#A Witch & the Knight of Noble Blood

[sgt-seabass]

ʙᴜʀɴ ᴛʜᴇ ᴡɪᴛᴄʜ

✧˚ · . your fairy tale life ends in a slew of blood.

pairing — witch!bucky barnes x fairy!f!reader w/c — 5.3k listening to — ♫burn the witch warnings — no use of y/n, dark elements, body horror, blood and gore, non-con, kidnapping, bondage, chasing, mild violence, use of magic for evil deeds, drugging, dead dove (don’t eat it and complain to me about it) a/n — happy halloween! thank you to @goldylions for beta-ing. all mistakes are my own. shout out to @navybrat817, @rookthorne and @vonalyn for cheering me along with this fic.

Many fairy tales had been read to you as a child, back when you were small and your wings tiny. The forest was a place for fairy kind, as were all biomes. A holy sanctuary for those with magic, where the trees hugged and created a shelter of heaven-spun leaves and branches. An unspoken promise of protection.

It was not a place to be afraid. Not even in the nighttime. For the moon, bathed in the sun's light, provided a wave of peace to the world around it. The deepened hues of a dark forest lit by starlight were a place of magical refuge.

While many normal humans would be afraid, fairy-kind was taught that forests were a place of ancient souls, like the deep sea or the clouds above. And being half-fairy, this was a teaching you received at an early age.

But the forest you woke in was unlike any story you’d heard before. This was uncharted territory.

“Tinker Bell.”

The misty voice startled you awake. Your eyes opened, immediately taking in the deep red sky. There was a blood moon above, unlike any lunar eclipse you’d seen. The red glowed across the sky and your skin, as if you were alight with the malice that lay hidden.

As you sat up, you took in your surroundings. The dark oak and spruce surrounding you stood as noble knights, protecting something from view with its thick foliage. What wanted to remain hidden?

The dirt floor was sodden with woven roots and fallen leaves, dead and decaying. The only sweetness in the air was the subtle whiff of sap, but it was entirely eclipsed by the earthy smell of rotting wood among damp, stale bark.

This was no fairy tale but a place of nightmares.

No animals scurried at the sound of you rising, no birds sang, the area seemingly barren of any life. You didn’t know how you got here but knew you needed to get out. A place like this was not something Mother Nature would have conjured.

Your heart craved the softened, freshly aromatic scent of the forest near your family home. Where the leaves were crisp, and the sun gently kissed the treetops, creating a beautiful shine. You could almost taste the lovely sweetness of the fresh berries you’d find foraging. It was the opposite of how your stomach roiled at the smell of a dying forest.

The red light made it hard to see, darkness covering every inch of land. Looking down at the muddy turf, you wondered if it was blood you stood upon. But a quick swipe through the grime confirmed it was earth. There was an oddness to the scent of the soil. You rolled it between your fingers, pursing your lips. While it was dirt, this was not dirt you would find in the human world. It did not hold the magical properties it usually would.

This meant either you’d been transported to another realm or were stuck in a plane between the layers of earth and heaven.

Your hands patted over the clothes you’d been put in. A green sundress with a red robe tied neatly with a bow around your neck. These weren’t items from your closet. They felt fresh. New.

A sense of danger prickled across your skin, goosebumps rising on your flesh and hairs standing on end. You were not alone here.

The sound of old leaves crunching sounded behind you, and it didn’t take much initiative to begin running in the other direction.

Your heart began to race as a chase started with the unknown entity. You could hear it behind you, deep breathing and grunting. It was an obstacle course trying to avoid logs and roots, while trying to stop yourself from retching due to the pungent smell of burning, decaying flesh.

Sprinting away from danger raised a primal fear in you. The kind that rips your body apart so that every ounce of concentration, energy and intelligence can be used to escape the nightmares that trailed behind.

A blend of growls mixed in as a pack of rabid wolves jumped out from the side, lunging for you. You yelped, narrowly ducking and weaving away from the gnashing jaws of the animals. They joined the chase behind you, barking when you managed to jump a log that tripped a few of them. The wolves didn’t stop, though. They joined the ominous deep breathing that pursued you, as if you were Red Riding Hood fleeing from danger.

Needing to go faster, despite the close confines around you, you extended your wings from your back and threw away the cloak. Normally, your wings would open to the light of the sun, the streaks of light reflecting beautiful rainbow hues. But now, they added to the glowing red surrounding you, as if they were broken and bloodied. A sense of foreboding overtook you at the thought. 

You began fluttering to move faster, your feet only lightly touching the ground. Being half fairy, you couldn’t reach the heights of a typical fairy, restricted by your human-sized body, but that didn’t matter with the many branches that loomed and imprisoned you close to the forest floor.

Crows cawed, their wings flapping as they followed you with red eyes. You could tell they and the wolves were not real, but that didn’t mean they couldn’t hurt you. The birds dove for your wings, and you had to change paths to try and avoid them.  

Snakes slithered along the ground, and spiders bared their fangs on the branches above your head. It was claustrophobic, as if this evil presence was closing in on you, causing you a fear worse than your most violent nightmares.

With heaving breaths, running on pure adrenaline, you pushed yourself further than ever before.

You started to lose the animals and the mysterious creature, and it gave you a chance to begin your song.

Fairies cast their magic through their voices, affecting all who listened. Humans often did not understand the words but did not need to. The melody alone was enough to bring love and laughter to life. For that was the gift fairies brought. Through the pureness of their hearts, magic could be accessed and shared with the world.

While fairies appeared like blossoming flowers, there were dark vines that snaked from the ground. Those who used their magic for wicked intentions were considered dark witches. Banned from the sanctorum where Mother Nature sits, witches could never gain Mother Nature's trust, hence never earning their wings.

The song you cast into the acrid air was one of hope. A beautiful tune that caused fairy dust to fall from your wings as you fluttered faster, your strength increasing. But what you did not see behind you was the way the ground swallowed the dust, absorbing it to fuel a power that lay below.

“Tinker Bell.” A voice called to you. The name is reminiscent of the childhood teasing you’d endured during your youth. But the voice now held no innocent oblivion to the way it made fun of you. “Pretty fairy, you cannot outrun me.”

With no destination in mind and no path to guide your way, you continued through the forest with threatening sounds behind you. And before long, the trees opened up into a small clearing. There was no reprieve, though, as the trees that formed the circled area were so thick there would be no way you could continue into the forest without having to squeeze past.

Skeletons and discarded bones covered the ground, and each time your foot touched one, they crumbled with a sickening crunch. Humans, animals, and all kinds of beings lay dead in the field, no flesh left to discern them. Their graveyard would soon become yours too, you feared.

“Tinker Bell,” the voice sounded, and it was much closer now. You spun around with fluttering wings, doing a full turn with magic dust falling to the ground, but you couldn’t see anyone. The ground rumbled beneath you, and you gasped at the sight of vines shooting up to try and grab you.

With darting movements, you maneuvered around the vines that tried to capture you. But the more you began to panic, the more magic that came from you, and the world around you absorbed it. The vines started growing in power, getting thicker and faster the more you tried to fly away.

The blood moon was in full force now. The entire sky was a pool of scarlet, ruddy and nauseating. This realm was feeding off your fear, taking it and using it for its own power. 

It was then the being showed itself, walking from the thick foliage into view. The sight of him shocked you so severely that you became distracted, and the vines took their chance to snake around your ankles and up your legs, stopping at your upper thighs. Another two vines grabbed each arm, holding you helplessly in place.

Before you stood an Oni. Or at least someone appearing to be one. A Japanese legend, Oni, were created through the death of a wicked human. Weidling iron clubs as their weapon, they would find enjoyment in crushing and destroying humans. They were bearers of punishment. While this man had no weapon, you feared for what he had planned for you.

But what did you do apart from giving the world your pure heart? What made you deserving of an Oni’s wrath?

Your wings kept fluttering as you took in the man's mask. Covering his face was intricate carvings on a deep charcoal wood. Horns extended on either side, with swirls that covered them down to the blackened eye holes. You could see his piercing blue eyes, stark in comparison to the darkness that surrounded them. The carved swirls continued down the mask's jaw, where it had cut sharp teeth with two fangs on both sides. The man was bulky, not the size of the Oni you had heard of, but he certainly eclipsed the size of an average human. He had to be almost seven feet at least.

He wore only black, with loose pleated pants on his legs and a robe covering his top beneath. One of his hands shone in the red light, and it took you a moment to realise that’s because it was an intricate metal, not flesh.

The sight caused an unrelenting fear in you, as if he had your heart in his hand, beginning to squeeze your very life with his threatening grip.

“Hello, Tinker Bell,” the man spoke, the deep timbre of his tone shaking you to your core as you struggled against your binds. “Are you lost, little fae? These woods are no place for a fairy like you,” he teased, and you could hear the smile in his voice despite the way his face remained hidden.

“Then let me go,” you snapped, trying to use wisps of magic to get the vines to recede, but all it did was make them stronger.

“Ah, hm, no.” The man approached in long strides with flouncing hair as the vines forced you to your knees, your body sinking slightly into the plush earth. “That would be an awful waste of all my effort, Tinker Bell.”

“That’s not my name,” you snapped, beginning to tire of his antics. You just wanted to go home.

“Don’t bore me with your birth name. Tinker Bell suits you much more.” His stature towered above you as he looked down at you, his hair falling around the sides of the mask. The mask was even more intimidating up close. Power radiated off his being, darkness oozing like a sick sludge from him. This was a man to be scared of. 

You began to tremble, causing the vines to rustle as you tried to still yourself. In the eyes of a predator, it is best to try and make yourself seem intimidating. But there’s not much you can do as tears well in your eyes. Your mother had always teased you for having such a sensitive soul.

“Aww, are you going to cry? I haven’t even done anything yet.”

You sniffled, spikes of fear lighting your blood like an electric bolt. “What do you want?” 

“Those wings, pretty girl.”

Your eyes widened, and your blood ran cold. You held your breath with a sharp inhale, anxiety clutching at your heart. When you’d first presented with your wings, you’d been warned that they were a rare commodity, much like an elephant's tusks. There were puissant people who wanted to increase their power, and a set of fairy wings granted immense magical properties.

“I don’t want to die,” your voice turned into a high whine as reality set in. This red forest would be your final resting place.

The man laughed heartily, causing you to flinch like he had slapped you.

“Oh, you’re not going to die. Don’t you know? Fairy wings grow back. Why on earth would I kill you when I can have a fae of my own?”

If anything, that was a fate worse than death.

“What’s your name?” You gulped, holding back the sobs that wanted to escape.

“You can call me Bucky.”

You were not above grovelling, and you were already on your knees, so you begged. “Bucky - please. Just let me go home. I’m begging you. I have a family, friends, people who will miss me. Just let me go, and I won’t tell anyone about you.”

His eyes darkened as if they were adapting to the shade of the mask surrounding them. There was a deathly silence as he considered you. “No.”

He seemed angry at the mere thought of you being missed. You wondered if it was jealousy. Does he have anyone caring for him? Unlikely based on his method of trying to gain more power. This does not seem like a personable man.

So, you tried a different angle.

“Bucky, you’re a witch, right? That’s how we’re in this realm. You made it?” His eyes narrowed as you spoke, but he didn't stop you. “We’re the same. Magical beings. We should be working together, not against each other. M-Maybe I can help you with some magic? In exchange for my release?”

“The moment I let the vines go, let you leave this place, you will leave me and never look back. Don’t lie to me, Tinker Bell. I can see through your bullshit,” Bucky spat venomously, moving away from you towards a large log that sat in the clearing.

And he wasn’t wrong. It was your intention to run and conjure a teleportation spell the moment you got out of this nightmare realm.

The vines picked you up despite your screams for freedom, carrying you towards the log. “Please, don’t do this! We’re cut of the same cloth. We should be working together! You can stop now. It’s not too late. Please, let me go!”

Bucky watched as you were placed over the log so your front rested against the bark. Your body curved over the trunk, breasts squishing uncomfortably against the hard surface as the vines pulled your arms and legs towards the ground.

A heat rose in your cheeks. You were stuck with your ass elevated, your dress ridden up, so your panties were on display to Bucky. The more you struggled against the binds, the stronger they held.

The blood rushed to your head when you let your neck relax, chin bumping against the log. Reality was setting in, your hope beginning to whittle away. “Please, don’t.”

“Plead all you want, Tinker Bell. No one can hear you here,” Bucky’s voice sounded behind you, his hands groping at the flesh of your thighs. “In fact, I’ll enjoy it more hearing your sounds.”

Bucky let his hands run over your skin, causing goosebumps to rise everywhere he touched. You could sense the power emanating from him, a dark magic present in his entire being.

The vines held firm, so tightly wrapped around your limbs that it felt as if they were seconds away from snapping your bones in their grip. You whimpered, skin cutting against the bark as you writhed.

You couldn’t help the arousal that began to pool in your core with the way Bucky groped you. His devilish hands warmed you like he lit a fire in your entire being. He was undoubtedly a powerful creature.

“You’ll want to be numbed for when I cut your wings off…” Bucky trailed off, and when you looked back you gasped.

He’d taken his cock out. Hard, veiny, and inviting – the thick flesh had an angry red tip, shining precum at the tip. You wondered if he tasted as powerful as his magic.

Bucky took a string of fabric to tie back his hair so it was in a tight bun. You watched, mesmerised by how he moved so fluidly.

He kept his eyes on you the whole time, his dark stare not leaving you as his cock bobbed between his legs when you let out a sniffle.

The mask stayed on after Bucky had finished with his hair, and you couldn’t help but be curious about your captor. Would he look like the demon he projected?

Bucky lifted the bottom of the disguise to spit into his hand, running his palm over the ridges of his cock with a grunt as his metal hand yanked your panties down.

Reality came crashing down, and you cried out. “Wait! Don’t! Please, don’t.”

“You don’t want to be in pain, do you? I could cut your wings with no analgesic, but I’m doing you a favour by giving you my cum,” Bucky’s hands gripped either side of the trunk, allowing his cock to sit nestled in your exposed ass cheeks. “I’m being nice. I’m not even going to fuck you.”

You shook your head, a sob escaping you. “This isn’t being nice.”

“Oh? Not even when I do this?” Bucky snapped his fingers with an incantation, and a small vial of pink liquid appeared in his hand. He took the ampoule, moving his cock out of the way so he could pour it over your ass, letting the pink sparkling fluid seep down into your folds.

Your entire body went taut, sudden bolts of pleasure shooting through your body like firecrackers. Your toes curled, and you wailed out a moan, wings fluttering crazily as you tried to process what was happening.

The arousal coursing through you was like nothing you’d ever felt before, Bucky’s magic infecting you and making your brain spiral like you’d had multiple orgasms at once.

Rainbows of colour swirled in your vision as Bucky began sliding his cock against your ass. You could barely register the rocking movement as euphoria filled your brain, the lust making your hair stand on end.

“See? It’s not so bad, Tinker Bell,” Bucky groaned, humping against you and pushing you harder against the log. “I bet no one has touched you like this before.”

Bucky kicked your legs out so you were spread wider, allowing him to slide his cock along your pussy, collecting your arousal. He rubbed the tip of his cock on your clit, and you moaned obscenely. “St— op”

“Ah, you don’t really want me to, do you? Look how wet you are for me. I bet I could make you cum just with my cock.” Bucky wasn’t wrong. He rolled your clit with the head of his dick, and whatever magic he’d used on you had it feeling like tongues were lapping at you.

“That’s it, come on, cum for me. Soak me. Lose that innocence for me, my little slut,” Bucky leant forward, hands pressing down on your wings, teeth nipping at your ear.

That was all it took for the dams to burst. The world was vibrant as you came, red filling your vision, your body shaking with mewls as your juices gushed against Bucky’s cock.

Your wetness allowed Bucky to easily slide against your flesh, heat radiating from his pulsing cock as he grunted with each thrust. “Fuck. You’re perfect.”

Time seemed to warble, your brain unable to keep up as Bucky grabbed your ass, pressing your cheeks together so he could fuck them harder. “Shit, fuck, oh— oh, I’m close.”

Bucky suddenly pulled back, and you hoped the ordeal was over. How wrong you were.

“They’re soft as silk, Tinks,” Bucky commented, running his fingers over the reflective surface of your wings. You tried to flap them to get his hand to move away, but he was fast, grabbing onto the delicate membrane of your wing.

“Don’t touch them. That hurts,” you whimpered in your haze, writhing against the vines.

“Oh, I’m going to do far more than just touch them.”

You felt as Bucky played with the pliability of your wings, the body part easily manipulated as it was soft and light, the only dense part of your wings being the cartilage that secured them to your back.

Pure horror filled you as he placed his palm onto your wing, forcing it against the log, using his other hand to curve the opalescent surface of your appendage around his cock.

“Fuck. So fucking soft. I knew it would feel amazing,” Bucky moaned, using your wing like a sheath for his cock.

You could feel the heat from his dick against you, your wings sensitive and full of nerves like the rest of you.

“Stop…” You cried, tears still falling, and you were surprised you had any left to cry.

To be defiled like this was something unimaginable. The happiness that you so often felt in your soul was becoming a chimera – no more than a hopeful illusion.

With Bucky’s grunts sounding behind you, you craned your neck to look at the sky, the red reflection making it look as if you were shedding tears of blood.

The blood moon shone proudly, the sky clear of clouds, leaving just redness to cover everything. What did you do to deserve this? Was it simply your fate to be a sacrifice to the wretched? Was there such a thing as fate at all? For so long, you’d considered your life set up upon a lineage Mother Nature set out for you. But no loving figure would force this reality upon one of her creatures, right? Your whole belief system felt shaken, like your entire world compass was stomped on and shattered.

What had you done wrong?

In reality, you’d done nothing to merit such treatment.

Yet the world bestowed the pain on you regardless.

“Enough, stop. It hurts,” you whimpered, the bend on your wing uncomfortable as Bucky thrust into it.

“Oh, it feels too good to stop, pretty girl. It’s like fucking straight magic.” Bucky’s hands braced against the log, using wisps of dark power to keep your wing in a circle.

The power from him escalated, dark clouds pouring from him and billowing across the ground, covering the graveyard of souls surrounding you. His breathy moans got louder, his grip on the log causing cracks to form in the wood.

“F-Fuck, feels too good. I’m going to cum. Yeah, you want my cum, don’t you? Dirty slut.” His hips lost their rhythm, beginning to stutter as he came. Bucky was quick to pull back, his cum coating your back where your wings connected with your flesh.

It was an odd feeling that washed over you. It was something akin to calmness, although it was forced upon you. The last movement you could manage was to look back, brows knitting together when you saw that Bucky’s seed was coloured black, before your body went involuntarily lax.

You lay over the log, your breathing levelling out as you became numb to the world. His spell didn’t just anaesthetise your body, but your emotions too.

You couldn’t even wish to be asleep as you started at the foggy ground.

The vines eased up, not needing to hold you so tight when there was no struggle, their tension leaving marks on your limbs.

“You’re so perfect.” Bucky complimented, but there was no smile on your face.

There was nothing.

You were nothing.

This was the end of everything, and the start of the aphotic zone.

The remnants of your tears fell onto the bones below, cleaning away some of the dirt covering them. But the damage to them remained. Just as the damage to you began.

You couldn’t see what Bucky was doing, nor could you feel it, but you could hear it. There was a sick squelching noise, followed by a sawing sound, as Bucky began to hack at the cartilage connecting your wings.

It was like nails on a chalkboard, nausea roiling in your stomach as you had no choice but to lay there like a rat in a laboratory, ready to be dissected in some horrid experiment.

He could have magically removed them. He’d more than exemplified he had the power to. But he’d chosen the barbaric route for his own crooked pleasure.

Bucky was silent, concentrating on his work as your body wobbled with each run of the jagged blade against you. Blood coated your skin, the ichor running down your sides and covering the wood below you. It gushed out, and if you didn’t feel light-headed before, you certainly did now.

The only words you heard enter the world were a whispered fire incantation. It was then you smelt your flesh burning, the blade heated to cauterise your wound as it sliced.

If you had any control, you’d be wailing, screaming, doing anything to try and get out. Bucky stole your anguish from you, leaving you like a doll atop the log as your identity was violently stripped from your back.

Mother Nature had gifted you your wings. They were your responsibility. And you failed to protect them.

Yet, in your neutered state, you were apathetic about it.

The impromptu surgery went on for what felt like hours, the slow removal of your body parts done both with intricacy and unrelenting brutality.

Your back felt significantly lighter as your wings fell to the ground, crunching the skeletons below into dust.

It was done.

You would never be the same.

“I hope you don’t mind, but I left some scarring. I want my fairy to be special and bear markings made by her owner,” Bucky said proudly, as if you could respond.

You just stared at the skull below you. God, how you wished to be dead on the ground.

Bucky came around the log and stood in front of you, cupping your face with his palms so you were forced to look at his masked face. “Ready to go home?”

Drool dropped out of your mouth and down your chin, unable to control your functions. Bucky swiped away the moisture. “I’ll take that as a yes.”

Bucky snapped his fingers, and you were instantly transported to his home.

It seemed like a small cabin in the middle of a forest, based on what you could see from the dirty window. Every surface was covered with tomes, vials, herbs, and materials needed for spells.

The place had an earthy smell with a mix of floral sweetness.

You sat in the corner of the room, and it took you a moment to realise you sat in a large birdcage. With your body still paralysed, you could only elicit a small whimper at the realisation that you were trapped. A purple field covered the cage, assumedly stopping you from using magic.

Bucky startled you, suddenly materialising with your wings in his arms. Seeing them made your heart drop to the earth's centre. They’d lost their colour, aura, and everything that made them special. Now, they were no more than an ingredient.

You watched as Bucky placed them onto his desk, dusting himself off before turning his attention back to you. “Sorry about the mess. I should have cleaned up before you came over. But I’m sure you won’t mind.”

There was a sense of anticipation as he removed his Oni mask, showing you for the first time his face. You were surprised at how handsome and regular he looked. Sometimes, the evillest were the people we’d never suspect if we passed them on the street. “It’s pretty, isn’t it?” He waved the mask before placing it next to your wings. “Since I act like a demon, I might as well look like one, right?”

With a grin, he moved to the bubbling cauldron that was hanging atop a fireplace, scooping up some of the mystery green liquid into a small wooden bowl.

There was intention in every movement as he collected the foul-smelling soup. As he came to your cage, every part of you wanted to scream and run. Yet you didn’t move an inch, sitting upon the cot with your back to the cage wall.

“Here. This will help you heal faster,” Bucky said, as if you had a choice in what you consumed. You felt ill as he got closer with the sloshing broth, your stomach flipping as he raised it to your lips. He had to physically pry your mouth open to pour the soup in, the heat sliding down your slack throat with ease. “That’s my girl, Tinks. Such a good fairy.”

His praises fell on deaf ears as your senses were overtaken by the putrid taste and smell of whatever concoction he had fed you. Almost instantly, you got movement and feeling back.

For the first time in your life, anger overtook you. You’d never felt rage before, but it was all that occupied you now.

With your wings gone, a whole part of you had been taken away. Without your gift of purity, you didn’t have the same emotional control. You felt human.

You jumped up, whacking the bowl from his grip and wrapping your hands around Bucky’s neck, ready to squeeze the life out of him. “I’m going to kill you,” you snarled, entirely unlike your usual self.

Bucky had stolen your innocence and replaced it with darkness.

“Is that so?” Bucky tilted his head, unphased as you squeezed. “Interesting.”

Your anger turned to desperation as Bucky’s form turned to sand in your grip, the course grit slipping through your fingers.

“No!” You screeched, running for the open cage door.

But Bucky was faster, reappearing on the other side of the cage and quickly slamming the wire door in your face.

“No! Let me out! You fucking wench! Hag! Get back here, you old bag and fucking let me go!” You gripped the bars, shaking them desperately as you tried to conjure as much magic as possible. But you had nothing, Bucky’s forcefield holding strong. “I can see why Mother Nature rejected you, warlock. You’re nothing more than an imp, picking on others so you can feel better about your own weakness. You fucking prick.”

There was no chastity left. Your virtue had been lost when your wings were stripped from your being.

“Now, now, that’s not nice. You hurt my feelings.” Bucky frowned, moving back from your enclosure. “Those wings of yours will grow back, and so will your temperament. I’m a very patient man, and I have no issue making your whole existence suffering. But if you know what’s good for you, you will apologise when I return. Wings or not, I expect you to keep the nature of a fairy, Tinks.”

With a flash, Bucky disappeared, leaving you alone in the dank room.

You collapsed to your knees, resolving into a fit of sobs. Without your object of anger there, you were reduced to nothing but sorrow.

Letting out a shuddered breath, you looked over your shoulder. Out from the scarring, popped the smallest amount of new cartilage.

The cycle would begin again.

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[idyllcy]

heard the risk is drowning, but i'm gonna take it

word count: 10k || banner art by @wr0wn

warnings: mild violence, mentions of blood

summary: it is just admiration. it should get you nowhere (surely?)

It’s a bright day in summer when you first meet Leon Scott Kennedy.

Titled one of the best knights in the academy with an unparalleled aura, you can only observe from the distance during the few times you stop by for the crown prince. Sir Leon Scott Kennedy, knight of the royal legion, best knight that the academy had to offer. You seemed to pale in comparison to him. What use is it to excel in multiple talents when you love none? You find the passion that bleeds from every cell of his body to be far more attractive then the thousand accomplishments you have achieved. If you are honest, not many of them are even accomplished by you. Most of the accomplishments hooked under your name have been done by those around you, other that of the title of Grandmaster. Nobles will never have to work as hard as the commoners when it comes to receiving titles.

When you pass him in the hallway, he does not stop. You do, however.

You stop to stare, watching as he walks off, the aura from his swordsmanship breathtaking, your eyes brimming with excitement as you pass him. Had you been completely honest, you would have let your father know that you do not wish to be crown princess. Rather, you'd like to be the duke on its own, and you would like the liberty of marrying whomever you wish.

And truthfully? You would have told your father you'd wish to marry Sir Leon.

How childish of you, though.

So you turn on your heel, stepping away from Leon, sure that even if you were to proclaim your admiration for him, it would end up nowhere. So, you bury your beating heart, footsteps battering against the marble as you rush to make your next class. Sir Leon could stay a childish crush. You have no time to entertain such thoughts of infidelity. You belong to the nation — to the crown prince. That is your role as the future duke, so that is the role you shall keep.

Your friends dream of marrying knights, they dream of getting whisked away into the sunset on a horse, and you are stuck listening and not joining as they do, a smile that holds everything back, holding everything back from breaking a dam of emotion, knowing that even if you were to entertain such thoughts, you would not get to experience it. You are not in a position where the luxury of marriage is something you can hope and cling to.

"And the princess?"

"I have not the luxury."

"Surely you have considered a candidate."

You look down at the tea which you hold up perfectly, and you close your eyes. "A knight as well, perhaps."

"She talks of Sir Luis!"

"Surely she talks of Sir Leon!"

"I beg to disagree. The crown prince is a knight."

The other two girls groan, and you offer them none else but a smile.

You wonder if it is a choice to just bring it up to your father — that you wish not to be wed to the crown prince. The role of crown princess is not an easy position to hold, and there is none else in the nation that is more suited for the role than you. You are told that from start to finish, and you are more certain of it than anyone. Yet, yet the opportunity arises when a new scholarship student stumbles right into the crown prince's arms at coronation, and a hypothetical shot is wedged into the crevices of the crown prince's heart. You know that look of adoration more than anyone. The crown prince has fallen.

He may not be aware of it, but you keep it in the back of your mind.

The rumors floating around only seem to further solidify your point.

"Princess."

"My fiancé is out frolicking in the field with some commoner girl, I am aware." You hum happily at the taste of the tea, and the girls at your table fret.

"Do you not worry?"

"What if that witch steals her from you!"

"There is none else more suitable for the position of crown princess than you, your highness."

"Mm." You hum. "Well, if push comes to shove, there is nothing I can do about it. I shall only see how it unfolds with time."

It unfolds messily with time. The crown prince keeps you as the crown princess yet declares that he would have none else but his pretty commoner lover as his queen, and you hear left and right all about how foolish the prince has become. You care not for their words, and even when you are slandered for not being a proper crown princess. They would never understand the weight of the title, so you don't take any of their words to heart. See no evil, hear no evil, do no evil.

You listen to the crown prince on the mandatory dates from the emperor, doing your assignments as he brings along the commoner girl to flirt back and forth, and when the crown prince is told to leave the girl immediately, the crown prince fights and argues that he loves not you, but the woman in his arms at all times. You give not a reaction, opting to watch the expressions of the commoner instead, watching as he chews on her thumb when the emperor turns to ask of your opinion.

"Your royal majesty, with all due respect, I too would appreciate the breaking of the engagement. It is damaging to the reputation of the duchy for me to wed with a man who commits adultery." You argue. "My duchy has been known for purity. It would anger the gods."

You believe in no god, but the emperor does, and you are told he will consider it.

"What sick ploy are you playing this time, woman!" The crown prince accuses you, finger pointed in your direction, and you raise a brow.

"Ploy? Your highness, you know better than anyone that the white of my duchy represents purity. How am I to still be the heir if my own fiancé can not stay pure? You want the commoner to be a princess, do you not?"

"I know your lackeys have been targeting her behind my back!"

You blink at the crown prince, trying to recall all of the news that you had heard.

"She fell down the stairs herself."

"Your lackey poisoned her tea!"

"The tea was simply hot? You are to blow or stir before you drink." You blink. "And bring up not the deal of her dress being ruined. That was because she had angered a girl from the gardening club by ruining her precious daisies to pick them for you, Your Highness. She is a student with a scholarship, she is not stupid."

"You are simply jealous."

You raise a brow incredulously.

"Your Highness, I wish not to marry you." You turn on your heel, door to the throne room opening, your heart lodging into your throat as you stare up at the one who had the displeasure of pulling the door the same time you push.

"Sir Leon." You nod.

"Princess."

You leave him behind you, embarrassed that the knight had to see you in such an agitated state.

Good heavens.

Instead, you are caught by the wrist, Leon's breath slightly heavier as you blink at him.

"Are you... alright, princess?"

"Yes." You force.

"Positive?"

"Yes, Sir Leon." You muster up a smile.

"I... may not know you, but I assure you I am here if you are in need of assistance."

"Y..es." You nod, rushing off, fighting the embarrassment that has replaced your agitation. Oh, god. Oh, goodness. Leon? Sir Leon the knight himself? Telling you that he is there if you are in need of assistance? Is this what it feels to be a maiden who is free of the burden of a betrothed? You must be dreaming. There is no way the knight would know of you or even develop such strong feelings for you. Yes, this must be a dream. After all, there is no way the knight could know of you.

You receive the news that someone new has joined the ranks of the dukedom's knighthood, and your heart soars at the news that it's none other than Sir Leon. It makes your heart full, and you blink back every ounce of foolery as you report to your father, notifying him of the new knight in the knighthood, watching as he furrows his brows and hums. Your excitement is hardly concealable, a sparkle present in your eye not there previously.

"Sure it is not for a chance to court you?"

"With full certainty." You assure him. There's no way he would join a rank just to approach you. "Has the emperor responded?"

"That old bastard is still thinking." Your father grumbles. "At this rate, you might as well start looking."

Yet, you stop by the training grounds in the academy, arguing with the general that it is for "moral support" as though the moral support you were offering was not simply just to get a peek at Sir Leon. Surely it is not a sin? Your engagement may not have been broken off yet, but it stops you not from starting to eyeball people. It just so happens that the people you eyeball include a certain knight, and it just so happens that said knight would make a great personal knight. Perhaps it is a little selfish, but you are in the right. Who knows what the royal family will do in order to tarnish your reputation now that you have requested the breaking of your engagement?

"Sir Leon, was it?" You greet the knight in the hall, and he bows.

"Young duke."

"Dare I make a suggestion?"

"If not you, then who?"

"Then, please excuse my rudeness." You dare not to look anywhere but his eyes when you ask. "May I propose that you become my personal knight?"

You watch as Leon goes quiet, and you panic.

"Are you opposed to it?"

"Is there a reason it is me, princess?"

"Is it wrong to appoint the best knight in the rank as my personal guard? I fear the only one who rivals your swordsmanship is me." You reason. Surely he would not turn you down?

You find that he thinks of another way out.

"Perhaps a recommendation from the general himself? A recommendation from anyone that is not you, princess. With all due respect. I have vowed to protect your purity until it is time, for it is my duty as one of your knights."

"I see." You tap your cheek. "Then, from my father would suffice?"

"Perhaps."

"I shall let the duke know of my idea." You bow. "If the duke appoints it, you shall listen?"

"Of course, your highness."

You turn on your heel, nodding at him before sprinting down the hall. You shall attain this. You shall make Leon your personal knight, even if it tarnishes your name. There is none else you trust as much as you do with the knight, and his loyalty lies with you, even if he may claim the opposite. You shall convince the duke to let you have the young knight, and you shall stay by your knight's side, foolishly enamored with him. Your role in the narrative is shifting, so it is only fair that you take advantage of such a point.

"Father."

You make a convincing argument, and it takes only one incident in which you are stabbing through the jugular of an assassin for your father to agree to let you take in a personal guard, one that would stick close and act as a ghost. In the academy, they would be a friend, and at night, a ghost to haunt your room, clearing out any and all threats. You suggest Sir Leon just for reference, and your father takes your word. You do not expect him to take you so seriously, but you are sure your father has his reasons.

"He excels in stealth." The duke agrees. "We may use him for the time being. The crown prince is wary to be on his bad side as well, quite fortunately for you."

You hide the giddiness that you can only describe as an enthusiasm previously unknown to you. How exciting. To be in the vicinity of the man you admire? The man who deserved the title of Grandmaster just as you did? You swoon at the thought, barely catching any sleep in your dorm as a result, rubbing your eyes in the morning when you get ready. The seems to be brighter, and the blue of the sky shines brilliantly. Even when the door to your dorm is knocked on, it only adds to your anticipation.

You let Leon in while adjusting your tie. It is not indecent for you to do so, you believe.

"Princess."

"Good morning, sir." You smile. "Has the duke summoned you?"

"Yes."

Leon pauses, and you take it as a chance to explain why you had needed a knight. It was relatively well known that you were a capable knight, but the recent attempts on your life was not out yet. It would be damaging to the royal family, so the emperor had your father keep it on the low. You found it pointless, but it was not your place to question. You were simply wishing that your engagement would be broken off quicker.

"I got ambushed two nights ago, you see." You pause to think about it. Perhaps that was a little blunt of you.

"...Pardon?"

"An assassin had tried throwing a potion at me." You sigh. "It wasn't much, but it was annoying as is since I had bloodied my nightgown, so I was moved to a single rather than my old room. I miss my roommate terribly, you see."

"I trust you miss Princess Ashley very much."

"I do."

"Perhaps you should go visit her in the morning?"

"I cannot, you see... It would put her in danger. Until I am no longer the crown princess, I can not risk anyone... other than you, of course. But then again, you have become a knight of the house, so you are... to be used?" You frown at yourself in the vanity mirror. "That does not sound quite right."

"My body is to serve you, princess."

You purse your lips in amusement, holding back a laugh.

"Oh... your words are easy to misunderstand, Sir Leon." You laugh, hitting the loose powder off.

"I... did not mean that kind of use. My apologies, princess."

"It is nothing. Worry not." You finish up, smiling at Leon as you start towards the door.

You find it interesting to have a personal knight. Leon sticks by you at all times, watching you even when he is not next to you, and it feels a lot like having an overgrown puppy by you at all times. You're sure the duke would disagree, but you can't help but think that it doesn't feel nearly as invasive as you thought it would be. You tell Ashley about it, to which she whispers back that she is sure that granted you are allowed the engagement to break, you should pursue the knight (it earns her a light smack on her arm to which she fakes a whine over). Ada offers you the same advice, lip quirked up in amusement when you flush impossibly warm and fan your face, telling them both that it would be impossible. You dare not dream of it until you are in a position to do so.

"Surely you find him attractive, though?" Ashley tries. "I have not the luxury of looking at others, but it is not infidelity to call someone else attractive."

"I suppose he is." You mumble.

"You'll be single soon. There is not a soul in the academy that does not know you wish to break the engagement." Ada hums. "It will be fun."

"I am sure it will." You mumble. "It'll be—"

Ada grabs the back of your chair and pulls, sending you back as you watch water splash and steam where you had been sitting. You don't react much to what happens next, Ada's sword out and Leon's name called as the girl is tackled to the ground by your knight, all of which happens too quickly. When you turn to glance at Ashley, she's got a visible frown on her face, which you can only assume has to do with the commoner girl her brother's decided to covet.

"Princess?"

Leon's voice breaks you from your thoughts, and you sigh. This girl was by no means foolish, so why did she insist on playing the role of the antagonist all for a crown prince that would not hold the crown once your engagement would be broken off? It mattered not to you anymore. It is not your problem to consider. This girl was losing herself all over a man — one that was not even worth the time.

"She tried pouring hot water on me." You place a hand on Ada's shoulder, stepping past her and next to Leon as you smile at the girl. "What would the crown prince think? If he were to find out that his beloved was out bullying the crown princess?"

You place a hand on Leon's shoulder, and he listens, stepping off of the girl as she coughs and sputters excuses.

"It was an accident!"

"Quite the opposite." Ashley raises a brow from the table. "Both Dame Ada and I saw you sneak up behind her to pour the water. Perhaps be more discreet if you decide you do not value your life."

"P-princess—"

"Save it. If my foolish brother wishes to squander his position for some commoner girl, then so be it. It is not as though we do not have other siblings." She waves her hand, and the girl rushes off. "Are you alright?"

"I'm fine." You smile. "Ada reacted quite efficiently. Perhaps you should be my personal knight instead?"

Ada shakes her head. "Unfortunately, I am tied to my current house. I have taken the oath already."

"I see." You feign your disappointment. "I forget that you are our senior oftentimes. You will be gone soon."

"You make it sound as though I will pass." Ada rolls her eyes. "Sir Leon, thank you. You're free to return to dine."

"Princess?"

"Please dine, kind knight." You smile. "I must as well."

"Then, with pleasure."

You settle into dodging traps and Leon standing in front of you for the next period of your life. The attempts only rack up with each time that your knight protects you, and you find it quite cowardish that the crown prince would resort to such tactics to have you tell your father you no longer wish to break off your engagement with the crown prince. It seemed the duke was starting to reconsider his decision of which prince to support. You wonder if you should tell your father that you'd much rather have another prince sit on the throne. He seemed to be listening to you much more.

"How have you been, princess?"

"The crown prince seems adamant of keeping me as his crown princess despite his beloved's pleas." You blow on the tea. "Quite selfish of him, if I dare say."

"Who would not want you as their betrothed? A duke's heir with the education of a crown princess. There is no one else quite near your standing."

"Except the princess." You smile, winking at Ashley as she shakes her head.

"An education for an empress is still different from that of a princess." Ashley shakes her head. "We all await the news of the breaking of your engagement."

"I do hope the emperor makes up his mind soon."

"As do I." Ashley presses the tea to her lips, and your eye twitches in annoyance as she spits it out, blood fresh on her tongue. "Good god."

You sigh, pushing your chair back as you call for Leon to take her to the infirmary, your knight furrowing his brows slightly before following your order. You have the rest of the ladies follow him since they serve both the princess and you, and you're left alone in the garden. You understand that it's for that exact reason Ashley was poisoned and not you, and so, by leaving you alone without a knight, it would make you a visible target. After all, what can a poor, frail princess do without her knight? Surely not much. Which is what would happen to every other noblewoman, but your father had the decency to hide your accomplishment as Grandmaster from the general public, so one could only imagine the surprise on the assassin's faces when you had casually unsheathed a blade from your thigh and stabbed one in the face.

Mother may be absent, but Father didn't raise no bitch.

You steal the blade of the original assassin before turning to face the other three, and you wonder when the last time you had gotten to let off some steam was. Well, you better thank that useless crown prince for sending you free stress relief during one of the worst months of your life, no doubt. You think the only situation that could put the month in second was when you first started posture training. Your first tutor was hell on earth to you. The thought of her alone is enough to make you sick. Had you known some girl would come and ruin all of your education for the crown, then you would have cared far less of how you carried yourself.

You take the third assassin down before Leon returns and takes care of the final one.

"You got blood on your clothes, princess." Leon fishes out a handkerchief for you, and you try wiping it from your face before you just huff and tell him to do it for you.

His hand is rough against your skin as one cups your cheek and the other wipes, and you relish in the attention your knight gives you. You hum happily as you blink up at him, smiling as he clicks his tongue and wipes you clean. His fingers may be rough, but his tough is gentle, and when he finishes and pockets his handkerchief, you give him a polite nod to thank him for his help.

"Are you alright?"

"I am quite alright. Nothing a little knight training could not handle." You grin. "Dare I say, it was cartharic."

"My apologies for leaving, princess. I shall stay next time."

"Those ladies in waiting could not have taken care of the princess in the time that it took for you to carry her over. I sent you off. It was not your fault." You huff.

The princess getting poisoned is enough to cause the emperor a migraine, and the crown prince's engagement with you is broken that very night. Your father had made a very convincing point or something, and the emperor had signed a contract to break it in public once the knighting competition was complete. To the public, you are still the crown princess, but to the private, you are free. Sure, you are expecting the assassination attempts to slow, but much like the annual knight competition of the best knights in the empire, it never quite stops. That very night, you awake to a bloody Leon at the foot of your bed, catching his breath as the room reeks of blood, and you blink slowly.

He looks as though he is praying to a saint — as though he is praying to you.

"Did I wake you?"

Even now, your heart flutters at how he insists on making sure you are well.

"Knight, are you alright?" You reach for your handkerchief on your bedside, motioning for the knight to look up at you, wiping the blood and sweat from his face as he exhales, nuzzling into your hand. Your heart races at his affection, daring not to move.

"My duty is to guard, princess. It matters not whether or not I am alright. Though, I thank you for cleaning my face. I can not leave you even for a moment."

"Perhaps I shall assign a second knight? It is exhausting to be like this, no?"

"Just let me rest my eyes once the magicians arrive. I will be alright."

"Rest on the couch, my knight." You whisper, stepping out of bed and through the blood to help him lay down, sitting on the one next to it, watching both the window and the door until the magicians come in. Your knight seemed to have taken care of all of them, so you thank the magicians that come in and repair the broken forcefield that should have been activated in your room. You warn them not to make the same mistake, calling in a maid to help clean up the knight without moving him, watching the prince as you settle for sleeping on the couch opposite to his, the two of you out until the morning.

"Princess, you'll be late to class."

Your knight's voice wakes you from your slumber, and you roll to face the wall of cushion rather than your knight, who leans above you and forces you to open your eyes to get a full view of him. That wakes you. Perhaps it is the information that you are no longer betrothed to anyone, or the fact that something awakened in you after seeing your very own knight bloody with the red of the people after you, but that causes you to jolt up in the couch, pulling at your nightgown to cover yourself, startling Leon as your forehead nearly knocks his chin. Your knight is attractive. You can't believe you forgot and it took him being bathed in literal blood for you to remember.

"My apologies, princess. You were not stirring."

"..." You stare down at yourself and then at Leon, groaning. "I need to change."

"Of course."

You need to see Sir Leon naked— who said that. What in heaven's name were you saying? That's preposterous. You're the heir of a dukedom, not some teenage girl who's got some crush on her own knight... well, you take those words back. You are. The whole reason you had wanted Sir Leon to guard you was because you looked up to him, after all. You may be the same age as him, but it did not mean that you were as mature as him. Surely you need to go back to training over such preposterous thoughts.

Yet, you act not upon it. Your father tells you he'll have you select your own betrothed this time, under the circumstance that he is of a noble family. You wonder if your father seems to have understood that you found Sir Leon attractive, but it was not as if you would ever act upon those feelings. You have a role to uphold, and it just so happens that Leon would not fit into the narrative that you are left in. Perhaps he would be titled as a noble if he were to reach the title of grandmaster like the other knights. It would be a worthy effort if he decides to do so.

The death of twelve assassins by the hand of your knight is more than enough to scare the rest of the threats. You're grateful you get to go back into a relatively normal life, and you're even more grateful to get to return home rather than stay in that awful dorm. The freedom to go in and out at will was preferred to your education in the academy. You wish you had the luxury of graduating with Ada, but you have not the choice. If you graduate early, it only means you would have to start taking over the matters of the dukedom, and you preferred a boring education to that.

"Are you all packed, princess?"

"Yes." You take one final look at the room, tilting your head at Leon. "And you?"

"I have not many belongings." He nods.

You nod slowly, thanking the maids for their service as the butler brings everything to your carriage.

"You graduate the incoming year, correct?" You try to make conversation with Leon. You have a feeling that he had been trying to keep a distance from you since that night. Was he tired? Maybe he found that it was too hard to guard you after taking out so many assassins. You chew on your bottom lip, waiting for Leon to give you an answer. Perhaps you should let him go? He might not want to guard you specifically, but moreso the duchy. "Sir Leon, if you'd like, I can—"

"Yes, princess." He smiles. "My apologies. I've been lost in thought more and more often lately. You were saying?"

"I was just going to say that if you no longer wish to guard me, I can let the duke know to return you to the knight's quarters. I imagine it must be hard guarding me at all times." You scratch your cheek.

"I... it's quite alright, princess. I do nto find that it is a burden. Rather, you make it so that I am comfortable guarding you." Leon assures you. "Though, if you wish to change guards, I am not against such a change."

"I would not dream of it, Sir Leon. I am glad that you do not find me a nuisance. I was worried that night had made you change your mind, you see."

"That would not happen with such ease."

You take his hand and step into the carriage with a nod of gratitude.

"You would not rid of me that easily."

"Oh, how romantic." You laugh, sure that your cheeks are warm, heart warmer in your chest at how sweet he is.

You wonder if he is like this with everyone.

Yet, you afford not the luxury of romance, stuck staring out the window as you brainstorm over which nobleman to be engaged to instead. Not many people would covet you, yet it would be a shame for the bloodline to end with you. Your father had not been fortunate to have a son, and your mother had passed before she could give him one. You wonder if it truly would have worked out if you had become crown princess. Perhaps the dukedom would be given to a distant relative, and your father's bloodline would have faded.

Does nobility truly matter to your father? Or was he only saying such a thing to keep up appearances? You wonder. Your father had married your mother for love, so you find it strange that he would force you to marry for legitimacy. A blood daughter is never worth as much as a son, huh? You're not legitimate enough, so it only was fair for you to wed and become someone even more powerful. Had your father wanted a son, you wonder why he had not just decided to marry again and have his son.

Maybe if he had a son, you'd be able to run off and marry Sir Leon. Well, not that your knight would have let you do such a foolish thing.

It seemed like child's play to him, after all.

He follows you around the mansion for the most part, stuck by you whenever you are to finish certain tasks, management of the mansion something you're responsible for while your father lies in the capital by the academy. It isn't too much to handle, but it sucks the majority of your free day during the day away. You find no complaints. You prefer this a little more to teatime on the daily with the ladies. You wonder how your friends are doing. It's a shame that both Ada and Ashley are still in the capital. You can not even wander without an excuse now that they are gone.

Instead, you are cooped up in the duke's office, stuck signing papers and checking supplies, learning of the maids and hearing all about the latest gossip in the capital. The commoner girl was undergoing the crown princess training, and you have the privilege of hearing all about it when the maids dress you in the morning. It matters not to you. You no longer care all that much. The title of crown princess is no longer something that you must carry around when you are in private.

Though, the title of Young Duke is another tale.

"Princess." Leon nods, delivering the papers your father's aide had told you needed double-checking. The stack seems as though it could swallow you whole. Truly, there seems to be no end to your work.

You grumble into your hands, starting at the top of the pile. "Will you go out with me tomorrow?"

"What for?"

"I need to take a walk before I become a pile of paperwork myself." You sigh. "It would be a nice change of pace."

"And not in the garden which you so willfully manage?"

"I want not a breath of air down in the streets while I can still afford it. One day I will be cursed to stay inside at all times." You sigh. "I can go alone if you do not wish to."

"Princess, are you planning on sneaking out?"

"Perhaps..." You try and change the subject. "Is there a reason you insist on calling me princess? I am the young duke, you are aware?"

"I am, but it changes not that you are a princess until the official title of duke is given to you."

You raise a brow. "Am I your princess, my knight?"

"Who else would be?"

You pause to consider. "Perhaps your lover? You are getting to that age, after all. Have any of the knights caught your eye?"

"It would be improper to court anyone in the same house as I, but it would be concerning to court someone from a house that is not mine. Time will tell."

You sigh, going back to the paperwork. "I find Dame Ada quite attractive."

"It changes not that she has no interest in anything other than her blade."

"Reasonable." You sigh. "Ugh, I must start considering the noblemen again. Father sent letter to make haste."

"Princess, what would make a man a nobleman?"

"Noble blood, or someone who holds a title of Grand so and so. Grandmaster knights and Grandmaster mages are both considered nobility under the law." You pause. "Perhaps you should go become the new Grandmaster in the knight competition later in summer. I'd let you go for that reason."

"And for what reason would I have to become a grandmaster?"

"Oh, my apologies." You laugh, scratching your cheek. "It was just a suggestion. It would be nice to tell my father that I'll decide after the knighting competition, after all. You made it quite far last time."

"You have the title of Grandmaster as well, no?"

"I do." You hum. "Which is why it would be nice to be guarded by one."

"I see."

You dare not tell Sir Leon that you'd like to get betrothed to him.

The thought alone is foolish, and it would occur only in your dreams. You admire the knight, but you are not selfish to the point that you would force the knight to become a grandmaster in order to betroth yourself to him. You're not that desperate, and you yearn not that much. Though, you find that you have already forced him to become your knight in a way, so maybe you are desperate enough. How saddening. Perhaps he found you annoying.

"Will you reward me if I win?"

You blink up at him in surprise, tilting your head as you pause. "If there is something I can give, then of course. It would only be fair for me to reward my loyal knight, no? Then, I shall arrange for someone to take over your role after tomorrow."

You run errands with Leon the next day, a quick upgrade to his sword given, and a change in dagger for you. The shop owner doesn't question anything much to your gratefulness, and you tell him to put it all on the family ledger. You know Sir Leon's gotten close to the title of grandmaster multiple times. It wouldn't be out of the question for him to win with a stroke of luck by fighting one of the weaker grandmasters, but you refuse to rely on luck when you feel as though you're tossing your future into the tournament.

If Leon doesn't come out victorious, then you'd have to find someone to actually get betrothed to.

The thought occurs when you are out, biting into your skewer as your knight scans the area for potential dangers. You could train him since you are a grandmaster, and it was not out of the question for grandmasters to have disciples and followers. If he were to come out victorious, it would be a boost to your name as well— oh, but goodness, this skewer was good. Oh, right, the issue of who he would train with.

The thought of your knight all sweaty tempts you, blue eyes under a sun-kissed back, hair glowing gold under the rays of light.

How dare you have such improper thoughts.

"Have you considered who to train with?" You tilt your head, tossing your skewer into a bin.

"I have not, princess." Leon shakes his head.

"Shall I train you?"

You find that Leon doesn't have enough endurance... or whatnot. You find that he tires easily after swinging his sword unless adrenaline-fueled, and it would come to haunt him. If he fought Krauser or you, neither of you would be able to go easy on him. You're sure that Krauser might even go harder on your knight, so there was no such thing as overpreparation. You would simply prepare Leon to the best of your ability so that he would be able to fight with or without his ability.

You still wonder what it is occasionally.

"Princess, do—" He heaves. "do you not tire after the runs?"

"Nothing is as unbearable as the endurance training I received for the title of crown princess." You hand the paper to your father's aide, and he rushes off with the last of the paperwork. "Now, shall we do another lap?"

"Princess. Please let your knight rest."

"One might get the wrong notion at your words, Sir Leon." You hum. "Take a break. Would you like something to drink?"

"Just air." He mumbles, and you watch as he collapses onto the stone ground, heaving.

You glance down at Leon, blinking slowly as you wonder what has him so motivated. It should not matter that you must get engaged to a nobleman if he is only your knight, but perhaps something more? Perhaps he has cravings of the flesh. You would not care. Your purity had only mattered in the context of a successor so that you would not have bastard children, but if you have no engagement, then perhaps you would only have children that lack legitimacy.

You wonder if Sir Leon likes you with the same heart that you love him with. You are clear with yourself, but he is not clear with himself. Perhaps, you will be stuck waiting if you take too long, but you care not. If your knight wishes to hold a title, then so be it.

Krauser asked to be captain of the royal knights.

You wonder what Leon would ask for.

The two of you step onto the carriage, and your blade is carried with you, your paperwork done in advance so you can take a small break. You mention that your father was rushing you for marriage, shaking your head when Leon asks if you will give him a response. You talk to Leon after it, pondering over whether or not your training would truly help Leon at all. He had been busy with the commander of the duchy's knight as well, but you still worried. If you fight him, he would not last. Even if he fought Krauser, you wonder whether or not he would be able to hold him off.

Yet, it matters not to you, much of your early days in the arena made up of resting and discussing with the rest of the grandmasters. You watch from the seating area, tea served and dessert on your table alone, tossing biscuits to the rest of the knights as you watch people fight. It's always a thrill, but you find that there isn't much to look forward to this year. Leon takes out the vast majority of the early battles with ease, a knight's set of skills drilled into his body through the exhaustion of your training.

"Your pupil is one of them this year, no?"

"Sir Albert, I heard yours is as well."

"Well, it is a shame. He is not my pupil, but rather my comrade. It is always amusing when I remember that I work with regular knights."

"Do you believe he will be able to win?"

"He lacks the desperation your knight carries." He hums.

You look up as Krauser takes a cookie from your plate, glancing down at the knights in battle.

"Dame Ada did not participate?"

"She'll return next year." You hum. "She wanted a break from her duties."

"It is not easy to be a master, nonetheless. Most knights are satisfied with such a title."

"I heard your engagement will be broken in public after the tournament."

"Correct." You hum, staring down at another one of the family knights. "Oh, that one's made it quite far."

"And who will you wed with next?"

Your lip quirks upwards on one side, clicking your tongue as you smile and wave down at the knights. Ideally, you'd get betrothed to Leon once he wins the tournament, but you were not guaranteed that luxury, so you had already backlogged who would let you get away with the most as a noblewoman. You wonder if Sir Albert would consider you someone worthy.

"Sir Albert, perhaps?"

"I would not be against it."

You glance back down as Leon is declared as victor.

"I do not appreciate being a second choice, grandmaster."

You smile back at him. "Then pray my knight would win."

The remaining grandmasters join the three of you the next day, table much more lively when you grin and wave at everyone, dessert on the table finally shared. You're spared no questions regarding your knight, and you manage to avoid the majority of them. Leon had joined because you suggested it. There was truly no more to it. The topic of your removal from the title of crown princess was far more entertaining to the table. You don't mind it. If anything, it's a welcome topic.

"The emperor made the mistake of removing you after the ceremony and not before." Jill hums. "What if your knight wins? Swearing loyalty to you would imply that he is not swearing loyalty to the royal family."

"I'm surprised the royal family did not amend such an issue even after your knight had done the same." You hum.

"Well, they are always slow." She hums. "Especially with the crown prince."

"Thoughts on the new crown princess?"

"I did not understand why she had to take the role of antagonist in my life. I would have given her the title had she asked. Though, I understand her need to seduce the prince first. Truly, there is no other way."

"WIthout support from the ducal family, surely it shall become a battle for the crown once more."

"That is not to do with me. The crown prince had simply gotten too bold." You click your tongue.

"Your knight as progressed once more."

You stare down at Leon, smiling as you do.

"How long did he last against you?"

"Forty." You hum. "His longest was forty minutes of continuous fighting. Though, I have confidence that he will last longer if his opponent is also on the offensive."

"You are always the agitating one." Krauser clicks his tongue. "You exhaust and then feast."

"It is the thrill of the kill." You smile. "It is also for entertainment. I dare not to do so on the battlefield."

"Your loyalty lies with the princess, correct?"

"Yes." You nod. "I am fortunate to have chosen her. I fear, had I chosen the crown prince, I would have lost my life long ago."

"Well, it is always a welcome change."

By the latter half of the tournament, you have started warming up with the grandmasters in the training ground, clashes of blade loud as your body thaws the reflexes that you have honed over the years. You can not win against Sir Albert regardless of your own skill, so you settle for dodging his attacks until you can not, his exhaustion never visible. You're sure that if Leon were to fight him, he would have to break the blade rather than fight with endurance. Your title was received because you had defeated Krauser. You would not have received your title had your luck been on the lower side.

"You've improved."

You gasp for air, resting on your knees as you glance at the knight. "Sir Albert, you do not feel exhaustion from your ability. I dare not guarantee that anyone could win against you."

"Your knight's ability is blood, no?"

"I am not aware. I have never seen him use it."

"It does not work if there is no fresh blood. His ability is a final counter while fighting." Krauser mentions, bowing at Jill as she fetches water. "He has never been that desperate, though. I doubt he will use his ability. Focus on exhausting him."

"And your pupil?"

"My pupil must be exhausted."

"It seems that the goal is always to exhaust." You sigh. "Jill?"

"I am sure the knights are all hoping to fight you."

"Well, they better be ready to fight." You huff. "They'll be more exhausted than us when they finally compete for the title itself."

You spend the final day watching semifinals, learning all of the knights' moves and calculating how you would have to fight each one. You are automatically voided from people that Leon would have to fight to avoid bias and going easy, so you settle with drawing sticks with the rest of the team, drawing again when you pick up Leon's stick on accident. To the vast majority of the arena, it would seem that you all are discussing, but you knew better. There was no discussion if it was truly just pulling out sticks to determine who would fight who.

The title of grandmaster was truly a title of luck oftentimes.

When you draw a knight from another ducal house, you find that you'll be fine. You have warmed up to your blade, and it has become an extension of your body, moving with you naturally as you prepare for your fight. You were last, so it would be understandable that your opponent would have plenty of recovery time from the battles of the previous day, but you understand that it would still be harder than usual. You hope to make it quicker than the previous times.

Your goal is to simply exhaust the knight.

Your battle is last, a gentle nod is all you give before your opponent charges at you, the knight swinging his blade and kicking for your legs as you swing over him, ducking as he thrust his blade, kicking upwards from the ground to force him backward and retrieve your blade. You take two steps back to avoid the next swing, blade meeting his on the third, holding the sword up as the knight stumbles back from your strength.

Was Leon watching? You hope he was. You had spared no effort to fight him, but you had overwhelmed him by the end of it. You do not feel that same exhaustion yet, but you keep an eye on the time. Under an hour was perfectly fine. Even when you feel your wrist crack from the strength, you just shake it back into place, taking two steps back and to the side, spinning and forcing the blade to twist. You land on the ground with a thud, aiming to split the blade to end the fight, but your opponent manages to take it at the last minute.

You check the time.

Fifty minutes.

You take a further two steps back, heart hammering in your chest as you flip backward, forced into the wall.

You have to recover. You must start fighting.

The wall is hard against your sole as you boost over the knight, taking the chance to kick at his helmet, forcing it into the wall as you take the moment to breathe.

Two.

Three.

The next swing is blocked out of instinct, and you breathe, ability causing the knight to blink twice.

Finally.

Your blade loses its visibility, and you change to the offensive. You must wear down your opponent, swing after swing after swing as you feel the knight's knees weaken, no longer able to hold his ground against your swings. His knees give out and he falls to the ground, blade dug into the dirt as he heaves, eyes wide and then closed, breathing labored as he struggles to get back up. You glance up at the timer to read the time aloud like you are to. The knight has made it impressively far.

"You have made it to the fifty mark." You hum. "You are too exhausted to continue. The journey to knighthood is not done overnight. Congratulations on reaching so far."

The knight takes your hand as you help him up, and he bows.

You step to the back, tended by the medics before you must make a return to the stage. You sit still as your wounds are tended to, gentle glow of green on your skin as the soreness is cast out from your body. It's still something you aren't used to, but you don't have much of a choice when this is the role you play. You're let go of only when you are free of all wounds and scratches, and you join the remaining grandmasters on the podium, standing near the back as you wait for the announcement.

Well, you already know who won.

You glance at the noted times for each knight, and you visibly brighten at the news that Leon has lasted the longest and broken a sword. No one brings it up, but the atmosphere visibly lightens as you hum and chatter with the remaining grandmasters. The mental exhaustion from fighting may still be present in many of them, but it is not present in you. There is a certain air of giddiness that you emit, inadvertently soothing the remaining grandmasters of the exhaustion.

"Congratulations."

"Sir Albert, did you even try?" You tilt your head, glancing at the envelope in his hand.

"I did. Your knight outsmarted me. That is all." He hums. "Your knight has won by default. He may have barely scraped by with his time, but he had broken my blade. That is an automatic title according to the rules of the tournament."

"How nice." You smile. "Looks like our engagement will not be happening."

"Arguably for the better." He hums.

"Agreed." You sigh. "I am sure your disciple will win the following year."

"And you have the boldness to say this because?"

"He seems to have found that desperation that my knight carried this year."

"Grandmasters! Positions!"

You step back to where you are to be, staring at the knights as you smile, humming as you close your eyes to smile with that also. You are sure Leon is aware that he can no longer do anything. What else is there to do but wait? Surely not grow excited over nothing. So, you wait for his name to be announced, watching as he collapses to his knees and stare up at you. You smile and wave, watching as he falls to his knees into the position of a prayer.

One step closer, one leap bolder.

You watch as he mouths words at you, your own heart rattling in your chest.

You deliver the final speech, congratulating all of the knights for their efforts, titles of master handed by each grandmaster with a wreath. You participate, well aware that you'd be with the royal family the next morning as someone who was... still the crown princess... or whatnot. You no longer cared. Quite frankly, you care so little that you could break a couple rules at night.

"Did you visit your knight at night?"

Jill raises a brow at you in amusement, and she nods. "Take the hidden corridors."

You wink at her in response, blowing a kiss in thanks.

It's fairly simple to sneak to your knight's room. If anything, it is all the more obvious, the blade of the victor on his door, and you wait behind the statues in the corridors to knock on his door, rocking on your feet as you grin. You're sure you'll give him quite a fright, but it matters not anymore. You've been patient, and well, your knight has been too.

The door to his room swings open, and you watch as he blinks twice before pulling you into the room, panic all over his face as you blink slowly at his lips.

Oh, who cares anymore.

You pull Leon in by the collar, lips crashing against his as he winces, confidence faltering as you start to pull away, worried you might have read the knight wrong—

You're left with no space as Leon chases your lips back into the kiss, hand flying to the back of your head, eyes half-lidded as he forces you against the bed instead, tongue desperate against yours as he drinks up every single one of your movements, lips leaving yours only for quick gasps for air before he's back on you again. It overwhelms you. Your head spins deliciously with the lack of air, body turning lax against the sheets and chest pressed to his, nails digging into the cloth still, fingers clinging onto whatever you can of him, the knight practically engulfing you as you finally throw your head back for air, letting him rest his head on your collar.

"I'm sorry."

You have to be honest. Honesty. You have to be honest.

You're tired of denying yourself.

God, you love your knight to no end.

"Don't be." You gasp, eyes closing to focus on catching your breath back.

The silence that ensues is something that you could only dream of experiencing.

The moon paints your skin pale, and you stare back at him, breathing labored as you whisper.

"Who will you swear your loyalty to tomorrow?"

Grandmasters' loyalties lie with the royal family, yet Leon forms a sword from his wounds, hand red from the ability, handing it to you as you blink at him.

"My knight." You mumble.

"Knight me, so that the emperor may not do so tomorrow. My loyalties lie with you, not with the king."

"My knight, I cannot—"

"I beg of you. If you knight me now, the king can not knight me in the morning. You need not to get up, just... please."

You comply, red of his blade staining your hand as you stare, eyes closing as you whisper a prayer to the stars.

You close your eyes to start the chant, gold engulfing the blade of red as you hold it out to one shoulder, moving it to the other after, the gold swallowing the room whole as you close your eyes from the brightness. When it subsides, the red of his blade has puddled at your feet, and your knight rests his head in your lap, eyes closed as you hesitate to touch him. You worry that he would be called a traitor by the people.

"Thank you."

"What will you tell the emperor?" You whisper, heart racing in your chest at the thought of him being executed.

"I need not anything else. This was my request." He mutters back. "Stay the night."

"I cannot do that." You push his hair back, and Leon closes his eyes.

"I know."

"The emperor will have you executed for this."

"I'll run off with you. Divine intervention. Bribe a priest."

"I can not do that, my knight." You laugh. "And the regulations?"

"I will survive." He hums. "Clause twelve states that they are to swear their loyalty to anyone in the royal family. Considering the knowledge that you are still crown princess until the end of the competition, I have sworn my loyalty to the royal family by proxy."

"Ever the sly one, aren't you." Your fingers scratch at his scalp gently, and he hums.

"I have to. It is for you, after all."

"Then, will you have me?" Your voice shakes.

"Only if you would have me in exchange."

You watch as Leon requests of you to knight him, and you hide the amusement on your face as the emperor's face twitches and frowns at the request to be knighted by the crown princess. You are not the crown princess after Leon receives his title, but you do so anyway, his actual blade in your hand as you press it from one shoulder to the other, same golden haze erupting in the colosseum. You fear what it would have been if Leon had not requested for you to knight him, and when he is asked what he wishes to receive, the title of Marquis was only fitting.

You bow to the citizens as the emperor announces your removal from the title of crown princess, and you watch as the commoner girl who had wanted to be the crown princess receive the title she had longed for for so long. You try to ignore the way Leon's eyes stay stuck to you the whole speech, and you also ignore the way the crown prince glares at you when you finally get to exit the stage for the emperor to make a final speech. There's a certain excitement that you allow yourself now that you are no longer the crown princess to the public.

You're given no time to feel it, Leon lifting you into his arms as you yelp, eyes wide as he beams at you. Your heart rings in your ears, sure that your embarrassment is spelled out on your face, but you ignore it all. Your knight looked elated to finally have you in his arms, smiling ear to ear as his blue eyes soften at you. You find that he looks enamored with you. Perhaps you are risking it, but it seems to be fine. You find that this is a tale of devotion, not purity or whatnot.

"You smile so brightly, my knight." You mumble, fingers reaching for his cheek.

"You are free from the shackles of the crown, princess." He whispers, forehead pressed to yours. "I am yours at last."

"And if I would not have you?"

"I am at your disposal regardless."

"What will the people think?" You close your eyes as Leon hums. You can still hear his smile.

"Do you care? Must you care? What is there to consider when I am by your side?"

"You are right, my knight."

You glance down at Leon, sun in his face as he brushes noses with you, your own heart full in your chest. You've waited long enough, and you wonder if you would have known so long ago, but without the title of crown princess on your shoulder and knowing that your knight was yours, you cherish the knowledge. He was yours to use, but you would be his to cherish. The knighting ceremony was more than a testimony that he was yours. And now, you would know peace.

You could finally be his.

[sapphire-writes]

Wildest Dreams ~ Aemond x Wife!reader

request: an arranged marriage between yn and Aemond, where he has married her to win the favor of her house, but the war is on and he meets Alys and yn hears the rumors and when she hears Aemond talking about Alys with Alicent she understands that she is not a simple lover, she talks about it with Aemond and he has a certain affection for her so he tells her to have adventures if she wants to and she is heartbroken, but she does not take the offer, but Aemond thinks that eventually he will and continues with Alys until at a ball he sees yn talking to a lord of a noble house and is jealous that she eventually took up the offer. Happy or sad ending, you decide, I just want to read how you develop it. Thanks for your work! ~anon word count: 1.8k warning: angst omg, some spicy themes nothing explicit, jealous & possessive Aemond note: I really liked writing this, especially exploring the relationship between the reader and her sworn protector 🫣 you can read more of my work here 💚

My lady, my Alys.

That name haunts you. It slithers through the halls of the Red Keep. It lives in the pitying eyes of those who look upon you, the forgotten spouse of Aemond Targaryen. His wife. His princess. What a horrid sham it was now. 

You knew Aemond to be a man of duty, you knew this when you married him. Though you hoped his affection for you would grow with time, you had never expected him to stray outside the marriage. He simply did not seem the type of man to do such a thing.

Until the war. Until Alys Rivers. 

You knew the people of court were aware of the affair your husband was having with the so-called witch queen of Harrenhal. 

It only became more apparent when he returned to court on Vhagar’s back, with his paramour securely against his back. Though you haven't seen your husband in months, as soon as you spotted her with him, you excused yourself from the celebrations around his return. 

You ran to your chambers and hurriedly pushed by your sworn protector Ser Cassian who stood outside your door. 

“My lady?” he asked, with a concerned look on his face as you made your way inside. 

He noted the tears on your face. For a moment he hesitated with his hand on the door handle, preparing to close it as he heard your sobs from within. Instead, he released the handle, stepping inside your chambers. 

“It pains me to see such a lovely lady crying,” Ser Cassian says as you face away from him. 

“Yes well then I would advise you to avert your eyes,” you snap, bitterly.

Ser Cassian does not heed your advice, he simply stands in the doorway. You feel guilt begin to curl its way into your stomach, under your skin. You turn your head to him.

“You must forgive me, Ser,” you begin, keeping your gaze low, “that was unkind.”

Ser Cassian moves to close the door, and you hear his heavy footsteps make their way over to you. 

You turn completely to face the knight, who now offers you a piece of cloth. Shame rolls through you at his act of kindness, as you offer him a small smile dabbing at the wetness that pools beneath your eyes. 

“There is no need for apologies, my lady,” he tells you. 

“Then you are too kind a man,” you tell him, eyes glassy with tears.

“I only wish for your protection and happiness, my lady,” he tells you, as you hand him back his handkerchief. 

You confront Aemond later on, in the privacy of his chambers. 

“Now you bring her to court to humiliate me further,” you accuse, blood running hot with anger. 

Aemond rubs the scarred skin above his eyepatch. 

“I’ve no wish to humiliate you, dear wife,” he assures you. 

“Then why?” you demand, “why parade her at court, in front of all these people?”

Aemond stands still, his mouth a tight line. He refuses to answer you, causing you to scoff. 

“I understand you love her?” you ask your husband, unable to meet his eyes. 

There is a moment of silence between you, the weight of your question hanging in the air.

“I do,” he says firmly, confidently.

You did not know your heart could break more than it already has. 

“I wish for you to be happy,” Aemond says, coming closer to you, “I am still your husband, I shall give you children to love and cherish.”

You make an offended noise at his words, cheeks heating up. How romantic a notion, being your husband’s broodmare. 

“You may do as you like,” Aemond assures you, “as long as you bear only my trueborn children, take pleasure in whatever you wish.”

You look at him, not believing the words he speaks.

“You do not mean that,” you tell him. 

The man you married may not have loved you right away, but there was a possessive nature about him beneath the surface of his cold exterior. 

“I do,” he tells you. 

“I have no wish for anything else. For anyone else,” you tell him.

“You shall, in time,” he assures you, “you have been lonely too long.”

“You think a lover would fix that?” you snap at him.

Aemond does not answer, he simply leaves the room to go to her. 

You spend a long time in the gardens, finding solace in the flowers, bathed in moonlight. The air grows cold around you but you would rather be out here than in the castle. You swear you can hear their pants and moans from your chambers. Your husband is taking another woman. Over, and over again. 

“You should be inside, my lady,” Ser Cassian tells you, watching as your teeth chatter in the cool night air. 

He removes the cloak from his back, placing the gold cloak across your shoulders. Your shoulders drop at the weight of it. 

“Allow me to escort you inside,” Cassian murmurs, hands lingering on your shoulders. 

You meet his gaze, nodding. 

You summon Ser Cassian to your chambers the following night, hearing his knuckles rap against the wood of your door just as you exit the bath. Your lady’s maid holds a dressing gown for you to step into, covering your wet, naked form. 

“My lady,” he says, clearly flustered by your state, the dressing gown barely covering your slick body. 

“Leave us,” you tell your lady who nervously scampers towards the door, shutting it behind her. 

Your hair is damp, sending rivers of bathwater down your neck, traveling through the valley of your breasts. 

“I can return when you are decent,” he manages to choke out.

“There is no need,” you assure him, “I am quite comfortable in your presence.”

Ser Cassian does not know where to look, he does not wish to offend you but is finding it increasingly difficult to focus.

“You once told me you wished for my happiness and protection,” you told him, “the latter is true. How are you supposed to assure the other?”

Cassian blinks slowly, eyes focused on your lips as you speak those words, the shimmering of water that rests on your upper lip. You look as though you are a river nymph who has come to seduce him to a watery grave. 

You begin to walk towards him, hands fiddling with the straps that tie your dressing gown securely around your waist. 

“I shall do whatever my lady commands,” Cassian says, eyes cast toward the floor. 

“I do not wish to command,” you say softly, “I wish to offer.”

Cassian meets your eyes then. He is very handsome, with dark brown eyes that match his curly locks. 

“You need not offer anything, my lady,” he assures you. 

“I want to,” you tell him. 

“If you do not wish this, that is fine,” you tell him, “I only ask you to leave and forget this conversation and we shall go about as we once were. Though I shall admit, I will feel rather foolish.”

Cassian watches the blush bloom across your cheeks. 

“Otherwise, you need only take my hand.”

You stretch your arm out toward him and for a moment he does not move. For a moment, your breath catches in your throat and you are sure he shall turn on his heel and leave your chambers. Then you shall be left alone once more. 

But he does not.

Instead, he places his rough hand in yours and allows you to guide him toward your bed, replacing your dressing robe with his lips, his tongue, and his hands. 

You have been happier as of late. Aemond has taken notice. You walk with a skip in your step, a flush on your cheeks. 

The maester has been said to visit your chambers weekly with a special brew. 

Aemond knows you have taken a lover. The knowledge curls in his stomach like a hissing snake, though he attempts to deny it. How hypocritical is he, to deny his wife happiness when he has found his own in another woman’s bed?

It isn’t until Maelor's name day celebration does he realize how furious your endeavors make him; the fire it ignites beneath your skin. 

The feast is a grand affair with singing and dancing, and several lords and ladies visiting from across the seven kingdoms. 

Aemond and you arrive together, but you quickly let go of his arm and make your way into the crowd. 

Alys is not present, as Alicent will not allow it. A paramour at court is scandalous in itself, she will not subject you to feast with her. 

Aemond keeps his eye on you, as you begin to dance. He watches the dreamlike look on your face, the way your cheeks redden and you cast your smile toward the floor as someone joins you.

He is a goldcloak, and Aemond recognizes him. The knight smiles down at you, entrapping you in a dance. Your smile widens as he whispers something to you, and your cheeks darken. Aemond feels a fire in his belly as he watches you dance with the knight, a strange sense of possessiveness flooding through him. 

Aemond moves through the dance quickly coming to your side. His hand finds yours dragging you toward the center of the dance floor. You struggle to keep up with his demanding pace, your wrist stinging from how tightly he holds you. 

The dance continues around you, people hardly noticing Aemond’s predatory circling of you.

“Is that who you desire?” he asks, voice low.

Your furrow your brow, a confused expression on your face.

“Is he whom you invited into your bed?” Aemond growls. 

“I did not think it mattered to you,” you quip back, anger evident in your tone.

“You choose a whoremonger for a paramour,” Aemond says sneering, trying to bait you. 

“And you a witch woman,” you snap, causing Aemond’s face to darken, “who I choose to spend my time with is of no concern to you.”

Aemond growls at this, an animalistic noise that comes from deep within his chest, that causes you to back up slightly. 

“You cannot have it both ways,” you tell him, noting his genuine anger. 

Aemond is breathing heavily, looking down at you, his mouth twisted in a sneer.

“You cannot have me, and her,” you continue feeling brave.

Aemond juts his chin out. 

“What makes you think I shall allow you to keep him?” he says referring to Ser Cassian.

You smirk then, stepping closer to him. 

“I shall just find someone else,” you tell him bitterly.

Aemond snaps forward, wrapping his hand around your throat and pulling you flush against him. The action sends a wave of warmth into your lower belly. You know you should be terrified, you should try to run screaming. But you do not. And when he brings his mouth to yours, you kiss him back.

When he leads you to your chambers, you let him.

When he roughly tears your dress from your body, you assist him. 

When he makes passionate love to you, nipping and biting your smooth flesh, you allow him to.

Aemond stays with you that night. 

Alys Rivers vanishes from the Red Keep before the sun rises. 

note: ooof im sweating 🥵

[cynicalalpaca]

I should post this here too, shouldn't I?

Explanations under the cut

Astarion: Thief of Blood.  Along with the obvious fact that he steals literal blood, his initial plan is to manipulate the player into liking him, “stealing” a bond with them for his protection.  And that was basically his m.o. for 200 years.  If he Ascends, he would turn into a Lord of Blood

Shadowheart: Maid of Heart.  I imagine that she’s spent most of her life inverted as a Bard of Mind, allowing her mind to be destroyed by the Sharrans.  The Maid of Heart is, well, made of their own identity.  It’s a creation class, and Shart is spending the rest of her life creating herself.  If she became a Dark Justiciar, she would remain a Bard of Mind

Gale: Mage of Light.  The active understanding class and the knowledge aspect fit the resident nerd of the group, don’t you think?  He’s probably the smartest party member (in terms of academic/theoretic knowledge) and uses that knowledge to power his magic.  In addition, Light is associated with relevancy and acknowledgement and boy oh boy was he desperate for Mystra’s.  If he becomes the God of Ambition, he would turn into a Lord of Light

Lae’zel: Prince of Breath.  I know the general understanding of Prince is that they destroy the aspect, but I understand them as also being able to destroy through use of their aspect.  Lae’zel is destroying Vlaakith’s empire by freeing the githyanki people and leading a revolution.  Maybe a bit of a stretch, but I was trying to avoid overlap for the origin characters.  I could also see her as a Knight or Prince of Blood

Karlach: Knight of Rage.  She’s a berserker, she fights by utilizing rage.  And the popular idea that Knights start out lacking in their aspect is pretty apt too, she’s an extremely positive person while Rage is all about more negative emotions.  I think she might ghost her inverted class- Rogue of Hope- but never fully inverts, just toys with distributing hope and positivity.

Wyll: Heir of Hope.  I fully admit Wyll kinda got the short end of the stick as he was the last character I did, but I do think it fits.  Heirs passively manipulate or inspire their aspect in others, and Wyll fights for the people as the Blade of Frontiers, inspiring Hope in those he protects.  I could also see him as a Blood aspect, as so much of his story deals with his bonds- to his father, Mizora, Baldur’s Gate and the people of the Coast

Minthara: Maid of Doom.  This is where I stopped caring about overlap lol.  Minthara is your most “evil” companion and one who approves of killing people in your way.  Doom was a pretty clear choice for her, being the Aspect of death, but also dealing with systems and authority, like the Cult of the Absolute and her place in its hierarchy.  As for her class, Maids create their aspect and make it a core part of themselves.  Minthara has been surrounded by death and hierarchies her whole life, having been born to a high ranking noble house in Menzoberranzan, leading to them being a very core part of her being.  I can also see her vacillating wildly between Maid of Doom and her inverse, Bard of Life, because she’s just that chaotic.  They both deal with death, but the Bard is a bit more passive about it, allowing others (the Cult, the player) to take lead on the killing

Halsin: Knight of Breath.  Again running with the “Knights lack their Aspect” theory, Halsin starts the game lacking the freedom he desires.  He’s literally imprisoned by the goblins, but he’s also constrained by his role as Archdruid, almost toying with his inverse of Rogue of Blood.  He craves the freedom of nature and jumps at the opportunity to gain it.  You could also argue wildshape is a form of freedom (both of form and of self) that he uses to fight.  There’s also his talk of polyamory and how he doesn’t want to be tied down.  Freedom is a recurring thing with the guy

Jaheira: Witch of Life.  Life is a pretty clear choice for a druid, as Life deals with flora and fauna.  Witch is the active manipulation class, and Jaheira is introduced manipulating plants to hold the player.  Additionally, she’s shown nurturing life by caring for various children in Baldur’s Gate, sorta like how Feferi took care of various marine animals

Minsc: Knight of Hope.  Okay this was the hardest one for me because I don’t fully get Minsc.  I’ve only played BG3, I don’t know him from any other games or comics or whatever.  But from what I do know, he was obviously one of the more offensive and active classes and Knight seems to fit him best.  He utilizes Hope- usually in the form of others’ trust in him- to fight.  Without that trust, he wouldn’t be as effective, he always fights best with his companions.  He’s also just a happy, up-beat guy, and Hope is largely focused on positive emotions

Boo: Lord of Doom.  BOO DECIDES THE FATE OF ALL.  HE HAS ULTIMATE SAY OVER LIFE AND DEATH

[sol-consort]

Yeah, hi me again, dragon age girl. Unfortunately I have to tell you that I think I wanna squirt straight on that bald dude's head, even though I'm 128% sure it's gonna end badly because I was watching edits of them (and accidentally spoiled myself I'm pretty sure😐) and they're all angsty so I think he's gonna betray me in some way. But oh well, I love a doomed lovers moment. I can't wait to complain and cry about it later.

"I wanna squirt straight on that bald dude's head" - Anon, 2024.

When I tell you this line alone convinced me to go install the game and try it out because there is no way boiled egg of a man could ever pull this tremendously

And oh.

Oh.

Was I wrong.

I never thought I liked assertive passive-aggressive men until now...damn. The way he so causally takes your hand and does what he does. No explanation. Eggboi kinda hot.

But then, out of the corner of my eye, I glimpsed the most amazing perfect pair of tits to ever exist, and my brain did a complete factory reset.

FORGET BALDIE BASICS I WANT HIM I WANT TO SUCK ON HIS—

God. What a big juicy personality. I bet his heart is just as massive. They're staring at me, I just can't stop looking. Don't ask me what colour anything is idk man his eyes were purple maybe uhhh milk

BUT ALSO...also there is the hot ruggish knight woman whom I want to protect me and carry me to safety in her arms <3 also let me ride her thigh, the armour stays ON during smooch sex.

Lastly, my toxic trait is that I simply cannot play a game without creating the most gorgeous barbie-esque doll of a character. Pretty ladies all around! Brown hair my beloved. I clearly have a type but shhh

LOOK AT HER MY HEART CAN'T TAKE IT. My pretty doll! My bratz girlie!! A snotty noble human who's completely ignorant of the way of the world but thinks she knows it all + doesn't want to be here and would rather be back home in her privileged cushy life sipping on margaritas in pool parties, but forced to be the hero against her will. So she pretends to care and says what others want to hear.

I plan for her not to take anything seriously until the realisation of how dire this situation is, all the deaths and tragedies, make her have a change of heart and actually tries to help and save others. Becoming more jaded with time and losing that innocent naivety and arrogance.

Oh and double blade rouge bc dagger go swoosh swoosh aka she doesn't wanna carry a sword (it might break a nail) and never cared much for bows (splinters might make her fingertips calloused) and can't do magic for shit (magic?? HERESY! BURN THE WITCH NOW <- most normal aristocratic family teaching)

Sp daggers/theif bc she may or may not have used to lock pick her mother's sweets box as kid to steal candy, but we don't talk about that...or how the dress she's wearing rn is her older sister's, she took it from her closest without permission. Aka, why the blood splatters are okay with her.

[hollowed-theory-hall]

i don't remember in which book, but there is an episode where Narcissa takes Draco away from a clothing store (Madame Malkin, I think) because they cater to muggleborns. i understand it was a political statement...

but with that in mind, question is: how far is pureblood bigotry actually goes?

are there shops exclusively for purebloods and we just don't know about them bc harry didn't go there, or were they decades ago... do purebloods buy products invented by blood traitors like the Potters and Weasleys? after all, they are good quality, but it is not good to give money to dirt yk. at the same time, most shops probably fall away from public bigotry bc even if they are run by purebloods who believe in pureblood supremacy, they will still serve everyone, because money in the first place.

this is an interesting topic for research, in my opinion, and very comparable to reality

Like, my immediate answer was: Very far.

I mean, once the most blood purists of their society gain control of the ministry they are literally rounding up muggleborns to be sent to Azkaban.

That being said, casual blood purity, like you mention, seems to not go as deep as Narcissa would like you to believe. Like, we see Draco using Peruvian Instant Darkness Powder in book 6, which was invented and only sold by Fred and George. I think, like with a lot of irl bigotry, it's a lot of performance.

Like, blood purists would talk a lot about not buying from filth and mudbloods, but if a blood traitor has a good idea or a good product — they don't put their money where their mouth is. They'd buy from blood traitors and muggleborns if it's the better product. They do copy ideas from the muggles. Like, I'm sure blood purists who have access to the Floo ridicule the concept of the Hogwarts Express and the Knight Bus, thinking of them as filthy muggle inventions; but I'm certain they were all too glad to bring indoor plumbing into Hogwarts and their mansions because it's an invention they liked.

We also see a dark pureblood store like Borgins & Burkes hire filthy, poor, orphan Tom Riddle. He was good at his job, he probably wasn't paid a lot, and so it didn't matter his blood purist employers/customers thought he was a mudblood and filth if he was good at what he did. They'd hire, buy and sell to muggleborns and blood traitors if there is money on the line.

We see this attitude with Slughorn as well. He's surprised by Hermione and Lily being muggleborns and exceptional witches and potion makers because he doesn't expect it (the bigotry of low expectations, which we also see irl). But, he does invite them into the Slug Club and he expects them to then be able to get into positions they usually can't because he basically vetted them as 'talented filth'. They're okay and good to hire by purebloods because they're good at what they do. Now, I don't think Slughorn is a bad person, and he's actually doing a very useful service for talented muggleborns in the bigoted society they live in by opening doors for them, but I digress.

I think it's telling that an ancestral house of The Noble and Most Ancient House of Black, the "always pure", is a muggle house. Grimmauld Place is a house built by muggles, for muggles, that the Blacks decided to have as their own. They have muggle plumbing, muggle baths, muggle toilets, and muggle wallpaper, and they like it. but if you asked them, they'd call their house a "wizarding home", even if every brick was put in its place by muggles without a drop of magic.

We are told by Pottermore a good chunk of the Malfoys' inherited wealth is muggle. Their manor is also, most likely, muggle-built. They live their pureblood lifestyle, thinking themselves oh so much better than blood traitors when the food on their table was put there by muggle money. That the reason they can act the way they do, that they have more money than the Weasleys — is because their ancestors made business deals with muggles. And they know it but choose to pretend to have forgotten.

The point is, yes, blood purists would talk all day about how they want no filth in their house and how everything muggle is lesser, but when muggles/muggleborns/blood traitors have something good going, when they have a good product or are themselves talented, they'd be blind to their filthy blood for the sake of money/good idea. They'd tell themselves whatever lies they needed to tell themselves to believe they weren't blood traitors for installing a toilet. That they're not supporting muggle ideas by living off of muggle instructors.

They're bigoted hypocrites is what I'm saying.

[skzhua]

Hyunjin fics recommendations | SKZHUA

~ : personal favourites

I’ll keep updating this list as I keep reading. Props to all the writers here for their amazing work, you’re doing great.

WARNING: Some of these are 18+ so please look at the warnings before reading.

MAIN FIC RECS LIST

Enemies-to-lovers!(demigod)Hyunjin by @taelme | 18k+ words

enemies-to-lovers!au (kind of, i feel like it wasnt that extreme but more of a dislike-to-lovers lol), demigod!au (fluff, slight angst? its rly not much, a lot of confusion on reader’s part) 

~ watercolor by @jinhyun (series) ONGOING

social media au, angst, fluff, pining, unrequited love, slow burn, college au, dance major hyunjin, art major reader.

just in case by @the7thcrow | 8.6k words

fluff. angst. suggestive. romcom. office au. valentine’s day au. coworkers to lovers. slight enemies to lovers.

~ nobody compares to you by @scxrlettwxtches | ~7k words

fluff, slight angst, friends to enemies to lovers (yeah, crazy right?)

~ Hyunjin’s Playlist by @chocojjk | 5.2k words

college student! hyunjin x college! student reader; strangers to lovers?

~ back in time by @changbeanie | 5.3k words

fluff, angst, time travel au.

~ forward in time by @/changbeanie | 6.8k words

Spin-off of back in time, time travel au, fluff, angst.

~ it’s knot you by @/changbeanie | 5.9k words

fluff, angst, soulmate au.

cobblestones by @cbseung (series, 10 parts) COMPLETE

fluff! lowkey enemies to lovers! royalty au.

bits of stardust. by @jeonginks | 16.8k+ words *author closed their blog*

historical au, fluff, angst, strangers to lovers.

mental patient! hyunjin by @serenhyunjinity | 2k+ words

“one side of me wants to love you but the other wants to see your blood spill from every inch of your body”

seven things by @utopianvoices | 4.3k words

enemies to lovers au (kinda); fluff.

~ erubescent. by @cle1024 | ~12k words

angst, fluff, bad boy!au, florist!au, high school!au, enemies to lovers!au.

Ice by @healinghyunjin | 4.5k words

genre: romance, angst, fluff, smut; mafia!AU, strangers-to-lovers, 18+

~ There Is Magic Between Us by @mxxndreams | 19.1k words *author privated it*

one-shot, fluff, angst, attempted humour, low fantasy, frenemies to lovers, swimmer!hyunjin, merman!hyunjin, witch!reader, high school!au, modern-day setting.

beauty and the beast by @froggybaek | 9.4k words

fluff, angst, beauty and the beast au.

For you, For us, For Them by @mrs-i-have-too-many-biases | 25.9k words

Fluff/ Angst, Fantasy au, Fairy au, Enemies to Lovers, Kind of Slowburn!Fluff?, Knight Fairy!Hyunjin X Princess Fairy!Reader.

~ DESCENT TO HELL. by @hwangsify | 13.7k+ words

fallen angel au, angst, fluff, strangers to lovers au, hwang hyunjin x gn reader, former bang chan x gn reader.

boy next door by @strayed-quokka | 4.9k words

fluff, smut, angst, childhood friends, happy ending, porn with somewhat a plot (backstory mostly)

~ NEVERENDING STORY by @crispy-chan | 23k words

fluff, angst, strangers to friends to lovers, slow burn, AU.

~ the dating experiment by @caseiloveu | 12.1k words *author privated it*

fake dating!au, friends to idiots to lovers, fluff, angst, happy ending (i hope), slightly suggestive at best, kissing, food mention, swearing, misunderstanding, murder thread (not real, we're only fed up), best friend!felix, i literally loved this idea so much, i'm so sorry if i crash you tumblr app, maknae line cameo, minho is part of the squad but not in the story.

burn for you by @inniejeonginnie | 8.3k words

angst? fluff? no idea. happy ending :)

just stay with me by @straywrds | 17k words

coworkers to friends to lovers, romance, smut.

~ bad ideas by @yuggyee | 13.8k words *author closed their blog*

Fluff (and a bit of angst?), setup date, hyunjin has a twin brother named sam hwang.

~ two types of fireworks by @chanluster | 21.2k words

tangled! au, historical! au.

~ the duke and i by @/chanluster | 32.3k words

mature, fluff, bridgerton! au, f2l! au, noble! reader, duke! hyunjin.

~ Falling From Grace by @lixesque | 15.4k words *author closed their blog*

fluff and angst but there’s a happy ending.

Clover Prince by @chaninfused | 25.7k words

Fantasy. A little violence. Fluff. Some angst.

Snowed In by @moonjxsung | 7.9k words

+18, Mdni! forced proximity, exes-to-lovers.

~ The snow falls, we fall apart. by @astraystayyh | 13k words

producer student!hyunjin x reader. roommates!au. friends to lovers. acute descriptions of heartbreak and general sadness. slow burn. hurt/comfort. healing and hopeless romantic hyune. very inspired by long for you so lots of pining and yearning.

~ ace by @forlix | 15.2k words

volleyball player!hyunjin x tutor!reader (gn), college!au, sports!au, fake enemies to friends to lovers, fluff, humor, hurt/comfort, slice of life, mutual pining, slow burn. hyunjin is a huge flirt. mc #DGAF. two polar opposites sharing one soul. a seungjin fic if u squint. loosely inspired by the manga/anime haikyuu!!

[its-to-the-death]

Villain Song Showdown Preliminary Round #8

Top two will make it into the bracket

Songs below the cut

Sympathy for the Devil - Villain: Satan

Still Catch the Tide - Villain: A guy who stole a Selkie's skin

Pull Your Strings - Villain: Mesmerelda

Blood Itching - Villain: The Empress

I Am the Other One - Villain: The main surgeon's twin sister

How Dare You/Confrontation - Villain: David

We Live For Danger - Villain: Chancellor Ooh-La-La & Chancellor Mais-Non-Non

Dressed to Oppress - Villain: David

Dicks and Ass - Villain: The Falconers (Only on Dropout. Around 12 minutes in.)

What If You Were Known - Villain: Windella (Only on Dropout. 7 minutes in.)

[adelinevw7]

the only flower that blooms in hell

This was a legend far, far older than she was. Its origins were lost to time and repeated telling had muddied the details, but she could attest that most of it was real—after all, Sakura Haruno had contributed to its unweaving.

Because now, nothing remained of all the legend’s mysteries. Now, she slept in the tender embrace of an erstwhile terror, marveling at him: the way the light of dawn settled softly on this shapely mass of dreaming man, whose legs were tangled up with hers under the covers of their marriage bed.

She had conquered the beast, and the spoils were all hers.

Sakura could scarcely believe it, but here they were: released from the snare of enchantments, free to embark upon the rest of their lives unstoried.

But first there was the tale, the terrible tapestry before her touch had unraveled it. Thus we return to the beginning.

***

Once upon a time, a tyrant king ruled over his lands without mercy. He was as beautiful as he was cruel, with eyes clear and dark as a winter’s night, and pale unblemished skin. His stature was likewise unmatched. In all the land, there was no one who stood as his peer in strength and agility—who could mount a horse and wield a sword as well as he did.

The monarch’s name was Sasuke Uchiha.

All those who lived within his domain were compelled to bend to his will: from the lowliest peasant to the wealthiest noble. So absolute was his power that nothing mattered save what he wished—not even the most heartrending plea could move him, nor the most meritorious display of skill.

Or so the stories held.

But there came a time when an old sorceress knocked at the doors of his castle, seeking shelter. On a whim, the king allowed the crone entry, but soon turned her out upon seeing her face. She had given no name, but he thought he recognized her features—wasn’t this hag of the Senju, the ancient enemy of his house? So Sasuke sent his knights to whipping her, until her back was bloodied and shredded into ribbons. Then she was thrown out onto the road, to fend for herself against the king’s own hounds.

“Away with you, Senju scum! The likes of you have no claim to my hospitality!”

The woman met the despot’s gaze with a slippery smile, her eyes gleaming with foreknowledge.

“So be it, brat. But you will regret this.” Her tongue slid across her bloodstained bottom lip, erasing the red. She bared her teeth at Sasuke, and despite himself, he shivered in the face of her stare. “Your rottenness will become manifest, Uchiha boy: on your form and in your mind. You will wish, very dearly, that you did not cross me—oh! And you will find no salvation on your own!”

She laughed, sounding younger and more hale than her appearance suggested. The king and his guard knights stood frozen to the spot as she went on, “Nothing will ease your suffering henceforward… except if you find yourself a flower that willingly blooms in hell!”

The crone vanished after that, seemingly into the mist. As soon as she had gone, the king sank to the ground, bent by a sudden affliction. A yell tore itself out of his mouth as the cracking of bones commenced, twisting his tall frame into a wretched hunch. His fingers curled into his palms as he fought the urge to scratch at his skin, which was slowly being covered by coarse and wiry fur. He threw his head back, eyes flashing open to reveal the blood-red irises of a predator, framed by ghoulish yellow sclera.

“Damn you, Senju witch!” The sound that burst from his throat hardly sounded human. Sasuke thrashed and growled as his robes gave way to burgeoning flesh. Even the stoutest of his knights shrank back from him in terror.

“Damn you!”

The curse had begun.

.

.

.

.

.

read the rest of it here:

[noirapocalypto]

ᴏᴄ ᴅɪᴄᴛɪᴏɴᴀʀʏ & ɴᴀᴠɪɢᴀᴛɪᴏɴ

─── ᴀꜱ ᴅᴜꜱᴋ ꜰᴀʟʟꜱ

Set in a re-imagined Night City in futuristic year of 2077--we follow the stories of various individuals from all backgrounds and origins, as they navigate living and surviving among gang wars, shady corporate dealings, and seedy, supernatural underground networks.

Genre: Urban Fantasy | Cyberpunk | Horror Sources: Cyberpunk 2077 | True Blood | Original Concepts

✧ ᴛʜᴇ ᴍᴀɪɴ ᴄᴀꜱᴛ: ✧

SVLEM | 29 ✦ Warlock ✦ Rapper, Music Producer & Label Owner ✦ Black Mage Records & The Hales

lore | vp | aesthetic

Judah DuBois | 30 ✦ Demon ✦ Chief Operating Officer of Argent Media Co

lore | vp | aesthetic

Embry Ellis Knight | 32 ✦ Lycan ✦ Smuggler, Mercenary ✦ The Knights

lore | vp | aesthetic

Paolo Velasquez | 28 ✦ Lycan ✦ Mercenary, Drug Dealer ✦ Independent

lore | vp | aesthetic

Paola Velasquez | 28 ✦ Lycan ✦ Mercenary ✦ Independent

lore | vp | aesthetic

Renato Ventura | 31 ✦ Werewolf ✦ Gang Leader ✦ [ gang name pending ]

lore | vp | aesthetic

✧ ꜱᴜᴘᴘᴏʀᴛɪɴɢ ᴄᴀꜱᴛ: ✧

Casey Hale ✦ Bastien 'Baz' Clermont ✦ Alec 'Tyrant' LeBlanc ✦ Darcy Hale ✦ Silas Hale ✦ Frida Montoya ✦ Amirah ✦ Beckett Hale ✦ Archer Crane ✦ Daryl Shaw ✦ Avis Hale-Crane ✦ Noah Hale ✦ Maeve Hale ✦ Shay Morrissey ✦ Elliot Crane

✧ ᴡᴏʀʟᴅʙᴜɪʟᴅɪɴɢ & ʟᴏʀᴇ: ✧

Settings ≫ Night City ✦ Republic of Texas ✦ Houston ✦ North Cal ✦ New Orleans ✦ Louisiana

Locations ≫ The Woods ✦ Hale Estate ✦ Academy of Magics ✦ The Bayous

Beings ≫ Witches ✦ Lycans ✦ Werewolves ✦ Demons ✦ Fae ✦ Sirens

Bloodlines ≫ The DuBois ✦ The LeBlancs ✦ The Clermonts

Covens ≫ The Hales ✦ Wildhearts

Wolf Packs ≫ The Knights ✦ The Cranes

Labels & Collectives ≫ Black Mage Records

Street Gangs ≫ [ To Be Added ]

✧ ᴀʟᴛᴇʀɴᴀᴛᴇ ᴜɴɪᴠᴇʀꜱᴇꜱ & ᴛɪᴍᴇʟɪɴᴇꜱ: ✧

╰┈➤ ─── ᴜɴᴛɪʟ ᴛʜᴇ ᴡɪʟʟᴏᴡꜱ ᴡᴇᴇᴘ

The Realm of Four Seasons has been thrown into political turmoil as the crown has suddenly fallen and the throne remains empty. Several Houses of Nobility vie for the title of King or Queen of the Four Realms, while others scheme, plot and fight for the survival of their legacies. As the noble lords and ladies contend for power, the commonfolk struggle to live in a world where magic and supernatural forces thrive alongside senseless wars of greed and destruction.

Genre: High Fantasy | Dark Fantasy Sources: A Song of Ice and Fire | Original Ideas

── ʟᴏʀᴇ Lands ≫ Frostvale ✦ Springtide ✦ Suncrest ✦ Autumn Song

Nobility ≫ House Hale ✦ House DuBois

Holds ≫ Wintersun ✦

╰┈➤ ─── ᴡʜᴏ ꜱᴇᴛ ᴛʜᴇ ᴡᴏʀʟᴅ ᴏɴ ꜰɪʀᴇ

[ Plot WIP ]

Genre: Post Apocalyptic | Cyberpunk Sources: The Walking Dead | Fallout | Original Ideas

[rotting-ink]

The Romances of Witchwood

While you fight for your life and freedom, you won't have a lot of allies, but that doesn't mean you have to go at it alone. But who will you decide to walk beside you during this time?

Book 1 Romances

L. Rawlins-

Luther/Loralei Rawlins. Werewolf. Pack Leader. Feared and love, and they're on your scent. Better clear things up quick, or you'll find yourself with a scar mirroring their's.

Seir-

Seir, your familiar. Demon. High blooded. They were the one who offered you your way out, and now they slink behind you wherever you go. While most times, they keep to their animal form, it doesn't mean that you can get them to slip into a more... Comfortable shape. If they like you, of course.

S. Della Rovere-

Sienna~Simeone Della Rovere. Vampire. Baron/Baroness. The rake around town with the devil may care attitude. A good old fashioned Rogue who follows their own flights of fancy and a slave to their own whims. Their cheery attitude comes from the fact that if they don't want to do something? They simply won't do it. It's hard to maintain their attention after capturing it.

V. De Winters-

Victoria~Victor DeWinters. Human. Count/Countess. Charismatic, rich and married. There are rumours surrounding their activities, some whisper that they had an affair with a famous opera singer, other's say that they're a gold digger. No one truely knows their history, and that's how they love it.

Z. Chambers-

Zaniyah~Zachariah Chambers. Reaper. Somber. Dead and extremely busy. Would rather if you didn't interfere with their work, but who are they to say no? Deeply melancholic, they don't often rise out of their quite subdued state, but whose to say that they won't perk up with an accused murderer begging for their help?

Book 2 Romances

Saleos-

Saleos. Wayward Familiar. If you thought Seir was high blooded, they make them look like the demons assigned to cleaning up after orgies in noble houses. Flighty and a flaunter, they make natural enemies of every single Witch Familiar they could ever come across. But they're here... For you~

Starling Knight-

Starling Knight. Local Doctor doubling as the Mortician. Grey Witch, and one of the most respected ones around. You could call them a friend and they'd side eye you, even though they are the closest thing to a buddy you've had during your stay in South Hollow. Detached, stoic and with the worst bedside manner.

A. Lancaster

Amber/Ambrose Lancaster. Human. Witch Hunter. Cold and intense, but somehow the most humane out of everyone in the Witch Hunters. You better hope you befriend them fast, because this one is actively out for your blood. But what else is new.

Book 3 Romances

D. Woolf

Dietrich/Dorothea Woolf. Human. Professor. Quiet, sincere and studious, they're a potential friend built up throughout the other books. They've been sickly for a long while now, but that doesn't mean that they want to sit out on the action.

E. Rawlins

Emil/Emilia Rawlins. Werewolf. Loner. Bitter, spiteful and crude, they never fully rose to their full potential due to their sibling's over protectiveness. They've become jaded, nasty and obsessive, especially the object of their puppy love.

Quincy Beaumont

Quincy Beaumont. Human. Famous Opera Singer touring the continent but deigned to return to South Hollow on a very special invitation. Mean, talented, and two faced, they simply can't wait to become your closest confidante.

[areyoudreaminof]

Future Rust and Future Dust

Chapter 3

The throne room of the Autumn Court was packed with guards blocking the main entrance. Beron Vanserra sat on a lacquered throne of oak that stretched into the floors and low ceiling. Male nobles from Autumn mingled with males from Valhallan. Deep laughter rang over the small orchestra that played a cache of monotonous tunes that had been played for  No females were ever allowed in the throne room, making the place stink of body odor and liquor. 

It was in this room that Eris Vanserra slipped on his mask of spoiled boredom and disdain and watched his father like a hawk. 

As he had since he was no more than a boy, Eris stood to the right of his father, watching. The male never seemed to move as he sat on the Autumn Throne. He did not adjust himself in his seat, nor did he cross his legs or lean back. Beron’s hands didn’t even twitch. No, Eris watched for the movement in his father’s eye. That small spark of cruelty and deception that would flash quickly while his jaw was set into a hard line. Eris knew his father’s tells, and now he could see it in Beron’s eyes as the emissary from Valhallan presented a cache of weapons at his feet. 

“Pure black steel, forged from stone found only in our volcanoes.” the brute of a male said, kicking his leather boot at the stone trunk. The blades on the axes and knives were indeed an oily shade of black. The steel reflected off the amber colored lights, muting the sharp edges. The blades looked dull to Eris. Tristian and Kaspar surely thought the same thing, as they snickered at the display on the farther end of the dais. 

The Valhallan emissary raised a flaxen brow. 

“Volcanic steel has truly been a gift for us.” the Emissary said, “I swear it is Cauldron forged. Tough in the rock face, but when you melt it, the metal becomes so flexible.” He picked up a small and curved knife, casually twirling it in his fingers. “One can make such incredible weapons.” He continued in a dreamy tone as he approached Kaspar on the bottom steps of the dais. 

“Here, let me show you just how sharp.” the Emissary said. His hand snaked behind Kaspar with quickness, a sharp sound of air piercing Eris’ ears. Kaspar brought a hand up to his own ears, checking for blood. 

“Do you see, now?” the Emissary said with a laugh as he held Kaspar’s elaborate auburn braid in his fist. “Such flexible and sharp metal to take someone by surprise. Cauldron forged, I tell you.” He bared his yellowed teeth in a smile from behind his trimmed and curled mustache. Kaspar gripped at the back of his head, fingers tracing the jagged remainder of his braid.

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[rainbowsmagicandshit]

A lot of the time I forget that Uther didn't inherit the throne like Arthur did. It's established that Uther became king through battle. Really early into the series, he says something along the lines of "When I came to this kingdom, the land was bathed in magic and the people scared for their lives." From this statement we can conclude that Uther wasn't even born in Camelot. He said "when I came to this kingdom/land/i-forget-the-exact-wording" but he came to Camelot and fought his way to king. Like, this guy was just traveling around or something, and decided to take over/found a kingdom. This is interesting because it's never explored where he came from. Also, what was Camelot like before him? From his words, there was a lot of chaos and strife due to magic and those with magic holding it over those without to take advantage of them or something. What's never said (at least to my recollection) is if there was already a government in place in Camelot that Uther usurped. Did Uther just fight and tyrant his way to the top, and kill all who tried to oppose him, squashing rebellions from the people who didn't want him as king left and right? I wouldn't be surprised. I'm sure a lot of people that were born and raised in Camelot (if it still even had that name at the time and wasn't something that Uther named it when he became king) weren't too happy about this outsider taking over their land. There was probably a lot of opposition to him when he took over.

I'm also guessing that Uther could have been from a peasant family. Since he's not from Camelot, he would have been born in another kingdom, and if he was born into a noble family of another kingdom, I think that would cause trouble that would have come up in the show. He could have just completely cut ties in a lot of bloodshed or something with the king that his noble family swore fealty to, but considering how the first code of Camelot is that only nobles can become knights due to loyalty and stuff, I think it'd be odd if he was a noble that betrayed his king. And I see no possibility that he made an alliance with a king in order to become a king himself. That king he was supposed to have served would have totally tried to take Camelot as a territory.

So, this rando just up and took over Camelot.

Like I said, the natives were probably not too happy about this, and I think it'd be interesting to see that divide in the kingdom. They were forcefully suppressed, and many likely had magic themselves meaning they were hunted off their land and killed. Do the older generations still remember this time before Uther and morn for the people that were killed and forced away? Do the natives still remember their homeland and want to return? Are they waiting for a time that they can go back? Do they tell the stories of their home to their children that have never stepped foot within it's borders and instead only know it as the place where magic is hunted and killed? Can people even remember how the magic flowed within the land of Camelot before Uther tried to burry it in bodies and blood?

Even if there was a lot of bad people using magic in Camelot when Uther arrived, there had to be those who used it peacefully. Using it to help with their crops and heal people and work with the land and all the other wonderful things magic can do.

If after Uther's death and Arthur becoming king, did the people wonder if they could finally return to their stolen land, or did they think Arthur just as bad and unworthy of his title as his father? Did they see how much he loved and cared for the people of Camelot like his people did? Did some start to migrate back into the boarders of Camelot after Arthur started his rule, seeing that he didn't continue Uther's crazed witch-hunts, and thought it worth the risk to finally return to their homeland where their families had lived for generations?

And, on an angstier note, did, after Arthur's death and Gwen lifting the magic ban, they finally return home in full, knowing it was safe to? Did they thank Merlin, the mighty Emrys, for freeing their home of the tyrannical rule?

How would Merlin feel if they thought Arthur just as tyrannical as Uther due to his stance on not lifting the magic ban? Would they not be able to see the difference between Arthur and his father because of it?

[untaemedqueen]

A Kingdom of Lies Preview

Tales are told to the young so they may tell their children. When those children are old enough to sire their own little ones, they pass those stories on, no matter how many facts get skewed during centuries of retelling.

Bards sing of tales that have one word of truth within the whole hymn. Epic tales of monster slaying, of princesses fucking lords and knights that saved them from stone towers, and never a word of truth is spoken.

The only tales that are true are ones written in blood and ink. Ones that are retold word for word in books bound with leather, on paper so old that oil from fingers will disintegrate that which the word sits on to mere dust.

And sometimes people will go to great lengths to make sure the true word is destroyed. 

The fire of Brakenlothridge burned for many days, it took many lives and it left the library, the continent's largest library in all but ashes.

When the embers died and the ruins were rummaged through there was one burnt, mangled page that managed to survive. One page that held the history of the continent that would be sung about in bard songs and tales passed on through generations.

In the year of Alder, fifteen thousand years since the meshing of dimes, the continent was vast and held aloft by kings and by men. Promethia, Lythantry, Idozerain, Drathania, Lorcathwyn, Undrella, and Rathynim were still cast aside under the banner of faerie filth. 

Fae were not men, they did not understand the hearts and the blood of those that fought under banners and sigil. Fae did not burn with love or with yearning. They could never understand what men had to do, what they had to sacrifice. 

The stigma, you see, was that the fae did not deserve the continent of Aer. They did not have to find their way after the meshing of dimes. They were not dropped into this world. They already owned it. They already had conquered all there was to conquer.

They had unnaturally long lives and so they could never appreciate that which was handed to them. So the humans, who did not covet the kindness of the fae king Althymer, rose up against him. 

The fae were a war-less people. They did not know fighting or war. They knew peace and believed in the land and in the power they were given by the gods since the world was born from the Mother's tears.

But no power, no magic could stop thousands of men with steel and swords and love for bloodshed. 

King Tryon rose from the ashes of battle and appointed his closest warriors and lords to titles no one had yet held and promised their lineage to carry on the spoils of a bloody war where one side did not fight back.

King Tryon with eyes of black and hair of fair blonde sired King Regia with eyes of black and hair of light brown. King Regia lived for almost a hundred years, sired seventy two known bastards and only one truly noble son who claimed his throne, King Alder.

King Alder was known as Alder the Terrible. He fought as much as he fucked, he drank as much as he ate, he spent coin as far and wide as he could see. 

He fucked whores from brothels while a rebellion grew under his very nose.

Through three generations of kings, King Althymer of the fae never died. Some say the fae live as long as the world does, some say they live for thousands of years until they find a love so pure and so untainted that they give their soul back to the Mother in thanks. 

King Althymer from behind his own barrier made of mist and darkness, one he created to keep the humans out, sired seven sons. 

Some say he created them with dark magic from the goddess Detyr. Some say human women birthed them, hence the reason their ears did not have the delicately fine points. Some say they were born from the earth and once they fulfill their purpose they will crumble like dust and sand. Some say the seven riders were born of Alder, all bastards, and the king of the fae gave them a gift.

Those seven sons of Aer rode across the continent with fae, witches, magic filled vikings. They struck hard and true, never forgetting how the humans and kings slaughtered their fae brethren. 

The battle, better known as the Battle of the Light and Dark, raged for many days. Some say ten nights passed, some say twenty. But the outcome was the same.

The seven sons stood upon Lyrican Rock, amidst all the gore and blood, the bodily fluids and they claimed the continent. They claimed it for the fae king and they claimed it for themselves. 

Once the battle was won, King Althymer wanted nothing to do with the world. He wanted no part of this reign or the next after seeing what was taken from him. So he kept the Veil up, keeping his lands hidden from the outside.

The seven sons took their place upon Lyrican Rock, crafting the greatest castle ever seen by men and fae alike. They split their duty and their land into seven equal parts with the castle sitting dead center of the continent. 

The seven kings of Light and Dark reign true with the gift of long life from King Althymer. They reign righteous and steadfast and hold peace in the land of Aer. 

At least that is what the found text of Brakenlothridge had said.

But sometimes even paper printed in leather tomes lie.

Now beginning on Patreon

[triptomarss]

Here's a cover design for a fic that I will never write.

Bound Illustrated by: Redplanet Fleurmione Week - Day 6: Alternate history / Bounty hunters

A mysterious black death struck medieval Europe in the year of our lord 1346.

The plague wiped out more than half of the muggle population and nearly eradicated all magical humans and humanoids while turning particular creatures into mutated rabid beasts with an insatiable hunger for human blood and flesh.

With the severe depopulation of all humans and the constant attack from wild creatures, all magical and non-magical sapient beings were forced into a tense and hierarchal coexistence for survival.

The population was divided into a caste system: the Monarchy at the top, along with the Ministry as their most trusted advisor, followed by muggle nobles, half-bloods, and wealthy sapient creatures (highborn humanoids and hybrids) that the Ministry classified to have "near-human intelligence," like Centaurs, Meer-folk, and Veelas. Squibs, muggle-borns and non-magical folks were at the bottom, along with serfs and slaves.

To appease the non-magical population and to maintain their power, the Ministry outlawed the use of magic and the possession of wands from any magical being that was not a pureblood witch or wizard.

The only way for muggles and creatures to be allowed to use magic was to live outside the Monarchy's protection or become an Inquisitor—the Ministry's henchmen, used as disposable mercenaries tasked to hunt and dispose of rabid creatures all over Europe.

Determined to consolidate and strengthen their rule, the royal monarchs with no ability to wield magic recognized the power of the few surviving pureblood witches and wizarding humans, acclaiming them as the Sacred 28 that would save all of humanity, putting them on a pedestal like a new religion in place of the Catholic Church. Soon, the purebloods took over the Ministry and worked together with muggle knights in controlling the destruction brought about by the rabid creatures for decades, leading with an iron fist.

***

Or, Fleur and Hermione are frenemies bound to each other in an unbreakable curse as huntress and warder under the Inquisitor guild – forced to work together as unwilling partners to fill a quota within a four-year contract to hunt down rabid creatures.

The Veela and muggle-born each had their reasons for signing up for the infamous guild and were eager to graduate as soon as possible to achieve their goals and be free of each other.

However, through their journey, they accidentally discovered the plague's origin and the corruption and deception that the Ministry and the Monarchy perpetuated.

Fleurmione worked together to expose the lies and started a rebellion.

They also fell in love with each other, obviously.

[zeciex]

A Vow of Blood - 17

Warnings: This fic includes noncon, dubcon, manipulation, violence and inc3st. Tags will be added as the fic goes on. This is a dark!fic. 18+ only. Read at your own discretion. Please read the warnings before continuing.

Summary: “You will be trapped by the obligations of love and duty, unable to escape the web of expectations others have woven around you,“ the witch said….

Chapter 17: The Tourney; The Melee

AO3 - Masterlist

The final day of the tourney had arrived, marking the culmination of the thrilling jousting matches that had unseated multiple knights and lords from their horses. In an unexpected turn of events, House Kettleblack emerged as the victor of the jousting tourney, as Aran Blackwood himself was unseated by a skilled knight hailing from House Mallister. 

As expected, House Arryn secured their dominance in the archery competition, showcasing their prowess with the favored weapon of their house. Their skilled archers hit their marks with precision, solidifying their claim to victory. 

However, the highlight of the entire tourney was yet to come–the highly anticipated melee competition. 

Aran had made the decision to partake, and truth to be told, Daenera couldn’t help but feel a pang of unease over it. Over the course of the tournament, she had grown fond of Aran’s company, spending their days and evenings together, exploring the tourney and the castle grounds, engaging in meaningful conversations. Aran had proved himself to be sweet, considerate, and honorable–a man who would undoubtedly make a fine husband. Though she did not feel a burning passion for him, she believed that their marriage would be comfortable, and perhaps, with time, love could blossom between them if she chose him as her husband. 

As the bustling atmosphere of the tourney grounds filled the air, Daenera couldn’t help but wonder about the outcome of the melee competition. Her thoughts were entangled with a mix of hope, apprehension, and excitement. Whatever the results, the competition would undoubtedly mark the conclusion they were all waiting for.

As they walked along the path leading to a smaller, sunlit arena with white stone and fluttering fabrics providing shade, Jelissa couldn’t contain her excitement. She turned to Daenera. “Do you like him?”

“Well enough,” Daenera replied, her tone measured and casual. She understood the weight of the decision before her. Marrying someone was a significant choice that held the potential to either strengthen or weaken her mothers claim. She contemplated whether her feelings for Aran Blackwood were enough to justify such a union. 

Jelissa’s excitement overflowed as she dreamed of the prospect. “I think he’ll make a fine husband!”

Daenera smiled, but remained quiet. He would make a fine husband, but she already knew that Daemond would counsel her to choose someone of more importance than a mere Blackwood. 

“He’s handsome, brave, and skilled with a sword,” Jelissa continued, her steps skipping over the gravel. “And he gave you a sprig!”

“A branch of pear blossoms,” Daenera corrected. 

“A stick, you mean,” Fenrick interjected playfully, teasing the princess. “The princess should consider more than just good looks when choosing a husband.”

Daenera rolled her eyes in response.

“He is also kind,” Jelissa argued, defending Aran’s character.

“And kindness is a rare and noble quality in this world,” Daenera chimed in, purposefully japing at Fenrick. 

“ And he is good with a sword,” Jelissa added, furthering her argument. 

“What woman doesn’t want a man who would kill for her?” Daenera exclaimed dramatically, fanning her face and fluttering her eyelashes in a playful swoon. 

“No, that wasn’t–”Jelissa began, her voice lowering as she tried to process Daenera’s statement, her face contouring in a familiar expression of distaste, the same way it did when encountering something sour. 

“You should find a man who knows when to wield a sword and when to lay it down,” Fenric said, making his opinion clear. “Someone who understands when and where battles must be fought, someone who will protect and honor you.”

“And you don’t think Aran would do that?” Daenera’s voice turned sharp, as if Fenrick had insulted her. 

“I simply believe you’ll find little challenge from the Blackwood boy,” Fenrick clarified his perspective. 

“You think I’ll grow bored with him?” 

“I think it’s a difficult decision that should not be rushed,” Fenrick replied, his words conveying a sense of caution. 

Daenera pursed her lips, squinting at Fenrick with suspicion. Would there ever be a man he deemed worthy of her? It seemed to her that Fenrick would find fault in any suitor. Aran was the better of them, and even he could not live up to Fenrick’s standards. 

“Will he be able to protect you?” Fenrick continued. 

“You speak as if we’re preparing for war,” Daenera observed, her mood damped by the thought.

Fenrick gave her a knowing look, hinting at the uncertain future that lay ahead. 

“War is always on the horizon, Princess. And especially now, should the Hightowers wish it,” Fenrick murmured in a low voice, meant only for Daenera’s ears. His words carried a somber undertone, reminding her of the ever-looming threat that lingered.

Pale hair caught Daenera’s attention, and she looked over to see Aemond engaged in conversation with Boris Baratheon. Despite Baratheon’s towering stature, Aemond never seemed diminished in his presence.  

“Come on! Let’s not speak of war and indulge in such gloomy thoughts,” Jelissa interjected, gripping Daenera’s wrist and urging her up the steps towards the sheltered canopy of the balcony, stealing her attention away from Aemond. 

Daenera cast a pleading glance at Fenrick, but he merely shrugged, acknowledging Jelissa’s point. It was not the time nor the place to dwell on the wavering stability of the realm or Viserys’ ailing health. 

They reached the railing of the balcony and leaned over to peer down into the sandy center of the arena. A perfect circle, demarcated by ropes, lay untouched, its sand smooth and undisturbed. 

The anticipation seemed to swell within Jelissa as she exclaimed, “I cannot wait to see Ser Blackwood! He simply adores you.” 

A fluttering sensation stirred in Daenera’s stomach at the thought. It resembled a childhood infatuation she had experienced in the past, where it quickly moved from one handsome man to the next. Yet, this time, it felt different. It held the potential for something more enduring, perhaps even love. 

“We are still in the process of getting to know each other. No marriage contract has been discussed or signed,” Daenera clarified, tempering Jelissa’s excitement. It seemed the girl was more excited than Daenera herself was. 

“I believe Princess Rhaenyra would agree to it if you asked her,” Jelissa chimed. 

Daenera nodded, acknowledging the possibility. However, Fenrick interjected with a warning gaze, emphasizing the importance of Daemon’s approval. His meaningful look seemed to convey the expected outcome, reminding Daenera of the potential obstacles there were in choosing a husband. 

Basking in the warmth of the sun as it radiated from the clear blue sky, Daenera closed her eyes, allowing the comforting rays to wash over her. She embraced the moment of tranquility, letting the anticipation build as they awaited the start of the competition. 

As she blinked away the temporary blindness, Daenera’s gaze was immediately drawn to a figure bathed in the sunlight, giving his hair an ethereal glow of moonlight. Aemond stood on the opposite side of the circle, his presence sending a surge down her spine. Her heart tightened within her chest, torn between irritation and fascination.

Aemond's expression bore a smugness that hinted at hidden secrets, a mischievous smirk playing on his lips. Daenera's anger mingled with an intense curiosity, fueling a fiery concoction within her.

 Suspicion clouded her narrowed eyes as she tried to unravel the enigma before her.

Always present, Aemond lingered in the background, his mere presence drawing her attention away from matters of importance. It was as if an invisible force tugged at her heart, refusing to release its grip. Despite her resistance, she found herself unable to avert her gaze from Aemond, caught in a relentless battle against the enticement that burned under her skin. She staunchly refused to succumb to such madness.

Her attention snapped back to the enclosed circle as the contestants made their entrance. 

The ten victorious knights from the previous melee competition strode into the arena, their footsteps sinking into the soft sand under the weight of their formidable armor. Each knight proudly displayed their house sigils or colors in various ways, a display of loyalty and identity. 

Aran stood out among them, clad in a combination of boiled leather and light plate armor, favoring agility and speed over heavy protection. In contrast, Boris Baratheon donned a suit of chainmail and sturdy plate armor, his yellow tunic adorned with the iconic black stag emblem. It seemed that most contestants had opted for a lighter armor setup similar to Aran’s. 

As each contestant entered, the crowd erupted into a cacophony of cheers, jeers and excited shouts. The air crackled with anticipation, and the fervor of the spectators was palpable. Bets were being made, adding an extra layer of excitement and tension to the atmosphere. 

Jelissa couldn’t contain her excitement, squealing with delight as she clutched Daenera’s arm, shaking it with enthusiasm. Aran’s radiant smile in her direction brought a faint blush to Jelissa’s cheeks, the subtle signs of her affection evident for all to see. 

Daenera remained composed. 

“You are aware of the dangers of the melee competition,” Fenrick said, the voice of reason. He couldn’t help but express his concern and his eyes shifted from the bright-eyed Jelissa to Daenera, a glimmer of worry in his gaze. 

However, Jelissa seemed oblivious to Fenrick’s cautionary words, caught up in the thrill of the moment. The allure of the competition overshadowed any thoughts of the potential risks involved. 

Daenera understood that when knights had adrenaline coursing through their veins, it fueled the innate savage bloodlust that laid in men. And despite the participants’ best intentions, the line between controlled combat and unbridled violence could blur in the heat of the moment. 

The competition commenced, and it didn’t take long for the violence to unfold. Boris Baratheon, wielding his greatsword with deadly precision, landed the first significant blow, sending the Arryn knight sprawling out of the circle. Filled with rage and humiliation over being the first defeated, the knight tore off his helmet and hurled it to the ground, hurling insults at Baratheon in a fit of anger. 

Undeterred, Baratheon continued his onslaught, effortlessly swatting aside the Lannister knight as if he were a mere nuisance. The Lannister, realizing the futility of challenging Baratheon, wisely redirected his focus to the Redding knight, seeking a less formidable opponent. 

In the chaos of battle, House Fenn and Glower managed to incapacitate each other, their dented helmets crashing onto the sand. Seizing the opportunity, the relentless Lannister knight plunged his sword into Redding, forcefully expelling him from the circle, blood streaming from his side. 

Meanwhile, Aran skilfully fended off Manderly, his blade cutting through the knight’s leg. Seizing the moment, Aran grasped a handful of Manderly’s leather armor, swiftly yanking him and propelling him outside of the circle. As this unfolded, Baratheon mercilessly struck the Thorne knight across the face with the pommel of his sword, causing teeth and blood to fly from the knight’s mouth. 

Jelissa’s excitement reached a fever pitch as she witnessed the brutal scene before her eyes. The crowd, equally enthralled by the display of bloodshed, erupted in a roar of exhilaration. 

Daenera felt a lump forming in her throat, her hands clenched into fists on the cool marble railing as she observed Baratheon’s ferocious strikes. With thunderous roars, Baratheon swung his sword through the air where Aran had stood just moments before. In a fleeting moment, the Lannister knight seized the opportunity to attack, thrusting his sword forward, only to have it effortlessly parried away by Baratheon’s ironclad hand as if it were a mere toothpick. 

Never before had Daenera truly grasped the sheer size and strength of Boris Baratheon. He swung at the Lannister knight, swatting him away like an annoying fly. The knight managed to evade the blow by ducking under it, retaliating with a desperate thrust of his own sword. But Baratheon’s counterattack was swift and powerful, jolting the Lannister knight’s arms and forcing him to stagger backward. Growling with fury, Boris relentlessly swung his sword again and again, until the Lannister knight, overwhelmed by the unyielding assault, momentarily dropped his guard. 

Aran attempted to intervene, but his efforts were swiftly repelled, causing him to stumble backward. Boris brought his sword down with bone-shattering force, shattering the Lannister knight’s arm, and then repeated the action on his leg. Though the Lannister knight proved his mettle by drawing his knife and attempting a desperate stab at Boris, his attack was deflected, leaving him no room for honor in his actions. The blade did manage to find its mark, piercing Boris’s side, but the ferocious warrior barely acknowledged the wound. The Lannister knight collapsed onto his back, blood spilling from his mouth as Boris delivered a vicious kick that rendered him unconscious. Two squiers rushed to his aid, gripping his shoulders and dragging him out of the circle, hastily carrying him to the medical tent. 

Aran, determined to turn the tide, aimed to bury his sword in Baratheon’s back, but the formidable brother of the Lord of Storm’s End swiftly turned, swatting the blade aside with a contemptuous ease. Boris retaliated, swinging his sword with such force that it nearly disarmed Aran in a single blow. The clash of steel echoed through the arena, intensifying the atmosphere of chaos. 

“He is going to kill him!” Jelissa cried out, her hands flying to cover her mouth in horror, while the other one gripped Daener’s wrist tightly, digging her nails into her skin. 

Fenrick’s brow furrowed deeply as she responded, his voice filled with disapproval and concern. “He is showing some restraint, aiming for broken bones and damaged teeth. No one has died yet.”

“What restraint? I’m certain the Lannister knight has internal bleeding,” Daenera murmured, scowling down at the bloodied sands of the arena. 

Boris Baratheon’s brutal assault continued without mercy. He struck Aran across the face, reopening the healing wound on his brow and breaking his nose. Blood gushed from the broken appendage as Aran stumbled, blinking in a desperate attempt to regain focus. Barely managing to defend himself, he ducked, rolled through the sand, and rose to his feet, spitting out a mouthful of blood. Despite his unsteady stance, Aran refused to yield. 

Baratheon spat something at Aran, but his words were drowned out by the cacophony of the jeering crowd.

 Daenera clenched her teeth in frustration as Aran glanced up at her, then turned his stubborn gaze back to Baratheon. She felt her heart strain in her chest, and she prayed that Aran would see reason and yield. Better to yield than to allow the brutality to continue. 

Aran mustered all his strength for a single retaliatory strike, his sword connecting with Boris’s side. But Boris seized Aran and delivered a powerful blow to his stomach with the pommel of his sword.

Doubled over, gasping for breath, Aran dropped his sword, clutching his abdomen. He heaved, spit and snot dripped onto the sand, as tears streaked his cheeks. 

With another roar, Boris brought his sword down on Aran’s back. 

Jelissa couldn’t bear to witness the brutality any longer, tears welling in her eyes as she turned away. But Daenera’s gaze remained fixed on Boris Baratheon, a sickening feeling churning in her stomach. Something was terribly amiss. Boris had already secured victory, yet he continued to mercilessly pummel Aran’s defenseless body. The sickening sound of bone cracking finally brought an end to the onslaught. 

Boris raised his arms triumphantly, basking in the adulation of the crowd, who showered the bloody sand with flowers as if he hadn’t just brutally beaten a young man of barely eighteen. 

The squiers from House Blackwood rushed onto the sand, gently turning Aran onto his back, desperately attempting to retrieve him in time. They quickly summoned a gurney and carefully transferred him onto it before hurriedly making their way out of the arena. 

“Gods,” Jelissa gasped, her face pale and eyes red-rimmed with tears. “Is he…is he dead?”

Daenera grasped Jelissa’s arms firmly, her gaze unwavering as she spoke clearly. “Go and check on Aran. Find out his condition and bring us news as soon as you learn anything.”

Jelissa nodded, gathering her skirts and running off to fulfill her task. 

A glimmer of silver caught her attention, drawing her gaze to the other side of the balcony once more. Aemond raised his wine-filled cup in a mocking toast, a wicked and malicious smirk playing on his lips. His eye gleamed with triumph and challenge, sending a shiver down her spine. 

In that moment, she understood. 

“Daenera Velaryon!” Boris Baratheon’s booming voice echoed through the arena, his sword pointed in her direction. A wide grin spread across his face, radiating the glow of victory. “I dedicate this triumph to you!”

Controlling the scowl that threatened to form on her face, she managed to summon a smile and graciously nodded in acknowledgment, aware of the scrutinizing gaze of the crowd upon her. Her eyes rose towards Aemond once again, then back to Boris as he continued speaking. 

“Princess of Flowers, a rare beauty, as sweet as the sweetest flower of all. You occupied my thoughts throughout this competition, and I knew I had to emerge victorious for you. I humbly request that you keep me in your thoughts, as I shall keep you in mine.” 

The lump in her throat was thick and sticky as Daenera nodded in gratitude, plucking one of the black roses adorning a nearby vase. With a swift motion, she tossed it to Boris Baratheon, who caught it with a gleam of ambition and triumph in his eyes. 

Daenera cast a seething glare at Aemond, her expression filled with a murderous intensity, before she turned on her heels and walked away, her steps purposeful and resolute. 

In the shade outside of the arena, where the melee competition was soon to commence, Aemond stood watching the contestants prepare themselves. He twirled his dagger absentmindedly in his hand with practiced ease, as he looked at Boris Baratheon's little squire was struggling to lift the heavy breastplate high enough to strap it onto his lord's chest.

His mood had been foul for the whole tournament, each day souring it worse than the other, and he blamed Daenera and the little pup following her around. 

“Have you changed your mind and come to participate in the competition?” Aran Blackwood asked. Clad in his padded leather armor adorned with his sigil and armed with his sword, approached Aemond with a smile on his lips. Aemond glanced at him momentarily, his gaze lingering only briefly before returning dismissively to the other knights. The dagger continued its mesmerizing dance in his hand.

“No,” Aemond curtly replied, his tone dripping with indifference, as if the mere suggestion remained beneath him, but he would lie if the thought hadn’t crossed his mind, if only to spite Daenera.  

Undeterred by Aemond’s cold response, Aran pressed on, seemingly oblivious to the tension between them. “It’s a shame. I am sure you–”

“What do you want?” Aemond interrupted sharply, his glare intensifying as he fixed his eye on Aran. He wasn’t sure whether the boy was willfully ignorant to his animosity or if he was genuinely oblivious. 

Aran stumbled over his words, taken aback by Aemond’s hostility. “I am aware of your… strained relationship with the princess…”

Aemond’s gaze flickered with a dangerous glint, a flicker of violence crossing his mind as he continued twirling his dagger, imagining the ease with which it could silence Aran’s words permanently. 

“...But I thought you might have some insight into where I stand with the princess and if she considers me a real contender for her hand,” Aran continued, his voice filled with foolish hope. “We’ve spent a lot of time together, and I find myself thinking of her even in her absence. I hope she might feel the same and consider marrying me.”

Aemond’s reply was swift and short. “No.”

The dismissal hung heavy in the air, and Aran’s face fell, a confused and disappointed expression screwing up his features. “May I ask why?”

The dagger ceased its twirling, and in a swift move, Aemond slid it into its sheath at his hip. The cruel glint in his eye had a worse bite than the blade that had just been sheathed. “Face the truth, Blackwood. You possess no lands or titles to your name, and when your grandfather breathes his last, you shall inherit nothing. Your brother has already secured heirs, leaving you with scraps. Perhaps you can find solace in marrying some lowly woman from a minor house, but make no mistake: you offer nothing to a princess. Daenera is far beyond your reach, and you delude yourself if you believe you are a suitable match for her.”

Aemond reveled in his cruelty, relishing in the way his words diminished Aran’s hopes into dust. 

“You’re wrong,” Aran spoke up, his voice tense and wavering. He stared defiantly at Aemond. “I do have something to offer–”

“Do not say love,” Aemond cut him off with a scoff. 

“Titles and wealth do not define a man’s worth,” Aran replied, his voice steady despite the sting of Aemond’s cruel remarks. “It is honor, loyalty, and the strength of character that truly matter. I may not have inherited grand titles or vast lands, but I have what you do not. Bravery .” 

He took a step closer, meeting Aemond’s gaze with unwavering resolve. “Daenera and I share a connection that cannot be dismissed so easily. We have spent countless hours together, sharing laughter, dreams, and understanding. Love knows no boundaries of birthright or inheritance. It is in her heart that my hope resides, not in titles or lands.”

Aran’s voice carried a hint of defiance, his words cutting through the air with a newfound clarity. “You underestimate the power of love, Aemond One-eye . Perhaps if you had both eyes, you could see the world’s ability for love. But mark my words, I will prove myself worthy of Daenera’s affection, not through material wealth, but through the strength of my devotion. I will win this competition, in her honor.”

A sneer pulled at Aemond’s lips as he stared at the boy with incredulity and he let out a crude scoff. “A man with only one eye sees more than a boy with two, it seems.” 

Aemond’s gaze burned with fury as he locked eyes with Aran, his fingers itching to unsheathe his dagger and unleash his wrath upon the insolent boy. The thought of slicing him permanently tempted Aemond, allowing his twisted desires to surge through his veins like a raging inferno. He could almost taste the satisfaction of seeing Aran crumble beneath his own foolishness. 

A cruel smirk curled on Aemond’s lips as he leaned in closer, his voice laced with a venomous sneer. “You have no idea what you’re getting yourself into, Blackwood. Daenera will devour you like a starved dragon tearing into a helpless lamb.”

“You seem to have no understanding of the princess,” Aran opposed, with the same level of conviction. “Her beauty is not just skin-deep; it emanates from within, a reflection of her grace, intelligence, and compassion. She is a beacon of light in a place consumed by darkness. She inspires and uplifts those fortunate to know her, and she possesses a kindness rarely seen.”

Aemond felt genuine laughter bubbled up within his chest and strained to swallow it. The smirk on his lips turned sharp and biting. “It is you who do not know her. Daenera craves what you cannot give her.”

“And what is that?” Aran questioned defiantly, wanting to prove him wrong. 

“Fire,” Aemond answered. “You may think yourself capable of giving her that, but you will never make her burn for you. All that you can offer her is your feeble devotion and hope that it will be enough, and she might delude herself to think it is, but it is not. She will grow bored with you, and the boredom will grow into indifference if you are lucky, and resentment if you're not. And should she decide that you have outlasted your worth, she’ll free herself of you.” 

She was a tempest, an uncontrollable force of nature, and he knew that she would attempt to contain herself for the sake of Aran. However, Aemond saw it as nothing more than a delusion she wove around herself, convincing herself that the faint flutters she might feel in Aran’s presence could blossom into love. Aemond knew it would not. It would wither like spring flowers caught in a blizzard. 

Aran lacked the power to make her burn, to challenge her on a level that stirred her depths. All he offered was a childlike devotion, a feeble notion that held no weight in the face of Daenera’s fire. 

Aemond despised the feeling he had been left with watching Daenera pretend to be something she was not, to hide away the darkness that resided within her in favor of the mask that was expected of her to wear. He hated watching her with Aran, laughing with him, and smiling at him. The idea that Daenera might settle for someone who couldn’t match her intensity gnawed at Aemond’s core, an unwelcome ache that accentuated his dark desire for her. It burned in the bit of his stomach. Festered. Poisoned him. 

“That is rich coming from a man who is in no better position than I,” Aran sneered, finally showing the spine he had. “A second son, half a man, lacking the courage to partake in a competition, too fearful of facing defeat. The fault lies with me for seeking your counsel on matters beyond your feeble comprehension. Excuse me, my prince, as I must now ready myself to triumph in the competition.”

Aemond’s gaze followed Aran as the boy walked away, a cruel smirk etched upon his face, concealing the anger that flickered within. The sting of Aran words resonated deep within him, fueling the fire of his resentment. A sudden shift in Aemond’s focus directed his attention towards Boris Baratheon, who dismissively waved away his squire after the boy had secured the arm braces around his forearms. A devious plan began to take shape in Aemond’s mind, intertwining with his growing desire for revenge. 

Aemond approached Boris Baratheon, the towering figure before him, instinctively straightening his own posture to match the man’s height. Boris Baratheon was a mountain of a man, with broad shoulders and arms as thick as the trunk of a tree, and his face was handsome, but half of it covered in a thick black beard. 

“Boris Baratheon,” Aemond greeted, a touch of formality lacing his tone, as he asserted the formidable knight whose hands were as big as the paw of a bear, and likely as powerful.

“Ah, Prince Aemond,” Boris returned the greeting with a hint of amusement. “Have you come to join the competition? It would do me some good to have someone who actually poses a challenge, though I promise you, you will not win.”

Aemond’s lips curved into a dismissive smile. “No, I fear I cannot provide you with a challenge at this moment. My sword is still being forged, and I would not wish to compete with a lesser weapon.” 

Boris, undeterred by Aemond’s response, shifted his focus to Aemond’s earlier interaction. “I noticed you speaking with the Blackwood boy. Offering his advice, perhaps?”

“He would not heed my advice, even if I were to offer it. He seems to harbor delusions of victory.” Aemond answered, letting his eye slide over Boris’ features as they tightened. 

Boris let out a boisterous laugh, his amusement filling the air. “That scrawny pup? I can hardly believe he stands a chance against children wielding wooden swords. He doesn’t even yet have hair on his chest. His triumph over the Bracken knight was a stroke of luck, nothing more. “

“But it is not just the competition he believes he will win,” Aemond’s drawled, letting his words lead Boris down a new path. 

“Oh?”

“He fancies that his victory in the competition would bestow upon him enough honor to ask for Princess Daenera’s hand in marriage,” Aemond replied, his words dripping with mockery. 

“That is preposterous. The boy is a fool if he truly believes in such fantasies.” Boris shook his head in disbelief, dismissing the notion, a flash of anger crossing his face. “He’s been following the Princess around like a lost puppy, making it impossible for anyone else to approach her without his constant yelping and inserting himself into every conversation.”

“Indeed,” Aemond agreed smoothly. “It seems we are both in agreement that the boy is a nuisance. I think it would be best if Aran Blackwood’s delusion were met with reality.”

“Do not worry, Prince Aemond. I will make sure to shatter his delusion as well as his honor,” Boris assured Aemond.  

A shiver ran down Aemond’s spine, as if a cold gust of wind had brushed against him. Though his blind side was turned to her, he could feel Daenera’s gaze slither across his presence. He turned his head ever so slightly, meeting her eyes with a piercing gaze. Her brows furrowed in a cautiously curious frown, but before their silent exchange could continue, her serving maid intervened, obliviously pulling her along up the stairs towards the balcony. 

“Indeed,” Aemond agreed, dragging his attention back to Boris. “It would be best if Aran Blackwood was not only unable to win, but also incapable of making any marriage proposal at all.”

** Black Rose; Death, hatred, despair, sorrow, danger, obsession.