#and me getting knocked up provided him a potential heir to his throne

[pumpkin-padparadscha]

had a dream last night about a sexy genderqueer jester in neon drag makeup who was soooo sensually attractive, he had his kind-of-goatee painted neon yellow. i want him so bad... he did acrobatics and his group went to gay rughts marches to perform...

[feyhunter78]

The Despair of a Dragon's Wife

Description: After the birth of you and Aemond's son, you fall into a deep despair and rumors begin to fly regarding your son's parentage.

This was requested on my AO3 and I wanted to post it here as well! TW: Postpartum depression, suicidal thoughts and actions, but no death or injury

You loved your son, you truly did, but the sight of him reminded you of the pain you suffered, and his cries were like nails driven into your brain, reminding you of how much of a failure you were. His hair was (y/h/c) not silver and his eyes were a shade of purple that could easily be mistaken for blue, worst of all his dragon egg had yet to hatch.

You knew your sweet Rhagar simply wished to be with you, to feel your love, but you couldn’t bring yourself to hold him for more than a few minutes. Your mind constantly reminding you that he was not as Targaryen as the others, he would suffer the mistreatment bastards do, even though he is his father’s son. You have failed him, failed your family, and failed Aemond.

Aemond had been so excited for your child, speaking constantly of them, making you promise after promise of what he would provide for you both. Then, once the midwives announced you had birthed a son, he broke into joyous laughter, surprising even his own mother.

But then you were handed your son and saw the tuft of (y/h/c) hair, the muddled color of his eyes, and you knew you had failed. You had wept, and refused to be consoled, claiming they were tears of joy.

Breastfeeding was a struggle and after many attempts and gritted teeth you surrendered Rhagar to a wetnurse, tears in your eyes as you watched him calm so quickly for her. Nothing you did was ever enough for your son, he cried constantly, pulled at your hair, squirmed nonstop and refused to sleep through the night.

Your mother had stressed the importance of keeping your babe with you at night, especially since you had now birthed a potential heir to the throne. She worried someone would harm him, and you worried that perhaps that person would be you.

Sleep had fled from you, your appetite as well, music was dull and lifeless, sewing and reading no longer brought you joy. Weeks went by of you lying awake as Rhagar tossed and turned. Then it turned into months of you staring listlessly at the wall as you bounced him in your arms, silently begging him to cease his crying.

Oddly enough, it was your sworn sword, Ser Halbret, who was able to dry the tears of your son.

After hours of trying to calm your son, on the verge of tears yourself, you handed the screaming child off to him, and drifted back to your chambers. You curled up into a ball under the covers of your bed, crying silently, heart weighed down with endless misery.

You’d finally been able to drift off to sleep when the door to your chamber opened and the sound of giggling was followed by your husband’s voice.

“My sweet wife, I have found our little dragon.” Aemond called, voice light as he stepped closer to the bed.

You quickly wiped your tears, and tried to force a smile, but the sound of Rhagar calling out to you made another wave surface. You threw off the covers and rushed into the bathroom, locking the door behind you.

Aemond knocked on the door. “Y/N, are you alright? Rhagar wishes to see you.”

You slumped against the door; head buried in your arms. “Give me a moment, my stomach is a bit unsettled.”

Rhaegar began to cry, and you heard Aemond gently reassure him that you would be out soon.

You couldn’t take it anymore. Your eyes searched the room for something, anything to end your agony, but you found nothing. “If you cannot get him to stop, give him to Ser Halbret, he loves him.” You called through the door.

“Surely not more than he loves his mother.” Aemond said, trying the doorknob once more, concern tainting his voice.

“He does not love me.” You mumbled, tears streaming down your face as you dug your nails into your palms, searching for relief from the aching in your head and chest.

“Y/N, my sweet, open the door.” He insisted, as Rhagar’s cries grew in volume.

“Go away.” You cried, slamming your hand against the door, red streaks coloring the wood. You’d pressed too hard and punctured the skin.

You stared at the smeared crimson blood and prayed Aemond would leave.

Aemond carried his son to his mother’s quarters, mind clouded with worry. You had been distant as of late, and your figure had begun to decrease a worrying amount.

At first, he thought you were too wrapped up in your son to eat properly. Then he noticed how you flinched when Rhagar cried, or how you were so quick to hand him off to your sworn sword, and flee the room.

His mother looked up, a bright smile on her face. “Aemond, and little Rhaegar, what a wonderful surprise. I was just speaking with your grandsire about our worries for y/n.”

Aemond sat across from his grandsire, keeping Rhagar firmly in his arms. “I have come to see you for the same reason, I fear she is ill.”

“The only thing she is sick with, is guilt.” His grandsire said, casting a disgusted look at Rhagar.

“Guilt?” He echoed, searching his mind for anything you might feel guilty over. You had borne him a beautiful and sweet-tempered son, were a devoted and wonderful wife, and a dedicated mother. There was no reason for you to feel guilty.

Alicent took his hand in hers, her expression sorrowful. “Your grandsire believes that…” She trailed off, her lips pressed into a hard line. “I cannot say it.”

“That boy is a bastard. Look at him, that is no Targaryen.” Otto said harshly.

His mother flinched and Aemond held his son closer.

“That is not possible. I took her maidenhood, I have been the only one in her bed, and she is a faithful wife. Rhagar is mine.”

“Perhaps you were the only one in her bed, but that does not mean she was not warming the beds of others.”

Aemond stared down at his son. True, his coloring was not that of a typical Targaryen, but they shared a nose, a smile, even the way Rhagar looked at dragons was the way he himself looked at them.

“I do not wish to believe it either, but many have seen the way she thrusts the child into the arms of Ser Halbret, and his coloring matches the boy’s.” His mother said, a sympathetic look in her eyes.

“It matches y/n’s as well.” He argued, furious that they would even suggest such a betrayal coming from you.

His grandsire laid his hands flat on the table. “Ask her then, ask her why she does not seem to care for the child, why she pushes him onto everyone else.”

His mother’s eyes flickered to the tabletop, and Aemond nodded stiffly.

He held Rhagar close as he stormed back to your shared quarters, throwing the door open to find you standing on the windowsill, one hand loosely gripping the frame, the wind whipping through your hair.

Aemond called out to you in shock, and you turned, eyes wide and brimming with tears. “I cannot bear this any longer.” You sobbed, your head dropping to your chest.

Aemond quickly but carefully set your son down on the floor and rushed over to you, pulling you away from the window. “Y/N what are you doing? Have you gone mad?”

You shook your head, sobs ripping from your throat. “I hate him, I hate him, and I hate myself for it.”

Aemond pulled you into his embrace, crushing you to his chest. “I do not understand, where does this hatred come from?”

“I am a horrible wife; he is living proof of my failure.” You sobbed, hiding your face in Aemond’s chest.

“So, it is true, then? He is not mine.” Aemond said coldly.

You looked up at him in confusion. “What? How could you say that?”

“You said he is proof of your failures, your failure to stay faithful.”

You shook your head, crying harder. “No, no, he is my failure to give you a child that bears your coloring, he looks as if he belongs in the Riverlands.”

Aemond’s racing heart slowed, and he cupped your face. “I care not if he looks true to my blood, neither I nor my siblings look like my mother, yet no one doubts we are hers.”

“But the Strongs…” You argued weakly. The treatment they received was one you feared your son would receive as well.

Aemond brushed away your tears. “Everyone knew they were bastards, but Rhagar shares my nose, my smile, and soon he will have a dragon. No one will doubt him.”

“How can you be sure?” You asked, eyes darting over to your son, who was sitting on the rug near the fireplace.

“Because I will cut down any who do. I know he is my son, I know you have been faithful, as have I.” He gently swayed you back and forth, drawing your eyes back to him. “I did not break off my betrothal and anger my entire family to marry a woman I do not trust.”

You sniffled and laid your head back on his chest. “I have failed you; I know it, you need not spare my feelings.”

“You have not failed me. You have given me a perfect child, a son, an heir.” He said firmly, wishing he could make you understand how highly he held you in his heart.

Your shoulders were still shaking, but you’d begun to calm. “He hates me Aemond, I can never cease his crying.”

He kissed your forehead gently, and held you tighter. “He is a babe, and he can sense your unhappiness, he has been crying for you, and it is I who have failed you both. I should have recognized your suffering long before today. It should not have fallen to our son to alert me to your despair.”

A cracking sound filled the room and both your heads whipped towards the fireplace.

Your son sat giggling happily with a tiny dragon in his lap.

Aemond left your side and scooped them both up, carrying them over to you. “Look at what you have created, what you have given me.”

Rhagar reached out for you, babbling “mama, mama” as the small green dragon curled up on his shoulders.

You let Rhagar take as much of your hand as he could hold and smiled.

He smiled back at you, and clumsily kissed your hand, as he had seen his father do countless times. It was more of him bumping your hand with his nose, but it made you laugh, and the tightness in your chest eased.

Perhaps you could do this.

Tag list: @nyctophilic0vitnir, @svtansdaddyx, @fan-goddess, @dc-marvel-girl96, @shintax-error, @bellameshipper, @the141bandicoot, @the-phantom-of-arda, @haydee5010, @partypoison00, @serrhaewin, @issshhh, @pax-2735, @malfoytargaryen, @sahanna, @dellalyra, @mxrgodsstuff, @jkhomes, @unusual-raccoon, @boofy1998, @kravitzwhore, @caribbeangel, @krispold, @issshh, @afro-hispwriter, @ryswritingrecord, @prettykinkysoul, @elissanatok, @sahvlren, @its-sam-allgood, @happinessinthbeing, @8e-h-e8, @feyres-fireheart, @just-emmaaaa, @crazylokonugget, @hedahobbit98, @devils-blackrose, @mercedesdecorazon, @snh96, @imjustboredso

[plethora-of-imagines]

Festive Ball

AN: Another Christmassy/Winter themed fic! This one is actually pretty long but it isn’t very Master heavy, content wise.

Word Count: 1802

Warnings: unintentional alcohol consumption

Description: You get a bit drunk while at a festive party with the Master.

Tag List: @c-s-stars @queerconfusionthings @how-masterful @truthbehindthemysteries

“A drink for the honorable Lady?”

The room was filled with people, aliens of several species. Some you could name, others you could not. If the Master was still by your side you were sure he would be explaining the ones that it would be important for you to know about. At the moment, however, the Master was on the other side of the room, chatting up some random alien who he had said was third in line for an important throne on Velsavar. They may be third in line but they would be ruler in just 3 months. A coup killing their “bastard father” and their heir siblings. Of course, the Master intended to take advantage of that.

You tore your gaze away from the Master on the other side of the room to look at your host. He had graciously offered the Master and you a place to stay during the festivities. Neither of you were certain of his motives, but he seemed to find the Master an interesting conversation partner. The two of you were somewhat hesitant to place any trust in him but he seemed -biased on his reputation- to be uninterested in causing problems for the two of you. He was far more interested in impressing his guests at his soirees with dazzling decor, and even more impressive guest lists. 

He had referred to the two of you as most honored guests when he had discovered who you were. The formidable Master and his lady love, the most feared criminal couple in the universe. He had extended an invitation for the two of you to attend his annual holiday party and provided a room for the two of you to spend the night in if you so chose to. The Master had hesitated to agree, but the opportunity had been too tempting for him to resist.

The Master had been even more hesitant to reveal anything about you to your host, fearing what he could do with the information. But after several attempts by your host to offer you food and drink that wasn’t safe for human consumption the Master had given in. Revealing to the man that you were human, and due to that fact, oh so fragile compared to the normal guests he hosted. He had taken it in stride, immediately apologizing and ensuring that anything he offered you after that point was safe for your human sensibilities.

You took the offered drink from his hand with a soft-spoken, “thank you, my Lord,” you refused to offend your host by not at least accepting the foreign drink. You weren’t required to take more than a sip if it ended up being too strong for you. You had only enough trust in your host to trust that it was not poisoned.

The taste of cinnamon, winterberries, and clover coated your tongue. The drink seemed to be non-alcoholic. No hint of the chemical taste that most alien alcohols consisted of. Still, you would be cautious and keep your consumption of anything not approved by the Master to one glass.

“It seems- unusual- of the Master to leave your side in a situation such as this. He is known for being incessantly possessive of you. Yet here you are, no so-called madman by your side at a party with hundreds of no longer sober men who would be eager to get their hands on a dream such as yourself.”

You flashed him a dangerous smile, “are you one of the men eager to get their hands on me.”

“I know very well that to touch you with poor intentions would be to invite my own death.”

He seemed to be amused by your answer as if he considered your unspoken threat to be humorous. At the very least you could admit that it lacked bite with the Master on the other side of the room. Surprisingly, you weren’t insulted by his humor at your potential helplessness. It seemed to come from a position of understanding that it was likely that some poor soul would fail to recognize that the man who’s arm you had entered on was a universally known killer.

You took another sip to avoid having to play polite and apologize to your host. The Master was shaking hands with the man across the room now. You only hoped that this was a sign that he would be returning to your side soon. You missed his warm presence, his quiet whispered explanations of all the wonders and annoyances of the universe.

Your view of the Master was blocked by a rowdy group of men who rushed past, almost knocking you over. Your host caught you in a low dip, hand dangerously close to the bare skin of your leg exposed by the long slit in the green velvet of your dress. The slit having risen to expose even more of your thigh as you kept your arm outstretched. Trying to keep from splashing your drink all over yourself. Slowly his hands wandered up your person, gently pulling you up away from the floor.

Guests nearby hollered obscenely at the sight.

“My apologies, I meant no unwelcome touches on your person.”

“That’s alright. I suspect that the tumble I would have taken would have been a worse fate than my currently flustered face.”

You took another sip to help hide your embarrassment at having been caught so off guard due to your fascination with the Master. Your face felt very warm. Too warm. You were starting to suspect that the drink in your glass that you had managed to save was in fact alcoholic. You assumed that it wasn’t too alcoholic, hopefully just enough to get you buzzed. To help you relax from your social awkwardness without the Master by your side to guide you in unfamiliar rituals and customs.

The surroundings began to fade and blur around you. Unsure if it was due to embarrassment or the daze of tipsiness fast approaching you made the -possible- mistake of finishing the rest of your drink.

You startled as hands wrapped themselves around your waist, as your host hurriedly excused himself from your side. The glass being pulled from your grip and placed on the tray of a passing server.

“Now what were you drinking, my darling one. Did you even know?”

You relaxed as you realized that it was the Master who had you in his grasp. Blinking you tried to think back to if you had recognized him approaching. How had he snuck up on you to the point of making you jump? You decided that you didn’t care. He was here now.

You smiled as you fell back into the Master, becoming almost dead weight against him. He held your weight with ease. You giggled, pleasantly tipsy and gleeful. Who knows what you had been talking to your host about before he left you in the Master’s care. Honestly, you had probably blacked out for a majority of the conversation since you couldn’t remember it at all. Hopefully, you hadn’t insulted him. The Master needed him, in a way, for his newest scheme to work. And if you had insulted him then it would have made you taking the risk to trust the drink he gave you pointless. It had been done solely not to insult your host!

“I’m not sure, but it tasted really good Master!”

It took a lot of effort but you managed to raise your hand to gently tap the side of the Master’s face, or well to try and tap his face. You only managed to reach his shoulder, settling for tapping against the soft velvety poofy shoulder of his shirt. It was somewhat strange that he still wore velvet like the body had when he stole it. 

The Master had explained that this stolen body of his was still adjusting to the changes his mind forced upon it. Changes to make it into something suitable for a Time Lord. As such, he tended to get cold now. You saw it as a small blessing that gave you an excuse for more cuddles. You had missed cuddles when he had avoided you while dealing with being in a decayed body hanging onto life. Not that you would have cuddled him even if he wasn’t so against it. You were too afraid that you would hurt him to try and facilitate any physical contact after he had hissed in pain the one time you tried to hold his hand to comfort him. But that wasn’t something you had to worry about anymore! Now you could cuddle him to your heart’s content.

“Why didn’t we try to find this dress in black so that I could match you, Master? Then everyone would know that I am yours. I would have really liked looking like I matched you...”

“The green dress looks breathtaking on you, and it is far more festive. You insisted that you wanted to be at least a little bit festive.”

“But I could have matched you,” you whined like a child.

Slowly the Master guided you to begin walking towards the edges of the room. Were you leaving? If you were that meant that all of the Master’s attention could be on you. No one would be able to distract him away from your side again.

“I love you, Master. You do know that, right? Right?”

Looking down at you as you stumbled, even with his hands guiding you, he seemed to be pointedly ignoring your declaration. You pouted, he didn’t believe you! He sighed as you crossed your arms and started to dig your heels into the floor, he seemed disappointed. You refused to move until he acknowledged you again.

“Let’s get you back to the guest room our host had provided us for the night.”

You let him guide you after hearing his tone. You shrunk into yourself. 

“I’m sorry, Master,” you despondently stated.

“Whatever are you sorry for?” He sounded genuinely confused.

Crying out, “I failed you,” all you wanted to do now was run away and hide yourself underneath the covers but you didn’t know where your room was.

"You've done nothing of the sort, my dear girl. It is our host that I am disappointed in- for providing you with something that does not suit your biology, your human metabolism. He should have known better."

He whipped tears from the corners of your eyes. Pulling you in close against his side once they were gone, leading you the rest of the way to the room by his side.

“Tomorrow morning our host is going to suffer just as much as he has made you suffer with the headache I am certain you are going to have in the morning. Consider that a promise, darling."

[msjr0119]

Hold On

Part 25 - A premature arrival

Nobody got injured at the Homecoming ball, they all get separated into different safe houses- for safety.

Riley and Drake had confirmed that they had feelings for each other, however Drake believed Riley should be with Liam. Heartbroken, she moves back to New York. Only keeping in touch with Hana, Maxwell and Olivia.

Riley meets lawyer, Nate Cooper and begins a relationship with him. In Cordonia, Drake begins to court Kiara.

Nine months after Riley had left Cordonia- there is a reunion, but not the reunion the friends had hoped for.

*Characters belong to Pixelberry*

If you are under 18 please do not read this series. If you do you are consenting that you are over the age.

Series warnings: Suicide, domestic abuse, swearing, stabbing, smut🍋 If any of these triggers affect you do not read!

Tags- @annekebbphotography @burnsoslow @drakesensworld @ladyangel70 @kingliam2019 @bbrandy2002 @butindeed @bascmve01 @drakewalker04 @pedudley @captain-kingliamsqueen @duchessemersynwalker @insideamirage @of-course-i-went-to-hartfeld @kozabaji @texaskitten30 @ibldw-main @kimmiedoo5 @nikkis1983 @dangerouseggseagleartisan @gnatbrain @walker7519 @lodberg @cmestrella @hopefulmoonobject @addictedtodrakefanfic @angi15h @liamxs-world @rafasgirl23415 @notoriouscs

******

“So after brunch, I assume the King and Queen will want some aloneeee time.... But who’s ready for the real party? As it’s a Beaumont wedding- well sort of. You’re all invited to the after party at House Beaumont later tonight, to celebrate our sister getting married!”

Riley and Liam couldn’t wait to go and spend time alone together- with no distractions. They were now officially married. Discreetly they sneaked off up to their Chambers- informing Maxwell that they wouldn’t be attending the Beaumont bash, as they wanted their wedding day/night to be just the three of them. Maxwell was dramatically upset at first- but explained that they would all celebrate anyway.

Carrying his Queen over the threshold, Liam gently placed his wife on the leather couch. Pouring her a glass of water, he couldn’t take his eyes of her- he was in awe of her. The beauty radiating around her.

“I love you Queen Riley of Cordonia.”

Riley hearing these words still sounded so surreal.

“I love you too, King Liam of Cordonia. Who’d have thought that we’d have ended up here?”

“Not me for sure. I’m glad to have you back in my arms. The time apart from each other was torture. I’m going to love you both for as long as I live. How about a little siesta before we have something to eat?” The king smirked at his Queen, with passion and desire in his eyes.

“Siesta? Is that what they call it now your Majesty?” Oh god he’s so sexy with that smirk- I know exactly what you mean Liam.

“Of course. But I can’t promise that I won’t be able to keep my hands off of my gorgeous wife.”

*****

7 Months after Liam and Riley’s wedding ceremony.

Riley was now glowing at 37 weeks pregnant. Hoping that these next three weeks go quick, as everywhere she turned the little princess would knock everything and anything over. Getting frustrated with waddling anywhere she really wanted to invest in a mobility scooter- I am Queen, they may get me one if I ask nicely.

Liam had left Cordonia for two days of meetings in Greece the prior day. He didn’t want to leave her, but she promised to FaceTime him constantly over the two days to prove she was fine. Last night, she placed the phone to her bump so Liam could speak to his daughter. His daughter was doing backflips in Riley’s stomach responding to her daddy’s voice- he couldn’t contain the smile on his face. He was desperate to return home to his wife.

At brunch, Riley had experienced a shooting pain. She just ignored it as the Doctor said she would be expecting braxton hicks throughout the last few weeks of pregnancy. Olivia had noticed the colour drain from her face- and immediately excused herself from the table to find Leo.

“Leo, I know she’s not due to pop that thing out yet. But she doesn’t look well. I don’t want to worry her or Liam but I think the little princess is eager to make appearance.”

Leo looked over towards Riley- Olivia was talking sense, she didn’t look her usual self and she kept holding her stomach every ten minutes. Shit!

“Liv that ‘thing’ is my niece. I need to get Liam back. Try ringing Bastien and I will contact Liam.”

*****

Riley jolted up from her seat knocking champagne and food all over Drake and Hana. The married couple looked at each other concerned, as they stood up clearing the mess that Riley had caused.

“Shit!” Riley screamed in excruciating pain- holding her stomach protectively.

“Brooks? What’s up? Are you okay?”

Riley pulled Drake towards her- gritting her teeth she was tugging on his infamous denim jacket. He looked over towards his wife Hana for reassurance that Riley wasn’t going to potentially throttle him.

“Do I fucking look all right Drake... the fucking baby is coming.... It’s too early... get your best friend back here now!”

Drake stood frozen, before trying to unloosen her tight grip she had on him. His feet suddenly became damp- much to his annoyance. He assumed she had leaked a little accident due to the baby kicking her in the bladder too much.

“Brooks...Why are my feet wet? Have you pissed yourself? You need to let me go so I can ring Li.”

“My waters broke you fucking dipshit!”

Riley fell to the floor, Hana tried to comfort her, speaking softly towards her. Telling her to breathe. Drake attempted ringing Liam up, shaking at the reality the heir was about to be born- fucking pick up your Majesty!

*****

“Liam!” For god sake Leo, I’ve been gone one day- What catastrophes have you caused already? Frustrated with his older brother, he just sighed regretting answering the phone.

“Leo. What’s up I’m in a meeting!”

“Liam fuck the meeting! Your daughter is making an early appearance! You need to get back now”

“Fuck! Look after her Leo, I’m leaving now.”

Liam ran to Bastien, I’m going to be a father today- Riley’s in labour. Get the jet ready ASAP! Quickly explain to everyone for me what has happened and send my apologies.

*****

Leo ran into the room, Hana had placed a cold compress on Riley’s head, and Drake looked in pain- Riley was practically breaking his hand- his grimace pleaded with Leo to take over. Man up Walker, let a real man help- Leo muttered as he shook his head at Drake.

“Ri. You’re doing great. But we need to get you to hospital. Liam is on his way back.” He said calmly holding her hands, his eyes fixated on her.

“It’s too early Leo...” she cried inbetween screaming.

Leo picked Riley up, cradling her in his arms he carried her to the SUV that was waiting for them. Hana grabbed Riley’s hospital bag from their chambers, quickly making sure everything was in- she was excited and nervous for her friend.

“Good luck Ri. We can’t wait to meet our niece. We will all meet you at the hospital. Love you.”

****

Arriving at the hospital, Leo was blinded by all the flashes in front of the car. The press were camping outside the hospital grounds, how they found out Leo didn’t know. He was furious. He demanded that the royal guards find another discreet way into the hospital. Riley looked exhausted already, he was hoping Liam would get here as soon as possible- to be the strength she required to get through it. Leo carried her into the private room, he didn’t want to waste time in waiting for the staff to get her a wheelchair. Placing his sister in law gently on the bed, he asked if she needed anything. I need Liam more now than ever. Leo’s heart sunk- he felt guilty for abdicating especially now in this situation. He wished that a bit of his bad influence had rubbed off onto Liam and for Liam to refuse his duties for once in his life. If Liam missed the birth of his first born, it would all be Leo’s fault. Right now he needed to stay strong for Riley.

“Your majesty, you are about 6cm dilated.”

6cm- that’s good. Hopefully it’ll go slow, give Liam time to arrive, Leo thought. Riley held onto her brother in law for dear life. He didn’t know what to do. She was swearing, she was in pain. At every contraction she would inhale the gas and air- it was taking the edge off the pain rather than blocking it. Even though she was feeling lightheaded - Leo was so proud at how she was coping. He now knew how Drake must of felt because she was making his hand turn blue. Did he care? No. She was providing him with a beautiful niece and an heir to the throne.

****

It had been three hours since they had arrived at the hospital. Liam was still nowhere to be seen. In the back of Leo’s mind, he was furious that Liam had to go for meetings in another country weeks before the birth of his first child, he couldn’t shake this constant thought away. He was knocked out of his trance when he heard a defeated Riley try to talk to him.

“Leo, I can’t .... I can’t do this.”

“Riley you are doing brilliantly. Liam will be here soon....”

Before he could continue the doors swung open, Liam ran upto Riley, placing a lingering kiss on her forehead- holding her clammy hand, he was trying to control his breathing after running into the private wing.

“Thanks Leo. Riley I’m so sorry I knew I shouldn’t have left you.”

“You son of a bitch! You are coming nowhere near me again... I’d have committed treason if you didn’t arrive in time....”

The two brothers looked at each other with worried looks - both gulping. Leo decided to leave them to it. His hand needed a break- and he didn’t want to be in the firing line of Riley’s aggressive insults.

“Riley. I’m here now. I love you.”

“I’m sorry for.... for... calling you that... I love you too my king. Arghhh.”

*****

“You’re majesty, one last push. I can see the baby’s head. Just one more, I promise.”

Riley was lacking energy, she was uncontrollably sweaty, out of breath. Liam had been supporting her as best as he could and she was grateful. One more push and she would be holding her daughter in her arms.

After one excruciating long push, the room was filled with tiny cries, Riley flung her head back- as the midwife weighed the baby. Relieved that it was finally over, she gave her husband a stern warning.

“Liam, I swear to god. You do not touch me ever again. I’m not going through this again.” Liam shook his head, ignoring her as he fixated his gaze on his daughter. Kissing and hugging his Queen, he was so utterly proud of her. Tears ran down his cheek, he didn’t care- he was overwhelmed with the view in front of him.

“Riley, she’s absolutely beautiful. I’m so proud of you. I love you so much.”

The midwife brought the princess over to them, she weighed 6lb 9oz. She had sparkling baby blues like both her parents that kept fluttering open every so often accompanied by a jet black head full of hair. Riley laid her on her chest- having that mother/daughter skin to skin bond. All the pain she had disappeared as if it never existed. Stroking her daughters cheek, she had fallen in love instantly.

“Hello, my little girl. You have given us all a shock. I think Uncle Leo and Uncle Drake have both received broken hands because of your premature arrival. But I’m sure they’ll both forgive you. You are beautiful.”

Riley placed a kiss on the newborns head, Liam was just in awe seeing his two girls together for the first time. Grateful that he was able to make it in time. Liam held his daughters tiny fragile hand, she wrapped her hand around her father’s finger.

“She’s already wrapped around your little finger Li.”

“Riley, she’s... she’s a mini you. She’s beautiful. Daddy loves you so much our little miracle, our princess. You have completed our family. Daddy’s little girl.”

Riley smiled at Liam’s affectionate emotions towards their daughter. Moving up the bed so Liam could join them, the three of them snuggled close together. After all the shit they had been through, fate brought Riley and Liam back together and they had finally become a family.

The King and Queen Of Cordonia, would like to announce the birth of Her royal Highness Princess Ayah Rhys of Cordonia.

Weighing 6lb 9oz... born at 3.57pm.

We would like to congratulate the couple on this fantastic news. And we look forward to officially meeting our princess.

Ana De Luca - The trend

[humblemagic]

also on (ao3) and fanfiction.net)

Sansa allows them to present a united front in the courtyard. There are too many eyes watching for her to openly defy him, name him a traitor for bending a knee to the dragon queen, giving away their home, the freedom they had risked their lives and lost Rickon for. She had once said that they would never be safe if they didn’t take back Winterfell. They had, and he’d given it away without even asking her.

He cannot blame her if she is furious with him. It is all that occupied his mind after Daenerys has gone to the rooms provided for her to wash, and he follows the three Starks to her private chamber.

The door shuts, and he turns to Sansa, ready to deliver the speech he’d prepared on the journey home. “I know that you’re angry with me.”

“Angry?” She exhales, her shoulders dropping. “Jon, you’re home. You came back after riding south to meet with a Targaryen I was sure would set her dragons on you as soon as you arrived. I don’t care what you had to say or do to manage it. You survived.” Was it shock or gratitude that stayed his tongue? There is the barest hint of a smile on Arya’s face while Bran watches on impassively. “But now that you are here, we have much to discuss.”

“We do.” He looks hesitantly at his siblings. The Night King killed a dragon; there is no telling if they would be able to win this war between the living and the dead. Yet, he cannot bring himself to say it. He cannot bring with him more fear.

Bran speaks up from the corner he’d placed himself in. “I am the three-eyed raven. I see the past.” Jon’s eyes flit to Sansa; she nods. “I saw you born. You are not a bastard, and you are not our brother. You are the trueborn son of Rhaegar Targaryen and Lyanna Stark. You are our cousin, Aegon Targaryen, and the heir to the Iron Throne.”

His dubious expression is plain for them to see. Not Eddard Stark’s son when he, of all of the boys, has his look the most? Not Eddard Stark’s son but a Targaryen without the name’s mark of silver hair or lilac colored eyes?

“It is true that Bran knows things he couldn’t have if he didn’t have this gift. He saw me here in Winterfell before he returned and Arya on the road. He saw Littlefinger betray Father and hold a knife to his throat.” She lifts a hand to his arm. “I’m sorry, Jon.”

A trembled rocks his frame. Another breath. And another. “None of this matters. Who sits the Iron Throne is a problem for after the war. What we need are more men, more dragonglass, even more dragons if she had them. Winter is here, and —-“

“They say,” Arya begins in that soft, chilling way she speaks now, “that when a new Targaryen is born, the gods flip a coin. Half mad, half sane. Which do you think you are?”

He swallows, thinking of the path of devastation a dragon could leave with a queen who refused to be defied, hearing the screech of them overhead.

“Arya,” Sansa rebukes, but her eyes hold something akin to pity, and he suddenly cannot bear it.

“He knows the truth. Daenerys Targaryen cannot be allowed to rule. Not here, not anywhere.”

He straightens and sets his shoulders back. “I am tired from my journey. I will retire now.” His fist grasps the handle when the door shuts behind him.

🐺

It is no use trying to restrain Bran’s apathy; her jaw clenches but a moment.. “There were gentler ways to tell him. All his life, he’s only ever wanted to be a Stark, and now that is gone to him forever. Can you understand what that means for him?” She is most surprised at Arya, Jon’s fiercest supporter. She looks at her in question now.

“He must come to see her for what she is,” Bran intones.

“A conqueror. But he is our brother.”

Sansa looks at the pair of them, so alike now in their stillness, in the emptiness she sees in their eyes at times. Perhaps, it is in her own eyes as well. Only Jon lets his heart be seen clearly now.

Her knock on his chamber door is soft. The door opens, and she steps through, closing it gently behind her. Leaning her back against it, she watches him. His breaths are heavy like he’s just come from battle. His stance weary in a way it wasn’t even after he stood up from beating Ramsay Bolton bloody. The fire’s crackles fill the silence when Jon’s breaths are no longer visible.

Then, she walks towards him. She longs to touch him but refrains.

“What do you think?” He asks, his eyes focused on her.

“If you wish it, we would wait until the war with the dead is over and send our men along with you for your rightful place as King of the Andals. And if you wish it, I see no reason you can’t relinquish your claim to the Iron Throne as you did to the North’s. You needn’t die fighting for a position you don’t even want. You could stay here, home. Where you belong. Only if you wish it.” A soft exhale and he reaches for her hand. Her voice turns soft as a prayer. “If you wish it, no one need know at all apart from Bran, Rickon, Samwell and I. We have told no one else thus far, and we would keep your counsel.”

“If I wish it…” he sighs.

She smiles. “I’m sure I’ll know that you’ve chosen wrong as soon as you’ve decided.” But he cannot share in her jape.

“This puts all of us at risk. You are my heir, Sansa. Should I fall, that makes you the rightful Queen of the Seven Kingdoms. And Bran and Arya after you. She has fought for this since birth. She will not give up her claim so easily now, not with three dragons riding with her.”

“Having been away from King’s Landing all her life, and a woman, her claim will be contested, whatever good that will do. Whenever a claim is contested, other potential heirs will be killed like Ramsay killed Rickon, Joffrey killed Robert’s bastards, and Robert killed Rhaegar’s children before him. The heir apparent will always be killed so that the usurper may rule in peace.” Her eyes water but in a blink the tears are gone. “I will not allow it.”

Their faces are closer now than before. His eyes take her in: the hard set of her mouth, the faint blush of indignation on her cheeks, the firm grip on his hand. Finally, the pain in his eyes dims, and he smiles. “Let’s speak of happier things. Tell me how Lord Baelish died.”

Her laugh is high and bright.

🐺

In the end, they didn’t have to worry about a battle between Targaryens, or whatever he is now and her. Daenerys Targaryen falls along with her dragon, and he returns to Winterfell with no one the wiser to his claim. There is only the sure, recurring thought that in order to have what he wants, he must relinquish all he’s ever wanted.

Three-eyed raven he may be, but Bran only speaks of rightful heirs as Father would have. He expects Jon to take his birthright and the kingdoms that come with it. It would be too easy with the suspicion already clouding him now that Daenerys’ last surviving dragon obeys him, whispers that the dragon queen has named him her heir and somehow passed her powers onto him. Arya only declares, “if we won’t have the mad queen ruling, you can stay here with us as King in the North.”

It is Sansa who doesn’t seem to know what to expect of him then. She only looks at him with that steady gaze that makes him want to shift his feet and hide his face. He goes to her solar after dinner. They have somehow, the four of them, survived the war, and he cannot decide if they should wage another one without knowing what she desires.

She bids him enter. He finds her seated and sewing a garment. It is in Stark colors, but there is a deep red fabric in the basket in front of her.

He clears his throat and sits. He touches first the basket, the chair arms, the table. His moves are featherlight and fast. She watches him all the while which makes it both easier and harder to say, “I wondered if I could have your opinion on something.” She gives a slight nod but puts her needlework down. How to say this ugly, wretched thing he’s kept? What can he offer her? Not being queen - she doesn’t want it. Not himself - she will see him as he is, a true Targaryen, longing after his own sister. His jaw works. He sets his eyes on her hair. Kissed by fire, the wildings call it. His hands clench.

“You want to go south. You want to take the throne,” she says.

It’s a start. “Yes. We’ve defeated the Night King. Perhaps, there will never be another. I cannot say. If I were to be King of the Realm, I could ensure that if he or another like him should rise again, the North would be given sufficient aid in men and supplies. I could ensure my heirs and their heirs and so forth were told.” The honorable reason he has plucked from the weirwood heart tree, surely. But she sees him.

“You believe that your descendants, generations later, will believe in White Walkers because you say it?” The tone is flat. He feels blood rise to his cheeks.

“There’s a chance,” he presses, “but I wouldn’t count on it. Being my descendants and therefore descendants of the North should protect Winterfell.” It comes out weak and empty. It is true, but it is not why he is here, like this.

“What do you want? Tell me.”

A swallow. “I want to stay here with you and Bran and Arya. I want to live out my days here as Lord Eddard Stark’s son who has both his honor and stubbornness. I want to be Bran and Arya’s brother. Yet, I don’t want to be yours.” He must be brave as Father, as sure-footed as Robb on the battlefield. “I want to be by your side and watch over you. I want to protect you until the day I die and know even then that I’ve left you set so safely no harm would come to you in my absence. I want to see you happy and loved, but I don’t want to be your brother. I don’t want to be you brother.”

For brief moment, there is silence. A small crease between Sansa’s eyebrows, and then she reaches for the red fabric. Her hand has a slight tremor, but her voice is steady when she says, “Well then. I should get these finished quickly.”

🐺

Only a fool would miss the way Jon’s eyes tend to linger on hers, on her lips at times. And she hadn’t been a fool since she’d married Ramsay Bolton. She sighs at herself. One day, all memory of him would disappear, but today is not that day. She still thinks of him when she sees the scars, when she wakes in the night after a dark dream, when someone moves too close too fast. Never mind that. After the Battle of the Bastards, as even their own men called it, Jon had told her that they needed to trust one another. The shame of deceit was fresh, and she vowed to truly trust him then. Not simply give him as much as she’d thought herself able before, holding some secrets to herself lest she find a use for them in future.

Was it only a desire to protect and be protected at first? It grew into an awareness. If I must marry again, let him be like Jon, she’d thought to herself, looking at him ruffling the hair of a wildling boy. Or the barely repressed snarl when Littlefinger would draw near to her. He was like the knights she had dreamt of as a girl: strong for the weak, kind to the helpless, and handsome while he acted on their behalf. He is like Robb in that way with less divided loyalties.

When the meaning of Jon’s gaze upon her changed, it was with curiosity and gratitude that she looked back at him. No, she could not have learned even this from Cersei. Neither could it disgust her as it should. It soothed a deep wound for a true knight in all but name to fight for her and long for her as only a proper lady should be fought and longed for, not the badly repaired thing she is now. It still does. Perhaps, the ease in her chest when he is close, the certainty that she will never want to marry another, and that she thinks him so very handsome is enough.

She had never thought of him as truly her brother as a child, and it is not the type of love that could be suddenly built. There hadn’t been enough time for that. And now, it seems that was for the better.

Again, the luck is theirs. Jon never wages war with his dragon, Rhaegal. It seems the previous wars have made them friends where it has made others enemies. He is the last Targaryen, and, after some proof from Bran, the Crownlands welcome their king. She does not need to leave the keep to support his cause. Their Uncle Brynden brings the Riverlands, Theon the Iron Islands, Tyrion and Jaime the Westerlands, and Sansa the Vale. What remains of the Reach bends the knee without disdain, recalling how kindly their Lady Margaery spoke of his now cousin, Sansa. Even if they had wanted to fight, their fighting men are dead after the siege of Daenerys Targaryen’s Unsullied, who with no other master to call their own, follow Jon now.

For all that has been done to secure the Iron Throne, there is very little bloodshed and fanfare when Jon claims it.

🐺

“We won’t live in King’s Landing,” he says as they watch Arya in the training ground below. “There’s no reason why we cannot rule from here. With all the death it’s brought of late, no one seems to want to sit the Iron Throne but me.”

She glances up at him and away again. She has been cautious since his proposal. They are in a space they have created themselves, between sibling and cousin, cousin and spouse. Her red hair catches the light. She is resplendent. He has to avert his eyes then when she catches him admiring her. The laugh in her eyes does not reach her lips. He wishes she would let it.

“It could work for a time. Eventually, you and your lady wife will need to venture south to hear your people’s complaints lest after winter has gone again, they raise a rebellion against the king they have not seen since he urged them bend a knee like the kings before him.” She turns to face him then. It brings her cloak against his. “However, as you have a dragon, you ought to visit your kingdoms even during winter, see what it is you can do for them, and listen even if you cannot provide aid.” Her eyes fix on his throat now, her voice soft and serious. “I would not wish us to be as hated as the Lannisters who let the smallfolk starve while they feasted,” she says.

“We won’t be,” he says. “I will make sure of it.” In his mind’s eye, he sees his back straightening and feels as he once did when Sansa would have him and Robb take turn playing the knight to the other’s jailor. It is silly that one smile from her at his answer makes him feel sure and ready to do her bidding. If only I were able to make her happy, he thinks.

Nothing has changed. They still argue after a meeting with the small council on where best to send their limited resources; she hems and sews while they continue arguing in her solar if it hasn’t finished. Or he reads, glancing up at the the way the fire sets half her face in shadow and sets it alight in the next moment. She watches him train from the battlements, and he watches her ensure that they shall survive the winter with whatever stress the smallfolk pouring into the keep has given the stores. His eyes stay on her form a bit too long, and she touches him more than is necessary. It is as it always was.

And yet, everything is different. He worries himself until knots form in his stomach and his face looks so morose that Tormund mutters, “the Southerners always find something to weep over even when they’ve got their chairs and the prettiest woman in 1,000 miles sworn to them.” Even Arya does not try to best him at swords anymore.

“I don’t know what I was thinking,” he laments to her one day. “My sister —“

“Cousin. Isn’t that the reason you rode south in the first place? So you could marry our pretty sister?” She asks. They are seated in the armory, and Arya twirls Needle as she speaks. As always, her voice is low and dangerous. He would find it disturbing if she hadn’t told him she didn’t care when he’d told her of the upcoming nuptials.

He thanks the gods he has not shaved his beard. It covers some of the redness of his face. “Well, yes, but —“

“But now you’re scared.” Her eyes meet his then, and they are of the Arya of old. She is laughing at him though her face is still. “You should speak to her. If you’re scared, I imagine she’s terrified.”

🐺

It feels like an age since she has prayed, but she finds need of it now. Winter is here, their every battle behind them for as long as it lasts for no one wages war in winter. She sits below the heart tree when she is done. It was hours on her knees, begging for forgiveness for losing faith and the continued safety and protection of her remaining family members. She brushes the snow from her dress and leans forward, her mind finally at rest.

She knew when she’d ordered a full ream of that fabric what Jon would choose. She could not say how. Her heart simply knew that between the choice of remaining as her brother, the King in the North, and her cousin and, someday, her lord husband, he would choose the latter. For that was what the choice was. Jon never desired to be King in the North let alone the Protector of the Realm.

Since then, they have been careful with each other. Everything the same with many words unspoken.

He finds her there. She does not know how many hours have passed; the light has begun to fade from the sky. They say nothing at first. He sits beside her. She leans into him and he into her. They pretend it is for the little warmth that has been stolen from the air around them with the light.

Jon speaks first. “I wonder what Father would say if he saw us now.”

“If you had always been Aegon Targaryen and not been hidden here as Jon, we might have had an arranged marriage. Imagine my disappointment when I look upon my southron prince only to find a man with more of the Stark look than I or any of my brothers,” she chuckles. Her finger nudge the hair from his face. “Now, it gives me comfort.” Her hand cups his cheek. “A face I trust, a mind I know and a character that does not falter. ”

“Could it be enough?” He asks, ducking his head. “That you trust me?”

Her lips pucker to one side in thought. She stares at him in her assessing way. “For me, it is everything. You’re a good man, Jon. I… I am glad that it will be you. And you?” She asks after a moment.

“You don’t think it distasteful that I should desire you?”

Her chin raises haughtily. “I am Sansa Stark of Winterfell. When I was born, the bells rung from sunrise to sunset. I doubt anyone could blame you, cousin, for wanting the Winter Rose for yourself.”

They laugh long and loud then. What small tension had refused to be let out dissipates then. It reminds her of when they spoke at Castle Black. They were both of them uncertain of what their reception would be. The bastard and the prized daughter of Lord Eddard Stark. Some food, some assurances and they had settled. They would again.

“If we had been closer as children, it would most likely be different. But we weren’t. I thought of you as my brother, believe me, but we did not squabble as siblings like Arya and I did, or share our burdens like I’m sure you did with Robb. We were forever on the periphery of each other’s childhoods. We never thought we would see each other alive again; at least, I was sure you would bury me. And then you and I were aligned against what felt like the world together.

“It would increase the regard between any two people, and ours had yet to grow into a true relationship between siblings. Maybe it is why it took us time to trust one another. Arya and I were plotting almost as soon as she was within the keep. So, it is not so very strange to me.”

He wraps an arm around her at a shiver from her. “It’s the same for me.”

“And anyway, why should what makes us happy be strange? There are many terrible things that have happened that are not considered odd at all.”

He closes the distance between them to press his lips on hers. She stills for a moment. Soon, her lips return the pressure and part beneath his so that his tongue may taste her and she him. He tastes of the North. He tastes like home.

🐺

The wedding is small. After two weddings, Sansa had only wanted their closest allies with them: Arya, Bran, Brienne of Tarth, Tormund, Davos, and a select few others. She wore a dress made of the lightest grey, a testament to her lack of a maidenhead, as if he cares, and the Stark colors. When she drops her cloak, he places one of their own design on her. It is a several shades of grey that somehow work as one to represent both Stark and Targaryen.

Their children will be more Stark than Targaryen. He is glad of it as is she.

They claim each other before the old gods, and it is different than laying claim to a kingdom. Sansa, with her smile that quickens on her face when she looks up at him, is far precious than any lands or holdings. But he will give them all to her should she wish it.

Later, perhaps moons later, he will lick her scars. She will bear him children, and he will call every other Stark and Targaryen so that each of his names lives on. He will bring her lemon cakes and roses for her hair. He will sing her songs while she brushes it until it gleams in the moonlight. He will read for her when her eyes grow tired. He will even dance, though he was never that skilled at it. He will lay waste to the Seven Kingdoms and all their enemies hold dear. If she wishes it.

[oneletterwrites]

The Best Choice

For aphyuriweek2017 (X)

Prompt: Royalty

Summary: Rejected fiances and declined offers gives Svetlana’s father no choice, by giving his daughter no choice. Her future spouse is now decided by who can complete his tasks.

Pairing: Belgium x Czech

--

Svetlana stares dumbly at the boy in front of her. He’s on his knees and begging, but there’s something in his voice that makes him sound like he really doesn’t care either way. So she sighs and stands from her throne to walk away from him and out of the room.

She’s chased down by a few guards and hand maidens that ask her questions to try and figure out ‘what is wrong with this one’ as if his attitude had been any better.

“He’s snobbish,” She tells them and they all sigh collectively, a few scurrying off to go and tell her father the king the bad news. It’s not that she didn’t like him, but she can read right into his intentions. A princess with no other heir, a kingdom to be ruled, it is very tempting for those with their own ideas of ruling.

She sits tall as her father lectures her one the respectability and proper acts of being princess. Get married, rule by your husband, a conversation that causes her to twist up her nose and turn her head rudely.

The king sighs and puts his hands to his head, maybe to remove the tension of a headache she had been the start of. Svetlana doesn’t particularly care. If it means she can be her own person and ruler without having to give up her personship, it’s more than worth it.

“You’ve left me no choice my daughter,” the king says and Svetlana offers him a soft glare in return. He stands and she watches as he calls forth a servant. The bring him a long scroll.

“I hereby decree-” He begins and Svetlana stands sharply, almost toppling her chair in the process.

“The princess shall be won-”

“No!” She cries but it does not hinder the proclamation.

“By way of three tasks completed.” The king turns on his heel to leave her to her meal alone. Svetlana sits without appetite as it gets cold. Eventually she is corralled to her room to sleep and await the upcoming trials.

--

Her attitude has soured in the months time. The royals who have seen the decree, even the ones she had rejected far before are now swarming the castle yard with dark thoughts and wicked smirks that make her stomach churn.

Her dress glitters int he sun and some men make wolf calls which are ignored by the king in order to speak to them all. Three tasks are set for the next three weeks. Whoever completes the tasks the best will be crowned king of their kingdom and the husband of Svetlana.

“You never even asked me,” She hisses to her father when he stops by her. He sighs and looks to her with sadness and no answer. They have one week to complete their first task to the best of their ability.

As annoyed as she is, she’s excited to see the creations the potential spouses will come up with. Maybe it’s nice that her father has taken her favorites and turned them into the tasks to complete, but it doesn’t mean she’s still not angry with him for putting her in this position in the first place.

The blown glass decorations will be put on display for all to see and she will chose her favorites.

When the week passes, she’s walked outside by her father to explore the decorations that are standing on a simple table, a few tables. There are more decorations that she thought. She walks around, examining each piece to her own tastes. There are few she enjoy, and some she even wants to own.

After she has decided on the half she likes the most, the makers are called to stand by their creations and either take the glass and themselves home or present them to the princess themselves.

She takes them politely as she can, giving bitter smiles to the ones she had rejected before who now are cocky she has chosen their art. She’s sure now they paid someone else to do it.

One of the favorites she picked is given to her by a person masked in a green cloak and a mask that covers their mouth. She catches a glimpse of their bright green eyes underneath the hood. They are full of mischief and mirth and she finds herself watching as they walk away.

--

Svetlana has her doubts about the second task, though her stomach grumbles regardless. She enters the dining hall and eyes all the bowls of food placed at each seat. Some look better than others but Hovězí guláš is her favorite.

As she’s been told, the contenders have made the food from the start. They have slaughtered the cow themselves, and the peppers and onion grown from their own gardens. They have baked and prepared the dumplings with provided wheat but nothing more.

The kitchen had been offered for those too far away and the spices just in reach for those who wished to make one. Her stomach rumbles just enough for her to hear and with a sigh she decides to try the food made for her. A hand maiden with a cup of water follows just in case.

Some she spits out right away as the beef slices are either full of fat or raw entirely. Some are too tough and the ones with decent meat are kept around. The onions and peppers have been seared enough for her regardless. The dumplings provided difficult for all but two dishes.

The sauce sells her one a few of them. The spices not enough to burn her tongue but enough for the flavor she adores. The five main dishes she picks are claimed and she’s excited to know her suitor in the green cloak stays for dinner.

They eat at the table with her father at the head talking about the week break they will take, a ball held to see how well they handle the high society the princess surrounds herself in. She catches the eye of the green suitor and the glow in their eyes as they lock on her.

Svetlana smiles to them and the glow they hold grows brighter.

--

“Father this is boring,” Svetlana complains and has danced with no one. Her father can only sigh and bow his head to those who greet him and his lovely daughter. Every time a suitor comes to her, including some that she actually chose based off her father’s requirements, she rejects them.

She only has eyes for her green suitor right now, trying to find them in the crowd. Her entire demeanor brightens when she spots them by the wall with their clothing still a rich green and their hood gone. She leaves who ever is talking right away to go to them.

“Are you enjoying the festivities?” She asks the suitor. They glance up at her but say nothing. A mask is over their face that only shows their brilliant eyes that look at her fondly. More than any of the others who have come her way.

They bow low and Svetlana smiles beside herself. When they hold out their arm she takes it happily. There are a few gasps as she’s taken to the middle of the dance floor but her green suitor is gentle and she swears she can feel them smirking from behind their mask.

Regardless of the words they do not speak, Svetlana has made her choice.

--

“Are you mad!?” Svetlana rounds on her father as she is shown the pit where her chosen five are standing. He simply shrugs.

“They have to prove they can protect you,” He says and a bell is sounded. Svetlana turns just in time to see them all lunge for each other. She pushes past a few people but guards hold her back to keep her safe. She’s forced to watch from a safe landing as they hurt each other.

Her green suitor holds their own, sweeping their legs and making sure the others are more focused on each other. When someone really goes for them, they are quick to dodge and strike them from behind when they carelessly exposed themselves.

When it’s just the green suitor and another rude rejected suitor are left Svetlana almost thinks she’ll be safe when they tackle the green suitor to the ground. She gasps hard as they are pinned and punched, their mask being ripped off and the whole world stills.

The green suitors eyes are bright and bloodshot with a fire lit underneath. They wipe at their nose that is bleeding hard and their hair is dirty and wavy. Feminine features grace them and no one moves. Except for them, when they swing a leg around to knock the other off and then pin them down.

The crowd erupts into confusion as the green suitor manages to knock the other unconscious and therefor out of the running. Svetlana manages to rip away from her guards and down to the pit where her green suitor stands rugged with blood and dirt covering them.

She cares no for her dresses as she goes to them, taking their face in her hands and checking for big damage.

“You fought for me,” Is all she can think so say. Her green suitor smiles in a smirk that Svetlana had imagined on them since the beginning. Their shirt is partly ripped and the curvature of their chest clearly shows they are no man.

“That can’t be allowed!” Svetlana jerks away from the rejected suitor, now conscious, sadly. Svetlana stands tall with her chosen suitor, them wrapping an arm around her protectively.

“She’s a woman!” They cry.

“So?” Svetlana asks of them. It dumbfounds the others and she turns to her father who watches in silence.

“Father I chose them!” She announces, holding their hand tight. Her father strokes his face in thought, waving a hand for her and them to follow. Refusing to let go Svetlana guides her suitor inside. Her heart races when they place a soft kiss to her hand.

--

Seeing her spouse dressed in the bright green they wear so well, Svetlana’s heart beats with joy. They please the crowd with smiles and yet still manage to send smirks her way. Emma proved herself worthy of being her spouse and future king. The uproar of her being a woman took some by storm but she had completed the tasks to the best skill. There could be no other.

“My dear,” Emma greets as she takes Svetlana’s hand gently. Svetlana smiles sweetly and allows herself to be guided to the dance floor. The crowd smiles on just like they did at their wedding day.

They laugh and dance to the music, lost in their own world. Never before had Svetlana thought about being married, but Emma changed her mind. She’s sweet and no trace of the malice of the other suitor’s is in her. Though it may not have been her idea, Emma is her choice. 

[booksong]

Top 10 Books Read In 2016

Bringing this back again this year (and yes I realize March is now almost over, I’m a little late oops), because I really enjoyed putting together a list last year, and one thing I always love in a new year is looking back on the great experiences I’ve had with reading, and hopefully lining up some new recommendations from others to look forward to in the rest of 2017!  

2016 was a rough year, but as with so much of my life, books were there to provide comfort, knowledge, escape, and new friends and perspectives.  Here are my 10 best titles of them, in no particular order (long post warning as always because it’s me talking about books):

1. Hallucinations by Oliver Sacks

The experience of sensing things that aren’t really there has long been considered a hallmark of the crazy and overemotional.  And yet hallucinations have been startlingly well documented in all types of people, and neurologist Oliver Sacks has compiled a wide range of anecdotes, personal accounts and sources, and scientific studies of the various forms they can take.  Vivid, complex visual and auditory hallucinations by the deaf and the blind, near-death and out-of-body experiences, phantom limbs, unseen 'presences', supernatural-esque encounters, sleep paralysis, and hallucinations induced by surgery, sensory deprivation, sleep disorders, drugs, seizures, migraines, and brain lesions--Sacks takes all these bizarre (and occasionally terrifying) case studies and conditions and approaches them with an attitude of fascination, curiosity, and clinical appreciation. 

I came into this book expecting to hear mostly about things like LSD trips and schizophrenia, which honestly are probably most people's touchstones for the concept of hallucinations. And while there is a single chapter devoted to drug-induced hallucination (with compelling and pretty eerie first hand accounts from the author himself), Sacks barely touches on schizophrenia, setting it aside right away in his introduction in order to focus on other altered brain states I'd barely heard of but found deeply engrossing. One of the things I found most personally fun about this book was that you get tons of potential scientific explanations for a lot of strange phenomena that have puzzled and frightened humans for centuries. Why might so many different cultures have similar folklore about demons and monsters that assault or suffocate people in their beds at night? You find out in the chapter about hypnogogic hallucinations and sleep paralysis. What about things like guardian spirits, demonic presences, the 'light at the end of the tunnel', or historical figures hearing voices from God(s)? There are case studies about them not just in history and theology, but medical science too. Instances of people seeing ghosts, faeries, balls of light, moving shadows in the edges of their vision, or even doppelgangers of themselves? All touched on in this book as part of various differences, injuries, and misfires in people's brains, brain chemistry, and neural makeup. It's really, really cool stuff.

2. Captive Prince trilogy by C.S. Pacat

Prince Damianos of Akielos has everything.  He’s a celebrated war hero, a master sportsman, and the heir to the throne, utterly primed to become king.  And every bit of is stripped away from him in a single night when his half-brother Kastor stages a coup and ships him off in chains under cover of night.  Just like that, Damianos becomes merely Damen, robbed of his power, freedom, and identity—the newest slave in the household of Prince Laurent of Vere.  Trapped in an enemy country that shares a bloody history with his own, surrounded by people and customs that confuse, disturb, and disgust him, and under the total control of the icy, calculating and seemingly unfathomable Laurent, Damen has no way of knowing that the only way to return to his rightful throne and homeland will be through strange alliances, brutal battles and betrayals, chess-like political maneuvering and negotiation, and the fragile, complicated, impossible bond he will come to forge with the man he despises the most.

I knocked out this entire trilogy in about two weeks, and it would have been much, much shorter than that if I’d been able to borrow the last book from my friend any sooner (thanks again @oftherose95!!). The second book, Prince’s Gambit, even traveled across the Atlantic and around a good portion of Ireland with me in a black drawstring backpack, and was mostly read in Irish B&Bs each night before bed.  The series was the best of what I love in good fanfiction brought onto solid, published paper (and I mean that as the greatest compliment to both fanfic and this series); it had unique, complicated relationship dynamics, broad and interesting worldbuilding, angst and cathartic triumph in turns.  It’s a political and military drama, a coming-of-age and character story for two incredibly different young men, and yes, it’s an intensely slow burn enemies-to-friends-to-lovers romance full of betrayal, culture shock, negotiation, vulnerability, power plays, tropes-done-right, and some of the most memorable and delightful banter imaginable, and it will drag your heart all over the damn place because of how fantastically easily you will get invested.  Yes, be aware that there are definitely some uncomfortable scenes and potential triggers, especially in the first book (and I promise to answer honestly anyone who’s interested and would like to ask me those types of questions in advance) but in my personal experience the power of the story and the glorious punch of the (ultimately respectful, nuanced, and well-written) relationship dynamics far outweighed any momentary discomfort I had.  A huge favorite, not just of this year but in a long while.

3. Where the Dead Pause and the Japanese Say Goodbye by Marie Mutsuki Mockett

After her beloved father dies unexpectedly, the author returns to the Buddhist temple run by the Japanese side of her family, not far from where the Fukushima nuclear disaster claimed the lives of many and made the very air and soil unsafe.  She initially goes for two reasons: to help inter and pay respects to her Japanese grandfather’s bones during the Obon holiday, and to find some kind of outlet and solace for her grief.  But during her travels she finds more than she ever expected to about Japan, its belief systems, its values, its rituals of death and memory, and the human process of loss.

There are actually two non-fiction books about Japan on my list this year, and they’re both about death, grief, growth, and remembering.  It’s a coincidence, but seems oddly fitting now looking back on 2016.  Part memoir and part exploration of Japanese cultural and religious traditions surrounding death and its aftermath, I was fascinated by the line this book walked through the interweaving of religion and myth, respect and emotional reservation, and most of all the realization that there is no one single accepted way to mourn and to believe, even within a society as communal as Japan’s.  It’s something I find constantly and absolutely fascinating about Japan, the meeting and often the integration of old and new traditions, and of outside influences. Probably one of the most thoughtful and uplifting books about death I’ve ever read, and a great one about Japanese culture too.

4. Nevernight by Jay Kristoff

When Mia Corvere was a child, her father led a failed rebellion against the very leaders he was charged with protecting. Mia watched his public execution with her own eyes, the same way she watched her mother and brother torn from their beds and thrown into Godsgrave’s brutal prison tower.  Narrowly escaping her own death, completely alone and a wanted fugitive, Mia now has only two things left—an ability to commune with shadows that has given her a powerful and eerie companion shaped vaguely like a cat whom she calls Mr. Kindly, and a desire to join the only people who can help her take revenge: the mythical and merciless guild of assassins called the Red Church.  But even finding the Church and being accepted can be life-threatening—graduating from their ranks will mean more sacrifice, suffering, revelation, and power than even sharp-witted and viciously determined Mia could ever imagine.

Let me preface this by saying this book is probably not for everyone.  Both its premise and execution are undeniably dark and graphic: the cast is necessarily full of antiheroes with unapologetically bloodthirsty aims and a range of moral standards and behaviors tending heavily toward the ‘uglier’ end of the spectrum.  The violence and deaths can be brutal, emotionally and physically, and despite their pervasiveness they never seem to pack any less of a punch.  But I’ve always looked to books as my safe guides and windows into exploring that kind of darkness every so often, and this book did so extremely well. Kristoff has a way of writing that makes Nevernight’s incredibly intricate and lovingly crafted fantasy universe feel rich and seductive even with the horrors that occur in it (the dry, black-comedy footnote asides from the nameless chronicler/narrator are a good start, for example).  On one hand, you don’t feel like you want to visit for obvious reasons, but the worldbuilding—with its constant moons and blood magicks and fickle goddesses—was so fluid and inviting it caught my imagination like few other books did this year. I absolutely got attached to many of the characters (especially our ‘heroine’ Mia), both despite and because of their flawed, ruthless, vulnerable, hungry personalities, and I found myself fascinated by even the ones I didn’t like.  This was one of the books this year I could literally barely put down, and I can’t wait for its sequel.

5. Nagasaki: Life After Nuclear War by Susan Southard

Ever since the United States dropped two atomic bombs on Japan and ended WWII, the name of the city Hiroshima has become synonymous with the tragedy.  Nagasaki is almost always mentioned second if at all, almost as an afterthought, the city bombed three days later that was a second choice target.  But 74,000 people still died there, and 75,000 more were wounded or irreparably affected.  In this book, author Susan Southard tells the story of not just the day of the Nagasaki bombing, but the months and years that came afterward: of suffering and healing, protest and denial, terror and hope, interwoven at each stage with the painfully intimate and powerfully humanizing interviews and life accounts of five hibakusha survivors.  

This was definitely one of the heaviest books I read this year (in length and content), but it also felt absolutely necessary and was luckily very readable, thoroughly researched, and respectfully told.  You can tell just through the writing how much the author came to like and respect her subjects as people and not just mouthpieces for their stories, and dear gods the stories they have.  Nagasaki is definitely graphic, and horrifying, and achingly sad, as you would expect any book that details one of the worst tragedies in human history to be. But ultimately the stories of the hibakusha and Nagasaki’s slow but constant recovery are ones of hope and survival, and much as when you read memoirs from Holocaust survivors that urge you to remember, and learn, and walk armed with that new knowledge into the future, this book also makes you feel kind of empowered.  It’s been seventy years since the bombing happened, many of the survivors are passing on, and nuclear weapons are now sadly looming large on the political landscape again, so while it’s not an easy book, it was without a doubt one of the most important I’ve read in recent memory.

6. Front Lines by Michael Grant

The year is 1942.  World War II is raging.  The United States has finally decided to join the struggle against Hitler and the Nazis. And a landmark Supreme Court decision has just been made: for the first time, women are to be subject to the draft and eligible for full military service. Into this reimagined version of the largest war in human history come three girls: Rio Richelin, a middle-class California girl whose older sister was already KIA in the Pacific theater, Frangie Marr, whose struggling Tulsa family needs an extra source of income, and Rainy Schulterman, with a brother in the service and a very personal stake in the genocide being committed overseas.  But while women and girls are allowed to fight, sexism, racism, prejudice, and the brutality of war are still in full effect, and the three girls will have to fight their battles on multiple fronts if they’re going to survive to the end of the war.

I think this is probably one of the first non-fantasy historical revisionist series I’ve ever read that worked so incredibly well.  There are probably a million places author Michael Grant could have easily screwed up executing this concept, but I was extremely and pleasantly surprised to find my fears were pretty unfounded.  Grant (husband of similarly clear-eyed Animorphs author KA Applegate) has always been a writer who doesn’t shrink from including and even focusing on uncomfortable-but-realistic language, violence, sexuality, and real-world issues of prejudice, and he brings all these themes into Front Lines and places three teenage girls (one of whom is a WOC and another who’s a persecuted minority) front and center without letting the book feel preachy, stilted, or tone-deaf toward the girls’ feelings, motives, voices, and flaws as individuals.  It’s also obviously well-researched, and there’s a whole segment in the back where Grant shares his sources and the similarities and liberties he took with historical events in order to tell the story.  Especially in today’s political climate, it’s a powerful and engrossing read. And what’s more the sequel just came out not long ago.

7. Ready Player One by Ernest Cline

In the year 2044, a single massive virtual reality interface called the OASIS has got most of the declining Earth’s population hooked into it, living out all kinds of video game and sci-fi fantasies.  But some of the more hardcore players, like Wade Watts, are exploring the OASIS on another level—hunting for the easter egg clues to a massive fortune its eccentric developer left behind after his death.  But no one’s been able to find even the first clue, let alone begin solving the weird and difficult puzzles and challenges that might follow…until one day, Wade does, and draws the dangerous attention and greed of everyone inside and outside the virtual world to himself in the process.

I’m honestly not that big of a gamer, or even someone particularly attached to or affected by pop culture nostalgia. Everything I know about most of the references throughout Ready Player One was picked up through cultural osmosis, and some I’d never even heard of—and I still thought this book was a blast, so take note if that’s what holding you back from picking it up.  The book has a lot of the raw thrill anyone who loves fictional worlds (video game or otherwise) would feel upon having a complete virtual universe full of every world, character, and feature of fantasy and sci-fi fiction you could ever dream of at their fingertips.  But it also explores, sometimes quite bluntly, a lot of the fears and flaws inherent in the whole ‘leave/ignore reality in favor of total VR immersion’ scenario, and in the type of people who would most likely be tempted to do it.  All the different bits and genre overlaps of the novel really come together very seamlessly too—it’s a little bit mystery, a little bit cutthroat competition, a little bit battle royale, a little bit virtual reality road-trip, a little bit (nerdy) coming-of-age.  And despite how much world-building is necessary to set up everything, the book rarely feels like it’s info-dumping on you (or maybe I just loved the concept of the OASIS so much I didn’t care).  Probably the most unashamedly fun novel I read this whole year.

8. The Spirit Catches You and You Fall Down by Anne Fadiman

In the 1980’s in Northern California, a little Hmong girl named Lia Lee began showing symptoms of a severe and complicated form of epilepsy.  The hospital the Lees took her to immediately began issuing their standard observations, treatments, and medications.  But her parents, first generation immigrants with their own complex cultural methods of interpreting and caring for medical conditions, didn’t necessarily think of epilepsy as an illness—for the Hmong it’s often a sign of great spiritual strength--and were wary of the parade of ever more complicated tests and drugs their daughter was subjected to.  Lia’s American doctors, confused and then angered by what they saw as dangerous disobedience and superstitious nonsense, begged to differ.  What followed was a years-long series of cultural clashes and misunderstandings between Western medical science and the rituals and beliefs of a proud cultural heritage, and the people who tried with the best intentions (but not always results) to bridge that gap.

I had never read anything you could classify as ‘medical anthropology’ before this book, and I’m kind of mad I didn’t because it was fascinating. Using her firsthand interviews and observations Fadiman creates an entire case study portrait of the Lee family experience, from their life in America and struggle with Lia’s condition and American doctors to the history of the Hmong people’s flight from Thailand, Vietnam, and Laos and their experiences as immigrants.  And as the best anthropological works should be, there’s also a very compassionate and analytic line walked that criticizes, explores, and accepts both cultural sides of the issue without assigning blame or coming out in favor of one over the other.  By the end of it, I think my strongest emotion was hope that we might embrace a new type of medicine in the decades to come (even though it might look grim right now); something holistic that can find a way to mediate between culture and science, doctor and family and patient, so that maybe everyone ends up learning something new.

9. Good Omens by Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett

Crowley has a pretty good life for a high-ranking demon living on Earth.  He can cruise around in his monstrous Bentley, and do assorted evil deeds here and there to keep from getting bored.  He even has a pleasant frenemy in the fussy, bookshop-owning Aziraphale, the angel who used to guard the flaming sword at the gates of Eden a very, very long time ago.  But then the various denizens of Heaven and Hell get the word from their higher-ups that it’s time for the Antichrist to come to Earth and the End Times to begin.  The extremely unfortunate baby mix-up that ensues is only the first step in a very unusual lead-up to the end of the world, which will include the greatest hits of Queen, duck-feeding, the Four (Motorcycle) Riders of the Apocalypse, a friendly neighborhood hellhound, modern witch hunters, and a certain historical witch’s (very accurate) prophecies.

Reading this book was long overdue for me—I’ve read and enjoyed works from both these authors before, and had heard a ton about this one, basically all of it good.  But I only finally picked it up as part of a ‘book rec exchange’ between me and @whynotwrybread and I’m so glad I got the extra push.  Good Omens has a dark, dry, incredibly witty humor and writing style that clearly takes its cue from both Gaiman and Pratchett; it was really fun picking out their trademark touches throughout the novel.  Couple that with a storyline that’s tailor-made to be a good-humored satire of religion, religious texts, and rigid morality and dogma in general, and you’ve got a pretty winning mix for me as a reader. It’s endlessly quotable, the characters are extremely memorable (and very often relatable), and despite the plot using a lot of well-known religious ‘storylines’, there are enough twists on them that it keeps you guessing as to how things will eventually turn out right up until the end.

10. Scythe by Neal Shusterman

At long last, humankind has conquered death. Massive advancements in disease eradication, nanotechnology, and artificial intelligence means that not only can people age (and reset their age) indefinitely, but they can be revived from even fatal injuries.  And a benign AI with access to all human knowledge makes sure everything is run peacefully, fairly, and efficiently.  In order to deal with the single remaining issue of population control, a handful of those from each generation are chosen to be trained as Scythes, who selectively mete out permanent death to enough people each year to keep humanity stable.  And when Rowan and Citra are selected by the cool but kindly Scythe Faraday as his apprentices, neither are exactly willing, nor are they at all prepared for what the life of a Scythe will come to ask of them.

Neal Shusterman always seems to be able to come up with the coolest concepts for his novels (previous examples include getting inside the mind of a schizophrenic, two kids trapped in a very unique version of purgatory, and the Unwind series with its chilling legal retroactive abortion/organ donation of teens), and not only that but also execute them interestingly and well. They always end up making you really think about what you’d do in this version of reality, and Scythe is no different.  Would you be one of the Scythes who gives each person gentle closure before their death? Glean them before they even know what’s happening?  Divorce yourself emotionally from the process altogether so it doesn’t drive you mad?  Embrace your role and even come to take pleasure in it? You meet characters with all these opinions and more.  It doesn’t lean quite as heavily on the character depth as some of the author’s previous books, which gave me some hesitation at first, but the world was just too good not to get into.  And the fact that it’s going to be a series means this could very well just be the setup novel for much more.

 Honorable Mention Sequels/Series Installments

 -Crooked Kingdom by Leigh Bardugo (‘No mourners, no funerals’—as perfect a companion/conclusion to the already-amazing Six of Crows from last year’s top ten list as I could have ever hoped for)

-The Raven King by Maggie Stiefvater (one of the most unique and magical series I’ve ever read comes to a powerful and satisfying close)

-Morning Star by Pierce Brown (a glorious and breathtaking battle across the vastness of space starring an incredible and beloved cast kept me pinned to the page until the very last word—this was a brutally realistic and totally fantastic political/action sci-fi trilogy)

-Gemina by Amie Kaufman and Jay Kristoff (I rec’d the epistolary sci-fi novel Illuminae last year and this was an equally gripping sequel to it—can’t wait for the third book out this year!)

-Bakemonogatari, Part 1 by NisiOisin (the translated light novels for one of my all-time favorite anime series continue to be amazing!)

If you made it this far, THANK YOU and I wish you an awesome year of reading in 2017!  And I want to remind everyone that my blog and inbox are always, ALWAYS open for book recommendations (whether giving or requesting them) and talking/screaming/theorizing/crying about books in general.  Or write up your own ‘top 10 books from last year’ post and tag me!

[msjr0119]

Forgive me

Part 4- The first ball

A mini series, includes suicide and abuse.

Based on true events but using TRR characters who are owned by Pixelberry.

@annekebbphotography @burnsoslow @drakesensworld @ladyangel70 @kingliam2019 @bbrandy2002 @butindeed @bascmve01 @drakewalker04 @pedudley @captain-kingliamsqueen @duchessemersynwalker @insideamirage @of-course-i-went-to-hartfeld @kozabaji @texaskitten30 @ibldw-main @kimmiedoo5 @nikkis1983 @dangerouseggseagleartisan @gnatbrain @walker7519 @lodberg @cmestrella @hopefulmoonobject @addictedtodrakefanfic @angi15h @liamxs-world @rafasgirl23415 @notoriouscs @yukinagato2012 @dcbbw @qammh-blog @nz1091 @beardedoafdonutwagon

Part 4 is two parts 😞... click the link at the bottom to continue the chapter.

******

Liam looked towards Riley who was mirroring the same expression as he was- shock. He shook his head, thinking his imagination was playing tricks with him. Picking Lucas up, he asked Riley to go for a walk with him. Biting her lip- she agreed, closing the door she scrutinised the room. There was no one there.

Riley pushed the buggy through the halls, every move she made she kept looking over her shoulder- she knew Leo wasn’t some type of poltergeist and that he wouldn’t hurt them but if it really was him she was still shocked- her heart was still pounding.

Liam noticed Riley all shaken up, debating on whether to tell her the words that he heard whispered. Drake had informed him that she had nightmares, of course she would- Leo’s death was traumatic. Walking into the ballroom, he saw her eyes light up like a child in a candy shop.

“What do you think?”

“It’s so elegant. It’s beautiful. No words could describe it.” Her eyes kept widening as she twirled around, Liam laughed- he had been brought up in the palace and didn’t see the attraction.

“The view is beautiful.” Liam was referring to the view of Riley, not the ballroom. Turning around smiling she was oblivious to what his definition of ‘view’ actually was.

“Prin- Lady Riley, would you honour me in this dance?”

“There’s no music.”

“Just take my lead, imagine there was music.”

Riley curtsied, remembering what Leo taught her when he was drunk one night.

******

Leo and Riley and their friends had been clubbing, the girls showing off their infamous slut drops- whilst the men stood frozen not knowing how to dance to the cheesy pop music blasting through the room.

Arriving back at Lola and Daniel’s apartment, the gang stumbled through the door barely able to walk- barely holding their takeaways.

“Come here, I want to show you how to dance like a Princess.” Riley thought he was having some sick joke, until he kissed her hand and bowed to her. He described how she should always curtsy.

“Why? This marriage is fake- I don’t need to know royal protocol Leo. You won’t see me dancing a waltz in New York.”

“For future reference just in case.” He winked as she shook her head.

“For future reference? We don’t dance like this in New York Leo.”

“If I ever take you back home I mean. All the men will be eager to dance with you. Liam especially, he’s shy but he’s very attentive with beautiful ladies and he’s handsome- you couldn’t resist a dance with him. Lord Maxwell’s forte is dancing- he would be able to show you a thing or two. Drake he won’t ask for a dance- not because he’s rude, he’s just never fit in with court life.” Ending the quick dance lesson, Riley enjoyed it. The Waltz was a dance for couples- a way to hold each other close and flirt.

“Well thank you Prince Charming for the dance, but I don’t think I’ll be needing this skill in the future.”

*******

“You’re really good.”

“Don’t look so surprised. I was a ‘Princess’ once upon a time. I learnt from a great teacher- a great drunk teacher.” She laughed. “Talking about Leo....I was wondering if I could swap rooms. It was still a bit raw staying in his old room.” Lying she didn’t want to tell Liam the real reason- she didn’t want him to think she was delusional or crazy.

“Of course. If you need anything Drake will be next door- if you are going to need him for anything- id advise buying some whiskey for bribery though.” Liam was still spooked, and selfishly wanted her to stay next to him- but he knew she would be safe near to Drake.

“Thank you. And thank you for the dance, your highness.”

“No thank you.” He kissed her on the cheek. Her skin was soft, she was amazing in every single way. He felt grateful to have stumbled into her by fate- even if the circumstances of their meeting was a negative one.

*****

After their dance, Riley had asked if she could have some alone time with Lucas, to get used to the palace. Liam left Riley but had asked Bastien to discreetly follow her making sure that she was safe.

Liam had arranged to meet with the royal nanny asking her to be on stand by in case Riley changed her mind about attending the ball that was taking place in a few hours. He knew she would be protective over Lucas, but would arrange for Drake to sneak out every so often to get updates. Drake hated these events and he was Liam’s best friend so would use any excuse to escape.

Meeting up discreetly with some press, he wanted to inform them of Leo’s death- before the gossip spread at the ball. Ana and Donnie were both shocked, usually the two of them would live for gossip- possibly even twist facts. But they respected the two princes and gave their sympathy to Liam. Ana wrote a draft, and asked Liam to proof read it before publishing.

“I’m so sorry again your highness. I do have another question for you though if you don’t mind answering.” Liam nodded, waiting for Ana to elaborate.

“There have been some rumours that you are not having a social season. Can you confirm if this is true- and if so why?”

“I never wanted a social season. I wanted to marry for love not for political reasons. I believe that I would make a successful monarch with or without a Queen. My main priorities before I am King is to support my nephew and his mother.”

“Will we be meeting them? Your nephew is potentially a heir to the throne.” Donnie asked.

“They are here in Cordonia, but it is still raw for her. So I’d appreciate it if we could keep the press away from the two of them. Any questions regarding Leo or them please come to me first.” The two of them nodded, before exiting the room.

*****

Riley was contently walking through the grounds, familiarising herself with the features. Holding Lucas’s hands she was supporting him walking on his own- even if it was breaking her back. “Hi Riley. Hey little buddy, I’m your Uncle Max.” Maxwell ran over to them smiling.

“Hello, Lord Beaumont.” Maxwell kissed her on cheek.

“Just call me Maxwell or Max- I’m not bothered about all those titles. How are you settling in?”

“Oh. Erm. Fine.” Stumbling she didn’t want to confess how crazy she seemed. When she was with Liam she forgot about the pain that constantly stabbed her in the heart.

“Are you going to the ball?” He asked mischievously, knowing that Liam would ask for a dance- he would fall weak at his knees.

“No. I don’t think I am. I think myself and Lucas will have an early night. And I don’t think I can face the King and Queen just yet.”

“You should come. It’s not all about dancing and socialising. Well it is. But I’m fun. And I always rope people into playing drinking games. I can take you to the boutique now, we can turn you into a princess.” He winked, knowing she would think he was referring to her marriage to Prince Leo, but he was actually referring to her becoming Liam’s princess.

“I’m not a princess, it was a fake marriage and if you have forgotten I’m widowed- so I’m just Riley Brooks-Rhys from New York.”

“Come on, I’m taking you to the boutique- just in case you change your mind.”

******

Arriving at the boutique, Maxwell worked his way through the dresses- finding two he knew she would look beautiful in either.

Trying both dresses on, she twirled around infront of the young lord who’s mouth was agape.

“So what do you think?”

“You look beautiful, Riley. And does this mean you are coming?”

“Erm, I suppose I could do. I’m only here for a week tops. I told my manager I had flu, that usually lasts around a week. Rob and his sister are coming in a few days, Drake said they could stay in his cabin- to avoid the King and Queen, then I’ll fly back with them.” Maxwell’s heart sunk, he wondered if Liam knew what her intentions were.

“Well we better make this a night to remember. Choose your dress and you can get ready with me. We will take Lucas to the royal nanny- she’s really good, she will look after him.”

******

Bastien knocked on Liam’s door, his lips curled up hoping Riley and Lucas was with him.

“Where’s Riley and Lucas? I asked you to look out for them!”

“Your highness, Lord Maxwell has taken over my role. She is safe with him. He escorted her to the boutique.”

“Is she coming to the ball?”

“I’d assume so. I believe she wouldn’t have visited the boutique if not.”

Liam was already dressed, looking regal. He had an inkling that Maxwell would have taken her under his wing. Heading to Maxwell’s room, he knocked on the door.

“Hey Li. Come in. Lucas is with the nanny.” Max winked, knowing he was fighting for the best friend award between himself and Drake. Looking in the corner of the room, Liam’s breath caught- he felt as if his heart was skipping a thousand beats.

“Good evening. You look absolutely breathtaking Riley.” Blushing, she knew he looked handsome- she wanted to tell him that but her mouth kept providing nothing every time it opened. Eventually after a long sigh, she managed to get her words out.

“Thank you. You look very regal and handsome Liam.”

“I’ll see you both down there. Don’t do anything I wouldn’t.” Both their eyes widened at Maxwell’s comment- he had no filter. He was like a child who didn’t understand how to keep comments discreet.

“Just ignore him. What changed your mind?”

“Honestly. I don’t know? He’s a persistent one, maybe I felt pressured.”

“Well either way, I’m thrilled. May I escort you to the ball?” Riley nodded, linking her arm in his- he felt content and like the luckiest person escorting the most precious person he had met.

*****

His Royal Highness, Prince Liam of Cordonia. Lady Riley Brooks-Rhys of New York.

Both entering the ballroom, Liam immediately saw his two best friends- Drake rose a glass of whiskey in the air whilst smirking, and Maxwell wolf whistled the two of them. Riley blushed, not realising she was hanging onto Liam’s arm for dear life. Escorting her over to Drake and Maxwell he knew she would need some familiarity whilst he had to mingle with the guests.

“Here’s my little angel. Do you think I did good with choosing her dress Drake?”

“Of course. You look beautiful Riley. Do you want a drink?”

“I need something strong. I’ll join you with the whiskey Drake. Everyone’s looking at me, I need something to blank the paranoia.”

“That’s my kind of girl. Here.” He handed her the whiskey- he was disappointed when she gulped it down in a flash.

“She will be drinking you under the table Drake.” The two of them burst out laughing, before the men started asking questions about Riley’s life.

*****

Liam mingled with nobles not really paying attention to their conversations, his gaze still remained on Riley. Olivia Nevrakis strolled up to Liam, she had always had a crush on him and loved him- she was intrigued as to who the mystery woman was especially after hearing Rhys mentioned when the herald announced her. Kiara, Penelope and Hana followed her- all also intrigued, all also wondering why there was no social season but the events were still taking place.

“Your highness. I’m so sorry to hear about Leo. I wish we all could have been there for him. Who is the woman from New York?”

“Good evening Duchess Olivia. I also wish that. And Riley, is Leo’s wife. Was Leo’s wife. She is visiting with her son, my nephew. They had a typical Cordonian marriage, I’d appreciate it if all you ladies could make her feel welcome.”

They all nodded in unison, still hoping that Liam would elaborate on the new lady.

“So why is there no social season?”

“Because Liv, I simply didn’t want one.” Olivia noticed him gaze over to Riley who was talking to Maxwell, before noticing his father and Regina amble towards them. “I have arranged for a memorial service tomorrow for Leo. You are all welcome to attend. Excuse me.”

*****

“Lady Riley may I have a word in private.” Drake noticed the colour drain from Riley’s face and her body begin to tremble.

“Whatever you need to say your Majesty you can say it in front of myself and Lord Maxwell.” Drake said sternly, the two men stood closer to Riley protecting her.

“I didn’t ask for your input Sir Walker. I’d appreciate a word with my daughter in law in private.” Riley nodded, excusing herself from Maxwell and Drake - explaining for them to stay put and that she would be fine. Constantine escorted her on to the balcony. The cold air, made her more nervous.

“It’s nice to see you in my country. I am sorry for everything I put you and Leo through. I should have just excepted your arrangement. Liam has made me see sense. I was only thinking what was best for Leo. I hope you will forgive me in time.”

Shaking her head she wasn’t sure if he was being sincere, she had heard stories of how brutal he was as a father, his true personality in front of his kingdom was hiding behind a fake smile.

“Leo would still be alive if it wasn’t for that night that you turned up. After that night he received threats from someone from Cordonia. It drove him to do it- he wrote about it in his goodbye letter. I appreciate your apology but it’s too little too late. Lucas has lost his father no matter what sexuality he was- he was loved by everyone. That cheeky grin he always wore became fake towards the end. I feel guilty for not being able to help him- and I will feel that guilt for the rest of my life. I’m only staying for a week, if you are being sincere with your apology you can spend a bit of time with Lucas under my supervision.”

Liam stood at the doors, overhearing Riley defend herself and Leo. Walking over to them, Constantine’s eyes began to be full of sorrow. Liam pulled Riley into his embrace, her body was cold- removing his jacket he placed it over her.

“Your majesty, I am returning Lady Riley to the ball. If she’s only here for a week we need her to feel welcome.”

*****

Returning the ball, Riley was still feeling cold after giving Liam his jacket back- Liam didn’t want to leave her side now. Touching her made her warm up instantly. Asking for a dance, she curtsied as she did earlier in the day. All eyes were on them and she became nervous.

Remember what I taught you, Ri. You look breathtaking. Ignore the haters, you and Liam make the perfect couple.

“Shut up!” Riley snapped, forgetting that everyone was watching the prince dancing with her. Trying to compose herself, Liam cupped her cheeks with concern in her eyes.

“Are you okay?”

“Liam, Leo’s here. He’s whispering to me. I may sound crazy. But...”

She isn’t crazy- well she can be.. but I’m here. Make her your Queen Liam, she deserves the best. I trust you.

“You’re not crazy Riley.” He whispered to her.

Tell her how you feel. This view is beautiful. My best friend and little brother.

“I can’t.”

“You can’t what?” Riley asked as he twirled her around effortlessly.

I’m just going to watch this beautiful scene. There’s no social season, so use this opportunity to follow your heart. If not I have a feeling Drake or Max may try and win her heart. They’ve both called her beautiful you know?

“Nothing. You’re beautiful. I had hoped that you would stay longer, but I’m going to spend this next week with just you and Lucas.”

“I’d like that. Thank you for the dance. I’ll go and find Max and Drake, let you mingle.”

A cold breeze passed him, he knew it was Leo now Riley had confessed that he was whispering to her too. He wanted to follow her, but his legs wouldn’t move- he was about to make the first step until Madeleine pulled him to the side.

*****

“You two look cosy. What’s happening with you both? And what did Connie want to talk about?”

“He apologised, I don’t trust him though. And there’s nothing going on Drake. Don’t look at me like that Max, honestly there’s nothing going on.” Riley felt a tap on her shoulder, jumping out of her skin she dropped her glass on the floor- the fizzy residue fizzed all over the floor. There was no one there.

“Jesus Christ Leo!” Drake and Maxwell looked at each other concerned.

“Who do you think you are? Whoopi Goldberg?” Drake tried to calm to her down by having a joke. He didn’t believe in ghosts- he did however believe she was paranoid and imagining things.

“Maybe. I’m going to get some fresh air, excuse me.” Before the two men could react, she swiftly exited the room- not knowing where she was going, she just needed some alone time.

Maxwell and Drake needed to find Liam, scrutinising the room they saw him trapped in a corner by the snake known as Countess Madeleine. They knew she would be trying to dig her claws into him- they now thought she may have been the reason for Leo coming out of the closet.

“Liam we need you now!” Liam looked grateful, and forced Madeleine’s arm off him.

“What is the matter? You are both concerning me.”

“It’s Riley, she jumped, then cursed Leo. Then ran out of the room. She said she needed time alone.” Maxwell said without taking a breath. Liam requested that the two of them stay there and cover for any concern regarding his absence.

Liam had been searching the rooms for Riley, the nanny hadn’t seen her either. The worse scenarios were running through his mind; what exactly did his father say to her? Had somebody else made her feel unwelcome?

******

Riley didn’t know where she was heading, she was following Leo’s echoed voice that was leading her through a maze. It was as if she was in some hypnotic trance. Arriving in the centre, there was a wooden swing, swaying along with the slight breeze. Sitting on the swing, she swung herself slowly- lost in thought. Speaking to herself as if she was insane, she had hoped that Leo would hear her.

Continue here.....