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ruegarding · 6 months ago

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for context, @rosabell14 is referring to tags on this post.

ok we're going off-road w this one

generally speaking, i like the concept of "some things aren't meant to be controlled," which annabeth says to percy after he controls the poison. this is said and then immediately forgotten abt, however, this could be another angle of change, a reoccurring theme in hoo, as well as a continued theme from pjo.

obviously, from pjo, the change is addressed w the myths, the theme of yielding, and w the conclusion of the story:

hoo continues this concept of change w the percy-jason switch, the greek-roman conflict, the idea of what an identity is and how to change it, etc. there's a lot of individual character work w this idea, but there's less of a mythological concept attached to it. gaea is a static and flatly written antagonist, octavian becomes incredibly flat as a character and his development into this sort of fanatical antagonist that is never explored, there's a lot of teeth-gritting abt how the gods are gods and they never change and everyone just has to accept it, the myths aren't challenged in the same way they were in pjo, etc. there's a few major exceptions, i'll get to that.

this is a glaring issue i have w hoo. it wouldn't be as bad as a standalone, but hoo makes the entirety of the previous series meaningless. in tlo, percy asks for kids to get claimed and be trained so when (or if) they have to go on dangerous quests/fight monsters/etc they're both older and more experienced. this is the conclusion to the war and how the status quo is changed (disability accommodations expanded to reach more ppl and work more effectively).

hoo, however, does not do this. camp jupiter infamously has a child army while the adults are retired, all of the new characters are younger than percy (who is still 16), and only two of them have spent a long period of time training, although hazel's isn't formal/in a camp (and piper doesn't even learn how to fight until book four ffs). this sort of immediately bastardizes pjo in a way that is never acknowledge by the series and makes it, and anything after it, a failure as a continuation of pjo.

and that's where this theme could've come in. when bob is remembering who he is, him and percy have this back-and-forth abt identity. percy relates to bob bc he, too, just had his memory erased and that vulnerability exploited (annabeth's perspective in this conversation is very different bc she doesn't have this same experience nor does she understand percy's feelings abt it. a good way to build tension using different povs, but, once again, doesn't get fully utilized). in the conclusion that conversation, there's an interesting moment:

this is that idea again, "some things aren't meant to be controlled," like fate, like identity. titans are meant to "be the same...forever." and here percy is, not only as the catalyst for change by throwing bob into the river lethe, but also by encouraging him to commit to this change once bob should know better. this was percy's role in the previous series, as well, where he constantly challenges the perspective of other characters to be more quote human unquote.

afterwards, annabeth has a similar moment w damasen:

i also think these are very funny to have side-by-side, just as character analysis, bc percy is very much both insecure and empathetic like u can choose ur future, it's up to u, etc, whereas annabeth is like i am right, listen to me.

anyway, both of these moments repeat the idea from pjo/tlo: immortals can't change. but they are changing. and they will change. the rules of the world are malleable (i also think hazel's monologue abt seeing the minotaur as a victim would be another aspect of this to explore). what abt traditions? what abt camp jupiter's child army? how should these change? going back to the og thought, tho, what shouldn't change? what are the "some things" that aren't meant to be controlled? how do you balance traditions and reform (great opportunity to use octavian btw!)? why can't a god be human, act human? why are the ancient rules important? that's an important discussion to have if we're growing this universe.

i don't particularly like that hoo immediately reverts back w the premise of the story, like i was talking abt earlier, nor do i think these characters were introduced or used well in canon, but using these characters, these moments, these conversations, rick could've salvaged this mess by embracing change isn't a static thing. he doesn't, tho, so it's all lost potential.

separately, something i've always liked abt the akhlys fight is that percy wins the literal, physical fight against her, but loses the metaphorical fight. he gets to walk away, but he walks away miserable. and this is bc the gods aren't ppl, they're physical representations of concepts. and percy has this thought abt tartarus and gaea while in tartarus, and i believe it's brought up in boo, but it's barely relevant. it's something i wish was explored more.

now onto specific characters. i talk abt my general idea here, ie this moment in tartarus is forcing percy and annabeth to confront their worst-case scenarios.

for annabeth, i've repeatedly gone on record to say i hate the way annabeth is written in hoo, here is an example, ie her fatal flaw does not come thru in her character (i also think she and percy switched characterizations from pjo to hoo, but...). separate issue is that annabeth's character revolves around percy a lot. so there are two issues i would focus on, largely bc she's not written well and doesn't have established unique conflicts. like,

this is a big revelation at the end of hoh, that she has to "step back" and she can't "protect everyone she love[s]." except it doesn't make any sense. tlo ended w annabeth telling percy to give luke her knife which luke uses to kill himself. not to mention, thalia's sacrifice on hbh. ALSO. percy accepting the prophecy and "taking the brunt of the danger"! and finally. annabeth has been at camp for 7-8 years. 1) she should have relationships w these ppl and 2) she should care that some of the ogs died in the previous war (which would also require rick to figure out who died lol). but the point is, this isn't a new conflict for annabeth!

the thought she had in moa abt having to accept she's not always the best person for the job:

this is not built up nor is it delivered on, but would be interesting, given that she demanded to be on the quest and if there was an actual power struggle instead of writing her as the de facto leader. this would be a better conflict than accepting that "she couldn't protect everyone she loved" when she has historically not been able to protect everyone she loved.

anyway, back on topic.

first, this moment exists to challenge her perception of percy, which is important to challenge bc she quite frankly has an unhealthy attachment to him. other ppl have said this better than i, so here's a post abt codependency and p*rcabeth and here's another one i rbed a while ago.

tldr; rick treats annabeth's abandonment issues/possessiveness/codependency as like. cute, peak romance. and he's been doing this since pjo, right, like annabeth's abandonment issues and possessiveness didn't matter when it was thalia joining the hunters,—bc there's no romance trope here w thalia—but gods forbid percy speak to rachel.

and this doesn't change in hoo. in fact, it's worse. like,

i'm going to [statement redacted] rick for this. what part of this is cute??? i'm killing it with fire.

so anyway, i want to treat annabeth's possessiveness/etc as an actual, consistent, character flaw, that she can grow out of, even. maybe even connect it to her hubris or her rsd. explore her feelings abt luke now that we have her pov to do it in. the fallout from this moment w akhlys is a great way to begin delving into that bc it's a shocking moment for her.

second, and going back to the theme of change, annabeth is different from percy in the sense that she has a different relationship to the gods than him (which i'm comparing bc i think rick (and fandom) has a hard time giving these two consistent and separate personalities/beliefs post pjo). the two times she has rebelled against the gods directly were bc of percy's influence (again, this is percy's role in pjo), 1) in the zoo truck, a scene that only takes place bc percy challenged her view of the poseidon-athena rivalry and their place in it, and 2) w hera where the first words out of annabeth's mouth are literally "percy is right."

i find this interesting especially bc her fatal flaw is hubris, which is common in mythology and frequently ends up fatal bc ppl challenge the gods. so, annabeth using the gods and these stories to keep her hubris in check makes complete sense.

and it seems like this is the same approach she's using w percy:

percy is directly challenging a god for power, and more than that, he's challenging a domain he's not supposed to have control of at all.

very interesting! does not get explored. such is common for hoo.

for percy, this scene is part of a long-running conversation of his powers (which is a huge part of his disability coding!!!!!). and it doesn't go anywhere.

percy has established anger issues and implied emotional dysregulation. this has been a thing since the beginning, literally chapter one of tlt! punishing percy for this when he's clearly not getting the support he needs is. a choice. also there's the issue that hoo kinda. erases this aspect of percy's character until the confrontation w akhlys, which is a separate but related issue.

there really should've been more buildup to this outburst (eg: in son percy punches a shelf in the library and immediately feels guilty bc he scares frank and hazel. percy is in an incredibly stressful situation; this should've happened more), but that would mean rick would treat it and the disability conversation seriously (which falls flat after son) and do less teeth-gritting abt the whole gods thing.

so, to go back on my "using the different povs to build tension was wildly underutilized" train, a featured part of almost everyone's pov is that percy is very kind, and gentle, and forgiving. i discuss a moment w frank being impressed w percy's selflessness here and he also says that he would follow percy anywhere, jason says percy is "a nice guy" after like 2 days, nico has his whole thing, hazel says "percy was a child of poseidon’s better nature," going on to describe him as gentle, etc.

and all of this praise goes nowhere and kinda just becomes percy is so awesome...and then turns into everything is percy's fault in boo...it's bad writing.

but it's an interesting opportunity to play w perspective. percy in pjo is dehumanized in that he is both villainized and idolized, and obviously hoo is continuing the trend w idolization. rick sets up a great plotline w this in moa:

and this doesn't go anywhere bc apparently percy's problem is that he needs to learn to step back. which. part of this is bc rick recycled plotlines from percy and gave them to other characters, which means that percy cannot be in character anymore without making themlook bad (the recycled plotlines i'm talking abt are the idolization, imposter syndrome, wanting to step back but constantly pushed into the spotlight, being seen as different/elevated status bc of ur parentage, struggling to connect to who your parent is, even the dehumanization as a weapon is straight out of percy's writing in pjo). this is a big problem w hoo in general ie characters becoming ooc by necessity (see: bad writing). the other part to blame is that rick is literally trying to redo tlo what w the whole "you are not the hero." it's all the same from pjo except written worse. it's a running theme of hoo (and a bonus). bad writing all the way down!

ANYWAY. so pjo ends w percy at an elevated status bc he 1) survived an unsurvivable prophecy, 2) was offered godhood, and 3) turned down godhood to improve the lives of the demigods while all the demigods watched. and he has the curse of achilles but. we all know how that went. the point is, all of this puts percy on a pedestal. i like to think it's the biggest reason hera kidnapped percy: if he said no, if he refused, she would've lost the support of almost all the demigods at chb (also the metaphor for the audience lol). i think making percy go on the quest, or at least to new rome, is the only good bit of world building rick did between books.

the problem is, rick is kinda all over the place w how percy is perceived and misses both the point of percy's character (callback to what i said abt his disability) and the world building of the previous series (what happened to power-scaling, narrative consequence, etc fr). that's what creates the flip-flopping "percy is perfect" and "everything is percy's fault," and neither are particularly good reads.

going back to annabeth, i don't think she's an exception in idolizing percy. she has no reason to see percy's vindictive side bc he works hard to hide it. even w crusty, annabeth is preoccupied. annabeth is smart, she's not omniscient. instead, there's the famous "percy is too nice" from som. i also like to think this is why she keeps trying to talk to percy abt luke as if luke is a good person who didn't try to kill percy. she doesn't understand that percy would hate luke for betraying him bc why would he? percy is a good person.

(for the record, i think the exceptions are: 1) grover, who chooses not to bring it up w the exception of his nemesis comment in tlt, 2) rachel, who made a painting where percy's "expression in the picture was fierce—disturbing, even—so it was hard to tell if I was the good guy or the bad guy" and simply said that's how he looked, and 3) arguably nico—considering percy has attacked him before—but i do think "very [dangerous]. to his enemies." does a good job of capturing that, it just doesn't go anywhere).

so, to condense all of this, ppl are idolizing percy in terms of both strength and morals and percy feels stifled by this knowing that he is not as strong or good as ppl think (and also by the fault that he was demonized prior and has corresponding low self-esteem bc of that lol). keep this in mind, i'm changing the topic.

in botl, percy's torture scene is used primarily to set up how powerful he is. he can cause an eruption that necessitates the evacuation of thousands of ppl and wake the biggest threat in greek mythos, but he would never know that if he wasn't back into a corner. bc that's not who he is. he shies away from power and titles. he wins his fights w strategy and very rarely relies on his powers to overpower his opponents.

just to clarify, i categorize percy's powers in two sorts of ways: involuntary and voluntary. involuntary is like speaking to sea creatures, healing in water, things that don't require a lot of energy/effort/focus. he's not scared of this. he's wary of the voluntary, powerful explosions, the things that set him apart from his peers. that's what i'm referring to in this section.

so, percy has to come to terms w the fact that he 1) blew up a mountain, 2) survived blowing up a mountain, and 3) woke typhon. and what does he say immediately after that?

he immediately deflects! he wasn't in control, it wasn't him that's powerful, it was an accident, and besides, he can't do it again bc he almost died. and what's even more interesting is the only time he uses his powers after this (in botl) is when grover asks him to stop the fire in the woods.

so, what lesson did percy actually take from mt saint helens? that he's dangerous. very interesting to use this teaching moment and have the protagonist come to the quote wrong unquote conclusion.

in hoh, we don't have a purpose for the torture scene. there's no significance to confronting how powerful percy is. percy is not addressing his self-sacrificing tendencies nor his propensity for bottling his emotions up. there's no questioning of p*rcabeth's relationship. there's no questioning of the gods. it's a cool scene w no narrative purpose.

so, take two. what is percy supposed to be learning from akhlys? how do we relate this to percy taking the wrong lesson from mt st helens?

at the end of botl, nico comes up w the river styx plan and percy takes almost a full year to agree to it. how much further ahead in the war would they have been if percy had accepted the curse sooner? how many fights could percy have won faster if he used his powers? if he trained his powers? if he trusted his powers?

there's a really interesting comparison w phorcys and akhyls where percy doesn't attempt to fight phorcys bc he assumes he won't be able to overpower him,

but w akhyls he tries anyway,

bc he's backed against a corner. and he succeeds.

percy is a character who very much embodies duality. i've talked abt this before wrt his loyalty being both his greatest strength and greatest weakness and how it clashes w his desire for freedom, but it's true for almost every trait. he's honest and manipulative. he's ruthless and merciful. he's kind and violent. he's looked up to and looked down upon. he's the saint and the scapegoat. etc etc. and percy responds to this by frequently trying to deny his quote worse unquote traits until they eventually bubble up and explode out of him. this is part of why juno calls him a loose-canon (which btw, i love. everyone has been treating him as a loose canon and no one on this side has the balls to say it until then, seven books in).

all this to say, *ethan voice* it's abt balance! this moment should've been abt percy confronting his unfair treatment! the idolization from his peers! the demonization of his flaws/disability!

thanks for coming to my tedtalk.

#if u think hoo p*rcabeth is the pinnacle of romance do us both a favor and don't read this post <3 #anyway #they call me the rambler #this is an excuse to talk abt many things i have thought abt but didn't want to make individual posts for #so this is only mostly on topic and it may or may not make sense #good luck 👍#percy #annabeth #hoo crit #answered #take a shot every time i say “anyway” in this post lmfao

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doyouknowthischaravoice · 3 months ago

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Welcome to "Do You Know This Character by Voice?"

This is a simple polling blog where you listen to an audio clip of a character, and then answer how well you know the character by their voice.

Everyday at 3PM PST, 5 new polls will open, with answers for the previous week's polls revealed.

Submissions are: [CLOSED]

Please only use the submission form here to submit characters.

Tags: #answer - Answers to previous polls #poll - every poll, including current and previous ones #not poll - anything not related to the polls #asks - inbox stuff

ran by @ensoua

semi-hiatus 6/13/25~7/3/25 estimated post if you submit right now: unknown

q&a under the cut!

What can be submitted?

Voice lines submitted to this blog should be official voice lines aka quotes canonically said by the character by their canonical voice actor. They also should not be the character introducing themselves. Some exceptions may be made, especially if I find them funny lol.

Voice lines should either be in the character's original language, or in their official English voice over. This is so it's easier for people to recognize your character. If you believe a character may be more widely recognized in a language other than these (e.g. Herta's "kuru kuru~" voice line) feel free to submit it.

Characters who 'speak' in an Animal Crossing/Undertale format may not be submitted, as I don't know really know how to transcribe their quotes.

If you're unsure if your voice line fits these criteria, feel free to submit anyways.

What if two people submit the same character at the same time?

If two people submit the same character with different voice lines, I'll combine both voice lines into a single audio file before it gets published, even if it's a different voice actor or in a different language.

My voice line wasn't published by the date you set!

Your submission may have been rejected for a variety of reasons, or delayed to diversify poll batches. If it's been rejected, please be assured there's no hard feelings. You can always submit again

The transcript/info for this submission isn't correct.

I use the transcript/info provided to me by the submitter, with minimal double checking. Please feel free to message me if it's incorrect, and I'll fix it.

Can you add more poll options/nuance?

No. Learn how to commit. Vote however you like. Or add your nuance in the replies/tags.

What media do you like?

I am so glad you asked. (No one's asked this)

Video games: Touhou Project, FFXIV, Genshin Impact/ZZZ, Undertale/Deltarune, End Roll, Fortnite, Supervive, ULTRAKILL, Disillusion

Animanga: Witch Hat Atelier, Kagurabachi, Tower of God, Hunter x Hunter, LOVE BULLET, Ichi the Witch

Other stuff: ENA, Vocaloid/Vocal Synths (check out my UTAUs here), Art/Animation (art account @hollytr33s)

Feel free to talk to me about any of this stuff ^^

#not poll

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rickybobbydan · 8 days ago

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2. The Unwelcome Spotlight

Daniel Ricciardo x Fem Driver OC

Summary: She makes history, and the world takes notice—headlines, hashtags, and high expectations. But behind the cameras and compliments, she’s learning just how sharp this world can be, especially when you're not what they expected in red.

Warnings: Daniel being mean (sorry!), enemies to lovers, angst

Words: 1.8k+

Previous Part || Next Part

Melbourne, Australia – Post-Race Weekend, 2014

The media storm hits faster than Solana expects.

She's barely shrugged off her fireproof undershirt in the hotel room before her phone buzzes itself off the nightstand. Notifications flood in—Twitter mentions, Instagram tags, voice messages from old classmates, motorsport pundits quoting her sector times, even a handful of Latino news outlets back home claiming her as their own.

"Historic debut: Mexican-American Ferrari driver stuns in P4 finish." "Ricciardo edged out by rookie on home turf—Ferrari's rising star?" "¿La nueva reina de la Fórmula 1?"

Solana groans and flips the phone face down on the bed, staring up at the ceiling fan as it spins in lazy, mocking circles. Her head is still full of engine noise. Of gravel spray and pit radio. Of the sound Daniel Ricciardo didn't make when she tried to meet his eye after the race.

She should feel proud. She does, somewhere beneath the fatigue. But she also knows how this sport works. One clean race and you're a prodigy. One mistake, and you're a fraud. Especially when you're not what they expect in a Ferrari race suit.

The hotel room door clicks open.

Fernando Alonso steps inside with two takeaway coffees and a half-smile, his hair damp from a shower, his suit jacket slung over one shoulder. He tosses a cup onto the bed.

"Fame suits you," he says in that low, wry Spanish of his. "Your name's trending in six languages."

Solana sits up and takes a sip, grateful. "God help me. My mom's already calling me campeona. I haven't even seen the podium yet."

Fernando chuckles, sitting at the foot of the bed. "You beat Ricciardo. On home soil. For some people, that is the podium."

She snorts but says nothing. She's still thinking about Daniel—how tight his jaw was in parc fermé. How he walked past her like she wasn't even there.

Like he hadn't just spent half the race trying to outbrake her.

Tuesday – Media Day

Two days of back-to-back interviews. Microphones shoved in her face. Smiles that don’t reach eyes. Questions wrapped in barbed wire.

“Do you think you’re here on merit, or is Ferrari capitalizing on diversity?” “Does Fernando help you with race strategy, or are you more focused on… fashion?” “Is it true you requested red lipstick to match the car?”

The same questions, over and over, asked with thinly veiled condescension—some from men in suits who mispronounce her name even after correction, others from women who look at her like she’s invading their carefully curated grid.

She smiles through it. Again. And again. Until her cheeks ache and her hands curl in her lap just to stay still. Until her voice flattens into soundbites and her thoughts turn to static. She tries not to flinch when they mention the word “token.”Tries not to react when a presenter calls her “spicy” in the middle of a live segment.

By the end of the second morning, she escapes into the paddock hospitality tent during a break between interviews. The cool air is a mercy. The noise, less so—espresso machines hissing, cutlery clinking, broadcasters chattering at nearby tables.

She rubs her temple and looks for somewhere to disappear for five minutes. Somewhere no one will ask her how it feels to be different.

And then she sees him—Checo. Sergio Pérez. Sitting in the back corner with Esteban Gutiérrez and Pastor Maldonado, their heads thrown back in laughter over something undoubtedly stupid, undoubtedly funny. There’s something about the way they lean in toward one another—shoulders relaxed, elbows on the table—that radiates a kind of peace she hasn’t felt since before the race weekend began.

For once, her nerves slip away.

Her steps are easier as she makes her way over, ponytail loosening beneath her cap. She doesn’t announce herself—just drops into the empty seat beside Esteban with a tired grin.

“¿De qué se ríen?” she asks, voice low but warm.

Esteban spins toward her, his face lighting up. “Mira quién llegó. ¡La nueva jefa!”

Checo raises his coffee cup in an unbothered salute. “Fourth place on debut. You made us proud, amiga.”

Solana can’t help the way her grin widens, the tension in her shoulders finally beginning to uncoil. “I had to represent. My mom already told the entire neighborhood. Probably my whole tía group chat too.”

Pastor chuckles, nudging his espresso closer to the center of the table. “Your Spanish is good.”

She shrugs. “My parents are from Guadalajara. English at school, Spanish at the dinner table. Every time I slipped up, my abuela would flick my ear and say ‘¡Así no, mija!’”

That earns a chorus of laughter. Esteban leans back in his chair, clearly amused. “Classic. My abuela used to hit the back of my head every time I dragged my feet.”

Checo leans forward now, more serious. “Then you’re one of us,” he says, not in jest, but in solidarity. He extends his fist without hesitation. “No matter what badge you wear.”

She bumps his fist, and something in her chest eases—something she hadn’t even realized was clenched. For the first time in days, she isn’t Ferrari’s rookie, or the diversity headline, or the girl in red.

She’s just Solana. A Mexican-American driver in a sport that rarely makes room for her people. And right now, she’s seated at a table with men who’ve also carved their own names into this impossible world—drivers who know what it means to carry pride, pressure, and generations of hope every time they climb into a car.

For the first time all week, her smile isn’t for the cameras. It’s real.

And in this quiet corner of the paddock, with the smell of strong coffee and soft Spanish banter filling the air, she feels something she hasn’t felt since she pulled into the grid on Sunday:

Belonging.

Later That Day

The Ferrari lounge is mostly empty—just the quiet hum of a cooling espresso machine and a muted broadcast of testing highlights from Sepang.

Solana's alone, reviewing race footage on her tablet, frame-by-frame through the corners where Ricciardo tried to overtake her.

When she hears the footsteps, she already knows who it is.

Daniel Ricciardo strolls in with a water bottle, curls damp, shirt clinging to his shoulders like he just left the gym. He pauses when he sees her.

"Didn't know this room was occupied," he says, toweling the back of his neck.

"Didn't know Red Bull drivers needed Ferrari's water," she replies without looking up, eyes still on the screen.

He chuckles, stepping closer. "Must be the imported kind. You know, luxury stuff. Tastes like winning."

She finally pauses the video. "You were fast Sunday. It was a good drive."

He raises an eyebrow, walking around to glance at the tablet. "Not fast enough, apparently. You made sure of that."

There's a pause. A flicker of something unsaid.

"I didn't mean that as a dig," she says, more quietly. Still direct.

Daniel shrugs, but the motion is sharper than usual. "It's fine. You're the story right now. Everyone loves a fresh face. Especially when there’s a good angle. First this, first that. Heritage, headlines..."

She blinks, the words hitting wrong. "What the hell is that supposed to mean?"

He meets her eyes then. No grin, no playfulness. Just something raw, flickering behind the usual bravado.

"It means enjoy it while it lasts. This sport loves you—until it doesn’t. Until the next headline shows up."

She leans back slightly, arms crossing. "So that’s what this is? You're mad that I'm getting attention? That the spotlight shifted?"

He looks away. Then back. "No. I’m mad that they never let you enjoy it without making it a statement. And I’m mad that you’re the one who has to carry that weight like it’s part of the job."

That stuns her. Just for a beat.

"You could’ve led with that."

He snorts, rubbing the back of his neck. "Yeah, well. Not exactly my strong suit."

She studies him. "You think I don’t know it could vanish overnight? That I haven’t had to be twice as good just to be taken half as seriously?"

"I think," he says carefully, "you’re one of the best drivers I’ve ever seen. And it scares the hell out of me. Because it means I can't coast on charm anymore."

Her lips twitch. "That charm ever actually work?"

He finally smiles—half-hearted but real. "Depends on who you ask."

She leans forward, not smiling. "I didn’t come here to make enemies, Ricciardo. But I didn’t come here to fight ghosts either. So if you’re looking for a rivalry, make it clean. Make it count. But don’t make it personal."

Daniel nods slowly, eyes locked with hers. "Fair enough. Just... don’t expect me to stop pushing you."

"Wouldn’t want you to."

There’s a moment. Not soft, but solid. Tense with mutual understanding.

Then he turns for the door, pausing just before it opens. "Imported water’s still better, though."

She snorts, already turning back to her footage. "Keep telling yourself that."

The door shuts behind him, softer this time.

She rewinds the clip to Turn 9.

And presses play.

Wednesday – Evening Flight to Malaysia

The team boards the long-haul flight to Kuala Lumpur. Solana takes a window seat beside Fernando, who's already fast asleep with a neck pillow and compression socks. The lights are low. The hum of the engine fills the silence.

She scrolls through her messages. One from her mother lights up the screen—a voice note, her voice full of pride and trembling emotion.

"¡Mija! Vi tu carrera, te veías hermosa. Tu papá lloró. ¡Llámanos cuando puedas!"

Solana leans her head against the airplane window as the lights of Melbourne fade beneath her, the last traces of the city scattered like gold dust across the coastline. The adrenaline of her first Grand Prix is still coursing faintly through her—muted now, buried under exhaustion and the blur of interviews, debriefs, and the weight of everything she’s expected to carry.

She should feel proud. Fourth place on debut. Headlines already calling her “Ferrari’s rising firebrand.” Her mother cried when she called. Her father, as always, had said, “Te lo dije. You were born for this.”

But it still doesn’t feel like enough.

Behind her, a familiar laugh floats through the aisle—Daniel Ricciardo’s. It’s warm and light, threaded through with local slang and that same teasing charm he’d wielded in the paddock all weekend. He’s chatting with a few Red Bull mechanics, slouched casually across a pair of seats like the world hasn’t shifted.

She doesn’t turn around.

Not when she crossed the finish line ahead of him. Not during post-race media. Not when their eyes brushed in the Ferrari hospitality suite and he just kept walking.

She bites her lip, gaze fixed on the night outside the window. The stars blur with altitude, scattered like marbles across velvet. Her reflection stares back at her—composed, quiet, unreadable.

Daniel’s laughter fades into the low hum of the engines.

And somehow, that silence feels heavier than any podium she didn’t reach.

But he never looks her way.

Not once.

And that—somehow—stings more than anything he's said.

A/N: I'm going to try and post at least once a day, but I'm also taking three 6 week summer courses, so it might be somewhat sporadic. I hope y'all are enjoying the story! I'm going to learn how to create a master list and get this all organized!

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#f1 x reader #daniel ricciardo x reader #formula 1 rookie #formula 1 imagine #daniel ricciardo #danny ric #daniel riccardo imagine #checo perez #pastor maldonado #esteban gutierrez #fernando alonso #formula 1

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helenazbmrskai · 1 year ago

Text

Guide on how to not marry the Northern Duke [2/2] - End

Title [Guide on how to not marry the Northern Duke.]

Pairing [Northen Duke! Yoongi x Reincarnated! Reader]

Genre [Fantasy Romance, Reincarnation, World in a novel AU, smut, angst]

Summary [You might be a lady with a significant house backing you but Yoongi thinks he’s not lacking anything as a husband candidate. He could give you money, real estate, jewellery, dresses everything you wanted so why did you reject him so confidently? The Duke of the North is getting a stack of marriage proposals daily that could fuel the fire in the fireplace all day long in his office so why did YOU reject him again?]

Words [10,1k]

Warnings [harassment, mention of blood, mention of hunting animals, sexual content: oral sex, unprotected sex]

Rating [+18]

A/N: This is not perfect but I hope you guys will like the ending of this story.

Masterlist // part 1 // I don't do tag lists anymore I'm sorry!

As a quote “knight”, you wear your dress and accessories like armour on your way to the battlefield which is called idle chatting with the noble ladies. You feel like you got accustomed to your circumstances by now being in a new world in a stranger's body.

You completely merged yourself with Y/N. It gives you an advantage that some things come to you naturally but on the other hand, it’s scary because if you accept this as your reality then that means you’re stuck here forever. Don’t be mistaken after you died in your previous life and reincarnated this is something to be grateful for – this is your second chance at living. Even if you’re aware of all that you keep wondering if your family back there is ever missing you or if they are living well, or if your friends or coworkers think about you sometimes. It feels like you’re living a double life. The people around you have a conception of your personality they’ve seen you grow up with them but in the end – you’re not Y/N. If you think about that you feel miserable.

They don’t know you. They now Y/N.

Even if Y/N now is – you.

There’s only one person you can be truly yourself is surprisingly when you’re with Yoongi.

Can’t make much of an excuse today as you’ve avoided attending these events altogether. Avoiding Yoongi. There’s no fantasy romance novel without a hunting competition scene so you know these gatherings quite well. The men go out hunting and the person who gets the rarest animal as prey wins the competition. All this time women are dressing up and gossiping all day. You’re not too keen on joining them today but since you were personally invited you cannot refuse even if you wanted. The moment they set their eyes on you behind their fancy fans you know they are up to no good.

This is the time when the female lead is ridiculed and humiliated so why are you in this situation when you’re supposed to be the villain bullying people? They invite you to sit but their smiles tell you they’re not really happy to see you show up in their circles.

“It’s been a while Lady Y/N.” The first to speak is Duchess Hee; as far as you know, you’ve never talked before. You greeted each other in formal settings but that’s about it. Whilst her expression is controlled you could sense hostility from her. Even though you’re not going out much Y/N is still getting new enemies on top of the old ones – can you call this the buff of the villainess? You’re unsure how to assess the situation so you decided to grasp the atmosphere first and speak carefully for now.

“Yes Duchess Hee, have you been well?” You gracefully sit on the empty chair between two ladies who continuously glare at you. Y/N is a notorious troublemaker who disregards everyone under her status so the ladies seem surprised at how coordinated you are. You just wish things go well enough that no one tries to pull your hair today.

“Of course. I haven’t seen you much these days perhaps were you sick?” It’s obvious that she’s trying to mock you. Everyone knows that you were on probation by the order of the duke after the mishaps you created in the social circles.

You have no idea why she’s attacking you all of a sudden but you need to be smart about this.

The rule is that the one who gets angry first is the one who loses so you need to keep your cool no matter how they try to provoke you. If a reasonable amount of time passes then you can excuse yourself that you’re not feeling well and you can get out of here.

You need to hold out until then.

“No, I’ve been well thank you for asking. I’ve been reflecting on my actions during that time. If I caused trouble I hope the ladies could forgive me with a gracious heart.” Smooth. Some of them seem taken aback that you apologised so they are momentarily at loss of words. Some awkwardly laugh it off and some keep glaring. The duchess however keeps her eyes on you probably trying to find some fault in you to get started.

Since Y/N had a bad temper her visceral reaction was to get angry at the slightest disrespect but you’re different. You’re not that easy to provoke. You’re a modern woman who worked in a capitalistic company for years – some backhanded rude comment won’t do much.

“It feels like the lady is a different person. How unexpected. What could have made you change so much? Perhaps .. a new lover?” You almost spit out the tea when you hear the duchess’ inquiry. This is so unexpected that don’t know what to say for a moment.

“Ah, yes? Well, no I’m not seeing anyone at the moment.” You try to cover up your slip-up but the duchess’ smile is getting bigger but not in a good way. What is she up to?

Is she on the Min Yoongi fanclub as well; because that would explain so much.

“I see. I must have heard wrong then.” She let it go too easily, something smells fishy here. After that, the conversation finally drifted over to other topics like gem mines and dresses. It was clear they were talking in a way that you couldn’t contribute to the conversation but you’re not too sorry about that as you were not going to participate in the first place. Their plan to make you isolated in a conversation to make you feel bad is surprisingly mild. You’ve been expecting much worse.

“The tea is very fragrant. Recently my family imported jasmine tea so I hope the ladies enjoy this fresh taste.” To be honest the tea is pretty bland but everyone agrees and the marchioness looks pleased by the other's reaction. When you’re not saying anything they all look at you.

Since you feel pressured by their gazes you lift the cup to get another sip as you’ve not touched your tea all this time. You prefer coffee however, if you said that it would just be another thing to nitpick.

“Right, it’s delicious.” For some reason the ladies look impatient, they were sure this would work but you’re not reacting how they want you to. No matter how much backstabbing they are doing with their politely crafted insults you’re not budging.

It’s subtle but the lady on your right makes eye connect with the Duchess right before her hand slips and your dress is ruined by the dark liquid. She made it seem like an accident but there’s no way her hand would naturally slip like that – it was intentional.

It’s hot though. Your smile never falters after all this is a good opportunity to make your leave natural.

“Oh my, I’m so sorry my grip is feeble lately. I hope you forgive me.” You internally sigh at the bad acting; she’s even snickering under her nose behind that fan it’s clear what the intention was. She’s not really sorry she just needs an excuse to blame it all on you. If you get angry they will say you make a big deal out of a small mistake. They all saw it so there’s no way they don’t know it wasn’t an accident. There’s no point in proving or arguing.

“I see, maybe you should see a doctor about it it would be unfortunate if the lady gets sick. I will take my leave then I have to change my dress but I hope the ladies will enjoy the tea.” What you want to say is: – Eat shit all of you. You suppress a smirk as you take your leave it’s satisfying enough to see their angry faces since you dodged their attempts at bad-mouthing you. Many people witnessed the scene as you’re surrounded by noble ladies at each table – now they can’t spread false rumours as there are so many witnesses. If you got angry everyone would probably believe the twisted tales they told each other later but you managed to leave them with nothing.

This is pretty satisfying. Fufu.

Even if you’re drenched in tea Y/N is still pretty and eyes naturally follow you when you leave.

“Are you alright?” You’re surprised to meet Namjoon on your way back he holds up a handkerchief so you can clean your hands. You tried not to pay attention to him since earlier but you cannot ignore the fact that he’s been following you since this morning.

You didn’t think you could get away with rejecting the soon-to-be-blackened third male lead (as the second is your brother) but this is too much. What is Min Yoongi trying to do? Annoy you to death with his aid following you around unless you say yes or what?

“I’m not going to explain since you saw everything.” You narrow your eyes down on him but you accept the handkerchief nonetheless from his outstretched hands. Even as you start walking again he keeps following behind you.

“Do you want to say something Mr?” You stop abruptly if you have to listen to him anyway you will just listen to him now. You’re pretty tired from earlier you had to be on your best behaviour even though it was clear they were trying to provoke you.

“Ah, yes. I apologise but the Duke would like you to think about what happened last night and give him a positive answer.” You snort after hearing that – not too ladylike.

“You mean marry the duke?” Namjoon nods. “Ha, alright..” After a moment of followed silence,-“ I considered it again and I’m still saying no.” You turn around thinking that it was the end of it but Namjoon catches up with your steps in no time.

“Can I at least know the reason?” He asked timidly. Quite persistent, well he’s the only one who was with him till the end.

“Like I said I want love in a marriage. If the duke can’t love me then I can’t marry him.” This is good. If Namjoon tells him this he will probably give up now. You come up with such brilliant ideas today that you’re pleased with yourself. However – this was not the end.

Yoongi is riding a horse through the forest he already caught his prey so he’s not too interested in the scenery he’s already on his way back when his aid Namjoon appears.

“Did you tell her my message?” Namjoon bows in front of him as a greeting but looks nervous. He’s thinking about how could he tell the master that the lady rejected him again without a hint of hesitation in her voice. Reading his aid’s mind Yoongi’s brows furrow in distaste. She might be a lady with a significant house backing her but Yoongi thinks he’s not lacking anything as a husband candidate. He could give her money, real estate, jewellery, dresses everything she wanted so why did she reject him so confidently? The Duke of the North is getting a stack of marriage proposals daily that could fuel the fire in the fireplace all day long in his office so why did she reject him again?

“The lady told me to tell the duke she won’t marry you if you don’t love her. She wants a love marriage, not an arranged marriage.” Namjoon is carefully delivering her message to the duke who looks deep in thought after hearing that. Namjoon is also astonished by the fact that you don’t want to marry him. He has the wealth and authority which every woman is after. To think that she demeaned the duke to love her is insane.

He's afraid to see his master’s reaction. In all his years Yoongi never got interested in a woman before if anything it looked like he didn’t even see them. At Balls, he never danced no matter who asked or who tried to get close. The duke was never interested.

The duke didn’t answer but Namjoon thought that this was not the end of this. Yoongi seemed deep in his thoughts all the way back to the camp. The servants unloaded the bear he caught; a rare black bear that will probably ensure his win at the end of the hunting festival.

Back at his tent, he ordered a bunch of romance novels and while Namjoon found it a weird request he always did everything that his master ordered and then the research started.

He had once disinterested eyes but after your rejection he caught himself studying you whenever he could lay his eyes on you. His interest is rarely piqued but you keep showing him interesting things. The mystery of what you’re thinking in your head is driving him mad.

You softly hummed as you were getting ready for the award ceremony you’re in a good mood since you haven’t heard from Namjoon after that and when this is over you could go back to the mansion.

You only listened halfheartedly to the speech the king was giving as you already know who will become today’s winner. Or at least you thought so. In the original, the crown prince got first place with a deer but now everyone is celebrating Yoongi. He shines brightly his hair is perfectly styled and his dark uniform fits him perfectly he’s circled by nobles offering endless congratulations but he looks disinterested in them like always. He keeps looking over the faces when his eyes finally meet yours.

This is not how it was supposed to go. Whilst things deviated from the original little by little with your intervention this scene shouldn’t have changed. Yoongi didn’t have that many scenes within the novel as he usually showed disinterest in most things. You can’t imagine why he would win this competition when he hates bothersome things.

Oh. No, Why is he coming your way all of a sudden?

No one in the crowd expected him to stop right before you. No one actually believed he would accept the flower crown as Yoongi had never been involved with a woman before even if a lot of women desired him. But now he’s standing right in front of you handing you the flower crown. Your mouth would be hanging open by now if it hadn’t been for the large crowd that gathered around the two of you. Your father and brother who was standing next to you seem just as shocked as you are.

“What is the duke doing?” You try to push the crown away but Yoongi is relentless. If you won’t accept it gracefully he’s going to put it on your head with his own hands. This would be funny how he places the crown on you with a face that is devoid of any emotions.

“Are you going to reject me?” Hah! He knows well that you can’t. It’s tradition for the winner of the hunting competition to present the flower crown to the woman he wants to court or to a lover. With this Min Yoongi just announced to the world that he’s interested in you!

No matter what you say at this point the angry ladies whose eyes are stabbing you in the back with their intense gazes wouldn’t believe you in a million years that you’re not trying to covet their beloved duke. For a moment you wished you could be like him and read his thoughts for once.

You’re furious inside but you can’t show that. Even if you don’t like it you have to gracefully bow and accept his gift. Your eyes are a different story as you discreetly shoot arrows with your gaze. This means you have to attend the ball as his partner as well which is held on the last day. Originally you wouldn’t want to attend but now you’re obligated to.

Everyone’s attention was clearly on you and that made you sick.

You hurried away before anyone could ask you anything and you decided to rest at the family tent before you have to start getting ready for that bothersome ball. Who does he think he is? If you get entangled with the main leads no one can predict what will happen to you in the future. Normally you would be happy to be the centre of your favourite character’s attention but not when your life is on the line.

You can understand now when they say reading and experiencing something are two completely different things.

You’ve never thought that you would treat this way your favourite character to be honest you should be happy, even if he has an ulterior motive that is unknown to you for now, you’re the only woman he ever asked to marry and you actually thought about helping him somehow but the opportunity is too sudden. Also, what will you do if the story ends? If he lives and you live. You can’t live with him forever you know that this feeling and excitement and affection you have for him will fade away. You’ve always thought of him as a character you liked but he’s not in a book anymore; he’s right in front of your nose. There’s no way you can live in a loveless marriage for the rest of your life.

Can he even fall in love with you? Even at the last line he never looked at a woman. Maybe he falsely interpreted your words from before? Maybe he thought he had to show everyone he loves you like in a fake dating situation. Yes, if you talk to him he will definitely understand.

With a newfound determination, you left to look for him.

Namjoon doesn’t show outwardly that he’s surprised by your sudden visit but you could tell by the sudden hitch in his voice while greeting you.

“-Lady..” You ignore his greeting and go past him inside the inner tent. You’re perplexed for a moment when you see Yoongi’s shirtless back. He was in the middle of changing his clothes when you barged in but he doesn’t look fazed by it.

Namjoon hurriedly follows after you sweat is rolling down his temple as he apologises to his lord for letting you in. You’ve gone too far to back down now so you stand upright and cross your arms.

“Please, lady..” Namjoon struggles to try to get you out before his master unleashes his sword. He doesn’t like to be interrupted. You have no idea that Namjoon is fearing for your life but he actually admires you for your boldness not many can stand in front of his master without trembling in fear and you kept rejecting his marriage proposal. If anyone can be a match for his master it could be you.

“Go back I’ll handle it.” Yoongi dismisses Namjoon but he’s hesitant for a moment before he decides to leave the two of you alone. He has faith in his master that he won’t kill a noble.

During the flower crown ordeal you had so many things to say to him, curse him ask him why – so why is that you’re suddenly speechless in front of him? Yoongi drops the used shirt on the sofa. He can see anger in your eyes. He’s trying to figure out what you’re thinking.

He catches himself thinking that your reactions are quite amusing.

This is a first for him.

After you get over the initial shock of seeing his fit body you gather yourself to speak.

“Does the duke not care about my consent? The duke should know what it means to give out a flower crown. I don’t remember being the duke’s lover.” You’re fuming with both of your hands struggling in a fist.

Instead of replying the duke turned around and started looking for something on his messy desk. When he found it he approached you. Without realising you received it from him and when you looked at the book by the title alone you could tell it was a romance novel.

You can’t picture why the duke has that.

“You said you want love. I’m learning how to love you.” You’re rendered speechless by his words. He looks so serious that otherwise, you would think he’s joking.

“Do you want to marry me that badly?” You ask in disbelief. This doesn’t make any sense.

“Yes.”

He didn’t even hesitate and your heart felt weird because of it.

“Why?”

You’re quite close. Probably as close to him as anyone was ever before. His face doesn’t show anything but you can’t just accept his words. “Why are you willing to go to such lengths to marry me?”

You look deeply into his eyes. Yoongi realises you’re not scared of him. This is also a first. Everyone who knows about his achievements fears him. He’s the Duke of the North, a war demon who never lost a single battle. His hands reach out to touch your face and as he expected you don’t flinch away if anything it looks like your eyes sparkle in the dim lights. He sees fire in them.

“I can’t tell you the reason unless you marry me.” Only family members can know about his powers, he can’t go against traditions. You’re smart and witty and that answer doesn’t satisfy you at all.

Shouldn’t you know everything before you marry someone? – Most of all the reason why they want to marry you.

“What is the duke thinking about? I can’t tell.” You sigh disappointed by his answer but you perk up when he replies.

“That’s what I want to know too.” At that moment his thumb runs over your lower lip feeling with his fingers how you take in a huge breath of fresh air. Your eyes go wide as if you come to a conclusion but before he could ask you about it Namjoon appears again making the two of you break up.

Suddenly conscious of the intimacy of your bodies you step back and Yoongi’s hand falls from your face.

“I’m sorry to interrupt but the lady’s maid is here. The maid said that the lady should start getting ready.” Right. You forgot about the banquet. Knowing that you can’t delay any longer you decide to leave for now but it’s clear that the conversation is not over and Yoongi could feel it too.

“Alright. Please pick me up when I’m done preparing.” Yoongi nods and you leave just like that.

He looks down at the thumb that touched your lips he read this inside the book that could be good to seduce you but he needs more practice. Feeling up your lips was not unpleasant like he thought it would though. You keep surprising him and his chest is starting to feel weird whenever he sees you.

You need to stick to him during the ball this is your best strategy if you don’t want to be chewed out by hungry wolves. Now all of Yoongi’s fanclub is going for your throat so you need to be as close as possible to ward them off. Thinking about how everyone’s eyes will be on you tonight is giving you a headache.

The maid selected a beautiful deep purple dress for you to wear with the appropriate heels and accessories. Your hair is in an updo with some locks framing your face. In this period it takes too long to get ready but there’s nothing you can do about it.

Even if you go while looking pretty or not everyone will try to find fault in you. You can hear it in your head how they will whisper that you somehow bewitched the duke.

No one can be ready when you step into the ballroom while holding Yoongi’s arm your outfits ridiculously matching despite the short notice. Everyone is gossiping like you expected.

They don’t even try to be subtle about it.

The first to approach you is your father and brother and your fingers unconsciously tighten around the duke’s sleeve. The three men exchange pleasantries but your father doesn’t like beating around the bush for long before he asks what everyone is curious about.

“I had no idea the duke was interested in my daughter.” You virtually facepalm yourself when hearing that. That is like saying to my face that I’m no match for the duke. You were known to be notorious but this is getting ridiculous. He should be saying that the duke is not good enough for you!

“I fell in love with her at first sight.” Everyone is silently eavesdropping and it looks like their ears and mouths are reaching the floor by now. Your reaction is not too far behind as well. You were thinking: ‘Don’t tell me that he read this in one of his romance novels as well’.

Can you even avoid getting married to him at this point now? Unlikely as how everyone is so focused on your life at the moment. It feels like you become the century’s sensation with this.

“Haha. The duke is just joking.” You try to lighten the mood but you can’t really get Yoongi and your father out of that weird exchange of looks. If he wants them to believe this he should say it with some emotion damn it. You want to yell this into his face but you don’t of course.

“No, I intend on marrying the lady.” Now he has done it. But seeing your father’s shocked expression is funny. You don’t think there’s anyone in the ballroom who’s not left in shock after hearing that. Even a lady from the Duke’s fan club fainted hearing that.

After your father left many noble couples approached you inquiring about you two was the first thing everyone did but Yoongi didn’t say much regarding the matter besides what he told your father and you were not going to elaborate further so soon after the men talked about business and the wife asked you some general polite questions. Going around for so long soon your feet started to hurt and the dress felt uncomfortable to wear. All you wanted to do was go back to your room and get some rest.

“I’m not feeling too well so I think I’m going to leave.” As a last resort, you interrupt the men’s conversation to get Yoongi’s attention. You reached your limit and just thinking about what happened today makes you feel exhausted. After you got your nanny kicked out you thought that things would calm down for a while but it seems like you were mistaken.

Now you have to deal with an even bigger trouble and his name is Min Yoongi.

“What’s wrong?” Yoongi scans your body looking for the cause of your unwellness which is surprising. You didn’t think he would ask about what’s wrong with you. You expected him to let you go with some curtesy words and while his face is as impassive as ever he is looking only at you.

Thinking about that makes a small shade of pink being introduced to your face. Maybe you have a fever. Yes. That’s probably it.

Reluctant to say it in front of the noble couple you reach for him to whisper into his ears so no one else could hear you. “My feet hurt my heels are uncomfortable to wear.” Thinking that it’s enough to explain why you want to leave you turn around to actually go when the duke holds you by the waist sliding one of his hands under your legs to pick you up. You almost let out an unladylike shriek but you manage to hold it in at the last minute. Your hands circle his neck to find stability.

“What are you doing?” Dropping the honorifics in your panic you whisper yell at him to let you down. This is so embarrassing.

“I read it in a book if a lady tells you their feet hurt you need to carry them.” What kind of stupid book that is – you want to yell but you just lower your head so your eyes don’t meet with anyone as Yoongi carries you out.

Now you’re really not going to live this down. If some were skeptical now they are actually convinced that Yoongi is in love with you.

Can you even call this fake dating? He literally said he is going to make himself fall in love with you so you marry him!

You sit bonelessly on the sofa in Yoongi’s tent. He’s actually going to treat the wound on your feet as you try to grasp the situation. You feel exhausted now that you got to sit down.

If you think this through there’s no way you can claim it now that you have nothing to do with him. It might be your best bet to marry him. From your conversation earlier you keep thinking about what he said about wanting to know what you’re thinking. His sudden interest in you probably has something to do with his mind-reading powers. Could this be that he can’t read your thoughts? That could be possible.

He wouldn’t have asked otherwise so strangely and you keep thinking about being possessed in a novel and refer to him as your favourite character there’s no way he wouldn’t ask about it if he knew. Maybe…

Maybe he can’t read your thoughts because you’re not originally from this world? – Y/N’s family’s power is to block powers so that could be a good explanation as well. You can’t really ask for confirmation since you’re not supposed to know that he can read minds.

You don’t realise you kept staring at him while you were deep in your thoughts. You wince when he puts the ointment on your wound roughly your hand goes to hold his wrist to stop him.

“Be gentle it hurts.” You look at him with a frown but he actually listens as he becomes more careful with his touches. His hand is full of callouses and cuts probably from wielding his sword. Now that you remember it he was called a war monster in the novel. Most times when he was mentioned he was looped in with his war achievements or his lack of interest in women. It’s interesting to know these little things that his desk is messy and that he’s not as scary as everyone makes him out to be. He can be quite gentle.

“Thank you.” This time you’re sincere.

This is the calmest tone you’ve ever spoken to him now that you’ve realised. You tried to keep your distance as much as you could you were quite rude to him until now. You’re not going to apologise though your anger was justified he did get you into this mess without your consent.

The silence that fills the space is not uncomfortable for some reason.

“It’s just a small cut you will be fine.” His tone is like usual but his actions cannot be told to be.

“W-What are you doing?” His lips are touching your feet. A small warm kiss is planted on your foot as if he’s wishing for your pain to subside. The duke is a rational man – this is probably another scene from that damn novel but why is your heart beating so loudly in your ears? After kissing it his eyes directly meet yours as if he’s searching for something in the depths.

“Did your pain go away? I want to know if the book had the facts right. It doesn’t seem medically accurate.” You’re too dumbfounded to reply but after regaining your senses you pull your feet away and the duke finally gets up from his kneeling position.

“This is not about the pain! It’s to make the girl’s heart flutter!” You avoid his gaze looking to the right after your sudden exclamation. You can’t believe you really have to explain this to him.

“Then did your heart flutter?” This is a dangerous thought – but maybe – just maybe his little head tilt looked a little cute. What should you do? Lie? Tell the truth?

“Everyone would be flustered in that kind of situation.” You try to rationalise what you’re feeling right now is not attraction. It’s going to fade away – he’s just a character you liked in a book. No need to get worked up.

“So – are you going to ask me again or not?” Trying to hide your embarrassment you get to the point. You decided not to run away from him – at least for now. You can come up with a plan later and if it doesn’t work out then divorce is still a thing in this period too.

“Will you marry me now?” He looks surprised. While it’s hard to read his expression you can disamble some of his emotions if you look for it hard enough. After all, he’s not that mysterious Duke of the North – but you don’t think the readers would be disappointed finding this out.

He’s still charming.

“Alright. Let’s get married.”

You said that but you still have some concerns. The novel’s development is truly out of hand this time. It’s also concerning that you haven’t seen the main protagonists yet. Taehyung is absent from the hunting competition but the main couple should meet during the imperial ball.

However – everyone only talks about your marriage with the duke. You were not sure if it was safe to marry the duke but to be honest, this could work in your favour. Now you can’t be the villainess who falls in love with Taehyung at first sight since you will be a married woman. If you don’t interfere they will have no reason to execute you and your favourite character won’t kill you because for some reason he needs you alive – so this is not so bad. Your reputation is slowly but rising among the aristocrats who witnessed your behaviour as you haven’t caused much trouble. If you exclude the scandal with Min Yoongi but it wasn’t even your fault.

Your father didn’t say a word when you said you were going to ride with Yoongi back to the capital. Your brother was a different story – he did try to object but failed as your father dismissed him. You don’t delude yourself that things will be that easy. Whilst your father didn’t object outwardly now because of the public eye it doesn’t mean he can’t reject the proposal when it’s inside the mansion. Wouldn’t be so bad to get out of that house either as you have mostly bad memories from that place.

The duke delayed his trip back to the north until your marriage is settled so now you’re on your way to the capital. Even if you don’t hold a big wedding both families have to agree to the marriage and then give the marriage application to the royal palace for registration only then it could be a legal marriage. It will take some time until everything is sorted out but that’s fine since you need to meet with Jungkook. You need to tell him the news but he probably knows about it by now. Still, you can’t rest until the house of Summer is taken down or someone else takes over his place preferably a better duke than him because a war would not help you survive here either.

“Will you tell me now why we have to be married?” The journey back to the capital will be quite long you decide to get some information out of him if you have to share the carriage with him anyway. The swaying of the carriage makes you uneasy so it’s better to focus on something else.

“We’re not married yet.” No shit Sherlock. You hold back the reflex to roll your eyes. He would look at you like a crazy woman if he could read your thoughts so you’re almost 100% sure this is the reason he wants to marry you.

“If you tell me doesn’t that mean I cannot take back my word since I would know your secret, Duke Min?” Your persuasion might work at least he’s thinking about telling you now.

It’s silent inside there’s no other sound than the carriage rattling on the road and when you’re about to give up trying to persuade him to tell you the atmosphere around the duke changes.

He’s always serious but he looks even more so now.

“Our family’s power is to read the human mind.” You take some fake time to process this – you can’t give him the suspicion that you already know about his powers. So you keep quiet and appear to be thinking before you speak up. Now – this is something to start with:

“So—you read minds. What does that have to do with me? Perhaps, you can’t read my thoughts?” It doesn’t seem like he suspects you he probably thinks you have good intuition. Hopefully.

“I can’t. But that’s not all.” Now you’re actually curious. You stay in your seat anticipating his answer when he instead touches your cheek again. This is not the time to recite some romance novel bullshit. “If I touch you like this I can’t read anyone's thoughts.”

This is crazy. Not just you – but no one. Do you really have some kind of power that you’re unaware of? Even if your family’s power is to deflect other powers that wouldn’t answer why touching you blocks out everything. In theory, it should only work on you.

“You really can’t hear anything?” You’re a bit excited this is new. You carelessly grab his hand that’s holding your cheek startling Yoongi in the process. Thanks to the bumpy road you lose your balance and land right on your companion’s lap. He grabbed you without thinking holding you by the waist both of your legs hanging off to the side your face excruciatingly close to his.

“Sorry, I lost my footing.” You try to get up but the road is really not letting you off the hook. If anything Yoongi has to pull you closer to not fall over with you in tow.

“Were your eyes always this pretty?” One hand goes to put some hair behind your ears. W-What is he saying now? You’re confused for only a moment before you realise. Romance novel.

After this trip is over you really want to know what kind of trashy romance novel he was reading as a reference and you would appreciate it if he did not try all of it out on you in such unexpected situations.

“I can’t believe the duke really said that with a straight face. If you want my heart to flutter you have to do better than that.” You were half joking and half serious but he doesn’t have to know that.

“Like what?” You didn’t expect him to ask but he found you in a playful mood. Since he wants to become your lover you’re going to prank him. After that, he will think twice before reciting such cheesy lines.

“A kiss probably.” You try to smile seductively with just the corners of your lips tilting upwards but that smile soon remains frozen on your face as warm chapped lips meet with yours.

It’s a kiss. The duke is actually kissing you.

It’s awkward your lips are touching but there’s nothing else. To think the duke doesn’t know how to kiss is funny.

You’re the first to pull back as you can’t keep back your laughter anymore. “I guess there’s one thing the duke is not good at.”

His face is as serious as ever but if you look closely he kinda looks offended by your statement. His hand tightens around you it looks like he has a competitive side to him as well. You keep learning new things about the duke.

It’s probably an impulse to prove you wrong but he pulls you back by holding the back of your head in place. It’s not just a peck now it’s transforming into a real kiss as he moves his lips over yours. It’s clumsy but somewhat charming. His tongue comes out unexpectedly but you’re not gonna stop now – you open your mouth to welcome his tongue and intertwine it with yours. It’s messy but it does make your heart flutter.

His breath on your face, his fingers in your hair you’re hyperaware of every little body part that touches his.

Before you get entirely lost in the sensation you pull back, stopping the kiss before it could devour you. You’re not the only one breathing hard the duke is panting as well. His hand is still around your head and his touch is especially gentle.

This weirdly romantic moment is interrupted by the trusted aid Namjoon yet again. It seems like he comes always at the worst moments.

The ride back home felt a lot shorter with Yoongi than when you were on your way to the hunting festival with your family. You feel shy. You get off Yoongi’s lap before the carriage door opens and someone sees you in a compromising position. The nation is shocked enough as it is.

“Maybe my heart did flutter a bit.” The words are quietly uttered but you’re sure the wind carried it away enough for the duke to hear it however, before he could register the hidden meaning behind your words then the carriage door opens and you accept Namjoon’s hand to get off first.

You’re too shy to watch his reaction or afraid to find the lack of it. Only Namjoon can see the rare sigh of his master looking somewhat flushed but he dismisses it, after all, the weather is quite hot here in the capital. He could be just feeling hot due to the long journey. The clothes they bought are not suitable for this warm weather but neither of them complained as this will be a mere visit so there’s no need to buy new clothes that would never be worn again after leaving for the north again.

The schedule suffered a setback as the duke suddenly proposed marriage and until everything was settled the departure was delayed. Yoongi offers you his arm to hold onto and you after a moment of thinking intertwine your arms going in the direction of your father’s office. You spotted the family carriage so they arrived by the time you got off. It’s not farfetched to think they expected your visit as both your father and brother seem to be waiting for the two of you. They are not visibly displeased but deep in their thoughts.

Your brother’s eyes automatically go to your joined hands wearing an uncomfortable expression. Of course, they wouldn’t want to let you go so soon. A part of you like to think selfishly and blame them. A thought enters your mind: they probably want to keep you here since you started to be useful lately. On the other hand, your calmer mind thinks more about the truth that they feel ashamed of their behaviour. If you leave them so early there’s no way they could amend their wrongdoings. Your brother feels guilty after everything that happened and there’s a hint of overprotectiveness in him as well as your brother. Even if you know all this you have no reason to provide them with forgiveness. A person needs to take responsibility for their actions.

You were not planning to leave this early but you decided to accept his proposal now that you know his secret they wouldn’t let you live if you suddenly tried to escape or go back on your word.

Even if you decided not too long ago to go through with it you’re shaking with nerves. You tried to make yourself feel better that you could divorce him once everything is over but now knowing the truth there’s no way you could cut ties so easily. While worrying won’t solve anything you’re still anxious. This is the best you can do for now since being his wife and him needing you means that he won’t kill you even if someone orders it. The plot has already changed but there’s no guarantee that the story won’t try to change back to its original.

Whilst your father looked reluctant to agree to this marriage he didn’t try to stop you surprisingly. He asked you if that’s what you want and when you answered with a yes he relented.

Your brother was a different matter – he kept glaring at Yoongi throughout the entire ordeal. Fortunately, Yoongi did not pay much attention to his animosity as they politely spoke about the preparations that needed to be done. There won’t be a big wedding that you are thankful for. You’re already the talk of the town there’s no need for more publicity.

In the last couple of days, everything seems to settle one by one quietly. The palace agreed to the marriage without objections however they set a condition which you were not expecting. The king wants to throw a ball before you head over to the north in honour of your marriage but you feel like there’s an ulterior motive behind this. Even if you suspect it you have no room to refuse the king so you and Yoongi agree to attend.

Leaving the house undetected in the meantime becomes quite challenging as the wedding preparations were reduced to be completed in two weeks you were moving in a tight schedule, dress fitting, and writing all the invitations you did not have much time on your hands to sleep not to tell about you private matters that you wanted to take care of before you permanently head to the north. The house staff also seemed busy with the preparations. A room was prepared for Yoongi and his men to stay in the house you couldn’t just let your future husband sleep in an inn whether your family liked him staying or not, there are enough rumours surrounding the two of you as is.

The preparations were not the only obstacle standing in your way sneaking out but the duke decided to follow you almost everywhere. While writing the invitations he used your office as his attending to his paperwork constantly being near you even if you were doing other things in the same room and when you asked why he had to work in your room he just answered with:

“Spending time together is a sign of affection.” He looks up from his stack of papers. That damn romance novel again.

“Have you heard of the line that ‘distance makes the heart grow fonder’ you should try it sometime.” You shake your head, murmuring it under your nose that he’s unable to hear you but when he looks at you questioningly you decide not to dare and repeat it.

One of these days you were feeling tempted to find that book and burn it so he cannot use it again as a reference. But you have to think about this, in worst case scenario he finds an even more romance infused book with ridiculous lines and plots to recreate. It’s not like you could learn romance through a book but you need to give credit where it’s due as he puts real effort into it at least. Looking at his unique circumstances as a child and as an adult you could see why he would want to learn romance from a book in a practical way. He was never showered with parental love and he had no means of growing fond of people too as he could hear their thoughts. He had no reason to. The means are clumsy but he’s trying hard to fall in love with you and making you fall for him as he put it. You never had a boyfriend who took dating this seriously before. It’s not that everything he does annoy you. You started to grow fond of the romancing lines that he recited with an indifferent face.

He's always honest which makes him a bit unapproachable at first but after spending time with him his honesty while it’s blunt he’s not saying anything out of malice. He’s just too sincere. It’s refreshing as you don’t have to look for underlying meaning. If you ask him something he answers without hesitation it’s good since you don’t have any misunderstandings. When you asked why he wanted you to fall in love with him he simply answered that ‘it means you won’t leave me’. You were so surprised that you started laughing his honesty was so absurd. It was kind of cute.

It took a considerable amount of time and scheming for you to finally be able to meet with the information guild in secret. Jungkook expected you to come by one of these days so he was not too surprised to see you. It felt like greeting an old friend he even teased you about suddenly getting married while having some good tea as company. Now that you both earned each other’s thrust you told him everything he needs to be wary of while operating secretly. Your purpose is to stop the war from happening and you need help to bring down the Duke of Summer but you need to be extra careful with your steps not to seem suspicious. You part ways with a wedding gift as Jungkook called it in your pockets. It’s a communication sphere that you could easily carry with you. It was a short meeting but you couldn’t help it as you had to go back to the wedding preparations.

You’re getting the jitters as you lay on your bed. Tomorrow is the d-day. You’re actually thankful for your brother for once. His purpose was probably just to separate you but that meant you had all day to yourself to get your thoughts in order before the grand wedding without Yoongi looming over your shoulders. It seemed at the last minute you had different opinions on small weddings as you had to send out tons of invitations. The maids made sure everything was perfect for the big day – this is the busiest and most carefree atmosphere this place ever got. It would have been a lot easier if you didn’t need to walk on eggshells all this time. Dodging the servant's rude comments and their ignorant behaviour they all changed when the masters started to change.

You’re only sorrowful that the real Y/N couldn’t experience this. The misunderstanding has been cleared but she’s nowhere to be found. Will she ever come back or you’re stuck as her forever? Time can only tell how things will work out in the end. But one thing is certain you’re not going to give up and you will live through this ending.

Yoongi is even more handsome when formally dressed he doesn’t look nervous unlike you. You join hands at the altar and the priest tells you your wows. The exchange ends like a blur with a light kiss on your lips. The rings on your fingers glisten in the bright light.

You’re pronounced as husband and wife. You’ve married your favourite character. This is crazy but this man in front of you is now your husband. You bit all ten of your nails by the time you’re done preparing for the wedding night. You were bathed very throughoutly and put in a nice nightgown that you haven’t seen before in your life.

Yoongi is already sitting at the edge of the bed when you enter the bedroom and he looks relaxed after his bath.

You later learn that he’s only relaxed because he has no idea what you should be doing on a wedding night.

You were aware of his unfortunate childhood and that the previous duchess and duke were not on the best terms with each other if you could call people who never met each other after getting married even ‘be in a relationship’ and now you’re convinced that their wedding night might have been the start of their miserable life.

Once the head of house Min gets engaged they get a script of how to produce an heir Yoongi explained but seeing the document yourself you feel sorry for the previous duchesses’ they had to endure a loveless marriage and probably a painful first time where their opinions were not even considered.

Sticking it in is not how a married couple should have sex. You don’t know who wrote this but this person clearly never had good sex. It’s weird to hold this piece of paper in your hand but since your marriage with Yoongi is not an ordinary one you learned that he got this paper this morning urgently to read before the ceremony. Even Namjoon were unaware of the contents as he was only the messenger. Arranged marriage is how house Min kept their bloodline going by getting sold daughters living miserable lives. You don’t want to be one of them. Thankfully you have an advantage that the previous duchess did not have; a power that could contain their madness.

You’re sure Yoongi will never try to hurt you if he wants you to be with him and provide him with blissful silence.

“If you try to do what this text says I’ll definitely never forgive you.” You toss the paper to the side after tearing it apart.

Yoongi’s in luck since he married a modern woman. You know enough about sex for the both of you to get a pleasant experience and you don’t think topping it would be much of a feat after reading what the previous heads were doing to their woman. No wonder without knowing or receiving love it would be hard to know about these things. The wives were too consumed by hate because of everything that had happened to them and the dukes had no idea how to love their wives at the brink of their madness. That is truly tragic.

You don’t believe however that Yoongi is not capable of feelings.

Even after spending this short time with him, you could see his character changing and you’re not only speaking about his determination to learn romance through those trashy romance novels. He actually listens, laughs and feels jealous. He used to be pretending to get close to you but you don’t think he did that kiss just to play out a scene. He does things impulsively too.

Initially, his interest was the only thing that fueled him to get closer and keep you by any means.

“What am I supposed to do then?”

This is crazy. Are you really allowed to corrupt your favourite character? Duh, you’re his wife now. The little you in your head reminds you. Y/N is you now even if you tried to deny it so many times this is your reality. You need to stop thinking that the life you’re living is someone else’s and you need to forget that these are characters in a novel.

You’re living in this novel now and this is your reality.

“You should kiss me.” A switch just flipped inside your brain. Just like in the carriage, you straddle Yoongi and his hands grip you through the small gown you wear that doesn’t conceal anything. It’s so thin he could feel your warmth. Yoongi sees your overall aura change, you suddenly look possessed. It stirs something in him seeing you riled up.

The consequences be damned you’re going to enjoy your wedding night with your favourite character.

– The war, the family struggle, the main characters that you haven’t met yet all of that can wait one more night at least. –

Yoongi kisses your lips gripping your bare thighs always listening so well. His tongue messily enters between your lips and you follow along with his rhythm the lack of his experience makes your job easier to dominate the kiss. Push and pull until both of you pant like dogs into each other’s open mouths. The blood from his head rushes to his lower regions. Unaware that he’s getting very aroused by your actions but you could feel the outline of his cock through your thin clothes. He might not know what to call what you do to him but he surely knows how that makes him feel.

That piece of paper definitely didn’t prepare him for you.

Your lips on his neck and your wandering hands are overwhelming him but he doesn’t dare to push you away, no, it feels too good to do that. You not only give him peace of mind without knowing what everyone thinks around him but show him new sensations and make him feel in a certain way. Feel loved. Even the slight pain that he feels as you mark him up is a pleasurable experience for him. Only after you get rid of his clothes that he sees his own cock fully hard. Your hand and mouth are already around it.

Sounds keep escaping his lips embarrassing whines and moans as your hot lips curve around his cock.

It’s warm wet and tight inside that Yoongi’s back arches off the bed shooting his load soon into your awaiting mouth seeing the signs of his orgasm. He cums embarrassingly fast. He doesn’t know what to do to contain this fire licking its way up inside his veins he follows your directions kissing you all over mimicking you hoping that it will feel good for you too, flipping you over as he hovers over your body kissing every inch of your skin making you moan as your fingers card through his messy hair. You hold his face close to your chest his lips kissing over your breasts and nipples. He reaches your pussy with your guidance his tongue first darts out to get a taste. Yoongi can feel his heart beat like crazy you’re wet and glistening for him. He keeps licking and flicking the tip of his tongue over your puffy bud loving how you say his name when he does something you especially like.

His lips are coated in your essence love how messy he gets with his licks. No matter what he does you keep shaking under him sighing his name. Your husband keeps your legs apart deflowering you sinfully with his tongue insistently rolling over and over your sensitive clit until you cum with a cry of his name. You pull him up for a heated kiss catching your breath but your hand impatiently aligns his cock with your wet opening.

Attempting to describe the feeling of how your warm walls hug him is futile but you can guess how good it feels for him when you see his eyes tightly shut and his mouth hanging open in a silent moan. His hips move on their own after you show him the way the initial discomfort after being stretched soon ebbed into a dull ache replaced with pleasure after some perfectly angled thrust on his part. He gets cockier and more confident with his movements as you moan louder when he finds a good spot he’s getting addicted to the feeling when you tighten around him.

He could do this all night with you. With your legs tightly wrapped around his torso or your leg on his shoulder hitting deeper in every position and angle your pussy feels tighter and wetter that he feels his orgasm build rapidly again. He keeps pushing inside you and pulling back until just the tip remains not caring if the bed shakes under you the wet squelch that your sexes make and the creaking of the bed is the song that you listen to all night long.

You lost count of how many times he finishes inside of you his cum dripping down your thighs when his passion finally subsides. The aftermath hits you hard feeling sore all over but utterly satisfied.

After sharing this heated night with your favourite you feel like you could accomplish anything in this life.

Novel. Or real life.

Yoongi got to experience many firsts with you. For the first time in his life, he desperately wants to cling to someone. Be loved and love in return. He welcomes your lazy kisses with his arms strongly holding you to his body. “If I can love, I promise to only love you.”

There’s nothing more you could ask for. Your smile reaches ear to ear and whilst Yoongi needs to learn a lot of things you’re ready to tackle this life with him and hopefully reach your happy ending.

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simplyraeblue · 3 months ago

Text

Forever Never Yours

You’re married to the king who wears his crown with quiet strength, whose touch is warm and steady. But it’s his oldest friend — the one with silver eyes and a smile too bright to be real — that watches you with a longing that never leaves, no matter how hard he tries to hide it. You look away first, every time. Until, one day, you don’t. King!Geto x f!Queen!Reader x King!Gojo

tags/warnings: medieval au, love triangle, slow burn, angst, hurt/comfort, emotional manipulation, mutual secret pining, gojo is yearning and suffering at the same time, geto used to be an angel, kenjaku is his own warning, arranged marriage, queen reader, eventual comfort maybe, eventual smut, heavy themes, abortion/miscarriage mentions, no one says “i love you” but it’s there?

-.⋅˚₊‧ 🜲 ‧₊˚ ⋅ -.⋅˚₊‧ 🜲 ‧₊˚ ⋅ -.⋅˚₊‧ 🜲 ‧₊˚ ⋅ -.⋅˚₊‧ 🜲 ‧₊˚ ⋅

part two word count: 6,178 previous part ➺ here

Months unfolds like any other—measured, orderly, and predictable in the way palace life always is. There are documents to review, trade routes to renegotiate, an inspection of the outer garrison, and two visiting lords who take up far too much of your time talking about nothing of real value. You nod where you should, offer opinions when required, and smile just enough to keep the mood light.

Geto sits beside you through most of it, perfectly poised, perfectly kingly. To anyone watching, nothing seems amiss. His tone remains composed, respectful, even warm when court demands it.

But something has slowly shifted.

You feel it in the silence between you. In the way his shoulder never brushes yours anymore. In how his replies to you grow shorter with each passing day. In the way he’s stopped sharing the quiet, mundane things he used to—what he overheard in the kitchens, what wildflowers are blooming near the cliffs, how he couldn’t sleep the night before.

Now, he barely speaks to you unless duty demands it. And when he does, it’s colder. Sharper.

And lately, there’s someone else beside him.

Kenjaku. The newest member of Geto’s inner circle. His "strategic advisor," though no one remembers exactly when he was given the title. Or where he came from. Only that Geto seems to trust him completely.

You do not.

Kenjaku is quiet, unnervingly so. He stands close, always watching—his expression unreadable, his words laced with veiled insult, delivered with the politeness of someone who knows they’ll never be punished for it. He speaks only when it’s useful. Only when it can cut.

"Her Majesty has a... gentle approach to statecraft," he said once, after you disagreed with a proposed sanction against a struggling southern province. "Compassion can be so admirable. If costly."

You had looked at Geto, expecting him to correct the insult hidden in those words. But he didn’t. He didn’t even flinch. He simply nodded. “We’ll take it under consideration.”

You said nothing more. You learned not to. Because Kenjaku has started to speak without Geto’s permission. And Geto never corrects him. Sometimes you catch Kenjaku watching you during council meetings, his smile too thin, too knowing. As if he’s already decided how this ends.

You try not to give him the satisfaction of reacting. But it’s difficult. Especially when Geto starts quoting him more than he does you. Especially when your suggestions are brushed aside with phrases like “We’ll revisit it later,” or “Kenjaku raised a valid concern.”

At night, the cold stretches further.

Geto still sleeps beside you on some nights, but there's a distance in him now that no fire can chase away. His back is often turned, his breathing deep but restless. When he speaks, it’s brief—political, procedural. Words meant for an ally, not a wife.

But last night, he didn’t sleep. Neither did you. You felt him awake beside you, still and silent for what must’ve been hours. And when he finally spoke, it wasn’t your name he said. It was a decision.

"Kenjaku thinks it’s time we speak of an heir." He said it plainly, like he was discussing grain stores or border patrols.

You turned to face him then, searching his expression in the low firelight. “Kenjaku thinks so?”

He didn’t flinch at your tone. “He’s right. It’s overdue.”

“We haven’t spoken of it,” you said quietly.

“Then we’re speaking of it now.”

You sat up slowly, blanket pooling around your waist, heart beginning to thrum. “Is this what you want?”

“I want what’s best for the kingdom,” he replied without missing a beat. “We’ve had peace for years. We’re stable. It’s time.”

“But you’re not asking,” you said, voice tight.

He looked at you then. Not cruelly. Not kindly. Just… indifferently. “Do I need to?” The silence that followed was louder than anything either of you could’ve said.

Now, the next morning, you sit in your dressing room, robe draped loosely over your shoulders, staring blankly at the basin of water your maid left behind. You haven’t moved in a while. Elira knocked once. When you didn’t respond, she didn’t knock again.

The palace is waking up beyond the door—staff moving through their routines, court officials preparing for another long day of petitions, advisors gathering for the midweek review. You’re supposed to be there.

But you can’t stop hearing his voice. Then we’re speaking of it now. Do I need to? It wasn’t a threat. It wasn’t even anger. That was the worst part. It was a decision. One made without you.

Kenjaku has been circling this topic for months now, always dancing around it with political precision. Casual enough to seem harmless. Clever enough to plant the seed.

“The people love their queen,” he said once, standing just a little too close behind your chair. “They would love her even more with a child in her arms.”

Another time, during a strategy meeting, he'd murmured to Geto with that mild, thoughtful tone: “A lineage strengthens rule. Blood solidifies loyalty. Peace doesn't last forever without roots.”

Every time, Geto had listened. And every time, you’d swallowed your dread. Now, the seed has grown. And the question isn’t if—it’s when.

The door creaks slightly behind you. A maid peeks in. “Your Majesty, His Grace requests your presence in the royal solar. He’s dismissed the court for the morning.”

Your heart skips. He never clears the court for you. You inhale slowly, steadying yourself. “Tell him I’ll be there shortly.” The maid nods and slips out.

You stare at your reflection in the mirror—eyes tired, lips pressed into a thin line, hands still trembling in your lap. You are a queen. You are his wife.

But for the first time, you wonder how much of you is left in the role you’ve been given. And what will remain if he decides your body is his kingdom, too.

When you step into the corridor, the light from the high windows is soft, muted by passing clouds. The palace feels heavier this morning, like it knows something you don’t yet. Or maybe it’s just you, as the dread curled low in your stomach.

The guards stationed at the solar door open it without ceremony. Inside, the air is quiet. The fire hasn’t been lit, and the chill still clings to the stone walls.

Geto stands near the window, his hands clasped behind his back. You haven’t seen him like this since the early days of your reign together – a mere two years ago – when things were still tender between you. When he held your hand after long meetings, when he sat with you in silence through grief.

When you’d still believed there was time.

“Close the door,” he says, without turning. You do. Slowly.

He doesn’t speak at first. Just stares out the tall window, watching the wind stir the courtyard trees below.

Finally, he says, “You didn’t come to council this morning.”

You choose your words carefully. “You dismissed the court.”

He turns then. His face is unreadable—not angry, but resolute. “Yes. Because we needed to speak privately.”

You fold your hands in front of you, willing your voice to remain steady. “About an heir.” His silence is answer enough. “I know you think this is the right time, but rushing into it—”

“I’m not rushing,” he cuts in. “This isn’t sudden. You’ve known it would come. We both have.”

“Yes,” you admit, “but I thought we would talk about it together. Decide when we were ready.”

His brow twitches. Not with guilt—irritation. “There’s never a perfect time. There’s only now. And now, the court is expecting it. The people are beginning to ask. Whispers about succession, stability, the future of the realm—”

“And Kenjaku,” you say, sharper than you mean to. “He’s been whispering, too, hasn’t he?”

His jaw tightens. “He’s doing his duty. He’s advising me—us.”

“He’s exploiting you.” You swallow. “He knows what we lost. He knows we haven’t tried again. He’s using that.”

Geto’s expression darkens. “Don’t twist this into something it’s not.”

“I’m not twisting anything. I’m reminding you of the one thing no one dares to mention in that council room. You and I—we tried. And we lost. And we never spoke of it again.”

The silence that follows is jagged. Neither of you move.

Geto steps forward, slow, measured. His voice, when it comes, is low and cold. “I’ve been patient with you.”

You blink. “Patient?”

“I’ve let you move at your own pace,” he says. “I didn’t push. I didn’t demand. I defended your silence when others asked why there’s no child. I waited.”

Your chest tightens, and you fight the emotion crawling up your throat. “And now you’re finished waiting?”

He looks at you—hard, unreadable. “Now I’m doing what needs to be done. Whether you’re ready or not.”

There it is. No more softness. No more pretending. You stare at him, stunned. “You’d force this?”

He doesn’t blink. “I’d fulfill my duty. Would you?”

The room turns cold. Colder than the stone. You don’t say another word. You don’t scream, or cry, or ask him to reconsider. There’s no point. You see it in his face—the decision has already taken root.

So you turn. Slowly. Your steps are steady as you cross the stone floor, but it feels like walking through water. Thick. Heavy. Your limbs resist each movement, your throat tight with unshed breath. The door feels impossibly far away.

Your hand trembles only slightly as you open the door, and you’re grateful the guards outside don’t look at you. You don’t think you could stand it if they did. You keep walking. Down the corridor, past the tall windows and the flickering sconces, past servants who bow politely and pretend not to notice the way your face has gone pale, the way your mouth is pressed into a thin, brittle line.

Inside, everything is unraveling.

Your heart feels raw. Like something has torn open again. The wound you buried—the loss neither of you dared to name—it never healed. You just learned to carry it in silence. And now, he wants to tear it open like it was never sacred. Like it was never real.

This—this—feels like betrayal. Not of the crown. Not of the court. Of you.

By the time you reach your chambers, your hands are ice-cold. Your maid rises from the corner in surprise, mouth parting as if to speak. You raise a hand before she can. “Leave me.”

She bows and slips out without protest. The door closes behind her with a soft click. And then you’re alone.

You don’t scream. Don’t fall to the floor in tears like some tragic story whispered through the halls. No one would hear you break if you decided to. Instead, you move to the mirror. You look at yourself—truly look.

You still wear the crown he placed on your head. Still wear the robes of a queen. But you barely recognize the woman staring back at you. There’s too much quiet in her eyes. Too much grief packed into spaces where joy used to live.

He said he was done waiting. But he never asked if you were still grieving.

You press your fingers to your stomach—reflexive, protective. There was once life there. Brief, small, fleeting. You never even got to feel it. Only the emptiness after. The bleeding, the quiet horror. The way no one would say the word out loud.

And already he wants to try again. As if that first time meant nothing. As if your body is a thing he can call upon when the kingdom says now.

You pull off your robes, let them drop to the floor. The chill bites at your skin, but you don’t reach for warmth. You step into the bath your maid had prepared earlier, the water now only lukewarm. You sink into it slowly, letting it rise around you, wash over your limbs. You close your eyes. Try to breathe.

It’s been a week since the solar. A week since he looked you in the eye and stripped the choice from your hands. Since then, the walls have begun to close in.

The changes came quietly, one by one—small, subtle limitations that anyone else might overlook. But you see them clearly. Feel them. Each one another link in a chain he never asked you to wear.

It started with the council. A summons was sent to your chambers that morning—formal, stiff in tone, as if you were a guest in your own palace. It stated that your “presence in today’s council meeting is not required.”

When you went anyway, out of sheer defiance, you found your chair at the high table already occupied by Kenjaku. Geto didn’t ask you to leave. He didn’t even look at you.

But when you tried to speak—once, to question a decree on outer territory levies—Kenjaku smoothly interrupted. “With respect, Your Majesty, this is a matter best left to the king and his appointed council.”

No one defended you. Not even your husband. So, you left. Quietly. Because to stay would’ve meant begging for space that used to be yours by right.

Then came the curfew. It was first mentioned as a “precaution.” You were told—by a knight who couldn’t meet your eyes—that the king wished for you to remain within your quarters after the tenth bell. For your “comfort.”

You had stared at him in disbelief. Comfort? But he’d only bowed and added, “The doors will be locked. On his orders.” They still were. Every night since.

And now, even in daylight, your movements are shadowed. You are no longer permitted to enter certain wings of the palace without written notice—ones where you used to walk freely, without question. The strategy rooms. The treasury. The archive tower.

At meals, your chair is always two seats away from Geto now. He speaks when spoken to, but only in passing. There are no shared glances. No touches. No warmth.

At first, the courtiers seemed confused. Concerned, even. But not anymore. They’ve adapted, as they always do. Whispers follow you in the halls. Bowed heads, polite smiles. But not one dares to ask what’s happening. Not out loud, because they already know.

Your crown still rests on your head, but it weighs differently now. It feels less like power—and more like a collar.

You sit now in the queen’s solar—your solar—watching the pale afternoon light flicker against the glass. Elira stands beside the fireplace, carefully reading a list of appointments that have been “adjusted” to accommodate your “new responsibilities.”

“I’m no longer invited to the regional envoy reception,” you murmur, scanning the parchment.

Elira hesitates. “No, Your Majesty. The king will attend alone.”

You trace a finger over the ink, eyes narrowing. “And the steward’s report? The one I requested two weeks ago?”

“It’s been rerouted. To Lord Kenjaku.” Of course it has.

You nod once, then fold the parchment with slow precision. “Thank you.” Elira doesn’t leave. She lingers. You can feel her gaze on you, hesitant, worried. “Say it,” you murmur.

She flinches. “I don’t know what’s happening. But this isn’t right.”

You finally look at her. “It stopped being right a long time ago.”

She swallows. “Do you want me to—”

“No.” You shake your head. “Whatever you were about to offer… no. I need you where you are. Watching. Quietly.”

Elira nods, lips pressed together. “Yes, Your Majesty.” When she leaves, the silence rushes in again.

You cross the room to the window, resting your hands on the cold stone ledge. The glass of the window is cool beneath your fingertips, grounding you in the way nothing else has lately. You stare down at the courtyard, but your eyes don’t really see it anymore.

Your thoughts drift��to white hair and a crooked smile.

Winter settles over the kingdom like a slow, heavy breath.

Now, snow drapes the castle rooftops in silence, each flake softening the edges of stone and steel. The air bites, sharp and clean, and the frost paints delicate veins along every windowpane like nature’s quiet warning—everything freezes, eventually.

Preparations for the Midwinter Concord are underway, a grand diplomatic gathering that only happens once every ten years. Lords and nobles from across the realm are expected to attend, arriving in jeweled carriages and furs lined with silver thread, bringing gifts and alliances and smiles sharp enough to draw blood.

It’s a celebration of peace. Of unity. Of image. Which means you must be perfect.

Your wardrobe has already been doubled. You’re fitted daily for gowns you didn’t ask for, jewels placed in your hands like weapons. Your attendants flutter around you with nervous energy, muttering about seating charts and performance troupes, while you sit still and cold, like a statue being dusted off for display.

You barely speak anymore. Not because you can’t. But because it doesn’t matter when you do.

Suguru hasn’t looked at you in weeks. Not really. You still share the same bed, though it’s colder than the stone beyond the windows. He touches you now—out of duty, not affection. His fingers trail your skin with reverence that feels rehearsed, practiced.

Not love. Not warmth. And you let him. Because saying no isn’t something queens are allowed to do when the kingdom wants an heir.

You were not ready. You knew that. He knew that. But when he came to your chambers that first night—quiet, solemn, asking nothing, demanding nothing—you didn’t resist.

You closed your eyes, and let it happen.

Now, you live with the aftermath. The waiting. The watching. The way Kenjaku’s eyes linger on you during court meetings, like you’re a field being measured for its yield. The way handmaidens offer warm tea with too much interest in whether you’ve finished the cup.

Every part of you feels heavy. Every breath another performance. There’s no sign yet. Of anything. And in the cold shadow of that silence, all you can feel is dread.

You sit by the window most mornings, wrapped in layers of wool and velvet, hands cupped around tea that always cools too fast. Snow falls gently outside, blanketing the courtyard in stillness.

You watch the white blur beyond the glass as one of your maidens tends to your gown, wondering what it would feel like to walk into it barefoot. Not to vanish. Just to feel anything again.

Elira enters quietly behind you one morning, boots crunching softly over fresh rushes laid on the floor. She doesn’t speak, not right away. She’s learned your silences. “There’s a carriage arriving soon,” she says finally. “From the western kingdom.”

You hum softly, noncommittal. “Another one?”

“This one’s special.” She hesitates, then adds carefully, “It bares the White Crown.”

Your hands still. Slowly, you turn to her. “The White Crown?”

She nods once. “Their king will attend. His court even sent gifts in advance.” You stare at her, the cold suddenly forgotten.

The White Crown.

Gojo.

You stare at your reflection in the mirror as a maid fastens the final clasp on your gown. Your skin looks pale against the deep blue velvet, your eyes shadowed from sleeplessness. You look regal. Distant. Beautiful, in the way royalty is expected to be.

But you don’t look like yourself. The maid steps back, curtsies, and leaves. You’re alone again, just long enough to hear the bells begin to toll across the courtyard. Evening.

Your chest tightens. He’ll be arriving any minute now. The royal wing has been cleared. You’ve been instructed—politely, formally—not to attend the welcoming line at the gates.

“Let the king handle his guests,” Kenjaku had said earlier with his usual smile, which never quite reaches his eyes. “You’ve had a trying season. You should rest.”

Rest. As if rest is ever truly allowed anymore.

You stay by the window anyway, fingers twitching as you watch the carriages pull through the snowy gates. One after another, wheels crunching through the frost, horses snorting clouds into the icy air. Flags ripple in the wind, gold and white and silver.

And then, you see it.

The final carriage. Not gilded like the others—sleek and sharp and striking, pulled by four white horses and flanked by guards in deep blue. The banner it carries snaps in the wind: a six-pointed star above a field of snow.

He’s here. Your breath stutters.

Somewhere below, courtiers will be arranging themselves in tidy lines, offering practiced bows and shallow words. Geto will greet him with that cool, distant authority he’s perfected. Kenjaku will watch from the shadows, calculating.

And Satoru will smile. You know he will. That slow, lopsided grin that hides more than it ever reveals. But when his eyes search the crowd—because they will—he won’t find you.

The Great Hall is alight with fire and splendor by the time you arrive, every corner dressed in gold and glass.

Tapestries hang from vaulted ceilings, embroidered with the crests of every attending house. Music flows from the gallery above—harps and low horns weaving through the air like smoke. Lanterns flicker on every surface, their flames reflecting off polished stone floors and jeweled goblets. The Midwinter Concord is in full swing.

You arrive late. Purposefully.

Your gown trails behind you like ink spilling across snow, deep black velvet lined with silver, cinched high at your waist with a crystal clasp. Your sleeves are sheer, the neckline soft but high, enough to remind them you are untouchable.

You descend the staircase slowly, feeling every pair of eyes shift in your direction. Court ladies lower their voices, lords tilt their heads. Some bow. Others watch too long. You do not falter.

You see him before you even reach the floor—he’s standing near the hearth, tall and careless in a winter-white coat embroidered with pale silver threads, glinting faintly in the firelight.

Gojo’s back is half-turned, but his posture is unmistakable. At ease. Untouched by the weight of formality. His laughter carries faintly over the music, warm and smooth, like he’s not in a hall of strangers but among old friends. Then he turns and finds you instantly.

Across the room, Geto stands by the dais, dressed in midnight blue, his crown like frost across his brow. He sees you, of course. Watches you descend the stairs in a dress you didn’t ask his approval for. You step onto the floor with quiet grace, each footfall a silent rebellion. You move past courtiers who part like waves, past Kenjaku, who watches you with that amused, unreadable stare.

You move toward Gojo—or at least, it looks that way. Your feet carry you down the marble steps with silent grace, but your spine is straight, your chin high, and your gaze flickers—just once—toward the man in white standing by the fire.

Gojo doesn’t move. Doesn’t call out. But you feel him watching. And gods, it takes everything in you not to turn toward him.

Instead, you walk the path carved for you since the moment you wore a crown. Straight toward the dais where your husband stands. He watches your approach with a stillness that masks everything and reveals nothing. His hands are folded neatly before him, he doesn’t offer his hand.

You bow your head slightly when you reach him. He nods. Barely. The greeting is mechanical, rehearsed. A performance for the court. You step beside him, shoulder to shoulder, and he finally speaks—voice low, laced with ice. “You’re late.”

You don’t look at him. “I know.”

He glances sideways at your dress, a flicker of something passing through his eyes. Disapproval? Possession? You don’t care. “We’ll begin the toasts soon,” he says. “Stay where you are.”

A pause. Then, with a quieter edge: “And do not embarrass me.”

You say nothing. Because what is there left to say? Your place is here. Beside him. For now.

But out of the corner of your eye, your gaze flickers—searching, briefly, boldly—back to the man by the hearth. Gojo hasn’t moved. He still stands in that same relaxed stance, arms now folded, one brow slightly raised as he watches from across the room.

But his eyes—they're fixed on you. Not on your crown. Not your title.

You.

The evening drags on with the heavy weight of ceremony. Toasts are made, wine poured, music played. Dancers move through the hall like painted ghosts, all perfect posture and forced smiles, and still the snow falls outside in thick, quiet sheets. You remain beside Geto, a symbol of unity, of strength. Of something long cracked and hollow.

He speaks when necessary, charming when he needs to be. But you feel it in the small things—how his hand never brushes yours, how he only looks at you when protocol demands it, how his voice tightens ever so slightly when he addresses you in front of others.

You play your role. You smile. You nod. You listen.

Gojo never comes too close, never makes a scene, but he moves like he belongs in this palace—even when it’s not his own. He speaks with nobles you recognize and some you don’t, standing just near enough to keep you in the corner of his vision.

Later��long after the first rounds of music have faded, after half the guests have settled into wine-soaked comfort—Geto turns to speak with one of the foreign generals from the northern coast. You seize the chance to step back, just enough to breathe.

You don’t go far. Only to the edge of the dais, where the shadows are softer and the flickering torchlight less blinding. You press a hand lightly to your abdomen, the way you’ve been doing lately without thinking. There’s still nothing. No change. And the stillness in your body makes you feel more like stone than ever.

“Your Majesty.” You turn at the voice—quiet, almost hesitant. A young servant stands before you, eyes low, holding a silver tray with a delicate porcelain cup. Steam curls from its surface. “Tea?”

You blink. “Now?”

He nods. “With the king’s blessing.”

Strange. Suguru never orders tea this late. Certainly not during an event. But the servant looks nervous, and you’re too tired to question it. You take the cup, fingers curling around the warmth instinctively. It’s heavier than expected. The servant bows quickly and vanishes into the crowd.

You stare down into the pale surface of the tea, watching the faint ripples settle. A soft, herbal scent rises—familiar, yes, but altered. There’s something too sharp at the edge of it. Something that doesn’t belong, but you can’t quite place it.

You lift it halfway to your lips before instinct whispers: don’t.

A glance toward the dais confirms what you already suspected. Geto is turned away, deep in conversation with the general from the north, gesturing with that slow, diplomatic precision he’s perfected over the years. He didn’t send this. You shift your gaze, scanning the crowd—careful, subtle.

And there, across the hall, half-shrouded in the curve of a marble pillar and candlelight, he watches. Kenjaku. His face is calm. Serene, even. A ghost of a smile curves his lips, the kind that never means what it pretends to. He lifts his goblet slightly in your direction. You feel your throat tighten.

He’s been quieter these past few days—lurking more than speaking—but that has only made him more dangerous. The court has grown used to his presence, used to his counsel. Used to the way he stands just behind the king’s shoulder, always whispering, never loud.

"That's not yours." The voice slips in low beside you. Steady. Familiar. Before you can say a word, Gojo reaches out and takes the porcelain cup from your fingers casually. As if he’s done it a hundred times.

He lifts it, brings it just beneath his nose. Breathes in once. Then everything about him changes.

The lightness drains from his face. The half-lidded ease in his expression vanishes. His jaw tightens, lips parting slightly—not in surprise, but in fury. His fingers clench just enough around the cup that you hear the faint creak of pressure against the porcelain.

You glance at him, startled. “What is it?”

He doesn’t answer right away. His gaze is fixed—cutting through the crowd—until it lands on Kenjaku. Gojo lowers the cup, voice low and deadly. “He sent this to you?”

You nod slowly. “I suspect. The servant said it came from the king, but…”

“But Geto doesn’t poison his own garden,” he finishes, eyes still locked across the room. “Not like this.”

Your voice wavers. “What is it?”

Gojo looks at you then. And there’s something behind his eyes—something cold, something furious, but also unbearably gentle. “It’s abortive.”

Your heart drops.

“The herbs are rare,” he continues. “Old-world. Bitter enough to be masked by honey or mint. Effective enough to end a pregnancy before it’s even confirmed.”

Your mouth goes dry. “He wanted to—”

“He wanted to make sure,” Gojo says. “That if you were with child… you wouldn’t be for long.”

Your breath shudders, hands numb. The cup was warm in your hands not even minutes ago. The scent still lingers. And now it smells like death. “I haven’t even confirmed—”

“I know.” He says it quickly, firmly. “That’s the point. You’d have never known. Until it was over.”

Your stomach twists violently.

Gojo glances down at the cup again, then back up. “I should break his neck.”

“You can’t,” you whisper, grabbing his sleeve before he can step away. “Geto trusts him.”

His eyes meet yours, and for a long, breathless second, you see all of it. The rage. The fear. The sheer depth of what he’s holding back. “Fine,” he says. “But you don’t eat or drink anything from the palace unless it’s handed to you by someone you trust. I mean it.”

Then he steps back, disappearing into the crowd without another word.

The evening wears on, but you feel the weight of it differently now. The music is too loud. The laughter too sharp. Every voice in the room seems to echo with an edge, like you’re standing just outside of it all, a spectator in your own life.

The guests continue to mingle, the nobles exchanging pleasantries with all the ease of well-rehearsed actors. But you no longer feel like part of the performance.

Not after what you’ve learned.

Gojo is still somewhere in the hall—among the courtiers, the lords, the ladies. But you don’t need to look for him. You know he’s watching. His presence is always there, a quiet, constant force that makes the air feel just a little less suffocating.

Yet, as the minutes drag, you feel the familiar heaviness return. The polite smiles, the hushed murmurs. And through it all, Geto’s absence hangs thick between you like a dark cloud.

It’s nearly time to leave. You’re about to retreat further into the shadows when a pair of guards steps forward, blocking the exit with firm but respectful posture.

“Your Majesty,” one says, his voice respectful but clipped. “By the king’s orders, we are to escort you back to your chambers.”

A cold wave hits you. You glance past them, where Geto is still at the center of the room, deep in conversation with the southern envoy. He’s not looking at you. Not even close.

“Escort?” You don’t recognize the tightness in your own voice, but it’s there.

The guard’s eyes flicker, but he doesn’t waver. “Yes, Your Majesty. His Grace has requested your presence in the royal quarters. For your safety, as the event continues.”

The other guard offers a slight bow. “We’ll be quick. The hall is still crowded.”

You nod, too tightly, and follow them through the room. You catch a glimpse of Geto’s back as you pass, the line of his shoulders as perfect as always. He doesn’t turn. Doesn’t even acknowledge your departure.

As you move through the crowd, you hear whispers, glances exchanged behind fans and delicate hands. You don’t need to look to know that they are talking about you. About him. About the king’s cold distance, the queen’s absence from his side.

The guard leads you through the grand hallway, your footsteps echoing against the stone floors, and for a brief moment, the weight of it all presses down on you so hard you can barely breathe. The cold air from the windows outside wraps around you as you move further from the warmth of the gathering, until you reach the door to your chambers. The guards stop at the threshold, eyes lowering in respect.

“You’ll be safe here, Your Majesty,” one says, before they both bow and retreat.

The door shuts behind you with a soft thud, and you’re alone. The stillness in your room is oppressive, the quiet too loud. You look around at the grand bed, the elegant tapestries hanging from the walls, the endless space. It should feel like a sanctuary, but instead it feels like a cage.

You take a step forward, and your eyes land on the tea you’d left sitting on your nightstand, untouched. The cup still stands there, as if it’s waiting for you. A faint tremor passes through your fingers as you approach it. You don’t touch it. You don’t want to.

Instead, you sit at the edge of your bed, hands folding in your lap, and you stare at the door, waiting for something you know will never come. But all you hear is the distant hum of the court—faint music, voices, and the overwhelming realization that you are utterly, painfully, alone.

The fire in your chambers has burned low by the time the door creaks open. You don’t stand. You don’t speak. You remain seated at the edge of the bed, fingers clenched in your lap, the chill in the air seeping deeper into your bones.

Suguru enters slowly, but there’s no grace in his movements. The door shuts behind him with a thud that echoes in your chest. He’s still in his ceremonial robes, though the collar is undone, the belt askew. His hair is unbound—messy in a way that used to mean softness, comfort. Now, it’s disheveled from drink.

You can smell the wine on him before he even speaks.

“I see you’ve settled in early,” he says, voice slurred just enough to make your stomach turn. “Didn’t wait up for me?”

You remain still. “You had guards escort me.”

A beat. He scoffs. “A courtesy.”

You look at him then, slowly. “You didn’t say a word to me all evening.” He moves toward the hearth, swaying slightly as he pours himself another drink—this one from the decanter you keep for yourself. He downs half the cup in a single motion.

You step back slightly when he closes the space between you. His movements are slower than usual, but not clumsy. There’s still purpose in them. A kind of quiet rage simmering just beneath the surface.

“I’ve done everything,” he mutters, gaze raking over you. “Everything this kingdom asked of me.”

Your heart pounds. “Suguru—”

“I’m your husband.” He grabs your wrist. Not violently, but too tight. Too intentional. “I’ve waited. I’ve been patient. I've kept my mouth shut while the entire court whispers about you.”

Your voice shakes, but you force it out. “Let go of me.”

He does. Abruptly. The absence of his grip burns. But his hand rises again—this time to your face. He touches your cheek, not tenderly, but with something that pretends to be. His thumb brushes the corner of your mouth.

“I could make you love me again,” he whispers. “If you’d just stop fighting me.”

Your stomach turns. You step back. “You’re hurting me.”

He laughs under his breath. “This isn’t hurting. You don’t even know what that word means anymore, do you?”

He kisses you. It’s not cruel. Not unkind. But it’s empty. You let him.

Because what would fighting change now?

Because this is what is expected of you. Because your body is a part of the kingdom, now. A vessel. A promise. A responsibility.

He pushes the gown from your shoulders, and you let it fall. You close your eyes, not out of shame—no, you moved past that long ago. You close your eyes so you can pretend.

Pretend the fire is warmer. Pretend the hands are gentler. Pretend you are somewhere else.

You do not cry, you do not move. You simply drift. Letting your mind carry you far, far away, while your body stays behind—here, in this cold room, beneath this heavy crown, beneath a man who calls it duty. And when it’s over, he says nothing.

He merely collapses to the side of the bed, and shortly after you hear the faint snores. And you remain there, eyes still closed, breathing steady.

-.⋅˚₊‧ 🜲 ‧₊˚ ⋅ -.⋅˚₊‧ 🜲 ‧₊˚ ⋅ -.⋅˚₊‧ 🜲 ‧₊˚ ⋅ -.⋅˚₊‧ 🜲 ‧₊˚ ⋅

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