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kingkaisen · 2 days ago

Note

Prompt idea: Royal knight Kento or Suguru that falls for the princess they’re protecting

VULCANIA — Kento N.

♛ — 𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐘: the king has given kento nanami one very important task and no say in the matter: protect you, the beloved princess, with his life. however, the knight can’t help but wonder . . . if you ever found yourself in danger, could he protect you? Would he protect you?

♛ — 𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐍𝐓: spicy kissing scene but overall sfw, feral nanami, angst, fluff, major violence, mentions of war, minor character deaths, slight enemies to lovers, brief mention of arranged marriages, geto, gojo, & sukuna make an appearance. this takes place in a mythical world! oh, and animals adore you.

♛ — 𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃 𝐂𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐓: 10k (sorry, I was having a blast)

♛ — 𝐀𝐔𝐓𝐇𝐎𝐑’𝐒 𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄: dividers by @uzmacchiato!

Kento Nanami wanted to hate you.

Truly, he did. He tried.

After all, his bloodline’s only purpose was to shed blood; to die in service of whomever sat on the throne, as well as their spoiled spouse and privileged offspring.

An unstable, overemotional king would often start a war over a bruised ego and an insatiable thirst for power. And every time — every single time — a king declared war on another nation, be it near or far, members of Kento’s family would die a pointless death on a battlefield.

More land and subjects for the king. Another funeral to attend for Kento.

The Nanamis were widely known as one of the most loyal families within the kingdom of Umarith, born and bred to serve the royals through knighthood.

Therefore, he was prepared for the day he kneeled before the king and received the title of a knight, as he had practically learned how to hold a tiny wooden sword and swing it before he learned his ABCs.

However, what he wasn’t prepared for, was to be less of a new knight — an honorable warrior who maintained order within the villages while protecting the weak until called into battle — and more of a personal bodyguard, one who would be responsible for protecting you, the princess.

“Your Majesty,” Kento Nanami glanced up from the polished ground he kneeled on, locking eyes with the king himself. “With all due respect, protecting the princess sounds like a task that should belong to a knight of a higher ranking than myself. I’m just a newbie.”

“You officially became a knight only a month ago, yes, however, your ancestors served the throne as knights! Your descendants will too! I cannot think of a knight more worthy of protecting my beloved daughter than a Nanami.” The erratic king paused, stepped away from the kneeling warrior, and headed for his gold-lined throne. A sigh escaped his lips as he sat down. “Your father was the first knight to throw himself in front of me when an enemy drew his sword during the Cursed War. I trust that, should the princess ever find herself in danger, you will do the same for her. That is how you were raised! Raised!”

Kento lowered his head. If it wouldn’t send him straight to the dungeons, he would have slammed his gauntlet-covered fist against the king’s jaw.

His father’s death was pointless. Unnecessary. He took a sword to the heart to protect a man who wanted wealth. And here Kento was, kneeling to said man. Kneeling to the man who expected him to do the same thing. Expected. It was expected.

But if the palace was overrun by murderous thieves, or the kingdom found itself in war yet again, or a massive fire-breathing dragon released scorching flames throughout the palace, would Kento save you?

The daughter of the man who was responsible for his father’s demise?

And his uncle’s?

And his suffering mother’s misery?

He didn’t know if he could truly be so selfless.

Even with a cloud of angered confusion hanging above his head and the burden of being responsible for a royal’s life resting upon his shoulders, he simply stared down at the marble floor, parted his lips, and mumbled, “understood, Your Majesty. I will protect her with my life.”

— ♛ —

The stranger he promised to protect with his life was waiting for him at the other end of the palace.

What an exhausting walk. Kento grew to despise you more and more with every step he took. The servants that lingered behind him had undoubtedly climbed the never-ending grand staircases multiple times a day, but even their faces had grown red, their chests heaving as they waited on you hand and foot.

The endless torment that was knight training — was this all it would amount to? Had he unknowingly been preparing to just climb stairs, nothing more? At least he wasn’t sweating or breathless like the servants who darted back and forth around the castle.

No, that wasn’t quite right.

He was sweating a bit. He could feel the warm droplets accumulating on his forehead, making his loose blonde strands stick to his skin, but it wasn’t from exhaustion.

He was nervous.

When Kento was four and the royals celebrated your birth — which would become an official holiday honored with festivities and balls — it began then. The kingdom-wide worship.

His own mother would tuck him into the straw-filled bed he shared with his siblings.

“Goodnight, my loves,” she’d whisper, kissing their foreheads. “May the Vulcania Princess bring us warmth and bless us all.”

While your father ruled Umarith officially, it was you who mattered most. The Vulcania Princess. The precious gem of the kingdom. Everyone, from the privileged to the peasants, praised your nickname during their prayers before mealtime or before their slumber.

Those with the right amount of gold and the right amount of time traveled for days to fall to their knees before you, begging for you to bless their children or their crops.

As Kento aged, the curriculum surrounding his education primarily focused on knighthood and the royals. He sat criss-crossed on the floor of his raggedy one-room school that smelt of old wood, and listened to his elderly teacher ramble on, on, and on about you, you, you, her eyes glistening with admiration behind her round glasses.

The people of Umarith originally attached the name Vulcania to your princess title following your birth, as during that cherished year, the brutalizing cold seasons came to an end, and the warm seasons were the hottest they had ever been in centuries. Sleeping volcanoes were once again active. Creatures of all kinds who sought warmth — even those thought to be extinct due to the prolonged cold weather — would sneak their way into your palace. Flowers bloomed. The hungry were able to grow food once again. The sun shone brighter than ever.

Before your mother, the queen, passed away, she claimed that your skin was always warm to the touch, as if your soul was aflame.

Therefore, the people wanted to give you a title that represented a connection to fire, warmth, and passion.

Kento tried to recall any and all facts he was forcibly taught about you as he approached the double doors of your bedchamber. He had only come to know your appearance through the statues and famous paintings spread throughout the villages, but never before had he sat his eyes on you.

Well, that was all about to change.

Kento raised his fist. As his knuckles tapped three times against the door, he thought about The Statue of the Vulcania Princess — an enormous, intimidating sculpture in the center of his village that touched the sky.

All at once, as Kento thought about the endless worship be it from humans or animals that followed you everywhere — and as a red-haired servant opened the door and let him inside — it hit Kento that he wasn’t protecting a mere princess.

He was protecting a goddess.

Shit.

The Goddess of Fire was sitting on a lavish sofa in front of a fireplace, that much he could tell from where he stood. It was rather difficult to make out your mysterious features, your extensive bedroom was dark aside from the flickering flames illuminating your face just a bit, and you hadn’t yet turned your head to look at whomever was entering your bedchamber, but even so, Kento ignored the thumping of his heart, cleared his throat, and bowed.

“Your Royal Highness, I-”

“Stop bowing.”

Kento raised his head slowly. He was careful not to let his face reflect his confusion, offering a blank expression instead.

“We are going to be spending plenty of time together whether we like it or not, so we can do without the formalities. It tends to get annoying.” You paused, as if waiting for him to speak, but it was as if Kento’s mind decided to forgo any prior knowledge of how to formulate words.

He turned his head to face one of the servants standing against the wall, as if seeking confirmation from the quiet, redheaded young girl that you had, in fact, told him to stop bowing.

“You are my personal knight, yes?”

“That’s correct, ma’am.”

“You’re not very good at following directions, are you?”

“Forgive me. This is the first time I’ve ever been told to act informal with a royal.”

You sighed, leaning back on your sofa, which put more distance between yourself and the flames of your fireplace — It was quite identical to how your father would sigh and lean back in his throne. As if doing nothing and being a pampered royal was oh so hard. Like father, like daughter — and your new position rid Kento of the small details of your features he could see. Now, you were nothing more than a dark figure.

Just why was your bedroom so dark?

“Come here.”

Metal clanked against metal, filling the silence, as Kento made his way around your sofa and in front of your line of sight, blocking part of your fireplace. The flames that were able to dance around him illuminated him well, and your eyes darted across every feature of the knight standing before you.

“Blonde hair, brown eyes, well-built . . . you’re a Nanami, aren’t you?”

Kento met your question with silence.

Truth be told, he hadn’t heard your question, because from this short distance, he finally got a somewhat decent look at your face; your mesmerizing, undeniably gorgeous face.

It all made sense now, why the Vulcania Princess was the one everyone, rich and poor, fell to their knees and prayed to during both their darkest hours and happier times. Why the Vulcania Princess was the one who could end devastating, catastrophic world wars with a couple of mere words. Why the Vulcania Princess had princes and kings from kingdoms near and far eager to start said devastating, catastrophic world wars to wipe out their enemies just for the mere chance of dancing with you at a ball.

Never before had he seen someone so devastatingly beautiful.

The paintings and statues he had seen of you throughout his entire life failed to capture the glistening stars within your bright eyes, or the smooth, though plump appearance of your skin. Your soft, tempting lips were as enchanting as a love spell all on their own.

“Tell me the truth. Do you hate me?”

Your soft voice snapped Kento out of his daze-like state. His eyes widened for a moment before he regained his composure.

“No. I don’t hate you.”

“You do. I can see it in your eyes. I’d love to know why.” You tilted your head a bit. “Were you hoping for a different career path within knighthood? One more exciting than being a guard dog to a princess? Did you want to be on the front lines during a war, perhaps?”

Kento gritted his teeth, his jaw clenching a bit. Despite the way his body showcased his true feelings, his words tried to convey the opposite. “I’m sorry if I gave you the wrong first impression, but I-”

“What’s your name? Your first name?”

“Kento.”

“Kento.” You gave him a gentle smile. It ignited a new flame of infuriation within him. “Be honest with me, Kento. No formalities, no lies. Why do you hate me? Tell me the truth.”

Kento frowned with uncertainty. Answering your question honestly went against every bit of his training, every lesson forced into his body and mind, but could he truly pass up the chance to say his peace? Could he?

“How do I know the truth won’t get me hung?” He asked.

“Rest assured knowing my father chose decapitation as a form of execution.” Your words were met with silence. This, in turn, led you to speak again. “See? You didn’t laugh at my awful joke. People who admire me would have faked a little chuckle, at the very least. So, why do you hate me?”

Kento shifted his feet. “Why do you want to know so badly?”

“I think my curiosity is only natural. I’m sure if someone hated you, you would like to know why.”

“Not if it was a complete stranger.”

“What if it were a stranger who was responsible for your safety? A stranger who was supposed to die for you without hesitation?” You crossed one leg over the other, the silk gown covering your body shifting slightly. “Do you see why I’m desperate to know?”

“That’s why.”

“Hm?”

“That’s why I . . . dislike you. I’m supposed to die for you. Becoming a knight is the fate of all Nanami whether we like it or not. My father was a knight. His father was a knight. My cousins are knights. I am a knight. If I have a son, he’ll become a knight, and he’ll have to watch as I kill and die protecting you royals, because it’s the only way to put food on the table. My father died protecting yours, and I’m sure I’ll die protecting you. I could refuse. I could pick a different career path, but then my mother and my siblings would starve, all because I’d be a disgrace, blacklisted out of every other potential career. Nanamis are expected to become knights, or to rot and die.” Kento glanced down at his heavy hand, covered with armor. “And the pay is quite low.”

“I see.”

When Kento glanced up at you yet again, he could see the gears in your head turning, your mind taking in every word. But, even so, all you managed to say were those two, simple, meaningless words.

That was the first and last time you and Kento spoke to one another that day.

— ♛ —

TWO WEEKS LATER

One would think that protecting a dear princess who often did nothing more than sit by a fireplace would be an easy task.

One would think.

Over fourteen days in counting had passed since this aggravating honor was bestowed upon him, and one thing he learned was that your presence was indeed enchanting, and all living creatures wanted to enjoy your warmth. More often than not, the knight was pushing starstruck — or, rather, godstruck — subjects away from you that managed to break free from knight-patrolled crowds whenever you left your palace.

Animals, however, were okay.

And he learned that the hard way.

“A heads up next time would be nice,” Kento once said, rather breathless, releasing the handle of his sword and letting it fall back into its scabbard. His heart rate hadn’t yet returned to normal.

There you were, sitting on the floor of your private library, stroking the mane of an enormous lion that rested its head in your lap.

As massive as it was, as dangerous as it was, the lion rubbed its head against your gown as if it were pouting. Both it, and you, rolled your eyes at Kento.

“Surely you were told that animals sometimes inhabit the palace to seek out my warmth.”

“I was, but . . .” he paused, blinking in bewilderment. “A lion?”

Your lips pointed downward into a small pout as you stroked the creature, as if to comfort it and say: “It’s okay, I’ll protect you from the big bad knight, it’s okay.”

“This isn’t just any lion. This is my lion. He wandered far from his home when he was only a cub. The poor thing was cold and was hiding in my garden. I found him, raised him, and he comes and goes whenever he pleases. You should apologize to him.”

“Apologize? To a lion?”

“Yes,” your frown deepened, and your eyes found Kento’s. “Can’t you see you hurt his feelings? You pulled your sword out on him.”

“I was trying to do my job and protect you. I didn’t know it-”

“He.”

Kento released a heavy sigh. Just what sort of nonsense had he gotten himself into? “I didn’t know he was a pet. Are there any other animals I should be aware of? I should consider making a list.”

You scoffed, knowing quite well he was hinting at the sudden appearance of bunnies sitting on his chest when he awakened one morning, just last week.

Three days ago, butterflies were swirling around your head. Four? Three birds — two small, one big — fluttered around you, landing on your hands and shoulders as they pleased.

“May I ask what a lion is doing in the library specifically?” Kento questioned.

Folding your arms across your chest, staring at him as if the answer was rather obvious, you said, “I was reading to him, clearly. Animals enjoy tales just as much as humans and faes.”

Just then, Kento’s eyes flickered over to the open book resting on the floor beside your thigh. He shook his head in disbelief.

“Right, of course, well,” he awkwardly scratched the side of his head, fingers messing up his blonde strands. “I’m sorry to you, and to the lion.”

Your hand raised; you were motioning him over.

He was hesitant, but Kento kneeled. He couldn’t help but widen his eyes in surprise when you removed one of his armored gloves and grabbed ahold of his hand with your own.

His cheeks burned. Your eyes; they darted up briefly at his reddening cheeks, but you didn’t make a verbal comment. He was rather grateful.

His apparent blushing wasn’t due to the sudden skin-to-skin contact — at least, that’s what he convinced himself — but rather, he viewed you as fragile. Soft. Like the glass of a valuable mirror. And his hands? Well, swinging swords and perfecting the art of combat during years of knight training had left him with scars and calloused fingertips. He viewed himself as rough. Hard. Like sandpaper scratching against uneven metal.

Your soft hand warmed his rough one as you guided it towards the lion’s mane. Gently, you rested his hand against its thick hair and released it, and Kento found himself missing your warmth.

How odd.

“Apologize properly,” you demanded. You nodded your head down to his hand. Spending all of his time with you had gifted him with the ability to understand your every intention, and with a sigh, Kento stroked the lion’s mane.

“I’m sorry.”

“Reo.”

He looked at you. There was no hint of amusement in your eyes. You were quite serious.

He returned his gaze to the big, pouting lion, and said, “I’m sorry, Reo.”

And with that, Kento left the library — only to stand outside the doors as a guard, of course. As he shut the heavy library doors behind him, he heard you mumble to the lion, “Try to forgive him, Reo. He means well.”

The creature groaned in response.

Kento ran his bare hand across his face. “Did that really just happen?” He thought.

But, a more pressing thought — one more shocking than apologizing to and petting a lion — presented itself within his mind like an intruder.

“I miss her warmth already.”

— ♛ —

TWO MONTHS LATER

“Greetings to all! Welcome to the Vulcania Princess’s Birthday Ball!”

Esteemed guests dressed in stunning ballgowns and extravagant tuxedos let their applause fill the enormous ballroom. Oh, was it enormous, with golden and white accents decorating the walls and pillars, and marvelous chandeliers hanging from the high ceilings. On the other side of the ballroom, there was an entire orchestra performing on a balcony, only stopping their classical music to hear the king speak.

The king stood beside your throne as he prattled on with greetings and thanks. Kento himself was like a guard dog, standing a little ways behind your throne, eyeing the crowd.

He toned out most of the king’s speech. Most of his guests did as well, but their eyes glowed with admiration — not for him, but for you. After all, it was you, and this evening, you were wearing a puffy, lilac ballgown adorned with flowers, and a bright tiara sat perfectly on your head — every strand of your hair was styled to your liking.

At some point, the king finally stopped talking, and guests continued to mingle and dance. Kento stood back and watched as three well-dressed men approached your throne. Their attire was more sophisticated than that of a standard — albeit wealthy in name or fortune — guest, and Kento gathered that they were princes from other kingdoms.

“Kneel before my daughter!” The king shouted.

It wasn’t customary for princes to kneel to someone of an equal rank, but the three men took a knee in front of your throne with no hesitation.

The king, now satisfied, looked down at you.

“I’ll leave you to it, my dear,” he said before walking off, eager to partake in the refreshments.

“Your Royal Highness,” a man with long, black hair began to speak. “I am Prince Suguru of Ravane, your closest partner in trade. We met briefly during the Fae’s Flower Festival last year. Please, allow me the honor of gifting you three necklaces made with the rarest and finest gemstones that can only be harvested by faes alone, all in exchange for your first dance this evening.”

“Pardon the interruption Your Royal Highness, but,” the man beside him, one with white hair and a boyish grin, suddenly interrupted. “As someone wise enough not to gift you something you own a thousand of, I think I should be the one to have your first dance. And you’re probably wondering why, right? Well . . .”

The man rose to his feet, wrapping his fingers around the handle on top of a tiny crate he had sat beside him. He started to approach the throne. As his feet moved, so did Kento’s. Though he was careful not to interrupt, he was close enough to your throne to make his presence known; a silent warning to the white-haired man: don’t try anything foolish.

The man opened the tiny crate. Suddenly, a small, red creature unsteadily flew out of the open door.

You held out your hands, and it landed there, as if it knew — it knew — that was where it belonged.

“A baby dragon! Oh my goodness,” you grinned down at the animal.

“Prince Satoru of Soulan, my love,” the man winked.

“Home of the dragons. Of course.” The incredibly tiny dragon spun around in two circles before settling down, resting its head on your palm. “And what kind have you gifted to me?”

“Well, in my kingdom, rumor has it that you spend most of your free time sitting in front of your fireplace. I figured there must be some truth to it, considering you’re called the Vulcania Princess and the Goddess of Fire for a reason. Because of that, I think it’s only right for you to own a Flame Dragon. Whaddya think?”

“Damn, giving her the most common type of dragon in your kingdom, huh? Sounds to me like you don’t think she’s worth the effort.”

The interjection came from the third prince, a buff man with pink hair and an unfriendly gaze.

Satoru turned to face him, stepping away from your throne. “Oh my god, get lost, Sukuna. Didn’t your kingdom try to burn hers to the ground, what, two or three years ago? Why are you here to begin with?”

“Something about makin’ peace with your enemies,” the buff prince smirked.

“You’re both being awfully informal in front of the princess. Watch your mouths,” Suguru, now joining in, rose to his feet.

Satoru rolled his blue eyes, mumbling, “I heard that your little kingdom is surviving off of tomatoes or something. Is that why you . . .”

The three bickering princes continued on and on, but you paid them no mind, too preoccupied with the tiny creature in your hands.

Kento leaned down a little ways across your throne.

“Perhaps I should hold on to the dragon for you. It could be dangerous,” he said.

“No way! He’s already bonding with me. Look!” The dragon alternated between crawling on its four legs and fluttering its way up your arm with its tiny, dark red wings. “What should I name him? What should I feed him? I know nothing of raising a dragon. Do you?”

“Afraid not.” He watched the dragon make a bed out of your shoulder, resting against the crook of your neck. “They only taught us how to slay one.”

That statement made you glare up at Kento.

“I won’t hurt him, I promise,” he said defensively, yet gently. “Once he grows, I might be out of a job. He and that lion of yours could protect you better than I ever could.”

“I have a feeling you could protect me very well, you just refuse to do so.”

Your words caught him by surprise. His disdain for his career was no foreign topic between the two of you, but even so, he hadn’t expected you to bring it up. Not right now. Not like this.

Especially considering that, well, he instinctively found himself doing just that in one way or another. Protecting you.

“I-”

“I understand, Kento. I don’t like the idea of anyone dying for me just as much as you don’t like the idea of dying for someone.” You paused, looking away from him and back at the three, arguing princes. “Let's go for a stroll. I have a feeling these men are about to start fighting one another. I’m not looking forward to picking one to dance with.”

— ♛ —

There was only one place you deemed perfect enough for a stroll: the vast gardens surrounding the palace. Hedge mazes, luscious trees, and colorful, blossoming flowers of all kinds were illuminated by the bright moonlight. Together, you and Kento walked in a comfortable silence.

A little while after passing one of the greenhouses, Kento spoke.

“When I was younger, learning about you royals was just as important as learning how to read or put on armor. I remember what they taught us about you.” “Oh?” You mumbled, though you didn’t give him a look of surprise. “What kind of things did they teach you? Can you recall any of it?”

“Well, for starters, they told us how much you adored spending time in the garden, especially during the warmer months.”

“I don’t see how that knowledge benefits any of you.”

“It doesn’t, but now, I enjoy figuring out what might have been true or false. Clearly, that part was true.”

A soft smile as gentle as the moonlight appeared on your face.

“What else is there to know about you?” Kento asked.

Internally, his curiosity puzzled him. Just why did he care?

He couldn’t explain it, but his heart and soul felt like it was caught in a game of tug-of-war, and the rope was a very thin line between love and hate. Love.

No.

No . . . that couldn’t have been it.

Not for the woman who sat by her fireplace all day. Not for the woman who never had to work a day in her life. Not for the woman whose biggest obstacle in life was deciding which ballgown to wear or which animal to cuddle with.

Not for the woman who was the daughter of the asshole of a king who got his father killed.

Kento tried to grimace at the thought, but that thought brought him no trouble.

Oh, how he wished it did.

A small, baby fox with large ears dashed out of the shrubbery surrounding the walking path, darting across his foot.

“Hmm, well,” you paused in thought, paying no mind to the sandy-colored creature that decided to follow you, hopping along with every step you took. The sudden sound of your soft voice snapped Kento out of his pleasant — though he wished they were unpleasant — thoughts. “My tiara makes my head itch. I’ve been told that my taste in music is . . . unique. I secretly add extra spices to my food when the chef isn’t looking. I’m a very sensitive person, believe it or not. It took everything in me not to cry after finding out you, a complete stranger at the time, hated me. Lastly, I have saved and nurtured twenty-seven creatures, and that only includes the ones I claim as pets, not ones I’ve simply befriended on a journey.”

“Were any of them as humongous as that dragon will turn out to be?” Kento asked, pointing to the dragon fast asleep on your shoulder.

“Can’t say. I’m struggling to wrap my mind around the fact that this tiny creature will grow into a gigantic, fire-breathing being. I’m excited.” You halted your footsteps. The small fox trailing you took the opportunity to climb up the back of your dress, claws digging into the puffy, lilac fabric that adorned your body until it sprawled across your other, free shoulder, but you didn’t seem to mind. It was a tad bit bigger than the dragon, and Kento figured that having two small animals resting on your shoulders couldn’t have been comfortable, but you simply smiled, and greeted the baby fox with, “Hello, sweetheart,” before turning your attention back to Kento. “Anyway, I’m sure my father will oppose the idea of me keeping a dragon. He thinks I’ll be responsible for my own demise.”

“We have our differences, but I might have to agree with the king on that one.”

“Be that as it may, I refuse to let him take little Blaze away from me.”

“Blaze?” Kento raised his eyebrows, stifling the urge to laugh. “I wanted something related to fire in any sort of way. Is it too uncreative? Silly? Should I keep brainstorming? I want to name him something he’ll like.” You gazed off at the stars above, biting your lip, puzzled.

After a moment, you glanced back at Kento, and a small pout grazed your moonlit face. “What? You’re being very unhelpful.”

“Blaze is a perfect-”

“You’re trying to flatter my dear dragon so he won’t set you ablaze when he’s older.” You smiled gently. Kento blinked. You then sighed and continued to stroll through the garden. “We talked about this, Kento. You’re supposed to laugh at my terrible jokes to boost my self-esteem.”

“What?” Kento cleared his throat. “Sorry, I’m pretending that I couldn’t hear you.”

“Oh,” you shook your head. “Just you wait until I teach Blaze how to . . . bite your ankles.”

A genuine, heartfelt laugh escaped Kento. God, how long has it been since he managed to do something like that? It wasn’t anything drastic, nothing more than a somewhat small chuckle, but it occurred to him that, perhaps, he couldn’t remember the last time he was blessed with the chance to truly laugh.

His laugh made your smile brighten — not a gentle, polite smile that he had gotten used to seeing, but a real, full grin that made Kento wonder why the world’s most gifted artists never painted you with such a facial expression.

It was breathtaking.

The stroll resumed for another six minutes. During that time, you and Kento discussed everything from his mother’s favorite meals to make to the new hit play that premiered last week. However, the closer you both ventured towards the entrance to the ballroom, the more your precious smile started to fade.

Kento glanced down at your hands, which fiddled with the necklace around your neck.

“What troubles you?” He asked.

“You’re wise, so I’m sure you’ve already put the pieces together, you’re great at that I’ve noticed, but . . . this evening, I am not just picking a dance partner, but someone to marry.” You spoke softly. Kento could tell from your tone that this was a bothersome topic for you. “I get to choose, but my choices are limited to those three men. I know how it feels to be born into a role you didn’t ask for. I understand what you’re going through, Kento.”

The knight stopped walking.

As soon as that last sentence slipped from between your glossy lips, Kento’s heart and soul once again felt like it was playing a game of tug-of-war. Love and Hate. And right now, as a wave of anger washed over him, the latter was winning.

“With all due respect,” Kento released a shaky breath. He wouldn’t lose his composure so easily, but he had to speak his mind. He had to. “You don’t know what it’s like. You live a pampered life. Your hands are free from scratches or burns or anything that signifies hard work, and you have never known hunger and loss like I have — hunger and loss that is a direct result of the actions you royals take. I’m sorry you have to pick between three rich, attractive princes who are ready to go to war for you and you find yourself incapable of doing anything more difficult than sitting on a sofa all day, but that in no way compares to . . .”

He felt his composure slip. His tone was getting dark. Voice was getting harsh. Taking a deep breath, avoiding your gaze all the while, Kento parted his lips, preparing to let an apology slip from between them, then suddenly, you said, “You should take a break. Stay out here a little longer to get some fresh air by yourself. I’ll be fine.” You gave him a sad smile. Pulling the dragon, Blaze, off your shoulder, you held the sleepy creature against your chest, as if seeking its comfort. Though you tried to hide it, your smile couldn’t disguise the glistening hurt within your eyes. You were sensitive. That’s right.

“I should head back inside,” you mumbled. “Everyone will be looking for me.”

“Your Royal Highness, please forgive me. I’m sorry. Not having a say in who you want to spend the rest of your life with is terrible. I don’t know why I . . . please forgive me.” Kento called out, his words sincere, face twisted in anguish, but you continued walking.

Then suddenly, you paused. He thought that, perhaps, you were reconsidering parting ways with him, that you were going to smile and tell him to drop the formalities, but your momentary falter was just to let the small fox descend your body before you reentered the palace.

The tiny creature ran across the gardens, and you were gone.

— ♛ —

Kento sat on an outdoor bench made of stone. The garden that stretched before him represented you in every way. After all, it was you who brought the very warmth that made the variety of flowers in this garden bloom. Your existence, the flame within you, brought an end to a Cold World; saved the shivering animals and children on the brink of death, blossomed plants that fed the poor and starved, and ended the days of endless freezing.

Kento was only four when you were born, but, as he sat on the soft cream-colored bench that you undoubtedly picked out yourself, he thought about the faint memory of that day. The day of your birth.

The terrifying blankets of snow and ice melted. Animals thought to be dead and extinct were running, jumping, and hopping about. Fleeting citizens from the western villages crowded the cobblestone streets as a sleeping volcano suddenly awakened. Flowers and plants sprawled spontaneously — his mother, who was pale and shivering as she held on to her children moments before, stepped outside and plucked a fresh grape off a grapevine that had appeared outside of their raggedy cottage.

Suddenly, the rope involved in the game of tug-of-war between his heart and soul had snapped, and it hit him all at once.

Your father was responsible for his father’s death, yes, but you . . . you saved him. You saved his mother.

A bittersweet smile graced Kento’s face. His stomach churned; was it butterflies? Knots? He didn’t know. Perhaps, he’d never come to understand the feelings you evoked within him.

But he knew one thing for certain.

The idea of your beautiful face frowning as tears threatened to fall from your eyes — on your birthday, nevertheless — from the words he spoke made his heart ache.

Kento rose from the bench. Just as he took a step towards the entrance of the ballroom, a sudden force of energy made the ballroom windows shatter. Heat and light filled the sky. The world itself shook as an ear-shattering boom blasted from one side of the palace.

The knight found himself falling to his knees, as the impact was strong enough to send a shockwave through the garden. His wide eyes witnessed the enormous puff of flames, and part of the palace started to cave in.

Rubble filled the ballroom.

“No. God, no.”

Kento’s legs were numb, but they carried him out of the garden — where frightened animals screeched and ran — and he forced his way inside the ballroom through a broken window. Dark smoke, dust, flames, and never-ending screams of terror filled the air. He coughed, his brown eyes burned which created tears that slipped down his ash-covered face, but he hoisted himself over fallen rubble until he made it to where your throne used to be.

Now, it was nothing but . . . it was nothing.

His eyes couldn’t make out the mess of debris and flame. The smoke made it difficult to distinguish bodies from stone, but he knew well that before him was that familiar gigantic beast, clawing at the rubble, whimpering. Your beloved lion was searching for you, digging for you. The sight of it gave Kento the devastating confirmation he needed that you were there.

Underneath smoldering embers, a destroyed throne, and pieces of a collapsed ceiling, Kento saw the scraps of a torn lilac ballgown. He ran for it.

Armored hands pulled and pushed away at fallen wreckage so heavy, Kento gritted his teeth due to the pure strain on his body. But, damn it all, he used every bit of his solid muscle to lift, pull, and push, until he saw a bruised, ash-covered leg and heard a weak cry.

Then, all of the debris felt weightless.

“I’m right here,” Kento called out, careful to keep his voice steady and calm. “I’m coming, just hold on.”

Slowly, your injured, trembling body revealed itself to Kento after he shoved shattered pieces of one of the massive chandeliers. You were face down. As if you were made of glass, fragile, he carefully flipped you over, only to see a scared, but otherwise okay, tiny dragon cradled in your arms.

Your position, and thus, your wounds, told him that you must have shielded it.

He gritted his teeth. Seeing you like this . . . it was unbearable. Who could have done this?

Kento pulled you into his arms, holding on tightly to your smaller frame.

You whimpered. Blood spewed from your lips, decorating your chin, and Kento pulled you close.

“Shh, it’s okay. I’m going to get you out of here-”

The ballroom shook again. There was another deafening boom, followed by a wave of piercing screams. Another explosion within the palace. Kento could hear the crackling walls and ceilings, and he knew what that meant.

He folded your body underneath his. Reo, your lion, too placed his body over yours. Kento shielded you with his bigger, armor-covered frame, and more rubble started to collapse. Feeling it fall against his protected backside — god, did it hurt. It hurt like hell. But it wasn’t enough to kill or bury him, so he hooked his arm underneath your knees, his other arm cradling your upper half, and he rose to his feet.

“Stay with me,” he glanced down at you as best as he could through his blurred vision. “I promise I’ll protect you. Just stay with me.”

Your eyes fluttered open. Suddenly, they widened, and you began to turn your head frantically every which way as Kento carried you. He parted his lips to tell you to lie still, assuming that you were falling into a state of panic, but before he could utter a single word, you started to squirm around. You wriggled yourself out of his grasp.

You landed on your feet and started running — or rather, limping — in the opposite direction, breathing erratically with every twist and turn of your head.

“Where are you going? We need to leave, now!” Kento shouted.

In your condition, you couldn’t make it far. All he had to do was reach forward, wrap his arm around your waist, and pull you backwards until your back hit his chest.

“Blaze,” you cried. “ . . . Must’ve dropped him! I can’t . . . can’t find him! And there are people still in here, a-and my animals . . . Reo . . . just let me go!”

He tried to ignore your cries. Saving you was his only priority. It had to be. But, as he went to lift you yet again, another explosion, further away this time, sent a violent vibration throughout the ballroom, and he lost a bit of his balance.

That was enough for you to wiggle free.

Kento shouted your name, but you paid him no mind. The fires scattered throughout the ballroom wouldn’t hurt you, but the collapsing rubble? It could.

You ran across rubble and shoved your way through panicked, running guests, but alas, through the smoke and ash clouding the air, you made out the tiny red creature amidst the debris, fluttering and shrieking. Your dear, frightened baby dragon was searching for you, calling for your help.

You extended your arms, reaching for him.

That was when you heard it; it, being an unfamiliar voice, one that shouted, “There’s the princess, fucking take her already, dead or alive!”

Someone was charging at you. The nearby burning fires gave you enough light to make out a masked figure, dressed in black, who clenched a knife between his fists, so ready and eager to drive it into the side of your stomach.

Just as the knife nearly grazed your corset, a sword suddenly pierced through the attacker’s stomach, blood and sharp silver steel poking out of him as the light left his murderous eyes.

The sword was then yanked out of him.

Kento watched the man he murdered fall to the rubble-covered ground with a thump, then his eyes were on you, quickly scanning your body for any new injuries.

But there was no time for you to thank him. No time for him to grab you and run.

More masked men with knives and swords drawn started to charge at you both.

“Run,” Kento commanded.

But it amounted to nothing. The masked men circled you both. There was no escape.

Kento turned slowly, counting them. There were five. Five men he would have to kill.

He sighed, deflecting an oncoming attack with ease, driving his own sword into the guts of yet another man. Though he was actively taking someone’s life, his eyes were on you, watching as two men charged at you without weapons: clearly, their preference was to take you alive.

“Shit,” Kento thought, pulling his sword out of the man.

Your tiny dragon rapidly flapped its wings, fluttering high enough to latch its small mouth to the ankle of one of your attackers. The victim of the little attack winced, reaching down to his ankle in an attempt to pull him off, but you tried to reach for your baby dragon first.

The other masked man took that opportunity to grab a fistful of your hair. He yanked you. Hard. Your head was already bruised and battered from the initial explosion, and this forced a pained cry out of you.

Kento heard it. He was in the process of stabbing two other masked men when he heard it.

He clenched his jaw. He gripped the handle of his sword with such force, he could hear his own knuckles crack.

When the masked man who held you by your hair felt the presence of someone behind him, he turned around. His eyes widened at the sight of that massive knight looming over him, one who was already quite big to begin with, but seemed twice as big now. More like a beast than a human.

“Get your hands off of her,” Kento warned.

The man was going to reach for his knife, hold it against your neck, and prattle on with some ultimatum, but Kento didn’t give the man a chance to even gasp at the sight of him before he strategically placed his hands around his head and snapped his neck with an unpleasant crack.

As for the final masked man, between dealing with a pesky little dragon who was biting at him and spitting tiny little bouts of flame at his flesh and that pissed-off giant of a knight making his way towards him, he shouted, “Damn it, to hell with all this!” and tried to run away.

He made it four steps before Kento threw his blood-covered sword like a javelin, and it was launched through the masked man’s chest.

“Are you alright? Did they hurt you?” Kento leaned down. He gazed at you with the softest, worry-filled brown eyes. His thumb grazed your cheek with an utterly surprising gentleness, considering how brutally he had just murdered several men moments before.

You shrugged. “I’m . . . alive. Thank you, Kento.”

He smiled.

But as the sound of stomping footsteps approached, Kento rose to his feet. This wasn’t over. Whoever was attacking your kingdom, so desperate to capture you, they weren’t planning on giving up just yet.

Kento walked over to the man he had killed last and pulled his sword from his chest as more masked men charged at him, and he found himself in another battle.

You scooped up your dragon and limped towards a broken window, crawling over a mix of fallen debris and corpses.

“Go,” you mumbled to Blaze, extending your hands to release the small creature. “Return to me when it’s safe, sweetheart.”

Though he was hesitant, the baby dragon groaned with understanding and fluttered away.

You didn’t have the strength of a knight, nor a hard-working subject. But you didn’t let that stop you from grabbing hold of the collar of a random person — the first living person you could get your hands on. You dragged the whimpering, injured person towards the window, tripping over your ripped lilac ballgown as you gasped and strained, breathless, but you hoisted the person over the window’s ledge and out of the smokey, collapsing, fire and rubble-filled ballroom.

Thank goodness it was on the first floor of the palace.

You fell to your knees. Your breathing was loud. Strained. Every bone in your body ached. New spouts of fresh blood seeped from your wounds, mixing with the ash and dried blood coating your body, but, even though your heart pounded as if it wanted to give out, you rose to your feet. You moved your hands throughout the rubble, and they landed on a torso. One that was rising and falling with shallow breaths.

One that was small.

“You’ll be alright, my love. Help will come,” you whispered, though your voice was shaking with uncertainty.

You cautiously put the child out of the window. Then another person. Then another.

You hoisted one woman over your shoulders. She was a tiny thing, but with your exhausted and bruised body, you were certain you’d struggle to carry a small bag of potatoes. But you recognized this woman’s uniform. Though her youthful face was covered with soot, she was one of your servants — the redheaded one who was always in your bedchamber, tending to your needs.

You couldn’t bring yourself to check whether or not her chest was rising or falling. You only carried her to another broken window, your knees threatening to buckle, and you pushed her out, hearing a little gentle thud as she hit the shrubbery.

“Please let help come. Please let it come,” you whispered.

There was another vibrating explosion in the distance. Orange flames that could be seen from the windows brightened the ballroom. It knocked you off your feet for a moment, but you regained your footing and grabbed the arm of someone on the ground. You strained as you attempted to pull the person free from the fallen pillar they were stuck under, but there was no use. You collapsed in defeat.

Their visible body was hard to make out, but you ran your hand across their face until you found their nose. No puff of air hit your finger.

With a defeated sigh, you rose to your feet. It was then that you noticed those lifeless, open eyes. And you recognized that shade of blue.

A shocked gasp escaped you. Reaching down, you closed the eyes of Prince Satoru with trembling, bloodied fingers. “I’m sorry,” you cried. “I’m sorry.”

The next several minutes were a blur.

There you were, using the last of your strength to drag the unconscious, heavily injured body of Prince Suguru across the wreckage, when heavy hands gripped your waist. One second, you were lifted into the air, and in the next, you were being thrown against a fallen, sharp stone. The impact resulted in an explosion of searing pain that was too much for your mind and body to tolerate. You could taste blood.

You were screaming, but you couldn’t hear it. You couldn’t hear anything. You could barely see anything — the last thing you caught a glimpse of before slipping into a realm of unconsciousness were the black boots of a masked man walking towards you, and Kento . . . Kento dashing in front of the man’s raised sword, and getting stabbed through a gap in his ruined armor nearest his lower abdomen.

Your surroundings became nothing more than a black abyss, and there was one, final explosion.

— ♛ —

TWO DAYS LATER

He was staring at a familiar ceiling.

It was brown. Wooden. Raggedy.

As Kento Nanami blinked, blinked, and blinked, it hit him.

He was home.

He sat up in bed, fighting the burst of pain that surged through him from the bandaged wound on his shirtless lower body. When he looked down, there was a familiar, tiny red dragon resting on his thigh.

“You’re awake. That’s great.” The soft voice startled him. Only then, turning his head to the side, did he realize that you were sitting at his bedside. A brown cloak was draped across your head, a choice clearly made to conceal your identity while walking among your subjects.

Or, given the recent events that were coming back to Kento’s memory, bit by bit, it was, perhaps, a choice made to conceal your identity for your own safety.

“How is it that you’re awake and I wasn’t ‘til now?” Kento’s voice was hoarse, and he coughed. “Last I remember, I was the one carrying your unconscious body out of-”

He coughed yet again.

You walked away for a moment and returned with a cup of water.

“Drink this,” you said.

He took it with thanks. As he gulped it down, he recalled the last of what he could remember.

He took a sword to the stomach to protect you. There was another explosion. The biggest of them all. Part of the ceiling collapsed on the man who stabbed him. The entire ballroom was becoming a sea of falling rubble and flames on a greater scale than before. Kento scooped up your unconscious body and ran, jumped; did whatever he had to do to get across the debris. He used all of his remaining strength to toss you out of the window first. With the ballroom falling apart second by second, he wasn’t certain if he’d have enough time to crawl out of the window and save his own life, but that didn’t matter.

Your safety came first.

You came first.

He didn’t remember anything after getting you out of that ballroom. He was alive still, but-

“After our medics found you and patched you up, I decided to bring you home. Your mother and I spent the last two days taking care of you. I actually just finished washing your face and brushing your teeth.” You suddenly spoke, as if reading his thoughts. “It wasn’t out of kindness, really. Our hospitals are . . . it’s a nightmare. Thank you for saving me, Kento.”

“You’re welcome,” he said, holding on to the empty cup of water. His thumb tapped rapidly against the side of it, and he frowned. “That attack was a long time coming, wasn’t it?”

Your teary eyes locked with his. You gave him a sad, knowing smile. “Like I said, you’re great at putting the pieces together.”

It all made sense.

After all, why now did the king insist on you having a personal knight?

The king must have known that there was a group from another kingdom who wanted to get their hands on the Vulcania Princess, dead or alive.

Kento rubbed his face out of pure exhaustion.

“Why host a ball when your life is in danger?” Kento questioned. “Greed. That’s it, right? The king couldn’t pass up the chance to receive praise and gifts and kick-start your engagement, even if it meant putting you at risk. What is he thinking?”

“It doesn’t matter. He’s dead.”

Kento allowed the silence to fester. During which, he grabbed ahold of your hand, stroking your soft skin with his rough thumb.

“I’m sorry,” he said.

“Don’t lie to me.” You mumbled, but despite your cold tone, you didn’t pull your hand away from him. “There’s no time to mourn. The kingdom is in shambles. We’re vulnerable. Weak. People are dead, from our kingdom and others. And now? Now I’m queen. How am I supposed to . . .”

There it was, the mourning you tried to swear off.

Tears fell from your eyes. Kento didn’t waste a second before gently moving the sleepy dragon to an empty spot on the bed before swinging his legs off the side, and ignoring the pain as he leaned up and pulled your chair closer to him. He wrapped his arms around you gently — aware of your potential wounds though he couldn’t see them right now — and he pulled you against his bare chest.

“It’s okay,” he said soothingly. “It’s okay.”

“Sorry. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t cry in front of anyone.” You pulled away from him, wiping the tears that fell from your right eye, and he stroked away the ones that fell from the left with his thumb.

As he did so, he couldn’t help but let his thumb hover over a deep, healing scratch on your cheek.

“It’s okay to cry. You’re just a person.”

“Am I?”

“Of course you are,” his brown eyes gazed into your sad eyes. “You like warm things. Warm drinks, warm weather, warm blankets, fireplaces, fire-breathing dragons . . . you take a walk through your garden when you need to clear your head. Though you’ve never held a sword or a shield, you don’t hesitate to protect others, and not just people who are important to you, but strangers as well, and all kinds of creatures. Your jokes are so awful, they’re funny. You bite your bottom lip when you are lost in thought, and if those thoughts are worrisome, you play with your necklace. You cut people off when they’re speaking, but you don’t do it out of malice, you’re just brilliant, and you already know what someone is going to say. You’re unintentionally ignorant. Quite ignorant. But you try your hardest to overcome it once something is brought to your attention. It was you who ended wars with a simple speech. Recently, you argued for an increase in pay for knights of all ranks, I’m certain of it. And yet, you didn’t tell me, because you don’t feel the need to brag about your good deeds either.” Kento’s thumb hovered over your bottom lip. He whispered, “Hm, maybe . . . maybe I’m wrong. Maybe you aren’t just a person, because I’m certain I’ve never met anyone else like you.”

Amidst the sadness, there was a shimmer of something else within your eyes. A little spark of hope.

“Is that really how you see me? I think . . . this is the first time someone has given me a compliment that has nothing to do with beauty. At least, most of that was a compliment, I think.” You gave a soft smile that stretched the scratch on your cheek. “Wait, did you fail to compliment my beauty because you no longer find me attractive? I couldn’t exactly blame you if that’s the reason.”

“You’re mesmerizing. Inside and out. Your wounds don’t change that. But don’t worry. I’m sure they’re mixing up the strongest healing elixir known to all just for you. Your wounds will exist only as a memory, just you wait.”

That shimmer of hope within your eyes brightened. Kento wanted nothing more than for it to stay that way, but it couldn’t. Not when your life was still in danger. Not when there were people out there who wanted to hurt you.

Kento placed his hands on either side of his legs and started to push off his bed, but suddenly, your hands shot out, pushing against his thighs and seizing his movements.

“What are you doing?” You asked urgently.

“Trying to leave my bed, if you’ll let me.”

“Have you gone mad? You were stabbed. I won’t let you leave this bed until you’ve recovered fully. Try to leave again and I’ll . . . tell your mother . . . when she returns.”

Kento frowned. “Your life is in danger. I can’t just-”

“It’s not your duty to protect me anymore.”

That frown deepened, his brows furrowed in utter confusion. “What are you saying?” He asked.

You were silent for a moment, but when you spoke yet again, you couldn’t look him in the eye. You didn’t have the nerve. “I'm the ruling monarch now. I call the shots. I’ll pass a law to make it illegal for employers to discriminate against members of certain bloodlines that have decided to stray from the career path chosen by their people.” Your eyes fell on his bandaged abdomen. “In other words, you no longer have to serve as a knight. Go on and enjoy a different career of your choice. In the meantime, I’ll make sure your family is well fed. It’s the least I can do.”

“No.”

You looked at him, eyebrows shooting up in pure shock. “I’m sorry?”

“I’m not leaving you. Not now,” Kento said.

“Kento, there’s no need. There are plenty of other knights who actually want to be knights. They can protect me just fine.”

“I don’t care. I’m not leaving your side. I don’t mind dying for you-”

“Damn it all, Kento, I said no. Look at your condition! Look!”

Your sudden shouting stunned him. Based on the way your tears fell, and your hand clenched and unclenched around nothing, it surprised you too. “That wound of yours is all my fault. I should have left when you told me to. I won’t allow something like this to happen again. I won’t have it.”

“Look at me.” His hand was once again on your face, but not stroking your cheek. This time, his long fingers gripped your chin, forcing you to stare into his eyes. “I won’t have you dying a preventable death because of incompetent knights while I waltz around my village baking bread or sharpening knives.”

“Is this an ego thing?” Do you think you’re the only knight strong enough to protect me?”

Though your question was a serious one, Kento couldn’t help but laugh a bit. “I understand everything about you down to which foot you step with first, but you don’t understand me at all.”

“What do you-”

It was sudden, but Kento was fed up with your lack of understanding. He released your chin, but only to snake his hand around your head and pull you close, closing the gap between you by crashing your lips together. The kiss was warm. Your lips were soft — so damn soft — and he couldn’t help but hold on to you even tighter, melting into the kiss because he needed more. Though his tongue rubbed against yours, though he was breathless, and though it hurt his injured stomach to do so, he still wanted more; one large hand hooked around your thigh, the other against your back, and he pulled you onto his lap.

Your hand pressed against his muscular, broad chest. He swallowed a soft moan that escaped your lips.

“Kento,” you gave a little whimper.

“I know,” he whispered against your wet lips, the words barely leaving his own lips before he reconnected his mouth to yours. He pulled you against his mouth even harder, made you straddle his lap even tighter, and kissed you with lips and tongue even deeper.

When the kiss ended, Kento looked at your face, your skin softly illuminated by the flickering light from the candles scattered throughout his house.

“Do you understand now?” He asked softly.

You nodded, then smiled. “I didn’t know that was coming, but I'm glad I brushed your teeth for you.”

Kento couldn’t help but shake his head and laugh, pressing a kiss against your cheek.

Your fingers played with the blonde hair at the nape of his neck, and he pressed yet another kiss against your jaw, then your neck, all before pulling away.

“Tell me the truth. Do you love me?” He asked, his breath patting against the skin of your collarbone.

“I do, but if you have to ask, then you might not understand me as well as you think you do.”

Kento pulled away from your neck, but when his eyes met yours, all he saw within your gaze was pure sadness.

“But, Kento, Umarith finds itself in yet another war, and our enemies won’t give up until they have me-”

“Then let me kill them all for you.”

“Kento,” you frowned.

“Your Majesty,” he gave your chin a quick kiss, his large hand rubbing your thigh. “I mean it. I will save you. I just need you to let me.”

You bit your lip in thought. “Fine, but on one condition. No, two conditions.”

You leaned in; you were so close, he could feel your breath pat against his ear.

“I refuse to be a kindhearted damsel in distress once again. They want to capture or kill me, the Vulcania Princess- or I guess, queen now, because they think it’ll put an end to the brutal snowstorms killing their crops and their people, so I’ve been thinking, since they crave my warmth so badly . . . I should burn their kingdom to the ground. Allow me to fight by your side and do so.”

“And what’s your second condition, Your Majesty?” Kento whispered.

You pulled away from him, staring into his brown eyes. Your warm hands cupped the knight’s face.

“You drop the formalities like I’ve been asking you to,” you paused. “Unless, in due time, you allow me to call you my king.”

Kento couldn’t help but gaze at you with pure astonishment. It was the same look he had in his eyes when he first saw the enormous statue of you in his village. He should have put the pieces together then — that he was nothing more than someone else who worshipped you.

Kento’s lips found yours, once again letting his kisses speak for him. And this kiss told you several things:

Kento Nanami wanted to hate you.

Truly, he did. He tried.

But in the end, he couldn’t stray from his bloodline’s only purpose to shed blood; to die in service of whomever sat on the throne, but this time around? A Nanami would survive, and Kento would become your cherished spouse and, when the time came, protect your offspring.

Kento Nanami wanted to hate you, but now, the knight’s soul wanted nothing more than to love you, and kill for you.

♛ — What did you think? Please let me know! Reblogs & comments are appreciated!

♛ — @sad-darksoul @priv-rose @yihona-san06 @keriaonmarz @luvvmae @thequeenofcurses @underworldsheiress @notgoodforlife @thewondrousdreamer @levisfavoriteteashop @preciousamethyst @iwanttohitmyself @lil-apple-pie @prettypixigrl @averysmolbear @starstoru @starlightanyaaa @he11okitty-mari @dolphin1135 @ioveartfilm @filhadaanarquia @blackdxggr @jaegergirl @gunslxtz @he11okitty-mari @koikohib @http-bell

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tiny-cloud-dragon · 5 months ago

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@salternateunreality2 @zephfair Zack stamps this on Tincy Cloud dragon's back (his arms were too tiny).

Zack *giggling*: Look, Angeal, he has a "Shramp Stamp"!

Angeal: *furious* Have you called your mother lately? You might want to because she's about to be receiving an "In Sympathy for Your Loss" card!

Shramp stamp

#ff7 #ffvii #tiny cloud dragon #tiny dragon cloud #cloud strife #zack fair #angeal hewley

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vivalabunbun · 1 year ago

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An Encore of Betrayal

Summary: The devil with no sin nor memory and he who has held them all for centuries.

Word Count: 21.8k (get cozy)

Tags: Neuvillette x Fem!Reader, Slow burn, Slow fic, SMUT, NSFW, Historical AU, Fantasy AU?, Reincarnation AU, cursed!neuvillette, dragon!neuvillette, reincarnated!Reader, human!reader, Fluff, a lot of fluff, Melusines doing their best to play cupid, ex-lovers to lovers, slight enemies to lovers? ANGST, he's trying his best, dragon x human dynamics, Monsterfucking (two... I have no defense), cunnilingus(long tongue), marking, size kink? breeding kink, heat, overstimulation, hate sex? kinda?, slightly unhealthy dynamics (past life), dubcon, trust issues, immortal x mortal, slightly possessive!neuvillette, slightly yandere!neuvillette, TW: mild mention of blood, TW: descriptions of drowning, sin, and sacrifice. TW: Trauma from betrayal, themes of resentment, Infertility.

Author's Note: Wanted to try out a historical fantasy from Neuvillette's pov. I struggle with fantastical settings, so overlook any world-building confusion. Mihoyo won't give me his real name, and it's eating away at my sanity. Enjoy!

Somewhere deep beneath the waves, away from the omnipotent watch of false divinity, lies a village. A bustling home carved into an outcast cove nestled under the cover of suppressive tides.

One littered with tiny houses surrounding an impressive estate modeled much like the ones seen in those novels abandoned from capsized ships.

Would you believe that such a place exists?

Decorated with curious trinkets which sunk beneath the surface which had forsaken them, kept in this cove for so long that it was challenging to remember the azure hues.

Ornaments decorating the expanse of this once lonesome cave, almost enough to conceal its true origin: A prison.

A fool sentenced to this penitentiary masquerading as a home, now affectionately named ‘Merusea Village’.

Within that attentively built estate, a looming figure stood in front of a wall lined with neatly organized novels, lilac eyes running along the titles printed along each spine.

A collection saved from watery abandonment after falling overboard by the curious hands of Melusines. Amassed throughout the years until the shelves of this humble library were without vacancy.

Stopping a finger on a spine, he decided on the novel to pass the ever-plenty time bestowed upon him. He’s aware that each book amongst these shelves has been thumbed through by him.

But with enough years, the recollection of the contents contained within each one tends to become foggy.

It's fate that the novel selected in his hands just so happens to be a collection of tales.

Humans have many strange behaviors, one might even call them traditions. One particular tradition mortals seem to indulge in often is that of storytelling.

Lilac eyes browse through the pages, refreshing himself on the tale held within its faded covers.

----------

There once was a lovely kingdom amidst lush pastures and fertile lands where the townspeople sang and danced under the bright sunlight.

But one day the sun disappeared, concealed behind ashen clouds that cried a lonesome hymn, plaguing the unfortunate kingdom with rain.

The origin of the rain stemmed from the lonesomeness of a great dragon of water.

Thus, to stop the rain, the king sent out a princess to the dragon, declaring that the kingdom gates wouldn’t welcome her back if rain fell from the sky. She was sent off in a white gown.

Down below a flooded loch, the princess was offered to the weeping dragon. Looking up the princess saw the sorrowful pools in the beast’s eyes.

‘Hydro Dragon, oh Hydro Dragon, why do you cry?’ She asked.

Intrigued by the bravery of the young princess, the dragon answered: ‘Because I am lonely, I have no brethren left.’

Feeling pity the princess responded: ‘Hydro Dragon, oh Hydro Dragon, don’t cry. I will be lonely with you.’

So the princess befriended a lonesome dragon under the hymn of softening rain, with his loneliness soothed, the sun peeked back out from ashen clouds. But one day, pitiful tears fell from her eyes and the princess wept so bitterly.

The dragon could not bear seeing those tears stain her cheeks. He offered her pearls, jewels, and gold. Yet those bitter tears still fell, tainting the pristine water.

‘Beloved princess, why do you cry so bitterly?’ He implored.

‘I long to go home, I miss my kingdom,’ she revealed.

But she could not go home, for if she stepped foot away from the riverside the lonesome rain would start again. The colossal dragon could not leave the loch, but he could not bear seeing those bitter tears.

So he relented, telling the princess a secret. A secret all dragons buried deep within: His true name.

‘If you speak my name, my true name, then I can grant you one wish. But be careful, for there can only be one wish.’ The dragon whispered.

‘Do you wish to return to your kingdom, beloved princess?’ He asked.

The princess was silent for a long while, weighing the choices in her hand. She longed to return home, but she also longed to be by the side of her kind dragon.

Confident in her decision, she beckons the great dragon closer, until her lips could reach the side of his large head where his ear lay. After whispering his name, she tells the beast her wish.

‘I wish for you to become my prince, so we can return to the kingdom together, that way you won’t ever be lonely again.’

A clever wish he grants with a nod. Scales and claws shedding away until a handsome prince stood in front of her. Thus, hand in hand they returned from the loch to the warm welcome of the kingdom.

And they lived happily ever after.

----------

Ah, so it was that tale.

Judging from the age of the novel, he guesses it must be a rendition of a rendition.

Words and events twisted, embellished, and simplified. Until it became nothing more than a mere fable told to entertain the wandering minds of children.

A beloved tale of a maiden who got a dragon to give up his grand authority, stopping the flood of vengeance from drowning Fontaine.

This is what the origin of his damnation has turned into. The tales of the heroine’s feats sung and written throughout the narrative of time, passing from one generation’s lips to another’s ears.

However, he supposes this is expected of humans. It’s their tradition of storytelling, after all, mending a fallacy into a tale palatable to their conscious.

Or perhaps, these embellishments were added to compensate for the hollows caused by the frailty of mortal memory.

Patching over the holes with flowery words to distract readers from inaccuracies that were only compounded upon from the last.

Fontainians who came to believe in it, must not have known the dragon all that well, considering that they thought the proud dragon would bow to the whims of a meek human.

Placing a secret so simply in her hands at the mere sight of tears.

Did Fontainians not realize that the land they reside on once belonged solely to dragons? How preposterous it is that a sovereign couldn’t set foot upon his own land. Or did they forget why he couldn’t?

What a naive ending, did mortals truly believe that blood and water could dwell together without consequences? That simply wishing the dragon to become a human could resolve all troubles?

To overwrite everything with a ‘happily ever after’ which never happened?

Regardless of his reservations toward such fables, the Melusines always seem eager to gather around for such stories. The towering figure lacked the conviction to deny such requests.

From down the hall approaching closer came the pitter-patter of steps, he turned his tall frame toward the direction of the sound just as a few familiar faces revealed themselves from the library entrance.

“Monsieur Neuvillette! Come quickly! A human! A human appeared!” A group of Melusines tugs on the fabric of his slacks while pointing toward the phenomenon.

A mortal in this domain? A cavern hidden deep under the land and waters where the warmth of the sun couldn’t grace. How did such a being find their way into this sanctum? It’d be best that he alleviates their worries.

“Please lead the way.” Neuvillette closes the novel, returning it to the confines of its shelf.

His swift movements in time with the melusines’ frantic patter as they made their way out from his estate.

Soon the tops of the Melusines’ cozy homes of Merusea Village came into view, as did the murmuring of a distraught crowd.

“Excuse me.” His steps made their presence known, their heads perked up to look at him before parting a path for Neuvillette.

Upon the maroon pasture of Merusea Village was a blanket of silk and woven lace, snowy fabric surrounding the still figure of a human.

Treading closer Neuvillette kneels down while reaching out a hand, weaving his fingers under the fabric which obscures the mortal’s face.

“We found her while gathering offerings from the waters … Is she…” The anxious murmuring quiets to await his verdict.

“She has a pulse,” he reveals, fingertips detecting wisps of warmth along cold skin.

It was faint, but his attentive eyes caught onto the slow movement of her chest. The snowy fabric had greedily drunk up the essence of the sea. Cursing her to sink deeper below the tides.

To leave a mortal in such a state would be too cruel of a fate.

Neuvillette moves his hand to support her covered head as his other arm gathers the damp fabric under her legs.

Carefully, he stands back to his full height, cradling her limp body in his hold. An audience of fretful gazes follow his motions.

“Do not fret, she only requires some rest and a change of clothing, I’ll take her to my abode. Could you gather some cloth to dry down her body?” Neuvillette’s melodic voice just barely above a whisper, so as not to stir the figure in his arms.

His expression softens to offer the compassionate creatures some reassurance. With firm nods the Melusines scatter, determination alight in their bright irises as they sought the necessary items to care for their newfound guest.

The dampness of the heavy fabric seeps into his own attire as Neuvillette turns the knob to grant him entry into his abode.

Quietly ambling through the spacious halls, the master bedroom came into view. Neuvillette lays the limp form upon his sheets, ensuring that her head rests slowly upon the soft pillows.

Just as her figure sinks into the mattress, a chorus of metallic clinks catches his attention. Glancing down her body his lilac eyes discover the origin.

A pair of silver shackles encased around her ankles, the unforgiving metal digging into defenseless flesh.

Gingerly, he takes one ankle into his grasp to better observe the shackles.

This time he couldn’t fight against the deep frown as it debuted upon his lips. His eyes hone on how tightly those heavy chains were bound along the flesh.

Soon the unforgiving metal crashes down to the floor, he soothes the freed skin with his thumb while checking for any other possible wounds.

Lilac eyes travel up to her face for any sign of discomfort, only to be reminded that her face was concealed behind a shroud of lace.

How uncomfortable it must be to have a cold piece of fabric to cover one’s face. Neuvillette places her ankle back onto the bed.

His large hands took hold of the damp veil to lift it from her resting frame, revealing to his draconic eyes for the first time their face.

The veil stays suspended in the air as his hands cease all motion. Hardened gaze tracing over her features, the curve of her cheeks, the slope of her nose, and the structure of her face.

Repeated details he had long seared into his consciousness.

Within those mortal tales, there’s a wide variety of beasts and fearsome creatures. Dragons were depicted as such omnipotent beasts. But there’s a monster all other beast falls secondary to, the devil.

They didn’t possess the sharpest talons nor the largest fangs. No, what made them so horrifying is that they dawned the most enchanting faces.

He’s staring at it right now. The face of the devil who deceived him.

Those gods must be laughing at him right now. Those false idols, with their capricious fate and whims, who once must’ve shook hands with you to carry out their schemes all those years ago.

The scheme which imprisons him here in this humiliating form of the mortal creatures those false idols loved so much.

Yes, a devil, that must be what you are. For how did a meek mortal trick a dragon who once held the full authority of the tides?

His chest expands with a deep breath before a long exhale leaves him. Ah, yes that must be why this white gown has appeared before him again. He removes the senseless scrap of lace, checking once more for signs of discomfort before he turns his body away.

Finding himself outside the threshold of his bedroom as he closes the door behind him. He should wait here for the Melusines to arrive with a change of clothes and towels.

It’d buy him enough time to steadily return the tempestuous loch to a subdued ripple in a pond. His chest expands once more with a deep inhale.

A second cruel rendition unfolding once more in the narrative of time.

The crisp turn of a page resounds through the room. Lilac eyes glanced up from the text every so often to watch the steady rises and falls of your chest from his vantage point of a wooden chair pulled up to the bedside.

Heavy lashes still shut just as they were the day your drenched figure was pulled from the tides by merciful hands.

The journey to wisdom is lined with mistakes, mistakes providing teachings one must ingrain into their very being if they don’t wish to repeat such blunders again.

Just as how a burn seared into skin is a forever reminder that fire indeed burns indiscriminately.

A scar ingrained deep within him cries out for Neuvillette to withdraw from the fire which scorned him so long ago.

Alas, it’s duty which has sat him down beside your sleeping form. You’re the first guest this cove has seen in a long time, thus bringing you under the responsibility of the host, Neuvillette himself.

A stir brings his stoic gaze back away from his thoughts. Your chest rises with a long inhale as leaden lashes flutter open.

The cadence of your breaths begins to rise as more of your senses return to you. Fatigue evident in each slow drag of breath.

“Ah, I see you’ve awoken.” Neuvillette observes.

Your muscles momentarily forget their fatigue as your head snaps toward the owner of the deep voice. Eyes now wide and alert.

“My apologies, it wasn’t my intention to startle you.” He casts a glance toward the steaming bowl on the nightstand.

He could feel the weight of your stare travels up his figure. Do you perhaps remember him? Can you recall his lush snowy locks streaked with azure? Irises that held an all too familiar hue, a multitude of lilac shades much like a field of lavenders.

Does this ‘you’ remember the dragon you fooled?

“W-who are you?...” Your gaze was too cowardly to meet his.

Ah, have the cycle of death and rebirth washed those sins and memories?

The tonality of your trembling voice filled with puzzlement instead of recognition. He should’ve expected this much.

This you is nothing more than a stranger who shares the face of a devil.

“Where am I?” Another question leaves those lips in the absence of a response.

Just give him a moment, allow him to pacify the surging torrent within so their bitterness doesn’t seep into his words.

“You’re in our village!” A cheery voice joins the conversation.

Two pairs of eyes land upon a short figure with a pair of pastel horns. You blink once, then twice, then slowly thrice. Inquisitive eyes stared right back at you.

“W-what… are you?” Instinct commanding your body to retract deeper into the sheets.

A sharp cough halts your actions, drawing your attention back to the man as he lowers his hand down from his lips.

“She’s a Melusine, they prefer to be addressed using she/her pronouns,” he elucidates, an ever so subtle chastise in his tone.

“Oh…” You advert your gaze again, shame creeping onto your cheeks from your unintentional discourtesy.

A few breaths of silence follow, he observes you studying everything but the two figures just beside the bed.

Your fingers soothing over the soft cotton nightgown against your skin, a change from that restrictive and ornate dress.

“We, Melusines, helped you change out of that wet dress. Big sister Sedene said you’d get sick if we left you in that.”

It looks like your diverted gaze wasn’t as subtle as you originally thought. Sheepishly you extend your gratitude.

“Thank you…” Your words draw out, a brow quirked as your stare remained on her short form.

“Kiara!” She points to herself with a mitten hand.

“Thank you, Kiara.” You finish.

Her mittened hand then gestures to the towering man beside her.

“This is Monsieur Neuvillette! He’s the one who carried you here,” she announces.

“T-thank you, Monsieur Neuvillette.” You could only gather the courage to glance at the wall behind him.

“Just Neuvillette is fine,” his tone melodic and calm. “Are you able to sit up?”

Nodding your head, you attempt to fight through the fatigue of your muscles. Neuvillette and Kirara offer their assistance, his firm hands guiding your body up as Kirara adjusts the pillows to support your back.

Once you were situated, he reached for the bowl placed down earlier. A light clink sounds out from a spoon clattering about the porcelain dish. You glance at the contents, noting the clear amber broth.

“This should be kind on your stomach while providing you with some much-needed hydration and nutrients.” He holds out the soup.

A quivering hand attempts to reach up for the bowl, only for muscles to lose to fatigue as your arm limply falls back down to your side. Your strength has yet to return.

Another clink from the spoon resounds in the room as it gets taken into the grasp of an attentive hand. He holds out a spoonful of the warm soup, but your lips remain shut as a skeptical gaze meets his.

“Please forgive this inconvenience, but it’s best that you eat something to regain your strength.” The spoon remains unmoving in his hand.

There’s a rumbling stir within him. A voice snarls into his ear, interrogating him as to why his hand is feeding the very devil who once bit it.

“If you don’t eat you won’t get better.” Kiara’s eyes are riddled with concern as she observes your sealed lips.

That was his rebuttal to that snarl.

The Melusines simply don’t wish to see a human in such a pitiful state. Blissful in their ignorance of events that conspired long before their birth.

Dignity overpowered by the guilt of seeing such pure eyes marred with worry.

Soon your lips part, accepting the spoonful of broth delicately offered by him. After he observes you swallowing the first sip, Neuvillette holds out another spoonful. You part your lips again.

Neuvillette overrides the clamorous warnings of his instincts with the duty of being a ‘good host’, bringing another sip to your delicate lips.

With a regular diet of warm broth with servings of Bulle Fruit on the side, you were soon able to pick up the spoon yourself. The fatigue that plagued your bones finally leaves, allowing you to support your body off the mattress which had your shape imprinted into it.

The Melusines, seemingly born infatuated with humanity, would often gather about your bed.

They were curious about you just as you were about them. To them, you’re the creature from those fairytales he’s read them.

In exchange for your recollections of warm Summer days and descriptions of lush lilac fields swaying in a gentle breeze, they reveal more about this village.

About how the estate you were currently residing in was refurbished by their own-mittened hands, taking inspiration from the various books depicting what human abodes looked like.

The beds, drapes, and even rugs are all arranged by them to create a lovely abode. A drastic change to the worn and rampaged shell it once was before their meddling.

Perhaps if he never filled their naive minds with those tales, they wouldn’t be enamored with you and humanity.

Or maybe it’s the vibrance of your smile that drew their naive souls closer. A warmth like a flickering candlelight beckoning a moth closer.

What are the odds that the hands of fate stayed so faithful to the details of a heroine from so long ago?

From your image to your bewitching mannerisms, and alluring voice, they’re all identical replicas. You and the ‘devil’ from that tale.

Wisdom from a lesson learned long ago, he must not repeat the same mistake. He must not be enchanted by the same flame which scorned him. He must ensure a breadth between you and him, just as those tiresome voices call for.

However, Neuvillette understands he has a responsibility as a host. Thus, he regularly checked on your condition, then when you were well enough to stretch your legs he accompanied you on strolls. Maintaining a respectable distance away.

He guided you through the marble halls of the estate, showing the library and bath which were yours to access whenever you wanted.

Rooms illuminated with the muted glow of luminescence gems and pearls. Water sourced from a hidden freshwater spring.

Impassive eyes observe yours as you look in awe at the facilities and commendations hidden deep under the tides. Were they comparable to the ones you’ve encountered back on the surface?

This estate, these wide stone halls, those pearls and jewels once scattered about, were all made just to please the bitter tears of a mortal. Perhaps his first attempt was too subpar to quell the longing to return to the sunlight.

But gauging from the glimmer reflecting off your eyes, it seems the Melusines attempt was satisfactory at least.

Today’s stroll took you outside of the estate, Neuvillette accompanying you about a routine walk, watching from behind as your eyes scan the dim realm.

The lanterns lining the path of Melusine's home grace the maroon pastures and rocky walls in place of the faint wisps of sunlight offered by the depths of the sea.

Very much expected for a village beneath the waves and earth. Were you reminiscing about the warm grace of the sun you felt up there?

It’s not fair to compare the vast sky of the surface to their cavern hidden away from the eyes of the mortals, perhaps even the divine themselves.

“Monsieur Neuvillette?” You began today’s attempt at a conversation.

“Yes?” He hums in acknowledgment.

He keeps sentences brief, but informative. Counters to your attempts at conversation.

“I’m aware this might sound strange, but is there a dragon down here?” Turning back to face him.

His strides stop as a lull of silence falls over the both of you. The weight of his unshaken gaze upon your shoulders caused them to tense up.

Your hands find each other for comfort under his oppressive stare as he awaits the reason behind this odd inquiry.

“W-well you see, Fontaine has been having awful weather for years now. Saltwater ruining crops and persistent heavy rain, it’s because the Hydro Dragon is crying from his loneliness. I was selected and offered as his bride, to stop the rain, that’s what The Oratrice instructed,” you babble out.

“So…do you know where he is?” Sheepishly you glance up.

The lilac hues of his eyes connect with yours as his lips remain unmoving. Staring into your eyes as he contemplates what you have just revealed to him. Your hands fumble together as you await his response.

“So humans are still telling that local legend…” He sighs.

He has to rein it back. The torrent which threatens to brew within him. Deep breaths to remind himself about the nature of mortals.

Humans are fickle and meek creatures who constantly yearn for something divine to worship, a figurehead to guide them in the turbulence of life.

When faced with hardship and destitution, they believe such concepts to be punishment from above.

Thus, they invent traditions to appease those false idols. Going to great lengths in attempts to pacify those unseen forces, even if it meant sacrificing one of their own.

Perhaps this was the trait of mortals that made them so favored by the usurpers, their naive devotion feeding into the greed of selfish gods.

Maybe that’s why those false idols uprooted the land that belonged to dragons.

“I wonder just how far that fable has spread by now,” he sighs again.

His lashes flutter shut in exasperation as a huff leaves him. It was a moment before they flutter back open to hone in on you. There’s no use in keeping his identity from you any longer.

“Do I seem lonely in your eyes?” Baritone voice steady and low.

No sounds fall from your agape lips as your eyes reexamine his features, this time shamelessly ogling the peculiar details you’ve brushed off previously.

Do you notice it now? How his ears were a bit too pointed, or those two particular cerulean strands of ‘hair’ poking out from his snowy locks.

As you study the specifics of his eyes, do you now comprehend the sharp dark pupils that cut through the multitude of lilac shades? Much like a shadow cutting through a field of lavenders.

“You’re the Hydro Dragon,” you deduce.

He nods in confirmation. Only causing your eyes to scan over him again as your mind reels back from this revelation.

In those stories you’ve read back on the surface, how did they depict him? As a towering scaled beast with fangs and claws? Are you wondering why he’s not matching that description?

“I’m aware that my current shape might not convey such a presence, ” he answers your unspoken question.

He fights for his lips to remain stoic, not allowing the weight of a frown to pull them down. You don’t know, you don’t need to know, he reminds himself.

A detail excluded from the pages of that tale, the ‘princess’ would only ever look at him, would only ever smile at him when a dragon took on this shape. A form which mirrors humans.

In fact, she was so fond of this human shell of his that she cursed him to dwell within it for the rest of eternity.

Neuvillette takes another deep breath, quelling the stir once more. You look like you had more questions.

“So… does that mean the need for a bride is fictitious?” You clutch your hands tighter.

Some years ago, the Melusines were born from spilled blood. A new generation of successors of the brethren he once forsaken. Making this prison much less lonesome, voiding the accuracy of the sentence in that tale.

If that was the case, then why did the waters still rage? Why did the pittering of rain drown out all bird songs and tumults of perplexed citizens? Is there a way he could simplify the details missed by storytellers for generations?

After that ‘happily ever after’, a dragon cursed his devil just as she cursed him.

No, such expositions would be an unfair burden upon your shoulders.

“It’s not fictitious.” Turning to gaze out at the depths of the underground realm, he takes a breath before continuing.

“The land which your nation, Fontaine, resides on is stolen land,” he reveals. “More accurately all of what you know as ‘Teyvat’ was stolen from the dragons, my fellow brethren.”

The furrow in your brows deepens as you listen on.

“My brethren were banished to the depths for the sake of humanity. A dragon’s rage isn’t something that can be easily quelled.” He glances back at you.

“A union between a dragon and a human, a show of peace between the two species. Even if the origins of this ritual have been embellished heavily, it serves the same purpose to pacify the ancient dragon’s rage,” he concludes.

Neuvillette wonders if this tale was enough to satisfy your inquiry, if his attempt at the human practice was enough to simplify the events muddled and twisted by time.

Impassive eyes scan over your expression, not missing the glimmer ever so bright within.

“So… has the rain stopped?” Your hands almost clasped together in prayer.

He nods, the shine growing ever so luminous in those blameless irises, one he couldn’t resist the enchantment of. That all too familiar look in your eyes.

“That’s good.” A slow smile made its appearance upon plush lips.

Ah. He remembers what that look was called, voices of recollection pulling him away from the edge. Just before he fell into bewitchment once more.

That look wasn’t relief, nor was it salvation. It's duty. He takes a slow and deep inhale.

Just as it was all those years ago, the narrative of this tale did not stray away from the plot. He must be more careful.

There’s been a still lull engulfing the atmosphere down in a hidden cavern. So still in fact that walks amongst maroon patches of grass have stopped. Your body was well enough to explore the corners of the state without assistance.

No reason for him to remain by your side throughout the day, and no reason for you to shadow him.

Neuvillette and you keeping mostly to one’s self. It was just the natural progression of things. After all, the ritual had been completed and the tides had receded. You’ve served your duty once more.

A foreign aroma was wafting through the estate, strange enough for Neuvillette to leave the library to investigate the origins of this aroma.

Steps slowing as the clacker of pots and pans becomes more distinct. The entrance of the estate kitchen comes into view, and he peers in to see a few familiar faces.

“Oh? Monsieur!” Rhemia notices his presence.

An assortment of vegetables, spices, and even some meats from fresh catches were spread about the table as a pan sizzling over a crackling fire.

Ingredients gathered from offering dropped down below the tides. The recent influx could be attributed to how the hymn of the rain has ceased.

“Hello, Monsieur Neuvillette.” Your smile greets him.

Ah, he’s found the explanation behind the foreign aroma and why the variety spread of ingredients was being utilized in a kitchen that was once mainly created just to match those diagrams drawn in novels.

“I hope you don’t mind my use of the kitchen, I wanted something other than…Consomme Purete.” Wiping your hands with a rag.

Yes, Consomme Purete.

It was the dish served when you had first woken up, a light but nutritious soup that was kind on your stomach. It had the right amount of hydration balanced with nutrients to sustain oneself, a perfect dish.

The only dish cooked in this kitchen, that was until today.

Removing a pan from the heat, you carefully transfer the contents onto a plate then place the pan back on the wood stove.

The rich aroma caused an audience of bright-eyed stares from the Melusines to center upon the steaming plate. Their tails make their excitement clear as they gaze upon a dish they’ve never seen before.

Was this a new passion of this life?... Or was it just one he never got the chance to witness?

Was this the devil before the role of a bride was forced upon her? A devil he’s never known, for all he saw was her performance to stop the deafening rain all those years ago.

His attention was brought back as the chime of cutlery against porcelain was heard, cooked veggies stabbed between the teeth of a fork.

Cupping a hand under the fork, your body leans down to the Melusine’s height, feeding them a bite of the fragrant dish. The wags of their tails increase in cadence as they chew.

“This is Tasses Ragout, tasty isn’t it?” The corners of your lips curl as you watch their little heads nod eagerly.

The suspicion melts from his gaze as he observes to the delight in their expressions, a few mitten hands tugging at the skirt of your gown for a bite. A giggle bubbles from your throat.

A scene mirroring that of a mother trying to appease the appetites of her ravenous young.

Soon your eyes connect and he straightens his posture. Brushing away the nonsensical musing, lilac hue advert away momentarily to recompose themselves before returning.

“Would you like a taste?” A fork offered in his direction, beckoning closer to take a bite.

There’s a myth he’s read about, of a forbidden apple held out by the tempter of all tempters, an apple so red and lustrous it made any mouth salivate.

“Thank you for the offer, however, I’ve already had my lunch.” He refrains.

A bite from that forbidden fruit was the genesis of disgrace and banishment. A betrayal of commandments once promised. Neuvillette won’t be deceived again.

--------------------------------------------------------------

“Monsieur! Monsieur! Come look!”

Mittened hands grasping upon his coat and gloved hands as a circle of Melusines guides him through the winding halls, anticipation amping their voices.

There’s a chorus of giggles resounding through the halls, a joyous clamor of pattering steps against the marble floors.

The estate has been lively ever since your arrival in that white dress, a liveness which reaches his pointed ears even from behind closed doors.

Regardless, he allows himself to be towed by their skipping steps. Leading him to a room he recognizes as a space where many fabrics and gowns were collected and stored.

Garments made with the intent to be sold to Fontainians, but their crates were capsized over by the ravenous tides. Saved from watery abandonment by curious hands.

While this form of his could wear a few of those garments, the Melusines had statures much too short for pools of fabric to not drag along the ground. Thus, that collection of fabrics found themselves collecting dust.

Their steps abruptly stop just at the threshold of the door, mittened hands pressed up against their lips signaling for him to remain silent.

Soon their sights glance into the room as he follows, lilac eyes opening ever so slightly wider as they process the scene in front of him.

Evening gowns crafted by skilled tailors to be sold to Fontanian ladies, you had the right frame for those garments as well.

A trail of lustrous sapphire silk gathered behind your figure. The artistic stitching and pleating draping the silk around each curve of your body as if you were the only person meant to wear it.

A few Melusines fussing about the silk train, ever so curious of humanity, they must’ve requested for you to dawn the gown.

Just as they often had requested for him to dawn those fickle suits and coats for their enjoyment.

It seems you bent to their childish whims just as he does.

“How do you like it?” You ask your audience, twirling about in front of a mirror.

It’s different from those hardier dresses for when you wandered about the village and estate, in comparison this dress was much less practical.

“It’s beautiful, Madame!” Their round eyes were enamored.

“I’m glad, who knew you had such an aesthetic eye.” Your expression softens.

Bending down to Carole’s height, you scooped her up. Cradling her as your forehead touches her horns gently.

“Thank you for such a lovely dress.” Placing tender pats along her head, careful to not disturb her horns and hair.

Carole leans into your touch as your smile widens. Twirling once more with her in your arms, giggles ringing throughout the room.

Until your head peeked up, finally aware of the silent spectator just behind the door frame.

“Oh, hello Neuvillette,” you greet him with a smile he doesn’t return.

A tense lull creeps in, and a chill begins to mix with the quiet atmosphere. Lilac eyes pass over your form as Carole remains sat in your arms.

“Monsieur! Isn’t Madame pretty? Look!” Cheery and oblivious voices chime returning the warmth to the air.

Mitten hands release your skirt as they skitter toward his towering figure. Pride shines in their beaming smiles, awaiting validation of their handy work.

Steadfast eyes lowering themselves to the level of their short statures until the sharp edges gradually dissipate.

“A fine effort indeed.” A gloved hand extends to rest atop their heads.

Patting their heads tenderly as they closed their eyes in contentment

A warmth in those lilac hues, endearment no word could ever encapsulate fully.

“Are they your daughters?” Your head slants to the side.

His body stills, strictness reinstated in those violet irises just as they met yours. Studying that look within your polite smile, one which didn’t seem to reach your eyes.

Gloved hand ceasing all movement, his concentration now elsewhere. That expression ghosting your face, what does it mean?

“My apologies, was it too impudent of a question?” Your gaze adverts away, searching for reprieve in this heavy hush.

A deep breath as he formulates his response.

“I don’t share blood with them if that’s what you’re inquiring. However, they are the successors of my brethren.”

“Oh, I see,” you hum.

Neuvillette returns to patting their heads, while you readjust your hold on Carole. Subtly bouncing her, while turning back to face the standing mirror.

Casting a glance, he could discern the softness returning to that polite smile. Yet, the dragon has yet to unravel that luster in your irises.

An audience of bright eyes switches between the Monsieur and Madame.

--------------------------------------------------------------

“Bring these to her, you should greet the Madame!” Tiny hands push against Neuvillette’s back.

The traitorous clicks of his shoes against marble expose his approach.

Your head peers up from the book resting upon your lap, in the midst of reading a tale aloud to an audience.

Just in time to catch the tall figure of Neuvillette emerging into the library at the behest of the Melusines.

Lilac eyes meet yours ever so briefly before his gaze averts elsewhere. Gloved hand adjusting a bundle hidden a broad back, brings the other hand up to clear his throat.

“The Melusines found these when retrieving some offerings from the water, I believe you’ll enjoy them.” He presents their trinket.

A simple collection of dainty petals clustered together, pastel hues contrast against vivid virescent leaves. A quaint ribbon tied around the stems holding the bunch together held out in front of your face.

The recipient stares in round-eyed astonishment at the fragrant blooms before a smile melts into your lips.

“Thank you.” You accept the bouquet from his hand.

Admiring the rustic arrangement and the saccharine aroma as the Melusines sat around you leaned in closer to catch a whiff too.

“These are called Pluie Lotus up on the surface, they smell nice right?” Giggling lightly as you held the bouquet closer to their noses.

Grin ever present upon your lips as your soft eyes watch their marvel of such simple weeds. A bloom foreign to this realm abandoned by the sunlight.

There’s subtle slack in his posture, a budding smile just about to unfold just as your head peers back up. Every fiber in Neuvillette’s being tenses, goosebumps slithering up his nape.

Frozen there only able to witness your eyes study back and forth the hues of his irises and the periwinkle color tinting the fragile petals.

He watches an epiphany light up in your widened eyes as the bouquet was lifted higher, turning back to face him.

Don’t. Don’t say the words he knows are hanging off the tip of that honeyed tongue.

“They are the same lovely color as your eyes, Neuvillette.” You beam at him, the corners of your eyes crinkling from the stretch of your lips.

His posture returns to its rigid and upright state, a hand hidden from view balls up into a fist.

A sharpness threatening to break through leather confines and into his palm, as if they were attempting to grapple the surging torrent stirred up within himself.

Why? Why was this line from a script being recited word for every damn word? All said with that saccharine smile plastered over those wicked lips?

Indecipherable eyes narrow ever so slightly before he catches himself. Reining in the torrent just before it seethed out.

He clears his throat again to swallow back the bitterness.

“Do excuse me, please return to your reading session,” he utters his parting.

Promptly turning to return to his secludedness, stepping past the Melusines gathered by his side.

Swift strides through the empty halls leaving you to your peace and him to his peace, just as it should’ve been. Much to the pouts of a disappointed audience.

However, he didn’t have the mind to contemplate their discontent. Not when these rabid bellows drown out every other thought in their rancor.

Like a sea starved for vengeance, ravenous to settle a debt against those vile gods and their beloved creations.

A brass knob was abruptly twisted, hinges squealing in surprise as at the force as Neuvillette shuts it behind himself.

Ragged breathes resounding through the reprieve of his bedroom. Away from innocent bystanders and the devil who showed her face again after all these centuries for an encore.

Has he not been humiliated enough? He tugs at his cravat, freeing himself from the fickle decoration constricted about his neck in this already imprisoning body.

A form which binded him no matter how violently talons and fangs clawed and chewed, unable to leave a singular dent upon this damn curse.

This was humiliating enough, bound to this cove that separated him from the sea which cries for their sovereign.

He once believed this penitentiary was obscured away from the peeking eyes of capricious gods. Perhaps, he’s wrong.

Why is this fantasy being played out right in front of his eyes now after all these years?

To have you by his side, to have you reside in the home he craved out and inlaid pearls into, to see you smile and cradle young against your bodice. It’s insulting.

Because this was all he ever wanted. This was all he had ever wanted.

The lonesome dragon only ever yearned for a maiden’s endearment. He once believed she adored him back just the same.

Because while she lay within his arms under silken covers, her bare skin pressed against his mortal shape, her enchanting eyes always regarded him with such tenderness as her delicate hand stroked his cheek.

A glimmer he once believed was love.

The tale written along the parchment implied that the ‘princess’ loved the dragon. However, that was inaccurate. She never did.

For if she loved him, then she wouldn’t have deceived him.

She wouldn’t have ever whispered his secret to the town’s folk. Those foul creatures who then used his secret, which was once reserved solely for ‘you’.

Why? That simple question taunted him for decades as he rotted in this mocking solitude.

Why did ‘you’ yearn for the sun more than him? Was his love not enough to replace the warmth of a star? Was the home he made not enough when compared to the extravagance of humanity?

Or was it because blood and water, no matter how much they intertwine and mix, could never produce wine?

If… if the Melusines had been born just a few centuries earlier, then would you have been satisfied by his side? An answer he could already discern.

Because after his decades of solitude within these deridingly hushed walls, he finally accepted the truth.

She loved her people, they took up all the space of her heart, leaving no room for a prideful leviathan.

What a clever plan it all was, to distract a sovereign from his duty, cleansing stolen land with a flood of vengeance, by sending a maiden.

A woman so bewitching, so enchanting, and so lovely, that a proud dragon couldn’t resist bending to her whims. Spilling the secret hidden deep within him into her ear.

Abandoning his true form to be confined in the shape she favored the most. Then lured up to the surface, suspicions obstructed by the dazzlement of a false welcome from the nation of Fontaine.

Unaware until the scorching knife was already lodged in his back. Using the secret he had only ever told you, those meek creatures of the usurpers wished:

‘For the rest of one’s life, one shall never leave this cave deep beneath the tides’.

What a clever ploy, a masterly crafted master plan. Did that Oratrice bestow it upon mortals? Or was it your own little scheme? A devil in human skin who must’ve been enlisted by the god themselves.

That day when he was chained by that loch, you didn’t even bother to grace him with your presence.

You cruel, cruel devil whose heart only had room for her fellow citizens of Fontaine, whose eyes only ever glimmered with duty.

Neuvillette had finally comprehended the truth, he had made peace with the disgrace he brought upon himself.

So why did those vile false gods dangle you back in his face? They had already taken fragments of his authority.

Was his torment entertaining to them?

Lungs shaking with unsteady breaths, he could feel the pricks of scales dotted along his skin only for this body to swiftly reject it. A turmoil of draconic influence constrained by a mortal curse.

Like a beast kept in a cage much too small for it. If Neuvillette wishes for this agitation to cease, he must cease the stirred emotions.

Emotions don’t settle quickly once agitated like sand attempting to settle at the bottom of violent tides. He paces his shuddery inhales, biding in the solitude of his room until the storm dissipates.

To avoid the placid lake within him from thrashing violently to the woes from the throb of a wound which has yet to scar over, Neuvillette found it best to avoid your presence.

The lanterns outside the Melusine’s homes had long gone out as they followed their routine bedtime.

The expanse of the cavern dimmed to near blackness, the small creatures all tucked away soundly in their beds. A hushed ambiance provides a suitable environment for reflection.

His steps flatten the grass underneath as they accompany his strides with their rustling.

The absence of light had never bothered him, it’s within his nature to detest it. Any beast would withdraw away from the mere image of fire.

The rustle of the grass halts, a wispy aroma of smoke wafts towards him. It doesn’t take long to identify the origin. Only a small flicker broke through the shadows, candlewick fostering only a weak flame.

But it was enough to fend the shadows away from your frame.

The flame’s light caught on each subtle ripple of the pond you were kneeling over.

The seemingly unremarkable pool served as the sole entrance and exit to Merusea Village. Where the Melusines traveled through to gather food, fresh water, and trinkets swallowed up by the waves.

Cold waters catch the bitter droplets of your pained eyes in the reflection of the ripples upon the surface, the distorted silhouette of a weeping devil.

An unspoken gospel revealed to draconic pupils.

Under the rich aromas wafting from the kitchen, behind the diligently tailored gowns, and hidden in the cadence of your voice as you read tales aloud, laid the yearning for the rays of a bright star.

You’re human, a creature fleeting and meek by nature. Blood yearns to be with blood just as every drop of rain yearns to return to a cloud.

A sharp rustle of grass under a heavy step jolts your hunched-over posture straight, head whipping around to face the uninvited audience.

Once those weeping eyes recognize the brooding figure in front of them, your face adverts away from his direction. Shame evident upon your expression.

A concerned hand reaches out only to retract away, contrition marring his shut lips as Neuvillette diverts his eyes too.

Fire burns indiscriminately, even the dancing flame of a candle can sear its mark upon skin. Neuvillette knows this all too well, for the lesion he received from embracing that flame once still festers even after all these years.

However, lilac eyes pan back towards the orange glow illuminating your melancholic face. Warm hues contrast against the wet trails down your cheeks. There’s an ache more agonizing than a festering wound.

His steps advanced closer until he was knelt down by your slump frame. A benevolent touch lands upon your shoulder. Guiding you away from the taunting waters and into his arms, hiding your face in his broad shoulder.

Offering you a semblance of warmth in a coven shunned from the grace of gentle sunlight.

With your face away from his gaze, the cacophony of your sobs returns, digging your fingers into the folds of his dress shirt.

Echoed back mockingly by the cold cavern walls.

Perhaps a foolish dragon has yet to learn his lesson, still lured in that the brilliant light of a flame.

A gentle hand traces up along your back, softly brushing your hair away to reveal the skin of your nape to his sharp pupils.

Honed in upon untainted skin, the courts of rebirth may have removed the proof of your damnation, but not the hex itself.

Or maybe, a foolish dragon feels some responsibility for being the one to curse you to this fate.

A mark once imprinted upon your nape by a lonesome dragon, a heavy oath sworn to you engrained into the very fabric of your soul amidst the first rendition.

One which then became the cursed chains that sunk you under the unforgiving waters.

It’s said that love is heavy, a weight greater than the density of water. A heaviness which could sink anything and everyone under salty tides.

A heaviness originating from this accursed prison where a disgraced being resided.

Even as the earth above welcomed new generations as they said goodbye to bygone times.

The solitude of a fool turning into ravenous waves which seeped into soil until its appetite was satiated by the return of its beloved treasure.

It’s his fault that the tides stole you from the sunlight.

The courts of rebirth had already forgiven you of this burden, not a single memory remaining of that tale.

What right does he have to place it back upon you? There’s no point in punishing one for a sin that had been cleansed by the tides of time.

You didn’t deserve to be held away from the warmth of a benevolent sun.

To have been dragged down below to these depths. To have been stolen away from the warmth of the sun by the command of fickles gods and ancient grudges.

It’s much too severe of a sentence for you, someone who didn’t deserve to repent for a sin that wasn’t truly yours.

Is it okay for his hands to wipe away your tears when this cursed dragon was the cause of your agony?

Even if it’s wrong, Neuvillette holds you closer. Even if he didn’t have the right, he pressed your face in his shoulder. Allowing the vehemence of your tears to scorch his skin as you buried your cries into him.

Glancing at the pool you had been leaning over, he watches as the ripples of the surface taunt you and him the same.

Two beings whose bodies couldn’t embrace the tides. Two cursed beings who’ve been trapped in repeated play.

“It seems you’re bound to this prison as well.” He scorns those gods and ancient grudges, but he scorns himself the most.

Confined behind a human face and a human body, a traitor who’s lost his birthright over the waters who couldn’t welcome him.

How can a cursed dragon quell those choking sobs of yours? How can he atone for his selfish sin?

Neuvillette takes a deep breath just your tears continue to soak his skin. Steeling his resolve, he meditates on the one resolution he can offer you.

“Fontainians still tell a tale about a princess who wished a dragon to become a prince, yes?” He begins.

After a pause filled with hiccups and shaky breaths, you nod your head as an answer.

“It was when she spoke the dragon’s true name that he granted her one wish,” he recounts the tale, feeling the trembles of your shoulders.

“That part of the story isn’t fictitious,” he reveals.

Voices from the depths of his rationality whisper for him to stop, to expand no more upon this secret of his brethren. Clamorous warnings to a traitor to not repeat his past transgressions.

However, he obeys no edict from the heavens or origins. Not when an unjust punishment caused such heart-wrenching sobs.

“Names hold great significance to dragons. So much so, to whoever learns their true name, a wish can be granted.”

Slowly, your tear-stained face pulls away from his crinkled dress shirt. Finally meeting his lilac gaze. He notes the bewilderment which surrounds his reflection in your eyes.

“Is… your name not ‘Neuvillette’?” You inquire.

“It’s a surname bestowed upon me by the mortals of the land.”

“Then… What is your name?” A glimmer of optimism ever so subtly debuts in your eyes.

He could not tell you. No matter how beautifully that light shines, this was one ordinance he couldn’t ignore. All he could do was glance away as he shakes his head. Unable to bear the sight of that light extinguishing.

“That is what you must find for yourself.”

Perhaps this is his defiance of the plot which has been unraveling for so long. His attempt to step off that circular path, searching for a different end.

The silent audience of fate watching on with bemusement to where this rendition will lead.

“Oh?”

What a peculiar occurrence, Neuvillette was just about to exit his study when he found himself just a breath’s width away from you. Instinctively, he takes a step back behind the threshold of the doorway.

Passive eyes studying your form, you must’ve been standing there for a while. A hand held up intending to knock on the oak door returns to your side as you stare at the floor.

“Is there something you need assistance with?” He continues to study you.

Lilac eyes observe as your fingers clasp together, a common habit of mortals when nervous, if he recalls the contents of a book correctly. Another minute passes before you take a deep breath.

“Is your name Guillaume?” You peer up.

Ah, so this is what you wished to inquire about.

The secret revealed to you that day beside an exit neither he nor you could cross. Guillaume, a name befitting of nobility. But unfortunately, not for a dragon.

He responds with a shake of his head, expression stiffening as he watches the corners of your lips drop ever so slightly.

“Oh…”

It seems his existence brings nothing but a frown upon those soft lips, Neuvillette felt it’s best to retreat from your sight.

This attempt was evidence of your determination to return to the embrace of a warm star.

It wouldn’t be right for him to interfere, despite those vile voice whispers murmuring from the depth of his mind. It wouldn’t be fair to you.

It’s best to maintain this distance between his hand and yours, for your sake and his.

Which begs the question, why were you still standing here in front of him?

“Is that all you wished to inquire?” Neuvillette hopes the Melusines will lift your spirits after he withdraws.

“Actually…” You began. “I made some soup and if you haven’t had lunch yet, would you like to try some?”

Although his stoic face might not reflect it, he’s positively baffled. Were ‘you’ always this enthusiastic about food?

The devil he knew before would view the freshest catches and clearest waters offered by a dragon with blasé reactions.

You used to recoil away from the fishes and meats he held out to you, they were only ever touched once he charred them over a fire.

Then again the kitchen back then was much more barren than the present, cabinets now decorated with bottles of fragrant spices and herbs.

Was it just a difference in palate? To reject such an invitation would be to squander a precious opportunity for investigation.

“The pleasure would be all mine.” He matches your strides as the two of you traverse toward the kitchen.

Settling down in a chair at a wooden table, Neuvillette watches as you ladle some soup into a bowl. Following your form as you set the bowl down in front of him. A pleasant aroma accompanies the steam emitting from the bowl.

“It’s Fontainian Onion Soup.” You hand a spoon over.

“Thank you.” He takes the utensil and scoops a hearty serving of the rich soup.

A distinct flavor of caramelized onions and the creaminess of cheese. The broth had been thickened with a bit of flour and the cheese added to the heavy mouth feel.

This dish certainly expresses the flavor preferences of humans… but could such a thick broth really be considered soup?

“Do you like it?” Your head tilts to the side as he feels your inquisitiveness.

Dabbing a napkin over his lips, he clears his throat.

“A fine dish indeed. Although increasing the liquid content and reducing the amount of fat could improve it,” he advises.

A hush falls over the kitchen, nothing but the occasional crackle of a fire filling the space.

“Oh… I’ll keep that in mind.” Your voice was restraining something.

As you turn away, Neuvillette catches the subtle shakes of your shoulders.

Ah, has he caused offense? He recalls how cooking and food preferences amongst humans tend to be a sore spot for most, some books going as far as to claim critics as attacks on one’s pride.

You had taken time out of your day to prepare a bowl for him, and he gave senseless comments in return.

“Ah, but it’s delicious regardless, thank you.” He has to remedy this situation.

The shakes of your shoulders increase, as a hand covers your lips.

“Thank you, Monsieur.” Your lips seem to be trying to stifle something.

After finishing your sentence, your lips pressed tighter together. He could see the corners twitching as they tried their best to remain neutral.

Before he could get another word in, you excused yourself. Leaving him in front of the warm soup.

In that moment, Neuvillette vows to himself that even if you were to hand him a piece of charcoal he’ll swallow it without a single complaint.

--------------------------------------------------------------

“Is your name Édouard?”

Your voice causes him to turn his attention away from the pages of a book this quiet evening.

You stood just off to the side of the bookshelf where he was browsing, a candle illuminating the curiosity held in your eyes. Presenting a name likely discovered from those very same shelves.

Dirges ring from the corners of his mind, warning him not to allow the light to approach so close.

However, where is a shadow supposed to withdraw to when the light seeks him?

Just as how the tide couldn’t run away from the shore for long. Steadfast and constant attempts to unravel the secrets held by the ebbs and flows.

Alas, he shakes his head again today, steeling his nerves as he catches the slight drop in your shoulders. Louis, Étienne, Théodore, and all those previous guesses, are names of heroes in Fontainian tales and epics.

Popularized to the point many boys were named after them, but no parent would ever want to name their child after a dragon, a beast.

He doubts the pages of history have ever recorded his name.

Your disheartened gaze couldn’t meet his, choosing to stare into the space beside him. He couldn’t fault you for that.

All your efforts of combing through old novels to search for obscured monikers just to be undone by a shake of a head.

He’s not sure how much longer he can endure being the origin of your melancholy.

“There’s a tear in your coat…”

Your voice brings him out of his thoughts, he glances at the spot your eyes were honed on and spots the aforementioned tear.

“Ah, I see. My apologies for being in such an unsightly state, ” he sighs. Lilac eyes ran along the jagged seams.

He should go find a replacement from his wardrobe, but you still looked like you had something to say.

“I can fix it if you’d like,” you offer.

It’s just a garment, a piece of cloth that fell off some merchant’s ship and found itself in the walls of a cove. There were plenty of other garments that suffered the same fate, picked up by pairs of curious mittened hands.

To replace this robe would be simple, but he notes the concealed eagerness in the fidget of your fingers. It must be rather dull for you down here for the past year, to the point you resorted to repairing old fabrics for enrichment.

Regrettably, Neuvillette admits he’s not the best host. He’s got no talent for small talk nor does he know how to entertain you, thus he left it up to the Melusines. However, he could at least do this much as a host.

“Thank you, I’d be grateful if you do.”

His steps in time with yours through the halls as an old storage room comes into view. Still filled with collections of folded gowns and coats.

As he observes the room, you guide him to a pair of wooden chairs, a box filled with needles and threads beside one. You place the candle down on a nearby table.

“I’ll take your coat.” Holding out your hands.

Following your request, he slips the robe off his shoulders, leaving him in a dress shirt and slacks.

Attentively you take the garment, settling down in a seat as your hand searches through the box. After your rummaging stopped, you glance back at him.

“It won’t take long, please have a seat.” Gesturing toward the other chair.

Lilac eyes scanned the aged seat, the door was just beyond it, it wouldn’t take much of an excuse for him to walk past the wooden threshold.

However, he pans back to your anticipatory gaze still awaiting. It wouldn’t be polite to deny such a simple gesture.

Thus, he heeds your request, ambling toward the empty seat, he begins to settle down just as a rip resonates through the air.

His body halts all movement just as yours did, toward pairs of eyes trained on the sleeve that had been caught on the edge of a wooden table.

The fibers of his shirt entangled with the jagged edges causing his sleeve to rip. Neuvillette truly has yet to acclimate to such fickle inconveniences.

“Pfft!-” Quickly your hand covers your mouth.

Lips pressed together as they tried their best to stifle the sounds threatening to leak out. Your shoulders shaking from the effort, just as they did that day in the kitchen.

Although his expression remains the same, he’s quite dumbfounded.

Unable to contain the sounds any longer, you erupt into a fit of giggles as he continues to stare. The bright chimes of your laughter fill the room, a melodic tune he had longed to hear for so long.

“S-sorry, I just didn’t expect you to… be so clumsy.” Giggles fragment your sentence along with a brief pause to collect yourself.

Clumsy. Yes, he remembers that word, an adjective you used to describe a dragon whenever he took on the shape you favored so much.

Of course, even a great beast like a dragon would totter and stumble when in such a foreign body.

Although he has been in this body for many, many years now, yet, Neuvillette hasn’t acclimated to these fickle mortal attires.

If these garments weren’t pushed into his hands by the Melusines and their bright-eyed stares, he’d prefer to not dawn them.

Neuvillette shuts his eyes. His lungs intake a deep breath, stifling the sway of these trivial inconveniences before they cause any ripples.

Once he’s certain there was no jagged edge to his stare, lilac hues peek back upon your figure.

By now those fits of giggles had faded into a tranquil lull, your content face focused on the stitches. Body relaxed against the back of the chair, weaving the needle through the sides of the tear.

Subconsciously, his frame begins to mimic yours, rigid muscles melting against the wooden support.

Lavender hues follow the disappearance of a sliver point, then catch its emergence from the fabric.

The torn and frayed edges draw closer and closer together by the coaxes of the thread, each stitch attentively placed by your graceful hands.

“Neuvillette?” Your serene voice interlaces with the placid interlude.

He hums an answer.

“That night by the entrance… you said ‘You're bound to this cove as well’.” The pace of the needle slows.

“Why did you say that?” You finish your question.

Observant, a characteristic of yours he’s always deemed quite commendable. Ever so keen on the nuances of his sentences.

The piercing stare of draconic eyes weighs on your shoulders, despite that the cadence of the needle didn’t falter. A ripple makes its appearance within a placid pool.

“Do you really wish to know?” He warns.

You hum resolutely. A bitter taste creeps its way up his tongue, the recollection of the string of words which damned him here.

Instinct advises him to swallow them back, to conceal his shame from your awaiting ears. However, answering the call of your curiosity should be enough of a repayment for repairing a coat.

“For the rest of one’s life, one shall never leave this cave deep beneath the tides. That is the curse set upon this body,” he reveals.

The needle stops.

“A curse?…” you stammer out.

Under your breath, Neuvillette hears you recount the disclosed secret. Repeating it to yourself as if to decipher the syntax, to find some answers to his condemnation.

The answer was sitting just in front of him.

“…For the rest of one’s life… well, how long do dragons live?”

To mortals, it’s time who is the reaper of their existence. From the moment a newborn sounds their first cry to the final draw of air on their deathbeds, it was the hands of a clock who ruled over them.

But such hands could not touch a being such as him.

“The life of a dragon begins and ends in the Fontemer Sea, born from it, made from it, and shall return to it to be born again.” He wonders if mortals could grasp such a concept.

“Oh…” Your tone grew more somber.

Judging from your tonality, you must’ve pieced the allusions together.

To be contained within these stone walls with only a pool of seawater he could not touch as the opening, is to bestow upon him immortality he never asked for.

For the Hydro Dragon could not return to the Fontemer Sea.

Even if dragons had long lives, it didn’t mean the humiliation of immortality. The true cruelty of this seemingly kind curse.

“Why?” Your voice just barely above a whisper.

Why was he cursed? Why is he in this sham of a mortal body? Why did he reveal the secrets of his brethren? All of this at the trifling sight of bitter tears.

“Because the people of Fontaine found my name and they wished for it.”

Why did he give you his name? And why did you then give it away? There are many questions left unanswered by that tale.

Why did a proud dragon bow to the whims of a mere mortal in that fairytale?

A creature as potent as a dragon should never bow, not to the ordinances of false gods, not to the turbulence of fate, and not to a mere mortal.

Why did a maiden wish for a dragon to become a human like them? Water is an adaptable element, able to take on any shape it pleases. However, it yearns to always return to its natural shape.

Perhaps, his ‘natural’ form appalled the devil too much. So much so, she used that one wish to confine him in the form she favored most.

More confoundingly, why did Neuvillette allow such a request? A creature favored by the usurpers dared to wish a dragon to abandon his heritage, to cross over the threshold of humanity just for their sake.

Why would a dragon ever bow to a mortal’s request?

The commandments of a false god and the howling thrashes of wind can’t make a proud dragon bow, but the weight of love might be enough for a prideful beast to lower his head towards a mortal.

A traitor to his own fallen brethren is much too dignified of a title for Neuvillette. No, it’d be better to call him for what he is: A Fool.

What a spectacle it was that day, even those fickle gods peered down just to watch. A fool who lost his form and authority was imprisoned beneath the tides.

A stir shakes that pool, whirling and writhing, the billows of bitterness mounting.

“… could it be wished away?” Your voice beckons his thoughts to return to the present.

Unlike how it was written in those tales, a curse can’t be ‘broken’. Not by a kiss, and not by clasping one’s hands together in prayer.

“Not even a miracle could make a curse vanish, a curse only ever goes away once its clauses have been fulfilled.”

Until the stars burn out, until the sky caves in on itself, or until the oceans of this uprooted world dry up, he shall remain here. The retribution a traitor deserves.

He shall remain in this sham of a body, unable to become the form he desired the most in the next life he’ll never reach.

Not a human, not a dragon, just an atrocity somewhere in-between. This must be what humans call ‘purgatory’.

“I see…” Your attention never leaves the half-stitched garment sprawled upon your lap.

A heavy silence fills the space between you and him once more. To conclude a conversation on such a doleful note would be a disgrace.

However, what is he to say? What words can salvage this situation? Neuvillette has no talent for small talk, he doesn’t have the same mortal heart as yours to provide you with any solstice.

Amidst his contemplation, a soft hum resounds through the quietude, and the melodic rhythm of a lullaby begins. It seems that you took matters into your own hands, ending the doleful silence at your own discretion.

Once more his back reclines into the wooden chair, pointed ears indulge themselves in a nostalgic tune.

It’s strange, that rippling pool is swaying back to equilibrium. The surface returns to its placid rest as tension melts from his muscles.

Unaware of the hushed pitter-patter of a curious audience, drawn in by the gentle song as their bright eyes peer ever from the cover of the door frame.

--------------------------------------------------------------

“Madame! Look I got more Pluie Lotuses!” Kiara’s little steps rush across the marble floor.

Getting up on the tips of her feet to show the bundle of fresh blooms, salty water still dripping from their petals, as her bangs stick flush to her face still damp from the sea. Her pink tail swaying behind her.

Your body turns in her direction just in time with Neuvillette.

“Kiara…” A subtle layer of disapproval emerges from lilac hues.

“Remember to dry off before entering the estate, the floors can become quite dangerous when wet.”

“But…” the flowers lower. “I wanted to show Madame the lotuses…”

There’s a drop in her tail and horns and a sharp sting to his chest. Her sisters were gathered around in a circle, a story having just concluded, he could feel their stares upon him. Adding to the sharpness of guilt.

“My apologies, Kiara, I only meant to warn you.”

She nods her head silently, tail still dragging on the floor. Ah, just what should he do? A frown begins to weigh down his face.

“Thank you, they’re wonderful, Kiara.” Your gentle chime breaks through the stalemate.

You take the bouquet from her mittened hands, placing them atop a counter, in exchange you offer her a towel.

“But Neuvillette is right, it’s not good to run through the halls right after you returned from the waters. It’s dangerous, okay?” Your voice as gentle as the towel rubbed over her hair and horns.

A content smile returns to her round cheeks as she diligently nods, promising that she’ll be more careful next time. Tail lifting up from the floor as the fluffy towel wipes away the ocean droplets.

Once fully dried, she joins her sisters. The Melusines cast shifting glances toward one another until one finally steps out from the crowd.

“Madame…” Carole calls out softly, tugging a few times the hem of your long dress.

“Hm?” Giving her your full attention, a towel set aside.

“I overheard you inquiring about names with Monsieur in the library once, could you be…” Her eyes downcasted.

Oh. This time it was Neuvillette and you who exchanged glances, eyes both reflecting the same dread.

They weren’t supposed to know. They weren’t supposed to hear those slapdash guesses.

He never meant for them to find out. Always careful to never discuss such matters in their earshot.

For how could he bear to tell them that their cozy village was actually a prison?

His mind was unable to conjure up an excuse, tongue unwilling to speak it. They weren’t supposed to find out. Oh, what shall he do now?

“Could you be expecting?”

Huh?

Two pairs of eyes widened with bewilderment, mind stunned into silence and lips just as confused.

Somehow they’ve huddled even closer than before, encircling you and him with their bright eyes and tails swaying with anticipation.

“Will there be a new addition to the village?”

“How long do we have to wait?”

“Are we getting a brother or sister?”

Their chatter and probes homogenized into a jumbled symphony his flustered conscious just couldn’t distinguish. Trying to reel his senses back from this unexpected turn of events. Neuvillette clears his throat.

“No,” he coughs out.

A collective ‘aw’ resounds through the air, their tails and horns drooping down at the announcement. Guilt pierced its nail through his chest once more. However, he couldn’t lie to their bright eyes.

“N-not, yet.” You add to his statement.

A wave of inquisitive‘oh’ ripples through the crowd. Tails picked up from the ground as the glimmer in their eyes returned.

A sweet lie sprinkled over the truth neither of you dare tell, that blood and water can’t make wine.

“Then, do you want a little prince or little princess?” Carole chirps.

You remain silent, only gazing down at their faces as they stare back.

A lilac stare was also focused upon you, his curiosity awakening at this question as well. He watches you take a slow breath before leaning down.

“I’d like to have a daughter, sweet and kind like all of you.” Your hand strokes her soft trestles.

Her head nuzzles into your palm as giggles fill the air. Only draconic eyes study the small smile upon your lips, dipped in bittersweetness.

Did you have a lover back on the surface in this life? Perhaps someone who was promised to you. A real prince this time.

Did you have dreams of basking in the grace of the sun, cradling a bundle as a pair of tiny fingers encase around your own?

Was this the hard-earned happy ending you yearned for?

“Monsieur…” Mamaere tugs on his slacks.

Neuvillette reigns his thoughts back from their escapade, he angles his head down.

“Where does a baby come from?”

The smile on your lips stiffen just as Neuvillette’s body does.

If there’s a god who’s peering into this cavern deep below the land and sea, must they send such dilemmas his way?

How does one navigate through this treacherous domain?

“Oh dear! I just remembered.” Your hands clap together.

“There’s a few ribbons and clips in the fabric room, do you girls mind getting them? So we can braid Monsieur’s hair?”

At once the Melusines stand at attention, focus diverted over their excitement at the prospect of decorating snowy locks.

The patters of their little steps trample down the hall, allowing you and Neuvillette a well-deserved moment of reprieve.

“Thank you.” His posture drops slightly as a hefty sigh leaves him, lids shut for a moment of rest.

“Of course, Sébastien.”

His eyes crack open, casting you a glance with a raised brow. The ghost of a grin barely contained by delicate lips. By this time, Neuvillette couldn’t recall all the past attempts.

“Regrettably, that is not my name.”

“Was it at least a decent attempt?”

He could hear the pout in your voice, one that didn’t last long before a light-hearted laugh follows it.

Closing his eyes once more as he indulges in those chimes, he nods ever so slightly. It was a good attempt, for it brought out those sounds he enjoyed.

His lashes flutter open at the sensation of his hair getting gathered in your tender hold. Passing the carved wooden teeth of a comb through his snowy locks.

Careful to not pull or tug on them as you coaxed the tangles out of their knots. The heaviness upon his shoulders leaves with a deep exhale which left his body, indulging in your attentive touches.

Subconsciously, his gaze trails up at the bundle of flowers resting along the wooden table. It wasn’t the periwinkle blush of the delicate petals that commanded his attention.

No, it was that salty, oceanic wisp mingled with the flora aroma. A fleeting essence of the sea.

“Do you miss the sea?”

Ah, it seems that his stare wasn’t as subtle as he had hoped. Neuvillette turns away from the flowers as if he had been caught amidst a scheme.

Facing in front of him, your paused hands signal your wait for his response.

“I suppose it’s only natural for me to long for it.”

After all these years, Neuvillette believes he has finally grasped it, an answer to that void filled with ‘whys’. As if he had seized the reflection of a star from the bottom of a deep lake.

Neuvillette thinks he understands why you and the devil yearned for the sunlight.

Perhaps the one similarity between proud dragons and arrogant humans. They both ache to return to where they came from.

One yearns for the sea. One yearns for land.

For there and only there, could their sins and grudges be purged. To gain the most restful sleep before the hands of fate shape them anew from the element.

“Hmm,” you hum in acknowledgment.

Fingers gentle and slow as they brushed through his hair. You hum a lullaby to accompany each pass of the comb. Melodies that made his ears yearn for more, craving for more sounds to leave your plush lips.

His hair had always been an inconvenience, capricious strands that were seemly curious of everything in his environment.

Snowy tresses find themselves gravitating towards door hinges, door knobs, and even the minuscule gaps in ornate furniture.

However, your patience hands untangled those unruly stands.

When a knot proves to be particularly stubborn, you tend to lend closer to hone in on the troublesome tangle.

It just so happens that a stubborn knot appeared, causing you to decrease the proximity between your bodies.

The heat radiating from your frame sends delightful pickles along his skin, a delicate warmth making his flesh grow feverish.

A hunger deep within begins to grumble and wallow, a greed that wishes to dig past those frivolous fragrances to get to the true taste he craves.

An ugly gluttony pleading to delve into your soft flesh. Ah, he recognizes the cause of this turbulence now…

Neuvillette clears his throat.

“I believe I’m beginning to feel unwell, so please refrain from venturing into the cellar for the next few weeks. I should quarantine myself.” Too ashamed to turn back and face you.

“Oh?...” The comb stops.

At this distance, he was well aware of your scent. A fine fragrance no water or bloom could hope to imitate. Concealed under a layer of lavish soaps and oils dropped from the surface was an aroma that was wholly yours and yours alone.

A gloved hand reaches up to cover his nostrils, seeking some barrier between that tantalizing whiff.

“Please, excuse me…” He pulls away swiftly.

The sudden action must’ve jostled his hair too much, for the sultry sensation of your fingertips was felt along azure ‘strands’.

Just a minor touch against his horns, yet shudders rack up his nape. His teeth sink into the flesh of his bottom lip, sharper than they’re supposed to be, anchoring those ravenous voices at bay momentarily.

He needs to leave now. For your sake.

Rushed strides stow a distance between his body and that delectable warmth of yours. His back turned to you as he couldn’t bear to see the expression upon that saccharine face.

Just what expression were you making as a dragon retreated?

The cellar of this estate was always cold, its stones never having once touched the sunlight before, thus they only brood in their frigidity. A somberness fitting to quell a heat which yearned to burn.

The fever has consumed his body wholly, each pant leaving trails of foggy wisps. Neuvillette burrows deeper into the hoard of sheets, pillows, and blankets. The brush of the soft fabrics prickles his skin.

How strange it is that despite the fever of heat igniting each corner of his flesh, despite the numerous thick covers twisting and burying his bare form, he’s still shivering.

A chill ingrained so deep it’s in his very bones, skin alight but bones frozen over, just what is this purgatory?

Annually it happens, a period where primal instincts exude past the rigid confines of a mortal form. Making its influence in the resurgence of draconic features over the mortal flesh that traps him.

No matter how raw his true form claws to be released, the mortal prison doesn’t relent. A curse he’s brought upon himself.

Laceratations of gluttony and cardinal sin sink deeper with each provocation. The creeks of the floorboards above and the sweet voice which leaked through the woods, the morsels of you that stirred the waters of instinct.

From the depths of the torrent, he’s so desperately suppressing came the unquenchable thirst to lure you in. Beckon you down to this shadowy cellar so that the ugly and primal waters could swallow you wholly.

But he mustn’t. Those soft touches and smiles had just been bestowed upon him, the twine of trust still delicate. How could he ever squander such privileges? For those lovely eyes of yours to look at him filled with nothing but fear and disgust, he’d rather be chained down here for the rest of eternity.

He must endure it for a bit longer, he knows it’ll be over soon. The gale which sweeps through him is slowly lessening its blows.

Even if the waters of primitive instincts howled and stormed, Neuvillette refused to leave this tangle of blankets and pillows. An unwavering grip refusing to submit to those demands. Thus nature had to find its own way to subsist off a drought.

The heat hazed over his mind, conjuring up fantasies to appease the ever-unsettled water from its vapid reality.

“Neuvillette?” A soft voice calls out.

Just like now. Desire fogs up his senses to create a delusion, mimicking the way your warm voice beckons him. It’s nothing but a figment of his depraved lust.

“Neuvillette?”

He buries his ears further into the down covers to block the alluring mirages. Tickling him to submit to the temptation. But he mustn’t. Nothing more than a manifestation of lust.

The phantom donning your sweet voice calls out for him, and gentle touches send shivers through his nerves. Ah, he must vanquish this mirage before the fraying line of his self-restraint splinters apart.

Nothing but smoke and mirrors conjured by desire, a rigid arm expels out from the covers to dissipate the siren’s lure.

However, it wraps around something warm, a heat which his fever wails for. Intrinsically his shivering body covets that warmth, to be buried flush against the source so that this chill may finally stop its torment.

So like any greedy dragon, his claws enclose around temptation and drag it into his decrepit cave of blankets and sheets.

A satisfied purr judders through his stalwart body, a warmth which could finally reach his very bones. Thus, he burrows his face deeper into the shoulder of this phantom, a lovely aroma beckoning him to pull their soft body closer.

“Neuvillette?…”

His eyes snap open, realization flooding through him just as the chill that had been ingrained into his bones. This wasn’t an illusion. You weren’t an illusion.

He tears himself away, just as a moth does once they realize a hypnotic flame had set their wings alight. Trembly arms firmly planted on either side of your body, snowy locks falling onto your face.

“Are you alright?...” The sapphire luminance of his elongated horns shines across those sinless eyes.

The strap of a nightgown halfway down your shoulder from when he snatched you beneath his savage form.

“You… you shouldn’t be here,” he breathes, voice unsteady and taut.

“You’ve been away for an awfully long time… I-” Your eyes were blown wide and lips pressed together, aghast gaze not daring to glance down at the raging rigidness pressed against the silk of your nightgown.

Frenzied shivers of pleasure jostles through his veins, tremors racking his body all the way to the tips of his horns. In desperation his rigidnesses pleaded to feel you, throbbing so painfully a hiss leaves his lips.

“You need to leave, quickly please.” Leave before he traps you again.

Before this pathetic excuse of a sovereign loses against himself, before he makes a fool of himself. Neuvillette tries to pull away, against the weeping wishes of his erections. Face too ashamed to even look at you, but a pair of tender hands guides his cheeks back.

“...But I missed you…” You whisper.

Why are your hands embracing his face in this unsightly state? Are they not appalled by the patches of scales littered across them? Like a flame reaching out towards a moth.

“Leave, please.” Don’t tempt him like this.

“... Don’t you miss me?...” Your hold doesn’t budge.

Why do you look at him like that? Irises filled with warmth as his image is reflected in the flickering candlelight. Gazing wholly up at him. A cerulean glow tinting your hair and supple body.

“Don’t…” He reasons, the last of his sensibility crying a warning of a sinful fruit.

“Please, Neuvillette… won’t you hold me for just a bit? I missed you so much….” The shift of your shoulder causes the nightgown to slip further off your shoulder.

Don’t call out to him like that. No, not as your bewitching body was so close to his. The glow of a candle illuminating the curve of your cheeks, disheveled hair framing your wide eyes.

Don’t show him such a sight, for he’ll salivate to devour you until his teeth rot.

“Please?...” Coaxing his head down so that his forehead rests against yours.

Your warmth, your soft touches, and your delectable aroma, they parch his throat so much it pained him. Just as painful as attempting to swallow down sand from a hellish desert, it aches and lacerates his throat.

And here you were offering a lustrous fruit, so juicy and filled of sin, in front of his famished eyes. A cruel, cruel mercy.

“... May…May I?” It’s unbearable, this parchedness in his throat, would you be so kind to quench it?

Your sweet hum grants him permission. Eyes closed just as you turn a blind eye to his ravenousness, still stroking his tender cheeks. Neuvillette couldn’t deny himself any more of the warmth he’s coveted for oh so long.

Thus, he delves head-first into the glimmer of that enchanting flame. Burying his nose into the crook of your neck, so vulnerable and complacent, to hoard your bewitching fragrance all for himself. His skin flushed against yours as his bones delight in your heat.

The reigns of self-respect slip out from his hands as they let go in favor of running along your curves and edges. Each feature, your shoulders, and hips, aligns with details he’s long ingrained into his memory.

His fervor touches pushing down the silk fabric which dare disturb his worship. Nevuillette cants his head up momentarily, puffs of smothering breaths clouding the frosty air.

Lilac eyes drink up how the chilly air made your delectable breast perky, trailing down the goosebumps lining your torso, and landing on your exposed thighs.

A dryness itches in his throat as callused hands bite into the tender skin and he parts those placid legs away.

Oh, how could one ever take their eyes off that shiny, succulent fruit held out so openly in the hands of the tempter of all tempters?

They reveal to him the oasis he’d been hallucinating these grueling weeks. The tip of a serpentine tongue slips across his parched lips.

Since you so brazenly offered your body up to him, you wouldn’t have any objects against him finally getting a taste, right?

His foreboding figure traverses downwards until his delirious face is right between the cusp of his salvation and demise.

Dilated pupils peering up at you for approval, an invocation for clemency from this drought. A merciful hand graces his cheeks once more, granting him his salvation and demise.

His tongue escapes past his parched lips, as lengthy as it was insatiable, it licks a slow and passionate strip up your slit. A taste he once would only recount in the depths of his recollections.

Does this new body of yours still have the same weaknesses? Will you still writhe in madness if he sucks on that delectable little nub? Or how about those hidden points concealed deep within?

Could this tongue of his bring you past the brink of insanity in this life as well?

There was only one way for Neuvillette to grasp the answers he sought. A long tongue slips past the entrance of your satin walls, welcomed with a lewd squelch.

Grip parting your legs from his path further. Those quivering calls of ‘Neuvillette’and the pawing of your small hands against his head beckon him deeper.

Ah, redemption, it’s far too late for him now. For Nevillette has taken a bite out from that forbidden fruit, the evidence of it was dripping down his chin.

Ah, these slick velvety walls, he missed them. They clamp down with such ferocity along this beastly tongue, extensive enough to reach the deepest cavern of you.

A divine nectar begins to pool, Neuvillette retracts his tongue just enough for the heavenly taste to slide down his throat. Your sweet musk sends his olfactory system into chaos, rampant tongue returning to ravish you.

Not one drop of restraint left within him. It’s beastly how he’s devouring you. His tongue craves more of the delicacy he’s denied himself these past years, a thirst no water could quench. Wet muscles sliding up the whole length of your slit in a meticulous long lap, his nose bumping into your clit.

Your mewls and sobs echo off the walls when he flicks his tongue over that sensitive nub. Your body jolts violently as the length of his tongue ventures into the honeypot, toes curling in the air, but his iron-clad grip doesn’t allow any room for escape.

Delicate fingers now entangled into his tussled locks, grasping onto illuminated horns. You were likely trying to find something to ground your dissipating sanity, how unfortunate that your actions only flamed the fires.

A guttural growl echoed. Tongue now plunging further, slithering back and forth along your walls. For being such a sweet sacrifice for him, he’ll give a reward. Slithering tongue making sure to drag against that spot he’s memorized.

Judging from how your feet were arching off the sheets, it seems this sinful detail of yours was repeated as well.

Your body writhes, no longer docile under the white searing pleasure frying the ends of every nerve within your being. Unrelenting rhythm slipping in and out of your convulsing walls, your body twitching and flailing in reaction.

Trying to find some way to handle this surcharge of sensations. Legs instinctively wanting to shut together as if to cease this turbulent sensation, unfortunately, your pitiful strength gave no resistance against his rigid hold.

He could feel your muscles begin to seize up, slick walls clamping harder on his writhing tongue. Was this foreign sensation too much for you already?

His long tongue explores every last crevice, tastebuds lapping against those weak spots deep within as his nose bumps and grinds against that lewd clit. This unsightly side of you.

There’s more fervor in the lashes of his tongue, slurping up the nectar trickling out your greed, mixing with his spit dripping down his chin.

Your legs trashing but unable to go anywhere in his unrelenting hold, only able to pull on his silky locks for dear life as sobs tumble out. A flood of arousal adds to the mess on his chin. One he gladly laps up.

Oh’s and ah’s were the only choked sounds your lips could make as your eyes rolled to the back of your scrambled mind.

Neuvillette still relishing in the elixir he’s denied himself for too long, not even the purest water could compare. Reveling in the taste until every last drip ran down his parched throat.

Pulling away, a trail connects his lips with your quivering folds. Callous hands dig further into your legs, making room for his body. Watching as the movements of your chest slowed, his brute figure engulfed your frame.

The ache was unbearable now, each impatient throb reprimanding him for delaying their greed. Neuvillette couldn’t deny their request any longer.

Back sitting up straight, his cocks thrumming against his abdomen, precum exuding out from their swollen heads.

The cool air did little to calm the throbs of his fervors, the girthy shaft standing tall as its engorged tip weeped precum, its twin weeping just the same.

They hover over the softness of your belly, sharp pupils trail up the shadow they cast, heralding to where they crave to be buried.

The heat of his body was suffocating, the burn in his throat greater than ever before. But why? He had drank from that forbidden oasis, it’s dripping down his chin, yet why has his thirst grown greater than before?

Neuvillette was so… so close. If he had only endured it for another day or two, the gale within him would’ve relented and retreated away in defeat. But oh how viciously it’s gloating in its victory. Getting a dragon to bow his head to its cardinal blows.

“Do you… feel better now, Neuvillette?” Slow pants leave your curled lips as your hands reach up to caress his taut face.

This brazenness, this shamelessness, this insolence. Ah, these characteristics have followed you through the grave and into this life as well. You weren’t skilled enough this time around to hide your desire glazed across your pupils.

Did you do this in hopes of making him indebted to you? Offer your sweet body in return for stealing his name from his locked lips? Was this why you traversed down to this dark cellar so late in such flimsy silks?

That gleam in those deceptive eyes, the audacity to believe you could tame the sea with just a flick of your finger. You devious temptress.

“Better?… you’ve only fanned the flames, you devious woman.” A snarl from the depths of him.

Before another word could leave your lips one torrid hand pins your wrist to the sheets. Nails much too sharp to be human dig into those fickle and troublesome fabrics hiding your skin from his touch.

An all too satisfying rip resounding through the air along with your yelp. Scraps join the tangle of sheets.

Did his mortal prison deceive you too much? Did his mild mannerisms trick you into believing that he’s a merciful soul? Or did you always ignore the warnings?

A monster with a human face is still a monster. To believe that one’s patience is endless, only a human could be this impertinent.

His other vascular hand slides down the curves of your body, settling on your hip as your legs hook behind his firm thighs. The ridges of his lower cock drag against your slick folds, wetting his girth from its leaking tip sliding down against your swollen clit.

Precum mixes with the concoction as the glossiness spreads about his length. A pair of shaky breaths mingle as Neuvillette positions his engorged tip at your dripping entrance.

The sensation must’ve cleared the daze from your mind, your head cants downwards to stare at the two oddities.

“A-are both of them going to…” Your grip tightens on the sheets, a subconscious search for comfort.

Ah, now you remember danger. Now you realize your insolence to believe that a mere human could ever tame a proud dragon.

“There won’t be any point in breaking you so quickly,” he snarls. Not missing the flutter of your hole as the weeping head dragged over it. It wouldn’t be good to break you so quickly. His sweet little sacrifice.

Taking the erection which hung lower, he rubs its flushed tip along your slit. Each flinch and tremble sparked gratification through his veins.

The lashes of his tongue had aided in the preparation of these sinful walls, but the girth of his beastly tongue could not compare to the thickness pressed against these leaking folds.

The ghost of his breath flutters over your prickling skin. Neuvillette takes deeper breaths as the weight pressed against your core grew, the bulbous tip inching past the puckering entrance.

The stretch was maddening despite the restrained pace. Your walls fluctuate in a surging dance between clamping down and trying to remain relaxed.

As Neuvillette sinks his girth in bit by bit, its envious twin slithers against your aching clit. The sensitive bundle of nerves drags against each ridge and vein, sending jolts of searing pleasure through him and causing your satin walls to flutter.

A velvety sack kisses against your slick folds, signaling that his length has reached its end. The fat tip of its twin resting just above your naval indicated just how deeply he was buried, trapped between your soft flesh and his sculpted body.

It’s crowded inside you, girth parting and stretching these satin walls while the length is pressed against the deepest most intimate part of you.

Forcing delectable little whimpers and gasps from your haughty lips. Quivering legs now locking ankles behind his back, like a pitiable attempt to hamper him.

That arrogance disgraced to nothing but obscenity upon a wanton face. To see the devil so helpless and lewd under the manipulation of a dragon. What a wonderful sight.

Surely your body remembers his. If not, then he’ll ensure it does now, he’ll engrain it into you for the next life.

One cock slid against the satin ridges of your walls, the other indulging along your searing skin and grinding against your clit. He can’t deny how addictive your body always has been.

Dragging as far back as your locked legs would allow him, the flushed head of one dick kisses your twitching clit, and he sinks back in.

Grunts and purrs reverberate through his throat, teeth clenching as your heat engulfs him again. Reaching deeper into your welcoming core as your lips fall open.

His pace is methodical and controlled to his liking. Drawing out his cock inch by thick inch, sloppy trails of arousal caught on each ridge.

Each time making your core empty and yearning to clench around his girth. Just as a whine would leave your drooling lips, his hips would return to you what your core longed for.

Pushing each tantalizing inch to stroke your starved walls until his skin claps against yours with a wet kiss. Back and forth, back and forth the resounding slaps echoed. Mingling with his low groans and your pitched gasps, creating a sacrilegious yet divine hymn.

Your hand rakes deeper into his toned back possessed by desperation.

A few snowy strands are trapped between your writhing fingers. Pulling him closer to your smoldering skin, causing your clit to grind intensely against his swollen cock, as its twin twitches within your velvety folds.

Those babbles falling from your fed lips, were they pleas for him to bestow upon you leniency or begging him to speed up?

“Do you wish to climax?” A polite façade purrs into your ear.

Lilac eyes were not ignorant to how a devil keens under his body, her gaze drunk off a feverish potion of lust and desire. He could feel it, these velvet walls aching for more, for his girth to jostle your core more, to extinguish this all-consuming ache within you.

“That’s too bad.”

His hips remain steady contrasting against the unevenness of your own pants, unaffected by your desperate mewls. You’ve been selfish enough, you’ve been greedy enough. If he were to grant you a taste of ecstasy, then it’ll be on his terms.

He hasn’t gotten his fill yet, no, he wants to pound his shape forever into these lewd walls. The way they contract and squeeze around his girth with each drive of his hips, they’re practically begging him to.

Thus, he accelerates just a bit more, then a bit more, then a bit more again. Nearly folding you with how flushed he was against you.

The heavy scent of lust, the smothering heat, his unrelenting and unshakable thrusts amalgamating into a spark. One which set the both of you ablaze. Your nails digging into his skin and eyes reaching the back of your head. Sobs and incoherent prattles resound through the room.

Your devious walls clamped around his length with maddening convulsions, gummy muscles suckling to guide his throbbing head to your deepest greed. It was too much.

Neuvillette was powerless as his body pressed yours deeper into the damp sheets, trying to grasp onto any fleeting wisps of control as euphoria overtook him.

Sinking his ravenous teeth into the tangle of the sheets beside your neck, he stifles the admission of his defeat.

A heftiness is spilled within your walls and paints the expanse of your skin in an all-consuming wave. Thick release coating every corner of your core, to finally quell that ravaging heat.

Each subsequent twitch pours more into your crowded cavity and stains your skin. The filthiness of it all seemingly prolongs your sinful depravity.

Chest expanding with pants, pressing your erected nipples against his taut chest. Neuvillette remains buried against you, brutish arms holding your body flush against his.

As if to anchor you, to not allow the turbulent waves of madness to sweep you far from him, or him from you. Keeping your quiver body safe against his.

In the darkness behind his shut lashes, he felt it. Your soft caresses his silky tresses and heaving body. Even as your body heaves and quivers in exhaustion, why must you touch him so tenderly?

Why must you be so cruel? If your hands keep caressing his clammy skin, stroking his peeking scales, he’ll misunderstand.

He’ll believe the delusion that you love him.

Him and not the swaying flower fields of the sunkissed surface.

Whispers cut through the haze of lust and passion, warnings crying for Neuvillette to escape. So he pulls his face from the tangle of sheets, lungs huffing as his eyes find yours.

Exhaustion muddles the hues of your gaze, but not enough to completely smother that glimmer still present. Ah, he knows that that glimmer was.

Even in his heat-induced daze, he’s not naive enough to believe the sincerity presented in your eyes was anything other than duty.

He doesn’t want to be reminded that those hands, which cup his face with such tenderness, are bound by a sense of duty.

A reminder that he’s merely just a stepping stone on the path of your true desire.

He doesn’t want to see it.

The head of his cock parting with a deafening squelch. A darkened gaze follows the pool forming between your splayed legs. Disgruntlement muddles lilac hues.

But such discontent couldn’t last long when the twitch of a neglected length protests. Its bulbous tip longed for its turn within those sticky walls. A primal ordinance he couldn’t resist.

What to call this sensation, to scorn yet desire you just as much.

It wasn’t long before your hips were maneuvered up, your plush ass now up in the air as your quivering arms and face pressed into the sullied sheets.

As one hand supports your unsteady hips. Sharp eyes surveying the puffiness of your cunt, glistening with temptation and dripping with sin.

Hooked fingers slides up the weeping slit, collecting the sacrilegious mixture. Earning an addictive whimper from you when his digits pulled away. Spreading them in front of his gaze, tracing over the stringy nectar stretched between them.

How strange, those lying lips of yours whimper for ‘rest’ and a ‘moment to catch your breath’. Yet your body is still so eagerly exposing itself to his eyes, agape cunt so eagerly twitching and slick.

You don’t even try to writhe yourself away from his hold, not even a single attempt to hide yourself from his hunger.

How skilled you are at fanning the flames, perhaps it's a talent inherent to devils like you. The tempter of all tempters.

You’ve always been like this since the very first rendition.

If only you weren’t so strong-willed. If only you weren’t so clever to trick him. If only you weren’t so enchanting.

Then he wouldn’t have bent to your whims, the sea would’ve cleansed out the mortal filth from stolen land. Then he wouldn’t be trapped in this disgrace of a body. Then he wouldn’t be in love with you.

The betrayal, the disgrace, and this punishment would’ve never happened if only a fool didn’t surrender everything for a mere, fleeting creature.

Why must you make him repeat the same mistake again?

There it was again, that surging torrent within him making its voice known in the echoes of his mind. Whispering the hint on how a dragon would defeat the flame that had scorched him those years ago.

Smother the flame with the tides of depravity and vulgarity. Taint your arrogance with shame.

There wasn’t an ounce of gentleness remaining within his eyes, a beastly hunger taking its place.

Yes, you must pay the debt of reducing him to such a humiliating state.

His neglected cock prods against that greedy cunt of yours. Unmerciful hands bruising the plushness of your hips.

The sinful concoction from the previous sessions allowed his tormented length into your walls without resistance.

The neglected cock finally indulging in the spasms of your abused walls, it’s its turn to bully those weak spots with its thick head.

Sobs sung in broken chokes leave your drooling lips. Trembling fingers enmeshed into the fabric as if to find some ground for your senses to land after their fall from euphoria.

He won’t allow you reprieve. No, not even for a moment. He’ll shatter your sanity and arrogance once and for all.

Nothing interrupted the pistoning of his hips as he fucked you through overstimulation, heavy balls slamming against your swollen lips.

The previous twin cock was now experiencing the hard nub of your engorged clit running along its veins and ridges.

There’s no room for an exchange of words. No, the two of you have long been pasted that point.

No sandy ground beneath as the two of you sank under the ravenous tides of primal instincts and pleasure.

Cacophonous growls, whimpers, and sobs filling the absence along with the thwacks of skin against skin echoed back from the cellar walls.

You keen under the ram of his hips, jostled head writhing against the soiled sheets. The motion allows your hair to fall over your shoulders.

Exposing an untainted patch of skin. Sharp pupils watching how beads of sweat trailing down your nape reflect the azure glow of his body.

An itch assailing his fangs even has his hips continue their barrage against your soft ass. Those lovely vulgar moans wane out from his hearing as his senses could only obsess over the untarnished expanse.

Ah, what if there’s a way for him to pin you here until the stars themselves burn out? You were given to him as his bride.

An offering made to him.

So why can’t he forever confine you within his clutches? Just as you were the original sin which damned him to this cove.

Long tongue dragging along the fresh skin, feeling the jolts of your body.

He’s done it once before, he’s cursed you before. Imprinting a curse upon your very soul, one which followed you through the hands of death and even when the hands of life reformed your body from the earth.

Why not renew it?

Neuvillette pins your upper body further into the tangled bedding, one hand abandoning your hips in favor of raveling in the mess of fabric.

Your heated skin felt against his exhilarated fangs, hungry to sink into your nape.

‘Till death do us part’, that’s not enough.

Such fleeting mortal oaths are much too meek for dragons.

No, those atrocious murmurs in his thoughts command him to curse you in the next life. And the next one, and the one after that as well.

It’s not like your muddled head would understand, nothing but mindless prattles and mewls from the suffocating pleasure only he could ever give you.

But that’s fine, just drown nicely in lust and desire. He’ll always be waiting there at the bottom to drag you down deeper.

Just as the tips of his pointed teeth broke through quivering skin, delicate fingers grasp upon a burly hand.

Intertwining their grasp together upon rumpled linen, a subconscious search for comfort.

An action that remits an iota of reason back to his foggy mind, hazy eyes moving toward the sight of your hand clutched around his.

Even as he’s ravishing your weeping walls, flooding your body with his filthy essence which trickles down your thighs and ass, and chasing his own carnal needs… you still reach for him.

Shamelessly pulling his touch closer, even when the throes of rapture banished all thought from your jostled mind.

A whisper resurfaces amidst the fog and clamor of instinct and rage.

However, it’s a whisper which made his incisors dare not budge another inch. The inkling of truth which he thought he had silenced within the depths of his heart.

The accuracy that this wasn’t love. No, what his instincts craved was not love, it was obsession.

For love was not this sadistic possession, not to curse you just to ease his own damnation.

No, love is supposed to be much like the warmth of your palm flushed against his knuckles.

He remembers now, the lesson you taught him all those years ago. A demonstration witnessed with his own eyes.

Love was sacrifice, just as how you offered yourself to the tides, quelling the rage of a vengeful dragon. Because you loved your village too much to allow them to drown.

Retreating away from the transgression almost committed, fangs repressed behind closed lips. Neuvillette presses a sweet kiss against the shallow wound.

To love you isn’t to steal you away from the embrace of the star who’s forsaken him. It’s to hoist you up to that beloved sunlight. Just where you belonged.

Oh, how could he not love you?

The bride offered to a dragon in a white dress who once dared to command the great beast to stand still as she braided flowers into his hair.

A brazenness contrasted with the gentleness of her smile.

The voices of heart and cruelty rang out in vociferous battle in his mind, Neuvillette buries his face into your shoulder. Pursuing the savor of your skin, pinning you deeper into the tangle of bedding.

Providing more simulation for the pulsing cock wedged against your swollen clit and messy sheets. The neediness of his movements exposed just how close his undoing was.

The hand on your abdomen pulled you impossibly close, adding pressure to the bulging outline of his cock.

Amplifying the ecstasy coursing through your veins, abused walls clamping down on each ridge and each vein of his heft girth. The shape engrained into your wanton core, marvelous sobs and mewls echoing off the empty walls.

Soon those moans become shattered in your throat, eyes rolling back further with each heavy thrust and slap of his balls. Lungs cease all function as rapture unravels you wholly and exhilaration becomes your undoing.

Sloppy contractions mix the repercussions of multitudinous ruination, dripping out your convulsing cunt. Just before a hot surge replenishes the brood that oozed out on the sullied sheets.

Grunts vibrate against your back reminding your body to breathe.

Thick ropes paint your belly and sheets, making an absolute mess. Contracting walls trying but failing to contain the aftershocks from his cock buried deep within, already stretched to their limits, capacity long exceeded. Shudders rack your body and his the same.

With hands still entangled, he coaxes your body around. Granting him a mesmerizing view of your debauched face.

The face he’s so enamored with that he bows his down closer, bodies still connected as he wishes to echt every last detail of you into his being. So that eternity may remember you.

Softness resurfaces in his bones, a tender kiss pressed upon your fingers. Soothing those tremors as he guides your consciousness back to reality.

He holds you, remaining inside as to contain his greed spilled deep inside. The heftiness of his cock prods against your shuddering walls. Every last fiber of your being overstimulated with pulsing pleasure.

Yet, your hand refused to let go. Still holding him toward your exhausted figure in the dying light of the candle.

Whimpers and coos exchanging in a duet of devotion, a hymn so placate it quells the vapid torrents ever so slightly.

Placid fingers drawing circles into your sore back. A gentle lilac gaze keeping watch as your teary eyes retire behind heavy lashes.

Blood and water no matter how much they’re mixed, won’t produce wine.

However, just for tonight in a realm heavy with lust, passion, and phantasm, they’ll craft a wine of delusion. One filled with nothing but wishful fantasy.

This wine of delusion shall be enough to quench the thirst of lascivious compulsions and vengeance.

The gentle caresses of steam ghost past your leaden lashes, lukewarm ripples lap against your skin. Your sore body propped up against the porcelain, as Neuvillette drags a dampened towel along your skin.

A pang of guilt stung him each time the cloth passed over a discolored imprint. No amount of diligent rubs would purify your skin of those bruises in the shape of his fingers.

A stir from muscle gradually awakening from slumber reflected in the wavelets of the bath. The sensation of a damp towel must’ve further jolted your senses back to alertness.

A cerulean glow glistens off the polished surface as your vision finally centers on the figure rising warm water over your limp body.

Attentive eyes immediately connect with yours as he scans your expression for discomfort.

“Are you hurting anywhere?” Neuvillette halts the towel.

You respond with a slow shake, your throat must be too sore to answer. Despite how he tries to conceal them behind a robe, blotches of azure painted along his fair skin.

Proof that draconic influence was still in rebellion of his body. All the while he’s very much aware of your eye’s every move. What an appalling sight it must be for you.

“If I make you uncomfortable I’ll leave promptly, this was just the only solution I could find to bathe-”

“It’s fine, I don’t mind.” Voice hoarse as your frame melts closer to his, delicate fingers intertwining with between the spaces of his own scaly fingers.

Allowing your breaths to minge in tandem in the steam-damped tiles of the tranquil bathroom.

“Does it hurt?” A warm thumb traces soft circles along the rough scales along his hand.

Did you catch the subtle twitches and jolts of his muscles? A mortal body rejecting draconic influences, draconic influences revolting against a mortal cage. Still, he shakes his head. Lilac gaze watching your eyes trail between the scales and his eyes with skepticism.

“I’m not quite sure as to why I’m still in this… state.” Neuvillette gives a preemptive answer to the question he assumes to be hanging off your tongue.

“Do you… miss the sea?” However, it seems you had another inquiry hidden in your ever perplexing mind.

A deep sigh resonates through the tranquil air. He stares at the tips of his fingers dipped into the warm water, a taunting substitute for the sea that called for him.

“I suppose it’s natural that I yearn for it…”

A hum was your only response, eyes hidden behind closed lashes. Neuvillette just couldn’t decipher that smile of yours, curled lips reflected over the rippling surface of the steaming water.

--------------------------------------------------------------

“Your body is still delicate, please let us return back to the estate-”

“I might actually grow roots into that bed if I’m to rest there any longer.” A pout was evident in your voice.

Taking a few greater strides, your body pulls in front of Neuvillette’s pace. It was only momentary of course, for he swiftly rejoins your side.

Observant eyes not missing the subtle wobble in your steps along the pastures of the village.

“Please just don’t stray too far.” He relents, offering up his arm for support.

With a gracious smile, your arm curls around his, interlocking your fingers with his as two pairs of steps ambled along the grass.

Soon a familiar pool of water came into view, enticing two pairs of eyes with its glimmering ripples.

What it strange sight those waters showed, a cursed dragon who yearned for his place and a cursed mortal who longed for the sun, two cursed beings holding hands in the reflection along the pristine surface.

“I believe this is far enough. ” His arm pulls your frame closer, a subtle hesitance tainting his tone.

However, your body didn’t budge. Resolute stance not moving even one bit watching your reflection warp and contort in the water. A deep breath echoes off the wall.

“Neuvillette… do you miss the sea?” Your stare parts with the water, now peering straight into his lilac hues.

‘Do you miss the sea?’ You’ve asked him this question many times. He's always given a composite response, but maybe his flowery words diluted the meaning too much to your ears.

“Yes, I do miss the sea.” His candid yearning.

There was a question his lips didn’t dare ask, ‘Do you miss the sun?’, Neuvillette wanted to riposte your questions with this question of his.

But he knew it would be pointless, for he already knew the answer. Wordlessly written all over your melancholic stare into the pond, the longing to return to the sun, to be with blood and not water.

To love you, would be to hoist you up to where you longed to be, in the embrace of the warm sun. Neuvillette had thought he made up his resolve long ago.

However, would it be too selfish of him to wish to turn back?

To convince you to back into the tranquil estate where the Melusines await your return with those dishes you taught them how to cook.

Or maybe would at least try on those gowns still untouched? Could you wait until all those books in the library were read through by your sweet voice?

Would you be oh so kind enough to hold his hand just for a moment longer? At the very least, would you allow him to memorize your warmth?

His grip on your hands tightens ever so briefly, a shaky breath trembles in his chest before he releases it along with the tension in his fingers.

No, it wouldn’t be fair to stall any longer, you deserve your happy ending.

Calmly, the dragon bows his head closer to yours. Ignoring the aggrieved voices that cried for him to swallow back to secret just about to spill from his tongue.

The ending of this tale won’t ever change, for a dragon is just as foolish as he was before.

“My true name is-!” His voice was stunned as a pair of soft lips silenced him.

Your lips pressed against his own, forcing back the secret. His bewildered eyes hone in upon your face, but your lashes were shut as your hands pull his face closer. The resolve wanes from his bones as he sinks into your embrace.

As your lips pull away, gasping for breath. He places his hands atop yours, searching your face for an answer. All he got was that indecipherable smile.

Pulling his face down closer to yours again, your lips find themselves right next to his pointed ears. Under a faint breath which left your parted lips came the secret he kept locked away.

Since when? When did you find his name? Or… did you know this whole time?

Neuvillette reels back in the embrace of your cruel hands. Lilac eyes stare deep into yours, peering through the cracks in that enchanting façade of yours.

Ah, this whole time, did he not discover the false innocence in the irises of the deceptor of all deceptors?

A foolish moth fell for the deception of a devil once again, flying to the flicker of a candle until his wings were charred off into ash.

Those sentences written upon parchment weren’t lies, all other monsters fall secondary to the devil. Even a dragon.

“Why?” Was all he could muster, oh cruel devil why did you play him a fool once more?

“Because I wanted to see you again… but I knew you wouldn’t quite share the same sentiment since the moment I heard your voice… so I lied,” Those audacious eyes of yours never looked away.

Ah, how could he forget how crafty and observant a devil is with her schemes? The charming enchantment as she performs her deceptions. Speaking shameless lies with those bewitching lips.

“If you wanted to see me… then that day at the loch… why weren’t you there?” The stir of the torrent within put a snarl into his throat.

Why must you keep lying to him?

Ah, from the start, Neuvillette should’ve listened to the clamorous cries of his instincts. To withdraw away from the flame, to extinguish the hell fires before they left another lesson learned upon his skin.

Yet, he’s still within the embrace of your cruel hands. His body just wouldn’t pull away.

Just what is this level of stupidity called? For a moth to still crave the warmth of the flame which charred its wings into ash. Just what is this lunacy called?

“The nobles locked me away after those tyrants stole your name from my tongue, they locked me away.” Torment brewing in those irises which reflected him.

A chill staggers the surge of the torrent, an icy sting which stupefied the rampaging currents.

For generations upon generations of scribes and poets never penned this detail down in any rendition of a classically beloved tale.

“I begged them, I banged against the bars of the cell, even clawed at the stone walls until my fingers were raw, but they left me there to rot in the cold… I just wanted to see you one last time, just once more.” Those bitter pools formed in your penitent eyes spill over.

This wasn’t how the tale was supposed to end. The maiden, who deceived a dragon for her people, was supposed to be hailed a hero. You were supposed to have a happy ending, so why didn't you get that?

“All I ever wanted was for you and me to walk amongst humanity… look where that got us…” Tears descend from your cheeks and onto the grass below, a humorless chuckle.

Was this another lie falling from those saccharine lips of yours? Sugar dusted on the shell of a vile trick? Neuvillette wasn’t sure anymore.

“That foolish wish of mine… it must’ve been so painful. I’m so sorry.” Your thumb traces over the scales dotted over his cheek, evidence of a draconic rebellion against a mortal condemnation.

Does your touch scorn or soothe him? Neuvillette wasn’t sure anymore.

“I’m sorry. I’ll say sorry one thousand times if you wish.” A tremor in your voice.

The surge within him couldn’t sustain itself, faltering and receding back to a placid, pathetic ripple. Perhaps… It's tired.

Tired of holding onto this futile grudge. Not when the bitter answers its tides were ravenous for had finally sunk in.

He takes a deep breath, collecting his resolve.

“...what… what do you wish for?” Just how will this rendition end? Neuvillette doesn’t know.

But he knows his hands should hold onto yours, desperately etching the details of your tender touch into its memory. Rations to sustain him for the rest of a solitary eternity.

He hears your slow inhale, preparing your throat to speak your selfish desires.

“I wish for your curses to become mine alone to bear.” You reveal your selfish wish, pressing the voucher of freedom into his hands.

He had that look on his face again. Disbelief stupefied each muscle of his dashing face, wide eyes peering into yours trying to find the hint of a jest. Your gaze doesn’t waiver as your finger tightens around his.

“Grant me my wish… please.” Lips stretching with a reassuring smile.

His lips press into a thin line, face returning to its place between your warm hands, he takes a deep breath. Perhaps it’s just his sense of responsibility and fairness that compelled him to fulfill this wish.

Or maybe, the dragon just couldn’t help but submit to the whims of his beloved, a statement that remained no matter what rendition of the tale it was.

Releasing the breath he held, the shift in the air was palpable, a lightness in his chest. The pond off to the side billows momentarily, drawing focus toward its excited ripples.

Releasing his hold, feet leading him to the side of the saltwater before his mind could process his own actions.

He could hear it again, the hymns of the water singing the end of his exile. Reaching out a hand, it sinks past the cool surface, the tides welcoming back their prince with mellow kisses.

The ocean calls for him, so why is he still staring back at you? The one who’ll never embrace the sea again for the rest of her life, nor ever feel the sway of Summer days in a field full of Pluie Lotus. His eyes conveyed a question his lips couldn’t bear to ask. Thus, you give the answer he seeks.

“Think of it as my reparations to you, an overdue apology for my mistake, for making you to suffer so much.” That glimmer in your eyes, one he understands now.

Moving the hex to a body whose true master was the mistress of time, a body blessed with mortality. If a miracle isn’t enough to make a curse break, then perhaps the tides of time could.

Taking a piece of the curse with each tick of a clock, just like how the waves take with it grains of sand from warm beaches.

Once a withered mortal body is called back to the earth, the clauses will be fulfilled after many centuries. Unsettled grudges eroded away like those sandy banks.

Until the pull of the ground makes its visible influence on your skin. Until your locks come to resemble the snowy shade you’ve lovingly run your fingers through. Until the sweet earth hums for you to embrace it once more, you shall remain here.

What a clever scheme it all is, a masterful plan which could only ever be conjured by you. You devil, oh so devious, devil.

“You can hate me, I won't hold it against you,” you whisper. “May this tale end in your happiness, let me do this much for you.”

A bitter bile festers at those lies of yours. How could such lies fall from your lips so easily when they always left such a vile taste upon his tongue?

Gaze honed in upon your frame, watching the gentle smile hold back the slight quiver of your shoulders. He stands back up, slow strides returning him to your side. Taking your hands into his larger ones, placing your soft touch back along his cheeks.

“Silence… I won’t hear such deceit.” Snowy locks brushing against your fingertips.

“But I wasn’t lying…” Confusion furrows your brow, but your hands remain cupping his face.

Moving away, he studies the rivulets of regret and anguish that leave bitter trails down your cheeks. He swallows back the objections clawing up his throat, such vile words don’t belong on your tongue.

“How could I hate you?” he confesses.

Neuvillette has finally come to a realization. All those renditions, all those differing retellings of a classic tale. He had read them all wrong, basis clouding his interpretation.

For the princess did love her dragon. Just as he loved her, all this time.

Together in the depths of a cave away from the prying eyes of the divine. Breaths in time with one another as they stand in the embrace of one another, until the dragon bows his head back down.

Touching his forehead to hers, so that maybe Neuvillette could get a glimpse into that ever mystical mind of yours.

“How can I ever hate what I’ve coveted for so long?” He asks.

That ever-stirring torrent, that spiteful surge, where did it go? Those clamorous voices with their vengeful snarls and cynical bellows, why weren’t they intrepid enough to direct those foul words toward you?

Not you, never you. How could they ever hate you, the heroine of a Fontainian fairytale they’ve pitifully yearned for so long?

“Am… am I loved then?” Your lashes were squeezed shut as if death was rapping upon them. Too cowardly to face the verdict.

“Yes… yes, you devious devil…” Neuvillette couldn’t help but chuckle at such an endearing sight.

He feels your fingers tense around his skin, astonishment in the features of your face. It soon melts away into those welling pools as a smile pushes against the corners of your eyes.

Pressing your forehead to his, a warm droplet rolls down your cheek and over the curve of your lips. He simply rests his head against yours.

Only now in the last sentence of this retelling of a tale which has been twisted, distorted, and embellished away from the initial narrative did an unwritten truth emerge.

A clever maiden was just as foolish as a proud dragon. The weight of their foolishness was so great it dragged them beneath the waves and kept them in a cove deep away from the prying eyes of gods.

However, if this idiotic dragon could intertwine his fingers with yours. If he could be by your side until the hands of time call you back to the earth in this final rendition.

If he could be the happy ending you deserved, then he wouldn’t mind in the slightest.

Fin~

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edensrose · 18 days ago

Text

˖ 𑣲 The Dragon's Flower ✧ Sweet Sin

˚₊‧꒰ა dragon.ᐟ satoru gojo ﾉ sacrfice.ᐟ reader ໒꒱ ‧₊˚ after deciding to stay with the supposed “heartless dragon” & learn his ways of magic, you find yourself growing fond of him. as you both grew closer, it's only natural that you'd notice him avoiding you one week. you venture to his room in concern one day, and find him in a peculiar position . . . ꒰ ᡣ𐭩 ꒱ monster romance ˖ dragon heat ˖ conflicted toru ˖ handjob ˖ ovipósition mention ˖ kinda angsty end ˖ 2.9k ˖ the dragon's flower masterlist

໒꒱ ‧₊˚ eden , ain't none of you prepped. link in the fic is to help visualise the dick ( shape not colour ) ⌇ art cred : myuchiisu

Cool tones painted the mountaintop. Azure streams and rivers, the pale, sometimes murky sky. White orchids and lotus flowers that waved in serene breezes to clouds kissing the the citadel. A world of blue and white, much like its master — mow, all washed into something warmer, fiery.

Red faced, bathed in the auburn glow of candles and cloaked in sandalwood incense. Even his eyes, while the same bright blue, peered like two coals from beneath heavy white lashes. Smouldering, crackling, were dragons not susceptible to fire?

"Satoru." All formality drained the second you spotted his shaky form on the futon. White haori nowhere in sight and his dark, unbuttoned kimono pooling around his waist. That scaly heap slumped over his lower half must be his tail. Had it grown larger or was that the dimness?

His strained pants would have anyone believing he flew around the mountain ten times and over. With the shaky limbs and beads of sweat caught in the candle flickers, you wouldn't be too surprised.

Something rumbled. His voice? Deep, grave and as murky as the waters that brought you here.

"You need to leave."

Shivers pricked your spine. You might have mistook it for the first time you saw him if fear bloomed with it. Fear, how could you? Even with his jaw tight, scales littering him like the white-jade and those slitted eyes cloudier than the mountain's midnight haze, he was still Satoru.

Your body still drew to him. "Are you alright?" Your knees met the futon and he grunted with a shift. You followed, but irritation caught on your legs halted you. Claw marks etched in cotton with glistening sharpness coiled beneath fists as the culprit. Are those longer too?

As a woman raised in a superstitious village who wailed when someone cut their nails at night or flinched when combs broke, you should have known better. But instead of alarm bells, all you heard were wind chimes.

Because this was Satoru. The man who tickled instead of clawed, laughed instead of bit, protected the valley when villagers claimed he had a taste for hearts. Not a monster.

"Sweet girl," he called in a quake. "I'm fine, promise." You've seen enough of his smiles to know when they're fake. "Please, just. . . you need to leave, sweet girl." The name repeated, it eased him more than the cold springs.

"Like hell . . . are you sick? Can dragons even get sick?" He'd fall off the futon if he tried to escape, so you advantageously shifted nearer. With closer inspection you spotted gills in lithe, blue patterns from below his ears to just before his jawbone. Scales shimmered on full display all over his lower neck, collarbone and down his chest. Another glimmer belonged to a pair of tiny, teardrop-shaped. . . pearls? engraved above his navel.

Realisation snapped your venturing gaze back up. Your hand flushed against his forehead to mask your embarrassment. His tensing became your distraction.

"You're burning up . . ."

"No shit, sweetheart."

Iridescent claws displayed as he raised to your hand with a groan. But he didn't dare touch. As if only a graze of your skin would burn him like dark magic. Dark . . .

You quirked, "did you get spelled by miasma?" With the same exuberance of a student that recalled the technique seconds from peril. A dragon's weakness to dark magic rushed to your mind, courtesy of all Satoru had taught you.

Alas, he shook his head with another groan. You slumped your shoulders and pouted. "Please, I'm too old for that. Said that was for younger dragons, remember?"

"Well excuse me, old man."

At least that earned a laugh but your face remained. too concerned with every heave of his chest and stuttered breath, not to mention that his gaze kept running from yours. What, were you fire now? "Tell me what's going on," you urged and carefully traced your fingers along the side of his neck. He flinched. Perhaps your touch was a flame.

"Satoru —"

"Fuck, I'm serious."

Her jerked back. You halted, but not because he denied your touch for once. Low and dreary, the rumbled growl belonged to the night and yet . . . you still drew closer.

Stubborn as always. Like the incense, his gaze wavered, to and fro. Peeking, hiding. From himself or something you couldn't decipher?

Your eyes followed the quick drop of his hand and beat him to it. Prodding up into the fabric of his kimono, a tent awaited. As a village girl spoonfed the importance of chastity, you should have flinched at the sight. But while you knew purity's name, she didn't know yours.

Whose face was brighter? Maybe his with that infuriatingly smooth pale skin and snowy hair that almost left him glowing even in the candlelight. In all your months staying here, not once had red paint his face more vibrant than his stupid grins ever did. Nor did he ever attempt to hide or stutter.

"Are you happy now? Go, I can't have you here."

Can't. Not won't. Not I don't want. You pressed your lips together.

"Could you tell me what's going on?"

"Stubborn girl," even his growl laced with affection. He snapped you a sharp look and huffed heavily. "I'm in heat. Rut. Whatever you humans call it. And right now, you cannot be here."

He always prided himself on teaching you about the mystics hidden in this world, but your curiosity would be the death of him. Only seconds after discovering he was erect, you still had questions. Is that why they sacrificed you? — no, that's mean. Why they sacrificed you and why he couldn't have you in his room right now were the same reason. Not with your image in his mind . . .

"Satoru." Not when you said his name like that. Not when every syllable whispered a sin he wasn't willing to commit.

"Let me help."

You were definitely sacrificed for more than just your pretty face.

You'd think you had stolen his tide jewels with the glare he shot you, but even that was pathetic. If you asked prettily enough he'd pluck them from his flesh and press them into your palm with a kiss to each knuckle.

Satoru realised something frightful in your near-year on the mountaintop. To pry his eyes from a lotus flower such as yourself, or deny her, were impossible feats — and right now? Only his mind rejected the offer. Barely.

"Absolutely not." He sat up, miscalculating how he'd flush up into you as a result. At last he touched you, his large palm knocked clumsily on your shoulder. "Are you crazy? Aren't you a village girl? Haven't they taught you better?"

"Thought me pulling a knife on you back then should have answered that question."

"You're not a human, you're a siren."

"Thought those didn't affect you?" Neither should your hand that brushed on his wrist and your body that swayed closer to him, like tides kissing the shores when his kimono caressed your yukata. Sirens didn't affect him, and yet your voice masked in the song of one did.

Your boldness knew no bounds. Instead of blades aimed for his eyes, your hands trace a tender path down to his chest. Your fiery palms flattened against heated skin, he gasped.

A divine being. One of wisdom, strength, restraint, but you weaved all that away with only your pretty fingers, effortlessly. Fate? Maybe you were destined for him, perhaps as a punishment. For no matter how much his palms itched to touch your smooth skin, you were a lotus flower he swore to view from afar.

"I can't."

"You won't?"

"I can't."

Satoru caught your hand in sync with a breath lodged in his throat. He couldn't stop the other — no, he wouldn't. Not when it caressed his thigh and made him mouth forgiveness prayers to the gods. Wasn't he a god? You touched him like a devotee.

He tried. Tried to will away. Tried to focus on anything but your fingers tracing circles on his inner thigh. Calming him as if he were the inexperienced —

"Aren't you a virgin?" He quivered.

"How polite." You smiled.

If he had manners to begin with he might have apologised. "I'm serious. Don't they send 'village girls of purity' or something like that?" Every second word caught with a heave. You hand weighed as an anchor than a petal. Guilt pooled in his gut, but desire clawed at it.

"You shouldn't - fuck." Restraint drained and his claws shot out for you when your palm stroked over his bulge. He grappled onto dignity last minute and caught the futon in the crossfire. Four more streaks torn into the cotton. Couldn't it be your yukata instead? No —

"This," he gulped. "This is wrong. Not like this."

"And what if it's my decision?"

"Then it's a stupid one." Your lips inched closer, his pressed to your knuckles instead. Your hand shook in his hold but he still held tight. His lifeline. His ruin. "I'm a mythical beast." Not with the way he whimpered. "A creature. . ."

"No." If dragons didn't need air, why did all leave his lungs when you slipped past his kimono? The belt pulled with the last bit of his dignity. Your hand ghosted flesh you knew not of. "You're just Satoru."

He avoided your lips so you kissed his jaw instead. When your soft words tensed all his muscles, you glanced down. Far from human. Divine. Never had you seen a man bare before, but you knew no mere man could compare to this.

Pale, like the rest of him, and tall too - his dick sprung from the confines. While fleshy, the ridges were pronounced. Two in particular, on either side, extended from his base and flowed with the double-curve of his length. Once at the middle and another before his tip. Girthy, with smaller ridges along the underside. The head's thickness matched the rest of him with several other ridges that had you biting on your lip. Slick, pearly beads circled his throbbing tip. One slowly tricked down the underside, emphasising the swell of his cockhead. Whether natural or erect-induced, you're uncertain, but you gulped.

To big. Especially for you. But, ever as ambitious, your fingers traced over the underside's ladder of ridges. Another gasp. His gaze fluctuated between your face overly curious hand.

He tried again, pitifully. "You shouldn't . . ."

You smiled, impishly. "Then stop me."

A challenge. A promise. You'd stop if he made you — but how could he when he felt that his fingers wrapped around his girth barely touched? How could he even dream of trying to keep your chastity when you so willingly proved you never had any of it to begin with?

Inexperienced nowhere in sight. Your stuttered pumping laced with a confidence for his pleasure drove him wild.

The rumble returned in heavy groans and his hold tightened. Every fibre of him failed to keep his cock from twitching in your delicate hand. You had long-since watered down his restraint. Even gentle tides wore-out rocky shores.

No twitches, he throbbed. Not only did he groan - he moaned, unabashed, ashamed, but still desperate for your gaze from beneath his feathery, fluttering lashes.

You broke the stare to admire him. Even when his cock trembled in your hand, it was dainty by comparison. The strokes aimed from the middle to his tip, until you grew fluid and lengthened your pumps. Induced by the sticky mess from his pronounced cockslit.

Satoru's head flicked back. Gods, were you really a virgin? Was he a centuries-old being? He melted into your silken hand like sea foam. Your name a prayer on his lips.

"Sweetheart," he breathed - whined, when you stuttered around his tip. "I'm . . . committing something long since forbidden."

An apology, but not to you. Something greater, sacred, and still — he fell into the sin of your thumb circling on his tip. Bringing pleasure and ruin in a devastating, blissful gift to his body. So pent-up, so untouched. Heats were spent with his own palm and sometimes a pillow, but never the touch of another.

Careful, you might make him addicted — your lips kissed along his slit. He gasped. Scratch that, he already was.

"So sensitive . . ." Susceptible to fire or not, one lit in his gut as you crooned. He pushed his palm behind your head and cupped your neck. Claws a threat, but never a promise. Reverently, they traced your skin in-tune with your tongue swirling sinful circles, smearing his slick.

Your first time be damned. What's with the audacity?

"Who knew you were such a brat." His grip tightened, you had the nerve to laugh. A challenge clung to your lashes when your pretty eyes flashed up. What could he do with the way he throbbed?

"This brat's making you feel soo good though, right Satoru?"

"You— fucckk."

His neck grip paled to your squeeze on his cock. His jaw slacked with every quickened, pressured pump. Every tantalising kiss spelling out his ruin in slick smooches. Pre-cum bubbled, hot, and you swiped it away with your hotter tongue. Burns flooded his veins, and you only fanned the flames. His groans outweighed your slurps, your scent outmatched the incense.

How he wished to shut you up with his tip kissing the back of your throat. See how much you have to say with your lips strained round his girth. No challenges in your eyes, only tears. You'd be the one ruined.

He bucked at the thought. The image danced across his vision but his self control together with his building orgasm cut the music. His base thrummed and you caught the rhythm. Your hand quickened, tongue lapping as if searching for liquid gold. Kitten licks turned to bold strokes, and then - oh devastating you - your mouth clung to his tip's underside in harsh sucks.

Not a groan, not a moan, but a quivered, depraved whimper. White hair tousled over his eyes fluttered to the ceiling. Hips chased in a sloppy cadence. His gut coils, as did his tail. Heavy and tight around your waist, but you ignored the warning.

"Damn - wait I —" Every muscle betrayed him. He should pull you off. Save your dignity. "Waaitt, sweet girl - ah - I'm gonna -" maybe he could manage.

"C'mon toru, please?"

Not with that whine. One last throb burst into heat. His swollen cockslit spilled with thick, creamy ropes streaming iridescence. You watched a swollen bulb rush up to his head, then disappearing as it slowly sank to the base. His body jerked together with his head. Laid open for you as the image of sin with his saviour between his legs. A young village girl, her hand stained in his pearly cum and her tongue so diligently lapping away at his endless mess.

"Shit - sweetheart," another whimper, deeper than his eyes turned into murky pools. Yet it was he who drowned. Flailing so helplessly with your sweet, slithery hand slowing pumps as the lifeline.

He grabbed it. Your wrist dwarfed as he yanked you into a topple over him. Any restraint melts with his orgasm as he braced large hands over the swell of your ass. Slot between your legs and grinding feral bucks, he caught your body in sensual sways.

You gasped and limped into him, fisting on his kimono. Why not his back? Oh the fantasy of you struggling to hold on while he fucked you into the futon. Thighs split, sweet cunt stretched — fuck, would you squeeze him tighter than your hand did? How would you feel struggling to take his cum? Straining around his eggs —

Dignity knocked the thought out the second his claws bit your yukata's hem. Only flimsy fabric kept him from your body he's been dreaming of for months, but now it felt like an iron cloak. Sacred to his filthy hands.

His touched jerked away as if scalded and your hazy eyes raised. Cock still throbbing between your legs. Your slick awaited, calling.

Yet he only stared. Frozen from the depths to which his mind crawled. Two seconds from throwing you into the futon. Teaching you why you should stay away from beasts, and now, he truly felt like a monster. Instead of cum on your palm, it's scarlet, instead of heated pants, it's nerves.

What had he done?

"Satoru?"

Not that voice. It broke him once. He won't fall for it again. Not those hands reaching for his face — not a fool, not this time.

In the blink of the eye, like the turn of the tides, his weight disappears beneath you. Your knees hit the futon and you gasped. Your gaze shot around the room in a frantic search but only blue smoke dissipating into the air caught your attention.

Distant, cold. Birthed from the heat of passion, came anything but in the following week. For the first and second day, Satoru had vanished. Around the third, thank heavens white and blue captured your heart before anxiety did.

You hoped he'd speak with you. Surprisingly, your attempts bore sweet fruit. He held conversation as he always did. Spoke like nothing happened.

But that was the issue. Because something did happen, and he refused to acknowledge it.

At first you took it as embarrassment, but as the days droned on, the distance between you both was as clear as the frost creeping onto citadel's wooden pavilions. Icy, lonesome. Your fate? Would the warmth of that blissful night be your last here at the mountain?

Until he called you into his office and you held hope in your hands like seeds ready to sow a new chapter. A new —

"Don't try to stab me again when I say this," Satoru turned from the wind chime, a familiar scroll in hand. Your eyes widened. His were lost. Even in his attempt to joke.

"But maybe . . . it'd be better if you were away from the mountaintop. Away from me."

#. ۫ ۶ৎ . 𝒃𝒆𝒓𝒓𝒊𝒆𝒔 '𝒏 𝒄𝒓𝒆𝒂𝒎 ﹕ satoru gojo ꒱ . ˚◞✧#gojo x reader #gojo satoru x reader #jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen x reader #gojo fluff #gojo x you #gojo satoru x you #dragon!satoru #dragon!gojo #the dragon's flower

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vividxpages · 10 months ago

Text

༉‧₊˚🕯️❀༉‧₊˚. "the craving"༉‧₊˚🤍❀༉‧₊˚. PART 1

Read Part 2 here 🤍

pairing: Jacaerys Velaryon x fem!Reader

words: 6300

summary: after a long day of scouting together, your betrothed Jacaerys and you are forced to seek shelter at an inn when a storm is raging outside. The only "problem"; there is only one, tiny bed for the two of you.

warnings: sexual tension, they're both virgins, but the Targaryen ancestors wrote a kamasutra for future generations and Jace has read it ;) , only one bed trope, cuddling/spooning, sexual content (making out, vaginal fingering, a little bit of dirty talk from Jace), aftercare

a/n: I had a lot of fun writing this story and it's my longest one for Jace so far, hope you like it! <3 I also have some ideas for a potential part 2 👀....

𐙚𓏲⋆ ִֶָ ๋𓂃

It was a rare occurrence for you, being chosen by the Queen to scout for the day, patrolling the sky and the lands underneath it from a safe distance.

You were a princess of Dragonstone, but you were also a dragonrider, even if you were still young and an honor like this filled you with undeniable pride.

It was an even rarer occurrence that she allowed Jacaerys to join you.

Your recent betrothal to the prince had been a blessing, making your strong bond of friendship weave itself only tighter, but it also had brought up feelings you'd thought you simply could've brushed aside before.

Jace had gotten more...protective of you, more tender and you could not help but feel yourself being drawn to him too, longing for the mornings spent together at breakfast after saying goodnight to each other on your doorstep the night before.

Of course, there were rules, things to do when courting and things to avoid, such as sharing a room before marriage and the things that could happen in said room…

But you were never the one to follow rules lightly and weren't you going to be married anyways? All you needed was a little push until you'd surrender your heart and your body to Jacaerys...

And somehow, you had a feeling you weren't alone with these forbidden desires.

Today had been mostly spent in the sky, flying together as if you had never done something else. You were a unit, always knowing where the other was and what they did and it seemed like your dragons were delighted as well by the recent development of your planned union.

You couldn't help but laugh with the wind when they playfully snapped at each other, both making little besotted growls from time to time, like Jace and you were interrupting a date.

Everything would've been alright if the storm hadn't moved into your direction.

It was getting darker and darker and both of you couldn't make your dragons move any faster, since they were young just as you and Jace were. Situations like this couldn't exactly be trained beforehand.

When the rain hit you, your mood dropped instantly.

"It's getting late!" You heard Jacaerys' familiar voice calling over to you through the wind and rain. "The weather isn't going to get any better and we are too far away from Dragonstone to make it back before midnight. We have to find a place to spend the night, it's no use."

You knew he could see the frustration on your face, worrying what your people back in the safety of Dragonstone's walls would think if the future of a more hopeful realm did not return as punctually as expected.

"She's going to be worried out of your mind for you." You called back, but the rain in front of you was blurring your vision and you kept pushing your hair out of your face.

Vermax let out a displeased growl as thunder rolled through the clouds. Jace squinted his eyes to make you out next to him, the storm getting stronger and stronger by the minute. "I'm not going to let us get struck by lightning! There's a merchant route right under us, if I remember it right. We land, now."

You reluctantly tugged the reigns of your dragon tighter around your fists and steered her down, following Jace and Vermax through the clouds as they descended. You couldn't argue with him, but a stop in an unknown region was risky. Even if you two were in the company of your dragons.

By the time you had landed in a clearing of the forest Jace had spotted from up above, your clothes were dripping wet on the ground.

Climbing down your dragon's back, you couldn't help but snort as Vermax immediately seeked shelter underneath the massive pine trees from the weather, his rider fondly shaking his head at his companion.

As you approached, Jace sighed and squinted up into the sky above you. "I know you dislike this, as I do. But I'm not taking a risk. It's better to wait the night instead of getting attacked in a thunderstorm, don't you agree?"

"Yes…" You looked at him, still a little conflicted. "But we can only hope our people at Dragonstone agree with you as well."

Jace smiled at you, raising both his hands in defense. Like this, eyes bright and wet hair curling around his already beautiful face, he was a vision, making you permanently weak in the knees. "They will agree, because I am protecting the princess, my betrothed, as you are protecting yours."

Yours.

You involuntarily shuddered, the promise of being married to him one day never tiring of sending lightning through you.

While you understood the Queen's choice to wait with marrying you because of the war, you were growing tired of being denied what you craved so badly; not the ring on your finger - a beautiful thing you knew Jace had already commissioned to being forged, one of Vermax' scales sitting in its silver center - but the boy you were dreaming about at night, visiting you in the quietness of Dragonstone, sliding underneath your warm covers to-

"Everything alright?" Jace had stepped to your side, one hand on your shoulder.

You nodded, swallowing thickly. "We should stop and rest at the first place we can find."

The traveler's road was empty and no one noticed the two of you stepping out of the forest and making your way over to the first building you saw, a small inn with its windows alight from the inside.

You shivered at the thought of a warm fire and wrinkled your nose at your clammy leathers. On top of it, your belly growled and Jacaerys and you shared a look.

A little smile tugged at the corner of his lips. "Don't worry, I'll find you something to eat even if I have to hunt it myself tonight."

You blushed, his words always managing to touch something deep within you.

Jace and you entered the inn, immediately enveloped by its delicious warmth and sociability. As Prince and Princess, you were not used to a civility like this and for a moment, you wondered what it'd be like to live like this, leading a simple life with Jace where no one would know you and you could do whatever you pleased. What a dangerous thought this was...

Just before you and him reached the small reception counter of the inn, Jace placed one of his gloved hands on your lower back, a secure and telling gesture that made your skin underneath the riding leathers burn pleasantly.

"Good evening." He spoke confidently. "My wife and I are looking for a place to stay for the night. The storm has caught us off guard on the road."

The innkeeper looked at you and although you knew he didn't want to hear it, you silently said a prayer of gratitude for Jace's beautiful dark hair and eyes. If he'd have silver hair, all could be lost, depending on the opinion of the inn's staff on this ongoing war.

You tugged your cloak tighter around you, hiding the riding leathers on your body, and looked back calmly. You forced your bottom lip to wobble as if you only now remembered the cold haunting your bones. How fast could you make your way back to the forest and your dragons before the whole house was up on their feet for two Targaryens in its midst?

"It caught us off guard alright as well, good sir." The innkeeper said goodnaturedly after a moment and you sighed on the inside. "The taproom is bursting at the seams tonight. I can only offer a single room, but I'm sure it's no problem for two young lovebirds like you. Dinner will be served for you, too, if you require it."

Jace swallowed thickly, not meeting your gaze at the prospect of a tiny room for the two of you.

So far, your betrothal had consisted of courting each other quietly and sweetly, the long promised wedding pushed back again and again, much to your frustration. To share a room with Jace before you were married - it sent a shiver down your spine and you couldn't say it was a bad one.

"We require it. And thank you for the room. We will pay in advance, of course." Jace produced a small sack of coins from his cloak and you stepped aside and peeked into the full taproom, trying to calm your racing heart.

When he was done, Jacaerys stepped up to you and smiled encouragingly, although you could see through him instantly and saw the same nervousness possessing you. This was no place for you two and yet here you were.

"Dinner, my lady?" Jace asked under his breath and with a snort, you let yourself be led into the taproom, carefully avoiding any curious eyes on you as you found a quiet corner in the far back where hopefully no one would disturb you or have questions.

Quickly, two plates with bread, cheese and tomatoes were brought to your table and Jacaerys and you began to eat, tense in your wariness for your surroundings but comfortable in each other's presence.

He politely declined the waitress's offer of beer, but made her bring you a pitcher of clear water, the day spent underneath the sun having dried out your bodies like nothing else.

After a while - you were still munching on your bread and Jace looked about to be finished - he took a few of his tomatoes and placed them on your plate, a silent encouragement.

"Thank you." You said quietly and ate them too while he kept watch, over you and the room behind you. But in all the hustle going on in there, no one had time or interest for a young couple on the road and soon, your plates were empty and you retreated upstairs and down the narrow corridor.

The last door was yours.

Your eyes widened shortly as you took in your room for the night. There was a window where rain splattered against the glass, a small table with a chair and a bed, although it could barely be called that if you thought of your enormous bed at Dragonstone.

Beside you, you could feel Jace pausing as he locked the door, his eyes darting back and forth between you and the tiny bed in the corner of the room. If only one of you could fit, it'd be a miracle and the floor was in no condition to be slept on.

You took off your cloak and threw it over the chair, opening your mouth to speak just as Jace did.

"I'm taking the floor." He declared and you wanted to roll your eyes and also kiss him for his selflessness.

"You will not sleep on this floor, Jace." You argued and as you wrung out your damp hair, the last droplets of water fell onto the boards, blooming in the dust covering them.

Jace stayed silent for a moment, wrapping a cloth from within his cloak around the doorknob and tying a tight knot, so you wouldn't be disturbed by any unpleasant visitors tonight.

"Please don't be ridiculous now." You tried again, softer this time. "You had a long flight today, too. We slept side by side when we were kids sometimes, remember? We'd fall asleep in the gardens of King's Landing while we watched the clouds, dreaming of riding our dragons someday."

"But we are not kids anymore." Jacaerys said quietly.

No, you weren't.

And as you looked at him, reaching behind himself to unclasp his cloak, his dark curls still framing his serious face, you knew there was not an ounce of childlike innocence in you when it came to him.

"And I-" He interrupted himself as his cloak joined yours on the chair and you did not step back, only shuffling closer to rest your hand on his nape.

What had gotten into you? This boldness, it was dangerous and misplaced and- very much exciting.

Jace slowly looked at you, his dark eyes like burning embers, bringing the heat to your cheek you so desperately needed.

"I'm afraid I cannot control myself around you, princess." He confessed hoarsely and for a moment you thought the wooden floor underneath you had turned into water and you were trying to dance on top of it, unsteady.

You exhaled shakingly, tongue tied in your shock at his confession, but a burning heat swirling pleased in your stomach.

After a moment, he forced himself to tear himself away from you and cleared his throat. "I mean this in the most chivalrous manner, but I think we should take off our leathers if we don't want to be sick in two days."

You agreed and the two of you turned away from each other, the spell broken.

You faced the wall by the bed as you reached behind yourself, your fingers fumbling with the laces of your uniform. Whoever had invented dragonrider clothes had not intended them to be taken off without the help of half a dozen maids.

Your movements were clumsy and unpracticed, used to getting attended to by your maids for these kinds of things, preferably followed by a hot bath after a long flight.

But now, you were helpless and frustration grew quickly in you until you tilted your head back and let out a tired sigh.

"Jace?" You spoke over your shoulder and heard shuffling.

"Yes?"

"I...I can't take them off myself." You admitted, risking a look behind you to see his leather uniform draped over the table, only thin linen pants and a matching top remaining on him. You had never seen him like this, never could've imagined what was laying underneath his princely attires. He looked...innocent, like a boy with big eyes as he watched you. Biting your lip, you added: "Could you help me, at least with my laces?"

"Of course." He breathed and stepped closer as you turned around again, holding yourself completely still as you felt his warmth radiating against your back.

Suddenly, his hand was in your hair, brushing in awe over the wavy strands. "Can I…"

"Yes." You breathed, your nerves fluttering. "Please."

You shuddered as he carefully brushed your hair over your shoulder, exposing your tightly laced back to him.

Then, with surprisingly skillful fingers, he began to swiftly unlace you, his hands dancing over your spine and making their way down your back.

You were sure neither of you was breathing, your mind growing a bit foggy as you let him attend you like this, the task of a maid replaced by the care of your betrothed.

"All done." He whispered after a while and you were snapped out of your dreamy thoughts. You could already breathe more lightly as the riding leather dangled down on your sides, the front only held up now by your hands on your chest.

"Thank you." You whispered back. What would happen if you turned around now and faced him? Were you too far gone already or would you be able to remember yourself before it was too late?

"I'll light some candles and I...I won't look." Jace said flustered and turned away again, giving you as much privacy as he could as he busied himself with the unlit candles by the table.

Quickly, you slid out of the rest of your uniform until only the thin dress you wore underneath remained. With only these undergarments on you, you almost tripped as you slipped under the covers of the bed and pulled them all up to your chin.

The cold rushed back into you tenfold and you pressed your lips together to keep your teeth from clattering.

Silently, you watched as Jace lit the last candle and checked the doorknob for one last time to make sure you were safe for the night.

When there was nothing to be done about the state of the room anymore, he met your gaze and asked one more time: "Are you sure?"

I'm afraid I cannot control myself around you…

You nodded, shuffling to the wall as far as you could. There was barely space left for another person, even like this. "Yes. We both need rest."

It seemed like your shivering only intensified as you felt his weight dip on the mattress, joining you as carefully as he could without bumping his knee into your side.

When he was settled, on his slim back while you laid on your side, facing away from him to hide your burning face, he drew the blanket over the two of you, trapping you in for a tight fit and combined warmth, hopefully.

The silence in the room was thick, loaded by something you could not name yet.

"Try to sleep." Jace whispered to you in the darkness. "Tomorrow, at sunrise, we'll take flight."

You tried your best, you really did.

But there was no use, not when he was laying so close to you. You were too aware of him, too overstimulated by the mere thought of his body so close to yours, his body heat radiating off of him while you still missed your own.

You were sure the whole mattress was shaking with your quivering, your lips blue and limbs clammy from the cold that had soaked into you on dragonback. Squeezing your eyes shut, you prayed for a slumber that wouldn't come.

Jacaerys couldn't bear it anymore.

Seeing you, feeling you shiver so pitifully, he had to put an end to it. It was what a good husband would do.

"Princess…" He whispered into the darkness and you tensed. "You're freezing. If you'd let me...I want to help."

"Help?" You echoed, looking over your shoulder. Like this, you could only make out his eyes in the dark, his silhouette tempting and comforting at once.

Jace swallowed thickly, shuffling until he laid on his side and could support his head with his hand. "If we'd be...closer, I could warm you."

Your heart skipped a beat at his suggestion, his boldness surprising both you and himself. As scandalous as it was, you already felt yourself drawn to him, your cold bones screaming yes, yes, yes.

"If I won't inconvenience you." You murmured shyly. "I'm shaking like a leaf."

"I'll do my best to change that." Jace promised dutifully, darkly, and shuffled even closer.

Now, you were sure your heart was going to give out.

Underneath the blanket you shared, Jace pulled you to him, his arm sneaking around your waist as your back met his chest.

You sighed, a small sound of relief as the warmth of him enveloped you and you could feel it also leaving his chest, as if you were two pieces melting together into one.

It was a lover's embrace, there was no doubt about it, but the line between you had already been blurred tonight, ever since he had called you his wife downstairs.

It should've surprised you more, how well your bodies fitted together, how natural the curve of your spine found its place against his lean torso. With his arm securely around you, making sure you'd stay connected, you were not sure if you could not breathe anymore or were finally able to.

"Is this good?" He asked you quietly after some time, your heads now sharing a pillow, a space, an embrace.

No. You needed more.

"Yeah...you are really warm." You breathed out and he chuckled and gods, you could feel the sound against you and thought nothing about this was real, not the inn, not tonight, certainly not him.

You shifted in his embrace, trying to get a little more comfortable when he suddenly let out a low hiss, your bum brushing against-

Oh.

You wanted to combust.

You wanted to turn around and kiss him stupid. You wanted to do everything and yet, you were frozen in place, hotness rushing through you at the thought that your prince had gotten aroused while he laid with you like this.

"'m sorry…" He whispered near your ear and in front of your inner eye, you saw his eyes closing in defeat, having given in so quickly to his carnal desires.

You were about to be a very bad betrothed.

Innocently, you moved back against him and he choked on his breath, his mouth now hovering over your nape, the damp hair you wished to be out of your way now to feel him better.

Your hand rested on his forearm around you and you traveled your fingertips upwards, brushing over his knuckles until you could entwine your fingers, squeezing him reassuringly.

"Princess...we can't." You wanted to chuckle at his unconvinced tone, an unfamiliar strain to his voice like he was trying his best and most to hold himself back from giving in to you.

"We can." You whispered back, kissing his hand in yours and hearing him sigh behind you. "I want you so badly, I feel like I'm dying."

It was too much, to hear those same words he only dared to think in his mind, it shattered the last bit of self control Jacaerys could muster up. He had been aroused ever since he helped you undress, the dreams that usually had him waking up in a sweat in his chambers at Dragonstone now coming true right in front of him.

"Please, Jace." You added with a sigh, pushing back against him. "Give in, please."

He surged forward, his lips making contact with your neck and setting you aflame.

You let out a low moan, the sight of the wall disappearing in front of you as you closed your eyes blissfully, focused only on the feel of Jacaerys lapping at your neck.

It was like he tasted something exquisite and unique, taking his time as he brushed your hair aside, his other hand delicately holding your jaw as he suckled the sensitive spot underneath your ear, making you twitch back in surprise against the outline of his hard cock.

He stifled a groan, something final snapping in him and he turned your head, his finger swiping over your chin and cheek as you both stared at each other, pupils gone wide and dark with desire.

"May I kiss you?" He asked huskily and you nodded quickly, your hand finding its way into his curls, tugging him closer until his hot breath grazed your bottom lip.

"Yes." You let out breathlessly. "Kiss me, please, I-"

He closed the distance between you, engulfing your mouth in a hot, desperate kiss, both of your lust and longing for each other too grand to think clearly anymore.

Still gently holding your jaw and you in his arms, he kissed you passionately, his lips moving slow and relishing against yours. You sighed happily against him, your fingers tightening their hold on his curls and making him groan, his free hand spreading itself out on your stomach.

Heat sloshed through you as your tongues danced, the kiss so much more than what you'd ever could've dreamed of. You never wanted to stop again.

His embrace was possessive, with not much room for you to do anything else but give yourself over to him, caged between the wall and his lean body.

You wanted to drown in his kisses, never to be seen again.

When the air in your lungs got thinner, making you lightheaded, the two of you pulled apart, panting and staring at each other with kiss-bruised lips.

Your hand fell over his own on your stomach, the fabric of your undergarment dress worthy to you of being burned in the heat of the moment.

"Can I touch you?" Jace gasped into your ear, almost a plea.

You nodded frantically, but he shook his head, his curls brushing against your cheek. "I need to hear it from you, love."

Gods, you were truly going to die by his tender hands.

"Yes…" You hissed, your mind already drunk on him. "I want you to touch me, Jace, I need it so badly."

You ground your bum back against him and Jace released a moan, the sound going right into your core, where wetness was pooling between your thighs and making a mess of you.

He peppered kisses on your cheek and jaw, relishing the way your back arched against him as his hand dove underneath the blanket and fumbled with the seams of your gown, tugging up the fabric as he went.

His hand slid over your naked leg, the skin still a little cold and covered in goosebumps he hoped were his doing. Up and up he went and you were panting by now, mind and body controlled by arousal for him, just for him.

Resting a gentle hand on your inner thigh, he spread your legs open, just a little, and kissed you once again, so he could feel the exact moment you'd-

"Ah-" You gasped in his mouth as his fingertips touched your clit and it shouldn't have been enough, you wanted so much more, but you already felt like you were able to find release from just this.

"Gods, you're driving me insane." He groaned, burying his face in your neck and suckling on it as he slowly began to rub circles onto you, his hand dipping down further to gather more of your wetness on his fingers.

You shuddered at the sensation of his hand between your legs and then you keened as he obscenely spread your own juices over your clit, swirling his finger over the aching bundle of nerves.

"Fuck…" You whispered, your mouth falling open as he started a careful rhythm, letting you adjust to the sensation of having your clit pampered like this, easy circles and slight rubs.

Laying on your side only seemed to heighten your senses.

Your quivering legs tangled, bodies firmly pressed together, his hands around you like vines protecting a precious secret. You did not know anymore if you were tense or melting as he played with you, experimenting with the direction his fingers could go, gently tapping against your sensitive flesh which made you see stars...

And of course, your thighs - becoming sticky with your own juices, his finger being joined by another one and carefully massaging your most intimate part. With every round they went on you, your grasp on control slipped a little more and soon, you were a writhing mess, bucking your hips against Jace's hand as he continued to kiss your neck and relished the delicious little sounds you made because of him.

"You're so wet." He murmured, in awe of you and your body and you moaned, slumping against his back as he gently plucked on your clit, shiver after shiver running through you and ruining you. "I only dreamed of you like this, princess. You are a sight to behold."

You wanted to say something, anything, but it seemed like your brain had melted, mewling as he cupped your whole core and slowly shook his hand, the friction intensifying only more as vibrations were sent through your pussy.

"Where did you learn all this?" You asked breathlessly and he chuckled, blushing and nuzzling your sweaty neck lovingly as he dipped his fingers lower, almost where you needed him the most.

"The library at Dragonstone can be very...educational. On many different topics." He murmured melodically and you were still, awaiting, as he pushed your undergarments up more, his hand drifting up over your stomach and towards your chest. "Some of the books our ancestors kept there are very...interesting to read. Diaries of fiery encounters and instructions on love making. I had to resist taking notes when I read some of those passages, on how to please women when I could only picture you in my head."

A guttural, broken moan left you when he mouthed at your neck, licking over your exposed throat.

It distracted you just enough that he nearly sent you into an early release as his wet, glistening thumb circled around one of your rosy buds before he raised the same finger to his lips and had a taste.

You both groaned in union, your thighs squeezing together as you stared at him, his own eyes closed in bliss at the taste of you. Just as he had imagined…like honeydew.

He slid his hand underneath your neck so you could rest your head on his strong arm, the same hand coming down to cup one of your aching tits. Like in everything else; you were perfect for each other here. His hand had just the right size for you.

You eagerly spread your legs again as his other hand snaked down your body again, both his and your remaining clothes drenched by sweat, the room smelling of sex.

"I'm dying to know how you feel around my fingers, princess." He confessed and you bit your lip, trying to fight the urge to cross your eyes as his fingers ghosted over your wet clit again; and losing. "Can I? Can I have you like this, my love?"

What a dirty tongue your betrothed had…

If your mind had been any clearer and not as fucked out, you would've asked him if he also learned that in his books, but that was a conversation for another day.

"Yes." You gasped instead, bucking once again against his hand over you, cupping your core and squeezing your clit between two of his digits, making you moan brokenly. "Please, Jace, I need you to fuck me, please, fuck me-"

You knew he couldn't, you both couldn't, at least this much of both your composures remained. But there were other ways to find release and apparently, your sweet betrothed was an expert at executing them.

He raised himself a little, peeking over your shoulder so he could look at your heated face, rosy cheek and wet, parted lips just for him. Jace pulled you into a kiss, sweet and slow this time and you moaned right into his mouth at the taste of yourself on his tongue.

Your eyelashes fluttered against your cheeks and you were overwhelmed in the best possible way as Jace's finger slid through your juices once again before he entered you.

You could've sworn you heard his and your dragon roar triumphantly in the distance as he slid his finger into your drenched core, your moan loud enough to go beyond the walls of your room and raise questions - or brows at such distasteful actions behind closed doors. If they only knew.

He groaned at how tightly you squeezed his single digit, fantasizing how you'd feel around his cock. Jace twitched against your back and you held him only tighter, your hot walls eager to let him in.

You were so wet, it was a slippery little affair and as he let you adjust, his thumb rubbed soothing circles on your clit, his rhythm reflected in the way your core clenched up deliciously.

You locked eyes with him, half-lidded and ready to die a sweet death at his hands, begging him softly: "You can move. It's okay, you won't hurt me."

It was like you were playing your wedding night and he let out a shuddering breath, needing to stay in control before he threw it out of the window and deflowered you right here, in a bed and place that wasn't worthy of you. He'd never forgive himself if he would not make it special.

Slowly, he pushed forward and further into your heat, his finger quickly becoming wet and slippery and covered in you.

You let out a satisfied sigh, letting yourself be kissed as he oh so gently began to build up an easy rhythm, not brave enough yet to sink to the knuckle into you, but feeding your soaked cunt more and more of him, his mind alert to spot any discomfort in you and ready to stop and wait for you.

But you had wanted him for far too long to need any more caution from him.

And the sounds - gods, the sounds were driving you insane. You were so wet, your pussy was making slurping sounds at the intrusion of his finger and you bit your lip blissfully when he finally found his pace, light and easy on you, but no less hot and intense.

Only the rain splattering against the windows and your little moans and gasps could be heard as he fingered you gently, the pads of his finger dragging over your walls and trying to find the one tiny spot he had read about, enough to make a woman lose her mind and all final restraints if done right.

You were mewling, gripping his arm over your chest tightly and occasionally biting his skin softly to stop you from being too loud.

"You are so beautiful." He slurred against your temple, keeping his eyes only on you to capture every one of your reactions and keep it in his mind.

You moaned wantonly, maybe because of the praise or because his thumb dragged over your pulsing clit, he didn't know. But oh, how he wanted to find out.

For just a moment, he stilled his movements and you looked at him with wide eyes, your hips trying to fuck yourself on his fingers, but him not letting you.

Jace watched you closely, quickly kissing your quivering lips before his voice dropped low and he murmured: "Your cunt feels so good around my fingers, my love. You're squeezing me so tightly, ñuha jorrāeliarzy, you are the most beautiful thing in the whole realm and all mine."

"Yours." You echoed and whimpered, solely because of his words.

He couldn't help but smile besottedly, storing the effect of his words on you away for another time and resuming to fingering you gently.

Soon, after you whispered you were ready for one more, two of his fingers were now softly pumping in and out of you and you knew you could not last much longer under his sweet tormention.

Your hips had begun to move on their own and he watched you with both fascination and love as you rode on his fingers, your eyes closed and your lovely mouth opened in the sweetest o-shape.

If he'd still now, he knew you'd continue to fuck yourself on him and god, how he wanted to see it, but there was still one ace up his sleeve and he couldn't wait any longer to try it.

He crooked both his fingers upwards and you tensed in his arms, moaning into his arm and losing yourself almost completely as he touched a part of you you didn't even know existed.

"Jacaerys, gods, I-" You whimpered as the pads of his fingers rubbed against that rough little spot in you, your hips twitching uncontrollably.

"Let go for me, princess." He encouraged you, kissing your cheek and nuzzling his face against yours sweetly. "I can feel you dripping around me, your perfect cunt weeping for me…"

You were floating, only held back by Jacaerys' arms around you, playing your body like a delicate instrument as one hand played with your tit while the other still rubbed against your sweet spot, eager to bring you to release.

His thumb came back onto your clit and your hips arched, pressing yourself forward against his sticky hand as he rubbed delicious circles on you.

"Come for me, my love, I need to see, need to feel you." He coaxed you further, smiling against your neck and adding in a whisper: "Let go for me, my sweet wife."

That was it.

You exploded, coming hard around his fingers, whimpering pitifully as tears of pleasure and overwhelm escaped your eyes.

You rode your high, your hips helplessly bucking against Jacaerys as he kissed your tears away, softly talking you through it and soothing you down with gentle hands from a peak you had no idea how to recover from…

Jace watched you closely, fascinated and so, so in love, as he slowly slipped his fingers out of you, an obscene string connecting them to your wetness he could not see.

To make sure you would not feel too empty, his hand cupped your mound, keeping you warm and secure as little aftershocks ran through you and you were panting and peppering little kisses on his arm, clinging to him with all your might.

"You were so good…" Jace whispered lovingly, kissing whatever he could reach of you, his body keeping you warm and sated in the aftermath of both your actions. "So, so beautiful…"

You hummed, tired and thoroughly happy as you slowly calmed down, relishing the feeling of his warm hand still on you, carefully avoiding your spent parts so you wouldn't feel overstimulated.

Exhaustion clung to your bones, a mixture of the long day on dragonback and the oblivion of good sex, but you still felt Jacaerys hard against your back. He had not yet found his release and you were eager to give it to him.

You tried to turn around, to reach down between you and touch him, but he was not having it.

"Sh sh, this was only about you, my love." He shushed you, his strong arms efficiently stopping you from wriggling against him. He soothed his hands over your sides and kissed your temple. "When I take you to bed properly, it will be at Dragonstone where I can take care of you as a loving husband should."

You shivered at the promise, without any coldness left in your veins.

He smiled against your cheek, his fingers lightly drawing circles onto your hip bone as he leaned closer and whispered into your ear: "And then, I'm going to take my time with you, princess, learning how you taste on my tongue...ravishing that sweet little cunt of yours…"

Your core deliciously clenched up at the thought, but you were also sleepy, your eyelids already betraying your intentions as they drooped. You snuggled yourself closer against Jacaerys, stifling a yawn.

"Don't worry, we'll have all the time in the world…" Jace lulled you closer to sleep, the sweet nothings he whispered to you being like a warm blanket draping itself over you.

"Jacaerys…" You mumbled, feeling your grasp on staying awake slip further as his hands ran softly over you, making your mind hazy and blank. "Thank you...I- I'm very warm now…"

He laughed quietly, his chest blooming with happiness as he felt your body slump against his.

Jace closed his own eyes, resting his chin on top of your head and holding you against him protectively. He was the luckiest prince of the realm tonight and forever if he only had you.

And you, his princess, were warm and sated and in the embrace of the one you belonged to.

And suddenly, as you drifted off into a long and peaceful slumber, flying back to Dragonstone in the morning did not look so dreadful anymore...

𐙚𓏲⋆ ִֶָ ๋𓂃

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