the edge of a velvet curtain. She took a few steps backward, reaching into the bowl and pulling out a plum. She looks at it expectantly in the gleam of sunlight, trotting back toward the painter. “Yet I do believe the best art thrives with a hint of chaos.”

Before he could form a reply, she bit the dark fruit pressed it hard against his chest. The plum burst, sending dark juice cascading down his tunic, staining it deep purple.

Harry blinked in astonishment, his expression hanging in the space between disbelief and amusement. But the moment of shock passed swiftly, and his laughter came, full and bright. “Your peace offering was a coup!” he declared, lunging forward with a handful of cherries.

Y/N shrieked and darted away, her laughter filling the air as she dodged him. They circled the room, the once-serene studio descending into joyful chaos. Fruit flew, staining the floors, the easel, their clothes—a riot of color and recklessness.

By the grace of God the portrait remained untouched through the ordeal.

It was madness. Glorious, reckless madness. And for the first time in her life, Y/N felt utterly, completely free. Free from the chains of decorum, free from the burden of her family’s name. In that riot of fruit and laughter, she was simply alive.

When at last they collapsed onto the floor, breathless and sticky, the room a ruin of color and laughter, neither of them could stop smiling.

Harry lay beside her, still chuckling as he tugged at the ruined tunic. “If my patrons could see me now, they’d see me cast out of Florence faster than y’could say ‘masterpiece.’”

Y/N propped herself up on her elbow, a grin dancing across her lips. “Then we shall flee to the hills. I’ll hide you amongst the olive groves. We’ll live like rogues, artists and outlaws.”

“Artists and outlaws,” Harry echoed, his smile softening, his eyes lingering on hers with a look that carried something far deeper than the playfulness of a moment before. “I think I could grow fond of such a life.”

And in that quiet, as their laughter ebbed into the late afternoon light, Y/N felt the air shift between them. What had started as a game, as flirtation, had become something real. Something undeniable.

And try as they might, neither could outrun it.

As they lay there amidst the chaos, the moment stretched on, teetering on the edge of something neither could fully name. Y/N’s pulse thrummed in her ears, her heart racing not from the frivolity of their earlier play, but from the weight of his gaze on her. The air between them had thickened, laden with an unspoken tension that neither laughter nor fruit could break.

Just as her lips parted to speak—to say something, anything to diffuse the intensity—a sound, sharp and echoing, pierced the air.

The door to the studio had swung open, and there, silhouetted by the fading light of the late afternoon, stood Y/N’s mother, Lady Candela, her presence a sudden, jarring intrusion into their world of fleeting freedom.

Her eyes, dark and sharp as the blade of a dagger, took in the scene before her: the floor littered with the remnants of their childish game, the streaks of fruit staining both their clothes and skin, the disheveled state of her daughter and the painter. And in an instant, the mask of propriety that Y/N had so desperately sought to tear away snapped back into place.

“Y/N.” Her mother’s voice was cold, clipped, a tone that could freeze the blood in one’s veins. “What, in God’s name, is the meaning of this?”

Y/N scrambled to her feet, her breath catching in her throat, but her defiance flickered in her eyes. She had been caught, but she would not cower. “Mother,” she began, her voice steady despite the racing of her heart, “it was nothing—just—”

“Nothing?” Lady Candela stepped forward, her posture rigid, her lips pressed into a thin line of disapproval. “This disgrace is nothing? You, a daughter of the Candela family, covered in filth like a common servant? Is this how you choose to honor your name?”

Harry, who had risen to his feet beside Y/N, cleared his throat, stepping forward as if to shield her from the wrath of her mother. “My Lady, it was my doing,” he lied smoothly, his voice respectful but firm. “I allowed myself to get carried away during our session. The fault is mine.”

Lady Candela’s eyes flickered to him, her disdain barely concealed. “And you—an artist—think you can speak on matters of decorum in this house? You are here to paint, not to play the fool.”

Harry’s jaw tightened, but he said nothing more. He could feel Y/N tense beside him, her fists clenched at her sides. The silence that followed was thick with tension, the weight of Lady Candela’s expectations pressing down on them both like a vice.

But Y/N, ever the rebel, would not be silenced.

“I am not a child, Mother,” she said quietly, her voice cutting through the air like a blade. “I will not be tamed.”

Lady Candela’s gaze snapped to her daughter, her eyes narrowing. “You will be what this family needs you to be, YN. This behavior—this foolishness—ends now. You are to be married, and your actions today have only made that more urgent.”

Y/N’s heart sank, the reality of her mother’s words hitting her like a blow. Marriage. The cage she had spent her entire life trying to escape was closing in around her, tighter and tighter.

She glanced at Harry, her chest tightening. The fleeting freedom they had found in one another was slipping away, vanishing like a mirage in the desert. And yet, she knew she could not let it end like this.

“Perhaps I wished for something more than just another hollow painting to hang on the walls of your prison,” Y/N said, her voice stronger than she felt inside. She could see Harry stiffen at her side, his gaze flickering between her and Lady Candela, but he stayed silent, letting her words hang in the air.

Her mother’s mouth tightened into a thin line. She took a deliberate step forward, her eyes narrowing as they bore into Y/N. “A prison?” she hissed, her voice dropping dangerously low. “You speak of this house as if it were a cage, when all we have done—all I have done—is ensure you live in luxury, surrounded by the finest of Florence. Yet here you are, acting the fool with a common painter.” She spat the word like venom, her eyes flicking toward Harry before returning to her daughter. “Do you want to ruin yourself? To become nothing but a scandal whispered about in the courts?”

Y/N’s fists clenched at her sides, her nails digging into her palms, but she kept her voice level. “What you call ruin, I call freedom.”

Her mother’s eyes blazed, her nostrils flaring, but before she could retort, Harry stepped forward, his voice calm but firm. “My Lady, if I may—”

“You may not,” Lady Candela snapped, cutting him off with a sharp glare. “You are here to paint. Nothing more. Your thoughts and opinions are of no concern to me.”

Harry’s jaw tightened, but he bowed his head, stepping back in silent acquiescence.

The silence that followed was thick with tension, each breath Y/N took feeling heavier than the last. Her mother’s gaze never wavered, cold and unyielding, but Y/N refused to back down. Not this time.

“Mother,” Y/N began again, her voice softer now, though no less resolute. “I do not wish to ruin the family’s name. But I also do not wish to be something I am not. I have given you my obedience for years, attended every ball, entertained every suitor you’ve paraded before me. But I cannot—will not—live a life that is not my own.”

For a brief moment, something flickered in Lady Candela’s eyes—something that looked almost like uncertainty, or perhaps a recognition of her daughter’s growing resolve. But it was gone in an instant, replaced by that same cold, unyielding stare.

“You have a duty, Y/N,” her mother said, her voice flat, as though the very word—duty—was the end of any argument. “To this family. To this city. And if you cannot understand that, then you are more lost than I thought.”

Y/N’s breath caught in her throat, the weight of her mother’s words pressing down on her like a heavy cloak. But before she could speak, her mother turned sharply on her heel, heading toward the door.

“You will be expected at dinner,” Lady Candela called over her shoulder, her tone dismissive. “We will discuss your upcoming engagement. I suggest you clean yourself up and remember who you are.”

With that, she swept from the room, leaving Y/N and Harry standing in the wreckage of what had once been a moment of shared joy, the heavy door closing behind her with a finality that echoed through the studio.

For a long moment, neither of them spoke. Y/N could still feel the burn of her mother’s words, each one a reminder of the gilded cage she had been trying to escape her entire life. She swallowed hard, turning toward Harry, who was watching her with a mixture of concern and something else she couldn’t quite place.

“I’m sorry,” Y/N murmured, her voice barely above a whisper. “You shouldn’t have been involved in that.”

Harry shook his head, his eyes softening as he stepped closer. “You don’t have to apologize, Y/N. I knew what I was stepping into when I took this commission.”

Y/N let out a soft, bitter laugh. “Did you? Did you know you’d be caught in the middle of a battle between duty and freedom?”

Harry smiled, but it was a sad, knowing smile. “In a way, yes. I’ve seen it before. This city—this life—demands so much from those born into its upper echelons. But I think you are stronger than you know.”

Y/N met his gaze, her heart twisting painfully in her chest. She wanted to believe him, to believe that she could somehow break free from the chains that bound her. But the reality of her situation felt suffocating, as if the walls of the studio were closing in around her.

“I don’t know what to do,” she admitted, her voice cracking slightly. “I don’t want to be trapped in a marriage I never wanted. But I don’t see a way out.”

Harry reached out, his hand gently brushing her arm, a small gesture of comfort. “There’s always a way out,” he said quietly. “But it’s not always easy.”

Y/N looked up at him, her eyes searching his face for some kind of answer, some hint of hope. But all she saw was the same uncertainty that gnawed at her heart.

“I don’t know if I’m brave enough,” she whispered.

Harry’s grip on her arm tightened, just slightly, and when he spoke, his voice was soft, but full of quiet conviction. “You are. You’ve already proven that.”

For a moment, they stood there in the quiet, the weight of the world pressing down on them, but together, they felt just a little lighter. The path ahead was uncertain, and Y/N knew the battle was far from over. But for now, in this small, sunlit room, with Harry by her side, she felt just a little bit stronger.

And maybe, just maybe, that would be enough.

The heavy, golden hour light had faded, replaced by the muted grays of twilight, casting long shadows across the stone walls of the palazzo. Y/N stood before the mirror in her chambers, her reflection staring back at her, cold and distant. She had shed the stained silk gown and washed the remnants of the fruit from her skin, but no amount of scrubbing could remove the weight of her mother’s words or the tension coiled tight in her chest.

Dinner. The final act of the day’s charade, where her mother’s sharp gaze and her father’s stony silence would frame yet another conversation about her future—a future she had no say in. The idea of sitting through another meal where her fate was decided without her input made her stomach twist with dread.

A knock on the door interrupted her thoughts, and her maid, Lucrezia, entered the room, her face a mask of quiet concern. “My lady,” she said softly, “your mother has requested your presence in the dining hall.”

Y/N let out a slow breath, her hands gripping the edge of the vanity as she steadied herself. “Of course she has,” she muttered, her voice thick with resignation.

Lucrezia stepped forward, her hands moving to adjust Y/N’s gown—another silk creation, pristine and flawless, as if nothing untoward had happened earlier. “Shall I tell her you are not feeling well?” the maid asked gently, her fingers lingering on the delicate fabric.

Y/N smiled weakly, shaking her head. “No, Lucrezia. I must face it. I always must.”

The maid nodded, though her eyes were filled with sympathy. She knew the weight that rested on Y/N’s shoulders, the burdens placed upon her by a family that demanded perfection at all times. But even Lucrezia, with her quiet understanding, could not offer a solution to the problem that had no easy answer.

With a final glance in the mirror, Y/N straightened her posture and lifted her chin. She would face this evening the way she had faced every other trial in her life—head on, even if it tore her apart inside.

The walk to the dining hall felt longer than usual, each step echoing in the vast, empty corridors. The palazzo, so grand and full of splendor, felt like a prison tonight, its marble floors cold beneath her feet, its towering walls closing in on her with every breath.

When she reached the dining hall, she paused just outside the door, gathering her courage. She could hear the faint clinking of silverware and the low murmur of voices—her mother’s sharp, clear tones and her father’s deep, measured replies. It was the sound of a family accustomed to routine, to the rigid structures of their world.

Taking one last breath, Y/N pushed open the door and stepped inside.

The dining room was grand, as always, with high ceilings adorned with intricate frescoes and a long, gleaming table set with the finest china and crystal. Her father, Lord Candela, sat at the head of the table, his expression unreadable as he idly cut into his meat. Her mother sat opposite him, her posture perfect, her hands folded neatly in her lap, her eyes sharp as they flicked up to meet Y/N’s.

“You’re late,” Lady Candela remarked, her tone light but edged with reproach.

Y/N forced a tight smile, lowering herself into the seat that had been prepared for her. “I apologize, Mother. I lost track of time.”

Her mother’s lips pressed into a thin line, but she said nothing more, her gaze lingering on Y/N for a moment before turning back to her plate. The silence that followed was thick and uncomfortable, broken only by the clinking of silverware and the occasional murmur of servants as they moved in and out of the room.

For a few minutes, Y/N focused on her meal, her appetite nonexistent but her movements precise, each cut of the knife and placement of the fork a carefully rehearsed act of decorum. It was a routine she had perfected over the years, a mask she wore to survive these dinners, to navigate the unspoken landmines of her family’s expectations.

But tonight, the weight of that mask felt heavier than ever.

It wasn’t long before her mother broke the silence, her voice smooth but laden with intent. “Y/N, your father and I have spoken, and we believe it is time to move forward with your betrothal.”

Y/N’s fork froze halfway to her mouth, her pulse quickening as she set it down with deliberate care. She had known this conversation was coming—she had felt it looming over her for weeks, like a storm gathering on the horizon. But now that it was here, the reality of it hit her like a blow to the chest.

“Engagement?” she echoed, her voice steady but her heart racing.

Lady Candela nodded, her eyes gleaming with satisfaction as though she had just solved some great puzzle. “Yes. We have received an offer from the Montellini family. Lord Montellini is a man of considerable influence, and his son, Leonardo, is a fine match for you.”

Y/N swallowed hard, her hands gripping the edge of the table as she fought to keep her composure. Leonardo Montellini. She had met him once, at a banquet—a young man with slicked-back hair and an air of arrogance that made her skin crawl. He had looked at her the way one might look at a prized horse at auction, and the thought of spending her life chained to him made her stomach churn.

“Mother, I—” Y/N began, her voice faltering for a moment as she searched for the right words, something that would convey the storm of emotions rising within her without sparking her mother’s ire. “I do not wish to marry Leonardo Montellini.”

Lady Candela’s fork paused, her eyes narrowing slightly as she regarded her daughter. “What you wish is irrelevant, Y/N. This is a matter of duty. Of ensuring the future of our family. You cannot afford to be selfish in this.”

Her father, who had been silent until now, cleared his throat, his deep voice rumbling through the room. “Your mother is right, Y/N. This marriage is important. The Montellini family’s wealth and influence will secure our place in Florence for generations to come.”

Y/N’s heart pounded in her chest, her mind racing as she tried to find a way out, a way to make them understand. But how could she make them see that she couldn’t—wouldn’t—live her life in a cage, bound to a man she didn’t love, trapped in a world that suffocated her?

“I understand the importance of family, Father.” Y/N said carefully, her voice measured, though her hands trembled slightly in her lap. “But I cannot marry a man I do not love. I cannot live my life as something I am not.”

Her mother’s gaze hardened, her lips curling into a faint sneer. “Love,” she scoffed, the word dripping with disdain. “What nonsense. Love is a fleeting thing, Y/N, a frivolous notion for those who have the luxury to indulge in it. We are not those people.”

Y/N’s chest tightened, her breath shallow as she fought to hold back the rising tide of panic. She could feel the walls closing in on her, the future her parents were trying to force upon her looming like a prison, cold and suffocating.

“But I am not you,” she whispered, her voice barely audible, but full of quiet defiance.

The silence that followed was thick, the tension between mother and daughter palpable as they stared at one another across the table. Lady Candela’s expression remained cold, unyielding, but Y/N could see the flicker of frustration in her eyes.

“You will marry Leonardo Montellini,” her mother said at last, her voice like steel. “And you will do so without further complaint. That is the end of this discussion.”

Y/N’s breath caught in her throat, her heart sinking as the weight of her mother’s words settled over her like a heavy shroud. She felt trapped, suffocated by the life they were trying to force her into, and for the first time, she wasn’t sure if she was strong enough to fight it.

As the servants moved quietly around the table, clearing the plates and refilling the wine, Y/N stared down at her hands, her mind racing. She knew she couldn’t do this. She couldn’t marry Leonardo. But how could she escape a future that had already been decided for her?

Her thoughts drifted, unbidden, to Harry—to the quiet strength in his eyes, to the way he had seen her, truly seen her, in a way no one else ever had. There was something in him, something that stirred in her a desire for more—for freedom, for choice, for a life lived on her own terms.

But that life felt impossibly far away, separated by the vast chasm of her family’s expectations and the iron grip of tradition.

And as the dinner dragged on, Y/N sat in silence, her heart heavy with the knowledge that, for now, she was still very much trapped. The clinking of silverware and the quiet hum of conversation felt distant to Y/N, as if she were trapped in a cage of sound, separate from everything around her. Her mother, satisfied that her edict had been given, spoke no more of the engagement. Instead, she shifted her attention to her father, discussing household matters and social engagements as if Y/N’s entire future hadn’t just been decided without her consent.

Y/N’s mind, however, was far from the table. It kept circling back to Harry, to the moments in his studio where, for the first time in her life, she had felt something close to freedom. His presence had stirred something within her—a quiet rebellion, a fire that had been smoldering beneath the surface for so long it had almost gone unnoticed. Until now.

As her mother droned on about the upcoming ball and the importance of making a good impression, Y/N’s fingers tightened around the stem of her wine glass. The thought of standing beside Leonardo Montellini, paraded like a prized possession for Florence’s elite to admire, made her stomach turn. She had seen his eyes on her before—hungry, possessive, as though she were nothing more than a means to an end for him. The Montellinis wanted to solidify their power, and she was the key to that door.

She could feel the bile rising in her throat, the suffocating weight of her family’s expectations pressing down on her like a vice. How many more dinners like this would she endure? How many more nights would she be forced to smile, nod, and pretend that her life was something she could control?

No. She wouldn’t accept this.

“Y/N,” her mother’s voice cut through her thoughts like a blade, sharp and sudden. Y/N blinked, realizing she had been staring down at her untouched plate for far too long. Her mother’s gaze was fixed on her, cool and assessing. “What fare you? You have been rather quiet.”

Y/N looked up, her heart racing as she met her mother’s eyes. For a brief moment, she considered telling her the truth—telling her that she wasn’t well, that she couldn’t bear the thought of marrying Leonardo, that the life they had planned for her was suffocating her.

But the words died in her throat. Her mother would never understand. To Lady Candela, duty was everything, and love was nothing more than a foolish indulgence.

Y/N straightened her spine, steeling herself against the rising tide of emotions that threatened to betray her in front of her family. Her voice, when it finally came, was measured and cool. “I am well, Mother. Merely tired.”

Her mother’s eyes narrowed slightly, but she did not press further, turning her attention back to the meal with a dismissive wave of her hand. Y/N, however, could feel the weight of her father’s gaze lingering on her for just a moment longer. He was quieter than her mother, but no less powerful in his expectations.

The remainder of the dinner passed in a blur, with Y/N’s mind distant from the conversation at the table. As soon as the final course was cleared and her parents rose from their seats, she made her excuses and slipped away, retreating to the sanctuary of her chambers.

Once inside, Y/N locked the door behind her and pressed her back against it, her heart pounding in her chest. The events of the evening, the threat of her future being sealed with a man like Leonardo, weighed heavily on her. She crossed the room to the window, her hands trembling as she gripped the edge of the sill and stared out into the night.

The city of Florence lay before her, bathed in the soft glow of lanterns and moonlight. From her window, it looked peaceful, almost serene, but Y/N knew better. The world outside her family’s palazzo was teeming with life, with freedom that she could only dream of.

And in that world, somewhere amidst the winding streets and narrow alleyways, was Harry.

Her thoughts drifted to him once again, to the way his eyes had softened when he spoke to her, the quiet understanding that passed between them without words. In his studio, she had felt something she had never known before—something raw and unburdened by the chains of her family’s name. It wasn’t just attraction, though she couldn’t deny the pull she felt toward him. It was more than that. It was the promise of escape, of possibility. With him, she could breathe.

Y/N closed her eyes, letting the cool night air wash over her as she made a decision.

She could not stay in this gilded prison any longer. She could not marry Leonardo. She would not be used as a pawn in her family’s games. And if there was anyone who could help her find a way out, it was Harry.

Her heart raced at the thought, a mixture of fear and excitement coursing through her veins. It was reckless, perhaps even dangerous, but she had no other choice. She had to act before it was too late, before her fate was sealed by forces beyond her control.

Without another moment’s hesitation, Y/N slipped into a simple cloak, pulling the hood over her head to shield her face. She moved quickly and quietly, slipping through the darkened corridors of the palazzo until she reached a small, hidden door that led to the courtyard.

As she stepped outside, the cool night air wrapped around her like a cloak of freedom. She paused for a moment, glancing back at the towering walls of her family’s home, the place that had held her captive for so long. And then, with a determined breath, she turned and disappeared into the shadows of the city, her feet carrying her toward Harry’s studio.

The narrow streets of Florence were quiet at this hour, save for the occasional flicker of lamplight or the soft murmur of voices carried on the breeze. Y/N kept her hood low, her steps quick and purposeful as she moved through the labyrinth of alleyways. She had walked these streets before—many times in the dark of night—but tonight felt different. Tonight, the weight of her decision pressed down on her like the stone arches above.

As she neared Harry’s studio, her heart raced with a mixture of anticipation and uncertainty. What was she even doing? She had no plan, no real escape beyond the hope that Harry would understand, that he might offer her a path out of this life she couldn’t bear. A reckless hope, she knew, but it was the only thing she had left.

The studio was tucked away behind a row of trees, secluded from the main roads. The small building, though unremarkable to most, had become a haven for her—one of the few places where she could let go of the expectations that had weighed her down for so long. And Harry, with his quiet strength and sad, knowing eyes, had become the embodiment of the freedom she craved.

As Y/N reached the door, her breath hitched in her chest. She hesitated for a moment, her hand hovering over the handle. What if she had misread everything? What if Harry did not want to be a part of her rebellion, her escape?

Yet she stood at his door anyway.

She pushed the door open, the familiar creak breaking the stillness of the night. Inside, the soft glow of a few candles lit the room, casting long shadows over the walls. The scent of drying oils and turpentine filled the air, mingling with the earthy smell of wet canvas. Harry was at his easel, his back to the door, lost in the rhythm of his work.

For a moment, Y/N stood there, watching him in the golden light. His dark curls fell over his brow, and his hand moved with a kind of precision that made her chest tighten. He was absorbed, unaware of her presence, and the sight of him in his element, so quietly powerful, made her heart ache with something she couldn’t name.

“Harry,” she whispered, her voice barely audible in the stillness.

He froze for a moment, his brush poised in mid-air. Slowly, he turned to face her, his eyes widening in surprise as he took in the sight of her standing there, cloaked in shadow. “Dove?” His voice was soft, but there was an edge of concern in it. “What are you doing here?”

She stepped further into the room, her hands trembling beneath the folds of her cloak. “I had to see you.”

His brow furrowed, and he set his brush down, wiping his hands on a rag before crossing the room toward her. “It’s late. If anyone sees you—”

“I bear no sentiment to it,” she interrupted, her voice sharper than she intended. Her breath came quickly, the weight of everything catching up with her all at once. “I cannot stay there any longer, Harry. I can’t marry Leonardo Montellini. I cannot live that life.”

He studied her for a moment, his green eyes searching hers, and she saw the conflict in his gaze—the pull between wanting to help her and knowing the dangers of what she was asking. “What are you saying, Y/N?” he asked quietly, though there was a heaviness in his tone.

“I’m saying I need to leave. I need to escape before they lock me into a life I never wanted.” Her voice trembled with the intensity of the confession, and she took a step closer to him. “I don’t know where to go or how to do it, but I cannot stay here.”

Harry’s jaw tightened, and for a moment, he said nothing. His eyes flickered with something—worry, perhaps, or fear for what this might mean for both of them. He glanced at the door, then back to her, the weight of her words sinking in.”

“Do you know what you’re asking?” he said, his voice low. “If you leave, there’s no going back. Your family—Florence—”

“I know,” Y/N whispered, her eyes pleading with him to understand. “But what is the alternative? To be sold off to a man who does not care about me? To live my life in a cage, pretending to be something I am not? I cannot bear it, Harry. I won’t.”

He took a deep breath, running a hand through his hair as he tried to process what she was saying. She could see the battle in his eyes, the part of him that wanted to protect her warring with the part that understood the gravity of the situation. “And what do you desire from me?” he asked softly, though she could hear the strain in his voice.

Y/N stepped closer, her heart pounding in her chest as she met his gaze. “I want you to come with me.”

The words hung in the air between them, charged with a kind of desperate hope. She knew it was asking too much, knew that she had no right to pull him into her escape, but in that moment, Harry was the only person she trusted. The only person who understood her enough to help her break free.

Harry’s eyes softened, and for a moment, he looked as though he might say yes. His hand reached out, brushing against hers in a gesture so small, so intimate, it made her chest tighten.

But then he pulled away, shaking his head. “Y/N, I—”

“I know it’s reckless,” she cut him off, her voice filled with a kind of raw vulnerability she hadn’t allowed herself to feel in years. “But I can’t do this alone. I need you.”

Harry’s expression was torn, his hand still hovering near hers as if he wanted to take it, to pull her into his arms and promise her everything. But he didn’t. He couldn’t.

“Y/N,” he whispered, his voice heavy with regret. “If we run, they will come after us. Your family will not let you go so easily. You know this.”

Tears stung at the corners of her eyes, but she blinked them back, refusing to let the weight of his words crush her hope. “Then we’ll be careful. We’ll go somewhere they can’t find us. Please, Harry.” Her voice broke, and she reached out, gripping his arm as though she could will him to say yes. “I know not of heaven nor hell. I know not of Lucifer or God, I know only what I see before me, and If i were to draw my last breath tomorrow, I would perish with all this regret—my soul bound to my grave for eternity.”

For a long moment, Harry didn’t move. He stood there, staring down at her with an expression so conflicted it made her heart ache. And then, finally, he sighed, his shoulders slumping slightly in defeat.

“We’ll need to leave before first light,” he said quietly, his voice barely above a whisper. “Pack only what y’can carry.”

Y/N’s breath caught in her throat, a mixture of relief and disbelief washing over her as his words sank in. “You’ll come with me?”

Harry met her gaze, and though his eyes were filled with uncertainty, there was a quiet determination in them as well. “Wherever.” He murmured. “But we must be careful.”

A flood of emotions rushed through Y/N all at once—relief, fear, gratitude, and something else she couldn’t quite name. She threw her arms around him, burying her face in his chest as tears of both joy and fear slipped down her cheeks.

“Thank you,” she whispered, her voice muffled against him. “Thank you, Harry.”

He held her for a moment, his hand resting on the back of her head as if trying to steady them both in the face of what they were about to do. “We shall figure it out,” he said quietly, though she could hear the weight of the uncertainty in his voice.

But for the first time in what felt like forever, Y/N believed him.

As they stood there in the quiet of the studio, the world outside slowly fading into darkness, Y/N felt a small spark of hope flicker to life within her. She didn’t know what the future would hold, but for now, she wasn’t alone.

The night air outside the palazzo was thick with the scent of jasmine and damp stone, but to Y/N, it felt more like freedom than anything else. The distant sounds of Florence, the murmur of distant conversations and the soft rush of water from the Arno, filled the silence as she made her way through the narrow streets, her bag slung over her shoulder. Her heart raced, but her steps were sure now. This was her choice, her rebellion.

The moon hung high in the sky, casting its pale light over the winding alleys and quiet courtyards as Y/N hurried back to Harry’s studio. Her thoughts were a whirlwind—but she couldn’t think of it now. The only thing that mattered was what lay ahead. She had to believe that there was a life waiting for her beyond the walls of Florence, beyond the expectations that had shackled her for so long. And with Harry by her side, perhaps—just perhaps—she could find it.

As she reached the secluded courtyard where Harry’s studio stood, Y/N’s breath caught in her throat. The small building was bathed in moonlight, its wooden door slightly ajar, as if waiting for her. She paused for a moment, her hand resting on the doorframe, listening to the soft rustle of the wind in the olive trees.

Inside, the studio was quiet, save for the gentle flicker of the remaining candle on the windowsill. Harry stood at the far end of the room, packing his own bag—his movements careful and deliberate. When he heard her enter, he turned, his eyes immediately meeting hers. There was no need for words; he could see the decision in her gaze, the finality of it. She was here, and there was no going back.

“You are prepared?” His voice was soft, but there was an edge of tension there, a quiet understanding of what they were about to do.

Y/N nodded, her fingers tightening around the strap of her bag. “I am.”

Harry’s eyes softened as he crossed the room toward her, his hand reaching out to brush against her arm in a gesture of comfort. “We shall be leaving soon. I’ve made arrangements to head south, toward Siena. s’not far, but far enough. We will be out of reach, at least for now.”

Siena. The name sounded distant and unfamiliar to Y/N, but it didn’t matter. Anywhere was better than here, better than the fate that awaited her if she stayed. She met Harry’s gaze, a flicker of gratitude in her eyes as she nodded.

“I trust you,” she whispered, the weight of her words hanging in the air between them.

Harry held her gaze for a moment longer, his green eyes full of that quiet, steady strength that had always made her feel safe. “Then we’ll make it through this,” he said softly. “Together.”

He moved to the door, pulling it fully open and stepping outside into the cool night air. Y/N followed close behind, her heart pounding in her chest as the reality of what they were about to do sank in. They were running. Not just from Florence, but from the lives they had known, from the expectations and the rules that had governed them for so long.

The streets of Florence stretched out before them, dark and silent, like a sleeping beast. They would have to move quickly, before the city woke, before her family realized she was gone. Harry led the way, his pace measured but urgent as they slipped through the narrow alleyways, avoiding the more well-lit streets where guards might patrol.

Y/N kept her hood pulled low over her face, her heart racing with every step they took. She glanced over her shoulder more than once, half-expecting to see her father or Leonardo rounding the corner, chasing her down. But the streets were empty, save for the occasional whisper of the wind.

They moved in silence, the weight of their decision hanging heavy between them, but there was no hesitation now. They had crossed the line, and there was no turning back.

It wasn’t long before they reached the outskirts of the city, where the walls of Florence loomed high above them, casting long shadows over the ground. The gates were closed, but Harry had anticipated this. He led Y/N to a small passageway, hidden between the stones and covered with vines. It was narrow, barely wide enough for one person at a time, but it led out of the city—an old smuggler’s route, known only to a few.

“This way.” Harry whispered, glancing over his shoulder to make sure they hadn’t been followed.

Y/N nodded, following him through the narrow gap in the wall, her heart pounding in her chest as they squeezed through the passage. The air was cooler on the other side, the scent of the open countryside replacing the dense smell of the city. When they finally emerged, they found themselves on a small, winding road that led away from Florence, disappearing into the hills beyond.

Y/N paused for a moment, turning back to look at the city she was leaving behind. The towering domes and spires of Florence rose into the night sky, bathed in moonlight. It was beautiful—so beautiful it made her chest ache. But it was also a prison, a place that had tried to shape her into something she could never be.

She turned back to Harry, her breath catching as she realized the full weight of what they had done. They were free. But freedom came with a price—a price they had only just begun to pay.

Harry met her gaze, his expression soft but serious. “There’s no going back now,” he said quietly, as if reading the thoughts running through her mind.

Y/N nodded, her hand instinctively reaching for his, their fingers brushing in the cool night air. “I know,” she whispered. “And I am ready.”

Together, they turned and started down the road, leaving Florence behind them—its walls, its expectations, its suffocating weight—everything. The future was uncertain, full of dangers and unknowns. But for the first time in her life, Y/N felt a spark of hope flicker within her. She was free. And with Harry by her side, perhaps—just perhaps—she could build a life that was truly her own.

As they walked through the quiet countryside, the stars above them shining like tiny, distant beacons, Y/N knew that they were only at the beginning of their journey. There would be challenges ahead, and dangers they couldn’t yet foresee. But for now, she allowed herself to breathe in the cool night air, to feel the weight of the past slowly lift from her shoulders.

She glanced at Harry, his face illuminated by the soft glow of the moon, and felt a sense of calm wash over her. Whatever lay ahead, they would face it together. And that, she thought, was more than enough.

It had been two days since they left Florence behind, and the journey had been long, filled with the quiet tension of fear that someone might catch up to them, might discover their flight. The sun had dipped low on the horizon, casting long shadows across the rolling hills as Y/N and Harry approached a small inn nestled at the edge of a sleepy village. The inn was humble, tucked between groves of olive trees and fields dotted with grazing sheep. It wasn’t much—just a small stone building with weathered shutters and a modest stable for travelers’ horses—but it was enough. For the first time since leaving the city, they could breathe.

Inside, the inn was warm, the smell of bread baking in the hearth mingling with the faint scent of wood smoke. The innkeeper, a woman with kind eyes and silver streaks in her hair, greeted them with little more than a nod, motioning them toward the narrow staircase that led to their room.

As they climbed the stairs, the weight of the past two days seemed to settle over Y/N like a heavy cloak. The adrenaline that had carried her through the journey was fading, replaced by the quiet realization of what they had done. They had left everything behind—their lives, their families, their very identities—and now, here they were, standing on the precipice of a future they had yet to define.

Their room was small, with a single window that overlooked the fields beyond the village. A modest bed stood against one wall, and a small wooden table with two chairs sat near the hearth. The fire had already been lit, the flames flickering softly in the dim light of the evening.

Harry set their bags down by the door, glancing around the room before turning to Y/N. His expression was calm, but there was a tension in his eyes—a quiet awareness that they had crossed a line they could never uncross.

Y/N crossed the room to the window, her fingers brushing against the cool glass as she looked out at the fading light. The sky was a deep, dusky blue, and the first stars were beginning to appear, faint and far away. For a moment, she said nothing, her thoughts swirling like leaves caught in the wind.

Y/N finally broke the silence, her voice soft and uncertain. "Do you think we made the right choice?"

Harry turned from the window, his gaze settling on her. His green eyes, illuminated by the firelight, were filled with something unreadable-fear, perhaps, but also a quiet determination. He stepped closer, the floorboards creaking beneath his boots as he walked toward her.

"There was no other choice, Y/N.” He said gently, kneeling beside her. His hand reached out, his fingers brushing lightly against hers, grounding her in the reality of their shared decision. "Not for you, not for me. Remaining in Florence..it would have destroyed you.”

She looked up at him, her heart aching with the weight of his words. "But what have we done, Harry?" she whispered “I–” her voice trembling. "I have abandoned my family, my name. What if they find us? What if–" Her words trailed off, the enormity of their flight catching up with her. Her thoughts tangled in Fear. Fear of what might come, fear of the unknown future they now faced together.

Harry's gaze softened, and he took her hand fully in his, his thumb brushing over her knuckles in a soothing motion. "I do not know what will come," he admitted, his voice low and steady. "But I know that staying in Florence vould have been a life you could not live. You would have been chained, Y/N, to a life of duty, of expectations that would have suffocated you. What we have now, it may be uncertain, but it is ours."

She blinked, her eyes shimmering with unshed tears. "And you, Harry? What have you given up for me?"

Harry smiled faintly, shaking his head as if the question was unnecessary. "Florence never belonged to me.” He murmured. "| painted for men who looked down on me, for families who never saw what I could truly do. l've left behind nothing of importance." He paused, his gaze deepening as he looked into her eyes. "But y–you are the first thing that's ever felt real to me."

Y/N's breath caught at his words, her heart thudding in her chest. She had never expected this-never imagined that leaving Florence would mean finding something, someone, who saw her not as the Candela daughter but as herself, YN, in all her flawed and wild glory. "And what do we do now?" she asked quietly, her voice barely above a whisper. "We are not nobility here, Harry. We bear no titles, no claims to protect us."

Harry stood then, his hand still holding hers as he pulled her gently to her feet. His expression softened, though there was a hint of something deeper in his eyes, something that made her pulse quicken. "We live Y/N.” he said simply, his voice low and intimate. “For the first time, we live as we choose. I have land in Siena, now—it isn’t much, but it’s a roof and four walls.”

He drew her closer, their bodies inches apart, the warmth from the fire mingling with the heat of his presence. Y/N could feel her heart pounding in her chest, her breath hitching as his gaze settled on her lips for a brief, tantalizing moment. “You are free now.” Harry murmured, his voice a whisper in the quiet of the room. "Whatever comes next, we face it together."

Y/N swallowed hard, the weight of his words settling deep within her. She could feel the walls between them crumbling, the barriers they had built around themselves dissolving in the heat of the fire. And as she looked up at him, her heart in her throat, she knew that whatever lay ahead, she wanted him beside her—no matter the cost.

Slowly, tentatively, she reached up, her fingers brushing against his jaw, feeling the roughness of his stubble beneath her touch. Harry inhaled sharply, his hand sliding to her waist, pulling her closer still. The air between them seemed to crackle, the unspoken tension that had simmered for so long finally rising to the surface. "Y/N," he breathed, his voice thick with emotion. "Are you sure?"

She nodded, drawing her lips closer to his. Their kiss is slow, appreciative—full of months that had gone without it. He cupped her cheek as he parted briefly, holding her eyes into her own before he smiled. Harry's lips crashed against hers in a fierce, desperate kiss, his hands tangling in her hair as he pulled her closer still. Y/N gasped against his mouth, her fingers gripping his tunic as the heat of the fire surrounded them, enveloping them in warmth. The kiss deepened, becoming something raw, something that spoke of all the things they had left unsaid —their fear, their hope, their unspoken love.

They stumbled back toward the hearth, their bodies pressed together as Harry's hands roamed over her, pulling at the ties of her gown, freeing her from the constraints of fabric. Y/N's breath hitched as the cool air touched her bare skin, but Harry's warmth, his touch, was all she needed. He held her close, his lips tracing a path down her neck, sending shivers of pleasure through her body.

The heat between them became unbearable, a fire that consumed all reason. Harry's hands moved with purpose, deftly undoing the ties of Y/ N's gown, his fingertips brushing against her skin with a tenderness that belied the hunger in his gaze. Her breath came in shallow gasps as the fabric fell away, baring her to him. His eyes, darkened with desire, roamed over her with reverence, as though he was seeing her not as a woman of noble birth, but as someone entirely his, a secret kept only for him.

Her pulse quickened under the weight of his gaze, and her hands, trembling slightly, moved to the front of his tunic. She tugged at the laces, fumbling as her fingers brushed the hard planes of his chest beneath the linen. Harry let out a low groan, his own need palpable in the way his breath hitched, the way his body responded to her touch. He shrugged out of his tunic, tossing it aside, revealing the lean, muscled form that had been hidden beneath.

For a moment, they simply stood there, the space between them charged with a tension that was nearly unbearable. The firelight flickered across their skin, casting shadows that danced along the stone walls of the inn, but all Y/N could focus on was Harry—the way his chest rose and fell with each labored breath, the way his eyes darkened as they traced the curves of her body. Her heart pounded in her chest as she reached for him, her hands sliup his arms, feeling the strength in his muscles. Their breaths mingled, and as Harry leaned in to kiss her, the tension between them reached a breaking point. His lips were soft but insistent, claiming hers with a need that mirrored her own.

Y/N's hands found his hair, pulling him closer, desperate to feel him against her, to erase the distance that had always lingered between them until now.

He guided her down onto the fur-lined rug before the fire, his hands caressing her with a tenderness that made her breath catch. The warmth of the flames flickered around them, casting their shadows on the walls, but in this moment, there was only the heat between them, the way their bodies fit together as if they had been made for this. They had stripped away the layers of propriety, both figuratively and literally, leaving only the raw desire that now pulsed between them. Y/N's heart raced as Harry’s body hovered over hers, his eyes dark with a hunger she had never seen before. Her skin flushed under his gaze, the anticipation swirling in her belly like a storm.

He kissed her softly, his lips moving against hers with a tenderness that made her melt into him, but there was something else in his touch—something deeper, something more primal. As his hands roamed her body, tracing every curve and dip, Y/N felt a strange mix of excitement and nerves coiling inside her. She had never known this kind of intimacy before, never been touched in such a way.

Harry pulled back slightly, his breath warm against her neck as he pressed a trail of soft, lingering kisses down her throat, over her collarbone, and lower still, to the curve of her breasts. His hands slid down her sides, gently parting her legs as he kissed his way lower, leaving a trail of fire in his wake. Y/N's breath hitched, her body trembling beneath his touch, and she instinctively pressed her thighs together.

Harry paused, his lips hovering just above her skin, his hands still resting on her hips as he looked up at her with a soft, knowing smile. "Do you trust me?" he asked, his voice low, rough with desire but tender, too.

Y/N nodded, her breath trembling as she met his gaze, the flickering firelight casting shadows across his face. “I do, H." She whispered.

Harry's smile deepened, and he pressed a soft kiss to her inner thigh, his hands gently coaxing her legs apart once more. "I got you, dove. Promise.” He murmured, his voice a quiet, confident assurance that sent a shiver of anticipation through her.

Y/N's pulse quickened as Harry kissed his way higher, his lips brushing her skin in a way that made her body ache with a need she had never known before. Her hands gripped the fur beneath her as his mouth hovered just above her most intimate place, and when his lips finally made contact, a gasp escaped her, her body tensing with the unfamiliar sensation. It was unlike anything she had ever felt—a warmth, a softness, and then the slow, deliberate flick of his tongue against her bud, sending a jolt of pleasure through her core.

Y/N's head fell back, her breath catching in her throat as Harry continued, his mouth working with skill and precision. He moved with confidence, as though he knew exactly what she needed, exactly how to coax the pleasure from her body.

Harry's hands slid up her thighs, his fingers pressing gently into her skin, grounding her in the moment. His tongue moved in slow, teasing strokes, building a rhythm that made Y/N's body tremble with each touch. Her hips moved instinctively toward him, a soft moan escaping her lips as the pleasure began to build, layer upon layer, each stroke of his tongue pushing her closer to a place she had never been.

"Harry," she gasped, her voice breathless, her fingers tangling in his hair as she arched her back, the heat between her legs overwhelming. She had never imagined this kind of pleasure, had never known it was even possible.

Harry hummed softly against her, the vibrations sending another wave of pleasure through her as his tongue moved faster, more insistently. His hands gripped her hips, pulling her closer to his mouth, and Y/N's entire body shuddered with the intensity of it, her breath coming in ragged gasps. The world around her blurred, the crackle of the fire fading into the background as she became lost in the sensation of his mouth, his tongue, his touch.

The tension in her belly coiled tighter and tighter, the pleasure building with every movement of his lips, every flick of his tongue. Y/N had never felt anything like it before—this burning, all-consuming need that made her body tremble, her breath catch, her heart race. She was on the edge, teetering between control and surrender, and with one final, skilled movement of his tongue, she fell.

A cry tore from her lips as the pleasure crested, washing over her in waves that left her breathless, her body trembling beneath him. Her fingers tightened in his hair, her hips lifting off the rug as the pleasure pulsed through her, intense and overwhelming. Harry didn't stop, his mouth working her through the height of her release, his hands holding her steady as she writhed beneath him, lost in the sensation.

When the waves of pleasure finally began to ebb, Y/N collapsed back onto the rug, her body spent, her chest rising and falling with each ragged breath. Her limbs felt heavy, her skin flushed and sensitive, and as Harry pressed a final, soft kiss to her inner thigh, she shivered, her body still tingling from the intensity of it all.

Slowly, Harry rose, his hands sliding up her body as he kissed his way back up to her lips, his breath warm and soft against her skin. He settled beside her, pulling her into his arms, his lips brushing her forehead as she nestled against his chest, her heart still pounding from the intensity of her release. “Told you I had you, hm?” He cooed, combing his fingers through her disheveled hair.

She nodded, the sound of her heart thumping in her ears as she cupped his cheek, pulling him into another kiss. His hands roamed from her hips to her breasts, rolling back on top of her with a smirk. His hands roamed her body, caressing, exploring, a though trying to commit every inch of her to memory.

Y/N arched beneath him, her body responding to his touch with a need that had been building for weeks, months even. She wrapped her legs around his waist, pulling him closer, desperate for the connection she had longed for, and Harry groaned, his body trembling with the weight of his desire. Slowly, reverently, he guided himself into her, his movements gentle, careful, as though afraid to break the fragile spell between them. She gasped at the sensation, her fingers gripping his shoulders as he filled her, their bodies finally coming together in a way that felt inevitable, as if they had been meant for this moment all along.

For a heartbeat, they stayed like that, perfectly still, their breaths mingling, their hearts pounding in unison. He was entranced by the feeling of her walls fluttering around his cock, the way she stretched around him.

Then, slowly, Harry began to move, his hips rocking against hers in a rhythm that sent waves of pleasure coursing through her body. Y/N’s head fell back further into the rug, a moan escaping her lips as she gave herself over to the sensation, to the connection that seemed to bind them together more deeply than any words ever could.

Harry's movements were slow at first, deliberate, each thrust sending a jolt of pleasure through her body, but soon the restraint he had tried to maintain began to slip. His pace quickened, his body moving against hers with a raw, desperate need that matched her own. The sound of their breathing, of their bodies moving together, filled the room, mingling with the crackle of the fire and the whisper of the wind outside.

Y/N's fingers dug into his back, her nails leaving faint marks on his skin as her body arched beneath him, her breath coming in gasps. Every touch, every kiss, every thrust was a promise, a declaration that neither of them could speak but both understood.

"Harry," she whispered, her voice trembling with the intensity of her need, with the overwhelming sensation building inside her. "I–” But she couldn't finish the sentence. Words seemed inadequate to describe what she felt, the way her body and soul seemed to be unraveling in his arms.

Harry's lips found hers again, silencing her with a kiss that was all-consuming, his body moving against hers with an urgency that mirrored her own. He groaned against her mouth, his breath ragged, his hands gripping her hips as though afraid to let her go. “Y’like that, huh?” He grunted, bottoming out with each thrust. “Sound so pretty, the way you sing f’me.”

She nodded, eyes glossed over in pleasure as she wraps her arms around his neck, burying her face in his shoulder with whimpers of praises. And then, with one final, desperate thrust, Y/N felt herself fall over the edge, her body trembling with release as the pleasure crashed over her like a wave. She cried out, her fingers tangled in his curls, her heart pounding in her chest as the world seemed to fall away around her.

In that moment, Harry pulled away, his breath hot against her neck as he pressed his forehead against her shoulder, his body shuddering with restraint. His hands tightened on her hips as he pulled back, separating them just before the inevitable.

A moan fell from his lips, and Y/N swore it was the prettiest melody she’s ever heard.

He fisted his cock, coaxing his hand back and forth before he lets out a low whimper, spilling himself right onto her abdomen—decorating her in opaque that marked her as his.

His sigh was heavy as he fell back beside her, placing a kiss to her temple as she lie there breathlessly. For a moment, they lay there in the quiet, their bodies still trembling from the intensity of it all, the only sound in the room the soft crackling of the fire. Y/N's chest rose and fell with the aftershocks of pleasure, her heart still racing, but she felt safe. “S’warm.” She giggled, his release glistening in the flames of the fire.

He couldn’t help but smile as he maneuvered his arm beneath her neck, turning to his side as he rested his chin atop her head. “Promise I’ll clean y’up.” He chuckled, draping his other arm across her chest, to which she reaches up and holds his bicep with a smile.

He presses a kiss into her hair, breathing her in. “Ad vitam aeternam.” He murmured, listening to the fire crackle and her even breaths.

Her eyebrows furrowed, recognizing some of the words but she figured the meanings are different, because what she interpreted made no sense at all. He tilted her head back, looking at the man expectantly as he shifted his own head ever so slightly to place a soft kiss against her lips. “To eternal life.”

Her cheeks flushed as she stared into him, the color almost as red as the cherries from the other day. She runs her fingers through his curls, a small smile spreading across her lips.

His own eyes searches hers, the tips of their nose almost touching. His hands cup her face, thumbing gentle strokes onto her cheek. “What?”

She lied her hand atop the one on her face, dipping the tips of her fingers to hold onto his grasp. “I’m falling in love with you.”

He exhales through his nose, a chuckle laced with content emitting from his mouth. He nudges his nose with hers, brushing their lips together softly before pressing it into a kiss. He smiles, pulling back after a beat. “I already have.”

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aychama · 1 month ago

Text

Bearer of the Red Crown's Birthday

"These pompous assholes." Narinder opened the door to escape outside and take a breather.

"They were never taught to shut the hell up were they?" He rubbed his temples and wondered why was their birthday gift to him was a headeache.

The calm but obnoxiously loud people inside the greathall had gathered to congradulate the King's birthday. Of course it was a big event and many of the nobles were attending. Some even travveled from the other kingdoms.

But to Narinder it was just a nuisance, just like how it was every year.

They had gathered to make connections, threaten eachother covertly or simply suck up to Narinder. He had to put up with these people and act like they wouldn't turn on him with the twirl of any one of his siblings finger.

He was just looking for a place to hide now but it seemed his hiding place was occupied by a slouched figure.

"Lambert?" Narinder noticed the figure in the corner next to the flower bushes.

"BAH!" They shout out a short bleat and turned towards him. Their funny noise and freaked out face was like a cold fresh water being splashed on Narinder's hot and aching head.

"My King! Please, you need to stop sneaking up on me..." Lambert sighed and got up.

Were they getting away from people too? That wasn't good. He had specifically told them to use this oppurtunity to make connections so they could have people helping them with their new lands troubles.

Just as he was about to start his lecture he noticed the neatly folded fabric in Lambert's hands.

"Is this..." he saw the little bow it was wrapped with.

A gift.

Lambert looked at the item in their hands, hesitated a little and presented it towards him.

"For you, yes."Narinder's fingers brushed Lambert's as he took it and started examining it. It was a red and white scarf.

"Aym and Baal said that you get cold easily so... I was actually going to knit it myself but it was way harder to do than I thought it would be. Haha..." They let out a defeated sigh hidden with a tired smile.

"I-it's not an expensive item I know but I-"

"It's made out of your wool." Narinder cut them off as he took off the bow and ran his fingers through the fabric. It was so, oh so soft. He didn't even have to bring his nose closer to it to know it smell like them.

"You can tell?" Lambert's face looked horrified, their smile dropping down as they looked up at him.

They suddenly reached out towards the scarf and started to pull it out of Narinder's hands.

"That's just weird isn't it? I-I knew it would be weird argh stupid Berith-"

"Wh- No!"Narinder did not let go of the scarf and it stretched between the two."Lambert no it's not weird." He looked at them hoping he sounded genuine.

"It's no secret that I like wool and this is perfect." Lambert stopped pulling and looked at Narinder, unsure.

He had gotten many presents today. So many that he lost count. So many things that he did not care. Jewelry, expensive items, some magical crystals, decorative weapons. Presents that were given to a King so that they wouldn't lose face or even worse, so that the noble families could look at eachother and say 'Look at how rich I am. The King surely likes me more than all of you so I can use him to scare you and get my way'. It was all so obvious and so shallow that he thought the amount of jewelry and necklaces were going to stuf his throat so much that he could drown without water.

But this,

This was from Lambert.

And it didn't have any underlying intentions.

Narinder slowly pulled the scarf from Lambert's hesitant hands.

"I remember reading a book when I was young."

He wrapped the scarf around his neck.

"It was about the culture of our folk."

He adjusted the scarf and both ends hung over his shoulders lovingly.

"And I remember reading that sheep-folk would give eachother gifts made out of their own wool to show their appreciation for eachother." He adjusted the scarf and looked at them to see the curiosity color their pretty face.

"Really?" Lambert asked and he nodded softly.

Narinder knew that Lambert wasn't taught of their own culture. It was...sad... but not unexpected. There wasn't really any sheep-folk in the 5 kingdoms other than them.

To think Shamura's old books he randomly decided to read would have a lot about sheep-folk in them. Too bad that wretched younger brother of his burnt down Shamura's library just because he was jealous Shamura would read books with Narinder... Narinder wishes that Shamura would have killed Leshy right then and there but they didn't. Soft hearted fool who went easy on all of their siblings but not on their enemies. And that included Narinder too.

Narinder shook his head to get rid of the hatred starting to boil up in his gut and focused on the scarf and Lambert. Their smell and their soft wool was all around him, quickly calming him down as he lowered his head to bury the bottom half of his face into the scarf.

He heard the softest giggle.

"You look silly."

Narinder opened his eyes, he didn't even know when he had closed them, and looked at Lambert.

They were smiling so soft and warmly at him. His throat clogged up again but he wasn't feeling bad this time.

"It's clashing with the rest of the jewelry badly."

He couldn't take his eyes off of Lambert's smile as they talked.

He thanked God that he always had his veil because he didn't think he could explain why he was looking at Lambert's smile like it was the only thing in the world.

"And it looks funny with your fancy clothes. Maybe I should have told Berith to make it look more expensive." Lambert laughed. If he could eat their voice he bet it would taste like fluffy candy, he thought.

The two heard some people talking about where the king has gone from inside and Narinder sighed.

Lambert reached towards Narinder's neck and tugged at the scarf.

"You need to go back in right? You can't just look like this in front of everyone. I'll put it next to the pile of gifts-"

He grabbed their arm and stopped them from taking the scarf.

"No." He said firmly.

"But-"

"Who said I would be going in alone? I remember telling a certain someone that they need to make connections because their poor decisions while ruling their own land had left them in a troubling state." He turned the conversation towards Lambert seemlessly to cover up whatever he was feeling right now.

"A-ah that! I have a little bit of a-no actually a big headache from talking with so many- soooo many people yknow?" Lambert stumbled over their words.

Narinder let the silence fall between them to show them he did not believe them.

"Let's go. I suppose I have to be the one to intruduce you to people." Narinder pulled Lambert by the arm that he had grabbed and walked towards the door.

"I'm- My King! You shouldn''t- you don't need to pull me!"

#narilamb #royal au #cotl #cult of the lamb #aychama #cotl lamb #cotl narinder #mini fic #fluff #fanfiction #i be writing

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imfoive · 12 days ago

Text

Crystal Bird - Chapter 10

Crown Prince! Chan x Princess (fem.) Genre: Royal au! Angst, Romance, Historical, hidden identity, slow-burn Warnings: mentions of war, assassination, somewhat proofread WC: 8.7k A/N: I debated breaking the chapter into another chapter but it would have left everyone frustrated lmaoo so this chapter is on the longer end!(although you won’t be any less frustrated anyways) Feedback, Reblogs, Likes are greatly appreciated! Happy reading! ── MASTERLIST

Synopsis: The Crown Prince is saved by the Princess of a rival kingdom, and he swears his second life to his savior. A forbidden friendship no one knew of, grows deeper with every secret meeting. As the two are kept apart, memories of their sunset playdates by the serene river, begin blossoming into something beautiful. Cheeks blushed, stomach butterflies fluttered at the thought of each other. Years of yearning and imagining had only made them crave a sweeter reunion. And finally meeting at a Royal banquet, he could only stare at the now grown Princess, taken by her beauty, while she only watches as he gives his heart to the wrong princess.

Missed a chapter? - Prologue / Chapter 1 / Chapter 2 / Chapter 3 / Chapter 4 / Chapter 5 / Chapter 6 / Chapter 7 / Chapter 8 / Chapter 9

CHAPTER 10 ───────────────────

The Sylvancrest Prince had met all kinds of people during his travels, friendly merchants, citizens from neighboring realms, some questionable, but all in all, good people. Even back in the Eastern Sea nation, he was always greeted with warmth. Always garnered attention as the youngest of princes.

Yet, surprisingly, the fourth prince had never really had any true friends of his own.

His brothers had always had their own responsibilities, and although they doted on him, they never quite found the time to entertain him for long. Other kids his age played with him, but they always made him feel the heavy weight of the prince title he carried.

His guard, Seungmin, who was close to his age, was almost the exact opposite in personality.

Quiet, dutiful, and frigid. Although Hyunjin had managed to get Seungmin to crack here and there, even drawing out small moments of mischief and fun, there was always a line the guard never crossed. Much like those playmates of his.

And it was this Foreign princess, who made him understand, for the first time, what it meant to have something like a true friend. Someone to share cheerful banter, long conversations with. About all kinds of things that piqued their curiosity. Unbiased, free.

Someone who focused on him, on whatever he rambled about, with an enthusiasm that matched his own. Similar rambles slipped from her lips, and her eyes radiated with the ambition to see the world, to learn more.

Even if they hadn’t known each other as long as they felt like they did, it was clear that the two were alike, that their friendship was something that was unguarded, comfortable. They had even promised to keep in touch after his return, exchanging letters filled with thoughts and discoveries, things he was certain she would enjoy reading.

He had never exchanged letters with a friend before, never received anything of the sort himself. The idea of it excited him, in a way he hadn’t expected. Prominent in his glowing expressions that expressed his feelings easily.

But after the events over the past few days, Hyunjin began to notice something different. His friend’s smile no longer reached her eyes. Her mind seemed elsewhere, her presence across from him, but her thoughts clearly distant.

Then he remembered the Elysium King’s offer. The ridiculous proposition he still couldn’t fully grasp.

Hyunjin’s gaze lingered on the second princess. She attempted to smile as she dismissed her “slight fever,” but the weariness in her expression was unmistakable.

It was clear to him that she wasn’t happy here. Perhaps she never had been, and likely never would be.

In a kingdom where being the daughter of the king’s mistress, a lower-princess, earned you nothing but scorn, where arrows and bitter glances followed, true happiness was a distant dream for someone like her.

Hyunjin didn’t have any particular romantic feelings for his new friend, at least not yet. But he believed they could get along just fine. He believed he could make her happy. Perhaps she could join him in his travels, explore new lands, chasing that ambitious curiosity of hers through new experiences. The kind she’s only read about.

Hyunjin didn’t think he would propose such a thing today. To offer her an escape from this place. He knew well that a princess like her could only leave through marriage. If necessary, he would offer her that.

He would marry her, if it meant she could have the freedom she deserved.

He would be a good friend.

He was being good friend. But as the offer laid out bare, his words easily slipping through his lips, he caught the frantic twinge that flashed in her eyes.

A similar gaze he had seen just the day prior in someone else.

Someone who stood stoic, piercing gaze boring into his amidst the dense foliage of The Grand Forest.

Hyunjin sighed, a soft smile tugging at his lips before he chuckled, the familiar sound breaking the tension that had settled in the air.

“It’s too bad.” His words had come out casually, not even a hint disappointed, gaze never leaving her now, taken aback by his sudden shift.

The Second Princess stared at him in wonder.

It seemed as though he’d rescinded his proposal just as quickly as he had offered it.

Hyunjin leaned back in his seat, relaxing against the cushion of his chair.

Princess Y/N opened her mouth, her next words lodged in her throat.

Did she acknowledge his roundabout proposal? Replying with an answer they both knew?

Or perhaps apologize for rejecting him without even considering?

Instead, Y/N gave a slight smile, tilting her head as she spoke.

“Do write to me about the lakes, Hyunjin.”

The informal words, the title-less address, made Hyunjin’s grin widen. Their friendship seemingly deepened with a simple rejection.

A comfortable silence settled between them.

Princess Y/N reached over to place his novel back where she had taken it from. He sipped his tea, before suddenly placing it back down with a clatter, as if some idea just flashed through his mind. Already moving onto the next topic.

“I might take a detour instead. Perhaps explore some more before my father tries to tie me down with responsibilities.” He groaned at the thought.

Y/N raised an eyebrow, confused.

“A detour?” She questioned with a repeat.

Hyunjin nodded enthusiastically.

“Yes, maybe head up North—I’ve only seen snow once as a child, what a fascinating sight it was.” He almost rambled, his eyes lighting up.

“Snow?” Y/N’s eyes widened with its own excitement, her interest piqued.

The idea of seeing something she had only read about in books sparked a new fascination. Trying to imagine the white expanse of the soft snow covered ground.

“I’ve never seen snow. Is it really that cold?” Her words were laced with new curiousity, one that made the foreign prince chuckle as he shook his head.

“I can tell you all about the Sylvancrest lakes Y/N, but I’m no expert on the Northern Snow. Maybe one day, you’ll visit that place instead.”

His words lingered between them, and Y/N’s smile faltered. Her gaze slowly drifted to the biscuits between them, her thoughts slipping back to the expert of the Northern Snow.

The White Mountains where he had been, were filled with snowy terrains. It must have been greuling.

He must have been cold. Must have fallen sick countless times.

Her heart ached suddenly, and she couldn’t help but curse herself for so many of her wrong choices.

But Y/N knew she was going to continue to make these wrong choices.

Continue to push away the Crown Prince of Nightshade.

A love so tragic she would rather keep him in the dark than let him be kept away from her.

And as Y/N stood on her balcony that evening, staring out into the dark night, she couldn’t help but be drawn back to thoughts about Chan, couldn’t help but think about him again.

It was always like this.

Where once she would gleefully read her love stories, picturing a mysterious man, someone handsome, someone who was madly in love with her. Someone who was her Chan.

Now as she pictured him, handsome, perhaps in love with her.

She couldn’t be giddy. Couldn’t let those emotions that made her cheeks twinge with pink and red, her skin burn with heat, warm and fuzzy, take over.

Chan was no longer hers.

Chan had a face. A handsome man, grown into all the things Y/N had once fantasized. Chan was real.

To the touch, to the kiss.

But Chan wasn’t hers. Chan was the Crown Prince.

Prince Christopher, who loved the girl that had once saved him, because he must.

And even if deep down she knew it was pathetic to draw such a conclusion, she decided it was true. For her own sake.

Y/N had dwelled on it. Her mind spun with thoughts that never seemed to settle.

Thinking. Deciding. Doubting.

Over and over again.

She thought back to when she had lied to him. The hidden truth, nothing near a little white lie she had tried so hard to convince herself it was. Aware deep down that it was a cruel one.

That her denial of being that princess that once saved an enemy prince, befriended, made promises, was the right thing to do.

The lie that had taken life from her lack of confidence, her self-doubts, snowballed into something she couldn’t control.

Then, it hit her. A realization that should have come to her long ago. One that lingered deep in her chest, spilling out with every encounter. A realization waiting to be made.

Her heart clenched painfully as she finally made a clear-headed decision, as the weight of it all sank in.

Y/N didn’t deserve any of it.

His friendship. His loyalty. His lingering gazes, dimpled smiles.

His love.

She had trampled on his hopes. Her lies twisted so deeply, that she was certain he would hate her once he found out.

The truth of how she had toyed with his heart. How she was going to continue to hurt him. He should hate her.

It was the right decision. She had to believe it.

The fairytale stories she had once dreamed of belonged in novels, not in her life. They were things she should never have expected, let alone hoped for.

Could she really have expected anything else?

He was the Crown Prince of an enemy nation. One her family was preparing to assassinate. To go to battle against. Starting a war that they would perhaps lose.

Maybe she would perish along.

Y/N thought back. Thought of Chan.

Chan who wasn’t hers. Who belonged to his nation, his title, his crown.

Prince Christopher who belonged to his people.

Their friendship had been doomed from the moment she’d pulled him from that river, from the moment she had wandered back into the forest the day after.

Tears slid easily down her face, pooling at her jaw as she stared into the dark, moonlit night. She struggled to convince herself that this decision, this painful separation, was the right one.

He should return. But he should never know the truth. He should believe that Sienna wasn’t the one he should love.

That the princess he sought, no longer existed.

He’ll be hurt, he'll suffer a bit. Saying goodbye to a promise that he failed to keep, a reunion that would never happen.

But he’ll be fine.

There was going to be nothing tying him to back Elysium. Nothing tying him to her.

He would protect his nation, his people, like he should as the Crown Prince.

And even if she perished somewhere along the way, his thoughts won’t dwell on it.

His heart shouldn’t ache, he shouldn’t be in pain.

The sobs were impossible to control, her face contorting as she cried, palms pressing against her lips to muffle the sounds.

She longed to see him. To hold him, just one last time before she let him go forever. But she knew she couldn’t. If she did, the resolve she had fought so hard to build would shatter in an instant.

All Y/N wanted, all she needed, was for him to return.

Safely. And she would make sure that happened.

────────────────────────

The preparations for Elysium’s Royal wedding had begun.

The Crown Prince of the nation was finally to wed his fiancee. A daughter of a powerful noble. The eldest daughter of a Duke, one that had been picked out ever since they were children.

The banquets, the dinners, the revelry that had started off these celebrations had all been leading up to this union and the ceremonies that followed. One that seemed to be dragging on for weeks, and finally the end was nearing.

It was supposedly a grand occasion, one which the whole kingdom was to look forward to.

But as Y/N made her way through the town square, her well-kept appearance and the knight who trailed closely behind her made her rank clear.

A high-society noble, perhaps even royalty.

And with that, she immediately caught the wary glances of the townspeople. It had been months since she’d been allowed to walk freely through the market, and though her lavish appearance had attracted attention before, this time it was different. The locals seemed to regard her with a quiet…distaste, as if her presence here was an unwelcome reminder of something they resented.

Just as Anna had mentioned, Princess Y/N was witnessing it firsthand. The disdain the people held for the nobles and the royal family was evident in every glance they shot her way. It seemed to grow stronger with each passing day the King failed to address the suffering caused by the Fading Ill and the misfortunes that had befallen the poor. The weight of these frustrations was clear in the eyes that peered over in her direction.

She couldn’t blame them.

The slum dwellers, the poor. The lower class, and the everyday merchants. They were fed up with a King who seemed to care only for the upperclass. The celebrations felt drawn out, flaunting wealth while the people suffered. The cold season was approaching, and the Fading Ill disease continued to spread, yet the King had done nothing.

No words of comfort, no aid sent to those in need. No search for a cure.

From the outside the kingdom seemed to be harmonious, coming together to celebrate the royal union. Yet, the contrast between the royal festivities and the people’s struggles was impossible to ignore once you got a closer look.

Y/N had ravaged the Nightshade Books she could find on sickness, cures, poisons, that the Elysium library carried, yet still there wasn’t much she could find. Perhaps, if she could slip into a herbal shop or medical tent, she might learn more about this sickness from someone who had treated patients firsthand.

The Second Princess watched the dressmaker, giving orders to her seamstresses to pack the fabrics that had been pre-approved months ago. She glanced around at the maids who accompanied her, each carrying boxes of trinkets and accessories the future Princess consort had also chosen, now ready for pickup.

Y/N’s gaze dropped to her lap, her fingers fidgeting with her own rings. Her eyes traced the intricate fabric of the dress she wore. Symbols of the wealth and high status the townspeople likely saw her as. But in that moment, she felt more like a well-dressed errand girl.

Perhaps the Queen Mother took some twisted pleasure in assigning Y/N these menial tasks. Maybe she relished the fury that coursed through Lady Katherine whenever the mistress learned of the discrimination, often taking it out on Y/N. As if the daughter had any choice but to bow her head and follow orders.

Their return from Melgarde had emboldened her mother, making Y/N wonder how the older woman would react once she lost this small sliver of importance, the fleeting power she would lose after Ian's wedding.

Once everything returned to its original order.

Once Y/N returned to being nothing but the forgotten princess.

But for now, she had been left to manage these kinds of responsibilities while Sienna entertained the new guests arriving as the wedding day approached.

She should have felt envious, felt that sting of injustice whenever she had to take on Sienna’s workload, when she was given such lowly tasks, handling duties a “princess” like herself should never have to do.

Yet, oddly, she felt a sense of relief.

The chaos of the preparations offered an escape from the ever-watchful gaze of Chan. His piercing stare, always following her whenever their paths crossed, hadn't gone unnoticed. Especially after the other night. The ghost of his lips working against hers, still tingled whenever she recalled it.

But she was too afraid to do anything more than offer a quick curtsy as she passed him, her expression hardening as she clung to that new mask she decided she would wear.

After the carriage was loaded with trunks filled with new dresses and jewelry, the long line of seamstresses, along with the head-dress maker, all gathered to bid her farewell. Their presence drew attention, but it was the Princess' knight who seemed to feel the weight of it. He glanced around warily, acutely aware of the tension in the air.

“I shall visit a herbalist.” Y/N's sudden declaration caught the young knight off guard.

His head snapped back, a flicker of surprise in his eyes before he quickly regained his composure.

“But Princess—”

“It won’t take long.” She muttered curtly, turning to dismiss the dressmaker and her entourage, urging them to return to their shop.

The knight’s attempt to intervene irked her more than she cared to admit. She had wandered through the town square countless times, unaccompanied except for a maid or two trailing behind her.

Who was he to stop her now?

Suddenly, her thoughts flashed back to the other night. The night she returned after her… rendezvous with the Nightshade Prince. At least, that was how it had felt.

After recovering from her fever, Y/N had reflected on how easily she slipped back into her chambers, unnoticed. She remembered the knight. How he'd been slumped on the ground, clearly passed out. It was almost effortless for her to sneak in and out during the dead of night while he slept, yet he still had the audacity to claim he was guarding her.

The Second Princess had seen that glint in his eyes before. The same look she often received from the attendants and ladies-in-waiting at the Queen’s palace.

That condescending look. The gazes of being looked down upon.

Of course he would, he was one of the Queen’s people after all. Assigned to her back in Melgarde Estate by aides from the Queen’s palace themselves, when it was decided that she would play a role in this fake harmonious family picture the royals attempted to paint. Although, that had been smeared long ago with the whispers of the arrow incident that still lingered throughout palace grounds.

She felt the stares as she walked down the market path, the knight trudging silently behind her. People stepped aside as she drew near. Y/N should have felt offended by the clear disdain in their gazes as they glanced back at her, but she didn’t. She was used to such scornful looks. In fact, she found herself more curious than bothered.

How far had the neglect from their ruler gone that they couldn't even tolerate the presence of a high-society lady among them?

Her gaze shifted to the small herbal shop ahead. Her eyes raked over the exterior before she turned to her knight.

“Stand guard here. No need to follow inside.” She ordered, her voice leaving no room for argument.

Before the young knight could respond, she was already moving toward the door.

The medicinal scent of herbs filled the air, hitting her with a waft as soon as she entered, mixing with the faint hum of quiet voices.

The shop was small, its interior racked with shelves of dried plants, hanging shrubs, and jars filled with liquids. Behind the counter, was a curtained doorway, likely led to the herbalist’s backroom, where he concocted his remedies.

Some women lingered near the counter, their eyes instantly darting toward Y/N at the sight of her, their surprise evident on their faces. The Second Princess offered a quick, polite smile, bowing her head in greeting. The women exchanged a brief glance before returning the gesture.

It was clear from their bewildered expressions that noblewomen rarely acknowledged people of their status.

Suddenly, the small curtain behind the counter was pulled back with a whoosh, and the herbalist appeared. He faltered mid-step as his gaze fell upon Y/N. A lady of high rank, no doubt. He cleared his throat, pushing up his glasses before addressing the two women.

“—Apply this twice a day, and it should reduce the itch. Try not to get the infected area wet.” He instructed, in the midst of a diagnosis it seemed.

After the women handed over their coins, they shared another cautious glance at the Princess before quickly exiting, leaving only Y/N and the herbalist. The older man, who seemed to also be the shopkeeper, settled his gaze on the out-of-place young lady.

“How may I assist you, Miss.” He asked, his tone neutral.

Y/N hesitated, unsure how to approach her questions. She had no idea what symptoms were tied to the disease supposedly spreading in the slums, spreading into the outskirts of town. Instead, she glanced around the shop, her eyes darting over shelves, baskets of herbs, and jars of syrups. Her thoughts wander back to that one passage in the last Nightshade book she read.

“What is a common poison?” The question was blurted out before she could think better of it, blinking back at the older man who was as stunned as she.

The herbalist’s gaze slowly narrowed as he scrutinized her. He took in her high rank once more before the Second Princess cleared her throat, taking a step closer toward the counter, standing straight as if to not appear nervous.

“I-I’m writing a story.” She attempted to add.

It wasn’t the most believable excuse, but it was enough to make him sigh, his wary gaze softening slightly as he pieced together his own conclusions.

Noblewomen asking about poisons wasn’t unheard of. Some used them for beauty, others for darker purposes. Poisoning, murdering, common enough in the shadows of the world of nobility, especially during inheritance conflicts or out of jealousy.

And the shopkeeper had taken one glance at Y/N and easily assumed so. Although usually, he was dealing with their personal maids rather than the noblewomen themselves.

But who was he to judge? A humble herbal shop keeper who made big coins when dealing with such individuals, one who never wanted to get on the bad side of nobility.

It was unfortunate, but a young lady like her turning to poison wasn’t the most surprising thing he had encountered.

With a final shake of his head, he disappeared behind the curtain to the backroom. She watched, eyes laced with curiosity, fidgeting with her gloves. After a few moments, the herbalist returned, glasses pushed up again.

On the counter, he set down a vial containing what looked like a simple dried plant, a few dried berries. Perhaps even just a small stem, preserved in the thin glass tube.

“It’s the most common, but a potent poison.” His words were curt, yet still made Y/N flinch, never really thinking about poisons, let alone seeing one.

“Deadly Nightshade.” He continued, the name of it made her heart skip a beat, her gaze snapping up to meet his.

However he seemed unphased, continuing to speak as if it was a script memorized. But still, the Princess noticed how his tone had dropped to something quieter, almost... cautious.

“You can grind it to powder. You can cook it into food. Or ingest it just as. The berries, are the most toxic.” He whispered, lowering his voice even more.

Y/N only stared, her eyes blinking at the thing that looked like any common shrubbery she had seen.

The name of it instantly made her think of the Nightshade Kingdom, of the Nightshade Crown Prince. The man who drifted through her memories, his touches burning on her skin like poison itself.

“I-I’ll take it.” She found herself muttering, her fingers raking under her robed hood to pull out her pouch of coins.

“—But you shall also tell me more about the Fading Ill sickness.”

The pouch, fat and full, had clanked against the counter, making the shopkeeper blink almost bewildered anew, by both her question and her actions.

“Fading Ill?” The repeated words fell through his lips as he eyed the pouch of coins.

“It’s a spreading disease.” His obvious information made Y/N mentally groan almost, brows furrowing as she leaned in.

“Of course I know that. What are the symptoms?” She pressed, forgetting all about her nervous fidgeting amidst her thirst for answers.

The herbalist fell silent for a speck of a moment before he let out a chuckle, head shaking.

“Do you?” He raised a brow, watching as Y/N’s taken aback expression looked back at him.

“The high-ranking nobles have stayed ignorant of the lower classes’ troubles.” He continued, the edge of cynicism in his voice.

The older man reached for the pouch of coins, taking a glimpse inside to ensure the amount vaguely as he spoke.

“The symptoms start pretty mild, like a common cold. But once it holds, there’s persistent fatigue, a faint but unsettling cough, and strange, fleeting visions.” He looked up to Y/N, watching the young noblewoman absorb his words.

“There’s coughing of blood and the patient begins withering from the inside.”

The herbalist watched her eyes widen at the implications of death. Those unfortunate souls who couldn’t fight the illness, didn’t have the means to cure themselves, had simply begun fading away, succumbing to the disease.

He sighed, his hand tapping against the wooden counter, signaling the end of these kinds of talk. The rhythmic sound pulled her back from her thoughts.

“They’ve ignored the cries for help. The diseases that run rampant. It’s surprising to see a young noble lady asking questions about it.”

His words echoed everything Y/N had encountered. Whatever Anna had recounted, whatever she had seen and felt ever since she stepped into town.

“You don’t intend to ingest this poison in attempts to cure the sickness do you?” The herbalist’s tone turned incredulous again, his eyes darting between the Princess and the vial.

She immediately shook her head, getting rid of his suspicions almost instantly.

“Deadly Nightshade can be used as medicine for certain things, when concocted properly. But no one in Elysium knows enough about it, or the disease, to even attempt to make a cure. The people continue to suffer, while our ruler refuses to find said cure.” The shopkeeper muttered the latter part under his breath, moreso to himself as he secured the vial tightly, placing it in front of her to take.

Then, as silence stretched on between them, he realized what he had said.

Words that questioned the royal family, the King. And he had spoken them in front of a high-ranking noblewoman. If she reported him—

“I’ll overlook what you’ve dared to say.” Y/N said quickly, her voice cold as she gripped the vial and nodded toward him.

“But you’ll forget my purchase.”

Without sparing him another glance, she exited the shop.

The Second Princess didn’t truly intend to purchase the vial of the poisonous shrub, but the weight of it in her grip was undeniable as she stood outside the herbal shop. The glass container felt heavy, almost suffocating against her chest, made worse by the constant presence of her guard. She clutched it close, hoping her anxiety wasn’t visible on her face.

Damn it.

It would be disastrous for a princess like herself to be seen with poison, and she regretted not picking up a simple scent pouch instead. But there was no turning back now.

Her knight trailed behind her as she walked with confidence, though the nervousness swirling inside her didn’t show. She was doing well. Really well, too.

The journey back was short, maybe felt even shorter than when they had left for town. Maintaining a facade that didn’t draw any suspicious glances her way, Y/N hid the vial under her robe.

The attendants and maids had rushed to unload the carriages, bustling with the trunks of fabrics and trinkets she had brought with her. Her knight’s attention was briefly diverted to the servants darting past him, giving Y/N a head start.

She glanced over her shoulder, hoping her knight remained occupied by the attendants, his path blocked.

She couldn’t afford for him to see her holding the vial.

She couldn’t afford for anyone to see it. Unable to even fathom what sort of consequences would follow.

But, of course, that was bound to happen. With her head turning back to repeatedly glance over her shoulder, she didn’t notice the collision until it was too late.

Her body swayed as she instinctively reached out to steady herself by holding onto the person she had bumped into. Once grounded, her widening eyes met Prince Christopher’s equally stunned gaze. His grip on her forearm was firm, holding her up. An unexpectedly intimate position, though not as much as their last close encounter.

Chris’ gaze immediately flicked to her hand, noticing the vial she still gripped tightly. The vibrant color of the dried plant was unmistakable in her fingers. His brow furrowed with a frown, but before he could speak, Y/N recoiled, a sharp gasp escaping her lips as she swiftly pulled her arm under the cover of her hood, hiding the tube.

“Princess!” The knight had caught up, his stance instantaneously rigid as he positioned himself in front of her.

His wary gaze swept over the Warrior Prince and his guard. One that made Han step forward, his own intense expression fixed on the young knight, silently sizing him up.

Y/N hadn’t even noticed Han until now, her focus had remained on Prince Christopher from the moment they collided. But now, she couldn’t even bring herself to meet his gaze.

“Let us head back.” She said, her tone shifting to one of authority, attempting to ease the tension that had settled between them.

“There’s much to do.” She glanced back at her knight, the one who had always been defensive around the Nightshade warriors, his Elysium training evident in his watchful eyes.

The knight relaxed his stance, crossing his arms behind him as he nodded.

Y/N could sense Chris wanted to say something, maybe about the vial he had clearly seen, or about the strange way she had been avoiding him lately. But she wouldn’t allow him to speak. She dipped her head in a quick, dismissive farewell, cutting any potential conversation short.

The Nightshade warriors watched her retreating figure, and Chris felt a familiar annoyance bubble up inside him. The Second Princess was always so cautious, yet always seemed to be running from something. From someone.

Running from him.

“Was that what I think it was?” Han’s voice broke through Chris’ frustrated thoughts, pulling his attention back to his friend.

The Warrior Prince slid his hands into his pockets, his gaze fixed on Y/N's path.

“It seemed so.” Chris muttered, his focus still on her.

Han groaned, irritation flashing across his face as he began to piece together the implications of what had just occurred.

What did she plan to do with that poison?

Perhaps they truly intended to lace it into his Prince’s tea. The mere thought made the guard clench his fists.

He glanced at Chris, who was still fixated on the direction Y/N had gone. Han knew his friend well enough to see the obsession in his gaze.

Perhaps he would happily drink any poison-laced drink given to him by her.

────────────────────────

Felix stood rigid at the door, his eyes scanning the prominent figures gathered in King Bahng’s meeting room. The tension in the air was thick, a heaviness that even Commander Seo’s youngest son, Changbin, could sense. The Northern Warrior shot a quick, thoughtful glance toward the Solar Guard, his expression mirroring the uncertainty that hung over them all.

“My King, we must take the first step.” Commander Seo urged once again, his voice firm, as he had done for the better part of the last hour.

Since the Commander’s arrival, he had brought his brigade of warriors, with Changbin at his side. Their presence underscored the gravity of the situation, the urgency palpable in their every move.

“We can’t attack first, Commander.” Captain Elliot countered, his tone sharp, as he stood firmly by the King’s side.

It was the same debate, unfolding in a weary loop. The Nightshade Commander had been urging for immediate action, while the King’s Solar Captain insisted on holding back, waiting for the situation to escalate just enough to justify their move.

The King sighed, his gaze shifting toward Felix, who had entered the room not long ago, clearly waiting for his chance to speak.

“Do you have something to report?” The King’s voice cut through the tension that hung thick between the Solar Captain and the Commander.

Felix cleared his throat, stepping further into the room, the weight of the moment settling on him.

“The Prince’s Midnight band have received a sign from their leader. It’s been two days, but once the path cleared, they were able to identify the markings on the tallest tree.”

Silence fell over the room, every eye turning toward Felix, waiting for him to elaborate.

“What was the sign?” King Bahng’s voice bellowed, deep and authoritative.

“A circle. Eight tallies.”

The moment the words left Felix’s lips, the Commander’s expression darkened. His brows furrowed in immediate understanding, his displeasure clear as he processed the implications of the message. He let out a “tsk” of frustration.

“We’ve received the Crown Prince’s orders.” King Bahng continued, his voice firm and steady.

“Remain defensive. Encircle the border with as many stealth warriors as possible. We’ve already lost two days.” He pointed toward Elliot before turning his gaze to Commander Seo.

“We have five days, Seo. Are your warriors prepared for war?” The King asked, his sharp eyes fixed on the scar-littered face of the Commander, who responded with a smug smile.

“Prepared? Of course. We Seos have always been the backbone of the Kingdom’s strongest army. We just await your orders, my King. Surely, we could get a head start and eliminate the enemy royals before—”

“We cannot jeopardize the safety of Nightshade’s Crown Prince, Seo.” King Bahng interjected, cutting him off with a steely look.

“War is not about bloodshed, as you well know. It’s about protecting our people. And right now, we have our people in enemy territory.”

The Commander lowered his head, inhaling deeply, finally relenting.

“Yes, Your Majesty.”

────────────────────────

The Second Princess of Elysium stared at the vial of Nightshade poison on her desk, her mind a storm of thoughts.

It was a small thing, but its presence filled her with an unsettling weight. The plant had once gleamed a vivid green in the light of day, but now, under the dim glow of her bedroom, it seemed darker than ever. The two shriveled black berries rolled slowly within the vial, one having fallen off the stem during her journey back to the privacy of her chambers. Possibly when she had collided with the Warrior Prince.

She sighed, sinking deeper into her chair, her eyes still fixed on the deadly shrub she hadn’t intended to purchase in the first place.

After completing her tasks for the day, she had made up an excuse about needing to retire early, convincing Anna that she was simply exhausted when the young girl seemed concerned anew by her out-of-character actions. Though recently none of her actions seemed anything close to her usual behavior.

But now she sat at her desk, the cold night air breezing through the crack of the balcony doors she had left open, in hopes the chill would ease the suffocating weight in her chest, and would calm the storm swirling in her mind. Overwhelmed by whatever she had learned today, by this vial in her possession.

She had jotted down notes, writing out symptoms of Fading Ill, scraps of information she could recall from the herbalist she’d spoken to that afternoon.

His words had stuck with her. The ones about the poor suffering, while the royals celebrated. While she sat here enjoying the comforts of a cushioned life. Even if she was looked down on, it was nothing compared to what the slum dwellers were living in. It made her feel guilty, that same drive that had erupted within her the first time she had heard about this sickness, had returned with much more intensity.

Her father was not going to do anything about it anytime soon it seemed.

At least not until after Ian’s wedding in a few days.

Once again she thought back to the herbalist and his warnings about this poisonous plant, its uses.

To grind, to cook, to mix.

Her eyes widened as a thought struck her.

“A poison that could also be used as a medicine…” She whispered to herself.

The Deadly Nightshade, a common poison, yet no one in Elysium knew much of its uses beyond death.

Ironically, the Kingdom known for its herbalism and medical advancements, named after this very poison.

Y/N chewed her bottom lip, torn between curiosity and frustration. If only there were books on such things in the palace, instead of the endless shelves of useless histories and ceremonial records.

If only she could run to Chan about this.

The Nightshade Prince would know far more about poisons than she ever could, she was sure of it.

“Have you finally decided to poison someone?”

The deep voice shattered the silence of her bedchamber, making Y/N jump, a startled scream slipping from her lips as she whipped her head around to find the Nightshade Prince standing in the room, having entered through the same small crack in the door she had left open.

It seemed as if he too was thinking about her.

About whatever he had seen this afternoon.

Her gaze snapped toward the grand doors at the far side of the room, where her knight stood guard. The knight who surely would have heard her scream.

Yet, there was no movement. No rush of footsteps. No knight bursting in to protect his princess from a potential threat.

“He’s not here.” Chris finally spoke, and Y/N’s eyes flicked back to him.

He was leaning casually against the balcony door, his gaze briefly scanning the glass tube of the toxic shrub on her desk before settling on her stunned expression.

“I thought I would have had to render him unconscious once more…” He continued with a touch of disdain, his eyes narrowing.

“But it seems your knight had other plans. Not worthy of being called a knight.” The anger in his words was unmistakable.

Y/N took in his words, processing everything. Finally understanding that the other night, her slumped over guard had in fact not been in a deep slumber out in the corridors.

Yet as her eyes settled on him, she could only stare at his intense gaze that traced over her, suddenly making her stiffen.

She watched him look back at her desk, at the plant he definitely recognized at just a mere glimpse. At least she had been right about him knowing much about such poisonous plants.

“I purchased it out of mere curiosity.” She finally answered his question, composing herself after her initial shock.

He tilted his head, brows raising as he took in her lame excuse.

“Purchasing a poison out of curiosity…that’s a first.” He seemed amused slightly.

Then his eyes narrowed, staring into hers.

“Do you intend to poison me?” His question lingered in the air.

One that made sense. The foreign prince had been guarded ever since his arrival, and seemed even more so after learning certain things it seemed.

Still, the question left her frowning, a sense of unease settling over her.

“You’re a Nightshade healer aren’t you? Surely you must have certain levels of immunity to such poisons.” It was a guess, something that seemed to be true with the way his expression morphed, slightly impressed, but he didn't answer.

Possibly still guarded, still wary. She was a princess of Elysium after all.

An enemy princess. One who loved him, his presence here making her heart hammer against her chest.

“What are you doing here Prince Christopher?”

The air between the two of them had shifted almost instantly with her simple question, making the Warrior Prince stand straight, gulping back to soothe his suddenly dry throat.

He could have told her that he wanted to speak to her.

That he wanted to know more about what she meant the other night. Why did she have such a dangerous plant in her possession?

He could have asked why she was avoiding running into him, avoiding confrontation.

That he wanted to know more about why she knew of Sienna not being his childhood friend, one she supposedly didn’t know about.

Maybe it was another guess. Like she had just made about this poison. But he wanted to know.

He could have told her he missed her.

There were so many thoughts that flitted through his mind, yet standing here, staring at her hardened expression he couldn’t utter any of them.

His silence seemed as frustrating to her as him, making the Second Princess drop her head as she sighed.

“You too must take my rank lightly.”

Her statement bewildered him, his brows narrowing into a deep frown at the implications. Taking a step closer before faltering from his stuntedness.

“What nonsense—”

“Then what else? You freely enter my bedroom as you please. Jeopardizing my reputation as a young maiden. Isn’t it because I’m the daughter of the King’s Mistress, because you think I’m lowly?”

The words had come out harshly, words that had pricked at her ever since her birthday banquet. Ever since he had laughed at the existence of the King’s illegitimate children.

She watched as his expression grew upset, her words poking him with slight anger. But Y/N continued, as if talking to him after what felt like forever, made her bare out all the things that he’s done to hurt her unintentionally, finally pouring out in her own harsh words.

“Just because you’re a Crown Prince and honorary guest, does not mean you-you can disrespect me.” Her stern tone faltered with hurt, gaze dropping to the ground.

Chris inhaled deeply, finally understanding.

He had already learned long ago that the second princess who no one outside the King’s court knew the existence of, was in fact not a sheltered or guarded girl like the Nightshade Warriors had assumed. He’d long learned that she was looked down upon by the higher-ranked royals, by her own mother even.

That she cried often, that she hurt often.

He had long felt protective over her even before truly understanding his feelings.

Yet now he understood. Princess Y/N, who held her head high, deep down, was very insecure.

The Nightshade Prince exhaled, taking another step into the bedroom.

“I do not take you lightly, I could never take you lightly. Nor do I mean any disrespect.” Chris finally spoke, unsettling the silence that befell them, his words sincere.

“I know it is rude of me to barge in here and risk your reputation, but I could not control myself—I…” Chris’ words faltered for a moment. “—I wanted to speak to you.”

He knew it was a stupid excuse. Such an insignificant reasoning for his damning presence here in the privacy of her bedroom. But it was nothing but the truth.

“Speak to me…” She repeated, a small laugh, tinged with bitterness escaped her lips.

“—And you thought sneaking into my palace was to do so?” She almost glared back at him.

Both her words and her expression slightly irked Christopher, as if she was purposefully trying to misunderstand him. Each sentence of hers, drawing out his frustrations.

“You run from me the moment you catch a glimpse. How else am I supposed to speak to you?” His tone was almost incredulous.

She wasn’t surprised he had noticed, she didn’t really attempt to hide it either. Hoping her distant behavior would make him look at her badly.

“Why do you think I run Prince Christopher?” She spat, her voice sharp.

“You said the other night ‘didn’t happen’, yet you’re the one who seems to be reliving it every time you see me. It shouldn’t have happened. At least not like that. But can you not lie to both of us and accept the fact that you had wanted it as much as I…” His tone had softened, his awaiting eyes, twinged with frustration, with desperation.

Reminding her of the same look he had given her in the rain.

A look that makes her stiffen, her hands clutching at the fabric of her nightgown.

“I did not want that kiss.” She answered, her words cold almost.

A coldness that spread into the air between them, making the foreign prince stare at her with a slight surprise.

Yet it didn’t last long. His gaze darkened, slightly upset.

“But you did not stop. You pulled me closer. You kissed me back.” His tone was slightly defensive, slightly something else.

Hurt.

It was time it seemed. To hurt him further. To put up that act that she had convinced herself into, determined to make him lose all interest in her.

To make him hate her.

To keep him safe.

“What do you want me to say?” She asked, the venom in her words flowing freely.

“That it was amazing, that I was desperate to kiss you? Well, that would be a lie. I hated it. It disgusted me. T-to kiss you— “ Each word felt like a prick, dripping with disdain.

The Princess watched, her hands balling as tightly as they could against her sides, holding back the tears that threatened to betray her and fall easily. But she continued.

“—You, who kissed me like some predator.”

Chris could only stare, eyes raking over her suddenly distant figure. Her harsh words stung, each one a sharp stab against his chest.

But what hurt more, perhaps, was the gaze.

Even through the disgust that flashed across her face, the gaze remained, piercing him with an honesty he couldn’t ignore. It was the same gaze he had learned to recognize, the one she wore when she lied. That subtle, almost imperceptible shift in her eyes.

It was the same gaze he had seen in the rainy garden, when she had pressed him to leave but couldn’t bring herself to let go. It spoke volumes in the silence between them.

Prince Christopher dropped his head, masking the hurt that flashed across his face with a small laugh, his eyes returning back to glare into hers, gaze sharp and intense.

“A predator?” He repeated, his voice dropping low, a tone that has her flinching slightly, yet not enough for him to catch.

“Aren’t you? Your presence here is proof of it. Like a nightly beast you are so proud to be compared to.”

She knew it was low of her to spew such utter nonsense, knowing they weren’t even close to her true thoughts.

Knowing well enough that they would hurt him. Perhaps enough for him to look at her with disgust-laced eyes, like she had been pretending to do so.

The Warrior Prince’s jaw tightened at her words. His eyes trailing over her tense form. Her arms that had slowly crossed over her chest almost defensively as he stared.

“So you’re showing your true colors then?” He muttered bitterly, watching her stay silent, her eyes refusing to meet his.

“Are you saying you’re just like them all? The nobles, the royals of Elysium, who are afraid of us? Who looks down on us?”

The silence that followed was suffocating, thick with tension.

Y/N’s grip on her arms tightened as she struggled to control her emotions.

“I am a Princess of Elysium—An enemy princess. And—” Her voice faltered, his sharp eyes boring into hers, making her inhale silently.

“And you terrify me Prince Christopher.”

The lies spilled into the silence that settled, his brows relaxing as he took in her words, processing. His eyes darted between hers hoping to find that they were false. Yet that glint he had seen earlier lingered no more.

And he realized that she had been telling the truth.

That she was scared of him.

His lingering gazes, his touches. His presence here all seemed to terrify her.

Allowing herself to fall for him like he had her, terrified her.

A heaviness settled over him.

He had left behind the tensions within Ruby Hall, the defensive stance he was suddenly in. He had left behind the anxious thoughts that coursed through him upon realizing that he didn’t have his childhood friend here.

He had pushed it all back to sneak around here, to climb into her chambers like a true beast.

Like a true mad man, in attempts to get her to look him in the eye. So he could apologize for his actions that night. So he could speak to her.

To explain to her about the crystal bird.

To hold her.

To kiss the second princess who undeniably attracted him even if he resisted. Although a part of him had been aware that he had perhaps been drawn to her from the moment they had exchanged words.

Perhaps the moment she had caught him loitering outside the Queen’s corridors, her gaze piercing even behind the veil that covered her face. His curiosity piqued.

But here she was now. The walls she had built around herself were not easily torn down. Instead, suddenly revealing a side of her that she had supposedly hidden throughout his entire stay.

Chris doesn’t believe it. That the girl who had advised him to be confident about himself, his nation, asserting his power, in front of these Elysium nobles, now claimed it was all a farce.

The girl who opened his eyes to what he could now understand as true love. The one who had made him question his feelings for his childhood friend, someone he thought he loved in some way, only to realize it was her he had fallen for, now claimed he disgusted her.

That she was terrified of him.

Claimed that he was truly a beast of the night. Sneaking into her bedroom, into the garden that night to lay his filthy hands on her.

Her lips, her actions, her words scream “Hate me. Like I hate you.” But her gaze spoke of something else entirely.

A desperation perhaps? A flicker of something he had seen before, amidst the downpour. Amidst the turmoil that churned between them.

From the outside it would have made sense. They weren't close, let alone be anything near friends.

He knew the way she interacted with Hyunjin, saw first-hand how she spoke with him. How friends with one another spoke. Her form relaxed, her lips thinned into soft smiles.

Her giggles.

The sound of which he had heard once that afternoon with the gathering of royal children. Yet, that sound seemed to haunt him, flitting through his thoughts whenever they felt like it.

But now he could only stare, his intent gaze boring into her. Her chest heaving from her anger, her frustrations that seem to spill out so easily in front of only him.

“Do you truly wish for me to hate you then?”

The words hung in the air, a heavy silence falling between them as they settled. He watched her eyes widen slightly as she processed them.

He wasn’t sure why he had asked.

Part of him hoped she would shake her head, saying “no.”

Part of him hoped she would embrace him, her arms tightening around him just as they had that night. Her lips pressing against his.

But she does none of that. Her form stiffened, gaze locking with his, unwavering.

“I do.”

Prince Christopher inhaled sharply, his eyes dropping to the ground for a moment before he took a step back, his posture stiff, his movements almost courteous.

A grim silence fell between them before he finally spoke.

“Very well, Second Princess Y/N.”

His tone was cold. ━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━ to be continued.

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aisiedaisie · 1 month ago

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hiiii ʚ₍ᐢ. .ᐢ₎ɞ i just found your page this morning and read through your entire masterlist and i loveeee your writing! is it possible to get royal poly!marauders at a ball or something and they catch sight of the reader (can be whatever role you wanna give them) and they are like 'damn'

Hello hello~!!!

First of all, thank you so much for patiently waiting for me to get to your request. Life has been pretty hectic on my end, so writing had to take a back seat for a little while. But today, I finally had some time to sit down and write!

Now, let me just say— this idea is absolutely amazing! I’m completely in love with royal and historical AUs, so there’s a good chance I’ll revisit this concept and or turn it into a series of drabbles. (Not that I’m particularly skilled at keeping things short!!!)

I really hope you enjoy my take on your idea 💖

edit: I got a bit carried away-

Pairing: Poly!Marauders x Fem!Reader WC: 3.7k

The night after the neighboring kingdom’s delegation arrives, the Griffyn Kingdom buzzes with anticipation. To honor their esteemed guests— especially the visiting princess —the King and Queen have announced a grand ball. This celebration is more than an act of hospitality; it is a shining declaration of unity, a glittering prelude to alliances and promises that will shape their shared future.

You find yourself standing in Princess Lily’s chambers, the soft glow of candlelight casting flickering shadows against the ornate walls.

Before you, Lily examines herself in a floor-length mirror, her emerald-green gown a masterpiece of silk and embroidery. You and Mary fuss over the gathered fabric at her hips, smoothing it into place with careful precision.

“I can manage the rest,” Lily murmurs, her voice gentle but decisive. She steps away, gliding toward the gilded jewelry box on her dressing table. Its lid is open, revealing an array of jewels she brought for the journey— diamonds, emeralds, and sapphires glittering alongside an assortment of tiaras.

“You two should get ready as well,” she adds, her tone as light as the shimmering necklace she picks up, its facets catching the firelight.

You pause, caught off guard. “What?” The word escapes before you can stop yourself.

Normally, Marlene would stand guard in her knightly uniform, Mary would accompany Lily throughout the event, and you would remain behind— content to watch the festivities from a quiet corner of the castle, keeping a vigilant eye on the princess’s chambers.

“There’s no need for that tonight,” Mary says, her voice warm with reassurance. She steps forward, deftly fastening the diamond necklace around Lily’s neck. The glittering stones resting perfectly against the princess’s pale freckled skin. “We’re on excellent terms with the Potters. No one here will mean us harm.”

The words hang in the air, both an assurance and an invitation. Tonight is different, you realize.

A diamond tiara rests atop Lily’s head, its intricate design sparkling like a constellation of stars nestled in her fiery red locks. She adjusts it briefly, her reflection regal and resplendent. “You rarely get a chance to enjoy yourself during visits like this,” she says softly, her tone kind but firm. “Go on, get ready.”

You nod, a small smile playing on your lips, touched by Lily’s thoughtfulness. Her generosity warms you in a way words could never fully express.

With her gentle urging, you retreat to your own room to prepare. A quick bath washes away the lingering weariness of the day, and you do your best to ready yourself for the night ahead.

Despite your efforts, a sense of inadequacy lingers.

For such grand occasions, it’s expected that the lady's maids and companions are impeccably dressed, each carrying at least one formal gown for travels like these.

You do have such a dress— a blush colored piece gifted to you by your mother when you first joined the palace as Lily’s lady’s maid.

The fabric clings just a little too tightly at the waist, its once flawless seams now strained from years of careful reuse. The soft blush color, though elegant, has faded slightly with time, its original vibrancy dulled by repeated wear. The bodice is adorned with modest embroidery— delicate vines and blossoms stitched in pale gold thread that catches the light just enough to hint at refinement. The skirt, while gracefully cut, feels heavier than you remember, its weight pulling at your movements as if to remind you of the weight of high society.

It was the best your family could afford when you first came to the palace— a gift from your mother, its fabric chosen to honor both simplicity and a touch of nobility. Back then, it had been a symbol of hope, a token of pride for a baroness’s daughter stepping into the royal household.

Now, however, standing before the mirror, you can’t help but feel its inadequacy in the face of tonight’s grandeur.

Even so, you smooth the skirt with steady hands, letting your fingers trace the faint ridges of the embroidery. This night, you remind yourself, is not about the richness of your gown, but the confidence you bring and the memories you make.

Perfection may elude you, but presence—your presence—is more than enough.

When you step back into Lily’s chambers, it’s clear everyone is ready to go. Lily, as expected, looks effortlessly regal in her emerald green dress, the rich color complementing her fiery red hair that cascades down her back in elegant waves. Mary, ever composed, is radiant in a soft yellow gown that perfectly flatters her figure, her dark hair neatly arranged in a low bun at the nape of her neck.

“You look darling,” Lily murmurs, stepping forward to gently brush a stray lock of hair from your forehead. Her touch is as light as her tone, her emerald eyes warm with affection.

You roll your eyes playfully, unable to suppress a grin. “Says the actual goddess standing before me.”

“Truly,” Mary chimes in, her voice sweet as she adjusts the clasp of your necklace, ensuring it sits perfectly centered. “You’ll be the belle of the ball.”

Before you can protest their kind words, a knock at the door interrupts the moment. Marlene peeks her head in, her light blonde hair swept back into a tidy low ponytail. “Ladies,” she announces with a bright grin, “it’s time to head down.”

Excitement ripples through the room as the evening’s promise beckons.

_____

You weren’t quite sure what to do once you stepped onto the crowded ballroom floor. Back home, state balls were familiar territory, their routines and customs etched into your memory. But here, in a foreign kingdom, uncertainty clouded your thoughts.

Was the etiquette the same?

Would it be seen as rude to linger by the walls, content to watch the swirl of color and movement before you?

Must you be drawn into the heart of the celebration?

Apparently so.

You stand near one of the grand marble pillars circling the ballroom, the cool stone a comforting anchor amidst the overwhelming splendor. A glass of white wine rests in your hand, a half-hearted shield against your unease. From the corner of your eye, you notice movement—a man approaching with easy confidence. His dark hair is tied into a loose, messy bun, strands slipping free to frame his sharp features. His attire marks him as a knight of the Griffyn Kingdom, though the smirk curling at his lips carries a roguish charm and confidence uncommon in most knights you’ve met.

“You must be part of the delegation,” he says, his voice smooth, his smirk deepening as his gray eyes fix on yours.

You hesitate, biting back the urge to fidget. He’s handsome, undeniably so, but you can’t quite place why he’s chosen to speak to you. With a soft sigh, you nod. “I am.”

“I thought so,” he replies, a playful lilt to his tone. “I remember seeing you earlier, standing just behind the little princess. So, why aren’t you out there, dancing?” He gestures toward the center of the room, where couples spin and sway beneath glittering chandeliers.

“I’m not particularly fond of dancing,” you say, your voice quieter than intended. It’s not entirely true, but you hope the excuse is convincing enough to deter him.

“Nonsense,” he says with a laugh, his hand extending toward you. “Anyone can see you want to. Prove me wrong, if you’d like.”

The invitation lingers between you, daring yet strangely kind.

You hesitate for just a moment, glancing at the glass in your hand before setting it down on the corner of the nearest table. Then, with a small breath of resolve, you place your hand in his. “Don’t get mad if my heels end up on your toes,” you quip, a touch of nervousness slipping into your tone.

“Trust me, I’m quite nimble. Dodging danger is part of the job,” he replies with an easy smirk, already guiding you toward the dance floor with a confidence that leaves little room for argument.

Normally, you might have countered with a quick remark of your own, but your mind is too distracted. The pounding of your heart fills your ears, drowning out coherent thought.

The lull in the music amplifies every other sound—the clack of your heels against the polished marble, the low hum of whispered voices as heads turn to watch you pass. The weight of their gazes burns into your skin, and your hands tremble slightly as the knight clears a path through the crowd, his presence commanding in a way that both unsettles and reassures you.

Other couples filter onto the dance floor as the musicians shuffle their sheet music, preparing for the next song. The murmurs of the room settle, anticipation hanging in the air.

“Well,” you manage, your voice soft as you cling to anything that might distract you from the dozens of eyes still following your every move, “it seems you’re rather popular.”

“What can I say?” he responds, a teasing lilt in his voice. “I am rather handsome.” The smirk that accompanies his words is maddeningly self-assured.

Before you can respond, his hand presses gently against the middle of your back, drawing you closer. His other hand takes yours in a firm yet careful clasp, guiding you into the proper frame with a natural grace that makes it seem effortless. You barely notice the band striking the first notes of the song, your attention fixed on the storm gray eyes studying you with something close to intrigue.

You set your hand clumsily on his shoulder, your fingers brushing the smooth fabric of his maroon jacket. He doesn’t seem to mind your hesitation, his movements assured and steady as he begins to lead you through a simple waltz.

To your relief, the steps come naturally, your body quickly attuning to the rhythm of the music and the gentle guidance of his lead.

“What’s your name?” he asks, his voice soft, nearly lost beneath the rising swell of the orchestra.

You glance up at him, your voice barely above a whisper as you give your name.

“A beautiful name for a beautiful lady,” he replies smoothly, his lips curving into a charming smile paired with a wink that, despite yourself, pulls a smile to your face.

“And you?” you counter, a touch of playfulness creeping into your tone. “Who might this oh-so-charming knight be standing before me?”

His eyes glint with amusement, their gray depths catching the light like polished steel. “Sirius,” he says simply, the name rolling off his tongue with a quiet confidence.

You nod thoughtfully, letting the music and his lead guide you effortlessly across the floor. “An attention grabbing star for an attention grabbing knight,” you muse aloud, a small smirk tugging at your lips. “Seems fitting, I suppose.”

His laugh is low and warm, the sound wrapping around you like the melody. “Well, I do strive to live up to my name.”

“I doubt you have any trouble with that,” you say, a soft smile playing on your lips as you hold his gaze.

The music begins to fade, the elegant notes giving way to the quiet hum of conversations around you. As the dance slows to a stop, you take a small step back, though his presence still lingers like the warmth of the ballroom’s golden glow.

“So much for not being a dancer,” he teases, his smirk as effortless as the steps he led you through.

You turn to him, unable to suppress your grin. “Maybe you were just that good of a lead,” you say sweetly, your voice light with sincerity. But before he can respond, you catch sight of Mary and Lily across the room.

“I ought to check in on my lady,” you add, inclining your head slightly. “Thank you for the dance, Sir Sirius—”

“Sirius,” he interrupts gently, his tone almost playful. “Just Sirius is fine.”

You nod, your smile softening as you take a small step back. “Fine, then. Thank you for the dance, Sirius. It was... unexpected, but I truly enjoyed it.”

With a final glance, you turn and make your way toward Mary and Lily, weaving through the gathered crowd. The warmth of his hand on yours still lingers faintly, and his name echoes in your thoughts like the fading strains of the music— a memory you suspect will stay with you far longer than the evening itself.

_____

James and Remus stepped out of the nearest sitting room, the faint hum of ballroom music echoing down the corridor. Remus, ever meticulous, adjusted James’s slightly askew collar, his fingers deftly hiding the newly formed love bites that marked the prince’s neck—evidence of their brief but heated absence.

“We need to get back before anyone notices,” James murmured, his voice low but tinged with amusement as he fixed his tousled hair.

Remus smirked. “We’re already late. Let’s hope Sirius hasn’t set the place on fire in our absence.”

But as they approached the ballroom’s grand entrance, what they saw made both men falter. There, on the dancefloor, Sirius Black was leading a woman in a waltz.

The sight itself was striking. Her blush colored dress stood out in gentle contrast against the bold, jewel toned gowns of the others swirling around her. The simplicity of her attire only seemed to magnify her elegance, and for once, Sirius appeared utterly focused, his usual roguishness tempered by something softer.

“Sirius never asks a woman to dance,” a sharp voice cut through the hum of the crowd. James and Remus glanced toward a cluster of women, their faces half hidden behind delicate feathered fans. The speaker, a haughty looking noblewoman, tilted her head knowingly, her words drawing murmurs of agreement from those around her.

Remus’s brows knit together. Sirius was notorious for politely but firmly declining the endless stream of invitations to dance he received at events like these. Yet, watching him now, Remus found he could understand why Sirius had sought out this particular partner.

She was... radiant.

“Well, isn’t she a sight to see,” James murmured, his voice just low enough for Remus to hear.

Remus nodded, his hazel eyes tracking the woman’s graceful movements. “If I’m not mistaken, she’s one of Princess Lily’s lady’s maids,” he said, his tone thoughtful.

James’s eyes widened slightly in recognition, a mischievous grin spreading across his face. “Is that so?” he drawled, the spark of an idea lighting his gaze.

Remus sighed, already sensing trouble. “What are you thinking, James?”

The prince’s grin only grew. “I think,” he said, “we should pay a visit to the princess. Seems like her lady’s maid could use some... royal introductions.”

_____

After reuniting with a gushing Mary and Lily, a server approaches, bowing their head politely before handing you a fresh glass of wine. You thank them quietly, though you can’t help but find their deference a little peculiar. Still, you accept the drink, shifting your attention back to the princess as she launches into a spirited account of your performance on the dance floor.

“You looked absolutely stunning out there,” Lily exclaims, her cheeks slightly flushed from the excitement of the evening—or perhaps the wine.

“She’s right,” Mary agrees with a hum, a bright smile lighting her face. “Everyone was watching. You two were the talk of the room.”

Both women had taken their turns dancing with high-ranking gentlemen throughout the night. Suitors vying for the honor of even a single waltz. Yet, they seemed convinced that your dance was the highlight.

“He’s quite a talented dancer for a knight,” Mary observes, taking a sip from her own glass.

You nod, a small smile tugging at your lips. “I figured he’d be good, considering how confident he seemed. But he led me effortlessly. I barely had to think about the steps.”

“Well,” Lily interjects with a soft laugh, her hand fluttering to her lips as though trying to stifle her amusement, “that’s hardly surprising. He’s a noble, after all.”

“What?” Both you and Mary turn to her in confusion, the notion catching you both off guard. Nobles rarely became knights, considering the station beneath them. Sirius hardly seemed the exception, yet here you were.

“He’s the son of Duchess Black,” Lily explains with a slight grimace, lowering her voice. “Her sons are far more tolerable than she ever will be.”

“Lily!” Mary scolds, her eyes darting around to ensure no one overheard the princess’s blunt critique. Fortunately, the surrounding hum of conversation seemed to swallow the comment whole.

“But...” you trail off, your brows furrowing as you ask. “Did you not just dance with the heir to the duchy?”

“That would be my younger brother,” a smooth, familiar voice cuts into the conversation, making you turn sharply.

Sirius stands behind you, his easy smirk firmly in place, though there’s a glimmer of amusement in his gray eyes. Heat rushes to your cheeks, and you instinctively dip your head in greeting, murmuring, “Sir Sirius.”

“Sirius,” he corrects lightly, his gaze softening as it lingers on you.

“Sirius,” you murmur, correcting yourself softly.

His smirk softens into something warmer. “You danced with Regulus, Your Highness?”

“Lily,” the princess corrects, her tone mirroring his own.

Sirius chuckles, his attention shifting to her. “Of course, Lily. So, you danced with Reg?”

“As I always do, Sirius,” she replies with a sigh, clearly anticipating where the conversation might lead. Her expression brightens, however, as her gaze lands beyond him. “Oh, James, Remus! A pleasure to see you.”

Both Mary and you instinctively bow your heads, mirroring Lily’s graceful greeting as two men approach.

“Leave the formalities for the elders,” James teases, waving his hand dismissively. “Raise your heads, ladies.”

James Potter is every bit the image of royalty, dressed in a pristine white suit adorned with a red sash. The high collar adds to his regal air, but it’s his confident posture and easy smile —so warm and almost boyish—that truly captivate.

Beside him stands a tall, broad shouldered man with tousled brown hair. The scars that trace his skin catch your eye briefly before you hastily return your attention to the prince, unwilling to appear rude. Yet, the man’s hazel gaze, calm and piercing, seems to notice everything.

“Are you all enjoying the ball?” James asks, his voice warm and smooth as his signature smile graces his lips.

Lily answers first, her response polite and poised as ever. Her agreement prompts Mary and you to nod along.

“Glad to hear it,” James replies, his smile widening. “I know Sirius was enjoying himself not too long ago,” he adds with a teasing lilt, his hand clapping Sirius on the shoulder and lingering there in a way that seems deliberate.

“It was one dance,” Sirius groans, tilting his head toward the prince in exasperation.

“One dance more than usual,” Remus chimes in, his deep, steady voice carrying a hint of humor. His hazel eyes flicker to Sirius, glinting with quiet amusement as he observes his discomfort.

James turns his gaze to you, his teasing grin softening into something gentler. “He didn’t step on your toes, did he, my lady?” he asks, the mock solemnity of his tone bringing a smile to your lips.

You shake your head, your amusement showing clearly. “Of course not.”

James bursts into laughter, the sound rich and full, drawing a few curious glances from those nearby.

“Having women cover for your clumsy footwork now— what a shame,” Remus adds, his tone dripping with mock disappointment as he shakes his head.

Sirius turns to you, lips curling into an exaggerated pout. “Now look what you’ve done. You’ve egged them on.”

You shrug, a playful smile tugging at your lips. “Now, why would I do that, Sirius?”

“You’re killing me, doll,” he groans dramatically, prompting laughter to ripple through the small group.

The conversation shifts back to something closer to polite, though the teasing undercurrent remains. Mary moves subtly closer to you, her hand brushing comfortingly over your back. It’s then you notice the weight of the many gazes lingering on your group, a pressure you hadn’t fully realized until now.

Your eyes lower to the polished marble floor as you focus on listening to James and Lily’s easy banter, their words melding with the hum of the ballroom.

“You alright?” Remus’s voice pulls your attention. He steps closer, his question soft, laced with genuine concern.

You nod lightly. “It seems all of a sudden I’ve run out of energy,” you say, a polite fib. The truth is, this entire night has been draining, though you don’t want him to think he’s dull company. “I’m not used to parties like this,” you add quickly to clarify.

Remus’s lips curve into a smile, his expression warm and understanding. “We have lounges on the top floor for guests who need a break. You’d be welcome to rest there if you’d like.”

You shake your head gently. “I really shouldn’t, but thank you for the suggestion–”

“That’s a great idea,” Lily interjects with an encouraging smile. “Let’s rest our feet for a while.”

“I’ll let Marlene know we’re heading upstairs,” Mary offers before slipping away, likely toward one of the food tables where Marlene is undoubtedly stationed.

“We’ll escort you,” Sirius says smoothly, but Lily raises a hand, declining the offer with a polite smile.

“We’ll be fine on our own, but thank you,” she assures him.

“Of course,” James replies, bowing his head slightly.

Mary returns soon after, accompanied by Marlene, who carries a golden plate piled high with delicate finger foods.

“Enjoy your rest,” James says with a gracious nod, his tone sincere though his smile holds a trace of teasing warmth.

The women dip their heads in thanks before retreating upstairs to find a quiet lounge.

_____

As soon as they’re out of earshot, James turns to Sirius with a mischievous smirk. “Well, wasn’t she a sweetheart?” he asks, his teasing tone unmistakable.

“She’s polite but knows how to hold her own. I’d say you’ve chosen well, Sirius,” Remus adds with an approving nod.

“If you two hadn’t left me—” Sirius starts, a hint of irritation coloring his words.

“We did say you could join us,” James cuts in, raising his hand as if to defend himself.

“And you know damn well if all three of us disappeared, people would notice,” Sirius counters, arching an eyebrow.

James shrugs, entirely unbothered. “Your loss.”

“Not entirely,” Sirius says with a wolfish grin. “It just means we can take our time later.”

“No visible marks,” Remus warns, his voice carrying the weight of experience. “We’ll have guests for a while.”

Sirius rolls his eyes, his grin unwavering. “It’ll be fine—it’s never stopped us before.”

Remus sighs, his lips twitching upward despite himself. “Fair enough.”

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thehighpriestess1 · 1 year ago

Text

Be Mine : The meeting

Summary : After finally waiting for 20 years Gojo Satoru finally met the woman he has been in love with. But love is not easy to conquer even for the strongest.

Pairing : Yandere King Gojo x Knight reader

Warning: Yandere themes. Mentions of violence and death. Minors do not interact!

Master list : Ask Box

It was not unusual for a woman to be a knight or a soldier. Although it was a bit unfair to those of your kind. In this kingdom were two kinds of people, one who had power, the sorcerers, not the kind of power that comes with a position but the kind you are born with. Power that is used to protect the others against the army of curses that have plagued the world for centuries. No one knows where these curses come from. No one knows how to eradicate them forever. But as goes the law of balance, there are people that are born with the power to kill these curses and the most powerful of them all, the man who is said to possess the kind of power that comes once in a century, the king, Gojo Satoru.

The second kinds, your kind, people who are born without power. Even if they are born into the wealthiest of families they are bound to live in the shadows of sorcerers. You were neither born into a noble clan nor did you have any power. All you had was your strength and grit.

You joined the forces to fight against the curses. What use were you to the kingdom without power? They always needed people like you to do the menial tasks during the war and use your sword to the best of your abilities. That you did very well. In a span of four years you climbed through the ranks fighting against the sexism and the casual disdain against you. It has changed you, hardened you. Now you were a rebel amongst legends and infamous amongst the infantry.

But unbeknownst to you, there was someone who was watching your every move. Before the time you joined the ranks to the day of your knighthood. You were good. Fearless. Kind. But you were too far. Too far for his liking.The only way to fix that was to bring you closer to him. He wished he could reach out to you when he saw you on the battlefield. While he did protect you on the field with his powers, he wished desperately to be able to mend your wounds and kiss the pain away. But it was not ideal for the king to run across the battlefield and cradle a foot soldier. He wished he could lay next to you and wipe your tears but he could only watch from his ivory tower. It was the best use of his six eyes. When he was presented with the list of names to be considered for King’s knight he didn’t even look at it and presented his own recommendation. Who dared reject the king’s recommendation?

Gojo lay on the silk bed sheets as the moonlight filtered through the curtains. He stared at the ceiling with a smile on his face. Tomorrow he will finally have you close to him. He still remembered the first time he met you, 20 years ago. He was out in the kingdom with his father and had run off from the procession and snuck into a back alley of a bakery. There instead of sweet delicacies he ran into the sweetest girl he had ever seen. She sat at the steps of the bakery in a red dress with two pigtails with a white ribbon tied at the end. Gojo was dumbfounded and simply stared at her. Was she the fairies his mother told him about?

“ The bakery is closed! Come after 2 PM”. She said as she took a bite of her cupcake.

“What’s your name?”. He asked as he stepped towards her.

“My grandma told me not to talk to strangers”.

Gojo was dumbfounded. He stared at her blankly.

The girl rolled her eyes, “What do you want?”.

Gojo snapped out of his thoughts. “I…I want to buy…I want…I want what you are having”.

She got off the steps and stood in front of him. She extended the half eaten cupcake and shrugged. “This is the last one and the bakery is closed”.

Gojo stared at the cupcake, he had never eaten a half eaten cake. Heck he had never had to share anything in his life. But he stretched his arm forward to grab the cupcake and right before he could grab hold of the sweet delicacy the girl withdrew her arm and shoved the entire cupcake in her mouth. She grinned with lips littered with crumbs and mouth full of cupcakes. To his surprise instead of anger or contempt his heart was filled with this foreign feeling. It made him feel warm and he smiled at her.She was the embodiment of light, her toothy smile made his heart race and time stop. Before he could ask her name or give her his’ the guards surrounded him and led him back to his father. Before they could drag him away he stretched out his arm and grab hold of one of the silk ribbons.That’s all he had of hers now. For years Gojo tied that ribbon on his wrist. When it got too small for his wrist he tied it to his bedpost. The Kingdom grew and wars were won but he remembered the bakery and he remembered her. She never left his mind and once he was old enough to command power he had her details in front of her. Y/n L/n.

-X-

Gojo stared at his reflection in the mirror. After two hours of going through an array of clothes, he finally decided on the staple navy blue with velvet red cape. He looked at the watch and realized there were still hours before the ceremony. It was getting harder for him to wait any longer, he had to see you once so he took the cape and the medals off and wore a long black trench coat and snuck out of his room.

He knew where all the to-be-guards would be waiting. He stood behind the curtains at the entrance and scanned the room for you but he didn’t see you. Did you refuse the position last minute? Did something happen to you on the way? He frowned and turned around to walk back to his room but stopped in his tracks when he saw you walking next to another man. Your hair was toed back neatly and your smile…it made time stop.But rage filled his nerves as she saw you laugh and punch the other man on the shoulder. Why were you touching him? Why was he making you laugh? Your silver batch, indicating your knighthood, shone brightly as you walked past him without sparing him another glance. His heart broke. You had forgotten him. He spent every day of the last 20 years thinking about you and you didn’t even remember him! Your scent lingered in the air as he stood there basking in it. Was he that forgettable? What was he going to do now? With anger in his eyes and sadness in his veins he was about to walk away.

“Oi!”. Someone called out from behind but Gojo was so lost in his thoughts he ignored it.

“Oi white hair!”.

Gojo frowned and clenched his jaw. Who dared speak to him like that. He turned around ready to order his men to behead the imbecile but his anger evaporated when he saw you standing behind him with a smirk on your face. You were talking to him. You were talking to him!

“Ye…Yes?”. He asked hesitantly. Unsure of whether you knew who he was or not.

“I owe you this''. You extended your hand forward and held a cupcake in your hand.

Gojo stared dumbfounded at the cupcake. His heart raced faster than the best horses in the kingdom. You remembered him. All those years of planning to get you here was not a waste. You remembered him. He looked at you and let out a shuddered breath at how beautiful you looked. Your hair was in a neat ponytail above your head, even the metal armor you wore looked so delicate. Your eyes held the same hope and your smile, Gojo was ready to wage wars for that smile.

“You…you..remember me?”.

You chuckled, “Of course I do! Do you want this one or should I shove it in my mouth?”.

Gojo chuckled and took the cupcake from your hand. “Thanks”. You looked different up close. Better. Prettier. You carried the same light within you as you did 20 years ago.

“Are you here for the ceremony as well?”. You chirped.

“Yes…kind of”.

You nodded your head and looked at him. He was just the same. Shy. Timid. “You have really pretty eyes''. You said absentmindedly. You didn’t know how the words fell out of your mouth but god were they true.

Gojo’s eyes widened. You just complimented him? This was the first time you had complimented him!

“Ummm yeah..thank..thank you”. He said, too shy to meet your eyes. He didn’t know what was happening to him. He wanted to be confident and strong for you and yet he was stuttering like a child.”What are you doing here?”. He feigned ignorance.

“I am about to be knighted to be the King’s personal guard”.

“Congratulations”. He smiled politely.

“Thank you. What about you? I haven’t seen you in the ranks so…I guess you are not a knight”.

Gojo cursed himself mentally. “Umm yeah. I work in ….administration”. Not a lie, Gojo thought to himself.

“Nice.By the way, have you ever met the king? I’ve heard some pretty interesting things about him”.

“No…I haven’t met the king..”. Gojo said, confused. Who was spreading rumors about him to you? Before he could ask any further about the baseless rumors another man came from behind him and wrapped his arms around you.

“Niko! My man! So good to see you!”. You said as you returned the hug.

Gojo watched you exchange formalities with Niko. When Niko had taken his leave you turned towards Gojo once again. “You were saying something?”.

“Is that guy your….man?”.

You frowned and looked at Niko, “oh him? No. I mean not like that. We have been in the ranks together since the beginning and he has saved my ass so many times!”.

Gojo smiled and looked down at his feet. If only you knew how many times he saved you from getting killed. “I see…what were you saying about the king?”.

“Oh right! I have heard that he thinks only those with curse techniques deserve to occupy the ranks! Can you even believe him?! What a jerk! If that was true then people like me would always be treated like shit and would never get a chance to fight those curses!”.

Gojo hummed. Though it was true that he believed that, you were here weren’t you? Though he believed it would never be acted on because he understood the importance of balance. “But..If that were true then…you wouldn’t be here”.

“You see that’s where you’re wrong. It’s not about what he does. That fact that he says those things gives sorcerers even more reasons to..to bully us. Because now their ideology aligns with that of the king and the so called sorcerer king can never be wrong. What a joke!”.

Gojo chuckled nervously. That stung Gojo. But you were right. It’s not only actions but also his words that have a ripple effect and eventually hurt the one he loves.

“But..wait…how do you know that I am not a sorcerer?”.

“I can tell”. Gojo added immediately, cursing himself. “Why did you join ranks?”. He asked immediately, hoping to change the conversation. Though he had a faint idea about it.

You smiled sadly,”You remember the bakery? It was owned by my grandmother. When the war began, the curses destroyed the town and ..killed her. So I decided that I will fight them until I am satisfied that I have avenged her”.

Gojo sighed. He remembered that war. Many died and many went missing. He was about 20 that time. The war had lasted for over a week and after a week he was able to create a shield around the kingdom to prevent any curses from getting in. He felt guilty now, if only he would have been strong enough back then he would have been able to save the bakery and you wouldn’t be risking your life everyday. “I’m sorry to hear that”.

You sighed and shrugged. “That’s alright. Anyway we should go before the so-called ‘strongest’ arrives”.

“I have something to take care of, you should go. I’ll see you soon”.

“Okaaaay. What’s your name though? Or would you rather I call you snow white?”.

Gojo smiled fondly and took a bite off the cupcake. “You can call me whatever you want”. He winked and turned around and walked aways.

“Who was that?”. Niko asked you when you finally joined him and the others.

“Just some nobel guy I met years ago”.

“Ooooh you are fishing already?”. Niko smirked.

“Oh! Fuck off! I am just happy to make friends”.

“He seems weird”.

“Maybe, he was just nervous. It is a pretty important day”.

Amante, another woman in your ranks joined in, “I think he was quite handsome”. She smiled sweetly. But that was Amante, she was too sweet and too polite to be in this line of work.

Niko shrugged, “You know what they say about these noble guys right? They don’t last long in bed! His handsomeness alone is not enough”.

You rolled your eyes at his comments. “Don’t listen to him, Amante. If you want I will happily introduce you to him and you are right, he is quite handsome”.

“Do you really think so?”. Niko asked, sipping from his chalice. He stood tall next to you, his brown hair neatly combed back and his sharp jawline freshly shaved. But from this angle you could tell the places he nicked himself. His brown eyes looked like honey in this light and though you would never admit it, you were jealous of his eyelashes.

“Yeah. I think he was quite good looking”.

“Better than me?”. Niko smirked.

You shook your head and ignored his comment. He was just being..Niko.

-X-

It was a closed ceremony, only those to be knighted to be king’s guards were allowed to be there. The other ranks were commemorated by the chief of troops while you waited at the back and watched with pride as your friends got their lapel decorated. You wondered when it would be your turn and would you get to meet the king today? It came as a surprise that you were the only one appointed as the King’s guard, a non sorcerer vowing to protect the sorcerer king. Suddenly it didn’t feel right.

“Ma’am, he’s waiting for you”.

You turned and looked at the older man bowing next to you. “Who is waiting for me?”.

“His highness the King”.

You blinked blankly and looked at your friends in the other end of the room. You nodded your head and got up to follow the man.

You walked two steps behind the man wondering why was your coronation held separately and why couldn’t the king take some time off to know the people who swore to protect him a few rooms down the hall.

“What’s your name?”. You asked, looking around and admiring the heavy velvet curtains.

“Ijichi”. The man replied in a tired tone.

“How do I address you?”.

“You may call me Ijichi”.

You hummed. “May I ask you a question Ijichi-san?”.

“Yes”.

“What is the king like?”.

“He is the strongest sorcerer”.

You chuckled. That's what everyone says anyway. “I mean…as a person”.

Ijichi let out a tired sigh that made you wonder whether he didn’t like the king or he didn’t like you. “He is ..Eccentric”.

“Eccentric?”. You corked a brow.

“Yes. You will find out soon”.

You didn’t want to trouble him anymore so continued to follow him quietly.

Soon you found yourself outside a large wooden door with gold handles. Ijichi turned towards you and smiled, “His highness is waiting inside. If you need anything, you may call me anytime”.

“Thank you, Ijichi-san”.

“-and…The King is a good person. So don’t be hasty in making your judgment”. Ijichi smiled.

It was probably the first time you heard a little life in his voice. You smiled and nodded your head. “I’ll keep that in mind”.

Ijichci took his leave and you stood outside the door staring at the gold inlay, wondering why would the strongest sorcerer appoint a non-sorcerer as the King’s guard?. Your heart was beating loudly and fear crept into your heart. You fought curses with just your sword and yet you were questioning yourself, it didn’t make any sense.

“I can sense you standing outside”. The voice echoed from inside making you jolt backwards. He knew you were here. There was no going back now.So you took a deep breath and pushed the door open.

“Snowwhite?”. You chuckled as you saw the back of the head of your old friend but when he turned around your smile dropped and eyes widened. You saw the medals on his lapel and the seal on his collar. Your eyes drifted to the crown kept on a stand nearby and your throat ran dry. You immediately kneeled on one knee and brought your fist to your heart and bowed in greeting to the king. “Your Highness”.

“Stand up, y/n”.

You got up but refused to look him in the eye. You could sense that he was walking towards you and suddenly the rose on the carpet was covered by a pair of black boots.

Gojo placed his index finger below your chin and tilted it up, to look closely at the face he has been dreaming about. “Hello, y/n”.

You took a step back and stomped your feet. “It’s an honor to meet you, your highness”.

Gojo sighed, “Drop it already, will you?”.

You looked up at him, confused. “I..don’t understand you-”.

“Drop the formalities. We are friends. You can call me Satoru”.

You bit the inside of your cheeks. “I..I am sorry your highness…for..what I said”.

“Why? You were right”.

“I..meant the terms I used to describe you..”

Gojo laughed. “That’s alright. You are my friend so that’s okay”.

“I am supposed to be your guard, your highness”. You said sternly.

Gojo realized it will take time for you to open up to him, he had waited years now, he could wait a little more.

“Alright, do what feels right for you. If you have any questions then do not hesitate to ask me”. Gojo smiled as he clasped his hands behind his back.

“I do have one…question”.

“Go ahead”.

“Why did you choose me to be your guard? I am not a sorcerer and you are the strongest sorcerer”.

Gojo smiled to himself. He had expected this question which is why he prompted you to ask in the first place. “Because you are capable. You are more capable than some of the sorcerers. It is not the curses I need the protection from, it is non-sorcerers”.

His response left a bittersweet feeling in your heart. “I don’t have any more questions, your highness”.

“Are you sure?”. Gojo corked a brow.

“Yes, Your Highness”.

“So you don’t want to know what I was doing at the bakery that day and why do I remember you?”.

You were taken by surprise. You had heard of his powers but many were still hidden, was mind reading one of his powers?. Regardless, you were determined to keep things professional between the two of you, you had already offended him enough. “Your Highness is kind enough to remember me”.

Gojo’s jaw clenched in irritation. This was not his kindness. This was his love. You were his love. But of course how could you know that? For you, you had met him after two decades. Unlike him you were not aware of his life. “It’s more than kindness y/n. You were the second person ever to treat me like an equal. I consider you my friend and friends , protect each other”.

You smiled politely, “Yes, Your Highness”.

Gojo smiled and straightened up. “Let’s get to business shall we?”.

“Yes, Your Highness”.

“First things first, I do not place much value on the old rituals of reading out your duties and having you take the oath. You are an honorable woman and I trust you that you will do your duty diligently”.

You stomped your right foot and pressed your fist to your heart, “Yes, Your highness. I promise you I will put my life on the line for-”.

“Everything except that”. Gojo cut you off. “I don’t want you to put your life on the line for me. Do not even think about sacrificing your life for me. Just stay by my side and…that’s it”.

You gulped nervously. “Ye..Yes, Your Highness”.

“Now, where were we?...right! You don’t need to wear that heavy armor anymore. I have asked the atelier to take your measurement and have your uniform ready. Ijichi will show you your room after your fitting, you can rest today and explore the palace grounds, in the evening we will meet at the stable where you will get to pick your horse, then you will join me for dinner. Is that clear?”.

“Yes, You-”.

“Just a yes will do”.

“Ye..yes. Clear”.

Gojo smiled. “Good. Tomorrow you will show up at my office at 7:00 AM and accompany me throughout the day”.

“Yes”.

-X-

You walked towards his office in your newly fitted uniform. It was eerily similar to his’. Navy trousers paired with a white shirt and a heavy navy blue overcoat. Your Knight’s badge shone on the left lapel and your cufflinks were just like his’. You wondered if it was on his demand or was just a norm. But your favorite part of the uniform were the stitched white roses on the inside of the overcoat. Absolutely hidden from the outside world, they were your own personal ornament. Your horse too was the same as his. A beautiful white beast with flowing silver hair. When standing side by side it was hard to differentiate between the two horses. When you asked Ijichi, he informed you that the other horse, the female counterpart, was bred and trained to be a companion to the male counterpart and Gojo had forbidden everyone from riding it. A part of you thought that he was saving her for you but that can’t be true right? How was he to know that you would meet after all these years. It was a surprise that he even remembered you.

Even your old sword was replaced with a newer one. To fight the curse, every non-sorcerer needed a special blade which needed to be pierced in the head of the curse to eradicate it. As the soldier moved up the ranks the sword was replaced by a more powerful one. As a King’s personal guard you were sure this was the most powerful blade to exist. But fighting alone was not enough. To protect yourself from the attack, you had a shield embedded in your amulet. All you needed to do was unclasp the lock on your inner wrist and a tiny amulet was turned into a full sized shield. Your new amulet was made out of white gold and had roses carved into them. It made a pretty shield.

Your room was thrice the size of your old house. It was too spacious and you couldn’t believe that it was all yours. Everything from the carpet to curtains was made out of finest quality material. Your bed was soft as a cloud and your wardrobe was filled with your uniforms for different occasions. Your tattered leather bag seemed out of place in this opulence. You walked to the window and to your surprise you could see right on the King’s balcony. Maybe it was a security measure. You thought about him, how he treated you like an old friend even after all the things you said about him. He was not how others, especially Niko, had painted him out to be. He wasn’t aggressive, or crazy. He was gentle, Kind, and considerate. You didn’t realize you were staring at his balcony until he walked out and you immediately stepped back, hoping he didn’t notice you.

After a long sleepless night of thinking you decided that it would be best to stick to your rules rather than obey his’. He might be kind and considerate but he was still a King, a sorcerer king, and a sorcerer and non-sorcerer can never be friends. You had never hated sorcerers. Not until the war. When you saw your grandmother lying unconscious on the floor you developed a deep seeded hatred for sorcerers. If only this was a world without sorcerers and curses then your grandma would still be alive. You joined the ranks because the only thing you hated more than sorcerers was curses.

You knocked on the door sternly, “Your Highness, may I enter?”. You asked. You could almost hear him sigh on the other end before granting you the permission to enter.

“I told you not to call me that”. He chuckled and shook his head. He sat behind the oak desk resting his chin on his knuckles.

“That’s the appropriate way to address-”.

“”I decide what is appropriate”. Gojo cut you off.

“As you say, your highness”. You smiled and took your place next to him. You stood with your hands pressed to your sides and your gaze fixed on the door in front.

“Are you going to stand all day?”.

“Yes”.

“What if I ask you to sit?”. He looked up at you.

“I can best react to a threat in this position”.

Gojo bit the inside of his cheeks, “Threat? What threat is there now?”.

“A threat does not extend an invitation…not even to the king”.

Gojo clenched his jaw. Who turned you against him? Everything was fine yesterday, whom did you meet? What did they say?. He frowned and cleared his throat. “I don’t need you to protect me”.

“I see”. You hummed. “So I am just an accessory here”.

Gojo stood up immediately and turned you towards him. By protocol, you refused to meet his eyes. He placed an index finger below your jaw and tildted your head up, “Look at me”. He whispered.

You slowly lifted your gaze up and looked into his deep blue ones. “I apologize for my rudeness ,your highness”.

“Did someone say something to you?”.

“No, your highness”.

“Y/n… I want you to remember that no one, in this entire kingdom holds any power over you. No one can remove you from my side, not without my permission…and that I would never grant. So tell me now, what happened?”.

“Nothing happened, your highness”. You said, it was hard to avert your gaze from his eyes. They were hypnotic, like they held the secrets buried deep beneath the oceans. If you looked long enough, you were sure you could count each speckle. They changed color when he moved his head, you had never seen anything of such beauty. You had heard about the secrets of six eyes, the power they held. But now you wondered, maybe their biggest power is their beauty. Anyone who looks deep enough would find themselves trapped in the infinite void.

“Y/n,?”. Gojo called out to you, snapping you out of your thoughts.

You jolted and stepped back immediately, “I apologize, your highness!”.

“What were you thinking?”. Gojo asked, sitting on the edge of the table.

“Nothing, your highness!”.

“I order you to tell me the truth”. Gojo smiled. If you were going to abide by the protocol then so would he.

“I..I just..You have beautiful eyes, your highness!”. You declared like you were rallying a message instead of speaking your mind.

Gojo smiled to himself. It was the second time you had complimented his eyes.. “You have told me that already but thank you. Now I order you to speak freely to me. Tell me every thought that crosses your mind, is that clear?”.

“Yes..your highness!”.

Gojo raised a brow and tilted his head, indicating you to speak up.

“Firstly, I am sorry for what I said to you yesterday outside the hall. Clearly I did not know whom I was talking to. Secondly….”. You bit the inside of your cheeks. Your rebel attitude might have gotten you far in troops but this is the King you are talking to. He can blow a hole through your body.

“Secondly?”. Gojo asked.

Aahh well fuck it. If you die then you die speaking the truth. “It was your fault!”.

“My fault?”. Gojo asked, confused.

“Yes! What were you doing there? Why were you sneaking around in your own palace? Are you that bored? Why didn’t you tell me that you were the king? Or were you spying on me? Did you have fun teasing me?”. You blurted out in one breath, prepared to take your last any minute now.

Gojo chuckled. Then he laughed. “Wow…okay. You’re right. It was my fault. I apologize”.

Your breath hitched and you looked around hesitantly. Did he just… Did the king just apologize? To you?

“What else is bothering you?”. He asked.

You scoffed, “I didn’t realize this was a therapy session”.

Gojo chuckled. “This is…get to know my guard session”.

“Speaking of guards…I know why I am here. By your side”.

Gojo’s heart skipped a beat. Did you really…

“Why is that?”.

You took a deep breath, “I heard the counsel talking … while I was going back to my room. I didn’t mean to snitch! And I am not complaining either!”.

“What..what did they say?”. Gojo asked irritatedly. He hated the counsel, always breathing down his neck, interfering with his work, demanding answers, but above all he hated them because of their mindset. Now he had another reason on his list.

“Well…They said that the only reason you chose me was because if you had chosen someone more powerful..a sorcerer then it would have become easier for them to keep you in line. So to keep them at bay you chose me because of my reputation but also because I am of absolute no use to you..”. You looked down at your hands clasped in front. “…or anyone actually”.

Gojo gritted his teeth. Those rotten old raisins dared make you feel this way. He was going to avenge you. It was only fair. He sent a signal, invisible to your eyes and sat back in his chair. “Take your position, we are going to punish them”. Gojo winked.

“But you don’t even know who they were. I don’t even know they were”.

“Only two people will have the audacity to say something like that”.

Soon two men walked in with their heads bowed down. “Your highness”.

You watched them keenly. It was definitely them. But you wondered what Gojo would do.

“Hizashi-san! I have good news for you!”.

The taller one out of the two straightened up. “Your highness you have honored me enough”. The old man smiled politely. He looked at you sideways and Gojo wanted to gouge his eyes out.

“Clearly not enough, Hizashi-san”. Gojo added. “Would Hizashi-san and Kyoshi-san appreciate the opportunity to help advance our understanding of curse techniques?”.

The other man stood up and looked at Gojo wide eyed. The last time Gojo had presented this opportunity to someone, That man was sent on a tour around the world and became a millionaire overnight. No one would dare refuse this opportunity.

The two men exchanged glances. Having been partners in crime for over two decades the two of them had the same vision in mind, leave the conservative kingdom and their annoying families behind and travel the world to meet exotic women! All they had to do in return was write a small thesis which they could fake because who was going to verify it anyway. They agreed right away and after discussing other small matters with him they left with a satisfied smile on their faces.

“I didn’t think you would reward them”. You commented with a sour taste in your mouth.

Gojo chuckled. “No. I did not reward them. Tonight when my soldiers will go to pick them up, they will be expecting to be led to the royal ship and begin their world travel. I am sure they would soon spread the news and before lunch everyone would know about it. But my soldiers will not lead them to the royal ship”.

You bit the inside of your lip, “Where will they be going then?”.

“They will be led to a dungeon outside the palace walls, where they will be thrown in with curses”.

“But they are sorcerers, experienced sorcerers?”.

“I am sure you are aware that even sorcerers have grades, the curses they will come across will be far beyond their imagination. I can assure you they won’t survive the torture till morning”.

“Torture?!”. You gasped.

Gojo smiled. Your innocence was sweeter than any honey head tasted. “Not every curse wants to ..kill. Some just want revenge from humans that created them. Death is too easy of a punishment for such…people”.

-X-

You lay awake at night in your bed. Thinking about how Gojo just condemned two people to death by torture only because they insulted you. You couldn’t sleep, thinking about the two men, who would now be on their way to death, blissfully unaware, excited by the prospects ahead of them. It dawned on you that the curses were not the that would torture them, it was Gojo. You groaned in your pillow. You needed a drink.

The communal kitchen was open at all hours of the day. It was mostly used by guards looking for a late night snack after the night shift or sleepless guards who needed a drink to wash away the events of the day. You remained quiet as you poured the wine from a wooden flask into a glass. It was strictly against the rules to take away any eatables and wine back to the room but you were oh so tempted to take the entire flask back to your room. So you did. The rules be damned.

If you had the ability to sense curse energies then the surprise awaiting you would have been spoiled and maybe you could have saved the flask of wine. But as soon as you opened the door, you saw the white haired sorcerer standing near your window with his hands behind his back, and the flask slipped from your hand, spilling the wine between the two of you, creating a small puddle of red. “Your Highness! I..I didn’t get your summon!”.

Gojo shifted his gaze from the puddle of wine to you. “Tough night?”. He smiled.

“I’m sorry. I know it is against the rules but I..needed something strong. I was going to return the flask! I swear!”.

Gojo chuckled. “I understand. But now I feel guilty for ruining your plans”. He smiled.

“Oh no. I..I can clean it up in no time”. You rubbed the back of your neck. “Did you need anything, Your Highness?”.

Gojo suddenly realized that he did need a reason to see you. He couldn’t tell you that it was getting tough for him to sleep without you.”Oh! Right! I uh..I could not sleep either …..so..I..do you want to drink together?”.

“Now?”. You asked, wide eyed. There were no rules about drinking with the king so maybe it was allowed..

“Yes. I can get someone to clean up your room”.

You bit your lip nervously as you considered the offer. “I don’t know…I have to work tomorrow and…”.

“I am sure I can convince your boss to let you arrive a little late”. Gojo smiled his victory smile which left a fluttering feeling in your stomach. In moments like this it didn’t feel like he was the king. He felt like a friend. You liked that feeling.

-X-

You sat on the floor with Gojo, your head resting against the couch, giggling like long lost friends. One empty bottle of wine and one half filled bottle stood tall between the two of you.

“Tell me more about your life”. Gojo prompted.

“It is quite boring”. You added and took a sip from the crystal glass.

“Not to me”.

"Are you that bored of your life?”. You raised a brow.

“Not bored of my life, just interested in yours”.

“Well then, what would you like to know?”.

Gojo hummed and thought for a second, “Have you ever been married?”. Gojo asked. He knew the answer to that but he couldn’t ask directly if you had a boyfriend.

Your smile dropped for a second and Gojo’s heart sank. “I didn’t mean to-”.

“It’s fine”. You cut him off with a smile. “It was quite long ago so it doesn’t matter anymore”. You shrugged and took a sip.

“So you were….married?”.

“Engaged. Well..almost engaged”.

Gojo’s heart was now beating loudly against his chest. How did he miss this?. “Why not, completely engaged?”. He asked, trying to keep his anger out of his words.

“Well because the guy…he cheated on me”.

“What?!”. Gojo frowned. How could he miss such an important detail? Who was this vermin who caused you so much pain?

“Yeah. We were together for quite some time but we managed to keep it hidden from everyone around us. When I decided to join the ranks he…didn’t like it. We had plans, you see. We wanted to work together to save enough money and re-build the bakery, get married, and all the other rosy-dosy stuff. I wanted to join the ranks because building the bakery was not enough for me. I wanted to avenge my grandma. Anyway, One day I returned from my training and found him with one of my friends..and I knew I couldn’t stay there anymore”. You took a deep breath and sniffled. “So I left the place and stayed with the troops and here I am”.

Gojo remained silent. He knew you were currently in a legal battle with a man over the bakery but he did not know that this was the back story. He could have the bakery renovated and signed over to you before the sun rises but that would only drive you away. He wanted you to share these things with him so he could freely help you and gain your trust. “What happened to the bakery?”.

You swallowed painfully. “He took it from me. When I left, he forged the papers and took the bakery from me. He comes from a strong clan and I couldn’t do anything. I filed a case two years ago and there have hardly been four hearings”. You gave a defeated shrug, “It is highly unlikely it will go in my favor”.

Gojo hummed. Now he could make his move.

“Enough about me, If I may be bold enough to ask, have you ever been in love, your-highness?”.

Gojo smiled to himself, “Yes. I have. In fact I am still in love with her”.

For some reason, the last part left a bitter feeling in your heart. You felt sad. But you shook it off to too much wine. “And..will we be getting a queen soon?”.

Gojo chuckled. “It is not going to be easy. I am not sure whether she feels the same”.

“Who can reject you?”. You spoke almost too immediately, making Gojo laugh.

“You think so?”.

“Yes! I mean.. You seem like a good person and you are…good looking and of course you are the king”.

“The problem is that I am the king”.

You straightened up immediately and looked at him wide-eyed. “Is she a commoner? Or from a different kingdom?”.

“She is not from a different kingdom”. Gojo added.

“Wow!..you are in love with a commoner”.

“She is not a commoner either”. Gojo chuckled. He was having too much fun teasing you.

You frowned and looked confused. “So..if she is a noble-woman then what’s the problem? You can just go up to her and tell her that you love her”.

“Can I really do that?”. Gojo took a sip and looked at you from behind the rim of the glass.

Even though you were slightly drunk, you were sure you felt the atmosphere shift. His voice turned an octave lower and the way he looked at you left your nerves tingling.

“I mean..yeah..Only a fool would reject such an offer”. You stuttered.

“I want her to love me but not because I am the king”.

“Wow..you are really something. Respect!”.

Gojo threw his head back and laughed.

“Wait! Is that why you appointed me? So you could ask me for tips to impress a woman? Oh my god your-highness!”. You laughed and shook your head. “Such a terrible decision!”. You shook your head and continued to laugh.

Gojo looked at you, it had been years since he last laughed like this. Since he was this happy. He watched your curly dance in the air as you shook your head, how your lips were tainted wine red and he was sure they would taste heavenly, the blush on your cheeks had his head spinning. He couldn’t believe that this was finally happening. He had waited twenty years for this moment and he was glad he did.

“Alright, Your highness, I should leave now. Can’t be drunk and sleep deprived on duty”. You began to stand up and Gojo followed. Blood rushed to your head and dark spots lined your vision and you tripped backwards but instead of falling back you balanced yourself in the last second, leaving Gojo’s arm hanging behind you. “Woopsie! Sorry about that”. You chuckled and kept your glass on the side table.

Gojo smiled and shook his head. Sometimes he forgot that this is all new for you. He had to be cautious and earn your trust the right way. One wrong move can push you away and he could not afford that. “Goodnight, y/n”.

“Goodnight, your-highness”.

Gojo stood on his balcony, leaning against the marble railing and sipping the last of wine but from your glass. Somehow it tasted sweeter. He watched your window keenly, waiting for you to reach. When the lights flicked on, he smiled to himself. He waited until the lights turned off and walked back in with a smile on his face.

-X-

The sun shone bright in the sky as you and Gojo sat under the shade of the tent and watched other soldiers spar. It was part of the regular training and it was his duty as the King to be present and motivate the soldiers. You sat next to him in a less ornamented chair and watched keenly. Few years ago you had been one of them, though you doubted if Gojo ever came to see you fight. But regardless, two hunks sparing was a sight to behold. Yes you were on duty but you could indulge in some eye candy. The soldiers fought in only loose trousers hanging low on the hip, you watched as their muscles flexed and relaxed under the sun.

“Y/n..”. Gojo called out to you but you seem distracted. “..y/n!”. He called out again and you snapped your head in his direction.

“Yes! Your-highness!”.

“Enjoying the show?”. Gojo asked, frowning at the slight blush on your cheeks.

“Who wouldn’t?”. You retorted.

Gojo bit the inside of his cheek and nodded. He turned his head towards the soldiers and cursed himself for bringing you here. What was he thinking, letting you watch half-naked soldiers brawl with each other? He stood up and started unbuttoning his coat.

You stood up behind him, “Your-highness, what are you doing?”.

“I think it would be really motivating for the troops to see me fight, don’t you agree?”. Gojo smirked as he handed you the coat and began unbuttoning his shirt.

“I don’t think that’s a good idea”.

“Why not?”. Gojo asked, struggling with one particular button.

“It can be dangerous”.

Goojo paused and stared at the ground. It was a massive hit on his ego. You thought him to be weak. “What did you say?”.

You sucked in a sharp breath and clutched his coat in your hand. “I..I mean that, you are a sorcerer and these men are not. It wouldn’t be a fair fight”.

“Who said that I was going to use any curse techniques?” He frowned.

You could sense that you had offended him to some degree but there was no going back. He had an innate ability to sense lies and you did not want to risk lying on top of insulting him. “These men have relied only on their capabilities and strength to survive on battlefields. That’s all they know”.

Gojo hummed. “Pick one”.

“Pick one..what?”.

Gojo turned towards you with his shirt half buttoned and you had to fight every instinct to not avert your gaze. “Pick the strongest soldier”.

“I don’t think that’s a good-”.

“y/n…Pick one.Now”. Gojo spoke sternly.

You remained silent, your quick tongue had gotten you into this place. You stared at him blankly, hoping that he would give up his pursuit soon. “You are the strong-”.

“Y/n!”. Gojo yelled, you flinched, everyone stopped and stared.

You let out a shuddered breath and looked at the row of soldiers, standing tall with their hands behind their back. Each of them seemed capable, yet your eyes landed on the one at the very end. He was almost as tall as Gojo and twice his size.You were unsure if you should really pick him or go for someone slightly weaker. But, Gojo had caught your gaze, he looked at the man and smiled like a devil. “Him? You think he is the strongest?”.

“Ye–yes, your-highness”. You admitted.

Gojo hummed and gestured for the man to step forward. He removed his shirt over his head in one quick motion and threw it on the chair. When you saw just how physically fit he was, it felt like someone punched all the air out of you. Who, in a million, years would have guessed that this existed beneath all those layers of clothes. Sure he was tall and broad but who could have guessed that he was this fit? You had spent years in camps with some of the strongest men in the kingdom but you knew now that they didn’t call him the strongest for his curse techniques alone. When Gojo stood opposite to the other soldier, you suddenly felt bad for the poor man. Gojo not only, towered over the man but also there was hardly any difference in their physical form.

They shook hands and bowed curtly and began. You were erect in your place, like a statue of a shell-shocked woman. As you watched Gojo deflect and attack in the same breath you wondered if it was even possible to do so.It was a move you had tried many times but failed to perfect and Gojo did it like it was as easy as breathing .The dust from the ground now clung to his skin and when the two men locked hands you knew it was over for the other guy. You realized…witnessed the difference between size and strength. Though you were no sorcerer, it was evident that Gojo was not using any curse techniques. Everything was raw and real. You could see the other soldier struggling to retain balance as Gojo landed one attack after another, hardly letting the other man catch his breath. The soldier was getting angry too, you could tell it was a matter of self respect for him as well and he was really giving it his all.You looked at Gojo and swallowed painfully, He was angry .A gust of wind had you covering your eye with the back of your hand to shield it from the dust, when the wind settled and you brought your hand down, you heard cheering and clapping. Amidst the cloud of dust you saw Gojo walking towards you, he had no expression on his face. He wasn’t happy that he won. People were cheering for him and yet it didn’t faze him. He refused to look at you and took the coat from your hand and walked away.

“Your-highness!”. You yelled as you chased after him. He didn’t even bother to look back as you ran through the corridors after him. “Your-highness!”. You huffed as you caught up to him but he refused to stop and kept walking. You tried your best to keep up with his long strides but it wasn’t easy. He had never walked this fast. “I..I apologize for my-“.

Before you could finish that sentence, with one flick of his finger Gojo shut the door on your face. You stepped back and stared at the door. He was mad at you. “Fuck”. You muttered under your breath and took your place outside the door.

Gojo rested his head against the rim of the marble tub and closed his eyes. His anger was slowly fading away with the ache in his muscle. He had to do it, he thought to himself, he had to show you that he wasn’t physically weak only because he had cursed techniques. It hurt him that you undermined him. It hurt him that you thought he needed protection when it was his job to protect you. He remembered the glint in your eyes as you saw the men fight, it was only natural for a fellow soldier to admire and respect the strength of others but it hurt him. Only he deserved to be admired by you. It hurt him to not see you the entire day, but he couldn’t. He couldn’t bear the look of admiration for another man in your eye.

Gojo stepped on the balcony in his velvet robe and looked at your window, the lights were off. It was well past dinner time and usually this was the time you would be in your room, reading a book. Then why are your lights off? Why weren’t you in your room? Were you out with someone else? Your friend, Niko? Or one of the men you met today? His blood boiled and he stormed out of his room and walked down the hallway connecting his bedroom and office through a back door. He was hoping to find you in the office, waiting for him with a bottle of wine but he found the office just as dark and empty as your bedroom. He sighed and ran his hands through his hair.His mistakes finally caught up to him and now he couldn’t shake off the look on your face when he yelled at you. He closed his eyes shut and cursed himself, he treated you badly. He realized that now. He had to apologize to you, He had to correct his mistakes.He was about to send a signal to locate you when he heard a faint noise coming from the other side of the door.

Gojo walked slowly towards the door, immediately turning on his infinity. He pressed his palm flatly against the wood, trying to catch a hint of curse energy but found nothing. He frowned and slowly opened the door.

“Your-highness!”. You straightened up immediately when you saw Gojo through the crack in the door.

“Y/n?”.Gojo frowned. “Yes, your-highness!”.

Gojo opened the door completely and looked either way but found no one. “What..what are you doing here?”.

You bit your lip nervously as you tried to keep your eyes away from his partially exposed chest. Now that you had seen him, it was hard to not imagine what lies underneath the robe. “You haven’t dismissed me yet, your-highness?”.

Gojo opened his mouth to say something but shook his head, “You..you have been here all day..because I didn’t dismiss you for the day?”.

“Yes,your-highness!”.

Gojo’s heart sank to his stomach. He looked at you, even in the dim lights, he could tell you were tired. “You are dismissed for the day”. Gojo added. He could see your posture relax as you indeed and gave a curt bow.

“Goodnight, your-highness”. You turned around to walk away but Gojo was quick to grab your wrist.

“Stay”. He said.

You turned around, and glared at him,”Why?”.

Gojo let go of your wrist and took a deep breath. “Have dinner with me”.

“Is that an order?”.

Gojo sighed, “No. It’s a..request”.

You raised a brow, “It didn’t sound like one”.

“Will you…please…have dinner with me?”. Gojo asked, hesitantly. This was probably the fourth time in his life he had to request something.

“Are you still mad at me?”. Gojo asked, as he watched you finish your second bowl of rice”.

“Yes”. You replied, not looking at him and leaning over to grab the bowl of soup.

“Why?”. Gojo whined and slid the soup bowl towards you.

“You yelled at me!”. You said, slamming the bowl on the table

“You undermined me in front of everyone”. Gojo added.

“I didn’t undermine you. I was just protecting you. That’s my job!”. You replied, while struggling to open the bottle of wine.

“No! You..you thought that I was not strong enough!”. Gojo grabbed the bottle from you and opened it in one go.

“And you proved me wrong so congratulations you won!”. You huffed, pouring the wine in two goblets.

“Then why are you still mad at me?!”.

“Because…you slammed the door in my face, refused to listen to me, and made me stand out there all day!”.

Uncomfortable silence lingered in the air. Gojo could see how hurt you were and it pained him. He didn’t touch his food because he was convinced that he didn’t deserve to eat.

“I..I’m sorry.. I should not have done that”. Gojo said.

“It’s not like it matters anyway”. You bit your lip and looked away from him.

“It does. It hurts me that I have hurt you. So please forgive me y/n. Tell me how do I make it up to you?”.

You looked at him with a frown on your face and then it hit you. Your frown turned into amusement and you stood up slamming your palm on the table, “Train with me!”.

“What?”. Gojo chuckled.

“If you want to make it up to me then train with me”. You shrugged.

Gojo threw his head back and laughed.Were you really asking him to physically brawl with him? Like he could even bring his body to attack you. .“That’s not possible”. He added, shaking his head.

“Why not?”. You leaned forward, slamming your fist on the table. “If you can spar with those men then why not with me?”.

“Because..you are..you!”.

You poked your cheek with your tongue and nodded your head as you sat back down. “I see. Is it because you are the King?”.

Gojo looked at you, he wished he could tell you that it was because he cannot bring himself to hurt you even if it was for practice. “Yes..”.

You hummed in response. Obviously a King could not just train with you. It didn’t make any sense and you felt silly for even asking, “I guess then I will have to ask one of those men to train with me. I can’t-”.

“But I will make an exception for you!”. Gojo cut you off. The moment you said that his mind went into a frenzy. Another man sparring with you? Touching you? Throwing you on the ground? No. No. No. This was the perfect chance for him to get close to you.

“Seriously? Would you really?”. You asked, wide-eyed and excited.

“Yes. If it means that you forgive me”.

You smiled widely, “forgive you for what? You didn’t do anything wrong! You are the best King ever!”. You squealed with excitement.

Gojo laughed at how adorable you were. He rested his chin on his hand and watched you excitedly drink wine. “So you agree that I am strong?”.

“Oh! Don’t even get me started on that! I don’t usually enjoy being proven wrong but I was pleasantly surprised!”.

Gojo watched with a satisfied smile as you went on to describe every move he made animatedly and how you wished you could do that instead. He didn’t even need to touch his wine to get drunk. Your words, your eyes, your smile was more intoxicating than all the wine of of the Kingdom combined.

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thef1diary · 4 months ago

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Royally Fucked | One

— Guarded Encounter

series masterlist

wc: 2.9k

here it is, my first ever oc and au story with my beloved ofc!! Let’s hop in to a world of royalty, romance, and restrictions. Thank you sm to @chilling-seavey for proofreading and letting me talk about Juliette and Daniel for hoursss, this story literally wouldn’t be written without your support <3

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The morning sun cast a golden glow over the secluded outdoor training grounds of the palace, filtering through the lush canopy of ancient oak trees, creating intricate patterns of light and shadow on the freshly mowed lawn. The spring air was crisp and fresh, carrying the faint scent of blooming jasmine and the distant murmur of the bubbling fountain that had rested in the courtyard for centuries.

Juliette stood alone in this tranquil space, a considerable distance from the bustling palace. The noise of the palace–where maids were likely preparing for the day and guards stood watchful at every corridor–was a stark contrast to the serene quietude of the training grounds. Here, in the calm early morning, she found a fleeting sense of peace before the grounds would be teeming with activity. The only sounds were the gentle rustling of the leaves in the breeze and the soft, rhythmic thud of her arrows hitting the target.

Juliette drew another arrow from her finely crafted quiver, its polished wood glinting in the sunlight. With practiced grace, she nocked the arrow and drew back the string of her elegant bow, the tension humming in her ears. She took a deep breath, the cool morning air filling her lungs, and focused intently on the distant target. The world around her seemed to fade away, leaving only the bow, the arrow, and her steady heartbeat.

As she released the arrow, it soared through the air with a faint whisper, striking the bullseye with a satisfying thud. Juliette allowed herself a small, triumphant smile, her eyes lingering on the target for a moment longer before she heard footsteps approaching from behind.

Drawing another arrow from her quiver, she spoke without turning around, her voice steady and tinged with mild annoyance. “You’re late.”

“Apologies, Your Royal Highness,” came an unfamiliar accented voice, smooth and respectful.

Startled by the unexpected voice, Juliette spun around, bow still in hand, nocked with an arrow, and instinctively pointed it at the source of the unknown voice. Before her stood a man in a sharply tailored suit, his attire crisp and formal. A pair of dark sunglasses concealed his eyes, but the cheeky glint in them was betrayed by the playful smile that tugged at his lips. His curly hair, slightly tousled and catching the morning light, added an effortless charm to his otherwise polished appearance.

He raised his hands in a placating gesture, his expression calm and slightly amused, a hint of cheerfulness in his demeanour that seemed at odds with the seriousness of the situation.

“I was not informed you would be here, so it took me a while to find you,” the man continued, crossing his arms for a moment before pointing at the weapon in Juliette’s hand. “Do you always point a bow and arrow at your bodyguard?”

“Who are you? Where’s Oliver?” Juliette demanded, her gaze sharp as she assessed the stranger before her.

“I’m Daniel Ricciardo, Your Royal Highness.”

“That doesn’t explain who you are.”

“I’m pretty sure telling you my name does,” Daniel said with a slight smile, crossing his arms again confidently. “But to clarify, I’m your new bodyguard.”

“New bodyguard?” Juliette asked, still not lowering her guard entirely.

Daniel smiled, nodding. “I’m here to fill in for Oliver while he’s on paternity leave.”

“Paternity leave?” She repeated, incredulously. “And no one thought to inform me?”

“It appears so, Your Royal Highness,” Daniel replied, a hint of amusement in his tone. “I understand the surprise, but I assure you, I am qualified to protect you. Now will you lower the bow?”

The princess, still not convinced, cast a skeptical glance towards the palace doors, which stood a fair distance away. A few other guards were stationed there, ever vigilant. Her voice carried an authoritative tone as she called out, “guards.”

Two of the palace guards approached, maintaining their respectful distance. Juliette pointed towards Daniel, her eyes narrowing. “Is he my new bodyguard?”

Daniel, noticing the guards, gave them a playful wave, his lips curling into a friendly smile as he muttered their names in acknowledgement.

One of the guards, nodding, confirmed, “yes, Your Royal Highness. Your previous bodyguard is on paternity leave for one year starting today. Daniel Ricciardo has been assigned as your temporary guard.”

Juliette scrutinized Daniel for a moment longer before dismissing the guards with a curt nod and a wave. “Very well. You may stay,” she directed at Daniel.

As the guards returned to their posts, Juliette resumed her archery practice, her movements precise and fluid. Occasionally, she glanced towards Daniel, who watched her with an encouraging smile, his demeanour relaxed yet attentive.

Determined to test his capabilities, Juliette decided to issue a challenge. She turned to Daniel, her expression a mix of curiosity and skeptism. “Show me what you’ve got. Let’s see if you can match my aim.”

Daniel’s eyes twinkled with mischief as he removed his sunglasses, revealing a spark of playful confidence. “As you wish, Your Royal Highness.”

As he took the bow from her, Juliette caught a hint of his cologne–a subtle, sophisticated scent that lingered in the air, adding an unexpected touch of elegance to the moment. Daniel took careful aim, and with a fluid practiced motion, released the arrow. It flew straight and true, hitting the target dead center. The arrow quivered in the bullseye, a perfect shot.

Juliette raised an eyebrow, her lips twitching slightly in surprise, though she did her best to mask it. “Beginner’s luck,” she said, maintaining her composure.

“Perhaps,” Daniel replied, handing the bow back to her with a grin. “But I’m confident I can keep up with you.”

The sun began to climb higher in the sky, casting longer shadows across the training grounds. The peaceful solitude of the early hours was gradually being replaced by the sounds of the palace stirring to life. Juliette could hear the distant chatter of servants as they wandered around the garden, completing their tasks one by one.

As she released the next arrow, she felt Daniel’s presence close behind her, a silent, watchful guardian. There was no need for conversation, save for the occasional words of encouragement and compliments from Daniel. Juliette appreciated that he understood the importance of remaining as quiet as possible, even though she preferred complete silence. It was a change she would have to adjust to, no matter how irritating, since Daniel was an unorthodox bodyguard, different compared to what she was used to with Oliver.

Oliver had been stoic and reserved, his demeanor always serious and focused. He rarely spoke unless absolutely necessary, blending into the background and providing a comforting, silent presence. Daniel, on the other hand, was cheerful and approachable, exuding a relaxed yet attentive confidence. His occasional light-hearted comments were a stark contrast to Oliver’s predictability, adding a new dynamic Juliette wasn’t sure how to handle yet.

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As Juliette walked through the grand halls of the palace, the opulence and history that surrounded her were unmistakable. Ornate chandeliers hung from high, vaulted ceilings, casting a warm golden light that danced off the marble floors. Tapestries depicting the kingdom’s rich history adorned the walls, their vibrant colours a stark contrast to the cool, elegant stone. Large windows allowed the waning sunlight to stream in, creating a serene yet majestic atmosphere.

The palace was a hive of activity, with maids bustling about, preparing for the evening, while guards remained vigilant at their posts. The air was filled with the aroma of the fresh flowers set in vases, and a hint of lavender that Juliette favoured. Noting the time, Juliette knew the hustle inside the palace would calm down as the day would go on, like clockwork.

As she continued her determined march, she finally spotted King Albert returning from a diplomatic trip. She quickened her pace, Daniel trailing a few steps behind, his presence a constant, reassuring shadow.

“Father, I should know about my bodyguard’s whereabouts as much as he should know about mine,” she started without properly greeting her father, following him into a room before glancing at Daniel pointedly. “So why wasn’t I informed about the change from Oliver to Daniel?”

The king, sensing her distress, gestured for Daniel to leave. Daniel nodded at both her and the king before stepping outside the room, giving them privacy.

Once the door clicked shut, the king turned to his daughter, his expression softening. “I know Oliver was like a close friend as much as a protector to you, but his absence was unavoidable. I personally appointed Daniel because he is the best of the best. I would not trust just anyone to protect you, and you know that.”

Juliette frowned, still unhappy but reassured by her father’s confidence in Daniel. “I just wish I’d been informed.”

“I understand,” King Albert said gently. “I should have informed you myself. WIth everything happening, it slipped my mind. But believe me, Daniel is exceptional. He’s not just skilled; he’s loyal and trustworthy. Give him a chance. You’ll see he’s more than capable.”

Juliette nodded in agreement, deciding to try her best to adjust to an unfamiliarity in her structured routine. Her father’s words lingered in her mind, softening her resistance, but she couldn’t shake off the irritation of not being informed. If he trusted Daniel, then perhaps she should give him a fair chance. Yet, the thought of replacing Oliver, who was like a close friend, gnawed at her. How could Daniel, with his cheerful demeanor, fit into the role of her protector?

As she left the room, Daniel perked up, falling into step behind her.

“Your Royal Highness,” Daniel said softly as they walked. She turned to face him, her expression void of any emotion. “I’m sorry for the abrupt introduction earlier. I assure you, in a couple days, you won’t feel the difference between Oliver and I at all.”

Juliette studied him for a moment before nodding, “We’ll see, Daniel, in a few days, how true that is.”

Deciding to test Daniel’s capabilities and patience, she thought of assigning him a series of errands. “Follow me to the library,” she ordered.

To Juliette, the library was one of the most majestic rooms in the palace, a sanctuary of knowledge and history. High, vaulted ceilings adorned with intricate frescoes depicting scenes from the kingdom’s past loomed overhead. The walls were lined with dark mahogany bookshelves that stretched from floor to ceiling, filled with an extensive collection of leather-bound volumes, ancient manuscripts, and modern texts. Each shelf was meticulously organized, reflecting the care and reverence given to the collection.

Juliette led Daniel through the vast room, the faint scent of aged paper and leather filling the air. She moved with ease among the towering bookshelves, her fingers occasionally brushing against the spines of the volumes she knew so well. This library was more than just a repository of knowledge; it was a sanctuary, a place where she spent countless hours lost in thought or absorbed in a book. After the training grounds, it was her second home.

“If you ever can’t find me anywhere else in the palace, I’m most likely here,” Juliette said, her voice soft but certain. She paused by the ladder on wheels and pointed to a stack of books perched on a particularly high shelf, their spines gleaming in the soft, golden light.

Daniel smoothly maneuvered the ladder, retrieving the requested volumes with practiced ease. As he handed her the books, he glanced around the library, taking in the room’s opulence and the sheer number of books. “Are you an avid reader, Your Royal Highness?” he asked, curiosity tinged his tone.

Juliette shrugged slightly, a faint smile playing on her lips. “I love organizing this place as much as I adore reading the books here,” she admitted. “There’s something soothing about the order and tranquility of this room. It’s a world of its own, away from the chaos and demands of palace life.”

“Well, it certainly is an impressive collection,” Daniel replied, his tone genuine as he scanned the shelves.

Juliette decided to push a little further. “Since you’re so eager to help, Daniel, could you arrange these books alphabetically by author? And then by genre, within each section.”

Daniel looked at the towering shelves, each packed with numerous books, and nodded without hesitation. “Of course, Your Royal Highness.”

Juliette watched as he began the task, moving efficiently yet carefully, his focus unwavering. She threw in more specific instructions as he worked. “The historical texts should go over there, and make sure the classics are separated from the modern literature.”

Daniel complied without complaint, even as the tasks grew more intricate. His demeanor remained calm and cheerful, never showing signs of irritation or frustration. He took her detailed directions in stride, organizing the books with precision.

After a while, satisfied with her experiment, Juliette decided to up the ante. “Could you also retrieve the books from the highest shelves over there? I’ve been meaning to reorganize them.”

Daniel nodded, moving to the next set of shelves with the same unwavering dedication. As he climbed the ladder, the scent of his cologne wafted through the air, a subtle blend of cedar and spice, adding an unfamiliar but not unwelcome layer to the library’s familiar aromas.

As Daniel continued his work, Juliette couldn’t help but feel a grudging respect for his patience and efficiency. He didn’t just tolerate the tasks; he embraced them, showing no sign of annoyance or fatigue. When he finally finished, she realized he had passed her test with flying colors.

“Impressive,” she said, unable to hide her approval. “You handled that well.”

“Thank you, Your Royal Highness,” Daniel replied, playfully winking at her. “I’m here to serve.”

As evening fell and it was time to return to her chambers, Juliette walked in front of Daniel, glancing at him a couple of times, noting how he noticed everything around him, always on alert. His presence was a constant, reassuring shadow, even if his cheerful demeanor was unorthodox for a bodyguard.

“So, Daniel,” she said, breaking the silence, “what exactly qualifies you to be my bodyguard?”

Daniel met her gaze steadily. “I’ve had extensive training in combat, strategic planning, and diplomatic negotiation. I’ve protected several dignitaries in high-risk environments.”

Juliette raised an eyebrow. “And what do you know about protecting a princess?”

Daniel smiled slightly, a twinkle of mischief in his eyes. “It requires vigilance, discretion, and understanding the unique challenges of your position. Trust must be earned.”

Suddenly, she threw a blade directed at him, thinking he was distracted with their conversation. It was a small, sharp knife she had discreetly picked up from the kitchen as they passed through. But she was proven wrong when he caught it by the handle, right before it stabbed him. He glanced at it and chuckled before looking at her. “Did I pass all your tests now?”

The princess smirked, clearly impressed but unwilling to show it too much. “You’ve proven yourself capable, for now,” she said, her tone still guarded. “But trust is earned over time, not in a single day.”

Daniel nodded, handing the blade back to her handle-first. “I understand, Your Royal Highness. I’ll continue to prove my worth.”

As they reached her chambers, she paused at the door, turning to face him. “Be ready to escort me to our private plane in the morning, let’s see how well you do on an international trip.”

“Understood, Your Highness. I’ll be ready to escort you in the morning,” Daniel said with a nod.

“Also, I’m not sure if you know, but you don’t have to follow me around the palace. You just have to be there when I need you, mainly when I leave the grounds. You’re free to roam around otherwise, do whatever you’d like,” Juliette explained.

“If it is alright with you,” Daniel said, “I would like to stay by your side until you’re used to my presence and until I know your routine, then I can bother the other guards.”

The princess raised an eyebrow. “Bother the other guards? They might not thank me for that.”

Daniel grinned. “Well, I’ll make sure they get used to me. I’ll even bring them pastries from the kitchen as a peace offering.”

She laughed softly, “and that’ll work?”

“I’ll try,” Daniel replied. “Besides, a little charm and a few pastries go a long way in a royal palace.”

Juliette shook her head, still smiling. “I suppose we’ll see how well you handle the job. Just make sure you don’t distract the other guards from their duties.”

Daniel placed a hand over his heart, feigning a dramatic hurt expression. “Me? A distraction? Never.”

The princess raised an eyebrow, a smirk tugging at her lips. “We’ll see about that. For now, try to stay out of trouble.”

“Trouble and I are old friends,” Daniel said with a mischievous grin. “But I’ll do my best to keep it at bay.”

Juliette chuckled, her expression softening. “Alright then. Goodnight, Daniel.”

“Goodnight, Your Highness,” Daniel said, bowing slightly, then looking up at her before winking playfully.

As Juliette entered her room, a small, amused smile played on her lips. Daniel’s playful demeanour and easy charm were a stark contrast to the seriousness she was used to with her previous bodyguard, Oliver. Despite the initial irritation she felt at his unconventional approach, Juliette found herself intrigued by Daniel’s personality. His cheerfulness, though odd for a bodyguard, seemed to be a breath of fresh air amidst the palace’s often stifling formality. Perhaps, she mused, it was a change she could grow to appreciate.

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maryleclerc · 2 years ago

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𝐫𝐨𝐲𝐚𝐥 𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐠𝐧𝐚𝐧𝐜𝐲 — charles leclerc

pairing: prince!charles leclerc x reader

summary: in which prince charles and princess y/n of monte carlo announce their pregnancy of their first royal baby

vote for the royal baby name here ❤️

warning: english is not my native language and i did use google translation also i did not know much about the royal rule so please don’t take it serious, i’ll be grateful if you leave comment to let me know about my writing if i needed to fix anything

read previous part: 𝐫𝐨𝐲𝐚𝐥 𝐞𝐧𝐠𝐚𝐠𝐞𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭 > 𝐫𝐨𝐲𝐚𝐥 𝐰𝐞𝐝𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠

charles_leclerc with y/n_leclerc

Liked by y/n_leclerc, lorenzotl and 174,730,461 others

charles_leclerc We are really happy to announce that we are expecting our first child. Y/n and i decided to not appear in any public event until the birth of our child for safety of my wife and baby. And we also receive lots and lots of congrat and with all the best wishes for both of us and baby

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y/n_leclerc ❤️❤️

sofiagraace Love you both

heismydreamman She will join the Christmas Night ceremony with the royal and we’ll see her bump show

princessy/nmyheart Am i the only one here thinks she’s going to name her child Anne?

jessicalauree So freaking adorable!!!!

y/n_leclerc

Liked by charles_leclerc and others

y/n_leclerc Throwback to our wedding day and honeymoon ❤️ @charles_leclerc

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theroyalnews

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theroyalnews

The Prince and Princess of Monte Carlo first public appearence since the announcement of Princess Y/n pregnancy. Princess Y/n appeared in public today with a long, flowing black velvet dress to hide her pregnant belly, it seems that Prince Charles has become a protective husband to his pregnant wife when he repeatedly refused to stand for too long at today's ceremony. Towards the end of the session, we had a chance to ask a few questions with Prince Charles and Princess Y/n.

"Prince Charles, how do you feel about today's ceremony?" “Well I feel very happy and excited at the ceremony today, it is a very important ceremony for my mother Queen Pascale” Prince Charles said, and I ask Princess Y/n “And Princess Y/n, how do you feel?” She answered “Since I'm pregnant right now, it's natural to feel tired but this is only a side effect and the main part is that we can enjoy this happy time together with the Royal Family”, “I have Just a few short questions, can the Prince and Princess answer a few questions for me?" “Of course” They both replied at the same time. “First question, surely you also know that the announcement of the pregnancy has shaken all the people with joy, right? So a few people emailed us asking us to ask you about the baby's gender was? Is this information that is allowed to be revealed?” Prince Charles nodded his head and answered my question “I know this is information that everyone is curious about, although we are the Prince and Princess of Monte Carlo, we must always adhere to the principles given by the royal family", Princess Y/n replied, "But of course we'll let everyone know as soon as we have the baby." She laughed, then I continued to ask the last question "Then Prince Charles and Princess Y/n have come up with any name for the royal baby yet?”, Princess Y/n replied, “Charles and I haven't come up with any name yet but we plan to name the baby with our traditional royal name", "Because she likes traditional names, I like more modern names, but I love her and the baby so the name will be decided by her" Charles said then both of them laughed.

What do think the Prince and Princess will name their baby? Leave us a comment about what you are thinking!

tag charles leclerc , y/n_leclerc

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diwkjd_ I guess they will name it Charlotte or Carlotta, easily Charlotte is a tradition name and its also Charlotte is female version of the name Charles… isn’t it cute

unclejamees I don’t know what they’ll name him/her but i just love the fact Princess Y/n chose to name their baby with royal tradition name

penelopejanes It’s definitly gonna be named Charlotte

⤷ jaada How are you so sure?

⤷ penelopejanes Idk, just so easy to guess, i mean Charlotte also royal tradition name tho

beaniw I got the opportunity today to talk with Prince Charles and Princess Y/n and they’re super nice and Charles is super protective of his wife lately

#charles leclerc imagines #charles leclerc x reader #charles leclerc x y/n #charles leclerc imagine #charles leclerc smut #charles leclerc fluff #charles leclerc blurb #charles leclerc x you #charles leclerc fanfiction #charles leclerc fanfic #charles leclerc instagram au #f1 instagram au #f1 driver imagine #f1 x reader #royal!charles leclerc #prince!charles leclerc

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eveningepiphany · 1 year ago

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pirates gold, masterlist——✶

↳ pirate!harry x royal!reader

series summary: being a royal, you always knew you were meant to keep your wits about you. despite never fitting into your status, a lapse of your judgement leads you to getting taken captive by a group of pirates, and their captain, harry.

series warnings: getting captured by pirates, descriptions and talk of kidnapping, mentions of weapons and death, violent and heavy themes, alcohol, sexual tension, swearing, enemies to lovers. there will be smut!!

all parts will have individual warnings as we go

——✶——

↳[PART ONE]

published!

after you’re taken captive, you wake in a cell, and are trying to gauge exactly how much danger you’re really in being stuck on this ship.

❝Nice to see you’re awake, princess. Can you open up them eyes for me?❞

harry is a stubborn— but awfully attractive— captain. you are an equally stubborn prisoner. the two of you are very quickly figuring out just how far you’re willing go to get out of this situation.

——✶——

↳[PART TWO]

published!

challengers are arising as life on the ship continues. not only that, but all kinds of tension is building between you and harry. good and bad… and something that feels forbidden to even entertain in your minds eye.

❝You’re infuriating, you know? Unbelievably so. And I feel it all the way in my stomach.❞

yet somehow through all of this, you unexpectedly find a glimmer of hope. just not how you thought you would.

——✶——

↳[PART THREE]

published!

finally, a break from the ship is in sight. you and harry end up in a very pirate-y bar, but even a good night can’t last forever. and seemingly, neither can uncomplicated feelings.

“Does that scare you?” He asks, and then asks deeper, “Do I scare you?”

jealousy, protectiveness and a sense of undeniable wanting are no such feelings harry wants to have for someone he’s holding captive. yet he’s stuck with them nonetheless.

——✶——

↳[PART FOUR]

to be published!

summary is to be developed and written out. but this will be updated when it’s in production <3

I look forward to seeing how you all like this series! and thank you again from the bottom of my heart for your never ending support.

——✶——

to be added to the taglist, let me know in the replies and you’ll be tagged in ever part uploaded of this series in the future🤍

you can find my full masterlist here!

#harry styles #harry styles fanfiction #fanfiction #harry styles imagine #harry styles series #harry styles fluff #harry styles x reader #harry styles smut #harry styles x you #harry styles x y/n #harry styles masterlist #piraterry #pirate harry styles #harry styles oneshot #royal y/n #harry styles writing

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jarofstyles · 1 year ago

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prince harry and common girl lover (best friends since childhood) + “we can’t keep hiding like this”

OH YES!!!! A bit of forbidden love.

Check out our Patreon!

------

The wind billowed the edge of the blanket they laid on, hiding underneath the willow tree as the sun got a bit lower in the sky. Being wrapped in Harry's arms was the most safe she ever felt, despite the fact it was the most dangerous place to be. His heart thumped steadily against her cheek, fingers running over the opposite as she felt his eyes burning a hole into her.

"We can't keep hiding like this." His voice rasped, lips turned downward. "I can't handle it anymore, Petal. I've been trying to find ways to be alright with hiding how much of my heart that you own but I keep hitting a wall. I believe it's because something is telling me I shouldn't hide you." He gently ran his knuckle over the bridge of her nose. "I want to tell them. Everyone."

Y/N's eyes burned as she closed them, trying to control the shaky exhale she released. It didn't work. She knew he was an optimist, her beautiful sunshine prince, but he had too much to lose. She couldn't be selfish with him, not when the entire kingdom would rely on him one day. "You know we shouldn't, Harry. You've been promised to someone else since the day you were noticed in your mother's belly." It was hard to control her voice, the weakness of it giving it away to Harry that she was struggling.

Nudging her up, he cupped the side of her face and thumbed over the high round of her cheek. Eyes scanned her face, taking in her slightly wobbly bottom lip and the glaze over her eyes that wrecked him. It shouldn't be this difficult. He shouldn't have to hide the person he loved with his entire being, so much so that she consumed him. He knew his mother would understand, but his father would be resistant. He would tell him that a future king had to make decisions they didn't like, and he would need to abide by the arrangement.

"I want to marry you, Petal." He whispered, connecting their lips at the end of the word. It was a pained kiss, one he was trying to melt into softness. Take away the brittle edges and file them down smoothly, let her feel the way he did. His sweet girl was so afraid, so nervous of what would become of them but Harry couldn't fathom a world without her at his side. "I want you to lay next to me at night, I want your hand in mine, your lips to only ever feel the shape of my own. I crave you every single second you are away from me. Don't you understand? How I yearn for you, I ache. Not just to be inside of you, but to be with you. To listen to your breaths as you sleep, just knowing that you're there." He swallowed thickly, nudging his nose against her own and took another kiss. Harder this time, a harsh breath leaving his nose as he pulled her, moving her dress so she could straddle his lap.

"My love, my sweet, my Petal. Please... allow me to take the risk." He pleaded. "Allow me to tell them of us, let me take the punishments if need be. I will do anything for you." His words were whimpered as he pressed frantic kisses to her lips, her cheeks, her forehead. "I feel like I'm going insane. As the day of the engagement party grows closer, I feel the walls of the castle getting smaller. I feel suffocated. The only time I can breathe is with you." His hands clutched her close, almost as if to prevent her from slipping through his fingers.

"Oh, Harry." She whispered sadly, watching his eyes water. It was unlike him, her sunshine prince. He was so bright, so warm. To see the storm clouds settle over the sun was alarming and she hated the sight. It wasn't right. "Do you think I don't feel the same? That I'm not physically ill at the idea of you bedding someone other than me, even if it is only to provide an heir? Do you think I don't cry in my bed after I leave the sparkling stars and you, wishing I could crawl back to you? But I feel so selfish." She pecked his nose, letting their foreheads rest together. "So, so selfish. What if they strip your title? What if they banish you? What if it's forced regardless and there's a rift between you and your family? I cannot bear the idea of ruining your life. I can't take the sunshine away from you."

The world was quiet. The birds chirped and the branches moved, leaves rustling in the wind, but the only sound they could hear was each others breaths and their own heartbeats in their ears.

"I would let them." He whispered after a moment. "I would let them take it all away from me before I let them take you. I don't think you grasp how much you mean to me. You are my heart." His eyes burned as he looked at her. "I would run with you, I would find us somewhere and build a life with you. Nothing else matters more than you." He sniffled, pressing his lips back against her and laying repetitive kisses to her lips. It was hard to convey just how much he truly loved her. How she had his heart in her hands and his should wrapped around her finger.

"Harry..." She laughed through a tear, looking down at the hand holding her waist tight. "I hope you know I feel the same for you. You're what I need." Her fingers brushed the hair that had fallen into his face, the soft curls unfairly highlighted caramel in the sunlight that bled through the leaves. He was inhumanly handsome. "I'm afraid for you."

"I'm afraid for myself if I don't admit my love for you. I can't be trapped in a loveless marriage when I have a love. The greatest lover there is. I want children with you, I want you by my side. Whether I'm king or not, having you would be my biggest accomplishment." He meant every word. Every beat of his heart belonged to her. "I'm going to tell them. I'm going to make you my wife, regardless of the cost. All I'll ever need is you."

#jarofstyles #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles one shot #harry styles fanfic #harry styles smut #harry styles blurb #harry drabble #harry styles imagine #harry writing #harry styles writing #prince harry styles #royal harry styles #harry styles fanfics #harry styles fic #harry styles fluff #harry styles angst #harry angst #harry smut #harry fluff

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lanabuckybarnes · 6 months ago

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| Lady Blue |

Falling in love with your best friend wasn't something you ever anticipated, you had a role to fulfil and your hand was sold. Yet your heart longed for him.

✧Pairing✧ Knight!Steve Rogers x Princess!Reader (Fem)

✧Warnings✧ Fluff, A Little Angst, Talks of Arranged marriage, John Walker (ew), Name Calling, like the teeniest bit of violence, Hurt, Brief mention of injury, Sweet ending

✧Word Count✧ 2.1k

✧Author Note ✧ I WROTE SOMETHING THAT ISNT SMUT!! — happy birthday Stevie Rogers 🥳

You don’t know when it happened, when that little crush became something more, when the hugs became intimate and the kisses were on the lips rather than on the cheeks.

Steve Rogers, your best friend. You’d been born beds apart, your mother a queen and her best friend a noblewoman. You weren’t sure if they planned it or it was fate but they both ended up with child and gave birth almost exactly on the same day.

Steve was headstrong, and a leader. He always made sure you were safe and protected, it was cute how doting he was because ‘he was older’. You were quick to comment how it was only by a few hours.

You were inseparable as kids, spending most of your time in the fields of blue flowers that decorated the walk to the large castle. It’s how you earned the name, Lady Blue - a flower crown of blue atop your head always.

Your infatuation grew for him as you aged into a teen, you weren’t around each other as much because of duties taking up most of your time but you remembered something about absence making the heart grow fonder and you could attest to that.

Steve was away most of the time on the other end of the city, training in the ring to become a knight, his dream. You were stuck in the palace, studying history and languages to be a great queen although you spent much of your time staring out of the window and imagining you and Steve doing the same things you did as kids. Living.

You lied.

You remember exactly when it happened.

Steve's graduation, he finally wore his purple cloak and had his royal etched sword around his hip. Drinks flowed left and right, the night filled with laughter and singing, all muffled behind the thick glass doors leading out to the courtyard where you and Steve sat watching the birds bathe in the fountain.

“How was it?” You asked, both hands soothing over his larger, calloused one, running over each scar and healing wound he donned.

He breathed out slowly, as though you were one of the small birds that he had to tiptoe around so he didn’t scare them off. He knew that you would never be scared of him but he couldn’t shake that feeling, you were so dainty beside him. To think that once upon a time you were a head taller than him.

“It was fine, made some friends” he nodded off to a pair of iron-clad men clinging to each other singing an old folk tune. “Sam and Bucky, they’re wild but they are good guys.”

The air around you thickened if it were possible, something going unsaid between you two, a rope pulled taut that threatened to snap. Steve’s eyes studied you, thoroughly enjoying the sight of you by his side. You looked beautiful, eyes twinkling in the moonlight as your eyes returned to the fountain, your hair shining. You had grown up and become such a beautiful soul that he knew you were.

“I missed you.”

“Hm?” You looked up at him, confusion and curiosity carved onto your features.

“I thought of you all the time being out there, when it got tough and I needed some of those princess bear hugs you gave me” You giggled at his words, bringing about his chuckle. Your knees knocked as you leaned closer, resting your head against his shoulder.

“I missed you too Stevie.”

“Princess” he murmured after a moment, taking a few deep breaths to quieten his pounding heart, although when he looked down at you it skipped beat after beat anyway.

“Ser Rogers” you teased with a cheeky smirk, the sparkle in your hues growing as you almost challenged him to speak. I dare you, your eyes cried out to him.

Steve was never one to back down from a dare.

His lips were on yours before you could even think, embracing yours in a way that left you dizzy before shocking you into action and kissing back with the same ferocity.

Snap, that rope between you broke.

After that night you’d both chosen to keep your love a secret, your father was strict and unforgiving, he would not stand for his daughter dating someone lower than a future heir despite it not being your choice. Even years later, both of you adults still sneaked around like you did when you were teens.

Your door shook with heavy knocks, Ser Barnes’ voice booming from the other end.

“My Princess, the King wishes to see you at once.”

You groaned and let your eyes fall shut again until soft kisses trailing up your shoulder and neck brought a smile upon your face.

“Come on Lady Blue, can’t disappoint Father now” he joked, deep voice raspy from sleep, vibrating against your ear.

Even after all these years each moment you spent with him felt like you were falling in love with him for the first time, diving straight off the deep end and into your sheets with him.

You stood, helping him into his gear so he could slink off and allow your handmaidens in to help you dress.

“I love you” he whispered into the top of your head, placing a chaste kiss there before tilting your chin up to slant his lips against your own. Despite the shortness of it, you were left breathless when he parted, turning on his heel professionally and making his exit.

A ball of dread settled in your stomach at the thought of today’s meeting with your father. For months now he’d been adamant that you were to be married by the end of the year and set about finding suitors, each time you rejected them he’d bring up another. But you loved Steve too much.

You knew it wouldn’t last forever, it couldn’t. You were noble, bound to marry a prince and join two kingdoms in matrimony. He was a knight, he swore an oath to protect you from harm, nothing more.

All of that knowledge didn’t help it hurt any less when you stepped into the throne room, your eyes landing on potentially the worst prince your father had brought to you yet.

The king from the neighbouring place and his son, John Walker. A self-proclaimed prophet that was bound to rule all over the land.

“You will marry Prince John Walker” your father announced, the smug sneer on the prince’s face had you wishing you’d had breakfast before coming here so you could have something in your stomach to throw up.

You were bound to marry a pompous, arrogant, narcissistic man and leave the man who’d loved you since day dot.

You wouldn’t stand for it.

“I will not marry John” You challenged, something you’d only done a handful of times in your life. Your father’s nostrils flared, his jaw clenching and eyes wild.

“Excuse me?”

“I will not marry him” You repeated.

“You don’t have a choice young lady” he rose from his throne, stomping down the steps until his face was in yours. Your legs wobbled as you tried to stand your ground against your father's presence.

“You will marry Prince Walker, you will join our kingdoms and you will bear his heirs, I am sick of you rejecting everyone I introduce you to so I made the decision myself.”

“I won’t” you yelled this time, hurt and angry bubbling into rage “because I love another.”

The words slipped out your mouth, your hand slapping around your face far too slow to catch them.

The room fell silent. Pin drop silent. Steve stood at the entrance of the hall, head hung low to hide the reddening of his face, his hands clamping into fists at his side.

“Who?” Your father’s hand clamped onto your chin, your jaw throbbing in pain at the hold.

“Ser Rogers” you hissed, falling into a pile of clothes and pain when your father’s hand let you go.

“You wench!” he spat in disgust.

You tried to argue, tried to plead with your father but he shrugged you off.

“Ser Barnes, take my daughter back to her room, I want some time with Ser Rogers. Alone.”

You didn’t struggle as Ser Barnes picked you up from the floor, hoisting you over his shoulder. You couldn’t even look at Steve when you walked by.

Ser Barnes set you down on your bed softly, patting the top of your head as you stared off into space, tears rolling down your cheeks. He left and came back with a small glass of water and a muffin which you refused to eat.

Once Bucky left you crawled up to the head of your bed, stuffing your face into your pillow and staining it with black from your mascara. Your door was on constant watch in case you got any big ideas. The Blue Daisy’s had bloomed but you couldn’t leave, you weren’t allowed to leave.

As day turned into night you shifted to look out at the setting sun. Your dinner lay untouched on your table, your focus set firmly on the world outside, families rushing to pack up their markets before the evening rain.

“Lady Blue” you recognised the voice.

“Bucky?”

“Can I come in?” He asked. You hummed your confirmation and the huge brunette slipped in.

“Steve—he’s being shipped off. Tonight.” He explained his stormy eyes on you, watching you process the information.

“So what? It’s not like I can stop it” You answered bitterly, a shell of the woman you usually were. There was no hint of cheer or teasing in your tone like there once was, it had all been left in that throne room.

You took note of his heavy sigh before he inched further into the room, Only then did you gaze up at him. In his hands was a set of clothes, the kind commoners wore along with a large black cloak and a purple velvet pouch.

“Do you love him?” He asked, eyes searching yours.

“More than anything” you replied without hesitation.

“Then we better move.”

“W-what do you mean?” You stood, head tilted and brows furrowed. You just barely caught the clothes that Bucky threw at you.

“His ship leaves in an hour, if you don’t hurry and get changed we’ll miss it”.

You could’ve kissed Bucky.

The shipyards reeked of fish and shit, but you couldn’t care about that. Not now. Hopping off of Bucky’s white steed you pat its neck before looking up at him.

“Thank you, Buck, I don’t know how I can repay you.”

He smiled, taking your hand in his and kissing your knuckles.

“You can get on that ship and live your life Lady Blue. I’ll see you soon” he flashed you one of his pearly white smiles and turned the horse, setting off the way he’d come.

You darted onto the ship, eyes scanning the faces of workers and guests until they fell on the man that you were doing all of this for. Any doubt that boiled in your stomach melted away leaving only one thing remaining, that deep love that Steve gave you. He didn’t turn until you were standing in front of him.

“Princess?” his shocked voice sounded as he looked up at you. He looked tired, his skin pale and a nasty bruise was forming over his cheekbone. No doubt thanks to your father.

“I’m here” you squeaked as he pulled you down into his arms, his warm body and vanilla scent putting you at ease instantly despite the incessant rocking of the ship.

“You're here” he replied, words vibrating against your hairline before he tilted your chin up and stole your lips in a kiss. Just like he had stolen your heart.

“So you do that…yep and then you twist the stalk around…that’s it!!” You cheered as your son finally wrapped the flower correctly, his big blue eyes almost disappearing behind his lids as he squealed in excitement.

“What’s all the yelling about huh?” Steve emerged, tanned skin glowing, covered in a layer of sweat and dirt, an axe resting over his shoulder.

“Daddy look” your son preened, raising the bundle of blue flowers high in the air so the blonde could see.

“Ahhh is Mama teaching you her old tricks huh?” He smiled, kneeling to place a soft kiss on his forehead before doing the same to you.

“Mhmm gotta make sure he can help me every year, isn’t that right baby?” You plopped your finished flower crown onto Steve’s head before ruffling your son's curly locks.

Despite the running, the fighting and the endless struggle to get to where you were now, you could say you’d do it all again to be sat between your handsome husband and his doppelgänger son—in a field of blue daisies. You would do it all again to be home.

I DO NOT give permission to have my work copied, translated or reposted. If you see my work anywhere else except on this page I have not given consent for it to be used.

Comments, Reblogs, Likes & Asks are always appreciated, although if you liked this fic please consider reblogging so it can reach a wider audience. They let me know that you are enjoying what you read and give me motivation to write more.

Thanks for reading~

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artificialbreezy · 21 days ago

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THE ROYAL OATH - PROLOGUE

Prince!Noah x Roisin (princess!ofc)

When the war between The Kingdoms of Sunstone and Shadowfell came to an end, a promise of marriage was made. When both kingdoms produced only heirs, the first princess from Sunstone was a celebration of becoming debt free. What happens when the princess learns of her duty? Will she accept happily? Or will the treaty be destroyed?

CW: mentions of the ocean, Celtic mythology and lore, smut, depression, anxiety, fluff, Noah is a softie for his girl. that’s all that i know of, i’ll update as each chapter goes on!

AN: it’s finally here!!! please enjoy the beginning of Prince!Noah. forever a big thanks to @thefallennightmare and @blueskylinesx for your endless support and input. appreciate you both more than you know🩶

On the 406th day, the sun rose the same it always had. Soldiers of Sunstone wondering if they would ever return home to their families. As the sun began to set, away in the distance a small white flag was raised. General Cormac and his immediate men worked their way to the other side of the valley. Guns held close to their sides, prepared for the worse.

Coming face to face with General Shadow, both men nodded. Signaling their men to wait outside.

“Evening, we are willing to end this. We have a few conditions.” Spoke General Shadow.

“We would like to merge our lands, each castle the same. Your family will still control Sunstone, mine will still rule over Shadowfell. There is a piece of land further north of our kingdoms that we can turn into our baseland. A place where an heir of mine and a Princess of yours will live, and rule over. They will wed, and when our time is up - they will rule over both kingdoms. This will go peacefully, we will make both places aware and their lives will not change much and we will handle things with grace and compassion. Our children, whether they be current or great’s down the line will be taught of what's to come. If you accept this deal, war will end.”

Cormac was quick to accept, signing the treaty that will be shown for decades to come.

This morning went from a happy day, I was woken up to a cupcake with a pretty candle and a celebration of my 18th. The day I was to start shadowing my mother and learning her duties. Shortly after everything was turned upside down.

Now i’m standing in a room, in front of a man everyone’s calling my fiancé.

The door shut, leaving me and my soon to be husband in the room. The world felt like it was caving in around me and I couldn’t stop it. How did my parents hide this from me for so long? How did they go every day telling me how the kingdom was going to mine just for me to turn 18 and be sent away to a man I’ve never met.

My hands went straight to the fabric near my legs, bunching a piece and trying to find comfort in the only thing I knew.

“I, uh, I know this is a lot. I’m truly sorry it was thrown on you like this.” He spoke softly. Almost like he did feel bad.

“How long have you known?” I snapped.

“Damn near my whole life really. I grew up hearing about the treaty, I was 3 when my father came in to announce to the castle my future wife was born. It’s been drilled in since then.”

I let out a frustrated sigh, why was everyone aware except for me? How was this fair? My life was being thrown away, all for some fucking treaty no one told me about.

“I did try to meet you sooner. I’ve been practically begging my father for the last 4 years to meet you. I tried to tell him it would be a big adjustment for all of us if you knew no one here. He didn’t listen, come to find out cause you didn’t know this was even a thing.”

Turning to face the balcony beside me, I fixed my shoulders and took a breath. “Noah, if i’m doing this, we are doing it my way. I am Roisin, Princess of Sunstone. I am an equal to you, and you will not treat me any less. All planning for Shadowfell’s future will be made together. I had a voice in my palace, that will not change here. Am I understood?” My voice was stern, never turning to face the man behind me.

“You will have whatever your heart wants here, I will make sure of it. You will be seen as nothing less than my equal, the future queen of Shadowfell. If anyone has an issue with that, it will be handled. Your voice will be heard here as well, I promise you that.” I heard his footsteps stop behind me, close enough that if I turned I would run right into his chest.

“Very well. If we agree, let’s go tell them we’ll do it. For the safety of my people, for the integrity of my family I will take your hand and plan the rest of my life here.”

Hours had passed before I was whisked away from the large room filled with the people I no longer knew and the people I was soon to know.

“Pardon me?” I voiced to the women walking me down the hall. “What is your name?”

She gave me a warm smile, “Clara, darling. You’ll be seeing a lot of me. Noah hand picked me to help make you feel more comfortable here.” We walked in a comfortable silence down the hall until she stopped in front of a door.

“This is your bedroom. Noah had mentioned you may want your own space, so I went ahead and prepared this room for you. If there is anything you find unsatisfactory, please let me know. It’s my goal to help make you happy here. I will come back to check on you in a little while. Noah’s room is just across the hall, you two are the only ones in this wing.” Clara spoke. She was quick to turn away.

“Wait, Clara?” Her head turned to look back towards me, a silent nod to continue. “Thank you, for all of this.”

I reached for the handle of the door, standing still. “Go on, you’re home now. Whether it feels like home yet or not. This is just as much yours. Go relax.” Clara gave the push I needed. As much as this doesnt feel like home, shes right. This is my home now.

Stepping into the room, i was taken back by the gorgeous view from what looks to be a balcony. The sea was where i alway felt most at peace.

There was a table next to the door, and a bed further into the room on the opposite wall of the balcony.

A basket sat on the foot of the bed. Flowers, candy and a beautiful ring sat inside. A letter lay next to the basket.

I know all of this is sudden for you and honestly probably scary too. I cant imagine how it felt to be woken up to news of you leaving and being married off. I cant express my empathy enough for that.

I have requested for all of your belongings to be sent here as soon as possible. For now, I hope you find comfort in the clothes and bedding I had made for you. I heard from a little birdy (your mother), that dresses werent much of your thing unless formal. So I had some other things made for you. As well as a couple gowns, for when the council needs us.

A seamstress is available for whenever you are ready to discuss a wedding gown, if you choose to wear one. Or if you even want a public wedding.

If you do not want one, please dont worry. We do not have too. Im here for whatever you would like, big and lavish or we sign the paper and put the rings on.

I met with the jeweler your mother has gone too, she had made all of your jewelry prior to this. She made the ring that is setting in that tiny blue box. I thought a pearl with a onyx felt fitting from what I know about you. The pearl represents your love of the sea, (which I hope you enjoy that little balcony over looking the ocean.) and an onyx for The Morrigan. In hopes she blesses us for the long life we have ahead of each other.

I seem to have rambled on for more than I intended too. I am just across the hall, if you need me and I am busy; tell Clara. Shell bring you to me and whatever im doing can be put onhold.

I know this is hard and change is terrible sometimes, but im excited to see you grow and become happy here. Your smile is the breath of fresh air this kingdom needed.

See you at dinner, little rose.

Yours always,

Noah.

#noah sebastian fic #noah sebastian x ofc #prince!noah #noah sebastian au #noah sebastian blurb #noah sebastian headcanons #noah sebastian smut #bad omens au #bad omens smut #bad omens headcanons #bad omens fanfiction #noah sebastian fanfiction #noah sebastian fluff #bad omens fluff #bad omens fanfic #bad omens x ofc #the royal oath

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firenati0n · 2 months ago

Text

feeling your heart beating, wondering what you're dreaming

by firenati0n on ao3

M | 5.7k

tags: alternate universe, childhood friends to lovers, only one bed, alex pov, brief ellen pov, brief henry pov, sleeping together, cuddling, tipsy love confessions, first kiss, arthur fox lives and is a wonderful parent, mutual pining, 5+1 things

But Friday nights are just for them. People no longer make fun of Henry’s accent the way they used to in elementary school—they look at him now. It’s weird, and it makes something in Alex’s jaw hurt. “Oh shit, it’s late and I know we have Bea’s piano recital in the morning. Should probably go to bed, yeah?” Alex pulls his shirt off and slides under the covers before yanking it down on Henry’s side for him, an invitation. Henry doesn’t move, though—instead, he’s chewing his bottom lip and staring at the floor, pointedly not looking at Alex.

Or, five times childhood best friends Alex and Henry share a bed platonically, and the one time (of many) they do as something more.

xoxo roop

my @flufftober fic for day 17: only one bed! :)

tagging the rest of the collection crew: @thesleepyskipper @theprinceandagcd @caterpills @kj-bee @exitariel000

@shesfromboston @msmarvelouswinchester @dani-dabbles @jafffacakess

#rwrb fic #fics #rwrb #rwrb fanfiction #roop writes #fic: one bed fluff #attempted a childhood friends to lovers au with the one bed trope YEEHAW!#anyway i hope you enjoy!!!! xoxoxoxoxoxo <3 #flufftober2024 #day 17 #red white and royal blue #firstprince #only one bed

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americas-ass-writing · 11 days ago

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The Celestial Bond

Steve Rogers x reader

Words: ~4k

Summary: Your friends the stars reunite you with an old friend that missed you just like you missed him.

Warnings: family trauma, reader feeling unloved, inaccurate royal au probably ... I think that's it? If not please don't hesitate to reach out

Author's Note: This is my entry for the Horny Hoes Hootenanny by the sweet @yenzys-lucky-charm and @sweater-daddiesdumbdork 💙 I'm so sorry this is late, the muse has left me but I finally managed to end it 🥰 The prompt I used was 🍁 "Here, take my sweater/coat/scarf/jacket/mittens" and Stargazing which I rolled in their little raffle 🥰 also I'm super impressed I wrote 4k words for this???

Divider by @saradika-graphics

For a long time it's just been you and the stars. Just you and the glowing orbs in the sky. Every now and then a owl that would hoot or you'd hear other animal sounds as you sat at the edge of the woods. The stars and the noises were your only friends nowadays.

Once upon a time you had friends... a friend. You'd often stargaze with him, until he had to leave. His departure marked the beginning of loss... not loss in a sense that people died but loss of friendship, of kind people around you, of your families favour.

It's not like they ever loved you, they accepted you but were not keen to have to help you. But if you were of help they liked to keep you around. Eventually they grew tired of you and became more cruel. They never got physical but their words cut deeper than any knife could have.

So eventually you left, clearly not wanted there. You took everything you owned and marched to the village on the outside of your kingdom.

It was dangerous there for sure. If a war with the neighbouring kingdom started it would be the first place to be hit. But it was cheap and you were able to rent a room over a barn with what little you had saved and nowadays earned. It wasn't much but it was home.

You worked odd jobs around the village to survive and luckily it was enough. With no special talents that are of use to work in any service you had to fall back on the jobs no one wanted to do. Clean the stables, collect hard to reach plants in the woods and so on.

Even the people of the village didn't want anything to do with you besides paying you to do the odd jobs.

Sometimes you thought about moving on to the next village but nobody would want you there either. Surviving would be harder and who knew if you'd see the stars as good as you did here? The stars, your only companions.

The energy in the air was weird today. Your little village at unease because some guards and royalty from the other kingdom travelled through earlier. Nobody knows what the royal visit would bring. Maybe they truly were just on their way through? Hopefully whatever business leads them to your king will be settled peacefully. You go about your day doing your odd jobs to earn enough money.

It's late in the afternoon when you carry some filled water buckets back to the bakery. The well is far away and the baker doesn't have time to get the supplies he needs for the evening so it's your job to do. You're just about to cross the main road when a guard from earlier with long brown hair rides past you. You take a step back to let the royal entourage through and the guard nods to you as if to say thank you for waiting. You watch them pass by. First the brown haired guard with a second next to him who even sends you, a peasant, a dashing smile.

The carriage follows. It's dark blue with golden ornaments. The most beautiful thing you've seen besides those blue eyes who watch you intently from inside. Quickly realising it must be a royal from the other kingdom you lower your head in respect.

The carriage drives past you and the last guards, a blonde man with a quiver on his back and a red haired woman pass by on their horses. Both don't pay much attention to you, exept another nod to thank you for waiting. You're confused and look after them for a moment before you hear the baker call for you from across the road. You pick up the buckets again and hurry over to fulfill your job.

With the few coins earned today and a leftover dry loaf of bread you make your way home. In your mind still plays the respect those guards or knights have shown you today. It's been the kindest thing that happened to you in a long time.

You're back in your spot late in the evening. You can't stay up for too long so you're happy the days are a bit shorter now. The stars greet you as if you're old friends, to a degree you are. They've heard many of your woes... If they could hear you quietly talk to yourself.

You lean your head back on the tree behind you, looking up at the sparkling night sky. You still know a few constellations by heart even after all these years. Others you don't know, you wish you did but that information was not meant for you. For some uneducated peasant trying to make ends meet. You wish your friend could have stayed longer all those years ago. He knew all about them and taught you what he knew. But he had to leave just as sudden as the stars leave when the sunrise rolls in.

Dry leaves crunching behind you get your attention. Steps. But not from an animal... those are human steps. You quickly get up, hiding behind the tree, watching who might approach. It's a tall, muscular figure. Long blond hair and a beard to match. The closer he comes the more details you see and soon those same blue eyes who watched you earlier fall upon you again. The person in the carriage?

You blink at him dumbfounded and take in the new details revealed by the moonlight. Brown boots, dark pants, white shirt and a dark blue cloak with an ornate design. The closer you look the more it looks like stars but your mind forces you not to dwell on it too long. This is clearly a royal or at least someone with a higher standing than you. You hurry to curtsey but his hand stops you.

"Please don't... You, especially you will never have to bow for me" his voice was smooth like honey, deep and comforting. It strangely gave you a feeling of safety and... home. You blink at him confused and he moves closer to you slowly, as if not to spook you.

His eyes wander over you and when they meet yours they seem to have found an answer to a question you don't know. You're glued to the spot you're standing just by his look alone. What would a royal want from you? Why shouldn't you bow? Did he need a new chambermaid? That probably paid well... You could maybe even do more than survive.

Your name from his lips pulls you from your mind. Your eyes snap to his and your brows knit in confusion. "How do you..." The question stays unfinished as he takes another step closer to you.

"It's me... Steve." He says softly. "Your Stevie" he adds in an almost hopeful tone. Your head shakes on its on as you try to process. This man in front of you couldn't be your Stevie. He was small, scrawny, soft... And yet the man in front of you had the same brilliant kind eyes, his voice sounded similar enough and the dirty blond of his hair matched too. How... Your Stevie was a royal? It would explain why he never came back...

Another step and he's right in front of you. With hesitation he takes your hands in his, his eyes searching yours. "Please... Please tell me you remember me." He whispers, almost desperate. "Please. I never forgot you. Always thought of you when I watched the stars at night, often dreamed of you. Of us reuniting." He adds, his words spoke nothing but truth.

"Why didn't you come back?" was the only thing able to leave your scrambled brain. His eyes turned sad and he briefly glanced away. "I wanted to... But" a brief sigh. "My father died... He. He was the king of Brooken. My mother and me left because he was cruel but when he died... We had to return. My mother took her rightful place as queen before the Rumlows could take over and rage war upon the lands. I couldn't stay. I'm so sorry... We should have taken you along." His hands squeezed yours softly.

"You're... The prince of Brooken?" You ask, looking over him once more. "The king of Brooken... I had to take over once I came off age." He explains. "A king?" Your eyes grow wide as he nods.

"But I'm still your Stevie. I may look different but I'm still your friend... Which is why when I saw you today I knew I had to come back. Find you. I was hoping you'd stargaze tonight." He admits. "I want to bring you back to my kingdom. Give you the life you deserve." He whispers, his eyes holding nothing but earnest and something else... something adoring.

"The life I deserve?" You ask, confusion clear in your face. His hands let go of yours and move to softly cup your face.

"Yes... A life with no worries, no hard work, full of people who love you" his warmth seeps through your skin and spreads around your face. His promise of a better life sounds good. And since it was your Stevie you're sure he'd keep it. A tiny part of your brain was hesitant to accept. You'd been alone for so long, you're not quite sure there's another option for you but as you look into his eyes and see the warmth they hold for you you're convinced. You nod as much as you can with his big hands cupping your face still and a brilliant smile takes over his face.

With the few belongings you wanted to take along packed you make your way to where he left his horse. He gently lifts you up before mounting behind you. His strong arms caging you into their safety as you lean back. The ride isn't too long but still takes some time. Every now and then the slowly thinning tree tops let the stars and moonlight shine through, your friends watching you as your knight in shining armour takes you home. The stars first brought you together and now helped you find your way back to each other. You smile as they twinkle down at you, as if they're winking at you.

Steve's warmth soon isn't enough as the temperature drops. He notices your shivers and slows his horse down to a stop. "Here, take my cloak" is whispered as he drapes it carefully over your shoulders, closing the button on the front so it wouldn't fall off. He carefully arranges it around to make sure the cold can't get to you. "Thank you" you say softly, looking back at him as he gives you another brilliant smile before riding off.

The sun is just coming up as you arrive at the castle. The last remains of the stars slowly fading away. You're glad they watched over your and Steve's journey back to his beautiful home.

The castle was impressive, grey stones with moss between them. The city in front of it big and beautiful. It looked well taken care of and deep in your heart you knew your Stevie would take care of his people. His horse slowly trotts through the round gate into the walls of the castle. You're greeted with a stunning fountain in the middle of a courtyard and an unimpressed redhead. You've seen her the day before.

"Care to explain why you snuck out without telling anyone where you went to?" She snaps at the man behind you. He stops his horse and shifts a bit. "I've been back in Evrat" he says calmly as if this woman wasn't furious at him. He dismounts his horse and gently helps you down.

"Evrat? Without protection? Steve!" She sounds exhausted. "You could have at the very least have taken Bucky!" Her hands are in the air before they find their place at her hips.

"You know I couldn't have done that. Because it would have woken you. And you either wouldn't have let me go or you would have told Ma." You perk up at that. His mom was still alive. She was here.

"Yeah because it's stupid to go to Evrat on your own. And for what? A woman?" She looked at you but her face gave away that she meant no offense. "Not just a woman. She's my friend! I couldn't lose her again. Not when I've spent years trying to find her." He argued, dropping the calm suddenly. He's met with a huff of frustration and a sigh.

"I'm in charge of your protection. I can't protect you if you manipulate my job. Steve... I would have come with you." Her face full of worry. "What if something would have happened?"

"I can protect myself Nat." Just as stubborn as you remember him. She lets out another huff and rolls her eyes but drops the topic, knowing fully well that arguing with Steve was senseless. Stepping closer she extends one of her hands to you. You blink at it for a moment but decide to take up her offer. She introduces herself as Natasha and you give her your name. With a nod she looks back to Steve. "Never again." Her finger pointing in his face as she warns him amuses you. As if she wasn't talking to her king. But the king in question gives her a sheepish smile in return, no anger or offense like any other king would conjure. "We'll see about that." He teases before he turns back to you.

Natasha rolls her eyes and marches off towards the brunette guard you've seen yesterday. He seems amused at her frustration and follows her inside.

Your attention is pulled back to the man in front of you. Your Stevie. He smiles softly and takes your hand in his before he leads you inside the castle.

His cloak swishes around you as you follow him through the castle. He has given you a little tour and introduced you to the most important people. Bucky, the brunette guard from yesterday and earlier, his friend even before he met you. Buckys eyes are curious as he eyes you but he stays silent. Next up is Sam, the one who gave you a brilliant smile yesterday.

"Don't worry about Bucky, he's the broody kind" he jokes with another smile as he shakes your hand. "You know what Wilson?" Bucky starts and Steve softly pulls you away from their bickering. "You'll get used to it." He chuckles lowly and directs your gaze to the blonde man from yesterday. "This is Clint, best marksman in the kingdom." Clint gives you another nod and stretches out his hand for you to take. You smile and gently shake it, introducing yourself. Natasha simply gives you another nod.

"Your mom is waiting for you at breakfast." She says, one of her eyebrows lifting at Steve. The later breaks out in a excited grin. "Mom will be so excited to see you again!" He exclaims before he takes your hand and leaves Clint and Natasha with the still bickering men.

The room you enter is warm and cozy. The dark wood of the furniture stands out against the muted tones of the fabrics that are spread around the room. There's fresh flowers on the table surrounded by all kinds of delicious food that up until now you've never even dreamt of eating. Steve squeezes your hand and leads you inside.

"Ah Steve. How generous of you to grace me with your presence" an older blond woman walks in through one of the side doors smirking, clearly teasing with her son. She's dressed in a blue robe with a sun pattern and stops short when she spies you. A few blinks later she sets herself in motion again to cup your face, her smile turning watery. "Oh my little sweetheart" she whispers, her eyes full of adoration before she hugs you tight. You melt into her motherly embrace, your heart filling with warmth. It's been a long time since you had someone being so sincere and joyed to see you. And that after all these years she clearly still remembered you? It brought tears to your own eyes. When she pulls back she's quick to wipe them away, giving you a soft smile. The skin around her eyes crinkles as she does so which reminds you just how long you haven't seen the both of them.

"I'm so glad to have you with us." She says after she whispered your name. "Please sit, eat. You must be starving!" She softly pulls you to the table and makes you sit on one of the plush chairs. Steve follows behind, a fond smile on his face as he watches you two interact. He sits down next to you and starts pouring himself some tea before his mother calls for another set of porcelain. She sits on the other side of you and holds your hand between hers, studying your face.

"You've grown into a beautiful young woman my dear" she says after a moment of silence, her blue eyes shining as they flit over your face. Steve has so many features of her. The later places a cup and plate in front of you and starts preparing your tea for you. Always caring the two of them.

Breakfast is filled with questions, answers and laughter. You're well fed and so happy after you're done. Sarah almost won't let you leave her sight but her son convinces her to let you go. At least to wash up and change your clothes. With your hand in his you follow him through the castle to a room - your room.

It's bright and sunny inside. The four poster bed is surrounded by white see through curtains. There's a vanity across from it and a fireplace nestled between two big windows. You're speechless as you take it in. This was bigger than anywhere you've lived and this was only for guests?

"I'll have the tailor make some dresses for you. For now Natasha has put some in the dresser for you to chose from. Two maids will be here soon to draw you a bath and help you." Steve explains softly as he watches you. You brush your fingertips over the soft bedding and look to him. Bathed in sunlight his hair is almost glowing like a halo. "Don't worry this won't be your room for long. They're getting yours ready at the moment. I want it to be perfect for you." He admits as he steps closer once more. You frown but before you can protest that this is more than enough he cups your cheek with one hand. His eyes are searching yours for a moment. Something flits through them and it's then that you can see him decide something. His hand drops and instead he hugs you tight.

"I missed you... I'm sorry. I'm so sorry I had to leave you behind. I should have taken care of you, made sure you're safe... I... I'm sorry" his voice is full of emotions as he hugs you tighter. You're about to say something back but he continues. "But I'll take care of you now. You'll never have to miss out on anything. Your word is my command, I'll do anything for you. I'll make sure you're loved and taken care of." He pulls back a bit, his eyes are full of determination and you can see he's not saying something but before you can ask two young women walk in. They bow their heads in front of their king and Steve gives them a smile.

"I'll leave you to it... Once you're done can you inform me?" He looks at one of the maids who nods in return. "Thank you. Take good care of her. The whole relaxing experience okay?" He turns back to you and presses a soft kiss to your forehead. "I'll see you in a bit" he whispers as his arms fall to his sides. He takes you in one more time before he leaves.

The bath was strange but wonderful. It's weird to you that someone would assist you in washing yourself but you'd never felt so clean, relaxed and never smelled so good before. You were dressed in a beautiful dress and the women helped you braid your hair. You were so thankful and expressed such which was a bit surprising to them.

Once you were done one of them flitted off to tell Steve you were and within a few minutes he entered your room with a dashing smile.

"You look beautiful" he says softly as he approaches you. You blush as you thank him and try to avoid his eyes but he has different plans. His fingers softly lift your chin so he can look into your eyes. Your stomach feels like a million butterflies dance in it as you look into his beautiful blue ones. He truly was handsome and so kind to you. How could you not have feelings for him? Especially so fast. But he was a king and you were a mere commoner... nothing would ever develop out of your stupid crush.

"Your room is done. Would you like to see it?" Steve asks, his eyes still looking into yours. You nod hesitantly and are met with another dashing smile. He softly takes your hand in his and leads you through the castle. You stop in front of the door next to his room, you remember from the tour he gave you earlier. Your brows furrow a bit. Wasn't the room next to the kings reserved for his queen? Before you can address it and ask Steve about it he opens the door to a sunlit beautiful room. It's bigger than the first room you've been in and decorated in mostly white and and light blue. The bedding is a dark blue with white stitching. When you look closer it's a thousand little stars stitched into the dark blue fabric. You're in awe at that alone.

“I… this is my room? Steve…” he squeezes your hand and looks at you. “It is. Do you like it?” His eyes look hopeful as he asks his silly question. “Like it? I love it! It's breathtaking… thank you” you smile at him before you decide to hug him. He's done more than enough for you but now he gives you such a wonderful room too? “But… it's right next to yours. Doesn't that make it the bridal suite?” You ask and he tenses a bit in your arms.

“Yes… it is.” He licks his lips as he looks at you. “So I need to move out once you get married?” You look from his lips to his eyes. He shakes his head, he seems to be contemplating. “No. Yes? If… you… I mean.” He takes a deep breath and suddenly looks determined. “I want you to be my bride. My future queen. My love. So you wouldn't have to move out unless you want to share my bed.” He says and your jaw almost drops to the floor. You? A queen?

As if he can sense your inner turmoil he softly cups your face again. “You'd be more than perfect being a queen. And you deserve it. You deserve a good life with people who love you. They'll all do… I'll just love you most” he adds the last part in a whisper. You look at him, still a bit unsure but before your thoughts tell you otherwise he softly kisses you. All doubts are out of your brain immediately as his lips softly move against yours.

He loves you. He truly does. And he'll be making sure you'll always feel that way, you'll never only have the stars on your side… now you have him too.

#hornyhoeshootenanny #marvel fanfic #marvel fic #steve rogers #steve rogers fanfic #steve rogers fic #steve rogers imagine #steve rogers x reader #steve rogers fanfiction #steve rogers fluff #royal au #sarah rogers #natasha romanoff #sam wilson #bucky barnes #clint barton

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imfoive · 1 month ago

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Crystal Bird - Chapter 9

Missed a chapter? - Prologue / Chapter 1 / Chapter 2 / Chapter 3 / Chapter 4 / Chapter 5 / Chapter 6 / Chapter 7 / Chapter 8

CHAPTER 9 ───────────────────

The last time the Elysium Princess was supposed to meet her childhood friend, the day he had promised to join her in the Grand Forest all those years ago, had also been filled with thunderous rain.

As the young version of herself waited for him, the young boy from Nightshade, who ultimately failed to show up, Y/N had felt a surge of sadness wash over her.

An ache in her chest.

Yet here she was now. Amidst the downpour, feeling that same ache. That same surge of sadness coursing through her once again.

This time, it clenched her heart, tightening with every beat, leaving her mind spinning.

The Nightshade Prince’s lips moved against hers, his kiss urgent, desperate, deep. His fingers cradled her jaw, pulling her closer, as if he needed her to be part of him.

She could have let herself drown in it, let herself fall deeper into the press of his lips over hers, lose herself in his arms, his mouth. But then she felt the cold, pointed jewel pressing against her palm, the one she’d grasped unknowingly in her frantic motions. Squeezing it tightly in her grip.

The crystal bird, once light as air in her hands, now felt like a weight. The sharp edges poking deep into her flesh. A prick that was enough to suddenly ground her. Reminding her of who she was.

Her heart raced for an entirely new reason, as reality crashed back in.

With a sharp inhale, her eyes snapped open. Her form recoiled from him instantly, stepping back and stumbling to steady herself against the hedges. Her breath came in short gasps as she stared at Chris with wide, shocked eyes.

Chris, equally stunned by the abrupt retreat, by the untangling of their embrace, stood frozen. His gaze met hers, wide-eyed, as he realized, with growing disbelief, that this was not a dream.

That he had in fact, kissed her.

Pulled her close. Tasted her lips like he had imagined over and over again.

“Pr-princess…” He whispered, his voice trailing off.

But silence fell between them, his mind suddenly clouded by a thousand conflicting thoughts.

Y/N’s eyes welled with tears again, her gaze dropping to the crystal pendant that peeked from beneath his clothing. The azure hue of the bird gleamed brightly even in the dim light of the dreary night.

Such a beautiful thing that brought her nothing but tears.

Chris noticed, his eyes following the direction of her gaze until they settled on the precious thing.

And suddenly his mind went blank.

Another jolt up thunder roared through the sky, making her slightly flinch, the rain, her emotions, making her tremble.

“Sienna…” Her voice was barely a whisper, yet it rang louder than the crack of thunder surrounding them.

It was as if she had read his mind. As if she could see the swirling of his conflicted emotions written in his rigid form.

That upon seeing this bird he had to remind himself once again, that he loved another.

He should love another.

Sienna, his princess.

His heart hammered in his chest, his gaze fixed on the pendant before trailing back to the second princess. The one he had kissed, who he still wanted to kiss again and again.

The one who made him feel things he couldn’t understand. Things he shouldn’t feel to begin with.

The one who wasn’t Sienna.

Yet, perhaps she was the one he loved.

“It belonged to Sienna. A birthday gift that she had… lost in the Grand Forest.” Y/N confessed, eyes still fixed on the bird that mocked her with its existence.

“Princess I—”

“You’ve given your heart to her, haven’t you?”

The question felt like a punch in her own gut.

She knew it was low of her.

To ask him this question when she was possibly one of the biggest reasons behind his misunderstandings.

Yet seeing him wear the necklace that had once hung around Sienna’s neck made her heart pound painfully against her chest. A bitter taste spread across her tongue, intensifying with every passing moment.

Her mind flashed back to the night of the banquet. Back to his eyes, soft and adoring as they lingered on Sienna, while she stood right there.

He should have recognized her. Even if he couldn’t.

He should have.

She already knew his answer would disappoint her. That it would hurt her. But she refused to admit it, refused to face the truth that hung between them.

Everyone saw the person they loved as the most beautiful in the world. Chan had done the same.

His eyes had always been drawn to Sienna, the woman who, to Y/N, was the prettiest woman she knew. Her older sister, the first princess.

The original owner of the Crystal Bird.

“I must love Sienna.” Chris’ words cut through the heavy silence, breaking Y/N from her trance.

She stared at him, her expression widening in a mix of confusion and something else as she processed whatever he just said. Unsure of what that meant.

The Warrior Prince’s face twisted in conflict, his expression torn as his eyes flicked down, between the crystal pendant and the second princess standing before him again.

“She—” He hesitated, mouth opening and closing, unsure how to explain the bond he shared with his princess without revealing the childhood secrets that they shared.

But seeing Y/N, shivering and drenched, just an arm’s reach away from him, his heart urged him to speak. To say anything that might erase the hurt from her face, tell her everything about those clandestine meetings by the river.

“She’s... my savior. My friend. Once upon a time. I-I owe her my life.” The words came easily, tumbling from his lips, yet they made sense to him.

His words were true, the most honest he had ever been ever since he had come here. An explanation made with all the best words he could find.

A childhood friend who he had spent his entire formative years dreaming of, the memories of the girl that saved him. The one he made promises to.

But as the weight of his words settled in the thick silence, so did the tension. The only sound was the relentless patter of rain, growing louder, drowning out everything else in the dark of the night.

Y/N’s brows softened as she took in his confession. She dropped her head, eyes falling to the ground as she stared at her feet, her mud-streaked dress clinging to her legs, weighing her down. Her eyes relaxing at the sight, coming to her own conclusions.

Chan must love her because she saved him.

Yet here he was, kissing some other woman because he didn’t truly love his savior.

Her brows furrowed, the thoughts rushing through her one after another.

Then…would he have simply loved her too just because she was his savior? His childhood friend?

A duty? A debt he must repay?

Her mind was reeling, from everything she had overheard back in the library. From the painful ache in her chest, from Chan’s looming presence that she craved but hated being in.

From those kisses.

The love stories she had once imagined with Chan, stories she had dreamt of for years, shattered with a resounding crash in her ears. The sound was deafening, impossible to ignore.

The Second Princess bit her bottom lip, holding back the tears that pricked at her eyes.

She inhaled.

“Princess Sienna does not love you.” Her words were sharp, breaking a silence that made him stare at her with raised brows.

“Princess Sienna is not your savior. And she does not remember—” Her gaze trailed up from the ground to settle on the crystal bird that rested against his chest.

“...She does not remember ever owning that trinket. It had been a forgotten thing long ago.” Her voice wavered with a bitter edge.

There was disdain in her tone, aware that her words were cutting him deep. That she should say something, anything to soothe that shocked expression on his face, the uneasiness that perhaps gripped at his heart.

That she should finally, finally tell him the truth.

“Sienna is not your friend.” It was a truth, but it wasn’t.

It was the shattering of this man’s hopes.

Which she could see as he inhaled silently, absorbing in her words. The venom in her tone, muffled by the loud thunder and rain.

“Princess…”

“You shouldn’t be out here—Neither of us should be here.” Y/N’s tone hardened as she glanced around at the their dark surroundings, controlling her emotions.

That expression, those scowls that had forever been an image the Warrior Prince had tied with her, was drawn on her face. A return of that persona of the Second Princess of Elysium, a role she was exceptional at falling into.

Y/N shifted her gaze away from him, taking a step further away, her back brushing against the tall hedges of this maze-like garden. As if distancing herself from the scene they had just created. Like she had the first night they stood in the shadows of this very garden.

“I advise you to return to your chambers. Tonight—” Her voice faltered at the glimpse of his eyes boring into hers, but she quickly regained control, her breath catching in her throat.

“Tonight did not happen.” Her words were final.

Silence stretched between them, thick and suffocating. Y/N gripped the sides of her dress, her fingers balling the fabric into her fists, the wetness of her clothes clinging to her skin, her emotions threatening to spill. She forced herself to curtsy, her movements stiff almost in the damp, mud-streaked dress.

Chris took a step forward, his hand reaching out but faltering in the air.

“No, Y/N listen—”

“Prince Christopher. Please allow me to return.” She was afraid to lift her bowed head, her voice barely above a whisper, trembling with the effort to keep her composure, heart breaking with every word.

Once again the Warrior Prince inhaled, his eyes suddenly raking over her trembling figure, the rain further drenching her with every drop. Suddenly he realized she must be freezing, that she was still recovering and being out here in the rain was not the best for her in such a condition. Yet, he had kept her here, with his pull, with his kiss.

His arm dropped to his side.

“Please return safely, Princess.” His voice softened, the words laced with a quiet, aching sorrow.

And without another word, Y/N turned and fled, moving swiftly through the garden, refusing to look back. Her footsteps were hurried, as though she were escaping not just the rain, but the weight of everything that had just been said, everything that had just unfolded. Attempting to escape a night that had finally lifted that veil in front of her eyes, one she tried so hard to keep in place.

She ran from her, once Chan.

The Nightshade Crown Prince stared at her retreating figure, the pale yellow of her dress disappearing from his sight. Suddenly there was bitterness in his mouth. From anger, from regret.

From hurt.

He inhaled, feeling the looming presence just outside the hedges.

“Minho.”

The Midnight Leader, hidden in the shadows, had been silently watching from a distance. He appeared at Chris’ side almost instantly, his presence quiet, but ever watchful.

“Make sure she returns without being seen.” Chris ordered, his tone low but firm, his eyes never leaving the fading figure of Y/N.

Minho hesitated, a flicker of doubt in his gaze. A quietness that his master was easily able to read.

“You shouldn’t have told me about her if you didn’t plan on getting involved.” Chris’ voice hardened, a command that left no room for argument.

Minho dropped his gaze, his expression unreadable.

“Yes, Your Highness.”

And with that, the shadow warrior vanished into the night, as his prince stood there, still staring into the empty garden. Heart suddenly heavier than it was, much conflicted than he had ever been.

Chris couldn’t make sense of what had just transpired. He was here, yes, but the choices he had made, the actions he had taken, left him bewildered. Left him mortified.

He could still picture Y/N’s face, twisted in pain as she cried, her sobs cutting through the air like daggers. That image haunted him, part of him wanting to fix whatever had caused her to run out here in tears, another part of him afraid she was hurt.

But then, the kiss. The way her warmth had pressed into him, how desperately he had craved it. He couldn’t shake the feeling of her so close, so real against him.

Instinctively, his hand closed around the crystal bird hanging from his neck, the cool stone grounding him like it always had whenever his thoughts threatened to overwhelm him.

Still, even as he held it, he groaned in frustration. The image of her staring down at this same jewel with her hardened expression flashed before him.

A memory that made him drag his other hand down his face.

What the hell had he done?

He shouldn’t have come out here.

He should have treated Minho’s report like any other. The routine words he always delivered after every special task. He should have dismissed the mention of his Midnight Captain sighting her out here earlier in the evening on his return from his mission.

But something about it had gnawed at him.

Why was the second princess running around palace grounds like a thief? In this weather, in the dark of the night?

Minho had mentioned it briefly, his words laced with suspicion, but as the rainstorm intensified, so did the unease eating away at Chris’ thoughts. Something in him tried to convince himself that he was out here because of his duties as Nightshade’s Crown Prince. To uncover potential sneaky ruses that seemed to take place in the middle of the night here in Elysium.

But even as the thought crossed his mind, he knew deep down it wasn’t true.

Perhaps that was when he made his first wrong choice.

But now the Warrior Prince stood in the midst of the wet garden, the pouring rain drenching his lone figure as he cursed himself for making such terrible choices.

He had returned to his chambers, dripping wet, a sight that made Han fix him with that unreadable, judgmental gaze he often wore when he kept his thoughts to himself.

But Chris needed the nagging. He needed the younger guard’s berating words to distract him from whatever had unfolded in the darkness of the garden.

But there was none of that. Instead, Han simply stared at him, eyes intense.

“You can’t love two women Chris.”

Han’s words had immediately pulled Chris back to his reality, big eyes staring at his friend with a sudden shock.

Aware deep down that whatever Han had just said was the very ones pricking at his conscious.

Of course Han would notice, without his Prince ever having to voice any of it. He was his closest friend, his confidant. And as the sole person at the older Prince’s side almost all hours of the day, he’s easily able to catch the lingering gazes, the stifled smiles that Chris thought he hid well.

All directed towards another princess.

And especially now, with how Chris had almost rushed out into the night, with no strategy besides some lame excuses behind such recklessness, the truth had been laid bare.

The personal guard had long suspected it. The pull the second princess seemed to have on his prince was worrisome from the moment he had noticed. Not that Chris having feelings for either of the enemy princess’ was any less concerning.

It was astonishing almost for Han.

At how easily Chris had fallen for Princess Y/N. Even if he claimed it wasn’t so.

Chris had pined for an unnamed princess for the past decade. Imagining, re-imagining how beautiful she must have grown to be. How resolute, how compassionate she must be.

Expressive, justice-driven.

Curious, ambitious.

Qualities that his now grown princess was didn’t portray.

Qualities that another princess possessed.

Han looked at Chris now, sitting in silence, his hair still dripping, staring at the floor, clearly lost in the weight of the words the guard uttered, of his own thoughts.

“I-I don’t know what to do.” Chris finally breathed out, his voice laced with confusion and a twinge of frustration, wiping the wet streaks from his face.

Han had always been in awe of Chris’ unwavering devotion to his princess. His belief that theirs was a love story, despite the obstacles in their way. A true love story.

But Han had never imagined it would be this tragic.

The unnamed princess didn’t remember Chris. She had changed into someone he didn’t recognize, someone different from the person he had once adored.

In that moment, Han wished that Princess Y/N had been the one Chris had dreamed of for so long.

Even if their nations were enemies, even if they were torn apart by the duties they owed their kingdoms, a love story between them would have been tragic in a way that at least left room for remembrance.

At least they would have loved each other. And Han could only watch pitifully.

“For now—dry off.” Han sighed, moving toward the grand wardrobe to pull out something dry for his prince.

“We should discuss what Minho reported. It’s quite concerning.” Han tried to redirect the conversation, but Chris blinked up at him with narrowed brows.

“—The other thing he stumbled upon.”

Chris groaned, rubbing his face in frustration, trying to steady himself. He had to focus, to remember his duties as the Nightshade Kingdom’s Crown Prince.

Minho’s report had been direct, yet still quite alarming. The Midnight leader had reported about the large group of knights stationed at the border. His mission had been quite straightforward, yet he didn’t expect to see such a scene. Elysium had never been a military nation, known more for their entrepreneurship rather than their fighting prowess. So to see such a large military presence just beyond the walls that separated the two kingdoms was unexpected.

They were building an army.

And they planned to attack.

It was a conclusion any sensible person would come to. Though the Nightshade warriors had suspected it from the start, witnessing it firsthand was a different matter.

“They don’t plan to let me return safely. It’s clear enough.” Chris muttered, eyes flashing with frustration and anger.

“Maybe as we get closer to the border, they plan to ambush us.” He spat, snatching the drying cloth Han had handed him, the wet fabric now gripped in his fists.

The personal guard’s brows furrowed. He knew it was a likely scenario, and he was unafraid of a fight, especially when it meant protecting his prince. But still, the thought of an ambush sent a chill through him.

“Should we do anything to prepare?” Han asked, his voice steady, though concern flickered in his eyes as he awaited his prince’s orders.

Chris glanced between his guard and then out toward the window, where the storm outside seemed to mirror his growing unease. Thunder rumbled, and lightning lit up the sky.

“Command the warriors to stay on defense for now. Keep an eye on anything suspicious happening in their quarters.” His tone was cold, precise.

“And—” Chris suddenly fell silent, his eyes fixed on nothing as though lost in thought, as if something had just come rushing back to him.

He recalled Princess Y/N’s words. The ones she had whispered through her tears, clinging to him in the garden.

“You must leave Prince Christopher.”

At first, he had believed she said them simply because of his forbidden presence, because of the comfort he had offered. But now, those words took on a new weight.

They felt like a warning.

The Second Princess of Elysium knew something. And whatever it was, it was likely the cause of her frantic actions tonight.

“...Your highness?” Han’s concerned voice had broken him from his trance.

Chris shook his head, as if clearing the fog, before his gaze sharpened.

“Let’s meet with the second princess tomorrow.”

Han blinked, surprised by the sudden shift in direction of their next moves.

“For Nightshade duties, nothing else.” Chris could easily read the younger warrior’s expression.

Han’s expression betrayed his confusion and skepticism, which Chris’ spotted clear on his face. He should feel upset, frustrated at the lack of faith his personal guard and his Midnight leader had in him. But, given how every action involving Princess Y/N had been driven by forces beyond his control, he didn’t blame them.

Still, now was not the time to be a fool. His crown, his responsibilities as the heir to Nightshade, outweighed everything else. His duty was clear, no matter where his heart tried to lead him.

But the next morning the Nightshade Prince found himself sitting across Princess Sienna. He had invited the Second Princess for tea, of course as a ruse, but didn’t expect the first princess in her place.

He should have been happy. But instead, his heart twisted with an unfamiliar sensation when he realized he wasn’t so.

“I apologize for my sudden presence Prince Christopher, but Y/N was feeling unwell this morning and I decided to keep you company instead.” She smiled, the kind of smiles that had made him look at her in admiration, once.

Yet, all the Warrior Prince could feel was his heart hammering against his chest. His concern for Y/N, evident in his wide eyes that seemed to bore into Sienna.

“Unwell? Is she alright? Did something els—” He caught himself, his barrage of questions tinged with worry.

It almost slipped that he and Y/N had been together last night. The way Sienna’s startled gaze met his, made him gulp.

“Did something happen to her?” He finished with a simple question, hoping it wouldn’t betray him further.

“Ah…” Sienna hesitated, glancing between the attendant who was pouring tea and the prince sitting before her.

“She had a fever from forgetting to close the balcony doors last night. She’s resting now, but is alright otherwise. Thank you for your concern, your highness.”

The excuse made sense. An easy lie, one that only the Second Princess could deliver with such effortless ease, convincing the softer, more trusting First Princess. But Chris saw through it. He knew the real reason, and guilt gnawed at him, pulling his mind back to last night. Y/N’s drenched form, pressed against him, burned into his thoughts.

Sienna had fallen back into their shared breakfast, reaching for her cup of tea, unknowing of the turmoil churning in the man that sat across her.

“You seem to have a special attachment to that piece of jewelry.” Sienna remarked, breaking the silence, a question that tore him away from his clouded thoughts.

His eyes trailed to the crystal bird, before snapping up to Sienna. Chris stared at the graceful smile still playing on her lips, waiting for a response.

In his mind, he heard Y/N’s sharp words from the night before.

“Do you really not recall this thing, Princess?” Chris’ voice was steady, but his gaze was intent, hoping for Sienna to nod and admit she remembered.

Part of him needed her to confess, but another part…

“I don’t.” Her brows had furrowed with confusion, staring at the little trinket against the fabric of his shirt.

“It seemed familiar when I first saw it.” She continued, her words flowing easily.

“Perhaps I had something like it as a child. Or maybe, seeing something so simple among all the heavy jewelry at the banquet caught my eye.” She pondered aloud, unaware of the deepening void her words created in Chris’ mind.

The Warrior Prince gripped his cup tightly. The harshness of Y/N’s words, now so true, echoed in his thoughts. He watched Sienna take another sip of her tea, his mind spinning.

For a moment, his brow furrowed, then slowly relaxed. His eyes blinked as he looked at the young lady across from him,

He had a sudden realization.

One he should have had the moment he met Sienna. That this princess was not his once friend.

That his childhood companion, the one who he had been desperate to reunite with, was not here.

She hadn’t been here from the beginning, perhaps disappearing the day he failed to show up.

Maybe he had conjured her up. His imagination created a friend in his desperate need to survive in that river that day. But he knew that that wasn’t true. That she was a real person. One Han had seen. One who left behind this crystal bird that he carried with him for the last decade, and memories he still held dearly.

It would have been easier. To come to terms with the fact that she wasn’t real.

But as he stared at Sienna he realized.

His childhood friend had died.

Along with the memories the first princess did not remember. The ones she lost. His childhood friend was amongst them.

Instead he was chasing after the ghost of someone who once was.

And Sienna was nothing but the First Princess of Elysium.

Nothing but a stranger.

He felt his throat go dry.

Y/N couldn’t quite recall how she had returned to her chambers, or how she managed to avoid being seen. She vaguely remembered finding her knight passed out outside her door. The sight of his figure slumped against the wall as if he was knocked unconscious rather than asleep, should have felt bizarre to her. Or maybe he had likely grown too comfortable as the night wore on and decided that standing guard was no longer necessary.

But none of that seemed to matter now.

What weighed on her mind was something else entirely.

She had drifted in and out of her own consciousness throughout the night, only to fully realize, when the fever finally took hold, that she was unwell, burning with heat. By then, Anna had already been at her side, wiping the cold sweat from her forehead.

The rain had been relentless indeed, even opening her eyes had been difficult, her body trembling uncontrollably. It wasn’t until noon that her fever finally broke, and she blinked up to find Anna staring down at her with a mixture of worry and fear. She had even managed to mutter possible excuses of her fever in between her haze, something about the balcony doors.

Sienna had apparently visited early in the morning, and while she was there, an attendant from Ruby Hall had come with an invitation from Prince Christopher, requesting her presence.

Of course, Y/N couldn’t go. So, Sienna had gone in her stead, the right gesture for a princess in such a situation. Yet, that did little to ease the ache in Y/N’s chest. It only reminded her that she was still in love with the enemy prince. The one who hurt her.

Rather, the one she hurt, with her harsh tone, her venomous words. From her hiding of the truth.

Perhaps she should feel relieved that she had fallen ill, sparing her from facing him. To avoid those intent gazes that seemed to pierce her very soul. To escape the memory of his lips, searing hot against hers.

“I’ve changed the bandages and applied the salve on your wound. It seemed to have been irritated by the rain,” Anna’s voice broke through her spiraling thoughts as she gently helped Y/N sit up in bed.

Y/N instinctively glanced at her shoulder, understanding now why it had been sore last night.

“You really scared me, my lady.” Anna murmured, her voice soft as she furrowed her brow in concern.

Y/N looked at the young girl, offering a faint smile as she reached out to gently squeeze Anna’s hand.

“I’m sorry. You must have been worried sick.”

Anna shook her head, returning the squeeze with a quiet reassurance.

“I’m just glad you’re alright. And I’m sure you’ll feel even better after a light lunch. What would you like prepared, my lady?” Anna asked, already standing and heading toward the door, ready to go to the kitchen hall.

“Lunch?” Y/N blinked, her eyes darting toward the balcony doors. The curtains were drawn open, and bright afternoon sunlight streamed in.

“What time is it?” She asked, surprised by the sudden realization of how late it had become.

“Oh… it’s half past noon. Don’t worry about your duties. I’ve already told the attendants you’ll be resting today—”

“Help me get dressed. I promised Prince Hyunjin I’d have lunch with him.” Y/N moved quickly, as if the fever from earlier hadn’t even touched her.

“Princess, you must rest!” Anna insisted, her brows knitting into a frown.

“It’s just lunch with company, nothing too demanding. I promise.” Y/N said with a wide smile.

Anna’s resolve easily wavered. The princess’ smile always seemed to have that effect. With a heavy sigh, she turned toward the wardrobe to prepare Y/N’s clothes.

Hyunjin was surprised to see Y/N. The Second Princess, who he’d been told was feeling unwell, greeted him with a quick curtsy, her smile bright despite her condition. He had expected to have lunch alone, perhaps exchanging a few words with Seungmin, but the guard was hardly a conversationalist, so it was likely he would have just rambled by himself. The sight of Y/N now standing before him, instead made him smile.

“Are you feeling better?” Hyunjin stood from his chair, gesturing for her to take the chair a servant had pulled out for her.

The Second Princess settled into her seat gracefully, and Hyunjin followed, leaning back in his own chair.

“It was just a slight fever, nothing too concerning.” She nodded, glancing up at the servant pouring them their tea.

“I would have understood if you decided to rest instead.”

“Prince Hyunjin, truly, I am fine.” Y/N pressed, reaching for the book he’d been reading, her fingers brushing over the pages.

Hyunjin’s gaze lingered on her, knowing she was still recovering. A faint weariness in her expression that didn’t hide well. The Sylvancrest Prince’s eyes settled on her smile as she stared down at the pages she flitted through.

“I’ve always wondered…” Y/N began. “Are the Sylvancrest lakes as vast as they’re described here?” She glanced up at him, her eyes curious, waiting for his response.

“How about you visit and see for yourself?” Hyunjin suggested, his head tilting slightly, his lips pulling into a smile.

He reached for his drink, taking a sip before setting it back with a quiet clink against the coaster.

“Would you like to go to Sylvancrest with me, Princess?”

His question hung in the air. The Princess across blinked, her smile faltering as she met his gaze. Hyunjin’s expression was warm as always, but now there was an intensity in his eyes that made her heart skip a beat.

Princesses weren’t allowed to leave their nation unless married into another. A rule that was well known, and one Hyunjin surely understood.

Her heart raced in her chest as she stared at him, unsure how to respond to the foreign prince who had always been kind to her, yet now seemed to be hinting at something more. His gaze suddenly became unreadable, and for a moment, the weight of the silence between them felt heavy.

But in that silence, all Y/N could think about was Chan.

The enemy prince she still loved. ━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━ to be continued.

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