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fizzydrink698 · 11 months

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consort anniversary | vi sneak-peek

happy second anniversary to consort! as promised, here is the first 2000(-ish) words of consort vi to celebrate the occasion. i hope you enjoy!

word-count: 2667

warnings: references to sexual content, a smidgeon of felix-related angst, a fluffy menace finally makes her appearance

An uneasy sleep must have reclaimed you in the night, because you awakened to soft morning light streaming through the windows – and chambers entirely devoid of Minho.

You sat up, unsteady, the beginnings of a headache already forming. Your thoughts were scattered, muffled as if wrapped in cotton, barely intelligible under the dull throbbing.

An empty bedchamber. Did that disappoint you? The sheets beside you seemed undisturbed, indicating that he hadn’t joined you at any point in the night, hadn’t risen from the couch he’d been sleeping on last night when –

Embarrassment – hot, ugly flashes of it – flared within you, so violent that you physically shuddered in an effort to suppress it. You refused to be so careless again, to risk something so mortifying and so vulnerable as being caught in a position like that.

A tiny voice in your mind uttered thanks for Minho’s order to keep servants out of his chambers until requested. You didn’t want to imagine having to untangle these awful thoughts in front of an audience waiting to dress you for the morning.

The more you dwelled on the situation, the more you could feel something in your chest twist. Shame, perhaps. You couldn’t help but picture last night again and again, your awful thoughts painting over your memories, imagining Minho’s eyes open instead of closed, imagining the curl of his lip as he watched you in disdain, maybe even in disgust–

No.

You felt your expression harden, breath expelling from you in one sharp burst. You hadn’t realised how much anger you could summon at merely an imagined Minho. Already, even at just the thought of him, you found yourself itching to rebuke him, to challenge the contempt you had imagined yourself.

There was a danger that you would spend the whole day in this bed, imagining all the ways in which you could argue with Minho.

So, instead, you forced yourself out of bed, determined to focus on the rest of your day and leave last night firmly in the past.

It was strange to realise just how quiet these chambers were. They were so far removed from the bustling of the palace’s lower floors that even now, as scores of nobles and servants alike rose from their beds and began their days, you could almost mistake the palace for being empty.

The spring morning air was no longer a shock of cold, but pleasantly mild. Perhaps you should make use of the weather today, you thought. It would be good to get some fresh air.

And then, you came to a sudden halt – as a flash of orange caught your attention out of the corner of your eye.

You turned your head, startled, to find a tabby cat perched on the low table of Minho’s chambers, staring you down.

This was not the pampered sort of housecat you had seen in the houses of your mother’s friends during your youth. While this cat seemed well-fed, there were tell-tale signs of the fights it must have gotten into. There was a pea-sized chunk missing from its left ear, and a faint scar on its little orange snout.

Perhaps this was a kitchen mouser? But how had it wandered so far into the palace, all the way into Minho’s chambers? How had it gotten past those heavy wooden doors, not to mention the guards stationed nearby?

You dared to take a step towards it – to no response. The cat continued to stare. Its tail twitched from one side to the other, slowly, almost lazily.

It didn’t move as you approached, instead continuing to eye you with an expression so distinctly unimpressed for such a tiny face.

Of course, the second you lifted your hand towards it, it jumped away from you in the blink of an eye. There was no panic to its retreat, just a vague sense of disdain as it withdrew from your reach.

For one brief second, you were bizarrely reminded of Minho.

To your own surprise, laughter bubbled up in your chest, slipping out between your lips. It lifted a weight off of your chest, leaving you feeling just a little lighter as you observed the way the cat shot you what could only be described as the feline equivalent of a scowl before it padded over to the bed and disappeared beneath it.

Deciding against following the cat and disturbing its hiding place, you chose to head for the door and request breakfast be served outside.

It seemed only right that the lingering worries of the previous night’s events would disappear in the light of a warm spring day.

There was something so calming about the palace grounds in the morning. At your request, a table and chair had been set up at the base of a hill, just by the long winding steps back up to the palace itself, in perfect position for you to gaze out at the huge expanses of land in front of you.

Morning dew budded on the still blades of grass. Clouds slowly drifted across the sky above, the sun hiding behind them, only reappearing at just the moment the air grew too chilly. In the distance, a light layer of fog lingered amongst the trees of the royal forest, retreating further and further with each moment.

There was nothing but peace and quiet.

You breathed deeply, savouring the morning air, as you reached for the last slice of bread. Beside it, in a tiny porcelain dish, sat a little pat of creamy butter. You scraped the last of it up with your knife to carefully spread onto the bread.

Your plans for the day were the same as always. Studying, mostly. You were eager to crack open the most recent council records you could find, already making plans to note down the stances of each member, the factions that might have formed, anything that might be useful.

How soon would Minho talk to his father? How much time did you have to prepare? You should have pressed for more details.

You could ask him at dinner this evening, you realised. It was still such a strange idea, to think that you and Minho could talk to each other so…often, now.

Because you shared a bedchamber, a voice in your mind – one that sounded suspiciously like your mother – reminded you. You should be doing so much more than just talking.

A mouthful of bread lodged itself in your throat mid-swallow, making you cough and splutter as you reached for your tea.

Not that you were particularly eager for that, of course. Last night had been a brief moment of insanity, a sudden break from rational thought, brought on by returning to the bed that held so many strong memories. It had infected your dreams, and even seeped into your sleep-addled actions in the dead of night, but now you had recovered.

Now, once again, you were just as uninterested as he was. Moving to his chambers was good enough to mend your image as a successful, stable pairing. It didn’t matter what happened behind closed doors, because you had gotten what you wanted.

But before you could make an effort to divert your thoughts back towards the day ahead, the peace of the morning was broken.

You watched as a group of palace guards marched into sight, descending the palace steps – and you stilled when you saw the person they were accompanying.

Her Majesty, the Queen.

You sat up a little straighter, as your eyes met across the wide-open space of the palace lawns. She always seemed so perfectly put together, her long dark hair twisted and braided neatly into a bun, the soft and sweeping fabrics of her dress somehow spotless even when brushing against the ground.

In her fine features, there was so much of Felix. You almost wanted to look away.

Instead, you followed protocol to the letter, rising to your feet and bowing your head at her arrival. “Your Majesty.”

“I didn’t expect to see you here,” she replied, and there was a genuine soft note of surprise to her voice that reinforced her words. “If you’re finished with your meal, would you like to accompany me across the grounds?”

You blinked, lifting your head in shock. You’d barely spoken to this woman in weeks. You’d half-expected her to ignore you. You’d half-given up on the affection the two of you had grown for each other during your childhood.

“Y-yes,” you replied, and cleared your throat. “Yes, I’d love to.”

She gave you a smile – one so deeply familiar that it made your heart ache for just a second – and inclined her head, silently offering you the place by her side.

You moved quickly, almost without thinking, barely retaining the grace expected for a lady of your position, as you tried to join her before she could change her mind.

Before the two of you could start walking, however, she first turned to glance at the guards behind her. With a firm, clear voice of a queen, she told them. “I trust I’m accompanied by guards possessing the respect of allowing two ladies some privacy while they talk. Am I not?”

The nearest guard’s eyes widened slightly in understanding, and he hurried to nod at her. “Yes, Your Majesty. Of course.”

“Delightful to hear. The usual twelve paces behind will suffice,” she said, her voice so casual that the comment could almost be described as offhand, before she finally set off. You had to quicken your steps slightly to catch up with her.

And, sure enough, the guards waited until you were twelve paces ahead before they followed – at the perfect distance to remain out of earshot.

This was the woman you remembered from your childhood. Always polite, always charming, and just a little cleverer than she seemed.

You fell into step beside her, searching for something to say to start the conversation. “I heard a delegation from the Lakelands are on their way.”

“Yes,” she said, nodding with a warm smile. “Most of the delegates only came to their position after I left, but I know a handful. Among them is a prince I last saw as a young boy. I look forward to seeing the man he’s now grown to be.”

“That will be nice,” you remarked, looking for something else to say. Something clever, or funny, or charming. It used to be so much easier to talk to her. “Do you miss the Lakelands?”

“Occasionally. Especially in the winter. I’ve never developed a taste for the cold that sets in here,” she said, but there was no trace of sadness in her voice. Nothing wistful. “But what about you? Are you keeping well?”

“Yes,” you replied – but it felt like a half-truth at best. “As well as can be.”

“I’m sure you’ve had so many pleasantries asked about your marriage,” she said. “That’s usually all people can think to talk about, with women like us.”

Her words struck something in you, hooking something strange and raw and tugging it out into the open.

“That’s usually the topic of conversation, yes.”

Her lips twitched, the briefest flicker of a smile. “Then we’ll speak about something else. Are you still keeping to your studies?”

“Yes!” you exclaimed, unable to keep your excitement from rushing out. “Practically every day. Mostly, I’ve been focusing on my histories and geography, but I like to brush up on my languages every so often.”

“You did always love studying your histories,” the Queen nodded, and for the first time in your conversation, you picked up on the slightest hint of sadness in her tone.

It sparked a vaguely familiar feeling. An old desire to cheer her, the feeling so ingrained that it felt like slipping on an old favourite coat.

“My new tutor has helped quite splendidly,” you said, with a smile just a touch forced. “I hadn’t realised how much more I could learn with someone following me in my interests, instead of just telling me what I should be interested in.”

The Queen smiled back at you, and hers seemed entirely genuine. “There seems so much to catch up on. I’ve been meaning to talk to you sooner.”

Her words, as light and carefree as she had offered them, managed to hit something deep within you. Your expression faltered, as you felt the words dig into you, like claws gripping your flesh, piercing you.

You blurted out your only thought. “Why didn’t you?”

The question came out in a rush, an outpouring of emotion that you had tried so hard to keep dammed. You watched the way she paused, caught off-guard by your sudden harsh words.

You swallowed, trying frantically to recover some sense of manners. “I mean, I…it’s just I’ve been…I’ve been so alone since…”

“…I know.”

Her gaze grew so soft, as she watched you sadly. There were moments, occasionally, when her eyes were so expressive, just as Felix’s were.

For a moment, you pictured what it must have been like for her, all those years ago. Newly married to a stranger, not just alone but alone in an entirely different kingdom. A kingdom that her father and her father’s father and his father before that had been at war with. A kingdom with a people who mistrusted her, who still mourned for her husband’s first wife, the beloved wife, the wife she must constantly be compared to in public and in private.

You wondered how long it took her to learn to hide those expressive eyes. You wondered if it saddened her to look upon her son, and see those same bright eyes shining back.

“I missed you,” you confessed. “I miss how it used to be.”

“So do I, sweetling,” she murmured. There were only two people in this world the Queen called ‘sweetling’. One was standing in front of her. The other was half a kingdom away, quiet and aching by the coast. “But that’s precisely why I’ve stayed away.”

“What?” You asked, sharp in your confusion. “What are you talking about?”

“There are whispers at court,” she began, before pausing. You detected the faintest exasperation as she continued. “There always are. Right now, they are centred on you.”

“Me?” You repeated. “I haven’t heard anything.”

“Oh, the subjects never do,” she said, her tone sharpening just a touch. You knew she’d had her fair share of experience with court rumours. “It’s no fun for them if the rumour gets dragged into daylight and exposed for the nonsense that it is. Better to let it flourish in the dark, to whisper in secret, and give their empty brains something to spin from nothing.”

“What are they saying?” You asked. You’d half-expected something like this to happen, but you’d always thought your first reaction would be worry, or fear – and yet, right now, the news filled you with nothing but anger.

“They’re harmless, for now. Idle gossip. But if any fuel is added to them, they could prove dangerous–”

“What are they saying?” You repeated, cutting her off. You needed to hear it. You already had an inkling, but you needed it in words.

She sighed. “…Many things. About you and Felix. I’m afraid my son will always be a subject for scandal in your future.”

Felix.

You turned away, eyes searching for the horizon, for something to fix on in the distance.

You hated that this didn’t surprise you. You hated that your paranoia, your constant insecurity about how you were perceived, about how your issues with Minho were perceived, that constant nagging feeling of your marriage being forced under a magnifying glass, was partially justified.

“Anything in particular?” You finally managed to ask when your voice returned to you.

“The stories change every week. Nothing has truly taken hold, which is a good thing,” the queen reassured you. “But until you and Minho…well, when your marriage seemed on shakier ground, I thought it was wise to keep my distance. I thought it would make things easier for you.”

Easier.

Right.

#stray kids #consort teaser #you have no idea how difficult it was to not include the rest of this scene #we're finally getting into family drama #if there's one theme that sums up consort vi it's that #that and 'oh god we can't avoid talking about felix any longer can we? shit'

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