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malum-forev · 4 months ago

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Chapter One

Summary: On the island of Atelonia, tradition rules above all.

For Elias, the once-rebellious prince and reluctant heir to the throne, returning home comes with an impossible ultimatum: marry and produce an heir, or lose the crown to his power-hungry uncle.

For Valentina, a spirited local, life means following her father's plan–maintaining her family's struggling restaurant and keeping their legacy alive. But when a chance encounter thrusts her into Elias' chaotic world, they strike a daring deal: a fake marriage that serves them both.

Neither Elias nor Valentina believe in love, but as they navigate public scrutiny and the pressures of royalty, they discover something unexpected in each other: comfort, trust, and maybe even the chance for something real.

Will they risk everything for a love they never imagined?

Chapter One – Elias

Calm waves surround me. The deep blue ripples would feel like a friendly welcome if not for the restlessness of my mind, making me wary of them.

I shift my weight from my heels to the balls of my feet, trying to get myself to take the first step towards land but apprehension nips at the back of my neck, rooting me to my spot at the edge of the ship.

Taking the first step towards the ramp feels like hearing leaves crunch behind you in a desolate forest—fucking terrifying.

I look down the side of the boat. The dark blue sea gets lighter as my eyes travel upwards from my spot at the marina. The eerie ultramarine fades into an obnoxious shade of cobalt, and I have to squint as I take in the lush mountains that surround the small piece of land I call my own. Colors seem much more vibrant this summer than I remember.

It seems my time away has done two things: made my memories hazy and turned me into an arrogant piece of shit who takes himself too seriously.

I reach for the railing, but my body refuses to move. I sigh, trying not to dwell on the fact that three days ago my life was normal—or at least as normal as it has been for the past four years.

Nothing prepares you for the call. My hands clammed up as I heard the words from someone back at the Palace. I didn’t even register who called me—everything turned fuzzy after they said the words I’ve been dreading to hear:

The pawn has moved two spaces.

I felt my body go slack and my hand struggled to grip the phone. I wasn’t sure if my knees were giving out or if the ship was rocking harder than usual.

Let me make something perfectly clear: my reaction to the coded message had nothing to do with me feeling saddened about my father’s health taking a nosedive. It’s what comes afterwards that makes my insides feel like gelatin.

“Prince Elias.” A shaky voice snaps me out of my thoughts.

The man who’s been eyeing me from the Rolls-Royce parked at the end of the gangway finally decides to raise his voice but doesn’t move. I imagine the scowl on my face is what keeps him away from me.

I pay no attention to him, I’m too busy trying to get myself out of this sleep paralysis-like trance. It’s as if the moment I step forward, reality will crash down on me. I’ve been playing make-believe in the navy, and now I have to come back and rule my country.

Death comes with the territory when you’re part of a hereditary monarchy, especially when you’re first in line to the throne. My father’s health has been a constant topic of discussion ever since he was diagnosed with hypertrophic cardiomyopathy—a disease that thickens the heart muscles.

No matter where I was in the world or how far away I stood from land, every first and last Sunday of the month for the past four years, I’ve been receiving the same sealed envelope. His blood work and test results are the best kept secret in the world, right after Atlantis’ exact coordinates.

In theory, people who have his condition have the same life expectancy as people who don’t. But it seems, my father’s diet of caviar and cigars has made things more complicated.

I stand tall with my arms crossed over my chest dissecting everything that’s changed since the last time I was in Costa de Ville, my country’s capital and only city. Anxiety creeps up my back as I look around. I feel like I’m the winner in a fucked up gameshow where the host wears a hideous burnt orange suit and talks with a transatlantic accent.

“And the first place prize is the beautiful island of Atelonia. With just under 4 square kilometers of land, this city-state comes with unresolved family trauma and at least 300,000 citizens who think you’re the worst thing to come from the monarchy since that disgraced uncle from a couple of centuries ago!” I imagine him saying.

“Your Royal Highness,” The driver finally works up the courage to approach the ramp, bowing his head as he comes closer. “Queen Adora has requested you meet her at the clinic.”

I raise my eyebrows slightly at his choice of words.

Clinic.

He means to say hospital, but I’d bet good money that everyone around me has been not-so-lightly coached to avoid saying the word. The slightest whisper of the word hospital could create a media frenzy. Atelonia is one of the oldest reigning monarchies yet countries still underestimate our power.

Most of the time I pay no mind to what other government rulers have to say about my country. Small and mighty is what my grandfather used to call Atelonia and he couldn’t be more correct.

But having my uncle step in as interim King doesn’t help our case.

It took a serious heart attack for me to be called from military training.

I pinch the bridge of my nose, trying to subside the headache I’ve been nursing ever since we entered Costa de Ville’s maritime boundary.

The driver urges me to answer with a look of impatience on his face.

“Where’s Constantin?” I ask, walking past him towards the car.

“His Royal Highness Prince Constantin’s schedule is quite hectic; he’s engaged in various Royal duties,” the driver stutters out.

“He’s at the Palace then.” I steady my tone, feeling my patience running thin. I unbutton my suit jacket as I step into the black car.

The driver hesitates before speaking again. “I would recommend we go directly to the clinic, as the Queen instructed.”

As the nervous driver shifts on his feet, the gold pin on his lapel catches the light, reflecting into my eyes. He wears my uncle’s crest proudly on his chest—giving me all the information I need to know.

I take a deep breath before answering.

“When I start taking recommendations from people whose lives mean nothing to me, I’ll be sure to call for you.” I don’t bother looking back at him as I pull my phone from my uniform jacket. “Take me to the Palace.”

“Yes, sir.” He says, closing the door. I put up the partition before he even has time to get in the driver’s seat.

The drive from the dock to the Palace gives me a moment to calm myself. Now is not the time to let my anger seep out. I try to focus on the scenic view behind the tinted windows instead of the storm brewing inside me.

It only takes a few minutes for the car to leave the marina and merge onto Rue Independence. As we glide down Costa de Ville’s main street, I try to pick out everything that has changed but the long line of restaurants and apartment buildings that line Costa de Ville’s main street look just like they did when I left.

It becomes clear that things here have stayed the same, but I’m completely different.

We drive past pristine gardens and up the hill, tall and slim pine trees line the driveway to the Palace’s entrance. My childhood home is nothing short of breathtaking. The Palace sits on one of Atelonia’s tallest mountains, overlooking the ocean. The gilded doors balance the stone façade, a fusion of styles that blend the best of neighboring countries’ architecture.

That’s what Atelonia is— a blend of competing characteristics that somehow work perfectly.

The car stops at the side entrance and I get out before anyone can open the door. Walking up the red velvet-lined stairs, I ignore the staff members and make my way directly to my father’s study.

Guards scramble around me, whispering into radios about how I’m back, their hushed words filling the halls. Things are exactly how I want them—no time for fake niceties.

I motion for the guards to open the study doors and wait. My spine remains upright, hands behind my back, chin tilted upwards. Not a single muscle in my body twitches as I hear the commotion behind the dark wooden doors.

A muffled, booming voice yells and curses, drawers slam shut, and I hear the record player scratching. My gaze is lost in the grooves of the wood as I remain stoic.

As children, my siblings and I would spend hours pressing our ears to this very the door, hoping we could hear even a single sentence. The work happening behind the oak seemed so important, so alluring.

Foolish.

A light blinks, signaling my entry, and the guards take hold of the brass handles and let me in.

“Crown Prince Elias, here to see you, Your Highness,” the guard announces.

I fight my instinct to scowl as my uncle turns from where he sits on my father’s leather chair.

Constantin waves the guards away with no words.

My jaw twitches as I bow my head to my uncle. My body rejects the idea of having to show any sign of respect to the man in front of me. My uncle meets my haze, his piercing blue eyes scanning me like he’s trying to measure every change since the last time we saw each other.

Four years.

His eyes flick to my navy uniform and unkempt beard. A flash of distaste runs through his face for a second before he masks his true identity completely.

“My dearest nephew,” He opens his arms but keeps his seat. “It’s been too long.”

His voice carries more confidence than I wish it would. His pointed smile reminds me of the night he convinced my father to send me to military training.

My molars grind.

“I would rather our reunion be under better circumstances.” I keep my words clipped.

While my uncle is playing King—smoking my father’s cigars and reading the newspaper in his office—my father is fighting for his life in a hospital. I’m not my father’s biggest cheerleader but I’ll take him over the snake he calls his brother any day.

I used to think my father was a mastermind villain but now I see him for the puppet he is. Constantin has always been by his side, feeding him instructions while my father complies like an indebted zombie.

I hold his gaze, his crystal eyes bore into mine. A silent war brewing between us. I may have stayed silent four years ago, but I’ll stand my ground this time.

The tension between us comes as nothing new, in fact, it’s nostalgic in a twisted way. It reminds me of the night everything changed. My back goes taut beneath the suit I wear at the memory.

“Good thing you’re here now.” My uncle says sarcastically, he can’t hide the venom seething out this time.

I nod. “I’m here to fulfill my duty. The job that’s rightfully mine.”

I don’t need to look at him to know the message between the lines hit its target.

“You, more than anyone, know that you can’t just waltz back in and be handed the throne, Elias,” Constantin’s gravelly voice pierces through my bones. “And if my memory serves me right, neither you nor your brothers have obtained your father’s signature.”

“Atelonia is my country.” My words firm.

“Just like it was mine, just like it was Grace’s.” Constantin chuckles darkly, a wicked smile stretches his mouth. “Things change, Elias, you know that.”

I stiffen at the sound of my older sister’s name coming from his mouth.

My molars grind together. “Don’t you dare talk about Grace.”

“May she rest in peace.” The motherfucker presses his hand to his heart.

I open my mouth, seconds away from letting the rage take over—but something catches my attention. My eyes focus on the rings settled on his fingers.

Thick gold bands made from gold bars that have been in my family for centuries, each adorned with a large ruby and sapphire.

I know those rings. I’ve memorized the Crown Jewels collection and could recognize any item in my sleep.

I smooth the sides of my hair and step away from him instead of lashing out.

“Your assistance, while greatly appreciated,” I lie. “is no longer needed.”

I press the button on the underside of the mahogany desk, letting the guards know the doors are to be opened and my uncle escorted.

“Crown Jewels are to be worn only by the Regent.” I say as he turns to leave.

Without missing a beat, Constantin twists both rings and lets them drop to the floor. The sound of millions hitting the carpet makes me wince.

He steps forward, pausing just before crossing the threshold.“Elias Constantin.”

My muscles tense at the sound of my second name—his name.

“It is an honor to know our next king will be carrying my name.” He lets out a content sigh. “Long live the King.”

“Long live the King.” I repeat, watching as he leaves the study.

My body slumps and the pressure on my chest lessens the second the doors close. I shrug off my naval uniform jacket and look around the room.

A shiver runs down my spine, it feels strange to be inside when I spent so much of my life trying to get into this room. The study has been kept the same since the last time I was here, but it feels so different. Wrong in a way.

I’m a foreigner in the place that’s to become mine.

My hand reaches out to the back of the leather chair. The fabric has been patched and replaced thousands of times but one thing stays the same, the original stitched crest lies on the head rest. The faded gold thread makes me remember the men and women who’ve come before me.

Before my fingertips can touch the coveted crest, my phone starts ringing.

I bite the inside of my cheek as I read the name on the screen.

Carter.

I let the phone keep ringing.

After the third ring, the call ends and a message immediately pops up, like my brother was expecting me not to answer.

–Heard from my assistant that you're back. Glad to know you're home. -C.

I type and erase three different answers to his cold message.

Meeting. 8 p.m. Make sure Archibald is there too.–

That’s all I manage to write back. After four years of no contact, that’s all my mind can come up with.

–Lovely having you back, Elias.

The indifference stings more than I expect.

Maybe if you had called him at least once, Carter wouldn’t be like this.

I shake my head, trying to rewire my brain. I can’t be bothered with what I should or shouldn’t have done, when I have a desk full of paperwork to go through.

A second text pops up on my phone.

–Is this your new number? Please call me. -Madeline.

If I thought I didn’t have time to dissect the strained relationship I have with my brother, I definitely don’t have time to deal with Madeline Devreaux.

The thought of going down that rabbit hole makes me want to bury myself in the sand just outside the office balcony and never come up for air.

I turn off my phone and set it down next to the pile of unread documents addressed to the Interim King. My hand hovers over the back of the leather chair once more.

I hesitate.

Again.

“Don’t be a coward. Just sit in the stupid chair.” I whisper to myself, but my feet don’t move.

I exhale sharply, dragging a different chair toward the desk instead.

“I’m a thirty five year old man afraid of an inanimate object. What has my life become?” My head falls back on my shoulders and I let out a groan.

I sigh, picking up the first set of documents. “What should I start with?”

In my mind, the twisted game show host from before makes his return.

“Behind door number one: a detailed report on how the citizens of Atelonia think you’re an arrogant trust fund idiot! Door number two holds your father’s unchanged will, don’t forget you and your brothers need to complete a series of damn near impossible tasks before your father kicks the bucket! And finally, behind door number three: a list of laws your uncle has started to pass, designed to screw over the citizens while lining the pockets of the wealthy!”

Unlike the Monty Hall problem, where I might have a 33% chance of winning a decent prize, all three of my options are equally shitty.

I fidget with the signet ring on my left pinky, tracing the imprinted ivy leaf on my fingertip.

“We should be proud of our history.” I can almost hear my older sister’s voice. She held her head high as she gave each of us a small box, the dark green leather looked like gems in our hands. “Ivy rises by twining its stem around any available support.”

“We only have each other as support.” Grace smiled, extending her left hand sporting the personalized signet ring.

Even with all the priceless jewels in the royal collection at our disposal, the four of us would prefer to wear the small gold ring instead.

A dry chuckle escapes me.

The irony isn’t lost on me.

Right now, there is nothing I need more than support.

And yet, I have never before felt so alone.

✨

I run my hand through the cracked spines on the century-old books lining the Palace’s library. My eyes close as I breathe in the comforting scent of leather and musk, the aroma mixing with the whiskey in my glass.

Some of my only good memories in the palace are in this exact place.

Our grandfather spent hours in this library, which is probably why I have such a strong attachment to this room. Each of the four walls are permeated with something that reminds me of him.

A great ruler and an even better man. He'd spend most afternoons with Grace and me, teaching us about Atelonia’s history, about the men and women who fought for this land before us.

That man bled patriotism.

It’s one of my favorite things about him. And the thing I hope I inherited—the undying love for my country.

I hear them even before the door opens.

Their bickering reaches me first, the sound is oddly comforting.

As I turn around, there’s a part of me that expects to see my younger brothers exactly the same as I did four years ago. But time has carved its mark into both of them.

Carter steps forward first, taller and sharper than I remember. The ever-present rigidness in his posture makes him look every bit the diplomat he’s been forced to become. And then there’s Archibald. At twenty-seven, he’s almost unrecognizable—his features leaner, more mature, though the mischievous glint in his eyes remains.

Carter must have noticed my shock because as he comes closer, he cracks an uncharacteristic sympathetic smile. “Have you no razors on the ship? You’re one inch away from becoming a Komondor dog.”

I’ll give him points for trying but the forced expression makes him look like he’s feeling pain more than sympathy.

My cheek twitches slightly, my own version of a smile.

Archie claps a hand on my shoulder. “Carter’s only saying that because he couldn’t grow half a mustache if his life depended on it.”

My younger brother’s attempt at a joke should’ve lightened the mood but instead, I revert to my trusty coping mechanism. Keeping quiet and analyzing everything.

Closest to me in age, but my complete opposite in appearance, Carter inherited our mother’s features—light brown hair covered in specks of blonde with eyes that carry the same exact shade of hazel as our mother’s side of the family.

Archie and I got the short end of the stick, sharing the same straight nose from our father along with his dark hair and green eyes.

As I notice the bags under his eyes and his unkempt shirt, I realize it’s clear that life hasn’t been treating either of us well.

Carter rolls his eyes. “Maybe I can’t grow a mustache but at least I know how to drive.”

“I know how to drive, dipshit.” Archibald says, making his way towards the bar cart at the far end of the library. “The problem came when I decided to do it after having a few too many drinks at the casino.”

A strange feeling rolls over me as I watch my brothers rile each other. The pressure on my shoulders lessens and I almost feel calm. Just for a moment.

It makes me feel like I’m at home.

Like the Palace is home.

Before everything turned into a circus. Before my every move was scrutinized. Before the accident.

As Archie pours whiskey into a glass, I notice a sliver of dark ink peeks from his rolled sleeve.

“Is that a tattoo?” It’s the first time I've spoken.

I didn’t mean to ruin the moment; I wanted to talk to them. Wanted to tell them that their pointless bickering made me feel like a normal person for the first time in years. I wanted to say I meant to write them letters. I especially wanted to tell them that I missed them.

But of all those things, I say nothing.

I just stare at Archibald, raising my eyebrows slightly, forcing him to answer me.

“Oh this?” Archie lets out a forced laugh, trying to act casual. “I had it done a long time ago.”

Carter sets his eyes on the floor and bites the inside of his cheek.

Archibald rolls up his sleeve, revealing the eight numbers inked on his skin. Just like that, I’m abruptly reminded that we’re not here to laugh or to play or to reminisce. We’re here to fulfill our duty and nothing more.

Show up for our family because that’s what’s expected of us, nothing else.

“It’s the night Grace-“ Archie starts but the words don’t come out of his mouth.

I straighten, knocking back the rest of my drink. The whiskey burns, but it’s nothing compared to the fire licking up my spine. The scar underneath my right eyebrow pulses as memories from that night claw their way forward.

The car. The impact. The blood.

“I know the date.” I rasp, my throat burning not only from the whiskey.

Whatever calm sensation I had felt before is now long gone, the unexpressed words jumping between my brothers and me now wedge a bigger bridge between us.

Carter clears his throat. “We should talk strategy. The doctor said our father doesn’t have much time left and he hasn’t changed the will.”

“Let’s get this shitshow on the road.” Archie plops himself down on one of the leather couches spilling some whiskey on his white shirt, acting like nothing ever happened.

My youngest brother has always had a knack for avoiding difficult things. Whenever things get awkward or complicated, he changes the subject or makes light of a situation, anything to get himself out of talking about the elephant in the room.

Acting like he doesn't have a care in the world is one of Archibald’s many talents but this time I fear it’s gone too far. The light in his eyes has dulled and he seems tired.

“When did he become this much of a mess?” I ask Carter, looking at my youngest brother up and down.

Carter closes his eyes, pressing his fingers to his temples. “You missed a lot in four years.”

“Lucky for you, there’s nothing like below zero communication skills to bring you up to date.” Archie raises his glass to us.

“We don’t have time for a therapy session today, Archibald.” Carter sighs.

“I’ll call your secretary tomorrow to make an appointment.” Archie gives a fake smile. “Will she be at the office or should I call your apartment so she can comfortably answer from your bed?”

I raise my eyebrows at Carter, a mental picture of his almost middle-aged secretary coming into my mind.

“Childhood trauma and mommy issues seem to run in the family, you should get checked.” Archie says to me.

“We’ll never get this done if we don’t work as a united front.” I say, shutting them both up. “I know we didn’t expect for this to happen now, but we need to finish our part in the succession clause. We cannot lose everything to Constantin.”

Archibald huffs. “This whole thing is ridiculous. I’m sure we can get a lawyer to put this to rest. The crown is inherited; it has been for centuries. I don’t see why our father can change tradition just because he was guilt tripped into it while he was drugged out of his mind and trying to get through grief.”

“That’s exactly why we need to complete our part in the clause.” I interrupt, rubbing a hand over my face.

While he may look like an adult, I know Archie’s road to maturing is still long and arduous.

“Like you said, the crown is supposed to be inherited.” I continue.

“Emphasis on supposed.” Carter adds.

“Our dear uncle Constantin should’ve had the crown passed down to him seeing as he’s the eldest son, had our grandfather not declared him unfit to rule right before he died.” Explaining why we’re in this problem starts my headache back up.

“Our father ascended to the throne then-”

“Then Unc saved father from the burning helicopter or whatever,” Archie drawls, waving a dismissive hand. “Blah, blah, blah. I know the story.”

My temples throb and Archibald’s indifference doesn’t help.

Constantin spent years trying to convince our father to create the succession clause, dangling that moment over him like a poisoned carrot. It wasn’t until after Grace’s death that my father caved.

If only we hadn’t been in the car that night—no. You can’t think like that!

The sound of Carter smacking the back of Archie’s head grounds me. “I’m glad you know the story, seeing as you still have to buy back more than a dozen paintings to complete the investment portfolio.”

“I’m back in New York a month from now. I’ll get it done before Daddy Dearest has a chance to get another heart attack.” Archie rubs the spot on his head. “How’s your heavy lifting going? You seem way more preoccupied with my part of the deal.”

“I’m working on it.” Carter takes a cigar out from the humidor.

“Is it time to put your big boy pants on yet?” Archibald taunts, smiling at the fact that he can oh so precisely push Carter’s buttons.

Carter grips the edge of the cigar case until his knuckles turn white. “If you have something to say, say it.”

“I’m just saying, maybe it’s time to give your good old friend Becks a call.” Archie shrugs, acting like his words are innocent, a Cheshire cat smile playing on his face.

Carter nearly lunges. I grip his shoulder, keeping him in place.

“This is exactly what I mean!” I yell. “You’re too busy fighting each other to see the bigger picture! We’re about to lose everything—the monarchy, the private estate, the portfolio—all because you’re too busy taking your dicks out and arguing about whose is bigger!”

Archie smirks. “It’s obviously mine.”

I point a warning finger at him. “Not. Another. Word.”

Archie leans back against the couch, swirling the whiskey in his glass. “You’re feeling high and mighty telling us what we’ve got to do when you’ve done jack shit to complete your part.”

I arch a brow. “I’m here aren’t I? I already have everything planned.”

“You think that after four years of radio silence, you can just come back and ask Madeline to marry you?” Carter laughs.

“That’s exactly what I plan on doing.”

Archie perks up, grinning. “Please have someone film it. I think video proof of your inevitable rejection would do wonders to my self-esteem.”

“You won’t need video proof because I won’t be rejected.” Had I missed my brothers? Yes. Are they a huge pain in my ass and eating away at my patience in record speed? Also yes. “We’re having a gala this weekend, that’s when I’ll ask her to marry me.”

“Just like that?” Carter raises his eyebrows, amusement flickering in his eyes.

“Just like that.” I enunciate each word.

Carter leans against the desk, arms crossed. “Let me get this straight. You’re going to show up after four years, tell her you’ve always loved her—despite never doing a damn thing about it—explain that you need to marry her so you don’t lose the throne, and also mention that she’ll need to give you an heir ASAP?”

Archie gets down on one knee, holding up an imaginary ring. His voice drops to a dramatic whisper.

“Dear Madeline,” he begins. “You’re the love of my life—even though I never told you. I know I disappeared without a word, but I need you now. Marry me, bear my children, and, if time allows, love me.”

I shove his shoulder, sending him sprawling on to the rug with a thud.

Carter scratches his chin, like he was actually considering Archie’s speech. “Maybe you should emphasize the fact that you’ve never had a public outing with her.”

“Oh yeah, women love being kept a secret.” Archie adds, grinning. “Really makes them feel special.”

“It’s been a long day, and I don’t have the time or the energy to deal with you.” I throw my head back with a groan, walking towards the door. “Just be ready for the gala on Saturday.”

Archie calls after me, his voice laced with laughter. “If you need help with the first kiss, I suggest you make out with your reflection in the mirror!”

I shut the library door behind me before they get a chance to say anything else.

Their laughter fades as I step into the dimly lit hallway, my pulse is steady but my mind restless.

The paintings lining the corridor stare down at me, their gilded frames glinting in the soft light. My father’s portrait. My grandfather's. And then, at the end of the hall—Grace.

She smirks down at me from her oil-painted canvas, eyes full of mischief, as if she knows exactly how this is all going to play out.

I let out a quiet breath, running my hand down my face.

“Was this your plan all along?” I murmur, my gaze locked on hers. “Leave before things got complicated?

The portrait doesn’t answer.

I chuckle dryly, shaking my head.

“I miss you.”

My words hang in the empty hallway but I push forward, towards my childhood bedroom, because there’s too much at stake.

No time for ghosts or regrets.

The only way to win this game is to play it.

And I intend to win.

ig and TikTok: sophiabazar_author

Author's note: Helloooo everyoneee sooo here's the first chapter of my novel. I'm so incredibly nervous for you guys to read it so please please please be kind. I'd love any kind of feedback. If you guys like it, I'll go ahead and post the second chapter. Sooo thank you so much for taking the time to read it. K love you guys bye.

Tags: @kenqki @skittslackoffilter @blackhawkfanatic @greatmistakes @civilbucky @bohoooitsme @lifeisbutadream444

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iwasonceabookworm · 6 months ago

Text

KotLC Secret Santa Gift

for @ravs6709! I was super excited when I saw solinh as one of the “dynamics I enjoy” & I also tried to work in some of linh & tam’s relationship (platonic ofc) too! Thank you to @song-tam for organizing this event! Happy holidays & I hope you enjoy!

If Linh Song were to try pinpoint exactly when her feelings for one Miss Sophie Elizabeth Foster had started, she…

Well, perhaps that was misleading. She simply couldn’t. It could have been before they had even met; when Exillium’s mysterious new student had inflicted a deep feeling of… of serenity during breath-holding training in order to calm her, a stranger she’d never met.

Or maybe it was after Tam had “run away” with the Neverseen, and Sophie had promised to help in any way she could, intertwining their fingers as she made the promise.

Maybe it was their first real meeting - for the first time, someone (aside from Tam, of course) had treated her powers with respect and admiration rather than fear. (And, honestly, if anyone understood being treated with fear due to their ability (again, asides from Tam), it was Sophie).

Not that it mattered, in the end. Sophie obviously wasn’t interested in her that way, and she never would be. Not to mention, Linh’s parents would absolutely not approve of her dating a girl.

Still, you can’t exactly stop feelings like these; and every time Linh was in even the slightest proximity with Sophie, she found it exceedingly difficult to not become as red as a tomato (it didn’t exactly help that Sophie was constantly complimenting her).

***

A somewhat less stressful (though still annoying) pitfall of her somewhat-concealed crush (and having a twin brother that knew her like the back of his hand) was the teasing.

Linh knew that that’s simply what siblings were supposed to do, but-

Unfortunately, there wasn’t really a “but” to that statement. Siblings did that, and it was infuriating, but it was natural.

Perhaps it wouldn’t be so bad if she could tease him back, but there just wasn’t anybody in his life that he saw in that way (she tried teasing him about Rayni, once; but that backfired terribly as she realized they both saw her as a sister).

***

Fortunately (or unfortunately, depending on how you looked at it) the amount of time Sophie spent with Linh seemed to be rapidly decreasing.

That was, until the pre-recorded sound of their mother’s harp rang through the Song’s household (yes, their doorbell was a musical note - how obnoxious was that?) and Linh was quickly informed that it was for her.

She initially thought nothing of it, until she reached the door and was met by honey coloured hair atop chestnut eyes.

Well, this was an interesting turn of events.

“S-Sophie,” Linh said, her voice coming out squeakier than usual.

“Linh,” Sophie replied. Linh (as if her cheeks weren’t already red enough) felt her face flush. If she wasn’t mistaken, Sophie sounded rather nervous, too.

“Can we, um-” Sophie closed her eyes, took a deep breath, and opened her eyes again, meeting Linh’s eye once more - with steadier gaze, this time. “Can we talk?” Another pause. “A-alone, preferably.”

This time, Linh felt all the colour drain from her face. “Y-yeah, sure, of course-” Linh replied, a second too late. Goodness, she was a mess.

And that was how Linh Song found herself spending a Saturday morning following Sophie Elizabeth Foster (who was clutching her hand as she led her) to “her favourite, secluded spot” (Sophie’s words, not hers).

Finally, they arrived at what Linh took a moment to clock as Calla’s Panakes tree. Sophie released her hand, and indicated for her to sit.

“So, um,” Sophie began. Now her face was red. “I- uh- you probably know this already, but, um, me and Fitz broke up earlier, and-”

“Oh!” Linh cried, suddenly. Sophie looked at her, raising her brows in confusion. This time, Linh found herself red with embarrassment. “S-sorry… uh, keep going.”

She felt so stupid. Here she’d been, having feelings for someone who was practically her best friend, and hoping she felt the same, when in reality, she just wanted to talk about her stupid (now) ex-boyfriend.

“Right… anyways, we broke up because- well, for a lot of reasons, b-but- well, the reason I wanted to breakup was- was-” she paused once more, closing her eyes again.

“-was because I had feelings for someone else.”

The pause following that statement was even longer. Linh found herself flushing again. “O-oh…” was all she managed to say for a long moment. Sophie was glancing from her, to the ground, to the tree in a continuous cycle, and maybe that was the reason, or the specific look in Sophie’s eyes, that Linh found herself flushing once more.

“Oh,” she said again, more confidently this time. “Keefe?” She guessed after another pause.

Sophie laughed. Linh felt herself blushing again, though, this time, she was unsure if it was from embarrassment or admiration (probably a mix of both - Sophie had quite the lovely laugh).

“W-what? D-did I say something wrong?” Linh asked after a moment, averting her eyes to the ground. Sophie ceased her giggling immediately. “No! Sorry. I-” she paused for a moment. “That’s not what I meant at all.”

“Oh.” was all Linh managed to say in response. She wasn’t quite sure what Sophie was referring to with that statement; her comment about Keefe? The implication that Sophie was laughing at her?

Sophie seemed to sense her confusion, at some level, at least, for she soon clarified: “sorry. I wasn’t laughing at you.”

“Oh.” Linh said again. She couldn’t think to say anything else.

“A-and Keefe’s great, but, I don’t really see him in that way-” Sophie continued hurriedly. “-he’s just a really great friend, y’know? He understands what I’ve been through better than anyone else.”

Linh nodded, again because she wasn’t quite sure what to say. Sophie inched her hand towards Linh’s.

“It was great to date Fitz, but, it really wasn’t - I realized that I didn’t see him in that way, either…” she trailed off. “I feel like I’ve idolized him for so long - I’ve imagined him as perfect, perfect, perfect for so long - so obviously dating him would be underwhelming.” she exhaled.

“But, um, that’s not what I came here to talk to you about.” she paused for another moment. “Like I said, I broke up with Fitz because I had feelings for someone else.”

Linh could feel her heart rate accelerating, but she didn’t dare hope. Sophie gently cupped Linh's hands in her own.

“That person is you.”

#dw chat I cringed super hard writing the confession scene #kotlc #kotlc secret santa 2024 #solinh #bookworm writes

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