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txemrn · 1 year

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Pour Two Glasses

Chapter 6: "...Everything's Turned Upside Down"

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✨ Have you checked out this teaser video yet? Pour Two Glasses Teaser✨

Word Count: 6150 (+/-)

Series Synopsis: In the midst of a violent political war, Queen Riley Rys’s life is dismantled overnight, forcing her to flee Cordonia to live in hiding as a commoner with a loyal, best friend

Series Song Inspo: “Pour Two Glasses” by the Movielife

Chapter Song Inspo: "Broken Pieces Shine" by Evanescence

Series Warnings: 🔞 For Mature Audiences Only 🔞 angst; profanity; major character death; grief and mental health discussion; discussion of violence & war; alcohol use; NSFW material

A/N: I don't say this enough, so I hope it's okay I start this A/N with this message... to my beautiful readers: thank you, thank you, THANK YOU! I loved dreaming up this story, and knowing that y'all want more warms my heart! Thank you for all the messages, all the questions, and all of the encouragement! Please know I see each and every one of y'all, and I love y'all so dearly! Y'all are a huge part of P2G, and I can't thank you enough for being so kind! Sending out major hugs to each of y'all! 🖤

A/N 2: Characters and some plot references belong to our friends at Pixelberry. To my village, as always THANK YOU SO MUCH helping me bring this story to life! This was not beta'd, so please excuse my errors.

~🖤~

Riley spends most of her recovery time alone, secluded from the outside world. The stillness of the lonely mornings melt into the mundane hustle of the afternoons, and although time seems to pass before her eyes in a whirlwind blur, to the fallen queen, it trudges along slowly, creeping into her least favorite part of the day: the dark, listless nights.

Due to the multiple terrorist threats made against the monarchy, not to mention the two bombs found during a routine sweep of the palace, the royal guard, the local police along with Interpol agreed the safest place for the queen of Cordonia was inside her hospital room despite being discharged days ago.

Her physical therapist would visit on Mondays and Wednesdays while her doctors would visit Tuesdays and Fridays to ensure her recovery was on track. Healthcare workers were available upon request, but they would be accompanied by armed guards.

Drake, Olivia and Maxwell were given special clearance, and they kept to a round-the-clock schedule to ensure Riley was never alone.

That is, until she sent them away after the first week. Watching them grow ill with concern over her well-being added to her grief, and she hated being the reason for their stolen joy. Riley knew they meant well, and they never, ever complained for sitting by her side in complete silence. Even Maxwell toned down his enthusiasm in his attempts to make her happy. But Riley could see them slipping away into different versions of themselves, and the guilt festered in her heart.

Rarely sleeping and barely eating, Riley stopped taking her pain medications. She never would admit to her masochistic reasoning, but the physical discomfort served as a welcomed distraction from the agony she felt internally. She felt like she had little to no control over her life, but this, in a very sick, twisted way, this was hers.

It’s the following Friday, the small hours of the morning. Riley tosses and turns for another restless night of sleep as memories of only two weeks ago flash through her mind. Her husband’s funeral. The assassination attempt. Her own life unknowingly in the balances during a critical surgery.

With a subtle rumble in the distance, she opens an eye, and quickly notices the gathered rainclouds outside her lone, two-paned hospital window. Sitting up, she pulls on Liam’s sweatshirt before scooting the reclining chair in her room closer to the view of the angry sky.

The pelting raindrops and the howling wind put on quite the show, calming Riley's anxious heart. She used to love quiet moments with her late husband where they could share in the wonder of nature. As the storm continues to brew outside her room, her eyes grow heavy, the soothing sounds of the storm lulling her to sleep.

A sudden clap of lightning rips across the gray Cordonian sky, startling Riley awake. She quickly sits up, her chest heaving as her eyes adjust to the darkness of her master bedroom. Feeling her pulse rapidly thrum in her ears, she reaches for her husband; but she is met with cold, barren sheets, tossed against her side.

“Liam?” She sits on the side of the bed, slipping her house shoes on before standing to grab her robe. “Liam?” She cries out once more before the storm outside ignites the angry clouds with another crash of thunder. Gripping the fabric of her lapels in terror, she watches hypnotically as the countryside dims back into the darkness of night.

“Riley, my love.”

Riley turns with a gasp. Liam stands at the open French doors that lead to their balcony. The powerful winds flounce the curtains, billowing around his tall stature.

"I didn't mean to frighten you, darling." He takes Riley into his arms, laying her head intimately against his chest. "Did the storm wake you?"

At that moment, another crackle of thunder resounds, Riley instantly turning her attention to the open doors. Puddles gather around the terrace as sheets of rain pummel against the stone walls. Feeling her tremble in his arms, Liam tightens his embrace nuzzling his nose into his wife's dark locks.

"Mom used to point out how powerful the weather can be. Devastating homes. Sinking ships… and yet–" he takes a deep breath, "we're still here."

Riley loosens her grip. The cascades of heavenly water pour in a synchronized dance with the rumbles of thunder. The zephyr symphony lulls her into a trance as she marvels at the strength of the storm. Fierce. Intense.

And yet, we're still here.

"You'll survive this, too, my love–"

"Survive what–?" Riley looks up to her husband.

But he's gone; his arms no longer around her as his scent dissipates from the air they once shared. But something strange is left hanging in her hands: a small, worn receiving blanket, the name 'William' embroidered in the corner.

Huh?

Riley swivels anxiously around the room, her eyes wide as saucers. "Liam?" She cries out. "Please, baby," she looks in the other direction, but her husband is no where to be found. "Liam… I… I don't know…" her breath hitches, growing ragged as she finally slumps onto the ground. She looks at the blanket, her fingers tracing over the delicate stitching. "How, my love–?" She whispers under her sobs of helplessness. "How am I supposed to survive… without you?"

Suddenly, a bright light pours over her, the warmth of the sun shining on her porcelain skin.

“We’re not doing this anymore.”

Riley's eyes peek open, being met with beams of sunlight pouring through the window. She sees someone moving about the room, but her exhaustion refuses to allow her eyes to focus, and she quickly slumps back over.

"You need to get up, Riley."

Without warning, Riley’s blankets are abruptly pulled from her body. She sits up in her chair, rubbing her eyes. "Huh?"

"C'mon. Up, up!"

Finally coming to her senses, Riley zeroes in on the redhead bossing her around. And she scowls, relaxing back into her chair. "Olivia, I… come back later."

"No, ma'am." Olivia taps a lever on the recliner, shoving Riley into an upright position. "You are going to shower. I laid out some clothes for you," the duchess crosses her arms, "and you are going to rejoin the living."

"But–"

"Now," she claps her hands. "Scoot!"

Riley jumps up, grumbling under her breath as she moseys to the shower. Hearing the water turn on, Olivia smirks, playfully dusting off her hands. Satisfied with herself, she grabs a magazine and takes a seat, crossing her legs in victory.

After about twenty minutes, Riley emerges with a towel wrapped around her head along with a pair of jeans and a cotton tee.

"There. Happy, bossy britches?"

"Almost," Olivia offers a crooked smile. "Now that we've–eh–hosed you down, we need to work on getting that odor out of here. It smells like someone died in here–"

"Didn't they?" Refusing to make eye-contact, Riley remains stoic, down-trodden. She moves the linens around on her bed before curling up with a pillow.

"No." Olivia stands up, sauntering to her friend's bed. "They didn't." She takes a seat on the edge of the mattress, Riley's back facing her. "You, my dear, are very much alive. And it's time you start living as such."

"Liv, I…" Riley sighs. "I just don't feel like going out and rejoining society right now."

"Who said anything about rejoining society?" She takes Riley's hand. "I said that it's time to start living like you're alive." Riley turns around, arching a curious brow at Olivia. "I'm not saying you need to stop grieving; but I am going to make you shower. And eat. And not waste away."

A stale stillness falls between the old friends as Riley pulls the covers over her body. "I'm not in the mood," she mutters, sinking into her pillow.

Olivia lets out a heavy breath, standing up. She refuses to give up, unwilling to leave the queen's room. She leisurely paces around the space, folding and refolding her hands. The resounding click-clack of her steps are hypnotic, almost soothing as she twists her crimson pout in deep thought.

She understands that Riley is in mourning, and even though Olivia loved him, too, nothing would compare to the great loss of true love. But, still, she hates seeing Riley like this; they all do. But truth be told on matters of the heart, there is only one person that can get through to her.

"What would Liam say?"

Riley slowly turns, looking over her shoulder. "Excuse me?"

"Your husband," Olivia steps forward confidently, clasping her hands together. "He died a hero, protecting our country, protecting me… and you. What would he say now if he saw you like this?"

Riley furrows her eyebrows, her hands balling into fists. How dare she. Was Olivia seriously trying to make Riley feel guilty for grieving her late husband? For grieving the life she was starting with him? For grieving the life she was supposed to have with him?

"Olivia, I–"

"You'll survive this, too," Olivia interrupts.

The irritated expression on Riley's face abruptly melts into pure shock. Her eyes as Liam's words replay in her mind.

You'll survive this, too.

"I… I'm sorry, I …" she shakes her head in disbelief, "what did you say?"

"Ri," Olivia bounds to her side, grabbing Riley's hand endearingly in her hold. "You are one tough broad. You have proven that time and time again." Her lip begins to tremble, but she quickly stiffens her jaw. "Liam knew that. Hell, that's one of the reasons he fell in love with you." She sighs, her gaze bouncing back and forth in Riley's deep ocean eyes. "Losing Liam will be one of the most awful challenges you will ever have to face… but somehow wherever he is, I have to believe he is taking comfort that you are strong enough for this." She squeezes tightly on Riley’s fingers. "You'll survive this, too."

Riley stares at Olivia, processing what she was saying–especially the words that seemed to mirror Liam's.

And they're right. It feels like hell right now, and Riley can't even begin to fathom a life without her beloved… but he would want better for her. He lived a life so that she could have better.

It was time to start living.

------

"You're cheating!" Maxwell hisses, pointing an accusing finger at Olivia.

"I am not, Beaumont," the Scarlet Duchess shuffles through the cards in her hands. "You're just not good at counting to twenty-one."

"You've won each time you've been the dealer." He throws down his cards. "Shenanigans!"

Hugging her stomach tightly, Riley can’t help but laugh uncontrollably, her sides already in stitches. “Stop!” She gasps for air as she continues to titter. “I–I can’t!” She falls forward on her bed, her head hitting a pillow as her giggles fill the room. Maxwell and Olivia join in on the laughter, giving each other a subtle nod of relief. She’s coming back to life.

The three friends have spent most of the morning together at the hospital, catching up and playing games. To her visitor’s surprise, Riley decided she wanted to take a walk around the hospital–to areas that had been cleared by the royal guard, of course.

Together, they meandered to the hospital’s private prayer garden on a terrace just outside the pediatric floor. The warmth of the sun on her skin and the fresh scent of the potted greenery exhilarated her senses. The natural pink tone of her skin quickly returned to her cheeks, highlighting her genuinely bright smile as she scrunched her nose at the floral smells.

On the way back to her room, Riley walked by the newborn nursery. Stopping at the large window that showcased several cooing babies, wrapped in pink and blue receiving blankets, she pressed her fingertips gently against the glass, admiring each one silently. Although tears gather in her eyes, she begins to quietly talk to each chubby face, fussing over how adorable they are.

“Oh, you’re going to be trouble, mister, with those dimples…”

“Look at those beautiful black curls!”

“I know your mommy and daddy must love you so much…”

If only…

Finally making it back to her assigned floor, the friends were greeted by Riley’s primary physician and his assistant along with the best news ever: the palace passed its final security check. All Riley needed now was clearance through Interpol and one more physical–per the request of the Royal Council to ensure her health–and she would soon be on her way back home.

As the healthcare team exits, a sudden wave of surreality washes over the room. Going home. Riley hasn’t been home in almost three weeks, and even before that, she hasn’t slept in her own bed since the start of the Royal Wake. What would be waiting for her when she walked into her quarters? Is everything waiting for her to come home exactly how she left it? Exactly how he left it?

Biting her lip, she takes a moment of silence, her hand finding Liam’s rings on her necklace. She fiddles with his wedding band, the jewelry easily gliding onto her pointer finger. And that’s when she feels it: the inscription inside the gold band. And her eyes flutter close. Pour Two Glasses. Everything would be expecting her return.

Except him.

Riley shakes her head, glancing back up at Maxwell and Olivia. Giving them an appreciative grin, she grabs the deck of cards on her bedside table, blinking away her tears. “Best two out of three?”

------

The three friends have been playing for a little over an hour when there’s an abrupt knock at the door. A large smile grows across Riley’s face as the familiar smirk of her royal guard saunters into the room.

“There’s my hero,” Riley singsongs. From her bed, she extends her arms in the air, inviting Drake into a hug. A blush swirls across his cheeks as he leans in, tucking her petite body under his chin.

“How are you feeling?” He whispers before gently letting her go.

“I’m okay,” Riley nods. “I’m gonna be okay.” She pats the mattress next to her. “C’mon, partner,” she mimics a Texan accent. “Let’s teach these two how to play Texas Hold ‘Em.” Olivia rolls her eyes as Maxwell titters, pretending to throw a lasso around Drake.

Drake chuckles, pushing a fist into his pocket as he stares at the ground. “I wish I could, but–” he combs his fingers through his thick, chestnut hair as he gazes back up at his friends. “I got lucky and found a plane out of Munich at 5AM, so… I’m taking a train there. Tonight.”

“Oh my gosh,” Riley’s face etches with shock. “So soon?”

“When does the train leave?” Olivia’s eyebrows pinch together.

“In about–” he looks at his watch before snickering to himself. “About two hours.” A stillness falls across the friends, sharing sad, concerned looks. “C’mon, you guys,” Drake attempts to lighten the mood. “We knew this day was coming… and I’m coming back.”

“When?” Maxwell questions softly.

“I guess… when Mom…” he gnaws on the inside of his mouth, searching for the right words. “When… everything is taken care of, I guess.”

Riley climbs out of bed, throwing her arms around him in a tight embrace. “Don’t forget where your home is, Walker,” she sniffles.

“Like you’d let me forget?” He chuckles. His large arms envelope her against his chest as he nuzzles his nose into her curls, breathing her in deeply. His voice grows husky as he rests his lips against her head. “I’m going to miss you, Brooks.”

Riley pulls back, resting her hand on his upper arm. “I’m going to miss you, too.” A coy smile teases on his lips as a twinkle of hope illuminates his cognac eyes–that is, until Riley continues. “You’ve always been such a great friend. Liam sure hit the jackpot with you–” she turns to Maxwell and Olivia, “--with all of you.”

Drake nods agreeably, looking away from his best friend’s widow, chastising himself for having such fleeting thoughts of hope. He turns to Maxwell to give him a firm handshake before turning to Olivia. “Can I… talk to you? For a second?” He whispers to the redhead before looking back at Riley and Maxwell. He holds his hand up, waving goodbye before exiting the room with Olivia right behind him.

Riley glances towards Maxwell, offering a sympathetic grin and shrugging her shoulders. Their group of friends is shrinking, but at least they have each other.

“He’s so obvious,” Maxwell giggles, winking at the queen as he takes a sip of a glass of water.

Riley scrunches her eyebrows. “Obvious? About what?”

Maxwell freezes, staring at Riley as an awkward silence floods between them. “Uh… Nevermind, honey–”

They both startle as Olivia bounds back into the room, slipping back into her seat. Without making eye-contact, she crosses her legs before grabbing her playing cards, mindlessly rearranging them in her hand. She's unusually quiet and pensive, her eyebrows slightly wrinkled as she appears to be deep in thought about something.

"Is… everything okay?" Riley asks.

She peers up to Riley nervously, but within moments, a crooked smile forms on her cherry red pout. "Yes… of course." She glances back at her cards, but it's useless; there's too much she needs to say. "Ri, do you know what a black box is?"

"Like on a plane?" Maxwell clarifies with curiosity, folding his cards and resting them on the table. Olivia nods slowly as her attention shifts back to Riley.

"It records sounds, right?" Riley starts, her tone cautiously meek. "Sounds from inside the plane? So in the event it… it… well, you know…" Olivia softly bounces her head affirmatively, rolling her lips. "Did something happen?" Riley nervously titters, glancing at a confused Maxwell. "Was there something… something terrible on Liam’s recording?"

Olivia folds her cards, tapping the stack on the table. "No, it's just…" her words trail off as she remains lost in thought.

"Liv," Riley crosses her arms. "What are you trying to hide?"

Olivia sighs. "My apologies. I guess I'm trying to process it myself. Apparently the guard had their weekly briefing last night with Interpol. Drake had to turn in some last minute paperwork for his leave, so he was in attendance."

"What does this have to do with the black box?" Maxwell interjects.

"It's gone," Olivia blurts out. "It was never recovered from Liam's plane. So, there's a strong possibility that–"

"It was stolen," Riley interrupts.

"Precisely, meaning this was orchestrated by the coup somehow."

"Wait," Maxwell holds up his hands, "how did anyone know that was Liam's plane though? How would they know to specifically steal from that plane? Wasn't he supposed to be traveling incognito?"

Olivia nods, exhaling heavily. "They're launching an investigation… for possible espionage."

"An inside job?" Riley croaks, a lump forming in her throat. "From Cordonia?"

"We don't know just yet," Olivia reassures, "that's why they're looking into it. But I'm thinking they need some help… and I know just the person to ask."

Riley's room door suddenly slides open, surprising the group of friends. The doctor slowly steps in with the queen's medical chart, a solemn, almost grim expression etched on his face.

"I'm not sure I like the worried look in your eyes, sir," Riley anxiously giggles. "Don't tell me I'm staying here longer."

"Oh," he cordially forces a grin. "Your security, as well as the international police have cleared everything–"

"So she gets to go home?" Maxwell's breath baits with hope and excitement.

"Yes, yes. You get to go home. The guard will be in touch with you soon."

"Oh, thank God," Olivia smirks.

"Finally!" Maxwell exclaims, standing to his feet and ready to pack.

But Riley stays silent, her attention fixed on her physician. She can tell he has more to say. She can sense a sadness in his demeanor, putting her on edge, not ready to celebrate her homecoming just yet.

"What aren't you telling me, doctor?" She asks softly. "Is it my physical? Am… am I okay?"

The older man sets down Riley's chart, resting his hand on top of it as his endearing eyes find hers. "We need to talk."

"Is it serious?" Olivia interjects.

With a heavy sigh, the physician turns towards Maxwell and Olivia. "How about you two give us just a minute alone–?"

"No," Riley stops him. "I need… Can I have someone…?" Riley looks between Olivia and Maxwell, having a silent conversation of who should stay.

"I'll step out," Maxwell grabs his phone. "Let me make sure the guard is bringing an SUV and not a sedan," he winks.

As the door closes, the older man cautiously sits down next to Riley, taking her hand. She squeezes it tightly, preparing herself for the news he was about to share with her. Was something wrong? Was she dying?

"Never in a million years did I think you and I would be having this conversation," he exhales, pinching the bridge between his eyes. "This… this is completely out of my scope of practice, so I will be referring you to a specialist, but–"

"Sir," Riley stops him. "Please… just… tell me the truth."

------

Riley paces back and forth, ringing her hands in between biting her nails.

“Will you sit down–?”

“And what, Olivia?” She tosses her hands in the air, allowing her arms to slap carelessly against her sides. “What am I supposed to do now?”

“Well,” Olivia scoffs, “for starters, you are going to calm down–”

“Calm down?” Riley twirls around, a wave of fury crashing over her features. Her blood-shot eyes stare daggers into her red-headed friend. “You heard the damn doctor. This… this can’t be happening. And… you…” she presses a hand to her chest, her breathing labors as a sob rips through her chest. “You actually expect me to be okay? With this?”

“Riley,” Olivia calls her name sternly, “take a moment. Things could–”

“--could be worse?” She finishes her words. “How, Livvy?” She covers her face with her hands as she wanders aimlessly in the room. “Oh God,” she whispers hoarsely, her voice hidden by her tears. “When this gets out–”

“It won’t.”

Riley tisks, mocking Olivia. “This won’t stay a secret for long. And when it gets out, an even bigger bullseye will be painted on my back. They hate the Rys name. They will attack again–”

“Other monarchs have gone through similar situations, and their health concerns have been kept under wraps. The council will be sure of it–”

“The council?” Riley looks off, shaking her head. “They already want to get rid of me. You know the law. I can no longer serve as the reigning queen. I’m not Cordonian–-”

“You will always be a queen, Riley. The council will support you–”

“--they’ll expedite getting rid of me.” Riley collapses into the recliner in her room. She hangs her head in her arms as her elbows rest on her knees. “The council is looking out for what’s best for Cordonia, especially now that the throne has been attacked–not once, but twice. They’re searching for stability; they’re looking to rebuild their leadership, and that starts with the throne. I fear that… I fear that as long as there's still a Rys, Cordonia will never see peace.”

Olivia pulls her chair closer, laying a hand on Riley’s shoulder. “The war won't last forever. And this? This could be your ticket. The throne is the only thing left to protect you–”

“These traitors want every part of the Rys name destroyed, and without Liam, my days on the throne are already numbered. When they find out…” she exhales a pained breath. “Even If I could hide behind the council, the Combattants will return to finish the job. They know I’m still here. I’m on every goddamn news report!”

“Riley, you–”

“I can’t do this.” She abruptly stands up, rushing past Olivia as she grabs her suitcase. She begins piling her belongings into the dividers. “I need to go–”

“Home,” Olivia interjects, placing her hands on Riley’s trembling hands. "Let's take you home where you're safe."

Riley shakes her head. “N–no, I need to go. I need to leave.” She grabs her phone. “I need a ticket back to the States–”

“Riley Rys. Slow. The fuck. Down. You’re not thinking–”

“I can’t be here another moment. I have to go. I need to hide–”

“Where? Where are you going to hide?” Olivia scoffs, folding her arms. “Even if you could, all air travel has been suspended to and from Cordonia until further notice. That’s why poor Walker had to take a train.”

Riley stills. She glances over at her friend as an abrupt realization washes over her expression.

Drake.

“You.”

Olivia raises an eyebrow. “Me?”

“According to Cordonian law, you’re next in line if something were to happen to me–”

“Hold up,” Olivia raises her hands in surrender. “If, and that’s a big if, something were to happen to you, yes, I would be crowned. But, that’s not how this works. You’re still alive, therefore the council–”

“What if I was incapacitated?”

Olivia lets out a condescending laugh. “You are being ridiculous, you know that?”

“No, I’m being serious.” Riley grips tightly to Olivia’s shoulders, forcing her to listen. “The council hasn’t stripped me of my title as reigning queen yet, and as long as I’m the reigning monarch, I can claim a medical leave-of-absence… which means–”

“You appoint the replacement during the hiatus," Olivia smirks sarcastically, pulling away from Riley's. "Not gonna happen."

"Olivia, please."

"And what are you going to do? Huh? You still need medical care. Hiding isn't exactly easy when you're the queen of an entire country–"

"But–"

"--that is grieving their king–"

"But–"

"--and their queen has been all over international news for surviving an assassination attempt." Riley huffs, rolling her eyes as Olivia continues. "You'll leave fingerprints everywhere you go. And I'm not saying they're going to try and track you down… but those bastards were able to find Liam. Running and hiding? It… it's pointless. Stay. Trust the council. We can protect you."

Riley chews on her lip, her attention locked on her friend. "No. That's not good enough. Not anymore." Her eyelids flutter as she takes a deep breath. "I think I've got an idea."

------

The rhythmic pulse of the train car lulls Drake into a hypnotic relaxed state, and before long, he succumbs to the exhaustion of the past six weeks. Resting his head against the window, he watches as the Cordonian countryside flashes before his vision until finally his eyes close.

Furrowing his brows, however, he hears loud, indiscernible voices outside of his state room. When the conversation finally ends, he readjusts himself in his chair, using his discarded denim shirt as a make-shift pillow.

His door abruptly slides open.

Fuck.

He grimaces, quickly turning to address his unwanted interruption.

But his face falls in shock.

"Brooks?"

"Hi," she smiles meekly, removing her oversized sunglasses and hat. "Can I… come in?"

"Yeah," Drake jumps up, removing his carry-on bags from the second seat. He gestures to the spot next to him. "Please."

Riley gingerly sits down, her eyes transfixed to the gorgeous scenery flashing by outside the large train window. Drake slowly lowers himself into his chair, his disbelief frozen on his face as he stares at his good friend.

Feeling his gaze on her, Riley tears away from her reverie. She chuckles nervously, coyly shrugging her shoulders. "Surprised?"

The corner of Drake's mouth turns up. "That's one way to put it." He runs a hand through his thick, tousled hair as he notices her bandages peeking through her shirt. "I'm guessing you were given the 'all clear'? They discharged you?"

Riley's attention averts back to the window, staring at the whirls of the evergreen hills melting with the watercolor sky. Her eyes begin to glaze over, forgetting to even blink as she mindlessly chews on her bottom lip. She holds her hands in her lap, ringing them incessantly as she fidgets with her fingers.

"Riley?"

She blinks quickly, her attention returning to Drake, his hand gripping onto her arm to steady her. “Hrmm?”

"I've been calling your name for a few minutes." His eyebrows knit with worry. "Are you… are you okay?"

Riley opens her mouth, but is unable to form words. She picks at her chipped manicure as she presses her tongue to her cheek.

"I, um… I need your help." She glances back up to Drake, her eyes wide in fear.

"O…Kay. Sure," he leans closer to her, resting his elbows on his knees. "Ri, what's going on?"

------

The clatter of heels reverberates through the main corridor of the ultra-modern, ultra-sleek estate of Monterisso. Though she has not come across another soul, she knows plenty of eyes are hidden in nooks and crannies, watching her every move in the form of motion detectors and cameras. Coming to the pristine royal office, she gives a firm knock on the oversized, cherry wood door before inviting herself in.

"Olivia Nevrakis." A sultry voice calls from the large, tufted leather chair on the opposite side of the room.

The red head sardonically snickers before crossing her arms, popping her hip to the side. "Alright, Amalas," she sasses, "how did you know it was me?"

A beautiful woman with long espresso tresses and darkened, exotic features slowly turns her chair around to face her visitor. She smirks at her long-time friend, extending her arm to show off her impressive display of monitors with live-feed surveillance to every entrance into the palace.

The Scarlet Duchess wriggles up her nose, rolling her eyes. "Of course."

"You know?" Amalas stands up, sauntering her curves slowly to her icy guest. "Most people address me as 'your majesty'--"

"Not today," Olivia bites, raising an eyebrow.

Amalas sighs, leaning against the front-side of her desk. “What do you want, Livvy?”

"I have an important proposal for you."

“We don’t have an appointment.”

“I need your help.”

The Spy Queen steps forward, crossing her arms. "You? You are in need of some help?" She lets out a boisterous laugh as she sneaks closer to her unexpected guest. She motions with her pointer finger for Olivia to come closer to listen. "You know," she whispers, "you were supposed to call me the next morning."

With a deep rouge blossoming across her cheeks, Olivia steps back, scoffing into a chuckle. Amalas furrows her eyebrows with a mischievous smirk.

Checkmate.

Four months ago, after years of stolen glances and secret trysts, Amalas invited Olivia to her estate for a low-key, intimate weekend to discuss the possibilities of taking their relationship to the next level. And public. After one last night of passion, Amalas woke up to an empty bed with a note that said, 'I'll call. -Liv"

She never did.

Now with Olivia seeking a favor, Amalas is tickled. As far as good deeds, alliances and negotiations, she just made it abundantly clear that she has the upper-hand. And Olivia just realized she fucked up.

Satisfied with her visitor’s reaction, Amalas turns on her heel and walks back to her desk. "You can see yourself out."

The red head sneers into a sarcastic snicker, stepping forward. "Oh c'mon, Amalas–"

"If you didn't need me then," Amalas spins around, irritated. "You don't need me now, Nevrakis." She takes a seat before shuffling through some folders and papers. "Oh,” she looks up, void of emotion, “please shut the door when you leave. Thanks."

Olivia storms forward. "Amalas, this isn't about me–about us. This is for Cordonia and finding who was responsible for Liam's death–"

Amalas stops abruptly, a stack of papers held motionless in her hand. Swallowing thickly, she glances up at Olivia. "Liam's death… was an unfortunate result of this damn war."

"Yes, but he was a mediator."

Amalas raises an eyebrow. "Your point?"

Olivia puts her palms flat on the large, ornate wooden desk. "My point is that they always protect political mediators. Liam's location was always highly confidential. No one, and I mean no one knew his whereabouts."

Amalas stacks her document on her desk. Taking a deep, cleansing breath, she leans back in her chair, resting her chin on her palm. "So?"

"That plane was obliterated, Ams. Someone hunted it down and destroyed every last piece of it.”

The queen smirks. “And did you know that Les Combattants de la Liberté are military-trained?”

“But–”

“Military-trained,” Amalas holds up a hand, her words louder. “Taking out Liam’s aircraft like that?” She shakes her head slowly. “It’s not a huge feat for them. They are literally trained to take out any enemy in the blink of an eye.”

“Ams,” Olivia subtly wipes away a tear before clenching her jaw. “You’re not listening to me.”

Amalas sighs. "Look." She lowers her voice, her eyes finding Olivia’s piercing jades. “Liam was a friend of mine, too, babe.” She bites her lip, turning to a gold picture frame on the corner of her desk. The photograph hosts a pair of young, bright smiles, she in her lacy white and him looking dapper than ever. A lump forms in Amalas’s throat as she begins to fidget with the gold band that remains on her left finger. “I know when something tragic happens to the ones we love, we want someone to pay for it, as if revenge will somehow heal our loneliness because the grief alone is too heavy–much too heavy for one person to bear–”

“The black box is missing,” Olivia interjects.

Amalas's face slowly falls into a suspicious confusion, her forehead wrinkling. “What?”

“The black box. You know? It’s supposed to record–”

Amalas holds up her hand, “Yeah, yeah, I know. What do you mean it’s missing?”

“I mean it’s never been recovered.”

Amalas’s jaw ticks as she stares at Olivia. Silence consumes the room, save for the ticking of the queen's watch, growing painfully louder by the second. But without warning, intrigue finally blooms across Amalas’s face, and her heart softens to hear Olivia’s request. Justice for Liam. Justice for Cordonia.

The black box is designed to withstand the blistering temperatures of a fire and the crushing impact of the engulfing pressures of the deep. The thought of such precious equipment, of actual recordings of the last moments of that cockpit, of King Liam… if they were actually removed with malicious intent, then Olivia is right. Classified information was leaked, Liam was specifically targeted, and this coup is a lot more dangerous and a lot more in control of this war than projected.

“Well, Ms. Nevrakis, I believe you have my attention.”

Olivia smirks as she pulls up a chair.

“Oh!” Amalas stands up from her desk, “I’m sorry. Just… not right now.” She looks at her watch. “I actually have a very important meeting right now.”

Olivia scoffs. “With who?”

“Oddly enough, I have an important meeting with the Queen of Cordonia.”

A Cheshire grin crawls across Olivia’s face as she opens up her arms as if to present herself as a gift. “Well, oddly enough, the Queen of Cordonia is already in your presence.” Shock consumes Amalas as her jaw drops open, Olivia snickering under her breath. “You can address me as ‘your majesty,’ Queen Amalas.”

------

"I–I don't know… how to say this," Riley stammers, anxiously pulling at her necklace that held her late husband's rings.

Drake keeps his gaze locked on her, a pit growing in his stomach. They had said their goodbyes less than three hours ago; what could possibly have changed?

Was it a threat? Was her life being threatened again by the Combattants? No way. This wouldn't warrant the queen of Cordonia herself to board a train in hopes to catch her former royal guard to deliver such a message. Drake would probably get a phone call about it, but as of yesterday, he was relieved from his duties until further notice.

So… what was it?

“Riley?” His voice is gruff, but sincere. Their gazes meet, a vacant sadness in her eyes as she searches his for… something. Strength? Hope? Understanding?

Drake stops her from fidgeting with her jewelry, taking her petite hand into his own large, calloused palm. "It's… it's okay. We don't have to talk about this right now if you don't want to, but I–"

"Drake, I–" Her eyelashes flutter closed as tears course down her pink stained skin. "--I'm so sorry, I–"

"Hey," he hums softly, "shhhh, it's okay." He pulls her closer to his side, wrapping an arm around her shoulder. He gently rubs a thumb over her skin to gently dry her cheeks. "Listen," his voice remains low, soothing. "You have nothing to be sorry about. It's been," he sighs, "a rough couple of months, and… well, no matter what, Brooks, you know I'm here for–"

“I’m pregnant.”

~🖤~

Thank you so much for your support! Every like, comment and reblog means the world to me! 🖤

~🖤~

Tags (please let me know if you wish to be added/removed)

PERMA

@alj4890 @ao719 @charlotteg234 @issabees @kat-tia801 @kingliam2019 @mainstreetreader @mom2000aggie @neotericthemis @nikirennie87 @peonierose @socalwriterbee @tessa-liam

ALL TRR

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POUR TWO GLASSES

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cassie-thorne · 10 months

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QUEEN AMALAS.

I NEED HER AND OLIVIA PLS IM BEGGING I KNOW SHES HERE😤😤😤😤

#playchoices #choices stories you play #crimes of passion #crimes of passion 2 #trystan thorne #olivia nevrakis #queen amalas #Choices book club

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zahrafilms · 2 years

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Olivia: I'm not saying all my problems were caused by my family and Anton and the Cordonia folks reliving 24/7...

Olivia: but my girlfriend, friends and five therapists confirmed the exact same thing.

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a-cloud-for-dreams · 6 months

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Me when an LI I have never flirted with flirts with me

#RC is actually so good?! or at least this book is intriguing so far don’t wanna jinx it Imao #also amala is soooo gorgeous love herr #playchoices #romance club #the billionaire's baby #wolf bride #queen b #ian kingsley #the nanny affair #wb bastien #sam dalton #amala khan #kali call of darkness

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witchcraftandburialdirt · 6 months

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🎶?

✧ ── 𝐌𝐮𝐬𝐢𝐜 𝐌𝐞𝐦𝐞

🎶 : SONG FOR AMALA HOPE IT HAUNTS YOU - CITIZEN SOLDIER

Left me flesh and bone I gave you everything Empty, all alone My regret is all that's left of me I let you in so deep Can't get you out I'm seeing red I can't forgive I can't forget You're always in my head You stole my sanity I'll never be the same I hope it haunts you I hope it haunts you

#music meme #burntscars #amala feels like she is #simultaneously in so so much pain #but has so much hidden anger #and honestly we stan a queen

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lvreervl · 2 years

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“ Quiero sentir que todo va a estar bien, incluso si hay demasiados vacíos ”

#doja cat #amala ratna zandile dlamini #beautiful #talented #style #fashion #glam #queen #vocal queen #woman #music #makeup #sexy #photoshoot #spanish

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notgoingwell · 11 months

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#vid recs #amala ekpunobi #amala ekpunobi: unapologetic #media commentary #race swap #diversity #representation #pandering #social commentary #queen charlotte #netflix queen charlotte #bridgerton #cleopatra #netflix cleopatra #social justice #activism #rewriting history #aubrey plaza #elon musk

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storyofmychoices · 9 months

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Shadows and Deception: Parts I & II

[Series Masterlist] [My Choices Masterlists]

Books: The Royal Romance (post-TRF), Crimes of Passion I, Desire & Decorum, Blades of Light and Shadow I

Characters: Trystan Thorne (M, no race mentioned), Marguerite Thorne, Olivia Nevrakis, Queen Amalas, Maxwell Beaumont, Daniel, King Liam (no race mentioned), Tyril Starfury, Nia Ellarious, Prince Hamid

Pairings: Olivia Nevrakis x Queen Amalas ; M!Trystan Thorne x (no gender given) MC (mentioned) ; King Liam x Riley (mentioned)

Rating/Warnings: Teen, mentions of blood, stab wound, knives/daggers (no graphic descriptions)

Word Count: Part I: ~500; Part II: ~600 : total ~1,100

Summary: In the heart of Cordonia's grand ballroom, the joyous celebration is broken by a piercing scream, a dead body, and a room full of royal suspects.

I. Every man at the bottom of his heart believes that he is a born detective. (John Buchan)

The grand ballroom of the royal palace in Cordonia thrived with laughter and music, an elegant sight to behold. Crystal chandeliers hung from the ornate ceiling, casting a warm golden glow over the festivities below. The walls, painted in a regal combination of light blue and gold, added to the grandeur of it all. The air was filled with the soft strains of classical music accompanied by the merriment of the guests and the occasional sound of clinking champagne flutes.

Trystan Thorne, the exiled prince of Drakovia, stood amidst the revelry, basking in the indulgent event. It had been far too long since he had attended a proper ball, and yet he missed the thrill and danger of New York.

Trystan sipped his champagne, the bubbles dancing on his tongue. He twirled a small silver key between his fingers, a mischievous glint in his eyes. He watched as the unusual trinket glinted in the lights, thinking back to how it had made its way to him earlier that evening. A party guest had bumped into him, planting the key in his jacket pocket. When he turned to confront them, they were simply gone. He tucked the key safely back in his pocket—a mystery he was certain to solve before the night was out.

Olivia Nevrakis, the Duchess of Lythikos, glided through the throngs, her graceful movements offering no sign of the ornate daggers concealed beneath her elegant attire. Her keen gaze swept the ballroom, analyzing each guest with a shrewd eye, ready for any trouble they might find, and perhaps, even instigating a bit of her own.

Amalas, the enigmatic Queen of Monterisso, watched the festivities with a calculating gaze, much like that of her girlfriend. Known as the spy queen, she understood that knowledge was power, and her charming smile masked her relentless pursuit of secrets. Her sharp eyes scanned the crowd, seemingly aware of every whisper and hidden conversation. Hushed warnings of her deep influences and secret alliances found their way to her. A smirk pulled on her lips; if only people truly knew what they thought barely scratched the surface of her reach.

Tyril Starfury, the Elven Lord of House Starfury, stood tall and vigilant against the ballroom wall. He questioned his invitation to the royal ball, and even further his own agreement to attend. He had no interest in celebrations of such kind, which was to say, any forced large gathering of people. Tyril's noble demeanor masked his magical prowess, while his sword reminded guests of his commitment to protect the realm from any and all threats: magical or human. He continued his watch—a silent guardian.

Prince Hamid, the Imperial Prince of the Ottoman Empire, exuded elegance and charisma. His noted wealth and good fortune were the talk of the ball. His formal demeanor hid his tender heart, but his infectious smile and penchant for gentlemanly flirtation drew admirers from all over the kingdoms to his table.

The festivities continued in abundance, celebrating the birth of Princess Ariana of Cordonia—King Liam and Queen Riley's third child. Despite the laughter, enchantment, and cheers filling the halls of the Cordonian Palace, a dark cloud loomed over the proceedings, ready to send a thunderous shockwave through the kingdom, changing what should have been a joyous event into a deadly affair.

II. Have patience and endure; this unhappiness will one day be beneficial. (Ellery Queen)

The sharp, unnerving scream of the priestess, Nia Ellarious, pierced through the grand ballroom, instantly shattering the joyous atmosphere. The music ceased, and the air grew heavy with uncertainty and tension as guests turned their attention toward the commotion.

Nia stumbled back, her eyes wide with horror, as others rushed to her side. Their gasps of horror filled the room as their gaze fell upon the lifeless body sprawled in the shadows. A pool of crimson seeped from beneath him, a fresh knife wound evident, but no blade was found at the scene.

“What do we have here?” Maxwell Beaumont, the charismatic Lord of House Beaumont, known for his love of dancing and squids, swiftly made his way to the scene, hoping to be of assistance. His normally jovial expression turned grave as he approached the lifeless body. His eyes widened in shock and disbelief as he recognized the face before him. "No—" He barely uttered, words failing him for the first time in his life.

"Who is he?" A guardsman asked.

"He looks familiar," another replied.

"Daniel." Maxwell's voice was faint, a mix of sorrow and disbelief. "He is a waiter—was—he was a waiter... and my friend." He knelt beside Daniel, taking care not to step in the blood. "I can't believe it. Why Daniel?" His eyes closed, the weight of the situation sinking in. Maxwell's mind raced, and his thoughts swirled with concern and determination.

"Are you certain, Lord Beaumont?" Finding no reply, the guard repeated his question.

"Yes." He nodded, inhaling deeply before standing and taking a step back.

"I hate to question you, but it's my duty," the guard began. "When was the last time you saw Daniel?"

"This morning." He shook his head. "No, it was just before the party."

"What was the nature of your conversation?"

“If I knew this—I wouldn’t have—” He began uneasily. “You're going to find out anyway—"

"Out of my way." She brushed through the crowds. "You've got to be kidding me—" Olivia Nevrakis approached Maxwell with a sardonic smile, her tone laced with subtle superiority as she cut off the rest of his answer to the guard. "What do you think you're doing? Trying to solve murders now? Leave that to those with proper experience. I trust your talents are better suited for organizing grand parties—” she gestured around to the lavish decorations. “—and indulging in extravagant games of whimsy."

Maxwell nodded thoughtfully and recomposed himself. "How right you are.” A hint of his playful tone returning. Without another word, he stepped away. The corner of his lips turned up as he left her with the body.

"That was too easy," she mumbled, her gaze narrowing on him. Olivia took a few steps forward, following his pace before halting. Her head shook in amusement at her raised suspicions. She almost laughed at herself, 'Beaumont couldn't hurt a fly! How could he have had anything to do with this?'

As she readied to turn back to the more pressing issue, something caught her eye, a glimmer of silver on the floor near her feet. She knelt down and reached for it, her fingers closed around a used syringe. With a quick, discreet motion, she concealed the needle, determined to investigate if and how it fits into this unfolding puzzle.

Her body straightened, and her tone became assertive as she quickly took control of the scene, aiding her skills to the ever-incompetent guard. She barely took note of the Thorne siblings lingering separately around the periphery, each taking mental notes of their own careful observations.

[Continue...]

Thanks for reading! I hope you are enjoying the set up for the mystery. Parts I & II introduce some of the characters that we'll see more in the story and give you the first look at the mystery at hand. Tomorrow I'll post the next two parts which will begin to look at rumors circulating the ballroom about possible motives and see who are being considered people of interest. Then things get really interesting on Sunday, when the murder weapon is found and an unlikely prime suspect emerges! The conclusion will be posted Monday! Happy sleuthing!

Giveaway Information: complete details here

3 winners will be chose for minimalist portraits with @bayleedrawsx

Any one who comments on or reblogs with a comment with their theories, thoughts, ideas, ect. on any and all sections of the story will be entered in the giveaway. (1 entry per section)

Prompts: For @choicesbookclub COP ; @choicesmonthlychallenge Private Investigator Event

Special thanks: to JenBeaumontJones (IG) for beta reading

#playchoices #choices game #the royal romance #blades of light and shadow #crimes of passion #desire & decorum #choices fan fiction #tyril starfury #trystan thorne #marguerite thorne #nia ellarious #maxwell beaumont #olivia nevrakis #queen amalas #prince hamid #lovealexhunt #choices book club

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asumofwords · 9 months

Text

Smoke, Fire and Ash

Warnings: This fic includes noncon, dubcon, manipulation, violence, death, forced marriage, and inc3st. Tags will be added as the fic goes on. Angst, violence, fear, anxiety, PTSD, mentions of rape.

This is a dark!fic. 18+ only. Read at your own discretion. Please read the warnings before continuing.

Summary: You are the eldest daughter of Rhaenyra and Daemon Targaryen. You are forced to navigate the difficult surroundings of your upbringing and the eventual disintegration between your family and the Hightower's relationship. What will happen when your older and estranged uncle suddenly takes a more sinister interest in you? (Dark!Aemond x Reader)

Masterlist

Characters: Aemond Targaryen X Reader, HOTD characters.

Note: Full speed ahead from here... Buckle the fuck in my babies, let's get this show on the road! I think we all knew that something was coming and here we are... Rapid fire posting from here on out, are you ready? Again, as always, thank you, thank you, thank you all so very much for all your love and continued support! You guys have made writing this so much fun! <3

Chapter 97: Consequences

The sun rose slowly that morning, the room being cast in its gentle warm glow.

Shadows danced across the wall, growing larger with every hour that passed, and every crawling step that the sun took to get higher and higher in the sky.

You laid as you were, nestled beneath the sheets, with your hand still reaching for the blade Aemond had gifted you upon his departure.

Always ready.

Always waiting.

For him.

The maids woke alongside the sun, stretching long arms above their bodies to straighten their spines, vertebrae’s clicking into place and aches settling into their muscles after sleeping on chaises and chairs for many nights straight.

They rose, and helped you rise, dressing you in a deep black and red skirt, with a black leather bustier top. The shoulders were cuffed with metal, with long dripping hoops of chains that pressed cooly against the bare skin of your arms. The neck was high fitting, and splayed outwards like dragon wings.

As you sat at the table, waiting for the two girls to bring you food to break your fast, Amala entered first, a short bow, and the quietest of apologies on her tongue. The action caused panic to rear its ugly head within you, and so you darted your head backwards towards the bed, seeking out the place you knew the blade to be hidden, with your eyes.

Movement in your periphery, you turned your head, and met the deep brown eyes of Alicent Hightower, dressed in an even deeper green gown, tight arms and stiff neck, standing in your chambers.

“Good Morrow, Princess.” She greeted you, hands clasped gently at her front.

Your brows twitched as you looked at her, “Alicent.”

The Dowager Queen walked towards you slowly, “I thought I might join you to break our fasts together.”

You blinked at the Hightower. Her hair was half up, half down, pinned away from her face in a thick braid that Helaena used to wear across the top of her scalp, auburn wisps curling away from her face, escaping the style.

You opened your palm towards Aemond’s empty seat. A silent invitation to join you. A motion for her to sit. An unlikely guest in your chambers whom you had no real power to turn away.

A guest in whom you had to welcome regardless of the desire to slit her throat.

Alicent moved slowly, as though she was floating across the stones. Her feet did not make sounds as she walked, an entirely silent ordeal that made you see Alicent in Aemond in more ways than you had thought before.

Both having to have been seen and not heard. Quiet and dutiful. It was all there, the reflection of a mother in her son. The silent resentment of all those around. The even quieter pain that lingered behind the pairs eyes, pain from duty, pain from having no voice, pain from being trapped to the shadows of men before them.

Pulling out her chair, she seated herself down, eyes flicking about the chambers in inspection.

What she was looking for, you did not know.

It was not long until Joanna, helped by Amala, brought in the food and plates for the both of you. It was as if the Queen had planned this breakfast, and that it was not at all as spur of the moment as she wished it to seem.

Alicent Hightower was always making calculated moves.

You wondered what this one was for.

“And how are you?” She asked gently, thanking the girls as they bowed and left the chambers for you to be alone with the older woman.

You cleared your throat, serving yourself a plate of food as you stared at her. You let out a deep sigh through your nose and responded, “I have been better.”

There was no point in lying to her, nor did you wish to soothe any anxieties she, in your opinion, was most likely to have. And though you wished to have nothing to do with the woman seated opposite you, there was no denying the similarities that you both shared. The combined struggle that the both of you would understand, even wordlessly.

You were both women.

Alicent mirrored your actions, serving herself a plate of eggs, toast and cooked tomatoes, “It seems to be something we can all agree on.”

You blinked at her.

“What happened to you,” She began, hands placed delicately in her lap, which you knew to mean she was picking at the skin of her nails, “Was a horrific set of unforeseen circumstances. The Gods-“

“Unforeseen.” You hummed, picking up your goblet of fresh juice taking a sip, “Unforeseen for myself and Aemond, perhaps. But the King and his Council knew that I was to be brought to the Throne Room that day. You knew.”

Alicent cut herself a piece of toast, smearing egg onto its crispy surface, “I had cautioned the King against such an-“

“Alicent, you could not caution an ant if you wished.” You breathed, cutting into your own toast with far more vigour than needed.

“Aemond was not privy to know-“

“As I am now aware.” You swallowed the bread thickly, “Please be transparent about your coming today.”

Alicent’s doe-y features hardened, and the calculating serpent you had become accustomed to, was revealed to the room, though her eyes still stayed soft, “I came to speak to you about my son.”

“Which one? The rapist, my husband, or the corpse?”

The reminder of Daeron set Alicent’s teeth on edge, jaw clenched as she stared at you, “Aemond.” She grit out.

“My husband then." You gave her a clipped smile, "What did you need to speak to me of, which you could no doubt ask him yourself? Do you not have a better relationship with him than I?”

“I wished to hear it from your own lips.”

“My lips have said many things about your sons, my husband especially. What does the famed Green Queen want to know?” You sighed, munching on some star fruit as the Lady Alicent Hightower struggled to keep her frustrations at bay.

“Do you love him?”

You laughed.

You didn’t mean to.

But you just did.

Alicent was not impressed, and seemed all together confused.

“If I did not love him, I would not be here still.”

“You would. It is a marriage-“

“-I would have thrown myself from the window like Helaena if I did not, or ripped his throat out with my teeth..." You paused, "Or yours."

It was blunt.

Raw.

And hurt the both of you.

You strummed your fingers against the table loudly, looking down as you contemplated your next words.

“I love him. That is the truth of it. A sick and twisted truth if anything, but something I could have never fought. The Gods made us for each other. It is known. But my love for him does not outweigh the hurt he has inflicted upon me. He is still a Kinslayer.”

Alicent tilted her head, leaning back in her chair, chestnut waves falling over her shoulder, “As are you." One singular eyebrow raised, "I think you seem to forget.”

“How can one forget a life one took?" You spoke flatly, disinterested in the actions of the past, "My only consolation was that it was war when I did it. Aemond however, pushed the first piece on the board to start the others that fell. Like mother, like son.”

Alicent ate another piece of her eggs daintily, lifting to her lips with her fork, before swallowing, “The both of you are Kinslayers, acursed in the eyes of the people.”

You gave her a toothy grin, “Then what better way than to have those who are acursed as Kinslayers to be wed to each other. It would surely bring damnation and shame to any other husband or wife and their House, but the Gods made it so that we are together as one. In actions. In sin. In love. A small mercy really.”

Alicent gave an uneven smile, placing her cutlery back onto her plate, “It's strange, I must admit. The predicament we find ourselves in. But if anything, I am glad that it was you. That meek Baratheon girl would not have survived my son, I'm afraid.”

You frowned, and Alicent continued, “I would have no better match for Aemond. You have both always loved each other. You know each other better than anyone else, and at times, though it pains me to admit it, you know my son better than I do. You see him. All of him. The good and the bad. My parts that played in it, and yours. And I believe the Seven helped to bring you together.”

“It was the Old Gods, not the Seven.”

Alicent merely stared at you for a time, picking her napkin up to dab at her lips before placing the napkin back on the table, “With any luck, Aemond should return soon.” She stood, pushing her chair back as she smoothed out her skirts.

“Godspeed.” You prayed, and watched as she bowed and left your chambers.

You finished your breakfast without the presence of the Dowager Queen, and when you were done, you made your way down to the Library to read.

When you entered the Library it was quiet and still, with one lone servant stoking the flames in the large fireplace, placing three to four large logs inside carefully.

As they heard your entrance, they bowed at the hip, keeping their face to the ground before they scuttled out of the room like a rodent.

You perused the isles of books for some time, fingers tracing over the worn spines, and dusted covers. Leather and embroidered tomes combined. As you came to one isle in particular, you thought back on the way Aemond had taken you against the shelves, face diving between your folds, his tongue lapping at you feverently before spearing you upon his cock.

Your core clenched at the memory.

Picking a tome at random, you pulled the heavy leather bound book from the shelf, making your way to seat yourself before the fire as you opened it up in your lap. The first page was worn, and faded, but the script was slanted beautifully by a careful hand.

‘Maegor the Cruel, The Usurpation of Aegon the Uncrowned, and The Seven Faith Militant. A History.’

You had picked quite the intense read, but began it nonetheless.

‘Maegor the First was the son of King Aegon the First and his eldest sister-wife, Queen Visenya Targaryen. Maegor was born of fire and blood, the prodigy of Aegon the Conqueror, A King who laid waste to all the realms who did not bend the knee on the back of Balerion the Black Dread. Maegor the Cruel had an older half-brother, Aenys the First, who was said to be a fair and just Prince.’

The day floated by as you read the history of Maegor and his violent rise to power.

‘Maegor had six wives, to which the Faith strongly rebuked, polygamy a sin in the eyes of the Seven Faith. Ceryse Hightower, and Alys Harroway - who was later killed by his third wife Tyanna of the Tower. Then, there were the Black Brides; Elinor Costayne, Jayne Westerling, and his niece, Rhaena Targaryen.’

The warmth of the fire settled over you gently, and your eyes excitedly read each page as you got more and more into the violence of the Cruel King. You had read the history once before, but you had been young and under the Septa’s supervision, which made learning about him boring and irksome.

By now you had gotten half way through the tome.

‘At the death of his father, Aegon the First, his brother Aenys ascended the throne. Maegor was still exiled for his sins in marrying a second wife, and soon after his ascent to the Iron Throne, King Aenys passed. Maegor seized the throne, and crowned himself King. Yet his rule would not be an easy one. Some moons later, Prince Aegon, Maegor’s nephew, laid claim to the Iron Throne, as was his birth right.’

The sound of the library doors echoed in the chambers, but you did not raise your head.

‘Prince Aegon’s claim was supported by several Lords of the Westerlands and Riverlands, and so the Prince marched at the head of an army, fifteen thousand men strong. Queen Tyanna, Maegor’s third wife and the Mistress of Whispers, warned that Maegor's allies would turn on him for his nephews claim if there was show of his prevail. In the Battle Beneath The Gods Eye, Maegor and Aegon’s armies clashed, and fought in a bloody and brutal battle. Men were slain from their horses by archers and swordsman, dragon fire lay waste to hundreds of men, the earth under The Gods Eye was soaked with blood, and many soldiers sank into its red mud. Though it came to an end, Maegor slew his nephew and his dragon Quicksilver, tearing them from the sky on the back of the mighty Black Dread. Maegor the Cruel was thenceforth known for his cruelty and labeled a Kinslayer.’

“Princess, Y/n.” A voice pulled you from your book. Your eyes lifted from the page to meet Ser Criston Cole’s.

You straightened your back, looking to the two guards who flanked him either side, feeling a strange sense of dejavu from the scene before you.

“Ser Cole.” You greeted him warily, placing the book atop the table in front of you and standing, body ready to take flight.

Ser Criston lifted his head high, “King Aegon has requested for your presence in the Throne Room.”

You blinked, and you stomach did a small flip, fear rising in your throat.

“And I suppose these guards are there to enforce my presence?”

The two men shifted, their armour scratching against each other, eyes aimed at the wall behind you.

Ser Cole breathed, “No, My Lady.”

“Then tell the King I am busy.” You moved to sit back down, but Ser Cole took a step forward towards you.

It was clear then, that there was no real choice.

Not that you ever had one in the Keep.

It was not a casual invitation that they would like you to believe it was, much like Alicent's breaking her fast with you that morning, but they were not dragging you to the Throne Room, kicking and screaming as they did last time.

It did little to soothe your wrought nerves, but it was at least something.

The small voice in the back of your head screamed that it would be another Maester situation. Your intuition told you to run. Your baser instincts told you to fight.

But what if it was one of the maids?

Panic shot through you, and so you nodded, walking across the room, feeling as though each step further settled your doom. But you could not leave them. If it was one of the maids, if Larys had discovered them, you would not abandon them now in their time of need.

Ser Cole bowed his head to you, holding the door open before he began to lead you to the Iron Throne, the two guards walking closely behind you, ready to snatch you if you so chose to run.

Each step of the men was a shuffle of robes and armour, and you watched the sword on Ser Criston’s side sway heavily with each step, its long blade tapping the side of his thigh.

Each sway reminded you of how Aegon’s hand had swung down, separating the old mans head from his neck. How your Grandsire's blade had tipped at Aegon's side as he descended the steps of the Iron Throne to stand before you.

The blood.

So much blood.

On you.

On the stones.

You wondered for a moment, if the stain would still be there, or if they had tasked some poor servants to scrub it out of the porous surface as though their lives depended on it.

You tried to steady your breathing. Counting each step as you saw the large doors to the Iron Throne. Fifty-one. Fifty-Two. Fifty-Three. Fifty-Four.

Kings guards opening the heavy wood doors with steel bracketing along its face to let you in.

Ser Cole walked ahead of you announcing you to the chambers, as you held your hands behind you, fingers digging sharply into the flesh of your palm. The King Maker voiced boomed as you looked to Aegon, who was seated upon the throne, lazily leaning on one side with his chin in his palm, as though summoning you back to the Throne Room was a chore and a bore.

The Small Council were about the chambers, dressed in their robes and House colours, watching you with careful and guarded eyes, though nervousness shifted their bodies.

And there, beside the throne, once again, was Aemond.

His presence did little to settle your nerves.

It was happening again.

Gods, please, help me.

Aemond's gaze had snapped to you as soon as you had entered, and although he stood tall and stiff, hands behind his back and face impassive, your presence had clearly come as a surprise.

Again.

Aemond looked blindsided.

Completely at a loss as to why you were there, and it showed in his eye.

The Prince looked as though he had only just arrived back in Kings Landing, dressed still in his riding leathers, hair pulled back and away from his face by braids, and lips pressed into a thin line. His brows had furrowed as he looked at you.

But Aemond hadn’t come straight to you as he usually did.

Something was amiss.

“Husband,” You called out to him, schooling your voice to hide the rising panic, “I am gladdened to see you hale and hearty and returned home.” You gave him a small smile, and turned to the King, “You requested my presence, Your Grace?”

Aegon did not smile at you.

He did not even sneer.

The King merely stared at you with his intense, violet eyes, lips slightly pursing in thought before straightening into a flat line, much like his brother. But beneath those bright eyes you had come to fear, there was something simmering beneath.

Rage.

Swallowing and sensing that you were in danger, you turned to face your husband again, “Did you find the men who were responsible at the Red Fork?”

Aemond was still, shoulders tensed, head turning to look up at his brother who still sat staring at you, crown atop his head. You watched as your husbands lips opened to speak.

Otto Hightower stepped forward, his greying and receding hair shimmering in the light that poured in from the windows. His robes of green were trimmed with fur around his neck and chest, and the pin of the Hand of the King sat against his breast.

“You stand before King Aegon the Second, rightful heir to the Iron Throne.” His voice sent chills down your spine, skin breaking beneath your nails in your palm. It was happening again, “You have been brought before the King and his Council to answer for the crimes you are being charged.”

Your immediate thought was to turn to Aemond, to ask him what was happening, to beg him for help, but you remembered the last time this had happened. You remembered the last time he had stood there and watched.

You remembered as he had done nothing.

You remembered that you were alone.

Again.

Otto straightened, a ringing in your ears beginning to grow louder, “You are accused of treason; For the slaying of the Kings unborn child, aided by the traitor Maester. You are accused of conspiring with Rhaenyra and Daemon Targaryen against the Crown. You are accused of attempting to recruit Prince Aemond Targaryen to turn cloak and help your mothers cause. How do you plead against these charges?”

“What?” Your voice was so small, and sounded so far away.

This was it.

There was no going back now.

Aegon straightened on the monstrous throne of melted swords, “The Princess was given a gift by the Seven when my seed was put into her womb. She had made a confession to ensuring the death of her pregnancy out of spite when the Maester was charged. She has murdered my son. The Kings son. A highest of treasons.”

Your throat felt dry, “You raped me.”

Aegon’s lip twitched from the smirk he was holding back, “The Princess seduced me with promises of good behaviour for favours and fruit. Star fruit is your favourite, is it not?”

Aegon moaned as he heard you whimper, and let go of your throat, a lungful of air racing through your mouth as you gasped. Aegon fucked himself into you, the sound of his grunts and his flesh slapping against yours filled the chambers with your sobs.

Aemond bristled beside his brother, eye narrowed on you. His posture was straight, and as your eyes flicked from one brother to the other, you realised there was no hope.

There was no hope for you.

Aemond had made his choice.

And it was never to be you.

Aegon leant forward on the throne, silver hair shimmering in the light, “The Princess came to me after Prince Aemond left for Harrenhal. She was alone and angry at knowing that my brother was having an affair with the bastard wet-nurse, Alys Rivers. She begged me to warm her bed, and to give her an heir so that my brother would not suspect a thing.”

“You think the Knight would help you?” Aegon sneered, as you thrashed beneath him, pushing at him with all your strength, “Do you think he would listen to you? I could command him to come in here and make him watch, and he would do it. Should I call him for you?” He growled, fingers tightening around your throat, the room beginning to spin.

You swallowed thickly, the sounds of Aegon’s grunts breaking forth in your memory.

The night he attacked you.

The night he raped you.

The night that changed everything.

“That's a lie.” Your voice cracked, looking up at the King, “You came to my chambers, and held me down, and raped me.” Your eyes flicked across the room, meeting a pair of distressed brown ones, “Alicent, you know this to be the truth. You were there. You helped me.”

Alicent stepped forward, turning to her son, “Is this true, Aegon? Perhaps the Princess had not known the implications. The Maester must have deceived her, or forced her to do as she did under threat.”

Alicent had given you Moon Tea after Aegon.

She knew.

And she was lying.

"You're lying!" You sneered at the auburn haired woman.

Aegon looked down at his mother in mock pity, “Lord Larys Strong told me that she had been given Moon Tea after she was given my son. She had willingly and enthusiastically drank it, as she knew it was my child inside of her.”

Your stomach twisted in knots, and you felt as though you were going to be sick. But the anger of seeing Alicent play games with her own son, whilst her other watched you, was simply too much for you to bear.

Damn them all.

“The Queen gave me the Moon Tea.” You declared, voice clipped, "Is that not an act of treason? Try your own blood before the Council for the sins of your flesh.” Your hands came down to your side, clenched into fists.

You were not going to die in cowardice.

You would bite, and scratch, and claw until the end.

As you always had done.

“Princess Y/n, might I remind you that you are before the Small Council and King Aegon. You will have time to speak for your innocence when the King has finished his petition.” Otto cautioned you.

Your breathing became laboured, shallow, angry breaths that heaved.

It was that rage again.

That same rage that you had pushed down and away, that had been there at your finger tips, just beneath the surface of your skin, hiding in the shadows. The rage that you had clipped and preened like a rose bush, to not prick yourself on its thorns.

A rage that was innately yours.

Aegon straightened himself, the golden chains that sat heavily against his chest swaying with movement. He shifted, pulling himself to be seated in a stiff and upright position, as though one of the swords he was seated upon had slipped up his spine.

He looked every bit his mother.

And then he thought.

And the silence of the chambers was almost as deafening as the ringing in your ears. The pounding of your heart in your head, the rushing of the blood in your veins. You felt every bone in your body, the weight of them, the feel of them. Every tooth in your skull felt as though they were not sitting correctly, your tongue heavy and too large for your mouth.

Aemond shifted again in your periphery, taking two short steps forward towards you.

Coward.

“Swear yourself to me.” The King boomed in the chambers, his voice echoing in the space and decision made.

Aegon pushed himself to stand, looking down his nose at you.

“Bend the knee, and swear me as your King.”

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peterparkersnose · 1 year

Text

Two Ghosts

pairing: kylo ren x queen!reader

word count: 2.6k

warnings: neglect, arranged marriage, dislike of s/o, reader has children, descriptions of periods, domestic abuse, old values (women are dainty bullshit), guys kylo isn’t nice remember that, fertility issues, stopping of a period due to stress, reader lives for her children basically, reader obviously has anxiety, reader is basically breaded for heirs, kylo is awkward (the dude doesn’t have social skills. at all. whatsoever), even though he still has some rizz (call him kylo rizz if you would), a good ending? idk guys remember kylo just isn’t a great person and the first order isn’t a good organization too

a/n a long warning list 😬. anyways i never get notes on kylo fics but i simply do not care. i love writing new content for this man. he deserves it all.

summary Kylo tries being the husband Y/N always wanted him to be

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read time: 9 mins 40 seconds

Watching you felt almost wrong. The neglect he’s given you through the years- the pain you’ve felt and him not caring about you for as long as he’s known you.

He didn’t deserve to watch this beautiful sight of his family, the family he didn’t even want. The family he wasn’t even apart of. You two were an arranged marriage, married for political reasons. He needed an heir, your father needed peace on your home planet. You and your children had always been a nuisance to him.

You had given up on the romantic attempts years ago. But something in this sight, something about you right then made him sick. Something made him click taking in this view from the balcony on the hill.

For weeks he had longing feelings of sadness. He hated admitting it and rejected it as much as he could, but light was seeping into the cracks. His moods began to lighten softly, not enough for you to notice but enough to scare him. Now looking down and feeling this, it was just a confirmation of what was really happening to him.

The sun shown down on your beautiful yellow dress that was layed out on the grass. Your hair was up in intricate braids due to the heat on Naboo, the tiny loose strands were swaying in the wind. The field you sat in was just off a short cliff, the beautiful rural city and coast were just feet away. The perfect escape between the busy city and the old city. The mansion sat atop the hill, separating the two separate terrains. You were on a vacation and had begged him to come for the sake of his children.

Your oldest son ran around you in circles, playing with a TIE one of his father’s assistants bought him for Christmas. Kylo couldn’t be bothered to celebrate, let alone give gifts. Henry was just shy of his sixth birthday. His blonde hair was messy and in need of a cut sometime soon. His gray tunic and black pants matched his father’s aesthetic a little too much for your liking. Running around, he made engine sounds as the ship would like a typical 5 year old.

Your youngest daughter sat in front if you, playing with some wildflowers she had plucked into an array of ‘jewlery’. She was three. Unlike her brother, she had beautiful strong brown hair. Unbeknownst to you, it completely mirrored her grandmothers. You had her hair in your hands, coming through it with your fingers trying to decide what design to attempt today. Amala squirmed as she attempted to join her brother, but you kept her in place in your lap. She was to learn to be a lady as you were. Her dark pink dress was spread out in front of her.

Kylo watched you as the pit in his stomach felt odd. It had always been empty, but this time something ached inside of it. He had never had any interest in you. The times you ever had sex were intended and resulted in children, exactly what he needed. He cared more about Henry than Amala. Henry was the oldest and the heir to the First Order. But work called. He was never a family man, he was never meant to be a family man.

These feelings continued to conflict him throughout the night.

As the sun set you came in with the children. The nannies took them upstairs and readied them for bed. You took your place at the long dinner table. On the opposite side sat your husband- legally.

Over the years you obviously lusted for other men. You didn’t even dare act on your thoughts, or barely thought the thoughts at all. You knew Kylo would have their heads within seconds. With an absent husband emotionally and physically it was hard. In the first few years of your marriage, you struggled with fertility problems. Life was so lonely without the children. He grew angrier and angrier with you each time you got your cycle and your anxiety got so bad that it soon stopped. Your doctor moved you to separate chambers and eventually Henry was conceived after years of trying.

You felt like a failure before your son was born.

After copious amounts of treatment during your pregnancy, Henry was born. And then a while after that Supreme Leader Snoke granted you permission to have another. An heir and a spare.

You and Kylo sat silently eating your dinner. Over the years, you had perfected your etiquette. No slurping your wine, no scratching of the fork on the plate. At dinner you would mostly go over your thoughts from the day. The tuition papers you had to sign for Henry’s first school next year. Amala refusing to listen to her nanny and requesting her mommy really warmed your heart. The beautiful memory of that day you had spent with the children. The fact that you were doing it alone and was so good at it.

He listened to your thoughts. You knew he did. No datapad, no work bot giving him constant coded updates you didn’t understand. Tonight it was just the two of you. Two strangers eating dinner together. The show, the facade had to go on. Media wise you two were the loveliest couple in the galaxy. In reality, you spoke maybe once a week.

“R-80!” you called from the dining room. Kylo’s head shot up from his plate of food to see you waiting on the cleaner droid. You had finished the meal and was waiting to leave this awkward encounter.

The droid came around and you began to exit the room. His hand deliberately reached out for yours as you walked past him to get to the door.

A tiny gasp escaped your lips. You stopped and pulled your hand back, a concerned look was on display.

You were begging in your mind for this to had been an accident.

“It was no accident,” he said strongly. His deep voice boomed through your ears. You forgot how powerful it could be sometimes.

For the first time in years Kylo was feeling anxiety. Over something so minuscule, speaking to his wife. His eyes met and darted over your face. He recognized the braid pattern in your hair. You had worn it on your wedding day. Rarely he had seen it on you, depending if he even noticed you on the daily. His eyes were drawn to your dark lipstick on the lips that were slightly pursed.

“Your hair-” he said. Your eyes flicked up to the window, looking for any sign of a reflection.

Did he hate it, was he about to tell you to never wear it again? Was a strand so obviously out of place? Hell, why was he even speaking to you in the first place?

“It’s how it was on our wedding day, if I remember correctly.”

You nodded your head. Heat rose to your cheeks. This is the longest conversation you two have had in months.

He stared into your eyes. He forgot just how beautiful you really were. They were still the same as always, but this time with a few unnoticeable lines around them. You refused to meet his gaze, staring forward at the distorted mirroring of the room in the window.

Ten years in with two kids, you had managed to keep up with yourself and your appearances. For what, you really weren’t sure anymore.

“May I be excused? I would like to go check on the children.” you asked, avoiding his eye contact.

“Yes, one moment.” he said, his hand reaching out for yours. You hesitantly took it.

Kylo took a deep breath. Even though he seemed calm and composed, inside of his head the red alarm was going off. The urge to even ask you this went against everything he believed in. The twist in his stomach snapped. He gave in to the light feelings, begging for more after how good he felt after asking you a simple question.

“May I sleep with you in your chambers tonight?”

Your brows furrowed. “D-did you talk to the Supreme Leader? Did he give you permission for another?” you asked him, worried. You loved your children but you had no say in having them. The Supreme Leader could make you give birth to an army if he willed.

“No, no. This isn’t about sex.” he assured you. Of course you assumed it was about sex. It was the only time he ever really spoke to you. A slight relief flew off your shoulders.

You sighed, taking your hand from his. “I’m going to check on the children.”

Your heels clicked down the empty hallway. Something in you secretly hoped that he would follow you to see the children, but you knew your husband.

You were baffled in his sudden change of heart. He hadn’t shared a bed with you since- well, since Amala was conceived. You didn’t deny his request, but neither confirmed it.

Your thoughts kept you company as you walked down the many corridors and hallways of the mansion.

The large door was cracked, left like that by the nannies. They knew your routine better than anyone else. Amala was sleeping closest to the door. The canopy above her bed was swaying from the wind of the open window. Henry was laying on his stomach in a deep sleep, his limbs all sprawled out over the large bed.

A smile rose to your face as you quietly closed the door. Your heart was full once again. No more doubt plagued the poor, confused thing from dinner.

You made your way to your chambers. You passed what you knew was Kylo’s. Shockingly, the door was open. You caught a glimpse of him working at his desk. He looked too large for the thing, trumping the tiny chair in size. The patio was open and the moonlight rushed in, lighting his room ominously.

He caught a glimpse of your flowing yellow dress passing his room. He wanted to finish up a few papers before bed, but in his heart he knew he had to neglect his work for one night.

He mustered up enough courage to knock on your door. A sweet “Coming!” came from inside. Within seconds, your door was open and he was met with your fresh face. You had changed into your night robes and had your natural hair down on your shoulders. The bathroom light was on and he noticed the fresh mint scent coming from your breathe.

Your night maids hadn’t been around yet, he presumed.

Something in your look, your energy died a bit when you saw him.

How had he never noticed? How could all these feelings, these guilt trips be plaguing him now, suddenly? What changed?

“We’re you hoping for a maid?” he asked, following you into the large room. He locked the door behind him.

You sat down back at your vanity, pulling your brush out of the drawer.

“No.” you replied. He knew you were lying.

The bed creaked as Kylo sat down. His dark grey dress pants were perfectly ironed and didn’t crease at the contact. He itched at his black turtleneck, swiping the cuff with his finger. He could hear his watch ticking from his wrist. The room was cold.

“May I ask why you wanted to be here?” you asked, a certain confidence in your voice had occurred. Turning now to face him, you finished brushing your hair and placed your hairbrush back in the drawer.

“Honestly darling, I’m really not sure.”

Darling?

If you weren’t so poised your jaw would have been on the floor.

“Today I saw a sight. You with the kids in the field.”

“Oh Kylo, there children. There’s nothing wrong with them playing in a field if this is what this is about-”

“No. I-”

Kylo Ren had never felt himself speechless before, yet again choking up at the sight of his family he used to despise.

Your tucked your chair back into your vanity. Now standing infront of the cowardly man, you waited for his response.

His hand cradled his forehead as he stared at the floor, watching your perfectly manicured feet come into frame.

That’s when he let his first sob out in years. You quickly embraced him in your arms, his forehead finding a resting place against your stomach. Your hands sprawled over his back in a cautious way. Peeking over ever so slightly, you checked if he had his lightsaber on his belt. Thank the gods he didn’t, you were afraid he would cut you into two.

Nobody had ever seen Kylo Ren cry.

“I don’t understand what you are getting at.” you whispered to him. Another sob came out, you began to rub his back.

“I-I am such a fool.” he managed to speak. His eyes looked up into yours, finally making contact for the first time in forever.

The look on your face was baffled.

“What have I been doing? I have a family- a wife? So much neglect, so much hate. How are you still here, my dear? How have I not driven you away, or driven you to worse? I-I have two children. Two beautiful children I don’t know and such a beautiful wife that I’m strangers with. So many years wasted. How did it take me ten years to see this? How did one small instance make my life come crumbling down around me?” he asked, bawling out his words.

You were speechless.

“I want to learn- please. How do I have such an amazing person with me and I don’t know the slightest thing about her? Tell me, w-what’s your middle name?” he went on, now holding you by the hips and eagerly speaking.

And that’s when it really hit you. You two were strangers.

“Amala,” you muttered out. “Oh! T-that makes so much sense—in our daughter. Her name,”

“What are there names, please tell me.” he seemed to beg.

“Henry Cornelius Benjaq Ren, Amala Charress Bryneri Ren.” you answered, a smile emerging on your lips.

Was this too good to be true?

Kylo was stunned of Henry’s middle name. Benjaq. There was no way you knew of his real name. The coincidence hurt him even more.

“Cornelius and Charress…” he pondered. “They sound so familiar are they…”

“My parents.” you answered him. “King Cornelius! How could I forget? Oh Y/N. I have neglected you for so long. How could you ever forgive me?”

His voice sounded genuine. “It’s definitely going to take time.” you sighed. Suddenly the years of loneliness and suffering flashed back in your mind. You broke away from his embrace and walked to the open balcony, giving him an invitation to follow.

“I will try. Please Y/N, let me.” he begged, following you outside.

The warm air brushed against your cool skin. You sighed, wishing you would wake up from this nightmare and your husband would be back. Did someone poison his food?

The yearning for anyone’s touch seeped into your mind. Watching all the other royal couples around the galaxy, they all seemed to love eachother. Hands touching almost constantly, sneaking a kiss or two at events. It was rare that you even got a photo with Kylo at the parties you would attend.

“I know,” he sighed, taking your hands into his. “I wish I could make it all go away.” he said with remorse.

The waves crashed against the sand. The wind was beginning to pick up. Your hair began to sway in the slight breeze. “Make it then,” you whispered, grazing a hand against his cheek. You dared giving him any sign of affection. You were half expecting him to pull his lightsaber out and cut you in half, just as you thought before. Something felt so wrong, but so right.

You kissed your husband for the first time since your wedding day. His lips were slightly chapped and you could taste the negroni he was drinking at dinner. The moon show down on the both of you, and the feeling he felt seemed to pass on to you. Force sensitive or not, the force was in your favor tonight. You felt the remorse and the pain he had been harboring for years. All the sleepless nights over work and heartache over his past life. You seemed to dilute all of that inside of him. You were the missing piece he was looking for all along. The thing he wanted the least was now his prized possession; his wife, the mother of his children, his Queen, his Empress.

All of that love came back. The feeling of when he was a little boy and still had light into him entered his heart once again. Ben Solo seeped through the cracks of his dark, broken heart.

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