#a heir for wc: chapter five | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

minoulapin · 22 days ago

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Chapter Five: The Softest Kind of Trap - Between Giving & Taking - Y. JW

Pairing: Demon!Jungwon x Angel!FReader

Genre: Forbidden Love, Fantasy, Romance, Mystery

Wc: 6.3k

Tw: The characters and their actions are purely fictional and do not reflect the real-life personalities of the individuals they are inspired by.

Synopsis: A love unspoken, a fate unwritten, An angel and demon, forever forbidden. Bound by the laws of heaven and hell, A story of longing they dare not tell. At the Academy of the Occult, angels and demons coexist under a fragile truce. But when a celestial heir is assassinated, war looms, secrets unravel, and forbidden desires ignite. In a world where their love is a crime, will they defy fate or be consumed by it?

A/N: Thank you so much to everyone who’s been patiently waiting. I’ve been working really hard behind the scenes on the development of this story, plot, lore, character arcs, everything. This chapter was a big one, emotionally and structurally, so it took longer than expected and I really hope it won’t disappoint. To those of you who were following before: I hope you’ll continue reading. And to all the new readers, welcome! I’m so happy you’re here! So buckle up. Let’s get back into it. -Joe

Tag list: open!! @stormy1408 @miraeluv @indigoez @riribelle @iifrui @m3l4nchol @bamguetismee @w1dyvnn @heesbbygurl @starsmew @loverbyfate (Comment to be added)

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In Noctris, the sky had no stars.

Not because they were hidden, but because the heavens had long since turned their gaze elsewhere.

It wasn’t a city. Or a territory. Or even a court.

It was a wound in the cliffside of the demon realm. A fortress carved into obsidian, buried above the hollowing wastes where nothing grew, and even light refused to echo.

Something else moved there.

Not power in the way the celestial order wielded it. Not flame like the infernal Courts breathed.

Noctris pulsed with a force that was older. Colder. Watching. It did not shimmer. It did not burn. It waited.

The rest of the infernal realm didn’t speak of it directly. They called it myth. A leftover structure from the first age. A place where the old rules were still obeyed in absolute silence.

But Noctris was not a relic.

It was design. Brutal, precise design. And Jungwon had been created by it.

He was not born. None of them were.

Immortal beings did not procreate. They did not age. They did not pass childhood stories down through bloodlines or celebrate first steps.

They were forged, summoned into existence with purpose, sculpted into function, calibrated to fit the needs of a realm that fed on structure and collapse in equal measure.

But Noctris didn’t shape its sentinels the way the Courts did. Where other regions birthed creatures of hunger and instinct, Noctris stripped those things away. Where the Courts encouraged ambition, Noctris punished it. Individuality was deviation. Deviation was error. Error did not survive.

Jungwon had not spoken his first word.

He had been assigned it.

Not a name. A designation.

He had no memories of origin. No memory of light. Only corridors lined with runes and rules.

Walls that whispered if you were alone too long.

A voice that repeated the doctrine until it bled into thought.

Emotion was unnecessary.

Desire was wasteful.

Pain was instructional.

There were no mentors. No lessons delivered with care. You learned by watching those who failed disappear.

Discipline was absolute.

Not enforced with rage, but with Precision. Mistake once, correct. Mistake twice, reformat. Mistake three times, and you were returned to the source.

Noctris demanded purity, not of soul, but of logic. Its people didn’t pray. They didn’t seek pleasure. They served structure. The fortress sat at the edge of reason and ruin, and some believed it was built precisely because of that.

Because the veil between realms thinned there.

And those who weren’t trained to be hollow heard things that was never meant to survive.

Jungwon never questioned that. But still, There had always been something.

Some thrum beneath the stone. A pull in the gut.

Something in the pit of his chest that never quite stayed quiet.

He crushed it. Over and over.

The way they taught him to.

And yet, even now, it stirred.

When they sent him to the Academy, they didn’t give him a reason.

They never did.

He received a directive. Exit point. Coordinates.

Purpose: integration and observation. He could have been twenty centuries old, or perhaps twenty days. It made no difference.

Time didn’t pass in Noctris, it accumulated like pressure. Time, like emotion, was inefficient.

He didn’t arrive at the Academy like the others, claimed by noble beings or born from the Courts’ rituals. He appeared at the edge of campus one dawn, silent and alone, in a uniform marked only with a seal no one recognized.

He brought nothing.

No weapons. No heritage.

Just a presence that made people flinch before they understood why.

The other demons didn’t ask questions, not out loud. But he saw it in their eyes. He didn’t speak like them. Didn’t move like them.Didn’t posture or provoke. Didn’t stake claims or threaten violence.

And yet—

When he spoke, they quieted. Not because he demanded it. But because stillness, when wielded properly, was louder than fury.

They feared him.

Because they could not predict him. Because Jungwon didn’t play by the rules they understood. He didn’t want power. Didn’t crave attention. And that terrified them more than anything.

Because power could be manipulated.

But purpose? Purpose couldn’t be bribed.

He stayed silent.

Watched.

Learned the systems of the Academy.

The celestial order.

The cracks in their dome of so-called peace.

The shifting loyalties among the Courts.

The weak points in every ward, every bond, every lie.

He didn’t study the Academy.

He dissected it.

At first, that was enough.

Until lately. Lately, something had changed.

A shift in rhythm. A note out of key.

An anomaly. It started as a trace, an energy he couldn’t place. Wild. Unstable.

Then it stepped closer. Took shape. Spoke without fear. And when it looked him in the eye like it knew him, he realized he wanted to know it back.

And worse, It kept showing up.

And Jungwon… kept letting it.

He told himself it was necessary.

That unpredictability required surveillance.

But that wasn’t true. Not anymore.

He could feel it, the fracture forming inside him.

The way his thoughts lingered too long on someone else’s voice.

The way his eyes drifted toward chaos instead of away from it.

He hadn’t been built for this.

Not for deviation.

Not for… desire.

He didn’t say her name.

Didn’t need to.

Y/n’s presence was everywhere now.

Not because she was loud, But because something about her felt wrong.

Wrong in a way he didn’t understand.

Wrong in a way he recognized.

Like the hum of something ancient pressing against the fabric of the world.

He didn’t know why he felt the need to protect her.

To observe. To follow.

But he did.

Because deep in his bones, there was something she stirred.

And now. Now this anomaly had him moving through empty halls in the middle of the night, breaking protocol, crossing wards, chasing rumors.

Toward a place he knew better than to tread.

The old ruins beneath the east wing.

The library’s foundation.

A zone even most guards avoided.

He’d gone to Heeseung for answers.

What he got was a smirk.

“She asked about answers,” Heeseung had said.

“So I pointed her to where all the questions go eventually.”

It wasn’t just mockery.

It was cruelty.

Heeseung had sent her down there to be caught. Or worse.

And Jungwon,

Jungwon was already moving.

He didn’t think. He didn’t plan.

He ran.

Because instinct was dangerous.

But silence?

Silence was worse.

Y/n had told herself it was just to prove him wrong.

That Heeseung’s words hadn’t gotten under her skin. That she didn’t care what he meant when he told her, “Try looking beneath the library.”

But she did.

Because there was something in the way he said it. A challenge. A trap. And worse, something she couldn’t quite ignore. Curiosity had always been her worst instinct. And tonight, it had teeth.

Now it was past midnight, and she stood beneath the east wing, the stone slick with moss, her blouse clinging to her arms in the chill. Her jacket was still at Heeseung’s. Her preppy doll shoes, scuffed and soaked, slipped slightly as she crouched and slid through the old service grate tucked beneath the courtyard steps.

She didn’t know what she was expecting. Only that she had to see for herself.

The descent wasn’t marked. No torches. No signs. Just a slope hidden behind the bones of the Academy, a narrow chute, sharp and uneven, carved deep into the earth like a secret no one wanted to remember.

She summoned a dim orb of light and muttered under her breath,

“Here’s to making bad decisions.”

The joke felt thin in her mouth.

The stone was damp. Cold. Heavy with something she couldn’t name.

But she didn’t stop. She had no idea how far she was beneath the surface when the walls began to change.

It started small, thin carvings scraped into the rock. Then faded paint. Then full designs. The deeper she went, the more complex they became. Until the tunnel widened suddenly, spilling her into a vast chamber, and her breath caught in her throat.

The walls were covered.

Murals stretched across every surface, layered in flaking pigment and ashen ink. Five robed figures repeated over and over, faceless and massive, each etched into circles of fire, water, smoke, light. Some burned. Some bowed. Some crowned. Some broken.

She stepped forward slowly, eyes scanning every curve.

“…What the hell is this?”

She reached toward one of the figures, then stopped short.

The paint wasn’t just old. It felt… tampered with. Like something had been added, erased, added again. Like the truth was buried beneath it.

And those five—

They weren’t symbols.

They were watching.

She pulled back.

And kept moving.

The halls below the library didn’t match the world above. No symmetry. No logic. Just jagged turns and splintered thresholds, like the deeper she went, the less it was meant to be found.

“This isn’t a vault,” she whispered. “It’s a maze.”

Her light quivered as she entered the next room, and froze.

A door.

Perfectly square. Seamless. Set into the stone like it had grown there. No handle. No hinge. Just a faint circle at the center, glowing softly beneath her presence.

And a window.

Narrow. Just wide enough to peer through. She stepped forward, heart climbing into her throat.

Inside, a study. Personal. Intimate.

A worn desk. Shelves crammed with parchment. An oil lantern still flickering like someone had left in a hurry. Papers in crooked stacks. A journal left open at the corner. A dark cloak hung over the back of the chair.

She pressed her fingers to the glass. Breath fogged the pane.

“Is this… a professor’s room?”

No. Not down here. No one was supposed to come down here.

Her gaze dropped to the desk again.

A mark was burned into the wood. Circular. Interwoven. She didn’t recognize it, but something about it pulled at her chest like a string buried under her skin.

Someone had lived in this space.

She looked down at the glowing circle etched in the door and reached for it. A soft pulse answered her touch, like a heartbeat, and she pushed celestial energy forward.

It disappeared. Gone.

No recoil. No pushback. No warning.

Just… nothing.

Y/n gasped, stumbling back a step.

“What the fuck”

She tried again. Harder. Her light flickered. Her power flickered. But nothing happened.

Her energy wouldn’t hold here. Wouldn’t settle. It thinned the longer she stayed, like this place didn’t just resist her, it refused her. Like whatever force lived in these walls wasn’t built to repel angels.

It was built to silence them.

She turned back to the room beyond the window. To the journal. The cloak. The pages still waiting on the desk.

“I need to get in there.”

She didn’t mean to say it out loud. But the moment it left her mouth, she knew it was true.

She didn’t know why, but something in her bones did.

Then—

Footsteps.

Close.

Fast.

Shit.

She extinguished her light, heart spiking.

And listened.

“I’m telling you, it came from this way”

“Should’ve let him handle it”

“No, check the chamber. If someone’s down here”

Y/n turned, blood rushing in her ears.

She ran.

Back through the hallway, past the cracked murals and faceless watchers.

Her foot caught on a jagged edge of stone.

She hit the ground hard. Pain shot through her leg. Her sock tore along the edge of the tile, blood beading at her knee.

No time.

Voices were closer now.

“Light! There, they’re moving!”

She scrambled to her feet. Turned left, wrong.

Dead end.

Stone wall. Solid. Cold.

She spun back around, breath trembling. Nowhere left to go.

She raised her fists anyway, ready to bluff, lie, swing. But just before the guards turned the corner.

A hand grabbed her.

An arm pulled tight around her waist.

A palm clamped over her mouth.

She was yanked backward, into a chest, a body.

And then the world changed.

Not darkness. Not quite.

The space around her thickened like fog. A veil of smoke, soft and dense, curled over her vision. She could see everything, torchlight, stone, the silver flash of armor as the guards passed, but none of it could see her back. The world outside moved like a painting behind glass.

She panicked. She kicked, flailed, elbowed. She thought she’d been caught, dragged into the shadows by a guard or something worse. Her breathing hitched, heartbeat a wild thrum in her throat.

“Stop moving,” a voice murmured, low, steady, right against her ear.

She froze. Recognition slammed into her chest. Jungwon.

She twisted her head slightly, eyes wide. He met her gaze, barely visible through the darkness, but the look in his eyes stopped her cold. Not threatening. But sharp. Unsettled. Like seeing her afraid made something inside him go rigid.

She realized suddenly she couldn’t move, not because of magic, but because of him.

His arm was locked around her waist, the other hand pressed firm over her mouth. His grip was iron, tight, inescapable, and her entire body was pinned flush against his.

Her panic curled tighter.

She felt everything.

His breath on her neck.

His chest rising slow against her back.

His fingers, warm and calloused, steady over her lips. The arm around her ribs, solid and unrelenting.

She squirmed again, unsure why, unsure whether to fight or fall apart, but he didn’t react. Didn’t squeeze tighter. Didn’t whisper reassurances.

He just… held her.

And somehow… that was worse.

The guards’ boots thundered closer. She jolted instinctively, pressing closer to Jungwon, her shoulder blades digging into the firm line of his chest.

“They won’t see us,” he breathed against her skin.

She stopped breathing.

The tension in his body wasn’t nervousness, it was poised. Like he’d already considered every possible threat, every angle of escape. He didn’t tremble. He pulsed, like a wire drawn too tight.

The guards slowed. One paused for a short moment, the beam of their torch passing inches from Y/n’s face before passing her.

Y/n’s lungs burned.

Then—

Jungwon shifted.

Gently, deliberately, he turned her to face him.

She blinked up, startled, still caged in smoke. The veil of shadows still held, thick and heavy like midnight rain. He looked at her, expression unreadable, and then… nodded. A small, silent gesture.

Trust me.

She didn’t know why, but she did.

He dropped the hand from her mouth and raised a finger to his lips. Don’t speak.

And then, before she could question it, he scooped her up.

Fast. Fluid.

He’d moved too fast, too smoothly. Before she could react, her arms had looped around his neck. Her legs, like instinct, wrapped around his hips. His hands found purchase: one beneath her thighs, the other between her shoulder blades, cradling her spine.

Her face flushed. She wasn’t used to being touched. Especially not like this.

His hands were… strong. One under her bare thigh, where her sock had ripped. Skin against skin. The other curved across her back with steady, almost reverent pressure. Not possessive. Not crude. Just there, like he knew exactly how to hold her, and exactly where.

Y/n had never been held like that.

She tucked her face into the crook of his neck, instinct again, desperate to hide. The scent of him hit her all at once: smoke, winter air, something sharp and grounding like cold iron.

She didn’t mean to notice how warm he was.

But she did.

Jungwon’s jaw clenched as he felt her shiver into his neck. He didn’t move his head. Didn’t falter in his steps. But something about the way she clung to him, it lit a fuse under his skin.

He moved quietly, each step calculated, his bootfalls silent on the stone.

She tried to distract herself. Tried to study the murals again, the ash-marked sigils she could now see from over his shoulder.

But it was so hard to focus with his hand against her thigh, fingertips burning where they met skin. He hadn’t meant to touch her like that. He was just trying to hold her properly, to carry her without dropping her.

And yet—

Her stomach tightened. Her thoughts scattered.

She hated that she noticed.

She hated him for making her notice.

Desire wasn’t something she was supposed to feel. Not like this. Not so sudden. Not so raw.

But Jungwon’s grip never faltered.

And neither did her heart.

They were nearly clear of the corridor.

Almost safe.

Until she turned her head.

The sealed study loomed behind them. Just past Jungwon’s shoulder, she caught the glint of glass. The desk. The papers. That journal.

Her body shifted, subtle at first. A twist of her shoulders. A pull of momentum.

Jungwon felt it instantly.

“Don’t,” he said, voice low and sharp.

She moved again.

A hand slipping free. Her torso angling back toward the chamber.

“Y/n” His voice faltered, then hardened. “Stop.”

She didn’t.

She was fighting now. Quietly. Desperately.

Trying to stretch toward the door, reach anything, claw her way back if she had to.

His arms locked tighter. One around her waist, the other catching her wrist mid-reach.

She writhed, legs tightening instinctively around his hips for leverage.

He nearly lost his grip.

“Stop.” The word hissed out between clenched teeth.

Another twist of her body. Another reckless pull.

His grip changed.

Not gentle.

Commanding.

One hand shot beneath her thigh, higher this time, fingers digging into the soft flesh of her inner leg, anchoring her tighter around his hips like he couldn’t risk her slipping. The other arm cut across her ribs in a single, brutal motion, yanking her chest into him with a force that forced the air from her lungs.

The sound escaped before she could stop it.

She gasped.

Sharp. Uncontrolled.

The sound was barely audible, but in the silence of the chamber, it was a gunshot.

A guard’s head snapped toward them.

“There!”

Shit.

Jungwon cursed. “Good job.”

Then he ran.

She clung tighter, arms locked around his neck, fingers gripping the collar of his shirt like a lifeline. Her legs cinched instinctively around his waist, her knees squeezing with every jolt. The veil of smoke trailed behind them like a second shadow, casting the world into blurred motion.

His speed was unreal.

Every step thundered through her, precise, powerful, controlled. She could feel the muscles in his back shifting, every movement efficient and deliberate, like his body was made for this kind of escape. Her breath hitched with the rhythm of his strides.

He didn’t make a sound. Not a grunt. Not a breath too loud. Just the low rush of air and the soft thud of his boots on stone.

He’s fast. Too fast.

And she hated how impressed she was.

And she hated that she noticed.

Hated the way her body had stopped fighting him. Hated the heat she felt where his hands still gripped her, like he was branded into her skin.

They burst through the hidden passage reached the exit.

Out past the broken service gate, past the moss-slick stairs, the rusted grate. The night air hit her like a slap, cold, open, sharp with dew. But Jungwon didn’t stop.

He carried her across the grounds like she weighed nothing.

Like she belonged there. In his arms.

Only when they reached the unmarked fringe between the celestial and infernal dormitories, where the wards thinned and the curfew faltered, did he finally slow.

The shadows peeled back. The veil dispersed.

But he still didn’t let go.

“We’re clear,” she said, trying to wriggle free.

He didn’t respond.

“Put me down,” she snapped.

Nothing.

She shoved at his shoulder. “I said—”

Then, finally, he lowered her. Not gently. Not harshly. Just… controlled.

Y/n pushed off his chest the moment her feet hit the ground.

“What the hell is wrong with you?!”

Jungwon stood exactly where she’d left him. Calm. Still. Composed. Like he hadn’t just carried her in complete darkness across half the ruin beneath the Academy.

Like his arms hadn’t been wrapped around her body a second ago.

“You were about to get caught.”

“No shit,” she snapped. “You followed me?”

Silence.

That was her answer.

She stormed toward him, cheeks flushed. “Why? So you could be a good soldier and report back to your Court? Drag me off like some little celestial trophy?”

“If I were a soldier,” Jungwon said evenly, “you’d already be in chains.”

Her magic sparked in protest, golden and jagged.

He stepped forward, slow and measured. “Don’t mistake silence for submission.”

“I didn’t ask for your help.”

“I didn’t offer it,” he said. “I did it. Because someone had to.”

Her fury burned hotter. “I don’t need saving”

“You needed sense,” he cut in. “You were set up. Heeseung sent you down there for a reason, and you walked straight into it.”

She glared. “That doesn’t explain how you knew.”

No answer.

“What, you’re gonna tell me it was just a coincidence?” she pushed. “That you were conveniently right there again?”

“I don’t believe in coincidence,” he said.

“Then what do you believe in, huh?” Her voice rose. “That I’m some pathetic little angel wandering into traps for fun? Needing your permission to exist?”

“No,” Jungwon said. His voice didn’t rise. “I believe you’re looking for answers. And with the way you operate”

He looked at her, dead-on.

“It won’t be long before they catch you. And erase you.”

She went still.

Jungwon stepped past her, eyes scanning the shadows. “Whatever you saw down there… they don’t want it found.”

“Oh, really? Thanks for the memo.”

He turned to her again.

“Stop acting like a brat.”

She blinked. “Excuse me?”

“You keep treating this like a game,” he said. “Like you’re invincible. You’re not.”

She crossed her arms. “Wow. Thanks, my knight in shining armor. What would you like in return for your heroic gesture? Eternal gratitude? A medal?”

“I want you to stop setting yourself on fire just to feel the heat,” he snapped.

“And I want to know why you trusted Heeseung in the first place. I told you, you can’t handle him.”

“I can handle Heeseung,” she growled.

He stared at her.

His eyes didn’t move. “That’s exactly what he wants you to think.”

She opened her mouth, then closed it.

She didn’t respond. Couldn’t.

Because underneath all her anger… was the gnawing truth that he might be right.

She turned away. “This doesn’t mean you get to follow me around.”

“You’re the one throwing yourself into death traps.”

“I don’t need your commentary.”

He didn’t flinch. “I won’t always pull you out.”

“Good,” she shot back. “I don’t want you to.”

But neither of them moved. The air between them was heavy, electric. Like something hadn’t finished unraveling.

“Stay out of my way,” she whispered.

Jungwon’s jaw tensed. “That’ll only depend on you.”

He turned and walked away.

Y/n stood there, still burning.

Still shaking.

And alone.

She didn’t move for a long time. Then, slowly, she walked back toward the dorms.

She opened the door quietly, praying Jake would be asleep.

He wasn’t.

Jake was pacing the dorm. And froze the moment she stepped inside. His head snapped up the second she stepped in. His blond hair was a mess, sticking up in uneven angles, like he’d been dragging his hands through it over and over. His Academy sleep shirt clung to his chest, wrinkled and slightly damp with sweat. He looked like someone who hadn’t slept in hours, though it couldn’t have been more than one.

“Y/n!” he breathed. “Where the hell were you?”

His voice cracked. Not from anger. From relief.

But then he really saw her.

His expression twisted.

But then his gaze dropped lower, and his whole expression changed.

Her blouse was wrinkled, three buttons undone. Her Academy tie was gone. Her hair was all messy, golden strands sticking to her face. One sock was ripped to her knee, blood visible beneath the fabric. Her jacket was still at Heeseung’s. Her shoes were muddy. And dirt smeared across her sleeves like she’d clawed her way out of a grave.

Jake’s breath hitched. He took a step forward. “What happened to you?”

She didn’t answer right away. She was still catching her breath, though not from running. The adrenaline had burned out. What remained was a kind of hollow heat. Embarrassment. Exhaustion. The weight of nearly getting caught. The weight of almost dying.

Her limbs felt heavy, skin too warm, too tight. She could still feel the press of Jungwon’s hands on her, around her waist, under her thigh. She hadn’t noticed the bruises until now. Hadn’t realized she was shaking until she tried to speak.

“It’s nothing,” she muttered. “I—I went to see Heeseung.”

Jake froze.

Something in him snapped, quietly, but fast. A flicker across his face. Hurt, disbelief. Fury.

“You—” he choked. “You went to—? Are you fucking serious?”

“I needed answers.”

His voice rose. “So you slept with him?”

“What?! No!”

“You’re half undressed”

Jake stepped back like she’d slapped him. “Y/n, look at you!”

“I punched him, Jake!” she snapped. “He unbuttoned my shirt, and I punched him!”

Jake blinked. His mouth opened like he was about to say something, then shut again.

“He had information,” she went on, voice tighter now. “He said I was looking in the wrong place. Told me to check beneath the library.”

Jake stared. “So… you did?”

Y/n’s silence was the only answer.

He let out a breath. Ran a hand through his hair again. “Are you insane?”

“There was something down there,” she said. “A whole network of rooms. Symbols. Murals. I found a locked study filled with books, Jake, it was alive. Like the air inside it was breathing.”

“I almost found something,” she fired back. “If the guards hadn’t shown up—”

His jaw clenched. “You almost got caught.”

She met his gaze evenly. “It doesn’t matter.”

Jake swore. “You could’ve been arrested. You could’ve been erased.”

“I wasn’t.”

“But you could’ve been.”

“I made it out,” she said. “Barely.”

His brows pulled. “Then how did you get out?”

Her lips parted. Closed. She looked away.

Jake’s eyes narrowed.

“Y/n.”

“I ran.”

He stepped closer. “And?”

She met his gaze, refusing to blink. “And nothing. I ran. I made it out.”

“You’re a decent liar,” he muttered. “But not that good.”

She didn’t flinch.

Jake stared for a long moment, then exhaled. He looked exhausted again, maybe even hurt, but he said nothing more.

He turned, pacing again, fingers pulling at the roots of his hair.

Y/n didn’t move. Her head was still spinning. Her skin still burned in the places Jungwon had held her, where his breath had grazed her neck, where his hand had curled under her thigh. The feeling hadn’t left. It clung to her like heat. Like smoke.

And she hated that part of her didn’t want it gone.

She crossed to her bed slowly, peeling off what was left of her socks and collapsing against the mattress.

Jake didn’t speak again.

He sat on the edge of his own bed, staring at the floor. Elbows to knees. Hands slack. Not angry. Just… distant. And thinking.

Suspicion was colder than worry. Quieter. And harder to fight. She could feel it settle between them, final and thick. He didn’t know what she was hiding. But he knew one thing for sure, She was in too deep.

By morning, the bruises hadn’t even settled yet, on her body, or her thoughts.

She moved through the Academy like a ghost. Kept her head down. Avoided Jake during breakfast. Let herself vanish into the pale blur of celestial uniforms and dim hallway light. She hadn’t looked in a mirror, didn’t need to. The ache in her muscles and the hum in her bones told her enough.

The plan was simple: avoid Heeseung. And if possible, Jungwon too.

But like everything lately, that plan shattered quickly.

She spotted him leaning back against a warm stone slab near the ruins of the old observatory. The tower had collapsed over a decade ago, half swallowed by vines and shadow. Celestials avoided it. Too close to the Infernal border. Too ruined. Too forgotten.

Which made it the perfect place for Heeseung.

He was already watching her. Not surprised. Not smug. Just… waiting.

“Well,” he said, stretching his legs. “You’re not dead.”

She slowed. Her fingers twitched at her sides.

“You look disappointed.”

He sat up, brushing dust from his sleeves. “Not disappointed. Curious.”

She didn’t answer.

“You found it, didn’t you?” he went on. “The chambers beneath.”

She stared at him, silent. He stood, steps casual as he approached. “I didn’t think you’d go so quickly. Though I should’ve known, you’re the type who doesn’t let a dare rot long.”

“Wasn’t a dare,” she muttered. “It was bait.”

He shrugged. “Sometimes the difference is just in the reaction.”

“You set me up.”

“I pointed,” he said. “You walked.”

Y/n’s jaw tensed. “I could’ve been caught.”

“You almost were,” Heeseung replied. “Not exactly graceful on the way out.”

The words hit low. She bit the inside of her cheek.

Heeseung took one more step, close enough now that she could see the faint mark still healing on his jaw. The one she’d left.

“Must’ve been a surprise,” he said, voice dropping. “To see who came after you.”

Y/n’s eyes narrowed. “I didn’t ask for help.”

“You didn’t need to,” he said simply. “The moment you went missing, he nearly knocked down my door.”

She said nothing. A flicker passed through her expression, gone too quickly to read.

Heeseung chuckled. “Never seen him like that before. The control cracked for a second.”

She looked away. “So what? You’re keeping tabs now?”

“I observe.” He shrugged. “You’re interesting to observe.”

“Like a lab rat?”

“No,” he said. “Like a ticking clock.”

The air between them shifted. Tense. Unsettling.

Heeseung’s voice dipped again, less amused now. “You don’t realize how much noise you’re making. How fast you’re burning through the attention of people who usually don’t look twice.”

She didn’t flinch. “I’m not afraid of attention.”

“Maybe you should be.”

Silence fell.

He watched her a moment longer. Then, too casually, added, “You should be careful what you wake up down there.”

“It was already awake,” she replied.

“Maybe. But it’s not alone.”

She turned. Walked past him without another word.

He didn’t follow.

But his voice came after her, like smoke curling around her spine:

“Tell me what you find next time.”

She didn’t look back. She didn’t want to.

That night she didn’t sleep.

Not really.

Even with her eyes closed, the darkness didn’t feel still. It felt… sentient. Alive. She dreamed of something vast and pulsing, of a landscape carved in ash, symbols crawling across scorched stone like veins beneath skin. The sky above her was split. Something whispered her name from beneath it.

And then everything crumbled.

She woke with a choked breath, sheets tangled around her legs like bindings. Her body was slick with sweat, her heart still galloping like it hadn’t left the dream behind.

Across the room, Jake stirred faintly and turned onto his side. His soft snore returned a moment later.

Unbothered.

Untouched.

Y/n sat up and rubbed her face with both hands. Her fingers trembled. Not from the cold.

She needed air.

The Academy’s west wing always felt older after midnight. It wasn’t just the dark, though that lingered deeper here, it was the silence. Like this part of the castle had learned how to hold its breath.

She moved through it quietly, sleeves tugged down to her knuckles. Her steps made no sound. She passed the empty stairwell and slowed by instinct.

Something had changed.

It wasn’t a sound. Or a shift of light.

It was presence.

“I know you’re there,” she said, voice flat.

A beat.

Then Jungwon stepped into view.

No sound, no drama. Just there, like he’d never been gone to begin with.

She didn’t flinch. “You really don’t know how to take a hint, do you?”

He said nothing.

She crossed her arms. “You following me again? Or is this just your favorite haunt?”

“You shouldn’t be out alone.”

“Clearly I’m not.”

That made him blink, just once.

Then his gaze dropped, sweeping down her legs, bare beneath the hem of Jake’s old shorts, shadows clinging to bruises mottled across her knees and thighs. The scrapes from yesterday were healing, but barely. His eyes narrowed on the faint smear of blood where a cut had reopened.

Not lingering.

But not unaffected, either.

“Did you get hurt anywhere else?” he said, voice lower now. Almost rough.

His gaze returned to her face.

“Not that you can see.”

Another pause.

Then Y/n stepped toward him, exhaling through her teeth. “What do you want?”

“You’re not learning,” he said simply. “You keep walking toward things like consequence is optional.”

She scoffed. “That’s rich, coming from someone who stalks people through restricted hallways.”

“I’m not stalking,” Jungwon said. “I’m watching. There’s a difference.”

“Oh yeah?” she bit back. “From where I’m standing, the only difference is that one comes with better excuses.”

That landed. He didn’t speak.

So she pressed further. “You didn’t give a damn about me before. Now you’re everywhere. Watching. Appearing when I least expect it. Saying just enough to confuse me, but never enough to help.”

“I’m not here to confuse you.”

“Then what?” Her voice dropped. “You want to warn me? Lecture me? Save me?”

“I’m trying to keep you from being destroyed.”

She gave a short, bitter laugh. “By lurking in the shadows like some infernal bodyguard?”

“You’re not listening.”

“No,” she snapped. “I’m just tired of being talked to like I’m some disaster waiting to happen. You think I don’t know that already? I know I’m breaking rules. I know I’m setting myself up. But I don’t know what else to do. No one ever taught me how to question anything. So I’m guessing, every step. I’m trying. At least I’m not one of the blind ones pretending the world is fine.”

She stepped even closer now, chin lifting. “At least I’m awake.”

Jungwon was quiet for a long time.

“You’re not just reckless,” he said.

Y/n’s eyes flashed. “Oh yeah? Heard that one before. You can take a number and join the line.”

Then, very softly, almost like an admission:

“You’re also a problem.”

Her breath hitched.

“And yet,” she said, voice low, “you saved me.”

He didn’t deny it. She stared at him. “Why?”

Silence.

Then, finally—

“I thought you knew what you were doing,” he said. “That I could watch from a distance and let you fall flat on your own.”

His voice changed. Darkened.

“But I’m the one who saw your face when the fear finally caught up to you.”

She stiffened.

“I thought you weren’t afraid,” Jungwon said. “But when the guard was inches away…”

Her jaw tightened. “I wasn’t scared.”

“You’re a bad liar.”

“You don’t know me.”

His gaze sharpened. “I know what panic looks like. I saw the way your body locked under mine. The way your hands shook. You looked brave, until you realized you weren’t. And the worst part?” He stepped closer. “I don’t even think you knew.”

She couldn’t reply.

“I’ve seen terror before,” he added, quieter now. “It’s different when someone doesn’t recognize it in themselves.”

Y/n’s throat felt tight.

“And I don’t know what’s worse,” he said, “that no one ever told you what fear feels like, or that you learned to ignore it so well, it stopped registering.”

A long silence passed.

She looked away. “You think I’m trying to be fearless?”

“No,” Jungwon said. “I think you don’t know when you’re afraid.”

She gave a laugh, dry, humorless. “And that makes me what? A perfect idiot?”

“No.” His eyes softened. “It makes you dangerous.”

She stared at her hands. Her nails had left half-moons in her palms.

“I don’t want to be scared,” she murmured.

“You already are.”

She didn’t argue. Couldn’t.

“I don’t understand you,” she said. “One minute you hate me, the other you’re dragging me into shadows. The next, you’re disappearing like I imagined you.”

“I don’t hate you.”

“That wasn’t the question.”

He didn’t answer.

She stepped back half a pace. “Then what do you want from me?”

“I don’t know.”

The honesty of it cracked something in her, but not in the soft way.

In the furious, bone-deep way that made her clench her fists and bite back the shake in her breath.

“I don’t get you,” she snapped.

“You’re not supposed to.”

“If you don’t know what you want,” she said, “then stop orbiting me like I’m a falling star. If you’re going to follow me, do something. Help. Or go.”

Jungwon didn’t move.

“I’m not your enemy, Y/n.”

Her name in his mouth wasn’t a warning this time.

“Then stop acting like you’re waiting to watch me break.”

She looked up, eyes sharp.

“If you want answers too, contribute. Don’t just follow me like some divine executioner waiting for the moment I trip.”

“I’m not here to execute you,” Jungwon said.

“Then why do you always feel like a sentence?”

He went still.

The silence shifted. Dense.

He stepped back slowly, retreating into the dark like the weight of staying had become too much.

“You think standing in shadows makes you untouchable?” she asked. “Better?”

“I don’t think I’m better,” he replied. “I just know how this ends.”

She shook her head. “That’s not an answer.”

“It’s the only one you’ll get from me right now.”

A breath passed. He turned, steps already fading.

Y/n called after him, voice low.

“If you don’t care… then stop following me.”

He stopped. Just long enough to say:

“I never said I didn’t care.”

Then he vanished. And this time, she didn’t chase the silence he left behind.

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yoongsriverandme · 5 months ago

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― THE PIRATE AND HIS LOVEBIRD || CHAPTER i

❝ So now I've gotta run, so I can undo this mistake … At least I've gotta try …❞ - Labour, Paris Paloma.

⤑ pairing: min yoongi x fem!reader

⤑ genre: smut, fluff, angst, slow burn, s2e2f2l, enemies-to-lovers, action, pirate!au, royalty!au, found family, fantasy!au (kinda), historical!au.

⤑ wc: 4.8k

⤑ chapter warnings: period typical sexism and misogyny, heavy hints of emotional and physical parental abuse, arranged marriages, and light injuries! (lmk if I missed anything!).

⤑ author's note: ALRIGHT!!! CHAPTER ONE!!! uhh, yoongi is VERY mean in this first part, but it's not enemies to lovers for no reason!! 😁 (it gets better i promise!).

✑ masterlist | series masterlist | next!

⁘ preface: i only use bts as face claims! they are my muses, so anything they say or do, do not reflect their real life character!

There is only so much adventure that you can have in the palace.

When you were little, the world seemed bigger than it really was; the markets were always a little too busy, the palace halls crawling with maids and staff alike, but your favorite part was watching the cargo ships dock.

You would drag your vanity chair – which at the time had been a stool – and prop it up under your window where you would watch with stars in your eyes as unknowing sailors unloaded goods from the different regions.

You were caught once, basking in the way the sea breeze whipped at your face and kissed your cheeks. Your mother had looked almost angry as she stomped over to where you were suddenly cowering away from her.

“Get away from there!”

She had almost fallen out of the empty space with how far she stretched to grab the window’s handles. She slammed them shut so hard you were convinced she would have shattered the glass because of the impact.

“A life out there is nothing a princess should yearn for.”

The next time you went to open it, there was a lock that you couldn’t reach.

That did not seem to deter you, though, because you could still feel the uncontrollable wanderlust nipping at your heels, continually shaken by that familiar tingle that would run through your legs that encouraged you to go to sea.

Your curiosity was easier to contain when you barely breached five-foot, where sneakily wandering off would be extinguished by a pair of hands lifting you up and settling you on a hip, where classrooms would serve as a makeshift holding cell as you were kept in place by a tutor.

But as your teenage years crept upon you, you were an absolute nightmare.

Your rebellion had landed you forcibly locked in your room more times than you could count just because you had managed to successfully trick the guards that had taken you into town.

You were continually suppressed, with guards stationed outside of your drawing room because of your terrible tendency to skip tutoring.

More often than not, you could never get past the guards at the palace walls to get to the ocean, so you would instead choose to frolic amongst the flowers in the royal garden, then sheepishly reappear in the grip of a maid with the expensive cloth of your dresses obliterated by dirt stains.

It always felt like a race to freedom, because you were well aware of what awaited you when you came of age.

It was what every woman was expected of, royal or not; get married to a man of a respectable title, produce an heir, and be the polite, dutiful wife.

It was consistently drilled into your head every time you had done something to anger your mother: “Your future husband will never tolerate such a flighty woman.” You often recall her saying as she would watch your maids scrub said dirt chunks out of your hair.

You would spend many-a bath time listening to her scolding, much to your guardian’s chagrin.

Your parents knew their control was slipping, and that is when they stuck you with your now long-time best friend Kang Ji-ho.

It was obvious that he was to be groomed to be the next army General, seeing as though he had come from a lineage full of them, and you were his greatest challenge, his trial run: keep the runaway princess’ feet on the ground.

You had despised him at first, because even though he was a year or two older than you, you were expected to show him respect as though he was already ranked, and quite frankly, it was annoying.

He was usually the major foiler of your plans, always stepping in when you would gear up to sneak away, lingering in the background watching, waiting to spoil your fun and keep you in your golden cage.

You could feel him hovering, and you tugged the hood of your cloak over your head as you attempted to lose him in the swarm of people that were crowded in the cobblestone street.

For a moment, you thought you had succeeded, until you felt a presence behind you, and you couldn’t help but huff.

“You seem to be going the wrong way, Your Royal Highness.”

Ji-ho’s voice is void of any emotion, more factual than anything. He wasn’t taking pleasure in stepping in your way, he was just stating what he saw; but to you, it seemed as though he was more than pleased at being able to keep up with you.

“Yeah, yeah.” You all but hissed, crossing your arms and glaring at him. “It appears so.”

But it was in moments of isolation where you would come to learn that he wasn’t actually your enemy, just another kid like you that had been thrown to the wolves because you had been deemed uncontrollable.

The walls of the palace had served as a metaphorical hand on your throat and you felt the looming dread of your first official debut into society approaching.

You weren’t ready. You do not think you could ever be ready.

You needed to go out, for just a moment.

You stood outside of your bedroom door, eyes scanning up and down the halls for any presence of guards. This is as far as you’ll go.

At least, that’s what you had told yourself.

Then you saw the darkness outside from the glass window in the hallway.

You watched, enchanted as the moon’s glow rippled down the surface of the ocean, penetrating it with its beauty despite the body of water’s cruel tide.

Then you ran.

Down the hall, out the door and out the gates, all the way until your feet had finally hit the cool sand. You did not care if someone saw you, or how long you had left to bask in the unending presence.

You shivered, the air kissing at your skin like it had done all those years ago.

Looking out the window wouldn’t cut it this time.

You wanted more - no - needed more. More from this. More from life. More from the chains that bind you to a title and a duty that you do not want.

Tears burn at the back of your eyelids, and your fingers twitch anxiously.

Your skin burned, partly from the seabreeze stabbing through the thin cotton of your nightgown, but also the feeling of utterly helplessness at your fate.

There is a heavy thump behind you, and you’re well aware that you’ve been caught, but you can’t bring yourself to care.

“I cannot go back.” You spoke, your voice cracking.

“Your Royal Highness.” Ji-ho spoke from behind you.

For the first time since you were kids, his voice wasn’t void, wasn’t factual, it was sympathetic, understanding.

“I…” You shook your head. “I cannot do this. This cannot be my life.”

You stared up at the stars, willing, begging for the sky to open up and take you away.

“Your Royal Highness…” Ji-ho’s voice trailed off.

There is a moment of silence and some rustling before a cloak is placed around your shoulders ever so gently. He’s careful to not caress your bare skin, and you are grateful for the peace offering.

You tug the furs tightly around yourself, and your eyes fall from the sky to the ocean in front of you.

“Do you ever wonder what it is like to be a bird?”

Ji-ho is taken aback. “A bird, Your Highness?”

“Yes,” You nod with a wet chuckle. “A bird.”

“I am… afraid I have not.”

“I have.” You let the atmosphere settle before speaking again. “A bird represents freedom.” You finally turn to look at him, and you’re surprised to find that he is in casual clothing instead of the usual iron uniform.

“You can put it in a cage for however long you desire, but once you let it go, it will always be free. It can get away from its captor. It can go anywhere that it pleases. There’s no duty tying it down. Just the wind beneath its wings and the water underneath its feet.”

You allow your friend to understand the weight of your words, its double meaning. His face softens ever so softly.

“It sounds like a wonderful life to live.” Is what he says, matching your quiet tone.

“Yes… it does.”

Of course, your best friend was not always such a stick in the mud, because as you blossomed into a young woman and him into a handsome gentleman, he would occasionally humor you in your schemes now that he was stronger.

“You are supposed to be in tutoring, Your Royal Highness.” Ji-ho’s voice holds amusement, though it doesn’t show on his face.

You know he is feeling playful by the slight tug at the corner of his mouth, so you decide to push your limits.

“You may be right, but does the weather not just feel excellent today?” You ask as you tuck your arms behind your back and turn your face upwards so that the sun’s rays can warm the skin there.

Ji-ho regards you with a raised brow, and you stand there until he cracks.

“What do you want from me?” He’s being informal, and you know you’ve won.

“To distract my mother for a bit while I galavant amongst the flowers.” You say mischievously.

“I will do thirty minutes and then you return to your studies.” You pout. “Just thirty?”

“Do you want to make it twenty?”

“No, no! Thirty is fine, I suppose.”

“Wonderful.” Ji-ho says with the faintest smirk.

He’s more lenient on leaving you alone in places within the walls of the castle, but when it comes to public endeavors, he was a bit more protective. You have grown used to the hovering, however, so it doesn’t really bother you anymore.

There is one place you can rarely go, but Ji-ho tries his best to get you there, despite your parents’ strict ruling.

Moments where you are allowed to go to the sand are few and far between despite you being an adult now; not only because it was dangerous, but because your parents knew what it would do to you.

They knew you craved the ocean, they knew you sought out the freedom and new experiences that could only be fulfilled on going on a voyage, and they’d be damned if they ever let you step foot off of the island.

You would take what you could get, even going as far as sleeping with your bedroom window open just to hear the rise and fall of the waves meeting each other.

Awakening to the seagulls call was more than enough for you given your circumstances.

You felt a bit suspicious though, because lately the King and Queen have been more lenient to your rebellion. Instead of where your knuckles would be red for your misbehavior, you have not received more than a slap on the wrist.

And now you understand why.

Their “kindness” never comes without a price.

You had just come back from horseback riding, Ji-ho’s horse following close behind as you basked in the smell of the outdoors.

You were damp with sweat, and your heart that sat nestled in your chest raced something deadly, but you couldn’t be anymore invigorated.

There was a large smile on your face as you swung off your horse, riding boots landing harshly on the coarse earth as the animal huffed and puffed.

“Great job, my love.” You encouraged the older mare, running your gloved hands through her caramel mane.

“Beom-soo!” You called out to the man that took care of the horses. “Please give my girl some water and feed. She had a great run today.”

The older man takes off his straw hat to run a hand through his hair, a deep smile on his face as you place the reins in his awaiting aged hands. “Will do, Your Royal Highness.” And he leaves with a bow.

Ji-ho is dismounting his horse, and his actions appear to be slow, slower than the usual calculative movements that he makes.

“You were slow today, Ji-ho.” You tease lightly. “Please do not tell me you are losing your touch.”

The man huffs, throwing you a side long look as another attendant comes and retrieves his stallion. A strong horse, that one is. Ji-ho’s had him since he was a baby, he has taught him well.

“Ah… I am just distracted.”

Your wide smile dims a bit in worry, but before you ask, your maid Sana appears hesitantly, looking around the barn for a moment anxiously before landing on you. There’s relief on her face as she approaches you.

“Your Royal Highness,” She bows at the waist when she greets you, and you bow your head in a quick nod. “Her majesty has asked me to retrieve you and prepare you, for there is a guest due to arrive any moment now.”

You don’t notice how Ji-ho tenses next to you.

“A guest?” You question with furrowed brows, and you cast a quick glance to your friend, hoping he may have some answers. He avoids your gaze, which worries you more.

“Yes, Your Royal Highness. Against my better judgement, I must urge you to hurry. Your mother was quite… miffed at your absence this afternoon.”

You sigh heavily. “When is she not miffed when I do anything?”

“I am afraid I do not know, Your Royal Highness.”

You make one last attempt to silently communicate with Ji-ho, but it seems to be of no use.

“Very well.” You begin to pluck off your riding gloves and throw them over one of the railings.

Sana blushes at your blatant disregard at the action, but Ji-ho just huffs.

“Let’s get this over with.”

You are surprised with how fast you are bathed and dressed, whiplash gripping at your tendons as your hair was styled comfortably.

Soon enough you are dropped off at the doors of the drawing room, and the guards next to the door reach for the handle on either door.

“Her Royal Highness, Princess (y/n).”

The sight you are met with displeases you greatly.

Your mother and father are sat across from a random man - who is sitting on your favorite love seat - the table between both couches sits tea and a wide range of sweets and snacks while they await your arrival.

“Mother…” Your eyes are stuck on the man for a moment before they drag themself to her.

She already looks like she’ll have your head if you make an attempt to embarrass her, so you force your feet to move and approach them.

“(y/n),” Your father begins. “I would like you to meet Prince Kim Ha-Joon, the heir to the Northern Kingdom’s throne.”

You blink wildly when the man stands up and bows deeply at the waist and your mom cocks her head in a motion for you to do the same. You’re a bit hesitant, but you oblige.

“A pleasure to meet you.” You speak unsurely.

“As I you.”

The man is a bit older than you, probably five to ten years, his age already showing on his face with deep wrinkles, and yet no crows feet on the corner of his eyes nor smile lines. No show of any happiness expressed.

You are instantly put off and you spot Ji-ho in the corner, and when he finally meets your gaze, he looks truly and deeply sorry.

“I am sure you’d be quite pleased to hear that Sir Ha-joon-ssi here comes to ask for your hand in marriage.”

The words that came out of your father’s mouth makes your heart stop, and your eyes widen as the feeling of existential dread pours over you like a bucket of water. The blood in your veins is ice, and you feel sweat begin to form at your hairline.

No.

This cannot be happening.

You thought you had more time.

Time to at least try and find a love match.

But it appears that the metaphorical timer is up.

“Is he now?” You finally muster up the courage to say, and your legs twitch. “That he is.” Your mother’s voice is hard, daring you to protest.

“Pardon my blunt words, sir, but are we… to be arranged to wed?” You ask in disbelief. “Ah,” Ha-Joon starts. “That is so, yes. But I have every intention to court you beforehand.”

“I…” Your voice fails you, and bile threatens to rise from the back of the throat. You swallow the burn down.

It is getting harder to see. The walls are closing in and the floor is heating up, like hot coals under your soles.

You have to leave.

You have to get away.

“I… excuse me - I do not mean to be crass but, I must use the washroom first. Then, I will be happy to continue this conversation.”

Your mom looks like she is about to throw herself at you, but your father simply puts an arm around her dress draped waist.

“Very well, but make it quick.”

You bow quickly.

You do not bother to look behind you as you take off down the hallway in a brisk walk, and you know you have a limited amount of time before they send a fleet of soldiers after you.

You constantly look over your shoulder for guards as you descend the stairs, daring to take two or three of them at a time before you make it down to the main foyer.

You all but slam into the large double doors as you slip on the long carpet, wrenching them open and shooting down the steps. Your shoes meet the crisp marble loudly, clacking and possibly alerting the other’s inside of your escape.

Your feet beat into the hard cobblestone wildly, the heel at the end of your lifted-flat digs into the bottom of your foot.

You don’t stop running as you pick up the trails of your dress; the lace trim manages to accumulate dirt and it flakes off behind you, leaving behind a cloud of dust.

The sun is high today, and it beats down on you unforgivingly.

Your legs burn and your feet cry out in protest but you do not dare to stumble, even as you finally swear and kick off said flats, effectively abandoning the expensive footwear.

It’s not like having your stocking covered feet on the heated stone below you is any better, but you manage to gain momentum as you finally make it to the crowded streets below.

Citizens aren’t able to get a good look at your face due to how fast you are moving.

You accidentally shove someone out of the way, but you don’t have much time to apologize, though, because you can see some of your guards alert and looking.

The time frame that you had to escape somehow shrinks and before you know it, you unconsciously carry yourself towards the docks.

It’s funny how life ends up to be a full circle moment, because now, you are left with the option of swimming fruitlessly or going back to the palace and being sold away to a man you do not know.

Neither sounds very appealing, if you were going to be frank, and you think for a moment that you’re doomed, until you see a seemingly empty ship sat stagnant, the plank settled against the side of the large boat and the wooden walkway.

You carefully waddle up the makeshift bridge, and you hiss at how hot the shined wood below you is, and you find yourself lifting up the trapdoor that must go down to the rooms in the hull.

The busy chatter of the lively streets above you turn into muffled background noise as you descend, and you dodge hammock beds that swing for no reason other than just because the ocean commands it so.

It is deathly warm below, the only thing breaking up the stifling heat is the occasional creaking and rocking of the ship, followed by a fleeting sea breeze.

You don’t know what to do from here, but you find that you do not regret where you have ended up, because when you peek out of one of the circular windows, you find a group of royal guards speaking to civilians, possibly inquiring about your passing.

One turns their gaze up to the exact ship you’re in and you gasp and duck, pressing your back up against the wall.

The adrenaline coursing through your body causes your hands to shake as you pull your foot towards your body.

The sheer stocking that had been serving as thin protection is torn, the dark gray material completely destroyed, but they served their purpose. The skin on the bottom of your feet is cut up and achingly raw.

There are little specks of blood and dirt wedged into the open wounds, and you clench your teeth when you force yourself to wiggle a pebble out from one of the slits.

There is not much to do when you find yourself injured on a random ship, but it doesn’t take you long to decide that you shall rest here until the search settles down and you’re able to slip away to the palace to discuss that you will absolutely not marry some random prince.

You do not care what allyship this commencement may bring; whatever idea they have about your future is not how it is going to go.

You don’t realize that you have fallen asleep until you are roughly ripped out of your slumber from being snatched up by the arm.

The person’s grip on you is tight and painful, and the room that you are in is so dark that you really can’t see much through your sleep ridden gaze.

The only light illuminating the hallway are lanterns hanging off of hooks on the wall, but even then, that does not help to see who your captor is.

“Unhand me!” You cry out desperately, your free hand coming up to claw at the one holding you.

The man grunts in pain as your nails bite into the skin, but he jerks you forward and you stumble.

Your fighting is of no use, because all of a sudden you’re being dragged up, up, up through the trapdoor and deposited mercilessly onto the wooden floor.

Your hands attempt to break your fall, and a sharp pain shoots up your wrist.

You are quick to sit yourself up and cradle the joint to your chest, frantically looking around and instantly feeling like prey.

There are men. Not a lot of them, but enough for you to feel threatened.

There’s seven of them by the looks of it.

You desperately search your surroundings for a means of escape, and it’s only now that you realize that for one, it is night time, the only thing lighting up the seemingly dark abyss is thousands of tiny little glowing holes poked into the atmosphere.

And two, you aren’t on land anymore.

You vaguely register the sound of the waves crashing against the side of the ship, the same ship that you had climbed upon earlier that day.

Oh, you’ve really done it now.

The man that awoken you breaches your field of vision and -

Oh.

He is beautiful.

Devastatingly so.

The cruel ones are always the prettiest.

“Who are you?” He sneers.

The man is small, yet deeply contrasted by his soft yet sharp features; his jaw angular, his lips bleeds through his roots, but his aura echoes of violence and danger, one that screams… pirate.

Someone on a merchant or cargo ship would not have treated a woman so foul unless they lived like the rules of the world did not apply to them.

Suddenly, everything makes sense.

You do not have much time to ponder this new revelation, however, because there is a sword at your neck, the razor-edged blade nearly cutting into the delicate skin there.

“I asked, who are you?”

The longer you take to respond, the angrier he gets, and he descends upon you, just a step, but it’s enough to send you tumbling back.

What are you to say? ‘Oh, I am the runaway princess of the Southern Region. Please, ignore me.’

“I - I am just a maiden.”

“Just a maiden?” He scoffs a disbelieving chuckle, “I find that hard to believe.”

You’re conscious about the presence of the six other men, and you are half tempted to look to them for help, but you fear that if you turn your neck too fast, you would slice yourself clean open.

“It is true.” You insist, your eyes narrowing.

“Tell me how a maiden somehow finds herself on my ship. Below the deck no less.”

“I am injured, you ruffian.” You snarl, and he looks taken aback by your insult, before his face crinkles in rage.

There were a few snickers that had sounded from behind you, but they quickly stopped when murder illuminated the man’s irises.

“I will not tolerate such disrespect. You forget yourself, girl.” He growls. “Your life is in my hands, and if I did not know any better, it would be against my better judgement not to end your life now and throw your useless corpse overboard.”

Your heart thuds against your ribcage, the same way it had when you had fled from the palace.

Yet, when you went to say something that may have furthered your foot in your - hopefully - metaphorical watery grave, one of the - you could only assume - crew members chimed in.

“Hyung.”

Said ‘hyung’s attention is stolen from you for just a moment.

“What?”

“I do not think it reflects well on your character to murder a helpless woman.” Your savior says in light amusement though there is a chide hidden within the undertones.

The sword wains just enough that you take the chance to scoot back slowly away from the threat;

“That does not matter when it comes to the crew's safety, Taehyung. For all we know, she could be a rat, or a distraction for an attack.” The sword rises to your face this time. “I will not take any chances. “Helpless” maiden or not.”

‘Taehyung’ flounders for a moment, and then his face lights up once more, seemingly with an idea.

“Were you not just complaining about the lack of numbers amongst us?”

The man is confused. “I do not follow.”

“Well… if she says she is a maiden, then that must mean she knows how to clean, right? We could do with the extra pair of hands, is that not right Jungkook?”

Jungkook sputters, and he’s obviously the youngest member on the boat with the way his cheeks flush at the sudden attention.

“Do not drag me into this!” He all but hisses.

“You are the carpenter! Would it not be helpful to get all this useless flack out the way so you can make the repairs easier?”

Jungkook looks considerate, but almost afraid to answer. “I… I suppose it could be nice.”

“See, Captain? He said it would be nice.”

“And I would be grateful for an extra pair of hands in the kitchen.” Offers a broad shouldered member.

“And a fresh set of eyes for my maps.” Adds a man with deep craters as dimples.

“And we can have more defense!” Says a surprisingly beautiful boy - which really is not that surprising, because you would be an idiot not to notice how attractive this whole crew was. It was unfair, truly.

But ah, so he’s the Captain.

Another piece of the puzzle that connects inside your mind.

The Captain is stupefied, like he almost can’t believe he’s being undermined, but you have a feeling this is a normal occurrence.

“We don’t even know her,” He tries to reason. “Who's to say she isn’t a danger to all of us?”

You finally chime in. “I am afraid I cannot feel my feet, let alone take on seven pirates who are equipped with swords and pistols.”

“See?” Taehyung continues to push.

“I…” The Captain flounders.

He seems to crumple, sheathing his sword and not even bothering to spare you another glance.

“Fine.” He sighs. “But if she screws up, I will kill her, and the blood will be on all of your hands.”

“I would not expect anything less!” Cheers Taehyung.

The man turns away, giving his back to you, but he seems to think better of it and returns to his original position.

He regards you with a deep, soul shuddering glare. “My name is Captain Min Yoongi, and welcome to my ship.”

You take the small sliver of courtesy as he stalks off towards what seems to be the Captain's quarters, slamming the door shut loudly behind him.

You have a feeling that this is only the beginning.

ᶻz taglist: @mar-lo-pap

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descendedgaia · 2 months ago

Text

𝕭𝖊𝖆𝖗𝖊𝖗 𝖔𝖋 𝕱𝖑𝖆𝖒𝖊𝖘

ℭ𝔥𝔞𝔭𝔱𝔢𝔯 4

phainon x gn!reader wc: 3.85k tw: angst, death, martyrdom, apocalypse, hope v despair, trauma Story Elements taken from Punishing: Gray Raven, The Surviving Lucem Masterlist ☲IN which you are not a Chrysos Heir or a Titan, but a human being who struggles and shall bring the story of the Flame Chasers the grand and spectacular ending it deserves. Previous Chapter

── .✦·········────

Five Years Ago

Of the twelve great Titans that created Amphoreus, three stood guard at the gates of calamity and unleashed the world’s end, spilling forth a foul torrent of destruction and depravity: consuming, consuming, and consuming with unmatched voracity and igniting a war between Titans and their disciples.

The air is stale and stagnant. It’s a sort of atmosphere where one feels like they need to hold their breath because it feels like the smallest of sounds would crumble the stillness and give way to disaster.

You journey through dilapidated streets, stepping over crumbled and toppled pillars and suits of armor, marred with soot and encasing the blank countenance of their skeletal bearers.

Ladon, once known as Amphoreus’s Golden Apple, is reduced to nothing but a smoldering ruin: a pitiful facsimile remaining after the war.

While the Black Tide declared the end of the world, its progress to oblivion was hastened by wars: A war between Titans and their disciples bringing up and bearing arms to fight in the name of their patrons, turning their blades against each other. The Black Tide was the beginning, but it was not the sole reason for humanity’s ruin.

You traverse to the very ends of the citadel, the dusty wind nipping at your ankles as you tread the roads to a large farm. Your steps are brusque and assured as you approach the barn and knock rhythmically against the door.

You only need to wait a moment before the door opens to the face of a man grousing at you. When he sees your face, his eyes light up in recognition and relief. “You found anything?”

“Not a lot,” you shake your head, pulling off your hood and shaking off the dust in your hair. “I tried for the mountain ranges going to Aidonia, but the path is blocked off by the Black Tide.”

“Tch, shit’s everywhere,” the man clicks his tongue. “Supplies?”

“Not much,” you reply. You brush a part of your cloak aside to reveal a wrapped-up package. “A lot of the other villages and cities have already been ransacked and pillaged. There aren’t a lot of survivors, and whatever supplies are there are sparse.”

“Fuck,” the man sighs, running a hand through his hair.

“What about the others?” you ask quietly. “Have they come back?”

“Yeah, you and Helena are the last ones to come back,” he replies. “From what I’ve heard, all the villages up the west coast are gone. From what you’ve told me, the Black Tide is pushing up into the Hesperides Mountain Range into Aidonia but…”

“It could easily push down the mountain and come here,” you finish. “Where did Helena head off to?”

“Edessa,” he replies. “If things go well with her, she’ll be back tomorrow. But if the Black Tide is choking off routes to Aidonia, then things might not look good for Edessa.”

“Once Helena comes back, we’ll have to start making plans quickly,” you surmise.

The man nods before he pulls the door wider for you to slip in. “Yeah, for now, get in. You’ve had a long day, and we need all the strength we can get for the coming days.”

Gratefully, you step inside. The eternally dim skies of Amphoreus are cut out of sight in favor of a barely-illuminated barn ceiling. It’s crowded in here, dozens of people huddled together, at least a hundred. What paltry warmth that could be derived in this place is a hearth crackling quietly in the center.

Medical cots are pushed up against the far side of the wall. Sleeping bags, tarps, blankets, and whatever haphazard bedding is spread across the floor. In the corner, crates and boxes of supplies are all stacked together.

You shrug off your cloak, loosely folding it and tossing it to a crate. Then, you collapse against the boxes, eyes fluttering shut as you let the exhaustion drag at you.

It pulls, tugging at you like silk strings until you’re in a light sleep, easy enough to wake at the moment’s notice, but a dream, a memory, still flits over your eyes.

“You’re so weird.”

His hair gleams white, and his eyes glow blue. It’s not the same shade as the cerulean of Cyrene’s own, but deeper and crystalline like the sapphire ocean. But he doesn’t have any of the whimsical grace Cyrene has, evidenced by the way his nose scrunches up and eyes narrow in suspicion.

“Mou~,” Cyrene interjects. “That’s not a nice thing to say.”

“But why do you like being with them?” the boy turns to Cyrene in accusation. “Why won’t you play with me?”

“She can choose to do whatever she wants,” you bite back a little more harshly than necessary. “And if that means preferring me over you, then that’s her choice.”

“Why would anyone want to spend time with a bore like you?”

“It makes sense that a brute like you doesn’t have a single thought between those ears.”

“You just lay around and do nothing! How is that not weird?!”

“Says the one who always picks fights with fairies and loses his sword every other day!”

“Enough! Enough!” Cyrene laughs, waving her hands in between the two of you to quell the petty childish fight. But there’s no reprimand in her giggles, just pure mirth because she knows that this means that she is loved: Even though the two who shower her with love, affection, and companionship tend to butt heads even on the best days.

She reaches out, holding your hand with both of hers, and smiles at you. You know that smile: it’s her smile whenever she wants to persuade you to do something. And you never fail to cave in the face of her requests.

She doesn’t have to say anything before you sigh in defeat. “Alright, fine.”

Cyrene beams before she turns to the boy who smiles, a tad bit on the side of cocky and self-assured in all of his boyish youthfulness. He looks at you, ‘I told you so’, written all over his face. It makes you want to smack him so you can swipe that expression off his face.

Instead, you turn to Cyrene and tell her, “If we get into an accident or if either of us gets hurt, I’m not talking to you for a week.”

The boy squawks in indignation while Cyrene giggles because she knows it's a bluff. You wouldn’t actually go through with that threat with her. Cyrene squeezes your hands and smiles at you before she turns to the boy.

“Well, what do you want to do today?”

“Ah…,” he pauses, taken aback because he didn’t expect the question. He steals a glance at you before his cheeks turn red in embarrassment, shyly inclining his head as he murmurs inaudibly.

“Hmm?” Cyrene tilts your head.

“Speak up, we can’t hear you,” you shoot at him.

“I lost my sword to the fairies yesterday!” the boy yells out suddenly, eyes squeezed shut because he really doesn’t want to be admitting this in front of you. “So…I need your guys’ help to get it back.”

You click your tongue. “See? A brute.”

The boy fumes, glaring at you at his perceived injustice.

“Be nice,” Cyrene chides you lightly. “A hero always needs his sword, so this is definitely a crisis! What kind of hero will he be if he doesn’t have his sword?”

You certainly have something sarcastic to say to that, but a softly disapproving look on Cyrene’s part has you refraining.

“Fine, we’ll help you get your sword back,” you sigh long-sufferingly because your day of just lazing on the fields and stargazing with Cyrene has been ruined by this. “But you don’t get to complain about how Cyrene and I spend the day tomorrow.”

The boy’s lips twist, clearly unwilling to compromise on that front, but he sighs explosively. “Fine. It’s a deal.”

“Great!” Cyrene claps her hands together because now the two of you are finally willing to work together. “Now let’s get that sword back.”

You wake up to the loud creak of the large barn door being opened. Immediately, you rub the meats of your palm into your eyes to wave away the lethargy and push yourself up and off the crates. It takes a moment for you to fully reorient yourself and walk stably, but once you do, you make haste to the entrance.

“Priam, did everyone else make it back?”

“Yeah, you’re the last one to come back now. Any luck?”

“No. Edessa’s gone.”

You approach the door, and the man, Priam, sees you and steps aside for you to join the conversation. You turn to Helena, who cards her fingers through her long blonde hair before tossing it over her shoulder. Her green eyes momentarily widen when they see you before they soften in relief.

“You look exhausted. How was your trip?”

“It was alright,” you tell her. “The trip wasn’t dangerous, but I couldn’t find much. And all the routes to Aidonia have been choked out by the Black Tide.”

“We think it might get to Aidonia since it is pushing up against the Hesperides Mountain Range,” Priam supplements your information. “Or it could easily come down and approach us.”

“I see,” Helena sighs warily.

“We might have to go to the Eternal Holy City, Okhema, this time,” Priam continues. “From what I’ve been hearing, it’s the only place that the Black Tide hasn’t touched, and Kephale still protects the city.”

“We can talk about that later,” you mutter quietly. “Did you find anything in Edessa?”

“No,” Helena shakes her head. “When I got there, Edessa had been swallowed up by the Black Tide, and I only found two survivors.”

You crane your neck a bit to see two adolescent boys behind her shifting awkwardly on their feet. One of them is holding a cane, and their leg is marred with traces of corruption from the Black Tide. The other seems relatively fine but a little bit weak in exhaustion and nourishment.

“His leg is badly corrupted,” Helena explains. “He’ll need an Empyros Lily seed.”

“It probably won’t be enough to heal his leg completely,” you shake your head. “But it’ll at least get rid of the corruption. Luckily, we still have plenty left, but we only have one bed left in the medical cots.”

“What about Hector?” the boy without the cane speaks up.

“Hector?” you tilt your head.

“Below you,” Helena explains.

You look down and, squeezing between Helena’s leg and the door is a small border collie dog.

“Hector!” the boy sighs in relief. He bends down, encouraging the border collie to come back to his proximity. He pets Hector’s head before gathering his dog up and hugging him close to his chest.

“Thank you for letting me bring my dog with me,” the boy smiles small at the three of you. “If there’s anything I can do—”

The other boy interjects with a resentful sneer. “No, thank you for bringing food.”

His loud voice makes some refugees in the barn and close to the door stir in curiosity. Some of them are trying to peek through the barrier of your and Priam’s body to get a look at the newcomers.

“Hector is my family!” the boy hugs his dog closer to his chest. “No one can eat him!”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” the one with the cane drawls derisively. “You’re willing to starve people for the sake of your family.”

He turns to Priam, Helena, and you. “Wanna hear something funny? He was teaching his dog about Dromas and how you could ride them on the way over here.”

He raises his hands, miming holding the reins to a Droma, and then he speaks with a mocking impression of the dog owner. “Hector! You tell Dromas how to go left this way and right this way! Cool, huh? Now we just need to find an actual Droma.”

“Hey!” the boy flushes in embarrassment.

“And on top of that? There was a warehouse with a bunch of supplies on the way here, but his dog ate a bunch of the cans before Miss Helena could go in and recover the supplies!”

“That’s not true! Hector didn’t do that! A person was trapped in there!”

The dog whimpers at the verbal spat the two boys are having, ears folding and pressing against its head.

“When Miss Helena went in to bring out supplies, she just said there were two bodies and a bunch of empty cans in there! We could’ve had more food to bring back here to help out—”

“That’s enough,” Helena cuts into the conversation. She sighs as she reaches up and massages the brow of her nose. “Talking about supplies already gone won’t get us anywhere.”

“I just want to ask,” Priam addresses the boy with his dog. “Did you bring any supplies?”

“I-I’m sorry…,” the boy shakes his head, clutching Hector tighter. “But I didn’t bring any…”

“Then what are we to do about your dog?” Priam arches a brow.

“I…I’m sorry, I’ll feed him myself.”

“And how do you plan on doing that?” Priam grills him. The boy shuffles on his feet, eyes evasive and fearful, but you step in.

“Priam, enough,” you stop him from interrogating the boy any further. Priam thankfully falls silent, and you take a step forward.

“Right now,” you explain to the boy patiently. “The situation is dire. We don’t have a lot of supplies, and we can barely even feed ourselves right now.”

“I can just take Hector and leave—,” the boy’s voice rises to a fever pitch, but you stop him by raising a hand.

“That’s not what we’re going to do,” you shake your head. “We’re not going to send you away to fend for yourself. We just need assurance that you can take care of your dog by yourself.”

“I…,” the boy gulps, looking down at Hector. “I can split my share of food with him. You can even separate me and keep an eye on me the whole time to make sure that Hector doesn’t accidentally eat any of the supplies!”

“Kid, we barely have enough space as it is,” Priam snorts.

The boy dims, utterly downtrodden. Helena shoots Priam a look, and the man sighs, chastised. “That’s enough for us. We’re holding you to that promise, okay, kid?”

The boy pauses before he brightens, an exuberant smile stretching across his features despite the situation. “I promise! I won’t ever break it!”

You look over to Priam and Helena. Priam closes his eyes before he jerks his head once in acceptance. Helena doesn’t say anything; she merely pushes the door even further.

“Come, we’ll need to address your wounds,” Helena says. Priam waits until the four of you are inside the barn before he shuts the doors. The two boys look around, soaking in the sight of the barn and all the refugees that are huddled close to each other.

“What are your names?” you ask gently, softly.

“I’m Astyanax, and this is Hector,” the dog owner introduces himself. At the mention of his name, Hector yips, tail wagging and tongue lolling in exuberance.

“Astyanax,” you repeat before you turn to the other boy limping with his cane.

He stares at you, looking disdainfully at Astyanax and Hector because he doesn’t seem to understand why you would be accepting the boy and his dog with food being scarce as it is. He looks back at you, curling a little bit at your patient stare before he grumbles out his name. “Patroclus.”

“Patroclus,” you repeat. “I would say it’s nice to meet you three, but…there isn’t anything nice about the situation, is there?”

Your attempt at humor is received relatively well, seeing as how Astyanax smiles and his cheeks dimple as he desperately tries to stifle it. Patroclus makes a better attempt at hiding his amusement, but the way he purses his curling lips still gives him away.

“You’ll be alright taking care of them?” Helena asks you.

“I’ll be fine,” you nod in the affirmative. “You should get some rest. I’m sure we’ll have to talk about plans tomorrow.”

“Yeah,” Helena pats your shoulder. “You get as much rest as you can, too. We’ve all been working hard.”

You watch her leave before you turn back to the other two. “Come on, let’s get the two of you checked out.”

You direct the two of them to sit on the bed, and you take a look at Patroclus’s leg first. It’s a marred and mangled thing, the skin infected and decaying with the touch of the Black Tide.

You procure a small seed for Patroclus to take.

“What’s this?” the boy holds the seed up so he can see it better.

“It’s an Empyros Lily seed,” you tell him. “For some reason, it’s good at protecting the body from the Black Tide’s corruption. It’ll flush out the toxins in your body.”

“Really?” Astyanax shuffles over to get a good look at the seed. However, Patroclus scoots away, turning his shoulder so that he cradles the seed to his chest and out of Astyanax’s sight. A little dim from that, Astyanax instead turns his attention to you. “How did you guys find out about that?”

“An Empyros Lily is normally a good medicine for a lot of things,” you explain patiently. You pull out disinfectant and a roll of bandages, gently wiping off the traces of the Black Tide from Patroclus’s leg and wrapping up the exposed flesh with fresh bandages. “Chewing on its petals is good for migraines, boil its stem in water and the tea is good for fevers, and the seed is a good painkiller. We had someone badly corrupted from the Black Tide, so we gave them an Empyros Lily seed to help with the pain…and the rest is history.”

Patroclus is suitably convinced by the small story. He chews on the seed before his expression twists. “It’s spicy.”

“Yeah, that’s how you know it’s working,” you pat him on the knee. You drag over a bucket and place it nearby for him to grab whenever he needs to. “Here, a side effect is throwing up, but it’s a good side effect. It means that your body is purging the poison from the Black Tide.”

Patroclus nods, a little uncertain, but he takes your word for it. “Thank you.”

Next, you turn to Astyanax, and obediently, he rolls up his sleeve to show severe rashes on his skin, also resulting from the Black Tide’s touch.

“Uhm…,” Astyanax stammers before he finally musters up the courage to speak. “Thank you for letting me bring Hector in and to Miss. Helena for bringing us here in the first place.”

“She’ll appreciate the thanks,” you tell him softly.

“And uh…,” Astyanax continues with a shy blush. “Sorry for all the trouble I caused. If there’s anything I can do…”

His eyes become downcast, body shuffling awkwardly because he’s afraid that he might say something wrong. You pause, looking at Hector who’s curled up on Astyanax’s side, head resting on his thigh.

“Everything’s fine,” you shake your head. “Don’t worry, it takes a lot of courage to look after that little guy in times like this.”

You reach out, gently scratching behind Hector’s ears, and he yips, licking your fingers in gratitude.

“You and Hector must’ve had your fair share of hunger and suffering,” you speak softly. Astyanax’s eyes go wide before they shimmer with a wet glaze. He sniffles once, stroking Hector’s fur.

“I don’t get it,” Patroclus interjects. “Why did you bring that mutt here with you? If you left it behind, then you won’t have to worry about another mouth to feed.”

“Be nice,” you chide Patroclus lightly. It’s enough to make him seem somewhat apologetic about his harsh words, but it doesn’t stop him from wanting an answer from Astyanax.

“I…,” Astyanax purses his lips. “I thought about releasing Hector into the wild, but he’s already used to living with humans. If I let him go…the next time he sees a human, he might be attacked and killed for food.”

Patroclus opens his mouth, probably for a derisive comment, but thinks the better of it.

“I know I’m being selfish,” Astyanax concedes, his fingers spasm around Hector as if he wants to hug the dog to his chest. “But I need Hector by my side. He’s the only thing that keeps me going. So, I’ll just keep him with me. If I ever run out of supplies, I…I’ll abandon myself, not Hector.”

You and Patroclus fall silent from that bold declaration. You close your eyes and let out a small sigh. “...Do you realize what you’ve just said?”

The boy’s breath stutters, but instead of answering your question, he deflects with words of gratitude. “Thank you for treating me.”

You purse your lips before you accept his answer. Every person wandering Amphoreus in the wake of the Black Tide’s destruction has their own personal turmoil. It’s useless to ask about their pain and see if you can address and soothe each one. The only thing that would ever banish the common suffering of the people was if Amphoreus was restored to its former vitality. Anything else would only temporarily delay the pain.

But the goal of Amphoreus being restored to its former glory is nothing more than a futile wishful hope at this point. As such, people have no choice but to wade knee-deep into a daily life of constant struggle.

You methodically disinfect Astyanax’s arms and roll them up with bandages, offering the boy an Empyros Lily Seed. You don’t push the question, out of respect for the pain he has gone through up until this point. As long as there is something that can be improved, that is the next best consolation you can give these people.

“As long as you stay away from the Black Tide, your corruption won’t get any worse,” you tell the two of them. “And also…”

You look up at Astyanax, leveling a firm look at him. “Since you’re unwilling to let Hector go, you need to keep living, got it? Don’t be going around saying you’re going to abandon yourself so casually. It’s just like you said, you depend on Hector, and Hector depends on you.”

“I don’t know what you see in the dog, but they’re right,” Patroclus interjects. He looks down at Hector disdainfully, but it’s an improvement from his outright sneer. “No one else is going to look after your dog, so you’re going to have to stick around to take care of it.”

“Okay…,” Astyanax nods, small and quiet.

You pat them both on the shoulder and give Hector one last scratch behind the ears.

“The two of you get some sleep. You guys must’ve had a long day. If you need anything, just holler for me, got it?”

“Thank you,” the two of them chime together.

You give them one last smile before you turn and leave, aiming to get a bit more rest for the next day.

[Previous Chapter] / [Next Chapter]

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matchstixx · 10 months ago

Text

The People We Think We Know

Chapter 1

Pairing: Tobirama x fem!Reader

WC: 2,145

CW: None (9.16.2024)

Madara’s brothers’ names come from sennokami and fineillsignup, I liked their theories.

Read on Ao3

[Series Master List]

| Next Chapter ->

Madara isn’t completely surprised when his father decides to take the girl in as a ward. His mother and father had always wished for a daughter.

He had seen the small flicker – not quite disappointment – the day that it was announced that Tajima had been ‘blessed with a fifth son' upon Izuna’s birth. Their second child was planned to be named Myoko, changed to Kou when the medical staff revealed him to be a boy. And initially they brushed it off, happy to have two strong, healthy boys to take up their positions as immediate heirs. So, they tried again, picking out the beautiful and cute name of Kurohime; and everyone chuckled and joked – when Kuro was born – about his mother’s ability to bless her husband with so many sons.

And then Mother nearly died giving birth to Togakushi. Madara was four at the time, but he vaguely recalls the entire pregnancy was rough for her; morning sickness through the entirety of it, fainting spells, migraines, if something could go wrong it probably did. He vividly remembers having to leave a sobbing three-year-old Kou with a one-year-old Kuro while he went running to the medical building the first time she passed out. When Father had returned later that night from a skirmish at the border, he had praised his quick thinking before spending the rest of the night quietly hunched over Mother as she rested, her hand tightly grasped to his chest. The medical team and midwives discouraged another pregnancy when they had to use resuscitation techniques on her and Togakushi during the birth.

Then, one night as Madara lay awake, he listened through a crack in the shoji as the sound drifted down the hall of his Mother begging Father to try one more time. Just once more, to try for a girl once more, and regardless of the outcome they would stop at five. His father quietly, hesitantly, agreed. And soon enough, Izuna was born.

The midwives had chastised them for trying again so soon after the previous pregnancy, and correctly, this time around was fairly hard on her body again. Not to the same degree, but enough so that Mother and Father fully acknowledged that pushing the boundaries any further would end up costing them more than just 9 months of horrible discomfort.

After the midwives leave, Father opens the door to let him and his brothers in to see little Izuna coddled to Mother’s chest. They chatter and coo and awe at him, draped across Mother’s legs and lap. He sits quietly as his brothers eventually nod off in a pile together, small hands twisting and clutching the blankets while he dutifully holds a straight back. And as a five-year-old Madara politely remains at Mother’s side, she gestures him closer, cradling his head to her chest where he can look at his youngest brother.

He’s a tiny thing. Face scrunched but skin smooth and the smallest shock of black hair on his head. Madara can only think of the reason why Izuna was born, the quiet whispers not meant for his ears – recalls that tiny flicker on Father’s face. And when he looks at Mother’s face, she has a soft smile – a genuine, loving one as she has had for every child she has born into the world – but there is a lingering sadness. So, he looks at his youngest brother, his littlest brother, his last brother, and vows to always keep safe this soul that, while loved, is not quite what was wanted.

—

It’s two years after Izuna is born that she appears. The Summer Solstice Celebration was in full swing, with dancing, singing, cheering. Everyone brought out food to pick at, lovers are running about with small streamers, parents with young kids are sitting watching a shadow puppet play, while older kids toss dice. Some of the elders grouse about the lack of the fireworks show, a tradition that was discontinued after the fighting with other clans had grown too costly; a commodity that can’t be afforded when weapons and armor are paramount.

Things are calming down as the sun sets, the younger children are practically comatose from a day of play – to the relief of some parents. The matriarch's of each house are calling to their eldests to come clean plates and dishes, getting only answering groans and complaints. It’s a scream from one of the mikos that has everyone snapping to attention.

Madara races to his room for his weapons as others leap either towards the shrine or into homes. He briefly hears Mother calling for him to come back as she balances Izuna on a hip and tells Kou to watch Kuro and Toga as the sound of her sandals quickly follow behind.

Father is already there with three other shinobi when Madara arrives with a couple kunai in hand. The miko is scolding a small child near the entrance of the shrine that is cowering with her arms crossed protectively over her head. Madara can see the slight quivering rattling her entire body as the adults stare down with distrustful gazes.

“Mayuri,” Tajima cuts off the incensed miko with a stern look, “What happened, whose child is this?”

She turns to him with down turned brows, “I don’t know. But what I do know is that I found her shoveling the food offerings for Amaterasu into her mouth like a starving animal.”

Mother arrives behind him, quickly catching up even when ladened with a two-year-old on her hip. “Madara, don’t go running off like that, you aren’t old enough for battle yet! What if a raid had been happening?”

“Yoko,” Tajima calls, pinching his nose, “If that were the case, you shouldn’t be running about either.”

“Oh shush, husband mine,” she waves a hand as she steps forward. “I could sense that there was no threat.”

Father sighs – a sarcastic ‘I wonder where our children get their hard-headedness from’ dropping quietly from his lips – as Mother swats his shoulder with a coy smile before turning to the small girl.

She silently looks at the child for a long moment, taking in the rice bag that had a neck and arm holes torn into it, a feeble and sad imitation of clothing. The fading light of the sun filters through the back of the shrine, shining through one of the windows to cast a warm yellow square of luminance across Mother as she smiles warmly and lowers herself to the ground.

“Now, what is your name, little one?” She coos.

The girl stares up at Yoko like she is the sun itself. Her breaths stutter out of her unevenly, bringing her hands down to clutch at the front of her rice bag dressings.

“Speak, girl!” One of the shinobi standing about growls, digging his heel into her back, subsequently knocking her to the floor.

The air seems to heat up dangerously as Yoko sends him a scathing look. Madara can see the way Mother’s lip curls into a snarling sneer, the heat of rage licking at her tongue that dampens when the girl speaks for the first time.

“[Name].”

She’s struggling back to her knees as she repeats it two more times.

“And I’m…,” she uncurls five fingers one by one before thrusting them out to everyone. “This many years old.” And Madara practically sees how Mother’s heart melts.

“My, that is quite old!” Yoko cheers with a starlight warm smile that the girl returns with a bashful one. “Do you know where your parents are? They must be worried about you.”

[Name] wilts, curling around herself. She shakes her head. “They went to sleep a long time ago. I tried to wake them up, but I guess they’re dreams are too happy.”

The dread in the air is palpable. Madara is seven, but he understands death. He’s had to ever since he started his shinobi training; even more so as his tenth birthday gets closer, signaling his formal introduction to the battlefield.

Mother looks to Father with a knowing look. Father simply closes his eyes.

His mother and father had always wished for a daughter.

—

She looks different, not quite like anyone from any clan that he has seen. The curve of her nose, the angle of her jaw, the lines of her face when she smiles or frowns. Madara notices all of this as she sits at the dinner table with them. His brothers all stare at her as the table is set. She seems blissfully unaware of their eyes, instead her attention gazes about the dining room, tracing the wooden beams and paper shoji screens.

She’s freshly cleaned and wrapped in a clean simple yukata by Mother’s hand – although, the sound of clattering and splashing that had come from the bathroom earlier was a testament to the difficulty of the entire endeavor. The two had come out later with the girl adamantly hiding her embarrassment with her hands and Mother bearing a beaming smile despite her rolled up sleeves being soaking wet. Father had just given her an unimpressed look before carefully pressing about the importance of not scaring their ‘guest.’

Father finally sits at the head of the table, gives thanks for the food and begins to eat. Everyone else calls back their thanks and Madara watches as the girl stumbles through it, trying to mimic the words. He watches as she picks up her chopsticks and leans over to bring the food to her mouth.

The sound of Mother clearing her throat has [Name] looking up at her like a deer watching for predators. Mother pointedly glances at everyone else at the table with their bowls held in hand. Abashedly, [Name] picks up her bowl and straightens her posture; Mother gives a small nod and dinner continues quietly. It’s hard for Madara to fathom how she knows how to use chopsticks and yet is unaware of good manners. Part of him supposes that perhaps she didn’t come from a well off family, or that maybe her family didn’t care.

Regardless, it’s odd, she’s odd.

After dinner, Mother calls out to him as his brothers collect the dishes. “Show [Name] to her room and help her set out the futon.”

“Yes, Haha-ue.” He nonchalantly brushes her hand away when she runs her fingers through his unruly hair, a quiet laugh leaving her as his ears burn red.

He can’t help but think how loud her steps are as they walk through the halls; the boards creak and groan under each of her steps, making the house sing an alarming tune. He isn’t used to the noise of it, even two-year-old Izuna is starting to learn which slats warble and how to avoid them – such is the habits of a shinobi home. It sets his teeth on edge and the hair on the back of his neck stands and won’t settle the longer that he feels her walking behind him.

When they get to the room, one that used to be his aunts before she was killed in a raid, he steps to the side when sliding open the door and gestures her in first. The way bile crawls up the back of his throat when she tilts her head almost knowingly at him makes him want to slam the door behind her in disregard of Mother’s command. But he resists as she steps in and looks around the room. Madara has to force himself to make his movements look less rushed than they actually are. Yanking the futon out of the closet haphazardly in an attempt to make the swing look casual and not like he wants to be ten miles away from this room – from this girl.

When he’s done smoothing out the blanket – as minimal as his effort was – he stands to look at the girl that had been watching him silently the entire time. There is something about her that doesn’t sit right, actions and words feeling disjointed and too experienced for her 5-year-old self. The futon separates them and it feels like his first battlefield, staring down this stranger in his home with the odd face, and odd mannerisms, and odd actions. And he feels powerful as he gathers up a heavy breath to give her a devastatingly serious glare with his words, “Chichi-ue allowing you to sleep here doesn’t make you my sister or a part of this family, you hear.”

And blankly in return, “I know, goodnight.”

Numbly, Madara stares at the closed door of the room that the girl had just shoved him out of, a deep seated embarrassment crawling up onto his cheeks in a warm flush. He doesn’t stomp down the hall, because he is a shinobi and he is above that.

(He hears as his brothers cackle when Father calls down the hall about the racket he’s making; and he swears he hears the girl chuckle too even though he would never be able to prove it.)

| Next Chapter ->

#tobirama x reader #x reader #reader insert #madara uchiha #isekai #transmigration #fix it fic #world building #headcanons #naruto series

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ackerfics · 2 years ago

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FAMILY LINE — a house of the dragon fanfiction | aegon ii targaryen x oc

act one, chapter five: the birth of the golden (wc: 9.1k) | masterlist

tw: poorly translated valyrian bc i used a translator online. forgive me.

117 AC

There is a reason why Aegon loves his name day.

People seem to remember him when the Grand Sept’s bells toll to start the one-week celebrations across King’s Landing, as expected of the first son of the King. The gates open to dozens of wheelhouses carrying the high nobles of the realm and the Keep has never been more colourful, housing each intricate combination of hues the Houses bear. Servants scurry among the floors of the castle to make the events as extravagant and fitting for a prince who the King begged the gods for, shipments are received in the docks for the banquet spreads to be laid out for a week, and fittings for new royal clothes are made each passing minute (Aegon wants to barf out his meal just to escape from it because apparently, the girls have their own fittings, so it’s just him, Aether, Aemond, Daemian, and Daeron). Mother won’t be breathing down his neck to pay more attention to his lessons and be more like Aemond, who has expressed a growing interest in history (a boring thing, if you ask him). Father won’t look at him like he is a passing face in the castle; for once, he gets to be a son.

Excitement ignites each limbal ring of his eyes, mixing in the light of the sun between the tendrils of cornflower blues he possesses, because on his name day, it’s not his half-sister, Rhaenyra, they greet with jovial cheer in the Keep, it’s him.

But his tenth name day is not about the first son of King Viserys.

It unfortunately revolves around a little Prince that isn’t him.

Aesira has been a constant in the life of her first cousin once removed (she’ll call him his nephew anyway for her own sake) ever since he was born.

Jacaerys Velaryon is the name that he carries but his colouring is neither of his parentages, that much is true. Aesira is not blind; she can see that there is no shed of anything Targaryen in that little body of his except for the glint of something purple within his brown eyes when the light touches them perfectly. As a babe, his features hadn’t settled in; but as he reached two name days, the curls of brown framing his face and the button nose adorably sitting on his face is very much a reminder that he is not trueborn like Aesira and her brothers. Yet her cousin, Rhaenyra, looks at him like he is the light of his life — pride in the crinkles around her eyes and love lacing every bit of her smile.

It is also during these times that Aesira feels a palpable emotion that is completely unfamiliar to her.

Among her and her siblings, Aesira is the only one who maintained a connection to the Heir of Uncle Viserys, which lies in affable smiles exchanged in passing, knowing glances whenever someone mentions the paintings and tapestries plastered on the Keep’s walls, and understanding squeezes around smaller hands as a Lord points out how similar the two look in certain angles. How bittersweet it is when this string tying them together stems from something so inevitable and cruel, crafting a masterpiece so beautiful that many people remark it to be as precious as the titles they carry — The Realm’s Delight and The Flower of the Realm. The two are often seen walking together in the labyrinth hedges of the gardens when their schedules are kind enough to allow them, donning contrasting colours on their dresses as if they are from different Houses altogether. It is a sight when they grace the castle with their combined presence — both of which embody the ethereal beauty only Targaryens can achieve.

However, it is during these meetings with Rhaenyra that Aesira sees how much the Heir dislikes anything related to the Queen, the animosity radiating in the slight curl on her top lip when she breathes a word related to the most powerful woman in the realm. When Aesira revealed that the dresses she had in her closet were all commissioned by the Queen, Rhaenyra sent a few of her old dresses, the colouring as bold as her character — all reds and blacks and so Targaryen. When she mentioned a word about her tea sessions with the Queen, her gracious cousin proposed having daily outings of their own in the gardens, promising an abundance of their favourite cakes and more gossip happening around the court. She once shared her observations with Aether and her brother had the gall to laugh it out, comparing it to his petty rivalry with Aegon whenever they had their fights. Now that she sees it from both sides, Aesira surmises that Rhaenyra and the Queen’s indifference and anger at each other aren’t that much different from Aegon and Aether’s dynamic (but the latter pair always goes back to being partners in crime). She is not as clueless as she seems; she can see the longing in the Queen’s eyes when she stares at Rhaenyra too long and the affliction hanging over Rhaenyra’s head when she is around the Queen.

It is one Lady Redwyne who told her that the two women cementing roles in her life held a rare affection for each other while they were in their childhood. A pleasant surprise that sparks Aesira’s interest. Their relationship became strained, according to Lady Redwyne, when Uncle Viserys announced to wed the Queen during a Small Council meeting. It became the thinnest of threads when something scandalous involving someone so roguish happened in the middle of the night. Aesira didn’t have to ask who this someone was when the glares from the other Ladies landed on Lady Redwyne soon after. Of course, he was a part of it. Now, the court Ladies are silently dividing themselves between the Heir and the Queen, gossiping about the next big story and betting on who will win an argument if one ever surfaces. While they giggled behind their decorative fans about the recruits for the City Watch, Aesira was left mulling over the information she just heard, answering questions when they were only addressed to her.

When little Jacaerys was born, a hesitant Queen Alicent went to visit the babe with Aesira in tow, offering their congratulations to the married couple. Aesira held her hand the entire time to prevent her from picking on her nails, a habit that the girl noticed from the moment they had their second tea session.

That unfamiliar emotion bubbling in her stomach started tickling her insides during this visit.

Rhaenyra, while wearing faux pleasantries upon facing the Queen and her inquiring gaze, looked so different when staring down at Jacaerys. Aesira never imagined her bold older cousin being this soft around someone, especially after hearing her badmouth every single thing she hated in court. She never realised it back then but it was the start of the change happening within Rhaenyra — a change that was dipped in nostalgia. Mother wore that look when gazing at her and Aether. Gone is the Rhaenyra who accompanied her to the gardens and gone are the daily meetups involving cake.

It started bubbling again when she heard the Queen grumble about the defining features morphing Jacaerys into a toddler.

Brown hair and brown eyes and the swish of a gold cloak following Rhaenyra’s every step. Aesira gives it the benefit of the doubt. She knows about the lineage running in Lord Laenor’s blood — parts of Baratheon courtesy of Princess Rhaenys.

But everything seemed to change when she happened to witness Ser Harwin Strong gazing upon Jacaerys with the same love painted in Rhaenyra’s eyes while the toddler stood on wobbly feet during his attempted walks — Rhaenyra’s little group gathering in the gardens for the joyous moment. When the treasonous thought forms in her mind, she took that time to look at Lord Laenor, seeing the exact proud emotion on his face when he cheered for Jacaerys to reach him in his small, baby steps. The sight burned her eyes and throat. That ugly emotion is painting her in the same shade of green the Queen prefers having on her gowns. While not looking like a trueborn Targaryen, Jacaerys has a father that will never leave him and a mother who will never die from childbirth. It’s unfair. Aesira looked down, swallowing the onset of bitterness covering her whole figure, hating the fact that she happened to enter this specific area of the gardens during an intimate moment shared by a family.

“Jace, where are you going, my boy?” Lord Laenor’s voice echoed in Aesira’s ear when she turned around to choose another area of the gardens to read her book. “Can he even walk that fast at this age?”

A small body wrapped around her skirt, stopping her in her tracks.

“Aesira?” Rhaenyra asked.

Aesira slowly looked down at the one responsible for preventing her from getting out of this mess. A gummy smile beamed up at her, little specks of white peeking through the grin. She blinked in place, her hands wringing with the fabric of her skirts. There were bound to have creases after this encounter. The number of times she saw Jacaerys was when he was still swaddled. Now reaching his first name day, the boy was growing into a little boy who would be a menace now that he learned how to walk.

Right when she was about to gently pry Jacaerys’s hands off of her clothes, she heard the smallest, most adorable voice calling for her.

“Thira!” Jacaerys cheered with a pure smile, bouncing on the heels of his feet.

Rhaenyra grunted from the bench, pushing herself to stand while placing a hand on her pregnant belly. “It seems like he adores you.”

“Thira!”

Aesira stared at Rhaenyra for a good minute. The small hands clutching her dress tightened, shaking her to capture her attention from The Realm’s Delight to the babe staring at her like she placed the stars for him to point out. Maybe that was what she looked like to Little Jacaerys’s eyes — a star maiden glowing with the sun’s halo around her head as he stared at her ever so adoringly. Lord Laenor chuckled from his haunched position on the ground, amusement pushing his head to shake from side to side.

She tilted her head, now fully looking at Jacaerys, who seemed to shine brighter now that she did. “Hello,” she greeted.

Jacaerys giggled, an endearing sound that lightened up their area of the gardens. “Hello!”

Masking the unfamiliar feeling and replacing it with polite cheer, Aesira let go of her skirts and turned to the little Prince craning his neck to fully see her in all her glory. She gave the adults behind them a questioning glance. Once she got a smile from Rhaenyra, raised eyebrows from Lord Laenor, and a neutral expression expected from a knight, Aesira picked up Jacaerys off the ground and balanced him on her hips. The babe squealed at the new person carrying him that wasn’t his mother, father, or the sworn sword assigned to protect them. The hesitance in her actions resulted in jerky movements that were unbelievable for someone who started caring for her baby brother when she was a child of five name days. But this babe wasn’t her Daemian. The scent on little Jacaerys was completely different yet so similar to her brother; as well as the feeling of him in her arms contrasted with Daemian’s calm nature. Aesira never realised that she was starting to bounce Jacaerys in her arms until the babe erupted into giggles again.

“I believe this is the first time we have ever interacted, Lady Aesira,” a deep voice pulled her attention from gazing at Jacaerys’s gummy smile to a man with beautiful dark skin and tight white locks. He placed a hand on his chest, bowing at her by inclining down his chin. “Laenor Velaryon. It is a pleasure to meet the little Lady everyone has been raving about in court.”

Aesira curtsied with Jacaerys in her hold. “It is my pleasure to meet one of the honourable knights who braved through the War for the Stepstones. You did the crown and throne a great service — may the Seven bless you, good Ser.”

Lord Laenor bellowed a hearty laugh. “The Ladies must have been floating in your praises whenever you’re with them, my Lady.”

“I was merely saying the truth, my Lord.”

“Huh,” Lord Laenor hummed. “He has no shed of himself in you, I presume?”

“Laenor,” Rhaenyra cut in.

“What?” The Velaryon Heir swivelled to give Rhaenyra a look that showed he wasn’t following until the Princess narrowed her eyes at him. His expression didn’t change even after turning around to face Aesira again. She knew better — this man held every right to show contempt for the same person she hated. He was, after all, the brother of the young Lady Daemon has taken away to Essos, never to be seen again by her family and friends. It was almost a tale of romance fit for novels. Aesira had to bite her bottom lip to stop herself from scoffing from the depth of her thoughts. Lord Laenor shrugged in a nonchalance that was innate to every man hailing from the nobility. Aesira figured this was him trying not to make the situation heavy with the topic he was walking on like a tightrope. “It’s so refreshing to see his child be so different from him. Must be the Arryn in you, huh?” He raised his hands in the air. “I’m going to shut my loose lips before I find myself on the other end of someone’s pregnancy hormones. Forgive me for bringing him up, my Lady. I, myself, have expressed what I felt about him way too many times and all of them were not nice.”

So, she was correct. Lord Laenor didn’t like her father as much as she did.

“Thira!” Aesira felt her cheeks being patted by smaller hands and pudgy fingers. Jacaerys had his adorable face scrunched up. “Me!”

“Pardon, little Prince,” Aesira murmured, brushing her nose against his, which resulted in another round of pleased giggles. “I’m looking at you now.”

Lord Laenor chuckled at the side. “I believe we are witnessing the start of something remarkable.”

The Lady Targaryen nods her head in agreement. “Yes, seeing Prince Jacaerys walk earlier made me remember the time when my little brother did it for the first time as well. It is quite remarkable.”

“That’s not quite what I mean.”

“Laenor,” came Rhaenyra’s stern voice.

“Sorry, Rhaenyra.” A large grin pulled on Lord Laenor’s face. “I was merely stating the obvious.”

It was at that exact moment that Aesira received a wet kiss on her lips, the giver of the token of affection laughing while clapping his hands. Warmth and nostalgia blanket her in a cocoon existing only to enclose her and Jacaerys in this speck of one’s afternoon. Without her control, Aesira genuinely smiled at the little Prince, even if it was as small as a twitch.

Rhaenyra sighed. “I’m sorry for having Jace come to you without any warning.” She walked toward Aesira and her son, her hands cradling her belly, and back straight with the weight of the realm on her shoulders. She didn’t forget to give Lord Laenor a look that had the man retreating to where Ser Harwin was stationed with his hawk-like eyes. Rhaenyra didn’t hesitate in running her hand over Aesira’s hair, her fingers hitting the butterfly slips nestling on either side of her head, which served as the only ornament and style decorating Aesira’s hair. “Nevertheless, it warms my heart that he has taken a liking to you.”

“I don’t mind it, cousin, and it warms my heart as well that he likes me.”

And during her tea sessions with the Queen, Aesira asked what was bothering her the whole time, “Is it wrong for me to hate a child, Your Grace?”

Alicent looked up from her cup of calming tea. “Little one?”

She remained spaced out, simply staring at a piece of honey cake. “There’s this ugly, unfamiliar emotion brewing inside me whenever I look at Jacaerys. It is mostly when I see him getting love despite not looking like me and my brothers.” Aesira met the Queen’s wide eyes. “Am I a terrible person?”

“Oh, sweetling,” the Queen’s touch is filled with care, “it is normal for children to feel envious of others. There is nothing wrong with feeling this way.” So, it was Envy who was responsible for her feeling mixed emotions around Jacaerys. The Queen was having none of her looking away. She tipped Aesira’s chin to affectionately pinch her cheek. “Don’t ever think that you are lacking love in this lifetime. My existence disproves your negative thoughts.”

Aesira looked down. “But he has a father.”

The Queen’s bottom lip jutted out in that signature pout she carried whenever she was troubled. “A mother’s love equals that of a father’s. What matters most, in the end, is how you will blossom with the love that was given to you when you were young. It is up to you, little one, to decide how you choose to live your precious life.”

So, she douses the small spark of envy in her, and becomes a constant in Jacaerys’s life until more firewood turns it into something bigger and different that she has no choice but to let it burn her from the inside out.

Aesira finally finishes her gift for him — a handkerchief embroidered with a golden dragon, topped off with his name in an elegant cursive that took her an entire day to perfect (and days to practise). Helaena is a blessing to have with her during her sewing lessons with their Septa; the younger girl already mastered looping the needle through thick fabrics with her fixation, boasting pieces that depict the most bizarre and most beautiful insects she discovered in the gardens. It was also she who suggested learning how to sew a dragon, providing no explanation whatsoever except that she saw it in her dreams. Since Helaena knows more than she lets on, Aesira trusts her judgement and finds herself with prickles of blood on her fingertips and nights spent in front of her fireplace to figure out the proper loop making up the dragon’s neck.

And here she is now, carefully running her thumbs over the material, while waiting for her handmaiden to finish styling her hair.

The door opens and the Queen enters in one of her emerald gowns, her crown sparkling in the natural light filtering in Aesira’s solar. “I’ll take it from here, Belinda,” she directs her words to Aesira’s handmaiden.

“Of course, Your Grace,” Belinda curtsies before smiling at Aesira. “My Lady.”

Aesira returns the smile. “Thank you for helping me with the dress, Belinda.”

The handmaiden's lips quiver in a more heartfelt beam. She is replaced by the Queen’s softer hands and brighter disposition. The woman gathers the entirety of her hair and runs her fingers through the waves, smiling at Aesira through the looking glass.

“I always love doing your hair,” the Queen wistfully states, “that and putting clips in Helaena’s.” She chuckles, never looking away from weaving her fingers through Aesira’s tresses; molten white-gold that is almost otherworldly, a piece of molten sunlight on earth. The Queen eyes the various accessories littering the vanity, most probably from Belinda laying everything out before trying a style that will match Aesira’s dress. It is a pale blue piece that is more tulle than anything, the sleeves draping down in a bell shape down to the girl’s elbows. The skin on her wrist is decorated by a couple of bracelets to make up for the lack of an entire sleeve. “Do you want something simple or an updo, little one?”

“I would very much prefer a simple style, Your Grace,” Aesira answers with a smile. “I want Aegon to have his day.”

The Queen squeezes her shoulders, a wordless sign of gratitude, before twisting and pulling out strands of hair from a section she parts. Aesira doesn’t even feel anything while the Queen does her task. The slightest bit of prodding she feels is from when a series of flower pins are inserted into her hair. It’s times like this that Aesira truly feels at ease, her eyelids drooping by the second. With her head slightly tilted down, she lets herself be enveloped by the Queen’s occasional humming.

“Do you like it, little one?” The Queen asks while putting on the finishing touches to her hair — a forehead circlet that falls gently on her skin. It is all she has. While the rest of the royal family bear their tiaras and crowns, Aesira is the only one in her siblings to have jewellery that mimics the diadems commissioned for the princesses and princes of King Viserys and Queen Alicent. The aquamarine gemstone is sparkling with every bit of regality Aesira has. Her hair is done in a half-up, half-down style, with some sections on her head shaped to become small roses, and in between every one of them are accessories that Uncle Viserys gave her — bundles of iridescent flowers in one. The Queen takes her silence as a positive reaction, her shoulders pulling back in pride. “You are a delightful sight, little one — one of the prettiest girls to ever grace the halls.” The woman can’t help herself; she places a small kiss on the crown of Aesira’s hair. Her eyes catch sight of the handkerchief in between a flustered Aesira’s hands. “Is that a present for Aegon?”

Aesira nods after collecting herself. Sometimes, she gets lost every time the Queen gives her affection. “It’s not much but I hope Aegon will like it.”

The Queen makes a noise in her throat that is awfully like a snort. “That boy loves everything involving you. I’d be surprised if he begs for a gift from you. Just your presence might be enough for him to last the entire name day celebrations the King arranged for him.”

“It’s my first time embroidering something this special, you see. There are mistakes like this one right here,” Aesira lifts the handkerchief so that the Queen can see the little tangle between three threads. “Hel helped me through some of the process so I pray to the Seven that he doesn’t see the parts I struggled with.” She looks up to meet the Queen’s pretty brown eyes (she loves looking at them; the shade is very different compared to the usual purples she sees every day from her brothers). “But I highly doubt that my presence is enough of a present for him when he’s always excited for his name day since I knew him. He’s particular with this specific name day compared to the others, though.”

“I think I know the reason why,” the Queen casually says, her head slightly tilting to the side to assess any stray strands in the girl’s hair.

Aesira moves to fully face the Queen, turning her body to do so. “I believe I don’t follow, Your Grace.” She is usually not privy to Aegon’s little secrets (or the secrets that he chooses to share with her) but his vibrating excitement to this name day doesn’t come into light whenever it’s just the two of them; even Aether doesn’t know about why their friend wants to enter into the double-digit number so badly and that’s saying something. The only person who knows about it is Helaena, which is a first. But the girl said Aegon didn’t tell her, with the boy supporting it by saying that the Princess was being weird again. She knew about it because once again, she dreamt it in her deepest slumbers — one of the rare moments where she doesn’t wake up screaming and crying. “He didn’t say anything to me or Aether.”

“You recall what the Septa said about finding eligible brides when you reach a certain age?”

Oh, so, it’s this moment. “Aegon is going to be dancing during the feast to find his potential betrothed. Septa Marlow briefly told us about it.” She remembers the meaningful, levelled look the Septa gave her while she was reciting the words as if they were ingrained in her brain with how many times she has repeated it through the years — Septa Marlow is older than any of her guardians at the moment. “She mentioned that maybe the King might push him to pick a fair maiden to be his first dance for the feast but it should be a calculated choice because the court would start spreading stories about it.”

The Queen appreciates her quick thinking by pinching her chin between her forefinger and thumb, shaking it side by side, and humming under her breath. “We all know who this fair maiden is — the budding Flower of the Realm.”

It was a title said with adoration inside the Keep, rivalling that of the Siren of the Vale who lured men to their deaths. But Aesira is not a lady who men would fight a war for nor is she a woman who will bring men to their knees to get a single drop of her beauty in their palms. The title she is given is not granted to her by male singers commissioned by the royal family to sing occasionally in the halls — it was carefully coined by Ladies who have found her company quite sublime. A little flower, not just because of her blossoming beauty but also because of the way she carries herself at her young age. One of the older Ladies, one Lady Tully, told her that she felt like a consolation to the drabness of the court, that when a certain Lady was feeling a range of emotions, she was there to say the perfect words to make them feel better. And very much like how the realm relied on flowers to convey their thoughts, Aesira does it perfectly, or so the other Ladies claim to the Queen in passing, which reaches her ears since the Queen loves sharing what the Ladies and Lords say about her wards. With the spreading songs, the people of King’s Landing are all excited to see the little Lady away from the castle and in their cobblestone streets; but that will come at a later time.

Aesira slowly traces random patterns on Aegon’s handkerchief with her thumbs. “Aegon is a close friend of mine — it would be an honour if he chooses me to dance with him at the opening feast. Though, I would appreciate it more if he doesn’t kiss my cheek in front of the entire court.”

Queen Alicent lets out a little laugh. “He still does it every time.”

“Yes, as a form of greeting, he says.”

“That sounds very much like our Aegon. I will tell him to aim his kiss at your hand instead.”

Aesira snorts, a very unladylike sound she only does around her family. “Like he will listen.”

“If I add your name to the instruction, he will. Your power over him is akin to territories bending the knee to a conqueror of a foreign land. I wonder how he will fare when he gets older.”

“Seven Hells,” Aesira grumbles. “I do not wish to imagine it.”

“It is to your demise, little one. Your aversion to it is reasonable.” The air becomes wistful yet again. “It is rare in the realm to have a union built on love.” Aesira is already anticipating it. The court was already crafting the most bizarre theories since a year ago and as she believes, it will be inevitable and hard to avoid now that Aegon has reached ten name days old, which is older than most boys in the realm when they receive word of their first betrothals. “I will tell you this now, sweet flower, that the King is planning on betrothing you to Aegon, the idea was tickling his mind the moment Aegon showed you the flowers in the gardens nearly five years ago. This will not serve as a warning but it is a reminder that your life will possibly change like a snap of someone’s fingers, with your coming role as a Princess of the realm. Again, as someone who cares for you as a mother does, let me see you as my little one for a little while longer.”

Aesira stares into the looking glass. The weight of the forehead circlet is invisible as it is extravagant.

The Queen presses another kiss on Aesira’s head. “Let us go, little one — the people are waiting.”

For once in her life, Aesira has something to ponder that weighs an entire kingdom. In actuality, she doesn’t know what to feel about her possible betrothal to Aegon — she doesn’t particularly hate the thought nor does she appeal to it. At the end of the day, she’s still a child and she has so much she wants to do; finish her tutoring, be a Lady that can travel around the realm and to the lands beyond the Narrow Sea, and have her name remembered as someone true to herself — Aesira wants to be her mother. The late Lady Aellara Targaryen was someone who wore her kindness up her sleeve instead of her emotions. Aesira, to this day, still thinks that her mother might have been the Mother reincarnated and that her strength lies not just in her beauty but in her courageous kindness as well. The people of Dragonstone always seemed to brighten when her mother visited their streets, inquiring about the overall condition of the villages and offering a weekly feast in the main squares, all from the kitchens of the imposing castle in the distance. She was a beacon who shone for those who needed a spark of light in the dead of the night — Aesira wants to be like that to someone.

But then she remembers the person who robbed her mother of the life that could have been the salvation of others. Because it all comes back to him, doesn’t it? The very man who took her flying on Caraxes’s back when she was but a child of two name days. The man who promised his little princess that she would see bigger things and that he would always be there to protect her. He was also the same man who left her twin brother in Maegor’s tunnels. Will her impending marriage with Lord Something be as bad as the marriage shared by her parents? Will she be left on the birthing bed screaming and bloody while her husband flew to some parts of their home island? Will he leave their children behind when the Stranger tucks her last breath in the many last breaths they collected?

The more Aesira immerses herself in this new life of hers—away from Dragonstone, away from where everything started—he never left.

Now, this fear of her future husband becoming like him starts forming in the pit of her stomach and she wishes she is born like her brothers, a child with a cock swinging between her legs.

Aesira just wishes Aegon won’t be like him.

The first thing she knows that something is wrong is when there is a lack of kisses on her cheek.

Aegon is dismayed, his chest rising and falling faster than normal. His lip is quivering in a frown that makes his entire face into an expression of misery without even trying. The Queen is not that different. Both of them are sporting looks of varying distress, with an interlacing sign of anger in the Queen’s Despite his Targaryen colouring, Aegon looks like his mother through and through — the wide eyes that seem to be a mirror of their soul, the jut in their bottom lip when things get frustrated, the jitters in their fingers that urge them to pick on their skin. With that, she places her hand around his to prevent him from damaging his fingers any further. And while the tourney is shedding blood on the grounds below, Aesira is setting her eyes on the boy beside her, both of them not paying attention to the knights roaring their glee after winning another bout.

“Aegon?”

He doesn’t answer.

“Egg?”

There is a slight squeeze enveloping her hand.

“What is wrong?” She tries asking again. Where is his excitement? Who dares douse it? It is one thing to be slightly perturbed by his secretive giggles before the celebrations but it is another matter altogether to be worried about what might have silenced it. Her voice is almost a whisper that only they can hear. She does it to not catch her brother’s attention since Aegon looks like he’s about to cry any moment now. Besides, Aether is vibrating in his seat after another round of Ser Criston pulverising his opponent. “Aegon, will you tell me what’s troubling you?”

He doesn’t get to answer because the King rises from his seat at the top of their descending balcony to announce, “Gentle people of King’s Landing and those who have journeyed far and wide to be able to experience the revels we have prepared, I have news that I am most happy to share.” He pauses until he makes sure there are no rounds ongoing below and that the nobles of different colours hold out their ears to listen to what he has to say.

Aesira looks over her shoulder to watch the old King as he takes his time enunciating his words over the large tourney court. Everybody bates their breath in anticipation of his next statement. Aesira only turns away from him when Aegon once again squeezes her hand with his. She can’t help but cup her free hand over the one she is holding, her thumb rubbing circles on his skin. He glances at her from the corners of his eyes, his gratitude forming in a tiny smirk pulling on his lips. He’s about to lean his head on hers, one of the many gestures Aesira receives from Aegon, when the King continues his little speech.

“House Targaryen and dragons have always been set in stone for so many centuries. And today I am proud to say that my grandson, little Jacaerys Velaryon, is a dragonrider! The first Targaryen to have his dragon egg hatch in the Keep after our very own Realm’s Delight many years ago! Let’s be merry for another purpose to enjoy the grand festivities!”

Foolish, foolish King.

The entire arena cheers. The night will be merry indeed; for King Viserys loves nothing more than throwing flamboyant parties and honouring his Heir and her spawns. The only ones who seem to have wilted at the announcement are the Queen and her family. Trueborn Targaryens from the Queen and after ten years, not one of their dragon eggs hatched, with the hurt being carried by her the most. And now this humiliation. After exchanging a concerned glance with her twin brother, Aesira happens to catch Rhaenyra at the worst moment possible. Arrogance and smugness ooze off of her like she is born with a crown on her head. Princess Rhaenyra is the only one with her back straight on the balcony and the only one who has a smile on her face like a radiant beam of sunlight in between thick thunderclouds. Aesira knows that Rhaenyra holds a years-long dispute with the Queen and nothing has been more clear to her than this specific one.

Rhaenyra in black and Aunt Alicent in green.

Rhaenyra in the light and Aunt Alicent always in her shadow.

Rhaenyra the mother of a brown-haired dragonrider and Aunt Alicent with silver-haired dragonless children.

But the one who matters the most is holding back tears gripping her hand like it’s his lifeline.

The firewood inside her chest fuels the fire that’s been put out. Aesira feels her aunt’s shame, her younger cousins’ sorrow, and Aegon’s need to be small. What should be a day for Aegon is a day for someone else instead. She has never felt this anger since the day Aether was found wailing and muddied. She doesn’t realise she has been staring at Rhaenyra and her husband long enough for the older woman to meet her eyes. The surprise on the Heir’s face is apparent, seeing so much emotion and at the same time nothing on her younger cousin. Aesira simply stares and stares, letting Rhaenyra feel the consequences of her actions, for choosing the most inopportune moment to tell the King that Jacaerys’s egg just hatched. Because who does that on someone's name day? It is until Rhaenyra looks away with no hint of remorse for her half-brother, her chin higher in the air with an elegance expected of a Princess, that Aesira sees her in a completely different light.

“Sira,” Aegon finally speaks.

She loses her glare and tilts her head to face Aegon’s lowered one. “Do you want me to call for a maidservant to bring you dark chocolate cake?”

Aegon shakes his head. “Thank you for sitting next to me.”

Before the tourney started, Aegon fought with Aether to have Aesira next to him. On the usual tourneys in King’s Landing, Aesira is seen between her brothers with Aegon next to his siblings but on this specific one, he wanted Aesira beside him. She told her twin brother that this is one of her many gifts for Aegon, which the Prince received only with a small smile on his face — very uncharacteristic of him.

She pulls their hands until they rest on her lap. “Helaena said you will ride a dragon made from the hands of the sun.” He is about to pull his hand away from her but she holds them tighter, which finally makes Aegon look at her. She can feel his eyes even when she’s not looking at him — always. “If you don’t believe it because it came from Helaena, believe it because I’m the one who told you instead.”

“Helaena says the weirdest things sometimes.”

Aesira mindlessly wrote phrases on the back of Aegon’s hand, never noticing the boy’s cheeks reddening at the sensation. “She dreamt of you riding this dragon. You know how I hold Helaena’s words in high regard, Egg.”

Aegon pouts. “I know, Sira.”

“Say, Aegon.”

“Hmm?”

The lilac in her eyes bloom into brilliant gems, Aegon reflected on her pupils. “How about we have a little adventure to the Dragonpit after the tourney? I think it’s about time you officially meet Starfell.”

Starfell is a sight for the most oneiric of dreams.

A lithe body that brings the illusion of a clear spring of water; sharp, slitted eyes bearing the night sky with little pinpricks in the iris that were like charted constellations; ice blue membranes lining up the underside of her white wings; those who have seen her claim to have seen the legendary phenomenon of a fallen star coming to kiss the ground. From the moment the dragonkeepers saw her being guided to the Dragonpit (it was quite the struggle since the little she-dragon barred ferocious bites to those hands who dared to wrap chains around her body in an attempt to detain her), they instantly knew that this specific creature came from the same clutch of eggs Dreamfyre laid all those years ago — Achilles, Aether’s dragon, as well.

Aegon holds his breath when this majestic beast lowers her neck to assess the newcomer her bonded walks in with. He can’t help but flinch at the trills coming from the creature’s long throat. Panic sets in as Aesira leaves his side to walk toward Starfell. “Sira—” His breath catches in his throat at the smile directed at him over her shoulder, the hand reaching for her in the air lowering until they drop to his side. It hurts seeing that the serene smile on her face comes from the one thing he wants the most — a dragon. He feels the envy creeping into his chest, entangling with his veins, while he watches Aesira laugh at every nudge her dragon gives her. Speaking of the dragon, Starfell once again regards him in chilling eyes that sparkle in the dim light of the Dragonpit.

“Lykirī, ñuha gevie riña. Lykirī. Nyke māzigon lēda iā raqiros. Zȳhon brōzi iksis aegon.” (Be calm, my beautiful girl. Be calm. I came with a friend. His name is Aegon.)

Her voice sounds like water, flowing around him in every syllable the Valyrian language has. It sounds prettier than the songs he’s heard from the court bards. It’s a beautiful language as said by Father and by the Maesters he has learned his history from but this is the first time someone has said words coated with such care that it doesn’t sound foreign from the usual common tongue at all. Maybe this is what Aesira has been muttering a lot lately, with him catching her in the library during his daily expeditions around the Keep. He doesn’t understand any word of it, except for one word — lykirī (a dragon command he’s learned while waiting for his dragon egg to hatch), but it doesn’t grate his ears as he expects it to with the way someone should pronounce it.

Aegon doesn’t mind listening to her talk like this all day.

“W-What did you say?” he asks, still standing in the spot she’s left him on like a lost child. “I’ve only understood one term.”

With her hand still on Starfell’s snout, Aesira giggles under her breath before beckoning Aegon closer to her. “I introduced you to her, Aegon. Come on, take one step at a time. I’m here to placate her if the situation requires it.”

Aegon gives the dragonkeeper stationed to accompany the two of them a glance. The old man nods his head in encouragement, a deep bow that has his chin touching the top of his chest. Taking a deep breath, Aegon follows Aesira’s instructions and takes one step at a time, gauging the dragon’s reactions at every pad of his shoe-clad feet on the ground. The pretty creature doesn’t move an inch from her perch yet her eyes track down his movements. A surge of confidence brings him to make determined steps until he’s found himself beside Aesira, inches away from the opalescent scales of glacial blue. Starfell is even more beautiful up close — a dragon fit for the prettiest girl in all the realm. Aegon cranes his neck to look at Starfell in awe, slightly jumping when a smaller hand covers one of his, directing him to feel the scales underneath his palm.

It’s a mistake to look over his shoulder because Aesira is so close to him that he can deeply register the scent of expensive lavender oils on her hair and a hint of citrus on her neck. Each individual eyelash covering her eyes acts like little butterfly wings every time she blinks. There is a little constellation of freckles dotting her nose. Her cheeks are tinted with a natural shade of enjoyment brought by the elation of meeting her dragon after a while. Aegon has never seen these features of hers up close since he closes his eyes when he gives her his greetings (cheek kisses). He gets the sudden urge to place a gentle kiss on her plump cheek, right on the apples rising from her never-dimming smile. Aegon slowly leans down, his eyes open this time.

The lilacs she has for her eyes flicker from her dragon to him. He stops at the last second. They’re closer this time. His heart is racing and pounding as if he has run from the Keep to the Dragonpit. He can hear every thump made against the walls of his chest. Can Aesira hear it, too?

“Egg, Starfell. Starfell, Egg.”

He wears the warmth on his cheek while looking up at the dragon, who lowers her head right in front of him. A couple of wavy locks are pulled toward Starfell, with the dragon inhaling his scent. Aegon says without looking away from Starfell, “How do I say hello in Valyrian?”

“Rytsas.”

Aegon nods. “Rytsas, Starfell.”

Starfell responds through a series of clicking sounds that are very much like the chirping of birds at dawn.

Laughter dipped in gaiety makes his torso shake. Aegon’s eyes are like the sun, feeling the thrill of having a dragon not bare its teeth at him like every warning he’s received if he’s planning on walking to the Dragonpit with one goal in mind. “She likes me, Sira!” He cheers.

Aesira’s voice contains bewilderment. “That she does.”

He looks back at her, only to find her staring at Starfell with a confused scrunch on her eyebrows. “You sound surprised.”

She now narrows her eyes at Starfell. “That is because I am. Did you know that Starfell made it her personal mission to snap at anyone when she first came to King’s Landing?” He fixes her with a questioning look. Aesira answers him by squeezing the hand she’s covering on Starfell’s scales. Once again, he can’t look away from her when pensiveness paints her as if she is a subject in the most important painting in the Keep’s atelier. “She’s always so protective of me back in Dragonstone. We weren’t that much apart when me and my brothers were there, Achilles and Ajax are the same with them. When news of us being warded in King’s Landing by Uncle Viserys, she felt my melancholy that she threatened everyone who took a single step to take her from me; you should’ve seen the way she spread her wings, Egg.” He stiffens at the feeling of her leaning her head on his shoulder. This is uncharted waters. What should he do? Be still, you idiot, says the voice in his head that awfully sounds like a mix of Aether and Aemond. “Ever since she’s in the Dragonpit, she has developed a dislike for any dragonkeeper trying to chain her. She’s probably the freest dragon in here.”

“That’s,” Aegon gulps at the proximity, the scent purely associated with her covering his entire senses, “wonderful. Starfell sounds like she loves you very much.”

Aesira snorts before covering her mouth.

Aegon loses the tension in his shoulder to laugh. “Was that a snort I just heard?”

She looks away from him. “No, you must have heard it wrong. I was merely clearing my throat.”

He grins at her. “Where did my fair maiden go? Who is this imposter with me right now?”

“You’re testing me, Egg.”

Aegon shrugs now that her head isn’t leaning on his shoulder. He can breathe easier now. “I have to say; it sounds adorable. You should lose all your Lady regalia when you’re with me, princess.”

Aesira nudges him with her elbow, making him grunt at the force. “Don’t call me that!”

“Why can’t I when you look like that?” He nods his head to all the accessories still in her hair, especially the forehead circlet that matches his eyes (he likes to think it does match his eyes even when it’s a few shades off). “You even dressed the part.” He chooses to never voice out that he will make her his princess, fearing that voice in his head that sounds like both of his nightmares combined and also her pushing him to the ground. “But truthfully?” Aesira sends him a disbelieving expression. A natural smile tugs on his lips, reaching his eyes in childlike merriment. “You look beautiful, Sira.” His smile grows when Aesira’s eyes widen, her cheeks glowing in a pretty shade of carnation. Maybe he’ll give her a carnation bouquet from the gardens. Though he’ll have to be sly to evade the gardeners who poured their heart out to make the gardens the way it is.

“And will you stop looking at me like that?!”

Aegon sputters, forgetting that they are still in front of Starfell. He takes both of his hands to cover his face from Aesira’s onslaught of painless smacks. “What? I said I speak the truth.” Her face gains another shade of red, probably rose, and Aegon’s grin gets wider. He reaches a hand to pinch her warm cheek, cooing at how soft it is in between his fingers. “Don’t be mad at me, Princess Aesira.”

“Seven Hells,” Aesira grumbles but it comes out as something warbled from the way Aegon keeps pinching her cheek. “And here I was, thinking of inviting you to ride with me on Starfell once she’s alright to saddle two.”

Every single time spent with Aesira is filled with genuine laughter that Aegon doesn’t realise the time has flown so high over their heads. Starfell has been permitted by the dragonkeepers to roam around the neighbouring islands for her next meal, something that only the she-dragon and her fellow brothers have, which would be the reason behind her larger size for a dragon of nine name days. With Aesira’s hand firmly in his, Aegon wonders if his dragon grows to reach the size of Starfell or Achilles, Aether’s dragon who he saw for brief moments before he took off to the skies to follow his sister. Ser Arryk Cargyll (or is it Erryk) stands tall at the entrance of the Dragonpit, waiting for the two little children so that he can safely escort them back to the Keep.

But then he hears a call — a song pulling him in.

Aegon stops in his tracks, turning to the tunnels underground making up the Dragonpit. For the first time in his short life, he feels a strong sense of purpose — he has to follow where this call will lead him. Never hearing the shouts for his name and the distressed shouts of the Kingsguard sent to fetch them, Aegon runs down to the Dragonpit, letting this song guide him through the tunnels. Left. Right. Straight ahead. There is no light in here, only darkness stretching on for miles on end, almost swallowing him whole with nothing left to salvage. He doesn’t know how much time he’s spent avoiding steep stairs or sleeping dragons but he knows he’s near to the source of the lonely yet beautiful song. Behind him, he can faintly hear the clunking of armour. Ser Cargyll definitely followed him down here. He pays it no mind and focuses on the increasing volume echoing across the walls of the Dragonpit; it’s a surprise that no dragons have heard the call, the hall is silent except for this song. Aegon’s run becomes a slow walk, his head so wrapped up in this amalgamation of notes that has him in a trance, having no care for the safety of his person until he meets the singer. His heart is beating wildly in his chest, eyelids fluttering in trepidation. Whatever is residing a few paces in front of him will be the singer of the ballad pulling on every fibre of his reasoning. It’s becoming louder and louder.

Gold is the only thing he can see in this darkness.

Aegon releases a shaky breath. “Rytsas.”

The golden raises itself from his position and nears his face to Aegon’s. For some reason, Aegon feels safe. When he tilts his head, the dragon follows suit. A small laugh tickles his chest, “Who are you?” He mutters under his breath. As if the dragon understands him, a large snout is nudged on Aegon’s torso, reminiscent of how Aesira does when he teases her. The dragon now fully stands from lying down and walks with pounding footsteps toward him. Underneath all the gold, there are pink membranes lining his wings. Aegon’s breath is taken away from him. “What do you want me to do?” Common tongue is all he can utter, taking note to himself to ask Aesira to read Valyrian texts to him in addition to all the tutoring and training. The dragon lowers himself in front of Aegon. “What?”

The dragon makes a clicking noise in his throat, shaking his head a little and flapping his wide wings around.

“D-Do you want me to climb on your back?” Aegon looks around. “But there are no saddles around here.” Another set of clicking sounds. “Alright, alright. Just let me,” he grunts, carefully choosing scaffolds in between the dragon’s wings. He balances himself with both arms spread out on either side of him until he finds himself sitting on the most comfortable area on the dragon’s back, a juncture between his torso and neck. The feeling of powerful muscles underneath him sends a shudder down his spine. Magic thrums with each breath the dragon makes and Aegon thinks that maybe his blood is responding to the ancient ichor running down the large beast’s veins. The moment he is on the dragon’s back, it feels like the Fourteen Flames of Old Valyria are tying together a string that’s stronger than the pillars holding the Keep together. It sets his entire body on a height of confidence, his posture losing that residue of melancholy that followed him from the tourney. Aegon looks down at the unnamed creature. “Now what?”

The Dragonpit’s walls pass by him in a blur, the dragon’s claws propelling him to run. Aegon doesn’t register that the screams following them are his own.

“Sunfyre! Dohaerās, lykirī!”

Dragonkeepers keep shouting commands at the dragon but the magnificent beast with gold for his scales bypasses them to the open doors of the giant Dragonpit. Tucking his wings close to his body, Sunfyre twirls his body before opening his gigantic wings again, letting the wind take him higher over King’s Landing.

He opens his eyes and the world is in the palms of his hands. The ocean has never felt this vast and all-consuming. The skies have never felt this near to his fingertips. He keeps clinging onto the dragon’s back and he swears he will never let this moment go. He’s sure that the smallfolk of King’s Landing open their doors to see the new shadow covering their streets, baffled at the intricate colouring his dragon possesses (they’re pointing and gaping with their hands over their mouths), and that they can hear him scream out in pure, unadulterated joy.

The golden Sunfyre has been claimed and it only means one thing.

Aegon Targaryen is a dragonrider — a trueborn Targaryen with magic in his bones and divinity in the threads of his hair.

this is already on my ao3 so if you want more chapters, click on this link

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#— rory's passages 🌼#— family line | hotd ☀️#aegon ii x oc #aegon x oc #hotd x oc #hotd x reader #aegon targaryen x oc #aegon ii targaryen #aegon x reader #aegon ii targaryen x reader #aegon targaryen x reader #aegon ii #aegon ii fic #aegon ii fanfic #aegon the elder

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fandomsaligninstories · 1 year ago

Text

Year Two: Parseltongue

Chapter List WC: 1,535

Every student around Violet tensed up and started muttering, moving back away from the table. Whatever Harry was saying seemed to cause the snake to stop moving, but then it turned to face Justin Finch-Fletchly, a second-year Hufflepuff. It suddenly moved towards him, hissing in it's face. Everyone around them froze as the snake turned back to stare at Harry.

"Vipera Evanesca." Snape's voice was hard as he spoke the spell, causing the snake to burn away.

"What are you playing at?!" Justin shouted at Harry. Harry only stared at Justin, a confused expression on his face.

Harry looked at both the professors before rushing out of the hall, Hermione and Ron running after them.

"What was that?" Violet questioned, looking to Hannah and Aimee, who both had terrified expressions.

"He's a Parselmouth..." Aimee responded, "He speaks Parseltongue."

Violet snapped her fingers in front of Aimee's face, capturing her full attention, "I don't know what that means."

"Parseltongue," Hannah explained, "He can talk to snakes. It's a very, very rare gift that very few people have. It's typically only Slytherins that can speak it..."

"I told you he was the Heir!" Justin was suddenly beside them, fear in his voice, "I told you, didn't I?!"

"Yes, I believe you now, Justin." Hannah answered.

"What? You think Harry's the Heir because he can speak to snakes?" Everyone was in shock, she decided. Surely they weren't thinking clearly, "How do you know he didn't just warn the snake away?"

"Are you mad?" Justin snapped at her, "You saw it! He was obviously telling it to attack!"

"But it didn't attack, now did it?!" Violet snapped back.

"Okay, let's go!" Aimee drug Violet out of the hall by her arm, the two of them escaping the chaos.

Once in the hall, the two girls moved to the side as the rest of the students exited. They waited for Hannah, who was still speaking to Justin.

Suddenly a pair of grey eyes were in front of Violet's, causing her to stumble back.

"What gives?" She demanded, until she realized it was only Draco. Then she shouted, "What was that?!"

"What was what?" He snapped back, "The fact that your little mate is a Parseltongue?!"

"Why'd you spell a snake at him? And how was I to know he's a Parselmouth?! I didn't even know what that was until five minutes ago!"

"Oh, right! You've been defending him all year, so surely you knew something!"

Draco was in Violet's face now, his anger overwhelming. Before Violet could respond, Draco was thrown back away from her.

Violet blinked up at Cedric, who was seething in anger. His hands were fisted at his sides, "Don't you ever get near her again."

"Cedric!" She shoved past him, kneeling beside Draco, who was laid out on the ground, blinking up at the ceiling, "Draco? Draco! Did you hit your head? Look at me."

"You- you can't be serious." Cedric stuttered, "After what he just did, how could you possibly-"

"Alright, Cedric, I think they get it." Aimee pulled the boy back by his arm, guiding him down the stairs, "We should go."

Cedric was still muttering as they left. Violet was still sat beside Draco, who was sat up and mentally cursing Cedric. For the moment his anger was forgotten.

"I'm fine, stop fussing." He gently pushed Violet's hands away, which had been feeling the back of his head for any injury, "Violet, really!"

"Sorry, I just wanted to make sure." Then she smacked him on the shoulder, "And that's what you get for coming at me like that! I had no idea about Harry, Draco. But even so, I don't think he meant any harm."

His tone was a mixture of intrigue and frustration, "How could you defend him?"

"The same way I defend you; I truly believe you're both innocent."

Draco pushed up to his feet, holding out a hand to help Violet up. He couldn't think of anything to say, so he just let his eyes roam over her face. Her brows were furrowed, her eyes focused on him. No matter how much time they spent together, she still couldn't fully figure him out. One moment he was kind and gentle, the next angry and deceiving.

He left without another word. Violet would've taken it personally, but she knew by now that that was just how he was.

━━━━━━⊱༻ ༺⊰━━━━━━

18th December, 1992, Friday

Violet was on her way out of the library, having spent most of the evening with Draco, when she stopped at the entrance. Some of the other Hufflepuffs, Hannah included, were having a not-so-quiet conversation at the table around the corner. She saw Harry a little bit away, listening to the conversation. She thought she'd ask if he was alright, then she heard what the others were saying.

Ernie Macmillan, a fellow Hufflepuff second year, was saying, "Well, Justin let it slip to Potter that he was Muggle-born."

Another second year, whose name Violet didn't know, asked, "And you think Potter's the Heir of Slytherin?"

"I know." Ernie responded, "He's a Parselmouth. Everyone knows that's a mark of a dark wizard. Have you ever heard of a decent one that could talk to snakes?"

"They called Slytherin himself serpent-tongue." Violet was surprised Hannah joined the conversation. She knew her friend thought Harry the Heir, but she wasn't usually a gossip.

After another minute, Violet had heard enough. Harry must've too, because he stormed off. Violet went after him, following him through the back halls. They were heading towards the Hufflepuff house, it seemed. She caught up to him in what she thought was an empty hall, as he paused in the middle of it.

"You alright, Harry?" He didn't seem to notice her presence, as he stood in the middle of the hallway. She looked around him then, noticing Nearly Headless Nick floating there, unmoving. Then, to her horror, she saw Justin laying on the ground. Both the boy and ghost had been petrified.

Harry kneeled in front of Justin, reaching out to touch him.

"Merlin's beard, Harry! What happened?!"

He jumped slightly, turning back to look at her, "It wasn't me!"

"Well, obviously." She rolled her eyes, stepping closer. Justin's face was frozen in terror, his eyes and mouth wide, arms out in front of him, and skin pale.

Just then, Filch rounded the corner, observing the scene quickly, "Caught in the act. I'll have you out this time, Potter."

Harry and Violet whipped around, their pleas falling on deaf ears. As Filch departed, Harry moved to the wall of windows, watching something. Violet leaned forward to see what it was. She nearly screamed when she saw the line of spiders crawling out.

Filch and Professor McGonagall rounded the corner. McGonagall let out a gasp, moving around to observe Nick and Justin, then she turned to Violet.

"You're alright?" The Professor patted the girls shoulders and arms, as if checking to make sure, then she turned to Harry when she was content that Violet was unharmed.

"Professor," He tried, "I swear I didn't."

"This is out of my hands, Potter." Despite her words, her tone was sympathetic. Violet wasn't the only one who believed Harry was innocent.

"Return to your dormitory immediately, Ms. Ellis." McGonagall said, not giving the girl a chance to defend Harry. She watched Violet's every move until she was out of sight.

Violet was out of breath when she entered her dorm, having ran the whole way there. Aimee and Caroline both looked up, startled. She was surprised to find Hannah there, too.

"It's Justin! And Nearly Headless Nick!" She gasped, "They've been petrified!"

"What?!" The girls jumped up, rushing towards to Violet.

Violet told them everything. Or, rather, almost everything. She might've changed the story just enough to have her friends believe that Harry and Violet had been walking together. She didn't want to give them any further reason to believe he's the Heir.

"I can't believe it!" Hannah was shaking her head, "I feel sorry that you and Harry heard that, but surely you understand, Violet?"

"I don't like it, but yes, I do." Violet didn't want to admit it, but she fully understood why so many believed it was Harry.

"Poor Justin." Aimee sighed, "At least we leave for holiday in a few days, then we won't have to worry about anyone else being attacked."

"Sure," Caroline scoffed, "Until we have to come back."

"Not helping," Violet snapped, tired of her friend's bad attitude.

Caroline glared at the girl, turning on her heel and stomping back to her bed, "Whatever, Violet. I'll be down in the common room if you need me." The last part was pointed at Aimee and Hannah, but Violet only shrugged it off.

Once Caroline was out of the room, Aimee quirked an eyebrow at Violet, "What's with you two?"

Violet shrugged, "I honestly don't know anymore."

Hannah shook her head, dropping onto her bed, "Well, I hope you two make up soon. It'll be a long few months when we get back from holiday if you two are still fighting."

Violet couldn't agree more. It seemed like she and Caroline never got along anymore. It wasn't for a lack of trying; Violet had tried to apologize to Caroline for her behavior, for skipping out on her and starting arguments over the topic of the Heir, but Caroline just never seemed to care. Violet had given up trying. She didn't want to lose her friend, but she didn't want to keep fighting either.

━⊱༻ ༺⊰━ TAGLIST: @stellarlune-love

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coffee-latte-sprite · 3 years ago

Text

Damian Al Ghul and the Annoying Reporter

Series Masterlist

AgedUp!damian al ghul x fem!reader

Chapter 9

WC: 2,500

Warnings: murder, feelings, high-key rom-com scene (they are in Paris, what do you expect?)

Synopsis:

Wanting to make a name for herself, Y/N does the unthinkable and tries to interview the heir to the League of Assassins. Although, it doesn’t go as planned. How will she be able to salvage this, especially when Damian Al Ghul doesn’t like strangers?

The trio continues their journey without a hitch. (For the most part.)

Y/N was caught in every single tourist trap there was in Italy, which was happily accompanied by her new camera. She had more photos of their adventures than of what the original purpose of the camera was for.

They went to the colosseum, where “supposably” the movie Luca was inspired from, and Y/N tried to see the Pope.

(They were escorted out)

Damian was dragged everywhere, and stopped giving up a fight. He supposed going to a little “event’ for an hour was better than her complainning about not going for five hours. Titus was also loving everything as well.

He was getting attention from everyone and getting free food from restaurants. He didn’t see many downsides.

Then, as they move around the country, people start to give Y/N and Damian a label.

A couple.

Weather it be they were newly-weds, just dating, engaged, or married for a while (people thought this when they argued) they were labeled. One time they were eating out and people congratulated them on getting married.

Y/N was so in shock she didn’t say anything for a solid ten minutes, while Damian immediately thanked them and went back to eating.

Y/N was floored by Damian. He was okay with being mistakened as a couple?

He just replied that it was harder to explain their relationship than just saying “thanks.”

Besides, Damian didn’t care what others thought, he had other things he had to get done. Like getting Y/N out of Italy and into France.

They took a train out of the country and into the other. They spent 16 hours on the train and in first class (as usual) and Y/N and Titus were getting stir crazy.

They decided to try every dish the train had to offer, while Damain had a protein shake and a salad.

He didn’t mind Y/N and Titus in the background enjoying themselves and constantly spending his money. He thought it would bother him, but as he saw her smile and heard her laugh, he had no issues.

===

“Thank GOD we are off that train.” Y/N said as she stretched out her back on the train platform. Her suitcase was stationed at her feet while Titus was stretching out as well.

Damian gave them a glance, “You were walking around the whole time. We had a whole car to yourself!” He said exasperated as he spent most of his time charting out their course.

Y/N waved him off, “still to small.”

He rolled his eyes as he picked up his bag and suitcase and started walking.

“Wait up!” She yelled as she picked up her luggage as well.

Damian unconsciously slowed as he pulled out a map of Paris.

Y/N then let a smile grace her face.

He was warming up to her.

“Do you want to go to the hotel here, here, or here?” He asked her as he showed her the map of the city and pointed to the top 3 hotels.

“Hmm.” She hummed as she looked at them. After the second city together, Damian started to ask for her opinion on many things.

Where they would eat, where they would sleep, and what chew toys Titus would like. He didn’t understand why he began to ask for her opinion, but he enjoyed listening to it.

(That is when he isn’t getting an earful because he messed up)

“How about this one.” She said as she pointed to the closest one to the station.

“Great,” He said as he folded up the map and they began walking.

They walked in silence and Y/N became hyper aware of everyone around them. All of the women were practically drooling over him and all of the men were getting out to the way.

She then looked down at herself. She didn’t have the perfect body as those other women. She hasn’t had a shower in a couple of . . . days. And she knew she looked like a wreck as she has been having trouble sleeping.

Then she looked at Damian. He was perfect. His hair didn’t seem out of place and his clothes didn’t look wrinkled.

She started to run her hands through her hair to try and comb it out.

Damian took notice, “What are you doing? Scared someone will reconize you?” He teased as he knew she was illegally traveling with him.

She didn’t respond as she wsn’t sure how to answer, but before she could open her mouth.

“You look fine. Don’t worry about it.” He siad as he kept walking.

He didn’t look at her, but she knew he meant it. She smiled again, and he smiled back.

===

“Can we please go?” She asked as she batted her lashes at him.

Damian lowered the newspaper to let his eyes overlook the paper to see her staring at him.

“No,” He replied as the newspaper flipped back up.

She huffed and crossed her arms over her chest. “Why not?”

He lowered the newspaper again, “It’s not time yet.” The newspaper went back up.

“But they will close soon!” She yelled as she went back to her hotel bed and flopped onto it.

“That’s what you think.” He said behind the paper.

“What does that mean?”

“You’ll see.” He said.

As she opened her mouth again, there was a knock on the door. Y/N sprang up in surprise and Damian remained still.

She whispered yelled to him, “Aren’t you going to do anything?”

He answered normally, “Open it.”

Anxiety ripped through her.

“I’m right here, nothing will happen.” He said as his eyes came over the top of the paper.

“Promise?” “Promise.” He repeated and went back to reading the French Press.

She slowly got off the bed and tip-toed to the door. She looked around the room for the nearest weapon and saw a lamp. She nodded to herself.

If this meeting goes South, she has a weapon.

Titus was also acutely aware of the new presence behind the door and was ready to pounce from his bed at any moment.

Y/N then looked through the peep-hole in the door to see a man dressed in hotel attire and a large flat box in his arms.

She opened the door to see the man to look relieved.

“Miss L/N, this is for you.” He said as he then gave her the box. She took and thanked the man as he quickly left.

She looked at the box in confusion as she kicked the door closed and laid the box on the bed.

“Do you think this could be a bomb?” She said as she looked at it in skeptism.

“Titus is trained to smell for bombs, and he seems to be okay with it. So. . . no.”

Y/N nodded as he opened the box very slowly. The thin cardboard opened to see tissue paper over the top. “Huh?” She said as she wasn’t expecting this.

She took out the tissue paper and gasped. Her hands flew to her mouth in shock and Damian jolted up from his seat in fear.

“What’s wrong?” He asked as he strided over to her.

She was scrambling for words as she began to scream-talk: “IT-IT--oh my GOD! IT’S BEAUTIFUL!” She then reached into the box to pull out a dress. It was a deep royal blue that was floor length. It was elegant as its silk fabric grazed her finger tips. As she pulled it out further, she noticed that around its shoulders was a cape that covered the back of the dress.

“I’ve never seen anything so beautiful. I-I-I don’t even know what to say!” She squealed as she held the dress up to herself and played with it.

“I’m glad you like it. I was worried that-”

Y/N cut him short, “Wait, you bought this?” She asked in a shaky voice.

“Yes, I saw how upset you were earlier. My mother always told me that when ever a woman is down on herself, she needs an elegant night out.” He quoted.

Y/N blinked, once, twice.

“Am I dead?” She asked as her arms went slack.

“I am not that lucky.” He responded and went back to his chair by the window.

“Wait, no seriously, are you feeling alright?” She asked as she went to his side and put the back of her hand to his forehead to feel his body heat.

He huffed and gently pulled her hand away. “I am doing fine. The only health scare I have is you.” He then opened the newspaper. He was on the crossword puzzle.

“But why would--WAIT! Are you planning on leaving me on the streets and leave me here?” She yelled as she grabbed the collar of his shirt and and pulled him to her as she shook him. “ANSWER ME!”

He then grabbed her hands and raised a brow, “No, I was going to leave you tomorrow when you were sleeping.”

She screamed bloody-murder and Damian was sure he was deaf.

===

Damian was kidding. He threw out the notion of leaving her behind as soon as she sprung to life after falling off the cliff. He realized that even inadvertently trying to kill her didn’t work, simply leaving her wouldn’t work either.

And through his (very limited) experience of working with others, he decided to let himself relax into her. He stopped trying to fight and let them bind together. He gives, she takes, she gives (to Titus) and he takes. Ever since Rome, they fell into the gentle rythm of each other, and he didn’t mind it.

It was (embarrassingly) to say, he began to enjoy her snarky remarks and sense of wonder and excitement of adventure. (Even if she was terrible at it)

He liked waking up to see her in the other bed with messy hair, he liked coming back to her and seeing her playing with Titus. She stopped become a hindrance in his mind, to a necessity.

And that scared him senseless.

He didn’t relize how much she has wiggled into his life. He didn’t relize how many decisions he would make now that revolves around her input.

He was scared so senseless he stopped caring about everything but her.

And that is why they were together at the eiffel tower. He payed off the guards to let them come up to the top at night and they set up a little dinner table. Full of their favoirte foods.

He was drinking wine as he watched Y/N’s eyes light up with glee as she looked at the city below. The soft glow of the night light made him hazy. Her bright smile made him weak. Her perfect laugh made him enamored.

And as she looked back at him with that happy glow of hers, he knew then and there, he was screwed. Totally and utterly screwed.

That was scarest moment of his life.

“So, Mr. AlGhul, what do you want me to ask you first?” She asked as took a sample of the cheese platter near her.

When did her voice sound so alluring?

When did that dress make her look like a goddess?

“Anything.” He said not registering her question.

This was the arrangement he claimed for the “night out.” The only reason why they were staying together was the reason of her needing an interview with him.

That is why they were having dinner together. Once this was over, they could safely part ways.

No strings attached as they would say.

“So,” she drawed out as she brought out a pencil and pad of paper. “When did you know you were the heir of the league?”

“When I was born.” He deadpanned.

She paused, “Not really what I meant. Here, let me rephrase: when did the pressure of being the heir hit you?”

“When I was born.” He repeated as he took a bite out of his dish.

She scowled. “Come on, answer the question seriously.”

“I am! As soon as I was born I was expected to not cry and stay silent when asked.” He said as a pain crossed his face.

Y/N stayed silent, now feeling bad. “Isn’t that a little. . . insensitive?” She asaked.

“Nothing I’m not used to.” He replied as he took another sip of wine.

“So, have they changed since you were born?” She asked hoping for him to answer differently.

“Yes.” he paused, “they got worse.”

Y/N soured, “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be. I handled it.” He stared off into the distance.

They continued their interview for hours. Their questions got lighter and their connection deepened.

Y/N then relized how funny he was and relized how her heart quickened when his attention was only on her.

When did that happen?

===

Y/N was quickly asleep when they got back to the hotel room. She changed and snuggled under the covers with Titus. She thanked him again for the night out and interview.

Damian was content with his life now.

He then changed out of his suit and into another. His League of Assassin uniform.

He tied his suit tight and a black cloth wrapped around his face, leaving only his eyes while his katana was joined at his hip.

He had ulterior motives to coming to Paris and not going straight to the ferry to get them to the UK. He had one more loose end he had to cut.

Ubu. One of Slade’s minions who was there to take down the league.

Damian went swiftly through the night as people dismissed him as a shadow or a trick of the light.

He was precise in his moves as his blade cut through his victim. He was seamless in his plan as he made a symbol out of his victim and lept back into the darkness where his heart broke once again.

He was no good.

He was a monster.

He was the perfect serial killer.

He looked at his hands as ruby red covered his skin. This is what he truly is.

He isn’t a son of Bruce Wayne, but the son of a asylum, trapping him forever in his clutches.

He looked down at his hotel window from above. Why would he ever let her into his life? Why would he allow himself into her life? Why would he allow himself to fall prey to her?

Why in world, would he break the number one rule his mother had?

“Never have attachments. They make you weak.”

Why in the Hell would he let himself fall like this, especially when it hurt this much.

His heart was breaking. His soul was falling apart at the seams at all of the relizations.

She deserved someone better.

He fell to his knee as he clasped his chest. It hurt. It all hurt.

He bit his lip in frustration at himself. His throat bobbed with a sting. It hurt.

Then as he gasped for air to stop his tears as he realized, he was in love.

A/N: "oh wow, I finally got this out :|" Anyway- thank you for your patience!!

@royalmuffinsworld / @rory-cakess / /@jasontoddsloverrrr / @rivas0309 / @giselatropicana / @atlaincorrect / @acupnoodle / @geeksareunique / @1-800-cherri / @mymomsdisappointment / @lolsnack / @dreamsdemxn / @hollyharper / @bl6o6dy

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kithtaehyung · 4 years ago

Text

The Five Huntsmen (Teaser) | PJM

➵ title: the five huntsmen (m) ➵ pairing: prince!jimin x princess!reader(f) ➵ teaser wc: 2.8k ➵ total wc: tbd, possibly 20-30k ➵ fairytale: the twelve huntsmen ➵ genres/rating: 18+ ; angst, fluff, smut ; fantasy, royalty, strangers(?) to lovers ➵ warnings: language, ANGST, fighting, weapons, blood, betrayal, shifters (humans to animals, vice versa), final nsfw warnings to be added to full fic when posted but nothing’s needed for the teaser ➵ summary: you and prince jimin have promised to marry, but his father falls deathly ill, so he ventures back home to see him one last time. news of your lover choosing to wed another princess leaves you thoroughly distraught—until your mother tells you there’s fight in you yet. besides, isn’t the handsome heir to that throne in need of elite guards for protection for his coronation? perhaps the likes of hooded, masked huntsmen you had secretly been training with ever since you could run? ➵ note: this fic will be posted as part of the bangtan grimm event hosted by the amazing @hobeemin!! hope you’re all ready for some fairytales coming to life with a bangtan spin. i may break this up into chapters depending on the ending word count, as well. ➵ taglist: open! message me, comment, or mention in a reblog to be added! ➵ tentative release: september 6th, 2021, 8pm est

“That one looks like you.”

“If that one looks like me, I can’t believe you haven’t fled by now.”

Your beloved prince chuckles beside you and, while your palms are tenderly pressed, you can’t help but compare the sound to the very clouds floating across your vision. Like the scent of honeysuckle and verdpine that twirls around your prone forms, his soft laughs are some of your favorite things.

The pair of you didn’t plan on cloud watching at first. Your stroll through the castle gardens was supposed to be a quick one since the kitchens were almost done with the afternoon meal. But you didn’t mind the way Jimin suddenly planted his bottom on a random patch of soft grass, even softer fingers tugging you down to join him. You definitely berated him for being the cause of dirtying your dress, though, at which he simply winked in triumph.

His hand squeezes yours into the cool ground as he hums, “Maybe I have a type.”

“Puffy and fleeting?”

“Puffy… Fleeting… Lazy…”

Your nudge against his shoulder kicks another chuckle out of his throat. “I am not any of those things.” You ignore the look he sends you as he shifts his head.

“Right. And I’m not a prince.”

“I am not lazy.”

“But you are puffy and fleeting?”

“Looks like someone doesn’t want to stay for supper.”

Without pause, Jimin rolls his form over your side. “I don’t need to stay for that if I can have you right now,” he murmurs, the words dripping onto your face and painting it one shade darker.

“Oh?”

“Mm,” he purrs, drawing the syllable out. After a flicker of mischief you catch too late, Jimin’s whole tone suddenly changes as he yells, “Think fast!”

Fingers dive into your side, launching you off the ground with a gasp and tugging yelps out of your throat.

“Laughter suits you more than words,” your prince loftily jokes as you swipe at his thin wrists, trying to get back at him through your giggling duress.

You also attempt to nudge Jimin with one of your knees, but he has your dress mercilessly pinned.

No matter. When he’s busy attacking your sides, you jut your arms out to tackle his armpits, shouting, “I should say the same to you!”

Love and mirth swirl around the garden as you and Jimin try to best each other. Though his hands are quick, yours end up quicker, eliciting the loveliest of cackles and unabashed noises.

“Okay, okay! I surrender,” he relents after a series of your attacks. The pair of you settle back into the grass, chests heaving and cheeks burning. “You’re really cutting down my dignity today.”

“Shouldn’t you be used to this by now?”

“I am.” The prince takes your hand and wraps it around his torso. “Which is why I will be prepared for when we’re married.”

Affection blooms in your chest as you smile, knowing that he will be your greatest companion, your softest, sturdiest shield. Your marriage will be the joining of two already thriving kingdoms—Avarest and Zenborn—sealing their protection and fortune even tighter. But more than that, you know that he will be a gracious man, a generous lover—and you will be just the same. “Good thing, too,” you whisper, eyes alight with starfire. “I’ve trained you well.”

Jimin’s face softens with content, stray locks rolling across his forehead as he looks at nothing but you. Though sunlight bathes the garden around him in gold, his smile outshines it all—endless, breathtaking. “I love you,” he whispers ardently. “I’ll always love you.”

“And I you.” In a burst of passion, you cup the back of his head, digging your fingers into his soft strands while you claim his mouth with confidence. At his soft groan, you harden your embrace before situating yourself on top of his now-dirtied dress robes.

Not that either of you truly care.

Your knees dig into the grass on either side of him, and you smile at the tender hands swimming in the waves of your dress. “Forever.”

“No more talking,” Jimin whispers, brows furrowed and impatient. “Kiss me.”

You oblige, latching your lips onto the expanse of his neck. The swipes of your tongue push deeper the more your prince moans underneath you, and you can start to feel a bulge lifting your belly, despite the multiple layers of dastardly clothing between.

Jimin shoves your face away from his neck with his jaw, clutching your lips right after. Everything is heightened when he does, as if your passion brings out the best qualities of the surrounding flora. Right as you yank Jimin’s hair and demand him to ruin you for all the daffodils to see, a calm voice weasels behind you, taking you and your prince by surprise.

Immediately, you twist your body around. Standing with the air of someone with terrible news is one of your soldiers, still shifted. You know the otter’s name—for you know everyone’s in your castle—but it is irrelevant. “Pardon me, Princess. And Your Highness.”

Your ascent back to your feet is stiff, with Jimin straightening and staying by your side. When the armored shifter doesn’t divulge any further, you fake patience, “You have news for me, dear?”

The poor otter’s reply comes out stilted, “It’s… It’s news for Prince Jimin.”

“Me?” When you turn towards your lover, his brows are already deeply set, his feet seeming to move forward on their own accord. “What’s wrong?”

“Your father,” the soldier sighs, claws nervously tutting and voice shaken. “King Park has fallen ill. Word is that he doesn’t have much time.”

“What?” Jimin’s eyes threaten to fall when he shakily responds, giving way to suspicion. “He was in great health when I left. What happened?”

Your otter soldier shakes his head before explaining, “I’m afraid I don’t know for sure, Your Highness, but... rumors are that he got injured by a viperboar while out on his hunt.”

“Great Valahara,” you whisper piously, reaching out to clutch Jimin’s billowy sleeve. “My love…”

When he doesn’t budge for a moment, worry sprouts quickly from your heart; when he turns, it fades into a dull aching, and you want to wipe the rush of tears from his eyes.

Your prince’s voice is clogged when he whispers, “I must go to see him… Before he...”

“You must,” you agree, though laden with longing already. “Go.”

“Your horse is ready, Prince Jimin.”

When the man ignores the otter and positions himself in front of you, you can tell he’s trying his best to memorize your face. “It may be long before I see you again,” he whispers, eyes downcast and pink-rimmed. And he is right.

“I’ll be here. I will wait for you.”

A forehead presses into yours. ��I don’t want to leave you.”

“But you must.”

Trembling fingers grip your own, giving them a good squeeze before a kiss is planted in the ridges of your bones.

“I’ll always love you.”

“Forever.”

You don’t know how much time has passed since your prince departed. But you know that the ache you feel in your chest creeps further and further into the rest of your limbs, like the slow approach of frost before winter’s claim. Trudging. Lethargic. The constant longing weighs you down like an anchor plummeting deeper and deeper into the Wandering Sea.

But you don’t let it keep you there. You busy yourself doing many things: helping your mother delegate duties around the castle, assisting your father in constructing new roadways as Avarest grows and grows.

And even though all of these tasks keep you moving, the one thing that always wakes your spirit, without fail, only happens in the dead of night, when even the duskfall owls flap to their treetops to sleep.

Your dagger clashes with another as you block your opponent’s fourth blow, angry orange sparks bouncing between your black clothes.

Training. Sparring. Fighting.

That is what keeps your veins alight, your blood pulsing—the pure blood of a princess that’s adored by many, never known to fight when the stars are at their brightest.

A low kick threatens to take out your knees, but you leap backward before propelling yourself towards your attacker, your low stance almost allowing a hit before your blow is defended. One, two, three metal clangs later, you’re still both left unscathed.

Almost no one knows of these late nights you spend in Hobsknock Forest, hidden from civilian life deep within its perimeter. Only high flying animals would be able to spot your hideaway—a clearing littered with weapons, broken training equipment, and boxes of replacements.

It’s one of the bases of your Kingdom’s masked assassins, created by your mother herself.

The Huntsmen.

Your feet find purchase as you cross your arms to avoid a dagger to your head, and your knee launches up in an attempt to catch their solid stomach. A full fight of punches, dagger swipes, and kicks erupts, your muscles burning and singing with each hit.

“Someone’s enjoying this a bit too much,” your masked sparring partner notes, his eyes shining and smug.

You block a punch and grab his arm. “Talking about yourself, Taehyung?”

He’s going hard tonight. Whenever this happens, he’s either bored out of his mind or they have a mission coming up. Regardless, you don’t care; in fact, the exertion is a great way to blow off the steam you’ve kept condensed inside of your bones.

He wrenches himself free before slicing at your side, and you jump backwards to avoid the swipe. “You seem pretty eager to me,” you observe with a huff.

Stopping for a moment, Taehyung assumes a fighting stance. “I am,” he admits. “We’re leaving soon.”

“For?”

He throws himself forward, barely catching you off-guard before you tilt to the side and scrape your dagger against his. Rude.

Grunting while pressing his weapon against yours, your partner sighs, “I’ll tell you, but you won’t like it.”

“What do you mean,” you seethe, thrusting your arm out in a quick succession of strikes—all parried.

He leaps to the side to swipe at your abdomen, but you quickly dodge by rolling away. “He’s gone,” the masked boy breathes out. “King Park is dead.”

He doesn’t give you another chance to speak because he launches himself forward, his long legs allowing him to cover the entire distance you created. Grunting, you keep your defenses up, your feet backing up with every swift clash.

Metallic hits ring across the clearing, arguing with another sparring match happening beside you and the sound of a bowstring tightening for another training shot.

When your back hits a tree, you duck to avoid a neck blow, splinters raining on your head before you roll and skid a few meters away.

But Taehyung stops when he sees you breathing a bit harder than normal. Taking his grace period to catch your breath, you wipe a hand across your forehead, puffs warming your cheeks behind your mask. “And?”

“We’re tasked to help… Him.”

Oxygen threatens to abandon you. “...Jimin?”

His voice is hardened when he confirms, “Yes. But there’s more.”

Suddenly, a stern voice addressing your partner juts into your conversation. You whip your head to the side to see Seokjin—the eldest Huntsmen—giving his younger friend a knowing look as his bow rests against his leg.

You don’t look away from him as you respond to Taehyung, fire erupting in your eyes. “Just tell me.”

“His coronation is coming up.” When you side-eye your partner, he’s deftly playing catch with his weapon, the black metal barely grabbing the light of the moon in its edges. Snatching his dagger from the air, Taehyung continues, “And he’s set to marry a princess from Balon. I don’t remember which one, though. They have way too many.”

Your heart suddenly doesn’t know how to function, its beating ceasing and its pathways closing. Gulping to try to dislodge the emotions in your throat, you struggle to even respond, words and pleas and disbelief dying on your tongue.

Jimin?

Your prince?

To wed… another?

Around your dagger, fingers tremble. Your eyes, unblinking.

There are voices around you, whispers that get closer and closer. But you don’t register them. They mean nothing. Everything means nothing.

“I’ll always love you.”

“Princess?”

Your focus snaps into place as you feel a tense hand on your shoulder. When you finally look around you, all four of the young men you have been accompanying that night are regarding you with caution. Worry.

They’re Huntsmen, after all. They must have sensed your distress before your esophagus even closed.

Regarding the one with his hand on your shoulder, you blink before starting to breathe again. “I’m fine, Hoseok,” you whisper. “I just… It’s shocking, is all.”

The man removes his hand from you after giving a reassuring squeeze. “We know. I’m sorry.”

Fiddling with your weapon as you start to gain control of your fingers, you shake your head. “I’ll be fine.”

“You sure?”

Turning, you nod to another one of your Huntsmen, your friends, your closest companions since childhood. “Yes, Kook, I’m sure. I just need to be alone.” You start to walk away from their concerning stares, the weight of them beginning to suffocate.

When you reach the edge of the clearing, you throw your weapon into the ground, the dagger’s top glinting in the night as you immerse yourself in the shadows of the forest canopy.

It is much later when you visit your mother in her study—knowing she will be there, as she always is—to see if what they say is true. When she sadly validates their claims, you fling yourself on her lap, distressed and confused and utterly betrayed.

Why didn’t anyone tell you? Why did you have to find out this way?

“A messenger hawk flew in just this morning,” the Queen whispers, smoothing your hair with both her words and her fingers.

But you cannot be consoled. You don’t know what to do. The both of you were going to be betrothed. To each other.

How could Jimin forget so quickly? There’s no way he could have… Right?

“We were supposed to wed,” you choke on your solid fist.

“Why speak as if it’s already untrue?”

“You received the message,” you sniff, bitterly. “It’s already set in stone.”

“You don’t know for sure unless you find out.”

A pause. When you look up into her caring eyes and search them for answers, you see sparks of rebellion, flecks of what she’s trying to convey.

Is she telling you to question it?

Is she telling you to find out… yourself?

Brows furrow and lips purse as you rasp, “Mother… What are you saying?”

“I believe you already know.”

“But why?”

“The ones that never question things never end up with what they truly want,” she whispers as she brushes over your hair once more. “Even I didn’t bow down to royal customs, didn’t accept them as fate. I would be a hypocrite if I told you any different.”

“But he betrayed me, mother,” you sigh, hot tears leaking from your eyes.

“How do you know that for sure?”

Something in you turns like a key in a lock, opening a box of suspicion that leaks into the rest of your body. The Queen has a point. What if something happened? What if there’s something you’re missing? You’ve been bombarded with so much emotion that it has clouded any logic or judgment.

But… You’re the princess. You must stay in your kingdom. How are you supposed to just show up unannounced in another part of the realm and expect everything to be okay? What can you possibly use as an excuse to go other than jealousy or rage or suspicion?

All of your doubts and fears are plastered on your face, but your mother swipes them away with a gentle thumb. “Be smart, and keep a sharp eye,” she advises. “I’ll deal with your father.”

“I…” How is she able to instill this much trust and responsibility in you? You have a firm relationship with the Queen, but this isn’t something you ever thought she would let you do. “Mother, I don’t even know how I would go.”

“But I do. After all… You’ve trained with them all this time.”

You freeze.

What?

There’s no way she knows about that.

You’ve made sure to keep that secret hidden from everyone. From the time you begged them to let you train with them as a little girl, you made sure to suppress that part of your life. All the times you snuck around, the nights you slipped into your covers fresh and clean for the mornings, the times you deftly fibbed about your activities.

Tonight, you even made sure to wash after training and dress into your flowing night clothes. Your voice is disbelieving as you breathe out, “How do you know?”

The Queen simply smiles down upon your quivering gaze. “Because while your clothes and scent may lie…” Loving fingers travel along your arm. “You cannot hide the strength under your skin, or the energy in your eyes.”

She knew this entire time?

Why hadn’t she said anything?

You want to ask your mother so many things, unearth other secrets she has about her past—but she ends the conversation before you utter another word.

“There’s fight in you yet, child,” she says, hushed. “Now go. The Huntsmen leave at dawn.”

to be continued...

a/n: ahhh if you made it to the end, hello! i am SO excited for this piece and i’m having a blast writing it, so i hope you all enjoy it, as well. :D taglist is open so message, comment, dm, or mention in a reblog if you want to be added. i wanted some fantasy au’s on my blog so HERE WE GO!! lastly, here’s the link to my masterlist if you want to peruse, and my inbox is always open if you’d like to chat!🏹

#bts fics #bts imagines #bts reactions #beegrimm #btsgoldnet #purplearmynet #clubjimin #jimin angst #jimin fluff #jimin smut #jimin x reader #teasers #blacklist term for fics:#*ryenfictalk #ryenwrites #*latest #bangtaninn #btshoneyhive

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rhaenyraslaena · 3 years ago

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title: the heiress who never was wc: 1.1k (preview) summary: it is growing close to princess daenaera's targaryen's seventeenth nameday, still yet a carefree life close to her adoring elder sister rhaenyra and doting father viserys. but she's keenly aware that her station will demand marriage soon even if there is only one in the world she truly desires. notes: strictly a preview of a chapter i am working on (the actual chapter is 5k words) but wanted to preview daenaera's and rhaenyra's relationship bc i love them so

Rhaenyra raises the gown of expensive Myrish lace and azure Qartheen silk patterned with silver threaded dragons, placed beneath the inspection of her younger sister’s lavender gaze. Daenaera thinks it’s a reflection of the bright, deep blue waters of the great Summer Sea and it’s so silken to the touch that it is a reminder of cool water washing over her hands. As if she were washing her hands in the cold stream that runs in the gardens of their summer palace — a gentle kind of coolness that leaves her refreshed and wanting for nothing more. A reminder of their days spent without care in their summer palace located just at the edge of the Summer Sea.

“A gift for your seventeenth nameday from Lady Tyrell of Highgarden herself.” Rhaenyra muses, an eager, jeweled finger running over the smoothness of the silk — it is a gown that her elder sister would don herself if Daenaera chooses to discreetly not accept the gift. “Her youngest son Gawayne is all of eighteen summers himself.”

“Are you really trying to rid yourself of my presence that quickly, sweet sister?” A laugh drops from softly painted lips, the glimmer of amusement tinting the already light shade of her eyes. “Had enough of all of us flocking to you like hens flocking to their pens?”

A brow of silver arches with her slight tease accompanied by a flick of her gaze over the swell of her elder sister’s stomach cloaked beneath thick, expensive wool of their traditional colors of scarlet and black. Her elder sister’s marriage with Ser Laenor had proven to be more than merely fruitful in the first five years, with two sons following one another before being joined by a third pregnancy in the early spring of this year.

“Oh, hush now.” Rhaenyra pats her arm with another hand, this time jeweled with the sapphires and emeralds that had once belonged to their ancestress Rhaenys herself.

“You’re all over mothering hens to me but you’re one hen that I would always want by my side.”

“Then why do you speak of marriage? As well as your marriage has gone with Ser Laenor, don’t forget that you were half forced into the decision by Father.”

At twenty summers, her sister Rhaenyra is the true representation of the word ‘delight’ and as courageous as she had ever been since their years of adolescence, the fire not yet have departed from the depths of her deep violet eyes. Daenaera would even dare to claim that flames of her stubborn pride had grown even more into violet flames that gleam like the amethysts that are set in Daenaera’s personal tiara. And a fact that is most certain to Daenaera is that there would be not a single intention of her sister to palace her within the same position as she had been — not if Rhaenyra could help it. Rhaenyra had long proven that since their girlhood even after she had been handed the reins of being the heir to the Iron Throne at the tender age of twelve.

A stretch of eight years had passed between the celebration of her sister’s newly given position to this day — passing in a blur of memories and the chaos that is their family.

“Much I would rather my younger sister remain in the freedom that is given to maidens, the talk of marriage will surely intensify with your seventeenth year. It’s a slight. . . preparation. Father will want to search for a proper bridegroom that will suit our family interests and be worthy of our house.”

Words do not part Daenaera’s lips as feels the rush of heat pool beneath her cheeks and dust them a pretty pink upon the surface, her thoughts drifting to a certain lord with a mane of silver gold hair unwillingly. It is not a thought that is banished with ease when the topic of marriage does enter their conversations.

“I suppose that Ser Gawayne would not be a terrible match. Tyrell funds in our father’s royal coffers would be very pleasant indeed.”

A gasp touched with surprise parts her lips when the elder of the sisters reaches to her, grasping the soft skin of her cheek between two fingers in a pinch. It is not pain filled but it is a pinch of arning, just as the ones that had been given to both herself and Rhaenyra as their lady mother had come to scold them over some petty matter or another.

“Pray tell me how my sweet little sister is aware of such matters? Has our father indulged you in his secrets or has the queen poisoned your mind with the worries of a kingdom that should not stress you out.”

An utterance of a word does not arrive in a few moments — even if her nameday of adulthood grows nearer and nearer, the elder Rhaenyra remains the ever vigilant and distrusting guard that stands watch over Daenaera. Merely three years separate the sisters and yet her elder sister acts a mother to her, a second one after their lady mother had died in an attempt of giving their father a son.

And it also had been Rhaenyra that had seen to it personally that she was not reared under the guidance of their father’s second queen, after all a dragon must be among other dragons in order to thrive.

“I may not be as worldly as you, Sister, but that does not make me daft.” If one were to be present for even a mere day at the Red Keep, it would be a most obvious thing to note that Viserys I Targaryen is a man not wise with his coin and the royal coffers of House Targaryen.

Daenaera had long become dependent upon a private source that meddles in the secrets of the court and provides her with the information — even if unsavory — that is not said within her ears. Daenaera prefers not to dwell over the rage that Rhaenerya would feel should she know of Daenaera’s intimate knowledge of the corruption of the court nor the fate of her ‘spy’ should they be exposed (likely by the dragonfire of her sister’s golden mount Syrax).

It is a bond of inseparability that is the two sisters’ relationship and yet Rhaenyra still paints this portrait of her as an innocuous person unknowing of the world and all too trusting.

Perhaps a justification for the streak of overprotectiveness that burns her heart.

“Of course not, Daenaera. I am merely curious because previously you never had held any interest in learning the affairs of our kingdoms until later.”

“I see those ladies at court gossipping and chatting away about nothing while eating cake and drinking their tea. I would not rather become a foolish princess wasting her time in such frivolous activities.”.

#oc: princess daenaera targaryen #ch: rhaenyra targaryen #rhaenyra targaryen #hotd oc #asoiaf oc #house of the dragon oc #a song of ice and fire oc #got oc #game of thrones oc #house targaryen #targaryen oc #fandom: house of the dragon #fandom: a song of ice and fire #fandom: game of thrones #penned by khadija

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houseofkingdoms · 1 year ago

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Dear diary,

I'm home from the wedding of Wilhelmina. It was a beautiful wedding. So well organised and in a beautiful setting. I loved being there. It was also nice chatting with her again. I have many memories of playing with her as little girls and now we are both in our twenties and getting married. Life goes fast. It will be great doing this together too. Getting married and maybe having children. Probably, she is the heir also and while Jean isn't the heir we will have to produce one. So children it is. I hope they can play with eachother in the future.

Jean wasn't more talkative now then he was when I visited him. It's alright. I will do the talking for now. Maybe I just have to find something he is interested in and wants to talk about.

Love, Rosemund

Back I Beginning I Spreadsheet I Next

#sims 4 #royal kingdoms #a heir for willow creek #a heir for wc: chapter five #rosemund of britchester

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nightshade-minho · 5 years ago

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-Embers- (3)

Warnings: heartbreak, jealousy, anxiety, blood, injury, feelings of depression and extreme sadness, but dw it’s not all angsty! this fic has a lot of fluffy moments + this particular chapter is lowkey felix centric + the rest of skz finally make an appearance.

Wc: 8.5k

He shot awake, groaning.

It was too early.

Minho blinked, eyes desperately running over the familiar room as he slipped out of his dream further. His heart was pounding a mile a minute as he closed them again, desperately trying to forget what he’d just seen.

Nightmares like the one he had last night had been frequent before Jisu showed up in his life. Apparently, now they were back.

He sat up. It was still dark outside, the sun weak and just as tired as he was.

He was about to slide out of bed when a pale arm wrapped itself around his waist, pulling him back a little. He looked to the side, humming and pushing a strand of hair behind his sleepy fiancée’s ear. “Hm?”

“No, Min, stay…” She mumbled in her sleep, making him sigh as he took her hand, pressing a gentle kiss to the back of it.

“I’ll be back soon, don’t worry.” He carefully freed himself from her grip, watching as she rolled to the other side, back facing him as she grumbled in her sleep.

Another sigh left his lips.

Minho carefully left the room, after pulling on his clothes hastily. Closing the door behind him softly, he started down the halls, knowing his dad's room was at the other end.

He’d asked to meet him in the morning, causing him to be anxious. What did he want to talk about?

The hallways were depressingly familiar. It felt like he’d been running down them just days ago, holding your hand and giggling at how slippery the floors were after the maids cleaned it.

There it was again. That ever present heartache that never seemed to truly go away. Pain, regret...he hated how much he missed his old life. Despised the way his heart longed for something, or someone he knew was no longer his.

He was deep in his thoughts, when he saw you.

You.

He swore his heart skipped several beats at the sight.

He really didn’t want to run into you first thing in the morning. To be honest, he was way too tired to put on a façade at the moment.

He watched you for a few seconds, wondering what to do. You were standing in front of the window, which was a little too high for you to comfortably look out of. Stood endearingly on your tiptoes, there was a coffee mug in one hand as you observed the sun rising.

He contemplated turning around. He wasn't ready for this, not right now.

Turning his head, he frantically searched the doors lining the hallway for his father’s. There.

Walking quickly, he padded in the opposite direction, pushing open the door and closing it behind him as quietly as possible.

Shit. This definitely wasn't his father's room. In fact, this particular room seemed a little too familiar for comfort. He was just about to turn and get the hell out of there- when he heard your voice.

"M-minho?"

Fuck.

Minho cursed himself, turning around slowly and facing you, avoiding your eyes. He tried his best to keep his face impassive. There was no way he was going to let his emotions show...years of repressing them had taught him well.

"I seem to have lost my way." He muttered, clearing his throat. He stared past you at the wall, determined not to make eye contact.

Eye contact was dangerous.

Minho had always loved your eyes, and had never missed an opportunity to stare into them. He remembered how much you’d squirm when he did that, how red your cheeks would get when he refused to break eye contact. He used to love making you a blushing mess under him.

Mr. Yang used to call the eyes a ‘window to the soul’. Minho could see where he was coming from. Within your eyes, he could see every tiny emotion, every little thought flitting across your brain. Looking into them was the most intimate act of all to him.

He refused to look into your eyes now because he wasn't ready to see the pain that was inevitably there. He'd already caught a few glimpses of your vulnerable, heartbroken demeanor...and he detested the way the sight made him feel.

That’s your fault, Minho. The reason she looks like she’s lost everything. That’s on you.

Minho knew he wasn't ready- cause he didn’t even need to look at you. The mere thought of you was making his heart almost burst out of his chest. That’s how overwhelming and potent all these fucking feelings were.

But he had to stay cold. Just for a while longer, he reminded himself. The suffering only had to go on for a while longer.

"I was searching for my father." He added after a few seconds of silence.

You nodded, staring at the floor. "His room’s opposite to mine." you mumbled softly, realizing to your horror that tears were already pricking at your eyes.

No. You wouldn't cry. You couldn’t...god, it was so hard to hold them back.

Minho peeked up for a second, regretting it as soon as his eyes landed on you.

He'd never seen you look so tormented.

It was that exact expression you had on right now. The one that had haunted each and every one of his dreams last night...the one he’d caught a glimpse of when Jisu opened the door.

Fuck, he really had to get out of here. Minho knew he couldn't stay in this room for a minute longer, or he might do something that he'd regret.

"Thank you." he walked past you and into the hallway, staring straight ahead. As soon as he walked far enough, he let out the breath he'd been holding.

That was close.

***

You watched as Minho left, sighing and heading over to your wardrobe, desperately trying to ignore your beating heart. You had to focus.

Tomorrow, the first trial would begin. Soon enough, you and the other competitors would have to move to the outskirts near the forest, where you would be staying for the next week, training in preparation for it.

You’d already packed a few outfits as well as some trinkets, your lucky charms. Namely, your mother’s button, your favorite book and a dragon claw necklace Minho had gifted you. You’d hesitated before adding the last one, but had ultimately decided it was still important regardless of the state of your relationship with the person who'd given it to you.

You had to win this thing. Your father was pretty clear- you had to prove everyone wrong and subvert their opinions, or else the consequences would be terrifying. The stakes were high, and so was the amount of stress clogging you up.

It was up to you to restore honor to the Ember name. And in order to do that, you had to get over Minho- although you were pretty sure it would be the most difficult thing you’ve ever had to do.

You breathed in deeply, shaking your head and turning around to look at your mirror, observing your reflection. This was it. This was your time, the moment you'd been waiting for. And you had to be ready for it.

So you pushed the despair as deep down as possible, deciding there was a bigger purpose to be fulfilled here. There was no way the pain would go away any time soon...but for now, suppressing it was the way to go.

You walked over to your wardrobe, pulling out thick pants and combat boots, choosing the most fiery red shirt in your closet. Pausing for a second, you stared at your bag before deciding to go get the dragon claw.

You tied it around your neck gently, letting it lie against your skin. Looking over your completed outfit in the mirror, you felt satisfaction coursing you at the reflection that greeted you.

There was a message you were hoping to get across today.

***

You moved across the hall to the dining room, stopping in front of the large doors. Taking in a deep breath, you grabbed the handle. This is it. You can do this.

You exhaled, pushing it open.

You’d never seen so many people in one room before...the table had never been so packed.

There were five participants from each village, and they were elementally varied. This meant that there were about twenty people at the table. Surprisingly, the chiefs and advisors weren’t in the room.

There were a few familiar faces, though. There was Minho, sat between Jisu and Changbin. The latter looked up, scoffing when he saw you before turning back to his food. You sighed. Changbin and you didn’t have much of a good relationship even before his family left your village to join Minho’s, so you hadn’t expected much else.

Looking away, a smile lit up your face when you noticed Mr. Yang’s son, Jeongin, sat next to the empty seat which was supposed to be yours. On the other side of your seat was Felix, who turned around when he noticed you coming. Seeing the two smiling boys made your heart just a little lighter, and you breathed in deeply as you went to take your seat. Maybe this wouldn’t be so nerve-wracking after all.

***

Minho glanced up when he saw you enter, prepared to look away immediately- he couldn’t have Jisu catching him stare- but paused when he saw the dragon claw around your neck. It was the one he’d given you all those years ago, the one he’d found near the lake. You still wear it?

You were smiling at the Terra heir as you sat next to him, turning to smile at Jeongin. Confusion flitted over his features for a second- you didn’t look like you were in pain anymore. In fact, your eyes were filled with joy as Jeongin muttered something that made you and Felix laugh.

“Babe?”

“Wha- huh? Oh-” Minho ripped his eyes away, looking at his fiancée’s suspicious expression.

“Is everything okay?”

“Yeah. Why would you think it isn’t?”

Jisu frowned, sighing and nodding after a second as she turned back to her food.

Minho swallowed, playing with his fingers as he stared at his lap. He ignored the sounds of more laughter erupting from your side of the table, picking up his fork and stabbing the chicken forcefully.

The table was filled with chatter as the young adults dug into their food. He tried to tune out the noises around him, but it was difficult. Everyone was so intent on befriending each other, that basic etiquette was forgotten.

These friendships would be short lived, though. After today, everyone at this table would have to be enemies, competing in the most important championship to date. There would be no room for amity. Of course, alliances would be formed- but eventually those would be shattered as well, and it would be every person for themselves.

A survival of the fittest, if you will. That’s how it always worked around here...and truth be told, he didn’t see that changing any time soon.

***

You giggled as Jeongin regaled you with yet another joke, slapping his arm as you doubled over in laughter. Minho was forgotten as you laughed along, glad to be in their company.

“Dad hates the jokes I write.” He chuckled. “So I’m glad to see you enjoy them, at least.”

“I do!” You grinned, turning to look at Felix as he nodded. “I like them too. You really should become a comedian or something.”

“Dad says comedy isn’t a suitable career path for Aers.”

“Nonsense Jeongin, I’ll talk some sense into him.” You nodded in determination, making Jeongin chuckle.

“Please do. Sometimes I feel like he loves you more than me.” He shook his head, smiling.

“Well, I know for a fact he does.” You joke, making Jeongin pout teasingly. You made a mental note to visit Mr. Yang when you could, since you hadn’t seen him in a while. He was more of a father figure to you than your actual dad, really.

You sighed and stared at your plate at the thought of your father, spooning the porridge into your mouth as Jeongin turned to his other side, talking to a guy from your village who looked slightly familiar.

"Are you nervous or anything?"

You looked up at Felix. His smile was so…reassuring. It only served to make your heart feel warmer, and you found yourself leaning closer to hear his voice better.

"Kind of? Not that much. I've been waiting for this for a long time."

"Ah...so you're looking forward to the championships? Hm...I guess that's understandable."

You raised an eyebrow at his tone. "Is it not for you?"

"Well..." Felix sighed. "To be honest, both my dragon and I are pacifists. My true passion is gardening, and Flore likes helping me with that..." Felix shrugged. "I’m not really a fan of duels and battles. I'm only participating cause my parents need me to."

"Oh...that’s terrible. Hopefully this whole thing goes well, and you don’t have to participate in anything too grotesque."

"Yeah. I almost wish there were eliminations, it would allow for an easy escape. Just mess up a little, and boom." he chuckled.

You took another spoonful, giggling. "Ah, if only, hm?”

He smiled at you widely, and you returned it. His eyes were looking into yours, his gaze flitting down to your lips for a second.

"You have a bit of porridge there..." he used his thumb to swipe it off, licking it right after and winking at you.

You blushed, taking a napkin to clean your chin further as Felix let out a soft chuckle, tilting his head at you. Ah, he found you so adorable.

The two of you were completely oblivious to Minho's piercing glare from the opposite of the table.

A nudge to his side caused Minho to startle for the second time that morning, looking to the side at Jisu.

"Seriously, what's up with you today? You've been weird since we woke up." She mumbled, glancing over to look at what Minho had been glaring at. She frowned as she watched you and Felix talk, looking back at Minho.

"Nothing.” He insisted. "It's nothing. I'm just sleep deprived, and stressed about having to live in the wilderness, I guess. You know how much I like our comfy bed...although as long as I get to cuddle you, even the tent will be comfortable enough."

Jisu raised an eyebrow, clearly not buying it. “Okay, but-”

Suddenly, the big doors opened once more. Everyone at the table looked up as the four chiefs entered, followed by the guards. They all stood with your father in the front, and he cleared his throat, requesting some silence.

It took a few minutes for the chatter to finally clear, and your father stood up straighter as he nodded.

“Good morning. Are you all ready for the championships?”

There was boisterous cheering, fading away when your father raised a hand.

"Well, well...it seems like just yesterday all of you were children, getting matched with their dragons. But now, you’re all grown up, and thus have to go through the trials we all go through. To prove our worth. This is more than just a competition." He reminded firmly.

"It isn’t which village wins that’s important. No, this is a rite of passage for all of you. Prove yourselves to the world."

"We all went through these trials, once. However, they weren’t this dramatized, and definitely wasn’t a competition. However this year, the four villages decided to hold a championship and compete with each other, so as to strengthen bonds and give you all an incentive to improve. This is the first time in centuries that all four villages have convened like this! I know it feels crowded right now, but remember it’s all for your benefit.” Your father nodded. “I hope you all do well. Now, Chief Farran will provide you the information you need to know about the trials.”

Felix’s father moved forward, clearing his throat. “Right, as you all know, there will be three trials in total. The first one will take place tomorrow afternoon. You have until then to prepare. More information about the trial will be provided right before it starts. Now, all twenty of you will be moved to the woods right after this breakfast. All the villagers will be watching, so keep your heads high and carry yourselves with poise.”

There were a few whispers around, understandably nervous ones as well as more confident people who were ready to show themselves off.

You felt like you were stuck between the two, unable to make up your mind. Were the butterflies in your stomach brought on by nervousness or excitement? You weren’t exactly sure.

“Right, you can all get back to your meals, now. We’ll be back in about half an hour to begin the procession.”

Everyone bowed their heads respectfully, resuming their meals as you noticed your father shoot a knowing look at you as he left, glancing between you and Felix. You sighed to yourself, turning back to your plate and finishing off your porridge.

“Hey- Y/n.” You turned to the side, looking at Jeongin as you chewed what was in your mouth. “Hm?”

“We...we have an idea. We talked about this before you showed up…” Jeongin pointed to himself, Felix and the guy next to him. You squinted at him, realizing you’d seen him hanging out with Jeongin before. You were blanking on his name, though.

“Seungmin, tell her.” Ah, that was it.

The man looked at you, moving his seat forward a little to talk to you properly. “Um, it’s really not that big of a deal. Not a huge plan or anything. I was just thinking…” He looked across the table, and you followed his gaze to Minho and Jisu.

“With them being together, I’m pretty sure the participants from their villages will have formed an alliance. So, I think it would be prudent for you and Felix to do the same.”

“Ohh.” You looked at Felix, nodding. “Sure, that actually sounds like it would be good idea.” He grinned in agreement.

“Mhm, I would love to form an alliance with a pretty lady like you~” You blushed at his words as he held his hand out for you to shake.

“Done.”

“We’ll discuss strategies later, how’s that sound?”

“Great.” You felt like you were high in the clouds, one step closer to your goal.

For the remaining time, the four of you talked, swapping a few strategies and stories about your dragons. You hadn’t felt this light in ages, able to shed your worries for a while.

“And that’s how Flore helped me pl-”

The doors were opened again, so suddenly that a few people at the table were startled. Looking up, you realized the chiefs were back, this time with the advisors and wives, as well as a bunch of guards. There was a new man standing in front of them all though, and you recognized him as one of your old professors, Mr. Flint. To your knowledge, he was the one who masterminded the trials.

“Good morning, everyone! I hope you all are full and satisfied. We’re going to move through the village now, a procession of sorts. Don’t be daunted by the amount of people out there, walk elegantly. Your belongings will be given to you once you reach, so don’t worry about that.” He spoke in his high-pitched voice, an almost musical lilt to his tone.

Everyone started finishing up, a few maids entering the room to put away the plates. You caught a glimpse of Sylvia as she came in, giving her a smile.

The girl’s gaze seemed to be fixed on Felix’s face rather than yours, though. You raised an eyebrow, humming to yourself thoughtfully when your train of thought got interrupted by Flint.

“Is everyone ready? We must leave now. Follow me, please.”

The others got up, the room filling with noise once more as the guards ushered you to stand in two lines. You took your place behind Felix and in front of Jeongin.

You were ready for this. You’d never been more ready for anything in your life.

***

Minho swallowed as he followed the line, Jisu in front of him. He watched her ponytail swish side to side mindlessly, drifting back to what had happened this morning as he walked.

There were so many people on either sides of the procession, an abundance of cheering villagers who had left their homes to watch. There was virtually no space between the people, packed together like sardines as they eagerly ran their eyes over the rows of competitors.

It was the perfect opportunity for everyone to size up the participants. Despite being illegal, he knew there would be quite a few people betting on the outcome, hoping to make a quick buck.

‘Minho, you know what you have to do.’

He remembered his father’s words, biting his lip and groaning internally. He didn’t want to obey him, but he had to. He didn’t have any other choice.

He felt like he was thrashing in deep, black water...drowning without any hope of survival. He didn’t know what awaited him within the void, once he inevitably sunk. He felt blind, helpless.

Knowing you were close by only made him feel worse, your presence confusing him even more. Sighing, Minho plunged deeper into his thoughts, the cheering becoming a dull noise in the background as he walked almost mechanically.

That is...until the booing started.

He snapped out of it, looking up in confusion with widened eyes. He looked around, noticing everyone else’s expression mirroring his. Why was there a sudden shift from cheering?

Among them, you were looking around in bewilderment as well. Your eyes finally spotted the people who were booing...and that’s when you realized they were looking right at you.

These people were angry at you.

You frowned as you began to see more and more of those people. There were only a few, but they were loud, holding banners and waving them as they glared.

Your heart dropped as you saw what was written on the banners. "Stick to tradition!" one said. Another said "Ember has crumbled." Yet another one claimed that the championships were showing favoritism to a chief’s daughter.

Most people were cheering...yet your heart still ached at the sight. Yes, your dad had warned you that not everyone would be on board with such an arrangement...it still hurt, though. You already felt unwanted enough.

No. Stay strong. You would prove them wrong...you would show them the bond you and Aeracus shared. Both you and him deserved to be a part of this.

The booing died down as you moved onto a new stretch, filled with more cheering villagers. Felix gave you a sympathetic look, slowing down a little so that he could whisper to you. “Ignore them.” He mumbled. You nodded, blinking hard and trying to stay tough.

A few minutes later, you noticed a little girl on the side, smiling at you, holding up a drawing made up of scribbles. You squinted, recognizing it was you from the hair color and little fire doodles.

Your heart melted at the sight, and you felt a lot better as you blew a kiss to the girl, giggling. There were a lot of people smiling at you in this part of town. You felt relieved, thankful that it was only a small pocket of villagers hating you. The smiles of the people around you lifted your spirits, and you sighed in relief.

The rest of the walk passed relatively quickly. The villagers and houses started thinning out, and soon enough you’d reached the outskirts, the forest in the distance. The campground was already ready, and half the tents were up.

It was so much quieter out here. There weren’t many people living here except for the stable workers, whose cottages were littered on the vast expanse of grass right outside the forest.

Of course, this was home to some very important creatures as well. Deeper into the forest was a large clearing, where the dragon stables were located. Of course, Aeracus was in a different stable further into the woods, along with your father’s dragon. You imagined that he would have company now, what with the other chiefs and their children bringing their dragons as well.

Flint turned around abruptly, coming to a stop and facing everyone, along with the four chiefs.

“This is where you’ll be staying for the next few days. You will train, eat and sleep here. Tomorrow morning there will be a small training session, hosted by yours truly. I will also explain the rules of the first trial at said session.”

Someone raised their hand. It was Changbin.

“Sir, could you give us a hint for the trial? What will be involved?”

Flint shook his head firmly. “All will be explained later. For now, just focus on the people around you.”

Changbin glared, his hand dropping as he grumbled to himself.

“Now, if no one else has any questions…” He paused, raising an eyebrow. After a few seconds of silence, he hummed, clasping his hands together. “We will be taking our leave now. Sirs?”

They left, your father shooting a meaningful look at you once more. You sighed, turning away. The lines disintegrated, everyone milling about and forming little groups almost immediately. Felix came up behind you, his voice extremely close to your ear as you swivelled to face him.

“I love camping.” He said, his hands in his pockets as he looked around, taking in the greenery. “Probably my favorite part out of all this. Hey, let’s go check out our tent?”

“Our tent?”

“Yeah…” Felix turned slightly pink, scratching the back of his neck. “There are two bigger tents, for the heirs. I believe it’s supposed to be Minho and I staying in one and you and Jisu in the other…” He glanced over at Minho and Jisu, his arm wrapped around her waist as they chatted to Changbin and two other men.

“...However, I have a feeling those two wouldn’t appreciate being separated.”

You shrugged. Well, he had a point. And...why not? After all, the tent was big enough for the two of you. It wasn’t scandalous, by any means.

“Sure.” You glanced at the stable workers pitching the heirs’ tents, humming to yourself.

Felix chuckled, nodding. “Hm...so what do you want to do while we wait?”

You thought for a second. You had an idea, but you weren’t so sure about it.

Fuck it. “Maybe...hm. There’s a lake nearby. Do you want to go there? It’s very pretty, a quiet place to talk. As a Terra, I think you would love it.”

“A lake? Sounds interesting, sure!” Felix sounded eager. You beamed as you took his wrist, leading him off.

Minho watched from the distance as you led Felix in the direction towards a lake he knew all too well. He swallowed the lump in his throat.

How could you take him to your special place? The thought of you bringing someone else into the space that belonged only to him and you made him burn with anger.

He scrunched his eyes shut, groaning. “Get it together, Minho.” He mumbled to himself intently. Should he slap himself? Would that help? Or maybe he should dunk his head in ice-cold water-

“Minho, I’m worried.”

He blinked, tilting his head at Jisu as he looked back at her.

“Worried? Why, princess?”

She shook her head, not replying as she stared at the ground. She looked saddened. He cursed himself, pressing his lips together. “Jisu…”

He gently grabbed her arms and pulled her in, pressing a kiss to the top of her head.

“Don’t be worried about me, okay?” He swallowed. “I’m perfectly fine, here by your side…” He breathed in.

“I don’t need anyone else.”

***

You swept apart the vines with your hands. Here you were. Excitement filled you as you pulled Felix in, waiting to see his reaction.

“Behold!” You waved your arms dramatically, giggling.

“Wow…” Felix’s mouth turned into a small O, his eyes running over the hidden lake in front of him. He’d never seen anything like it.

“It’s so beautiful, oh my god-” He ran his eyes over the crystal clear lake. It looked almost like glass, almost like he could walk on it if he tried. Hyacinths, water lilies and lotuses were dotted in and around it. The little clearing was closed off from the rest of the forest, large vines and sweeping willows hiding it from view...it was ethereal.

You grinned at his reaction. “It is, isn’t it? I...I spent a lot of time here when I was younger.” You said, going over and sitting down in front of it. You ran your hands over the slightly damp grass, sighing. “It’s been a while. I haven’t come here in ages.”

He sat next to you after a few more minutes admiring the sight in front of him. “Why?” He asked curiously, looking at the lake. He took a stone from his side and threw it in, watching as it sent ripples through the deep turquoise waters.

“Hm.” You changed the subject, not wanting to delve into that just yet. “What do you think tomorrow’s trial will be testing?”

“Ah, I don’t have a clue. The fact that we’ll barely get a day to prepare makes me all the more nervous.” He mumbled, putting his chin in his palm. The lake-side air was fragrant, and served to clear his head.

“I understand...but don’t be too scared, okay? You’ll have a lot of people behind your back. The alliance was a wonderful idea...” You mused, watching as a butterfly perched on Felix’s outstretched finger.

“You’re like some sort of fairytale princess.” You giggled, noticing a tiny bluebird flying closer.

“Animals love me, although it does go both ways.” He laughed. “It’s one of the side effects of being a Terra, I guess.”

“Ah. Being an Ember just means half your own people are scared of you.” You smiled wryly, inhaling as you lay back. Felix watched as you did so, looking conflicted as he wondered what to tell you. After all, there was no point in comforting you when what you’d said was true.

“I didn’t get much sleep last night.” You interrupted his thoughts, stretching slightly as your eyes fluttered closed. He watched you, smiling as he moved a little closer.

“Use my lap as a pillow.” He said softly, and you obliged. Tired, you felt yourself fall asleep, despite trying not to. Everything just felt so...comfortable.

Felix tentatively reached down, stroking your hair as carefully as he could.

A few minutes later you were napping soundly, lightly snoring as you nuzzled into him. He felt something inexplicable clutch his heart at the sight of you, scrunching your nose up cutely in your sleep.

Breathing softly, he pulled you closer into his arms, leaning back as he started to feel sleepy himself. It was just so calm, so quiet in that little clearing...and somehow, your presence just made him feel all the more relaxed.

The heady scent hovering around him made him feel more drowsy. It was probably due to the flowers that were in abundance around him...but he knew part of it was your scent.

Sighing softly, he pressed you closer, inhaling your perfume as he fell asleep.

***

You woke up, blinking sleepily as you observed your surroundings. Somehow, you were back in your tent, huddled up in bed. Someone must have put you here...

Felix. You remembered falling asleep next to him at the lake. Your cheeks flushed at the thought of him caring enough to carry you here without disturbing your sleep.

You slid out of bed slowly, heading to your bag. Humming to yourself, you started unpacking as you looked around. You didn’t want to waste any more time asleep.

It was a beige tent, with a few lanterns lighting it in a warm glow. It looked cozy, spacious and so...romantic. You tried not to think about how Jisu and Minho were currently using a tent much like this one. God knows what they were doing.

As you finished arranging your items, you heard the cloth being moved aside as Felix stepped in, coming up behind you. Looking over your shoulder, you beamed at him.

“Did you sleep well?” He asked, coming closer to you and ruffling your hair. You nodded, feeling a sudden urge to hug him out of nowhere. You remembered how warm and soft he’d felt earlier today...you wanted to feel those arms around you once more.

Controlling yourself, you clasped your hands together as he gently took your hand.

“There’s a bonfire outside, everyone’s sitting around it and getting to know each other better. Come with me?”

Hm. As tempting as that sounded, you reminded yourself that you had a huge day tomorrow. You had to rest up for the big event and preserve as much energy as possible. That is, if you wanted to do this right.

Besides...there was another reason.

You sighed. "Oh. Um, I don't know. You can go on without me, I'll be fine."

Felix sighed, tilting his head. "Pleaaase? It's boring without you."

You raised an eyebrow. "What about Jeongin and Seungmin? And your other friends from your village..."

Felix chuckled. "They want you there too. Please, Y/n?"

The way he was pouting at you made you almost want to give in, but then your brain decided to show you a nasty image of Jisu kissing Minho by the fire, and once again you were determined to stay in your tent.

"I’m sorry, Felix, but....I just don't think I belong there. I don’t know many people…”

“You know me, Jeongin and Seungmin!” He pointed out, throwing your reasoning right back at you.

You groaned. Fuck, there was no avoiding it. You were going to have to tell him the truth.

"Well.” You picked at the fluff of your pillow as you sat down on the edge of your bed. “It’s actually because..." you took in a deep breath, as he looked at you in concern.

"The Aer heir and the Aqua heiress..."

Felix hummed, nodding. He’d kind of figured it was somehow related to them, considering the way he'd seen you staring at them all dejected.

"Well...it just- I don't know, I can't watch it. You can call me jealous, and you’d be absolutely right. Tears come to my eyes every time I see them, I feel weak and pathetic." You mumble, tugging at your fingers. "And weak is the opposite of what I want to feel right now. I need to feel strong for tomorrow. I can't be thinking about him."

Felix sighed, watching as your bottom lip quivered. He’d heard tales about Minho and you, but the rumors were now confirmed.

"Look...you deserve better."

"Do I?" You didn't know. After all, Minho couldn't be blamed for hating you. You just wished he'd trusted you enough to know better. To know you wouldn’t betray him like that, that you wouldn’t let go without a fight. You'd done everything you could.

"Y/n...please come? I'm here for you. We don't even have to look at them, or even acknowledge his existence." He placed his hand on top of yours. You swallowed, shrugging after a few minutes of thought.

"Ugh. You know what, fine!" You agreed. It would be fine...like Felix said, all you had to do was ignore them.

“Also, if your problem is not knowing enough people...I’ll introduce you to the others from my village as well. How does that sound?”

You sniffed, smiling through your wet eyes as you rubbed them. “Okay…I’d love that.”

“Great.” He grinned and took your hand, lifting you up and leading you out of the tent.

The sky was dark by now, but the light from the tents lit up the landscape. The two of you descended into the space where all the smaller tents were located, and Felix dragged you over to the nearest one.

He pushed aside the curtain, letting you go in first and following.

"This is Chan and Jisung!" Felix introduced, gesturing to the two men sitting on the bed, who looked up as you entered. They had warm smiles on their faces as they turned to you, their faces filled with interest.

“Who do we have here?” Chan asked. His smile was kind, his aura welcoming as he sat up. The man next to him looked a lot more chaotic- his grin was wider, and although he was slimmer, his presence felt larger than life.

"This is Y/n, don’t pretend you don’t know.” Felix smirked. “Chan's an Aqua, and Jisung's an Ember, like you." He explained, letting go of you as he introduced the two.

Jisung grinned as he stuck his hand out for you to shake. "So you're the Ember heiress. I've heard about you."

"Good things, I hope." You joked as you shook his hand.

He shrugs. "Well...most of them are. There are rumors, but those exist about everyone. In fact-"

"Anyway." Felix cleared his throat. “These two are my closest friends.” He shot a look at Jisung, begging him to behave. “They're also a part of our alliance. I th-"

It was his turn to be interrupted as the curtain was suddenly swished to the side, Jeongin grinning at you. "Hey guys, the campfire's started! Come quick, or you’ll have to sit on the grass."

Chan stood up quickly, followed by Jisung. "Oh, good! I'm starving. See you, Lixie. Y/n, it was nice meeting you! Let’s go eat, now." His stomach growled and he let out a small, apologetic laugh as Jisung snickered. “Let’s just leave.”

They left the tent, offering you smiles before leaving you and Felix alone.

"Hey..." He placed his hands on your shoulders, noticing your nervous expression. "It'll be alright."

You looked back at Felix, breathing in and nodding. Yes, it's gonna be fine...right?

Felix gazed at you, pressing his lips together as he observed your expression morph into one that was calmer. His heart pounded faster at the sight.

His gaze flitted down to your lips for a second. Hm. He inhaled before leaning in just a little, making your heart beat faster.

Was this happening?

You found yourself staying in place as he did so, almost wanting to lean in just a little more and close the distance between your-

"Why are you guys taking so damn long-" Jeongin appeared from behind the curtain again, Felix pulling away quickly at the sound of his voice.

"Um...did I interrupt anything?" He frowned, looking at the two of you in confusion.

"Um, no! You d-didn't". You glanced at a very red Felix, taking your hand in his in a stroke of bravery. His palms were warm, soft...and you felt your heart flutter just the tiniest bit as he squeezed your hand.

"Let’s go."

As you walked out, you realized just how majestic the bonfire really was. It was close by, near the mass of tents.

The flames rose high in the air, sending plumes of smoke up into the atmosphere. You noticed Changbin kneeling near it, his hand hovering over red scales. Ah, he was probably using the extracted dragon scales to make the fire more powerful.

There were smaller tents littered around the fire, and for a second you wished you were in one of them instead. Especially after what had happened in the morning, you somehow didn’t want to be known as a chief’s daughter anymore.

You and Felix went to sit down on the bench next to Chan, internally sighing as you realized Jisu and Minho were sat right across from you.

To make things worse, she was sitting right on his lap. You felt nauseous all over again...but then it all disappeared, as you felt Felix's fingers wrap around yours once more. Looking up, you blushed slightly, his expression making something in you twist.

"We should play a game!" Jisu announced loudly, bouncing on Minho's lap a little and making him grip her hips to stay in place. She giggled as he did so, looking right at you and smirking.

Whatever. For some reason, right now you found yourself not caring as much as you did before.

"Mhm, great idea, babe." Minho mumbled, looking at you and Felix uncomfortably. Why were the two of you sitting so close to each other? Why the fuck was he holding your hand? He frowned, internally panicking for a second when your eyes suddenly met his.

Fuck- no way he could let you think he'd been staring. Minho quickly averted his eyes, placing his lips on Jisu’s neck and kissing gently. He glanced up momentarily to see if you were still watching. You were.

He decided to up the ante a little bit- he started sucking on the skin, making Jisu jolt in surprise. "M-min..."

"Hey lovebirds, you know there are other people here right?" Jisung shouted out, causing everyone else to laugh.

"Like, get a room." He sniggered.

Yes. You liked Jisung.

A red flush spread across Minho's cheeks, but he just shrugged, burying his nose in her neck and staying like that.

"A-anyway..." she continued, clearing her throat. "I was thinking of a kind of game where we spin something, and the person it points to has to answer a question truthfully?"

Ah yes, you'd heard of this game. Somehow, a bad feeling had already started to settle in your gut, just after listening to her explain the premise of the game.

There were a chorus of nods and agreements. After all, it didn't really matter what the game was. All everyone wanted to do was drink and horse around, before tomorrow when they would inevitably have to be more serious. Jisu nodded at the responses, turning to her side. "Jinnie, can you pass me that?"

A tall, blonde man next to her nodded, passing her the bottle. He was strikingly handsome and also definitely from her village. An Aqua too...he was dressed almost as luxuriously as she was, making you think he was probably the son of one of the advisors.

"Let's start.” Bending over a little, she placed the bottle on the ground, spinning it.

It landed on Seungmin.

“Right…” She placed a hand on her chin, ignoring the way Minho’s hands had tensed slightly.

“What was your most embarrassing moment?” Jisu asked finally, looking at the man expectantly.

“Well...probably that one time I proposed to a dude I barely knew. It was a bet, but still kinda embarrassing. After all, he didn’t know that.” He chuckled, looking pointedly at Minho.

Minho’s eyes widened in recognition. Oh. So that’s why he looked so familiar. Well, he'd badly misread that situation.

“Interesting.” There were a few scattered laughs as the bottle was taken by Changbin, who spun the bottle and landed on a girl from Felix’s village.

The game continued like that, a lot of secrets being revealed, stories of various kinds being told. It was actually quite fun, and having Felix hold your hand did make you a lot more comfortable. You were able to laugh along with everyone else, the mirth in the atmosphere contagious.

That is, until the bottle finally passed into Jisu’s hands once more. You felt a sense of unease return, gripping at you.

She spun it, and you all watched as the bottle turned round and round...finally landing on you.

She sat up, her eyes lighting up as she noticed who it landed on. Rubbing her hands together, she screwed her face up in thought as she prepared a question in her head. There was an unsettling smirk on her face.

“Hmm...I have a good question for you.” She paused for a second, staring deep into your eyes and making your stomach churn. Something was about to go wrong. You just couldn’t tell what.

“Here it is. Your dragon and your best friend are both in danger. Who do you save?” She asked nonchalantly.

No...

Your eyes bulged out of your head as the words left her mouth, and so did Minho’s. Confused, the others looked at your expressions, shifting uncomfortably as realization dawned on some of them. The rumors had been widespread when it had happened, and you remembered just how horrified you'd felt then.

Terror, icy and unforgiving, was beginning to pierce into your heart. You had to divert the situation before it could go anywhere too unpleasant.

“C-can I have another question?” You mumbled, staring at the ground, ignoring the concerned looks of your new friends.

“No." She pursed her lips "Why are you scared to answer the question, Y/n?” She grinned widely, ignoring Minho’s sharp warning squeeze. He was starting to feel the dread overcome him as well, and his mind was screaming at him to stop this. But...he just couldn't. He felt so numb.

“I’m...not scared-”

“But that’s exactly what you are. Scared. A fucking coward, isn’t that right? I know you’d-”

“Stop.” You said in a small voice, pulling your hands away from Felix’s and curling them into fists.

“No. Everyone deserves to know.” She was starting to get worked up. “It’s all your fault, everything is. And I want the whole world to-”

“That’s enough!” Minho shouted firmly, moving Jisu off his lap and glaring at her. He'd let it go too far, and he realized that fact in horror. Fuck, why didn't he react earlier? He felt that familiar sinking feeling from before hit him, slamming into him like a hammer.

She shut up immediately, still glaring at you. Minho looked up shakily to see your eyes filled with angry tears, staring right at him as you stood up.

His heart pounding, his voice quivered as he stood up as well, taking a step towards you. “Y/n, please-”

“No.” You held a hand up, bottom lip quivering. “I don’t want to hear it.” You put your head in your hands, breathing in and out. Calm down, it’s ok-

But it wasn't, was it?

“You’re pathetic.” Jisu hissed. “It’s your fault your dragon’s dead, not M-”

“For the love of god, shut up!” Minho shouted at his fiancée, turning back to you as you shook your head. He felt himself starting to shake uncontrollably at the sight of you, looking absolutely betrayed as you stared at the ground.

“I- I have to...can’t do this..” You muttered, the tears flowing as you turned around, walking away as quickly as you could.

“Y/n, wait-” You heard Felix’s saddened voice calling after you. You ignored it. You could feel all their eyes burning into your back. You just couldn't stay here for a second longer.

You broke into a sprint, running and running as more tears spilled. You ran past the tents, into the forest, as fast as you could. Ran between the trees, your mind all over the place.

Everything was dark. So dark, you could barely see what was in front of you. But you ran anyway, desperately in the direction of the one being who could possibly comfort you right now.

Somehow, it had also started to rain. A slow drizzle at first...but then the heavens opened up, drenching you. As if you needed further reminders that the universe hated you.

When you finally reached the clearing housing the stables, you placed your hands on your knees, your chest heaving as you tried to regain your composure.

Calming down just a little bit, you swung open the door and walked into the large stable. Unlike before when there had been only Aeracus and your father’s dragon, now there were more, belonging to the chiefs and the heirs. They were all asleep currently.

The other dragons seemed normal enough, colorful and adorned with finery...except Minho’s and his father’s. You felt that familiar uneasiness fill you when you looked at the sleeping ebony creatures. They just didn't look natural, and definitely didn't look like Aer dragons.

You moved to the very end, rubbing at your eyes as you tried to make sense of what had just transpired. You couldn’t believe any of it.

So that’s what Minho assumed happened. How could he?

Your heart throbbed as you were taken back to that terrible, fateful night. The sheer trepidation and anxiety that had filled you, the overwhelming agony you'd gone through.

Closing your eyes, you inhaled. Stop. Don't take yourself back there, it's not worth it.

Looking up, you let yourself smile sadly as your eyes landed on Aeracus, fast asleep in his stall. You wanted to talk to him...but couldn’t risk waking him up from his slumber. Sighing, you sunk down to the ground instead, resting yourself against a bale of hay.

Bringing your knees up to your chest, you cried into your arms, wishing you could just disappear. Everything was just too much for you to process.

At the moment, you weren't exactly clear on what your goals were anymore. All you knew was you felt embarrassed, hurt and petrified.

Tired, too. Your limbs ached from the run, perspiration dripping from your forehead. There wasn't much else you could do but try to sleep. And so you closed your eyes, trying to clear all the thoughts away.

You were just about slipping into dreamland when suddenly, there was a loud, urgent knock on the door. Your eyes widened in shock, lifting your face from your knees as you stared at the door of the stable.

Who could it possibly be?

You sat up slightly, confused. Rubbing your eyes, you stood up shakily. Was it Felix, finally come to get you? Or Jeongin, perhaps?

Who in their right mind would venture out to you when the downpour was this heavy? You took in an anxious breath, slowly lifting yourself up.

As the knocking continued, you stood up and walked over hastily, deciding to open the door before it could get any louder and cause the dragons to wake.

Your hand closed around the handle, your heart slamming against your ribcage in fear, reminiscent of the raindrops falling against the stable walls.

Finally, you pulled the door open.

Your eyes widened as you stared at the last person you’d expected to see.

There he was, in front of you. His heavy, dazed eyes wildly searched your shocked ones as he tried to move forward. He was out of breath, soaked, distressed and...wounded?

"Minho, you-" Before you could say much more, Minho's eyes shut as he collapsed into your arms.

That was when you properly noticed the blood seeping through his shirt, staining the fabric a deep red. What the fuck-

Minho blinked up at your aghast face, wincing and swallowing as he clutched onto your shirt tightly. "Y-Y/n...please…” He begged, trying to suck in a breath, desperately failing.

“Help.”

#minho smut #minho angst #lee know smut #lee know angst #skz angst #stray kids smut #stray kids angst #Skz smut #minho x reader #lee know x reader #lee know imagines #minho imagines #felix x reader #felix imagines #lee know series #skz series #stray kids series #lee know x y/n #felix x y/n

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thestayway90 · 5 years ago

Text

Reign of Lies: Chapter 1 (SKZ Royal Fantasy AU)

Author: thestayway90

WC: 2873

Warnings: None

Characters: Stray Kids OT8 Royal Family, Alexis (OFC), Elora (OFC)

Relationships: Changbin x Alexis (OFC)

Summary: An angsty Royal AU where Alexis (OFC), as her fathers only daughter and therefore the kingdoms only Princess, is sent to marry a Prince of their rival Kingdom to ensure Peace. However, after arriving at her new home, Alexis quickly finds out not all is what it seems…

Author’s Note: Hello lovelies! Did I start another series even though I’ve already got one still ongoing??? yes yes I did...

But in my defence I've had this idea sitting for a while and finally got round to doing something with it!!! I hope you enjoy reading it as much as I did writing it.

Also a side note this will contain SKZxSKZ relationships... obviously these are written for fanfic and not based on reality so please don't take them seriously... this is all just for fun and entertainments sake :)

I’m a little nervous about posting this one but enjoy <3

Alexis straightened her skirts nervously. Her outfit felt heavy and suffocating in the warm sunlight that streamed through a large side window. The climate was so much warmer here than the cooler weather she was used to back home.

Elora stepped in front of her, deft fingers fixing Alexis’ collar as she told the older girl briskly, “Walk in there with your head held high and show them what you’re made of.”

Alexis smiled down at her sister and best friend, grasping one of her hands tightly. “What would I do without you?” She asked rhetorically as Elora took a step back, staying on Alexis’ right where she would always be within sight.

“You would be a mess,” Elora replied unnecessarily in a deadpan voice, drawing a surprised laugh from her sister.

Suddenly the double doors in front of the two girls was flung wide open and a herald bellowed loudly into the large space behind. “Princess Alexis, Duchess of Vitova and Alzilicia, beloved Daughter of King Tobias of Mava.” He took a breath then continued as the girls took their first steps through the doorway. “And her companion, Lady Elora.”

Alexis concentrated on not tripping over her cumbersome skirts, keeping her eyes on the floor until she reached the foot of a set of stairs that led up onto a low platform.

Pausing at the end, she sunk into a low curtesy, seeing Elora copy the movement in her peripheral vision, and finally looked up.

She sucked in a breath, wobbling a little in the curtsey she was still holding, as her eyes swept over eight imposing figures ranged around the front of the room.

Standing proud in the centre was who, she imagined must be, the King she had heard so much about. King Chan didn’t look as imposing as his reputation would suggest, an easy smile gracing his lips, his black hair cut short and shockingly coloured a bright ruby red on top.

Standing slightly back from his right shoulder was a man with the sculptured looks of a statue, and to the kings left stood four boys, who Alexis assumed were the Kings younger brothers, the Princes of Roalun. Alexis let her eyes linger on the four figures, wondering which one was Prince Changbin, her soon to be husband.

Finally her gaze fell on two boys, standing to the side of the platform, her eyes widening as she took in the most beautiful people she had ever seen. One was tall and lean, long blonde locks falling over his forehead, partly covering intense liquid brown eyes. The other was shorter with a petite figure and silvery blonde hair that seemed to shine even in the shadows he stood in. But it was his eyes that drew the most attention. One was such a dark brown that it looked black, the other, in stark contrast was a shockingly bright light blue. The pair made such an achingly beautiful sight that Alexis had to advert her eyes but couldn’t stop herself continuing to steal glances in their direction.

Alexis straightened from her curtesy and, heeding her sisters advice, held her head high, fixing the King with an unwavering gaze.

To her surprise King Chan smiled even wider at her and launched himself down the stairs, wrapping her in a tight hug when he reached the bottom.

“Welcome, Princess Alexis. The Kingdom of Roalun is so pleased to have you here at last.”

The King pulled back and kissed her on both cheeks.

Alexis startled a little, feeling unbalanced as she replied slightly stiffly, “Thank you for the kind welcome, Your Majesty.”

“Oh none of that,” the King scoffed, waving a hand at her. “We are soon to be Brother and Sister. Chan will do just fine.” Chan motioned for the five boys still up on the platform to join him.

He grabbed the sculpted man first, pulling him to his side and wrapping an arm lovingly around his waist. “Let me introduce you to my Husband, Prince Minho.”

Minho inclined his head, his feelings hidden behind his cool expression. “It’s wonderful to meet you, Princess Alexis.”

“Just Alexis please,” Alexis insisted, getting the feeling that this court preferred a less formal approach to their Royalty.

“And these three are my baby brothers.” The boys grimaced at the title, none of them looking even close to being babies. “Prince Jisung, Prince Seungmin and the youngest, Prince Jeongin.”

Alexis’ eyes drifted over the three very different brothers but her gaze settled at the last boy, standing silently, head bowed.

“And this is Prince Changbin, Heir to Roalun and your future spouse,” Chan introduced so casually that Alexis fought not to wince at the informality.

Changbin finally looked up, bowing low to her. “It is a great pleasure to meet you, Princess. I hope your time here will be agreeable.”

Alexis felt her heart drop at his distant but polite distant tone. His greeting made it sound like she was only visiting for a holiday, not moving to a completely foreign kingdom to become his wife.

Before she could speak to him at all, Changbin gave her another quick bow and then turned to Chan. “I really must be going, brother. The Generals are waiting for me.”

Chan’s brow creased into a frown but he nodded his consent. Changbin retreated at a brisk pace, Alexis watching after him in confusion.

Chan cleared his throat. “Unfortunately my brothers position as the Head of Military keeps him very busy.”

Alexis smiled and nodded her understanding, hiding her consternation behind what she hoped was a polite bland expression.

Chan then beckoned to the two boys still standing to one side. “And these two fine gentlemen are my brothers, Lord Hyunjin and Lord Felix.”

Hyunjin groaned in a dramatic voice, rolling his eyes as he approached. “You know how I hate being introduced as Lord, Channie,” the tall blonde complained. He reached over and grasped one of Alexis’ hands, placing a quick kiss onto the back of it, smiling crookedly up at her. “I’m so happy to meet you, Alexis. I’m very glad to finally be adding some femininity to our little family.”

Chan glared at the inappropriate words while Alexis struggled not to turn and look at Elora as she heard the other girl suppressing laughter.

Alexis concentrated her attention back on the King. “I thought you only had four brothers?” She questioned unthinkingly, her curiosity around the weird dynamic of this foreign court getting the better of her.

Chan gave a loud bark of laughter, pleased at her straight forwardness. “Hyunjin and Felix’s father was my father’s best friend and advisor. When their parents passed away my father took them in as his own. We’ve spent our whole lives together.”

Alexis turned her eyes on the two brothers, Felix having joined them, standing silently next Hyunjin. “I’m very sorry for your loss. I didn’t mean to pry.”

“It’s fine. Ask away,” Hyunjin said flippantly, waving his hands around airily. “This is to be your family as well. You have a right to ask about it.”

“Talking about family,” Alexis turned and beckoned Elora towards her, grabbing hold of the younger girls arm and holding her tight against her side, relieved at her solid presence. “This is my sister, Lady Elora.”

“Just Elora please,” Elora interrupted, shaking her head at the formal title.

“Lovely to meet you, Elora,” Chan said, smiling widely at Alexis’ sister, putting Alexis at ease.

Alexis immediately felt favourable towards anyone who treated Elora with kindness and respect. The younger girl had too often received scorn and distain from others, making Alexis very protective of her sister.

“I’m sure you are tired after your long journey,” the one called Jisung spoke up, clearly picking up the signs of exhaustion that both Alexis and Elora was exhibiting. “Should I show you to your rooms now so you can have a rest before dinner?” The kind boy posed it as a question, not wanting to impose on them.

“If His Majes…” Alexis stopped herself and continued pink staining her cheeks, unused to such informality. “If Chan does not mind us being excused. A rest sounds wonderful right now.”

Chan frowned a little, concern creasing his brow. “Oh dear. In my excitement I forgot what a long day you’ve both had. Of course you may go, please. Go rest and we can talk more over dinner.”

Chan gave both Alexis and Elora tight hugs before Jisung beckoned for them to follow him out. Alexis and Elora curtseyed to the royal family and then exited the throne room, feeling much more relaxed than when they had entered.

Jisung chatted amiably as he led them through a maze of corridors before stopping in front of a pair of large doors. Alexis looked at the masterpiece in front of her in awe as she heard Elora’s quiet exclamation of amazement.

Jisung had a smug look on his face. “Do you like them? They were specifically made for you. In fact the whole room was specifically decorated for you.”

Alexis felt her heart constrict at the startling act of thoughtfulness that she hadn’t expected when being forced into an arranged marriage in a country at war with her own.

The doors were painted a solid gold with beautifully ornate pearl and turquoise inlays making up intricate patterns of flowers and animals. Alexis raised a hand to brush against a perfect depiction of a peacock with full plumage proudly of display.

“He heard you liked animals.” Jisung’s voice pulled Alexis out of her reverie and back to the present.

“Who heard?” She asked unthinkingly, still in awe of the artwork that was simply the entrance to her rooms.

“Changbin of course,” Jisung said matter-of-factly, reaching over and pushing the doors open. “The inside is all Hyunjin though,” the boy continued as he stepped inside, Elora following close behind him.

Alexis took one more moment to admire the first sign of consideration that she’d received from her future spouse, before following the other two inside.

This time the opulence before her made Alexis’ jaw drop and eyes widen in shock, as she turned in a full 360 to try and take in every detail surrounding them.

The colour palette of the door was continued into the rooms, gold, pearl and turquoise hues mirrored throughout the furnishings and decorations.

They were standing in a large sitting area, the ceiling draped in gold and white cloth, a large brazier of gold hung from the ceiling dripping strings of pearls that sparkled in the late afternoon light. The chairs were large and comfy, their brilliant turquoise upholstery offset by gold trim. A low table stood before a fireplace, surrounded by multicoloured floor cushions and covered by an intricately embroidered table runner that depicted brightly coloured scenes of animals found in Roalun. Through a set of white shuttered doors to her right, Alexis could see an absolutely enormous fourposter bed draped with beautiful hangings of sheer gold and turquoise.

But what attracted Alexis attention the most were the doors directly in front of her that were flung wide open giving an unobstructed view of the outside. She walked over, feeling like she was in a haze, out onto a large balcony, pressing up against the railing as she took in the view.

As the Palace was built strategically at the top of a hill, the city of Epiris was laid out like a tapestry below her, extending down the slope until it hit the bank of Lake Lilies, continuing to spread along the lakes edge on either side. The lake was a breathtaking sight, glistening in the sunlight, large enough that you could barely glimpse the other side. She could see from her position the place where the Mairis River flowed into the lake and immediately took in the two garrison towers on either side, brows pinching when she remembered exactly why she was here.

“Beautiful isn’t it?” Jisung said as he came to stand beside her. Elora was still inside, already starting to unpack their trunks, always happier when things were in their proper place.

“It’s stunning,” Alexis agreed, closing her eyes for a moment and basking in the sunlight. They stood in silence for a moment, Alexis feeling slightly bewildered with how comfortable she was already feeling in her new home.

“Can I ask you something?” Jisung sounded hesitant. “You don’t have to answer if you don’t feel like it.”

Alexis opened her eyes and looked over at him. He now had his back towards the view, leaning against the railing as he fixed her with a serious look.

“Sure.”

“Did you have a choice? About coming here, I mean?”

Alexis considered the question for a moment, her silence making the other boy jittery.

“Not exactly,” Alexis finally answered. “I’m sure if I had put up more of a fuss, the King wouldn’t have sent me, but I’m also pretty sure if I’d done that he would’ve renounced my title, leaving me with no prospects and no way to keep Elora safe.”

Jisungs expression softened, pity shining in his eyes. “Not really a choice then,” he commented softly.

“Not really, no,” Alexis replied, giving him a small smile. He returned it with one of understanding, making Alexis wonder what non-choices had been given to him and the close-knit family around him.

“You know we didn’t even know Roalun had a Princess until Chan told us about you coming to marry one of us,” a voice chimed up from behind them, making both of them spin around in shock. Jeongin, the baby of the family, stood in the doorway, his face openly curious.

“Jeongin, you can’t just walk into other peoples rooms,” Jisung berated his younger brother, looking ready to throttle the boy.

“The door was open.” Jeongin shrugged slightly, not seemingly bothered by the scolding.

He fixed his gaze back on Alexis. “Are you really a Princess? Because I learnt in History that King Tobias only had sons.”

Jisung whacked the younger boy over the head. “You don’t ask questions like that you dimwit!”

“It’s okay. He should know if I’m to be his sister-in-law,” Alexis consoled the embarrassed elder boy.

She turned her gaze back to Jeongin. “My father is the King but my mother isn’t Queen Lillian. My mother is her sister, Lady Edelyn, the former Duchess of Vitova and Alzilicia. The Princes are my half-brothers. The reason you didn’t know that Roalun had a Princess is because up until a month ago there wasn’t one. Although the King had claimed me as his daughter, I was still only a Lady, one day to be Duchess of my mother lands. However, when the King saw an opportunity to seal the Peace Treaty with Roalun by connecting our two Kingdoms through marriage, he gave me the title of Princess and shipped me off here, and as my mother is dead there was no one to stop him doing it.”

Jeongin looked shocked, eyes wide as he tried to make sense of Alexis’ story. Jisung on the other hand didn’t look surprised, his expression empathetic, which made the newly made Princess feel a little bit better about exposing her complicated past.

“Does that make you a Princess as well?” Jeongin unthinkingly asked Elora as the other girl joined them.

Alexis stiffened, immediately shooting Jeongin a glare, even though she knew he didn’t mean any harm by it.

Elora grimaced and shook her head, quickly blurting out, “No, I will never be a Princess,” before quickly disappearing back inside.

Jisung slapped Jeongin over the head once again. “Idiot!”

“Wait, what did I say?” Jeongin was genuinely confused which made Alexis soften her irritation at the younger boy slightly.

“It’s a sensitive topic for Elora. Just leave it alone, alright,” she told him, a hand going to her forehead and her exhaustion finally caught up with her.

“If you don’t mind, I think I might go lay down for a bit,” she told the two boys, walking back inside.

“Of course. Someone will come and get get you when it’s time for dinner,” Jisung said, taking Jeongins arm and dragging him out of the room with him. Jeongin smiled widely and gave Alexis a cute wave goodbye before the door slammed shut in his face.

Alexis smiled and gave a chuckle at the cute boy, shaking her head as she went to check on Elora.

She found her sister already asleep on top of the covers of her bed in her own slightly smaller room. Her face was still scrunched in distress and Alexis reached out a hand to smooth the hair off of her forehead, Elora immediately relaxing at her touch. Sighing, Alexis grabbed a rug and covered her up, quietly tiptoeing out of the room and softly closing the door behind her.

Fighting to keep her eyes open, she stumbled into her own room and crawled into the massive bed, burrowing deep under the covers.

The last thing she saw before succumbing to sleep was the detailed picture of a Mountain Lion painted onto the ceiling of her room, the sparkling afternoon sunlight making it look alive.

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