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Duty's Cruel Embrace, 2

Chapter Two: The Long Road Ahead

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18+ MINORS DNI

pairing ; prince!xavier x princess!reader

synopsis ; prince xavier picks you up from the palace. you embark on your journey towards philos.

word count ; 11k words

author's note ; hi everyone! please read the warnings before proceeding! so sorry about the delay, but here's chapter 2!

trigger warning ; talks of death, grief, a hint of spice if you squint, angst, a gentle sprinkle of sexism, let me know if i missed anything!

my ladies in waiting ♛ °˖✧ @velaenam , @schwnapps , @massivenutkid , @celestialforce , @exitingmusic , @zeskyzed , @eve-ishu , @underfcvcked , @duffyinwonderland , @hiqhkey , @dooopiee , @awkward-stierle , @justpassingdontworry , @queenkymmie , @miffysoo , @kazbrkker , @applepi405 , @flamedancer13 , @prplbunny , @loreleis-world , @animecrazy76 , @emo4r , @crazygirl3001 , @creator-freak , @spacenott , @luckypup0506 , @wltneko9006 , @clothespintal

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please go check out @velaenam 's story domina of the east!

“Are the gods playing a sick joke on me?”

You stare at the painted statue of your ancestor, her dark hair and golden crown lit by a candle you hold in your hands. The dawn’s wind is surprisingly cool as it gently passes by, picking up your hair into the wind. Her eyes look down at you, unflinching and unfeeling. Yet, there is a source of comfort within her gaze. It reminds you that there are other battles that require your attention rather than blaming the gods for you being a victim of circumstance.

“Is this truly what is to be expected of me?” you continue, eyes flickering to the statue who kneels at her feet.

Your father had you stories of his victories and battles when you were a child. You adored him, adored his mind and intellect. His strategies surpassed the other generals and world leaders at the time. His victories were always quick and decisive with the least amount of casualties as possible. It is admirable. You always wished to have a mind as blessed as his.

“Am I to play the role of a wife — a fool — for the rest of my days? I do not wish to play such a part,” you say, tearing your gaze away from him, moving it back to her. “How did you do it? How did you live in a world where they did not wish to see you succeed?”

Silence.

No answer, no comfort, no advice that they can gift to you before your long journey.

Just the soft howl of the wind before it does down, leaving you stranded in the dawn’s rising temperature.

You scoff, arm dropping. The candle’s wax drips onto your fingers. You release it from your grip, the candle falling into the sand, the flame instantly being extinguished as soon as it touches the earth. You can see the outline of her likeness through the darkness of the morning. The sun begins to slowly rise and the black night turns softer, lighter shades of blues and purples coating the sky.

“Domina!” one of your maids calls out for you from across the distance. The title that was bestowed to you from the moment you left your mother’s womb sends chills down your spine.

No longer will you be the domina of Nabira. As soon as you leave the kingdom’s walls, you will be known as Xavier’s, his bride to be, a princess of Philos and the soon to be queen.

“Domina! We must make haste!”

You close your eyes. A single tear rolls down your cheek, yours fists balled at your sides. The scent of incense fills your nose, its smoke tainting the fresh air from around you. You drop to your knees and dip your hands into the sand, a ritual that you must complete for yourself before you leave this place. You steady your breathing and your tears fall onto the silk skirt of your dress.

“Ancestors,” you breathe out, your lungs burning from the inside of your chest, “give me strength. Guide me along the path that lies ahead. Be with me until my last dying breath.”

A faint hum vibrates the inside of your throat, trickling down into your heart. It soothes you and yet you still feel restless, your nerves on edge, muscles tense and unable to relax. Conflict arises from your consciousness. Two sides of your mind fighting against each other.

A piece of your wishes to leave Nabira and to find purpose in your new kingdom while the other half desperately clings to the hope that your father with remedy his mistake, to keep you home behind the castle walls. It will never happen, though, and this thought is just another fragmented piece of your vivid imagination, one that you must kill before you step into your new life in Philos.

You turn in the sand, feet sinking into the warmth of the sand dunes. Slowly, you walk through the desert, approaching your final moments in the kingdom.

The smell of incense and smoke lingers from within the strands of your dark hair. The servants try their best to cover the scent up, to extinguish the smell so you do not carry the memories of your brother’s death and the war with you on your journey to the kingdom of Philos. The servants work in silence as their nimble fingers weave your hair together into tight braids, pinning the dark strands of hair to your scalp, holding it in place.

Silk dresses, veils, and gold jewelry are being placed into trunks. Pieces of your life in Nabira slowly being packed away while you are given one last goodbye, a ritual that is given to every noble woman who leaves Nabira’s golden walls for a life outside of the kingdom’s borders, whether the move is forced or not. They drag fragrant oils down your arms, rosemary and saffron, anointing your skin as the oil seeps into your skin.

Nobody speaks from around you. Silence hangs in the air — both comfortable and ugly.

They work at a slow pace while you keep your eyes closed, the women placing a thin veil over your head, one that your father had requested you wear while on your journey. It is made of gold, the piece of clothing having been passed down through the generations.

You know that it is his parting gift to you. A way to remember him, Nabira, and the world and customs you are leaving behind.

The journey that lies before you will be long and hard. It will take weeks to get to the kingdom of Philos. Your father showed you its place on a map the night before. He explained to you the journey, mentioning that you will be riding by horseback until you reach the port of Tartus. From there, you will sail with the Lemurians and will reach their kingdom’s borders just to be thrown back onto a horse all over again. Philos is across the world, at the edge of your ancestor’s once great empire.

You read that Philos was the first kingdom who fought back against Rome’s rule. They described their independence through bloody battles, pushing the Roman soldiers out of its borders before securing the land for themselves. Gauls, they were once called, now turning into Philosians, a brand new kingdom in the west alongside other territories.

Dozens of kings have ruled the nation, many of which having only served for a year or two before being disposed of while Pilos’ power hung in the balance. It was only when Xavier’s ancestor, King Hugh Capet, took the throne three hundred years ago that his family obtained control of the kingdom and monarchy.

In the books your kingdom’s palace held spoke tales of the land Philos was founded on. Rolling hills of green grass, dense forests, and a shoreline that glitters like diamonds shining beneath the sunny sky. Their castles are built using stone and rock with the king’s own castle being built atop a mountain, overlooking his people while remaining close to the Heavens. It is a sign of their divine bloodline, chosen from their god to rule. They reign in the clouds as a symbolic gesture of being the chosen family.

You open your eyes when a pair of footsteps find themselves inside your bed chambers. It is your father, a sorrowful expression on his face, the wrinkles of his skin deepening as he looks down at you on the floor while your ladies complete their ritual.

“You look…beautiful, daughter,” he says with a trembling sigh. He grips the hilt of his sword, holding onto it for the strength he needs to send you away.

You rise from your spot on the ground. Your skirt is long and black, stopping right above your ankles to show off a pair of tan boots that were made for your journey. The top of your dress clings to your body, wrapped in black cotton. The only thing extravagant about your outfit and appearance is the golden veil that sits atop your head. Everything else looks ordinary, like you are not the domina of Nabira but a simple common person.

“He will be here soon, my daughter,” your father continues to speak. He does not wear his crown on his head nor does he wear any jewels. His outfit is plain and drab, the same colors of mourning he wore from the previous day. He will be mourning the loss of his precious daughter’s presence, forever alone behind the palace walls.

He extends his hand to you. You take it and allow him to guide you out of your bed chambers, the veil flowing with every step you take, moving with your body. It feels like water against your skin and remains cool beneath the heat of the sun.

The two of you walk in complete silence. You listen to the gentle breeze of the wind, the force of nature picking up the ends of the veil before dropping it. Each step becomes heavier. Neither of you wish to part for what has been done is done, the marriage contract between you and the prince of Philos, the famed Lumiere, having been signed with the golden ink of a kingdom that refuses to fall. Even the Roman Empire has fallen and Nabira remains. It will not let a new kingdom such as Philos tear its walls down, just the family that holds its throne together.

“I wish I could send you away in elegance like your ancestors were, domina,” he breaks the silence just as you reach the front of the palace. The wall’s gates open, the large wooden doors creaking and vibrating the world and floor beneath your feet. “You understand why you must depart like this.”

You look to the right of you. The sun begins to break past the horizon, the new day upon the kingdom. You draw in a breath before releasing it, turning back to face the gate.

“I do, father.”

“You must appear as a servant,” he continues to explain, “the criminals on the road must not know that our domina is among them.”

“I know,” you cannot bring yourself to look him in the eyes, your throat feeling sore.

The gates, now fully open, show a single rider on a white horse. Blue and purple decorates the horse’s caparison, its colors draped along the horse’s bodice. The man who sits on its back is your future husband, wearing his silver armor from the previous day. He wears no helmet, his silver locks of hair illuminated underneath the sun’s rays. The horse whinnies before slowly trotting forward.

From behind him stands the people of your great kingdom. They look inside the palace walls, flowers in their hands. Their eyes watch as the knight slowly approaches the sandstone steps where you wait for him. Your father’s grip on yours tightens.

“You must remarry,” you begin to speak, squishing the shakiness from within your voice, “with me gone, succession will hang in the balance. You must produce another heir.”

Your father turns to look at you. Bewilderment is etched into his face. Your expression remains neutral, strong, anchoring the two of you down as your heart trembles inside of your chest.

“Do not speak of succession, not at a time like this,” your father whispers.

“If thou does not wish to marry, know my brother bore a bastard son. Legitimize him and you will have your heir,” you continue, finally bringing yourself to look at your father, to meet his sorrowful gaze. “Allow my last actions in Nabira to aid you, father. Do not wallow in your sorrow. Thou shall drown.”

You turn away and look at Xavier who sits at the bottom of the steps. He swings his legs over and his metal scrapes against each other. Your mouth and throat go dry. He passes off the reigns to a servant. His blue eyes never leave yours. Xavier slowly ascends the steps, closing the distance.

“I love you, father,” you tremble, “please take care of Nabira while I am gone. Remember me.”

Is it a plea to become one of the many statues that litter the halls of the palace? To be remembered like the great domina who came before you, the woman who gained the love and affection of an even greater Roman emperor?

Will your laughter be remembered in the halls just like your brothers? Will flowers bloom in the absence of your presence? You do not wish for statues nor do you wish for your name to be etched into the walls of stone, depicting your departure from the kingdom and to never be heard from again.

You wish to be preserved in the kingdom’s memory. To be fondly spoken of as a kind woman, a woman who the people adore and miss, a woman they mourned when she was forced away from the castle.

“I love you too, daughter,” he sucks in a breath and drops your hand. He gestures to a servant, who rushes over with your bow and a quiver filled with arrows. He takes them from his hands and turns to you, slipping the weapon around your body while attaching the arrows onto your hip. “To protect yourself,” he shudders.

Another piece of home, you think, feeling the bow’s drawstring push into your chest. It brings you comfort.

“You will have a small bag of clothes and perfumes with you. When you reach the Lemurian port, you will be the one to find Rafayel for passage. He waits for you. Once you reach land, they will give you one of their horses for travel to Philos,” your father continues. He steps in front of you, looking down at the small diary in his hands.

It is a beautiful cover, bound from darkened leather and is covered in painted gold. The pages have aged from the centuries since its original use but remain in perfectly good shape.

“For you,” he breathes out, his eyes trained on the diary instead of you, “to guide you. Thou’s ancestors shall be at your side but she…she was the best of them. She will know how to guide you more than I ever will.”

He places the diary into your hands, the delicate material light in your palms. You do not open it, not now, and tilt your chin. His face contorts from sadness, his muscles twitching underneath his skin as he contemplates saying another sentence. He doesn’t, though, and the crown prince of Philos sits two steps below the top where you and your father stand.

“Good morrow,” Xavier speaks in his tongue, one that you will be forced to speak for the rest of your life. You wonder when you will ever get the chance to speak in your mother tongue again. Your father steps to the side and faces the prince, looking down upon him. You simply bow your head in response. “Are you ready?”

Now that is a question. Will you be ready for this next step in your life? Or will you fade into the nothingness of Philos’ future, a name to be forgotten and to be known simply as Xavier’s wife.

You nod. Xavier extends his hand to you and you take it, fingers curling around the warm metal of his glove. His eyes flit to your father, who slips the diary from your hand into a handwoven satchel, placing it over your shoulder.

“I’ll keep her safe, Your Grace,” he says with a hint of gentleness in his voice. It catches your attention. Xavier’s eyes move back to yours and he gently squeezes your hand. “Come. We have a long day ahead of us.”

You turn and look at your father while Xavier begins to guide you down the steps. Your father gives you one final wave, the wind warm against your skin as his head leaves your vision, disappearing behind the sandstone steps. The specks of gold in the sand glitter beneath the morning sun and you turn back around to look at Xavier, who stares straight ahead.

The gold veil that covers your face flows with the wind. The breeze picks up. It swirls around your ankles, kicking up your skirt as you and Xavier reach the bottom of the stairs. Your hand does not leave his but your eyes wander to the open gate. Servants rush around you, slipping the bag off of your back and attaching it besides Xavier’s on the horse. They bring out a step stool and Xavier turns to look at you, blocking the morning sun just as it comes up from the horizon.

“We’ll ride and meet up with my father and the troops,” Xavier places his hands on your waist. The metal of his gloves are warm to the touch. His thumbs graze over your hips, eyes wandering across your body before he hoists you up into the air, placing you towards the front of the horse with ease. Your perfume wafts in the air, the scent of rosemary and saffron filling his nose, luring the prince closer and closer to you. The servant nearby hands you the reins but they keep a hold of the chanfron, keeping the horse in place.

Your breath gets caught in your throat. Your cheeks heat up, your anger at Xavier still deeply rooted in the back of your mind.

He’s the reason you are being forced across the country, the reason why your brother’s body will be buried beneath the sand while being covered in riches, gold jewelry lining his arms, red ochre spread across his skin. Has he been administered his burial rites? You already have to miss his funeral, so all you can do is think about it while staring at the golden covered palace from at the bottom of the steps.

An outsider. That is what you are slowly becoming. Someone foreign to your kingdom if you are to ever return from Philos no matter how far in the future that hypothetical situation may be. You do not even know if you will be back to mourn the loss of your father when the time comes.

Xavier places his hand on yours, grabbing the reins and swings his leg over the back of the horse. He situates himself behind you. The warm metal of his armor presses into your back, a gasp leaving your mouth. A slight smirk spreads across his lips.

He reaches for your chin and tilts your head to look at him. His lips are dangerously close to yours. You shudder. Xavier’s blue gaze meets yours through the thin veil that covers your face. He silently memorizes the features of your expression, your knitted brow, the way your lips turn downward from his sudden closeness.

You don’t move. A silent challenge. It amuses him.

His blue eyes drop down to your lips, hovering there for a brief moment, before he drops his hand and draws his head away, gripping the reins.

“Let’s go,” Xavier murmurs.

You swallow the lump that formed in your throat and turn around, the man gently yanking the leather reins. The horse begins to trot forward, your bodies rocking with one another. He guides the horse out of the castle gates, exposing you and your image to the common people who line the streets.

Their eyes are big and reflect the gentle morning light. You look down upon them and can feel their gazes burn into the veil that covers your face. The horse slowly trots through the empty road, the people of Nabira spreading to the sides so you may pass.

The roses in their hands are gently placed onto the street. They watch you with a close eye and when you pass, they bow their heads in reverence. Pinks and reds turn the sandy stone into a vibrant painting. The people of Nabira watch as their next domina leaves the heart of the kingdom.

Xavier looks around, one hand on the reins while the other rests on his armor-clad thigh. His eyes float to the back of your head. He wishes to remove his hand from the metal glove and to feel the fabric of the veil. He does not question why you had it on, thinking that it has something to do with the flowers for your departure. Respectful and quiet, the man knowing that you will need the time for yourself in the first few hours — days, even — of the journey towards his home. A place that a small sliver of his heart wishes that it will be for you…home.

“They…they will miss you, domina,” Xavier leans forward and whispers into your ear. His words float over the sound of his chainmail. Shivers crawl down your spine and you slowly rest your hands on the pommel that he is pushing you into.

You cannot respond. There is no witty remark or serious reflection you can speak into existence. Your heart is slowly torn in half, a piece of your soul forever belonging to Nabira and the golden that sparkles from inside the sand.

“Will you miss them?” Xavier asks.

“Of course,” you breathe out and close your eyes, “but…their tears will run dry and life will move on without me here. They will have a new heir to love. They will forget me.”

You can only hope that there will be traces of your soul from behind the golden walls and in the people who live within it.

Xavier stares at the back of your head. You turn your head from side to side, bowing it at the people who lay roses at the horse’s feet. His face remains still, a slow nod coming from him as the horse walks through the silent streets.

Earlier, not even a few minutes ago, people began to build the marketplace for the day. Their wooden stalls were abandoned once the palace gates opened. Now, they sit and stare, watching as the prince of Philos enters to snatch his new bride away from them. Their lives frozen in place.

Xavier wondered how you treated the people of Nabira. He wonders even now as they decorate the streets of your farwell if choosing you to be his bride is the right choice. Will whisking you to a far away land deprive Nabira of its rightful ruler? The people of Philos deserve a queen as kind and beautiful as you, so perhaps the choice he has made was one out of his own selfishness, a sudden urge of possessiveness that came over him as soon as he laid eyes on you.

His blue eyes move to the golden accents of your veil. They are expertly sewn into the thin black material. It shimmers under the morning sunlight, flowing with the wind. He reaches up, the metal tips of his gloves gently brushing the stuck piece of veil from your shoulder.

Maybe he should turn the horse around and race you back to the golden palace on top of the golden steps, placing you by your father’s side. He’ll apologize, of course, to both him and you. He will get down on his knees and take your hand, pressing light and gentle kisses to your knuckles and ask for your forgiveness, to show him the same mercy and kindness that you do to your people.

You deserve better than being forced across the continent, to move from one edge of the world to the other. Xavier knows this. He traveled the world with his father in the hopes of conquering Nabira, the mysterious city dressed in gold, but after seeing you…Xavier convinced himself that Nabira was not for the taking. He also knows that he must play the role of villain in your story. He must be seen as the man who chose you, who forced you to move away from everything that you love and from the place you call home.

It doesn’t help that you drive him crazy with the way you talked back to him, your voice and words as sharp as the dagger he used against your brother. You are blunt and your mind is fast. Xavier does not know if he can truly keep up with you, having to resort to asserting his newfound dominance over you as your husband instead of listening and being respectful like a crown prince should be.

You are everything that he was taught a princess should not be. You are outspoken and speak your mind. He remembers the way you spoke to him, how quick you were to defend your kingdom with no regard for your status or rank in life. You were Nabira’s defender in that moment and he was just another man who wished to pillage and purge the kingdom of its beauty and resources.

The horse reaches the edge of the kingdom’s borders. The rest of the Philos army sits just outside the burnt walls where Nabiran men begin to fix the wall, sealing the cracks in the stone and rebuilding the places where the tan stones and rocks fell. You swallow the lump in your throat at the sight. Xavier’s grip tightens on the reins. It sends chills throughout your body to see just how easily it was for a new kingdom like Philos to break through.

Didn’t an emperor from along ago vow to protect your kingdom? Surely there is something he can do from behind the grave, to help your kingdom in its time of need and provide aid.

A sigh leaves your lips. Xavier leans forward, his lips bushing the shell of your ear. His breath is hot against your skin and yet you have never felt colder in your life. You tilt your face back to him ever so slightly, your eyes meeting his as the tips of your noses and lips dare to brush against each other. Your grip on the pommel tightens. Your nails dig into the leather, marking it with crescents.

“Are you nervous?” Xavier whispers, his voice just loud enough for you to hear over the cheers of the Philos soldiers and the angry clanging of metal against metal.

Your response isn’t immediate. His eyes burn into yours, making you feel small compared to him. Your eyes sting but no tears fall. Xavier slowly moves one of his hand from the reins of the horse. Your heart pounds inside your chest. He places his hand on top of your chest, a bold move that he can hide among the chaos of the environment, and somehow it roots you back into the earth.

“Steady,” Xavier breathes out, your heart pounding against the arm metal of his armor, “I got you.”

From the corner of your eye, you watch as soldiers mount their horses while others remain on the ground, hands resting on the hilt of their swords. They’re smiling. It makes you nauseous to see just how happy they are while your kingdom burns from around you. They laugh and converse as if they did not slaughter a plethora of your father’s men, nor are they sad at the fact that many of their own man, their brothers in arms, have perished on the battlefield as well.

“Will they remain?” you ask, nodding your head in the direction of tents that are still constructed. It actually pains you to know that those men — men who are undeserving of reaping Nabira’s resources and beauty — will be the ones to stay behind while you are taken away.

“Yes,” Xavier says, “they will stay behind and help protect the kingdom as written in our marriage contract.”

You slowly nod, going over his words in your head. You look around at the men. Most of them are on the younger side, perhaps they are unmarried and hold no major attachment back in Philos. The men on the horses are much older with scars traveling up their necks and arms, poking through the exposed cracks and spaces of their armor and undergarments.

“I can assure you that they are the best of the best—”

“No,” you cut Xavier off, the horse picking up speed once the area clears. “They’re the disposable ones. Ones that have no wives nor children who wait for them in Philos.”

“The same could be said about you, domina,” Xavier’s tone turns sharp. He pushes forward, his hips connecting with yours as the horse’s trot evolves into a light gallop. “Is that not what your father has done to you?”

“You and your army forced his hand,” you bite back the bitter taste that forms across your tongue. “I am not disposable. I am merely a pawn in the game between kings.”

His metal armor is rough against your back, connecting with your spine and bones. Xavier moves the reins into one hand, the other one moving to rest on your stomach. He pulls your back into his chest. Your breath gets caught in your throat. Xavier holds back on moving his hand upwards, to feel your heartbeat like he did a few minutes ago. The wood of your bow digs into your flesh, pressing against Xavier’s armor.

Of course, he is protected while you are left to deal with the pain.

“Disposable? No…” Xavier murmurs into your ear. “Leverage? Yes.”

Chills run down your spine. Butterflies erupt in the lower places of your stomach while your skin runs cold. You let out a quiet gasp, one that you hope to the gods and your ancestors that Xavier does not hear. His touch on you tightens. The edges of his armor poke into your body. Breathless, you place your hand on top of his, your skin absorbing the heat that has been in contact with the shining silver armor. You gnaw at the inside of your cheek, fighting back the tears that well in your eyes as your emotions overtake your body.

Xavier feels the tension in your body. The once strong domina has come to realize her new position in life. His heart aches for you, wishing for him to reach out and hold you close, to soak in all of the angst and turmoil that crashes throughout your body. He can’t, though, knowing that you will reject him at any and every turn that may occur, any chance to come together as one instead of being forced together.

The ends of your veil flick in the wind, gently tapping against his armor. In the distance, his father sits on his horse, overlooking the part of the land where the sand dunes turn into spaced out green shrubbery with the sand intermixed with the landscape.

Xavier’s white horse moves across the land, quickly approaching his father up on the hill. Their army begins to fall in line from behind, an informal procession out of the kingdom and into the wilds of the rest of the world. You hold on to Xavier’s arm, steadying yourself against his body before he tugs on the reins, the horse slowing down.

“Father,” Xavier speaks, his voice carrying from over your shoulder, “the troops are ready to move on your mark.”

The King of Philos turns his torso to stare at his son and his future bride. Together, they are Philos’ future. You and Xavier will be the ones who carry on the tradition of the kingdom, upholding its values as well as producing heirs to strengthen his family’s bloodline. His eyes fall onto you and he gives you a small bow of the head before turning his attention back to his son, a small smirk, one that is not hard to catch, spreading across his face.

“You two may ride ahead, if you please,” his words cause you discomfort, forcing you lean back into Xavier. His grip on you tightens before loosening, a reassuring squeeze of his promise from before.

Steady…I got you.

“You know the way. My army and I will catch up soon enough,” he continues. His eyes take their liberties and roam your body. He licks his chapped lips and gestures to the land that lies before the two of you.

You draw in a breath and feel Xavier move from behind. You turn around, your eyes meeting his. He closes some of the distance and lowers his head as if he is about to listen to your command. You hesitate, fingers digging into the silver that coats his body, and you let out a shaky sigh.

“I wish…to get one last look,” you breathe out. Xavier pulls away with a small nod.

Your eyes never leave each other and you’re suddenly thankful for the veil that covers your face as the sun continues to rise in the sky, no longer hidden beneath the horizon. You nod your head to a large sand dune not too far away. Xavier glances at it and nods, giving the reins a squeeze and tug in the direction to guide the horse.

The ride over is silent except for the sounds of the horse’s breathing and the wood of your bow meeting the chest plate of his armor. You have become accustomed to Xavier’s body against yours now. Well, you’ve become accustomed to his armor rather than his own body. He has only ever worn it in your presence, not that you are surprised by the idea seeing how he is living in what he perceives to be a war zone. It is not comfortable by any means but it definitely helps out your back and hinders any future pain from seeping into your muscles and bones.

If only you knew that Xavier does not mind your weight being pressed against him.

“Is this spot okay?” Xavier asks.

You nod and look around as the heels of your feet tap against the side of the horse. The animal comes to a slow beside the ruins of what was once a great Roman outpost, a place where their scouts could see invaders from far away. The stone walls have fallen and what is left is the remnants of the past. Cracks spread across the rocks, fractured from time.

Xavier swings his leg over the horse. He drops to the ground, his grasp on your body releasing. You watch him and slide back into his spot, holding the reins in your hands now. His blue eyes meet yours then his hands follow. You slip the reins into his hands. He walks the horse over to the ruins and ties the reins to the almost disintegrated column. Once he is done, he turns his attention back to you.

Xavier slips the metal gloves off of his hands. He opens the satchel that hangs off the horse’s side and tucks them away, his hands connecting with your legs. You shiver, the air in your lungs slipping away. His calloused hands slide from your knees and up your thighs, the warmth of his touch seeping through the material of your skirt. Goosebumps form across your skin. You look down at him as he helps move your leg over the horse’s neck. His hands slip to your waist, his fingers digging into your body.

The prince lifts you from the horse, slowly lowering you to the ground. You are trapped between his chest and the animal, your eyes never leaving each other. Once your feet touch the ground, you go to move but Xavier keeps you in place. He moves one hand away from your waist. It travels up your body, sparks flying between your bodies.

“Xavier,” you whisper his name, unsure if his sudden closeness is a threat or something more.

Xavier leans down, the tip of his nose grazing against yours. You shudder, your breaths mixing together into one. He leans forward but you draw away, removing his hands from your body, and moving around him and into the light of the morning sun. He lets out a quiet sigh, turning on his heel.

You move to the edge of the dune, your feet kicking up the sand. Nabira sits in the distance. Its walls shimmer and glisten under the light, signaling an oasis in a place where the earth can be so cruel. You already miss the distinct floral smell the closer you get towards the palace, the freshly cooked foods in the marketplace, and you miss the way the people smiled as you pass in the street. You’re going to miss the safe haven out in the small stretch of desert by the palace where the statues of your ancestors sit.

Xavier moves behind you. He looks at the back of your head, quietly watching as you remove the veil from your head. You wrap it around the top of your bow. The thin and shimmery fabric floats in the wind, tethered to the tip of the wooden bow. He watches you with a close eye, noticing your trembling hands.

He closes the distance, his chest just a small space away from your back. The tips of his fingers tap your waist. You don’t flinch, already used to the feeling of his hands on your body, and he presses further, the palms of his hands flattening against your sides. His chest plate follows, the warm metal pressed up against your back. You shudder and keep your gaze fixated on the glimmering sight of your home.

“Tell me of Philos,” your voice breaks through the silence, “what does it look like?”

Xavier pauses for a moment. Your pairs of eyes look upon Nabira, the way it blends into the desert while sticking out at the same time. It will be hard to imagine what his kingdom looks like by deciphering his words. You have only ever known the desert and the surrounding areas, seeing green and yellow shrubbery let alone san entire sea of green. Your father’s garden was the closest thing you got to exploring the world and seeing exotic plants and flowers.

“Philos…Philos is different than Nabira,” Xavier begins, “there are many hills like the dunes, but they are covered in green grass and flowers, sometimes even orchards. Water is plentiful with lakes and rivers near the castle. There are beaches, too, if you wish for me to take you there. Our home lays on the top of a mountain. The castle touches the clouds.”

“The clouds?” you whisper in disbelief. Xavier hums in response.

“There is a forest by the castle as well, with many animals in it. Deer, bears, wolves, squirrels…” Xavier murmurs.

The wind picks up from around you. Tiny specks of sand collide with your body, the gentle stinging sensation tingling your exposed skin. Xavier leans down, his mouth hovering beside your ear. You continue to gaze at Nabira, a pang of sadness pouring through your body but it slowly disappears as you begin to accept your destiny and the life your ancestors have laid out for you.

“Why did you remove the veil, domina?” Xavier asks. You tilt your face to the side, capturing his gaze with yours.

“Nabira will never see my face,” you respond in a quiet voice, “there is no need for the veil out here.”

The first day of travel is hard. Xavier’s father and the army that will return home caught up with the two of you as soon as you returned to the road. Xavier sat behind you again, his grip on the reins tight while you rested your weight into his body. When he grew weary, you would take the reins and allowed him to rest upon you, closing his eyes while the army of people crossed through the desert and towards the port.

It is only a few days of travel to get to the port. It sits on a sea that connects a bounty of kingdoms and was a vital tool for your ancestor’s reach during his time as the Roman emperor. You learned about it from books just how useful having a port on this sea is. You are grateful that your father has provided you the decency of traveling by boat to cut down your travel time, using his alliance with the Lemurians to provide this grace.

The journey to the port, though, was proving to be tiresome.

The sun is high in the sky, scorching rays of heat hitting the Philos army. Xavier has shed himself of his outer layers of armor, the metal being taken away as a single layer of chainmail remained. His sword remained at his wide, attached to his hip. You remained in front of him, hands attached to the pommel of his saddle.

Unlike Xavier, you are used to the heat of the desert. His face is a slight red color. Your veil helped protect him from the sun, providing shade for his eyes while the horse trotted along. Soldiers poked fun at him while your shared horse slowed down, the men passing you by. Their laughs died, though, when Xavier shot them a glare, demanding respect for their future king.

The heat reminds you of sweet memories of your childhood where you and your brother would accompany your parents to political events outside of the kingdom with allies who would never betray Nabira. The two of you sat with your parents on their horses, pretending that you were on the run from the mad king. Your parents played along, even getting the soldiers to join in when you made camp, wooden swords in your hands as you and your brother ran around camp.

The horse trots along and with Xavier preoccupied in a conversation with another high ranking solider, speaking about previous battles and what they plan to do once they get back home. You reach your hand into the satchel you father gave you. A small assortment of bread, hard cheeses, dried fruits, dried meat, and nuts. Each piece of food individually wrapped up, protecting the silks in your bags as well as the diary. You slip the diary free from the bag, holding it out into the open afternoon light.

The gold of the diary sparkles, the leather strap keeping the pages together. You tilt it around and inspect every corner and crevice. You lick your dry lips and feel Xavier’s chest move from laughter. His hand rests on his thigh, the white colors of his pants reflecting as much heat as possible. Your gaze flickers to his knees, waiting for a brief moment before opening up the dairy. The horse picks up speed as Xavier moves you two through the pack, growing closer and closer to the front where the king rides.

It is written in your mother tongue, the familiar curves and script of the letters filling your vision. Each entry is delicately written into the tan and worn pages. You graze your fingers over the words. A gust of wind picks up your hair as your scan the words of the pages with widened and attentive eyes.

“What’s that?” Xavier’s voice fills your ear, sending chills down your spine. You snap the book shut, turning to look at the light haired man. His blue eyes are so soft and there is a dustiness to the colors of his irises that pull you in, making you want to lower your defenses while around him.

“It’s nothing,” you respond, speaking in his native language.

You haven’t spoken a single word of your mother tongue since you left the castle walls. That part of your life has officially come to an end, hasn’t it? The first stage of your assimilation into a new kingdom requiring you to adopt their language. Next will be you forced into their clothes, adjusting to their food and table manners, learning all of their customs and traditions while yours becomes nonexistent in your life.

“It is something my father gave me…advice and tales of Nabira…do I don’t forget where I came from,” you say, looking up at a Xavier from over your shoulder.

He tilts his head to the side then nods, turning his attention elsewhere. You let out a silent breath of relief and turn back to the diary, opening up its pages. You don’t touch anything else, simply the edges of the diary as if it is a precious artifact that you must protect from the rest of the world.

The wind moves the pages, one page sticking out as the others remain flat. You tilt your head to the side, eyes trained on the first few words of the page. The entry is about the author’s first time in a new place, all of her thoughts and feelings sprawled out on the bound piece of parchment.

She speaks of her journey to Rome, how long the traveling took to go from Nabira to Rome. Unlike you, the emperor did not come to pick her up himself…perhaps it was a power move to assert his dominance over her. You can’t even begin to think about what Xavier may have planned for you on the way back to Philos.

Her words give you comfort. Her inked fingerprints stain the pages, causing you to smile. She knows what it is like to be shipped away from Nabira, her life uprooted and in turmoil with her new setting. She is lucky that she was sent to Rome instead of being pushed farther away to the other side of the world. Her story is tragic, just like yours, and she was married off to an emperor instead of a king. Which one is worse, you do not know. She was subjected to the public light and scrutiny from the nobles of Rome. It makes you feel uneasy to think about.

Will your life be a constant game of strategy? Will you have to navigate gossip and rumors about your person? Will your status and legitimacy for the role as future queen be called into question?

Xavier has reassured you that you will be loved by the people of Philos, but they are not the ones you are weary of. You are nervous to encounter the nobles of his kingdom, to interact with Dukes and Lords who wished for their daughter to ascend to the throne instead of a woman who comes from a far away land.

To them, you are an enemy. Someone to take out without the king or prince knowing, a silent assassination so that their daughters may thrive. Will Xavier be there to save you? To shield you from their senseless attacks?

Or will he be the one to guide you to your inevitable end just like he did with your brother?

You continue to read her words, soaking in the wisdom that she has to offer. You skip through the pages, catching glimpses of her life one bit at a time. The entries speak to you, offering you wisdom for the future that lies ahead. She is clearly smart, seeing how she was able to evade her future husband’s mistress and her attempts to destroy her reputation.

You close the book, taking a quick peek inside the cover. That’s when you see it.

Her name.

The same name as the woman your kingdom adores, the woman whose statue you speak to during your times of need. It is like fate itself has granted you medicine in the form of her diary to provide you the comfort you need when stepping into this new world.

She speaks of adopting a new culture while remaining loyal to Nabira, a lot of her actions and appearances influenced by the glamor of your kingdom.

Your unsteady heart calms. The diary closes and your fingers graze over the smooth metal accents, metal that has been worn down through the years. Even the leather is beginning to dry up after hundreds of years, slightly crunchy and cracked in between your fingers. A bit of oil or some type of grease will help mend the fresh cracks, to keep the diary alive for the daughters that will come from you and Xavier, if you have any, that is.

You turn the page, gently rolling your bottom lip between your teeth. Her journey was long and she travelled by carriage, much more comfortable than being on horseback with your future husband. She was alone, though, while you have the company of the man you will lay beside. Her words are strong and they reassure you, validating your turbulent emotions.

The pages are crisp and dry between your fingers. You flick the page, revealing the next chapter in her life. She speaks of the emperor and their first encounter alone with one another.

He looked at me like I was made of something holy. Not silk. Not gold. Not treaties or thrones. Just… me. I have never been seen like that before. And gods help me, it terrified me more than war ever could.

You think back to your first encounter with Xavier, the way the two of you observed each other in silence before you inevitably grew tired of his disrespect for your kingdom. You remember the glare in his eyes, the hint of danger that laid underneath his blue irises, a fire that you wanted to snuff out.

Xavier looked at you as if you were any other woman. There was no warmth from behind his eyes and yet when he took your hand in his, his touch was gentle. The kiss he placed along your knuckles was light and reverent, respectful of your title as domina. He is a prince, after all, so you brush it off as him being trained to be gentle towards women, especially those he may marry.

“What does the book speak of?” Xavier’s voice draws you from your thoughts. When you don’t respond, Xavier clears his throat and looks to the side, staring at the soldiers that begin to make camp in the open clearing. “You haven’t spoken since you opened it.”

You close the diary and turn to look at him, the horse coming to a slow halt. The sun has begun to set and the time to make camp has come upon the army. Xavier slips off of the horse and passes the reins off to a soldier who runs towards the two of you. He bows his head to Xavier first before bowing to you. Xavier’s hands find themselves at your waist, helping you off of the horse once again.

“It is a diary from a previous domina,” you say, speaking a censored version of the truth, not wanting to let him in just yet, “my father thought it would help me.”

“Your father is a smart man,” Xavier comments. He flattens out the wrinkles of your skirt, his touch burning into the skin of your hip. He turns his attention to the bow that is wrapped around your body. He reaches up and grabs the sinew drawstring between his fingers, giving it a feel. “You shoot?”

“A hobby, your Highness,” you can feel your cheeks heat up due to his close proximity to you but you force the feeling away. “I hope to never have to use it against a man.”

“You won’t,” Xavier’s response is quick and determined. His eyes flicker to yours, slightly darkening, his expression softening ever so slightly. “Thou will never use a weapon to protect herself…I will do the fighting for you.”

Butterflies erupt in your stomach. You gulp and tear your gaze away from his, gnawing at the inside of your cheek as you try to get your mind off of his words. They reassure you of your place by his side, one that he had a hand in choosing. Xavier chose you. He chose you out of a plethora of ladies that were sure to have been presented to him and yet here is he pledging his silent allegiance to you.

You know that you should feel safe, perhaps even a little flattered for him to come to arms for your honor so quick, but every piece of new information that you receive from this point on will forever be tainted by his hands, by the world he lives in and the people he interacts with. You must always look twice and take your time when responding. For the rest of your days, you will never know if people truly mean what they say or if it is a facade, a room filled with smoke and mirrors, to take the crown from your head.

It is a life of damnation and manipulation. You’ll adjust to it soon enough.

“One of the men will set up a tent for you to sleep in, domina,” Xavier says. He grabs your chin, moving your head to look back at him. His eyes move to a dark spot on your cheek. The pad of his thumb creeps up, wiping away the dust and dirt that formed on your face. “There will be a man stationed outside your tent for your protection.”

“And you?” you speak before you can even think. “Where will you be?”

A hint of a smile flashes across Xavier’s face before it disappears. He retracts his hand and tilts his head to the side. It’s quiet. You listen to the sound of hammers securing metal nails into the ground, the construction of tents beginning. His hands rest on the hilt of his sword before his eyes lower to the quiver that sits at your waist. He plucks an arrow and raises it in the air, eyes focused on the metallic arrowhead instead of you. He runs the pad of his thumb along the sharp edge, drawing a light amount of blood from his finger.

“Where would you like me to be?” Xavier asks, eyes fluttering back to you.

“Far,” you narrow your gaze at him, “far, far away.”

Xavier chuckles and slips the arrow back into the quiver at your side. The black crow feathers reflect the dusk’s sunlight. You cross your arms over your chest. He simply nods his head in response, taking a step backward as the Philos soldiers work around him. He slightly bows down, lowering his head with his hands fitted at his sides. When he straightens his posture, your eyes meet, the corner of his lips tugging upwards.

“As you wish, princess,” Xavier’s voice is low and husky.

Your lips part and you are forced to watch as he turns away, disappearing into the crowd and blur of working soldiers. A breath leaves your lips, one made out of pure relief for the space that grows between you and Xavier. You grab your bag, the one filled with Nabiran goods and a change of clothes, and look around the camp that quickly comes together.

You are alone. Completely and utterly alone. You are the only woman at camp too, which makes things worse for you. The temperament of men has always scared you. They choose to do what they wish, an air of superiority always following them around. They think that they can come and go as they please, that they are allowed to take what they want without consequence. Well, that’s what the noble men have acted like in your life.

You have heard the stories of peasant men in Nabira through your brother. Your father always tried to keep your ears away from the stories of men who kill for fun and pleasure, those who take whatever woman they want and discard them once they are done. Nabiran law has protected these women and the men who have been caught were always thrown into prison, left to rot, but it still leaves you feeling uneasy to know that your supposed protector, Xavier, is of the same kind as the men who slaughtered hundreds.

He is a man who was killed. You do not know if he takes pleasure in it or if he kills because he feels worthy enough to take life. The crown and title of prince can do that to people, corrupt them into thinking that their reign must be one of fear and terror, to rule with an iron fist and beat their people into submission.

From what you have seen, though, Xavier does not seem to be that way. You listened to his conversations with his father and the higher ranking generals that accompanied him on the conquest east to Nabira. He is smart and his choices are decisive. He shares a lot of the same qualities that she spoke of in her diary, of the man she was forced to marry. They are both level headed but can be easily swayed if convinced hard enough. Both men are great military leaders with great victories and achievements under their name and it is all for the glory of their homeland.

You slip through the crowd of soldiers, eyes scanning the waves of men who laugh and cheer with one another. They do not look in your direction. When they notice you, though, they go quiet and bow their heads or raise their cups in your direction before moving back to their own conversations.

Xavier is nowhere to be seen. Many of the soldiers do not share the same shade of dusty silver hair nor do they hold the same eye color as him. Among them, Xavier looks divine, a god amongst mortals. You wonder if he shares the same talent as the men in your family do, the ability to wield a force of nature and command it.

The crown prince remains on your mind as you mind refuge with the men who begin to cook. They welcome you with open arms and even let you decide what meat to cook for the shared dinner, promising to give you the best bits. They allowed you to place your belongings with them until your tent was made ready.

You caught glimpses of Xavier as soon as you distracted your mind, eating a piece of bread that the cooks gave you. He bowed his head before leaving your sight. It was a silent game of cat and mouse that you have found yourself with him. Only in this instance, you are the cat trying to find him, the mouse.

His touch still burns against your skin. You can feel the heat from his fingers when he helped you off of the horse, the covered patches where his hand grazed your body. The thought of it sends chills down your spine. You quickly come to the understanding that you need to distance yourself with him while you travel to Philos. A talk with his father, the King, should do, yes? You can only hope.

The satchel bumps against your hip, gently colliding with your quiver. Men move all around you, parting like the tale about the Red Sea, leading you straight towards the King’s tent.

The cloth is white with blue and purple designs etched throughout the material. It is large and two men stand at the entrance with their swords hanging from their sides. When you approach, they bow their heads and hold open one of the tent’s flaps, the entrance opening and revealing warm candlelight on the inside of the tent. You step inside and look to the side, noticing Xavier standing inside, all of his armor and chainmail finally off of his body. He wears a simple oversized shirt, the white cotton revealing the top portion of his chest and the sleeves rolled up his arms, and it is matched with brown leather pants.

No words leave your mouth, stunned by the sight of his toned arms. Your complaint about him disappears. You can barely even make a sound until he turns to look at you, his blue gaze traveling across your body, leaving goosebumps in its wake.

“I thought you wished to be rid of me,” Xavier muses with a small smile. He places a sword on the cot and turns his attention back towards you, his blue eyes as soft as ever.

“I wished to be away from you,” you hold back an eye roll while you correct him, “not to be rid of you. Where is your father? I must speak with him.”

“If you have anything to say, princess,” the change of title irks you, making you feel like his prey, “you may speak to me.”

“Is that because you are to be my husband?” you scoff, crossing your arms over your chest.

“No, it is because I am the future of his kingdom and will be king one day,” Xavier’s words slice through your comment, killing any of the humor and negative emotions that were hidden behind it. He approaches you but turns at the last second, moving towards a wooden table that holds silver plates and goblets. He turns to you and leans against the table, hands folded in front of him. “Tell me what is on your mind.”

“I wish to have my own horse,” you finally break your silence and your hands fall to your sides.

“A horse?” Xavier questions. “Are you already tired of me?”

“I do not see how sharing one with you is advantageous to either of us,” you huff, “I am more than capable of riding on my own.”

“I know you are more than capable,” Xavier pushes off of the wooden table and crosses the distance between you and him. You tilt your chin up, eyes meeting his. You take a step backwards, the back of your legs hitting the King’s cot. He leans down, forcing his way into your space. “We cannot spare one.”

“You cannot?”

“No,” Xavier reaches up and brushes a strand of hair behind your ear, “we cannot.”

“Shame,” you whisper.

“Indeed,” Xavier whispers. He reaches up and grabs your chin, moving your face back and forth. A compliment hangs on the tip of his tongue, ready to be released into the world, to show you that he means no harm, just to protect you while you journey to Philos. A gesture to show his goodwill during a time where you undoubtedly feel isolated and scared.

“If I did not know better, one would think that you wish to be near me,” you speak boldly.

“Is that a bad thing, princess?” Xavier quickly counters. “We are to be wed…you will be my wife and I, your husband. Should we not know each other?”

“One would think that you are trying to taint my honor,” you respond, matching the low volume of his voice, “to damage me before the time comes.”

“Is that what you think of me? A man who wishes to ruin you?” Xavier questions, tilting his head to the side.

Xavier’s gaze drops to your lips. They’re so perfect, recently coated in a familiar oil that got rid of any cracks or chapped skin. Your perfume is intoxicating, the floral scent captivating him. He slowly leans his head further down. You do not push him away, remaining frozen in place as your once wide eyes slowly close.

A compliment of your beauty, the way your presence has made him reevaluate his priorities in life while you rode a great distance. He noticed the specks of gold in your eyes, a signature of the Nabiran royalty just like his own pale hair and light colored eyes.

The prince cups your cheek. The pad of his thumb traces over your bottom lip, a quiet sigh fleeing from your lips.

“Are you afraid of me?” Xavier quietly asks.

“No,” you answer, “I am afraid of my circumstance.”

“No, you do not fear that,” he whispers, “you detest it and in turn…you detest me.”

His words cause you to reach up and place your hand over his, trapping it against the side of your face. Your fingers curl around the palm of his hand. He takes a step forward, his chest a minuscule distance from your own, and he leans down, pressing his forehead against yours.

“Forgive me,” Xavier sighs, breathing in your scent, memorizing the hints of spice in your perfume. “Forgive me for the sins I have committed against you.”

Unsure of what to say to him, unable to procure forgiveness that he desperately seeks, you remain frozen in time, his skin burning against yours.

How do you forgive a murder? A man who once wished to take your family’s kingdom — your kingdom — as his own. Do you give him penance? Will there be a habitual routine he must complete in order to gain your favor?

None of which will bring your brother back. Xavier’s punishment will not reverse the contract that has been signed, the odyssey that you are taking across the world to step into a queen’s shoes, to help run a kingdom you heard of in fairytales and stories your mother read to you.

Anger remains inside your body. It festers in the crevices of your stomach, nausea taking over your body as your body is pressed against his. Xavier’s hands attach to your waist, dragging you towards him as his nose rubs against yours. Your grip on his hand moves to his wrist, gripping it tightly. Your nails dig into his skin, crescents forming in his pale skin.

Your silence worries him but he knows that it is a battle that will only make the war between the two of you more destructive than it needs to be.

Xavier releases your waist and takes a step back. His hand moves up your side, trailing along the lines of your shoulder as he traces down your arm, his hand finding yours. He brings your knuckles to his lips, pressing a gentle kiss to your fragrant skin. Your eyes meet his.

“My apologies, your highness,” Xavier clears his throat, his voice still gentle and quiet. He stares at your hand, memorizing the golden rings that grace your fingers. “I do not know what came over me.”

He drops your hand and bows. The prince grabs his sword from the cot, fastening the belt around his waist, before he heads towards the exit, his silver locks reflecting the moonlight. You remain in place before you will your feet to follow him. You exit the tent seconds after him.

You scan the crowd for his silver hair but it is of no use, the crown prince disappearing in the night.

as always, likes, comments, & reblogs are greatly appreciated <3

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cupcakefactory · 16 days ago

Text

Fatherhood Is a Full-Contact Sport

♡ ft. Caleb, Xavier, Rafayel, Zayne, Sylus x fem!reader ♡ cw: dad!headcanons, domestic chaos, tag-team toddler warfare, sticker abuse, ego injuries, public humiliation (soft), wife-led mischief ♡ a/n: you didn’t mean to start a war… but once your kid picked a target, you had to support them. teamwork makes the dream (dad meltdown) work.

Caleb

It starts with the socks.

You and your kid exchange a look over breakfast—just a slight twitch of the eyebrow, a smirk over toast—and Caleb should have known. He should have.

But he’s got stars in his eyes and jam on his fingers, and he’s too busy cutting your kid’s pancakes into perfect little hexagons to notice you’ve already swapped his socks.

They’re pink. With glitter hearts. And the words “#1 Trophy Husband” stitched in sparkly thread.

He puts them on without looking.

And then?

Operation: Bully Dad begins.

—

Phase One: Language Manipulation. You teach your kid to call him “Captain Cranky.”

Every time he sighs? “Okay, Captain Cranky.”

When he says no to dessert? “Ugh, classic Captain Cranky.”

He stares at you like you betrayed him. You just sip your coffee.

“I am not cranky,” he mutters.

From under the table: “You’re literally pouting right now, Cap.”

—

Phase Two: The Snack Swap. He reaches for his favorite protein bar in the pantry.

Finds a note instead.

"Too slow, Captain Cranky. We needed it more. For… missions"

He spins around.

You and your kid are already on the couch. Sharing it. Making dramatic yum noises.

“I swear to god, you two are a menace.”

You both say it at the same time: “A menace to CRANKY.”

—

Phase Three: The Betrayal. He finally gets a break. He’s lying on the floor with your kid on his chest, playing spaceship noises.

It’s quiet. Peaceful.

Then your kid leans down and whispers: “Mommy says you talk in your sleep. About kissing her toes.”

His eyes FLY OPEN.

You’re across the room, hiding a smile behind a throw pillow. “I said what I said.”

He groans and drags both of you onto the floor with him. “Unbelievable. My own family.”

You grin. “You love it.”

He kisses your temple, then your kid’s forehead. “You have no idea.”

Xavier

It starts with a whisper war in the hallway.

You and your kid peek around the corner like spies on a stakeout—clipboard in hand, checklist ready.

Mission Objective: Tease Daddy Until He Short Circuits.

Xavier is at the kitchen counter, pouring cereal into the mug he always insists is “just more ergonomic than a bowl.” He’s wearing socks with swords on them. A gift from you. He takes them very seriously.

You circle “Target Acquired.”

—

Phase One: The Wrong Name Game. Your kid walks in casually.

“Hey, Xylophone.”

Xavier glances up. “Hello.”

No reaction.

Not even confusion.

So your kid tries again, louder. “I said Xylophone.”

Xavier frowns faintly. “Yes. I heard. Are we experimenting with sound-based naming systems today?”

You lose it from the hallway.

—

Phase Two: Sticker Warfare. This one’s your idea.

While Xavier’s reading on the couch, your kid climbs into his lap with all the innocence in the world—and slowly starts covering him in dinosaur stickers.

One on his cheek.

One on his temple.

A brontosaurus on his neck.

He doesn’t move. Doesn’t flinch.

Finally, he blinks over his book. “Is there a… theme?”

“Jurassic Daddy,” you say sweetly, passing by.

He nods thoughtfully. “Very well.”

Doesn’t even take them off.

—

Phase Three: The Hidden Alarm. Your kid sneaks your phone into Xavier’s jacket pocket.

Sets a timer.

In two minutes, it’ll go off. Loud. In the middle of him doing birdwatching on the balcony.

He’s squinting into the trees, focused and serene—until a digital duck quack blares from his coat.

He freezes.

Then calmly pulls out your phone, stares at it like it’s a new lifeform.

“...Is this my punishment for using your mug?”

You and your kid high-five from the doorway.

—

That night, you’re brushing your teeth when you feel arms wrap around your waist from behind.

“I love you,” he murmurs into your hair.

You smile at his reflection. “Even when we bully you?”

He hums. “Especially when you work as a team.”

He’s got a triceratops still stuck to his sleeve.

You leave it.

Rafayel

It starts because Rafayel wouldn’t let your kid put googly eyes on the blender.

A crime, truly.

So now?

You’re at war.

You and your mini-me form an unholy alliance before breakfast. The mission is clear: mess with Rafayel all day. Confuse him. Fluster him. Bring him to his knees (with love, obviously).

—

Phase One: The Sketch Swap He leaves his current canvas in the studio—half-finished, ethereal, probably titled Longing for Lemuria II: A Study in Violet Silence.

You and your kid sneak in.

When he returns, the dreamy mermaid now has a mustache. And laser eyes. And a speech bubble that says “My dad has stinky feet.”

He gasps like you physically struck him.

“You defiled my muse?!”

You shrug. “Consider it a collaboration.”

Your kid adds: “We made it better.”

He puts a hand to his chest. “You’re both going to artist jail.”

—

Phase Two: The Fashion Sabotage He goes to pull on his favorite pants—the flowy, artsy ones with the embroidered moons—and finds they’ve been replaced with hot pink yoga leggings from your drawer.

You: “I think you could rock them.”

Your kid: “Slay, bestie.”

He stares at the pants.

Then stares at you.

Then changes into them like a man on a catwalk.

But he’s muttering the entire time. “This is emotional abuse. I’m filing a glitter-based complaint.”

—

Phase Three: The Cookie Theft He opens the cabinet for his secret stash of lavender shortbread.

Finds an empty tin and a note inside:

“Stolen in the name of justice. Your blender crimes have consequences. —The Chaos Coalition”

He screams. Loudly. Then walks dramatically into the living room and collapses across the couch like a Victorian woman fainting on a chaise.

You toss him a goldfish cracker.

He glares.

Then eats it.

—

That night, he pulls you close in bed, head on your chest.

“I hope you both know,” he whispers, “that I am keeping a list.”

You run your fingers through his hair. “Of what?”

“Every emotional injury I sustained today.”

Your kid peeks in the doorway. “You forgot we replaced your shampoo with whipped cream.”

He gasps.

But honestly?

He’s never felt more loved.

Zayne

It begins when he finds his stethoscope floating in a bowl of cereal.

“Do you have a reason,” Zayne asks slowly, very calmly, “why my hospital equipment is now... infused with oat milk?”

Your child blinks up at him. “It was cold and needed a bath.”

You, from across the kitchen: “Honestly? Sound logic.”

He closes his eyes. Sets the stethoscope on the counter. Says nothing.

That was your warning shot.

—

Phase One: Renaming the Routine

You and your kid refuse to call anything by its normal name.

Zayne walks into the room, setting his laptop down with surgical precision.

You: “Look out. The Ice Cube Cometh.”

Your kid: “All hail Frost Daddy.”

Zayne: “I am literally holding your dental insurance forms.”

You both clap like he told a joke.

He blinks. Once.

“...What’s happening right now?”

—

Phase Two: The Hospital File Swap

He opens his neatly labeled folder before work.

Finds a glittery drawing titled “ME + MOMMY + FROST DAD = BESTIES FOREVER 💖”

Also, you’ve replaced his bio with:

“Zayne: World’s Coldest Softie. Will cry at piano music and is afraid of butterflies.”

He reads it. Stares at the paper.

Puts it back.

And takes it to work anyway.

—

Phase Three: Sticker Surgery

He showers. He gets dressed. He puts on his favorite button-down.

Then glances in the mirror—and freezes.

There’s a little cartoon Band-Aid sticker on his jawline.

Purple. With a smiley face.

You don’t even try to hide your laugh.

His jaw tics.

“I’ve conducted heart transplants with less sabotage than I face in this household.”

You pat his cheek. “And yet, you’re still so lovable.”

“Debatable.”

—

At bedtime, he’s halfway through folding laundry (into immaculate rectangles, obviously), when your kid leans against his side.

“Hey Dad?”

“Yes?”

“We bullied you good today.”

He pauses.

Then quietly nods.

“You did.”

You sit beside him, resting your head on his shoulder.

“But you liked it.”

“…No comment.”

You kiss the spot beneath his ear. “Tomorrow we’re calling you Doctor Cuddles.”

He exhales. Resigned. But soft.

“…Fine. But only inside this house.”

(You do not respect that boundary.)

Sylus

It starts before 9 a.m.

Sylus—warlord, tactician, red-eyed nightmare of the underground—walks into the living room fully dressed for a meeting with a black-market arms dealer.

Hair slicked. Suit sharp. Brooch in place.

You and your kid are waiting for him.

He stops. Narrow eyes. Tilt of the head. Suspicion.

You smile sweetly.

Your kid lunges forward.

And slaps a bright pink unicorn sticker onto his briefcase.

Dead center.

Sylus just… stands there.

“…Is this meant to be intimidation?”

You: “We’re marking our territory.”

Your kid: “Now the bad guys will know you have backup.”

He looks down at the sticker.

Then at you.

And says absolutely nothing.

But he takes the damn briefcase.

—

Phase One: Name Disrespect

He’s mid-hologram conference when your kid walks in, climbs into his lap, and announces to the entire Onychinus leadership:

“This is Mr. Grumpy Fangs. He doesn’t like it when I boop his nose.”

Sylus doesn’t even flinch.

Keeps talking about supply routes like there isn’t a giggling toddler poking his cheek on live cam.

Later?

He finds out you recorded it.

You send him the clip labeled:

“POV: You’re a villain and your child is your boss.”

He replies with one word:

“Traitor.”

Phase Two: Crow Brooch Chaos

You’re in the middle of folding laundry when your kid comes sprinting in, giggling with something clenched in one hand.

Minutes later, you hear Sylus’s voice—flat, deadly.

“Why… are there googly eyes on my crow?”

You don’t even look up. “Balance. Every villain needs a little whimsy.”

He turns to your kid. “Did you do this?”

“Team effort,” they chirp.

Sylus glares at the glittery-eyed brooch sitting on his chest.

Then sighs.

And doesn’t take it off.

Until hours later.

(He leaves it on his desk. Keeps looking at it.)

Phase Three: Tactical Sabotage

He walks into the war room.

Finds the giant wall map—his map—covered in crayon scribbles.

He blinks.

“Did someone… add butterflies to the Northern quadrant?”

Your kid: “It needed joy.”

You: “And balance.”

He stands there in silence.

Then mutters: “You’ve both become a security threat.”

You blow him a kiss.

That night, he’s sitting on the edge of the bed, jacket off, tie loose.

You crawl into his lap, wrapping your arms around him. “Did we push you too far today?”

He grumbles something unintelligible.

Then rests his forehead against yours.

“You’re lucky I love you.”

You kiss him slow. “We know.”

He exhales.

“…You’re not going to stop, are you?”

“Nope.”

Your kid shouts from the hallway: “TOMORROW YOU’RE GETTING GLITTER STICKERS!”

He closes his eyes. Bends his head to your shoulder.

And mutters:

“I should’ve stayed in the shadows.”

(He never means it.)

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