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asteriismos · 4 months ago

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tunnel vision ; coriolanus snow

part two.

pairing ; king!coriolanus snow x debutante!reader

words ; 2.9k

about ; in the glittering world of panem high society, you were raised to be perfect — the prized daughter of a powerful family. your family was prepared to make the match of the season. but when king coriolanus snow arrives unexpectedly, announcing his intention to marry, everything changes.

warning(s) ; eventual smut, angst, courting (bridgerton style), eventual fluff. chapter specifics: talk of marriage. snow being lowkey a stalker.

authors note ; please feel free to request fics or headcanons or blurbs! i hope u enjoy :) this is the first part of a series.

You couldn’t remember the last time that your mother didn’t talk to you about the prospect of marrying a wealthy man.

Your family, a powerful family who had multiple different monopolies on the factories in District One, knew that the moment they had a girl they would have to secure the perfect match of the season for her the moment she came of age. Your mother was the cousin of a prince and your father was the first born son of the late viscount, money and station was never anything that you had to worry about. When you were little, you were sure that you would find someone for a love match, something that only happened about one in a hundred times in a courting situation. You dreamed about a wealthy, beautiful man sweeping you off your feet and taking you away to have a beautiful life and marriage.

But for someone like you, born into the family that you were, something deep down in you knew that you wouldn’t have much of a choice on who you were to marry. You knew that your father would want to marry you to the best man who would keep you secure, someone who wouldn’t gamble all of his money away or incite scandal. And although there were many men who asked for your hand over the years, he still insisted that he hadn’t found the right one for you yet.

All of these suitors are mere boys. They don’t know power. They don’t know prestige. He would say to you as your mother held your hand just a little bit tighter when they broke the news that you would still be single for the time being.

It was a new courting season in the Capital. The lush greenery of the beautiful city was at its peak, the summer air flowing through the windows of your rooms as you got ready to go with your family to the first event of the season — a luncheon hosted by a wealthy duke and his mother to start the season on a new foot.

Your maid fastned the final clasp of your gown, a soft lilac shade with white lace — something subtle, but showed the elegance that you prided yourself with. You couldn’t help but stare at your reflection for a second too long, convincing yourself that it wasn’t nerves, it wasn’t excitement, it was something else that was harder to name. Like you were bracing yourself for the day to come. You would be on display for everyone to see, measured for your worth, whispered about in the sidelines of the luncheon. Your mother stood behind you, dressed in pale blue silks that accented her poised skin. She gently touched your shoulders, making eye contact with you in the mirror, subtly adjusting the necklace that braced your skin.

“Remember to smile,” She spoke, as if she hadn’t said those same exact words since you were old enough to remember. All you did was nod, deciding not to reply. You knew better than to speak when her tone turned into quiet warnings disguised as advice. You knew that she meant best, truly, but it was hard to deal with sometimes because of her meddling.

The carriage ride to the estate was long enough for your father to go over the guest list at least twice, which sons of merchants were attending, which distant relatives of the royal house would be present, and of course, which unmarried dukes and barons would be attending. But one name came with a pause. You heard the smallest hitch in your father’s voice, something you hadn’t ever heard before.

“The King may make an appearance.”

Your eyes flicked over to him from the horizon. “The King? At a duke's luncheon?”

Your mother interjected. “It’s a new tradition. He wishes to be seen among the people. Or at least that is what Lady Elinor said to me yesterday at tea.”

Your father, on the other hand, didn’t look convinced by this explanation. “He doesn’t do anything without reason.”

You had never met him, only ever seen him from afar, in newsreels, in portraits hung in the Capital buildings. He was a younger king, his father running up multitudes of debt that was unbecoming of the crown, and suddenly the man fell ill and the new King was put in place to be his heir. He was beautiful in a way that was almost cruel. His eyes always looked calculating, too still. Like he was always watching, always calculating. Clean-shaven, sharp-jawed, impossibly pristine King Coriolanus. He didn’t invite admiration, he demanded it.

You had overheard stories about his private life over the years, although you were never one to count on gossip as much as your mother did. Stories whispered behind lace fans and velvet curtains, how women had tried to charm him over the years. None had succeeded. Some said he had no heart to give, that his heart was only with Panem. Others claimed that he was waiting for someone worthy. You once heard a woman, older and bitter, say that to be chosen by him was like being devoured by fire. He didn’t fall in love; he consumed.

No one had expected him to attend a luncheon like this. This was the type of affair that was meant for gossip, flirting, for families to arrange early betrothals. Kings didn’t typically waste their time with debutantes. Kings didn’t listen to the chatter of eager mama’s trying to put their daughter on a pedestal. And Kings certainly did not need father’s chattering in his ear about how huge their daughters dowry was.

Your eyes scanned the field as you entered with your family, your mother grasping at your arm to start walking around the crowd. There were many different families here, all rich, all powerful, all seemed to have heard about who may be attending considering how many young ladies were glancing over and over at the entrance like the King would magically appear.

It started with a silence, something unnatural. Like the air had been sucked right out from the sky. The quartet who played in the corner faltered for a tiny beat, making a few heads turn. And then more heads turned. And then everyone knew.

He had arrived.

King Coriolanus Snow entered not with a proclamation or with any type of escort. He moved like he belonged to every inch of the space, like the world and all of its matter were merely rearranging itself around him. The duke, who had been standing very tall only moments ago, seemed to shrink as he walked up to the King, introducing him to the luncheon and thanking him for his presence. The duchess curtseyed so deeply that you thought her knees might give out and break.

Your breath caught.

He was taller than you remembered. And there was something unnatural about the way he carried himself, too precise and too controlled. His spine was impossibly straight, like he came out that way from birth, his shoulders squared and his pace slow, deliberate. Regal. And incredibly dangerous. His suit was crisp and dark, not the gleaming white that he had worn in times past. This was something quieter, like he wasn’t trying to make as much of a statement with his attire. Trying to make himself seem more . . . human. The lines were severe and angular, every thread screamed power and wealth. On his collar that covered his pale skin was a single pin: a silver snake coiled tightly around itself, head raised, fangs bared. His hair was a pale, silvery blonde, like the gleam of a golden rose your family grew in your garden. Soft curls fell onto his forehead, which could be misconstrued as messy, but it was just the right amount of messy that still showed how young and fair he was.

And those eyes.

Those eyes.

They were pale blue, nearly gray, so washed out that they looked like the winter sky. They moved slowly and steadily. A predator that didn’t need to rush. He didn’t smile, not even when the duke stumbled over his words in a rushed greeting, not even when the crowd parted to let him farther into the field.

And then those eyes settled on you.

The air in your lungs stilled. Time seemed to fracture and break. Your first instinct was to look away, while the rest of you screamed at you not to look away. He would notice if you did. He would notice if your heart decided to skip a beat despite it being nestled in the crevice of your ribs underneath your bodice. His gaze wasn’t flirtatious or curious. It wasn’t even particularly interested. It was aware.

He hadn’t said a word.

And yet somehow you felt you had already answered a question he hadn’t even spoken.

The luncheon moved on around you, the tension dissipating. But you were no longer part of it. You danced once, with a son of a wealthy arms manufacturer. He was talking about something in his summer house, and you couldn’t recall a single word of the conversation. You smiled when the duchess passed your table and greeted your mother, an old family friend. You complimented a girl’s gloves even though they were particularly hideous. It was all instinct. Automatic.

You were keenly aware, every moment, that he had not looked at you again.

Perhaps it was a fluke. Something he hadn’t planned on doing. Or perhaps he hadn’t been looking at you at all. Perhaps you made it up.

By the time dessert was served, you felt the walls closing in.

“I need some air,” You whispered to your mother, who was too deep in conversation with your father to notice anything, nodding absently and waving you off. You slipped away from the crowd, past the marble columns and into the shade of the private gardens. The moment the gates closed behind you, it was like the whole magic spell broke. You could finally breathe.

The summer air outside was warm and damp, heavy with the scent of roses and lilies. The pale stone pathways of the vast, lush gardens were long and winding. Everything was curated to perfection, like something out of a painting.

Finally, quiet.

You drifted through the paths without much thought, your gloved fingers brushing the blossoms as you walked. You didn’t know what you were looking for. If you were looking for anything at all.

It wasn’t until you turned the corner near the greenhouse, ivy crawling along the windowed walls that you saw him.

King Snow stood beneath a stone arch laced with creeping vines, his hand clasped loosely behind his back. He was alone. He wasn’t looking at you, he was gazing up toward something you couldn’t see. The pale sunlight that was beginning to set filtered through the edges of his hair like a crown.

You should have turned around, left him alone.

But you didn’t.

As if sensing you before you made a sound, he finally looked your way, and his eyes found yours again. Unhurried.

He took a single step forward.

“You’re not fond of crowds,” He said. Like it was a fact. Like he already had you and your entire life memorized in detail. “Neither am I.”

You didn’t answer at first.

His voice was richer than you expected. Smooth, but cool at the edges. Like everything he said had been weight before it ever left his lips. You were sure it had. The tone wrapped around you like velvet. It had weight. You had heard it before, on screens, announcing tributes, making speeches and declarations. But never like this.

Never directed at you.

And you were alone with him.

The realization struck like ice in your veins. Your pulse skipped, then quickened. You weren’t ever supposed to be alone with a man, no matter the station that they hold. Not like this. Not without a chaperone. If anyone was to see you with him alone, they would think that he invited you here, that he seduced you or whatever the women of the ton loved to talk about. This was the stuff that your mother whispered about with her friends, the things that were written about in scandal sheets. You had half a mind to walk away, though the fact that he was the King and you knew better than to dismiss him made things messy.

“I —” You cleared your throat, then dipped into the kind of perfectly measured curtsy that your mother had drilled into your mind and body since you could walk. “Your Majesty.”

His head tilted slightly, as if he was studying you. If it was anyone else, you would think that it was rude. But you couldn’t help the way that you felt like you were like a piece of jewelry under the eye of an appraiser. A flicker of interest, attention. Authority.

“You didn’t answer my observation,” He said plainly.

Your mouth opened and then closed. He was too close for comfort, and yet far enough that you taking a step back would make him notice. You forced a polite smile. “I enjoy them well enough, Your Majesty,” You said carefully. “Though I suppose taking a moment to breathe is someone everyone has to do from time to time.”

He nodded, like your answer pleased him.

“Most people lie to me,” He said.

You blinked.

He took a step closer. “It’s not a complaint. It’s something I’ve grown used to. I find honesty . . . refreshing. Especially from someone like you.”

Someone like you. What did you mean? You wanted to ask, but your tongue felt heavy against the roof of your mouth. Your heartbeat fled to your ears, almost drowning out the extra noise of the gardens from your mind completely.

“I should return inside,” You said. “My mother will be —”

“She won’t come looking for you,” He interrupted gently. “Not just yet.”

You froze.

It didn’t feel menacing, the way that he said it. It was oddly . . . calm. Normal. Like two friends holding a conversation. The way that someone might speak when they’ve already decided how the conversation would end. Did he spend his days like that? Already knowing how everything would end? It must be awfully tiring.

He went on. “You’re very poised.” He blinked. “Trained. You answer well. You look people in the eye.”

The King took another step forward. You could smell his cologne, something clean and sharp. You lifted your chin, just barely. “How do you know who I am?” You asked, your voice came out steadier than you expected.

His expression didn’t change. “I know everyone worth knowing.” He said it like it was the simplest thing in the world. It wasn’t flattery or a compliment. It was like a statement of fact. Cold and inevitable. “Your family holds nearly half the manufacturing power in District One. Your father sits on four advisory boards. Your mother's cousin to a prince with an unfortunate gambling habit.”

You flinched at that, just slightly. His eyes flicked to catch it.

“And you,” He said, lingering. “Are your family’s only daughter. Presented late. With purpose. Polished and perfect.”

“That doesn’t answer the question,” You replied, before you could stop the question from coming from your lips. “There are a dozen girls at this luncheon, ones that are older than me, ones that are younger than me. There are ones there who are more wealthy and have better titles. You said you like honest people, so answer honest. Why me?”

A breath passed between the two of you.

And then, for the first time in your life, you saw him smile.

It wasn’t warm, it wasn’t cruel. It was something worse — genuine amusement.

“You look at people the way I used to,” He said. “With curiosity. Not greed. You’re measuring the weight of the world and wondering when one person starts and when the other begins. You wonder how much of the world you’re allowed to carry before someone tells you to stop.”

Your mouth had grown dry.

“I saw your name on the guest list days ago,” He added. “I knew who your father was. I remembered your mother. But I didn’t know you. Not until you walked into that field and looked like you belonged everywhere and nowhere all at once.

Silence.

Coriolanus’ head tilted slightly.

“Now tell me, darling girl,” He murmured. “Is that answer honest enough for you?”

You didn’t answer. You couldn’t. Not at first.

The garden had grown incredibly small, like the hedges had grown taller and the weeds were growing up the legs under your gown. Like the vines were listening to every word he spoke just the way that you were. It was agonizing, really. He had peeled you and your character open in less than three sentences. You couldn’t decide if it was cruel or something he couldn’t help but do.

“I don’t belong to anyone,” You said softly.

He smiled again. Just a tiny sliver. Something that said not yet.

“I’d like your company. Privately. Over dinner.”

He didn’t ask if you would like to come.

He simply expected you would.

#new blog #my writing #<3 #catch me there

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