#some roses have steel thorns

[ladystoneboobs]

ya ever think about how the lannister sibs all have big secrets kept from each other, like huge life-altering experiences? jaime's is the most obvious, the most talked-about, with the full story of his kingslaying and everything he endured from aerys leading up to it. it's clear enough to me that brienne was the first he opened up to about that, including either sibling. they never asked, but unlike ned stark and the rest deriding him as kingslayer, their lack of curiosity is no offense in itself bc as tywin's other children they would never judge him for turning his cloak purely out of family loyalty. ned's assumption of jaime's motives is directly tied to his judgment of jaime, but it's the judgment that rankles jaime so. choosing your father's life over a king's is hardly the worst crime in itself. how can he explain all the other reasons without prompting when its not just about his crime but all his trauma too? is there any basis for that in his relationship with cersei, who always relied on him for comfort and consolation but seems less adept at providing the same to him? or even with tyrion, his only real male friend for years, but also his baby brother, the one he was meant to protect and take care of, who was only 10 at the time of the kingslaying? even to fully share all with tyrion years later, both adults, could be something of a role reversal, forever shattering tyrion's image of him as the strong invulnerable golden big brother by revealing his own broken inner child. jaime can't break out from those sibling roles and patterns, so neither can ever understand that part of him, never knowing the early life he had at court without either of them with him.

and tyrion, who trusted jaime more than anyone in the world before learning the truth about tysha, still could not confide in him freely even when all that trust was still intact. jaime must have heard some story of what tywin did to tysha to feel the need to confess his lie, but he def didn't hear it straight from tyrion bc imo there's no way he could still think confessing would help anything if he understood how scarred tyrion was by what he witnessed and esp not knowing that tywin ordered him to participate at the end. tyrion could reveal all that to bronn when they barely knew each other but not to his beloved brother, his first and best friend. how can the most abused child explain all his unknown abuse to the golden child, the big brother meant to protect him who couldn't always do so? how does he even begin to reveal the deepest trauma that happened to him when jaime wasn't in the room, esp when the story does start with jaime apparently trying to help him by fixing him up with tysha?

and then there's cersei and all her secrets. she always turned to jaime for consolation, or at least when he knew she needed it, but how many times did he not know? how personally could she confide in him as they grew older and their paths diverged? we know the first big secret was maggy the frog's prophecy, her first big scare, which came on the cusp of puberty, an experience she couldn't share with her twin bc he would prob just laugh and make a joke of it. in their first real scene together, in bran's pov, he mocks lysa's motherly fears and likens her to cersei. ("I think birthing does something to your minds. You are all mad." He laughed.) then he makes light of her marital discord, ("And whose fault is that, sweet sister?"), having no idea of the depth of pain she'd suffered from robert, beyond his infidelities. he later blames her for being robert's queen, not his, only thinking of how she managed to arrange his kg post, that power to forever tie him to her in secret, never grasping her lack of control in marriage, that "a queen is only a woman after all". in her pride it was hard to reveal all she'd suffered as a woman, but she also couldn't rely on jaime's response if he knew of her abuse, knowing he would kill robert and get himself killed too, only making her and their children's lives more precarious. she couldn't trust him to listen about securing the throne before dealing with robert or that as robert's victim it was her right to decide such matters, to choose his fate, not jaime's place to avenge her without her say-so first. all bc they were both too stuck in their idea of jaime as her sword, nothing more, with jaime determined to protect her and tyrion, always a bodyguard before he ever donned a white cloak.

something something tywin did his best to play his children off each other and the most effective thing he did to divide them was by setting jaime up as the golden child and family protector. the designated lannister sword only pointing at threats outside their house. a knight serving his family whose protection was always limited, who could never protect them from the person who first hurt cersei and tyrion and made them who they were at a distance from him, bc ofc he couldn't fight his own father, much less slay him with a sword.

something something maybe the reason that joff+marg+loras was a surer recipe for kingslayer stew than robert+cersei+jaime is all down to that tyrell lack of abusive structure. not that loras cared more about marg, was more willing to kill for her than jaime was to kill robert, but that there wasn't a chance of marg hiding her misery from him if/when her husband abused her in their shared household. it's not like he understood her to the point of mind-reading but when their previous royal marital household involved her bearding for his boyfriend then they prob had a pretty good basis of open communication. in that sense, the lannicest twins with all their sexual and physical intimacy still had less emotional intimacy than the tyrell queen and her kg brother.

[krasnayavedma]

❝ You're so much like your mother. ❞

@billyktothemax !

[fushitoru]

the season of thorned roses ⸺ a bridgerton!au

pairing ⸺ duke!satoru gojo x fem!reader

summary ⸺ dearest gentle reader, a new season is upon us as the ton gets ready for a season filled with drama, heartbreak, and passion. after being crowned diamond of the season, duke gojo⸺only looking to marry just to secure his inheritance⸺has his sights set on you, the easiest (and most obvious) option. later, when you catch his saying unsavory things about you on a terrace when he least suspected it, you swear to never marry gojo. as london's fashionable set goes through yet another wedding season, will there be hope for scandalous gossip, hate, and thinly veiled insults, or will we witness blooming love and passion?

genre/warnings ⸺ enemies to lovers, bridgerton au, angst, fluff, eventual smut, jealousy, misogyny, regency era au, gojo being infuriating, reader also being infuriating, both of them are clueless honestly, all they do is bicker 💀, some historical inaccuracies

notes from the author: im aashi, and this is my first series on this app :p for anyone who would like to know, this does end with a happy ending. ty for reading!

masterlist | drabble | fanart

chapter index

01 ⸺ the debutante

you begin to get ready for your presentation for your debut this season, and satoru steels himself to find a wife. you don't get the reception you'd wanted from some, and satoru will soon curse himself for letting his tongue loose (6.3k)

02 ⸺ the aftermath

after an eventful first ball after your debut, you continue the season with thinly veiled vexation towards gojo. but fate is not on your side; you and gojo keep encountering each other, matching fire with fire (7.8k)

03 ⸺ the manor

you and gojo have just uncovered your mothers' matchmaking scheme: a plan that sends you both to his extravagant countryside manor in kent, arriving a week earlier than the rest of the ton. the question remains—can you endure gojo's insufferable nature during this secluded stay? (8.3k)

04 ⸺ the game

satoru has some revelations about you. both you and satoru share some quite...happening days at the manor, including an eventful game of pall mall. (4.9k)

05 ⸺ the fall

gojo comes up with a strange yet tempting arrangement, but the accident that follows it may cause epiphanies for the both of you. (11.8k)

06 ⸺ the house party

you are bedridden, recovering from your wound, when gojo delivers season-changing news. the house party that follows buzzes with tension, and an unexpected arrival that sends ripples through the ton. (7.4k)

07 ⸺ the rebound (soon!)

drabbles/headcanons

01 ⸺ gojo walking in on geto at a brothel (nsfw, not canon)

02 ⸺ gojo when you're pregnant

03 ⸺ more on geto!

[ragingbookdragon]

She sighs as she pauses mid step in the garden, not bothering to look over her shoulder as she says, “I need not a guardian to simply walk amongst my flowers.”

The crunch of gravel beneath a blackened, steel boot echoes in her ear as does his deep voice with, “Many wish to harm you, My Queen.”

She turns, looking at him; he’s as steadfast as ever with the long-sword strapped to his back, his hands tucked neatly behind him. “Simon, I am in my garden, hidden behind the walls. I assure you, an assassin is not waiting to kill me here.”

“And I am here to make sure that does not occur,” he replies, taking another step towards her. “Knight Captain Jonathan did express complete scrutiny.”

“Am I a child who needs to be watched every waking moment?” she can’t help but feel a bit of annoyance. It’s been like this ever since the Knights came and replaced the King’s Guards. But she had to note, Knight Captain Jonathan and his subordinates did a phenomenal job of protecting her and keeping order.

“You are the Queen of the people,” he answers. “One that is genuinely loved and cared for. It has been many a century since they have seen a royal who truly cares for them. Who has stripped her elegant robes for peasant clothes and worked the fields beside them.” Beneath that blackened, steel mask, she can see the whites of his eyes full of admiration. “The land would fall into ruin if you died.”

She practically glides when she walks, a perfect portrait of grace, and comes to stand in front of him. “So, you only protect me for my people?” she takes in the white skull stain on his mask, supposed to frighten his enemies but she finds it comforting. “Or is it for gold? You do have a hefty pay.”

Beneath his mask, his eyes narrow and he doesn’t bother to lean forward as he reminds her, “Do not mistake my me for some hired thug. You are more to us than a Queen.”

“Am I more to you, Simon?” she asks.

“It would be unwise to answer such a question,” he tips his head up. “Your Majesty.”

She sneaks her hand to his waist, takes his dagger and walks to a rose bush beside them; with precision he should be worried of, she cuts a rose and wicks the thorns off before she walks back and replaces the knife. A delicate crimson flower she brings to her nose, gently inhaling the floral scent before she sticks it in the crook of his chest plate.

“I do believe it’s time for my evening bath,” she murmurs, and walks past him. “Come, Simon,” she orders, but her words hold no true power, simply a request. “Lest I am assassinated in my own garden as I walk back to my chambers.”

He gently touches the rose and lets out a humored sigh through his nose as he follows in suit behind her gliding. “Perish the thought, My Queen.”

[thewulf]

Works and Requests

Oh man I knew this day would come, I finally have to make seprate masterlists for some fandoms, this main post is too massive now! Masterlist's below the cut <3

If you'd like to be added to any or all works please fill out the form here: Taglist Sign Up

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JJ Maybank

Accidentally in Love ‎♡✿‎ ‎

Always & Forever Part 1 | Part 2 ♡✿‎ ‎

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Soothing Shadows♡✿‎

Cassian

Frosted Steel✿✦

Rhysand

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Eris Vanserra

A Realm Reborn✿✦

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Works In Progress (WIP's)!

Steve Randle x Reader - Request!

Sirius Black x Reader - Request!

Legolas x Reader - Request!

Jake "Hangman" Seresin x Reader - Request

Who I Write For:

Top Gun: Maverick & 1986

Jake "Hangman" Seresin

Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw

Bob Floyd

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Any other pilot upon request!

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A Court of Thorns and Roses Universe (ACOTAR)

Azriel

Cassian

Rhysand

Any High Lord really

Any other upon request!

[sweepingboy]

"General Ming Guang is doing palm reading!"

Gods surround the ruler of North giggling and shoving each other like a bunch of teens. They're hooting and hollering as they listen to old Pei's fortune telling, teasing each other. Sex, love... It seems that some topics will always bug people no matter how many centuries they lived.

Mu Qing rolls his eyes at them but keeps watching from his seat across the table as Pei Ming masterfully flirts with young goddesses clearly abusing his palm reading excuse as he brushes his lips against their delicate hands. They blush and squeak and look at the deity oh so hopefully.

Mu Qing came in terms with his fate long time ago - always in a rush he had no time to fool around. He took his vows, sharpening himself like a sword. A blade that had passed the fire of the forge and the icy waters, the singing steel praising the scarlet drops on the grim metal. Protecting attacking - he has a duty, he chose it himself 800 years ago.

He feels a tug in the ribcage as Pei Ming grabs Xie Lian's hand.

" Ho-ho!, Your Highness! I see a long and happy marriage" Ming Guang winks "death won't be enough to set you apart!" The prince blushes and laughs awkwardly placing a hand over his chest where, Mu Qing knows, the diamond ring is hidden. He clenches fists under the table the bandages digging uncomfortably into his skin.

Quietly he gets up and leaves.

Gentle wind plays with his hair as he stands in the shadows of the garden feeling like a shadow himself; frozen in his power he watches the life passing leaving him behind.

"General Xuan Zhen," familiar voice calls "may I have your hand?"

Mu Qing sighs in annoyance as steady footsteps approach him "I'm not interested, Ming Guang."

"Xuan Zhen," the other general teases " is this how you treat your elders?"

Mu Qing scoffs at him, while Pei Ming smiles charmingly. Exasperated, he lifts his hand and starts taking off the bandages slowly, arranging them into a neat roll as he does so. Inch by inch he reveals areas of burned skin - some pale pink, healing already, some still aggressively red. At least they aren't wet with ichor he thinks. He hated feeling moist cloth against his skin.

General Ming Guang takes his hand carefully.

He traces the lines gently - Mu Qing thought they wouldn't be visible at all remembering how tight was his grip on the red-hot hilt of Zhanmadao but they are even more defined like that, long curves against the puffed flesh.

"Your heart is covered in thorns."

"How original."

"Shush! You're listening to me now, young man!" "It's hard for a living creature to get through the thorn bushes."

Mu Qing rolls his eyes "It's not how you read a palm."

"Many people see it as cruel and dead" the god continues patiently "but I can see that this heart has bled enough. General you have lived many troubled years without warmth - but you know what cold is because you have something to compare it to" the younger god listens to him, as calloused bog fingers dance over the creases of his skin "This stubborn heart will do anything for those it cares about. It will endure pain, reproach, misunderstandings. I like that little guy."

"My dear Xuan Zhen," Pei Ming's thumb is gently massaging the center of the palm "you carry the most beautiful rose in your chest. A lover worthy of you should be willing to prick himself dozens of times to see it's bud. And you must be ready to let it bloom when the time comes."

"If the time comes." Mu Qing whispers.

Pei Ming calmly looks him on the eyes "When. The Heavens are full of brave men."

"Thank you general" he says quietly " I will treasure your very accurate detailed prediction."

"Sure. Want me to do your horoscope too?"

"Please spare me that honour."

Pei Ming laughs and hugs him with one hand and Mu Qing can feel a small smile forming on his lips.

[luimagines]

A Steel Thorn

Another commission!

This is the companion piece to A Glass Rose, which you can read right here.

Masterlist

Content under the cut!

“The battle’s not done.” You say through gritted teeth. You don’t want to look at him.

“My Jewel-”

“Go.” You say, coughing. He thinks he can see some spittle of blood shot from beyond your lips. You merely roll over to block his view from the worst of it. “You’re needed.”

“You need me.”

“Go.”

The Fierce Deity growls. He won’t leave you. Not like this. He must atone. He must make up for his sins in blood. But his and his alone.

Unless this was a punishment from the heavens and you were to pay with your one blood.

The thought enrages him and he finds himself reaching for his sword once more. He’s blinded by the injustice. He sees only red.

But he can’t allow you to see it. This wasn’t a side to him that he wanted you to be privy to. Grabbing the hilt of the sword, he charges toward the main hoard that continues to make itself a threat to your wellbeing. He needs to make space. He needs to get away from you unless he wishes to commit a higher ransom than the blood already spilt.

The battle sounds continue and you know that they won’t last long, not if he was reason to be wrathful. You groan and grunt, pushing yourself up to the best of your ability. The blood has already begun to stain your outer layers. You can feel it slowly trail down your throat now that you’ve righted yourself.

You feel ill and sickly already. You feel both warm and chilled to the bone. You have to fend for yourself now that the Fierce Deity has left you to deal with eradicating the threat in its entirety.

You gulp- not surprised at the iron taste in your mouth.

It’s a bitter taste.

You hadn’t wished to show him the plight you’ve found yourself in. Only marginally aware of the cause of the injury, you had only come to think that he was right in the end.

He was much stronger, bigger, tougher, virtually indestructible. While here you are, only a step into the battle and taken down for the count.

Your shoulders work to maneuver through your side bag. You can’t reach for a spare weapon nor would it do you any good. Your hope for a steady and quick recovery is either a fairy or a health potion. You tried to make it a habit to carry either for the rare occurrence of your injury. You had always assumed you had to Fierce Deity to protect you.

And the one time to step away from his protection, you find your blood on the outside rather than where it belongs.

Your fingertips glaze over a bottle and you can feel your body sag with relief. You doubt it would be enough to heal you completely, but you’re going to look a gift horse in the mouth.

You pull the bottle out of your pouch and prepare to pop the cork off- only to find it empty.

Dread sinks into your stomach like a lead weight.

“My Jewel…” The Fierce Deity appears beside you once more without revealing his presence. “Your injury.”

You gasp, jumping and ducking to cover the severity of it.

You miss the way his face twists into hurt. He hadn’t meant to frighten you…ever. Would you allow him to tend to you? To mend what he has broken? Would you now forever only see him as a monster? A killer? Designed only to destroy?

When you had first met, you had tried to break that impression of the people around you- but here, in this moment, he had only proven the naysayers correct. 

The Fierce Deity gulps in a rare show of trepidation as the nerves run wild under his skin. “I have a fairy.”

You flinch.

He takes a breath and lets the fairy out of her trap. She flies and happily focuses on your injury. On instinct you uncoil and allow the magic to do its work to your body. The Fierce Deity has yet to relax even as you begin to heal.

You turn back to him with a bite to your lip and nervously likewise energy. You can’t hold eye contact and instead find yourself looking away before the fairy is even done attending to you.

Something within the Fierce Deity is telling him to fix it. To say something. Do something. But for the first time in the eons of his life, he can say that he hesitates.

“I’m ok.” You say at last, spitting out the remnants of blood from your mouth. You turn to him, finally, and open your arms for him.

His heart stills, not sure what would be the correct choice of action. But you whine and instinct and desire overcome what he would consider a more rational part of his brain. He scoops you up, trying to be mindful of the injury and holds you dearly.

 “My Jewel…” The words get stuck in his throat.

“You were right.” You say with resignation. “I’m nothing compared to you.”

He shakes his head. “You are my everything.” His grip tightens by a fraction. “How is it that I can hope to compare to you?... It would have been my fault if I lost you.”

“You got rid of the monsters-”

“And yet it was my blade that dared to strike you in the first place.” He admits.

You completely still and instead shift your eyes to look into his face. The Fierce Deity isn’t known to openly show his emotions often- if ever. Which makes the tears crawling down his face all the more gut wrenching.

“H-hey…” You reach up to cup his face. “I’m still here.”

“And if you weren’t?” He whispers. “I was meant to protect you.”

“And you brought the fairy.” You put on a brave smile. ”It’ll be alright, you’ll see. I should have just let you deal with the threat.”

“I’m sorry.”

“I know.”

[burningvelvet]

one of my favorite excerpts from charlotte brontë's jane eyre (1847), taken from chapter 15:

"'You never felt jealousy, did you, Miss Eyre? Of course not: I need not ask you; because you never felt love. You have both sentiments yet to experience: your soul sleeps; the shock is yet to be given which shall waken it. You think all existence lapses in as quiet a flow as that in which your youth has hitherto slid away. Floating on with closed eyes and muffled ears, you neither see the rocks bristling not far off in the bed of the flood, nor hear the breakers boil at their base. But I tell you — and you mark my words — you will come some day to a craggy pass of the channel, where the whole of life's stream will be broken up into whirl and tumult, foam and noise: either you will be dashed to atoms on crag points, or lifted up and borne on by some master wave into a calmer current — as I am now.

'I like this day: I like that sky of steel; I like the sternness and stillness of the world under this frost. I like Thornfield; its antiquity; its retirement; its old crow-trees and thorn-trees; its grey facade, and lines of dark windows reflecting that metal welkin: and yet how long have I abhorred the very thought of it; shunned it like a great plague-house! How I do still abhor ——'

He ground his teeth and was silent: he arrested his step and struck his boot against the hard ground. Some hated thought seemed to have him in its grip, and to hold him so tightly that he could not advance.

We were ascending the avenue when he thus paused; the hall was before us. Lifting his eye to its battlements, he cast over them a glare such as I never saw before or since. Pain, shame, ire — impatience, disgust, detestation — seemed momentarily to hold a quivering conflict in the large pupil dilating under his ebon eyebrow. Wild was the wrestle which should be paramount; but another feeling rose and triumphed: something hard and cynical; self-willed and resolute: it settled his passion and petrified his countenance: he went on:

'During the moment I was silent, Miss Eyre, I was arranging a point with my destiny. She stood there, by that beech-trunk — a hag like one of those who appeared to Macbeth on the heath of Forres. 'You like Thornfield?' she said, lifting her finger; and then she wrote in the air a memento, which ran in lurid hieroglyphics all along the house-front, between the upper and lower row of windows. 'Like it if you can!' 'Like it if you dare!'

'I will like it,' said I. 'I dare like it;' and (he subjoined moodily) I will keep my word: I will break obstacles to happiness, to goodness — yes, goodness; I wish to be a better man than I have been; than I am — as Job's leviathan broke the spear, the dart, and the habergeon, hinderances which others count as iron and brass, I will esteem but straw and rotten wood.'"

[nestaismommy]

“What did Nesta even do”

“She’s so useless”

Yeah I’ll show you what she did

A Court Of Thorns and Roses

My hands slackened at my sides. “You went after me,” I said. “You went after me—to Prythian.”

“I got to the wall. I couldn’t find a way through.”

I raised a shaking hand to my throat. “You trekked two days there and two days back—through the winter woods?”

She shrugged, looking at the sliver she’d pried from the table.

“I hired that mercenary from town to bring me a week after you were taken. With the money from your pelt. She was the only one who seemed like she would believe me.”

-

“What happened to Tomas Mandray?” I asked, the words strangled.

“I realized he wouldn’t have gone with me to save you from Prythian.”

A Court of Mist and Fury

I didn’t dare look at my sisters. Look at this house, that might very well be turned to rubble. I rasped, “There are good people here.”

The golden queen sweetly parried with, “Then let the High Fae of Prythian defend them.”

Silence.

And it was Nesta who hissed from behind us, “We have servants here. With families. There are children in these lands. And you mean to leave us all in the hands of the Fae?”

The eldest one’s face softened. “It is no easy choice, girl—”

“It is the choice of cowards,” Nesta snapped.

A Court of Wings and Ruin

Chapter 18

“By the end of this war, I want them dead. The king, the queens—all of them. Promise me you’ll kill them all, and I’ll help you patch up the wall. I’ll train with her”—a jerk of her chin to Amren—“I’ll go to the Hewn City or whatever it is … I’ll do it. But only if you promise me that.”

Chapter 30

“My sister, it seemed, had found nothing in her books about repairing the wall”

So I just said, “Rhys gave me a layout of the stacks. I think there might be more on the Cauldron and wall a few levels down. You can wait here, or—”

“I’ll help you look.”

Chapter 42

“It was some distant thing,” she said. “War. Battle. It … it’s not anymore. I will help, if I can. If it means … telling them what happened.”

“You went off to battle for a court you barely know—who barely see you as friends. Amren showed me the blood ruby. And when I asked you why … you said because it was the right thing. People needed help.” Her throat bobbed. “No one is going to fight to save the humans beneath the wall. No one cares. But I do.” She toyed with a fold in her dress. “I do.”

Chapter 45

“Its queens sold us out,” Nesta said. She lifted her chin, poised as any emissary. “For the gift of immortality, the human queens will allow Hybern in to sweep away any resistance. They might very well hand over control of their armies to him.” Nesta looked to me, to Rhys. “Where do the humans on our island go? We cannot evacuate them to the continent, and with the wall intact … Many might rather risk waiting than cross over the wall anyway.”

“Armies take time to raise,” Cassian said. “You don’t have the luxury of sitting on your ass. You need to rally your soldiers now.”

Beron only sneered. “I don’t take orders from the bastards of lesser fae whores.”

“That bastard,” Nesta said with utter coolness, though her eyes began to burn, “may wind up being the only person standing in the way of Hybern’s forces and your people.”

“Beron shot to his feet, not bothering to brush off the dust, and declared to no one in particular, “This meeting is over. I hope Hybern butchers you all.”

But Nesta rose from her chair. “This meeting is not over.”

She stood tall, a pillar of steel. “You are all there is,” she said to Beron, to all of us. “You are all that there is between Hybern and the end of everything that is good and decent.” She settled her stare on Beron, unflinching and fierce. “You fought against Hybern in the last war. Why do you refuse to do so now?”

“You may hate us. I don’t care if you do. But I do care if you let innocents suffer and die. At least stand for them. Your people. For Hybern will make an example of them. Of all of us.”

“And you know this how?” Beron sneered.

“I went into the Cauldron,” Nesta said flatly. “It showed me his heart. He will bring down the wall, and butcher those on either side of it.”

She looked to Kallias and Viviane. “I am sorry for the loss of those children. The loss of one is abhorrent.” She shook her head. “But beneath the wall, I witnessed children—entire families—starve to death.” She jerked her chin at me. “Were it not for my sister … I would be among them.”

“Too long,” Nesta said. “For too long have humans beneath the wall suffered and died while you in Prythian thrived. Not during that—queen’s reign.” She recoiled, as if hating to even speak Amarantha’s name. “But long before. If you fight for anything—fight now, to protect those you forgot. Let them know they’re not forgotten. Just this once.”

Nesta remained standing. “The past is the past. What I care about is the road ahead. What I care about is making sure no children—Fae or human—are harmed. You have been entrusted with protecting this land.” She scanned the faces around her. “How can you not fight for it?”

Chapter 49

“You come with us—to Graysen’s estate, and then travel with the army. If you’re connected with the Cauldron, then we’ll need you close. Need you to tell us if it’s being wielded again.”Not quite a mission, but Nesta nodded all the same.

Chapter 52

“I was kidnapped,” Nesta answered coolly, not one flicker of fear in her eyes. “I was taken by the army invading these lands and turned against my will.”

“How,” Nolan echoed.

“There is a Cauldron—a weapon. It grants its owner power to … do such things. I was a test.” Nesta then launched into a sharp, short explanation of the queens, of Hybern, of why the wall had fallen.

Chapter 56

“No, Nesta only made sure that Elain was dozing in her tent, and then offered to help cut up linen for bandages.”

“Faint color had stained her cheeks from the sun, and her forearms, bare beneath the sleeves she’d rolled up, were flecked with mud. Cassian slowly sat on the log where she’d been perched a moment before, groaning softly—as if even that movement taxed him. “Icing it usually helps, but wrapping it will just lock it in place long enough for the sprain to repair itself—”

She reached for the basket of bandages she’d been preparing, then for the pitcher at her feet.

I was too tired to do anything other than watch as she washed his wrist, his hand, her own fingers gentle. Too tired to ask if she possessed the magic to heal it herself. Cassian seemed too weary to speak as well while she wrapped bandages around his wrist, only grunting to confirm if it was too tight or too loose, if it helped at all. But he watched her—didn’t take his eyes off her face, the brows bunched and lips pursed in concentration.

“I helped with the wounded long into the night, Mor and Nesta working alongside me”

Chapter 62

“Your sister came immediately when I explained what we needed,” Rhys said.

“Nesta stood before the map, a fist of bones and stones clenched over it.”

Her eyes shifted beneath their lids, as if scanning the world. “I don’t see anything.”

“Go deeper,” Amren urged. “Find that tether between you.”

A muscle twitched on Nesta’s brow. Her hand bobbed. Her breath then came fast and hard, her lips curling back as she panted through her teeth.

A small noise came out of her—one of terror.

“Where is it, girl,” Amren coaxed. “Open your hand. Let us see.”

Nesta’s fingers only clutched tighter, the whites of her knuckles as stark as the stones held within them.

Chapter 64

“Nesta had stolen something vital from the Cauldron. And in those moments Nesta had hunted it down for us … The Cauldron had learned what was vital to her.”

“We’d landed inside of them, thanks to Nesta’s specifics. With a perfect view of the city of soldiers that sprawled away into the night.”

Chapter 70

“Nesta had known. She gaped up at me, terror and agony on her face, then scanned the sky for Cassian, who flapped in place, as if torn between coming for us and charging back to the scattering Illyrian and Peregryn ranks. She’d known where that blast was about to hit.

Cassian had been right in the center of it.

Or would have been, if she hadn’t called him away.”

Chapter 71

“It’s gone quiet again,” Nesta breathed, letting Cassian haul her into a sitting position as he scanned her face. Devastation and rage lay in his own. Did he know? That she had screamed for him, knowing he’d come … That she’d done it to save him?”

Chapter 72

Nesta stared toward that armada, toward our father fighting in it. “Use me. As bait.”

I blinked at the same moment Cassian said, “No.”

Nesta ignored him. “The king is probably waiting beside that Cauldron. Even if you get there, you’ll have him to contend with. Draw him out. Draw him far away. To me.”

“How,” Rhys said softly.

“It goes both ways,” Nesta murmured, as if my mate’s words moments before had triggered the idea. “He doesn’t know how much I took. And if … if I make it seem like I’m about to use his power … He’ll come running. Just to kill me.”

Chapter 74

Nesta rushed to him, kneeling.

Not to comfort.

But to pick up his Illyrian blade.

Cassian tried to stop her as she stood. As Nesta lifted that sword before the King of Hybern.

She said nothing. Only held her ground.

Nesta jumped back, clipping his sword with her own, eyes flaring wide. The king lunged again, and Nesta again dodged and retreated through the trees.

Leading him away—away from Cassian.”

“Nesta turned over, and threw out a hand.

White, burning power shot out of her palm and slammed into his chest.

A ploy. To get him close. To lower his guard.

Her power sent him flying back, trees snapping under him. One after another after another.”

“And even the Cauldron seemed to pause in surprise—surprise or some … feeling as Nesta looked at the king with death twining around his hands, then down at Cassian.

And covered Cassian’s body with her own.”

I’m not even done but I’m too lazy to complete

[the-ellia-west]

HEY LOSERSSSS

Poll 1/2

This one is for Which WIP I should spend my time on (posting about) for the rest of this week

For TCOT you'd get a few scenes, a lot of progress updates, and I'd actually start getting back into EoW, you'd also get a ton of extra stuff. And if this gets enough votes, I may do a Character Q'nA because I'm bored

StF will get a bunch of Actual Scenes and for once, some actual character profiles, worldbuilding, ect.

J&R will all be hosted on @jakkon-and-rose-topic and have a few more scenes, some possible spoiler alerts, my plans for it as a series, and a ton of character dynamics and specific development to character Relationships we haven't explored yet

Then C4 will have me develop the stuff I do have written and show it to you. Actually make character profiles, maybe a map, and definitely some face claims I have for the characters because those are the most accurate face claims I have.

[Poll 2]

See mentions

@fanntasy131 @alnaperera @clever-naming-convention @pastellbg @smudged-red-ink

@ajgrey9647 @sl-vega @supersoakerfullofblood @jesusfreakspeaks @lunaeuphternal

@agirlandherquill @thepeculiarbird @illarian-rambling @caffeinated-and-annoying-bard @somethingclevermahogony

@phoenixradiant @ryahisbored @latay7 @sunnyjustice @nkikio

@bigwipscholar @kia-is-poisoned @justalittlebuddy @sunflowerrosy @danielleitloudernow

@aalinaaaaaa @corinneglass @mysticstarlightduck @cupandquillcafe @rivenantiqnerd

@katwritesshit @darkandstormydolls @cybercelestian @thelazywitchphotographer @njnetails

@aesthetic-writer18 @kitteafountain @mjparkerwriting @bloodmoonloveletter @artsandstoriesandstuff

@wyked-ao3 @words-on-pa-per @blue-kyber @vyuntspakhkite-l-darling @themortalityofundyingstars

@envycollective @urnumber1star @stars-forever @starmanbutitsregulusblack

I... did not know I had this many moots.... welp

[vassia-sparta]

Daemon Soulmate AU - How the bond was discovered - Part 3 (Final)

Here it is, the last part. It was difficult to finish it, got way longer than I expected, but it was worth it.

Part 1 here

Part 2 here

Warnings: violence, a whole lot of smut at the end!!!

You sat on the most remote bench of the royal gardens, trying to convince yourself to do what you had to do in order to gain your father’s approval. You had gone to his chambers early this morning, steeling your nerves as you explained to him what lord Borros had asked of you in order to ask for your hand. You father didn’t even have the decency to look horrified at the news.

“If he asked you this, then you will do as he asks. And you’d better make sure he is pleased with you, otherwise you’ll regret the day you were born.”

You sighed, wondering at what point had your father stopped caring about you and decided to use you in order to gain more power and prestige. Perhaps if your mother was still alive, she would have been able to keep him in line, somewhat. But she had perished during the last winter from a fever, leaving your father without a wife and you without anyone to protect you from your father’s plans for advancement.

And now you had to sacrifice yourself on the altar of his ambition, and hope to come out the other side married to lord Borros and the lady of Storm’s End. Perhaps if you managed to get pregnant, you’d find some happiness in your children. Wasn’t that the only consolation for women in your position, to be fortunate enough to be blessed with strong children that you would then raise and live to see them become great men and women?

You picked up a white rose from the bush near you, but you had not seen the small thorn near the base, and you pricked your finger. A small drop of blood formed on your skin, and you sat there, watching it grow. Slowly, you let the red liquid drop onto the outermost petal, marking it with your blood. You were so fixated by it, you didn’t realize you were no longer alone.

“Good afternoon my lady.”

You froze where you sat, cursing that damned voice and the effect it had on you. Just four words, and the fire in you sparked back to life as if it had never fully gone out, ready to burn your whole being into cinders.

You raised your gaze and spotted the Rogue Prince leaning on a column, dressed in his house colors, a snow white tunic with a pair of black breeches and a black doublet with red dragons embroidered on both sides of his chest. Soft leather boots made his walk almost soundless as he approached you slowly.

With every step he took, the turmoil in you got worse. On the one hand, you wanted to hurt him for using you the way he had last night, leaving alone in your aroused state after you offered yourself to him so willingly. Why hadn’t he taken the opportunity when you gave it to him? Any other man would have done so without a second thought, and Daemon Targaryen was definitely not known for his piety and chivalry. He took what he wanted, when he wanted it, and had no regrets for it.

You rose from your seat, ready to run off as far away from him as you could, but he got in your way before you could take another step.

“Why do you always run away from me?” he asked, his eyes holding you prisoner.

“It’s the reasonable thing to do, what with your reputation,” you spat, your anger bubbling inside you.

You half expected him to smirk and throw some cleaver remark but, to your surprise, he looked almost hurt at your comment.

“Do you always believe the rumors you hear and base your opinion of a person on them before you have a chance to get to know them properly?”

“It saves me time and, based on how you acted recently, I’d say the rumors are spot on.”

He took another step towards you, and you felt the urge to either punch him, or grab him and kiss him. You honestly didn’t know which one you wanted to do.

“There you are, kepus,” a girlish voice echoed from the other side of the garden, and you quickly took a step back, your heart racing.

You turned and saw princess Rhaenyra, dressed in her dragon riding outfit, her silver hair shining in the bright sunlight as she made her way towards you. You felt so grateful that someone had interrupted you before you did something foolish.

“Good morning dear niece,” prince Daemon smiled at her, though you thought you heard a touch of irritation in his tone.

“Good morning your grace,” you curtsied at her.

“And good morning to you,” the young Targaryen smiled at you.

You returned her smile. Even though most lords were still angry at the king for choosing a girl to be his heir, you were so pleased that he had insisted. You had been at the company of the princess a few times, and she was a very pleasant person to be around, so much more than the Queen. Lady Alicent was pleasant too, but she could be distant and a bit too traditional for your taste, always going by the book. It was not a good thing to break the rules all the time, but every once in a while, it felt good to be rebellious.

“I was on my way to the Dragonpit, and thought you might want to come with me, it’s been a while since we’ve spent some time together,” she smiled at him.

You jumped at the opportunity to get away from the prince.

“I’ll leave you to it then,” you bowed your head ready to leave.

“Why don’t you come too?” the princess turned to you, leaving you speechless.

You didn’t know what to say.

“I don’t think the dragons will appreciate an outsider in their midst princess,” you shook your head.

“Nonsense, Syrax is quite pleasant, and I do remember you saying you wanted to see the dragons.”

It was true, in one of your talks you had expressed the wish to see those wondrous creatures up close, but you were starting to have second thoughts. You didn’t think you’d be able to handle both your fear of the dragons and the conflicting emotions you had for Daemon at the same time.

“You two can go, I have urgent business with the City Watch,” the prince commented, turning to leave.

Your heart plummeted, seeing him walk away from you. You knew it was probably better, but you also wanted him to come with you. It was like your mind and your heart fought constantly for control, and you had no idea which side you wanted to win.

“I heard that Caraxes has been giving the keepers a hard time lately, he’s been a bit too temperamental. Perhaps your presence there will calm him down uncle,” the princess pointed out, making her uncle stop.

Him and the princess exchanged a long glance, and he finally nodded, giving her a soft smile. You did your very best to keep your neutral mask on, but you were so thrilled he would be coming with you. You had never told a soul, but the dragon you longed to see the most was Caraxes, the prince’s Red Wyrm. Feared and just as uncontrollable as his rider, he was one of the dragons used in the Stepstones, a warrior born. It was said that very few of the Dragonkeepers, the order created to tend to the dragons, approached this particular dragon. Only the prince was the one who could keep the great beast under control. You hoped you’d get to see the two of them together, even if there was a good chance the dragon would try to burn you alive, or feast on you.

--

You rode on horseback all the way to the Pit, your heart rate going faster and faster as you went closer to the great structure. Easily one of the largest buildings in the city, it loomed on top of Rhaenys’s Hill, to the North part of the city, near the Dragon Gate. Most of the people steered clear of it, fearing the beasts housed inside. You were scared too, but you also wanted to see them, at least once.

You reached the entrance and the prince helped you down from your horse before you could dismount yourself, your cheeks blushing at the feel of his hands on your waist. It brought memories that you had tried very hard to bury. You thanked him, then turned to follow the princess as she made her way inside the pit.

Several men and women with shaved heads, dressed in light beige robes with red sashes tied around their necks and holding quarter staves approached you, greeting the princess in High Valyrian. It was so beautiful to hear that strange language spoken, despite the fact that you could only understand a few words.

The princess spoke to the elder of the group, then turned to you.

“Come, Syrax has just been fed, she’s waiting for me.”

“Are you sure she won’t see me as dessert?” you asked, jokingly.

“Come,” the princess laughed, taking your hand, leading you in the great dome.

The building was designed like an arena, with the ability to house more than 50,000 people if needed. Torches lit the cavernous dome, the keepers came and went, some giving you side glances, but none dared to say anything whilst the prince and the princess were around.

The three of you made your way down a corridor that curved right down the ground to the caves below the building, where the dragons made their nests. You had no idea how many dragons were currently in the pit, but you knew there were at least 5. You could only hope that Syrax would be kind to you.

You reached one of the caves, and Rhaenyra motioned for you to stay back, while she went in, excited. You could feel the prince behind you staring at you, but you chose not to acknowledge him.

“How long are you going to ignore me?” he asked, as if he could read your thoughts.

“As long as I wish your grace,” you replied, still staring at the darkness of the cave.

A growl came from its depths, and the princess appeared, the ground shaking a bit as Syrax approached us slowly. Rhaenyra patted the side of the golden dragon’s face, who stared at you with bright green eyes.

You felt completely terrified at the sight. Somehow, you knew she was not happy to see you in her nest.

“It’s alright, she just needs to get used to you,” Rhaenyra assured you.

Somehow, you doubted you could get used to this.

“She has grown since last I saw her,” prince Daemon commented, approaching the golden dragon slowly.

“She has, she can carry two now, I think,” Rhaenyra smiled at him.

You moved away a little, giving them space. You knew you were an outsider here, sticking out like a sore thumb amongst the silver haired, purple eyed dragonriders.

You took a few more steps away from them when you felt the ground shake a bit once more, and turned in time to see another head come out of the darkness from the nest beside Syrax’s, this one bright red, with a set of yellow eyes that you could feel were entirely focused on your form. Caraxes, the Red Wyrm, came out of his nest, his steps slow and calculated, the perfect predator ready to attack.

You froze where you stood, watching as the large creature approached you, stopping only a few paces away from you. You knew you should be terrified, scared to death that you were so close to such a deadly and unpredictable creature but, somehow, you knew in your heart that he was not going to hurt you. A foolish thought, to be sure, yet you could feel it.

Slowly, reluctantly even, you took a step towards him, coming within arms’ reach. He moved his head closer, his large nostrils taking a deep breath, probably taking in your scent. You held still, hoping he wouldn’t think you were dinner. The red dragon took in another breath, probably sniffing for your scent, and you saw his eyes following your every move, the huge slits widening a bit. You raised your hand, slowly, carefully, moving it closer to his head until you finally felt his smooth scales underneath your fingers. He felt warm, but that was expected. Dragons were fire made flesh, or so legends said. You took another step closer, coming to stand right next to Caraxes’s head as you continued caressing him. A deep rumble sounded from deep in his chest, which you belatedly realized was akin to a cat purring. Could it be that the temperamental dragon enjoyed your touch?

“He likes you,” Daemon’s voice purred from behind you. He had crept up to where you stood while you kept your attention on his dragon. Now he stood directly behind you, his one hand coming to rest on your waist as he too caressed the dragon with the other one, smiling softly at the beast.

“I think he wants to devour me,” you giggled, feeling the low hum of the dragon’s chest.

“Him? No, but I wouldn’t oppose to it.”

And just like that, the flame had returned, burning you up, especially low in your belly. How could he have such an effect on you with just one sentence?

“Want to see what it’s like to ride a dragon?” Daemon asked, and you didn’t miss the double meaning in his words. Heat rose on your cheeks, and you avoided looking at him.

“He might like me enough to pet him, but I don’t think Caraxes would let me ride him,” you shook your head.

“He will, trust me,” Daemon smiled softly, his gaze soft, yet fiery at the same time.

He called for a saddle to be brought, and soon the dragonkeepers brought the great leather saddle that had the sigil of house Targaryen in the breast, as well as two sets of chains attached to it. One of the acolytes carried additional chains.

“Come,” Daemon urged you, making his way to the keepers. He saddled Caraxes himself, while the beast kept close to you, eyeing the keepers with a wary eye. As soon as the last strap was tied in place, Daemon offered his hand to you.

This was wrong. Going for a ride with the Rogue Prince could mean so much trouble for you.

And yet you took his hand, letting him guide you up the wing of the dragon and onto the saddle. He got on behind you, his body enveloping yours as he reached to tie both of you with the chains, securing them around your waist with deft fingers before he tied his.

“Hold on,” he whispered in your ear before he spoke to his dragon in Valyrian.

The Red Wyrm started towards the entrance of the pit, and you fleetingly saw Rhaenyra saddling Syrax as you passed by, but she looked to be taking her time with it. She waved at you, a big smile on her pretty face. You smiled back, though you didn’t understand why she was so happy.

You didn’t give it another thought as you came out of the Dragonpit, the skies opening before you as Caraxes took off the ground, his leather wings beating the air with great force. He rose quickly, the city getting smaller with every passing second. It was really incredible, being able to see King’s Landing from above. You could see the three hills, named after the first three Targaryens that started the dynasty. Aegon, Visenya and Rhaenys, the Conqueror and his two sister-wives, legendary figures in the history of the Seven Kingdoms.

You could hear the many voices of people who watched as you flew even higher, taking to the clouds with ease. Daemon held onto the reins while you held on to the saddle itself, leading his mount away from the city, towards the open sea.

You felt the breeze on your face, smelled the scent of the open waters, smiled at the sun shining down on you. You had never felt so happy, so free. It was just you, Daemon and Caraxes, cutting through the skies, having no care in the world. You wished you never had to go back to the city.

“Do you like it?” Daemon whispered in your ear.

You turned to look at him and you were mesmerized by the sheer happiness reflected in his eyes. Now you understood why Targaryens spent so much time flying on their dragons. Nothing could compare to this feeling.

“I love it,” you smiled at him.

He smiled back, a true smile, not a smirk, not a sneer, a full smile, and the happiness in you multiplied. Daemon almost never smiled; you felt privileged to have caused one of his smiles. Winking at you, he took Caraxes a bit higher, performing a little twirl that made you squeal with joy. You felt your blood pumping through your body, exciting shivers shaking you.

The prince wrapped his hands around our waist when Caraxes leveled again, hugging you from behind. You leaned into his touch, almost aching for it. He touched his jaw on your right shoulder, his breath ghosting over your cheek. You had the greatest urge to turn around and kiss him. Despite what had happened in the gardens, you still wanted him.

Daemon raised his eyes to gaze at you, and you could swear your heart stopped. Neither said anything, you just stared at each other, simply enjoying being in each other’s company. Though you would never admit it out loud, you could spend an eternity in Daemon’s arms.

Rhaenyra and Syrax appeared suddenly to your right, the golden dragon’s scales glinting in the sun. The princess waved at you, and you were quick to turn to the front once more, your cheeks no doubt the same color as Caraxes’s scales. You just hoped the princess hadn’t seen you staring at her uncle like a lovesick puppy.

It was past midday before you all returned to King’s Landing, the sun starting to lower to the west. Caraxes landed gently in front of the Dragonpit entrance, bringing you back safely from your wonderful ride. Daemon undid the chains on both of you before helping you down.

Your feet took a bit of time to get used to the ground once more, and Daemon held your hands the entire time, that soft smile never leaving his face.

“Did you enjoy your first dragon ride my lady?” he asked you.

“Immensely so,” you nodded, an excited giggle leaving your lips. Caraxes purred from beside you, his long neck circling the two of you.

Daemon patted him, whispering to him in High Valyrian.

“What did you tell him?” you asked, curious.

The prince turned to you, that smile of his never leaving.

“That he did well.”

“He did, he flew like a dream,” you patted the dragon affectionately, feeling the beast hum.

Your gaze turned from Caraxes to his rider, and that warmth skyrocketed, enveloping you like he had done when you flew. You so desperately wanted to snuggle up to him, lose yourself in his arms and forget all your troubles.

For a moment, you imagined yourself married to him, giving him as many children as he wanted. You could almost see yourself sitting with him, your children all around you, some with his features, some with yours. He would teach the boys how to fight with a sword, you’d teach the girls how to be proper ladies. And every night, after you put your children to bed, you’d go to your rooms and spend the night in each other’s arms, either making love, or just lay together and talk until sleep claimed you both.

A screech brought you out of your daydream, and you looked away from the prince to see Syrax landing not far away from where you stood. Rhaenyra dismounted, gave her dragon and affectionate pat and walked up to you, a big smile on her face.

“How was flying with Caraxes?” she asked you.

“It was wonderful your grace, a once in a lifetime experience,” you nodded.

“It doesn’t have to be only once,” Daemon was quick to cut in.

You turned to him, confused.

“I will take you on a ride whenever you want, as long as you want.”

There he went with his clever words again, stoking the heat in your low belly. That smirk had returned, and the tease in his eyes was not helpful at all.

“Well, it’s enough for one day, how about we return to the castle and have something to eat?” Rhaenyra suggested.

Truth be told, you were really hungry after spending so much time in the air. You rode next to Rhaenyra on the way back to the Red Keep, the two of you chatting about dragons and how it felt to be riding one for the very first time. She told you how she had first ridden Syrax when she was only seven, but since Syrax herself was a young dragon at the time, the two had bonded so well during the flight. Her ladies and the Kingsguard assigned to her all had tried to dissuade her, deeming it too dangerous to fly so young, but she would not listen. You could imagine Rhaenyra as a young girl, ignoring those trying to tell her what to do and doing exactly what she wanted. Things were not so different now. The man who could bend Rhaenyra to his will had not been born yet, and you doubted he ever would.

You were in the middle of a tale about your childhood when you finally reached the gates of the Red Keep. When the gates opened, you were surprised to find your father and lord Borros standing near the doors, waiting for you. Your father looked to be furious, but he knew how to hide it well. Lord Borros on the other hand, he glared at Daemon before he focused his leery gaze on you, a sick smile on his puffy face.

“There you are, lord Borros and I have been looking everywhere for you,” your father scolded you gently. “Where have you been all day?”

“I took her with me to see the dragons my lord,” Rhaenyra intervened. “I remembered she had mentioned that she wanted to see them one day.”

“Thank you my princess, I apologize if my daughter’s silly infatuations troubled you,” you father bowed his head at her.

“She could never trouble me, your daughter is a delight to be around,” Rhaenyra smirked at him, and your father actually had the decency to look a little bit embarrassed.

You smiled to yourself, thrilled that someone had put him in his place.

“Nevertheless,” your father turned to you, “lord Borros wanted to ask you to take a walk with him. Would you like that my dear?”

You froze where you stood, feeling like a trapped animal. You couldn’t think of a good excuse to get away not without making a fool of yourself.

“We just returned from our ride, the lady may want to rest a bit and freshen up,” Daemon offered, approaching casually, his gaze on the Baratheon lord.

“Nonsense, how could she be tired from a little ride on horseback?” your father chuckled, giving you a pointed gaze.

For a moment you thought about telling him what you had been doing for the past few hours, but you thought better of it. If he found out you had spent so much time in close proximity to the Rogue Prince without anyone else around but his dragon, he would lock you up in your room until your wedding day.

“Of course, I am not tired at all,” you hurried to state, wincing at how fake your smile felt on your face. “I would be honored to take a walk with you my lord,” you curtsied to the storm lord.

The oaf looked smugly at Daemon before he offered his hand. You took it, waving goodbye at the princess and trying to ignore the way Daemon’s intense stare made you feel. You didn’t dare look at him, fearing he’d do something rash that would land him in trouble. You vowed to find him as soon as you could get away from lord Borros. The two of you needed to have a long talk.

--

Daemon watched you as you walked away with the storm oaf, not even looking back as you disappeared in the Red Keep.

He had the greatest urge to march up to the brute, tear him away from you and make sure he never got anywhere near you ever again. He almost did, when a soft hand on his arm held him back.

“Don’t do it uncle,” Rhaenyra whispered to him in High Valyrian.

“Don’t do what?” he snapped at her.

“Don’t do anything reckless, it’s neither the time nor the place,” she insisted.

“And when is the right time, when that brute marries her and takes her away from me?”

“That won’t happen, we will prevent it.”

That made him pause for a moment.

“We?” he turned to her.

“Father told me about you and her, about the special bond you have with her.”

“And you believed him?” Daemon asked his niece, doubtful.

“I saw how you stared at her during the feast last night,” Rhaenyra smiled at him. “You looked at her the way my father looked at mother, only with even more love. She is the one the Gods made for you, and I promise you she will not be taken from you. Now come, let us take a walk so you can ease your anger and we can come up with a good plan to stop her ambitious father from selling her off to that moron.”

“I like the way you’re thinking niece,” Daemon smiled, following Rhaenyra.

They made their way to the Godswood, Daemon a restless animal ready to pounce, Rhaenyra trying to think of a way to calm him. The Targaryen anger was notorious, and Daemon was a prime example of its ferocity. His temper was always short, especially around those who irritated him the most. She cannot remember how many times a small council meeting was disturbed by the arguments between her uncle and lord Otto Hightower, the Hand of the King. Truth be told, she despised the man herself, but she knew better than to speak her true mind about him in public. Daemon had no such restraint. He made it known how he felt about him, and made sure to taunt and mock him at any given chance. Her father stood in the middle of it all, trying to keep both of them happy, an impossible task on its own, but still, he tried.

Sitting here under the ancient weirwood tree, watching as her uncle paced up and down, she remembered what her father had confided in her earlier that day.

--

“Your uncle has found something very rare my sweet, something that spoken of only in tales.”

“What has he found father?”

“His other half, his soulmate.”

“Like those old tales mother used to tell when I was a babe?” Rhaenyra sat up, curious and excited.

“So it seems,” her father nodded, smiling fondly at his only daughter. “I want you to do everything you can so he won’t end up losing her. It is told that, when a soulmate loses its other half, the pain can drive them into madness.”

She felt a pang in her heart. She had never fallen in love, but she had seen what losing a loved one can do to a person. If those tales were true, losing his soulmate would destroy her uncle.

“What can I do?” she asked, resolve strengthening her.

“The lady is courted by lord Borros, something her father greatly approves. We have to act quickly, before a betrothal is announced. Do what you can to get them to spend more time together. The bond grows stronger while the mates are close. Sooner or later, Daemon will ask for her hand, and her father will have no choice but to accept the proposal, lest he angers the crown. I just need you to be there and keep an eye on your uncle in case he decides to do anything rash and ruin the whole thing.”

“I will not fail you father,” she nodded, getting up.

Viserys smiled at her, hugging her close.

“I know you won’t, and I’m proud of you my daughter.”

--

“I’ll sneak into her chambers tonight and steal her away, before that cunt can ask for her hand,” Daemon hissed, his eyes spitting fire.

“That will not do uncle,” Rhaenyra shook her head. “If you are to win her over, it must be done honorably. Her father must see the advantage of marrying her to you instead of lord Baratheon.”

“That ambitious weasel hates me, he will never agree to a marriage if I ask for it,” Daemon shook his head.

“What if we ask father to arrange the betrothal? Surely he won’t be able to deny the King.”

“No,” Daemon replied sharply. “I don’t want my brother’s help in this. If I am to do this, I will do it on my own.”

Rhaenyra knew better than to press the matter further. Daemon’s pride was known, as was his stubbornness, especially when it came to accepting the help of others.

“Well, your reputation and previous marriage are serious disadvantages in this, so we’ll have to sweeten the offer if we are to get her father on your side,” Rhaenyra hummed.

“How about a generous offer of gold, or if we grant him some new position here in court?” Daemon offered.

“Both those actions would require the King’s approval, as well as the Hand���s,” Rhaenyra shook her head.

Daemon’s handsome face turned sour at that.

“Then I’ll return to my original plan,” he shrugged. “Tonight, after all of the castle goes to sleep, I’ll slip into her chambers and steal her away. If her father or that oaf are foolish enough to stop me, I’ll show them what happens when you anger the dragon.”

Rhaenyra didn’t know how to change his mind, so she decided on another tactic.

“What’s it like?”

That brought Daemon out of his dark thoughts.

“What?”

“Meeting your soulmate,” Rhaenyra asked delicately. “Mother used to tell me the story, but I never believed it to be true.”

Daemon’s expression softened, his face serene.

“Before I met her, I thought I knew the colors of everything around me. I could see the blue sky, the red of my dragon’s scales, the bright yellow and orange of his flames, the purple of my eyes… After I locked eyes with her, it was like I had been seeing everything in black and white, and for the first time I saw the true colors of everything around, vivid and pulsing. I had been walking around blind all my life, and she gave me light, she gave me purpose. The very thought of losing her is like punching a hole through my chest and tearing out my heart.”

“You won’t lose her kepus,” Rhaenyra cooed, moved by her uncle’s words. This was a side of him she had never seen.

“I can feel her, I can feel what she feels. This morning, on Caraxes, I could feel her joy, her happiness in being free of everything. And the knowledge that I had made her feel like this, it was worth more than everything. Even right now, I can feel her discomfort in being with that moron. She doesn’t want him, she hates him.”

Daemon could feel his stomach uneasy, as if he had eaten something rotten. He tried to send her strength, but he didn’t know if he was successful.

Suddenly, he felt a sharp twist, as if someone had put their hand in his stomach and pulled it out.

“What’s wrong?” Rhaenyra asked, jumping on her feet.

Daemon barely heard her, focused on what he was feeling. Anger, fear, disgust, all those emotions flooded him, terrifying him.

“Something is wrong,” he muttered, trying to focus even more.

“What is it, what can you feel?”

“She’s afraid, something to happening to her.”

He felt a sharp pain on his wrist, and pulled his sleeve back, baring his arm to the light. Rhaenyra gasped sharply, and Daemon looked down at where she was pointing. He stared, stunned, as saw an angry handprint forming on his wrist, the red in sharp contrast with his pale skin. He didn’t even think about it, only turned around and started running.

--

You should have known better than to trust lord Borros. It was really suspicious for him to behave so kindly and be this gentle. He led you down many corridors during your walk, chatting about the silliest things, boring you to death.

You were trying to come up with a good excuse to get away from him, when you reached a hidden alcove at the end of the corridor. Lord Borros stopped, turning to you with a smile that you didn’t know whether to label it as creepy or scary.

“My lady, I have been waiting for this moment all day,” he said, and your heart almost stopped in your chest. Did he bring you all the way down here to propose to you?

“What do you mean my lord?” you asked, playing the innocent.

“This very moment, I have been dreaming about it for a while,” the man kept smiling, taking a step closer to you.

Before you could say anything, his rough hands grabbed you by your arms and shoved you towards the alcove. You back collided with the stone wall, making you lose your breath for a moment.

You didn’t have time to recover as he was on you right away, groping at your body, his foul-smelling breath fanning on your face.

“You bitch, you worthless cunt of a whore,” he grunted, pulling at the front laces of your dress. “If you had given me what I wanted, I would have married you, I’d have given your piece of shit father what he wanted. You would have become the lady of Storm’s End, the mother of my children.”

“Let me go,” you gasped, trying to fend him off, but it was like trying to push a wall.

“Instead you had to go and become that bastard’s whore,” lord Borros grumbled, grabbing your wrists and pinning them on the wall above your head. “Did you really think that you could make the Rogue Prince fall for you? He uses women and then tosses them aside. He would never marry you, and even if he did, he would ridicule you in court with his whoring and his drinking.”

“As if you don’t do the same,” you hissed, finding the strength somewhere in you to talk back to him. “And prince Daemon has never touched me.”

That made him pause for a moment. Then, a cruel smile formed on his puffy face.

“Then, I shall claim you as my own, to teach that piece of shit not to meddle with a Stormlander.”

The bastard tried to kiss you, but luckily you turned your head aside, dodging his attempt. Instead, the monster licked at your neck, probably an attempt to arouse you. It felt slimy, completely wrong. You could barely remember the night at the corridor, when Daemon had done something similar to you. His touch was worlds away from this monstrosity that you were forced to endure.

“Get away from me, let me go or I’ll scream,” you threatened, but the man laughed humorlessly.

“We’re so far away from the main keep, no one will be able to hear you. You will scream, there’s no doubt,” he rasped, finally managing to tear the laces of your bodice, revealing the chemise you wore underneath.

You tried your best to free your hands, but his hold was like a vice. You were certain you’d have bruises on your wrists, if you managed to live until tomorrow. You kicked at him with all your might, and managed to land a good one between his legs, making him groan in pain. Sadly, he didn’t lose his grip on your hands.

“You bitch!” lord Borros roared, punching you in the gut.

You lost your breath for the second time, and the pain spread over your belly like wildfire. The bastard tried to grab your chemise, when a figure collided with him, sending both of them to the ground. You leaned against the wall, trying to catch your breath, when you caught sight of the two figures brawling on the floor. The flash of long silver blonde hair left no doubt as to who had been the one to attack lord Borros.

Daemon was like a rabid animal, never stopping his attack. He threw punches at the storm lord wherever he could land them, mostly going for his face. Not that lord Borros lay motionless. He recovered from the shock of the attack quite fast and did his best to cover his face, all the while trying to attack the dragon prince himself.

Another person arrived at the scene, and you sighed with relief when you saw that it was Rhaenyra. The princess came to your side right away, hugging your shoulders as she helped you stand on your feet.

“Are you alright?” she asked you. “Did he hurt you?”

“A bit, he didn’t manage to complete his assault,” you shook your head, your gaze drawn back to the fight happening not three feet from you.

“You worthless piece of shit,” Daemon cursed, landing a great punch on lord Borros’s nose. You felt so satisfied when you heard the sickening crunch, followed by the wails of the storm lord.

“What gives you the right to put your hands on her?” the prince roared, landing another punch.

You could swear you could feel the force he threw those fists with, the pain on his knuckles as he made contact with his target. It felt so vindicating, seeing the storm lord being punished for what he did to you.

Lord Borros found some hidden strength in him, and he used it to throw Daemon off of him. The dragon prince landed on his back, and you winced when you heard the thud his body made. He was quickly back on his feet though, being the experienced warrior that he was. He didn’t waste any time and lunged himself on lord Borros once more. This time, however, the storm lord was waiting for him. Their bodies collided, each trying to get the upper hand in the fight. You and Rhaenyra stood motionless to the side, frozen by fear and shock.

Hurried steps echoed from the corridor, and soon several guards wearing the Targaryen sigils on their breasts, as well as a few goldcloaks led by ser Harwin Strong, the heir to Harrenhal arrived at the scene.

“Ser Harwin, separate them, immediately,” the princess commands, and the young captain of the City Watch hurried to comply with her order. Several men approached the two fighters, and managed to separate them with great difficulty.

Daemon fought those who tried to restrain him, while lord Borros could barely stand on his two feet after Daemon’s attack. His nose was bloody, and there were already bruises forming all over his face.

“I shall have your head for this,” he even dared to threaten the Targaryen prince, glaring daggers at him.

Daemon stilled at the hands of his fellow goldcloaks, his eyes blazing with fury. You saw his hand twitching over the dagger strapped to his belt, and knew that his next assault would most likely end with his victim lying dead on the floor.

Before he could say anything however, Rhaenyra’s voice thundered over the others, clean and full of anger.

“You dare threaten a member of the royal family? And that is on top of your assault of this lady? I’d say your head is the one that needs to be taken lord Borros.”

That brought him up short.

“My princess, I-”

“Save your excuses lord Borros,” Rhaenyra cut him off. “You shall give your explanation to the King. Guards,” she turned to those holding him, “take him to the Throne Room, and someone needs to call my father and inform him on the situation.”

The guards obeyed, dragging the storm lord away. Only after he had disappeared from sight did the goldcloaks let Daemon go, and he immediately rushed to you, his eyes full of worry.

“Are you alright?”

You heart soared at the sound of his voice, the touch of his hands on yours. Your hands had been shaking ever since you got away from your assailant’s grasp, yet one touch from Daemon and the shaking ceased right away.

You took a better look at him, and noticed a bruise forming on his left cheek, as well as a small cut above his brow.

“I’m fine,” you assured him. “He didn’t have time to do anything to compromise my honor.”

A flash of fury shines on his violet eyes, but it vanishes as quickly as it appeared, his gaze focusing on your eyes. Warmth fills you, easing the pain on your stomach. Daemon takes your hands in his, cool fingers ghosting over your wrists. The marks of your assailant’s hands are evident against your pale skin, yet Daemon’s touch seems to make them disappear. You have the strangest urge to hide in his arms, away from everything in the world that could harm you.

But you stay where you stand, taking comfort in his hands as they envelop yours. Rhaenyra appears by your side once more, a soft smile on her face.

“We should get you to your chambers, to change your clothes.”

Her simple statement draws your attention to your ruined dress. The laces hang limp, their edges frayed from lord Borros’s attack on them. Thankfully enough, the chemise underneath is linen, concealing your body and saving you from the embarrassment.

You catch Daemon’s heated gaze on your body, and a different sort of warmth fills you. This one is…spicier, for a lack of a more fitting word. It is comforting, but it also leaves you wanting more. You know not what of, but you definitely want more of it. Vague echoes of your body pressed against Daemon resurface in your mind, and you shake your head to clear it. Now is not the time to be thinking of such things.

“Yes, you are right princess,” you nod, resolve making your voice steady.

Daemon and Rhaenyra helped you stand on your feet, and the princess turned to her uncle.

“You should go change too kepus, father will want to speak to you as well.”

“I should escort you first-”

“We shall be fine, and you need time to cool off. Come find us in the Throne Room, we’ll be there.”

There is steel behind the princess’s voice, and for the first time you can see her on the Iron Throne, ruling over the Seven Kingdoms. She will make a fine Queen one day.

You stole once last glance at Daemon before the princess whisked you away, towards your rooms. You didn’t speak during the trip, and thankfully enough encountered no other person. You had no doubt that news of the incident would already circle all over the castle, with speculations running wild. You briefly wondered what your father would think of all this, but surprisingly you didn’t care much about his opinion. You could only think of Daemon, and how he had saved you from lord Borros. Like the knights in the tales told by mothers to their small children, he had gallantly come to your aid, pushing the monster away from you, punishing him for the crime of assaulting you.

You tried really hard not to swoon at the thought. You had always believed that the girls who put too much stock into those tales always ended up getting a rough awakening when they came face to face with reality. The truth was, very few of the knights in the Seven Kingdoms were as gallant as those from the Age of Heroes. Most knights these days cared more about women, or gold, or glory.

Yet Daemon’s actions today made you think of him as your knight in shining armor. Perhaps you could allow yourself this one fancy, but just this once.

Rhaenyra helped you change your gown and fix your hair in a simple braid before you both made your way down to the Throne Room. As you approached, you could see more and more of nobles who stared at you, whispering at each other. You ignored them. There was much more at stake than the opinions of a few men and women.

The Throne Room was already half full by the time you and the princess entered. The King sat on the throne, lord Otto standing by his side. Lord Borros stood between two armed guards, his hands shackled before him. He glared at you when you approached the throne, and you did your best to not give him a second look.

Instead, you focused on your father, who appeared out of the crowd, looking both worried and upset.

“Daughter, what happened?” he demanded, barely sparing a glance at the princess.

“Lord Borros assaulted her,” Rhaenyra replied for you, and your father paled at the sound of it.

“He sullied you?” he gasped, glancing at the man in question before he focused his eyes on you once more.

“He didn’t have the time,” you shook your head.

Your father breathed a sigh of relief when ser Harrold Westerling, Lord Commander of the Kingsguard, called for order. The Throne Room quieted as the King cleared his throat before he spoke.

“As I understand, there was an incident earlier today within the walls of this castle,” he started, his gaze sweeping the entire hall. “I was informed that lord Borros and my brother were caught in a fight in one of the remote corridors and had to be separated by the guards.”

The King focused on the storm lord, his face impassive.

“Why did you and Daemon fight lord Borros?”

“He attacked me your Grace, I didn’t even see him before he was on top of me, using his fists to land blow after blow on my face.”

You wanted to scream at the bastard, but you held back. How could he act the victim when he was anything but?

“Your Grace, I fear you brother has gone out of control once more,” the Hand sighed, but a voice from somewhere behind you interrupted whatever else he was about to say.

“You were always so quick to judge me,” prince Daemon called out, walking slowly down the middle of the room, dressed in a black doublet with the Targaryen dragon embroidered on it. He had his sword strapped to his belt, his hand resting on it. You couldn’t help but smile softly at him. He glanced at you briefly, returning your smile before he focused on the Hand once more.

“It is true, I attacked this worthless piece of scum, and I would gladly chop him up and feed him to my dragon if I was given the chance.”

“Why?” the Hand demanded. “Lord Borros is an honorable man, the ruler of the Stormlands and an ever faithful man to his King-”

“This faithful man as you call him attacked a young maiden and sought to rape her,” Rhaenyra interrupted him, leaving your side as she stepped up before her father and his Hand.

“She threw herself at me!” lord Borros roared, and fury boiled in your chest. You wanted to jump on him and gouge his eyes out, feed them to the vultures.

“She is a slut, a whore who flaunted herself at me, taunting me with her body.”

He glared fiercely at you, and everyone in the room started whispering.

“Is this true?” lord Otto questioned you, his gaze stern.

“No my lord Hand,” you replied, your voice laced with anger. “I have never made any sort of advances towards lord Borros.”

“Yet, as I recall, you danced with him at the feast not long ago,” lord Otto observed.

“I did, but that does not mean I ever threw myself at him.”

“Yes, for you preferred to warm the prince’s bed,” lord Borros hissed cruelly.

Gasps echoed all over the room, and the whispers intensified.

“I have never been touched by any man, I am a maiden still,” you defended, your hands shaking. “You attacked me, after leading me to that secluded corridor.”

“Your imagination runs wild,” the stormlander replied dismissively. “I only took a walk with you because your father has been hounding me to ask for your hand. I had considered it at first, but I changed my mind now that I see what a lustful and disgraceful woman you are. I want no woman like that to be my wife.”

You could see your father go rigid beside you. This would no doubt keep any men from asking for your hand from now on. Once the story of all this got out, you would be forever shunned by any suitors, cursed to remain unwed until you died. You, on the other hand, were furious at the lies this vile man spat out.

“I would rather die than be your wife,” you hissed, fuming. “You asked me to sleep with you, to please you so you would ask for my hand in return. You are the one who is disgraceful, attacking me when I rejected your request.”

“She speaks the truth, I bear witness to it,” Rhaenyra declared, and her father focused his gaze on her.

“You swear that you saw lord Borros assault the lady?” the King asked her.

“He did,” the silver haired girl nodded. “Daemon and I arrived at the scene before he could sully her in any way, and my uncle attacked him to get him off of her.”

The chatter amongst the crowd was so loud, ser Harrold had to call for order three times before the people settled.

“Daemon,” the King turned to his brother, “I would hear your side of all this.”

“It is as Rhaenyra says it is your Grace,” Daemon replied. “We came across them when we walked about the corridors. Lord Borros had the lady pinned on the wall, trying to tear at her clothes. Look at her wrists and you will find evidence of his grip on her.”

The King turned to look at you, his gaze focusing on your hands. You lifted your sleeves so he could see the marks lord Borros left on you. Big, red handprints showed on both your wrists, some parts starting to turn purple. They had started to hurt, now that the excitement of the incident had faded away.

The King sat back, sighing deeply. Then, he turned towards the storm lord.

“Lord Borros Baratheon, I find you guilty of trying to attack this lady, with the intent of raping her. For this, you are exiled from Westeros, stripped of your lands and noble title. You re to leave this city and my kingdom immediately, and you are not to return, ever, upon pain of death.”

Lord Borros stood still, too shocked for a moment. However, the fierce nature of the people of the Stormlands proved true.

“Your Grace, you cannot do this, it is an outrage!” he bellowed, fighting to break free of the hold the guard had on him.

“Continue speaking and you shall lose your head,” the King glared at him, like a dragon poised to attack. You had rarely seen the king like this, but it was during times like today he showed his true Targaryen nature to those who angered him.

“Remove him from my sight,” the King ordered his guards, and they dragged the former storm lord out of the room, while he kicked and screamed bloody murder.

Most of the courtiers started to make their way out of the room, quickly losing interest now that the trial seemed to be over. Your father approached you, his gaze burning.

“What happened?” he hissed at you, his voice barely above a whisper, so that others wouldn’t hear him.

“You heard what happened,” you bit back, glaring at him.

“Why did you have to fight him? Look what happened to us now,” he spat, glancing at the quickly diminishing crowd. “Who will ask for your hand after all this?”

You couldn’t believe your ears. After all you had suffered at the hands of that horrible man, your father still thought of his failed plans to marry you off to some powerful lord.

“You would prefer I lose my honor to such a man?” you accused, furious.

“At least he would have married you,” your father spat. “Now you will never find a suitable husband.”

“That is not true,” a voice you had come to know very well sounded from behind him.

Your father turned and found Daemon standing before him, tall and proud.

“My prince?” your father asked, uncertain.

“I had been wanting to find you today, but all this prevented me from doing so. I hereby formally ask for your daughter’s hand in marriage.”

You were certain that the barest of breezes would knock your father over, he was so shocked.

“My prince, I, I don’t know what to say,” your father stuttered, fumbling over his own words.

“What is the matter?” the King asked, drawn to the exchange between his brother and your father.

“I have asked for the lady’s hand in marriage.”

The King seemed to be pleasantly surprised.

“That is indeed wonderful,” he smiled, gazing from his brother to you. “I had been hoping you would want to marry again, and she is a fine choice,” he praised you. “What say you my lord?”

Your father fidgeted where he stood, uncomfortable to be in the spotlight.

“I don’t know your Grace,” he replied hesitantly. “It is a great honor, to be sure, but you must forgive me if I am a bit guarded. After all, your brother’s reputation precedes him, and his first marriage was a disaster. I cannot have my daughter shamed before all when the prince decides to find entertainment in pleasure houses later in their marriage.”

“I will do no such thing,” Daemon grunted, his gaze fiery.

“It is true that the prince’s reputation is not the finest,” lord Otto cut in as he glanced at the King.

“Why not let the lady decide?” Rhaenyra suggested, surprising you all.

Her father, your own, the Hand, as well as you and Daemon all turned to look at her where she stood.

“It’s her life, she will have to spend the rest of her days with my uncle if she marries him. Why not put the decision on her hands?”

You could not help but feel so much gratitude for the princess. It was well known that most noble ladies married men their fathers chose, with them having little to no say in the matter. To be able to choose the man you wanted was a rare opportunity.

All gazes fell on you, some expectant, others guarded. You looked at all of them, saving Daemon for last. You didn’t have to think about it. One look at those violet eyes, and you had your answer.

“I choose Daemon.”

--

Your wedding came a fortnight later, and it was everything everyone talked about. A lot of people speculated why the prince had chosen to ask for your hand. The cruelest among them whispered that Daemon had already claimed your maidenhead, others that you were already with child.

You didn’t care. They would all get their answer the morning after the wedding, when your maiden’s blood would stain your sheets.

The big day dawned, and you stood before your mirror, letting the seamstress fix some last minute details on your wedding dress. It was made of the finest snow white silk, with little pearls and diamonds embroidered in patterns of flowers all over the bodice and the skirt. Rhaenyra was currently helping you braid your hair, while one of her handmaidens was holding a pillow with several pieces of jewelry. The King had ordered them for today, and each one was more beautiful than the other. You didn’t know what to choose. Luckily for you, Rhaenyra had excellent taste. She helped you narrow it down to two different sets of earrings, and in the end you chose a pair of silver ones with rubies, while she tied a silver pendant with the head of a dragon with amethysts for eyes. That one was a gift from your mate.

Your mate. You still were trying to fully comprehend what exactly bonded you with Daemon. After the proposal, the two of you spent as much time as you could together, and he had explained to you what the soulmate bond was. Everything made so much sense now. All those times you had those strange emotions, the warmth you both felt when you were close to each other, the emotions you shared, both good and bad. He had felt your pain that day, that was how he knew to come rescue you. He even bore the same marks you did on your wrists for a while. When he kissed you, little explosions of passion went off all over your body, and you craved to be closer to him, as close as it was possible.

It had proved almost impossible to maintain your maidenhead until the wedding, but somehow you had both managed to keep yourselves sated momentarily with kisses and touches. Daemon had suggested to help you ease your arousal using his fingers, or even his mouth but, as intriguing as it had sounded, you had denied yourself that pleasure. You knew that, if you let him do it, there’d be no turning back. At least the day of the wedding had arrived, and the wait was almost over.

You felt a bit nervous, but at the same time excited to be married to Daemon. He was the man you were born to be with, your other half. You didn’t know what the future would bring, but you knew that, as long as you two were together, you could face anything.

“There, all ready,” Rhaenyra smiled at you.

“You turned to look in the mirror and you smiled widely at her. She had done a wonderful job.

“Thank you so much princess,” you held her hands in yours.

“Hey now, none of that. We are to be family, you should call me by my name.”

“Then please do the same,” you replied with happiness.

“I’m so glad uncle Daemon found his soulmate. I had heard of such stories from my mother, but I never expected them to be true. I wonder if I’ll ever find my soulmate,” she sighed, her eyes turning sad.

“You will, I have no doubt about it,” you reassured her.

“What’s it like, having a soulmate?” she asked, curiosity apparent on her pretty face.

You paused, not sure how to describe it correctly.

“It’s like, you go through life, thinking that you are complete, but when you come across your other half, you understand why you always felt like something was missing. You feel everything he feels, and everything you feel is doubled, more intense. It’s almost like I spent my life before I met Daemon just…existing, and now I am finally alive.”

“It must be magical,” Rhaenyra cooed, her eyes dreamy.

“I truly hope you find your mate Rhaenyra, and when you do, you will be the happiest woman in the world, I can promise you that.”

Rhaenyra smiled brightly, her face brightening. She looked divine, clad in a red dress with golden embroidered flowers and lace trimmings. She had her hair in an intricate braid as well, and golden earrings shined on her ears, matching the golden bracelets and necklace she wore on her slender neck. She looked every bit the princess that she was, and a beautiful young woman too.

Someone knocked on the door of your chambers, and one of the maids went to answer it. It was your father, dressed in his finest clothes, his smile almost genuine. It had not been easy to convince him that this was the best for you, but he couldn’t go up against the King’s wishes. King Viserys was thrilled to see his brother happily married, so your father had accepted it. After all, having a daughter married into the royal family was quite the achievement.

“It’s time,” he smiled at you, and Rhaenyra kissed you on the cheek, leaving to go take her place at the throne room. You had agreed to have the ceremony there, instead of the sept, since neither you nor Daemon were particularly religious.

Your father approached you, taking in your wonderful dress.

“You look wonderful my dear,” he smiled, kissing you on the cheeks.

“Thank you,” you nodded.

He wrapped your maiden cloak around your shoulders, fastening it loosely with a silver brooch. You took his arm, and together you came down the stairs.

Flowers and colorful ribbons decorated the stone railings, while a rose petal trail marked the way into the throne room. Hundreds of people had gathered both inside the great hall and at the entrance, waiting to see you get married. You saw many faces, both familiar and unknown, but there was only one you sought to see right now.

Your gaze travelled all the way down the long trail that led to the throne, and there you saw him. He was dressed in his house colors, a blood red shirt under a pitch black velvet doublet. Black breeches, shiny black boots, and his valyrian sword hanging from his belt, its hilt glinting in the sunlight coming in from the high windows. His flowing silver hair shone like a crown over his head, two strands tied with a silver band on the back of his head. He looked beautiful, every bit the prince that he was.

He caught sight of you, and the warmth you had come to know so well by now filled you, once more, and a smile graced your face.

You and your father walked up to where the septon, the king and Daemon stood. Your father handed you over to Daemon with a nod, and your future husband took your hand as you both stood before the septon.

The ceremony ended rather quickly, and the king announced that there was a feast to be held at the royal gardens. You lost count how many noble men and women came to congratulate you, wishing you all the best in your new life. You caught several of the women casting lustful glances at your husband, but he didn’t even spare them a second glance. He only had eyes for you.

The time came for the two of you to share your first dance as husband and wife, and everyone in the area quieted down, eager to watch the spectacle. The musicians started playing a soft tune, Daemon wrapped his hand around your waist, and led you around, his eyes sparkling with joy. You couldn’t stop smiling at him, barely noticing as you twirled around, letting the music guide you.

The dance ended way too quickly, and you both took your seats at the royal table, letting other couples take to the dance floor. You sipped from your goblet, enjoying the rich taste of the wine, happily observing everyone having a great time. You were particularly surprised to find Rhaenyra dancing with ser Harwin Strong, the two of them gazing at each other like they were all alone. It was almost scandalous, and you knew several of the gossipers would start weaving their ridiculous tales, but you couldn’t find it in your heart to care. For one, you were too happy to do so, and Rhaenyra actually looked content to be in the arms of the young knight. You had a fondness for the man, as he did his absolute best in his duties and, despite his popularity with women, he had not used it to his advantage.

“Are you enjoying the night my love?” Daemon whispered to you, and you felt delicious shivers running down your spine. You could never get used to the effect his voice had on you.

“Yes, immensely so,” you smiled at him, turning to gaze at those mesmerizing eyes of his. “And you? Are the festivities to your liking? I think the food is exceptionally great, a perfect feast.”

“It is, but I’d rather be feasting on something else,” he smirked at you, and a flare of desire washed over you, making you clench your legs together.

“Daemon, we can’t,” you gasped, trying to get your body under control, with little success.

“Sure we can,” he whispered, his hand slipping on your thigh, caressing it softly over the fabric of your dress. “This is our wedding night, we are supposed to be spending it laying on our bed, not sitting on these damn chairs.”

You couldn’t help but giggle, your cheeks blushing.

“People will notice us missing,” you tried to reason, but your mind was already flying away to more sinister thoughts. You both had been waiting too long for this.

“They won’t care, they know we have better things to do,” Daemon smiled, holding out his hand to you.

You took it without a second thought, and you both slipped away from the festivities, nobody noticing your escape.

As soon as you were inside the castle, Daemon took you in his arms, taking the steps two at a time until he reached the door of your shared bedchambers. He opened it and walked in the room, kicking the door shut with his leg.

The servants had prepared the room for the night, white linen sheets covering the huge bed, candles lit all over, there was even a glass pitcher of blood red wine along with two goblets on the table.

None of that mattered now though. The only thing that you cared about was your husband.

Daemon put you down slowly, his hands coming to rest at your waist. You didn’t break eye contact as you raised your hand to caress his face, and he leaned into your touch, his eyes closing as he hummed deeply.

You leaned up to kiss him, and he returned your kiss, the sensation making your mind hazy. You closed your eyes as you let your mind enjoy the softness of his lips, the sweet scent that you had come to love, the wonderful feel of his body pressed up against yours.

Your husband slipped one hand up and wrapped it around your neck, his fingers going into your hair. He deepened the kiss, his tongue slipping into your mouth, making you gasp in pleasure. Emboldened by your desire, you let your tongue play with his, tasting each other, teasing, nipping at his lips.

He groaned, a deep sound that vibrated through your body. His hands went to the lacings of your dress, undoing them with uncanny dexterity. Before long, he had your dress loose, ready to fall down on the floor. You let it do so, leaving you in a silk chemise that barely covered your body. Daemon’s gaze swept over you, heated and so full of passion. You caressed his chest with your hands, stopping at the top button of his doublet. He watched, silent, as you undid the buttons one by one, finally opening it to reveal the blood red shirt underneath. You pushed the doublet off his shoulders, and he let it join your dress on the floor.

He pulled you for a searing kiss, full of passion and pure need. A hunger awakened deep in your belly, a hunger to taste every bit of him. You found the edge of his shirt and pulled at it impatiently, until he broke the kiss with a smirk and let you pull it up and off of him.

You let your gaze sweep the sight before you. Daemon’s chest was lean but muscular, the body of a skilled and experienced warrior. Scars from battles long ago littered his pale skin, but they didn’t take anything from his beauty. On the contrary, they were living proof that your mate was a man willing to defend those he loved without a second thought.

You leaned in and placed a kiss on the scar over his heart, and you felt him shiver. He lifted your chin, his eyes so dark, they were almost black.

“I love you,” he whispered, then kissed you once more.

The kiss soon turned passionate, and he leaned down, grabbing your legs in a strong grip, pulling up sharply. You wrapped them around his waist, your arms around his neck. You never stopped kissing as he walked towards the bed, softly placing you on top, covering your body with his.

It was delicious, feeling his strong body on top of yours, pressing you into the mattress. The heat in your lower belly turned even hotter, and you ached for something, no idea what, but you knew you wanted it now.

Daemon’s lips slipped down to your neck, leaving feather-soft kisses as he descended towards your breasts. He pulled the straps of your chemise down, revealing your hardened dark pink nipples. He licked his lips, then closed his mouth over the hardened bud, making you gasp sharply. You reacted on instinct, lifting your chest to get closer to his mouth. He used his tongue and teeth on you, sucking and biting your nipple softly, driving you mad with the sensation. You barely realized that the moans echoing in the room came out of your mouth.

Daemon moved to the other breast, and you swore you were about to explode in flames, you felt so hot. Your hands roamed on his back, trying to pull him as close to you as you could. Daemon let his hand go up and down your thigh, caressing, teasing, stoking the fire in you. His fingers lifted your chemise up, slipping between your bodies, finally touching you were you most needed him to.

He caressed your soaking wet folds, finding a particular spot that had you moaning loudly as he stroked it in circles.

“So wet for me, so ready for me my love,” he groaned, his hips grinding against yours as he sought to find some relief himself. You could feel his hard member poking at your core, and you felt a wave of satisfaction, knowing that you affected him as much as he affected you.

He let a finger slip into you, and your hips rose sharply to meet his hand. He definitely knew how to give you pleasure, playing your body like an instrument.

You reached down to his breeches, trying feverishly to undo the buttons. He gently pulled your hands away, ignoring your lazy protests at the loss of his touch at your core.

“Patience my love, we have all night.”

He leaned up to kiss you, his hands reaching to pull your chemise up, until he lifted it over your head, tossing it aside before resuming his kiss. You felt his naked chest on you, your breasts pressed up against it. He continued his torture with his fingers at your soaked cunt, his thumb circling that little nub that sent jolts of pleasure through you.

“Don’t stop, please don’t stop,” you gasped, rocking into his hand.

“Almost there my love, let go, don’t hold back,” he whispered, and you felt your belly tighten before a wave of absolute bliss hit you hard, making you moan loudly.

Daemon kept stroking you as you rode the wave, enjoying it as much as you could before you collapsed on the mattress, breathing hard.

He leaned back, watching you with hooded eyes as you found your breath again.

“What was that?” you asked, finally able to form words again.

“That was just a taste of what a man can offer his wife. There’s plenty more,” he smirked, going down the length of your body before he stopped at your core. He pulled your legs apart gently, then surprised you when he gave a big lick at your folds.

You gasped, moaning at the sensation. He didn’t give you any time to recover as he resumed licking at you like a man starved. He used his tongue much like he had used his fingers not long ago, going in and out of you, focusing on that little nub, driing you mad with the intense feelings that raved in you. Your whole body shook as the pressure built once more, this time even more intense as you reached that peak of ultimate pleasure for the second time.

You screamed your mate’s name as you felt your juices flooding out of you, Daemon licking at them eagerly.

“Daemon, please,” you pleaded, not sure what you wanted.

“Yes my love, I’m here,” he crooned, covering your body with his and he reached up to kiss you. You could taste yourself in his tongue, and that somehow made it all so much more pleasurable.

At some point Daemon must have gotten rid of his breeches and boots, because you could feel him, all of him, naked and hard as a steel rod, pressing against your folds. He looked at you, silently asking for your permission, and you nodded.

You felt his hardness pushing into you slowly, a delicious pressure that had you breathing shallow. When he reached your maidenhead, he paused for a moment, giving you a moment to adjust to his size before he pushed on.

A momentary feeling of pain gave way to delicious pleasure as Daemon rocked back and forth slowly, going even deeper into you with every move. When he finally was all the way in, he stayed still, both of you savoring the closeness. He kissed you deeply, putting everything he felt into that one kiss.

Before long, you got impatient and wanted more of him, and he was only too eager to comply with your wishes. He set a slow pace at first, moving in and out of you, while his hands played with your breasts.

You gasped with each thrust, feeling him driving into you, trying to find his pleasure. You used your legs to pull him even further in, and heard him groan as his cock touched a spot inside you that had you seeing stars.

“Daemon,” you chanted, again and again, like a prayer. You couldn’t think of anything else, your mind was too overwhelmed from all the things you felt at the same time.

His pace picked up, his breathing becoming ragged as he kissed you almost viciously, all teeth and tongue. You held onto him as you felt that delicious pressure again, and you knew he was getting close to his own peak. You moved in sync, bodies going erratic as the ultimate wave of pleasure took you both in it, pushing you over the edge into a place that had no name. You didn’t care. You were where you always were meant to be, where you wanted to be.

That night, neither of you got any sleep. You finally collapsed, entirely spent, sometime shortly after the first rays of the sun appeared in the east. You lay in your mate’s arms, with barely any strength left in you, but absolutely sated and content. Shortly before sleep claimed you both, you looked deep into Daemon’s eyes, whispering a single phrase to him:

“I love you, now and always.”

He smiled, his true smile that he saved only for you, and whispered back:

“I love you too my wife, from now until the end of time.”

---

There you have it, the last part. I hope you liked it!

Taglist: @thanyatargaryen, @honestlyka, @graniairish, @queenofshinigamis, @dangerousbluebirdpoetry, @moonmaiden1996, @nitimurinvetitumposts

[ladystoneboobs]

The princess might even have considered Willas Tyrell, crippled leg and all, but her father refused to send her to Highgarden to meet him. She tried to go despite him, with Tyene's help . . . but Prince Oberyn caught them at Vaith and brought them back. -Arianne II, aFfC

suddenly, out of nowhere, intriuged by what this match would have been like if she'd made it to highgarden, bc every tyrell besides willas is racist toward the dornish. or at least mace and olenna def are and they blame oberyn for will's injury even tho willas himself doesn't. but maybe margaery and garlan could be happy for their union (loras can be kind of a dick so i'm just assuming he shares his dad's racism), a crippled reacherman and a headstrong dornishwoman against the world.

[krasnayavedma]

❝ No point negotiating, Aunt Wanda. They can say what they want — it's all bad faith. ❞

@inmutant !

[avvail-whumps]

Royal Bought #7: Thorns and Roses

previous · masterlist

content warnings: vampire whump, lady whumper, multiple lady whumpees, conditioned whumpees, defiant whumpee, hypnosis, manhandling,

Luke gently ran a hand over the front of his shirt, feeling the outline of the necklace there against his palm, completely hidden. Lillia gently buttoned up the last button, her eyes flitting up to his for a moment, before she stepped backwards.

He wanted to thank her again, his heart twisting slightly from the relief, but it went unspoken.

With Lillia leading the way, he was taken back to Ileana, who seemed to have seated herself at the wooden desk, her intense eyes pinning Luke to the spot as soon as he crossed the threshold.

“We’re finished, my Lady,” Lillia smiled sweetly, and Ileana rose to her feet, smoothly and gracefully, coming towards them. Luke steeled himself to the ground, watching as those pointy fingers gently carressed the bottom of Lillia’s chin, almost making her purr.

“Thank you, my darlings,” she cooed, giving Luke a slow once over. He was suddenly aware of how heavy his necklace was on his collarbone. The girls didn’t seem worried. Ileana’s lips spread into a sly smile, stepping up close to him and invading his space. She seemed to anticipate that he would take a step back, because her long, slender fingers suddenly snapped to his jaw, keeping him still. The sharp fingernails dug into his flesh, and he bit back a painful hiss.

“Much better,” she hummed, jerking his head to the side and inspecting him. The pointy nails were going to leave crescent shaped dents on his skin, he was sure. “You look far more appealing when you’re not caked in dirt, aren’t you?”

Luke huffed through gritted teeth, face twisted into a snarl. He tried to say something, demand she get her filthy hands off him, but her grasp just tightened, squishing his cheeks. It was like he was a child, and humiliation and resent stabbed at his chest.

“Ah, ah,” Ileana purred, her eyes narrowing. “I have plenty of other humans to take care of before the end of the day. Why don’t you be a good boy and get some rest? I’m sure it’ll be much easier to take everything in if you’re well rested.”

Luke gave another sharp grunt, twisting his fingers into her wrist in some attempt to get her hands off him. The pressure was making his jaw throb, like it might snap out of place, blinking back the automatic tears that stung his eyes. He could feel his neck being forced into place, twisted up at an awkward angle, and it was hard for him to look anywhere but her eyes. When he screwed his shut, Ileana gave him a hard tug. A gasp tore from his throat at the stinging pain, eyes flying open.

“I said,” the vampire murmured, and Luke was suddenly falling through tunnels of blinding red. “Why don’t you be a good boy, and get some rest?”

Luke’s breath was suddenly caught in his throat, and when Ileana’s fingers released him, he found he couldn’t quite look away. His head was going all fuzzy and heavy, his thoughts were battling for control, and his expression, wide eyed and tightened, was staring up at her. Ileana leaned forward, flashing her fangs as she smiled. He couldn’t even move back.

“That’s right,” she cooed, her voice dripping with honey. It felt like it was wrapping Luke up snugly, coiling him against her whim. “I am sure it’s been such an exhausting day for you. All you should focus on is getting some sleep. Anything of importance will be discussed later.”

This wasn’t anything like Justinian’s compulsion. This was all consuming, sinking into each limb and each shred of muscle, making them completely hers. He didn’t want to believe her, knew that she shouldn’t, but all he could think about right now was the comforting embrace of sleep. How heavy he felt. How exhausted his mind was.

Her silver hair fell past her shoulders as she brushed her hand through his own hair, the feeling tugging at something in his brain. Telling him to obey, telling him this was right. The hand slid to his cheek, and Luke didn’t even realise he was leaning into the touch. Ileana’s vibrant eyes flickered across his face for a moment, as if studying him, but she leaned back, satisfied.

Luke could only remain stood where he was, planting to the spot. He was surprised he wasn’t swaying with her snake-like movement.

“It’s refreshing to feel someone try and fight it,” Ileana hummed absentmindely, sweeping a hand under her chin as she glanced towards the three girls, all of them swiftly looking away, as if they hadn’t been intrigued by Luke’s reaction to the compulsion. Maybe they were expecting him to break out of it. He was trying, he really was.

“Lillia, Brooke.” The two girls lifted their heads obediently. “Could you take him to a room, please? Straight to bed.”

They both nodded their heads, and Ileana stepped back to her desk, letting her girls deal with the rest. The blonde stopped in front of Luke, his vision all fuzzy and his eyelids droopy. His mind could only just process the feeling of her gently taking his hand, and Brooke guiding him by the shoulder. His feet seemed to move smoothly, effortlessly, as if he wasn’t controlling them at all.

Well, he supposed he wasn’t.

His tongue felt too heavy to say anything, and everything was spinning instead.

Beside him, Brooke shifted. Lillia was still holding his hand, helping to guide him through the corridors. Her brows furrowed.

“Lillia…” She murmured, and the blonde girl looked at her, blinking her eyelashes. She tilted her head in curiosity, then glanced down to their hands. She unlinked them, pink lip twitching with a subtle smile.

“Sorry,” she breathlessly answered, her eyes switching to Luke. She slowed a little, making sure his pace was consistent. “He can still walk okay, right?”

Of course I can, Luke wanted to say. Nothing came out. Their conversation was a little fuzzy, and hard to follow when all he wanted to do was drop down on something soft and sleep all of this grogginess away. Brooke hummed, staring at him.

“Yes,” she finally said, shifting her hand from his shoulder. “I suppose he’s not used to a pureblood’s compulsion. I don’t think I’ve ever seen anyone fall under it so quickly. Not even you.”

Lillia blushed, her brows furrowing in embarrassment. “That’s different.”

They turned a corner.

“Well, regardless,” Brooke continued, but there was still a hint of amusement in her tone. They stopped by a door, and Lillia fished for a key of sorts, inserting it into the lock. She gave it a hard twist, and it creaked open. Luke felt like he was hit with vertigo when they finally stepped inside. “It must have been some life. Living out there, I mean.”

It was a bedroom, it seemed. Not too large, but extravagantly filled. If Luke had been in his right mind, he might have taken a moment to observe. Instead, he felt an overwhelming tug towards the bed, Ileana’s silky voice weaving between all of his thoughts again. There was a moment of silence, before Lillia spoke. Her voice, this time, was a breathless whisper.

“Oh, Brooke,” she murmured. “I feel sorry for him.”

“Lillia, come on,” Brooke sighed. “We’ve tended to so many other humans before this. Why are you so upset?”

Their words were fuzzy, going in and out. He could barely follow it.

“Because…” She paused, her mouth pressing into a thin line. “Out there, it was probably safe, right? He could have lived a life without having to deal with all of this. We got lucky and yet…the things that we went through. What you went through. Out of everyone, he could have been the closest to ever living a normal life out there. How often do you even think he saw a vampire?”

Luke’s chest stabbed once, then twice. The realisation of this conversation was going to barrel into him in the morning. Whenever that was - Luke didn’t even know what time it was right now.

“Should I feel guilty?” Lillia continued, her voice breathless. “Do I even have that right when we’ve done this to so many other humans?”

Brooke suddenly cut in. “Don’t let Ileana hear you saying things like that.”

“She’s been too distracted with Cali,” the blonde murmured softly under her breath, tucking some of her hair behind her ear. Brooke’s eyes didn’t falter from hers, until suddenly, she was smiling slightly.

“Our Lady has her attention elsewhere, and so you move your interests towards the first guy you see?” She teases, her smile suddenly becoming coy. “And you say I’m the jealous one.”

Lillia’s cheeks went bright red. “It’s not like that. I just want to know more about what’s out there. About him. That’s all.”

Luke felt a faint touch on his arm, and just like that, everything was a blur again. His thoughts didn’t even register it this time, lost in the fuzzy sensations that were engulfing him. He felt something comforting beneath him, making him sink further under. He wanted to open his mouth, wanted to say something, but nothing was working. There must have been a slurred murmur on his tongue, because Lillia suddenly paused, grasping the bedsheets.

She glanced at Brooke. “He’s fighting it.”

“It won’t matter,” the other girl simply responded, tugging the bed sheets up instead. “He’ll just have a headache in the morning. Let’s hurry back.”

Luke’s curls splayed out on the pillow, his eyelids fluttering. Lillia and Brooke were simply two blobs in his vision now, fading into a black void as his mind slipped away, drifting off into a peaceful, undisturbed slumber. He didn’t even hear the door close.

. . .

Luke did have something of a headache when he woke up.

He didn’t know how long it had been, but ironically, it was almost as though he’d slept like the dead. Tingles reverberated in his skull as his eyes fluttered open, almost on command. He was lay flat on his back, seemingly just how he’d been left, the soft sheets cool and comfortable over his body.

Luke’s hand flew up to his temple, giving it a tense massage.

Regardless of the tingling sensation through his skull, Luke hated to admit how refreshed he felt. It was almost like the perfect sleep, and it irked him to know he’d been sleeping away so easily while Ten was somewhere out there all alone.

As if on a schedule, there was a click from the door.

The lock, Luke realised, lifting his head to watch as it swung open, and Lillia stepped inside. She was balancing a tray on her hand, a sweet smile spread across her face. Her hair was styled today, curling slightly at the bottom, half up and half down. Luke must have had a scowl on his face when she approached, because her smile faltered a little bit.

“Did you sleep alright?” She asked, placing the tray down on the bedside table with a small clatter. There was a plate of food, something foreign to Luke, and a glass of water. He eyed it wearily, sitting up. “You may have a headache.”

“I’m fine,” he grumbled, feeling the pleasant stretch in his back as he straightened up. No pain. It was as if the sleep had completely rejuvenated him. Lillia was watching curiously, and also knowingly, eager to get her two cents in.

“I love sleeping under compulsion,” she giggled, as if she could read his mind. Luke sent her a hard look. “I feel amazing when I wake up. I don’t get nightmares like Brooke, but I still ask my Lady. She’s always happy to oblige.”

Luke’s mouth was dry. “Right. Your Lady.”

Ileana - if the silver haired vampire was going to compel him into behaving, then Luke needed to get out of here as swiftly as possible. At least with Silas, there was some petty arrogance in being able to deal with any physical beating he threw his way. He’d hated the feeling of losing all of that power, so much more consuming and powerful that Justinian’s had been.

He recalled something one of the girls had said - a pureblood. Luke was out of his depth when it came to the intricacies of vampires. He didn’t even know a pureblood was a thing, or what it meant. Though, he could guess turning wasn’t the only way to create a vampire.

“Can I have some water?” He asked, pointing to the glass. Lillia winced, nodding her head as she collected herself. She’d been staring at him again.

“Of course,” she smiled, handing him the glass. She went back to the tray again. “I have some medicine for your headache, too.”

Luke took a sip. It was cool and refreshing on his dry tongue. “I’m not taking medicine.”

“But it’ll help.”

“I’m not taking it,” he firmly repeated, and Lillia flinched back. A silence spread through the room as he drank his fill, eyes flickering over to the food. The blonde looked a little fidgety now, and Luke suddenly regretted snapping the way he had done. A quiet sigh slipped past his lips.

“What’s that?”

Motioning to the food, he watched as Lillia followed it, her eyes brightening back up again.

“That’s right,” she beamed, giggling softly. “You have probably never seen something like this, have you?”

She carefully plucked the tray up, placing it on his lap. It was warm through the duvet, almost pleasant would it not be for his current situation. He had been ready to protest, but begrudgingly clamped his mouth shut after feeling a sting of regret for snapping at her when none of this was her fault. He made a disgruntled noise, but didn’t protest. Lillia looked almost pleased to tell him all about the food, which Luke stared at with hard eyes. It was circular shaped, steam rising from the surface. Something golden and thick was smothered all over it, glistening over the spongy substance.

Luke frowned hard.

“They’re pancakes,” Lillia giggled, observing his expression with glee. “Just try them.”

Luke didn’t protest when the fork was pushed into his hand, the knife in the other. After a moment of, as Lillia claimed, etiquette, since apparently it would be messy to eat with his hands, he was cutting into a small bit along the edge, soft and easy to glide along the blade of the knife. The girl suggested scooping up some syrup, she called it, and so he did.

He eased it into his mouth. Luke wasn’t exactly worried about poison; if they wanted him dead, he would be dead already. No, he was here for something far worse.

The first thing he noticed was the taste. His jaw instantly stilled, nose wrinkling slightly. It was an overpowering taste, and he promptly stared at Lillia, who looked like she was struggling to hold in a laugh behind her hand. She snorted, her eyes crinkling with a laugh as he continued to slowly chew. It was like paste, a little soggy with the syrup, and so sweet.

“It has a lot of sugar,” Lillia giggled, trying to get herself together. A part of him might be able to forget he’d been kidnapped by vampires if Lillia was by his side. “The syrup is a little sickly. You’re just not used to it.”

Luke prodded the sponge. It wasn’t bad - just not what he was used to.

“You need to eat, though,” she continued, having calmed herself down a little bit now. She tucked some hair behind her ear. “My Lady wants you to be as healthy as possible.”

“It’s…” He took another bite. “What is this?”

“Pancakes,” Lillia smiled. “They’re very nice. You can have them with all sorts of toppings. Maybe I shouldn’t have started with syrup.”

Luke grunted. He tried scraping as much of the syrup off as possible, before continuing to eat. Even if it didn’t taste amazing, his body was clawing at any chance to get some food into his stomach. He wondered just how much food the kingdom had access to when his people had been starving out in barren lands. Absentmindedly, his eyes trailed to the window.

“Can you do me a favour?” He began, glancing at Lillia as he ate. The girl’s spine straightened, beaming from head to toe.

“Happy to help.”

He motioned to the window. “The window.”

Lillia followed his gaze, rubbing her hands together. “You would like some fresh air?”

Her voice was a little tight, her throat bobbing. She looked back towards Luke, her blue eyes softening with that same look of sympathy again. A part of him recalled the conversation she and Brooke had had when he was under Ileana’s compulsion. Lillia and the others served their “Lady” like obedient pets, helping to prepare their own kind to be sold off to the same creatures that enslaved them too. Luke doubted she didn’t have a choice, but she seemed rather complacent in her role.

“Yes,” he answered. He paused, adding a small: “Please?”

The girl rubbed her neck. It seemed like the windows were meant to be kept locked shut, otherwise she wouldn't be hesitating as much as she was. After a few quiet moments, she seemed to relent. Judging by the fact she had let him keep his necklace, Luke had been expecting it.

“Alright,” she nodded. “Though, we must make a leave when you’re finished eating. My Lady is feeding, but she expects us to be on time.”

Luke dismissively nodded her head. Finished with his plate, Lillia leaned forward to take it, placing it on the bedside table once more. She watched him as he slipped out of bed, feeling a little fuzzy headed as he rose to his feet. His socked feet hit the floor, taking a moment to steady himself. Once Lillia deemed him okay to stand, she began moving over to the window, one that she opened with a key attached to a necklace around her neck. She eased it back under her clothes once done, as Luke silently picked up one of the silk napkins (was it a handkerchief? Luke didn’t care to know), cradling it in his palm.

Lillia unlatched the window, huffing as she pushed it upwards. Luke’s eyes darted to the door, murmuring a silent apology under his breath as he pressed the cloth over her mouth and nose, pulling her back against him. Lillia’s squeal was swallowed by his hand, her scared flails pinned by Luke’s other arm as he kept her close, preventing her from making too much noise.

He wanted to tell her he was sorry for knocking her out like this, but he didn’t want to say anything that the vampires, especially Ileana, might overhear. He was probably pushing his luck thinking he could do this without being caught. Lillia went under more swiftly than he had expected, her body going limp within a few minutes. He ever so gently set her down on the floor, her face relaxed and eyes closed. He made sure she was still breathing properly, setting her down modestly on her back.

Luke felt bad, but his survival was paramount. He had an eleven year old kid to look for. Stepping up towards the window, he leaned out, taking in the ground below him. It was clear, as far as he could see. He felt confidence spark in his chest as he swung his legs over, determined to make a swift getaway.

Everything Tag List: @whumpatize-me-captain @whump-me-all-night-long @softvampirewhump @d-cs @suspicious-whumping-egg @sapphirechao @sparrowsage @excessive-vampires @thecyrulik

[highlordofkrypton]

NEEDLE & KING // the story of Rhysand's Parents

READ ON AO3.

SUMMARY: Before A Court of Thorns and Roses and before Wildflowers, Needle & King is a story of survival and of love. We all know how it ends for Rhysand's mother and his father, but how did it all begin?

TAGS: @achaotichuman @amalhe-kofee @watcherintheweyr @darah-g

READ CHAPTER 1 & 2 BELOW THE CUT OR ON AO3

CHAPTER 1 - Flying

At the end of the world, Lilith thinks of nothing.

No home to yearn for, no family to miss her—at least, not for long—and no future to look forward to. 

She stands on the edge of a mountain’s peak, one of two Wolf’s Fangs, and feels. The world comes into her through the howls of the wind and the bite of the cold against her barely covered arms. Clouds stand between her and the bottom, if she could even see that far on a clear day. Her life, until now, has been a series of instances that have happened to her rather than experience. The absence of her father, the death of her mother, the fear that looms above her—she is at the mercy of everything around her.

Here, the ice demands her wakefulness.

Here, the skies challenge her.

Here, every breath is earned.

The height of the mountain is the only time she feels alive, so what is that feeling when she steps off its edge and careens downwards. Down, down, down, she goes with a whistle—a force against gravity. At the bottom, reality will come crashing down, but she can solve that problem quite easily.

Just… fall.

Her black wings strain against the fall, and she grits her teeth. It’s not in her nature to fall ; she will never accept her fate. Lilith wages war against nature itself, demanding her muscles to yield to her will. A loud flapping noise signals her success, the membranes of her wings cradling the air itself to take her in an arc, a low swoop and then up again.

She glides through the clouds, occasionally drawing her dark wings to herself and allowing herself to plummet before catching herself again. Lilith had taught herself to fly. It was the only thing she can control in her small, small life. Her flights have no destination, and they are timeless. She flies for as long as she can. She pushes as far as she can go because she never knows when it will be her last time.

CHAPTER 2 - Sisters

Home is a halfway house for the unclaimed and the unclipped. Tethered by the finest of threads, Lilith never knows what to expect when she walks through those doors. Her calloused fingers grip her worn satchel, as if that would still her hammering heart.

Is today the day?

Is today the day she will find herself alone, the last bastion for a gaggle of little girls resigned to the same horrible fate? She doesn’t have the heart to be their home. The best she can do is survive. She can’t make any more promises. 

Lilith rests her hand on the brass knob of the modest building. At the very least, the males take care of their basic needs. Repairs are made on time, and there is just enough food not to starve, yet she has never experienced being full. Anything for their breeding mares, of course.

She pushes through the doors with bated breath, steeling herself for what she may find within.

“Lils, you’re home!”

“Az!” Lilith breathes her relief and embraces her sister tightly. 

Every greeting is like the first time, and every farewell carries the weight of the last time. Though they are not bound by blood, they have survived too much together. Asmodea is the last of their cohort along with Lilith; the rest were taken the moment of their first bleed. Some were never seen again, but most are still around, hidden inside tents or kept barefoot and—

The thought sickens her.

“You’re okay?”

“Yes, yes.” Asmodea pauses, looking around and pulling Lilith aside. “But… we lost another one.”

Lilith steels her expression. “Who?”

“Forta. It happened an hour after you left.”

“But we checked the sheets this morning.” Lilith rifles through her bag. “I brought more herbs. We could have—”

“I know, but they scented her.”

For years, the two of them have been protecting the younger ones by doing the best they can to hide the evidence of their first bleed. It had worked a couple of times. Lilith would take the stained sheets with her to the mountains to burn, and she would return with perfumed flowers and herbs to mix with their bathing soaps. More and more, their efforts seem… futile.

“Az, you need to start taking the concoction. It’s a miracle you’ve made it this far. Please.” Lilith takes her friend’s hands, pressing a small vial into them. There isn’t enough to share among all the girls; the growth of silphium in the mountains is becoming rarer and rarer. 

Asmodea shakes her head and curls Lilith’s fingers over the potion. “You keep it.” 

Between the two of them, Asmodea has always resigned herself to her fate. When her bleed did not come, she took on the role of an older sister—of a mother —to the younger Illyrian girls. She is the antithesis of Lilith who fights tooth and nail against the future that awaits them all.

Lilith leans close, pressing her head against Asmodea’s. “And what do I do when they take you too?”

“You leave. You take your things and you leave this all behind.”

“What about the—”

“One day, you’ll find a way to help them, but you need to survive.” Her fingers tighten around Lilith’s hands. “Clipping your wings will kill you. I know it. And I don’t fault you for it.” Asmodea has always told Lilith she was envious of the way she was born to fly—of the way she always seemed greater than what their tribe intends for her.

“Az…”

“Hush, now. We were sent the good flour. I was thinking of making tarts. You’ll help?”

“After I wash up.”

“Of course!” Asmodea nudges her along, all while wrapping an apron around her waist to start working on the dough.

The other girls are happy to see Lilith, and she greets them with equal affection. Though she is not as soft and as kind as Asmodea, she offers kindness and stories in hopes of brightening their days. She tells them about the roar of the mountain, how it resounds in her chest when she flies all the way to the top, and the newest encounters in the forest where she picks her herbs. Today, she saw a large fruit bat, almost as tall as she was, gnawing on some fruit with its chubby cheeks. When it flew off, its wings would beat with star showers, basking Lilith in wisps of light.

She nudges them along to finish their chores; the girls are taught skills that would aid them in the home of their Illyrian husbands. At their young ages, they rotate between household duties, but older girls like Lilith and Asmodea have no choice but to become more and more specialized in their crafts. Asmodea is the household cook, and no one can compare to her skill yet. When she’s gone, someone will rise up in her place. Lilith, despite her refusal to conform, has the best needle skills in the group. She fixes the worn dresses, and determinedly sews new sheets for every set they burn in hopes of buying the girls just one more day.

Lilith slips into the bathroom, still carrying her bag with her. 

Her dark wing stretches out and she nudges free a small nook carved out of one of the wooden beams. Inside, she stores her potions. In case of a search, they wouldn’t think to look for a hidden compartment—the males wouldn’t account for cleverness. She keeps a small vial with her. The dark green liquid shifts slightly, thick and clinging to the edges. 

Here goes… everything.

She tips the concoction into her mouth. It moves slowly, sluggish and sticky. The first time she took the poison, she had nearly choked on it. Since then, she has learned to time her breathing to swallow as much of the concentrated liquid before washing it down with water. Bitterness takes hold of her, causing a full body shiver as she makes faces in the mirror. The ritual is disgusting but necessary; it is the only thing protecting her freedom.

Bile, along with the poison, rises in her throat, but Lilith swallows it back down. It burns. She bears it. She has heard the screams of her sisters getting their wings clipped and this is nothing.

This is nothing.

Fingers grip the edges of the sink. Sweat beads at her brow. Just take it, she wills herself and her body. It takes a handful of minutes to calm down. Lilith washes the vial quickly and stores it for her next trip. She hides her satchel under her cot, and makes her way with a handful of herbs to dry at the kitchen window.

A gentle humming gives her pause, as she watches Asmodea hone her craft. Asmodea has always denied it, but there is a magic to her. Whether it is her voice, or the comforting scent of her cooking, Lilith cannot tell, but when she sings softly, and quietly, the whole house seems to ease. Her voice keeps the shadows at bay when the little ones cannot sleep after hearing the horrors of a clipping, as if she softens the darkness for their sake. The shadows above the stove seem to dance happily, their edges blurred, but Lilith knows better. It’s nothing more than the heat of the fire in the air. 

Lilith takes a step forward, and the world seems to slip from beneath her. 

“Lilith!” The shadows stop dancing, regaining their hard edges and full of worry, as Asmodea drops everything to help her friend.

“I’m fine,” she holds her hand out. Wings spread, she uses them to regain her balance. “I will be fine.”

“Sit.” 

The wooden stool groans its protest as it's dragged across the floor, and Lilith makes a similar sound as she is forced to relax. The sudden motion makes her head spin, and she has to lean against one of the house’s supporting wooden columns to steady herself. A cool compress is pressed against her forehead and a cup of lukewarm water is shoved in her hands.

“Drink, don’t argue.”

“Has anyone ever told you what a pain in the Az you are?”

“Oh, no. That honour is yours entirely.”

Lilith’s amusement is a tired huff. “What would you do without me?”

“I would be very, very lonely. I still wouldn’t have an extra pair of hands, though, for dinner. Funny how that works out.”

“Oh, hush!”

[surplus-of-sarcasm]

Short Prompt # 9

TW: Violence, blood, worry, bruises, choking

"What is the point?" Villain hisses, fingers tightening with a subtle threat at Hero's throat, leaving scattered bruises all over their neck in ugly shades of purple and brown.

"Of what?" Hero rasps weakly, playing the fool and gasping for air. They refuse to meet the villain's steel-hard gaze, trying their hardest to pry their fingers off of their neck.

The criminal aims a cruel kick to their ribs with their knee, force just shy away from causing a fracture. The crime-fighter lets out a wince, and the villain sharply tilts their chin up, forcing them to meet their eyes.

"You're going to kill yourself! Running back and forth between the agency and I, like some frenzied animal, trying to reach the unattainable," they snap, the muscles of their face contorting into an expression of pure, unbridled fury.

But behind the reinforced concrete wall of anger, their eyes still hold a look of hurt, a sign of something the villain had tried so hard to bury deep within their being, to obliterate and destroy, shattering it like a flimsy piece of glass.

Yet, the hero was willing to pick up the pieces, to prick their fingers on the thorns in Villain's rose garden, just to hold them close.

Wrenching their nemesis's hand off their throat, they push them away, still trying to be gentle. A damned fool, as always.

"It's not 'unattainable', Villain. I want to be a hero, to save people. And I still want to love you. You don't have the right to tell me how to live my life," they answer softly, gently resting a hand on their shoulder, squeezing reassuringly.

The villain pushes their hand off like it was burning them. "You don't get it, don't you?" they say, tone disbelieving, shaking their head and laughing humourlessly.

"No," the hero says pragmatically, "I don't."

Villain let out an almost animalistic snarl, letting their fist collide with the crime-fighter's nose, drawing blood. "The desire I experience for you, these flames that I cannot put out, licking my heart and burning it blackened is not the one from the sonnets and the romances, Hero. It is the one from tragedies, torn apart and yet so incredibly close together, like a tapestry woven with the twisted threads of a cruel, beautiful fate."

"Then maybe," the hero says sharply, all the softness from their gaze gone, "I would gladly handle the heat of the flames." They pull the criminal close, kissing their jaw, leaving them dazed and at a loss for words, face flushed scarlet.

"But, it's wearing you down," the criminal attests, still breathless.

"Sweetness," Hero says softly, "I need to you to trust that I can do this." They cup the villain's face with their hands lovingly.

With a tenderness they don't think they deserve. . .

But, they nod at the hero fervently, eyes as wide as saucers, not saying a word because it didn't seem like it would make any difference.

They want, more than anything, to believe Hero, to register the kind words, to lose themselves in the feeling of being loved. But the sugar-sweet moments would always have a bitter taste; the villain's past, their fear of desecrating the hero trailing them like their own shadow. But Hero had always told them that their story didn't have to be a tragedy because it was theirs to rewrite.

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