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orangeblossomsintheair · 20 days ago

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GRIEF ASIDE (1/4) | MV33

summary : You fancied your fiancé, you realized with horror. Oh, God. You fancied your fiancé.

wc : 13k

an : this took.. a while ☹️ anyway

For as long as you could remember, you had been engaged to Max Emilian, scion of House Verstappen.

On paper, it was a triumphant match, a union to secure your house's fortunes for generations. To be betrothed to the son of a duke was a dream most could only aspire to.

Yet, no one envied House Button’s lovely heiress.

Instead, the court pitied you.

Jos Verstappen, your future father-in-law and Duke of the North, was a name steeped in infamy. Known as the Butcher of the North, his reputation was as frigid and cruel as the land he ruled. Whispers of his war crimes haunted corridors, and songs of lament cursed his name in taverns.

To marry into such a legacy meant tying yourself to shadows you could never escape.

But duty had bound you to this path as tightly as the chill of the northern wind now clung to your skin.

Raised to bridge alliances and strengthen bonds, you had no illusions about the weight of your role.

Now, you stood before the towering iron gates of the Verstappen estate, carriage behind you, your wool cloak and one of your knight’s heavy coats offered little respite from the North’s unforgiving cold.

“Keep your chin up, my lady,” Lily murmured beside you, adjusting the trunk she carried, her voice nearly drowned by the howling wind. Her cheeks were flushed from the frost, and her attempts at reassurance felt as thin as your cloak.

You nodded mutely, clenching your chattering teeth. Complaining about her poor preparation, or your shared underestimation of the northern winter, would achieve little.

The gates groaned open, revealing the sprawling estate beyond.

The fortress-like walls loomed high, their grey stone stark against the snow-laden landscape. Narrow windows glinted like ice shards under the weak winter sun.

Smoke curled lazily from the distant stables, a muted sign of life in an otherwise bleak expanse.

“Cheerful place,” Lando muttered behind you, his voice dry. He pulled his hood lower, trying to shield his face from the biting wind.

“More like a tomb,” Oscar replied, tone low. His eyes scanned the walls warily, hand resting on the hilt of his sword.

Crossing the threshold of the estate, you were greeted by a cavernous main hall that carried little more warmth than the outdoors. Though a fire crackled at one end, its heat barely touched the far corners of the room.

The scent of pine mingled with the cold tang of iron, likely from the spiked chandelier that loomed overhead, casting jagged shadows across the floor.

“Presenting Lady (Y/N) of House Button,” the steward announced, his voice echoing up the vaulted ceilings.

The words washed over you, irrelevant compared to your struggle to stop trembling. The knight closest to you, Oscar, shifted closer, his presence a silent bulwark, but you scarcely noticed.

A figure descended the grand staircase, drawing your attention despite the icy haze clouding your mind.

Max Emilian Verstappen.

He moved with a grace that could only be borne from years of court presence, strides measured and deliberate yet still managing to not look stiff.

Pale hair neatly combed, save for a few strands that fell across his forehead, softening the otherwise hard edges of his face. His broad shoulders were draped in a heavy black coat lined with fur, swallowing what little light the room offered.

You had heard tales of him: a skilled warrior, an even better horseman, and a temper so fierce people began claiming the Verstappen rage was a hereditary trait.

His eyes fell on you then, surprise flickering across his face before being quickly replaced by a furrowed brow and the unmistakable air of annoyance.

“Gods,” he muttered under his breath, his tone cold enough to make you flinch.

You stiffened, unsure whether to speak or remain silent.

Was that usually how the Northern Lords greeted their betrothed?

Max’s eyes roved over you, taking in your trembling form, pale cheeks, and the inadequate cloak clutched around your shoulders.

His frown deepened, and he turned sharply toward your knights, his expression hardening.

“Why in the seven hells is she dressed like this?” he demanded.

Sir Lando bristled but maintained his composure. “My lady insisted, Lord Verstappen, that we keep ourselves alive. We offered additional layers-”

“She’s half-frozen. Who cares if you're alive if your Lady is dead?” Max cut him off, already shrugging out of his own coat.

You opened your mouth to protest, to insist you were fine, but before you could utter a word, he was draping the fur-lined garment over your shoulders.

The residual warmth from his body enveloped you, burying you under the scent of pine and leather.

“Your stubbornness will kill you,” he muttered, crouching slightly to adjust the coat. His tone was still sharp, but his hands were steady and careful as they brushed over you.

You glanced at Lily, who hovered nearby, her eyes darting between you and Max. “Fetch tea,” Max ordered, voice brooking no argument.

She hesitated, clearly unsure whether to take orders from a person who was decidedly not her Lady, but a sharp look from him sent her scurrying away.

Max turned back to you, his expression unreadable as his hand brushed over your elbow, guiding you forward. “Sit,” he gestured to the high-backed chair closest to the hearth.

You sank into the seat gratefully, abandoning the appearance of grace in lieu of the warmth of the fire and the heavy coat easing the worst of your shivers.

Max crouched before you, his face illuminated by the flickering light. “You were standing in the cold far too long,” he said, softer now as though talking to an injured bird.

“I didn’t realize…” you started, but your voice faltered.

Max’s lips quirked in a faint, reluctant smile. “Not even when you were shivering like a leaf?”

He leaned back, regarding you for a moment before adding, “The North will swallow you whole.”

His words should have stung, but you found it hard to be insulted for there was no malice in them, only a hint of amusement.

The tea arrived swiftly, Lily handing it to you with a pinched expression, steam curling from the delicate porcelain as if reluctant to break the stillness of the hall.

You wrapped your frozen fingers around the cup, savoring the way the heat kissed your skin, thawing the numbness in your fingers.

Max walked to stand a few paces away, matching your knight and maid's distance, watching you with a detached sort of interest, his arms still crossed over his chest.

The flickering firelight carved sharp angles along his face, illuminating the high cut of his cheekbones and the stern set of his jaw.

“You look better now.” His voice was quieter this time. “At least you have some color in you.”

You weren’t sure if that was meant to be a kindness or merely an observation, but you offered a polite nod regardless.

“Thank you, my Lord.”

His eyes narrowed slightly. “Max will do.”

The correction startled you. Men of his station, sons of dukes especially, rarely made such allowances. Betrothed or not.

“As you wish… Max.”

A faint smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth, but it vanished just as quickly.

“I imagine you have questions.”

Of course, you did.

Too many, and yet none seemed appropriate to ask.

You had spent years preparing for this union in theory, but now that you were standing on the threshold of it, the rehearsed words died in your throat.

“Only a few,” you said carefully.

He hummed, a noncommittal sound. “Then ask.”

You hesitated. “Your father… the Duke… is he here?”

Max’s expression cooled.

“No. My father is at the border fortresses, inspecting the garrisons. He will return before the winter feast to welcome you.”

Relief and dread tangled in your chest. It was a reprieve not to face Duke Jos immediately, but you knew it was temporary at best.

“And your father will be joining us soon enough as well, won’t he?” Max’s tone was unreadable, though something sharp glinted beneath it.

You nodded. “Yes. My father will come north after his duties are finished. To meet with the Duke and… formalize the engagement.”

The words felt heavy on your tongue. This visit wasn’t just a quiet retreat to adjust to your future home. It was a public commitment. Before long, the entire North would know you belonged to him.

You dreaded what that would do to your public image.

Max’s jaw tightened although his expression remained carefully distant. “Of course.”

He turned slightly, gaze sweeping the cold stone hall.

“You’ll find the North is not like the South. Comfort is scarce, and the people scarcer. They will not warm to you easily.”

His words felt more like a warning than a courtesy.

“I don’t expect them to.”

That seemed to surprise him. Perhaps he had been expecting you to be one of those Southern ladies that demanded everyone to bend over backwards for their comfort.

His eyes flicked back to you, studying you in a way that made you want to shrink under his coat.

“Good.”

The fire cracked loudly, sending a shower of sparks upward. Max tilted his head toward it, the flicker of light catching in his pale hair.

“You’ll need to adjust quickly. My father won’t tolerate weakness in his house.”

“And you?” The question slipped out before you could stop it.

Max’s expression didn’t change, but something in his eyes hardened.

“I won’t coddle you, if that’s what you’re asking.”

It wasn’t. But the way he said it made your stomach twist.

Still, you straightened your spine. “I wouldn’t ask for that.”

A tense silence settled again, though this time, it felt more contemplative than cold.

Max’s gaze drifted from you to the door behind you.

“You must be tired from the journey. I’ll have your rooms prepared.”

“I thought we would stay in the west wing,” you said, recalling the arrangements made in the letters exchanged between your families.

Max’s lips pressed into a thin line.

“The west wing is being repaired. Storm damage. You’ll stay closer to the main hall until it’s finished.”

It was a small thing, perhaps, yet it unsettled you.

The west wing was meant to be yours. A space to adjust quietly, away from the imposing grandeur of the estate.

Now, you were being denied that distance.

But what could you do? Refuse? Argue?

“Very well,” you said softly.

Max nodded once then turned to the waiting steward.

“Have the rooms near the library prepared. And make sure the fires are lit.”

“Yes, my lord.”

Oscar and Lando approached then, boots scuffing against the stone floor as they stopped just shy of your side.

Their eyes darted toward you, assessing your posture, searching for some silent confirmation that you were unharmed.

You gave them a small nod, and the tension in Oscar’s broad shoulders seemed to ease, though Lando’s hand remained near the hilt of his sword, his body coiled like a spring.

Max’s sharp gaze swept over the two knights, his expression unreadable but undoubtedly calculating.

“Your people will stay nearby,” he said, his voice firm but unhurried. “Your maid is not to wander without escort. Your men may walk around but not too far from the fortress. I'd rather not deal with the politics of a Southern knight dying in my land.”

Lily bristled at the casual remark, her cheeks coloring with indignation. “We Southerners aren't as fragile as you seem to think,” she said sharply, her words cutting the silence like a knife.

“Lily,” Oscar said quietly, catching her arm before she could step forward. His grip was gentle but firm, head shaking in a silent plea for restraint.

Max didn’t even flinch at her outburst, his cool demeanor unwavering as his gaze flicked back to you.

“Your people are bold.” His tone was tinged with something akin to amusement. “Let’s hope they’re wise enough to temper it.”

“They’re loyal,” you replied evenly, meeting his eyes without faltering. “I wouldn’t have brought them otherwise.”

“Loyalty is admirable but it doesn’t mean much if it gets you killed.”

Lando shifted beside you, jaw tight. “With all due respect, my lord,” he began without much respect at all. “We’re more than capable of keeping her safe.”

“I’m sure you believe that.” Max’s gaze settled on Lando. “But I’ve seen capable men bleed out on these stones for lesser causes. My rules are for your protection as much as mine.”

Lando’s grip on his sword tightened, but Oscar’s hand on his shoulder stilled him.

“We’ll abide by your rules,” Oscar confirmed, voice calm.

“Good.” Max turned back to you. “Come. I’ll show you the library. You should know where it is if you’re to live here.”

The offer caught you off guard. The scion of House Verstappen switched conversations so casually he seemed to slap you with his casualness.

“The library?”

“You can’t spend all your time staring at the snow,” Max replied evenly, though there was a faint lilt to his words.

Was that… humor? It was hard to tell with him.

“Well..” You tugged your coat tighter. “It is very captivating snow.”

Max’s brow arched. “And yet, I think you’ll survive without it for an hour.”

You blinked, taken aback by the dry remark.

Was he… teasing you?

Shaking off the ridiculous thought, you rose from your chair, trailing behind as he turned and strode toward the door.

You glanced at your companions, giving them a small and, hopefully, reassuring smile before stepping forward to follow Max.

Max’s pace was long, purposeful, and you found yourself scrambling to keep up without looking breathless.

(You decidedly ignored Sir Lando's small snort of laughter.)

The manor was a labyrinth of cold stone and dim corridors, the walls lined with tapestries dulled by age.

Shadows flickered where sparse torches burned, giving the place a haunted sort of stillness.

You found it hard to ever imagine yourself calling this place home.

Max moved through the halls like someone who had been shaped by this place, his presence carved into the very bones of the estate.

His stride was confident, measured, purposeful.

You, on the other hand, felt like an outsider, a stranger, each step heavy on the cold stone floor.

Finally, Max stopped before a pair of massive oak doors, their wood darkened with age. He didn’t look back at you as he spoke, his voice low, but managing to carry through the quiet hall.

“Your men stay outside. Your maid may enter,” he said, the command clear.

Your knights exchanged a brief look.

Lando’s lips curled into a smirk, clearly less than thrilled with the command. He let out a sigh, posture straightening with a resigned huff.

With a dramatic roll of his eyes, he moved to one side of the door, giving a theatrical bow as though he were playing a part in some grand performance.

Oscar shook his head but followed suit, taking his place at the other side, hands clasped with a more restrained expression.

Lando’s voice broke the silence, dripping with mock sweetness. “Enjoy the library, my Lady. Try not to get too lost in there.”

You laughed, unable to contain yourself and bid them a silent goodbye.

Without another word, he pushed the doors open, the hinges groaning in protest, and led you and Lily inside.

The library was vast and dim, lined wall-to-wall with shelves that stretched high into the shadows above.

Dust motes floated lazily in the beams of light filtering through the narrow, arched windows, painting the room in shades of gold and gray.

You inhaled deeply, the scent of aged paper and polished wood filling your senses.

“It’s beautiful…” you breathed, the words slipping out unbidden.

“It is,” Max replied, stepping farther into the room. “And it’s yours to use as I allow while you’re here.”

You followed him in, your fingers brushing the spines of the books closest to you. They were thick and heavy, their titles embossed in faded gold.

“Are these… first editions?” you asked, your voice hushed, as if speaking too loudly might awaken some slumbering beast.

“Many of them, yes,” Max said, his gaze sweeping the shelves as if cataloging them in his mind. “You’ll find original prints of histories, poetry, philosophy. Most of it quite rare. Some of the works were commissioned specifically for this collection.”

“Commissioned?” you echoed, eyebrows lifting in surprise.

He nodded. “Yes. House Verstappen has always valued knowledge. There are some volumes here you won’t find anywhere else.”

You let your hand fall from the books and turned to face him. “You must spend a lot of time here then.”

“Not as much as I should,” he admitted, his tone crisp. “But I’m familiar with the layout. If you’re planning to lose yourself, I can point you in the right direction.”

The corner of your mouth quirked up at his phrasing. “Lose myself?”

“It happens.” He shrugged, glancing away.

You laughed softly. “Is that your way of warning me?”

“A mere suggestion,” he corrected, his lips twitching in what might have been the hint of a smile. “Start with the poetry under the windows. It’s a good place for… wandering minds.”

“Poetry under the windows,” you repeated the words under your breath, glancing toward the far end of the room where a faint glow spilled across the shelves. “Any other recommendations?”

“The histories on the east wall are worth your time.” He gestured briefly. “And if you’re feeling adventurous, there’s a collection of letters on the upper mezzanine. They’re in French, though.”

“I can manage French,” you said with a small smile.

His eyebrow arched faintly. “Good. Then you’ll also find some rather colorful accounts of court scandals tucked in the back corner. A few are probably embellished, but they’re entertaining nonetheless.”

Your laughter came easier this time. “Court scandals? I didn’t expect you to recommend something so… frivolous.”

“Frivolity has its place,” he said dryly. “Just don’t let the staff catch you reading them. They might talk.”

“Noted.” You attempted to suppress your grin.

For a moment, the two of you stood in companionable silence, the quiet weight of the library wrapping around you like a cloak. You turned back to the shelves, running your fingertips lightly over the spines once more.

“This is incredible,” you murmured.

You glanced over your shoulder at his lack of a response, catching a faint glimmer of something softer in his eyes, though it vanished almost as quickly as it appeared.

Max seemed to compose himself, clearing his throat. “You will be fetched come dinner time.”

The heavy doors of the library groaned shut behind him, leaving you and Lily in the cavernous stillness.

As soon as the sound of his footsteps faded, Lily let out a sharp exhale, breaking the silence. “I thought he’d never leave,” she muttered, her voice pitched low but urgent.

You turned to her, startled by her tone. “Lily-”

“He’s impossible to read!” she interrupted, her hands gesturing animatedly as she paced a small circle near the door.

“One moment, he’s scowling like the world owes him something, and the next, he’s… he’s practically pointing you toward the best books for a cozy evening! What am I supposed to make of that?”

You blinked, caught between amusement and exasperation. “I don’t think it’s meant to be deciphered, Lily.”

“But it should be!” she shot back, stopping abruptly to face you. “You’re supposed to marry him. How are you supposed to live with someone who switches moods faster than the weather?”

“I don’t think he’s as unpredictable as you think,” you said cautiously, though you weren’t entirely convinced of your own words. “He’s… reserved.”

“Reserved?” Lily snorted. “He looks like he’s trying not to bite anyone’s head off half the time.” She softened slightly, adding, “Although, I’ll admit, it was nice of him to show you this place.”

Her eyes wandered around the library, her earlier frustration melting into a quieter awe. “It really is something, isn’t it?”

You nodded, letting your gaze sweep the towering shelves. “It is. I could lose hours in here.”

“Maybe you’ll have to,” Lily said, her tone lighter now. “If he’s not going to be forthcoming about himself, you might have to dig through the history books to figure him out. Perhaps you'll even find a diary of his.”

You laughed softly, shaking your head. “I think even the books might not have the answers to that mystery.”

Lily gave you a sly grin. “Well, if anyone can figure him out, my lady, it’s you.”

With a roll of your eyes, you turned back to the shelves. “My betrothed's dour personality aside.. help me find that poetry section he mentioned.”

Lily smiled, stepping closer to follow you deeper into the quiet sanctuary of the library.

“Of course, my lady.”

—

Hours later, as the manor stirred for the evening meal, a servant was dispatched to your quarters. The boy found it strange that the two knights he'd heard his Lord's betrothed had come with weren't stationed by the door.

A sharp knock echoed once. Then again, louder, more insistent.

“My lady?”

Silence.

The servant hesitated, damp palms against the polished wood.

“My lady?” He said again, voice cracking. “My lady, may I come in?”

“...My lady, I'm coming in.”

Then, cautiously, he pushed the door open.

The room was untouched. The bed still perfectly made, the hearth’s fire reduced to flickering embers. Shadows stretched long across the walls, and a chill crept in where warmth should have lingered.

Panic tightened his throat.

He checked the adjoining rooms. The empty sitting area, the silent halls. Nowhere.

Not even your guards and maid were present.

Sweat gathered at his brow as he hurried through the winding corridors, heart hammering as he sought out Lord Verstappen.

He found Max standing near the great hall’s window, dusk spilling through the glass in muted gold.

“My lord,” the servant panted, voice tight. “She’s- she’s gone.”

Max turned slowly. “Gone?”

“I searched her chambers, the halls, the west wing-”

“And the library?” Max’s voice was sharp, cutting through the servant’s stammering explanation.

The servant faltered. “The… the library, my lord?”

“Yes,” Max said evenly, already striding toward the east corridor. “She’s there.”

The servant froze, his jaw slackening. “You… you allowed her inside?”

“Are you questioning me?” Max didn’t even glance back as he continued down the hall, his boots echoing sharply on the stone floor.

“N-no, my lord!” the servant stammered, bowing reflexively. “But should I-”

“Stay where you are,” Max ordered. “I’ll handle this myself.”

Your two knights stood sentinel by the library doors when he approached, arms crossed, their expressions a mixture of boredom and indifference.

They barely acknowledged him, their attention elsewhere as the echo of his boots rang down the corridor.

Max didn’t slow his pace. “Is she still in there?”

Lando flicked a glance toward Oscar, then shrugged. “Yep. She's buried in a book or something,” he said with a nonchalant flick of his wrist, as if it were of little concern.

Max’s eyes narrowed. “You didn’t think to remind her of the time?”

Oscar raised a brow, voice dry. “A certain scion has, unfortunately, forbidden our entry, my lord.”

Max sighed heavily, pinching the bridge of his nose, but Lando was quick to interject with a smirk. “And it’s a lost cause trying to pry our Lady away from a good book. Trust me, we’ve tried.”

Max’s frustration bubbled over into a short, exasperated laugh as he pushed the heavy doors open.

And there you were.

Curled into a high-backed chair, utterly absorbed in the thick, ancient book resting open in your lap.

A few other volumes lay scattered around your feet, their spines cracked open, as if you’d moved through them in a frenzy of curiosity.

Max’s gaze lingered on the sight before him. On the way your head tilted slightly as you read, your brow furrowed in concentration.

His grip on the doorframe loosened, but his jaw remained tight.

“My lady.”

You glanced up, startled but then smiled when you saw him. “Oh, my- Max, What are you doing here again?”

Max’s brow arched slightly at your casual tone. His irritation wavered.

He knew you were about to say ‘my Lord’ again, knew it was a mere slip of the tongue, court etiquette taking over before personal sense.

But.. my Max. Yes, he supposed he was indeed yours.

He couldn't say that though so when he spoke, it was only a disinterested, “It’s dinner time.”

You blinked, glancing toward the tall windows where the light had shifted to deep amber.

“Already? I hadn’t even realized-” You glanced down at the book in your lap, reluctant to put it aside. “I haven’t even finished this chapter.”

His gaze dropped to the title in your hands. “Faust,” he noted, tucking the information away. “You read German?”

You blinked, caught off guard. “I… only at an elementary level.”

Max's eyebrow arched slightly. You were either a liar or terribly humble.

“Faust,” he repeated dryly. “Hardly a book for someone with only elementary German. Your skills are passable, at least.”

“Just enough to get by,” you admitted, more honest now, brushing invisible dust from your skirt as you stood.

Max offered his arm, and you took it without hesitation this time.

He noticed, though he said nothing about the change, afraid that if he voiced it out you'd withdraw again.

“You might find Faust more rewarding if you read it in context,” he remarked as you walked down the hall, your knights and maid following behind.

You glanced up at him, curious. “And what context would that be?”

“Understanding Goethe’s philosophical explorations, for one. Or at least recognizing the poetic structure in its original form.”

You tilted your head. “So now you’re saying my German isn’t good enough?”

“I’m saying it’s a pity to read something monumental in fragments,” he replied. “Not a criticism.”

“I’ll take that as a compliment.” The corners of your lips quirked upward.

“Take it as you like.” He offered you a small shrug, though there was the faintest trace of amusement in his eyes.

A beat of silence passed before he spoke again. “Which German do you struggle with?”

“Official documents,” you admitted. “The kind that's full of overly formal phrasing and unnecessary flourish.”

Max hummed, thoughtful. Most official documents were indeed like that. “I could assist with that, should the need arise.”

You blinked at him, caught off guard by the offer. “You would?”

“If I find myself having time.”

“Thank you.”

He shook his head, brushing off your words. “And don't sit too close to the mezzanine shelves,” he added. “They’re unstable.”

Your brows rose. “Unstable?”

“I don’t need you buried beneath three hundred years of German history,” he said, his tone casual but his meaning clear.

A laugh bubbled up before you could stop it. “You’d miss me, then?”

“More likely, the servants would revolt,” he said, gesturing to the doors to the dining hall. “Dinner then, shall we?”

—

The dining hall was an expansive, imposing space, its vaulted ceilings casting long shadows over the vast table.

Candles decorated much of the available surfaces in a surprisingly tasteful way.

Their flames flickered weakly, struggling to combat the cold that clung to the stone walls like it was a living, breathing thing.

The table stretched far ahead, but only two places were set.

Max took his seat at the head without so much as a glance in your direction, and you slid into the chair opposite him.

Lily quietly withdrew to prepare for your night routine while Lando and Oscar remained a fair distance away, leaving the two of you some privacy to discuss.

Servants moved efficiently, placing the first course on the table: roast venison, honeyed carrots, and freshly baked bread that had already begun to cool in the chill air.

The earlier conversation about books had petered out, leaving a quiet in its wake.

Max ate as though entirely alone, his focus on the meal before him.

You shifted in your seat, the faint scrape of your fork against the plate feeling almost intrusive.

"You know," you began tentatively, "for someone who seems to enjoy books, you’re surprisingly difficult to talk to about them."

Max’s knife paused mid-slice, his eyes flicking up to meet yours.

There was no hostility in his gaze, but his expression was unreadable all the same. “Talking about books is rarely as rewarding as reading them.”

“That sounds suspiciously like an excuse,” you said, trying to inject a bit of lightness into the moment. “Or maybe you just don’t know how to have a proper discussion about them.”

His lips twitched slightly, as if the idea amused him, though he didn’t smile. “Do you often accuse your dining companions of conversational ineptitude, or am I a special case?”

“That depends.” You tore off a piece of bread. “Are you going to prove me wrong?”

Max tilted his head, studying you with quiet curiosity, like someone turning over a puzzle piece in their mind.

“Very well.” He set his knife down carefully. “What would you like to discuss? Goethe? Schiller?”

“Bold of you to assume I am especially fond of German authors. Perhaps I just picked up Faust in the library on a whim.” You smiled. “But if you must know, I’ve been working through Balzac recently.”

He raised an eyebrow, his expression shifting slightly, though still difficult to read. “Balzac? Ambitious. And how are you finding him?”

“Dense,” you admitted with a laugh. “Brilliant, but dense. Definitely not light reading.”

“Few worthwhile things are,” he replied, returning to his meal. “Though I’ve always found Balzac’s fascination with ambition rather… tiresome.”

“Really?” you asked, curious. “Why?”

He took a measured sip of wine before answering. “Because I’ve seen enough ambition in reality to find little appeal in it as fiction.”

You smiled faintly, tilting your head. “And yet, here you are. A product of generations of ambition.”

His gaze darkened slightly, though not in anger.

There was a flicker of something, maybe hesitation, before he spoke. “Careful,” he said, his voice low and quiet. “You’re treading close to dangerous ground.”

“Am I?” you asked, though your tone was gentler now, almost teasing. “I thought we were just talking about books.”

Before he could respond, the servants re-entered, clearing the first course and placing the next before you.

The interruption softened the tension, and you let the moment breathe.

When the room was quiet again, you spoke, this time more cautiously. “Alright, then. Enough about me. What about you? What are you reading?”

Max’s fork paused mid-motion, and he set it down with deliberate care. “Does it matter?”

“Of course, it matters,” you replied, leaning forward slightly. “How else am I supposed to judge your taste?”

For a moment, you thought you saw the faintest glimmer of a smile. “If you must know, The Sorrows of Young Werther.”

You blinked, surprised. “Goethe’s most sentimental work? I wouldn’t have guessed.”

“Sentimentality has its uses,” he said dryly, though there was no real bite to his words. “Even you might agree.”

“Are you suggesting I’m sentimental?” you arched a brow.

“I’m suggesting you’re curious,” he replied, his tone even. “Perhaps overly so.”

“Fair.” You conceded with a small laugh. “But I’m curious.. what draws you to it? The tragedy? The unrequited love?”

He hesitated for just a moment, his gaze dropping briefly before he answered.

“The futility,” he said quietly, lifting his wine glass. “Of longing for something you cannot have.”

For a moment, you didn’t know how to respond, the honesty in his tone catching you off guard. When he didn’t elaborate, you picked up your own glass, letting the silence linger without pressing further.

“You have a rather bleak outlook, don’t you?” you asked finally, your voice softer now.

“Realistic,” he corrected, not unkindly, his gaze flicking back to yours. “Not everyone has the luxury of optimism.”

You frowned slightly, not entirely sure how to reply. “It’s not about luxury,” you said after a pause. “It’s about perspective.”

“Perspective is shaped by reality.” His eyes met yours, boring. “And reality is rarely kind.”

The conversation lulled again, but this time it felt less uneasy and more thoughtful.

As dinner wrapped up, Max glanced at your knights before settling on you, his tone lightening as he spoke. “I trust you can find your rooms?”

You nodded, standing from your chair. “Yes, I think so.”

“No late-night wandering, then?” he asked, his voice carrying the faintest trace of amusement.

Max’s lips twitched again, softer this time, as if he might actually be considering a smile. “Good. I’d hate to have to rescue you from some misstep in the dark.”

You tilted your head, feigning innocence. “What makes you think I’d need rescuing?”

“Experience,” he said simply, the faintest flicker of amusement in his eyes.

The air between you shifted slightly, the earlier sharpness fading into something more subdued.

You allowed yourself a small laugh, breaking the lingering tension. “I’ll have you know I’m quite capable of finding my way around.”

“Is that so?” he replied, leaning back in his chair. His tone had softened, the sharp edges dulling to a quiet curiosity. “Well, then. I suppose I’ll trust you.”

“Trust,” you repeated, letting the word hang between you. “A bold move, considering we’ve only just met.”

Max regarded you for a moment, his expression unreadable. “Bold, perhaps. But necessary.”

You hesitated, unsure how to respond. There was something in his voice, quiet, measured, and entirely unexpected, that made you pause. The weight of the moment settled around you like the faint flicker of the candlelight, warm yet fragile.

“Well,” you said finally. “I suppose I should be flattered.”

“Don’t let it go to your head.”

He rose from his seat with practiced ease, the flicker of warmth in his eyes quickly hidden behind his composed demeanor. “Goodnight, then.”

You watched him as he left the dining hall, his steps measured and deliberate, the echo of his footsteps fading into the vast, empty space.

For a moment, you sat in the quiet, your gaze lingering on the door where he had disappeared.

Finally, you stood, the faintest smile playing at your lips. “Goodnight, Max,” you murmured to the empty room.

—-

The first light of dawn crept through the heavy drapes of your room, painting the walls in soft hues of gold and silver. The air carried a sharp chill, the promise of frost lingering just outside the thick panes of glass.

Everything was still, save for the faint crackle of the fire in the hearth and the soft rustling of fabric as Lily moved about with quiet precision.

She bent over a polished wooden chair, her deft hands smoothing out the folds of the attire she’d chosen for you.

A cloak of deep crimson lay draped across her arm, its rich, heavy fabric catching the faint light. You stirred in your bed, watching her through half-lidded eyes as she worked.

“Good morning, Lily,” you murmured, sitting up and drawing the blankets closer against the morning chill.

Lily turned with a warm smile, setting the cloak on the bed beside you. “Good morning, my Lady. Did you sleep well?”

“Well enough,” you replied, your fingers brushing the thick velvet of the cloak. You tilted your head, examining it with curiosity. “I don’t recall seeing this in my wardrobe before.”

“It was delivered just this morning,” Lily explained, her tone light but tinged with amusement. “A gift, I believe, from Lord Verstappen.”

Your brows lifted as you traced the intricate embroidery along the hem, tiny silver threads woven into delicate patterns. “From Lord Verstappen?”

She nodded, folding her hands in front of her. “He must have assumed the worst given your attire yesterday.”

“It’s rather heavy,” you remarked, holding it up to feel its weight.

Lily gave you a knowing smile, her tone dry but affectionate. “I think I speak for all of us when I say that I’d rather you walk with less grace than freeze, my Lady.”

You let out a soft laugh, shaking your head as you draped the cloak over your shoulders.

It was impossibly warm, the kind of warmth that seeped through your skin and settled in your bones. “You’re not wrong. I suppose there’s no room for vanity when winter comes knocking.”

“None at all,” Lily agreed, moving to adjust the cloak, fastening the silver clasp at your throat. “Besides, the color suits you. Lord Verstappen has surprisingly good taste. I'd have assumed he’d just grab any old thing and force you into it.”

You raised a brow at the tone that laced her words, giving her a sidelong glance. “Flattery for him, Lily? Are you trying to curry favor? And here I thought you were quite ready to sock him just yesterday.”

She feigned innocence, stepping back with a twinkle in her eye. “Not at all, my Lady. But if he keeps sending gifts like this, I might just start.”

Your laughter filled the room, chasing away the last remnants of sleep. You were somewhat glad Lily saw him as redeemable after yesterday.

After all, she was usually a good judge of character.

As you stood, the cloak fell around you like a royal mantle, its weight grounding but comforting.

By the time you entered the dining hall, Max was already seated at the long table, a vision of composed efficiency.

His pale hair was still perfectly swept back, not a strand out of place, and a small stack of documents sat before him.

His pen moved steadily across the paper, his focus unbroken even as the golden morning light softened the sharpness of his features.

“Good morning, Max,” you said, sliding into the chair across from him, your tone deliberately chipper.

Max glanced up briefly, eyes meeting yours with the barest flicker of warmth.

“Good morning,” he replied, setting his pen down with the precision of a man who never did anything carelessly. “You’re up early.”

“It’s rather difficult to stay in bed when the frost feels like it's climbing up to sleep with you,” you said, grabbing a warm roll from the plate near you. “Do you have a deal with the weather to ensure I never sleep in?”

A faint smile tugged at his lips. “I’ll admit to nothing. But if the frost succeeds, perhaps I should reward it.”

“Ha! I’d like to see you try,” you said, tearing a piece of bread and slathering it with butter. “I’ve made my peace with it, though. I realized there was a charm to the winter once I got over the whole ‘freezing to death’ aspect.”

Max arched a brow, his eyes sparkling faintly with what you hoped was amusement. “A charm, you say? I wasn’t aware you were so poetic in the mornings.”

“Oh, I’m a veritable bard before breakfast,” you said. “In fact, I was just composing a sonnet about how frostbite builds character.”

He snorted softly as he reached for his tea, the sound barely audible, but it felt like a victory. “I’ll be sure to commission a copy of it for the library.”

You leaned back in your chair, feeling emboldened by his rare moment of humor

“Speaking of things worth writing about, I was thinking of spending some time in the garden today. It looks magical with the frost.”

Max paused, his teacup halfway to his lips, and gave you a look that bordered on incredulous. “The garden? In winter?”

“Yes, the garden,” you said, undeterred. “You do realize it’s still a garden, even when it’s cold?”

He set his cup down slowly, as if trying to process your words. “You are aware that nothing grows in the garden during winter, yes? Unless you count the weeds, which I doubt have much aesthetic appeal.”

“There are flowers that survive in winter,” you said with a pointed look.

He tilted his head, his expression blank. “Like what? Frozen dandelions?”

“Snowdrops, holly, winter jasmine,” you listed off, ticking them off on your fingers. “I saw some while passing by yesterday. Honestly, do you even know what’s in your own garden?”

Max leaned back slightly. “I delegate. Why bother when there are people who are willing to brave the frost to catalog it all for me?”

You rolled your eyes, unable to hide your grin. “How magnanimous of you.”

He inclined his head slightly, as though you’d paid him a genuine compliment. “It’s a skill.”

“You should come with me,” you said suddenly. “A little walk in the fresh air couldn’t hurt. Who knows? You might even enjoy it.”

He hesitated, his fingers tapping lightly against the rim of his teacup. “I appreciate the invitation,” he said finally, his tone carefully polite. “But my duties don’t often allow for such… luxuries.”

“Luxuries?” you raised a brow. “Surely even a Lord like yourself deserves a moment to himself.”

He chuckled softly, the sound low and rare, but it faded quickly. “Perhaps another time.”

You nodded, masking your disappointment with a practiced smile. “Of course. I wouldn’t want to distract you from your responsibilities.”

“Distraction,” he repeated, his gaze lingering on you longer than necessary.

Something unspoken flickered in his eyes, and though his expression remained composed, there was the faintest hint of something warmer beneath the surface.

“Perhaps,” he said again, this time softer, almost to himself.

You glanced down, heat creeping up your cheeks, and busied yourself with your breakfast.

—-

The steady scratch of a quill against parchment filled the room, broken only by the occasional shuffle of papers.

Max leaned over his desk, eyes scanning the dense columns of reports.

The study was dim, the late afternoon light barely filtering through the heavy curtains. The fire in the hearth had burned low, casting long, flickering shadows across the walls.

Yet, for all his focus, his pen paused mid-sentence.

His thoughts drifted. Again.

To you.

He could see it vividly in his mind: the garden cloaked in frost, each branch thin and brittle beneath the weight of winter.

You would be there, wouldn’t you? Bundled in that wool cloak you favored, breath curling in the cold air as you traced the icy edges of dormant rose bushes.

You had mentioned it offhandedly this morning, your plan to spend the afternoon outside despite the chill.

Max let out a slow breath, frowning at the parchment before him.

The words blurred, meaningless.

It was ridiculous.

You were likely gone by now, the cold too sharp to endure for long.

Rationality urged him to stay, to finish the reports that demanded his attention.

Yet the thought persisted.

Why did it matter if you were still there?

It shouldn’t.

And yet.

The chair scraped quietly against the floor as he stood.

He didn’t bother with his coat. The cold would be a brief inconvenience.

His steps were measured as he left the study, though there was a certain tension in his stride, as if he was trying to convince himself this was a simple walk and nothing more.

The manor’s halls gave way to the biting air of winter, and Max inhaled sharply, the cold seeping through the thin fabric of his sleeves.

The gravel path crunched beneath his boots as he crossed into the garden.

The world was quiet here. Still.

The pale sun sagged low in the sky, casting a silver sheen over frost-laced branches and brittle hedges. Even the air felt suspended, holding its breath.

He scanned the expanse, expecting, no, hoping, to see a flicker of movement among the barren trees.

Nothing.

Max’s jaw tightened.

Of course. You wouldn’t have waited. Hours had passed. Why would you linger in the cold for him? The thought was absurd.

He moved forward anyway, slow and deliberate, his hands clasped behind his back as if that could restrain the growing restlessness in his chest.

Each turn of the path yielded only more empty frost-covered stone.

Once.

Twice.

A third time around, and still nothing.

Perhaps this was a mistake.

He turned to leave.

Then, faintly, the sound of movement, a soft rustle of fabric.

His head snapped up.

And there you were.

Tucked into the curve of a stone bench, half-hidden by the skeletal branches of the hedgerow.

A book lay open in your lap, your gloved fingers idly turning the page.

Max stared.

You hadn’t left.

A strange feeling settled in his chest, something between relief and unease.

He didn’t speak, not immediately. For a moment, he simply watched you, the way your breath misted in the cold, how your hair caught the pale light.

He wasn’t sure why he’d come out here.

But now that he had, he found he didn’t want to leave.

Max exhaled quietly, letting the breath curl away into the cold.

He stood perfectly still, half-concealed by the bare limbs of the hedgerow, his figure blending into the stark winter landscape. The cold gnawed at him, a sharp wind threading through the thin fabric of his sleeves, but he didn’t move.

His breath escaped in thin, controlled streams of vapor, dissipating into the frigid air.

And still, his eyes remained fixed on you.

You sat quietly on the stone bench, bundled in the cloak he'd ordered a servant to bring to you last night come morning, its edges stiff with frost.

A book rested in your lap, your gloved fingers lazily tracing the brittle page edges as you turned them.

Every now and then, you paused, eyes lifting to watch the pale sun as it sagged toward the horizon, before returning to your reading.

Max’s hands tightened behind his back.

He shouldn’t be here.

There was no reason to be.

And yet, he didn’t leave.

He told himself it was coincidence, that his steps had simply led him here after hours of restless pacing in his study.

But even that excuse felt thin, crumbling under the weight of his own unease.

He exhaled slowly, the breath catching in the cold.

Why didn’t you go inside? The air was sharp and biting.

Anyone with sense would’ve retreated to the warmth of the manor by now. Yet you sat there still, as if waiting for something.

Or someone.

A ridiculous thought.

Max’s jaw tightened.

"You know," a dry voice cut through the stillness, "standing there staring is a bit creepy, my Lord.”

Max turned sharply, his cold glare snapping to the armored figure leaning casually against the frosted stone archway.

Oscar.

The knight stood with an infuriating air of nonchalance, one hand resting on the pommel of his sword, the other shoved lazily into the crook of his elbow. His breath misted lazily in the cold air, a faint smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.

“You’re out of line.” Max’s voice was flat, the warning unmistakable.

Oscar only raised an eyebrow, entirely unbothered. “Probably. But you’ve been standing long enough that I figured someone should say something.”

Max’s glare deepened.

Oscar tilted his head slightly toward the garden. “You could just speak to her, you know. I’m half certain she wouldn’t mind.”

“I have no intention of interrupting her,” Max said coolly, though the words rang hollow even to his own ears.

Oscar made a thoughtful noise, tapping a gloved finger against his chin. “No, of course not. That’s why you’re skulking in the hedges instead of being a normal person and saying hello.”

Max’s mouth tightened into a thin line. “You have duties. Attend to them.”

Oscar chuckled under his breath. “Oh, I am attending to them. Protecting the lady, making sure her suitors aren’t lurking about. You know, the usual.”

Max’s eyes narrowed dangerously.

Oscar didn’t flinch.

“Did she not mention this morning she hoped you’d join her out here?” the knight asked offhandedly, brushing frost off his shoulder. “But maybe I heard wrong. Could’ve been the wind.”

Max didn’t respond.

Oscar let the silence stretch for a moment before shrugging. “Well. Suit yourself.”

With that, he pushed off the archway and strode casually toward you, boots crunching against the frost-laden gravel.

Max didn’t move. His gaze followed Oscar with a cold, sharp focus, but his feet remained planted, weighed down by something heavier than pride.

Oscar’s figure grew smaller as he neared you.

And then, you looked up.

Your face softened in recognition, lips curving into a faint smile as your knight approached. Max’s chest tightened inexplicably.

“You’ve been out here a while, my lady,” Oscar remarked lightly, stopping beside the stone bench.

You laughed softly, the sound carrying faintly through the still air. “Longer than I meant to. Has it gotten that late already?”

“Late enough,” Oscar said, leaning slightly against the stone edge. “Cold enough too, I imagine.”

You exhaled, watching the breath curl away. “The cold’s not so bad.”

Oscar smirked. “If you say so. Though I passed Lord Max earlier. He was out here too.”

Your eyes lifted, blinking in quiet surprise. “Was he?”

Oscar hummed. “Looked like he was thinking about joining you. Or maybe just staring at you. Hard to tell with him.”

Your gaze flicked toward the distant paths, searching the empty garden.

Oscar watched you carefully. “Still might be lurking somewhere. Shadows seem to agree with him.”

You smiled faintly, but your eyes lingered on the hedgerows, thoughtful.

Oscar nudged a frost-coated pebble with his boot. “You know… if you wanted him here, you could just call him out. Maybe the shame will make his feet move.”

You glanced at him, arching a brow.

He smirked. “Just a thought, my Lady.”

Oscar pushed off the bench. “Come on. You’ll catch cold if you stay out much longer.”

As they turned to head back toward the manor, Max stood still, hidden beyond the hedges.

His hands clenched slowly at his sides.

And then, finally, he turned and walked away.

The frost crunched beneath his boots, louder than before.

—

The rest of the month at the Verstappen estate unfolded in slow, deliberate strokes, like the steady brush of winter wind against frosted glass.

The walls of cold formality between you and Max didn’t crumble overnight, but there were cracks now. Thin, hairline fractures where something softer threatened to seep through.

Max remained composed, distant, his every word and gesture measured. Yet every so often, something flickered.

A hesitation before he spoke. A glance that lingered longer than necessary.

Small, fleeting moments that barely seemed to matter, but they did. They built something fragile and new, fragile as frost on stone.

It started with the garden.

You had grown fond of the winter gardens. Quiet, stark, and untouched. The biting air sharpened your senses, and the stillness gave you space to breathe, something you often struggled to find within the Verstappen estate's cold, towering walls.

You were seated at the breakfast table one morning, fingers curled around your tea for warmth.

Your eyes traced the frost-laced hedgerows beyond the tall windows, lost in thought.

“I’ll accompany you today.”

The voice was quiet but certain, breaking through your reverie.

Your head snapped up.

Max stood across the room, a stack of documents in hand, his expression unreadable.

“…Pardon?”

His gaze didn’t waver. “To the gardens. I’ll walk with you.”

You stared at him, caught off guard. “You want to… walk. Outside. In the cold.”

A slight tilt of his head. “Yes.”

“You?”

His jaw tensed, a muscle ticking. “Is that so difficult to believe?”

“Frankly? Yes.” You set your teacup down carefully, studying him. “Don’t you have something far more important to do than trail after me like some-”

“I hardly think safeguarding my betrothed is beneath me,” he cut in smoothly, though something in his tone lacked its usual sharpness.

You raised a brow. “Safeguard me? Max, it’s a garden, not a battlefield.”

He didn’t answer, only held your gaze steadily.

A smile tugged at the corner of your mouth. “Well, far be it from me to refuse the protection of a lord.”

Max inclined his head, as if the matter was settled.

—

The cold met you both immediately as you stepped into the garden.

You drew your coat tighter. Max, of course, didn’t seem to notice the cold at all.

His steps were measured, boots crunching against the frost-dusted path. He kept half a step ahead of you, his hands clasped neatly behind his back.

The silence stretched. And stretched.

Then, abruptly-

“Those are evergreens.”

You blinked.

“…Yes. They are.”

Max gave a small nod, as if confirming a fact. “They endure the winter well.”

"That is typically how evergreens work."

Silence.

You bit your lip, fighting the smile threatening to surface.

Max cleared his throat, his eyes flicking forward again. "I thought it was worth mentioning."

"It was very insightful," you teased lightly.

His jaw tightened, though you noticed the faintest flush at the tips of his ears.

The silence stretched again, but it didn’t feel so suffocating now.

"I don’t…" he started, then stopped. His hands flexed behind his back. "I’m not particularly… good at this."

You tilted your head. "At walking?”

A sharp exhale, half a laugh, half frustration. "At this. Talking. Being-" he paused, as if the word itself burned. "-approachable."

You considered him for a moment. "You’re not as terrible as you think."

His eyes flicked to yours, uncertain.

"You just talk about trees a lot."

That earned a genuine huff of breath. Not quite a laugh, but close.

"I’ll… keep that in mind.”

—

Days slipped by like soft falling snow, quiet and unhurried. And so did the walks.

The first few outings had been brittle, every step and word sharp with awkwardness. But little by little, the stiffness began to melt.

It wasn’t anything grand, no sweeping gestures or sudden confessions, but something quieter. Subtle.

Max no longer fumbled for conversation, and you no longer waited for him to.

Sometimes you spoke. Sometimes you didn’t. And somehow, the silences became easier.

There was comfort in it, like the steady crunch of frost beneath your boots or the way your breath curled in the cold air.

It started with small things.

One morning, as you walked past a thicket of frost-covered hedges, Max slowed his pace, watching you with a flicker of curiosity.

“You always stop here.”

You glanced at him, surprised he noticed. “It’s peaceful.”

His eyes followed yours to the bare branches dusted in white.

“Hm.” He made a low sound of acknowledgment, then fell quiet.

The next day, you noticed he lingered near that spot, as if waiting for you to pause first.

He didn’t say anything, but it was enough.

Another morning, you stumbled slightly on the uneven path, your boot catching on a patch of ice.

Before you could right yourself, a steady hand caught your elbow.

You blinked, looking up.

Max’s hand hovered there, his grip careful but sure.

His expression was unreadable, but his touch was steady.

“You should watch your step,” he murmured.

You stared at him for a beat too long.

“I was,” you said finally, a little breathless.

His hand dropped back to his side, and he turned away before you could see the faint pink creeping up his neck.

The next day, the path had been salted.

You never mentioned it. Neither did he.

But the air between you felt lighter.

Then, there was the matter of the scarf.

It was colder than usual that morning. Bitter wind snuck through the layers of your coat and scarf, nipping at your skin.

Max noticed.

“You’re cold,” he said flatly.

You glanced at him, defensive. “It’s winter. Everyone’s cold.”

He was quiet for a moment. Then, without a word, he unwound the dark wool scarf from his neck and held it out to you.

You blinked.

“…What are you doing?”

“You need it more than I do.”

You stared at the scarf, then at him. “Max, I’m not going to take your scarf. That’s ridiculous.”

“It’s practical,” he replied, tone perfectly serious.

You huffed a laugh. “Oh, is it? And what about you?”

“I’ll manage.”

His expression didn’t waver.

After a long pause, you sighed and took the scarf from his hands.

It was warm. Warmer than yours, and it smelled faintly of cedar and something crisp, like winter air.

You looped it around your neck, hiding a small smile.

“Happy now?”

Max gave a short nod. “Good.”

The next day, he wore a thicker coat.

You said nothing.

Neither did he.

But his gaze lingered on the scarf around your neck.

And that was enough.

The silences softened after that.

Some days, Max would walk slightly ahead, hands behind his back, eyes on the path.

Other days, he matched your stride, quiet but near.

Once, as you passed a row of brittle rose bushes, you paused, brushing your glove over the thorns.

Max stopped beside you.

“They won’t bloom again until spring.”

“I know.”

He was quiet for a moment.

“They’re still... nice to look at,” he admitted.

You glanced at him.

“That’s surprisingly sentimental of you.”

A slight shrug. “They’re resilient. Even now.”

You smiled, soft and secret.

Another day, you caught him watching you when you laughed at something small. A small squirrel darting through the snow, slipping and scrambling back up a tree.

Max didn’t laugh, but something flickered in his eyes.

Not amusement.

Something warmer.

He looked away when you caught him, but you didn’t tease him for it.

The walks stretched longer. The conversations grew softer.

There were no grand declarations, no sweeping changes.

Just the slow, steady thaw of winter.

And for now, that was enough.

—-

It happened on an ordinary day, so ordinary that you couldn’t have guessed it would stand out for any reason at all.

You were sitting in the common room, absentmindedly flipping through a file, your thoughts half on the task and half on the cup of tea cooling beside you.

You were aware of Max nearby, as you always seemed to be. The two of you had taken to spending your quiet moments together for some reason.

He was seated at the far corner, half-hidden behind a stack of papers, his focus presumably locked on his work.

Or so you thought.

It wasn’t until you reached for your tea, your eyes lifting momentarily, that you noticed it. His gaze.

Max was staring at you.

It wasn’t a casual glance or a quick flicker of attention. His eyes were fixed, steady, like he was studying you without even realizing it.

There was something almost unreadable in his expression, his usual guarded demeanor softened by a hint of… curiosity? Thoughtfulness? You couldn’t quite place it.

For a moment, you froze, unsure what to do. Should you look away? Pretend you hadn’t noticed? Confront him?

The options raced through your mind in a tangle, but before you could decide, Max blinked, as though snapping out of a trance.

His gaze shifted back to the papers in front of him, his movements abrupt and uncharacteristically awkward.

He cleared his throat quietly, shuffling the documents with more focus than necessary.

You felt your cheeks warm, a faint heat creeping up your neck. It wasn’t like Max to lose his composure, even slightly.

You wondered what he’d been thinking. Or if he’d even realized what he was doing.

“Everything alright?” you asked, breaking the silence before it could stretch uncomfortably long. Your voice was casual, light, as though the moment hadn’t happened.

Max didn’t look up immediately, his jaw tightening for a fraction of a second. “Fine,” he said, his tone clipped, but there was a faint edge to it, something almost defensive.

You tilted your head, studying him for a beat longer. “You sure? You looked… distracted.”

He finally met your gaze, his expression unreadable again, but this time you thought you caught the faintest flicker of something.

Embarrassment, maybe, or irritation at being caught.

“I’m sure,” he said, his tone more even now.

“Alright,” you said lightly, turning back to your file with a small shrug. But your heart was still racing, and you couldn’t stop yourself from wondering what had just passed between you.

As the moments ticked by, you resisted the urge to glance at him again, but you couldn’t shake the feeling of his earlier stare.

—

The two of you found yourselves in the library again, a rare moment of calm amidst the usual chaos.

Max sat across from you, his attention drifting between the book in his hands and the room around him.

For once, he wasn’t buried in paperwork or fielding endless questions from others, and the quiet was almost comforting.

The soft rustle of turning pages and the muted hum of your own reading filled the air.

It was a stillness that wrapped around you both, unspoken but shared, a silence that felt like an unacknowledged truce.

Until the peace fractured.

A faint groan of wood sliced through the quiet, subtle at first but growing louder, sharper. You frowned, your eyes flicking upward from your book.

Max noticed the sound too, his head tilting slightly as his attention shifted.

“What was that?” you asked, your voice barely above a whisper.

Max didn’t answer right away, his eyes narrowing as the groaning intensified. “Stay here,” he muttered, already rising from his chair.

But before either of you could move further, the source of the noise revealed itself.

The tall shelf in the corner swayed unnaturally, its weight shifting in a way that made your stomach twist.

“Max-” you started, panic creeping into your voice.

And then it happened. The shelf gave way.

Books tumbled from its upper shelves like a cascade of water, filling the air with dull thuds and sharp cracks.

The massive structure pitched toward you, and you froze, your feet rooted in place.

“Move!” a voice yelled.

You barely registered the shout before a strong hand grabbed your arm, yanking you back with such force that your book flew from your grasp.

Your back slammed into something solid. Someone’s chest.

A deafening crash filled the room as the shelf slammed into the ground, its impact sending vibrations through the floor.

Books scattered in every direction, some sliding to a stop at your feet.

“Are you okay?” Max’s voice was sharp, edged with panic. His hand still gripped your arm, his knuckles white from the effort.

You turned toward him, your breath coming in short, uneven gasps. “I… I think so.”

His eyes darted over you, scanning for any sign of injury. “Did it hit you?” he asked, his voice quieter but no less urgent.

“No,” you managed. “I’m fine. Just… shaken.”

Max exhaled sharply, his shoulders sagging as some of the tension left him.

He dropped his hand from your arm, stepping back to give you space, but his gaze stayed locked on you.

“I should’ve seen it coming,” he muttered, running a hand through his hair. “I knew it was old..” He trailed off, his jaw tightening.

You shook your head, still trying to steady your breathing. “You couldn’t have known it would fall like that.”

His brow furrowed, frustration flickering across his face. “I should’ve checked it. What if-” He cut himself off, his jaw working as he looked away.

“It didn’t,” you said firmly. “You pulled me out of the way. That’s what matters.”

Max’s expression didn’t soften. If anything, his frown deepened. “This shouldn’t have happened in the first place. I should’ve-”

“Stop,” you interrupted, your voice firmer than you expected. “Max, you can’t blame yourself. You didn’t push the shelf. You didn’t make it fall.”

He met your gaze then, his eyes dark and filled with a storm of emotions. “But I could’ve stopped it,” he said quietly, almost to himself.

You hesitated, unsure how to respond. The raw guilt in his voice surprised you. It was rare to see Max shaken. You didn't even think it possible.

“You did stop it. At least for me,” you said softly.

He stared at you for a moment, his expression unreadable.

Finally, he sighed and stepped toward the wreckage. “This is a mess,” he muttered, his tone shifting to something more clipped, controlled. “I’ll get someone to clean it up. You should go sit down. Get some air.”

You followed his gaze to the pile of broken wood and scattered books. The sight made your stomach twist, but you forced yourself to speak. “I’ll help. I was here too.”

“No,” Max said quickly, holding up a hand. “You’ve had enough of a scare for one day. Just… take a break, alright?”

You hesitated, then nodded reluctantly. “Fine. But only because you asked.”

Max gave a short, almost reluctant nod in return. “Good. I’ll make sure this doesn’t happen again.”

As you turned to leave, you glanced back at him. He was already moving toward the debris, his focus shifting entirely to the mess. But the tension in his shoulders hadn’t eased, and you knew he’d be carrying the weight of what could have happened for a while.

And so would you.

—-

The realization that you fancied Max struck with all the subtlety of a thunderclap.

You fancied your fiancé. Oh, God. You fancied your fiancé.

The thought struck you like a bolt of lightning, the weight of it settling heavily in your chest as you paced back and forth across your room.

With each step, the walls of the room seemed to shrink around you, the air thick with the suffocating pressure of your own spiraling thoughts.

How had this happened? Why him? Of all people, why Max?

Stoic, distant Max, the man you barely even knew.

“It’s a trick of the mind. A reaction to circumstance,” you whispered, the words directed at your own reflection in the mirror.

Your face was pinched, your brow furrowed, and your eyes wide with a mixture of dread and something… else.

You rubbed at your temples, as though the act might banish the errant thoughts swirling in your mind.

“It’s admiration,” you said aloud, as if hearing the words would make them true. “Respect for his… demeanor. His resolve.”

You faltered, the image of Max flickering to life in your mind.

His measured gaze, the faint crease at the corner of his mouth when he was deep in thought.

The way his presence seemed to command the air around him.

Stop it.

“Lily!” you called out suddenly, your voice higher than you intended, panic rising sharply in your throat. “Lily, please, come here!”

The door creaked open, and Lily entered with her usual composed air, her eyes softening as soon as she took in the sight of your distress.

“My Lady, what’s wrong? You look...” she trailed off, hesitation in her tone as she glanced at you, clearly noting the unease written across your face.

“Don’t even say it,” you interrupted quickly, pressing your palms to your temples in an effort to stave off the rising panic. “I’m losing my mind, Lily. I think... I think I have feelings for Max.”

Lily regarded you for a long moment, her expression unreadable, but there was a subtle shift in her eyebrow.

A hint of intrigue that you couldn’t quite place. She did not seem surprised.

“Max?” she asked, her voice calm, though the faintest hint of something stirred in her eyes. “As in, your betrothed, Lord Max Verstappen?”

“Yes! That Max!” you exclaimed, turning toward her with wide, frantic eyes, feeling the chaos inside you deepen with every word you spoke. “What other Max would I be talking about?!”

Lily paused for a moment, her eyes assessing you, the soft lines of her face betraying no judgment, only careful understanding.

Finally, she spoke, her tone even, but with an edge of something like amusement.

“Well,” she said thoughtfully, “I’m glad it’s not hatred you’re feeling.”

You blinked, surprised at her response. “What?”

She gave you a small, wry smile, her hands folding gently in front of her. “I’m glad you don’t detest the man you’re engaged to. That’s a start, isn’t it? At least you’re not loathing him.”

You gaped at her, your mind still reeling from the gravity of your own emotions. “But this isn’t nothing, Lily! This isn’t just some passing fancy. I can’t stop thinking about him. Every time he’s near, I feel like I’m going to lose my mind. I don’t know how to act around him. It’s like- like he’s too close and I’m too far from myself.”

Lily’s gaze softened, but she did not rush to soothe you with easy words.

She tilted her head slightly, her voice measured but firm. “Feelings like these don’t appear overnight, My Lady. They don’t disappear either. But you’re right. You don’t know him very well yet. You’ve got time to work this out, slowly. You don’t have to have it all figured out now.”

You nodded, but the knot in your stomach only tightened as a new wave of uncertainty washed over you.

“I don’t know what to do with all of this, Lily. What if I say something wrong? What if I act like a fool in front of him? What if... what if he doesn’t care at all?”

Lily stepped closer to you, her presence steady, constant.

“Then he doesn’t,” she said simply. “If he doesn’t care, then... then you’ll be no worse off than you are now, My Lady. But know this: no other woman is taking him from you. He’s already yours. That’s settled.”

Her words settled over you like a weight.

He was already yours.

There was no escaping the finality of it, the truth in her calm tone.

The idea that you didn’t need to chase after him, that he was already tied to you in ways you couldn’t control, both unsettled and reassured you.

“I’m not even sure I want him, though,” you murmured, the words tumbling out before you could stop them. “I don’t even know what this is. What if I’m just... confused? What if it’s just... attachment? I mean, he’s always there, he’s my betrothed, but- he’s not-”

“Stop,” Lily’s voice sliced through your spiraling thoughts. “You don’t need to understand it all right now. You don’t need to be sure of your feelings just because you’ve realized them.”

You took a slow breath, your chest tight as you tried to keep your composure.

Her words were soothing in their simplicity, but they didn’t change your feelings. “I just... I don’t know what to do with all this. It’s too much. Too fast. I can’t keep up.”

You let the words hang in the air, unsure if you were speaking to her or to yourself.

Lily gave you a small, understanding smile, though it was tinged with a trace of amusement.

She didn’t speak for a moment, as though carefully weighing her response. “Then take it slow, my Lady. You’re allowed to feel all of this, in your own time. You don’t have to rush to make sense of it. No one’s going to force you to figure it out on anyone else’s schedule.”

A tiny sense of relief swept over you, but the knot in your stomach still refused to loosen.

You glanced at the door, as though the mere idea of being near Max would send everything crashing down again.

“So... you’re saying I can avoid him... for a while?”

Lily raised an eyebrow, clearly unimpressed with the suggestion. “Avoid him?” she repeated, the edge of disbelief creeping into her voice. “My Lady, if I may-"

“But I can?” you pressed, cutting her off, eyes wide with urgency. “You said I could take my time, right? Well, avoiding him sounds like taking my time to me.”

Lily sighed, the sound long and heavy, as though you were testing her patience. “Yes, My Lady, your free will does indeed allow you to avoid him, if that’s truly what you wish.”

A spark of triumph flickered inside you.

“Perfect.” You stood straighter, a plan forming in your mind. “Call for Sir Lando and Sir Oscar.”

Lily’s eyebrows furrowed as she eyed you suspiciously. “What for, My Lady?”

You gave her an almost manic grin, feeling the tension in your shoulders ease slightly as your plan took shape. “They’re going to help me.”

“Help you... with avoiding your betrothed?” Lily asked slowly, a hint of disbelief creeping into her voice. She crossed her arms, studying you with a bemused expression.

“Yes,” you replied firmly, not an ounce of hesitation in your voice. “They’ll help me stay away from him. They’ll distract him, tell him I’m busy with... other things.”

Lily opened her mouth to respond but stopped herself, narrowing her eyes at you as if you had just suggested something ludicrous.

“My Lady,” she said, her voice dipping into a tone of mild reproach, “I must say, I don’t think that’s the most productive course of action.”

“Oh, please.” You threw your hands up dramatically. “I’m just trying to buy myself some time here. I can’t face him, not with these... feelings…whatever they are…bubbling up every time I even think about him. If I can just avoid him for a little while, I can breathe again.”

Lily shook her head, a small, resigned smile playing on her lips. “I don’t think this is the solution you’re looking for, My Lady. But if you insist on this... strategy, I can’t stop you.”

You raised an eyebrow, suddenly intrigued by the shift in her tone. “You can stop me, can’t you? You’re my lady’s maid. You’re supposed to stop me from making poor decisions.”

Lily raised an eyebrow right back at you. “I’m also supposed to help you navigate poor decisions, not prevent them entirely. And right now, this is just one of many decisions I’m going to let you make on your own.”

She paused, eyeing you carefully. “But just know, avoiding him isn’t going to give you the answers you need. It’ll only prolong the inevitable.”

You smiled sweetly, still not convinced. “Sometimes, a little delay is exactly what I need. Besides, it’s not like he’s going anywhere. We’re betrothed, after all.”

“That you are,” Lily replied, her tone becoming slightly sharper. “Which is exactly why you shouldn’t be avoiding him. You’ve got time, but you also have a responsibility to work through your feelings. Even if it’s uncomfortable.”

You glanced toward the door, already plotting the next phase of your plan. “I’ll figure it out. But in the meantime, I’m going to need some assistance.”

Lily sighed again, louder this time.

She didn’t speak for a long moment, her gaze flicking to the door as though she were silently debating whether or not to humor you.

Finally, she gave a small nod. “Very well. I’ll fetch Sir Lando and Sir Oscar. But I’m warning you, My Lady, this avoidance strategy won’t last long.”

You grinned triumphantly as she turned to leave. “Thank you, Lily. You’re the best.”

As she stepped out of the room, you sank back into your chair, letting your mind wander to the next step of your plan.

You weren’t entirely sure what you were doing, but it felt better than facing Max and trying to make sense of the chaos swirling inside you.

For now, avoiding him was the only option that seemed remotely manageable.

When Lily returned with your knights, they each looked at you with varying degrees of confusion and amusement, but you gave them a firm, confident look.

This plan was going to work.

You could make it work.

“Alright,” you said, standing tall, as though the sheer gravity of your decision had transformed you into a seasoned military strategist. “Here’s the plan. We’re going to make sure Max never sees me again.”

A pause hung in the air, heavy and expectant.

“Or at least… not for a while.”

Lando and Oscar exchanged a glance. Lando’s lips twitched upward, the beginnings of a grin playing at the corners of his mouth, while Oscar’s furrowed brow and pursed lips betrayed his confusion.

“Right,” Lando said finally, leaning back and crossing his arms. His tone was equal parts incredulous and amused. “This ought to be good. What, exactly, do you want us to do, my Lady? This sounds like it’s going to be excellent for my boredom.”

Oscar’s expression tightened further. “You can’t be serious,” he muttered, half to himself, his arms now folded.

You straightened your back, summoning all the confidence you could muster. “I am entirely serious. From this moment forward, I have suddenly become… extremely busy.”

Oscar blinked. “Busy,” he repeated flatly.

“Yes, busy,” you replied, the words tumbling out with an exaggerated air of importance. “So busy, in fact, that I won’t have a single moment to spare. And I need you two to help make sure that’s… believable.”

Lando arched an eyebrow, a grin now fully blossoming on his face. “Wait, let me get this straight. You want us to..what? Fabricate your life for a bit?”

“Exactly,” you said with a flourish of your hand, as though the absurdity of your request was irrelevant. “A little misdirection here, a well-timed excuse there. Between the two of you, I’m sure you can come up with something convincing.”

Lando let out a low whistle, shaking his head in mock disbelief. “So, you’re asking us to keep Max, the man who has been running this house like a clock, distracted? To throw him off the scent entirely?”

“Precisely,” you said, lifting your chin.

Oscar looked less amused and more concerned, his practical nature coming to the forefront. “And what exactly is this plan supposed to achieve? You think if we keep him occupied for long enough, he’ll just… forget about you? You do realize who we’re talking about, right?”

“I don’t need him to forget,” you replied quickly, your voice rising slightly in pitch. “I just need him to be… preoccupied. Thoroughly distracted. He can’t be allowed to think about me, let alone come looking for me.”

Lando, who had been quietly observing, suddenly burst out laughing. “This is incredible. You’re trying to dodge the one man who could probably find you in his sleep.”

Oscar sighed again after a moment , clearly reluctant. “Fine. But don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

“Excellent,” you said, clapping your hands together. “Now, let’s get to work.”

As Lando leaned back in his chair, still grinning, and Oscar reluctantly nodded his agreement, you couldn’t help but feel a surge of triumph. Surely, this would work. How hard could it be to outmaneuver Max Emilian Verstappen?

You tried to ignore the nagging voice in the back of your mind whispering that you might have just made a very, very big mistake.

—-

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@papichulomacy

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quarterlifekitty · 2 months ago

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am so late but medieval fantasy with arranged marriage/wrong bride trope and a "supposedly" cold duke who found out that their wife/partner's family is toxic and how DARE they make their beloved life's hell aaaaa

I LOVE the trope of like arranged marriage to super fucking scary guy but then it’s actually soooo easy to get him pussywhipped. At first I thought of this for ghost but PSYCH you ghost hoes because it’s Nikolai time tbh

cw: arranged marriage, allusions to abuse

Duke Nikolai is getting married, so it is whispered, purely for two reasons: legitimacy and heirs. He’s known far and wide for some less than savory reasons, and he was not born into nobility— his service to the kingdom has seen him be granted wealth and land quickly. While a marriage to him would grant greater wealth and stability, it would be considered something akin to social suicide.

Enter you, a lady of noble birth and some small renown. Only child of a rapidly declining house, finding you a match is the only way to save your family from complete destitution.

You have had a weak constitution for most of your life, and as such have lived in isolation. You’ve received almost no socialization, a cowering thing with no poise or dignity to speak of. You are, in a word, unmarriageable by noble standards.

It’s a mutually beneficial arrangement born from desperation on both sides. You’re engaged without even having met, your first meeting at the altar. Your handmaiden tries not to cry as she prepares you to wed the dark head of such an unsavory house— she’s heard every rumor, and fears for what will happen when she can no longer accompany you.

Nikolai cannot help but be amused by how you tremble against his hold. He sees you as a frightened doe. At the reception, he pulls you into his lap and rubs a thumb into your hip as he holds you, settling your frayed nerves.

The trend continues in your wedding bed when he keeps your back to his chest and has you come apart on his fingers before giving you his tongue, despite your protests about properness. But that’s what happens when you marry an uncouth commoner who’s made a name for himself in brothels across the continent instead of some high-born pup who’d be content to have you bleed on his sheets for the three minutes it would take him to cum and fall asleep.

Before, Nikolai saw this marriage as a union in name only. You’d have your dalliances with whatever stableboy or neighboring lord you pleased, while he chased the skirts of maids and tavern women. But when he has you tucked against him that first night, he gets the strange feeling that the bond you’re forging is one that can’t be traded or ignored. That there’s something to this… matrimony thing.

You’re still a bit fearful of him. He understands. You’ve been raised to think of your husband as the master, the one who decides your fate and keeps your bones unbroken as an act of generosity. But what he cannot stand is the flinching.

Your parents and teachers tried no small number of ways to try to make you an attractive, upstanding lady, you admitted— not angry at their methods, but ashamed at how they hadn’t worked. And he burned inside— a feeling not felt when a woman is your wife in name only.

Don’t worry, lanyashka. He has enough anger for the both of you.

#pricegouge this is for youuuuuu #writing #cod fanfic #cod #fantasy au #medieval au #arranged marriage #cw abuse #Nikolai #nikolai x reader #nikolai cod #cod nikolai

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iww-gnv · 2 years ago

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Trouble is brewing in America's strip club capital, where dancers from one bar have been on strike for nearly four months as they attempt to become the second unionized strip club in the country. Most of the 33 strippers employed by Portland's Magic Tavern launched their strike on April 4, citing "dangerous working conditions," Willamette Week reported. "We’re fighting for basic safety and respect in the workplace, just like any other industry expects," Nyx, one of the dancers on strike, told the outlet. The dancers say a slew of safety concerns spurred the strike, ranging from a lack of security cameras, an unstable pole, unmarked and uneven stage flooring, the scent of gas and more. They accuse management of retaliating against dancers who complained, and naming an official club group chat "Anus Tarts."

#news

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ophelieverse · 7 months ago

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if you are still taking requests I have one:Jace returning to Winterfell to reader,who is Cregan younger sister,to make the “song of ice and fire” become true after his mother told him😌please and thank you❤️

✩ ‧₊˚ and his will be the song of ice and fire

Jacaerys Velaryon x fem!reader

-Summary:during his first stay at Winterfell,Jace and Y/n got much closer than they should.Now,after knowing the prophecy about the song of ice and fire from his mother,Jace is determined to make it true with the most beautiful lady he had ever seen.

-Warnings:spoilers of the last episode,reader is a Stark,Jace cheats of Baela(him and reader pull a Rhaegar and Lyanna)smutty time,asoiaf classic warnings.

•-thank you so much for requesting and let me know what you guys think,sending you lots of love

••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

On that night in early Winter,as a milky moon shines white above the hills,the snow falls soft to whitewash the gentle slopes and the houses in the valley of Winterfell.The air smells of the last breath of smoke blown out of a fireplace,ice,earth and wood.

It's late,and many lights are already off,but the fire of torches along the streets still shine.The tavern lanterns are also still lit,as are some fireplaces or oil lamps in homes.The world is immersed in the peaceful quiet of that cold night,which already brings with it the algid squeeze of winter now closer and closer.

In the secluded area of the cold godswood,in the gardens of the castle of Winterfell,silence envelopes the floral landscape like a lover embrace and Jacaerys worries that the unrequited sound of his beating heart could be heard throughout the whole realm.

The blood-red leaves in the branches of the weirdwood tree danced calmly in the breezy wind,the snow had stopped falling from the black sky leaving only the white stars to shine.The torches lights were too close and too bright,Jace eyes were hurting and his cold hands were trying to warm up in the ones of his future bride.

The young prince is really trying to focus on the soft words,the promises of eternal love and loyalty,of the Septon that works for House Stark.But they sounded so foreign to him,almost as if they were another language.It’s impossible for him to focus on anything else outside the fact that he’s really getting married.

During his life,Jacaerys has never knew well how weddings ceremonies actually worked,but he was pretty sure that this one,his,wasn’t what people would call a normal one.He has a vague memory of his mother second wedding,just the day after the worst night of his life,but he still could remember a loving couple becoming one in the heart and soul.Promising each other,in the house culture,love and devotion,eternal loyalty.

He also remembered the wedding of his uncle and aunt,Aegon and Helaena,in the big and bright Temple in King’s Landing.How two children spouted oaths that they didn’t believed in,framed by perfect swaths of red,green and yellow.Smiling faces of their families,proud to be reunited for such a joyful moment.Then the celebration after in the castle,the people dancing and laughing,the melodious music and singing,the delights of the night.

Meanwhile this wedding,his,was quiet and rushed.Reserved and in the dark shade of the forest.There are no wonderful colors for decorations,no smiling families members or friends,aside from Cregan who was chosen as a witness to the union,and Jacaerys is in the middle of an icy tundra of suffocating silence.

Y/n is standing in front of him,adorned in pure pearly white just like the snow at her feet.She wasn’t just beautiful,she was otherworldly and vaguely threatening.Bright eyes,rosy cheeks and red lips,hair falling in the wind,the smile of and enchanting enchantress and the nature of a young she wolf.Blue winter roses crowned on her head,she looked like a religious icon,someone people sacrificed themselves for.

Jacaerys had spent weeks with her during his stay in the North and he couldn’t forget her for days.He had engraved her name in the palm of his hands,the way she would laugh with him,the way she carried herself and looked at him,forever in his heart.It was impossible to not grow to love her,the beautiful lady was made of magic and stardust.

The logics and sermons,the words and phrases of the Septon weren’t the one to convince him to swear his allegiance and love,the way she held his hands and softly smiled at him driven deeper into his soul.Y/n had wrapped herself into his ribs,crawling right inside his heart,to keep him warm.

He was born for her and she was born for him.The ice and the fire,it was written in the destiny.

His mother words still echoed in his mind as he looked at Y/n.The song of ice and fire would be the product of their love,a son or a daughter that would have ruled and kept the realm together and safe.Someone who would inherit the blood of the old Valyria,the blood of the dragons and gods,fire and warmth from their father.And the blood of the first men,the old gods,the ice of the true north from their mother.

Y/n was his truth,Jacaerys was the dream,she was the ice and he was the fire.

She made him sick with desire,she always did since the moment he was first introduced to her.With the desire to have her,to possess her,to have her around him forever.And now he had the perfect opportunity,the perfect excuse for his betrayal to Baela and his mother who had betrothed them months ago.

Now he could still believe that he was a good person with a purpose,not only because of his own selfish dream to be with Y/n and to marry her just because her figure hunted his memory and his carnal needs.Because he was growing to love her and wanted to grow old with her.It was for the realm,he was repeating to himself over and over to shut down the guilt,and it would be what he would tell his mother and cousin when he and his new wife would go to Dragonstone after their wedding.For the realm,for the world and the Targaryen dynasty.

Jacaerys is dressed in pure black,trembling in his furry cloak,he’s trying to calm down his breathing that relies heavily through his nose in forms of little white clouds.Idly he wonders if this was a funeral ceremony instead of a wedding,but this was the best they could manage in such short time.

The young prince had came to Winterfell,flying on dragon back,with the last lights of the sun and everything was orchestrated in secrecy as fast as they could.The child that would be born from him and Y/n needed to be fully legitimate,he didn’t wanted to risk a bastard just like he was,not when the child wouldn’t have become the protector of the realm,the one from Aegon the Conqueror dream.

Y/n was promised to Lord Jason Lannister eldest son and Jacaerys was promised to his cousin Baela.Everything of this was the highest of treason but the war was already there and they couldn’t go back now.His mind couldn’t help but circling around and back to the empty and oddly depressing atmosphere around them.

Before them a old and solemn man was going through some chants about the gods witnessing the union and behind them a grand total of just two whole guest.Cregan stood there,wrapped around his cloak,still and silent like a statue,Vermax was a few feet away looking at the scene like he could understand what was going on.

«In the sight of the Seven,I hereby see you these two souls,binding them as one for eternity.Look upon one another and say the words.»the Septon words were spoken with decision under the torches fire.

Jacaerys swallows thickly and feels like he’s been choked by the cloak that now is heavier on his shoulders.A beads of sweats drips down on his forehead and make his hair stuck on his neck even in the cold air.He wants nothing more than loose his collar and breathe deeply.All that clothing is far too stiff and uncomfortable and he feels like a stranger in his own body.He has to tell himself,as he close his eyes,that this would be over sooner that he’ll realize.

His mouth feels dry as he wet his lips before speaking his vows«Father.Smith.Warrior.Mother.Maiden. Crone.Stranger.I am hers,and she is mine,from this day,till the end of my days.»his voice was firm as he held her hand tightly.

Y/n smiled at him,she tried to be brave just like he was.Her hands were shaking in his,her nerves had eaten her alive the whole night,from the moment she had put on her mother old dress,to this very moment.Now she couldn’t go back.

She really started to love Jacaerys,how could she not?He was so gentle with his words,so kind with the way he touched and looked at her,perfect in everything that he did.And the fact that him,such a beautiful and loving man,had chosen her as his wife and future mother of his children,was dream coming true.As a child,she often dreamed of becoming a princess and to marry a prince,just like the ones in her fairytales.

But now she would’ve had to be the future Queen in a kingdom divided in two,with a war that was screaming outside their door.Jacaerys seemed to read her mind,squeezing her hands lovingly and nodding his head to reassure her,in a way to tell her that she wasn’t alone and that they would be together in the bad and the good.

«Father.Smith.Warrior.Mother.Maiden.Crone.Stranger.I am his and he is mine,from this day,till the end of my days.»Y/n pronounced every single word softly without taking her eyes off her husband.

Maybe this was really a funeral because,as she spoke,Y/n realized that there was no turning back now,they would not be just a prince and lady anymore.When did everything became so complicated?She started to get melancholic as she started to register how much her life had changed in few seconds,that the best part of her new life was also the hardest.

Just a few weeks ago she was running around the godswood with Jacaerys as she was teaching him about the old gods and the legends in the north and now all of her dreams and ambitions were threatened by her husband family.A family that she was part of now.

They were supposed to change the world by bringing their child into it,but the world was about to change them and it certainly wasn’t a change for the better.The greens usurping the throne,prince Aemond killing prince Lucerys proves that.

Y/n head was hurting as she thought about that.And she couldn’t forget about the part where both her and Jacaerys were promised to other people.They would be viewed as traitors among his family,his uncle Daemon wouldn’t take the news kindly and he certainly wouldn’t congratulate them.Y/n father also didn’t knew about any of this and she still feared his reaction.

Regardless all of that,of having the world against them.Both Jacaerys and Y/n didn’t cared about all the venomous things people will say about them or the things that they would have to go through,because if they were given a second chance they would do it all over again.They were loving each other too much to let the other go.

«With this kiss I pledge my love.»Jacaerys said to her,moving his hand to caress carefully her freezing cheek.

His lips felt soft and surprisingly warm against her cold ones.And just like that they were officially married in the sight of the Seven and law.

There is no time for celebrations,no music and tables filled with joy,decorations and all sort of foods.Instead they found themselves in Y/n chambers,the one she grew up in,the one that saw her going from a little girl that played with her dolls to a married woman.

The sheets were changed clean,some fresh flowers were put to adorn the headboard and right on the small table at the center of the table there was wine and some fruits.Cregan had to be the one organizing the whole thing as a small gift.

Y/n takes off her cloak and picks up a small red berry.Jacaerys does the same,moving around the room quietly,he raised his eyes and caught her attention with a sweet smile,so tender and yet so seductive,his lips shiny and wet with a clear juice that slowly dripped down his chin.

«Let me help my wife.»his voice sounded more confident now that it was just the two of them and no one else.

The word,wife,made Y/n feel hot against her chest and down her legs.Standing behind her,Jacaerys wrapped her in his arms.She shuddered when she felt his lips on her neck and along her shoulder:she closed her eyes and abandoned herself against his chest,sighing.

«Jace,husband.»whispered the beautiful lady,her eyes closed and her head slightly tilted back.

«From our love will come the child that this world needs.»Jacaerys had said between the kisses«And I will take care of both of you.»he continued.

«You promise?»Y/n voice was just breathless whisper.

«Nothing will happen to you,»his hand crawled down her stomach leaving shivers on her clothed skin,only to stop at her lower belly.

«But…your family…your mother and uncle-»she tried,biting her lip when he started to suck gently behind her ear.

«Our family will understand.»he corrected her«My mother knows the truth and she will grow to love you just like I do,especially after we will make her a grandmother.»he reassured her sweetly.

A shiver flashed down her back and inflamed her loins.The young prince lowered her shoulder strap to discover her breasts and squeezed it slowly between his fingers,flaring in turn as he felt the nipple turged against his palm.

Y/n staggered,her heart throbbing,her breath shortness and her legs were already trembling but Jacaerys was quick to support her:he lifted her in his arms and took her to the thalamus,on which he gently laid her,a splendid candid flower that seemed to fill that place of shadow with light and of which it was impossible for him to do without.

«My beautiful princess,my beautiful wife.»he murmured against her lips kneeling above her,her eyes shiny,her face turned on despite the pallor.

Y/n took his head in her hands,dipped her fingers between his long curly black hair like a crow's wing;she felt his whole body quiver himing,his heart beating fiercely,and like every time he made her understand that he wanted her,a glance was enough for her to make sure of his devotion:she beat her eyelashes darkening the beautiful irises for a moment,licking her lips;she barely curved them,aware that that gesture drove him crazy,she slowly pulled a flap of the dress to herself by uncovering one leg and flexed it,letting the toe of her foot slide down his thigh,continuing to look at him intensely.

Below the fabric of his pants,Jacaerys felt the delicacy and sensuality of her touch.The tremor of excitement that attacked him was violent, lightning-fast:he stared at her for a moment and couldn't resist any longer.He impatiently freed her from the gown leaving her naked and just as quickly he undressed himself,the look that ran longingly on every corner of her body,unable to give up admiring her as the first time and like every time.

«I’m yours.»Jacaerys promised her,whispering against her lips«Nothing will ever take me away from you.»he kissed her sweetly.

She whimpered and her heart started to beat faster«I’m yours.»she repeated.

He sank with his nose and mouth between the curves of her chest,grabbed her soft hips,stroked her thighs and bottom.Y/n flared all up as she felt his lips pop greedily on her breasts,squeezing volupously around one of his nipples as he brushed it with his tongue and teased the other with his thumb.Pervaded with chills,she widened her legs and clawed her fingers on the sheets;she lifted her pelvis sighing,longing for it anxiously.

The pleasure exploded when he began to draw with the arabesque index finger in the center of her body:she moaned,her breasts shaken by palpitations,her nipples turgid and sore from the pleasure of kisses and caresses,the groin and lower abdomen on fire.

Jacaerys stretched out on her,wrapped her every horizon in darkness:all her muscles were pulsing, the heartbeat that became gradually more frenetic from the burning need to love her,to get drunk on her.He looked at her again he could never have satiated himself to admire her beautiful face - and as soon as she returned his gaze,sweet and sensual every time more,the voluptuousness clouded his mind.

He sank between her thighs,tearing a lament from her that he suffocated with his lips;he clinged her tightly in his arms and kissed her with trepidation,proud and passionate as he pushed himself into her.Y/n clung to his shoulders pressing against his chest with her breasts and belly,her thighs squeezed to his hips:she felt like screaming again, but her tongue danced unbridled in her mouth,the movement of the hips energetic against her,providing her with each push a pang of intense,deep,absolute enjoyment.

The prince hands ran over her body with ardor,she felt his fingers demanding and sweet at the same time on the flesh,in the throes of estasy,she could do nothing but indulge in passion,following the fast pace with which he was moving inside,shadow inside the light,light wrapped in shadow.

«Jace,oh my gods!»Y/n had breathed closing her eyes and pulling the hair at the nape of his neck.

Going crazy with pleasure to hear his bride enjoy,Jacaerys pushed with greater vigor,eager to increase her enjoyment to a great demour,excited by her moans and delighted by the fervor with which she clenched herself by scratching his back with her nails.

«Y/n,oh my sweet little wife.»he groaned against her her,sweat covering his forehead.

He loved her,impetuously and madly,letting himself be stunned by her sighs,her heartbeats,her scent,similar to a flower that spreads his fragrance moved by the north wind caress.

Y/n quivered below him,the breast prey to his incessant caresses,the mouth half of his insatiable kisses;she felt his love to pierce her with tenacity,the pleasure to become more and more powerful and intoxicating and when she reached her peak she screamed,overwhelmed by the intensity of that embrace:this time Jacaerys did not hold back her scream and in turn could not hold back a moan as he made sure to release inside of her.

Appealing to the last forces Jacaerys had left,he bent down to kiss her and finally overturned at her side,panting.Exhausted,Y/n abandoned herself against the bed,her long hair spread in waves on her pillows.

Jace hurried to cover her with the sheet so that she wouldn't get cold and smiled at her,as soon as he felt her fingers touch his cheek.For a moment he stood to contemplate her eyes,her lips,her smile...she was even more beautiful,after love.

«Y/n,»he whispered as he came back to hold her tenderly to himself«I love you.»

She sought shelter in his arms,fulfilled and satiated with strong emotions but still eager for him.She placed her head on his chest and let his caress her hair«I love you too Jace.»she answered.

He smiled,placing a hand on her warm and sweaty skin of her lower belly where he hope a new life would start to grow soon«I promise you,our child will change the world.»he whispered.

They fell asleep together,ice and fire united.And the next day they would still be like this,in each other's arms,bound by passion,seduced by love.Creating a new life together that would have changed everything.

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chilschuck · 9 months ago

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on my hands and knees begging for post-canon confession. reader asks chilchuck what he’s going to do now that laios is king and he’s like “reconcile w my family, work on the union… and hopefully start courting you now that we’re not coworkers?”

`✦ ˑ ִֶ 𓂃⊹ THIS MADE ME MELT INTO A PUDDLE ANON. WAHHHHHHH i wasn’t sure where i wanted to go with this lil drabble, but it ended up shorter than i would’ve liked it. i hope that’s okay!!! i felt like it was good to end it where i did, heheh…

— PLANS: chilchuck x gn!reader.

꒰ warnings: ꒱ none, sfw! fluffy. <3

꒰ wc: ꒱ 483 (short but sweet!!)

✦ once again, i’m so sorry this ended up so short!! but i wanted something really sweet with your concept, and this is where my brain took me. (;;;w;;;) feel free to send in another rq again!! <33

“What are your plans now?”

It was such a simple question, but it held so much weight in the space between you. The tavern you two were in filled with laughter and chatter, only to never drown out your voice as he heard it. Taking a sip of his drink, Chilchuck sighed softly. Even in all the noise, you managed to make it out.

He knew what you were asking, it was a simple question: Now that Laios was king, what was he going to do? The half-foot knew his answer before he could even think of verbalizing it.

“Well… See my family again, make up and reconcile. Work on the union…” Chilchuck looked down into his mug, before letting that content grin grow on his lips.

Before you could comment, he interrupted with one more addition. “…And hopefully, start courting you now that we’re no longer coworkers?”

You couldn’t help but let your jaw drop. Not only that, but you could feel your chest heat up from his words alone. Chilchuck let out a light laugh at your reaction.

“You— Want to court me?” The words came out so quietly, but your head was reeling. The man you had eyes for this entire time… ended up having feelings for you too?

“Well, yeah. I would like to.” Chilchuck scratched the back of his head, giving you that bashful smirk that always made you melt. Your own glee was evident on your features, the low tavern lighting illuminating your smile. Before you could help yourself, the words left you in a playful rush.

“So… Does this count as our first date?” Chilchuck set his mug down, your statement causing him to bite back a smile of his own.

“I think I’d like to take you somewhere nicer than this.” The way he said your name brought butterflies to your stomach, the excitement of this new relationship making your heart race. His hand found your own under the table, giving it a light squeeze.

It was quiet for a moment, but not in the heavy way it was earlier. Instead, the atmosphere of the tavern paired with the happiness of your newfound relationship made it welcome. Unable to stay quiet any longer though, you asked a question that was occupying your mind.

“How long? I mean, how long have you wanted to take me out?” Chilchuck rested his head in his palm, contemplating your question for a moment. With a hum, he came up with an answer. “Since… Well, let’s just say a while.” He huffed, cheeks warming at the idea of having to confess how long he’d been harboring those feelings for you.

You leaned closer to him, the drink you’d been sipping on making you feel a little braver. “I can assure you I’ve wanted to longer.” The half-foot looked down at his hand that was still holding yours.

“I doubt that.”

— dividers by @/cafekitsune! <33

#⟡ lilia writes! 🌿#praying this is okay !!!!#my brain is fried from all i had to write for school today #university is kicking my butt but it’s ALMOST DONE!!!#at least with spring semester :’)))#chilchuck x reader #dunmeshi x reader #delicious in dungeon x reader #chilchuck tims x reader #dungeon meshi x reader

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franzkafkagf · 4 months ago

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Targaryens love to glorify the fire, the conquest, the dragons—constantly obsessed with being the blood and seed of Aegon the Conqueror. But what if Aenys didn’t come from Aegon at all? What if the entire dynasty they’ve been killing each other over was founded on the union of a queen and a simple bard who just loved to hear her sing while he played his lute?

What if Aenys wasn't the trueborn son of Aegon, but instead the product of something completely unexpected—genuine, human love? Think about it. While Maegor embodies everything about Valyrian supremacy, bloodlines, strength through fire and blood (and let's be honest, probably born from blood magic because Aegon was infertile and Visenya wasn’t about to let the dream die), Aenys was... different. Aenys was soft, “weak”. But he was so profoundly human—he loved stories, the stars, music. If Maegor was a blade forged in black fire, Aenys was a quiet song lingering in the air.

And isn’t it fitting? The Targaryens repeat the same mistakes over and over again because they are obsessed with the idea that they’re descended from Aegon the Conqueror, when they are really all descendants of a queen and a lowly bard. That’s the irony—this family that prides itself on Valyrian superiority and divine right is actually the product of something far more humble and human. Their “destiny” wasn’t fire. It was songs. Stories and songs are the lifeblood of Westeros. People remember through stories. The histories, the legends—these aren’t forged in blood, they’re passed down through mummer’s plays, puppet shows, songs sung at taverns. What are we told over and over in ASOIAF? That songs are how history survives.

Aenys was born of love and song. And that matters because look at how their dynasty ends. Egg grew up loving stories of knights and heroes. He wanted to be one of those heroes from the tales. He wasn’t drawn to power or conquest, he was drawn to the stories of honor, of justice, of doing what’s right. He thought that the return of dragons would be the salvation of the realm, that it would fix everything, and what did it lead to? Summerhall. A tragedy.

Look at Rhaegar. He wasn’t some warmongering conqueror—Rhaegar loved his harp, not his sword. He could make people weep just by playing a few notes, by singing a song. His magic was in music, in creating something beautiful in a world constantly obsessed with destruction. But what did Rhaegar do? He gave it all up to chase a prophecy. He abandoned his harp and took up the sword, convinced that the answers lay in some ancient, cryptic vision of three-headed dragons. He died in the mud of the Trident, not as a poet or singer, but as a fool chasing a doomed prophecy.

They thought their destiny was fire, but it’s always been about the songs—the things that outlive the fire. That’s what Aenys represented, what Rhaegar embodied, what Egg loved as a child.

But the Targaryens were too busy chasing dragons to hear the music.

#valyrianscrolls #asoiaf #asoiaf meta #infertile aegon + bastard aenys my beloveds.#aenys i targaryen #aegon the conqueror #rhaenys targaryen #a song of ice and fire #rhaegar targaryen #aegon v targaryen #visenya targaryen #ales.txt #my words #teeheeee

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banmitbandit · 5 months ago

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Pots 'N' Picks Week 2024: Day 6: Bartender AU

ADVENTURERS WANTED FOR DUNGEON ESCORT Seeking adventurers to escort me in the dungeon to find missing half-foot Puckpatti Chils, last seen two weeks ago. Previous party recalls "losing track of her" on the fourth floor. Willing to pay to go deeper if it comes to that. Contracts negotiable. Payment upfront, with reward upon Puckpatti's rescue. Picklock already found. Ask for Chilchuck Tims at the bar of The Mimic's Claw if interested.

Technically another roleswap, but an AU I cooked up in the chilshi server where instead of becoming an adventurer, Chilchuck started the half-foot union in a tavern after the succubus incident, keeping a very close eye on half-foot welfare, and his wife was the one who became a picklock doing dungeoneering.

His children eventually follow in her footsteps despite his insistence that he doesn't want his girls taking such a dangerous profession. Whilst half-foots are treated much better than they used to be, people still slip through the cracks. He'd promised himself he'd never step foot in the dungeon again, but when his youngest Puckpatti goes missing... He'd do pretty much anything to get her back.

Senshi ends up accidentally adopting Izutsumi at a younger age (he fed her and she didn't leave, and that was fine by him), and the pair of them live on the surface, taking frequent trips down into the dungeon doing odd jobs for people both above and below ground. Senshi isn't a big fan of dwarf alcohol, so he likes drinking at the bar of The Mimic's Claw every so often.

#dungeon meshi #delicious in dungeon #chilchuck tims #senshi of izganda #meijack chils #izutsumi #chilshi #pots n picks #potsnpicksweek2024 #chilchuck absolutely ripped her party a new one for not bringing her back btw.#hell hath no fury like a half-foot father worried sick about his youngest daughter.#he hates going down into the dungeon and he hasnt in years but. its puck. he has to find her. shes his baby girl...

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ellemarianne555 · 5 months ago

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Something Wicca This Way Comes

Author’s Note: I wanted to write something different, so read at your peril whoooo.

Summary: Aegon thinks his girlfriend might be a witch. Very halloweeny, get your pumpkin spice candles out and grab a cup of tea. Medieval AU, no specific time period or place but beware of ye olde dirty talk.

Word Count: 3k ish

Content Warnings: mdni, sex dreams, fingering, ass play (male receiving), eating out, brief 69ing, face sitting, unprotected sex, sickly sweet smut.

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Aegon Targaryen, second of his name, wasn’t sure what led him to a gingerbread house in the middle of the night. He also wasn’t prone to listening to his subjects’ requests, but their complaining had somehow roused him from his normal nap during the afternoon appointments.

He opened his eyes blearingly, he had gotten rather well acquainted with a jug of wine and a rather attractive wench the night before. Sadly he had fallen asleep before their union had been consummated. And had woken up rather early in the morning with his face in a tankard of ale and the tavern closed. He had barely stumbled back to the Red Keep before Aemond had rudely roused him from his slumber and forced him to come listen to these peasants complain. But mentions of a witch had unfortunately rattled around in his head and forced him from his sleep.

“We believe there to be a witch in the woods, Sire.” The peasant who spoke trembled, his clothes filthy and looking as though they were beginning to mould.

Aegon harrumphed crossly, sliding his eyes to Aemond who was standing in his usual position, chest puffed out and chin high, beside the throne.

As if sensing his disbelief, Aemond opened his mouth and boomed pompously; “This wretch speaks the truth, my Lord. My knights have found mysterious things throughout the Black Forest that can not be explained.”

“Such as…” Aegon droned, he was already bored of this. Who was he to care if some witch had been turning pumpkins into mouses or what not.

“I can not explain exactly, but the trees no longer seem the same. It is almost like… they can speak.” The peasant hung his head shamefully as though he knew what he was saying was ridiculous. Aegon rolled his eyes and slumped back into his throne. How much longer did he have to sit through this? Surely being a King was less about sitting on his ass and more about doing something heroic. He remembered the stories his nursemaid had told him, of brave kings who had vanquished mortal enemies. All he seemed to be vanquishing so far were the brothels.

“Last night, my Lord…” Aemond drawled, his sharp tone cutting into his brother’s fantasies of donning a suit of armour and being embraced by a fair maiden. “The night patrol reported their horses had been mysteriously cut from their posts while at a stream, and ran faster than the wind through a river that appeared out of thin air. When my soldiers tried to cross, it was though their feet had turned to stone until they waded back to the shore.”

“Well, all this could be simply explained by the weather!” Aegon spluttered. “There hasn’t been a witch in the kingdom… since, well…” He finished, unsure of exactly when. All he knew from his childhood stories was that witches were fearsome creatures, with soft hair and sharp teeth who lay in wait for handsome men. What they did with these men was never known, but they never returned home.

“Well, brother.” Aegon spoke slyly, “Your people demand a solution.” The peasant looked up from his dirt-crusted nails and nodded frantically. “Please, sire. No one will travel through our woods and our town has already lost business with neighbouring villages who refuse to come barter.”

Aegon frowned, he hated when his brother put him on the spot like this. Aemond had been baiting him his entire childhood, and once they both matured, his resentment had turned into a bitter jealousy. But he was a competent Hand of the King, and the soldiers were fiercely loyal to him.

“Well… I shall ride out there and show this creature who truly rules these lands!” The king burst out. Fuck, he’d just said that out loud hadn’t he. He’d been trying to think what the knights from the stories would have said, and in reality he just sounded like a pompous twat. A pompous twat who had just promised to charge into the hinterlands and go hunt down some imaginary threat. Well he had to go now, Aemond would never let him live it down if not. Aemond smiled, as his eye slid across to where his brother sat, what a fool.

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The woods were dark that night, and every screech an owl made pricked Aegon’s skin with fear. Still his horse plodded on into the looming blackness, oblivious to his riders agitation. Aegon had crossed the river that Aemond had spoken of, and found that the water did not slow him or Sunfyre down. Instead it almost seemed to flow faster, the brook babbling as though to whisper encouragement in his ear and spur on their movements.

Aegon gripped the reins tighter as they crossed a broad clearing, and suddenly the trees started whispering to him, as the beggar had said. “Come closer…” They teased, their soft fronds stroking his hair softly as if in a lover’s embrace. Yet when he whipped around with his sword raised, they seemed to melt back into the darkness.

A little while later, Sunfyre suddenly stopped, halting his feet to the ground as though refusing to go any further. Aegon tied him to a tree stump and left him munching on a carrot, while he began to creep towards the house in the distance. The lights in the windows seemed to twinkle at him in invitation. The house was decorated in soft swirls of pastel icing, the door knocker a lacquered candy that looked as though it would freeze your tongue if you dared to lick it. Aegon had dared to lick many things in his lifetime, but wisely decided to draw the line here. He gulped, there really was a witch in his kingdom. He reached for the sword sheathed in his scabbard, but before he could; the door flew open.

The woman standing there in the doorway was possibly the most beautiful he had ever seen. And that was saying something, Aegon had bedded many a beautiful women in his time. But there seemed to be something unnatural about her beauty, her eyes glowed a little more vibrantly, her hair that flowed seemed to sway in the wind though no breeze blew. And shit, she smelled great. Aegon cursed himself mentally. Most women normally smelled good, but this one smelled like she had soaked in cinnamon, nutmeg and sugar. The warmth radiating from her seemed to soak through Aegon’s clothes. Genuinely, he was starting to sweat.

“I-I’m sorry to disturb you at such a late hour.” Aegon spluttered, unsure of what was coming out of his mouth. Was he really apologising to a witch? The same witch whose door he had come to in order to rid her from these lands?

You smiled wolfishly, and was it his imagination or did your teeth seem a little sharper than most? You leaned against the doorframe, almost seductively. Aegon gulped, this really wasn’t going well for him. “Yes?” You questioned, an eyebrow raised in amusement. It wasn’t so often that such handsome men came to your door, you were used to the solitude of the woods you travelled through. Never stopping for long before the pitchforks and angry mob loomed over your peaceful existence.

A black cat rubbed against your ankles, purring loudly. This seemed to shake the beautiful stranger out of his stupor.

“W-well, I came here to ask you a question.” He again stammered, seeming to have lost his ability to talk to women. An ability he had once prided himself on, his slick tongue had made many women cry out in ecstasy but not in laughter as this one seemed to be struggling to hold back.

“You better come in then.” You smiled, and before he knew it, Aegon had walked into your house as he heard the door creaking to a close firmly behind him.

The house was surprisingly cosy, snug compared to his own apartments, yet warm and inviting nonetheless. The cat moved from its position around your ankles, and lept onto a soft chair by the fire. It began to lick itself, utterly bored with whatever the stranger had come to say.

“Tea?” You smiled bewitchingly, with those same strange teeth of yours. Aegon wondered what if would feel like for them to sink into his neck amidst the throes of passion. He shook his head as though to clear his thoughts, but you viewed it as a rejection to your invitation and frowned. Shit, how did he make you stop doing that.

He opened his mouth as if to apologise, but you held out a pale, long finger as though to halt his speech. “Let me guess… you are the lord of these lands and have come to ask me to leave.” Aegon froze, it was almost as if, well you were a witch.

“I’m afraid I can’t do that. You see, I only move when the moon is waxing or waning. And tonight, there is no moon.”

“My subjects are scared of your presence.”

“Not everyone is so brave as to come see for themselves. But I am a peaceful witch.”

Aegon frowned, he had never heard of a benevolent witch before. But then again, so many stories of your kind lay shrouded in fear and confusion. Many men could not comprehend the idea of an immortal beauty who lived alone and kept to herself. What is strange is often feared, and what is beautiful is not always understood.

“Why don’t you stay for the night?” You questioned and his eyes suddenly caught on how your body was illuminated by the firelight. The glow of the embers illuminated your silhouette under the previously unremarkable black dress. The material seemed to be otherworldly, shimmering in the warm glow and looking soft to the touch.

“Well… The way back to the castle is far and I am not quite sure where I left my horse.” You grinned again, delighted that he was so open to suggestion. You would have fun later, if the way he was eyeing you up was any hint.

“I insist you sleep down here by the fire.” You pointed to a soft rug that suddenly seemed to materialise out of nowhere. Yawning, he suddenly found himself very tired and before he knew it, he was sound asleep by the roaring flames.

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Aegon woke up sweating fiercely, even though at some point during the night the fire had gone out. He’d never had a dream quite like that before. Long, sharp nails scratching and carving up his back. Pointed incisors breaking his soft skin and the sharp, dull ache they had left made his cock throb. He had had dreams like this before, normally in his teenage years as he worked out his frustrations with a slick palm behind a locked door. But never had he woken with his dick throbbing this violently, it was hard and sore to the touch and he whimpered pathetically.

You were in his lap, tits almost smacking his face as you moaned desperately. He caught hold of your nipples in his mouth and nipped them sharply. If the way you were carving up his back with your fingernails was any indication, you liked a little bit of pain. His leaking cock was rubbing pitifully against your slick folds as you rocked against his length softly. The pace was torturous, yet he was out of breath. He couldn’t even remember his own name, where he was. Until you started gasping his name as you hit your peak, “Aeg-Aegon! Please don’t, d-don’t stop!”

“Aegon?” A voice broke into his dreams, and he furiously rushed to cover his aching cock with a soft blanket.

“I don’t remember ever telling you my name.”

You smiled, in a way that seemed to again mimic a predator eyeing up their next meal. “It was quite obvious, I’m afraid. The royal steed outside my cottage, your crest of armour and the insufferable air that only men in power have. Not to mention the smell.”

“The smell?” Aegon asked indignantly. “I will have you know I bathe at least thrice a week!”

You laughed, a sound that sent shivers across his skin. “Not like that. It’s more of a scent, royalty always tastes a little bit sweeter.”

He froze, seeming as if only to remember you were a witch. Sex dreams aside, this was very bad business.

“Are you going to eat me?” He choked out, at the words his prick seemed to pulse weakly at the thought of him eating you, or your cunt that is. Stupid cock, he moaned internally, I can never keep it in my pants even when I’m in mortal danger!

You laughed, “Is that what you think we do?”

“Well, the men you take never seem to come home.”

“Did you ever think they didn’t want to? I’m not keeping you here, you are welcome to leave at any time.” An elegant finger pointed at the front door. As it flew open, Aegon shivered, but not because of the cold air. Was he scared? He didn’t think so. In fact he was rather aroused.

His gaze was drawn to your blood-red lips, the way your skin seemed to glow brighter than the early morning sun, your breasts high and firm inside your sheer gown. It had never occurred to him that all those heroes in his childhood stories had found something better than killing the witch.

You noticed his gaze, and smiled somewhat shyly. The door closed, jolting Aegon from his blatant ogling. “You’re welcome to stay, if you’d like. But I have a few things I need done around the house.”

That was how Aegon Targaryen, ruler of the seven realms, found himself sweating in an overgrown garden. The sun was beating down, hot and relentless, freckles bloomed across his shirtless, pale skin as he mopped his brow. He wasn’t used to hard labour, or really any labour. But it was strangely nice, doing something for someone else.

“Thirsty?” He turned, nearly jumping out of his skin at the sight of you. Your hair flowed down your back and again seemed to catch in an imaginary breeze. You were barefoot, and despite the midday sun, not a drop of sweat hung from your smooth skin. He took the glass you offered, and swallowed down the liquid greedily. In his effort to quench his thirst, he had not bothered to ask what it was. It was sweeter than water, but not as heady as wine. He drained the cup easily, drops falling from his mouth and landing on his heaving chest. Your eyes traced the droplet, and you found your fingers tracing its path down his sternum. Down his pale, white abdomen to the thatch of soft blond hair that trailed down below his breeches. He groaned, as though he couldn’t help himself, watching those wicked incisors poke into your plump lower lip as you smiled.

“M-my lady.” He choked out as your fingers halted their path. You grinned wickedly, “Haven’t you figured it out yet? I’m not anyone’s lady.”

The kiss was sudden and bracing, it wasn’t like any Aegon had felt before. It was like his lips were on fire and he couldn’t get enough of the way your tongue snaked into his mouth. He deepened the kiss, crushing the hand in between you as he pulled you against his body.

“Is this alright?” He questioned, unsure if he was reading the situation correctly. You laughed, “I wouldn’t have sent those dreams if I didn’t want you.” His eyes widened and before he knew it, your dress had vanished. His eyes clung to every inch of you, luminous in the sun, sparkling almost.

Before he knew it, he was on his knees. And he knew it wasn’t witchcraft that had done it, but this need to have you, the earth soft below both of your bodies. His soft hands bracketed your thighs, forcing them apart slowly as his fingers traced his way up your dripping cunt. You groaned, hands wrapping in his hair, pulling softly as though he were a puppet and you were the one pulling the strings. Aegon smiled mischievously, he wanted to be the one in control. And from the second his fingers breached your cunt, he knew that you were both equally done for. The high-pitched cry you let out made his cock throb, and he was hyper aware of the fabric preventing his length from finding release against you. He pulled you down to the ground softly, as you smiled down at him. Your head blocked out the sun, and Aegon knew in that moment that he no longer needed its light. Not when he felt the warmth of your magically slick hand wrapping around his length.

He froze, his fingers halting his attack on your clit. You didn’t like that. You took his hand off his cock and whispered into his ear, “Make me cum first and then we’ll see if you deserve what comes next.” He groaned, head falling into your shoulder as fingernails scraped his back teasingly. He ate you out like a man starved, his tingue licking and kissing your cunt as if it were your lips. He crooked a finger inside you, at an angle that made your eyes roll back into your head. He certainly was a talented king. He groaned, furious red length smacking against your thighs as he hissed in agony. You took pity on him and laid him down softly, his eyes looked up at you questioningly as you wrapped those red lips around his cock. Aegon was now incapable of thought. But he saw the way your ass shook as you sucked up and down his length and pulled you over to him. You squealed around his dick as he positioned you so that you were sitting on his face. You moaned around his length again, the vibrations driving him crazy as he doubled down on his efforts to suck on your clit. He was fiercely competitive, you’d be the one coming first or he just might die.

You took what couldn’t fit in your mouth in your wrist and pumped him slickly. He groaned into your cunt and you had a wicked idea. You were a witch after all. Coating your fingers in his copious pre-cum, you traced down his balls until you found his tight entrance. “Is this okay?”, Aegon moaned into your folds in confirmation as your finger breached the tight ring of muscle. The reaction was instant as Aegon pulsed, hot and heavy in your mouth. He pulled his mouth from your cunt, gasping out as he released into your mouth. You kept your lips positioned around his cock, sucking him dry as he squirmed against you. Sharp nails piercing his thighs and forcing him to remain still, as he babbled incoherently. He lay there, panting on the soft earth for a minute. Before reaching for you and pulling you down beside him.

His fingers found your cunt again, and his thumb brushed teasingly against his clit as he again began pumping his fingers inside you. You both panted into each other’s mouths, his eyes soft with lust and sated as he traced his finger down your face and sweetly kissed your forehead. You bit down fiercely into his pale shoulder as you started to feel your release growing. You rocked against his fingers as he continued to hold you gently, through your orgasm and the resulting tremors that your cunt experienced as his fingers stayed buried inside you.

You lay next to him softly, aware that he would probably pull on his clothes at any moment and start his journey back home. Your heart ached a little bit, you hadn’t let a man into your home for many decades. You liked this one. He was soft and sweet. But in a way that made you want to keep him, let colour fill those pale cheeks and gaunt eyes.

“Would it be alright with you,” the king started, stopping hesitantly. “If I were to stay here for a while longer?” You grinned, your heart filling with hope and the soft promise of something starting anew as you tackled him back to the ground and kissed him fiercely.

⋆⁺｡˚⋆˙‧₊☽ ◯ ☾₊‧˙⋆˚｡⁺⋆

Author’s Note: Ah I hope you enjoyed! I quite like witchy reader, Aegon deserves to live his best cottage core life.

#aegon ii targaryen #hotd smut #aegon targaryen x reader #hotd fanfic

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lalathemediterraneanmermaid · 4 months ago

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Ikepri reigns as real life countries

Hi there again my dear Belles. As we all know, ikemen prince reigns ar based on real life countries, or at least, that's what it looks like, specially knowing character's names, I mean, we have Chevalier (french), Von Obsidian (dutch - german), Ricci (italian), Yves (french), Kagari Amagase (japanese)... But, even though some kingdoms are easily "recognised" in real life countries, there are some others that are not that clear. That's why I've decided to match each kingdom to a country. This is just my opinion, so feel free to expose yours. Hope you enjoy little rabbits!!!!!!

Rhodolite - France

Romantic and Elegant Atmosphere: France is often seen as the epitome of romance, known for its picturesque landscapes, charming cafés, and the enchanting ambiance of cities like Paris. Rhodolite reflects this romantic and elegant atmosphere through the bookshops, the taverns, the little plaza with the fountain, the market, the pastisseries, the landscapes, the town… creating a kingdom where love stories unfold against a backdrop of beautiful scenery and intimate settings. The kingdom features elements like festivals or traditions that celebrate love, happiness, freedom and union.

Art, Fashion, Culture and roses: France has a rich artistic heritage, being the birthplace of influential movements such as Impressionism and home to iconic fashion houses. Rhodolite emphasizes this connection by showcasing characters who pay close attention to this type of visual and external things, such as Nokto with the jewelry, fashion, perfumes, etc. The presence of roses as a symbol of beauty and love could be significant in Rhodolite, with gardens filled with rose varieties and floral motifs present in everything, echoing the French appreciation for aesthetics, and also, it is known that France’s national flower is the rose.

Royal Legacy and Noble Etiquette: France’s history is steeped in royal legacy, with grand palaces, elaborate courts, and a system of noble etiquette that has influenced many cultures. Rhodolite portrays a kingdom that maintains these traditions, highlighting a royal family that embodies elegance, grace, and responsibility. The interactions among the nobility reflect the formal customs and social hierarchies reminiscent of historical French courts, adding depth to character relationships and political dynamics.

Architectural Beauty and Palaces: French architecture is renowned for its beauty, with iconic structures like the Eiffel Tower, the Louvre, and the palaces of Versailles and Fontainebleau. Rhodolite showcases stunning architectural designs, blending various styles like Gothic, Baroque, and Rococo, for example seen in the palace. The kingdom is dotted with grand mansions and beautifully designed public spaces, reflecting the importance of architectural beauty in French culture and serving as a backdrop for significant events and gatherings.

Revolutionary Spirit: France is known for its revolutionary spirit, marked by events like the French Revolution, which reshaped the nation and inspired movements worldwide. Rhodolite embodies this revolutionary ethos by portraying characters who advocate for change, challenge the status quo, and strive for social justice. The kingdom is depicted as a place where ideas of liberty, equality, and fraternity resonate, driving the narrative of personal and societal transformation.

Obsidian - Germany

Strength, discipline and Military Power: Germany is historically recognized for its strong military tradition and disciplined approach to governance and society. Obsidian embodies these qualities by depicting a kingdom with a robust military presence, emphasizing values such as honor, loyalty, and strategic prowess. Characters in Obsidian reflect the disciplined nature associated with German culture, portraying dedication to duty and strength in adversity.

Industrial Powerhouse and Innovation: Germany is renowned for its industrial strength, being home to leading companies in sectors like automotive, engineering, and technology. Obsidian highlights this aspect by showcasing a kingdom that values innovation and technological advancement, I mean they “invented” the guns. The presence of skilled craftsmen, inventors, and engineers are prominent, illustrating a society that thrives on progress and economic power, mirroring Germany's historical emphasis on efficiency and quality.

Cold and Austere Atmosphere: Germany’s cultural identity often includes a perception of coldness or stoicism, reflected in its architectural styles, weather, and social interactions. Obsidian captures this austere atmosphere through its landscapes, character interactions, and overall aesthetic. The kingdom is characterized by a serious demeanor, where emotions are expressed more subtly, especially fear, emphasizing strength and resilience over overt displays of warmth.

Central European Strategic Position: Germany’s central location in Europe has historically made it a crossroads for trade, culture, and politics. Obsidian represents this strategic significance by showcasing its role as a threat for other kingdoms that surround the obsidianites. Characters navigate complex political landscapes, reflecting Germany's historical importance in shaping European dynamics and alliances.

Architectural and Cultural Grandeur: Germany boasts a rich architectural heritage, with castles, cathedrals, and modern structures that showcase its historical and cultural grandeur. Obsidian features majestic buildings, representing the kingdom’s power and strength.

Benitoite - Italy

Luxurious Lifestyle and Grandeur: Italy is synonymous with luxury and grandeur, known for its opulent fashion, exquisite art, and historical monuments. Benitoite embodies this luxurious lifestyle by portraying a kingdom filled with elegant palaces, lavish celebrations, and a strong emphasis on beauty and aesthetics. Characters dress in fine fabrics and adorn themselves with beautiful accessories, reflecting Italy’s rich cultural heritage in fashion and art.

A nation benefited by the sea: Italy’s long coastline has significantly influenced its culture, economy, and way of life. Benitoite reflects this connection to the sea through its geography, highlighting vibrant coastal cities and a thriving maritime culture. The kingdom showcases bustling ports, trade routes, and a lifestyle that embraces the ocean, with characters engaging in activities like fishing, sailing, and enjoying the beach, mirroring Italy’s deep-rooted relationship with the Mediterranean Sea.

Gastronomy and Sophistication (the best of the best): Italian cuisine is renowned worldwide for its richness and diversity, emphasizing high-quality ingredients and sophisticated flavors. Benitoite emphasizes this culinary heritage by showcasing elaborate feasts, traditional cooking methods, and a strong focus on fresh, local produce. Characters engage in the art of cooking, like Silvio when he swapped bodies with Rio, celebrating gastronomy as an essential part of their culture, reflecting Italy’s status as a culinary capital.

"The cradle of commerce": Historically, Italy has been a central hub for commerce and trade, particularly during the Renaissance when cities like Venice and Florence thrived economically. Benitoite embodies this spirit of commerce, showcasing vibrant marketplaces, trade fairs, and a culture that values entrepreneurship and innovation, I mean, look at Silvio, nothing more to add. Characters are depicted as merchants, traders, or skilled artisans, highlighting the importance of commerce in the kingdom’s prosperity.

Rich Alcoholic Heritage: Italy is famous for its wine production, with regions like Tuscany and Piedmont known for their exceptional vineyards and rich traditions surrounding wine-making. Benitoite reflects this alcoholic heritage by incorporating wine and other alcoholic beverages culture into its narrative, showcasing characters who appreciate fine liqueurs, attend harvest festivals, and engage in alcohol making traditions. This connection to Italy’s rich alcoholic heritage could also be reflected in the kingdom's celebrations, where drinking plays a significant role in social gatherings.

Jade - The Netherlands

Natural Beauty and Green Landscapes: The Netherlands is renowned for its picturesque landscapes, characterized by lush green fields, beautiful flower gardens (notably tulip fields), and tranquil waterways. Jade embodies this natural beauty, showcasing a kingdom filled with vibrant flora and serene environments, where characters are deeply connected to nature. The kingdom features breathtaking gardens, parks, and countryside, reflecting the Dutch appreciation for their scenic surroundings.

Rich Herbal Traditions and Innovation: The Netherlands has a long history of herbal medicine and innovation in horticulture, with a significant focus on cultivating plants for medicinal and culinary purposes. Jade highlights this aspect by incorporating herbal traditions, where characters utilize local herbs for healing, cooking, or crafting potions. The kingdom is portrayed as a center for herbal innovation, showcasing advanced gardening techniques and a thriving market for medicinal herbs, mirroring the Dutch reputation in this field.

Cultural Heritage, Tolerance and Neutrality: The Netherlands is known for its cultural diversity and historical commitment to tolerance and neutrality in international affairs. Jade reflects this spirit by portraying a kingdom that embraces various cultures (obsidianite refugees) and ideas, fostering an environment of inclusivity and understanding. Characters from different backgrounds coexist peacefully, contributing to a rich tapestry of traditions, beliefs, and customs within the kingdom.

Connected Communities: The Dutch are famous for their strong sense of community and interconnectedness, often seen in their cooperative agricultural practices and social networks. Jade emphasizes this sense of connection by showcasing tight-knit communities where people work together for the common good, support each other, and celebrate local traditions. The kingdom features festivals, markets, and communal events that highlight the importance of relationships and collaboration among its inhabitants.

Wildlife: The Netherlands is home to a diverse array of wildlife, including various bird species, insects, and unique ecosystems like marshes and wetlands. Jade reflects this biodiversity by incorporating elements of wildlife into its narrative, where characters have a deep respect for nature and actively engage in conservation efforts. The kingdom showcases natural habitats and characters who are passionate about protecting the environment, mirroring the Dutch commitment to sustainability and conservation.

Tanzanite - Persia

Historical Influence and Rich Heritage: Persia has a rich historical legacy, with significant contributions to art, literature, and science throughout the ages. Tanzanite embodies this heritage by portraying a kingdom that honors its past through storytelling, art, and tradition. The kingdom includes historical sites, ancient temples, and a culture that celebrates its roots, reflecting the grandeur of Persian civilization and its impact on the world.

Persian Aesthetics and Ornamentation: Persian art is renowned for its intricate designs, vibrant colors, and detailed craftsmanship. Tanzanite captures this aesthetic through its architecture, clothing, and decorative arts. The kingdom features elaborate palaces adorned with mosaics, beautiful gardens inspired by Persian design, and characters dressed in richly embroidered garments, showcasing the beauty and sophistication associated with Persian culture.

Philosophy and Mysticism: Persian culture has a long tradition of philosophical thought and mysticism, with influential poets and thinkers like Rumi and Omar Khayyam exploring themes of love, spirituality, and the human experience. Tanzanite reflects this depth by incorporating elements of philosophy and mysticism into its narrative, I mean, Azel is portrayed as a God. Characters engage in discussions about existence, love, and magic, drawing inspiration from Persian literature and thought, creating a reflective and introspective atmosphere in the kingdom.

Trade and Cultural Exchange: Historically, Persia was a vital hub for trade along the Silk Road, facilitating the exchange of goods, ideas, and cultures. Tanzanite could mirror this aspect by showcasing a vibrant marketplace where diverse cultures converge, highlighting the kingdom's role as a center for commerce and cultural interaction. Characters might be seen as traders, merchants, or travelers who bring different perspectives and traditions to the kingdom, enriching its cultural tapestry. Let's not forget the trade relationship between Azel and Silvio...

Economy: Persia was known for its wealth derived from trade, agriculture, and craftsmanship. Tanzanite could have reflected this economic strength by portraying a kingdom that values trade and innovation. The kingdom might have thrived on the production of unique goods, such as textiles, spices, or artisan crafts, showcasing a dynamic economy that supports its inhabitants and fosters prosperity. But the reality that they have shown us is that they are not as economically powerful as they seem. It almost looks like the greater houses are pretty rich while the rest of the population might live in poverty.

Kogyouku - Japan

Cultural Heritage and Tradition: Japan has a rich cultural heritage characterized by traditional arts, crafts, festivals, and rituals that have been preserved for centuries. Kogyoku seems to embody this sense of tradition through its customs, ceremonies, and the way its inhabitants celebrate their history. The kingdom highlights tea ceremonies, calligraphy, and traditional music, emphasizing the importance of honoring one’s ancestors and cultural practices, thus creating a deep sense of identity.

Sakura trees: Sakura (cherry blossom) trees are iconic in Japanese culture, symbolizing beauty, the transient nature of life, and the arrival of spring. Kogyoku incorporates these trees into its landscape, creating scenes of breathtaking beauty during the cherry blossom season. Characters participate in hanami (flower-viewing) festivals, celebrating the fleeting beauty of the blossoms, which aligns with the Japanese appreciation for nature and the passing of time.

Japanese aesthetic: The Japanese aesthetic emphasizes simplicity, naturalness, and the beauty of imperfection, often seen in art forms like wabi-sabi. Kogyoku reflects this aesthetic through its architecture, gardens, and crafts. The kingdom features tranquil gardens with carefully placed rocks and water elements, understated yet elegant clothing, and art that embraces asymmetry and simplicity, capturing the essence of Japanese beauty.

Civil war: The Sengoku period (1467-1603) was a time of social upheaval, political intrigue, and military conflict in Japan, characterized by powerful clans vying for control. Kogyoku draws inspiration from this historical context, incorporating themes of rivalry, strategy, and the quest for power among noble families. Characters embody the spirit of samurai warriors, showcasing their loyalty, courage, and the complexities of allegiance during a tumultuous era, enriching the kingdom’s narrative with historical depth.

Focus on Honor: Honor is a central tenet of Japanese culture, particularly within the samurai ethos. Kogyoku reflects this focus on honor through its characters’ values, emphasizing loyalty, duty, and respect. The kingdom has a code of conduct that guides the behavior of its inhabitants, with stories centered around noble sacrifices and the importance of maintaining one’s honor in the face of challenges. This aspect resonates deeply with the samurai legacy, highlighting the significance of integrity and personal honor within the kingdom.

Achroite - Sweden/Finland/Iceland

Cultural Coldness and Reserve: The Nordic countries are often perceived as having a cultural disposition characterized by a certain reserve or coldness, particularly in social interactions. Achroite embodies this aspect through its characters, who exhibit a calm and composed demeanor, reflecting the understated communication style of the region. This cultural coldness can be portrayed as a strength, emphasizing the value of inner strength and emotional control, which allows for deep connections beneath the surface.

Commitment to Justice and Equality: Sweden, Finland, and Iceland are known for their strong commitment to social justice, equality, and human rights. Achroite reflects this ethos by showcasing a kingdom that prioritizes fairness and equal opportunities for all its citizens. The kingdom has laws and systems that are pretty strict, emphasizing the importance of social equity in governance and community life, creating a narrative centered around progressive values.

Strong-Minded and Resilient Individuals: The people of the Nordic countries are often characterized by their resilience and strong-mindedness, adapting to the challenges of their harsh environments. Achroite embodies this quality through its characters, who display determination, independence, and resourcefulness in overcoming obstacles. The kingdom might celebrate stories of individuals who stand firm in their beliefs and face adversity with courage, emphasizing the strength of character that defines its inhabitants.

Wisdom and Rationality: Nordic cultures value education, critical thinking, and rational decision-making, often relying on informed discourse and logical reasoning to address societal issues. Achroite reflects this emphasis on wisdom and rationality by portraying characters who approach challenges thoughtfully and analytically. The kingdom is depicted as a center for learning and intellectual exchange, where knowledge and wisdom are cherished, fostering a culture of informed dialogue and progress.

Law and Order as Pillars of Society: In the Nordic countries, law and order are fundamental to maintaining a peaceful and stable society. Achroite mirrors this principle by showcasing a kingdom where justice, rules, and civic responsibility are highly valued. The narrative highlights the significance of laws that promote societal harmony and the role of institutions in upholding order. Characters take on roles as guardians of justice, working to ensure that the kingdom remains a safe and orderly place for all its inhabitants.

And that's it my loves!!!! Hope you've enjoyed this quite long but interesting post!!!! Bibble loves you XOXO.

#ikemen prince #cybird #cybird ikemen #ikemen series #rhodolite #obsidian #benitoite #jade #tanzanite #kogyoku #achroite #belle #ikemen games #ikeprince #ikepri

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