#no but for the past few days i've just been doing his hair. plaiting it in different ways. i even gave him a manbun-

[dontcrywrite]

alece's journey, part one

summary: after her home is destroyed, alece takes the survivors aboard her ship and goes searching for a new home. unluckily for them, their ship crashes into a coral reef and leaves them stranded in uncharacted territory. alece's only hope is a mysterious woman who offers her a deal. but the deal brings more trouble than alece expects, and soon finds herself facing ancient goddesses who have been forgotten for too long.

word count: 3.5k

notes: it's here! so this is the first part of the world building short story i've been working on for a few weeks now. it's a lot of fun to write! only certain pieces will make it into the larger story of akb, so i'm playing around with a lot of ideas i had originally and seeing where they go! i hope you like it :) i'm not too sure when the next part will be out, as my midterms are coming up, but it'll be sometime soon!

tag list (ask to be added/taken off): @bronwennjames @twentythreecrowswrites @writeblrfantasy @chishiio @nikkywrites @drippingmoon @amberskywrites @ashen-crest @47crayons @notwritinganyflufftoday @hellishhin @oh-no-another-idea @charlesjosephwrites @apocalypsewriters @writing-is-a-martial-art @sagasofazeria @artbyeloquent @theravenandthepen @copper-dragon-in-disguise

They don’t see the coral reef until it’s too late.

The ship jerks under Alece’s feet, sending her stumbling forward. All around her, crates slide across the deck, scattering their goods across the sun-stained boards. A particularly light box skitters past Alece, nearly knocking her off her feet.

“We’ve run aground!” comes the cry from the crows nest.

Alece cranes her neck up to see Jasper, a younger boy, leaning precariously out into the open air. She squints against the sun. One of these days he’ll fall out of that damned thing, and she’ll never hear the end of it from his mother.

“That’s impossible,” she calls back, cupping her hands around her mouth to make sure her voice carries up to him. “We’re on open sea, there’s nothing to run into!”

“Don’t know what to tell you, Cap’n, we’re stuck on something!”

Alece frowns. There hadn’t been many maps she’d been able to scrounge together before they’d left port. The ones she did manage to grab had no record of anything further than a few miles from the wreckage they’d left behind. They were in uncharted territory here.

“Thank you,” Alece says, voice coming out harsher than she intended. She turns on her heel, wincing at herself. She hates snapping at her crew, she really does, but sometimes she can’t help it. Especially when things always seem to go wrong. What if the ship is too damaged to repair? What is she supposed to tell them? ‘Hey everyone, remember how our town burned to the ground? Well, now we’re stuck in the middle of the ocean with no hope for rescue!’ That’d go over real well.

The only thing she can do now is check the hull. She’ll spiral further into panic the longer she puts it off. Pushing a hand forcefully through her hair, she maneuvers her way across the deck to where the stairs lead down to the belly of the ship. There’s two main levels: the barracks, an open level where the crew sleeps on hammocks strung from the ceiling, and the hull, a tight, dark place crammed full of all the supplies they could carry before they took to the sea. A few people try to get her attention, but quickly move aside when they see the look on her face.

She’s halfway down the stairs when she meets Ilana, her second in command, running up from the hull. Ilana’s shoulders are tight with tension, dark hair hastily plaited and falling out of it’s ties. Her sleeves had been shoved up, revealing toned muscles. Alece has some trouble tearing her eyes away from Ilana’s arms.

“There you are,” Ilana says, relief rolling off her in waves. “I was just coming to look for you.”

“How bad is it?”

Ilana purses her lips. “I think you should see for yourself.”

If it was anyone else she was talking to, Alece would’ve simply nodded and continued on. But it’s Ilana in front of her, so she feels comfortable enough to let out a groan and bang her forehead against the close interior of the ship.

Ilana pats her shoulder sympathetically.

“Let’s get this over with,” Alece sighs.

The holding bay is a wreck. Large gashes had been taken out of the hull, as if sharp nails had torn their way through the wood. Water pours in, pooling around their boots and filling the cramped space with the smell of salt. And wedged into the gashes --

“Is that coral?” Alece asks, gaping at the cracked hull.

It is. Vibrant blood red coral pushes itself into the ship, reaching out to them like outstretched hands. They were the brightest thing in the darkened gloom of the hull, almost as if they were glowing. Alece steps over to the closest branch and runs her fingers across it. It’s stiff, unyielding, and unquestionably alive.

“Spirits damn it,” Alece curses. “This is the last thing we need.”

Ilana wraps cool fingers around Alece’s wrist. Ilana’s always been tactile, reaching out to Alece whenever she gets the chance. Alece has always been unsure about what Ilana’s gentle touch means, can never tell if it’s simply reassurance or something more. If it was up to her, she’d wrap her arms around Ilana, bury herself under Ilana’s skin and never let go. But she’s never been sure if Ilana wants the same thing, and she’s far too afraid to ask.

“It’ll be okay,” Ilana is saying. “We’ll figure it out. We always do.”

Alece wants to believe her. Alece wants to be able to reassure her crew that the ship just needed some minor repairs, and then they'd be on their way. But the cracks are too deep. There’s too much water pouring in. This was serious damage, enough to send the ship to the ocean depths if they didn’t act fast.

“I’ll gather up some people,” Alece sighs, turning her palm upwards almost unconsciously and intertwining her fingers with Ilana’s. She gives it a light squeeze. When Ilana squeezes back, a thrill runs through Alece. “We need to fix this now.”

“I’ll get started,” Ilana says.

Alece feels such a strong surge of affection for Ilana that it nearly bowls her over. “What would I do without you?” She asks, voice soft and aching.

“Oh, come on,” Ilana laughs, smacking Alece’s arm. “Don’t be so dramatic. You’d do fine without me, and you know it.” Alece hesitates, words stalling on her tongue, and Ilana’s eyes soften. “I mean it, ‘Lece. You have to stop being so hard on yourself.”

Alece recoils, unable to correlate the quiet confidence of Ilana’s statement with what she knows to be the truth. Alece can’t do this by herself; she isn’t the leader that everyone needs her to be.

“I - I should go,” she stutters, pulling her hand out of Ilana’s and stumbling back to the stairs. “Need to check on the infirmary and - and the supplies! The supplies need to be cleaned up. I’ll send some people down.” Cheeks burning, Alece hurries away. Water sloshes around her ankles. She can feel Ilana’s gaze burning into her back as she retreats. Alece knows damn well that she’s taking the coward's way out, but she can't help herself. She’ll crawl out of her skin if she has to listen to Ilana talk about her ‘potential’ any longer.

The sun beats down on her face when she reemerges on deck, but all Alece feels is cold. More people have found their way onto the deck, wringing their hands and whispering frantically amongst themselves. She spots Joanna, one of the older women on the ship, and waves her over.

“Everything alright?” Joanna asks once she’s close enough.

“Not exactly,” Alece says, careful to keep her voice low. The last thing she needs is someone to overhear her and whip the rest of the crew into a panicked frenzy. “We’ve run into some trouble, and the hull is pretty torn up. Can you grab Haidyn and Vessa? I need them to help Ilana.”

“On it.” With a sharp nod, Joanna heads off, gesturing to the people Alece had named. Haidyn was a blacksmith and Vessa a carpenter before they came to the boat. They were both skilled and handy with a tool, which is just what Alece needs right now.

With that taken care of, Alece makes her way across the deck, maneuvering through the crowd towards the infirmary. It was mostly empty now, thank the Spirits. Back when they first left the shores that were once their home, nearly half her crew had been shoved into the cramped space with blistering burns and infected wounds. Luckily for everyone, most people had healed up in a week or two, leaving behind only the most grievously injured to slowly return to health.

It’s then that Alece spots the woman.

She’s standing at the stern of the ship, away from the rest of the crew, back to Alece. Her hair, shorn close to the scalp, shines in the bright afternoon sun. Her clothes are far fancier than they should be -- elegantly embroidered, brightly colored and not a rip or tear among the fabric to be seen. Alece stutters to a stop, frowning at the woman’s back.

She doesn’t recognize her, which is impossible because Alece knows everyone on this ship. Everyone boarded together, and sailing for weeks on the open sea offered very little chance for a stowaway to slip aboard when Alece wasn’t paying attention. So where the hell did she come from?

Alece curls her hands into fists and huffs out a breath, bangs fluttering out of her face. This is just perfect. Another problem for her to deal with.

“Excuse me,” she calls as she stomps over to the stern, doing her level best to keep her voice calm.

The woman gives no indication that she heard Alece. Doesn’t turn around, doesn’t jump in surprise, doesn’t even twitch her head. She just keeps facing the sea, brushing her fingers lightly against the till.

A spark of anger flickers in Alece’s sternum. No one is supposed to be up here unless they have explicit orders to take the wheel. Who does this woman think she is, to board Alece’s ship and touch things that didn’t belong to her?

“Excuse me,” Alece says, louder this time. She’s right behind the woman now, arms crossed fiercely across her chest. She’s shorter than the woman by a good few inches, but that doesn’t stop her from reaching out and tapping the woman’s shoulder.

This seems to get her attention, and when she turns Alece is awarded with the first glimpse of the woman’s face. It isn’t pleasant. She’s an attractive enough woman, with dark eyes and skin the light brown of freshly cut teak. Her nose is slightly crooked, indicating a break that had been set improperly, and combined with the scar that cuts through her left eyebrow, she gives off a rugged sort of beauty. Yet there’s something almost -- wrong about her features, something that Alece can’t quite put her finger on. She doesn’t like it.

One thing is for certain, though. Alece has never seen this woman before in her life.

“Yes?” The woman asks. Her voice has a lilting sort of quality to it, an accent that Alece has never heard before. The woman doesn’t seem too concerned to be faced with Alece’s ill-concealed annoyance, which only fuels it.

“Who are you?” Alece demands.

“Who is asking?” The woman blinks innocently, but Alece swears she can see amusement flicker across the woman’s face.

“I am,” Alece says fiercely. “As captain of this ship, I think I’m entitled to know who boards my ship. And I’ll be damned if I haven’t seen you around yet. What is your name?”

“My name?” The woman’s head tilts, seemingly intrigued by Alece’s simple question. “My name hasn’t been spoken in many years.”

Alece is hardly in the mood for riddles. Her grip on her temper is slowly slipping. “What do people call you, then?”

The woman hesitates, mulling the question over. Then she spreads her hands, a haughty smile carving its way across her face. “You may call me Alea.”

“Alea.” Alece sounds out the name, letting the strange syllables tumble off her tongue. Alea looks delighted to hear her name spoken, though Alece can’t fathom why. “What are you doing on my ship?”

“It woke me up,” Alea says simply, like her answer is adequate.

Alece furrows her brows, feels the start of a headache pound at the back of her skull. “Woke you up?” she echoes.

Alea nods, a slow, languid bob of her head. She doesn’t offer any more, keeping that self-assured smile fixed in place instead. In the harsh afternoon light, her form flickers. Her features seem almost out of place, like her skin is merely an ill-fitting mask.

And it hits her, understanding sliding into sharp clarity. She takes a frightened step back. “You – you’re not human.”

Alea’s smile is too sharp. “Clever girl,” she crows, clapping her hands together.

Alece takes another step back, frantically trying to gather her thoughts. She remembers the stories her father would tell her over the flickering fireplace when he was still alive, remembers how he warned her about the hundreds of monsters that walked among humans. This woman -- Alea -- could be anything.

“What are you?” Alece bites out. She shoves her hands in her pockets to hide their shaking.

“Can’t you tell?” Alea’s eyes sparkle with amusement. “You’re in the presence of a genuine goddess.”

Time grinds to a halt. A goddess? On her ship? Alece has never put much stock into omens in the past, but this is a bad omen if she ever saw one. First the ship, and now this. Spirits above, she must be cursed. For a moment, Alece entertains the idea of throwing herself off the ship and into the crashing waves below. Except then the ship would be at the mercy of Alea. Alece can’t abandon them like that.

Don't show fear, her father’s voice whispers in the dark corners of her mind. So Alece musters up all the courage she has and says, “You don’t look like -”

Alea cuts her off with a wave of her hand. “Oh, this is really just a vessel. If you beheld my true form, your eyes would burn out of your pretty little head.” She spins around, shirt flaring out around her hips. “It’s nice, isn’t it? Though I will admit, it is a bit cramped.”

Alece has a horrifying image of a gigantic, multi-limbed creature shoving itself into a suit of skin and has to fight the urge to throw up.

“No one’s sailed this way in so long,” Alea continues in a lighthearted tone. “My sisters and I have been alone all this time. It’s been dreadfully boring. So of course I had to talk to you. It’s quite urgent.”

“Hold on.” Alece ignores the implication that there’s more than one goddess afoot to deal with the more pressing issue at hand. “So - you caused us to crash?”

“In a way,” Alea shrugs carelessly. “I simply nudged the coral over a bit, and your ship did the rest.”

“Why?”

“You humans are always in a rush,” Alea sighs. Before Alece can track the movement, Alea’s hand snaps out and grabs Alece’s jaw, lifting her a few inches off the ground, face to face with the goddess. “I wanted to speak to you on my own terms, and I can’t do that when you’re zipping around, can I?”

Alea’s fingers press into Alece’s jaws with bruising force. Alece grabs Alea’s wrist, feet scrambling for purchase against the wooden deck. The place they stand is hidden from view, shielded by the masts. No one on deck would be able to see what was going on, Alece realizes with growing dread. She swallows heavily. “You - wanted to talk to me?”

“I have a proposition for you.”

Alece tries to pull away from Alea, but the goddess holds on tight. Alece has heard of people who make deals with supernatural beings. It never ends well. “I know better than to make a deal with a thing like you.”

Alea clucks her tongue with a disapproving tsk. “I would wait to hear my offer. After all, it’s your ship that’s at stake.”

Alece freezes. “Is that a threat?” She’s going for confidence, but her words come out with a noticeable tremor.

“It doesn’t have to be,” Alea hums. “Think of it as -- a business transaction. A quid pro quo if you will.”

“So, what. You fix the ship you broke and get something from me in return?”

Alea’s grip squeezes painfully tight, and for one heart-stopping moment Alece can’t breathe. And then Alea is letting her go. “I wouldn’t be so blasé about this. What I’m offering can solve all your problems.”

Alece rubs her chin, gazing at Alea sullenly. “What do you know about my problems?”

“I know you’re lost. I know all these people depend on you to find them a home. I know that you know the chances of that happening are slim to none.” Alea quirks an eyebrow at Alece. “Am I getting close?”

Alece’s lips are thin. She doesn’t answer, and that’s all Alea needs to continue.

“However, if you help me out, a place to call your own is exactly what I can provide you with.”

“And what would you ask for in return?”

“Nothing much,” Alea says dismissively. “Just your devotion.”

“Oh, that’s all?” Alece says, voice laced with sarcasm. The shaking in her hands is getting worse. “I suppose you’ll ask for human sacrifices next.”

“Don’t be so dramatic. My sisters and I have been forgotten for some time. We grow weary of the silence. All we want is to be remembered.” Alea lips curl into an unsettling smile. “Perhaps you wanderers shall give us something to look forward to.”

“That’s all?” Alece asks. It can’t be this easy. There’s always some sort of loophole, something that goes overlooked only to blow up in her face later.

“That’s all you need to worry about for now.”

Alece opens her mouth to retort, or maybe even to tell this goddess to get the hell off her ship, but she never gets a chance. Underneath her feet, the deck shudders and tilts drastically to the side. Suddenly unbalanced, Alece finds herself crashing to the floor. When she glances up, Alea is staring at her, eyes dark and filled with emotions Alece doesn’t know the name to. Her hand is outstretched in a mocking handshake. “Time is running out. I’d make up my mind quickly if I were you.”

Alece wants to say no. All her instincts are screaming at her to turn away, warning her against placing her trust in Alea. But the ship is shaking apart under her feet, and she can hear the screams of her crew as they begin to slip beneath the waves.

“I’ll do it,” she blurts out, grabbing Alea’s hand.

Alea’s smile is so wide it pushes past the edges of her cheeks. “Wonderful,” she exclaims. The point where their hands clasp begins to glow, brighter and brighter until Alece is forced to screw her eyes shut. It burns with a white-hot heat that is almost unbearable. “I’ll be back soon with my sisters. They’ll be thrilled to meet you.”

Pain laces it’s way up Alece’s arm in a crescendo, and then the pressure on her hands disappears. She peeks her eyes open and sees nothing but empty space in front of her. Alea is gone.

Her hand throbs in time with her heartbeat. Alece glances down at it and her mouth goes dry. Burned into the palm of her hand is a handprint -- Alea’s handprint.

“Alece!” Hands grab her shoulders. Alece jumps in fright and spins her around. She comes face to face with Ilana, who’s soaked to the bone and out of breath.

“What’s wrong?” Alece gasps out, instantly assuming the worst. She reaches out, hurriedly checking Ilana over for injuries.

“Nothing, I’m fine!” Ilana bats Alece’s hands away, and it’s then that Alece realizes Ilana is smiling. “The ship -”

“What about it?”

“It’s fine!” Ilana lets out a giddy laugh. “All the damage is gone, like it never happened!”

The tension and panic that’s been coiled around Alece’s spine ever since the crash dissipates like it was never there. Alece slumps forward and throws her arms around Ilana, limp with relief.

“Woah,” Ilana says, rubbing her hands down Alece’s back. “What’s wrong?”

Alece buries her face in Ilana’s neck. “Something happened,” she says, voice muffled.

“What are you talking about?” Ilana tightens her arms around Alece, alarmed.

“I’ll tell you everything,” Alece promises. Her voice is thick with unshed tears. Spirits damn it. Crying is the last thing she needs to do now. “Just - I just need a second.”

“Of course,” Ilana whispers. She presses her face to the top of Alece’s head. “Take your time.”

Alece takes in a shuddering breath, endlessly grateful for Ilana, and tries to sort out her thoughts.

Alea. The goddess’ presence sits heavy on her mind. Alece’s never heard of this goddess; she must be older than any history Alece knows. Alea had saved her ship, holding up the first part of her bargain. If the goddess was able to pull through and give them a new place to live, then it’d be worth making that deal.

But she’d been frighteningly vague about what she expected from Alece. The goddess could ask for anything, and Alece would have to follow through. What if it puts her crew in danger? What if she can’t complete the task? Would Alea take everything away, send them back out to the Lucent Sea with no hope of ever finding a home again? Not to mention the sisters Alea mentioned. One goddess is bad enough, but more? She’s way in over her head.

Alece hugs Ilana tighter and fights to get her breathing back under control. What has she gotten herself -- her crew -- into?

[bumbershots]

LOVEFOOL

Author’s note: HELLO! This is my part for the Valentine’s Day challenge that @1dffchallenges put together. Make sure to keep an eye out for any other pieces published by other authors. Enjoy! And happy Valentine’s weekend! (:

Summary: Harry agrees to go on a blind date set up by his friends in hopes that it will help him move on from an unrequited love.

Word count: 3K

Challenge prompt and dialogue: blind date set up by friends. “I don’t want this to end...”

There’s a first for everything. Harry’s had his fair share of them at the age of twenty-seven. First time on an aeroplane at the tender age of six for a family holiday in Rome. First kiss on his home town’s park with someone he deeply cared about. First time in a recording studio. First time going on tour. The first night spent alone in his new and barely furnished home. The first morning he laid eyes on the girl next door. The ugly heartbreak after she got married, certainly felt worse than his first one.

Life is full of firsts, Harry knows that, and he wishes to have been the first to sneak his way into Jane’s heart, all those years ago.

"You love her" it almost sounds like an accusation coming from Jeff, though the last thing he wants is to make Harry feel guilty. The musician doesn't reply, he shrugs, eyes never leaving her no matter how deep into the ocean she seems to be. "Does she know?" Harry shakes his head in denial. "Did you bring her along just so you could tell her?"

"I enjoy writing music with her, that's why she's here," his tone leaves no room for more questions, the manager knows and sighs defeated. Harry stands from his spot on the beach and heads back inside the house, alone.

Is he being that obvious?

He reviews the past few days and wonders where he slipped, nothing rings any bell. Harry completely and conveniently forgets how he doesn't nag her for having a smoke after dinner, instead he just opens the window and stands close to it, or how he's been making her a cuppa everyday at noon. But it was the time when Jane asked him to help her French plait her hair when something clicked in Jeff's brain, the way Harry beamed at such a simple request left no room for questioning. Yet he asked him, because there was that tiny chance of it all being part of the manager's imagination, but when he looked back on it, the little things now made more sense to him and in a way he always knew.

They've been in Port Antonio for two weeks now and everything was going just dandy, Harry was writing more than ever, the first week he had a new song every day, he even polished the old ones and had a tune for his favourites, thanks to Mitch's help. When Jeff Azoff got there earlier this week, he spent a good two hours talking to Jeff Bhasker about how much of a good idea the trip was.

"Harry is on a writing spree." He complimented Azoff's client, it was nothing but the truth. However the reason for it all, was now heading back to the house to join the others after a good surfing session.

Jane went straight to take a shower, ready to rinse all the ocean's saltiness from her body, thinking how wonderful it would've been if her own worries could be washed away with her tangerine shampoo. In contrast to Harry's good spirits and excellent mood, her own cloud of trouble seemed to follow her all the way from London. She still hadn't heard from her husband, so it is safe to say he was still upset about her going away to work in Harry's album. It was impossible for her to forget the argument they had, at first thinking it was a joke on his side, insinuating that they were ‘shagging behind his back’.

After her shower, wearing comfortable clothes, Jane joins the others for supper but keeps to herself, still with the dichotomy about calling Alex or letting him be. He will eventually come to his senses and apologise. 

What if he doesn't? 

The thought alone of her clothes being packed in boxes by the time she gets back home almost makes her cry, perhaps she can call or text him just to test the waters. It is ridiculous how she seems to be more mature about this than him.

"Penny for them?" Harry's voice brings her back to the now empty dining room, the voices from the rest of their party can be heard from the living room.

"God I'm sorry H, lost myself out there for a moment," she is embarrassed, with him, the others and herself for letting this situation get under her skin. And she's also avoiding talking about it, with Harry or anyone. "I was just thinking about the tempo for Sweet Creature."

"Liar," he hates to be shut down by her more than anything. "Is it because I didn't let you eat the last peanut drop the other day?" It would've been easier for her to say it was, than to address the actual reason. But Harry hasn't lied to her, ever.

"No love, although I was a bit hurt because of that, it's actually this thing with Alex we are, I don't know, he was upset with me and said some things," Jane couldn't finish, her speech was cut short by a quiet sob and Harry was quick to pull her from the chair onto his lap and hold her tight. His own heart speeding at the sight of her distressed.

"When was the last time you spoke to him?"

"Two weeks ago." Her voice barely whispers on his chest, "he's being a wanker to be honest, just because he's not going on tour with any of his bands I'm supposed to be a stay at home wife!"

"Why don't you explain this to me, from the beginning, please?" He asks rubbing her back soothingly, and she spills it all, the having kids now or never argument, to her wanting to have a proper wedding party and finally the latest fight where Alex suggested an affair going on between her and Harry, the latter had to do his best not to put the option on the table, since her husband so kindly suggested it. Might as well, he thought. "It all sounds like a big misunderstanding, I know you're a great communicator sunshine, so it baffles me that you've let this go on for so long." He's got a point.

"You're right, but I feel like it's his turn, you know?" Jane's done weeping, but remained on her friend's lap and arms, head resting on his shoulder. "He's always forward, mature, a proper thirty year old except when it comes to arguments where we ought to reach an agreement," she plays a bit with the cross hanging from his neck, a scowl on her pretty face. "Like with the children thing, we only stopped arguing when I said that maybe in two more years we could have one instead of, you know, my early thirties." It's good that she can't see how upset Harry is.

"You gave into that one, he should do the same but it's his choice," Harry sighs and can't believe what he's about to say. "Take the day off tomorrow, call him or FaceTime, Skype whatever you choose, but have a proper conversation with him." She wants to argue and say it's not necessary to be absent the whole day, she can spare a few hours. But she will need time to think about what to say, make her point clear so they are on good terms until she goes back to London.

"Fine, but if he is still acting like a dickhead afterwards, I'm not going to let it into my head anymore, we will continue to bask in this great work environment going on here." Jane states, pulling away from his embrace just enough to give him that stern look she uses when trying to make a point, and Harry nods with a warm smile, the one she never gets tired of seeing. "I'll call it a night now, gonna be asleep in seconds now that I've got that out of my chest." She stands from his lap, missing his warmth instantly. "Thanks for that."

"Anytime honey pie." Harry says before leaving a kiss on her left hand that burns her skin from then till morning.

Jeff joins the musician in the dining room right after the girl walks away to her room, he takes a seat across from him and scrutinises the look of adoration his friend still sports once she is out of the room.

"She'll never know, if you never tell her." Jeff is right, but the thought alone of going through that again scares him to death. Or so he says, because there's a part of him that is fond of the thrill it makes him feel.

"It's not like I haven't tried, just last year I told her," Harry remembers that night vividly, how pretty she looked even with her makeup all smudged under her eyes. "I'm not sure if she heard, it was too loud like where we were at the time." He was also pissed out of his mind.

"H, there's nothing wrong with being in love."

"I'm not saying it is, but even if she did love me I– I would find a way to hurt her. Anyway. she's happily married now, it's too late." Saying it out loud doesn't hurt him any less like he thought it would. Harry sighs in defeat before rising from the chair, "she's everything to me, I wouldn't mess with her head by confessing my feelings, deep down I always knew she deserved better and now she has it and that's good enough for me." The musician disappears through the corridor where his everlasting love did just a few minutes ago, he paused for a moment outside her room, pondering whether to barge in and just follow his instincts, kiss her like he should've done after winning that award back in 2014.

Harry shakes his head and goes straight to his room, he reminds himself that it was time to let her go. It's for the best. He is not good enough for her, he can't even write a song for her, about her. He mustn't love her that much then.

What Harry doesn't know is that he can't write a song about her because he loves her too much, the poor lad can't even figure out where to start. But he's about to get rid of that curse in a day or two, he just needs to be patient.

The reward for it came, all of a sudden Harry wrote too many songs about her until she inevitably became aware of the situation they were in. Harry vowed to stay away from Jane’s life after recording the album. He dated people that didn’t remind him of her, and even moved temporarily to Japan. But despite all his efforts, four years later Harry still finds himself thinking about her, everything seems to be tainted by her. The music he adores, the new dinner recipes he cooks, the books he chooses to read.

Completely out of options he agreed to this blind date his friends set up for him.

He arrives at the modest restaurant they so kindly chose for the occasion. “All you have to do is wear something nice and show up.” Alexa reminded him over the phone last week.

This is a new first for him, it is also exciting, to take a seat at a table for two conveniently placed at the back, pretend to pay attention to the menu but let his green eyes avert to whoever approaches. Harry is having a great time, he knows that soon his date will arrive. He wonders what they’ll be like.

According to Alexa and Pixie, the person arriving is the perfect match for their young friend. Harry can only hope they like Vietnamese cuisine because that’s apparently this place’s special offer this week. If he’s lucky enough the date will agree to share a starter and perhaps two main courses, that way he doesn’t have to choose between one or the other.

“Here’s your table.” Harry hears the waiter speak and his gaze meets a very familiar figure standing beside him. It can’t be.

“Excuse me, there must be a mistake, I’m waiting for someone else.” Harry protests.

The waiter shakes his head and shows him the notepad with some specifications written down. “Nothing wrong, got specific instructions from Miss Chung, a lady will come in to say is here for Geldolf’s blind date, you are sitting at the table they reserved. I’ll be back in a few minutes to take your order.” He is quick to explain and disappear.

Jane sits because there is no way she can stand any longer, her legs are about to give out from the commotion. This was not the blind date she was expecting either. It’s been at least four years since she last saw Harry. The night after he finally admitted being in love with her, waiting for a reaction, anything from her, after what seemed like hours but was only ten minutes later, he walked out of her house and entire life, leaving her confused and upset.

“How’ve you been?” she asked after confirming that Harry wasn’t going to up and leave.

“Pretty fantastic, until you arrived.” He’s never spoken to her like that before, with so much affliction in his tone. “What are you doing here?”

“I was set up on a blind date by Pixie—

He interrupts her. “That’s fucking convenient, did you all went to this much trouble, just to mock me? I thought they were my friends, you know, that even after everything, they cared about me.” Harry stops, his voice breaks, he’s so angry, hurt and confused by the situation. “Did your husband come along, to witness my humiliation too?” He looks around, trying to find the man of Jane’s dreams.

“I wouldn’t know if he’s here, haven’t seen him since we got divorced three years ago.” She snaps before hiding behind the menu from a gobsmacked Harry.

The words he’d been waiting to hear were finally out of her mouth. Unlike the million times he dreamt about this happening, Harry is not sweeping her off her feet and running away into the sunset holding her hand. Instead he reaches out to touch her arm, testing the waters. He waits for her to lower the menu and surprisingly there are no tears in her eyes. Perhaps only a bit of sorrow that is quickly replaced with confusion, at how fast her heart raced after Harry’s touch.

“Do you want to talk about it?” His voice is back to oozing the tenderness he reserves just for her. Jane nods.

“But can we share a rice bowl and Pho noodle soup?” 

“Yes, and dessert too!” Even after four years Harry’s sweet tooth hasn’t changed, Jane sighs before the waiter is back to take their order.

Keeping a conversation between the two of them is not hard at all, even if it is an awkward topic —her not so recent divorce. “We didn’t have anything in common anymore, there were so many fights every single day. When I finally suggested the separation, he seemed relieved and I felt like a complete fool.” Jane remembers the sigh of comfort that came out of the man she once loved with all her heart before that rainy afternoon, when she finally decided that she’d had enough. “He left that night, hadn’t seen him since, his lawyer took care of everything,” a sour laugh escapes her lips, Harry’s eyes are full of sympathy for her. “I’m sorry for ruining your blind date, I know you’ve never been to one before.” Of course she did, she knows him better than anyone.

“This has to be the greatest date I’ve ever been to.” He speaks without a second thought. 

All those years Harry spent away from Jane were not going to be in vain. He was not going to neglect the feelings he still had for her. That affection he felt for her, only her. Harry shifts in his seat, this is not at all how he planned it, in a restaurant full of people on fucking Valentine’s day. It almost seemed like a tacky move.

But after all this time of pining for her, hating her and himself at times. Harry was brave enough, it was now or never, he didn’t want to wait any longer, not after his friends schemed and executed this soppy plan to bring the two soulmates together. Before she could take the final bite of dessert that Harry kindly left for her. The world stopped.

“I don’t want this to end...” Harry says with a dimpled smile she can’t look away from. “I’d like to take you out on a second date, a third, fourth, fifth. Believe me when I tell you, I have planned up to a thousand of them.” He takes her hand in his and can feel her pulse race along his own. The smile splits his face again, because he knows, he feels, he sees it in her beautiful eyes. “Janey, you’re the first person I’ve ever wanted to hold on to. I know there is a name for this emotion, I’ve written songs about it, but now I don’t think it’s a word big enough for us.”

She squeezes his hand and breaths out a laugh, tears of joy brimming out of her eyes. “Let’s call it love, until we come up with a better name for it.” Harry agrees and just then, Jane brings up his hand to her lips. 

His skin tingles where she kisses him for the first time and he beams at her.

There’s a first for everything, and although it feels like it for Jane and Harry, this isn’t by any means the first time they confess their love for each other. It was always there, in every laugh they shared, every song they wrote together, every touch. It was on Harry’s unwavering devotion, on his impatience and selfless actions throughout the years.

They were bound to be together, their story didn’t begin on that initial blind date, it did years ago after he caught a glimpse of her shiny black hair on the morning she moved into the house across the street.

Harry drives her back to her new flat on the other side of the city, enjoying every minute of the long ride, happy to hear her ramble about her newest obsession with romantic novels and burst out laughing after Jane confesses that sometimes she doesn’t finish reading books she likes, just to pretend the story keeps going. With a quick kiss to the back of her hand he completely agrees.

No tale is more compelling than one that never ends.

[riseandshinelittleblossom]

Go Mets!

A/N: This is my submission for the wonderful @mf-despair-queen‘s 2019 Dylan O’Brien Baseball Week.  This is my first ever Dylan fic, as well as my first ever reader insert (ish) fic, so keep that in mind hahahaha I hope you enjoy it!

 Also! DISCLAIMER: I write this purely for fun, I don’t get paid or anything like that, I’m just borrowing our favorite Mets fan for a bit of  good natured fun...

Warnings: light swearing, because it wouldnt be a riseandshinelittleblossom fic without it. :D

Shout out to my wonderful friend @ao719 for indulging me and pre-reading this for me..girl your rock!

 Tags: @leelee10898 @fullbeaumonty @kennaxval @superapplepie @mrs-mitch-rapp93 @stiles-o-dylan24  @ownworldresident @mrscutiefandobhaz

    Dylan held out his arm, staggering backwards a bit as he caught the baseball in his well-worn mitt.

    “Hey, nice one Maggie!” He chuckled.

    The six year old across the yard beamed at him and he couldn't help but feel his heart melt seeing her snaggletooth grin.

     He was so proud of how much she had progressed since he first started bringing her out back to play catch two years ago.

     His friends had all warned him to steer clear of getting into a relationship with you because dating a single mother also meant “you have to play Dad,” but that had never worried him in the least. Maggie was a good kid, really smart, and she shared Dylan's passion for baseball and the Mets. These days he couldn't imagine a better way to spend his time off between filming than to be in the backyard helping her practice for her little league games.

   She flipped her long, chocolate- colored plait over her shoulder and resumed her batting stance.

   “Okay, Dyl. Let's have another one. And don't go easy on me this time.” She sassed.

   “Go easy on you? I would never..” he feigned innocence, grasping the ball firmly and grinding into the mitt a few times.

   Maggie rolled her eyes, the bat falling to her side.

   “I'm serious, O'Brien. You think the girls on the Grizzlies are gonna go easy on me this weekend? Not a chance! They're out for blood after we wiped the floor with them last season.”

   “Out for blood, huh? Okay, well pick up the bat and I promise I won't hold back then, Princess.”

    She resumed her stance and Dylan shook his head.

    “Here,” he began crossing the yard in a few strides to stand behind her. He widened her grip on the bat and helped her crouch a bit lower. “Gotta widen that stance, baby girl. Otherwise the first speed ball's gonna knock you right off of home plate.”

      He returned to the makeshift pitcher's mound that he and Maggie had made with a pile of her kinetic sand. It was a project that you had been none too happy about.

      He stomped his feet a few times before releasing a steady pitch.

      With a loud crack, the young girl sent the ball sailing away from her. Dylan hit a backwards run in an attempt to catch it, but it soared over the fence anyway.

   You watched from the open kitchen window as your boyfriend raced across the yard and hefted the small girl onto his shoulder.

   “And the Mag-ster rounds first! She's off to second! Oh my God, she's flying past third! Aaaand she makes it all the way home!” He shouted as he ran a circle in the yard and Maggie cheered, her small fists pumping into the air as Dylan mimicked the sound of a crowd roaring. He placed the child on the ground and you couldn't help but chuckle.

    You and Dylan had been going steady for two years now, but it always made you smile to watch him with Maggie. He was the best daddy to her that he never had to be and it made you love him even more.

      You thought back to the day that he first entered you and Maggie's lives as you finished washing up the mountain of dishes in the sink.

***********”**

     You adjusted the settings outside of the batting booth before crouching in front of your preschooler.

    “You sure you want to do the batting cages? We could go for another round of skee ball instead.” You suggested as the little girl before you adjusted her baseball helmet and shook her head. The child-sized aluminum bat in her hand still looked humongous and you bit your lip, wondering why you'd agreed to let her go in there and let a machine lob baseballs at her.

    “I wanna baseball! I'm tired of just tee ball! It's time to break into the big girl game, because one day I'm gonna play for the New York Mets.” She told you matter-of-factly as she stepped into the cage.

   You blamed the babysitter. She was a sweet woman that kept Maggie for next to nothing and she had two boys of her own that were only a little older for your daughter to play with.

   The sitter's oldest son, Jacob, was nine and he played little league, which meant he and his brother often tried to get Maggie to play catch with them outside. Jacob was Maggie's hero and a die-hard New York Mets fan. All the time she spent with Jacob had ignited a fire within your near five year old. It had started with endless tee ball games in the local junior league and now...batting cages at the family fun arena.

   You wrung your hands nervously as the first pitch shot out. You'd set the machine on the lowest setting but it still felt like the ball was the Roadrunner, jetting away from Wile E. Coyote as it hurdled towards your small child. Certainly anyone watching must have thought you were insane to let her in there.

   Maggie held her own, swinging confidently even though the ball barely glanced the end of her bat. The metallic ting caused her to giggle wildly.

   “I hit it!” She shouted.

   “Hey, good job!” a male voice came from behind.

   You whipped your head to see a tall slender man wearing khaki pants and, coincidentally, a Mets jersey. Your eyes scanned over him, your bottom lip tucking itself involuntarily between your teeth.

   He twisted his baseball cap, leaving the bill sticking out behind him and tucked his folded sunglasses into his shirt. He gave you a polite smile and nod, the fluorescent lights overhead catching his honey colored eyes just enough to make them sparkle.

   Your heart all but stopped as you smiled back and quickly averted your gaze, embarrassed that he'd no doubt noticed you checking him out.

    “Thank you. She lives for this stuff.” You said shyly.

     TING

   “I hit it again!” Maggie squealed in delight, turning to face you. “Who's he?”

   She scrunched her face up as she stepped out of the cage.

  “Oh I was just waiting my turn is all. I'm going to use the cage when you're finished. Nice form in there,though. If you'd like, maybe I could give you some pointers.” The man said.

     “You would?!” She squawked.

    You were taken aback by the way he peered directly into Maggie's eyes when he talked to her. Not many people were so attentive when they spoke, especially to children. It made your knees feel weak as he trained his eyes on you in the same fashion.

   “I'm Dylan.” He offered, extending a hand.

************

    Your attention was pulled back to the present as you heard Maggie's sassy, near whiny voice through the window.

   “I am NOT a baby anymore, Dylan. I'm getting bigger everyday, you know.” She scoffed.

   He nodded. “Unfortunately.”

   You stepped onto your tiptoes to get a better view of the two loves of your life, straining to hear their conversation. They were seated on the patio now, Dylan helping Maggie oil her own glove as well as his own.

    “Mommy says that if I want to keep playing I have to take good care of my equipment. She said only responsible players get into the big leagues, so I have been trying to oil my mitt like you showed me, but sometimes it's hard.” The girl huffed as her mentor lifted his large hands-the ones that plagued your every day dream- and placed them over hers, patiently guiding her movements.

   “You want to make sure you get into every groove, Princess. Every crevice. See? You've got it. I'm so glad to hear you've been listening to Mom while I've out of town, though.”

     You let out a sigh, a warm feeling spreading from your chest throughout your body, a small chuckle escaping you. How did you ever get lucky enough to find him?

    “Dylan, can I ask you a question?” Maggie piped up.

     “Anything, squirt. What's on your mind?”

    “Why were you and Mommy yelling at each other last night?”

     Dylan's eyes went wide as he turned his gaze to his own mitt.

    “Wha..wuddaya mean? We weren't-”

     “Come on, O'Brien. I'm not deaf. You were saying, ‘Oh, Y/N,’ and Mommy kept screaming 'Dylan, oh my God’. Were you guys fighting?”

    You tried to stifle a laugh, your hand flying over you lips as you remembered the absolutely mind blowing events from the night before. The ones your daughter had apparently overheard. You could barely see your boyfriend's cheeks turning bright red right about now and you would have paid good damned money to get a view of that up close.

    “Uh, no. We weren't...we weren't fighting, Princess.” Dylan tried to be vague and he cleared his throat. You knew he was silently hoping that his answer had been enough to end the conversation, but you also knew Maggie better than that.

   “Oh. Well then what were you doing?”

    Dylan turned to wipe off his hands, holding the towel out for Maggie to do the same.

    “We were...we were talking in our sleep.”

    “I heard banging, Dyl.”

     The dark haired man gulped audibly, one hand rubbing over the days old stubble of his chin.

    “Uh...that? Oh we were… okay listen. You know I love your Mommy, right Princess?”

    Maggie nodded, “Yep! And she loves you.”

    “That's right. So we love each other. Sometimes, uh...when a boy loves a girl...ya know...they...dance...together?”

      You cackled softly listening to Dylan not even buying his own bullshit.

   “Oh. But I can dance without banging, see?”

   Maggie hopped from her seat and swept into a graceful ballerina twirl, her hands above her head.

    “Well that's because you're a beautiful baseball-playing ballerina, and as such you're very graceful. Mommy and I...well, we're sort of clumsy.”

   The child laughed. “So you mean you guys fall down a lot?”

   “Exactly.”

    “So that's why you were yelling right? You just kept knocking each other down?” the six year old cocked a skeptical eyebrow and Dylan nodded.

    “You're gonna have to do better than that, Dyllie. I'm not buying it.”

     Your boyfriend let out an exasperated sigh. “Okay how's this? We were dancing together because we love each other and we're clumsy so we kept falling down, but then he had...um bruises..?” He stopped short, clearly at a loss.

   “The truth, please. I was born at night but not last night, ya know?” Maggie sassed with an eye roll.

   “Okay the truth is... The truth is that I love your Mom and she loves me and sometimes when you love someone so much you just...you want to show them. There are things that you will learn about when you're older that help grown ups show each other how much they love their boyfriend or their girlfriend. And so..that's what we were doing. But those things are for grown ups only. I mean...grown ups that love each other and want to get married someday...not just any old boyfriend and girlfriend…”

     Your heart stopped at the thought. You and Dylan had been together for a long time, but somehow you'd never talked about marriage before.

    Maggie stared at him, one eyebrow cocked, her face scrunched in thought.

    “Do you..? You understand anything I just said?” He asked nervously.

    “Uuuuhhhh…..go Mets?” Maggie replied still obviously confused.

    Dylan laughed loudly as he ruffled her hair. “That's my girl!”

    “I don't even wanna know anymore,” she shook her head. “As long as you promise you and Mommy aren't breaking up.”

    Dylan wrapped his arms around her shoulders pulling her into a tight hug.

   “No way, Princess. You two aren't going to get rid of me that easily.”

     “Hey, Mommy!” Maggie beamed as you appeared in the sliding glass doorway.

      “Hey, kiddo. Why don't you take your gear upstairs for me? Dylan and I need to talk.”

      She complied with your request, gathering her belongings and tossing them into her athletic bag before hefting it inside.

     You grinned widely at Dylan as your daughter disappeared up the stairs. He exhaled audibly, silently mouthing “thank you,” as he nervously rubbed the back of his neck.

       He ambled across the patio, wrapping his long arms around your waist, pulling you impossibly close.

   “I know you were listening, you evil woman. Way to leave me hanging.”  Dylan muttered, his lips brushing yours as he spoke. His whiskey eyes were locked on yours, making your knees suddenly feel weak.

   “I dunno, you seemed to be handling things pretty well on your own.”  You smugly replied.

    “Yeah? You think so? I'd love to show you a few other things I can handle pretty well.” he pressed his lips to yours and you giggled into the caress.

    “You mean like...Go Mets?”

    He scoffed, giving you his near award-winning, lopsided smile.

    “You're damn right, go Mets.”

[blindspot-repata]

On a Date - Chapter 12

Come Back

As they entered their apartment, Tasha let out a familiar relief and smelled the familiar scent of her home. All their things were there like the last time she looked back and left. She couldn’t live without all this. She put the backpack on the bed and went to take a shower. Under the shower he sobbed sobbing like a child. Tasha didn’t want Reade to see her crying, so she let the water wash away her tears. She wanted to be free of everything that happened in the last two months, but she knew it wouldn’t be easy and she needed Reade's support that was treating her indifferently. She didn't blame him, she should have trusted him, but the fear of losing him was greater, now they needed some time to gather the pieces left over.

“I ordered something for dinner. It's too late to prepare anything.” Reade said as she walked back into the room.

“I'm not even hungry. I'm very tired.” She sat down on the couch. "Do you want to talk about everything that happened?"

"Let's rest today, tomorrow's another day. Are you going to the FBI tomorrow?” Reade asked her.

“Yes I will. I need to sort this out.”

“Do not worry. It's all right for you to come back. I already communicated justifying his faults.”

“Thanks.” Tasha muttered.

They ate in silence and Tasha went to the bedroom. The weariness was so much she didn’t even see when Reade lay down next to her and made a small prayer of thanks for having his wife back.

It was still dark when Reade heard a noise and stood up startled. The bathroom door was closed.

“Tasha, is everything okay?” Reade asked standing outside the bathroom.

Tasha left and went straight to sit on the bed, she was pale and felt weak.

"You want me to get you something? Maybe I should take you to the doctor.” Reade sat down beside her with concern.

"You don’t have to. It's already happening. I must have gotten some virus.” Suddenly something crossed her mind and she straightened up on the bed and began to count her fingers. It wasn’t possible!

“What's it? What are you thinking?” Reade asked curiously about her reaction.

“Anything. It's silly. There's still time to get some sleep.”

Upon arrival at the FBI, Tasha was greeted warmly by all her friends. Patterson demanded that she explain everything, because she didn’t like the idea of Tasha hiding things from them again. They talked a lot while working in the lab.

“Reade is upset.” Tasha said sadly.

“It will pass. He was very worried about her desappearance.”

“Yeah, I know. I sincerely hope he forgives me. I love him so much.” She said to the blonde.

“Tell him that.” Patterson warned her.

Everything ran normally and Tasha felt some headaches throughout the day. He needed to stop by the pharmacy to get the medicine she used to take.

"Reade, are you still going to be late?" Tasha asked, opening the door to her office.

“I just need a few more minutes to finish sending some emails. Everything is alright?” He answered attentively.

“Yes I am. I just wanted to stop by the pharmacy on the way home, I'm feeling a little headache and my medicine is gone.

"Just give me a break." It's ok?

“I will wait in the lab.” Tasha went to the lab and fumbled on her cell phone reviewing the photos of their trip and smiling.

She went to the pharmacy and bought what she needed and went back to the car. Reade put his hand over hers as she sat down.

“Are we gonna be okay?” He asked tenderly looking into her eyes.

“Yeah.” The brunette answered with her eyes full of water. But she didn’t want to cry. Not there.

Reade was puzzled to see Tasha come back from the shower. She was gorgeous with a long, soft-pink cotton dress, he remembered when she bought this dress on the honeymoon trip. Her hair was tied in a loose plait that fell on her left shoulder. Her hair had grown and looked beautiful. He noticed that she wore a very light makeup tone and a little lip gloss on her lips. You could also smell the soft floral scent she wore.

"Tasha ..." Reade said quietly taking her hands.

"You'll make sure I will make dinner." With that, she let go of his hands and put on soft music that filled the room.

There were not many ingredients, but you could improvise. She found a pasta in the cupboard and some vegetables in the refrigerator. She could prepare pasta with sautéed vegetables. As she prepared dinner, she hummed and caught herself smiling.

It was practically ready. She turned and faced Reade watching her hum and move to the music as she cooked.

“Hey! There you are! Can you put the table, please?” She asked smiling.

“Yes. What are you cooking?” Reade asked, sniffing the scent that was in the air.

"Nothing much, since I've found few ingredients.” She smiled as she answered.

"Tomorrow we can stop by the supermarket and refill the kitchen. Everything has been abandoned here these past few days.”

Tasha tried to ignore what he had said and turned to finish dinner.

Reade set the table with a smile. He did not know what was happening, but he was enjoying it and came to think that he couldn't wait to finish dinner to make love to her. Tasha was gorgeous, she always was, but there was a sparkle in his eyes that he had not seen earlier and he felt a peace coming from her that he was believing they would be okay, yes, and they would be able to redo the pieces that were broken.

The dinner went in silence, the two caught up flirting casually as they ate. The atmosphere was light and the sound of the music brought a certain magic to the moment. Dinner was delicious. Reade couldn’t stand for a minute without admiring her.

“Is very good. I missed your spice.” He confessed as he ate.

"Just my spice you missed?" Tasha asked teasing him.

“Of course not.” Reade choked on the words and studied her with intensity. "I missed you so much."

Tasha felt a lump build in her throat. She knew that he had suffered, she had suffered and she didn’t want him to suffer for her anymore. She was willing to do anything to fix the mess she'd made.

At the end of the dinner they removed the table and Tasha took him by the hand and made him sit on the couch.

“I need to tell you something.” She spoke with caution.

“What happened, Tasha? Do you want to have that conversation now?” He felt the weather breaking.

"No. It's something else.” Tasha looked away. There was no easy way to speak.

"It's making me distressed.” He actually felt fear. After he was gone he was afraid she would leave him.

“I’m Pregnant.” As she said those words, she saw him widen his eyes in amazement in a way he always did and she loved.

"Tasha, what are you telling me? Are you sure about that?”

“Yes, all that bad, I was suspicious and didn’t realize how late I was, I totally lost count, so I bought the exams at the pharmacy and made two to be sure. She confessed. We're having a baby!”

"That's the best news I could hear after everything that happened.” Reade hugged her crying. Tasha was crying, too. “love you so much, Tasha! I missed you so much and know you're pregnant. I'm going to be a father!”

“I love you too. The time I was gone, it didn’t take a minute for me to think of you and not worry about how you were. I didn't want to do that, Reade, I had no choice. I really need your forgiveness.” Tasha pleaded in tears.

"I know you did it to protect me. Of course I forgive you, but please do not do this anymore. I was so afraid that something very bad happened to you.” Reade touched her face trying to wipe away the tears. "And now there's our baby." He placed his hand on her belly and Tasha placed her hand over his.

They kissed each other tenderly and Reade led her into the bedroom, placing her on the bed. The kisses were increasing in intensity and suddenly Reade stopped.

“What's it?” Tasha wanted to know.

"You think it's okay for the baby. I mean, does not it hurt him?” He asked a little awkwardly.

"You speak ... no, of course not! The baby is protected and sex does not hurt. It only makes him feel that he has a father and a mother who love each other.”

The two fell in love and slept in an embrace in an attempt to make up for the time they were apart. They were more than happy and knew that this was only the beginning of what they could call home.

#blindspot #repata #rapata #tashazapata #edgarreade #audreyesparza #robbrown #fanfic #fangirl #fic #blindspot fanfic #blindspot fic

[kathleendeplume]

So, I don't have many (any?) people see my blog, but I thought I might as well put up the first 2 chapters of Dragon Queens (Amazon link: mybook.to/DragonQueens if you want to know more), so that if anyone wants to see what I've written, well, it's here. ***

***

***

Chapter One – The Bounty Hunter

📷

She shoved the man forward. His hands bound, he stumbled to his knees beside the Keeper.

“Which one is this, Gwen?”

“John Little. Breaking the King’s Peace, public drunkenness, and poaching. Twelve shillings.”

“Twelve? Are you sure? That list doesn’t sound worth more than four or five.”

Gwen shrugged. “I don’t go out hunting for less than ten. I’m sure it’s in your notices if you want to check.”

James held his hands up placatingly. “I believe you. Maybe there’s more to this little twerp than meets the eye.”

He rummaged through his saddlebags. Keeper of the King’s Peace sounded a grand title, and at twenty-four years old he was proud to hold it, but in truth his position was more like that of a petty constable from one of the groves. Still, he kept track of bounties and paid them out, and Gwendoline Carter was efficient enough to make him look good.

“Here you go.” He tossed her a small purse.

She caught it and counted quickly. “Any news?” she asked curtly. She didn’t care much for him, and it showed.

“Two new bounties.” He passed her the notices. Unlike a lot of bounty hunters, she could read them for herself. “And I hear a rumour that Princess Ava has gone missing.”

That brought her head up sharply. “The princess? Are you sure?”

“No. It’s just a rumour, for now. But if it’s true it’d be worth a mite more than what you’re picking up on these outings – King Harald loves his daughter more than life.”

“Hah! If she’s wandered into the dragon’s lair, the rate is half the kingdom. He knows that, same as anyone.”

He barked a laugh, as if the thought hadn’t even occurred to him until then. “If she’s been taken by the dragon, even you might not be able to bring her out alive.”

She sobered at his words, passing the purse gently from hand to hand as she thought. Prophecy always gets garbled when it becomes legend, but there’s no denying a dragon would be a deadly foe. James held Little’s collar and waited.

“Missing person,” she said at last. “I might stay in town for a couple of nights. If the princess is missing, it might not be the dragon. Might be easy work and good pay. Worth a few nights at the inn, at least, to find out.”

“Good luck,” said James, pulling Little to his feet and walking him off toward the cells. Gwen watched him for a second before turning to go.

📷

Gwen strode into The Bull and Goose, feeling optimistic. She scanned the tavern for outlanders – preferably well-to-do ones.

Spotting a well-dressed young man by the bar, she let her long dark hair out of its plait, relaxed her stride into more of a saunter, and made her approach. She asked barkeep for a wine.

She didn’t have long to wait.

“What’s a nice lass like you doing in a place like this?”

So. Zero points for imagination, then. Hopefully it just meant he wouldn’t embellish what he knew of affairs at the Capital.

Taking a small sip of her wine, she gave a friendly smile. “Hoping for news of the world. Have you been on the road long?”

“I was at the King’s court not two days past.” She broadened her smile at him encouragingly, and he preened a little under her attention. “I know the latest news of alliances, marriages, rebellions and wars. What news would you hear?”

“Any news of the royal family? Last I heard the princess was still not betrothed, and she must be nearing twenty-five by now.” Better he think it his own idea to tell her the princess was missing. If the princess was missing.

“Ah! Of course you would not have heard. In truth, the betrothal papers have not been formally signed, but our dear sweet Princess Ava is to be married to Reginald, the first Lord Forquitte. Only an Earl, of course, but he commands lands as large as any Duke in the Realm – larger than many foreign Princes – and he has personally led men to victory on the battlefields against odds lesser commanders deemed insurmountable. What he lacks in rank he makes up for in reputation. A veritable giant among men.” At this he glanced up at her, as if noticing her height for the first time. “I think he may even stand taller than you yourself.”

Okay, then. Maybe she didn’t so much run away as elope – rumour had it that she was unmarried only because her father indulged her desire to choose her own spouse. This Reginald sounded suitably impressive; perhaps she didn’t want to wait the traditional three months?

“Were you around court long enough to see the princess? Did she seem delighted by the match?”

He frowned slightly. Evidently it hadn’t occurred to him before to wonder what she thought of her betrothed. Highborn ladies usually married for alliance, after all, not for love. In many ways it was better to be born common as muck.

“I only saw her once after the rumours began of her betrothal. She did not look well and took to her bedchambers shortly thereafter. I hadn’t seen her in three days when I left court.” He brightened suddenly. “But she must be thrilled. She must. Perhaps her excitement and joy upset her stomach.”

Gwen hummed neutrally and took a small sip of her wine. She waited for the well-dressed young man to say something more.

“I did hear some stirrings, now that I think of it.” He looked troubled at his own words. “Apparently some of the palace servants did not believe she was so well pleased by her betrothal.” He frowned a little deeper, before his face cleared. “But what would servants know? The last day I was there, word was that the servants thought our beloved princess had run away! The very idea.” He laughed, and she smiled with him.

“I have no doubt you are right,” she said.

📷

Getting free of him without making a scene was easier than she had feared. The lad was almost sweet, really, if you didn’t mind the vanity of wealthy young men.

She walked up the stairs to her room with her head full of thoughts and plans. Putting the two rumours together, it seemed most likely that the princess was sulking and hiding somewhere in the palace. It was also possible she had eloped, or had run away to avoid betrothal. At least she could dismiss Jack’s worry about dragons.

If it was the first, no official news would ever be heard. A sulking princess might worry the serving staff who can’t find her for meals or dressing, but it would not be news the Realm needed to hear.

If it was the second, there would be carefully curated news of a low-key royal wedding, with only the most honoured guests invited. Within a month every courtier who passed through town would claim to have been there.

The third was the interesting one. Not very likely, but if Princess Ava was on the run to avoid this Lord Forquitte, then the decision to put a bounty on her safe return would have been made by now. An official herald would be here with the proclamation within three days.

She had more than enough money for three nights. And her horse could use some rest.

📷

As it turned out, it only took two.

“Hear ye, hear ye, hear ye! By order of His Grace, King Harald von Tryptshire, Lord of the Marshes, Emperor of the Realm Without Night, High King of the Eastern Isles, and Champion of the Faith, heed my words!

“Her Royal Highness, the Princess Ava, beloved Daughter and only Heir of our precious Monarch, has vanished! The King calls upon all able-bodied men of honour to ride to her rescue!

“The person who returns our Princess to her Royal Father unharmed shall be rewarded with whatsoever they may carry from the treasury using nothing but the strength of their own two arms.”

The lass making the proclamation had a strong voice, for all she looked around fifteen years old. An audience of perhaps thirty people, mostly men, had gathered to hear. Now she was nailing a proclamation to the notice board in the town square.

“As much gold as you can carry in your arms.” The speaker was Derrick, a bounty hunter like Gwen, but well past his prime. These days he spent a lot of his time in the tavern, buying the company of travelling women with tales from his glory years. “That’s more’n any of us’ll see in a lifetime, but isn’t the traditional fee for returning a princess half the kingdom?”

“Hah! And her hand in marriage.” This was the Keeper. James had obviously been thinking about this for the past two days. His very posture proclaimed that he saw himself as far more handsome than his face could prove.

“I’m fairly certain that tradition only applies if you defeat the dragon to do it.” Gwen was surprised to find herself speaking up. “Besides, isn’t the Dragon Prize linked to the sort of prophecy you don’t want to be on the wrong side of?”

James sneered at her. He probably thought it was a handsome sneer. He may even have been trying to flirt.

“Who’s to say what I might face on my daring rescue? Everyone knows the dragon stirs when royalty rides unguarded. The King will believe me when I tell him of our harrowing ordeal.” His sneer became a smirk. “Do prophetic warnings apply to the sort of epic tale of heroism that leaves no dragon corpse behind?” Gwen decided she didn’t just dislike James. She loathed him.

At the mention of draconic stirrings, several of the men at the edges of the crowd peeled off.

Gwen stayed a while longer to hear what the others thought, but it soon proved to be more bravado about how they would spend their prize. No one had any more idea where the princess had gone than she did.

📷

📷

Chapter Two – Venturing Forth

📷

Two days later she stepped into The King’s Head, a few streets out from the intricately carved stone walls of the Royal Palace. She scanned the patrons quickly, until she saw the bright blue silks of Lady Deidre.

“You?” Lady Deidre questioned quietly as Gwen approached. “I was under the impression you’d be more… martial.” She looked Gwen up and down briefly. “Muscular enough, I suppose. You’ll do.”

“You thought I was a man?”

“I was told I’d be meeting the best bounty hunter west of the Capital,” Deidre shrugged. “Should have figured you’d be a woman. A man wouldn’t bother talking to the princess’ lady-in-waiting.”

“If anyone can give me insight into why Princess Ava left, and where she might have gone, it’s you.”

The pause was only a few seconds. But it seemed longer.

“I don’t know anything definite.”

“But if you knew nothing at all, you wouldn’t have wasted your time coming to see me.” Gwen swiftly sat down across from her, leaning across the table. “Anything you can tell me, Lady Deidre. Anything at all.”

Deidre sighed. “I’ll give you what I know. It isn’t much, though. And most of it is speculative.”

“I’d take your speculation over any man’s truths. To begin, how was she feeling in the days before she left?”

Deidre smiled at the compliment, then stiffened at the question. “Grim. She had been despondent, but right before she disappeared she seemed grimly determined.”

“This was around a week ago, yes?”

“A week ago yesterday she vanished, yes.”

“Do you know what made her despondent?” It seemed clear to Gwen that a decision to leave would explain the grim determination.

“Yes. She had been given an ultimatum by her Lord Father a month or so back. She had turned twenty-five, and he bade her choose someone to marry else have someone chosen for her. Well, she did make more effort in meeting eligible nobles in the weeks that followed, both here and from abroad, but the King was meeting nobles, too, and had found someone he deemed suitable.”

Nobles. The lack of gender caught Gwen’s ear. She’d heard that the aristocracy did things differently – and more often – but didn’t realise a royal heir might have that freedom.

“Speaking of her Lord Father. It seems he sent for bounty hunters when she had been missing – what, a day? Two? Is that normal? Stories are unreliable as far from the Capital as I live, but I’m led to believe the King has thousands of trained armsmen at his disposal, along with…” She trailed off, trying to find words that wouldn’t make her sound like a country oaf. “More arcane solutions?”

“Arcane?” Deidre looked puzzled for a moment. “Oh, you mean the seers? They talk a big game, and the official reason they’re never called in for matters like this is that their remit is far too lofty to be bothered for something so small as one Royal Princess. But if you ask me, they weren’t asked because the King knew damn well it would take them six months of argument to decide that the winds of prophecy blew her away for a reason, and it would be foolhardy in the extreme to use their mystic knowledge to anger the Gods.” Her snort wasn’t particularly ladylike.

“And the army? Why send for bounty hunters like me when you have sworn soldiers you could send instead?”

There was a very careful pause. “You noticed a few days delay between the princess going missing and sending the news throughout the Realm. Well, I’m not privy to his inner council, but I spotted several familiar faces prowling the city during that time. I think that before word was sent to the countryside, the city itself was thoroughly searched by every man the King trusted with the task. When that failed…” She gestured, but Gwen didn’t follow. “You have to understand, armies are expensive. The King raises troops when he needs them – lords’ men form units of pike from the manors and farms; common free folk form units of archers from the townships and villages like your own – but when he doesn’t there are only a few hundred men and women employed as full-time soldiers. On the other hand, there are two or three full time professional bounty hunters – such as yourself – in each flyspeck village in the Realm, and a large enough bounty will draw two dozen more, even if all they do is keep watch on the local taverns.”

Gwen gave her most winning smile. “So what you’re telling me is that magic is bunk, and there’s nothing suspicious about the timeline of the King’s actions – am I correct?”

Deidre smiled back. “I wouldn’t say bunk, exactly – and I certainly wouldn’t say it in a seer’s earshot. But I would definitely be willing to say that ‘magic’, as you put it, wouldn’t be the most useful in situations such as this, no.”

“I think that makes sense – let’s get back to the princess’ nuptials. She has to marry a man while she is young enough to carry lots of babies?” She should really be asking about the Earl, but she had a suspicion to confirm first.

“It’s less about the babies – though her mother, our dear Queen Constance, would surely love to have grandchildren running around. She has cousins with children who could secure the succession if she were to die without issue. But she needs to marry, and to do it soon enough for the King and Queen to train her spouse up in how to be consort and help rule the kingdom. They aren’t getting any younger, you know.”

That didn’t really answer her question, though it did tell her that the answer might not be important. “Are you married, Lady Deidre?” Now, why had she asked that?

“Yes, to Lord Mountfeather. He’s a good man.”

Gwen nodded. She didn’t really have a follow up question for that. Oh, that’s right – nobles. “Was there a certain minimum rank the princess had to look for, when selecting her consort?”

Deidre hesitated. “Not really. By law, the prince or princess may marry whomever they choose. Though if she’s turned down a Duke to marry a cobbler’s boy she’d better really love him, or the Duke might start a rebellion for the insult. In practice, she would never try looking outside the hereditary lordships. Occasionally a particularly impressive knight might catch the eye of a princess, but the Ogres haven’t stirred in decades, so the opportunity for heroics isn’t what it once was.”

This was fascinating to Gwen, but it wasn’t really giving her the answers she needed right now. Might as well ask a question she thought she knew the answer to. “And who did the King deem suitable?”

Deidre grimaced. “Reginald Lord Forquitte.”

“Now, there’s a face. I hadn’t heard of the man five days ago – what has the Earl of Lubrey done to make the princess run rather than wed him?”

“I don’t know. Not for sure. Lady Eveline – Princess Ava’s younger lady-in-waiting – never confided in me. And as far as I know he has never done anything directly to the princess. But the man is cold, cunning, ruthless, and wants to be King. I’m not sure I trust him to be content merely being consort.”

“He can’t, though, can he?” Gwen was confused. “If the Queen dies before her consort, her heir is her child, or her sibling, or her cousin. Not her husband. Or have I heard incorrectly?”

“You’ve heard correctly. Though laws can be changed. It might be that he can’t change them enough to be King, but if he can then he will.”

“Doesn’t this worry the King as well?”

“No.” Deidre looked frustrated, now. “The King thinks the Earl’s ambition is for his son to be King, and to rule equally with his wife as consort. That level of ambition doesn’t worry him. In fact, he thinks it will be good for the Realm; after all, Lord Reginald’s lands have become more fertile and thus more lucrative in the years since he took over their management.”

Gwen nodded slowly, digesting all of this. “Okay, so she’s running away from a marriage she doesn’t want. And she’s been gone eight days. What did she take with her when she left?”

“Riding boots, a couple of cloaks and other clothes. The kitchens were missing some food, but not enough for more than a few days; she’d have run out by now. I don’t know how much money she had, several guineas at least. She didn’t take any jewellery.” Deidre frowned in concentration, evidently trying hard to think of anything that might help. “Oh! Her mare, Beauty. She’s quite striking – a beautiful solid chestnut brown, except for a pure white diamond on her forehead, one white hoof, and a pattern on one flank. Um. A bit like a heart pierced by a lightning bolt?”

While Deidre had been talking, Gwen had been pulling paper from her belt bag, along with a charcoal pencil. “Which hoof? Which flank? Can you draw the pattern for me?”

“Umm, front foot. It’s the opposite to the flank – I think it’s right hoof and left flank, but it’s not my horse so I could be mistaken. I’m no artist, but I’ll do my best to draw it for you.”

“Thank you. I really do appreciate it. Lastly,” she pulled out some maps, “where do you think Princess Ava would go?”

A rueful smile as Deidre finished her rough sketch. “That’s what I thought you’d ask to begin with. I don’t know. I can tell you she’s got a poor stomach for sailing, so I doubt she’s taken a boat. I can tell you where her mother’s family is from.” Here, she pointed to an area of the map several days south of the Capital. “And I can tell you where her best friend, Lady Eveline, will have gone,” she pointed to a town not too far from where Gwen had come from, to the west. “But if I were a betting woman, I’d put my money on her heading east.”

“Why east?”

“Closest foreign border. She’s always wanted to see the land where silk comes from, and to hear foreign languages used by people who see the world differently to her. She’s never travelled outside the Realm, you see. She has dreams. Why wouldn’t she try to live them, if she’s leaving her home anyway?”

And if she went where her family or friends live, people might try to return her to her father’s house, too.

“Descriptions of the princess that make it out to us have her as short, slender, blonde and beautiful. I assume all royals are described as beautiful, but how small is she? Are there any paintings that are fairly accurate, so I know who I’m looking for? I doubt she’s announcing her presence when she rides into town.”

“She is beautiful. Her hair is very long; it almost reaches her waist – though when she travels she usually keeps it in a plait like yours, so the end would hang just below her shoulders. She uses soot to dull the golden shine when she doesn’t want to be recognised. As for how small she is – if you stand I can show you where she would reach on you?”

Gwen stood, and Deidre indicated perhaps the top of her shoulder. Small, yes, but not the shortest woman in the world. Deidre herself was only very slightly taller.

“You could wait for Audience Day to see the throne room with the royal portraits, but I have a woodcut that isn’t too bad. You might be able to recognise her from this.” Deidre handed her a folded piece of paper. It seemed to Gwen that Deidre really wanted her to succeed. She appreciated that.

“I guess I ride east. Is there any particular city she spoke of often? Somewhere she might be headed?” If not, she was just going to ride east and hope to learn more as she went.

“Not really. Izantium is the closest centre of the Silk trade, though. I hope you catch up to her before she gets there.”

“Me too.”

📷

Three days hard riding down the road. Four tavern owners who were fairly sure they’d seen a small blonde woman with a long plait a week earlier. One who was absolutely definite about the horse.

But, more troublingly, there were also rumours about other things. Grass fires. Missing sheep. Cattle stampedes.

A superstitious woman might think of dragons.

Everyone knew an unguarded royal was catnip to a dragon. Gwen had been hoping that what everyone knew was wrong. Still, if we’re in realms of legend, here, at least she knew that dragons didn’t kill and eat princesses. They capture them as trophies; much like the legendary hoard of gold and jewels that no one had ever seen.

Perhaps that was just a metaphor.

The next tavern on her journey was The Barbed Tail. This marked the edge of the lands where dragons had been sighted in living memory.

Possibly just one dragon.

Hopefully just one dragon.

One dragon is terrifying enough.

She pushed her hood back off her head as she walked in. Her cloak covered her boiled leather breastplate. She knew she was nervous when she was wearing it on the King’s Highway, but never mind that right now. It was time for more news.

“Wine, please.” She took her gloves off at the bar and found some pennies in her purse.

The innkeeper put her drink in front of her, and asked “Anything else?”

“News, if you have it.” For once she didn’t lead with the woodcut of the princess. Her gut told her that the dragon would be news on its own.

“My, my,” she said. “You’ve heard that there have been dragon sightings already, have you? Word travels quick – first sighting was the day afore yesterday.”

“Actual sightings? No, news hasn’t travelled that fast. So far, I’ve only heard reports of fires and missing livestock. I can add two and two, though.”

This got her an approving nod. “So can we, missy, but them bloody Kingsguards can’t. They still think we’re making it all up. Think it’s a coincidence that a lass who looks a smidge like the princess comes in here, two days later the Heralds announce her missing, and two days later again there’s a dragon flying by? I don’t.”

“This lass who looks like the princess. Was she riding a horse?”

“Aye, that she was. A fine mare, beautiful brown with a white diamond on the forehead. Coat looked like it would glow like burnished bronze if it weren’t so dusty from travel.”

“Any local bounty hunters go chasing after her?”

“No, miss. No bounty hunters around here. All our menfolk are sensible enough not to pull the tail of the dragon.”

“And your womenfolk?”

“More sensible’n the men!”

They laughed together. Gwen was seriously doubting her own common sense by now, but she felt committed. Bloody Deidre. Without her, she might have decided her own skin was worth more than the princess’ royal hide.

Oh well.

“What can you tell me of local geography? My maps are from the Capital, and they get sparser the further out you go.”

“Show me what you’ve got; I’ll tell you if you’re missing anything important.”

Gwen pulled out her map of the area and smoothed it over the bar. They poured over it together, adding annotations of missing landmarks. Most importantly, at least to Gwen, was the missing castle ruins in an otherwise very empty section of the countryside, maybe two days ride away.

“I’m not surprised the Capital’s cartographers have forgotten that exists.”

“You’re not?”

“Local legend has it that castle was built near a thousand years ago. When dragons were common, but the King knew how to fight them. They put that castle right in the middle of the Hatching Grounds, to make sure humanity always had the upper hand over the dragons.”

“If the castle kept the dragons under control, why is it now a ruin?”

“Well, the castle did its job, see, and after a few generations of peace no one really thought it was a good idea to keep sending men and food and supplies to this castle that didn’t seem to be doing anything. So, they stopped.”

“Ah. Cursed by their own success, then?”

“Well, that and the land around it seems to hold an actual curse. You can’t farm it, you see. Not for miles. Crops won’t grow, and livestock run away.”

“Or are eaten by the dragon?” Gwen guessed.

“Possibly, possibly. Most outlanders think we’re being superstitious when we suggest things like that.”

“Outlanders? We’re still in the Realm, aren’t we?”

“Oh, aye. We pay our taxes to the King, and his Kingsguard see to safety on the highway. But it’s different here. Almost all travellers are people looking to cross the border east, or those who have already crossed. Mostly merchants. We don’t get many folks from the rest of the Realm. Sometimes it feels like we’re a land to ourselves out here.”

Fascinating. Half a week’s hard riding from the Capital and you feel like you’re in another country.

“I think I’m going to need a good meal, a better bed, and as many days travel rations as you can spare.”

“You’re going after the princess, then? You’re brave.”

“Or foolish.”

“Or that, aye.”

📷

She probably had too much food. Optimistically, she needed enough to get the princess back as far as the inn. Pessimistically, it might slow her horse down too much and the dragon might get her. Best not to think too hard about that.

She’d seen it last night. There had been a beating of wings, like thunder in the dark of night, and when she looked to where the sound had come from, there had been the flame. Her mouth had gone dry with terror. Now, she waited to see it fly again.

Her horse was tied up in the thickest part of the forest, half a mile or so behind her. He was well trained, but she hoped the dragon was looking for prey in the open. Tales tended to speak of missing cows, goats, and sheep, but she had no doubt a horse would be a meal if the dragon was hungry.

Still, as much as she loved her horse, if it was her horse or her, she knew which way she’d choose.

Why was she even out here? Because she’d promised some noblewoman who she’d probably never meet again? Stupid.

It was a pity her mother’s collection of books contained so little on myth, legend, and prophecy. She’d never had her little brother’s knack for working out which parts of a tall tale should be believed, and which were pure embellishment.

She thought she’d heard something following her earlier. Now that wasstupid. A dragon would be flying overhead, not slinking through the forest behind her. Her imagination was playing tricks. Like when you see faces in trees, or shapes in clouds.

She crept to the edge of the trees. There was a quarter mile of open grassland between the last tree and the dilapidated castle. There was no way she could cross it unseen when the dragon was inside. And the castle was larger than she’d expected.

You could fit a whole village in the open courtyard, visible through a hole in the wall. Only one tower was still whole enough to keep the weather out, but all four had parts intact. If the princess wasn’t in that first tower, it might take hours to find her. And she didn’t have hours.

She was still studying the castle ahead when she heard the wings. It was just taking off from the ground, and at this close range the sound was almost deafening. Her heart thundered in her chest as she watched the dragon fly off, nearly overhead. Her faltering fingers fumbled the hourglass at her belt twice as she turned it over. Sitting down to wait, she told herself her caution was prudence, not cowardice. Princess Ava was in no more danger tonight than on any of the last four nights, wherever she was held. And Gwen needed to know how much time she had.

The dragon was out of earshot in just over a minute. There would be enough warning to make a mad dash for the tree line, then, if it were just her searching the ruins. But not enough time if the princess was with her. Especially not if they were still in the tower. Damn. Her hands steady once more, she settled down to sharpen her sword. It had been a while since she’d had to use it. Not that it would be much use against a dragon. How hadthe old knights beaten them?

No. She wasn’t trying to beat it. She didn’t want to get caught up in whatever part of the legends might actually be true. Her life was complicated enough. Sneaking in and out without being seen was the plan. A good plan.

A plan that involved her surviving this foolhardy rescue.

Bloody Deidre. Bloody noblewomen and their bloody expectations.

The sands ran out, and she turned the glass. Maybe she’d have enough time. Tomorrow.

She oiled the leather of her breastplate. It was thick enough to stop an arrow, and a stab would need to be hitting one of the joins to do more than push her around. A heavy crossbow would make her life difficult. Or, you know, any of them could take her in the throat. Or the legs. Armour doesn’t do much against fire anyway.

Better to get in and out without fighting. She was here for the bounty, not the glory.

The hourglass had nearly emptied a second time when she heard wings in the distance. She flattened herself on the ground under some bushes, holding her breath as she watched the skies. A minute later, the dragon beat past overhead, and returned to the castle. It circled the intact tower once, before settling in the courtyard.

A similar length of time to last night, then.

After a few minutes, Gwen eased her way back from the tree line. She stole away to her horse as quietly as possible and made camp without a fire.

📷

She was back at the tree line the next night. The knowledge that she was going to act had her on edge. Twice now she had jumped at a rustle in the leaves behind her. No one was there, of course. Probably the wind. Maybe a fox. Not a dragon.

She was getting cold while she waited. Her cloak had a hood, but with no fire overnight the damp seemed to have seeped into everything. Brambles dug into her side as she shifted position. She eased her sword in its scabbard as a nervous habit.

There. The clap of great wings, followed by the sight of the dragon rising over the crumbling walls. Her heart hammered hard enough to feel in her chest, her stomach, her ears. Surely she should be used to this sound by now? She lay very still until it was gone. Not quite the same direction as last night. Could she trust it would still be close to two hours? She didn’t have a whole lot of choice.

As soon as it was out of earshot, she ran. Scabbard held still in one hand, cloak held closed in the other, she dashed across the open fields. Letting both go might be faster, but tripping wouldn’t be fun, and she didn’t need full speed right now. She just needed to be fast enough. At least she’d left her bow at home – it would be no use against a dragon and would just slow her down.

She slowed as she approached the walls. The old moat had long reverted into a mere grassy hollow, barely visible unless you expected it. There was no point trying to find the drawbridge – this crumbling section of wall was good enough. She clambered up.

Turning to her left, she followed the dilapidated corridor toward the miraculously untouched tower. The dragon had circled it last night – she had to believe the princess was in there.

She reached the door at the top of the stairs. Locked. Not entirely unexpected – though a thousand years of rust had her hopeful that her dagger could be used to pry something loose. If not, well, there would be something in the rubble she could use as a crowbar. She wasn’t going to ruin her sword.

Nothing around the lock. Rust, yes, but the iron underneath was thick and strong. The hinges stretched across the entire door face, and the bolts holding them into the door were huge. She traced her fingers over them, refusing to let frustration overwhelm her.

Her fingertips traced the ornate hinges right to the edge of the door, and she stopped, barely breathing. The pins! They weren’t even rusted solid – this door could open. And the pins could be forced out.

She pulled a pritchel out of her belt bag. No idea why she’d taken it with her – she wasn’t going to be forging horseshoes on the road – but it was about the right size to push the pins out of the hinges. With them gone, the door fell towards her. She flinched, but it stopped falling when the lock caught it. She eased it open as far as it would go and stepped inside.

“Brave Sir Knight” came a melodious voice from deeper in the room. A beautiful young woman, somewhat below average height with a long golden plait, stepped out of the shadows. Her blue riding dress was travel stained, yet she carried herself with such grace and elegance that Gwen couldn’t look away. “May I see the face of my rescuer?”

📷