#i'll write girl dad touya any day idc

[willowser]

the crown prince returns to his chambers late, late into the night.

at the sound of the handle knocking against wood, you're pulled from the thin veil of sleep you'd fallen under, wiping salt from your cheeks as you struggle to find touya in the dark. your husband is only a shadow, lithe and wavering, but an audible sigh of frustration leaves him, one you've become well accustomed to during the short period of your marriage.

perhaps you shouldn't be a bother—but it's been a long night without him. "my lord?"

his figure stops, and moonlight streams through the windows and tangles within his hair. ever closer, you can smell him, reeking of honey-wine and earth, as if he's been rolling around in the dirt. it feels as though the silence that follows your voice stretches on, unending, and you're waiting for him to say something to pardon himself, conjure up a feeble excuse as to why he's avoided you— again.

but instead the crown prince says nothing. slumps down onto the edge of the bed, keeping his back to you as he always has.

of course you'd have been a fool to believe an arranged marriage such as this would have brought you any happiness—but you're so angry. all the effort you've put into being perfect, just as your mother taught you; reserved and well-mannered and patient and forgiving and ready to serve and—

"'s'true?"

you look away from the window, and the kingdom you've been chained to. away from the prisoner that's been chained to you.

"yes," you murmur, eyes on the hands you have resting atop the slight swell of your belly. the bedframe creaks as touya turns, breath halting at your admission; you hate to speak any further and strangle him—but you won't further the fracture between you by keeping secrets. "though the midwife believes it will be a girl."

the words hardly make it out before your tears are returning, throat thickening. already it seems you've disappointed him in more ways than one, and now you fear your ability to produce him an heir: your one and only purpose in this marriage.

your emotions run wild, and though he is drunk and most likely furious, you can't stop your blubbering. "i'm so sorry, my lord. i will pray to every god there is that he give me a son so that i will have been some use to you—"

"stop."

startled, you gasp, looking up as he worms his way further up the mattress. as soon as he's close enough, his hands are finding you, however they can: running along your hands and up your arms, one slipping behind your neck and the other covering yours, over the growing child in your belly.

"stop, stop," the sway of his head is slow but firm, and when words fail him, touya lays his forehead against yours, as he does when he is over you in bed, spent and sweating and vulnerable. his tenderness is few and far between, but not completely unknown; perhaps such a spark is what gives you motivation to try for more, again and again, with him. "no, you'll not."

"my lord, what—"

"stop," touya's jaw flexes in the candlelight as he steadies his voice, hand flexing in your hair. "will you stop fuckin'—can't you be my wife, just for once?"

a hot strike of anger has you rearing from him, mouth falling open as his eyes go wide with—amusement? "i have been trying—"

"my wife!" your husband interrupts, slouching forward until his head rests against your shoulder. breathing you in, tenderly, before speaking softly. "not my slave or my keeper or a doll i'm meant to leave on the shelf."

a gentle kiss to your throat has you softening and you turn just slightly, allowing your cheek to press into him. it earns you a quiet hum, a murmured, "there y'go," and you think he might be falling asleep until he straightens himself, gazing down at you with bright eyes.

"i don' really give a fuck about duty or havin' an heir," on top of your tummy, he squeezes your hand, soft smile growing on his face. "i just want my wife to be happy i squirted a baby in'er."

"t-touya!" heat rushes to your face as he laughs, dragging you back with him as he falls into the pillows. the hand he keeps on yours is warm and the smile he presses into your skin is wide, full of something you have only seen in bits and pieces.

free and untethered, for maybe the first time.