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2021 Revolver Spring issue: Evanescence vs Spiritbox â¨
"Evanescence's 'The Bitter Truth, their first album of new music in 10 years, is finally out. We asked Spiritbox singer and lifelong Evanescence fan Courtney LaPlante to interview Amy Lee, whose music she's been listening to since she was 12 years old."
The magazine offered several cover variants and a signed slipcase. (link)
The photos were taken remotely by Kristin Cofer during quarantine. The subtle shading in the photos suggests they may have been creatively using a video call on a monitor.
#evanescence#amy lee#ilovethis#neverlostmycrown#the bitter truth era#amy interviews#spiritbox#courtney laplante#magazine scans#evanescence cover#evanescence interview#evanescence magazine cover
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Listening to Side A of The Bitter Truth Evolution by Evanescence Right Now đŚđ
#amy lee#the bitter truth#evanescence#the bitter truth evolution#cassette#cassette player#physical media#the bitter truth era#rock#metal#music#songs#evanescence cassette#evanescence band#evanescence music#rock music#metal music#metal songs#rock songs#demos#making of#SoundCloud
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Evanescence last night at Rock in Rio Lisboa 2024 opening for Scorpions đŚ what a great show!
(x)
#evanescence#amy lee#amy lee outfits#the bitter truth era#rock in rio#livestream#ilovethis#european mini tour 2024
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âyou two deserve each otherâ
-S
#cheating red flags#cheated on#breakups#breakup#breaking up#female writers#women writers#female poets#women poets#spilled ink#the tortured poets department#love poem#walking away#letting go#let him go#let her go#toxic love#toxic relationship#toxic people#exes#bitter exes#voice of the cheated#i do not care#moving on#releasing#spilled truth#spilled emotions#spilled feelings#healing era#happy alone
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I didn't know about this! Thank you for sharing.

Amy Lee from Evanescence absolutely read My Immortal and liked it.
And she talks about it here;



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This article is from 2022, but it came up in the context of Palestine:
Here are some striking passages, relevant to all colonial aftermaths but certainly also to the forms we see Zionist reaction taking at the moment:
Over the decade I lived in South Africa, I became fascinated by this white minority [i.e. the whole white population post-apartheid as a minority in the country], particularly its members who considered themselves progressive. They reminded me of my liberal peers in America, who had an apparently self-assured enthusiasm about the coming of a so-called majority-minority nation. As with white South Africans who had celebrated the end of apartheid, their enthusiasm often belied, just beneath the surface, a striking degree of fear, bewilderment, disillusionment, and dread.
[...]
Yet these progressivesâ response to the end of apartheid was ambivalent. Contemplating South Africa after apartheid, an Economist correspondent observed that âthe lives of many whites exude sadness.â The phenomenon perplexed him. In so many ways, white life remained more or less untouched, or had even improved. Despite apartheidâs horrorsâand the regimeâs violence against those who worked to dismantle itâthe ANC encouraged an attitude of forgiveness. It left statues of Afrikaner heroes standing and helped institute the Truth and Reconciliation Commission, which granted amnesty to some perpetrators of apartheid-era political crimes.
But as time wore on, even wealthy white South Africans began to radiate a degree of fear and frustration that did not match any simple economic analysis of their situation. A startling number of formerly anti-apartheid white people began to voice bitter criticisms of post-apartheid society. An Afrikaner poet who did prison time under apartheid for aiding the Black-liberation cause wrote an essay denouncing the new Black-led country as âa sewer of betrayed expectations and thievery, fear and unbridled greed.â
What accounted for this disillusionment? Many white South Africans told me that Black forgiveness felt like a slap on the face. By not acting toward you as you acted toward us, weâre showing you up, white South Africans seemed to hear. Youâll owe us a debt of gratitude forever.
The article goes on to discuss:
"Mau Mau anxiety," or the fear among whites of violent repercussions, and how this shows up in reported vs confirmed crime stats - possibly to the point of false memories of home invasion
A sense of irrelevance and alienation among this white population, leading to another anxiety: "do we still belong here?"
The sublimation of this anxiety into self-identification as a marginalized minority group, featuring such incredible statements as "I wanted to fight for Afrikaners, but I came to think of myself as a âliberal internationalist,â not a white racist...I found such inspiration from the struggles of the Catalonians and the Basques. Even Tibet" and "[Martin Luther] King [Jr.] also fought for a people without much political representation ⌠Thatâs why I consider him one of my most important forebears and heroes,â from a self-declared liberal environmentalist who also thinks Afrikaaners should take back government control because they are "naturally good" at governance
Some discussion of the dynamics underlying these reactions, particularly the fact that "admitting past sins seem[ed] to become harder even as they receded into history," and US parallels
And finally, in closing:
The Afrikaner journalist Rian Malan, who opposed apartheid, has written that, by most measures, its aftermath went better than almost any white person could have imagined. But, as with most white progressives, his experience of post-1994 South Africa has been complicated. [...]
He just couldnât forgive Black people for forgiving him. Paradoxically, being left undisturbed served as an ever-present reminder of his guilt, of how wrongly he had treated his maid and other Black people under apartheid. âThe Bible was right about a thing or two,â he wrote. âIt is infinitely worse to receive than to give, especially if ⌠the gift is mercy.â
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chapter 7: the rebound 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?
warnings ⸺ nsfw, enemies to lovers, bridgerton au, angst, fluff, SUGGESTIVE, eventual smut, jealousy, misogyny, description of injury, concussion, blood, regency era au, gojo being infuriating, reader also being infuriating, both of them are clueless honestly
chapter summary ⸺ after the arrival of your dearest brother, you pursue a new angle to the season, one to prove that you, the diamond, will not be scorned. new opportunities with duke nanami arise and with it jealousy and bitterness fester in the ballroom. (6.8k)
prev. the house party | next. the lake
general masterlist | series masterlist
Once again, dear Reader, this humble Author finds herself vindicated. Country house parties, as ever, remain the fertile soil from which the most delicious scandals bloom. And todayâs revelation is no exception.
Yes, indeed, you read it here first: the dashing and ever-elusive Lord Satoru Gojo will not be marrying Miss Itadori, this seasonâs most celebrated diamond. The murmurs have already begun spreading like wildfire, bringing sighs of relief from hopeful ladies and knowing smirks from their watchful chaperones. The eligible Duke-to-beâs sudden return to certified bachelorhood is, no doubt, a development many find most agreeable.
But what, pray, has caused this sudden turn of events? The dissolution of an arrangement so seemingly perfect? Alas, even this Authorâa tireless seeker of truthsâhas found the particulars elusive. Was it a clash of personalities? A misstep at the ball? Or perhaps, a secret grievance unearthed during those long, candlelit evenings at the country estate?
What this Author can confirm is that the ballroom whispers point to Lord Gojoâs own doing, based upon the countenances and actions of the pair at the ball. Did the ever-charming lord tire of his diamondâs sparkle, or has he found a more alluring treasure elsewhere? The possibilities are endless, and so, it seems, is the intrigue surrounding the pair.
One thing remains certain: while Miss Itadori may have stumbled in this engagement, she remains a diamond among gemsâbrilliant, resilient, and admired. What paths now await her are anyoneâs guess, but if this Author knows anything, it is that diamonds shine brightest under pressure.
As for Lord Gojo, the question lingers: will his rakish reputation survive this latest scandal unscathed? Or has he, at last, met a match too dazzling even for him to outshine? Rest assured, dear Reader, this Author will remain ever-vigilant, pen poised and ready to uncover the truth.
⸝ LADY WHISTLEDOWNâS SOCIETY PAPERS
You could have had a bit more tact when informing Sukuna of the events of the past few days, for the reaction you gained made you realize that you may have made a misstep.
âWhat?!â Sukuna roared, looking at the three of you with fury. Yuji jumped, while you and Choso grimaced. âHe did what?!â
âNow, now, brother,â Choso stood up nervously to pat his younger brother on the shoulder. âIt is all good and well, for I have arranged for a better match for our dear sisterââ
âA duel!â Sukuna bellowed, standing up from his seat on the couch to stomp his way to the door. âI will challenge that Gojo fellow to a duelââ It was only until Yuji ran and tackled him to the ground that he was waylaid to God knows what he was going to do to Lord Gojo. You and Choso could only watch the scene, too perforce to the strength of bulls that your brothers had to be able to interrupt.Â
A few scratches and awfully purple looking bruises later, Sukuna and Yuji were seated on the couch once again, thanks to Chosoâs plead for nonviolence. It was then that Choso started explaining what had occurred in the season so far. âMother insisted,â he sighed, shaking his head. âShe seemed to have struck a mutualâŚentente with the Duchess of Gojo. It was only a matter of time before Mother forced her ways. Now that it has not redound in her favor, I have even more rationale to have myâŚway with Sisterâs matches. For Godâs sake, Sukuna stop glaring at me Mother left me behind on the first ballââ
Sukuna did not stop glaring; in fact, he chose that moment to take a long slurp of his tea while staring fiercely at him while Choso shifted nervously. After a long bout of silence, he finally offered, âI understand Mother can be very pushy, and that you, Choso, are not fierce enough to withstand her.â Choso did not even protest, just offered a deadpan. âBut I, however, will not be a feather to a simple blow of the wind that Mother is. It is time our dear sister lived up to her reputation, what she has prepared so hard for.â He looks upon you with a soft gazeâthat is, a soft gaze for Sukuna. âNo matter how tactless Gojoâs estrangement was, Sister will recover, so long as her morale has not lessened. Sukunaâs head turned sharply to you, âIt has not weakened, right Sister? He has not left you heartbroken?â
You could hear your heart as you looked at your brother, dumbfounded. His perceptive gaze disarmed you, but you blurted out a âOf course notâ and turned to hastily grab a pastry from the table next to the loveseat you were seated at.. When you looked back at your brother, you jumped as his gaze lingered on you then nonetheless turned to glare at your brother when Yuji opened his mouth, undoubtedly ready to irritatedly remark on his denseness.
No matter, you think to yourself. Whatever you feel about Gojo is of no matter. The visit at the manor was only a delay and a small obstacle for your season. It was time to attend to the matter at hand: finding a husband.Â
The dewy grass kissed the hem of your nightgown as you wandered to the old swing set on the far edge of the manor groundsâa relic of your childhood, weathered but enduring. The creak of the chains was a sound that had long since embedded itself in your memory, a reminder of simpler days when duty had yet to tighten its grip.
You had not been able to sleep.
The house was still, the hush of midnight settling over its grand halls and sprawling grounds. Yet sleep evaded you, your thoughts as restless as the autumn breeze that stirred the curtains of your chamber. In the quiet, the weight of your obligations pressed heavily upon you, a familiar but unwelcome companion. Deciding that solitude under the stars might grant clarity where the confines of your room could not, you slipped on a shawl and had ventured outside.
âCouldnât sleep either?â Sukunaâs voice cut through the quiet, low and teasing. He was seated on a swing with his big frame illustrating a comical sight on the small seat. His silhouette was faintly illuminated by the dim glow of his cigarillo, and the faint ember cast fleeting shadows across his sharp features, making his smirk all the more pronounced.
The unexpected sight of him startled you for a moment, though you quickly masked your surprise. You drew your shawl tighter around your shoulders, the chill of the night settling into your skin, and stepped closer. âAnd here I thought I was the only one who sought refuge in our old playground at such an hour,â you replied lightly, though your voice carried the faint weight of sleeplessness. âWhat brings you here?â
He took a long, deliberate drag from the cigarillo before discarding it into the damp grass, the embers hissing softly as they extinguished. Straightening, he gestured to the empty swing beside him. âThinking,â he said simply. âAnd you? Or do I even need to ask?â
You hesitated for only a moment before lowering yourself onto the swing, your fingers grazing the cold chains as you pushed back slightly. The seat creaked beneath your weight, swaying gently with your movements. The motion stirred a familiar ache of nostalgiaâa reminder of days when life felt less complicated. âWhat else could it be but the endless circus of expectations Mother has so kindly bestowed upon me?â
The bitterness in your tone was impossible to conceal, and Sukuna chuckled darkly. He reached up to push a hand through his disheveled hair, his movements purposeful, almost theatrical. âAh, yes,â he said mockingly. âThe marriage parade. The grand auctioning of oneâs life for the sake of the family name. What a fine role youâve been cast in, dear sister. I donât envy you.â
You gave a dry laugh, your voice quiet yet tinged with resolve. âUnfortunately, dear brother,â you began, staring into the star-dappled sky, âit is my duty to be wed.â
Sukuna turned to you sharply, his brow furrowing. âIt is not your duty, least of all when it robs you of your freedom.â
A protest began to form on his lips, but you held up a hand, your expression soft yet resolute. âLet me finish,â you said, your tone firm but affectionate. Taking a deep breath, you continued, âIf I were to grow old into a spinster, there would be no one to take care of me. You and Yuji would inherit our lands and manors, and Choso is the viscount; there would be no space for me except with some of our aunts.â
At the mention of your aunts, both of you shuddered involuntarily. The thought of their overbearing presence, their sharp tongues and endless criticisms, was enough to unite even the most quarrelsome of siblings.
âYou cannot take care of me forever,â you said softly, your gaze dropping to the ground. The swing swayed faintly as you spoke, the motion as restless as your thoughts. âOne day, youâor any of our brothersâmight choose to start a family with someone you love. It would be intrusive of me to remain dependent on you all.â
Sukuna scoffed, his voice rising slightly with indignation. âYou know better than anyone that I aim to travel the world. I cannot be chained to a family or a manorânot now, not ever.â
You turned to him, your eyes softening as you regarded his familiar fire, the same defiance that had always set him apart from the others. âSukuna,â you said gently, your voice tinged with fondness, âyou may do as you please, and I would never wish to impede you. But I cannot rely on you indefinitely. You deserve to live freely, to make your own choices without the burden of my future weighing on your conscience.â
Once again, silence enveloped you both, broken only by the faint creak of the swings and the rustle of the wind through the trees. Then, Sukuna eventually broke the quiet with a heavy sigh. âThen we must make sure to do well and find you a husband on your terms.â
You turned to him, brow arched in curiosity. âWhatever do you mean?â
âI mean,â he said, his lips curling into a mischievous smirk, âthat you must stop playing the part Mother has assigned you. Demure and meek may be what she wants, but itâs hardly the truth of you. Besides,â he added, leaning closer as if to share a conspiracy, âdo you think the kind of husband youâd want would fall for such a facade?â
His words caught you off guard, and you frowned slightly. âAre you implying Iâm to frighten potential suitors away?â
âNot frighten,â Sukuna corrected, his tone amused. âBut consider this: if a man is drawn to meekness, might that not suggest he wishes to dominate or control? Would you truly wish to tether yourself to such a person? Or would you rather find someone who can appreciate your independence, who will meet you as an equal?â
His reasoning gave you pause. The image of a husband who might respect your will, who might value the sharpness of your mind and the strength of your character, was temptingâif not entirely what you needed. âAnd how, pray tell, do you suggest I go about finding such a man?â
Sukunaâs grin widened. âStart by being yourself, unapologetically. Let them see the wit, the fire, the resolve that I know so well. Let them see you, and if they canât handle it, then they arenât worth your time.â
You smiled faintly, your heart lighter from his words. After all, this scheming was due on your part; you were only grateful this shift occurred with Sukuna as your humble advisor. âItâs a daring plan, brother. Let us hope it does not lead to my complete social ruin.â
Sukuna laughed, the sound rich and unrestrained. âIf it does, then you shall travel the world with me. Who needs societal approval when thereâs an entire world to explore?â
For a moment, the weight of your burdens felt a little easier to bear. Under the vast, starlit sky, you allowed yourself to hope that perhaps, just perhaps, there was a future where duty and happiness could coexist.
Despite the peace conversing with Sukuna had granted you, sleep evaded you still, leaving you to roll onto your side, the cool fabric of the pillow offering no solace. Your thoughts had been louder than ever these past weeks, and one name in particular echoed through your mind like a stubborn refrain: Gojo.
His face came unbidden, as vivid as if he were standing at the foot of your bed. That insufferable smirk, the casual way he tilted his head as if always in on some grand secret. He saw through youâthat much was undeniable, no matter how much you abhorred it. It wasnât just the way his piercing gaze seemed to cut through your defenses, stripping away the layers of pleasantries and propriety until you were left exposed. It was his words, tooâsharp, direct, and unyielding. Unlike everyone else, he wasnât content to let you be the demure and dutiful daughter your mother had so painstakingly sculpted.
You turned onto your back, staring up at the shadowed canopy above, the weight of his judgment pressing against your chest. âHe wouldnât want to marry me either,â you thought bitterly, biting your lip to suppress a laugh that was more self-deprecating than amused. Why would he? I am only but a pathological people-pleaserâa woman who smiles and nods and folds herself into whatever shape is required of her. It was a role you had perfected, a mask you wore so often that you sometimes forgot it wasnât your face. And yet, he saw through it.
That was the part that unsettled you mostânot his arrogance, not his sharp tongue, but his ability to cut through your defenses as though they were paper. He saw you, in all your contradictions and uncertainties, and somehow, you suspected that he pitied you for them. Or worse, respected you less for it.
Your stomach twisted at the thought, and you turned onto your other side, burying your face into the pillow. No wonder Iâm still unmarried. The thought came unbidden, sharp and cruel. What man would want a wife who couldnât even decide who she wanted to be?
But that wasnât fairânot entirely. You had a plan, didnât you? A bold, liberating plan that would take you far from the shadow of your motherâs expectations. You could already picture her face when you told herâcalm, composed, and quietly furious, as though your refusal to obey were a personal affront. The thought brought the faintest flicker of satisfaction, but it was fleeting.
The plan wasnât perfect, nor was it foolproof. It hinged on one pivotal point: finding a husband who could be an equal partner rather than a master. A man who could grant you the freedom to forge your own path in peace, without the constant weight of disapproval bearing down on you.
Your thoughts wandered to Duke Nanami. Equal in power to Gojo, fair-minded, and kindâa man with no appetite for games or artifice. If you manage to secure a match with him, the ton would not view yourâŚblunder with Gojo with such amusement. Insofar your interactions this season, he had always treated you with quiet respect, never pressing you into conversations you didnât wish to have or cornering you with expectations. He would be a good man to marry, you thought. A safe choice.
And yet, even as you considered him, Gojoâs face intruded once more, unwelcome and unavoidable. Duke Nanami was everything Gojo wasnâtâmeasured, steady, predictable. But it was Gojo who set your mind alight, who made you question things you had long accepted as unchangeable truths. He irritated you, challenged you, unnerved you in a way no one else did.
You sighed, turning again, the sheets tangling around your legs like restraints. The very fact that Gojo occupied your thoughts at all was infuriating. He had no place there, no right to linger in the quiet moments when you were supposed to find peace. And yet, here he was, as persistent in your mind as he was in person.
The plan. You needed to focus on the plan. Liberating yourself from your motherâs expectations wasnât about Gojo or Duke Nanami or anyone else. It was about reclaiming yourself, about becoming a woman who didnât need to twist herself into shapes for anyoneânot your mother, not a potential husband, and certainly not Gojo.
And it would start at your wardrobe.
You give the most polite smile you can muster, but you do not need the mirror in front of you to know that your countenance is strained, the edges of your smile not reaching your eyes. âLower it even further.â
A beat passes in the room as the modiste, your mother, and Sukuna stare at you in incredulity. The bustline to your dress is low. Of course, it is not yet teetering on the edge of what is socially acceptable, and that is the position you want it to be. Hence, you gesture to Sukuna, prompting him to regain his senses and snap his head towards Momo. âPlease attend to my sisterâs request.â
You could smell what you mother was about to say, even if she had not yet done so. âMy dear,â she began, âI hardly think thatâs approââ Sukunaâs glares reorients itself now to focus on your mother, and she purses her lips with what appears to be arduous effort, knowing a quarrel with Sukuna would escalate quite quickly, both immediate and unwise. Â
Madame Momo, for the better, offers no protest as she lowers the deep, wine red fabric she was upholding against your body. If you were not wearing your regular clothes, you would know that quite a bit of the swell of your breasts would be framed by the dress. However, it wasnât enough. âA bit lower.â
The modiste lets out a small sigh, her needle poised mid-air as she hesitates. âMy lady, to lower it further would riskââ she pauses delicately, ââcompromising the structural integrity of the gown.â
âI appreciate your insight, Madame, and know that you are quite skilled at your craft,â you flash her a semi-apologetic smile. After all, she is the one that has to attend to yourâŚrebranding crisis and revamp a majority of your wardrobe. âHowever, I am afraid that Iâd like to do something new this season. Something eye-catching.â
A faint chuckle escapes her lips, no doubt spurred on by the flattery. With a practiced hand, she adjusts the fabric once more, lowering it to the precise balance of scandalous and sophisticated. She steps back, her critical eye assessing her own handiwork. âWell, it will definitely be eye-catching.â
âPrecisely.â You nod in approval, smoothing the line of the fabric with your fingers. âI believe Lady Whistledown,â you add, your voice tinged with knowing confidence, âwill ensure that the modiste responsible for the diamondâs striking attire becomes the talk of the season.â
Momoâs lips twitch into a smile, and she dips her head in acknowledgment, already returning to her work with renewed purpose. Sukuna, standing to the side, folds his arms and smirks at the scene, clearly entertained by your audacity.
Your mother, meanwhile, remains silent, though her pursed lips betray her disapproval. Let her simmer, you think, satisfaction curling in your chest. This season is yours to command, and you will not be overlooked.
I cannot do this. I cannot I cannot I cannot I cannâ
âSister!â Sukuna called out. You regained your senses, snapping your head at once to look at him, who was holding out his hand. Swallowing, you grabbed it so he could assist you out of the carriage. What had you in a tizzy was the sheer amount of people. Yet again, you were attending your first party after the events in the countryside but this time without your mother and Yuuji. Not only had the people you were accompanied with changed, but also different attire. A red silk dress fell over your curves gracefully, the draping across your chest a bit lower than usual. It is the dress of your dreamsâone that you would have worn if not for your mother and her beliefs regarding your image. Now, your clothing was still socially acceptable but nevertheless daringâexactly the image you wanted to present.Â
However, it was safe to say that after the events of the house party, venturing out in anotherâwith so much of your chest exposedâhad you nervous. Oh God, perhaps this wasnât the brightest of my ideasâ (a/n sheâs just a girl :( )
âPresenting Miss Itadori, Mister Itadori, and the Right Honorable The Viscount Itadori!â As you were announced to the room, with your brothers linking arms on either side of you, you smiledâtrying not to let the nerves show. At the sound of your name, the buzz of conversation faltered, dozens of heads turning toward you. You felt the weight of their gazesâsharp, judgmental, curious. You were certain half of them were eager to witness the fallout of Whistledownâs latest scandal, while the other half seemed transfixed by the boldness of your attire.
Your eyes flitted over the sea of faces as you moved through the room. There were gasps, poorly veiled whispers, and even a few widened eyes aimed at Sukuna, but what truly set your nerves alight was the attention fixed squarely on you. You resisted the urge to fidget, to adjust the neckline of your gown, to shrink under their scrutiny.
Then, amid the crowd, your gaze locked onto a familiar figure with a piercing stareâSuguru Geto.
He was lounging by the far wall, a glass of wine in hand, his dark eyes gleaming with mirth. An amused smirk tugged at the corner of his lips as he shook his head, clearly entertained. Your heart stuttered, the heat rushing to your cheeks making your nerves spike further. Am I being mocked?
Before the thought could consume you, he raised his glass in a mock salute, a gesture of acknowledgmentâperhaps even respect. He then nudged the man standing next to him, none other than Duke Nanami.
Your pulse quickened at the sight of the Duke, his composed demeanor a stark contrast to Getoâs casual amusement. The weight of Nanamiâs steady, discerning gaze was one you werenât prepared to meetânot tonight. In the periphery, you caught Geto slipping toward the courtyard, his laughter soft but audible as he disappeared into the night.
You tore your gaze away just in time, focusing straight ahead as you approached the Queen. Your shoulders stiffened, the intricate beading of your gown catching in the light. The murmurs grew fainter, the towering figure of Her Majesty now looming just ahead. With each step, your pulse thundered louder in your ears, but you kept your chin high, determined not to falter.
When you and your brothers reached the foot of the throne, you slipped your arms free from theirs and sank into the deepest curtsy you could manage. "Your Majesty," you murmured, lowering your head to avoid the weight of her gaze. The richness of the roomâgold-trimmed drapes, towering portraits, and the hum of whispered conversationsâdid little to steady your nerves.
"Rise," the Queen commanded, her tone clipped and dismissive, the single word laced with impatience. You obeyed, your movements deliberate and slow, feeling the weight of every eye in the chamber on your shoulders. When you met her gaze, she was already appraising you, her sharp eyes scanning you from head to toe. Her scrutiny was clinical, and when she sighed audibly, it was clear her judgment was far from favorable.
âI have not beenâŚpleased by the recent affairs, diamond,â the Queen began, her voice cold and detached, like a blade gliding through silk. A sniff punctuated her words, and the lump in your throat grew harder to swallow. âI fear this is a failure to the crown.â
The room seemed to tilt, your heartbeat quickening in your chest. The Queenâs disappointment carried a weight that could crush reputations, and yours was teetering precariously on the edge of her approval.
âHowever,â her tone shifted ever so slightly, and you found yourself snapping to attention, clinging to that single word like a lifeline. âYour recent change inâŚstyle is fitting.â
You blinked, unsure if you had heard her correctly. The Queenâs gaze lingered on the daring neckline of your gown, the rich red fabric catching the light in just the right way to emphasize its boldness. âYou are not a simple and bland gem, Miss Itadori.â Her words were deliberate, measured, and the faintest hint of approval gleamed in her sharp eyes. âYou are a diamond, and you must start to shine like it.â
For a moment, you were too stunned to respond. The Queenâs words were praise, yes, but they also carried an implicit warning: a diamond that failed to sparkle was of no use to anyone, least of all the crown.
âThank you, Your Majesty,â you said, your voice steady but quiet, and you curtsied again, the fabric of your gown whispering against the marble floor. The Queenâs gaze swept over you once more before she turned her attention elsewhere, her dismissal unspoken but clear. As you rose again, Choso placed a reassuring hand on your elbow, a subtle anchor in the sea of your swirling thoughts.
A light, âYou all are dismissed.â
The cool night air wrapped around Suguru Geto as he strolled into the courtyard, his boots crunching softly against the gravel path. The faint strains of the ballroom's orchestra followed him, muffled now by the grand walls of the manor. A slow, self-satisfied smile crept across his lips as he glanced up at the stars. The night felt ripe with possibility, though it was the scene he had just left that truly amused him.
He exhaled, letting the crisp air settle over him, before taking another measured step toward the fountain at the courtyardâs center. His fingers grazed the cool stone edge, the chill a welcome change from the warmth of the crowded ballroom. He savored the silence, only for it to be broken by the familiar sound of approaching footsteps.
âGeto,â a voice called out, casual but clipped.
Suguru turned slowly, almost lazily, as though he hadnât already recognized the speaker. Gojo Satoru emerged from the shadows of the colonnade, his silver hair glowing faintly in the moonlight. He moved with his usual languid ease, though his sharp blue gaze belied his carefree demeanor.
âWell, well,â Suguru greeted, his tone light but edged with something sharp. âYouâre out here. Donât tell me youâve finally tired of the fawning crowds?â
Gojo came to a stop a few paces away, crossing his arms as he leaned against one of the marble columns. âNeeded some air. The roomâs packed with too many people pretending to like each other.â His gaze flicked to Suguru, scrutinizing. âAnd you? Slipping out to avoid trouble, or cause it?â
Suguru chuckled, swirling the wine in his glass before taking a slow sip. âOh, you wound me, Satoru. Canât a man enjoy a moment of peace without being accused of scheming?â
âYou?â Gojo raised a skeptical eyebrow. âNot a chance. So, whatâs your angle this time?â
Suguru let the question hang, savoring the quiet tension between them. He set his glass down on the fountainâs edge, turning to fully face Gojo. His smirk widened as he finally spoke. âNo angle. Just admiring the company tonight. Speaking of whichâŚâ He paused for dramatic effect, brushing an imaginary speck of dust from his sleeve. âMiss Itadori made quite the entrance.â
Gojoâs expression didnât change immediately, but Suguru saw the faint flicker of somethingâirritation, maybe, or something more carefully hidden. Gojoâs mouth twitched into a scoff, though the sound was faint, almost perfunctory.
âWhat about her?â Gojo asked, his tone deliberately disinterested, but Suguru noted how his fingers flexed briefly before he shoved his hands into his pockets.
Suguru hummed thoughtfully, his gaze drifting toward the sky as if considering his next words carefully. âShe looked⌠radiant tonight. Stunning, really. I canât imagine half the room wasnât staring. Though, I must say, some seemed more surprised than others.â His eyes darted back to Gojo, watching for a reaction.
Gojo rolled his eyes, though there was a tightness in his jaw that Suguru didnât miss. âSheâs just another debutante. Why would I care what sheâs wearing?â
âWhy indeed?â Suguru replied, his voice deceptively mild. He stepped closer, leaning against the fountain with an easy grace. âBut it does make one wonderâwhat kind of man would care? Surely someone with a sharp eye for detail. Someone with⌠letâs say, a bustful interest.â
Gojo stiffened slightly, a flicker of irritation crossing his face. âYouâre imagining things.â
âAm I?â Suguru tilted his head, studying Gojo with an intensity that bordered on playful. âBecause I could swear you seemed a little distracted back there. And not by the Queen, mind you. Why did you leave as soon as the Itadoris were announced?â
âDrop it, Geto.â Gojoâs voice was sharper now, but there was an edge of unease beneath the command.
Suguruâs smirk deepened as he tried to fight the urge to snicker at his friend, but he let the moment linger, letting Gojo stew in his discomfort. He picked up his wine glass again, swirling the liquid idly before taking another slow sip. Finally, he straightened, his tone turning lighter, though no less pointed.
âWell, whatever it isâor isnâtâyouâd better sort it out soon.â He started to walk past Gojo, his footsteps deliberately slow. Just as he passed, he paused, his voice dropping to a low murmur. âBecause if I didnât know any better, Iâd say youâre in danger of losing your famously cool head.â
Gojo didnât respond immediately, but Suguru didnât need him to. The slight narrowing of his eyes, the subtle clench of his jawâthose were all the confirmation he needed for his plan.
Suguru chuckled softly, a sound more amused than mocking, and continued on his way, his voice drifting back over his shoulder. âEnjoy the rest of the night, Satoru. Something tells me itâs going to be⌠illuminating.â
Left alone, Gojo exhaled sharply, running a hand through his hair as he glared at the retreating figure. âBastard,â he muttered under his breath, though his voice lacked fervor. Still, Suguruâs words lingered, circling his mind like an itch he couldnât quite scratch. He turned his gaze back toward the ballroom, his thoughts uncomfortably crowded with images of a certain young lady and the maddening smirk of a man who always seemed to know too much.
It appears that you and Duke Nanami have much in common, for you are able to hold a most pleasant conversation with him.
The din of the ballroom fades to a dull murmur as you stand near the refreshment table, your gaze politely fixed on the Duke. His presence is commanding yet unassumingâa rare quality that draws you in. Dressed in a deep navy coat that matches the intensity of his solemn eyes, he inclines his head slightly as he speaks, the weight of his words tempered by the gentleness in his tone.
The arrangement is perfect. You have successfully caught your target, much to the chagrin of ladies. After all, it was not all days that Duke Nanami took interest in a lady. You would have to credit Choso; he had researched that HIs Grace did not like overbearing mamas accompanying their girlsâa most rational opinion. Posing fiery opinions without the presence of anyone except yourself, it seemed that you had hit the mark.
âI find, Miss Itadori,â he says, his voice smooth yet deliberate, âthat many in our circles underestimate the joy of simple pursuits. They mistake extravagance for fulfillment.â He takes a measured sip from his glass, his gloved fingers resting lightly on its stem.
You nod, a genuine smile forming on your lips. âI could not agree more, Your Grace. There is a certain comfort in the unadorned pleasures of life. A good book, a quiet morningâthese seem to me the most worthwhile indulgences.â
The corner of his mouth quirks up in what might pass as a rare smile. âIndeed. Though I daresay, quiet mornings are hard to come by when the season is in full swing.â
You let out a soft laugh, the sound almost swallowed by the music that swells across the room. âQuite so. I suppose we are all too busy chasing the next waltz or whispering about the latest Whistledown missive.â
At the mention of Whistledown, the Duke raises a brow, his expression a mixture of amusement and intrigue. âAh, yes. Our ever-watchful chronicler. One wonders if she, too, finds time for quiet mornings.â
âI imagine she must,â you reply. âAfter all, how else would she craft such keen observations? A mind as sharp as hers surely requires moments of reflection.â
âReflection, yes,â he murmurs, his gaze drifting briefly to the chandelier above, as if lost in thought. Then, returning his attention to you, he asks, âAnd what of you, Miss Itadori? Amidst the bustle, do you find moments to reflect?â
The question catches you off guardânot because it is intrusive, but because it is sincere. Few have ever asked you such things. You hesitate, then answer truthfully. âI try, Your Grace. Though I must admit, the season has left little room for it. It seems my every step is watched, my every word weighed. I sometimes wonder if I have forgotten how to simply be.â
His expression softens, and for a moment, you feel as though he truly sees youânot as the diamond of the season, not as the subject of idle gossip, but as a person. âThat is a heavy burden to bear,â he says quietly. âPerhaps it is time you allowed yourself a reprieve. Even diamonds require care, lest they lose their brilliance.â
The words settle over you like a balm, and you find yourself holding his gaze longer than propriety might dictate. There is no judgment in his eyes, only understanding. It is both comforting and disarming. Before you can respond, a burst of laughter from a nearby group breaks the spell. You glance away, suddenly aware of your surroundings once more. âYou are kind to say so, Your Grace,â you murmur, your voice steadier than you feel.
âI merely speak the truth, Miss Itadori,â he replies, bowing his head slightly.
A pause lingers between you, not uncomfortable but weighty with unspoken thoughts. Finally, he clears his throat, his tone lighter as he says, âWould you care to take a turn about the room? I find the air here grows rather stifling.â
You smile, grateful for the excuse to move. âI would like that very much.â
As he offers his arm, you place your hand lightly upon it, allowing him to guide you into the throng. The music swells once more, and though the room is as noisy and crowded as ever, the world feels a little quieter with Duke Nanami by your side. You can see itâearly mornings with Nanami, enjoying gentle banter as he returned your thoughts without any ire, without snark or judgment. Quiet respect and gentle affection filling your days. A life free of chaos, where your worries dissipate into the steady calm of his demeanor. Perhaps this could be happiness. A steady, uncomplicated happiness.
But then you see him.
You abhor your traitorous heart for lurching ever so slightly at the sight of Gojo. He is standing near the edge of the ballroom, the golden light catching on his shock of silver hair as though it had been crafted to draw attention. His smileâalways so bright, so effortlessâmakes the lady beside him laugh. She looks at him with a sultry, yet detached and amused expression, her fan flicking lazily as if to dismiss her own growing interest.
Your chest tightens. You know this scene well. It is one you have observed too many times, and yet you have never been able to steel yourself against the sting it brings. The way he leans ever so slightly toward the lady, as though she were the only person in the room. The way his laughter echoes, a sound full of mirth and mischief, as if he had no weight upon his shoulders.
You tell yourself it doesnât matter. You tell yourself he doesnât matter.
But then, as though he feels the weight of your gaze, Gojo turns his head. Your pulse quickens as his eyes widen, the usual lazy charm momentarily replaced by something sharper, something you canât quite place.
First, his gaze lands on your face, his eyes sweeping over it with a quickness that feels like a jolt to your chest. Then, they drop lower, and you feel the heat of his scrutiny settle uncomfortably on your chest. A flicker of something crosses his expressionâshock, perhaps, or something else entirelyâbut before you can decipher it, his gaze moves again, lower still, to where your hand rests upon the Dukeâs arm.
It is subtle, the way his jaw tightens. The way his smile falters, only to return a moment later, forced and brittle. He shifts his weight, turning back toward the lady at his side, but not before you catch the way his fingers twitch at his side.
You force yourself to look away, to focus instead on Duke Nanamiâs steady presence beside you. He has not noticed the exchangeâor if he has, he is far too polite to show it.
And yet, the moment lingers. Gojoâs image burns in your mind like the fading glow of a candle, stubbornly refusing to extinguish. You loathe the way your heart betrays you, its treacherous rhythm quickened not by the Dukeâs calm assurance, but by the mere sight of a man who has always been more trouble than heâs worth.
Nanamiâs voice cuts through your tumultuous thoughts, soft and grounding. âYou seem distracted, Miss Itadori,â he remarks, his gaze kind but curious.
You manage a small smile, tightening your grip on his arm as though it might anchor you. âNot at all, Your Grace. Perhaps justâŚoverwhelmed by the crowd.â
He nods, accepting your answer without pressing further. âUnderstandable. These gatherings can be rather tiresome.â
âYes,â you murmur, casting one last glance in Gojoâs direction before forcing your focus back to the Duke. âTiresome indeed.â
But even as you walk beside Nanami, his presence a welcome reprieve from the chaos of the evening, you cannot help but feel the weight of Gojoâs lingering gaze, the memory of his startled expression etched into your thoughts like a brand. You cannot help but observe the situation. Tonight, you would be ending the night on Duke Nanamiâs arm, and Gojo with another woman.
Is this not what you both wanted?
Today, it seems that the usual trio at Whiteâs is only a duo. The blonde and raven head swirl their alcohol in their shimmering glasses while sharing a comfortable silence. That is, until one interrupts.
âHow do we know weâre not simply toying with her?â The blonde manâs voice is steady but tinged with unease, his lips pressed into a thin line as he glances toward his companion. âIt would not be honorable of me to pursue Miss Itadori under the pretense of riling Gojo, as you seem intent on doingââ
âKento!â The raven-haired manâLord Getoâthrows his head back in laughter, the sound rich and unapologetically amused. He leans forward slightly, propping his elbow on the armrest, as his grin widens. âSo confident in your lady-pleasing and romancing abilities, arenât you?â Nanamiâs frown deepens, but Geto merely waves him off, his laughter subsiding to a mischievous chuckle. âNo, noâdonât worry. You misunderstand me. This isnât about Miss Itadori falling for you, though,â he smirks, âIâm sure youâd manage well enough.â His tone is teasing, but his words lack any true malice.
âThen what is it about?â Nanamiâs voice carries a note of exasperation, though he remains as composed as ever, swirling his drink in quiet contemplation.
Geto straightens, a glint of something sharper flashing in his dark eyes. âItâs about them. Theyâre idiots, Kentoâidiots in love, the both of them. And it is our duty, as Satoruâs friends,â he pauses, meeting Nanamiâs gaze with deliberate emphasis, âto help him realize what he truly desires.â
Nanami snorts, setting his glass down with a muted clink. âYou just want to toy with them, to orchestrate the ton and its leading source of gossip.â
The corner of Getoâs mouth quirks upward in a sly smile, one that practically oozes self-satisfaction. âThat, my dear friend,â he says, his voice low and conspiratorial, âI cannot deny.â
They lapse into silence once more, the kind that only years of friendship can create, as the firelight flickers and dances on the walls around them. Nanami tips his glass back, savoring the warmth of the whiskey as he contemplates Getoâs wordsâand the inevitable chaos that would follow in their wake.
prev. the house party | next. the lake
general masterlist | series masterlist
a/n HEYYY POOKIES IT'S HERE IT'S HERE WHAT DID WE THINK. also here is the bridgerton!gojo playlist if anyone is interested!!! i apologize it is 99% taylor swift but i will be adding more diverse songs
despite the miss itadori hate in recent times our girl is BOUNCING BACKK #mogged i cant wait for her to become even more of a diva in the next few chapterssss!!!! (not rn shes going through her sad girl era or wtvr)
suguru (left) and nanami (right) at this whole drama
also i hope none of you WHORESSSS simped for geto when we made eye contact with him (im looking at zaynesbathrobe anon and all those anons that are obsessed with bridgerton!geto). stay FOCUSED girls gays and theys
thank you for readinggggg. a hot new bombshell will be entering the villa in the next few chapters can we guess who he is??? hint he has huge tits and smelly balls
comment and reblog to let me know ur thots ;3
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âĽď¸Amore ImmortaleâĽď¸ Ch.3
Chapter Title âĽď¸ Awakening The Muse âĽď¸ ch. 1 đ ch.2
âĄď¸ synopsis: The idea of leaving feels bitter - and not just for you.
âĄď¸ pairing: vampire!Xavier, vampire!Zayne, vampire!Rafayel, vampire!Sylus x fem!reader (separately and together)

âĄď¸ tags: a little bit of fingering
âĄď¸ word count: 8.6k
âĄď¸ a/n: I feel like i need to address the setting - this is set in a mix of Victorian/Regency era, and I'm just adding what I find most fitting into the story. Also, this a fanfiction with vampires after all.
âĄď¸ Thanks to my dearest friend and beta reader âĄď¸@its-deâĄď¸ for helping.
divider by @ cafekitsune

The gloomy light of late autumn morning filters through the thick curtains, barely lighting up the room. You blink awake slowly to the familiar chill of the room, a reminder of your usual morning discomfort. But today, thereâs warmthâa solid, soothing presence pressed against your back, an arm draped around your waist.
Last night wasnât a dream.
The realization makes your heart skip. The memory of Xavierâs lips on yours, the scrape of his teeth along your neck, his hips âit all rushes back in vivid detail. The ghost of those sensations makes your thighs press involuntarily. The small movement seems to rouse him. Behind you, Xavier stirs, his arm tightening slightly around your waist, his face nuzzling closer into the curve of your neck.
âAre you awake?â His soft, sleepy morning voice too disarming.
You nod, the sound catching in your throat as you lean further into him. His lips press a tender, lingering kiss to your temple.
âNo fever.â he murmurs. âAre you feeling okay?â
âI feel good.â The truth slips easily from your lips. You feel more at ease, more alive, than you have in months. âBut what about you?â you ask, your voice soft as you shift slightly in his embrace. âAre you in any pain?â
Xavierâs response is a low hum, his face buried in the crook of your neck, and any intent to press him evaporates the moment his lips graze your skin. He places a kiss, so gentle it feels like the brush of a feather - then another, and this time his tongue follows, wet and warm against your pulse point. A soft moan slips past your lips before you can stop it, your hips instinctively pressing backward against him. Thatâs when you feel itâhis hard cock against the soft flesh of your ass. Your body stiffens for a moment, but the firm grip of his hands on your waist encourages you to move again.
His lips linger on your neck, sucking lightly, his teeth grazing the sensitive skin. His hand slides from your waist to tease the curve of your side, skimming the silk nightgown that has bunched up around your thighs. His fingers toy with the hem, but you donât stop him. When his hand slips beneath the delicate fabric, trailing slowly up your thighs, your breath hitches, the ache intensifying as his fingers glide over your damp underwear. You part your legs instinctively, granting him access as his fingers dip under the lace and find your slick folds.
âYouâre so wet, honey.â he whispers against the saliva-slicked skin of your neck as his fingers glide slowly between your folds. âTell me when to stop, okay?â
You nod weakly, your breath hitching as his fingers slide up and circle your clit. A soft whimper escapes your lips before you bite down hard to muffle it. Xavierâs hips grind against you, the thin silk of his pajama pants doing nothing to hide the hard length pressing firmly against your ass. His free hand grips your waist, holding you firmly in place, while his lips drag wet and hungry along your shoulder. Then his hand dips lower, before one finger slides into your dripping entrance.
âXavierâŚâ you pant, your hips rolling instinctively to meet his movements. His finger curls inside you, hitting that perfect spot while his hips grind harder, his cock rubbing against you through the flimsy fabric, making your mind spin.
But thenâa knock.
The sudden, sharp sound cuts through the haze like ice water, and your body stiffens. Your legs clamp together instinctively, trapping his hand in place, your arousal replaced with the burning flush of embarrassment. Xavier stills immediately, his breath heavy against your neck. For a second, neither of you move, but then, Xavier groans against your neck. He reluctantly pulls his hand from your panties, the sudden loss of contact leaving you aching and flustered. But before you can catch your breath, he does the unthinkable.
âCome in.â he calls out.
Your heart stops. Pure, mortified panic washes over you as you scramble away from him, tugging the duvet up to cover yourself. Your cheeks burn, your mind racing for any excuse that could explain why Xavier is in your bed. The door slowly creaks open, Zayne standing at the doorstep, the ceramic wash pitcher in his hands. His eyes widening for a split second as he takes in the scene before him.
âAm I⌠interrupting?â Zayne asks as his gaze flickers between you and Xavier.
âNot at all!â The words tumble out of you too quickly, and you clutch the duvet tighter around yourself, wishing it could swallow you whole.
Zayne steps inside and sets the pitcher down on the small wooden stand by the basin, his gaze lingering on you for a beat longer than necessary. You canât tell if itâs concern, judgment, or something else entirely. Your mind races as you try to fill the silence. The pitcher of rose waterâa morning ritual since your arrivalâhad always been there when you woke. You realize now that it must have been Zayne, quietly tending to your room while you slept off the fever.
But this is the first time heâs caught you awake, and with Xavier no less.
Zayne clears his throat. âI brought the rose water, as usual.â
âThank you.â you manage, your voice barely above a whisper.
Xavier, on the other hand, remains infuriatingly composed. He leans back casually against the headboard, his gaze flickering toward Zayne with a faint smirk.
âAnything else you need, Zayne?â Xavier asks, his voice smooth.
Zayneâs eyes narrow ever so slightly, but he shakes his head, turning his attention back to you. âIâll let you know when breakfast is ready.â he says softly.
As he steps back toward the door, your eyes follow him, your heart still racing. When the door clicks shut, you let out a heavy breath you didnât realize you were holding. You donât speak. You look at Xavier with wide eyes and a nervous smile.
He meets your gaze, amusement flickering in his expression as he leans closer, his voice low and teasing. âNot mad at me, are you?â
You shake your head quickly. âZayne wouldâve come in anyway.â you mumble.
Xavier chuckles before leaning down and pressing a lingering kiss to your forehead, before he gets out of the bed. Just as heâs about to step away, he lifts the hand that had been between your legs, his fingers still glistening faintly. Your breath catches when you watch him slip one finger between his lips, his eyes never leaving yours.
âSweet.â he murmurs with a faint smirk.
Youâre too stunned to say anything, your cheeks burning as he puts on the silk robe, heading toward the door. Before he steps out, he glances back over his shoulder.
âIâll bring you breakfast instead of Zayne.â
You nod, still clutching the duvet. âThank you.â
The door clicks shut behind him, leaving you alone with the storm of emotions. Your fingers move unconsciously to your lips, the memory of Xavierâs lingering touch and Zayneâs gaze playing over and over in your mind.
âşâ§âË ŕ˝ŕ˝˛âđŠę¨ď¸đŞâŕ˝ŕž Ëââ§âş
Xavier leans back in the armchair, his pajama shirt lies over the armrest, revealing faintly healing wounds and a few scratches. Zayne sits nearby on a wooden chair, a small tin of ointment and fresh bandages on a small table nearby. Zayneâs deft fingers work skillfully, peeling back the old bandages to examine Xavierâs injuries.
âYouâve been straining.â Zayne says after a moment. His gaze flickers to a small, reddened wound on Xavierâs abdomen. âThis one especiallyâitâs not as far along as it should be.â
âDoesnât hurt.â Xavier says with a small shrug.
Zayne raises an eyebrow, âRight.â he says dryly. âAnd that wouldnât have anything to do with an unusual exertion this morning?â
Xavier finally meets his gaze. âDefine unusual.â he replies lazily.
Zayne shakes his head slightly after a moment, going back to his work. âIâm not going to pry.â Then, he presses gently against the wound, earning a brief wince from Xavier, and the corner of his mouth twitches upward. âYou should stop aggravating this.â
Xavier chuckles softly but says nothing, his gaze drifting toward the fireplace.
As Zayne finishes tying up the bandages, the silence stretches between them, interrupted only by the scrape of the chairâs legs as he moves to stand. Xavierâs voice stops him in his tracks as heâs about to approach the door.
âShe likes it here.â Xavier says, eyes fixed on the low flames in the fireplace.
Zayneâs brow lifts, waiting for more.
âShe deserves to feel comfortable.â Xavier continues after a beat. âThatâs what matters. Not...who she spends time with.â
Zayne studies him for a moment. âAnd youâre okay with that?â
Xavier exhales a quiet laugh, though thereâs no humor in it. His gaze finally lifts to meet Zayneâs. âIâm okay only because itâs you guys.â
The weight of that statement lingers before Zayneâs lips twitch into a smirk. âEven Sylus?â
Xavier lets out an exasperated sigh, rubbing the back of his neck, but then a soft chuckle follows. âEven Sylus.â
Zayne chuckles, shaking his head as he moves toward the door. âGood to know.â
Xavier watches him leave, his gaze returning to the flickering firelight as the door closes.
âşâ§âË ŕ˝ŕ˝˛âđŠę¨ď¸đŞâŕ˝ŕž Ëââ§âş
You finish the last sip of tea, the clink of the cup against the saucer breaking the silence of your room. You meticulously gather the plates, stack them neatly, and pick at a few stray breadcrumbs on your lap, brushing them onto the tray on the bedside table.
The quiet gives you space to think, and your mind wanders - recklessness was never something you embracedâexcept once. And now, here you are again. Your gaze shifts toward the curtains, the weak daylight barely filtering through. The isolation of this mansion, the enigmatic men, their hushed conversationsâit should all make you uneasy. Yet it doesnât.
You feel a warmth spread through your chest as you think of Xavier, his soft words, and the way he held you. Your cheeks flush as the memory shifts to this morningâthe way his touch set your skin aflame, the way your core was dripping for him, before Zayne knocked on the door. A sharp wave of embarrassment follows, and your hand flies to your burning face. Zayne. What must he think of you? Sharing a bed with Xavier after only a few days in the mansion.
Still, you canât bring yourself to regret it. Something about this place, these people, makes you want to stay. Even though you barely know them, the connection feels magnetic. Itâs foolish, perhaps even dangerous, but it feels real.
You exhale slowly. You canât sit here forever, hiding from Zayne.
Just get up.
You shuffle toward the wardrobe, fingers brushing over the few dresses. You choose a modest dress this timeâsomething simple, something that wouldnât draw too much attention. Pulling it on, the fabric glides over your skin, and youâre stunned how this one fits you so well. You tug it into place and turn toward the golden hand mirror on the bedside table. You hold the mirror up, angling it to catch your reflection. The bruise on your forehead is barely visible now, fading into a faint shadow of itself. Your face looks healthy, but you wish you had some blush and tinted lip balm with you. Your fingers instinctively graze your lips, wishing for that hint of color, but you can only shrug.
Then your eyes widen.
A faint mark rests on the curve of your neck. A hickey. Heat floods your cheeks as the memory of Xavierâs lips on your skin comes rushing back. The gentle sucking, the teasing graze of his teeth⌠You place the mirror down, hands trembling slightly. He did that. You go back to the wardrobe, and relief washes over you as your eyes land on a shawl of soft Kashmir wool. You drape it over your shoulders, carefully positioning it to cover the bruised side of your neck. Itâs cold in the mansion, after all. You take a deep, shuddering breath and go to pick up the tray.
Just as you reach for it, a sudden knock startles youâa rhythmic, playful tap thatâs far too casual to belong to Zayne. Hoping youâre right, you turn toward the door.
Opening it, youâre greeted by Rafayelâs vibrant smile. He tilts his head, studying you with an amused gleam.
âHowâs our little patient feeling today?â he asks with the usual teasing lilt in his voice.
You canât help but return his smile, his energy as infectious as always. âMuch better.â
âGood, good.â he says, nodding. Then, his grin widens. âHow about a little tour? Want to see my art studio?â
The unexpected invitation takes you by surprise, but your heart leaps at the chance to explore more of the mansion. âIâd love to!â you almost squeal. âBut I should return this first.â You gesture toward the tray on the bedside table.
Rafayel waves a dismissive hand, stepping back into the hallway. âDonât worry about that. Zayne will grab it. Heâs the neat freak here.â
âButââ you start, glancing back at the tray.
Heâs already walking away. âCome on, cutie,â he calls over his shoulder. âWhile we still have some daylight.â
With a small sigh and a lingering glance at the tray, you decide to follow him.
âşâ§âË ŕ˝ŕ˝˛âđŠę¨ď¸đŞâŕ˝ŕž Ëââ§âş
Rafayel steps inside first, âWelcome to my sanctum!â he says with pride in his voice as he holds the door open for you.
You step inside, and your mouth falls open. The room feels like an entirely different world from the rest of the mansion. Itâs intimate, bright and bursting with vibrant colors. The curtains are drawn back from floor-to-ceiling windows, and despite the gloomy autumn weather, the room feels radiant. Your eyes flit over the artistic chaosâblank canvases stacked against the walls; brushes and palettes scattered on almost every surface of the room. The walls are a masterpiece in their own right, nearly every inch adorned with Rafayelâs works. In one corner stands an easel with a canvas you assume is still in progress, and across from it is a large, plush sofa draped in deep blue velvet.
âMessy, I know.â Rafayel says, his voice pulling you from your thoughts. He stands by the window, watching your reaction with a pleased smile, his arms crossed casually. âBut every artist needs a little chaos.â
You can only nod, still taking it all in. As you move deeper into the room, you find yourself drawn to the paintings on the walls. You approach one â a painting of a tranquil moonlit cove, the waters calm, reflecting the moon and the stars shining above. Your gaze shifts to another piece nearby, this one completely different. The sea is wild and chaotic, its waves crashing against jagged rocks under a stormy sky.
âThe sea feels alive in your work.â you murmur.
Rafayel steps closer, his hands tucked into his pockets as he watches you. âThe sea has always been a muse of mine.â he says. âItâs unpredictable. Serene one moment, devastating the next.â
You nod, your eyes still glued to the artwork as you move along the wall. âIâve never really had the chance to see it much.â you admit quietly. âThereâs no sea anywhere near where I grew up. And nowâŚâ You trail off, glancing at the forest outside the windows.
âA pity.â Rafayel says. After a moment, a smile tugs at his lips. âNext time I visit the coast, youâll come with me.â
The offer makes your heart skip. The idea seems almost too perfect. Your cheeks flush slightly, and you look away, unsure if he means it or if itâs just idle conversation. Still, the warmth in his tone makes you want to believe him. âIâd like that.â you say softly, finally meeting his gaze again.
His smile widens slightly. âGood.â he says simply before stepping aside, letting you admire the rest of the paintings.
Rafayel walks over to the easel and sets the canvas aside to dry, its vibrant red paint glistening faintly in the light filtering through the window. Meanwhile, your attention is drawn to a desk in the corner, cluttered with pencils, charcoal, and sheets of blank and sketched-on paper. You step closer, fingers hovering over the mess, your curiosity piqued. Amid the sketches, one catches your eye. A detailed portrait of Zayne, his sharp features perfectly captured while heâs deep in concentration, writing something.
Rafayelâs voice cuts through your focus, soft and amused. âFound my rare collection, have you?â
You glance up briefly. âIs this Zayne?â you ask, your voice tinged with surprise.
âIt is.â he says, stepping behind you. âHe was writing reports or something like it. Didnât even notice I was sketching him until I was nearly done. He wasnât exactly thrilled when he found out.â
You smile at the mental image. âI can imagine.â
Rafayel lets out a dramatic sigh. âItâs always the same with them. None of them will sit for me, so I have to catch them when theyâre too focusedâor too tiredâto complain.â
Your gaze drifts to another sketch, and you carefully pick it up. This one is of Sylus. The bold strokes suggest motion; he looks almost alive on the page. His silver hair falls forward slightly, framing his features as his fingers rest on a piano perhaps.
âIs he playing here?â you ask.
âYes,â Rafayel answers, leaning casually against the desk now. âHe doesnât like interruptions, so he made the perfect model that day.â
Your fingers brush over the edge of the paper as you marvel at the sketch. âYouâre really talented.â you say, your voice soft with awe.
âPraise me more.â Rafayel teases with a smug grin.
You laugh lightly and set the sketch aside, your eyes falling on another. This one makes your heart skip. Itâs Xavier, seated in a chair reading a book. You take a moment to admire the way Rafayel sketched his fluffy hair falling loosely over his forehead, dreamy eyes lost in the pages.
You clear your throat, hoping Rafayel doesnât notice the way you linger on the drawing. âItâs incredible how youâve captured... all of them.â
Rafayel steps closer, peering at the sketch. âThey all have their moments.â he says, his tone more reflective now. âA personâs energy comes through when theyâre completely at easeâor completely themselves.â
Your blush deepens as you silently agree, the image of Xavier feeling too vivid. As you set the sketch down, you glance back at Rafayel. âI always loved the old paintings of goddesses and mermaids when I was younger. They seemed so... ethereal.â
Rafayel tilts his head slightly, his interest clearly piqued. âBut not the paintings these days?â
You shake your head with a small sigh. âNot really. Theyâre all so gloomy. And the subjectsâdonât get me wrong, theyâre beautifulâbut theyâre always so... proper. Layers upon layers of fabric.â You smile softly. âNo more goddesses, no more mermaids.â
Rafayel chuckles. âOh, I know what you mean. Believe me, Iâve tried to liven things up around here.â He glances at the scattered sketches on the desk. âI even tried to convince the others to pose for me. Nude. Purely for the sake of art, of course.â
Your eyes widen slightly, and you canât help but laugh. âWhat did they say?â
âOh, they were mortified!â he replies, his tone dripping with faux disappointment. âI almost had Sylus. But then he changed his mind. I think he was messing with me all along.â
You laugh harder, imagining Rafayel going around the mansion and pestering the men to take off their clothes. But as the idea of nude paintings lingers in your mind, your cheeks flush a little.
Rafayel notices, of course, the way your laughter turns into a shy smile. For a moment, his gaze softens. âYou know,â he begins almost carefully, âIâd be more than happy to turn you into a mermaid.â
The suggestion catches you off guard, your breath hitching. âOh,â you stammer. âI - I donât know -â
Rafayel quickly holds up his hands. âOnly if you want to, of course!â he adds, his tone reassuring. âNo pressure. I just think youâd make a stunning subject, thatâs all.â
You bite your lip, glancing down for a moment as his words sink in. The idea is both enticing and a little intimidating.
âWell,â you say softly, meeting his gaze again, âmaybe... one day.â
Rafayel grins, the easygoing charm back in full force. âIâll hold you to that.â
Rafayel moves around the desk, his hands rummaging through the clutter. His lips press into a line as he searches, finally pulling free a worn sketchbook. âAh, there we are!â he says triumphantly, holding it up. He turns to you. âCare to sit for me? Iâd love to sketch your portrait.â
You blink. âOh, um...â You hesitate, your hands fidgeting with the fabric of your shawl. âI canât even remember the last time I had a portrait done.â
Rafayel raises an eyebrow, his playful smile faltering slightly. âReally? Thatâs odd.â He tilts his head, about to ask why, but quickly decides not to. Instead, he shrugs and waves a hand toward the large, plush sofa against the wall. âNo matter. Sit down, get comfortable.â He flashes a reassuring grin. âWeâre gonna fix that today.â
Grateful for his ever-light-hearted energy, you cross the room and sink into the sofa, smoothing your dress as you settle. Rafayel pulls the wooden chair from the easel and sets it across from you, sketchbook and pencil already in hand. He pauses, squinting slightly as he examines the light and shadows on your face. âHmm,â he murmurs, gesturing for you to shift. âTurn your face just a bit. No, the other way. Chin upâ.â
You follow his instructions, moving this way and that.
âJust a little more... turn your neck this way.â
You adjust as he asks, tilting your head, and for a moment, Rafayel pauses. His gaze lingers, catching on something just below your jaw. Itâs faint, but thereâa soft, blurred mark, blooming on your neck. Rafayelâs eyes narrow slightly, a hint of amusement tugging at his lips. A soft smirk forms as his gaze flickers back to yours. You donât notice; youâre too focused on staying still, your gaze pulled somewhere to the side.
âPerfect.â he says. âHold that pose for me.â
You nod slightly, oblivious to what caught his attention. Rafayel leans forward, the smirk lingering as his pencil begins to move, capturing you on the page. His eyes flicker to yours every few moments, studying the planes of your face, the slope of your neck, the way the light dances over your features. You try to hold still, focusing on anything to distract from how exposed you feel.
Your mind wanders to Xavier - what is he doing now? Is he still with Zayne, having his injuries tended to? The memory of his warm hands against your skin from this morning flashes in your mind. A flush blooms deeper on your cheeks, and you stiffen every muscle in your body to prevent yourself from fidgeting. You wonder if he notices the faint blush creeping over your cheeks.
He notices, of course. His pencil pauses mid-stroke, and he leans back slightly, a teasing smile tugging at his lips. âYou know, if you stay that stiff, Iâll have to draw you as a statue instead of a person.â
A soft laugh escapes your lips despite yourself. âSorry.â you murmur. âIâm not used to this.â
âI can tell.â he replies. âTell meâhave you ever taken painting lessons?â
You hesitate for a moment before nodding. âI did, actually. A long time ago. My skills are⌠very rusty now.â
Rafayelâs eyes light up with intrigue, his fingers playing with the pencil. âWell, Iâd be more than happy to refresh your memory.â
The offer catches you off guard, and your eyes widen slightly. âOh, I couldnât.â you say quickly. âThereâs no way I could afford someone as talented as you.â
He chuckles at your words, shaking his head. âNonsense. Consider it my pleasure. Iâd enjoy seeing you rediscover those skills.â
Youâre still in disbelief. âYou really mean that?â
âOf course!â he says, his smile widening as he glances back at the paper in front of him. âAnd trust me, itâll be good practice for me, too. Teaching someone is an art in itself.â
The warmth of his words fills your chest, easing some of the tension youâd been holding. âIâd like that.â you admit softly.
He leans forward slightly, still eyeing the very rough sketch. âSo⌠Did you grow up in the village?â
You shake your head, hesitating. âNo... I moved there a year ago.â
âAnd before that?â he presses gently.
You bite your lip, unsure what to say, âI â â you pause, searching for the words.
But Rafayel cuts you off, âWhat about now? What do you do in the village?â
You let out a small sigh of relief. âI work at a bookstore.â you tell him, a small smile tugging at your lips. âItâs quiet, but I like it.â
He listens to you talk about how your day in the bookstore looks like, which books are your favorite, how you pester the owner to order some newer releases. When you steer the subject towards your favorite paintings and artists, he joins you with an amused smile, revealing to you their techniques and some gossip he heard from someone or read somewhere.
You donât even notice how long the conversation went on for until he gets up and starts lighting the candles. The sun has almost set.
âNow, stay still, cutie.â He says as he sits back on the chair.
You follow his instructions, tilting your head just so. The tension in your shoulders has eased, and youâre no longer hyper-aware of every shift of his pencil. Thereâs a reliance to Rafayel, beneath the playfulnessâ something that draws you in like a moth to a flame. His charm, which initially felt almost too dazzling to look at directly, now feels more like a beacon.
Your gaze shifts to him, unable to resist studying him as he works. The slight furrow of his brows as he focuses, the way his wavy, dusty-purple hair falls into his face, how the soft light illuminates the delicate angles of his face. His lips, soft and plump, smile softly when his gaze locks with yours. Itâs not fair how effortlessly captivating he isâhow he seems to belong to another world entirely. Your eyes trail over his hands, the way his fingers grip the pencil. You wonder how many hours heâs spent perfecting this skill, how many pieces of himself heâs poured into his work.
Your think of Xavier â how his presence is so differentâquieter, steadier, like a peaceful spring night. Both Xavier and Rafayel are intoxicating, but in completely different ways, and the thought of being caught between them is as thrilling as it is overwhelming. You shift slightly on the sofa, the weight of these thoughts pressing on you. Itâs absurd, isnât it? To feel this pull toward them bothâand not just them. The other two occupy a quieter corner of your mind, impossible to ignore. You barely know them, yet you canât deny the way their attention makes you feel alive.
A pang of guilt stirs in your chest. Is it selfish to want to hold onto the warmth of their attention?
Rafayel glances up, his eyes meeting yours with a flicker of curiosity. You quickly look away, heat rushing to your cheeks.
âYouâre awfully quiet.â he teases gently, breaking the silence. âLost in thought?â
His voice pulls you back to the present, the playful lilt in his tone making your lips curve into a faint smile.
âSomething like that.â you murmur. Then you clear your throat and ask, âHow did you get into painting?â
His hand pauses, the pencil hovering just above the page. Then he resumes, his tone casual as he replies, âAh, well, I suppose Iâve always painted. When I was younger, it was my escape.â
You nod, encouraging him to continue.
He chuckles softly. âIt was something I could control, you know? No matter what else was going on, I could lose myself in my work.â
You glance over at the easel, where the vibrant paint of the unfinished canvas glistens in the faint light. The brushstrokes seem almost chaotic, and you wonder what could have inspired such vivid intensity. Your mind flickers back to last nightâtheir hurried footsteps, the tension in their voices as they returned from⌠wherever theyâd been. Before you can dwell on it, Rafayel follows your gaze to the canvas.
âDonât think about it too much, cutie.â His eyes glint with amusement before his focus is back on the paper in front of him.
You smile faintly, but the lingering weight of his earlier words doesnât quite leave you. Thereâs more to him than the playful charm he wears so effortlesslyâsomething deeper, something you feel drawn to unravel.
âDo you sell your work often?â you ask.
Rafayel hums thoughtfully, his pencil pausing again as he considers the question. âI donât, personally. Thatâs where Thomas comes in. He handles the patrons and all the tedious business things so I can just⌠paint.â he explains. âHe can be a headache sometimes. Always breathing down my neck, asking for more pieces. Thankfully, heâs off gallivanting somewhere far away right now. Blissful silence.â
You laugh softly, imagining a disgruntled manager trailing behind Rafayel with endless demands.
âYouâre holding up well.â he says. âThe sofa isnât too unbearable, is it? Iâm almost finished.â
Before you can answer the doors to the studio open without warning. Thereâs no knock, no announcement, just the sound of footsteps. Your head turns, startled, and your breath hitches when you see Xavier standing in the doorway. A blush creeps up your neck, accompanied by a fleeting pang of guiltâas though youâd been caught doing something you werenât supposed to.
Rafayel doesnât even flinch, his ever-playful demeanor intact. âAh, Xavier.â he drawls, straightening slightly in his chair. âYou know, itâs polite to knock. What if Iâd been changing?â
Xavierâs expression is serious at first, but it softens when his eyes land on you. His lips twitch into a faint smile as he greets you, his voice low and warm. âHey.â
âHi.â you manage, feeling oddly self-conscious under his gaze. âRafayel was, um, drawing me.â
âOh, indeed I was.â Rafayel interjects, rising from his chair with the sketchbook in hand. âAnd Iâd say itâs a masterpiece, wouldnât you agree?â He moves to sit beside you on the plush sofa, holding up the sketch like a prized trophy. Xavier steps further into the room, taking the empty space on your other side, the proximity of both men has your pulse quickening.
When Rafayel flips the sketchbook toward you, your breath catches. The likeness is uncannyâyour features perfectly captured in soft pencil strokes, delicate yet precise. You look lost in thought, your gaze distant yet wistful.
âItâs... beautiful.â you say quietly, unable to tear your eyes away.
Rafayel smirks, leaning back against the sofa. âNaturally. Youâre an excellent muse. We should make this a regular thing.â He tilts his head thoughtfully. âYou posingâor perhaps me teaching you how to paint again?â
His comment makes you glance at Xavier, whose jaw tightens ever so slightly.
You smile nervously. âSounds good to me.â
Xavier shifts beside you, his thigh brushing against yours. Rafayel notices but says nothing, his playful smirk returning as he hands you the drawing, his fingers grazing yours.
âThank you.â you murmur, as you stand from the sofa. Xavier rises alongside you, his hand brushing the small of your back, guiding you towards the door.
You step into the dimly lit hallway, carefully holding the paper, your thoughts swirling. Xavier lingers behind for a moment, exchanging a few quiet words with Rafayel, his voice low enough that you donât catch what theyâre saying.
Xavier steps into the hallway closing the door behind him. His very presence makes your guilt spike.
âI⌠umââ you begin, gripping the edge of your shawl, your steps faltering slightly as you descend the staircase. âAbout Rafayelââ
Xavier glances up at you over his shoulder. Before you can tumble further into an explanation, he shakes his head slightly, stopping in his tracks to look at you properly.
âYou donât need to explain anything,â he says. âYouâre free to spend time with whomever you like. Thatâs your choice.â
You blink, surprised to say the least. âI justââ
âReally,â he interrupts again. âAs long as you want to spend time with me too⌠Iâm happy.â
His words catch you off guard, a wave of relief washing over you at his reassurance. Yet, the faint vulnerability in his voice doesnât make it easier.
âI do.â you murmur. âWant to spend time with you, I mean.â
He nods with a faint smile, the kind that makes your stomach flutter.
Then, right on cue, that same stomach lets out an embarrassingly loud rumble.
Xavierâs smile breaks into a quiet laugh. âLetâs go to the kitchen, bunny.â
You nod sheepishly, your stomach rumbling again in agreement. He leads the way down the stairs, the tension from moments ago melting as you descend toward the kitchen.
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The cool air of the corridor shifts as you approach the kitchen, a comforting warmth greeting you before you even step inside. The faint clatter of utensils and the rich, savory aroma of something hearty and familiar makes your mouth water. Xavier gently pushes open the heavy wooden door, and you step inside.
The kitchen feels unexpectedly intimate. Despite the mansionâs grand size, this space is cozyâa large wooden table dominates the center, with chairs tucked neatly underneath. Before you can take in the rest of the space, your eyes land on Zayneâs broad back. Heâs standing by the stove, his sleeves rolled up to his elbows, revealing strong forearms as he stirs a large pot of potato stew. Then Zayne turns, his sharp features softening slightly when his hazel-green eyes land on you.
âAh,â he says, straightening and resting the wooden spoon on the edge of the pot. âMy apologies, Iâm late on lunch today. I wanted to make something heavier for you now that youâre feeling better.â
The thoughtful gesture makes your chest tighten. âOh, you didnât have to go through so much trouble.â you say quickly. âIâd have been perfectly fine with just cheese and bread.â
Zayne shakes his head. âItâs no trouble.â he replies simply, turning back to the pot and giving it another stir. âThough, I admit... I mightâve forgotten how long a proper stew takes.â
The admission makes you smile. The sight of Zayne standing over a pot of stew feels strangely endearing.
âIs there anything I can do to help?â you offer, stepping closer, eager to ease another wave of guilt bubbling inside you. âIâd feel better if I did something.â
Zayne waves a hand, dismissing the idea. âNo need. Itâs nearly done.â He casts a brief, pointed glance at Xavier, whoâs leaned against the counter, arms folded, eyeing the pot. âThough... keeping him away from the stove would help.â
You canât help the laugh that escapes you. Xavier, unbothered, raises a hand in mock surrender. âI know, I know.â he quips, the teasing in his voice drawing a faint huff of amusement from Zayne.
The tension that had been lingering between the three of you dissipates slightly. You take a seat at the table, as Zayne busies himself finishing the stew. Xavier joins you, settling into the chair beside you.
While you wait, your eyes wander across the kitchen, taking in the details you hadnât fully noticed before. The space is warm and inviting, the delicious aroma of Zayneâs stew providing you comfort. Yet, despite its coziness, the space feels... sparse. The countertops are almost bare, save for small jars of spices tucked into a corner, a bowl of pears, and a glass dome with cookies. Thereâs a basket with a few leftover ingredients from the stewâa couple of potatoes, a stray carrot and cloves of garlicâbut no sign of the bustling fullness youâd expect from a kitchen in a household of four grown men. Especially men who look as fit and well-built as they do.
Your brow furrows slightly. Do they keep everything in a pantry somewhere? That explanation feels thin. And then thereâs the absence of a cook - the mansion itself exudes a sense of wealth and status, even with its air of abandonment, therefore they would have employed one. Your fingers lightly brush the edge of the wooden table, the faint texture grounding you as your mind spins with questions.
âYou okay?â
Xavierâs calm voice brings your swirling thoughts to a halt. You blink, realizing youâd been staring absently at the countertop, your wandering gaze betraying you. Your eyes meet his.
âIâm fine.â you reply quickly, offering a small smile as you push the questions to the back of your mind. âJust... thinking.â
Xavier tilts his head slightly. âAbout what?â
You hesitate for a moment, then decide on something safer. âI was wondering about your wounds, are they healing?â you ask, your gaze flickering briefly to his bandaged hand resting on the table.
He shrugs âTheyâre fine.â he says with a small smile. âI just needed a long nap after sleeping all night.â
The nonchalant way he says it draws a soft laugh from you. âA nap?â you tease lightly. âYou must have the miraculous ability to heal in your sleep.â
He chuckles. âSomething like that.â he replies, his fingers drumming softly on the table.
The lightness in the kitchen settles again.
But it doesnât last long.
The door swings open, the chill from the outside air cutting into the cozy space. You look up, startled, as Sylus strides in, his long coat still draped over his broad shoulders, his presence immediately shifting the atmosphere. His eyes land on you first, a faint smile tugging at his lips as he utters your name. âYouâre looking well.â he says, his voice smooth as ever.
âThank you.â you reply softly, before his gaze shifts.
âXavier,â Sylus says, his tone sharpening as he addresses him. âWe need to leave. Now.â
The urgency makes your stomach twist. You glance at Xavier, hoping for some kind of explanation, but his expression darkens, his brows drawing together in irritation.
âRight now?â Xavier asks, though itâs less a question and more a resigned statement.
Sylus nods once. âRight now.â
Your confusion deepens as you watch the exchange. Whateverâs happening, itâs clear itâs seriousâserious enough to pull Xavier away.
Xavier exhales a quiet, frustrated sigh as he stands up. He glances at Zayne, who turns from the stove and meets his gaze, offering him a slight nod. You swallow hard, unsure what to make of the silent communication between them. Whatever it is, it leaves you feeling more like an outsider than ever.
Xavier looks at you then, his expression softening slightly. âIâll be back soon.â he murmurs, though the warmth in his voice canât seem to calm you this time.
You nod, not trusting yourself to speak, a mix of disappointment and unease swirling in your chest.
Sylus waits by the door, his eyes briefly meeting yours again, but he says nothing more before stepping out into the hallway. Xavier follows without another word, closing the kitchen door behind him.
The space feels emptier now, despite Zayneâs presence. The sound of the stew bubbling on the stove should have been comforting, but instead, it feels distant. You stare at the table, your fingers absently brushing over the polished wood as the silence stretches. Disappointment lingers at Xavierâs abrupt departure, and the silence that follows only amplifies your awkwardness.
Being alone with Zayne feels⌠different.
He had shown you nothing but care and kindness since you arrived, tending to your health with a skilled, no-nonsense efficiency. You owe much of your recovery to his tinctures and teas, and yet, sitting here with him feels almost stifling. Maybe itâs his presenceâsteady but imposing, his broad shoulders and stoic expression giving him an air of authority, that makes you feel exposed - like heâs dissecting every move you make and judging every word you say.
Or maybe itâs the memory of this morning, the way his eyes lingered just a second too long when he saw you in bed with Xavier. Your cheeks heat at the thought, and you shift uncomfortably in your seat. He hadnât said anything about it, but the weight of his gaze had been enough to make you feel like a child caught doing something she shouldnât.
âI - â Your voice falters, and you quickly close your mouth, unsure of what you were even about to say.
Zayne turns then, his eyes flick to you, unreadable. âThe stew is done.â he says, his voice even.
You nod. âIt smells amazing,â you manage, your words feeling clumsy in your mouth.
He hums in acknowledgment, turning back to the stove.
You lean back in your chair, willing yourself to relax. Heâs just Zayne, you remind yourselfâthe same man who checked your fever every morning and left rose water by your bedside without fail. Thereâs nothing to be nervous about. And yet, as he moves to ladle the stew into a bowl, the silence between you is thick, each second stretching longer than the last.
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As you finish the last spoonful of stew, your gaze drifts to Zayne, whoâs busy tidying up the counter. When he served you earlier, youâd asked if he was going to eat too, but heâd simply mentioned having already had a meal before turning back to clean.
You clear your throat softly, feeling the need to show your gratitude. âI could⌠make dessert, maybe? To thank youâfor the stew.â
Zayne turns, his eyes meeting yours. For a moment, he looks like heâs about to refuse, but then his lips twitch into a faint smile.
âDessert, huh? What did you have in mind?â
Relief washes over you, and you straighten a little in your chair. âSomething simple. Maybe a simple cake or a quick pudding? If you have the ingredients, that is.â
Zayne lets out a soft chuckle. âWe have the basics.â He nods towards the cookies in the glass dome. âYouâd be doing me a favor - the cookies we have now are barely sweet enough for my taste.â
His rare warmth eases some of the tension in your chest, and you smile. âWell, then, itâs settled.â
Zayne moves toward one of the cabinets, opening it to reveal a few neatly arranged jars of flour and sugar. âThereâs no cookbook, though. Probably buried somewhere in Xavierâs library.â he says.
âThatâs not a problem for me.â you reply, already standing and accept the apron he hands you. You tie it around your waist as your gaze sweeps the kitchen, landing on the bowl of pears. âHow about pear bread pudding?â
He nods. âThatâll do. Iâll grab what you need.â
Together, the two of you begin peeling and slicing the pears. Your eyes drift to Zayneâs hands and forearms, noting the way his muscles move while he deftly peels the pears. The movement is steady, almost hypnotic, but then something catches your attentionâthe faint, pale lines scattered across his skin. Scars.
These arenât the kind of scars youâd get from a slip of a knife or an accidental burn in the kitchen. They crisscross his toned arms, etched into his skin like mementos of past suffering. You canât help but wonder what kind of life could carve such marks into a person.
The question lingers on the tip of your tongue, but you swallow it down. You turn your attention back to the loaf of stale bread in your hands. Zayne doesnât seem to notice your moment of curiosityâor if he does, he doesnât let on. He peels another pear, the blade gliding easily beneath the skin.
As you carefully measure the sugar, your apron slips loose around your waist. Before you can fix it, you feel Zayneâs presence behind you.
âHold still.â he murmurs, his deep voice so close to your ear. His fingers brush against your sides as he reties the apron, the knot tightening securely at your back.
âThanks.â you say softly, glancing over your shoulder. He doesnât step away immediately, his eyes dropping to the bowl in front of you.
âYou might want to add another spoonful of sugar.â he says, his tone deadpan.
A small laugh escapes you as you scoop up another spoonful, sprinkling it into the mixture. âIs that your professional opinion?â
âJust a preference.â he replies, his attention lingering as you start to stir.
Youâre becoming acutely aware of his close proximity, as he leans slightly over your shoulder. Your hands falter for just a second before you glance up at him.
âDo you always supervise this closely?â you tease, though thereâs a sprinkle of nervousness in your voice.
His eyes glint with amusement. âOnly when sweets are involved.â
Your heart skips a beat at the way he says it, but he steps back, giving you space. You shake your head with a small smile, focusing on the task at hand. Itâs hard to connect this version of Zayneâthe one standing close enough to tighten your apron and fuss over sugarâwith the intimidating man who tended your wounds with a detached manner.
As the preparation continues, the conversation flows into lighthearted topics. You and Zayne chat about desserts, where he shows a surprising level of enthusiasm while talking about his tastes. Youâre amused to learn that his sweet tooth is much stronger than you expected, and he listens intently as you share your fondness for pastries and puddings.
But the talk of desserts sends a quiet pang through your chest, your thoughts drifting to your kitchen back home. Youâd spent hours there, experimenting with recipes or simply baking to pass the time. Itâs been four days, you realize. Four days since you left your little house unattended.
As Zayne crouches near the brick oven, tending to the fire, he glances your way. Youâre quiet now as you arrange the bread and pears in the pan, your shoulders slightly slumped.
Before he can ask if somethingâs wrong, you break the silence.
âI think I should probably leave soon.â you say softly, not meeting his gaze. âMaybe even tomorrow. Iâm feeling much better now.â
Zayne pauses, stunned by the suddenness of your words. But his expression remains composed when he straightens.
âYouâre more than welcome to stay as long as you want.â he says. âYouâve barely had time to fully recover, and youâve already done so much today. Tomorrow might be pushing it.â
You glance up at him. âI donât want to impose. Youâve all already done more than enough for me.â you murmur, your fingers brushing a crumb off the edge of the pan.
Zayneâs jaw tightens, but his gaze softens. The words hang between you, both of you acutely aware of how much youâve come to enjoy each otherâs presence, even in such a short time. You let out a breath and shake your head slightly. You carefully hand the pan to Zayne, who steps forward to take it from you, his fingers brushing yours briefly as he does.
âşâ§âË ŕ˝ŕ˝˛âđŠę¨ď¸đŞâŕ˝ŕž Ëââ§âş
The kitchen is quiet save for the gentle clinking of spoons against plates. The spiced, sugary aroma of the pear bread pudding lingers in the air, and each bite feels like a soothing balm to your soul. Zayne is seated across from you, his expression soft as he savors the dessert, clearly pleased with the outcome.
âThis is...â he begins, pausing as if searching for the right word. âPerfect. Definitely better than those disappointing cookies Iâve been settling for.â
His praise warms you, and you smile shyly. âIâm glad you like it.â
Zayne nods appreciatively, finishing his plate and leaning back slightly. His green eyes flick to you, the corners of his mouth tilting upward in a rare, genuine smile. âIf this is what happens when youâre in the kitchen, I think you should take over from now on.â
You laugh softly, but it feels bittersweet. Moments like theseâa quiet, shared meal, the simple joy of baking for someone elseâare rare in your life. The thought of leaving the mansion, leaving Zayneâs sweet-tooth satisfaction and the newfound connections, settles like a rock in your chest. Your mind drifts to Xavier, how he lit up when he talked about the library. And Rafayel, with his infectious energy, promising to teach you how to paint again. A soft sigh escapes your lips before you can catch it.
âAre you alright?â he asks, his eyes catching the change in your demeanor.
You nod quickly, offering a small smile. âYeah, I just... Iâve really enjoyed being here. Itâs been very different than what Iâm used to.â
Zayneâs expression softens. âThe place has felt different too.â he admits. âYouâve brought a lot of life here, more than you probably realize.â
The blush creeping to your cheeks makes you drop your gaze to your plate, your thoughts swirling. Could you really leave this behind so soon?
Zayne stands up and places his empty plate in the sink. âYou know,â he begins, leaning against the counter, âthis place is big enough for you to stay longer. No oneâs rushing you out.â
You glance up at him, your heart fluttering.
âAnd from a medical perspective,â he continues with a faint smirk, âIâd say you should rest more. Maybe even ask for more time offâhead injuries arenât something to take lightly.â
You hesitate, unsure of how to respond. Part of you wants to leap at the idea, to stay longer, to give yourself more time in this strange, enchanting place. But another part worries about imposing, about overstaying your welcome.
Zayne seems to sense your reluctance. âJust think about it.â he says, his tone softer now. âIâm not saying it lightly.â
The sincerity in his voice makes you realize that someone like Zayne doesnât say things without meaning them. As the warmth of the dessert settles in your stomach, so does the thought of staying just a little longer. Though, this morning's worries lingerâyou've been reckless, diving headfirst into an unfamiliar world. Each moment with these men draws you deeper into their orbit, like a storm you can't escape.
But the recklessness⌠doesnât feel bad.
Even if reason screams that staying is foolish, you want accept the offer. Then, youâll at least get to know them better, and that makes it less reckless⌠right?
Still, the thought of your lonely house, being unattended for days now, tugs at you. And then thereâs your job at the bookstore; the vacation you hastily took wonât last forever. If youâre going to extend your stay here, youâll need to figure out both.
Your gaze returns to Zayne.
âI⌠Iâd like to stay,â you say softly. âbut I need to go back to the village first. My house has been empty for days, and I need to stop by the bookstore. Iâll see if I can get more time off.â
Zayneâs calm demeanor remains intactâbut thereâs a glimmer of something in his eyes. Relief, perhaps.
âI understand.â he says. âI can accompany you tomorrow.â
You hesitate for a moment, before nodding. âOkay.â you agree. âThank you.â
A small, satisfied smile crosses his lips. âGood. Finish your dessert.â he says, motioning toward your plate.
You take another bite, warmth spreading through you that has little to do with the food. For the first time in what feels like forever, you donât feel so alone.
âšâ Ëâ§ď¸ľâżâŕ¨ŕ§ââżď¸ľâ§ Ë ââš
@verynormalsstuff @eliasxchocolate @haal07erlj @libriomancer @howvoiceless @celestialforce @tbaluver @zaynesjasmine1 @ladyparamount @xxfaithlynxx @totallytaurus4 @s-ugu @evil-mei @whatarewe-choppedliver @imeverycliche @blackwell-ninja @secretkiseki @kaya-nets @stellablobboo @ssetsuka @celestemcbrim @hanamanefateris
#love and deepspace#zayne love and deepspace#xavier love and deepspace#rafayel love and deepspace#sylus love and deepspace#xavier smut#zayne smut#sylus smut#rafayel smut#love and deepspace smut#lads smut#sylus x reader#xavier x reader#zayne x reader#rafayel x reader
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this video and the outfits!! ⤠i love that some parts of her outfit made their way to the stage. Amy wearing her old pieces again and again on different occasions is one of my favorite things ever.
Amy Lee in Love Goes On and On by Lindsey Stirling  [x]
#the bitter truth era#love goes on and on#amy lee#evanescence#lindsey stirling#amy lee outfits#ilovethis
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Maybe a scenario where the chain is female hero's Era and they meet her era's link which is her little brother of like 6 and she confesses that the quest was actually for him.
LITTLE LINK!?!!?!?!? MY LOVE, MY LIFE, MY SON!?!? ABSOLUTELY!!!! XD
Everybody get ready for more Lucky. I will never have enough of this boy. ^.^*
Side note: Reader is written as Gender Neutral per the rules of the blog, but this isn't really about them anyway. :D
Masterlist
Content under the cut!
"Just a little closer." You say under your breath as you push aside the surrounding foliage. You step into a well beaten path. there's roots sticking out of it and the dirt is bare and dry, but you know that it's safe to travel along and that it'll take you straight to your destination.
"We've been walking for hours." Legend groans. "Are we there yet?"
"Almost." You hold the branch open for the others to pass through.
"This Link of yours must be a pain in neck to get to if his lives this far out into the middle of nowhere." Hyrule spits out a leaf.
You snort, keeping it vague for the sake of keeping him safe. They'll know the truth soon enough and frankly, you're scared to see the aftermath. "It's just up the path."
"Finally!"
"Come on! Let's go!" Wind cheers and takes off running, following swiftly by Wild, Wolfie and Four.
You try to keep a leisurely pace, knowing you're going to need all the energy you can reserve for when you arrive. You want to run just as much as the others, but you know better.
Time seems to have caught on and gently smacks your shoulder. "You never said how you happened to meet him."
"I didn't?" You smile, playing it coy. "Strange."
"This is it?" Four asks with a skeptical look.
Just beyond the hill is a run down cottage. There's holes in the roof and the fence is broken in many areas. The forest and meadows around it are about to over take the small house and return the woods of its skeleton back to where they came from.
You try to hold back a bitter smile and the way your heart swells at the familiar sight. You pat Four on the shoulder and keep walking towards the cottage. Putting your fingers to your mouth, you let out a shrill whistle and keep walking.
A beat passes, setting the young men behind you on edge before the door of the cottage all but bursts open. You can feel some of the boys reach for their weapons but they hesitate when you start hollering in excitement.
Your calls are answered back by a small body that comes running out of the cottage at full speed. It comes out like a shot and b-lines for you with the intent to tackle. You catch the familiar mop of blond hair and laugh, peppering the small boy with kisses and tickles.
The group behind you is stunned.
"Bubbah! You're home! You're home!" The child cries.
You smile, getting a little teary as you hold the child closer. "I get to stay for a little bit this time before I travel again. I wanted you to meet some friends of mine. They've been very excited to meet you."
The little boy looks over your shoulder and gasp, a bright grin covering his face. "New people! Hello! Welcome to my house!"
You set him down with a proud smile as he runs to the Chain. He stops in front of them, holding his hand out like the polite gentleman he's growing up to be. "My name is Link, what's yours?"
Twilight bites the bullet and kneels to his level, shaking his hand. "Why- My name is Link too! It's great to meet you!"
You sighs and look back to the house. Your grandmother must still be inside. Age has not been kind to her.
The introductions are going on behind as your brother gets more and more amused that they all share the same name. He laughs, bright and joyfully and still the child you've fought so hard to keep. "No wonder you wanted to meet me too!"
"Yeah.... That's why." Legend clenches his jaw in a tight smile. He catches it quickly, the mark of the Triforce of Courage already on his little hand. Legend points to his hand to show that he has the same mark. "You have that too?"
Link, your brother, nods and proudly shows it off. "Bubbah says it's because I'm special. They had to leave home after it showed up though. They saved me from the monsters and told me to take care of grandma."
"Then I'm sure you're doing an incredible job." Time says gently. "That mark is special. I'm sure your grandma is very proud."
Warrior makes it a point to step aside, roughly grabbing your arm as he speaks in a hushed voice. "What is the meaning of this?"
"This is my home." You try to keep the growl out of your voice. "Link is my brother."
"Tell me you're joking."
"I wouldn't be the one traveling with you if I was."
"Bubbah!" Link calls for your attention. "Can they stay for dinner?!"
You slap a grin onto your face and wave back to him. "That was the plan, short stack! You mind going to tell grandma we have company?"
"Oh yeah!" He grins and runs back to the house right as your grandmother has reached the door. She sees you and sighs of relief that you've returned safe and sound.
You wave from where you are and blow her a kiss. You try not to look at the other boys around you.
You can feel them staring holes into you head as it is.
This is going to be a long story.
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Book Recommendations to various R1999 Characters
To celebrate the China release of Reverse: 1999's Artbook, Bluepoch decided to host an offline event where they'll sell the books + hold a book club event. Thus, they've set out book recommendations for various characters here, let's get to know them. :)





Vertin: How to Build a Shed
We hope that Ms. Vertin will enjoy this detailed guide to building a shed. When she's free in the suitcase, she can sit down with a cup of coffee and build a small shed to shelter her friends from the wind and rain in this chaotic era... We're all very much looking forward to Ms. Vertin's woodworking debut!
Lilya: How the Steel was Tempered
The cruelty of the battlefield, the torturous illness, the unyielding bones, the iron willâand the ideals and beliefs that have never been abandoned. The pilot girl from Zeno flew across the white land, and her alcohol jug contained many bitter and glorious stories.

6: The Myth of Sisyphus
Even if the boulder will eventually roll down, even if the end of the truth is to be questioned and overturned, at the moment of leaving the philosopher's cave, they've all transcended into their own destinies. Experience the absurd, fight against the absurd, and choose realism in the absurd. Perhaps the hermit watching from the sidelines will choose to nod his head. Sometimes, silence requires more courage than speaking.
37: Peter Pan
We have chosen this wonderful and interesting novel for Ms. 37: Even if she chooses to face this complicated world, we hope that when she turns the pages of the book, her clear mind will be able to return to the "Neverland" in her dreams once more.

Isolde: The Nightingale and The Rose
On a starry night, the nightingale wept blood for the rose under the moonlight. This romantic opera was brought about by death. We chose this masterpiece made by Oscar Wilde and gave it to Ms. Isolde, who has been pursuing art and love, to add color in her dreamland.
Kakania: Selected Stories from O. Henry
We recommend O. Henry's classic to Ms. Kakania, who is keen on interpreting the characters' inner thoughts. The intriguing coincidences, the suspenseful and ingenious structure, the twists and turns of the plotâwithin reason and beyond expectation, what kind of ending will sincerity and true love usher in?

Tooth Fairy: Doctor Zhivago
In the torrents of time, a doctor went against these tides alone, and composed a profound and moving song of freedom. He never gave up the life of any patient and never hesitated to resist every injustice faced. We believe our Ms. Tooth Fairy would also agree: above the absolute truth, there is the purest humanity.
Ezra: Let's Go Gardening (by Zhang Chenliang)
There's no doubt that every friend that likes planting will have fun in this book and learn more interesting knowledge about nature. We invite you to feel their every breath, observe their growth in every moment, and stay with these silent companions for a long time.

They give out these silly bookmarks when you buy some of the recommended books and depending on how much you spend. :')
#reverse 1999#vertin#lilya reverse 1999#6 reverse 1999#37 reverse 1999#isolde#kakania#tooth fairy reverse 1999#ezra reverse 1999
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Evanescence - Oct 25 2024 - Montreal, QC - Bell Centre
Photos by Andres Amaya
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I love this so much
Reaction gifs.
#amy lee#evanescence#ilovethis#by:unravelynn#the bitter truth era#the bitter truth tour#funny cute amy lee#reaction gif
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â・ďžThe Gregorian era was a time when those with desires outside the social norm lived in the shadow of secrecy, a truth these women knew all too well. ďžď˝Ąâ
â Vi, Caitlyn, Sevika, and Jinx.
VI.
Vi has never fit into the molds that society tries to impose on herâalways rebellious, always challenging the rules. But this time, the struggle is different. There are no punches or screams, just a battle that burns in silence, fought deep in her heart⌠and this time, sheâs completely alone.
When she sees you at events, draped in the elegance expected of a respectable lady, her gaze turns cold, almost unyielding. But itâs not because of you. Itâs because of the oppressive system that binds her hands, even denying her the right to look at you the way she truly wants.
Every word exchanged is a carefully measured move on an invisible board. Vi offers you a wry smile, murmuring, "Itâs a pleasure to see you," but behind that strong façade, her hands tremble with the uncontrollable urge to reach for yours. She hates feeling vulnerable, but with you, she allows herself to be human.
She glides silently through the cobbled streets of Piltover, seeking out those hidden corners where her people gather. Here, finally, she feels free⌠but that freedom always casts a shadow, because you canât be by her side.
She dreams of you more than she dares admit. She imagines escaping with you to a corner of the world where no one knows them, where names and titles fade into oblivion. But she always wakes, and reality reminds her that such a thing is nothing more than impossible.
When she hears other men speak of you, referring to you as the "gem" of the season, a fury burns in her chest, like poison twisting in her gut. "Why can they claim you with words, while I canât even have you at all?" she wonders, rage and desire intertwined.
One moonless night, she found you lost in the gardens, surrounded by the stillness of the dark. The conversation that followed was soft, subtle, like a whisper in the breeze. Yet in your eyes, Vi thought she saw something moreâa silent longing, a spark that reflected what she herself desired. But did she really see it, or was it just the echo of her own naive hope?
She feels that every word she speaks must be carefully calculated, but her love for you burns with an intensity she cannot contain. "If this is a sin," she reflects, letting out a bitter smile, "then let the flames consume me."
Finally, one day, Vi takes the pen and writes a letter, but she never delivers it. Instead, she watches it burn in the fireplace, letting her words dissolve in the flames, like her dearest dream, consumed to the last ash.
CAITLYN.
For Caitlyn, society has always been a chessboard, where every move is calculated with precision, each play evaluated down to the last detail. But you... you're the only move she knows she can never win.
She looks at the other young women who dream of marriage and can't help but feel a pang of envy. Not for them, but because she knows she will never get to enjoy the luxury of looking at you the way the men around you do, with admiration and desire in their eyes.
She writes letters to you with almost obsessive frequencyâletters that never see the light of day. She sits at her desk, motionless and lost in thought until late into the night, trapped in the uncertainty of what everything could be like if the world were different.
At social gatherings, she stands by your side as a loyal friend, an elegant and discreet shadow who glides gracefully beside you. The looks from others are just noise; the only thing that matters is your presence beside her, even if it's in the silent role of "companion."
Once, someone dared to make a disparaging comment about "improper relationships." Caitlyn, with an exterior calm that seemed unshakable, didn't let her anger spill over in public, but inside, her indignation burned as fiercely as a scorching sun. No one, absolutely no one, was going to point fingers at you for something she herself held deep within.
She dreams of escaping, of running toward a future where she is free, but Caitlyn cannot deny the reality. "My duty is to protect my family, to protect you," she repeats over and over, holding onto those words like an anchor, trying to convince her heart that, in the end, thatâs all that truly matters.
Sometimes, when your laughter rings out or when you take her arm with that confidence that seems to close the distance between you, her pulse races, as if each beat is a whisper of possibilities. In those moments, she allows herself to think that, if only they were braver, they could find an excuse to escape together, to leave behind everything that holds them back. But Caitlyn doesn't dare to be selfish, to risk everything she has built.
Every time she walks in the rain, she canât help but think of you. The sense of freedom she feels in those moments is the same she longs for both of them, although, aware of the distance between you, she can only give you an empty smile and a "goodnight" that doesn't reflect all she wishes she could say.
The love she feels for you is like a silent wound. It doesnât bleed, but it always hurts.
SEVIKA.
Sevika knows sheâs not made to fit in. Her stance is unyielding, her presence a powerful force, but when she looks at you, something inside her breaks, as if everything sheâs built crumbles in an instant.
At first, she denied it vehemently. She believed it was just a fleeting admiration, a passing desire that would fade with time. But soon, the harsh truth revealed itself: she is deeply in love, and that revelation consumes her with rage, because she knows she canât have you.
Frustration boils inside her when she sees you talking to men who donât deserve you. "Why should I stay silent? Why can they, and I canât?"
Sevika was never one to follow rules; she always moved in her own territory, where the rules were flexible, and the consequences, few. But in this game, the rules are different, and she knows it. Any misstep, any wrong move, could destroy you. And she wonât allow it. She wonât let a mistake, no matter how small, bring an end to you.
She finds herself in the darkest corners of her mind, thinking of you more often than sheâd like to admit. She imagines holding your hand in public, as if it were something natural, as others do. The mere thought of it is a delicious torture, a game of desires that slowly consumes her.
In a nearly imperceptible gesture, she once offered you her coat when the night was cold. "A courtesy," she said, but deep down, it was her only way of touching you.
Sevika hates the world she lives in. If she could, she would burn it all down to build a new one, one where no one could judge them.
Sometimes, in those dark, secret bars where she tends to lose herself, the glances from others challenge her, silently daring her. "I am what I am," she mutters under her breath, fiercely. Yet, deep in her mind, she never lets your name be tarnished, guarding it with a silent but unshakable loyalty.
Finally, in the solitude of her own company, Sevika whispers her love in a barely audible murmur. Itâs a secret she will never reveal, but one that will burn in her chest, keeping her alive in every corner of her being.
JINX.
For Jinx, the world has always been a cruel and senseless place, but when you're near, for a fleeting moment, everything stops, as if the storm in her mind finds a corner of calm.
She doesn't know how to explain what she feels when she sees you, nor why her heart beats faster in your presence. At first, she thought it was just admiration, maybe a need, but soon she realized that what consumes her goes beyond that. It's something darker, more intense... something forbidden.
Jinx watches you from a distance, hidden in the shadows. She doesn't do it for fun, but because she's aware that getting too close could be a risk, both for you and for her.
In her overwhelmed mind, she imagines a world without rules or boundaries. "If there were no laws or morals, we could be everything, we could be together," she repeats to herself with a mix of rage and desire, as if the words could alter her reality.
Once, in an impulsive outburst, she stole a ribbon you wore in your hair. Now she keeps it as her most prized treasure. It's the closest she has to you.
She hears the rumors circulating, the whispers about how "you should get married soon." Meanwhile, Jinx erupts in anger, screaming and destroying everything in her path, but only when no one can see her. The very thought of losing you forever consumes her from the inside; she can't bear it.
She draws you in her notebooks, sketching little silhouettes hidden among chaotic scribbles and bursts of color. You are her only refuge in a world that burns with flames, her corner of calm amidst the chaos.
She dreams of you discovering her, of seeing through her facade and accepting her for what she truly is. But the fear of rejection holds her back.
In the end, Jinx whispers your name to the wind, as if it were a lost prayer addressed to a god who has never listened to her pleas.
#arcane#arcane x reader#arcane caitlyn#arcane vi#arcane sevika#arcane jinx#caitlyn x reader#vi x reader#sevika x reader#jinx x reader
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Winter King, Part Three : Cruel Summer. . .
Pairings: King AU Bucky Barnes x Out of place Queen Reader Words: 17.4K Themes: Royaltycore AU, love and power, Arranged Marriage, georgian/regency era misogyny, profanity, Eventual Smut. Summary: Y/N finds herself struggling to prove that sheâs more than just a pawn in this dangerous game of power. But when Winnifred demands answers, itâs not just Y/Nâs loyalty to the king being testedâitâs her resolve to carve out a place for herself in a world determined to see her fail. A/N: Inspired by Queen Charlotte. I must say I love the chase scene between Steve and Y/N here HEHEHE. Let me know what's your fave scene? I'm actually curious about what ya'll want to see next ;) credits to the gif owners, it ain't mine.
Your fingers played nervously along the rim of your teacup, your gaze flicking to the tall windows that overlooked the estate gardens. It should have been a peaceful view. Instead, it only reminded you of how small you felt within the grand expanse of this new life.
Opposite you, the Dowager Queen, Winnifred Barnes, was the very picture of feminine authority. Even in the soft light, she seemed to carry the shadows of experience with her, the weight of a crown long set aside but never truly removed. Her eyes, a steely blue that seemed to pierce through all pretenses, were trained on you with an intensity that made it impossible to look away.
âGood morning, Your Majesty,â you murmured politely, dipping your head in a respectful nod as she took her seat.
âY/N,â she acknowledged with a curt nod, her gaze lingering on you for a beat longer than necessary. She motioned to the staff, who swiftly poured the tea and set delicate plates of pastries before you both. The clinking of porcelain was the only sound in the room until the servants exited, leaving you alone in silence.
Winnifred took a slow sip of her tea, her eyes never leaving your face. âI thought it best we have breakfast today,â she began, her tone measured but holding an edge that made your heart quicken. âAfter all, thereâs much to discuss following last nightâs... eventful proceedings.â
You tried to keep your expression neutral, but the knot in your stomach tightened. âYes, Your Majesty.â
She set her cup down, her gaze on you sharpening. âHow did you find your first night as a married woman?â
It was a simple question, and yet difficult to answer. You hesitated, unsure how much to reveal. The truth of it all was still a bitter pill to swallowâthat youâd spent your wedding night alone, while Bucky had left for his estate in Annecy. A flash of disappointment coursed through you, but you tamped it down, forcing a polite smile.
âIt was... different,â you said cautiously, choosing each word with care. âWe still have much to learn about one another.â
Winnifredâs brow arched ever so slightly, a glimmer of disapproval, or perhaps curiosityâlighting in her gaze.Â
âDifferent, is it?â She leaned forward slightly, her voice lowering to a deceptively soft tone. âYou mean to say that he left.â
Your breath caught, but you nodded, refusing to drop your gaze. âYes, Your Majesty. He thought it best, given the circumstances.â
For a moment, the Dowager Queen was silent, her eyes studying you. Then, slowly, she tilted her head, the corners of her lips curving into something that might have been a smileâif it werenât so sharp.Â
âAnd you... let him go?â she asked, each word pronounced with a chilling clarity that made your chest tighten.
You blinked, taken aback. âIââ
âYou didnât make him stay?â she pressed, her tone holding a note of challenge. âYou are his wife now, Y/N. The Queen of this realm. It is your duty to keep him by your side.â
The words struck like a lash, the implications behind them sinking deep. You opened your mouth, struggling for a response that wouldnât sound weak or defensive.Â
âI... I didnât think it was my place toââ
âYour place?â Winnifred interrupted, her voice cutting through the air like a knife. âYour place is precisely what you make of it. Do not expect himâor anyone elseâto show you the respect you deserve unless you demand it.â
Her gaze bore into you, and you felt yourself shrinking. There was no malice in her words, no crueltyâonly a harsh kind of truth that left you reeling.
âI didnât want toââ You paused, taking a steadying breath. âI didnât want to force him. We... barely know each other, Your Majesty. I thought it best to give him space.â
Winnifred leaned back slightly, her eyes never leaving your face. âSpace?â she echoed, her voice low. âYou have given him space, Y/N. Now watch how quickly it turns into distance.â
She was right, of course. Buckyâs absence already felt like a chasm between you, one that you werenât sure how to bridge.
âYou are a queen now,â Winnifred continued softly, the steel in her gaze tempered by something gentlerâsomething almost like understanding. âBut more importantly, you are his wife. And being a wife means more than simply standing by his side in public. It means holding your ground in private. Pushing him when he needs to be pushed. Because if you donât...âÂ
She trailed off, her eyes searching yours. âIf you donât, then others will step in to fill that space you so graciously allowed.â
The implication hung in the air like a warning, and you swallowed hard, the reality of her words washing over you. This was about more than just Bucky leaving for the night. It was about control, power, and the dynamics that would shape your marriageâand the kingdom.
You straightened your spine, meeting her gaze with as much resolve as you could muster. âI understand, Your Majesty. I wonât make the same mistake again.â
Winnifredâs lips curved into a faint smileâone that was both approving and calculating. âGood,â she murmured. âBecause while my son may be king, it is the queen who sets the tone of the court.â
She lifted her teacup once more, taking a measured sip. âNow, tell me what else happened last night. Did he say anything that would suggest his intentions regarding your marriage?â
You hesitated, recalling the heated exchange with Bucky, and a message passed on to you shortly after he left. âHe... spoke about needing time,â you said quietly. âTime to adjust. But he assured me that I am the only one heâs loyal to.â
âDid he now?â Winnifredâs gaze darkened, but there was a glimmer of something like pride in her eyes. âThat is a start, at least. But loyalty is not the same as affection.â
You nodded slowly, unsure of how to respond.
âListen to me, Y/N,â Winnifred continued, her tone soft but unyielding. âHe may keep his distance now, but do not let it remain that way. You must find a way to close that gap. The sooner you do, the sooner the court will fall in line. Show them that you are a force to be reckoned withâboth as a queen and as his wife.â
âYes, Your Majesty.â
Winnifredâs gaze softened just a fraction, and she set her teacup down gently, fingers tracing the delicate handle as if recalling a distant memory.Â
âThere was a time,â she began, her voice quieter now, âwhen I, too, thought loyalty was enough. When I believed that if I simply did as expectedâkept quiet, remained the dutiful wifeâthings would naturally fall into place.â
You blinked, surprised by the sudden shift in her tone. Winnifred rarely spoke of herself, of her past. It was as if every part of her life before the crown was locked away, buried beneath layers of duty and decorum.
âBut I learned,â she continued, her eyes taking on a distant, almost wistful look, âthat being quiet, being passive, only serves to diminish your place in the marriage. To let others dictate your worth.â
She leaned forward slightly, her gaze locking onto yours with a newfound intensity. âSo, I stopped being passive. I took controlânot just for myself, but for the kingdom. And for him.â Her expression softened, but there was a sadness there, too. âBecause even kings can falter. Even kings need someone to remind them of their place. Their worth. Their responsibilities.â
You stared at her, feeling as though you were seeing the Dowager Queen in a new lightâa woman who had fought for her own place in a world determined to silence her.
âWhat Iâm saying, Y/N,â she murmured softly, âis that you cannot let James dictate the course of your marriage. You must stand firm, push him if need be, and make him see you. Truly see you. If you donât, you will always be the girl who stood in the shadows, watching others take your place.â
You swallowed hard, the force of her words settling deep within you. âThank you, Your Majesty. I wonât forget that.â
Winnifred nodded, a small, approving smile playing on her lips. âSee that you donât. Because once you have his attentionâonce he realizes the strength you holdâhe will never let you go.â
She straightened, the softness in her gaze receding, replaced once more by the composed authority of a queen. âNow, eat, my dear. Youâll need your strength for whatever comes next.â
And as you reached for your fork, her advice settled over you like an invisible crownâone youâd have to wear with as much grace and power as you could muster. Because from now on, this marriage would be yours to shape, yours to control.
Ă Ă Ă Ă
High ceilings of the grand council chamber stretched above, adorned with elaborate chandeliers that cast glittering reflections onto the polished marble floors. The long, gleaming table in the center of the room was flanked by dark wooden chairs, each occupied by men whose expressions were masks of restrained curiosity and barely concealed tension.
The Dowager Queen, stood at the head of the table, her regal posture unyielding as she faced the most powerful men in the kingdom of Montelune. Prime Minister Nick Fury, with his one good eye keenly observing every subtle shift in the room, sat closest to her, his fingers steepled thoughtfully. Around him were the Duke of Hanover, Lord Pierce, and Lord Rumlowâall high-ranking noblemen with a vested interest in the stability and future of the crown.
The men exchanged uneasy glances, their eyes occasionally flickering toward the dowager as if uncertain how to broach the subject that loomed over them like a dark cloud.
Finally, it was Fury who cleared his throat, breaking the silence. âYour Majesty, I trust you are well-rested?â His voice was smooth, but the weight of unspoken questions hung heavy in the air.
Winnifredâs gaze was cool as she regarded him, one eyebrow arching ever so slightly. âRested enough,â she replied crisply. âThank you, Prime Minister.â
Another awkward silence settled over the room, and the noblemen shifted uncomfortably in their seats. There was something almost comical about seeing men of such power and influence falter in the presence of a single woman, but Winnifred knew the source of their unease. It wasnât just her title or her presence that made them waryâit was the nature of the matter at hand.
Lord Pierce leaned forward, his mouth opening and closing a few times before he finally managed to speak. âYour Majesty, we... we thought it prudent to gather today to, ah... discuss certain affairs.â
The Dowager Queenâs lips twitched in a faint semblance of a smile. âAffairs?â she repeated softly, her tone laced with just enough amusement to make him squirm.
âYes, well,â Pierce continued, his face reddening slightly, âit is... as you might understand, a rather delicate matter. One that pertains to... er, ensuring the continuation of the royal line.â
Winnifredâs eyes narrowed, and she tilted her head, considering him with a look that could cut glass. âAre you inquiring whether the consummation of the marriage has taken place, Lord Pierce?â she asked bluntly.
The manâs flush deepened, and he coughed awkwardly. âWell, not in so many words, Your Majesty, butââ
âSay what you mean, Pierce,â Fury interjected dryly, his gaze unwavering as he looked between the dowager and the other noblemen. âWe all know why weâre here. Thereâs no need to dance around it.â
âIndeed,â the Dowager Queen agreed, a steely edge creeping into her voice. âAnd let us dispense with the niceties, shall we? The answer is no. Nothing happened last night.â
Her words fell like a stone into a still pond, sending ripples of shock and discomfort through the room. The men exchanged uneasy looks, clearly taken aback by her directness.
Furyâs gaze remained steady, though his jaw tightened. âThat is... concerning, Your Majesty. Considering the importance of securing the royal lineââ
âConsidering the importance of the kingâs reputation,â Lord Rumlow cut in, his voice low and gruff. âIf word gets out that he didnâtââ
âThat he didnât perform his marital duties?â Winnifred finished for him, her voice cold. âYes, I am aware of the implications, Lord Rumlow.â
The silence that followed was almost suffocating. The men seemed at a loss, unsure how to proceed with such a delicate subject in the presence of a ladyâno matter that the lady in question was the Dowager Queen herself.
Lord Pierce cleared his throat again, clearly floundering. âPerhaps, Your Majesty, there are... reasons for the delay. A need for time, perhaps, to... adjust?â
Winnifredâs gaze turned icy. âTime is not a luxury we have, Lord Pierce. Nor is it a cure for whatever holds my son back.â
Fury leaned forward, his expression thoughtful. âYour Majesty, with all due respect, if His Majesty is reluctant... might there be another way to ensure that the matter is handled discreetly? Some form of... encouragement?â
âEncouragement?â The Dowager Queenâs voice was deceptively calm, but there was a dangerous glint in her eyes that made the noblemen stiffen.
âWhat exactly are you suggesting, Prime Minister?â
Fury held her gaze, unfazed. âIâm suggesting that perhaps His Majesty needs to be reminded of his responsibilities. He must be made to understand that this is not merely about him and his brideâit is about the future of Montelune. The stability of the crown.â
Winnifredâs expression did not soften, but she gave a single, sharp nod. âI am well aware of that, Prime Minister. But Jamesââ She paused, catching herself, and then continued more firmly. âThe King has always been... stubborn.â
âThen perhaps he needs a push,â Lord Rumlow muttered under his breath.
Winnifredâs gaze snapped to him, and he immediately looked away, his bravado fading under her scrutiny.
âA push?â she echoed icily. âDo you honestly believe pushing the King of Montelune will achieve anything other than further resistance?â
The men fell silent, and Furyâs shoulders tensed, his expression tight with frustration. âWhat would you have us do, Your Majesty? If the King refuses toââ
âThe King does not refuse,â Winnifred interrupted, her voice ringing with authority. âHe hesitates. There is a difference.â She paused, drawing herself up to her full height, her gaze cutting across the room like a blade. âBut as I told you, this matter has already been addressed. The Queen will handle it.â
There was a collective pause as her words sank in. The Queen? Their glances darted back and forth, disbelief and confusion clear on their faces. It was Lord Pierce who finally voiced what they were all thinking.
âYour Majesty, the Queen is... well, sheâs ratherââ
âInexperienced,â Rumlow supplied curtly, a hint of disdain lacing his tone.
âMeek,â Pierce added, though he looked apologetic.
The Dowager Queenâs gaze hardened. âYou underestimate her.â
The Prime Ministerâs lips pressed into a thin line. âWith all due respect, Your Majesty, the Queen is still unproven. This court is filled with those who would tear her down the moment they sense weakness. To place this matter in her handsââ
âIs exactly what needs to be done,â Winnifred interrupted, her voice like steel. âShe is not a child. She is a queen. And she must learn to wield her powerânow, not later.â
The noblemen exchanged uneasy glances, clearly unconvinced. The silence that followed was thick with skepticism, and it was all too clear that they did not share the Dowager Queenâs confidence in Y/N.
But Winnifred stood her ground, unflinching. âMark my words, gentlemen,â she said softly, a dangerous edge to her voice. âYou may doubt her now, but she will prove you wrong. She will make you see her strength.â
âAnd if she doesnât?â Lord Pierce asked quietly.
âShe will,â Winnifred replied, the certainty in her voice absolute. âBecause I have seen it. I know what sheâs capable of.â
Another tense silence fell over the room, the men still wary but unwilling to argue further.
âVery well, Your Majesty,â Fury said at last, his tone resigned but respectful. âWe will... defer to your judgment. For now.â
âGood.â Winnifredâs gaze swept over the room once more, as if daring anyone to question her again. âNow, unless there are other matters to attend to, I suggest we all turn our focus back to ensuring the stability and prosperity of Montelune. The rest... will be handled in due time.â
With that, she rose gracefully from her chair, the noblemen following suit. And as she left the room, her back straight and her gaze unflinching, there was no doubt in anyoneâs mind that the Dowager Queen was a force to be reckoned withâone who would see this matter resolved, no matter what it took.
Once the door closed behind her, the men shared a look of relief mixed with lingering anxiety.
Lord Pierce let out a shaky breath. âI donât envy the queen one bit,â he muttered.
Fury nodded slowly, his gaze still fixed on the door. âNo, I donât imagine many would,â he murmured. âBecause if thereâs one person who can push her to act, itâs the Dowager Queen herself.â
Ă Ă Ă Ă
It had been five long days since youâd last seen Bucky, and the estate that was meant to be your new home felt more like a gilded cage with each passing moment. Every day unfolded like clockwork, precise and unchanging, as if someone had wound up a porcelain doll and set it down to perform its routine.
You would rise from your cold, empty bed, get dressed in yet another resplendent gown chosen by the maids, and eat breakfast alone in the grand dining room. Lunch, the sameâonly the time of day changed, the vast silence swallowing every bite of food, every clink of porcelain against silver. Dinner was no different, the emptiness of the long table a stark reminder that you were isolated, adrift in a sea of marble and gold with no anchor in sight.
Even your attempts to fill the hours felt hollow. Books, once a source of comfort, blurred into meaningless words on a page. The piano keys beneath your fingers, no matter how delicately or forcefully you played, only echoed through the cavernous halls, sounding less like music and more like a lament. Youâd tried wandering the estate, but at every turn, there was a servant or guard with polite words and unyielding eyes.
âYou mustnât go out, Your Grace. Itâs for your safety.â
Your safety. The words grated against you like sandpaper, their false concern suffocating. Safety from what? From whom? No one would say. No one ever did. And every day, you could feel your sanity slipping, unraveling thread by thread, as the confines of the estate closed in around you.
And now, standing at one of the grand windows overlooking the manicured gardens, you turned abruptly, spotting Scott lingering nearby as always. The man had become a constant presence, a shadow, his careful attention both protective and irritating. You narrowed your eyes at him, frustration bubbling up like a storm.
âScott, I want to invite Lady Natasha, Lady Wanda, and Lady Pepper for tea tomorrow morning,â you stated, your tone clipped and firm, already expecting resistance. âMake the arrangements.â
Scottâs expression shifted, a mixture of unease and hesitation. He lowered his gaze briefly before speaking, his voice quiet but unwavering. âIâm afraid that wonât be possible, Your Majesty.â
Your brow furrowed. âAnd why not?â
âMy Queen⌠youâre still within the period of your honeymoon.â He chose his words carefully, as if speaking too freely might shatter the fragile peace that lingered between you. âItâs traditional for the queen to remain in seclusion during this time.â
âTraditional?â The word tasted bitter on your tongue, like bile. You let out a derisive laugh, shaking your head incredulously. âWhat, precisely, is there to seclude myself for? The king is nowhere to be found, and Iââ You broke off, swallowing the sharp edge of your anger. âI am not permitted to invite anyone into my own home?â
Scott straightened slightly, his discomfort plain as day. âItâs not a matter of permission, Your Majesty. Itâs simply how things are done. You are to stay within the estate until the period of seclusion ends.â
âCustomary.â You echoed the word again, as if tasting its bitterness for the first time. You let out a short, sharp laugh that was entirely devoid of humor. âThe king can do whatever he pleases while I am expected to sit idly and await his return. Is that what you mean?â
Scottâs mouth opened, but no words came. He simply stared at you, his gaze flicking nervously to the maids who were also watching, wide-eyed and tense.
You took a step closer, your voice softening into a dangerous whisper. âTell me, Scottâhow long is this period of seclusion supposed to last?â
âUntil the tenth day after the wedding, Your Highness,â he murmured, lowering his gaze respectfully. âIt is meant to provide you time to acclimate to your new role and⌠to reflect upon the responsibilities that come with it.â
âReflect,â you repeated bitterly. âAll Iâve done is reflect, Scott. Reflect on how little control I have over my own life. Reflect on how I have been shuttled around like a prized possession instead of a human being. Reflect on the fact that I have no voice, no sayâno freedom.â
Silence fell over the room, the weight of your words hanging in the air like a dense fog. Scott shifted uncomfortably, his gaze darting to the floor.
âYour Majesty,â he said quietly, âthese traditions are not meant to confine you, but to protect you. To ensure your position as queen is established andââ
âStop,â you cut him off, your tone ice-cold. âIf youâre going to say one more thing about traditions or customs or protection, I would rather you not speak at all.â
Scottâs mouth snapped shut, and he gave a small, stiff nod. âAs you wish, my queen.â
âGood,â you murmured, turning back to the window, your gaze hard and unyielding. âLeave me.â
You didnât look back as Scott and the maids slowly withdrew from the room, the door closing softly behind them. The silence that followed was almost suffocating, and you stood there, staring out at the gardens that were just as closed off to you as the rest of the world.
No freedom. No voice. No choices.
Ă Ă Ă Ă
Later in the evening, as you sat restlessly by the fireplace, staring at the flames that offered no warmth, the door to the drawing room opened, and Captain Steve Rogers stepped inside. His tall frame seemed to fill the space, and for a moment, you allowed yourself a flicker of hope. Perhaps heâd brought news, or perhapsâjust perhapsâheâd come to take you away from this unending monotony.
âMy Queen,â he greeted formally, bowing his head slightly.
âCaptain,â you acknowledged, trying to keep the edge of desperation from your voice. âItâs good to see a familiar face.â
He offered a small, sympathetic smile as he approached. âI apologize for not visiting sooner, Your Majesty. Things have been... busy.â
Busy. The word sent a fresh wave of bitterness through you. Busy for everyone but you, it seemed. You forced a smile, gesturing for him to sit. âNo need to apologize, Captain. But tell meâwhere is the King? I havenât heard from him since I arrived.â
Steveâs jaw tightened imperceptibly, his gaze flickering toward the floor before meeting yours again. âHeâs still in Annecy, My Queen.â
âI see.â you said softly, the name foreign on your tongue. âHow exactly is Annecy?â
âItâs about a quarter of a dayâs ride south, through the forest and along the main road,â Steve explained, his voice careful, measured. âItâs a secluded place, one he visits often when he needs to... reflect.â
The way he spoke made something inside you snap, your control fraying at the edges.Â
âReflect,â you murmured, the word a bitter taste in your mouth. All this time, he had been in Annecy, brooding and reflecting, while you languished here, alone and forgotten. The distance between you felt more like an abyss.
âHow would one get there, exactly?â you asked, feigning nonchalance. âJust in case I wanted to... send a letter, perhaps?â
Steveâs brows furrowed slightly, suspicion flickering in his blue eyes. âItâs not safe for you to travel alone, my queen. The roads can be treacherous.â
âIâm not asking for permission to travel, Captain. Merely inquiring out of curiosity,â you replied, your tone light but your heart pounding in your chest. âIf I were to send a messenger, I would need to know the way.â
He hesitated, but then sighed, relenting. âItâs a straight path through the eastern gates of the estate, then along the main road until you reach the first fork. Youâd take the left path, following it through the forest until you cross the river at the stone bridge. From there, itâs just another few hours until you reach the edge of Annecy.â
You nodded thoughtfully, your gaze dropping to the floor, committing his words to memory. âThank you, Captain. Thatâs... very helpful.â
Steve shifted uncomfortably, his eyes narrowing slightly as he watched you. âMy Queen, if youâre consideringââ
âIâm not considering anything,â you interrupted smoothly, your lips curving into a placating smile. âIâm merely... curious.â
He didnât seem convinced, but he nodded nonetheless. âVery well. If you have any other questionsââ
âActually,â you cut in, your voice suddenly brighter, almost too casual, âI was wondering if I might step outside for a moment. The fresh air might do me good.â
âMy Queen, itâs already quite late,â Steve said carefully, his hand resting lightly on the hilt of his sword. âPerhaps it would be best to wait until morning.â
A flicker of frustration flared within you, but you forced yourself to remain calm, nodding graciously. âOf course. . .of course. Youâre right, Captain.â
Steveâs shoulders relaxed slightly, but his gaze remained watchful as he bowed his head. âGoodnight, Your Majesty.â
You offered him a demure smile, waiting until he turned to leave before your expression hardened, determination flaring to life in your chest. You watched him leave, each step of his boots echoing down the hall, the sound growing fainter until you were sure he was gone.
And then, moving swiftly, you slipped into your chambers and changed into a riding outfit, the dark fabric molding to your form like a second skin. Your heart pounded in your ears as you quietly made your way through the estate, avoiding the servants and guards as you made your way to the stables.
It was time to take matters into your own hands.
The stables were dimly lit, the smell of hay and leather filling the air. You slipped inside, your footsteps quiet as you glanced aroundâand then you saw it: Steveâs horse, a powerful white spotted stallion, already saddled and prepared for his return journey. He must have left it ready to go, just in case he needed to leave in haste.
A thrill shot through you as you crept closer, your fingers trembling with both fear and excitement. This was your chance. You stroked the stallionâs neck gently, murmuring soft words of reassurance before swinging up into the saddle. Steveâs horse shifted beneath you, but you steadied him, your resolve hardening.
You turned the stallion toward the eastern gate, your heart hammering with a mix of exhilaration and dread. The estate was still and silent as you urged the horse forward, guiding him through the gates and onto the open road.
Just as you reached the edge of the estate grounds, you heard a shoutâCaptain Rogers, his voice laced with both alarm and disbelief.Â
âYour Majesty! What are you doing?â
But before he could reach you, you dug your heels into the stallionâs sides, sending him into a gallop. The wind whipped past your face, the thrill of freedom and fear mingling as you urged him faster, fasterâ
âDamn it!â Steveâs curse echoed behind you, and you risked a glance over your shoulder to see him sprinting to the stables.
Within moments, heâd mounted another horse, spurring it forward with a sharp command. âYour Majesty, stop! You canât justââ
But his words were lost to the wind as you rode, your stallionâs hooves pounding against the dirt road. For the first time in days, you felt alive, the adrenaline coursing through you like fire.
Steve was gaining on you, his horse closing the distance quickly. You could hear him shouting your name, the words muddled and frantic, but you didnât stop. You couldnât stop.
Not until you reached Annecy.
Not until you reached him.
Ă Ă Ă Ă
The night was alive with the sound of hoofbeats thundering down the narrow, moonlit road. The crisp air bit at your cheeks as you leaned low over the stallionâs neck, the wind whipping past your ears in a deafening roar. The exhilaration coursing through you was intoxicatingâa reckless thrill that washed away the numbness of the past days.
You were free, if only for a fleeting moment.
But behind you, not far off, you heard the determined pursuit of another horseâa powerful, steady rhythm that only a seasoned rider could command.
âYour Majesty!â Steveâs voice rang out over the pounding of hooves, a mix of frustration and exasperation lacing his words. âStop, damn it! Youâll get yourself hurt!â
You clenched your jaw, pushing the stallion faster, your heart racing with equal parts fear and defiance. Let him chase me, you thought stubbornly. You werenât turning back now. Not when you were this close to escaping.
The darkened forest loomed ahead, the path winding and treacherous beneath the canopy of towering trees. Shadows stretched and twisted, the moonlight barely penetrating the thick branches. But you didnât falter. You knew how to handle a horse, knew how to navigate even the trickiest of trails. You just had to stay ahead.
A glance over your shoulder revealed Steve, his broad form hunched low over his mount, his expression tight with concentration. His horse was closing the distance, its powerful strides gaining on you inch by inch. A thrill of panic shot through you, and you urged your stallion forward, digging your heels in as you veered off the main road and plunged into the woods.
Branches clawed at your sleeves and hair, the underbrush thick and uneven beneath the horseâs hooves. But you pressed on, darting through the narrow gaps between the trees, your breath qyickening. You could hear Steveâs curses behind you, the snapping of twigs and the rustle of leaves marking his relentless pursuit.
âYour Majesty, this is madness!â he shouted, his voice closer now. âStop now, before you hurt yourself!â
âGo back, Captain!â you called over your shoulder, the thrill of the chase making your blood sing. âIâm not turning around!â
âDamn it, woman!â Steve growled, unable to hide his frustration with you. âYouâre going to regret this!â
The path ahead narrowed even further, the trees pressing in on all sides. Your horse stumbled slightly, its hooves slipping on the loose soil, but you quickly regained control, urging it onward. You could feel Steveâs presence like a shadow at your back, his horse matching yours stride for stride, the sound of their breathing harsh and heavy in the cool night air.
And then, with a burst of speed, Steveâs horse surged forward, drawing up beside yours. You stole a glance at him, your eyes meeting his briefly in the dim light. His gaze was fierce, determinedâand utterly unyielding.
âPull up, My Queen,â he commanded, his voice low and dangerous. âNow.â
You shook your head, setting your jaw stubbornly. âNo. Not until I see him.â
Steve cursed under his breath, his hand darting out to grasp at your reins. âIâm not letting youââ
You yanked the reins sharply, steering the stallion to the right and away from his grasp. The horse whinnied in protest, but you held firm, pushing it onward. Steve swerved to avoid colliding with you, his horse skidding on the loose gravel before regaining its balance.
âDamn it!â he shouted again, his voice raw with a mix of anger and concern. âThis isnât a game!â
âNo, itâs not!â you shot back, your voice rising with the intensity of the chase. âItâs my life, Steve!â
Something flickered in his eyesâsomething that looked almost like pityâbut he didnât relent. He tightened his grip on the reins and urged his horse forward, drawing up alongside you once more.
âIâm not letting you go,â he ground out, his jaw clenched. âEven if I have to drag you back myself.â
âTry it,â you dared, the words slipping out before you could think better of it. âJust try.â
His eyes flashed, and for a moment, you thought he might actually do itâmight tackle you right off your horse and force you back. But instead, he gritted his teeth, his knuckles white where they gripped the reins.
âFine,â he bit out. âYou want to do this the hard way? Weâll do it the hard way.â
And with that, he urged his horse even closer, the two animals almost neck and neck now. He reached out again, his hand brushing against your arm, and you tensed, your heart hammering wildly.
But instead of pulling you back, he yanked sharply on the reins of your stallion, forcing the horse to slow and swerve, breaking your pace. You let out a cry of protest, your grip tightening on the reins as you fought to keep control. Steveâs horse blocked your path, cutting off any chance of escape.
âLet me go!â you shouted, your voice trembling with a mix of fury and desperation.
âNot happening,â Steve growled, his eyes blazing as he leaned in closer. âYou think Iâm going to let you ride off into the night alone, to God knows where, just because youâre stubborn?â
âYou donât understandââ
âI understand perfectly,â he interrupted, his tone harsh. âI understand that youâre hurting. That you feel trapped. But thisââ he gestured to the dark woods around you, his voice rising with exasperationââthis isnât the way to fix it.â
You glared at him, your breath coming in short, furious gasps. âAnd what would you know about it, Captain?â
âEnough to know that if you keep pushing like this, youâre going to get yourself hurt,â he shot back, his voice cracking slightly. âAnd then what? Do you think thatâs what heâd want? For you to risk everything like this?â
You stared at him, your chest heaving, and for a moment, the fight drained out of you, leaving you hollow and aching. He was right. You knew he was right. But the thought of going backâof returning to that empty, suffocating houseâwas unbearable.
âI just... I need to see him, Steve,â you replied, your voice breaking on the words. âI need to understand.â
His expression softened, his grip on the reins loosening slightly. âI know,â he murmured. âBut not like this. Not alone.â
The silence stretched between you, thick and heavy with unspoken words. And then, slowly, hesitantly, you nodded, the fire inside you dimming to a flicker.
âOkay,â you whispered. âOkay.â
Steve released a breath he seemed to have been holding, his shoulders relaxing. âGood,â he said quietly, his voice rough with relief. âLetâs head back.â
But as he turned his horse, you saw your opportunityâa split-second chanceâand before he could react, you kicked Steveâs horse into a gallop, the sudden burst of speed propelling you forward, back onto the path.
âPrincessâQueenâY/N!â Steve roared, the sound of his curses following you as you tore through the woods, the wind whipping past you.
This time, you didnât look back. You couldnât afford to. You had to reach Bucky. You had to know why heâd left you thereâalone and abandoned.
Steveâs shouts echoed through the night as he raced after you, his horseâs hooves pounding against the ground like thunder.
âStop, damn it!â he bellowed, his voice raw and desperate.
âEnough!â you shouted back, your voice cracking with the force of it. âStop telling me what I should and shouldnât do!â
Steveâs horse pulled up beside yours again, his face tight with worry and anger. âThis isnât safe, Y/N!â
âDonât you dare!â you snapped, your eyes blazing as you looked at him. âDonât you dare tell me whatâs safe. You canât keep me locked up like a caged bird just because itâs easier for you to watch over me!â
Steveâs mouth opened as if to argue, but you cut him off, your voice trembling with fury. âIâm not turning back, Steve. Not this time. So either let me go... or help me.â
He stared at you, the conflict clear in his eyes. For a moment, it seemed like he might refuse, might force you to return despite everything.
But then he let out a harsh breath, his shoulders slumping in defeat. âDamn it, Y/N... fine.â
âWhat?â you breathed, barely daring to believe it.
âIf youâre going to do this, then Iâm coming with you,â he ground out, his jaw clenched. âBecause Iâm not letting you ride off into the night alone.â
You swallowed hard, the fight draining out of you as his words sank in. Slowly, you nodded, a shaky breath escaping your lips.
âThank you,â you whispered, your voice barely audible over the sound of the horsesâ hooves.
Steveâs gaze softened, and he gave a terse nod. âJust... try not to get us both killed, all right?â
A faint, breathless laugh escaped you, and for the first time in what felt like forever, you felt a small flicker of hope.
With one last glance at each other, you turned your horses toward the open road, the path to Annecy stretching out before you.
Ă Ă Ă ĂÂ
The cold night air nipped at your cheeks as you and Steve rode side by side, the rhythmic gallop of the horsesâ hooves creating a steady, almost soothing cadence in the darkness. The road ahead was long, the path winding through the forest illuminated only by the pale light of the moon, casting everything in a muted, silvery glow.
Despite the tension simmering between you, there was something almost... peaceful about it. The silence that stretched between you and the captain wasnât oppressive like before.
Steveâs gaze slid sideways, lingering on your determined profile. He wasnât sure what he expected when heâd first seen you at the palace, but it certainly wasnât this. A princessâno, a queenâin every sense of the word, but also something else entirely. Impulsive, stubborn, unrelenting in your resolve to push forward no matter what stood in your way. Every action you took seemed to defy the expectations of your station.
And yet, here you were, riding through the wilderness in the dead of night, your chin lifted high as if daring the stars themselves to challenge your resolve.
The corner of his mouth twitched in grudging admiration. âYou ride well,â he offered, breaking the silence.
You turned to him, arching a brow. âAre you surprised?â
He chuckled softly, shaking his head. âMaybe a little. I didnât expect a queen to handle a horse like that.â
Your lips curved into a small, almost wry smile. âMy father made sure I knew how to ride from a young age. I learned when I was six.â
Steve blinked, his gaze sharpening with curiosity. âSix? Thatâs... early.â
You shrugged, your expression turning thoughtful. âI suppose it is. But in my country, it wasnât unusual. There was a lot to navigate, and horses were a necessity for both travel and safety.â
Something in your toneâa flicker of something distant, a shadowâcaught his attention, and he studied you with newfound appreciation. Heâd thought you reckless beforeâimpulsive, driven by raw emotion. But perhaps heâd underestimated you. There was more to you than heâd thought, more beneath that composed surface you kept so carefully guarded.
âYouâre more capable than most people give you credit for,â he murmured, his voice almost contemplative.
You glanced at him, your gaze sharp and discerning. âThey donât see what they donât want to see, Captain. I can read, too, you know.â A dry chuckle escaped you. âI can speak three languages, play music, excel in archery. I know more about strategy and history than some of the advisors who sit in the council chamber.â
Steveâs eyebrows lifted in surprise, but he quickly schooled his features, nodding slowly. âThatâs impressive.â
âIs it?â you asked softly, a hint of bitterness creeping into your tone. âItâs not impressive if no one cares to know.â You shook your head, letting out a sigh. âNo oneâs ever bothered to ask. Not even James.â
His chest tightened at the way you said it, the quiet hurt that laced your words. He looked down at the reins in his hands, feeling a pang of guilt. You were right. No one had asked. Steve certainly hadnât. Heâd only ever seen you through the lens of a title, a role. He hadnât seen youânot until now.
âIâm sorry,â he said quietly, the words sounding inadequate even to his own ears. âI should have... I didnât realizeââ
âItâs not your fault, Captain,â you interrupted gently, your voice carrying a tired acceptance. âIâve had to learn to hide things. If I didnât, Iâd be seen as a threatâor worse, a failure. Women arenât supposed to read, to know things beyond sewing and dancing.â Your lips twisted wryly. âBut I never liked being told what I could and couldnât do.â
Steve couldnât help the smile that tugged at his lips. âI can see that.â
You rolled your eyes, though the gesture was light. âIâm serious, Captain. No one sees me for who I am, only for what they want me to be. And if they did see the real me... I wonder if theyâd be disappointed.â
The raw honesty in your voice cut through him like a blade, and he swallowed, a knot forming in his throat. He couldnât imagine anyone being disappointed by the fierce, unyielding woman riding beside him. If anything, he was completely, utterly astounded by you. Your strength, your determinationâit was unlike anything heâd ever encountered.
And yet, you spoke as if it were something to be ashamed of.
âI doubt that very much,â he said quietly, his gaze steady and sincere. âIf they could see what I see, theyâd realize just how wrong theyâve been.â
You blinked, surprise flashing in your eyes before you looked away, your lips pressing together. âThank you,â you murmured, the words barely audible over the sound of the horsesâ hooves.
He nodded, his chest tightening again. âYou deserve to be seen, My Queen. All of you.â
Silence fell between you again, but this time it was differentâsofter, gentler. The tension that had wound itself around you began to ease, loosening its grip ever so slightly. You stared ahead, your mind still spinning, but something in his words soothed the ache inside you, if only for a moment.
âJust... try not to run off on me again, all right?â Steve added after a moment, his tone lightening. âYouâre going to give me a heart attack.â
You couldnât help the small laugh that bubbled up at his exasperation. âNo promises, Captain.â
He shook his head, a reluctant smile on his lips. âOf course not. Youâd never make it that easy for me, would you?â
âWhereâs the fun in that?â you teased, and for the first time since youâd left the estate, the tension in your chest began to loosen, the weight of it lifting just a little.
Steve glanced at you, his gaze warm and admiring. âYou really are something else, my Queen.â He paused, his expression turning thoughtful as he murmured, âBucky has met his match, it seems.â
Your smile softened, a faint flush rising to your cheeks. âAnd you, Captain Rogers, are far too kind.â
He chuckled, shaking his head. âNo, Iâm just speaking the truth.â
Ă Ă Ă Ă
The flickering glow of torches cast the estateâs front steps in a soft, golden hue, and a figure stepped forward from the shadows. He was tall, broad-shouldered, and his eyes, narrowed and assessing, were locked on you as if you were an intruder. The guards flanking the entrance straightened, their hands subtly tightening on the hilts of their swords.
âWho are you?â the man asked, his voice carrying an edge of command.
You instinctively straightened in your saddle, your gaze meeting his. âI am the queen.â
His brows rose ever so slightly, a flicker of somethingâsurprise, perhapsâpassing through his expression. But he didnât step aside. Instead, he squared his shoulders and planted himself more firmly in your path, his jaw set.
âAnd why is Her Majesty arriving at such an hour without an escort?â His tone was polite, but there was an undercurrent of steel that made your pulse quicken.
Before you could respond, Steve cleared his throat, guiding his horse a step forward, his gaze fixed on the man with an unflinching intensity. âI wouldnât do that if I were you, Sam.â
Sam glanced at Steve, recognition sparking in his eyes, but he didnât move. âCaptain Rogers,â he said evenly, a faint smirk tugging at his lips. âDidnât expect to see you here.â
âDidnât expect to see you standing in the way of the queen,â Steve shot back, his tone calm but firm. âI suggest you step aside.â
The manâSamâhesitated, his gaze sliding back to you, lingering with a mixture of wariness and something else... respect? Curiosity? You couldnât quite tell.
âYour Majesty,â Sam said slowly, his voice measured, âIâm under strict orders to keep the estate secure.â
You squared your shoulders, lifting your chin as you met his gaze head-on. âI have come to see my husband. I am certain his orders do not extend to preventing me from entering.â
Samâs lips twitched, as if he were fighting back a smile. For a heartbeat, you thought he might refuse again. But then he stepped aside with a graceful nod, sweeping his arm toward the entrance.
âWelcome, Your Majesty. Forgive me for the delay.â His eyes shifted to Steve, a knowing look passing between them before he turned back to you. âShall I announce your arrival?â
You hesitated, glancing at Steve, who merely shook his head. âNo,â you said softly, feeling a strange surge of determination. âIâll find him myself.â
With a nod, Sam stepped back, gesturing for the guards to lower their weapons. As you dismounted, handing the reins to a stable boy who had appeared from the shadows, you felt Steveâs steady presence beside youâa silent pillar of support.
âAre you sure you want to do this?â he murmured under his breath, his voice barely audible over the rustle of leaves in the breeze.
You nodded, squaring your shoulders. âI didnât ride all this way to be turned back now, Captain.â
He gave you a small, tight smile, his eyes flicking briefly to Sam before returning to you. âThen letâs go find him.â
The grand entrance of the estate opened before you like the maw of some great beast, its stone walls and towering pillars casting deep, ominous shadows. As you stepped inside, the air seemed to changeâthicker, almost suffocating, like a place that held too many secrets. The floors gleamed under the flickering light of candles set in wall sconces, the polished surfaces reflecting the nervous tension tightening in your chest.
Steve followed closely behind, his hand hovering near his sword, his gaze scanning the dimly lit corridors with the sharp, alert intensity of a soldier on high alert.
âHeâs this way,â he murmured, gesturing with a tilt of his head.
You nodded, your heart pounding louder with each step. The estate was grander than you had expected, the hallways long and winding. For a moment, you felt disoriented, as if youâd stumbled into a labyrinth. But you forced yourself to focus. You were here for a reasonâto speak to James. To confront him, to demand answers.
After what felt like an eternity, you reached a heavy wooden door, slightly ajar, warm light spilling through the crack. Steve slowed, his hand coming up as if to stop you, but you shook your head. You needed to do this alone.
Taking a deep breath, you pushed the door open gently, stepping inside.
The heavy door creaked shut behind you as you stepped fully into the observatory. Your gaze swept over the large telescope set up at the far end, its towering structure silhouetted against the backdrop of the star-strewn sky.Â
You saw himâstanding beside it, a shadowed figure against the soft glow of the evening, the faint town lights far below barely piercing the darkness up here. His fingers traced the metal frame of the instrument, the careful precision of his movements almost reverent. It was unexpectedâseeing him like this. Vulnerable, focused, his usual air of authority and distance replaced by something quieter, more human.
âWhy are you here?â he asked, his voice clipped and cold. The question sounded more like an accusation, his grip tightening on the edge of the telescope.
âI think you know why,â you replied, your words as sharp as the air between you. âYou canât just keep sending me away like Iâm some piece of unwanted baggage.â
He exhaled harshly, his shoulders shifting, but he still didnât turn to face you. âYouâre supposed to be at the estate. This is notââ
âNot what?â you cut in, your own frustration spilling over. âNot where Iâm supposed to be? Iâm your wife, James. Is it not my right to stand beside you, wherever you may be?â
Finally, he turned, his jaw set, eyes hardened as he stared at you across the room. âYouâre making everything more complicated than it needs to be.â
âComplicated?â The word tasted bitter, and you threw it back at him like a weapon. âComplicated is this entire charade of a marriage youâve thrown me into. You canât even be in the same room as me, canât look at me without acting like Iâm some burden youâre forced to carry.â
He crossed his arms over his chest, his gaze never wavering. âYou knew what was expected from the very beginning. I never misled you.â
âNever?â you shot back, stepping closer, heat rising beneath your skin. âWhat about everything you said that morning in the garden? You made me believeââ You stopped yourself, anger tightening in your throat. âYou led me to believe there was more. You looked me in the eye and made promises without saying a word.â
Bucky scoffed, shaking his head sharply. âYouâre twisting things, Y/N.â
âAm I?â Your voice rose, matching his, the words bursting out like theyâd been waiting for this fight. âYou led me on, made me think there could be something real between us. Did you really mean it? All those sweet words? Or am I just another woman you can disregard?â
His expression didnât soften, didnât waver. He took a step forward, eyes burning into yours. âYouâre not just another woman. Youâre my wife. And thatâs exactly why Iâm telling you to go back where itâs safe.â
You laughed, a cold, hollow sound that felt like it echoed through the observatory. âSafe. You keep saying that. But you know whatâs unsafe, James? Being married to someone who treats me like a ghost. Like Iâm here but not really here. Like Iâm nothing more than a title to you.â
âYou donât understand,â he snapped, his voice dangerously low. âYou think this is about you? Itâs not. Itâs aboutââ
âDonât you dare tell me what this is about!â you interrupted, your anger roaring back to life. âYouâve been pushing me away since the day we married. You send me to that estate like Iâm some delicate flower who canât handle the truth. You wonât even give me the courtesy of honesty.â
âI am being honest,â he growled, his voice vibrating with suppressed rage. âYou just refuse to accept it.â
âThen tell me why you shut me out!â you demanded, taking another step closer, refusing to back down. âTell me why you canât even bear to look at me!â
âBecause itâs easier that way!â he exploded, the words crashing between you like a thunderclap. âBecause every moment I spend with you, every look, every touchâit makes it harder to keep my distance. And I need that distance, Y/N. I need it.â
âWhy?â The single word felt like a challenge, a dare, as you stood your ground. âWhy do you need to keep your distance?â
He ran a hand through his hair, his eyes wild with something you couldnât quite decipher. âBecause if I donât, Iâllââ
âYouâll what?â you pressed, your voice cutting through the silence like a blade. âYouâll feel something? Youâll actually let yourself care?â
âDamn it, stop twisting my words!â he snapped, his voice echoing off the walls. He pointed toward the door, his hand trembling slightly. âThis conversation is over. Go home.â
But you didnât move. Instead, you square your shoulders, staring him down with a determination that only seemed to make his fury burn hotter. âYouâre just a coward, James.â
âWhat did you say?â His eyes darkened, the heat in his gaze scorching.
âI said youâre a coward,â you repeated, your voice unyielding. âItâs not about protecting me, is it? Itâs about protecting yourself. You canât handle feeling anything real, so you shove me away and pretend itâs for my sakeââ
âEnough!â he roared, slamming his fist down on a workbench. The sound reverberated through the room, you flinched, but didnât back away. He took a deep, shuddering breath, his voice a raw growl when he spoke again. âIâm commanding you to go home, Y/N. Donât make me repeat myself.â
âAnd what if I donât?â you shot back, your heart hammering in your chest. âWhat if I stay here and make you face me?â
He took a step forward, the distance between you closing until he was towering over you.
âYou want me to be honest? Fine. Iâm being honest now.â He leaned in, his voice a dangerous whisper. âGo. Home. Because if you stay, I canât promise I wonât hurt you.â
The threat hung in the air, his gaze blazing with a warning you knew he meant. But even then, you didnât move. You held his stare, refusing to look away, refusing to give in.
But then something shifted in his eyesâsomething dark and final.
âLeave,â he bit out, each word a sharp command. âGo back to the estate. This is not up for debate.â
âJamesââ
âGo.â His voice cut through the room like a blade, and for the first time, you felt the full force of his resolve, the cold, impenetrable wall he had built around himself.
Slowly, you stepped back, your eyes still locked on his, the ache in your chest spreading like a poison.
âYou really think youâre protecting me?â Your voice wavered, the frustration and pain that had been building over the past five days bubbling to the surface, spilling out like a torrent you could no longer contain. âBut all youâre doing is pushing me away. You think that sending me back to that estate, is whatâs best for me? Locking me up like some prisoner while you hide away here?â
Buckyâs jaw tightened, but he said nothing, his expression an unreadable mask of ice.
âEvery morning I wake up in that empty bed, wondering if today will be the day you finally show up. If maybe, for once, youâll decide that Iâm worth more than a few fleeting words, worth more than some shadow you keep at armâs length.â Your voice shook, but you pressed on, refusing to let the lump in your throat silence you.Â
âI eat alone. I read alone. I play music for walls that donât listen. Iâm trapped in that place, surrounded by people who refuse to let me leave, because youâve ordered it. âFor my safety,ââ you scoffed, the bitterness heavy in your tone. âBut safety from what, James? From whom?â
He flinched, just barely, but you caught it. You saw the way his fingers twitched at his sides, the way his gaze flickered with somethingâregret, maybeâbefore he buried it beneath that cold, stony facade.
âYour silence is worse than anything else. Worse than the gossip, the rumors,â you continued, each word sharp, slicing through the air. âI didnât marry a title, James. I married youâor at least, I thought I did. But the man I met in the garden⌠the man who promised me something more⌠thatâs not who I see now.â
He didnât respond, his gaze unyielding, his stance unrelenting.
âFine. If you want to let this crumble to dust, then fine. But donât you dare think that youâre doing it for me,â you spat, turning on your heel and heading for the door. âYou want me to leave? Iâll leave.â
With that, you stormed out, slamming the door behind you, the echo of it reverberating through the silence he left behind.
And in that silence, Bucky stood alone, his hands clenched at his sides, his eyes fixed on the door youâd just walked through, the words he didnât say choking him from the inside out.
Ă Ă Ă ĂÂ
You stormed down the spiral staircase until you arrived at the hallway, each step punctuated by the echo of your boots against the stone floor. You barely registered the curious glances of the servants or the soft rustling of skirts as maids darted out of your path. Everything was a blur of color and sound, your heart pounding in your ears like a war drum.
You reached the grand foyer, your breath coming in ragged, furious gasps. You hadnât meant to let him get to youâhadnât meant to let his coldness, his indifference, chip away at the fragile hope youâd nurtured.
But he had.
And now the hope was gone, replaced by a searing anger that burned hot and unforgiving in your chest.
âMy Queen!â Steveâs voice called out urgently somewhere behind you. You didnât stop, didnât even glance back. âWhat happened? Did heââ
âI do not wish to talk about it, Steve,â you snapped, not breaking stride as you pushed through the front entrance. The cold night air hit you like a slap, the sharpness of it biting into your skin, but it was a welcome reliefâanything to douse the fire raging inside you.
âY/N, waitââ
But you ignored him, striding toward the stables where your horse was already saddled and waiting. A stable boy jumped at your sudden arrival, his eyes wide with uncertainty as you approached.
âBring my things. Iâm leaving,â you ordered, your voice taut with barely contained fury.
âButâYour Majestyââ the boy stammered, glancing nervously between you and Steve, who had followed you out.
âDo as she says,â Steve murmured, his tone resigned, though there was a hard edge to his gaze as he watched you mount the horse.
âY/Nââ Steve tried again, his hand lifting as if he might reach for you, stop you. But you jerked the reins sharply, cutting him off.
âAre you coming?â
He fell silent, his shoulders slumping slightly as he watched you, the conflict clear in his eyes. He looked like he wanted to say something else, wanted to protestâbut then his gaze flicked back toward the darkened silhouette of the estate, and he let out a low, frustrated sigh.
âYes,â he muttered, his voice tight with suppressed emotion. âIâll escort you back to Byronâbut allow me to have a word with the King.â
âDo whatever you want,â you bit out, the bitterness in your tone making his jaw clench.Â
Steve approaches your horse, looking up at you with a hardened look, âDo not leave without me.â
âI wonât.â
Ă Ă Ă ĂÂ
Bucky stood in the center of the room, the soft, amber glow of candlelight casting deep shadows across his features. His breathing was labored, each inhale and exhale scraping through his lungs like broken glass. He stared at the closed door, his hand still clenched around the edge of the workbench, his knuckle white with the force of his grip.
âDamn it,â he muttered under his breath, his voice a harsh, broken sound in the empty room.
The door creaked open suddenly, and Buckyâs gaze snapped up, his eyes blazing with a dangerous mix of anger and fear.
Steve stepped inside, his expression tight, his shoulders squared. For a moment, the two men simply stared at each other, the air crackling with unspoken tension.
âWhat the hell was that?â Steve demanded, his voice low and fierce, like the growl of an animal poised to attack. He took a step forward, his gaze never leaving Buckyâs. âWhat the hell did you say to her?â
Buckyâs jaw tightened, a muscle ticking in his cheek as he turned away, his shoulders stiff. âThat is no concern of yours.â
âLike hell itâs not,â Steve shot back, his voice rising with barely contained fury. He took another step forward, his eyes blazing. âShe came here for you. She rode all the way from Byronâalone, at nightâjust to see you. And you turn her away like sheâs nothing?â
âWatch it, Rogers,â Bucky warned, his voice a low, dangerous rumble. âThis is between me and her.â
âBullshit,â Steve spat, his fists clenching at his sides. âShe is my queen. You may be her husband, but you are not acting as such. You are simply pushing her awayââ
âWatch how you speak to me, Captain,â Bucky warned further, his voice low and simmering with barely controlled rage. He turned back to face Steve, his eyes flashing with a dangerous, unyielding intensity. âI am your King before I am your friend. Don't you ever forget that.â
But then Steveâs expression hardened, the muscle in his jaw flexing as he took a deliberate step closer, refusing to be cowed.
âYou may be my King,â Steve ground out, his voice tight and edged with anger. âBut that does not mean I will stand by and watch you destroy yourself. I know why youâre doing this. And itâs tearing her apart.â
âIâm doing what I have to,â Bucky interrupted sharply. He stepped forward, his hard gaze latching onto Steveâs. âDo not presume to know what is best for her, Steve.â
âAnd you do?â Steve challenged, his voice dripping with contempt. âBecause from where I stand, it seems you are doing everything in your power to hurt her.â
Buckyâs expression twisted, a dark, bitter smile tugging at his lips. âYou think I wish to cause her pain?â
âI think youâre terrified,â Steve replied quietly, his voice calm and unflinching. âYouâre scared of what you feel for her, afraid of getting closeâbecause losing her would destroy you. But this⌠pushing her away, pretending you donât care⌠thatâs just cowardice.â
Buckyâs eyes flared, his hand darting out to grab the front of Steveâs coat, yanking him forward until their faces were inches apart. âYou have no idea what youâre talking about.â
âThen explain it to me,â Steve demanded, his voice low and unrelenting. âYou are sabotaging yourself and tearing her down in the processâI am done watching you destroy the one good thing you possess.â
For a moment, they stood there, locked in a silent, seething battle of wills. Then, slowly, Bucky released his grip on Steveâs coat, his shoulders slumping as if the fight had drained out of him.
âYou should leave, Steve,â Bucky muttered, his voice thick with exhaustion and defeat. He turned away, his gaze falling to the floor. âGo take her back to Byron. Make sure sheâs safe.â
âBuckyââ
âJust go,â Bucky bit out, his voice rough and ragged. He didnât look back, didnât give Steve a chance to argue.
Steveâs gaze lingered on him for a long, tense moment, a dozen words hovering on the tip of his tongue. But then he turned sharply on his heel, his boots echoing through the silent observatory as he left, the door slamming shut behind him.
And then, slowly, he sank down onto the nearest chair, his head dropping into his hands, his shoulders shaking with the force of emotions he couldnât quite suppress.
But no tears fell. Heâd learned long ago how to bury them deep, how to lock them away where they couldnât hurt himâor anyone else.
Because this was the price of keeping you safe. The price of keeping his distance.
Even if it destroyed him in the process.
Ă Ă Ă ĂÂ
The maids moved quietly, arranging fresh flowers and setting a delicate porcelain tea set on a polished table. Queen Winifred sat gracefully in her high-backed chair, sipping her morning tea, her posture as rigid and refined as ever.
She barely looked up as her lady-in-waiting, Lady Harriet, approached hesitantly. There was a slight shift in the atmosphereâsomething unspoken crackling between them. Harriet glanced around, making sure no one else was within earshot, before leaning in closer.
âYour Majesty, I thought you should be informed⌠the QueenâŚâ She paused, choosing her words carefully. âLast night, she left the estate. Captain Rogers accompanied her.â
The Queen Dowagerâs hand stilled, the delicate teacup hovering just inches from her lips. âShe did what?â she asked, her voice even but laced with incredulity.
âYes, Your Majesty,â Lady Harriet continued, her voice dropping lower as if speaking the words any louder would make them more scandalous. âShe rode all the way to the Kingâs estate in Annecy. It caused quite a stir among the staff, even with Captain Rogers by her side.â
For a moment, a thick silence settled in the room. The Queen Dowagerâs eyes narrowed slightly, as though considering the implications of such an audacious act. But then⌠something unexpected happened.
The corner of her lips twitched.
Lady Harriet blinked, surprised, as a soft chuckle slipped past the Queen Dowagerâs lipsâa sound so rare, it seemed to startle even her own maids. Winifred set the teacup down gently, a wry smile spreading across her face as she tilted her head in quiet amusement.
âShe rode to Annecy,â she repeated, a hint of disbelief mingling with a spark of admiration in her eyes. âWith Captain RogersâŚâ She shook her head slightly, as if she could scarcely believe it herself. âThat girlâŚâ
Her chuckle grew a little louder, a quiet, knowing sound. Lady Harriet exchanged a glance with one of the other maids, clearly perplexed by the Queen Dowagerâs reaction. This wasnât the disapproving reprimand theyâd expected.
The Queen Dowager leaned back in her chair, her gaze turning distant as she stared out the window.Â
âSo, she did listen after allâŚâ she murmured to herself, almost as if speaking the thought aloud would make it more real.
Lady Harriet hesitated, unsure whether to continue or to remain silent. âYour Majesty?â
The Queen Dowager waved a hand dismissively, still smiling to herself. âItâs nothing, Harriet.âÂ
She took another sip of her tea, a thoughtful look crossing her face. âThe Queen may have more steel in her spine than I initially thought.â
âShould we⌠take any action regarding her behavior, Your Majesty?â Harriet asked tentatively, still clearly baffled.
Winifredâs smile widened, a gleam of something almost like pride flashing in her eyes. âNo, Harriet. Leave her be.â
She glanced down at her teacup, swirling the liquid gently. âLet her make her bold moves. Let her surprise them all.â She lifted her gaze, the hint of a satisfied smirk tugging at her lips. âItâs about time someone shook things up around here.â
Lady Harriet shifted, still looking uncertain. âBut Your Majesty, if Captain Rogers was with her, it might implyââ
âCaptain Rogers may be a steadfast soldier, but he does not dictate the queenâs actions. She made her choice.â Winnifred paused, her smile deepening. âAnd if Iâm not mistaken, that girl has enough fire to make any man, king or captain, follow her lead.â
And with that, she returned to her tea as if nothing had happened, the faintest smile lingering on her lipsâa smile that spoke of a plan unfolding, of something more significant simmering beneath the surface.
Yes, the queen was proving to be quite a force, indeed.
Ă Ă Ă Ă
You sit perched on a thick branch of the grand oak tree, high above the garden path. The cool breeze plays with the hem of your skirts and rustles the leaves around you. A delicate porcelain teacup is balanced carefully on a knot beside you, the matching saucer nestled securely on a branch above, where a glimmer of sunlight catches the floral patterns.Â
Below, the world feels distantâremoved. From this height, you can watch the maids flit about like little insects, pretending to ignore you while stealing glances up at your odd choice of seating.
Your book lies open in your lap, but you havenât turned a page in a while. The words blur together as your gaze drifts away from the text, caught instead by the blue expanse of sky peeking through the foliage, your thoughts miles away.
It has been two days since you rode to Annecy in the dead of night. Two days since you confronted your husband, demanding answers he seemed unwillingâor unableâto give. And now, silence. Not a single word from him. Not even a letter. The ache of that silence lingers in your chest, tightening every time you think of him.
With a sigh, you look back at the pages, willing yourself to focus. But even now, the ache of anticipation tugs at you. A soft crunch of boots against gravel draws your attention. From your elevated position, you glance down and find Captain Rogers standing beneath the oak, his brow furrowed in a curious frown as he peers up at you.
âYour Majesty?â His voice carries a note of genuine confusion and surprise. âHow did you get up there?â
You blink, taken aback, before a smile tugs at your lips. âI climbed, Captain Rogers.â
His eyes widen slightly, and then he glances at the tree trunk, scanning the branches as if trying to piece together the puzzle of how a queenâof all peopleâmanaged to scale a tree like a child escaping her governess.
âClimbed,â he repeats, disbelief tinged with admiration. âAnd no one stopped you?â
âNo one saw me until I was already here,â you reply, a faint note of mischief coloring your tone. âAnd by then, what could they do? Order their queen to come down?â
The corner of his mouth lifts in a reluctant smile as he steps closer, his gaze still on you. âWell, I canât say I expected to find you up a tree, but⌠may I join you?â
You raise an eyebrow, looking down at him as he places one hand on the trunk, testing his grip. âDo you think you can get up here, Captain?â
âOnly one way to find out,â he murmurs.
You watch, surprised and a little amused, as he hoists himself up, his powerful arms making easy work of the climb. Heâs not quite as graceful as youâd been, but soon enough, heâs straddling the branch in front of you, facing you, his legs on either side of the limb to keep himself balanced. The limb dips ever so slightly under his weight. The closeness between you makes the air seem charged, a tension simmering beneath the surface.
âImpressive,â you say softly, tilting your head to regard him. âFor a soldier, you climb trees like a schoolboy.â
He chuckles, shaking his head. âI suppose thatâs one way of putting it.â He shifts his position slightly, leaning forward, his hands braced on either side of the branch, bringing him closer, his gaze holding yours with unsettling intensity. âBut what are you doing up here? Escaping the palace? Or just trying to find some peace?â
âPerhaps both,â you reply with a small sigh. âThe view is nice up here. It gives me a different perspective.â
âPerspective,â he repeats thoughtfully. âOr maybe itâs a place to hide.â
Your gaze snaps to his, a flash of irritation rising at his too-accurate guess. âAnd if it is?â
âThen I understand.â His voice is soft, devoid of the teasing lilt heâd used earlier. âBut sometimes⌠sometimes what weâre running from follows us, no matter how high we climb.â
His words strike something deep within you, and you avert your gaze, looking out at the horizon instead of meeting his eyes. âWhat do you want, Captain? Surely you didnât climb this tree just to talk about running away.â
He shifts closer, his knee brushing against yours, the rough bark digging into your skirts as he leans forward slightly. His proximity is dizzying, his eyes searching yours with a kind of determination that makes your pulse quicken. âI thought⌠perhaps some company would be welcome. Itâs a lovely day, and you seem⌠alone.â
âAlone, but not lonely,â you lied, the words almost a whisper. âStill, I appreciate the thought.â
âBut you shouldnât have to handle things alone,â he counters gently, his gaze softening as he watches you. âSometimes, it helps to share the burden. Or at least⌠know thereâs someone willing to share it.â
You glance down at the garden below, where the maids are casting furtive glances up at the two of you, their curiosity barely concealed. A murmur rises among them, speculation sparking like dry kindling. You can practically hear the gossip spreading like wildfire.
âIs this... concern for my well-being or more... personal interest, Captain?â you ask, your voice laced with challenge.
He holds your gaze, his expression softening in a way that makes your heart skip a beat.
âPerhaps a bit of both,â he replies quietly.
A murmur rises among the maids, their eyes widening as they exchange knowing looks. Your gaze shifts briefly to them before returning to Steveâs, suspicion and confusion swirling in your chest.
âCaptain Rogers, Iââ You begin to speak but falter, unsure how to respond to this unexpected display of interest.Â
He leans back slightly, his gaze never leaving yours. âItâs just... Your Majesty, you deserve someone who sees you. Not just the crown, not just the queen, but you.â
The maidsâ murmurs grow louder, and you force yourself to smile, though it feels brittle on your lips.
âThatâs very kind of you to say, Captain,â you reply, your voice steady despite the confusion roiling inside you. âBut perhaps you should keep such thoughts to yourself. I would hate for anyone to misunderstand your intentions.â
âMisunderstand?â he echoes, his smile widening just enough to be noticed. âIâm not sure thereâs any misunderstanding when a man speaks his mind.â
Your eyes narrow, a flash of irritation sparking behind them. What game is he playing? Before you can press further, one of the maids drops a basket of flowers, the sudden clatter drawing both your attention. The young woman quickly bends to pick them up, her cheeks flushed, but not before she casts another furtive glance at you and Steve.
âLet them talk, Your Majesty. Sometimes, a little attention is exactly whatâs needed.â
âAttention for whom?â you ask, your voice dropping to a whisper, your suspicion growing. âFor me? Or for... someone else?â
His gaze doesnât waver. âFor whoever needs it,â he murmurs softly, the words thick with unspoken meaning.
You inhale deeply, holding his gaze as you speak. âI think itâs best if we donât continue this conversation.â
With a quiet sigh, you carefully swing your legs over the branch and drop down, landing gracefully on the grass below. Steve follows suit, descending with a thud beside you, his presence lingering too close for comfort.
âThank you for your... company, Captain,â you say quietly, smoothing down your skirts.
He dips his head in a respectful bow. âOf course, Your Majesty. I apologize if I overstepped.â
Without another word, you turn on your heel and make your way back to the estate, leaving him and his cryptic words behind among the watchful eyes and eager whispers of the maids.
The afternoon sun cast dappled shadows across the marble floors of the corridor as you made your way back to your chambers. Each step you took felt heavier, weighted down by the encounter in the garden, by Captain Rogersâ unexpected behavior, and the murmurs that had buzzed around you like a swarm of bees.
As you turned a corner, you caught sight of Scottâyour valetâhovering a few paces behind. His presence was a familiar one, but something about it now felt... different. Obtrusive. You slowed your pace until you came to a halt, turning abruptly to face him.
âScott,â you called softly, your tone edged with irritation and confusion. âWhy are you following me?â
Scott, ever the stoic presence, dipped his head in a respectful bow. âYour Majesty, itâs my duty to attend to you.â
Your eyes narrowed as you took in the determined set of his shoulders, the way his gaze remained fixed just over your shoulder, never meeting your eyes. Heâd been like this ever since you returned from Annecyâhovering in the shadows, always lingering close by.
âYes, I know that, Scott,â you said slowly, studying him with a scrutinizing gaze. âBut lately, youâve been⌠hovering more than usual.â
His lips twitched, a fleeting sign of discomfort. âI apologize, Your Majesty. I merely wish to ensure your safety.â
âEnsure my safety?â you echoed, suspicion prickling at the back of your mind. You glanced around the empty corridor, a sense of unease settling in your chest. âWho ordered you to follow me around like this?â
Scott hesitated, his gaze dropping to the floor before he glanced back up, his voice low. âIt was the order of the king, Your Majesty.â
Your breath caught. Bucky? You frowned, confusion and frustration warring within you. Why would he do that? He hadnât even bothered to see you, to speak to you since the night you confronted him. And yet, now he saw fit to have you followed?
âAnd⌠What of Captain Rogers?â you asked, your voice quieter now, a strange apprehension curling around your words. âWhy does it seem like heâs been lingering around more often? Was that also at the kingâs order?â
Scott shifted slightly, his expression remaining neutral, though there was a faint trace of somethingâsympathy, perhaps?âin his eyes. âYes, Your Majesty. The king⌠he wanted to ensure you were⌠properly attended to.â
âProperly attended to?â You scoffed softly, shaking your head. The absurdity of it all threatened to choke you. âSo, let me get this straight: His Majesty wonât speak to me, but heâll send his best men to guard me as if Iâm some helpless child in need of constant supervision?â
Scott stiffened slightly, but he didnât respond, his silence speaking louder than any words could.
A bitter laugh escaped you, the sound harsh and brittle. âAnd here I thought I was being foolish for imagining things.â You looked back at Scott, your gaze piercing. âSo, thisâthis is the kingâs way of keeping me under lock and key?â
âItâs for your safety, Your Majesty,â Scott replied softly, his voice almost apologetic. âHe wants to ensure nothing happens to you.â
âNothing happens to me?â You shook your head, disbelief and anger simmering beneath your calm facade. âNothing is happening to me. What does he think will happen to me? Iâm not the one whoâs running off and avoiding our marriage.â
Scottâs gaze dropped to the floor again, his silence confirming what you already knew. This wasnât about your safetyâat least not entirely. It was about control. About Buckyâs way of maintaining a grip on something he couldnât seem to confront directly.
âWell,â you muttered, turning away sharply and continuing down the hall, your heart pounding in your chest. âIâll be sure to thank him for his... consideration.â
Scott fell into step a few paces behind you, his presence a shadow that only deepened your frustration. With each step you took, the realization settled deeper into your bones.
Bucky might have ordered this, but he was still keeping his distance. Still choosing to watch from afar, rather than face you. And that, more than anything, was what made your heart ache.
You stopped abruptly, your irritation bubbling to the surface as you turned back around to face Scott, a sudden thought lighting up your eyes.Â
âYou know what?â you murmured, voice edged with determination as a small, dangerous smile curled your lips. âI think Iâd like to shoot some arrows.â
Scottâs eyes widened, a look of surprise flickering across his face. He shifted uncomfortably, his gaze darting away before he cleared his throat.Â
âYour Majesty, Iââ he started, hesitation written in every line of his posture.
You raised an eyebrow, tilting your head as if considering his reaction. âIs there a problem, Scott?â Your voice remained calm, but there was a sharpness beneath it, the kind that could cut through any excuse he might offer.
Scottâs throat bobbed as he swallowed hard, struggling to keep his composure. âI, uh, I donât believe itâs wise, Your Majesty,â he murmured carefully, his voice almost too soft, too placating. âPerhaps⌠a walk in the gardens or a relaxing moment in the music room instead? Or I couldââ
âScott,â you interrupted sharply, crossing your arms over your chest as you leveled him with a pointed look. âAre you refusing your queen?â
The tension between you hung heavy in the air as his shoulders tightened, his mouth opening and closing as he tried to find the right words to say.
âOf course not, Your Majesty,â he managed finally, though his voice trembled ever so slightly. âItâs just⌠your safetyââ
âMy safety,â you echoed dryly, the irritation you had been holding back spilling out now. âTell me, Scott, how exactly do arrows pose a threat to my safety? Unless I plan on aiming at myself, I believe Iâll be fine.â
His mouth twitched, struggling between his duty to follow orders and the fear of displeasing you. âItâs not the arrows, Your Majesty,â he murmured, choosing his words carefully. âItâs just⌠we were instructed to keep you... away fromââ
âInstructed?â you cut in, incredulity and frustration sharpening your tone. âInstructed to keep me away from what? Activities that make me feel like I have a shred of control over my own life? I canât even invite Lady, Romanoff, Potts and Maximoff.â
Scott shifted uncomfortably, his gaze dropping to the floor as if it held all the answers. âNo, Your Majesty, of course not. Itâs justââ
âJust what, Scott?â Your gaze was unrelenting, your patience wearing thin. âIf youâre so worried about my safety, then be a good valet and stand by as I shoot. Ensure that nothing happens to me, since that is your duty, after all.â
He blinked, clearly caught between his loyalty to the king and his loyalty to you. The silence stretched long, taut and crackling with unspoken defiance. Finally, he exhaled softly, shoulders slumping just a little in reluctant acceptance.
âVery well, Your Majesty,â he said quietly, though his eyes remained wary. âI shall arrange for the equipment to be brought to the archery range. But⌠might I suggest a different method for alleviating your frustrations?â
You raised an eyebrow, lips curving into a faint smirk as you glanced at him. âSuch as?â
âPerhaps a ride through the woods?â he offered quickly, hope lighting up his eyes. âOr I could arrange for a music instructor, or even some time in the library. Anything that would allow you to... relax.â
You let out a soft, humorless laugh. âYou think a music lesson or a book will do the trick, do you?â
Scott hesitated but nodded, his voice gentle. âYouâve had a trying few days, Your Majesty. Itâs natural to feel⌠frustrated. But there are ways toââ
âEnough,â you interrupted, your voice firm but not unkind. âI appreciate your concern, but I know what I need. Fetch the equipment. I wonât be persuaded otherwise.â
He sighed softly, bowing his head in reluctant submission. âAs you wish, Your Majesty.â
You turned away sharply, your gaze fixed on the distant view through the windows. The truth was, this wasnât just about shooting arrows. It was about the tightness in your chest, the simmering anger beneath your skin, the need to do something other than sit around like a caged bird. Bucky had placed you under watch, yet he refused to see you.
If no one else would let you be free, then you would take what freedom you could. Even if it was just the satisfaction of a well-aimed arrow hitting its mark.
Ă Ă Ă Ă
You stood at the archery range, your fingers gently tracing the fletching of an arrow. You could feel every set of eyes on youâScottâs gaze wary and apprehensive, the handmaidsâ murmuring softly amongst themselves, the guards standing at attention with blank faces. But most notable was Captain Rogers, his presence a solid, quiet reassurance, yet even he stood back, watching you like a hawk.
Taking a deep breath, you nocked the arrow, the smooth wood and feather a comforting weight in your hands. You narrowed your gaze, focusing on the target ahead. The world around you blurred, leaving only the taut string and the distant bullseye. And then, with a practiced release, you let it fly.
The arrow sailed through the air with a sharp hiss, striking the target with a satisfying thud. A few inches off-center, but still well within the mark.Â
âNot bad,â Steve commented, a hint of admiration in his voice. âFor a first shot.â
You turned to him with a raised brow, a glint of amusement in your eyes. âFirst shot of the day, you mean.â Then, without breaking eye contact, you nocked another arrow, your movements smooth, effortless.
Steveâs lips twitched, almost forming a smile. He crossed his arms, stepping closer, though he kept a respectful distance. âOf course. I stand corrected, Your Majesty.â
Scott cleared his throat softly, stepping forward as if to remind everyone of the gravity of the situation. âYour Majesty,â he said, his voice laced with concern, âperhaps it would be best toââ
âTo what?â you interrupted, the arrow poised and ready. âPut down the bow and take up knitting? Perhaps have a nice cup of tea and read a dull novel while I bide my time?â
Scott blinked, his lips pressing into a thin line, but he said nothing. Instead, his gaze shifted to Captain Rogers, almost as if hoping for support.
âLet her be, Scott,â Steve murmured, his tone gentle but firm. âIf she wants to practice, let her practice.â
With that, you turned your attention back to the target, drawing the string taut. This time, the arrow flew with a deadly precision, landing just shy of the bullseye. A small ripple of approval murmured through the handmaidens, but Scott merely sighed.
You tilted your head, a sly smile curving your lips as you glanced at him.Â
âScott,â you began casually, as if speaking of the weather, âdo we keep any paintings of His Majesty around the manor? Perhaps one in full regalia?â Your tone was innocent enough, but the implication hung heavy in the air.
The handmaidens exchanged startled glances, a few stifling giggles behind their hands. Steveâs gaze shifted sharply to you, his lips twitching, but he said nothing, watching the scene unfold with a barely hidden glimmer of amusement.
Scott, however, did not find it amusing in the slightest. His eyes widened slightly, and he straightened, his voice dropping into a low, chiding tone. âYour Majesty, that is not a funny joke.â
âIsnât it?â You tilted your head, feigning a look of mock surprise. âI find it quite humorous.â
A muscle in Scottâs jaw twitched, but he composed himself quickly, his gaze flickering to Captain Rogers as if asking for assistance.
But Steve merely shrugged, a small, almost imperceptible smile tugging at his lips. âThe queen does have a unique sense of humor,â he said lightly, his gaze still on you. âOne might even say itâs⌠refreshing.â
You shot him a grateful glance before nocking yet another arrow, this time releasing it with a force that sent it whistling through the air. The arrow struck the outer ring of the target, and you clicked your tongue, feigning disappointment.
âPerhaps I need more inspiration,â you mused aloud, not bothering to hide the bitterness in your voice. âA better target. Or maybe something a bit more⌠personal.â
âYour Majesty,â Scott said warningly, stepping forward as if he might dare to take the bow from your hands. âThisââ
You turned on him sharply, your expression hardening. âWhat?â you demanded softly. âThis is my one small act of freedom. This range. These arrows. This target. Would you deny me even this?â
Silence fell over the group, thick and uncomfortable. The guards shifted uneasily, glancing at one another, unsure of how to proceed. The handmaidens fidgeted, casting worried looks in your direction. But Steve held his ground, his gaze never leaving you.
Scott swallowed, his eyes darting between you and Steve, then back again. âNo, Your Majesty,â he said quietly, his shoulders slumping just slightly. âI would never deny you.â
âGood,â you murmured, lifting the bow again and taking aim, your gaze focused, unyielding. âThen let me have my small comforts, if nothing else.â
And with that, you released the arrow, the force of it reverberating through your arms. It struck the very edge of the target, just shy of missing altogether. You lowered the bow slowly, your heart hammering in your chest as you stared at the arrow, frustration coiling tightly within you.
âPerhaps next time,â you said softly, almost to yourself. âIâll find a better target.â
Scott said nothing, his silence louder than any reprimand. But as you turned away, your gaze met Steveâs once more, and the warmth in his eyesâunspoken understanding, quiet admirationâwas enough to dull the edge of your anger.
Ă Ă Ă Ă
âHave you heard?â Lady Leahâs voice, soft but carrying the weight of scandal, broke through the hushed quiet of the drawing room. She leaned forward, her eyes wide with feigned innocence. âThey still havenât consummated.â
Lady Ravonnaâs teacup paused halfway to her lips, a delicate brow arching. âThe king and queen?â she murmured, as if the very notion were inconceivable. âHow do you know?â
Leahâs lips curved into a smug smile. âPeople talk,â she said simply, glancing sideways at Sharon, who sat rigid, her fingers drumming against the arm of her chair. âAnd apparently, they talk quite a bit.â
âSeven days,â Lady Maya added softly, her gaze flitting between the women. âA week, and still⌠nothing?â
A delicate scoff escaped from Sharonâs lips, though her eyes were cold, calculating. âIâm not surprised. Our queen,â she sneered, the title dripping with disdain, âis too busy batting her lashes at Captain Rogers to notice she has a husband.â
The other women exchanged startled glances, shock and intrigue flaring to life in their eyes. Ravonna set her teacup down with deliberate care, her gaze narrowing slightly. âYouâre saying thereâs something between them?â
âIâm saying thereâs enough for people to start talking,â Sharon replied coolly, her voice a low, dangerous purr. âYou know how these things startâone whispered word, one lingering glance⌠and suddenly, thereâs a story worth telling.â
Mayaâs brow furrowed slightly, a hint of concern crossing her face. âBut⌠the queen and the captain? It seemsââ
âImpossible?â Sharon cut in sharply, âHardly. The way he hovers around her, like sheâs some delicate flower in need of protection⌠the way she looks at him, like heâs the answer to all her problems. Itâs disgusting.â
The other women exchanged wary glances, sensing the venom simmering beneath Sharonâs words.
âSharon, you should be careful,â Leah murmured softly, her gaze darting nervously to the door. âIf people hear you speak like thisââ
âLike what?â Sharon snapped, her voice laced with bitterness. âLike the queen is nothing more than a conniving bitch?â Her lips curled into a cruel smile, her eyes gleaming with malice. âBecause thatâs exactly what she is. A lying, manipulative whore who thinks she can justââ
âSharon!â Maya hissed, glancing around the room frantically. âYou canât say that!â
But Sharon continued, undeterred, her voice lowering to a dangerous whisper. âSheâs a whore,â she repeated, the word dripping with venom. âParading herself around like some saint, when sheâs got Captain Rogers hanging on her every word. And for what? To make a fool of the king?â
Ravonna shifted uncomfortably, leaning forward to place a calming hand on Sharonâs arm.Â
âSharon, enough,â she murmured firmly, her tone gentle but insistent. âYou need to calm down. Words like that will only bring trouble.â
Sharonâs gaze snapped to Ravonnaâs, her eyes blazing. âNo. Words like that will bring the truth to light. The truth about what she really is.â
âBut you donât know that for sure,â Maya whispered urgently. âItâs all just⌠whispers. Hearsay.â
Sharon let out a bitter laugh, shaking her head. âWhispers are all we need. Whispers will turn into rumors, and rumors will turn into truths, whether theyâre real or not.â She straightened, her gaze steely. âIâll make sure of it.â
The other ladies exchanged uneasy looks, their faces pale. But it was Leah who spoke up, her voice trembling slightly. âAnd what if this all backfires? What if the king doesnât believe it?â
âThen we make sure he does,â Sharon said coldly, âWe make sure everyone believes it. Because if she thinks she can just waltz in here and steal everything Iâve worked for⌠sheâs got another thing coming.â
âWhat exactly are you saying, Sharon? What do you intend to do?â Ravonna frowned, her gaze skeptical.
Sharonâs smile was slow, almost sinister.
âNothing. For now.â She leaned back in her seat, the picture of composed fury. âThe court will tear her apart on its own, once they realize sheâs unfaithful. Once they see her for what she truly is.â
âBut⌠how?â Leah asked hesitantly, her brow furrowing. âThereâs no proof. No evidence.â
âThere doesnât need to be,â Sharon said dismissively. âPeople love a scandal. And the more outlandish it seems, the more theyâll believe it.â
âBut Sharon,â Ravonna murmured, her voice tight with unease. âYouâre playing with fire. If the king finds outââ
âLet him,â Sharon snapped, cutting her off. âLet him see what his perfect queen is really like. A disloyal wife. A disgrace. Heâll thank me in the end.â
They exchanged uneasy glances, none daring to speak, none daring to question further.
Finally, it was Maya who broke the silence, her voice barely above a whisper. âBut⌠what if it backfires?â
âThen it backfires,â Sharon said coolly, shrugging as if it were of no consequence. âBut it wonât. Because Iâll make sure it doesnât.â Her gaze hardened, her expression fierce. âNo matter what it takes.â
Ă Ă Ă Ă
The grand council chamber in the main palace was abuzz with tension, the air thick with barely restrained impatience and worry. High-ranking noblemen lined the long table, each one glancing nervously at the Dowager Queen as she entered the room with her head held high, her presence alone commanding silence.
Queen Winifred took her seat at the head of the table, her gaze sweeping over the gathered men. Prime Minister Fury, seated directly to her left, leaned forward, his brows knitted in frustration.
âItâs been seven days,â he began, his voice carrying a distinct edge of impatience. âSeven days, Your Majesty, and they still havenât consummated their marriage.â
A murmur of agreement rippled through the room, voices low but urgent.
Lord Haynesworth, the Chancellor of the Exchequer, spoke up next, his tone carefully measured but no less troubled. âYour Majesty, the lack of consummation is⌠troubling, to say the least. The kingdom needs stability, and without a legitimate heir, we risk giving dissenters an opening to question the monarchyâs strength.â
âIndeed,â Duke Townsend of Lancaster agreed, his fingers drumming restlessly against the polished wood of the table. âThere are already whispers. Rival factions are looking for any sign of weakness, and this... delay is giving them all the ammunition they need. We cannot afford to let them think the crown is vulnerable.â
Queen Winifredâs gaze narrowed slightly as she listened to their concerns, her face a mask of calm composure. She had expected thisâexpected the panic, the finger-pointing, the thinly veiled attempts to shift blame.
âAnd without an heir,â Lord Pierce added, his voice rising, âweâre risking more than just whispers. Weâre risking civil unrest. There are already reports of some nobles openly questioning whether the king is... able to fulfill his duties.â
Another wave of murmured agreement swept through the chamber, the words laced with anxiety and fear. But Queen Winifred remained impassive, her fingers resting lightly on the arm of her chair.
âGentlemen,â she said, her voice cutting through the noise like a blade, âyou are all acting as if I do not understand why there needs to be an heir.â She leaned forward slightly, her gaze sharp and unyielding.
âYou forget that I am the one who secured the throne for my son after the turmoil of his fatherâs reign. I am well aware of the consequences should there be no successor.â
A strained silence fell over the room as the noblemen shifted uncomfortably in their seats, chided by her words. But it didnât last long.
âThen what is being done, Your Majesty?â Lord Haynesworth pressed, his voice lower now, but no less insistent. âThe queen has failed to... inspire confidence in the king. If this continues, we may have to consider alternate measures.â
A tense murmur followed, the suggestion hanging ominously in the air. Queen Winifredâs gaze turned icy, her eyes boring into the man who dared to voice such a thought.
âAre you suggesting,â she said softly, dangerously, âthat we undermine the queenâs position? That we destabilize her standing at court?â
Lord Haynesworth cleared his throat, looking away, but Prime Minister Fury leaned in, his voice grim.
âYour Majesty, weâre suggesting that you take actionâswiftly and decisively. Itâs clear that Queen Y/N is notââ
âCareful, Fury,â Queen Winifred interrupted, her voice low and lethal. âChoose your next words very carefully.â
The Prime Minister paused, visibly reining in his frustration. âYour Majesty, the queenâs actions have been... questionable. If she cannot perform her duties as a wife, how can we expect her to perform her duties as a queen?â
Another murmur of agreement rose from the table, the men nodding, emboldened by the Prime Ministerâs words. But Queen Winifredâs gaze remained cold, calculating.
âThere are still three days left before the period of seclusion ends,â she said firmly, cutting through their mutterings. âWe will not resort to drastic measures based on impatience and rumors. The queen is more than capable of fulfilling her role, and I will not have her judged prematurely.â
âBut Your Majestyââ Duke Townsend began, only to be silenced by a sharp glare from the Dowager Queen.
âNeed I remind you all,â she continued icily, âthat this entire situation was precipitated by the kingâs absence and neglect? My son bears just as much responsibility for this situation, if not more. Do not lay the blame solely at the queenâs feet.â
âOf course not, Your Majesty.â A smooth, honeyed voice cut through the murmur of agreement, drawing all eyes to Lord Carter, seated near the middle of the table. He inclined his head slightly, his expression the picture of respectful deference. âWe know the queen is⌠new to this role. As you said, she has shown great patience. But we must ensure she understands the gravity of her position.â
Queen Winifredâs gaze shifted to him, her expression cooling a fraction. âAre you implying that she does not?â
Lord Carter smiled gently, his fingers tapping lightly on the table in a rhythm that seemed almost contemplative. âNot at all, Your Majesty. I merely suggest that perhaps the queen might benefit from⌠additional guidance. From those more experienced in navigating the complexities of the court and the expectations that come with the crown.â
His tone was mild, even reasonable, but beneath the surface, there was an undercurrent of something dangerous, something quietly undermining. A subtle criticism wrapped in a layer of politeness, creating ripples of doubt with each carefully chosen word.
âAnd what sort of guidance would you suggest, Lord Carter?â Winifred asked, her voice deceptively soft.
He spread his hands, a faint smile touching his lips. âNothing drastic, Your Majesty. Just⌠an assurance that she understands the full extent of what is at stake. We would not want any misunderstandings to arise, after all.â
Queen Winifredâs eyes narrowed slightly, but she nodded once, her gaze never leaving his. âI see. Well, rest assured, Lord Carter, I will make certain that the queen is fully aware of her responsibilities. And I will remind all of you once againâthere are three days left. We will revisit this matter then.â
The subtle warning in her tone was not lost on the gathered men. They shifted uncomfortably, casting uneasy glances at one another.
âThree more days,â she repeated, her gaze sweeping over each of them, daring them to argue. âUntil then, I expect every one of you to refrain from spreading further discontent and to let me handle this matter. Is that understood?â
A chorus of reluctant nods and mumbled affirmations followed, but none dared to protest further.
âGood,â Queen Winifred murmured, rising to her feet with regal grace. âBecause should any of you take matters into your own hands before the honeymoon period ends, you will find yourselves facing more than just my displeasure.â
With that, she turned on her heel and swept out of the room, leaving the noblemen in stunned silence. As the heavy doors closed behind her, the men exchanged wary looks, unease settling like a shroud over the council chamber.
âSheâs defending the queen,â Lord Trenton muttered, disbelief etched into his features. âI never thought...â
Lord Carter, his gaze lingering thoughtfully on the closed doors, smiled faintly, his expression carefully neutral. âThree days,â he repeated softly, his voice carrying a measured tone. âWe shall see if the queen can prove herself worthy of that defense.â
âThree days,â Duke Townsend muttered, shaking his head. âShe expects us to wait three more days while the court fills with rumors and discontent. This cannot end well.â
âWaiting is no longer a luxury we can afford,â Lord Pierce interjected quietly, his gaze darting toward Lord Carter. âWeâre already seeing signs of division among the lower houses. If this continuesâŚâ
Prime Minister Fury leaned forward, his voice a low, harsh whisper. âItâs not just the lower houses we need to worry about. Every day without an heir gives the rivals more time to gather support. We need stability now.â
âThen perhaps,â Lord Carter said softly, his tone calm amidst the brewing storm, âit is not the queen we should be questioning.â His words drew curious, cautious glances, and he smiled faintly. âThere are two parties in a marriage, after all. If an heir is what we need, perhaps we should be focusing our efforts elsewhere.â
A silence settled over the group, heavy and charged with unspoken meaning.
âYou mean the king,â Duke Townsend murmured, a slight frown pulling at his features. âBut His Majestyââ
ââIs just as responsible,â Lord Carter finished smoothly, his gaze steady. âWeâve already seen how his absence affects the queenâs standing. Perhaps it is time we remind him of the consequences if he continues to... neglect his duties.â
âCareful, Carter,â Prime Minister Fury warned, his voice laced with tension. âTread lightly. The queen dowager may have left, but her influence hasnât. One wrong move, and youâll have more than the crownâs displeasure to contend with.â
Lord Carterâs smile never wavered, but his eyes held a dangerous glint. âI assure you, Prime Minister, I am well aware of where the true power lies. But if the queen dowager wishes to protect the queen, she must remember that protection does not extend to inaction.â
The men exchanged wary looks, the conversation shifting into murmured agreement. The line had been drawn, the challenge subtly issued. And even as they debated, the weight of Lord Carterâs words lingered in the air, thick with intent and unspoken plans.
Three days. Three days to see if the queen would succeed⌠or if the cracks in the crown would deepen beyond repair.
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@landoslutmeout @winterslove1917 @missvelvetsstuff @s0kovianwitch
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Photo
 Photoshoot for RollingStone - 2020 // pandemic amy (x)

Š Cedrick Jones Photography
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