#tales of crowns and empires

[vhkingsink]

The hardwood floor offered questioning notes under Quim's feet, echoed by the quiet treble of his whistling. Garrett manages to loosen his shoulders somewhat. His arms are terribly heavy even as he holds out a hand to Quim. The moment their fingers touch, he feels a trickle of comfort flow into the undercurrent of his being. 

"Did I spoil the night for you too?" Quim asks quietly. "Or is there some other lover keeping your thoughts?" 

Garrett has been breathing, but the slight chuckle still feels dry and cracked. Quim doesn't have to sense his worry. Garrett's voice is not trembling when he speaks, but it is strained.

"To think, how I used to hope for this day, not having a clue what magic was."

"Speak to me," Quim says quietly, lacing their fingers together. "Tell me of it." 

Quim guessed he had an idea what Garrett was talking about. Maybe not the specifics, but Quim remembered their days as children, imagining what Sire Grey might do to protect others from the Emissary King's reach. It makes the corners of Quim's eyes burn.

"I had hoped he would die. It seemed...the kindest thing for him. My mother knew better though, and your mother knew she was right."

"Not with any certainty, but with unfortunate probability."

"Did she know, even then, that not even the Sire could stay my father's hand?" Garrett shook his head. "We met as two children at the birth of a war. And now two children will die to end it." 

The silence lasts only so long. Quim's lips purse, parsing an old dirge out of air thick with words they might never say to each other.

Garrett's shoulders rise with a weary inhale. He begins to hum in harmony, and the stinging fades from Quim's eyes. Instead the laughter lines fill, spill, and his lips tremble. 

"Fish-fish, now," Quim hushes with a small measure of self-reproach.

Quim shakes his head and pulls away. He stands behind the recliner that has held him on many long nights and puts his hands on Garrett's shoulders. He cannot hide the way his heart hurts for the man, but he also cannot let Garrett default to offering comfort. 

"You were still a child." Quim rested his forehead on the crown of Garrett's auburn hair. "And the safety you lost, the dangers you knew, all you left behind, were all too soon. I know you say you only carried the best parts forward, but you hurt too."

"What am I, but the sum of my hurt and hope?"

"What are we, indeed."

[chuluoyi]

𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐃𝐄𝐏𝐎𝐒𝐄𝐃 𝐄𝐌𝐏𝐑𝐄𝐒𝐒 . . . 𝐑𝐄𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐑𝐈𝐄𝐒 ! — masterlist

you are the picture-perfect empress of eastern empire… until your husband the emperor, zen’in naoya, demands a divorce! but you won’t take this lying down . . .

genre: 18+ suggestive content—minors do not interact!—kinda ooc, slowburn, angst to eventual fluff, marriage of convenience, heavy pining, mentions of infidelity, infertility, misogyny, pregnancy, explicit smut, childbirth, curses

note: inspired by and taking some elements of manhwa remarried empress

more: emperor gojo | emperor naoya | official fanart | ko-fi

status: completed

:: 𝐌𝐀𝐈𝐍 𝐒𝐓𝐎𝐑𝐘 ::

001 — 𝐀𝐋𝐋 𝐇𝐀𝐈𝐋 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐄𝐌𝐏𝐑𝐄𝐒𝐒 ! in which your husband suddenly casts you aside for his expecting mistress… but you won't be dethroned just like that, because the newly coronated western emperor, gojo satoru, sets his sights on you! and thus your revenge against your ex-husband begins...

002 — 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐂𝐑𝐎𝐖���� 𝐎𝐅 𝐃𝐈𝐀𝐌𝐎𝐍𝐃𝐒 ! in the wake of your scandalous divorce, you fall into the arms of emperor gojo satoru. for a while, you believe you have found love… until it becomes clear that your new husband is scheming behind your back! love, marriage, divorce… are you doomed to go through this path the second time?

003 — 𝐋𝐎𝐍𝐆 𝐋𝐈𝐕𝐄 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐄𝐌𝐏𝐈𝐑𝐄 ! the path of love is never easy for you, be it now or back then. love, pain, betrayal and tragedy — you have been through them all. after all is said and done, you just want one chance at happiness. so will your second marriage be what you always want it to be, or will it be one last heartbreak you have to go through?

:: 𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐑𝐀𝐂𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐒 ::

you — empress of eastern empire. formerly a noble lady from an acclaimed clan and then made a crown princess of eastern empire to marry your childhood friend, naoya

gojo satoru — emperor of western empire. previously known as the "cursed prince" for being blind during a period of his childhood. for the longest time, he has been in love with you

zen'in naoya — emperor of eastern empire. your first love, crown prince naoya, wasn't the spiteful emperor who divorces you during the 5th year of your marriage, but the throne seems to shape his ambitions the longer he sits there. has he loved you all this time, you ask? dunno, only he knows

hanabi — naoya's mistress. your head maidservant ever since your marriage to naoya, she is actually compliant and doesn't seem to hold any malice against you. she bears his child, and elevated to the rank of royal consort

geto suguru — the duke. a neat and proper person, emperor gojo's peer, confidant and voice of reason. gojo claims he names his messenger cat (sugu-chan) after him out of love and respect

ieiri shoko — the countess. shoko, geto and gojo went to the imperial academy together, which is why she's so casual around both of them. after marrying gojo, she becomes your lady-in-waiting

:: 𝐄𝐗𝐓𝐑𝐀𝐒 ::

prequel: how sugu-chan the cat came to be

empress confronting hanabi (takes place in all hail the empress)

duke geto and the empress’ paintings: part 1 | part 2 | part 3

the empress’ dress visuals

behind the scenes: untold tales

🏷️ taglist

@myahfig4 @yoyo-yui @luna-v-roiya @animemanwhamangalover @hotvinimon @anpacax0 @fullwriterpoem @an-ever-angry-bi @tazuduck @alexatiu @washeduphasbeen @theiridescentdragon @aquamarine001 @saucypeanuttt @captainchrisstan @artist1936 @paprikaquinn @megumisthirdog @whatshernameis @moonjellyfishie @spn-obession @poopooindamouf @hhk-jyon @ittomain1 @kalulakunundrum @risuola @jossayuuu @wiccanindigo @alwaysfreakingout @a-trashbag @wannapizzamymindposts @roscpctals99 @chxrv @tnu-ree @sov-sin @estella-novella @homewhereitsat @manyno @coffeeluvr96 @taeminfaerie @inluvkai @mellowarcadefun @sxnkuna @nerdiellers @krokietino @tttttttf @dumb-hore @snore-3 @leopoldonfire @uziwork @hyori2 @gojoful @wr4inn @nnasv @oidloid @deeeeexx

© CHULUOYI. do not copy, repost, modify, or translate my works in any platforms

[saintobio]

LONG LIVE THE VILLAINESS !

amidst the tale of sweetest love and bitterest revenge, the fallen empress is cast back ten years into the past to correct her sins and avoid eternal damnation, even at the price of betraying her once husband, the very cause of her downfall.

♱ pairings. gojo satoru, fem!reader

♱ genre. enemies-to-lovers, period piece, medieval au

♱ tags. ooc, regression, crown prince!gojo, noble lady!reader, politics, classism, clan wars, religion (catholicism), misogyny, violence, war, rebellion, suggestive, smut, gore, double life, explicit language, more to be added

♱ notes. this fic draws heavy inspirations from the webnovel ‘sister, i am the queen in this life’ and manhwa of the same name. it’s basically a fanfic of that series bc i am obsessed with it :’D

♱ status. on-going (slow updates)

♱ SECOND TIMELINE TO AS YOU LIKE IT ♱

PROLOGUE.

ACT I. THE LADY

ACT II. THE CROWN PRINCE

ACT III. THE KNIGHT

ACT IV. THE STAR CROSSED LOVERS

ACT V. THE BLESSED

ACT VI. THE SIN

ACT VII. THE REVELATION

ACT VIII. THE ENEMY

ACT IX. THE LOVER

ACT X. THE EMPRESS

EPILOGUE.

PROLOGUE 

Like plunging beneath the surface of water and then, abruptly, breaking through to the air above—your body jolted as if awakening in a new world altogether. You drew in a long breath, your eyes fluttering open to reveal the ceiling, both familiar yet unfamiliar in its greeting. Swiftly, you surveyed your surroundings, noting with growing recognition the confines of your old room within the De Roma estate. The estate! 

You were not in the palace of Caelum, but in the estate of House De Roma. A surge of realization flooded through you as you dashed towards the nearest mirror, confronting your reflection with wide, startled eyes. 

No... could it be... that you have returned to your body, ten years prior?!

In the mirror, the reflection staring back at you was not that of the notorious wife of the tyrant Emperor Satoru, but of a 20-year-old maiden, the eldest daughter of Duke de Roma, with fuller cheeks and a more youthful appearance. You could not shake the feeling of disbelief, wondering if this was all just a dream, so you reached out to touch your arms and felt the flesh beneath your fingers, trying to convince yourself that this was an unexpected reality.

Oh, you were back. You found yourself returned to your former self, a decade younger, but now armed with the knowledge of your past life's actions and their consequences. Alongside this newfound understanding, the gift of clairvoyance had also been bestowed upon you.

And for what? Why had the heavens above returned you to your body? Was it for revenge, a second chance, or perhaps punishment?

Suddenly, a loud, deafening sound pierced your ears, and a blinding white light enveloped your vision. Your body became as still as a statue, and it felt as though your soul was transported to a fourth dimension where divine intervention seemed a lot more plausible to exist.

As your soul hovered in the liminal space between life and death, you found yourself standing before a figure cloaked in billowing robes, her presence commanding and her gaze piercing. This figure was Fortuna, the ancient Caelan goddess of fortune and fate, her visage austere and unforgiving.

“Are you aware of the sins that stain your soul?” 

“Have you felt the weight of your transgressions, the consequences of your actions that have wrought suffering upon your people and brought ruin to your empire?”

Her voice echoed through the realm with the divine judgment that weighed upon your conscience, while her gaze penetrated to the core of your being and demanded honesty and accountability in the face of your past misdeeds.

“Will you atone for your sins?” 

“Will you seize this opportunity for redemption, or will you squander it in self-pity and remorse?”

As you stood in the presence of the ancient goddess, grappling with the heaviness of your sins and the daunting task ahead, a brilliant light had all of a sudden illuminated the space around you. From the heart of this radiant glow emerged the figure of Archangel Raphael, his presence heralded by a chorus of angelical voices and the stirring of celestial winds.

Clad in robes that seemed to shimmer with the intensity of celestial light, Archangel Raphael's presence commanded attention, his wings unfurled behind him in a display of resolute authority. If Goddess Fortuna was intimidating, the archangel was fearsome all the more. His gaze, intense and penetrating, swept over you with a gravity that left no room for evasion or deceit.

“Empress of Caelum,” he spoke, his tone firm and unyielding, and his voice carrying a billion years of heavenly existence, “You stand accused of grievous sins, crimes that have shaken the very foundations of your empire and brought suffering upon your people.”

There was no trace of softness in Archangel Raphael's demeanor, no room for mercy in the face of wrongdoing. His presence was a testament to the uncompromising nature of divine justice, his strictness a reflection of the solemn duty entrusted to him as an Archangel of the Almighty. This, no doubt, was the face of a true and formidable executor of justice.

And you, the subject, had angered the divine beings that guarded the Caelan Empire, so much so that God himself sent the goddess of the land and one of his archangels to mitigate your rightful punishment.

“By the decree of the Almighty, you are granted a second chance to amend your sins and redeem your soul. You shall return to the mortal realm, to live your life anew and correct the sins that have stained your soul.”

“Should you fail to rectify your past transgressions, should you stray from the path of righteousness and succumb once more to the temptations of darkness, know that the consequences shall be severe and eternal.”

“For those who squander the gift of divine mercy shall be cast into the deepest depths of hell, where they shall endure a punishment of unending torment and suffering.”

In the presence of Archangel Raphael and Goddess Fortuna’s equally stern gazes, you were keenly aware of the magnitude of your transgressions and the severity of the judgment that awaited you. But even as you trembled beneath the weight of their scrutiny, you knew that their presence also offered you the opportunity for redemption, with your only task to prove yourself worthy of divine mercy.

Indeed, it was by your very hands that hundreds and thousands of Christian souls shed their blood. Innocent lives, both young and old, were cruelly taken at your command. The citizens of Caelum who fell sick from the spread of the plague. The esteemed Caelan advisors of your husband’s primogenitors, skinned alive and speared in pikes by the Tiber River. The wrongly accused maid who suffered the indignity of serving your husband, paraded unclothed through the streets and subjected to the brutality of the pear of anguish. The gallant and dignified knight, tortured mentally and physically in the atrocious dungeon. Now, you find yourself thrust back into the horrors of your former life ten years hence. A life of a noble lady who ought not to be blinded by her destructive love for the empire’s crown prince. 

Yet, could you truly navigate this life without ascending to the position as his empress?

As you tried to commune with the divine beings afore you, a haze in your vision transported you away from the heavenly space, realizing that you were already drawn back into the reality of your chamber, inhabiting the youthful frame of a twenty-year-old daughter of a duke. You found yourself too astonished to move, too shaken to speak, and too afraid to take any action in this new lease of life blessed upon you. At that very moment, your state of reverie was disrupted at the arrival of your maid, who entered your chamber in a humble servant garb.

Milena. The maid whose life was cut short by your hand in your past existence due to petty thievery. “My lady,” she spoke with a hint of respect and urgency, unaware of the ill-fate you had given her in your past life, “A visitor has arrived at the gates and requests an audience with you. Shall I show them in?” 

Too soon? Need it truly be so soon to engage with the people from your past life immediately after awakening to your old, yet younger body? Gazing upon your maid through the mirror, you asked, “Who is that intruder you speak of?” 

She bowed her head, her stance shifting into one of apologetic deference. The way she firmly stood by your door was a message to you that the intruder was not someone you could easily reject the presence of.

“The visitor is His Highness, Crown Prince Satoru.” 

⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊶⊶⊶⊶⊶♱⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷

[anghraine]

I know I've ranted about it a million times, but every time someone brings up Roman, Byzantine, and Egyptian inspirations/influences on Gondor in more mainstream Tolkien fandom spaces (not me, because I don't even talk about it off Tumblr/DW), it seems like there's always someone who gets super weird and defensive about it. I've seen so many "well actually there's no need to consider any influences outside of England, mythology for England blah blah" responses.

And it's like! Oh, you want to play the decontextualized Tolkien quotes game? How about this one:

“But this [the setting of LOTR] is not a purely 'Nordic' area in any sense. If Hobbiton and Rivendell are taken (as intended) to be at about the latitude of Oxford, then Minas Tirith, 600 miles south, is at about the latitude of Florence [in Italy]. The Mouths of Anduin and the ancient [Gondorian] city of Pelargir are at about the latitude of ancient Troy [in Turkey]. Auden has asserted that for me 'the North is a sacred direction.' That is not true. The North-west part of Europe, where I (and most of my ancestors) have lived, has my affection, as a man’s home should. I love its atmosphere, and know more of its histories and languages than I do of other parts; but it is not ‘sacred’, nor does it exhaust my affections. I have, for instance, a particular love for the Latin language, and among its descendants for Spanish ... The progress of the tale ends in what is far more like the re-establishment of an effective Holy Roman Empire with its seat in Rome than anything that would be devised by a 'Nordic.'”

Or this one:

we come [in ROTK] to the half-ruinous Byzantine City of Minas Tirith

Or:

In the south Gondor rises to a peak of power, almost reflecting Númenor, and then fades slowly to decayed Middle Age, a kind of proud, venerable, but increasingly impotent Byzantium.

Or:

The Númenóreans of Gondor were proud, peculiar, and archaic, and I think are best pictured in (say) Egyptian terms. In many ways they resembled ‘Egyptians’ - the love of, and power to construct, the gigantic and massive. And in their great interest in ancestry and in tombs. […] I think the crown of Gondor (the S. Kingdom) was very tall, like that of Egypt, but with wings attached, not set straight back but at an angle. The N. Kingdom had only a diadem (III 323). Cf. the difference between the N. and S. kingdoms of Egypt.

Or:

Thank you very much for your letter. … It came while I was away, in Gondor (sc. Venice), as a change from the North Kingdom

Middle-earth is not equivalent to England, or northern Europe in general, and Gondor especially is not northern at all!

[mellowwillowy]

Thinking about writing a sweet, gentleman with a high sense of justice... Have a Yan! Baker!

Reader's gender is ambiguous as it's never really stated and only assumed.

Yan! Baker who is your neighbor and also your favorite baker of the town! The man has just recently moved next door and started his own little business which is opening a bakery!

Yan! Baker who gingerly offered you a cutely wrapped box of cookies as some sort of housewarming gift. One bite and you immediately fell in love with his creations! It's the best cookies you've ever had and the next day you saw him open his bakery, you were the first customer to line up for his cookies.

Yan! Baker who often gives you extra for every purchase you make, a little tad too much sometimes to be considered an extra. A juice for a piece of bread, a box of confections for a box of macaroons, and a box of luxurious-looking chocolate for a jar of cookies.

"My treat for someone so gorgeous like you." He eased you down with his smooth voice as you fidgeted at the extra he gave you. His smile was so genuine that you thought he might have taken a liking to you. But that couldn't be true right? He had a ring wrapped around his finger after all. He's most likely to be married already but you have never asked him that.

You thanked him and decided to pop off your curiosity today by asking him about his marital status.

"Me? Ahaha, yes I am not married yet, just engaged."

Perhaps your expression shifted too fast to the point he patted your shoulder, "... I really love them, I was once their prince in shining armor."

You cocked your head to the side while trying your best to make a chuckle at his word prince.

"Mmh, a literal prince might I say," Noel now wrapped both his hands on your shoulder, guiding you inside the bakery while spinning tales for you to hear to the point you didn't realize that the front rolling door was shut.

"A long time ago, this town was once a bustling village of an empire."

He sat you down at the kitchen table while preparing some tea for you to drink, somehow your mind fogged by his smooth voice.

"I had a twin brother and one of us was supposed to be the next Emperor but you see," Noel stirred the teabag into the pot, "I was not chosen by the die and my younger brother instead was raised to be the Crown Prince."

Is Noel a writer? You thought to yourself.

"But I didn't mind it at all, I received just a fair amount of love and attention from my family. I was slow in studying unlike my brother so I honed my skill in weaponry instead."

"So you were a knight?"

Noel nodded. You nodded slightly as well.

"I was a royal knight who was meant to guard both the country and my brother. But you know what?" Noel placed a tray of cookies, your favorite. "I grew up with not only my brother but also my beloved."

"Childhood friends?"

"More than that. They were one of my mother's lady-in-waiting and also my brother's closest friend and me."

A woman, you noted.

"Long story short, we grew up and got engaged, just like a fairytale." Noel picked the strawberry with his fork and ate it, since when did he bring it? And since when were the teas served already? His voice...

"But my brother was not pleased with it, he was envious, drowned in an ugly shade of envy." You could hear the irritation in his voice a tad too clear, a voice that you had never expected to hear from him.

"I was discharged from my duty momentarily due to a leg injury from a dispatch. It didn't bother me at all until I realized I had no hope of recovering completely, making my mother strip me of my duty permanently."

"But guess what, it turned out my brother was ecstatic about this news. He sent me away to be some preacher which automatically cut off my engagement. I didn't even have the chance to explain myself to them, only through letter could I apologize."

Was it his voice that lulled you deeper into the tale to the point you could see yourself in the setting or was it the cookies?

"Erickson swooped my love away and made them the Empress. They both reigned the empire into glory until I came in."

Chill ran down your spine, and the room that was originally normal suddenly felt hot.

"According to the prophecy, one of us three would be the downfall of the empire." Noel pointed between himself and you. Your waist felt so tight out of a sudden as though a corset was tightly wrapped around you. You wheezed from how the lack of oxygen and your eyes teared up from the smoke.

"Me, Erickson, or you. The Priest, the Emperor, or the Empress. The Knight, the Crown Prince," Noel brought your hand to his lip, "or the Jester."

An identical ring to his was slid into your finger, it fit like a charm, not too tight and not too loose.

The once small kitchen shifted into a spacious bedroom lit by a blazing scarlet that consumed the whole room. The heat was so much for you that you could somehow feel your skin melting.

Two heads were laid on top of your lap, and both of them shared the same scarlet hair, their face was not really clear but you could see them peacefully resting against you as their final resting place.

Just before you lost sight of everything and blacked out, Noel's kiss brought you back to reality. Kiss.

"I've been waiting for you for so long." The room shifted back to normal and you were on the bed with him above you. "Millennium, I waited for you for millennium and when I found you, I couldn't contain the feelings that were stored in the ring."

It turns out that your baker next door is not just some baker. He was your knight, your fiance, and your--

"But now, I can finally share this long locked suffocating feeling and fate with you." Noel muttered into your lip.

Diary Entry.

[kneelingshadowsalome]

FATUM NOS IUNGEBIT 4/4

König x F!Reader

Summary: You have seen him in your dreams. The seer has divined his coming. But nothing has prepared you for witnessing him in the flesh. (Historical AU where König fights for the Roman Empire, finds a cute barbarian woman and decides to keep her as his own.) Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Word count: 10 k Tags/warnings: 18+ ONLY. Spoils of war/enemies to lovers trope, graphic depictions of violence, historical gruesomeness, pining, odd banter, mixed feelings, romantic fluff, dubcon cuddling, eventual smut. Captor/captive dynamic. König is a brutal warrior... and a gentle giant. A/N: Another long chapter, but it's the last one, so... Enjoy! ^^

The next night, you dream awake.

You didn’t want to sleep with your back turned against him, and König didn’t even need to scoop you into his arms. You went there by yourself, completely willingly. You were disappointed when he didn’t even try anything; he just fell asleep like a baby after the hangover that left him weak.

Your hand is on his chest, right over his heart, as you listen to his soft snore. It’s like the whole world has shrunk into this bed, like your entire life suddenly consists of him. You can’t even hear the birds, the occasional gust of wind, or the pair of sandals outside the tent going to a nightly pee. The only thing you can hear or see or feel is him.

His heart under your palm. His chest against your cheek. The slow, steady rise and fall of it, the push and pull of it like a tide. His leg, draped across your hip, enclosing you under a heavy body that clings to you like he never wants to let you go.

And…

No. 

It’s too stupid.

“Love” is something bards sing about. There’s no time for it in the real world; lust brings people together, and they multiply like birds and beasts. They simply flock together for warmth, food and survival. Love is the property of dreams and songs, something that happened at the dawn of time but now only occurs in tales and plays. Surely, a mountain giant knows nothing about love… He just wants to stuff his cock inside you and alleviate the burn of his loins.

But his words still linger.

”I have fallen in love with you.”

You repeat them over and over again in your head, snuggling even closer to him, your heart flaring into a small bonfire when he squeezes you in return through sleep. The warmth spreads across your chest, it makes your toes tingle, and the tingles rise up to your head like ale, bringing tears to your eyes. 

Why does he have to be like this…?

There’s a sudden crack of thunder outside, and it makes you startle and clutch him tighter. It’s soon followed by a downpour of rain, the weight of it like a blanket spreading across the land. The drops beat the tent with so much noise you fear the whole abode will collapse from the force of them.

Another crackle sends you to grip him with fear; a violent rip of lightning makes you bury your head in his neck. König mostly wakes up to your distress rather than the sounds of thunder and hail, rumbling softly to the crown of your head and drawing you closer to him. You’ve always been afraid of thunder because nothing can compete with the fury of the Sky Father. You whimper as another roar shakes the bed, the very earth beneath you, and the rain begins to beat the tent in full.

“Don’t be afraid, little one,” König mutters, unafraid and clearly about to fall back to sleep again. “Only sky father making love to his woman...”

His explanation of the horrible display of the sky god’s power wipes your mind blank for a moment. He uses the same name of the god as you, but the viewpoint is thoroughly foreign. Is this the sound of lovemaking to him? 

“Safe here,” he squishes you against him until it’s difficult to breathe. Your heart is still beating in your chest as König falls asleep, the arms around you relaxing just enough to allow you to breathe again. 

In the morning, you try to correct him on his strange thoughts about Sky Father. You tell him your people believe he’s fighting his enemies when it thunders, not… making love to anyone.

“Fighting or fucking,” he only shrugs. “Same noise.”

You open your mouth to explain the difference between fucking and lovemaking next, then decide it’s no use.

The weather is warm and the land is lush after the abundant rain. König takes you to a small stream and you risk to take a dip, delighted and relieved to have the opportunity for a quick wash. When you threaten to gut him when he sleeps if he takes a peek, König only laughs. Probably thinks it’s an exciting threat. Then he sits on the bank to work on a small piece of wood while you have your cold bath. He’s been carving it for a few days and has refused to show it to you, no matter how “nosy” you’ve been. It’s an unfinished piece, yes, but it still feels silly that a grown man is so secretive about a chunk of wood. You only now begin to understand that perhaps the statue of the Great Mother is not stolen. It’s not bought, and he hasn’t had it made. He carved it himself.

Shocked, you forget to keep an eye on him while you scrub and rub yourself in the stream. You never thought of him as a sculptor or even a carpenter, but apparently, some soldiers spend their leisure time in other activities than fucking and drinking and gambling.

Your hands meet the leather string of the necklace as you wash your hair, and you remember your vow. It makes your heart sink: it’s a beautiful day, the first of summer, and you have to let go of the loveliest thing König has ever given to you. You peek a glance at him: he’s looking so peaceful while carving the small figurine, with that signature smile his that always reveals itself through his eyes, warm and jovial, like he’s just a hunter or a fisherman having a break from a day of toil.

You strip yourself from the necklace and release it with a sullen breath. The spirits accept it hungrily, pulling it underwater the instant you let it go. The current carries it far away downstream, and you find your chin trembling, and not from cold. You have given your moonblood to Mother many, many times, but this gift is infinitely more valuable. Still, the most important thing is that the man you prayed for is alive and whistling happily on that bank.

And you’re not an oathbreaker… But König is. 

When you rise from the water, he steals a glance. Actually, he stares at you like you’ve particularly asked him to never rip his eyes from you. 

You pay the adoring beast no mind and rise from the stream with the pride of a queen, only to have it all robbed from you as you notice there are flowers placed there where you left your clothes. The crazy giant has actually plucked flowers for you.

It’s an odd thing to do because in your land, only children pick flowers. Usually, people give flowers to the gods. Or, mainly just to the Great Mother... It’s because She appreciates them. 

And you also notice your old dress is not where you left it.

“Where is it?” 

He extends his hands to the sides and shrugs, faking innocence so poorly that you don’t know if you want to shove or kiss him. You’re desperately trying to cover your womanhood from his searing stare – an attempt that, of course, makes your tits press together even more cutely than before. König doesn’t even know where to look when there’s so much of your sweetness on display. 

This man is so stupid and childish and simply unbelievable; hiding your dress the instant you are vulnerable and in your thoughts. You look around you, then up, and notice that he’s thrown the dress over a pine branch far above your reach. Of course.

“You’re a bully,” you turn your accusing gaze to him, hands now slowly curling into fists by your side. You’re not even angry: you’re just feeling... hot, and frustrated, and embarrassed, having to stand here in bright daylight, dripping wet and about to have another tantrum while naked. You’re starting to suspect that he probably enjoys it when you get in a pet. Maybe it makes his cock hard: to watch you stomp your foot at him, especially if you do it without clothes.

“Bully?” His eyes smile at you like he’s the son of Sky Father himself.

“It’s someone who… who tortures people,” you blurt, a bit more dramatically than you initially meant to. He bursts into laughter and laughs for a long time, either because you just called him precisely what he is or because you called him a torturer for doing a silly prank.

“Ach… Well, you are pretty,” he says after surviving something that was veritably not meant as a joke. As if you being pretty is some kind of an excuse for doing this stupid, childish stunt...

His stare sweeps over you like you’re merely property, his eyes darting between your pouty face and the glistening sex between your legs now that you’ve blessedly moved your hands out of the way. Then he notices that something’s missing, that there is no necklace resting above your breasts anymore. He takes a step and raises a hand, and for the first time ever, you wouldn’t even dream of shying away from his touch. He brushes your bare neck with a silent question and brief hurt in his eyes.

Gods, he can’t think you got rid of it because you despised it, can he...?

“The river took it,” you explain quickly and with genuine regret. It’s a lie, but you can’t tell him the real reason it’s gone. You can’t confess that you had to sacrifice it for his safe return.

“I really liked it,” you whisper while looking him straight in the eyes, stomach heavy with both lies and the horrible, sweet truth. König recuperates surprisingly fast and nods slowly, the caress rising to your cheek to console you.

“Don’t worry. I can make you a new one,” he promises stoutly, and you bite your lip to prevent yourself from bursting into tears right there in front of him. “With wolf claws, if you like?”

“I don’t know… Sounds dangerous.”

“Hah. I kill my first wolf when I was fifteen.”

Your heart is bursting inside your chest – the songs of the bards never tell about someone being so goofy that you want to hug them until they stop speaking silly things. 

“I’m sure you did,” your lips quiver with a whisper of a smile. König takes in every crumb of your affection like it’s a blessing from the Mother below: his shoulders draw back everytime he senses you are appreciative of him or admire his strength. He’s even more proud when he presents the small carving he’s been working on. 

You’re now absolutely, vehemently sure that he has made the statue of the Great Mother himself. Because what you’re looking at is very similar to that statue, only far more detailed. The breasts and hips on this figurine are more proportional, and you could almost swear that the statue he just gave you is trying to depict you. It has your hair and your face, or then he has tried to capture the slightly pouting face of some other ungrateful woman. But you can’t shake the thought that you may very well be looking into your own eyes.

“For you,” he says above you, and you swallow tears for gods know how many times today. He even winks at you, incredibly playful, like this statue is now a cute little secret only you two know about.

“It’s–I didn’t know you… Uh. Thank you,” you stutter like a fool. You can’t ask if it’s you – you can’t ask a simple question because to hear his unabashed, proud answer would mean that you won’t be able to hold yourself back from kissing him.

You are starting to feel like… an idol of worship, almost. 

He lavishes you with gifts and flowers, he feeds you grapes and wine, he brings you his bloodied loot and asks you to bless his sword. He honours your purity and respects your wishes not to be touched and pilfered.

What else are you if not a goddess? 

Even the Mother in his satchel doesn’t get such fevered attention. He even carved a new statue for you. Of you.

Your senses become eagle-sharp as you realize just how much your suspicions are proving true. You think about the way he is always at your tits, as if calling forth good luck and abundance when he squeezes them every day and night. It’s almost like a ritual. Or how he tries to dress you in fine clothes, not just to show you around, but to make you feel appreciated. The way he protects and shelters you and lets you – no, demands you to – ride his horse while he exhausts himself on the road. How the selecting of the necklace now seems like a test, to prove whether you are a true goddess who favors a gift of bone and blood and amber over the pathetic shiny trinkets of men. 

And the way he hasn’t touched other women all this time; no, because he doesn’t keep other goddesses...

Just you. 

Only you.

…

He knows your tongue so well that you don’t practically need the translator anymore. König sends him away after you whisper in his ear that you don’t like him.

It’s another lie because what you really don’t like is how bothered he looks when forced into the company of you two. You don’t like the deep sighs and the weary looks he gives both you and your supposed lover who always insists that you sit on his lap even if there are other people in the tent. You don’t want to make the poor man uncomfortable, so you come up with a reason for König to send him away. It's quite apparent that you could ask for the moon and stars, and he’d figure out a way to give them to you.

When you ask him why, for the love of all the gods, does he even want to keep a Roman slave, he says it amuses him. You always thought it was an odd thing to do because you’ve never seen König spend time with his soldiers. He never gambles with them, never eats with them, never hunts with them. By separating himself from them he keeps up an illusion of himself as a walking, fighting myth who has forced half the world to its knees, and whose quirks are to keep a Roman slave and, now, a foreign fairy in his tent.

You start to understand that it's because he doesn’t feel like he belongs.

He doesn’t even want to belong. He doesn't make an effort to be a Roman even if, legally, you suppose he’s a citizen or at least a free man. You wonder if it’s his only weakness: being so different from everybody else. 

You walk in and out of camp like a free woman with him. To the forest, to the stream, and one day, to the ocean, not too far from where you used to gather clams. If you walked the shoreline long enough, you would end up near your old village.

You spend your entire day there, collecting pink and white shells, giggling as König takes a dip in the shivering sea. He even throws the hood away before walking into the foaming waves. You have to hold your breath as he comes out because his face is the complete opposite of what you thought you would see. He has stern features and some prominent scars above his lip and crossing the bridge of his nose; there’s one above the left eye, and his nose has been broken at least two times. He looks mean and dangerous and suffering, it’s true, but you’re not scared at all. In fact, your embarrassingly wet while he furrows his brows and looks down at his feet, otherwise proud and happy in his skin but now suddenly concerned that you might not like what you see.

“Ugly?” He asks bluntly, with such distanced but sharp pain that your breath leaves you entirely. The vision of him might have frightened you on the first night, it’s true, but now, you only think he’s handsome. In a crude way, perhaps... But still handsome.

“No,” you shake your head slowly, never taking your eyes off him. König takes in air as if he has been granted a pardon from a horrible crime, and your heart hurts – is this the reason he has clung to that hood? To conceal some old scars and to appear more menacing to friends and enemies?

He’s stronger than ever as he walks to you, unclothed and smelling of seabreeze and salt, like he was just born from there, sired by the ocean and the wind. You ought to pray to Mother but you know it will do you no good. It’s a rotten joke to want a man who has massacred your people, the ones you used to call friend and neighbour and kin. You feel like you’re betraying the memory of your whole village by wanting to sleep with the enemy. The enemy who worships you; who looks at you like you’re a goddess when you lean back to watch the night sky come alive with indigo and stars. The enemy who teaches you their names in his own tongue...

He points you to the Head of the Serpent and the Smith’s Street, then to the Nail that holds the sky in place. You have your own names for the stars but you like it when he introduces them to you, clumsy and excited. When he shows you the long cock of the hero your people call Hunter, your cheeks heat up. You try to repeat the name in his tongue (whatever lewd, brash northern hero it may be), and it makes him happier than ever to hear you speak his words.

“König,” you ask him when he's shown you all the stars he knows. “Why do you fight…?”

He turns to look at you, perplexed, and you word the question differently.

“What do you want?”

“...What do I want?”

“Yes. In this life.”

His brows furrow as he starts to think, and your love for him only grows. Has no one ever asked him that before? Has he ever even given it a thought...? 

He grabs a handful of grass and rips it from the ground, absentmindedly and deep in thought. He fiddles with it for a while, then throws it away, looking somewhere to the distant, generous sea.

“I want…children,” he says. “I want a home.”

König turns to look at you, so stern that it forces you take support from the earth beneath you.

“Home. Richtig?”

“Yes,” you whisper, “A–a home.”

But it can’t be...

It can’t.

It’s simply too crazy that the brutal, callous giant has been searching for a home all along. That the man who cuts off heads and spits out the flesh of his enemies is simply someone who has lost his home and has yearned back ever since. It’s too wild a thought that the Titan wants to raise a family and have many children.

“Don’t you have a home somewhere in Rome…?” 

“It’s only a house.”

He fidgets with more grass, then turns back to you again with honest curiosity.

“Do you want children?”

“I…I don’t know.”

“Fee. You would be a good mother,” he determines right then and there, saying it so casually that you have no choice but to believe it. You want to change the topic, and quickly, now tugging at the grass yourself because you're feeling shy.

“König… What is Fee?” 

“Fee is… They are small women? Live in trees. Or flowers. Or everywhere,” he gestures vaguely all around you.

“You mean fairies,” you whisper, and he shrugs. If you say so. But you know you're talking about the same thing: curious little earth spirits, lively and wild. 

Your heart is burning; it’s scorching until there’s nothing left but sweet molten gold. Usually, this kind of burning has stirred in your chest when some old crone has told a good story at the fire during the turn of the year. Usually, you’ve felt this kind of thrill when you’ve heard the piper play for the forest during springtime, lulling the devious spirits back to the trees so that they wouldn’t enter lambs and goats and make them sick. You’ve only felt so alive when you’ve walked at the beach during midsummer with a desperate aching between your legs because you’ve felt so alone and yet so, so alive.

“They said you were a Titan,” you whisper, another hushed question on this night of nights. You feel like you’re having a conversation of the ages, even if it’s clumsy and plain. The night sky is blooming with stars, the sea is whispering its secrets, and there are so many unsaid things between you two, finally washing up on the shore. König is ripping out more tall grass, but only because he’s searching for the right words.

“No. No titan. Just king,” he shakes his head as if sorry that he has to disappoint you. “I was the king’s son. Before Rome came…”

He’s suffered the same fate as you then, a long, long time ago. You wonder where his people are now or if they are even alive anymore, if he is the last giant standing, the last remaining man of his folk from the mountains. If the ruins of his proud house have already turned to dirt and dust and soil, if his father’s head was left to rot on a Roman spear, his riches and wealth taken back to Rome as spoils and exchanged for wine and whores and slaves.

You can only imagine the fury and despair when a tall boy’s future and dreams crumbled into dust, to blood and tears and screams, to a tale that no one ever told.

“You’d make a great king,” you say, meaning it with all your heart. His whole face lights up with a smile; the sorrow is still present in his eyes, and you know the depth of its roots now. But the Romans never managed to kill his will to live.

“If I was king… I would choose you for my queen,” he says softly, and you thank the wind for drying an escapee tear that rolls out. Fate is shaking your ribcage like a rattle; the wind steals your tears like they’re a long-withheld gift.

He tells you his tale under the safety of the vast starry sky. It's only bits and pieces, but you understand enough from his clumsy words.

He tells you how he was brought to Rome as a slave, sold to the pits and how he rose to manhood and fame there. He fought in the great arenas you’ve heard so many gruesome tales about; he fought until he could buy his freedom. He forgot his people, his revenge, that he was a king. Not knowing what else to do, he took up arms again and became the thing he hated the most: a Roman soldier. 

He tells you about a woman who can see things that have not yet happened. He asked this seer if there was anything else for him in this life but death; he would give any offering that was needed if only he could find more life instead. He had already given money and offerings to all the fertility goddesses of Rome, to no avail. He had carved a statue of Venus to attract love, but it didn’t work. So many times he had wanted to throw it in the sea. Until the woman who sees told him he would find what he was looking for in his next campaign. When he promised he’d come back to kill her if she lied, the old crone had only laughed at him. 

The next day, he was discharged from his old unit and separated from those who spoke the same language as him. Everyone was afraid of an uprising that would have a giant at its head, so he was offered money and whores, even a position in politics, and lastly, a place in an elite unit with a better wage. They told him the troops were about to leave for the harsh frontier: a new campaign to bring glory to Rome. He chose the latter option immediately.

He turns to look at you. Bloodless, thin-lipped, shivering you.

“She said you would be pretty. Like a fairy.”

You hear the distant rumbling of the sea, endlessly soft. You feel the wind suddenly passing through the field, filling the cloak of a northern king who came all this way just for you. Even the stars are waiting for your next move. 

“I…” you start, already breathless. “The necklace… König, I’m so sorry. I had to give it to Mother.”

“Mother?”

“To the gods. So that you wouldn’t die in battle.”

Realization dawns on his face, driving away all doubt and confusion. He’s just as pleased as the day he gave you all those gifts, if not even more so.

“You make sacrifice for me?”

“Yes,” you whisper. You can’t help it: a sob wrenches out of your chest as the first tears fall. “I’m sorry. I really liked it... I’m so sorry–”

König rises immediately, only to come to you and fall to a crouch. He draws you against his chest, your weeping face soon held right against his heart.

“Never say sorry,” he kisses your head, over and over again. “Never say sorry…”

The wind surrounds you both, soft and warm, as he rocks you back and forth. You hug him with all the strength a little fairy can muster, then raise your chin to look at him. You’re probably the most pathetic creature he has ever seen – you could swear there is no woman alive feeling as weak as you feel now. König cups your face gently, the look in his eyes that of a hunter who has finally caught up with his prey. Warm, merciful, loving.

“Fee… I can still taste you,” he says.

“I can still feel you,” you whisper back. A deer, felled. “But I don’t… I don’t like biting.”

“Biting…?” 

“Teeth.”

“Ja. I noticed.”

It doesn’t matter. None of it matters. You would let him bite you anywhere and everywhere now. You would actually kill for it if he only laid his mouth on you...

You laugh with leftover tears in your eyes, and your giant smiles back at you, so endearing that you feel like it’s the first day of the rest of your life.

“Do you like bath?”

…

You ease into the warm, almost too warm water with a sigh.

The slaves have had to toil the better half of the evening to heat such a large body of water, and you can’t even begin to imagine where König has gotten the pretty little clay bathtub. It’s the largest pottery you have ever seen; far too small for a giant like him but just enough for a fairy woman like you.

You wash yourself languidly, feeling like the queen of the whole wide earth. Someone has even poured some of the scented oils into the bath, and you could cry from happiness as the sweet scents envelop you. You wonder if the wife of any chieftain has ever experienced such luxury and warmth. 

König has the most pleased smile on his face when he sees how much you appreciate yet another gift of his. He pampers and spoils you so much that you threaten to turn into an overripe grape, too soft and sweet and juicy, unable to keep intact anymore. But there’s a price to be paid, apparently, as he watches you from across the tent, sitting in his chair and pulling back the tunic to reveal the the erection between his legs. It’s the biggest cock you've ever seen, and already standing tall and proud, like a soldier about to go to war.

Your lips part on their own; heat shoots between your legs so fast it knocks the breath out of you. He seems to love your attention and awe, because his cock gives a few pulls just from you staring at it. Pearl-white seed leaks out of the tip as he grabs it inside a strong fist and gives himself a few unhurried strokes. 

“König…?”

You’re breathless, but he’s not: he’s breathing heavily in that chair, powerful thighs spread wide, stroking the thick weapon between his legs while you feel like fainting in your bath.

“When will torture end?”

He's dark, dark and done with patience, and you don't know how to answer such a question. You don't even know where to look.

“Hm? You like to torture men?”

“No,” you whisper, cheeks hot and cunt ridiculously wet.

“Yes you do. A little bully, hmm?”

“König–”

“I’ll show what happens to bullies.”

He lets himself go and rises from the chair. Your mind is of no use to you now: all you can do is stare at that thing between his legs, pointing towards you like a road sign.

He walks to you, cock and gaze equally heavy, and gets rid of his tunic. Then he gestures for you to rise from the tub. You’ve spent enough time there in his opinion, and the water is indeed turning unpleasantly cool – but if you go to him now, you won’t be able to fight him. Not when you’re in such a pleased, lax, purring state. Perhaps that was the whole idea...

You rise slowly, then step out carefully, taking support from the edge of the tub and from his shoulder – and still almost collapse all over him as you try to remain on your feet. He holds you upwards while you try to avoid the murder weapon between his legs, but your giant is not as shameful as you: he grabs your butt and guides you flush against him. You meet his chest with a gasp, the length of him now trapped between you two.

“Wait, I’m—I’m still wet,” you try to peep, but it’s no use. He sweeps you off your feet, no doubt with the intention of carrying you to the bed. 

“I will lick you clean,” he looks at you like you’re already trapped, caught, and bled: such a weak little creature in his arms, trying to beg for mercy with its last dying breath. You cling to him as such, that’s for sure.

“Just... No biting. Please?” You whisper as he lays you on the bed.

“No biting,” he gives his valiant promise, accompanied with a confident flash of a smile.

Gods…

If he’d gotten rid of that stupid hood earlier, your legs would’ve been pudding. They would’ve been as far apart as the two villages east and west of here. That smile would have allowed him to infiltrate everything in between. Perhaps it’s a good thing he is not that clever… 

“Oh gods–” you gasp as he shifts down and lowers himself for worship. His breath hits you first, and the next thing you feel are his lips – still smiling – then the gods-forsaken beast gives you a kiss.

“Oh–”

There is a sudden silence following your moans, then you hear soldiers bursting into laughter outside your tent. They’re warming themselves by the campfire, no doubt, sharing stories about war and women, and now they’ve heard the first mewls of surrender from their hero’s tent, after weeks of quarrelling.

Your cheeks heat up as one of the soldiers utters a hurried sentence and mentions König’s name, after which the merry crew booms to laughter again.

Gods take the Romans and their stupid, lewd jokes...

You try to concentrate on the warmly lit burgundy ceiling as König carries on without paying any attention to what’s happening outside. They could march into the tent and try their best to rip him off your cunt, but you doubt if they would get him to move an inch. He's simply that drunk on your taste.

You wonder if his chin is already covered in your juices because his kisses are open-mouthed and hungry – he even tries to push his tongue inside you. The man has absolutely no shame when he's buried down there, groaning with approval as you roll your hips. You're rutting his face as shyly as you possibly can, and it makes him purr and rumble with bliss. The noise he makes is enough to make you sing too, so filthy that it earns you a whistle from outside.

Shit... They probably think he's fucking and hurting you with his cock – a scary prospect, yes, but you'll have to cross that bridge when you get there – and they couldn't be more wrong. If they only knew what their champion is doing to his slave, lapping and sucking his disobedient woman like a starved dog...

“You like mouth?”

It’s hungry, so dark, the way he asks if you like what he’s doing to you. It’s not the mad lust of a drunken man from a few nights ago; it’s sober, fierce greed with a clear purpose behind it. Your fingers find his hair and tug at it weakly, not to cheer him on, but to take support from something relatively stable. 

“Yes… Yes, just–"

“Gut,” he grins into your folds, coarse stubble scraping you deliciously raw. “I like this too. After I lick you enough, I will fuck you.”

Your fingers curl around his hair, giving him another involuntary tug.

Gods, make him stop talking... Just tie his tongue or something, make him shut up.

Please…

“I will bully you all night with cock. I know you will like. Hm?”

He prattles more nonsense in your cunt, and you can’t hear the men outside anymore. You can’t even see the lamps. You’re in a womb of pleasure, which is funny because there’s a grown man between your legs, dragging his tongue over your slit until you're shaking and crying on the bed. Yes, if this is a womb, you never want to leave...

And he’s not eloquent; you don’t even know what he is trying to do to you. He probably doesn’t know it himself. He’s not trying to fish for cues on what you like: he just does what he feels like doing, which is everything. He tries every single thing. He’s just happy to be down there, flicking and circling his tongue over your nub until you can’t take it anymore.

You're dangerously close, and rise halfway to push his head away because it’s just too much; it’s too much pleasure in one go. He gives you a husky laugh and fights your weak attempts to make him stop, the damned bastard. You’re too frail to resist him, and he knows too much already, repeating the torture until your hips buck up.

“Gut... Like that...?” He asks again, so eager to please that you have to stifle a sob.

“Yes... Yes, just like that,” you sigh while trying to stay in one piece.

“Guide me, little fairy,” he demands, excited like a young, hot recruit. Apparently it's no big deal for him to have his head tugged and shoved and dragged just for a woman's pleasure. It doesn't take away an ounce of his power to be your toy for a moment. Your sharp tongue has left you completely; it is you who is humbled as you guide him back to the right spot, jerking when he licks you just the way you wished.

It’s bad enough that you make a mess on his bed and moan like a paid woman, giving everyone in this camp a taste of what it sounds like when a giant bullies his fairy to the full. But can’t he keep his stupid, lovable mouth shut...

He’s making so much noise that you can both feel and hear him. His moans are hoarse, needy and deprived; they echo somewhere in your core, somewhere inside your most sensitive, aching place, just before he finds it, the right spot, and pushes his tongue inside you.

“Wait…” you gasp, convulsing on the bed now. What the hell does he think he’s—

“Wait—I’m…”

And then you cum, right into his mouth, with an arched back and quivering thighs, with such lewd sounds shooting out of your mouth that complete silence follows outside.

Whatever those soldiers had thought to happen here tonight, they clearly didn't expect to hear that… Nor the cries that follow, so nasty and wanton that König doesn't withdraw, not before you have clenched and cried your fill. He enjoys your peak to the last tremble, but you barely get to catch your breath before he leaves you. He doesn’t even give you a chance to caress his head as thanks for what he just did to you.

His mouth leaves you empty and cold as he rises, watching you like you're his best conquest. His cock is so hard it juts out, immovable like a rock and so intimidating that you stop breathing for a moment.

And he doesn't allow your breathless, shocked state go to waste: he grabs that horse cock and sets it on your flush, soaked lips, and pushes the head inside. More than just the head inside.

“Oh gods, oh fuck–”

Your legs are completely useless, falling to the side as he eases himself into you. He looks at you curiously, tilting his head when he hears you curse for the first time in his presence. More than just amused, he goes deeper still, delighted that he made you say a naughty word with his cock.

You can feel the stretch; you can feel every ridge, every vein, all his thickness filling you with purpose. You can do nothing but flutter your eyes as he takes you, finally, as his own.

And it must be some cruel joke of both Mother Earth and Father Sky that it prolongs whatever bliss he just gave you with his mouth. Your body won't stop having its pleasure; it welcomes him with a string of helpless whimpers. Even your cunt starts to squeeze him like it's the best thing in this world.

And he sees it. He feels it.

“Ja, little one. Time to fuck.”

He continues his journey inside, one massive palm landing on each side of your head as he leans over you.

“Einfach so… Trust me. Hmm?”

You only nod, completely silent and tame, waiting for him to give you more gifts. Mother knows this man is your downfall: your heart and soul are about to burst into flame when you look at him. You want him with your whole being; you want his love and praise so much you could cry.

“You want cock?”

“Yes,” you look up at him, eyes surely shining like stars. “Yes, yes, yes–”

“I will give you. Don’t worry.”

You sob as he withdraws, pulling the long, delicious cock almost completely out. He returns immediately when you whine from the loss. He feels so good, and so, so big… Fulfilling you entirely, every bit of you that was hollow and empty, every little space that needed loving is now his and filled with love.

“Verdammte… Götter, du bist zu eng,” he huffs and looks down as if to check if it’s true that he’s finally inside you. It could never fit in fully; you both probably knew that. But he’s trying his best.

“What does that mean?” You pant, impatient that he stopped moving.

“Too small... For me...” he laments. Or brags.

“Any woman is too small for you,” you mope underneath him, thinking about whether he has had women who have been able to take him fully in. Women who haven’t been “too small”.

König raises his eyes to you and smiles, revealing a row of white teeth, the scarred lip making his grin look pure and sweet even if he is a menacing man.

Stupid mountain giant… He's just proud of not being able to fit inside you. Your lower lip juts out with a pout, and the cock inside you responds immediately with a pulse. You can feel it — he's fucking excited about you getting angry at him again.

There is a flash of mischief in his eyes – darned bastard – just before he swoops down to attack your neck. Your tits get crushed under a solid chest as he nuzzles close to your ear and gives you lots of love and little bites. He starts to fuck you slowly, and there's nowhere you can escape now, nowhere you can flee his mouth or teeth or cock.

“König, you promised–”

“Aber… You are more tight this way?” 

The breathless laugh that follows leaves you blinking. Of course he can feel the way you tighten around him every time he gives you a little bite.

“Gods, I hate you…” you whisper on his shoulder, thinking about biting him there in return. König laughs in your neck again – your threats of hate have long past lost their intimidating nature and are more like love confessions to him now. And perhaps that’s what they are.

He makes love to you hard and good, and it’s embarrassing, how you're about to cum again around his cock. You were supposed to have your revenge by showing him you have teeth too, but find yourself biting your lip instead, trying to tone down at least some of the filthy sounds that try to escape you.

He's not too rough, at least not yet, happy with listening to the poorly stifled whimpers that follow his every thrust. You thought he'd rail you like an animal, but he seems to settle for making love to you while biting and groping you all over. He savours every thrust like he savoured those grapes you fed him: slowly and intently, with passion instead of greed.

You're squeezing him with everything you have as he rocks you back to the edge. His grunting only make it all worse: he doesn't even try to be quiet and decent, and it's driving you to madness. Why does he have to be so noisy? Why does he have to fuck you so that everyone can hear just how good you feel?

Every soldier in this camp can hear both your moans, his hoarse ones and your weak ones, merging together until you do sound like animals in heat... You’re so wet that some of the men must hear the music of that, too. You never knew your cunt would be so hungry and needy, least of all for a man like him. You grip him as the waves approach, rich moans turning into pathetic little cries as his cock works you open.

“Again…?” He smiles a surprised laugh on your neck. The waves hit you before you can tell him to shut up.

The noise you make is even more obscene this time, and you barely catch a glimpse of his drowsy, victorious stare before your head falls back. You squeeze your eyes closed, trying to take in the most powerful orgasm and the most powerful cock of your life without having to see that stupid, happy face of your lovesick giant.

“Nein,” he grabs your jaw inside a huge but gentle hand. “Eyes open.”

He won't even let you cum in peace, but you do as you’re told, finding him watching you like a stormcloud or a god. He watches your every tremble, every whimper, every sigh. He sees the full-blown love in your eyes, and you wonder… Is this what the bards sing about in their stupid songs? 

…Weakness?

Because your heart hurts and your eyes sting, your thighs tremble and your cunt is far too wet and open for him to plough. If this is love, it hurts; it burns far too sweet. It leaves you utterly weak.

“Little one is needy,” he comments softly on your second downfall.

“You’re the one who’s needy–”

Your already weak argument ends in a gasp as he reminds you who you belong to with another good, deep thrust.

“I will put a child in you,” he rumbles, a threat or a promise. “If we do this every night… You will have my child.”

“Then let’s do this every night,” you whisper beneath him, your own purr of a threat. As if you didn’t know how babies were made… To your silent joy, König stops to catch his breath or your words; you’re not entirely sure which. You decide to up the stakes, just to make him fall with you.

“And every morning too?”

“Ach, du kleine–” he crumbles, voice turning to dust from your innocent suggestion.

If you thought he was a little too in love with you before, the look on his face now is worth all the gold in the world. You could swear that your kind question is the sole reason for this man cumming on the spot. Perhaps your body is to blame for it too; he couldn't keep his paws off when you were being sulky and difficult, so how could he take it when you're pleased and loving and all puffed up?

You see the brief flash of vulnerability, the mortal fragility in his eyes just before he shoots his load with a painful-sounding groan. The sound that leaves him is a mixture of desperation and release – even giants can cry, you think as you watch how beautifully he comes undone. He makes sure his seed is sent deep inside you by burying his cock into you, as far as it can go; the intention behind it is so clear that you wouldn't be surprised if you got heavy with a child after this first time.

He falls on top of you after, drained and spent and body heaving from exertion. There’s no other sound in the night but the satisfied panting of you two: the soldiers outside are rendered silent by the sounds of true lovemaking, even the wind spirits are hushed tonight.

You’re completely filled, and with his cock still inside you, he’s preventing any precious seed from escaping. You’re only glad he’s too weak to move because you’d happily keep him here forever, inside and on top of you like this.

“You are pleased…?” He turns his head a little, sounding worried enough to make you hug him tight.

“Yes. Very much,” you whisper, and he moves to rise and look you in the eyes. 

“Gut.”

It’s cute to be nose to nose like this with him, eyes locked together, lips only a hair’s breadth apart. He looks so intoxicated and happy without even being drunk that you break into a small laugh, eyes brimming with happy tears, the washing away of relief. He smiles too, then laughs with you.

The soldiers outside might think it an odd business: to make a woman moan and laugh with a cock. You were brought to this tent screaming, and he made you scream again, just not the way they thought.

The sound of your mutual laughter rises in the tent, up towards the heavens, surely making even the Sky Father smile above.

…

You do it every night, and every morning, too.

Sometimes, you do it during the day after bathing in the stream. After washing and playing in the water, you rush to the shore together, but König is always faster than you. He throws your dress away or holds it up above his head, far from your reach, smiling like the most innocent man in the world. He's far from innocent, though: his cock hangs heavy between his legs, swelling just from seeing you angry and flustered and wet. 

“Bully,” you accuse, utterly in love and out of breath, earning you another attack of a love-hungry giant. You forget the dress when he kneels on the grass, kisses your stomach and your thighs, keeps you in place for his mouth with two strong arms and a love that turns your whole body weak. 

“Pretty,” is the only thing he breathes as an answer before he scoops up your leg and spreads you open for his mouth.

Your head rolls back with a choked sigh, the drops on your skin dry on their own. Somehow, you end up on the grass with his mouth glued on you. The sun plays in your hair; it dances on your face as he gives you more and more until you know, you just know that if you do this every night and morning and day, you will definitely have his child.

He tells you his real name, his true name, the one his mother gave him. You moan it in his ear just before you cum around his length. Sometimes, it makes him purr; other times, it makes him grunt. Once, you hear a soft, pitched whine. 

He’s more rough when you’re on your knees. You’re shy and wet when he commands you to prop yourself on your elbows and show him your cunt. He licks you from front to back, feasts on you until your breaths turn to shivers. You squeeze your eyes shut from how obscene the scene must look; you hope to all the gods the Roman slave won’t come to ask his travel guides back when König finally rises and takes a wide stance behind you. He sets himself on your opening and pushes in, fat and greedy. 

You can only whimper as he starts the thrusts, starved and slow, picking up the pace and holding you in place by the hips when you approach the brink of another collapse. You fear you will lose your mind if he keeps doing this to you every day. The only thing you hear are the breathless, warm grunts of encouragement behind you.

“You can take it. You can take it. Already took it, little one…”

He won’t stop, not even as you cry out loud, the cock hitting you in places that make your legs nearly give in. He won’t stop even as tears brim, not even as you start to sound like a tortured animal; no, he just tightens his grip on your waist and pounds you harder. You cum with a moan that would make Roman whores blush, but your lover doesn’t mind at all. He cums right after you, with a roar that could raise the reverend dead from their mounds.

Afterwards, he’s gentle again. He gathers you in his arms like his most valuable possession, caressing and breathing you in, giving you a soft kiss behind your ear.

“You’re... mean,” you try to remember how to breathe as he gives you more of those hungry kisses. You already know he likes it when you’re so spent you don’t have the strength to squirm or fight him.

“Ja. And you become more nice when I bully you,” he whispers in your ear. “More calm… Less difficult.”

“Well, you don’t,” you turn inside his hold, eyes shining brighter than the stars or even the sun. “Crazy man…”

“You have robbed me of my sword and shield, it’s true. Robbed my heart too. Little thief.”

“Thief? You’re the one who stole me…!”

“And I’ll never let you go.”

You wriggle a hand to cup his face, meeting his eyes with such helplessness that it’s not even funny anymore. If he’s joking or playing with you now, you’ll kill him with his own swords.

“You promise?”

“I make a vow,” he declares ceremoniously, with a hand on his heart. But you doubt that he’s playing any games; you wonder if this man is even capable of lying or deception. You hug him so tight that he has to let out a grunt – surprised and pleased – after which you have to bury your face in his neck so that he won't see your tears.

“I am in love with you, Fee,” he whispers in your ear while caressing your hair, ever poetic for such a simple man. “Tell me. Do you like me too…?”

“Yes,” you breathe a half-cry, half-laugh in his neck. “Yes, you crazy giant. I like you too.”

You rise just enough to kiss him. It’s hungry and delivers everything you can’t say. You can’t tell him you love him; you simply can’t. You’re not ready for the painful happiness it would bring forth. He stabs you full of it anyway.

“I will never let you go. Never. Not when I finally found you, little one...”

…

Summer comes.

The camp moves lazily to its next destination, but when the next battle comes, König refuses to fight. 

His soldiers blame you, of course. You have bewitched him with your softness, making him soft and spineless as well. It is unheard of that a warrior like him would fall like this: out of some woman’s underhanded spell rather than dying gloriously in the field by a barbarian blade or two. Even poison is considered better than this.

No one understands that there is no hex. The war is still being fought, this time inside his soul. It’s not just you preventing him from taking up arms; it’s something else, something old and deep-rooted you've managed to stir in him. Something ferocious, something that has been asleep for a long time, something that is far from all things soft.

You two sneak out from the camp after the bulk of the army has marched away. He takes you to the seaside again, to a wild, roaring shore. You laugh and bask in the sun, swim in the sea and eat the first berries of the season. You lie on the tall grass, naked as the day you were born: it's simply too hot to wear anything except your glowing skin. König starts to ask you peculiar questions while tracing the soft line of your spine. 

He asks what kind of house you would like to live in, and tries to find out in a roundabout way if you would like to live in a forest or in the hills. You treasure the sound of waves, and König likes the sound of the wind in trees, but you both love steep hills and the open view of plains. You get the idea that he may want to retire somewhere in the near future. 

He tells you he is not a good fisherman but can hunt everything that moves. He is good with a spear, with traps and the bow, and he’s tired of hunting humans who only wish to live in peace. The arena he could understand, but the war on foreign lands, not. And if you begin to swell with his offspring, the Roman encampment at war is the last place for a sweet little fairy like you. He asks what kind of village you used to live in and is somewhat sad to hear all the things you tell him. He says it sounds like home, the one he was taken from many years ago. 

When you return to the camp, it’s like you two are a different species altogether, two wild animals who sneak from the gates back to the flock, back to being human, back to being caged and tamed and stunted. The grumpy, tired soldiers witness your wildness and happiness with sullen distaste. To them, your appetite for freedom is the filthiest, most treacherous thing in the world. 

The commander of the troops summons König at his feet and threatens to flog him if he ever skips a battle again. He’s told that only barbarians ignore orders like this: at the turn of a whim or a woman or wind. If he doesn’t remember who he is, not the reckless murderer of his youth but a man reborn, a noble Roman citizen, he will risk descending into apathy and greed again. Was this the case, Rome will guide him back to fold again by the crack of a whip if it has to.

That night, you tell him that you love him. Wherever he goes, you will go. That night, when you’re lying in his arms, sweaty and spent and thoroughly happy, he speaks words so wild it shakes the whole tent with a wind.

“If I kill the soldiers, will you come with me?”

It’s only a mutter, a murmured, careful whisper, but it makes you rise to sit and place a hand on his chest for extra support.

“Kill the soldiers? You mean… Kill the Romans?”

“Ja. All of them.”

The shock quickly makes way to disbelief. Can such a thing even be done? He’s a giant, but he’s still just one man. But König doesn’t look restless at all; he looks like a man who has finally made a decision he should have made years ago. He looks like someone who is at peace with their soul.

"Where would we go?" You whisper weakly, unsure if he has given this enough thought or thought at all. It’s now the wanderer in him who speaks, the adventurer who fears nothing because he has already lost everything – and found the most precious, essential thing. 

You. Himself…

Free will.

“Wherever you want.”

“What if you get killed…?”

“You take treasure and horse and go.”

…

Your mother always said that it's useless to sway a man if he has chosen to stand up and fight. She told you that the best you could do is go grab a sword and join him.

That is why you give him your blessing – your full, ardent blessing.

It makes him stronger than ever: were he to go out there with nothing but his skin, he would be victorious. The oak that hears your magnificent spell shivers from fear above you as you call down earth, fire and wind. 

You call the spirits from below to guide his feet and make them swift and silent as a feather in the wind. You call down the lightning from the sky to accompany his sword as he deals his blows. You cloak him with the fury of the dead; they will smite down his enemies when they catch even a glimpse of him. You shroud him with the Mother's blessing so that he will be untouchable, unstoppable, invincible as he deals death among the Romans.

It’s a terrible spell; even the moon withdraws into a cloud when She hears it. Not even the lady of silver twilight dares to reveal this giant to the Romans as he’s about to descend upon them.

He rises with the power of fifteen men and gives you a kiss that nearly topples you. He smiles before he leaves you, and never looks back as he goes to do the deed of a legend.

You watch the massacre up from a hill. A safe distance from the camp, but close enough to see how König destroys a whole cohort by himself. The plant you mixed into the “reconciliation wine” he gave his soldiers and the commander before nightfall makes it laughably easy because most of the men are still half asleep when they burn inside their tents. The oil spilt on the dry dirt and linen roars aflame now with the help of the wind and earth spirits as König torches the camp. The occasional few soldiers that rise to meet him with fear in their stare are already broken by your spell before his swords impale them. 

The old translator is the only Roman who wasn’t given a cup of foxglove wine because he was König’s slave, and now he can see that he is blessed among men. The God of War faces him with swords pointing to the ground, fury planting his feet wide, and it takes the old Roman a while to understand that he’s the only man who gets to walk out of this camp unharmed. As grumpy and unsociable as he is, you wish him good fortune on his future journeys, even utter a quick protection spell to shroud him as he leaves towards his destiny on enemy land.

The slave women, sober, confused, and free, run amock to gather weapons, cloaks, food, and valuables before escaping the camp. König doesn’t even notice them, and they pay little mind to the enraged god ramming through puny mortals because they’re too busy getting out of the burning castra.

How fitting it is that the only people escaping the hellfire are a few beaten women and an old, weak-calved Roman – every able-bodied soldier burns inside his tent or meets their end at your lover’s blade.

The wind spirits help spread the fire so eagerly that you begin to fear that König won’t make it out in time. You whisper prayers into your fist, curled around the Mother who has already given you so much. She has also taken away everything; like seasons, she has reaped and sown, but if she reaps your lover now, you will walk into the sea.

Mother is merciful and returns him to you, unharmed and glorious. He's the same ferocious beast you saw half a moon ago, and also the same ferocious man who was inside you this very morning. You see a god of war, and he sees the mother of life and death, perhaps, because his first words to you are a ripe offering.

“I avenged them all,” he says when he reaches you, thrumming with victory and smelling of smoke and ruin and blood.

He has been born again; he has walked to a new dawn through fire and death and returns to your arms like you two have known each other since the beginning of time. You’re not sure if he talks about his fallen ones or your fallen ones, or everyone who has fallen to these particular Roman spears. You’re not sure if this is his downfall because what you’re looking at is only the downfall of the Roman campaign on your lands. You and König are very much wild and spirited and free. If this is a downfall, it feels like being lifted towards the sky. You see in his eyes that he feels the same as you.

The whole world is new as you leave towards a new life. Sun rises, and takes years off your backs. You wash him in the sea and kiss the salt away from his lips, and it feels only right that he takes you on the grass after slaughtering your enemies.

You bury the statues and the bronze sword in your old village, long abandoned and thoroughly looted. The old woman is in her hut, dead as a stone, and she finally looks happy, with a calm little smile on her face and flowers in her hand. She looks like a young girl, almost, ready to meet the spring of her life.

"Ready for adventure, little one?" König smiles as he raises you to his horse. He takes direction from the sun while you look down at his happy, golden form – your god, your life, your love. 

Your new beginning.

...

Translations:

Richtig? - Right?/Correct?

Einfach so - Just like that

Verdammte… Götter, du bist zu eng - Damn… Gods, you are tight

Aber… - But…

Ach du kleine… - Oh you little…

Scheisse - Shit/Fuck

[stealingpotatoes]

Saw your comments on Barriss' Tales of the Empire outfits and I was just like FINALLY SOMEONE UNDERSTANDS! I really wish they'd tried harder. (And the pixie cut doesn't quite suit her face in my opinion; I think it'd look better if she grew out her hair or something, maybe something like a crown braid)

PS: did you notice that they forgot her hand tattoos?

YES it's just so sad like come on!! you're star wars!!! this franchise has made some of THE most iconic character designs of the past century and yet they show up with the dictionary definition of mid for TotE??? seriously??

[java-lava]

My Favorite webnovels/Webtoons/Webcomic/Whatever;

The Remarried Empress

My Gently Raised Beast

I Became the Villain’s Stepmother

Born as the Second Daughter

My In-Laws are Obsessed with Me

The Tyrant Wants to be Good

Men of the Harem

The Matchmaking Baby Princess

Who Made Me a Princess

For my Derelict Favorite

I Thought My Time Was Up

I’m the Queen in This Life

Tricked into the Heroine’s Stepmother

Woes of a Male Lead

Baby Tyrant

Hello Baby

Go Away Romeo

Monster Duke’s Daughter

Divorcing My Tyrant Husband

From a Knight to a Lady

The Male Lead’s Girlfriend

When the Third Wheel Strikes Back

A Heart for the Emperor

My Husband Changes Every Night

Edit to add(I’m constantly updating this);

The Twins New Life

I Got Pregnant with the Tyrant’s child

I’ll Raise You Well in This Life, Your Majesty!

The Evil Princess Dreams of a Gingerbread House

I’m the Soldier’s EX-Girlfriend

I Adopted the Male Lead

Villains Are Destined to Die

The Crown Princess Scandal

Marry My Husband

Perfect Marriage Revenge

Boyfriend of the Dead

Refund High School

Siren’s Lament

Empire’s Cutest Little Hostage

A Tender Heart; The Story of How I Became A Duke’s Maid (dropped due to SPOILERS the child being the ml and his nanny being the fl)

I Hold the Tyrant’s Heart

Lout of the Count’s family

I Am the Villain

The Crown Princess Scandal

The Dragon King’s Bride

Please Kill My Husband

The Reason Why Raeliana Ended up at the Duke’s Mansion

Am I Your Daughter?

Taming the Marquess

Pricilla’s Marriage Proposal

Crowning my Feral Prince

Under the Oak Tree

Finding Camellia

I Raised a Black Dragon

Adeline’s Darkest Night

Wish Upon a Husband

My Husband, My Sister, and I

I’m Being Raised By Villians

Talented Baby Squirrel

The Greatest Estate Developer

The Little Princess and Her Monster Prince

Surviving as the Tyrant’s Daughter

Father I Don’t Want This Marriage

Ten Ways to Get Dumped by a Tyrant

I Will Live The Life of a Villainess

Vampire Husband

Cursed Princess Club

What the Evil Dragon Lives For

1HP Club

Days With You

Batman: Wayne Family Adventures

Love Me to Death

Suitor Armor

I’ll Be the Matriarch in This Life

How is This Hot Duke Just a Background Character

My Three Tyrant Brothers

You Are Obsessing Over the Wrong Person, Lord of the Tower!

Beware the Villainess!

It’s Not Your Baby!

Being Loved for the First Time

I Will Divorce the Female Lead’s Older Brother

Everyone’s Princess

Villainess Have More Fun.

A Wicked Tale of Cinderella’s Stepmom

A Stepmother’s Marchen

The Beloved Fake Saint

Daughter of the Archmage

How to Hide the Emperor’s Child

The Male Lead’s Little Lion Daughter

The Crow’s Prince

The Reason for the Twin Lady’s Disguise

Adopted by a Murderous Duke Family

If anyone wants a one-shot based on a character from any of these, let me know

If anyone know where I can continue reading these for free, pls let me know (I’m broke);

Empire’s Cutest Little Hostage

A Tender Heart; The Story of How I Became A Duke’s Maid (nvm. About this one, I’ve been told that the child IS the Ml)

I Hold the Tyrant’s Heart

Lout of the Count’s family (found on Tapas)

Crowning my Feral Prince

[chuluoyi]

𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐃𝐄𝐏𝐎𝐒𝐄𝐃 𝐄𝐌𝐏𝐑𝐄𝐒𝐒 . . . 𝐑𝐄𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐑𝐈𝐄𝐒 ! — untold tales

first of all, thank you so so much for those who have read the deposed empress series! i can't thank you all enough—i'm blown away with all your kind words!! <3

and so, what is this? there are actually many little details i've had in mind for this au, but i can't write them all down bc there are just too many and writing up to 9-10k isn't usually my cup of tea :') this is more or less my little notes i held onto while writing the empress series, and i don't want to discard it so with this, i'll be clearing several plot holes you might've found throughout all hail the empress, the crown of diamonds and long live the empire :D

who is the infertile one, naoya or the empress?

truth is... none of them! :D both of them are perfectly healthy, and as of why the empress couldn't conceive while she was still with naoya... well, that has a lot to do with fate and god's blessing HAHA

official explanation *cough* — the empress feels oppressed in eastern empire, naoya isn't being kind to her as of late, and actually, she has a delicate body more than most... so despite being healthy and all, that kind of environment won't support any conception 💁🏻‍♀️

hanabi's children paternity

continuing from point above... naoya is the true biological father of hanabi's daughter and son :) this is my aim since the beginning -> how ironic and pitiful is it that he casts his own flesh and blood away? the main point of zen'in naoya's arc is to obtain his own heir, and yet once he does, he stupidly has them locked and about to be punished

has naoya ever loved the empress?

no. but why was he so kind with her in the beginning, you ask? that's bc he regarded her as an equal. she was the best pick out of highborn ladies in her time, famous for her talents, pretty too, and he deemed her worthy to become his wife. but later, naoya fell out of respect with her since she couldn't produce an heir

but on the contrary, the empress was in love with him, at least during her youth

what is the argument between gojo and empress in part 2 about?

gojo has long wanted to decimate naoya and his empire (no particular justification for this, that's just what emperors do :') let's leave it at that), but it's true that seeing how the empress is wronged while she was married to naoya fuels the fire. gojo may be biased bc he is so in love with the empress, but in his eyes, it's so unacceptable

the empress is suspicious that gojo is only using her after the ending scene of part 1. and she overhears geto's words (“No, Satoru. You are just using her. You were almost there when Empress Y/N proposed that deal to marry you.”), and so she is even more convinced that he's just planning to use her so... yeah, an argument ensues :')

in gojo's pov, empress saving megumi and hanabi means she is doing it out of (lingering?) love for naoya, as he knows that she used to be in love with him. in empress' pov, gojo is finding excuse to wage a war, and with the cursed necklace incident, he has found a right justification to do so

why did naoya send the necklace as a gift to the empress after everything? what happens to it afterwards? does he know what hanabi did?

you know, actually... if it isn't obvious by now, everything naoya does in this series is unreliable :') to put it simply, he's a bit mad ever since empress ditches him for gojo—his pride is so wounded and he's becoming erratic day by day

while looking at the his coronation portrait, he might feel some kind of twisted sense of regret-like emotions (i said "-like" bc he is not right in the head), and then he remembers that he still has that necklace with him, so he might as well get rid of it. it's totally not out of love at all! :D

after hanabi tampered with the necklace and imbued it with a curse from god knows where... gojo of course has it destroyed 💁🏻‍♀️ and naoya doesn't know any of this bc this matter is not made public by the western empire (after the empress' involvement in concealing the evidence), and neither megumi or hanabi want to risk naoya's wrath so they don't bring it to his attention. more like, they don't know how he'll react, and if he throws a fit then it'll be a headache so yeah he must be kept in the dark

still, megumi resents hanabi for what she did, that's why later, he has a hand in banishing hanabi to duke kamo's household :)))

hanabi's doomed fate explained

hanabi was a former maid to the kamo household and they're famous for their cruelty. as of what they've done to her... well, you can imagine all sorts of cruel scenarios and that will be it :) things get better when choso takes over, but still... hanabi still has nightmares from it

so what happened to her? basically, gojo's line in part 3 here: "Anyone who dares to lay their hands on my empress... they have to pay the price."

working together with geto, megumi and choso, gojo orchestrated the whole dumpster fire to make naoya and hanabi fall from grace. first, he digs hanabi's background, and after knowing it, he makes a deal with choso—zen'ins have usurped the throne from the kamos and a new plaything is always welcome so he easily agrees, and then megumi... he complies bc he knows everything is in shambles in eastern empire anyway and he hates hanabi too for cursing the empress, so he helps in spreading the false information about hanabi's children not being of naoya's blood and slips choso's blood in the paternity testing naoya conducts... and yeah, they all have him fooled and hanabi is kicked out that instant

and comes the main event: naoya's stroke is also choso pulling the strings :D so in other words, this is also their plan to dethrone him altogether and install megumi to the throne. the "kindness" megumi shows hanabi is also a part of their plan, as he sends her right back to choso

in conclusion, emperor gojo is actually a cruel, cruel person :) he designs this elaborate plan to take down those who dared to touch his empress...

final note

there are many inspirations for this series if you look closer -> the manhwa remarried empress (part 1-2), queen of tears & queen charlotte: bridgerton story (part 3). i tried my best to add my own twist in all three parts, but again, writing is a form of art and we're leaning towards things that are familiar to us to write :D after all, it's just fanfics... we're free to put them in any situation ;)

it has been such a fun ride to write this series :') again, thank you so much for giving my stories a chance🩵 i never expected for so many to interact, and you all truly make my day!! if i'm going to be honest, writing here isn't always fun... but seeing your asks, comments and tags really is the reason why i'm not giving up writing here :'D and i'm saying this not for me but also on behalf of all writers out there—whenever you drop by with a long analysis/tags/comments for our fics, we're so so beyond happy to read it!!! :) so thank you, and please continue to do so if you can <3

[feyhunter78]

Among The Sun

Description: The Conqueror, the Ravager of Lands, He who deals in blood and war. Emperor Miguel and his armies have scoured the land, and now they have set their sights on your kingdom. Will you fall to the Demonborn's blade, or will a strange connection between you and Miguel turn the tides of fate? Ch 2

The castle is abuzz with gossip and fear, words passed along in secret, gates closed, doors bolted. You press your back to the wall, the heavy curtain hiding you from the servants passing by. No one will tell you anything, simply bid you to dress and make yourself presentable as if there was to be a banquet, or a ball, not a potential siege.

“I’ve heard he’s coming from the West, that he set fire to the River Atraites, that his men—his armies of demons marched upon the flames.” One says, her voice hushed and filled with fear.

“No, he is coming from the East, the mountains bowed to him and allowed him passage through.” Another whispers, stronger but still afraid.

The Conqueror, the Ravager of Lands, He who deals in blood and war. He would be arriving soon if the rumors were to be believed, and you are no fool, you believe them.

You don’t know much about the Conqueror, your only information comes from rumors or war reports, neither of which are helpful. The rumors come from pleasurehouses, fanciful tales of the emperor storming in, scouring the establishment and searching for a woman with y/h/c hair and y/e/c eyes. If one cannot be found, he is said to destroy the place, leaving terrifying claw marks and scorched bodies in his wake. If one can be found, the rumors say her cries of pleasure can be heard throughout the town and that she emerges from the encounter with only faint pleasant memories.

The war reports tell a different tale. They speak of him as merciless, tearing through men as if they are parchment, his armies moving as a perfect unit, no breaks, no faults, only skilled, relentless ruin. He is said to have claws and fangs, some say he has horns like a ram, and his eyes glow crimson. He is a terrifying sight to behold, half monster, half man, an abomination that has set half the continent ablaze.

You wait until their footsteps pass then slip from behind the curtain, hurrying down the hall to the throne room where your father, mother, and three brothers are set to gather. Instead, you stumble upon a horrid scene. Your father and brothers lie on the marble floor, bloodied and unmoving, your mother is draped over your eldest brother’s body, wailing wretchedly.

“Traitors to the crown, they have done this.” She shrieks, clinging to his body.

You’re frozen, staring at the carnage before you. True, you had no real fondness for your eldest brother, the gap between your ages was too far to bridge, but the others at least made an effort.

“What—what are we to do? Mother, you are queen, the Conqueror will be here, he will offer you what he offers every other window, you must be prepared.” You tell her, rushing to her side and attempting to pull her from your brother’s body.

She refuses to budge, shrugging you off. “I will not, he will not come here, we have nothing to offer.”

Your kingdom is not small, in fact it’s quite large, a port town, but your mother is right, it holds nothing that the Conqueror doesn’t already have. He has already captured the agricultural kingdoms, the larger trade kingdoms, and those who boast their stores of wealth and gems. His own lands that far-flung empire that declared him ruler after a bloody and horrid event, is rich in resources, the soil, and cities still boasting the remnants of Arcana. It is a wealthy and powerful force, wielded like an obsidian sword by the Conqueror.

“You do not know that, please, either we stay, and you take up your crown, or we flee to the ships.” You’re tugging on her arm, already formulating an escape route. But would you make it in time?

Your mother says nothing, only continues to weep and holds out her hand for her fallen crown. She has made her choice; she will doom you both to die here.

Your kingdom has fallen, the gates forced open, the crowns of your father and brothers thrown to the ground, their bodies lying beside them. There is no time to clean the throne room, you’ve received the reports, the Conqueror is mere minutes away.

The emperor is cruel, monstrous, a vile, wicked man who care only for conquest. You have heard the rumors, the whispers as his armies march across the lands, leaving death and destruction in their wake. And now he would be coming here, to give your mother the very same choice he gave to each former queen. Bend the knee, pay tribute, or watch your kingdom burn. Dozens of kingdoms have refused and burned, but your mother is not a warrior, she weeps over your father and brothers, laments their loss as your kingdom crumbles around you.

When the Conqueror comes, you fear the choice she will make, fear the rumors of the horrors that await those kingdoms gifted to the murderous emperor. You do not wish for your land to become a territory of the ravager, a sacrifice to the blood-soaked demon, Miguel the Conqueror, the Relentless, the Merciless, but you fear your mother will have no choice.

Miguel is bored, his fingers tangled in the hair of another whore as she moans, her face shoved into the pillows as she helplessly tries to fuck back on him. He has her bent over the bed, thrusting mindlessly as he starts out the window at this kingdom’s castle.

She is skilled, he will not deny it, but Miguel doesn’t simply desire skill, he desires the woman from his memories and dreams.

He lets out a long sigh and closes his eyes trying to picture you, his soulmate, his horizon, with your soft skin and stunning smile, the lilt of your voice, your tantalizing smell. He groans as the image forms, crystalline fractured fantasies, flashes of you, snatches of memories.

“Fuck, mi vida, you feel so good, wonderful, you are wonderful, my empress.” He sighs, his free hand settling on your—the whore’s hip, steadying himself before he pounds into her, picturing how pretty you’d look, grasping at the silken sheets he’s procured for you, whining as he smooths a hand down your spine.

You’d be so sweet for him, clinging to him as he fucks you, your pretty eyes fluttering closed, your lips parted so perfectly. He misses when he would see you in his dreams, when he would hold you for a moment before you disappeared like sand slipping through his fingers. Now all he sees when he sleeps is darkness, exhaustion hitting him like a horse.

“Please, Your Majesty, harder.” She begs, lifting her head from the mattress.

Her voice rips him from his fantasy, and he pulls out, tucking himself back into his breeches. “I asked you not to speak.”

She looks back at him, and he regrets not compelling her. She looks so much like you, the closest he’s found, but he shouldn’t have taken the chance.

He grabs her chin, forcing her to meet his eyes. “You will remember none of this, only that you did your job and was paid handsomely for it.”

She nods, her shoulders drooping, eyes glazing over as his spell takes hold.

Miguel sighs and arranges her comfortably on the bed before leaving more than enough gold for her rudimentary services.

As he trudges down the stairs of the brothel, he’s met by his advisor, Lyla. She’s still in full armor except for those oddly shaped glasses that cover her eyes.

“It’s time.” She says, nodding towards the door.

Another kingdom to burn or capture, another fruitless search. Have the gods not dammed him enough? Have they not stricken him with this unholy visage, with these demonic powers, with a life of misery and death? You, you are the one he searches for, in your arms he will finally find rest, and if not, he will ensure it is so. There will be no kingdom for you to run to, no lands untouched by him, no bounty great enough to pull you from him, no powers beyond the divine will separate you, and even then, he has always desired to fight the gods.

He will offer this kingdom’s queen the choice he offers all others, waiting as they cower in fear, his eyes searching their court for you. But you are never there, and his anger only grows.

Perhaps this time will be different? Gabi would be fond of this land, would enjoy the flowers and streams. He prays that is a good sign.

TL: @not-aya, @belos-simp69, @deputy-videogamer, @sxnasbitch, @maxi-ride, @minimari415, @syndrlla97, @gejo333, @lady-necromancer

[bitterchocoo]

Alice in Wonderland

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"Once upon a time...."

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The first Alice walked through the land of Teyvat. Bravely with a sword in her hand, she sliced everything and anything that dared crossed her, leaving chaos in her red bloody path. She was feared and respected by all.

The people will remember her wrath, her cruel smile, her self-centered attitude, and most importantly the sword on her hand.

Who could ever forget someone like that? Someone who sparks fear on others? The very mention of her name brought the high and mighty shaking on their knees. Everyone would always try their absolute best to stay on her good side or else... her sword would be the last thing you'll see. They would praise her, give her offerings and gifts, the lengths of what they would do to stay on her good side...

Through her might and unyielding wrath, she traveled far through her journey. But soon... her wrong doings came right back at her..

She stray too far and lost her way. Giving in to all her sins. Much like the gruesome path that she forged with her hands. Still....

Her life remains a mystery till this very day.

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The second Alice was a tame and tender gentleman.

He helped those in need, he never lost his temper, he never talked bad about others, he's incredibly patient; a kind soul.

Such an enormous contrast with the first Alice.

The people would remember his kindness, his merciful acts, his pacifist route. In return for his deeds they would give him something in return despite how the man seemed uncertain of the gifts, claiming that "there's no need for such things."

What a kind soul... he can't even take a gift without feeling conflicted and guilty...

But of course.... you can't be kind to all.... sometimes kindness and mercy isn't the option...

Madness took ahold of him, shoot him dead to the ground. Blood stained the roses to a bright and somber red. Once loved and enjoyed by all, the man was left for dead

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The third Alice was a lovely girl.

Beautiful, the girl was born into a life so grand. She charmed all the people to her beck and call. How could they resist such a charming young lady? Her smile is as bright as the sun, and her beauty rivals those of a goddess.

Through her charms she created a kingdom, an empire that would rise above them all! This Alice was then crowned turned into a Queen. Ruling all the people there... she lost herself in a crazy dream..

Previously a carefree girl, suddenly has the weight of a whole kingdom on her shoulders.. she must have gone insane by the sudden shift in power and responsibilities. Suddenly she's been made all aware of the things that didn't crossed her mind since the beginning. So afraid of death, the girl was mindless and warped.

The people would remember her beauty and charm.

Once a gorgeous ruler, now she's just an ugly corpse.

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"So... what do you think?"

"...."

"What's with the silence, Alice?"

The man studied the other's expression before letting out a chuckle as he understood what he's thinking at that very moment. It was rather obvious. "Maybe I should start the next one~?"

"The fourth Alice was a pair of siblings who are twins. Straying into Teyvat—" "Shut up."

The man stopped as he glanced back at the man who stopped him with his story. "Oh? You don't want your story to be told? Your name echoes in their tales and songs?"

"You're telling a story of the past... this is not the past.. I—we—"

"Oh ho ho! Don't get ahead of yourself there, Alice~ You've fallen into this wonderland called Teyvat for how long now? 500 years? And now you're saying that? Don't make me laugh!"

"You two are staying here."

"Until we the Heavenly Principle say so."

"Until I say so."

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M. Reader as the Creator

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"Now... how will your story end, Alice~?"

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[stirringwinds]

Your thoughts on Alfreds similarity to Arthur, their dynamic and their father-son relationshio is incredible and so very enjoyable! The way Arthur sees Alfred; his hyperindependent son who rejects his fathers ideas and uplifts his own ambitions, not understanding that while his own ambition and view of the world is not completely identical to his fathers, it's a mirror image in scale and vigour. It is the same old tale of the prince beheading the king, taking the crown and vowing to never become his father, only to come full circle and have his enemies tell him "you're just like him."

Alfred may be the "black sheep" of the family, but not even Arthur can hide his favoritism for the lad. His firstborn is more like him than anyone of his children, and that bears pride, yet fear as well.

Im just trying to say that if you had a million fans, I am one of them, if you had one fan, its me, if you had zero fans im dead. <3

thank you so much! (: in return, i have to say how much i love your art, especially of the pacific siblings + the old man. you bring them to life really beautifully.

and yes! i just love the excellent contradictions that come out when digging into arthur and alfred as a father-and-son dynamic. i enjoy putting a twist on the usual tropes of the 'black sheep' and 'golden boy/crown prince', where it's often two different siblings. here, out of the 🇺🇸🇨🇦🇦🇺🇳🇿 siblings, alfred is the black sheep and the crown prince. he is the estranged eldest brother who seemingly does whatever the hell he wants. he overshadows them all even in his absence. like, for Jack and Zee especially, it's not a flattering picture of Alfred they get from Arthur. Ungrateful wretch, fool of a lad, hotheaded and arrogant, a flash in the pan...etc etc. but even quite young, before WWI or WWII, they realise that Alfred is the only one of them Arthur truly sees as anything close to an equal. that contrast is sharpened by how Arthur treats Matt—who was the 'older brother' they actually knew: the otherwise competent shocktroop of empire and first dominion shouldering various responsibilities. to defy Arthur is to earn his enmity, but also the only way to earn his respect.

like most other nations who become empires—Arthur doesn't truly believe in heirs: the sun never sets on the british empire, no? and when you are an eldritch being given life by the power of human ideas, immortality is a possibility they can't help aspiring to, no matter how much history is littered with the rise and fall of nations once arrogant enough to believe themselves invincible. and Arthur, at the height of British power, allows himself to believe that. for all his shrewdness and study of history, he's not immune to being seduced by that possibility. why shouldn't his empire be different? driven by the power of industrial civilisation that Rome could never dream of. Arthur never wanted Alfred to be his heir because he would never relinquish power willingly (just as the British Empire did not give itself up until the combined weight of world war two, anti-colonial movements and bankruptcy broke its back), but with his defiance, Alfred is the only kind of heir he would respect.

It is the same old tale of the prince beheading the king, taking the crown and vowing to never become his father, only to come full circle and have his enemies tell him "you're just like him."

indeed! i always see a real Titanomachy theme between Arthur and Alfred for that reason; the British and American empires certainly loved to perceive themselves as heirs to classical antiquity after all. the Greek story of the war between the younger generation of Olympian gods and Titans to determine who would have dominion over the universe. Zeus, with his siblings, overthrows his father Cronus— in a manner of speaking, that is what happens with WWII. Alfred is both Arthur's deliverance (lend lease, d-day...) and the one who usurps him: America replacing Britain's prime role in the Pacific, reshaping and redefining alliances with Australia, New Zealand and Canada. in the eyes of many of the Old World nations, Alfred is his father's heir. to end off, here's a short snippet from a WIP i'm working on set during the American Civil War:

Arthur laughs. “Do I make you do anything anymore, Alfred? Didn't you throw away my name almost a century ago? Did you not loudly announce yourself as a maritime power? That huge uproar you created in the Far East? Bragging to me how you’d done what I failed, dragging another Old World nation out of isolation to rejoin the international community on the threat of war and glories of foreign commerce?” Alfred opens his mouth—to say something self-righteous and hypocritical, Arthur is certain—but then he lifts his chin coolly. “As opposed to the actual war you started in China? If anything, with the Treaty of Kanagawa, I proved how one could secure foreign trading interests with both firmness but far more civilisation. You and I," Alfred sneers, “are not the same.” “An unequal treaty is an unequal treaty— that I will not deny even if I will not give up its benefits. This world is not for soft men or women, and the old warlord that Yao is—he knows that well.” Arthur smiles sharply. “Do you hate the fact that when the other Old World nations look at you, they see my blood running in your veins?"

Arthur imo, is definitely that father who plays favourites. Alfred is his greatest disappointment but also the one he loves the most—in the dysfunctional way that a man who is an empire comes closest to loving the son who mirrors him the most in his pitiless ambition and cunning. Alfred sees himself as a genuine idealist, as someone struggling to be free of his father and all his bad traits, but when Alfred rises to power, Arthur believes he's the only one who truly understands him the most. It's almost the possessive element of 'I gave you life, I named you and made you what you are, and no matter how much you scorn my name, my influence will define you forever.' Father and son, king and crown prince, regicide and patricide—but also creator and his creation made in his image.

[yoonia]

the bedroom hymns ● chapter xviii

⟶ Chapter summary | Something is amiss. Whether it is the circumstances growing within the fairy tale realm, or the happenings within his Empire. Holding onto the past reminding him of the night his life was turned outside down by fate, Yoongi tries his best to fix everything, finding answers that could help secure the promised future that he wishes to have with you. 

⟶ Title | The Bedroom Hymns: a Bluebeard’s twist ⟶ Pairings | Min Yoongi x female reader  ⟶ Genre | Fairy Prince!Yoongi, Crown Princess!reader, Fantasy AU, Fairy Tale retelling ⟶ Word count | 8,741 words ⟶ Ratings | PG-13, +18 / M for Mature for future chapters; include magic terms, mentions of illness/plagues, classism, flashbacks. ⟶ Story Masterlist: The Bedroom Hymns | ⤎ previous chapter | next chapter ⇢ ⟶ Main Masterlist | Mailbox | Taglist | Feedback | Music Playlist | Ko-fi

chapter xviii. the fairy prince

Yoongi is beginning to regret ever coming home to Emburn. 

The regret doesn’t usually affect him as much when he has to consider the advantages that he has gained by being home. 

Being back in Emburn had not only given him a chance to recharge and recover by being close to the source of his magic, after using his mana for so long while he travelled through the human realm. It has also allowed him to remain close to the Emperor. The time he spent away from home has been filled with too many worries plaguing his mind. Not only for the Emperor’s health but also for his father’s safety, knowing that there may be certain factors present within the empire’s territory that may pose a threat to the Emperor and the throne while Yoongi was away. 

But being home also means having access to his magic portals which he wasn’t able to use back at the human realm. 

If not for his magic portals, travelling back and forth between two different realms would have been inconvenient, and he wouldn’t have been able to travel to many different places in the short period of time that he still has to finish his mission. 

And because of his magic portals, Yoongi was finally reunited with the one that has become his main purpose for a long time. Long before he accepted the duty that the Emperor had given him. 

Had he chosen to remain in the human realm, to stay back and lie in wait in Smotia the same way he had been instead of chasing the path that fate was leading him to, he would have missed the opportunity to find you. He would have been stuck in the same place, chasing your shadows without ever knowing what it would be like to spend time with you. He wouldn’t have been able to receive the blessing of your presence, nor to be able to listen to your voice that sounds like a gentle lullaby to his ears. 

His lips curl to a small smile as he thinks of you. Something deep inside his chest quivers each time he recalls the time he spent with you. No matter how brief and short those moments have been. 

Thinking about you makes him desperately wishing that he was somewhere else instead of being here, strolling down the cold hallways of the imperial palace in long strides and with tense shoulders — as if he is about to go to war. He could have been out there instead, spending his time with you and learning more about you. And yet here he is now, making his way to deal with the one thing that he is dreadful of the most. 

To have a private audience with the Empress. 

Ever since the night Yijeong came to fetch him in the middle of his outing in Grimm, Yoongi has been doing his best to stay away from the main palace. Avoiding his mother, the Empress, no matter how many times she has sent someone to summon him for a private audience with her.  

At first, Yoongi had hoped that he would feel the ripples from the magic portals alerting him of your movement, giving him a reason to escape moments like this. But the portals have been idle. At least, they have been from your side, letting him know that you haven’t been using the portals again for the past few days. And he has been stuck in a state of limbo since. Stuck between worrying about you and feeling disappointed for not getting a chance to run away with you.  

Yet fate has been on his side regardless, giving him enough excuse to avoid seeing the Empress whenever her summons came. Even if it meant having to deal with the dire circumstances that are currently happening in the Land of Far Far Away. Things that had been most overwhelming for him to deal with. 

The turbulence that he sensed since his first arrival to Emburn has been growing more intense as of late. Trouble has risen in various places within the realm, coming in various forms that Yoongi could no longer ignore. It may not have been his responsibility to get involved in this kind of matter — especially when it involves other kingdoms’ business. 

But Yoongi still had to investigate the situation further before these dire troubles would ever reach his empire, and he had the magic portals to help him move around the realm, visiting various territories to find out what has been happening in his home realm. 

And yet, his attempts to continue avoiding this day have come to an end. Things have been quiet lately. No further development nor changes have been found. No news calling him to set out on a voyage. No signs coming from you either to know what he must do to escape from this place to see you. 

Yoongi is running out of excuses while the Empress is running out of patience. 

Clenching his hands to his side, Yoongi marches towards the Empress’s parlour, where his mother is currently waiting for him. The day is still too early for him to be here, and to be facing this ordeal, but he knows that it would be unreasonable for him to delay this further. 

Two royal guards stand by the doorway to the Empress’s parlour once he reaches the place. The door is closed shut, while the Imperial Aide, the royal butler, stands in front of the door — as if he was deliberately made to wait for the Crown Prince to arrive. 

Yoongi takes a moment to collect his wits. He cannot think of a reason why his mother would choose to have her breakfast in her private quarter this morning instead of using the royal dining room for this kind of meeting. Yoongi can only assume that his reluctance to indulge her would be the reason behind her choices. 

Even though there is also the possibility that it may have something to do with their special guests.

Yoongi grits his teeth as he thinks about the Empress’s guests. The real reason why he has been avoiding seeing his own mother since his return. He can only hope that by choosing to invite him to her parlour, the Empress is keeping this meeting short and personal. 

“I’m ready to see the Empress,” Yoongi calmly announces to the Imperial Aide before him. Neither of the guards shows any reaction to his presence, while the Aide greets him with a slight bow before turning to the door. 

The massive door to the Empress’s parlour creaks as it opens, allowing the warm breeze from the chamber to reach the hallway outside. 

“The Crown Prince has arrived for the Empress,” the Aide announces Yoongi’s arrival into the room, his bold voice echoing through the chamber. 

Without waiting for a response, Yoongi enters the chamber with long, confident gaits, eager to get things done as soon as possible so he can continue with his day. He keeps the thought of you in his mind to help him push through with every step he takes, going straight towards the center of the parlour where the Empress is calmly waiting for him. 

Once he is inside, the warm morning sun immediately embraces Yoongi, making it seem as if he had just stepped outside of the palace and is now walking across the garden instead of entering a private chamber. 

Which isn’t completely wrong, as the Empress’s parlour isn’t made like any other private quarters that can be found in the main palace. 

The door to the chamber opens up to a small foyer that appears like a landing to the palace’s towers. The floor continues not to a set of stairwells leading up to the upper floors, and instead opens up to a spacious room with floor-to-ceiling windows made of shadow glass which connect to a dome ceiling that was built of the same materials as the glass walls. The clear shadow glass above his head allows sunlight to penetrate directly into the chamber, like the glasshouse that most would find in the royal gardens and the public parks across the empire. 

White osnite stone-blocks make up the floor, formed into small pathways leading to the center of the chamber with patches of white-root grass. On either side of the pathway, green hedges lined up perfectly as a guide, each hedges are adorned with scarlet laceflowers and black-eyed tulips — the Empress’s favourite flowers. 

A small dining table is placed under the silver-leave sycamore tree that grows at the heart of the chamber, topped with various assortments and drinks as if it has been prepared for a fancy feast instead of an intimate meeting. 

Yoongi’s mother, Empress Ariane, sits at the table on her own. Barely paying attention to Yoongi as she slowly sips her tea while he makes it across the chamber to approach her. 

“Good morning, Your Majesty.” Yoongi formally greets his mother. 

Lowering her cup of tea, Empress Ariane turns to her son and nods. “Good. You’re here.” Sets her cup down to the table and rings for the palace maids as she gestures to the empty seat across the table, “Sit. We have much to discuss.” 

Yoongi is once again forced to grit his teeth and hold back the retort forming on the tip of his tongue. If he wants to get this over with and keep his peace, he needs to play along. For now. 

With a slight nod, Yoongi merely answers with, “Yes, Mother,” before taking his seat to join her.  

“It bothers me to think of how hard it has been for me just to see my son.” 

Several minutes have passed since Yoongi had joined the Empress at the breakfast table. Minutes filled with tension and silence that even the palace maids tending to Yoongi’s breakfast meal had to move as if they were walking on eggshells. Only once everyone has left the chamber does Empress Ariane start to speak, although she barely acknowledges Yoongi’s discomfort as she keeps her attention on the tea that she is pouring.

Yoongi knows that this is just one of the games that she plays to show him that she holds all control. It is her way of showing him that as long as the Emperor has yet to hand over the throne and she is still the acting ruler taking his place, Yoongi is still required to follow her rules. 

Yet Yoongi has his own game plan prepared whenever he has to deal with the Empress. A plan that even the Emperor himself may not be so fond of, even if he is the force behind everything that Yoongi has been working on. 

“You know there are duties that I must fulfil while His Majesty is absent. You should consider it one of the steps I must go through to prepare myself for taking the Emperor’s place.” 

Lifting her cup of tea, Empress Ariane lifts her gaze at her son. “Hmmm,” she hums softly, barely reacting as she carefully drinks her morning tea. 

“I don’t know why you have to involve yourself directly when you could have sent out someone you trust to do these things instead,” she says after a brief pause. 

It is possible that the Empress might be fishing for a reaction. Knowing this, Yoongi masks his expression as best he can, although the Empress’s comment doesn’t stop Yoongi from wondering if she had somehow learned about what he has been up to, nor about what the Emperor had sent Yoongi out to do. He is quite sure that no one in the empire would have any knowledge of the mercenary army that he built as a front to hide his movements. Even if the people from the empire have ever heard about the brotherhood, Yoongi has made sure that they would never find out about his and Yijeong’s involvement with them. 

But that doesn’t mean that he can remain complacent. 

Yoongi has no doubt that the Empress may have planted spies around his men and the people working around him within the palace. Accepting the tea that the Empress is offering him, Yoongi silently reminds himself to be more vigilant with his actions. Yet his main focus right now is to learn what the Empress is up to and how much that she knows about his deal with the Emperor, or why Yoongi had spent such a long time travelling through the human realm. 

“Why did you have the breakfast setup in this chamber instead of using the royal dining room?” Yoongi calmly asks, choosing to divert the conversation instead of reacting to her snide comment. 

If Empress Ariane is thrown off by his response, she isn’t showing it. “I like it better here. The peace and quiet is a nice change,” the Empress haughtily says, “I also figured if I invited you to meet somewhere else with a formal setup, you would have only refused to come.” 

She turns her sharp gaze to Yoongi, adding, “I also know that you wouldn’t have come to me if you had thought we were having our guests joining us.” 

Keeping his eyes on the Empress, Yoongi takes a bite of his breakfast muffin to hide his playful smirk. “And where are your guests this morning, as they aren’t invited to this special meet-up that I am so privileged to attend?” 

Empress Ariane appears miffed at Yoongi’s comment. The way he is insinuating that he takes no part in welcoming these guests isn’t lost to her. 

“They are having their breakfast in the Lillypad Pavillion,” she says, referring to the guest pavilion that is located near the small lake on the Southern side of the Imperial Palace’s territory. The place which the previous Empress—Yoongi’s grandmother—had deeply favoured before her passing. Away from the main palace, the pavilion is quite secluded. It is the only place within the Imperial Palace’s territory which Empress Ariane rarely visits. 

“The weather is turning cold and the view of the Emerald Lake should be more interesting for them to enjoy instead of being stuck within the cold palace walls and witnessing the Crown Prince’s brooding face.” 

Yoongi barely holds back his sarcastic scoff. “Wise decision.”

As long as you are keeping them away from me, he wonders to himself. Because he would never allow himself to be in the same room with them. Especially not the recently-crowned Emperor of Kosha. Someone related to his father’s former nemesis. 

The fact that the Empress is associating herself with the people from the Kosha Empire is unfathomable. Yet he cannot ignore the fact that it may have something to do with her parentage, as Empress Ariane’s bloodline had come from the Kosha Empire, dating since long before their involvement in the Great Siege many years ago. 

“I take it that today will be just another busy day for you?” the Empress questions him with a sneer, while Yoongi maintains his cool.

“You know this, and yet you still have to ask. I do have my duties, since—much like you do—I am obligated to fill in the Emperor’s shoes as someone who has played the role as one of the protectors of the realm while ruling this empire with his magic,” Yoongi reminds his mother, who wears a scowl on her face. She doesn’t seem to enjoy being reminded of how vital the Emperor’s absence has been, not only for the empire but also for the rest of the realm.

“What was your true purpose of summoning me home, Mother?” Yoongi asks, almost with a challenging tone in his voice, “Aside from forcing me to be the host to your outstanding guests?” 

The Empress’ scowl deepens before she hides it by picking up her cup of tea. “Would it be so wrong for a mother to want to see her son?” she scoffs. Yoongi sees the sight of her jaw clenching for a brief moment, a tension that has been appearing quite often lately, although her edginess seems to calm down with a sip of her tea. 

She always drinks her tea when she is agitated, Yoongi wonders as he tilts his head, studying the Empress closely while she seems to have her mind wandering away. 

He starts to notice how tired and frail she looks, something that he seems to have overlooked during the previous times they spent sharing these terse — and ridiculously intense — conversations. 

“I might have been busy trying to fill in the Emperor’s place until he—” With a sharp inhale of breath, her words are cut short. She purses her lips with anguish at whatever it was that almost slipped out of her lips, and Yoongi cannot help but wonder what might be going on through her mind right now about the Emperor’s condition. 

The Empress's hand trembles as she lowers the cup to the table. “I, too, have my responsibilities to the empire and the people in the Emperor’s absence,” she says with a tight voice which makes Yoongi feel guilty about bringing up his father’s absence in all of this. “But that doesn’t mean that I wouldn’t have time to worry about the Crown Prince while he is taking his time away from the empire so much.” 

Yoongi gives her a bitter smile. “How nice of you to be thinking about my well-being. But as you can see for yourself, I am doing fine.” 

The Empress’s hand once again trembles. This time, she barely contains her emotions when she snaps, “You know that your well-being isn’t the only thing that I am concerned about.”  

Yoongi certainly didn’t expect to see the Empress losing her calm. Yet Yoongi remains cool-headed, even though he cannot help but wonder why the Empress seems to be in so much haste in trying to get him to settle back in the Imperial Palace, when even the ailing Emperor himself has yet to show any signs of handing over the crown. 

“Are you worried that I would be neglecting my responsibilities as the apparent heir to the throne?” Yoongi curiously wonders, and the distaste he sees in his mother’s face becomes more evident. 

“How could I not, when you are always away instead of focusing on your duties back home?” the Empress objects, “Instead of dawdling away and creating racket everywhere, you should be preparing yourself to marry and replace the Emperor by claiming the throne.”

Yoongi can barely holds back his emotions after hearing this. The Empress’s comment made him sound like a delinquent who is rebelling against his family and the royal duties he must fulfil, when he has been working hard to fulfil his promise to the Emperor. A promise that he intends to keep if he wants to protect the people of Emburn. 

“Marry?” Yoongi lets out an incredulous laugh when he can no longer keep his calm. “And who, dare I ask, shall I marry, Your Majesty?” 

Looking straight into his mother’s eyes, he taunts her with a bitter chuckle, “Perhaps you are thinking about the Princess that you have been so kindly housed in the guest room so close to where your bedchamber is?”  

Instead of answering, Empress Ariane simply gives her son a look filled with disapproval. “What if that is my intention? What if the purpose of having our guests is to arrange for you to open the path to the Crown?” 

The Empress raises her chin. “Don’t tell me that you still believe that farce prophecy about you having someone betrothed to you since birth.” 

Biting the insides of his cheeks, Yoongi can barely hold back the growl escaping his throat when he retorts back with, “It wasn’t a farce, Mother.” 

“Then tell me, Son. Where is she? Why—if she was the one chosen by the moon—is she not here to claim her place by your side?” Empress Ariane challenges her son, “That’s because the one you were promised to never existed.”

But I have found her. 

It is what Yoongi wishes so deeply to shout at his mother. Because he has found his soulmate. He had found you, after many years of searching until you finally came to his path. 

Yet he keeps his words to himself. Keeping his secret in order to keep you safe. 

“Don’t trust anyone.” 

Emperor Aymon’s words continue to linger in his mind each time Yoongi starts feeling doubtful. His warning serves as a reminder that he needs to be careful who to trust. Knowing his father’s past involving deception and betrayal, and what it did to the empire’s fate, Yoongi knows to listen well and follow his words. 

But how far is the limit? What draws the line between honesty and deceit? What signs should he be looking for in terms of deciding who to trust? 

He hates having to be wary of his own mother. But he understands the need to put his guards up when even the Emperor himself has always been cautious of Empress Ariane. And now, with the Empress openly showing her connection to the Kosha Empire, Yoongi knows that his time is running out.

Trouble is getting near, and the Empress’s actions may become the catalyst of what the Emperor has predicted to happen. 

Yoongi will have to see the Emperor again soon. 

Days have passed since he returned from Grimm. 

Days without any sign coming from the portals to let him know that you are currently on the move. It has him worrying about you when he hears nothing from your side. Yet at the same time, the passing days when he had to remain in the Imperial Palace have allowed him to carry on with his investigation regarding the circumstances transpiring in the Land of Far Far Away. 

To figure out if the turbulences that have been happening all around him have anything to do with Emperor Aymon’s weakening mana and his inability to control his magic. 

This thought had first crossed Yoongi’s mind after the first visit he made to the Emperor when he first came back to Emburn. The barely contained mana that he felt erupting from the Emperor at the height of his fever one night had coincidentally matched the disturbances that he felt rippling through the air. It was also visible in the night sky when Yoongi took his evening walk in the royal gardens, the display of light dancing in the night sky with dark crimson shades that almost appeared like a burning flame. 

At first, he refused to believe that the Emperor’s illness would have anything to do with the signs that he was seeing. Emperor Aymon may have been one of the strongest fairies ever lived long before he fell ill, as the one carrying on the legacy of the Ancient Fairies of the realm through his bloodline, yet there was no possible way that the Emperor’s magic would have been strong enough to affect the entire realm with his ailment. 

It wasn’t until much later, once he was deep in his investigation when Yoongi learned that maybe, there really is a silver lining between what is currently happening in his home realm to his father’s condition. 

“There has to be a sense of balance within the realm to maintain peace,” Emperor Aymon had spoken the night Yoongi came to bring this up to him, “And that balance had been fractured for a long, long time.” 

“But—I don’t understand. What does it have to do with you being ill?” 

“My illness,” the Emperor hummed with a light chuckle. “It is one of a ruler’s responsibilities to protect their kingdom. For the likes of us, we use our magic to keep our empire from falling. To serve as the pillars of our kingdoms. But as always, the kind of magic that we use to do our duty as a ruler comes with a price.” 

As he sat beside the Emperor’s bed, Yoongi recalled everything that he had learned ever since he began taking lectures from various tutors growing up, and the things that the Emperor himself had taught him about being the apparent heir of Emburn. 

“You’ve taught me this a long time ago.” 

Emperor Aymon struggled as he took in a slow breath that seemed a bit too shallow to Yoongi’s liking. “The disturbances that you are seeing now — it has been on its way to our empire, our land, for as long as I can remember. Keeping up with the spells to protect this empire may have cost me a lot more than I had expected.” 

Yoongi leaned closer then to ask, “Is that what’s happening to you?” 

The Emperor responded with a light chuckle, only that his laughter soon faded into a fit of cough that took its time settling down. He didn’t speak after a brief while. Not until Yoongi helped him with a glass of water to help soothe the pain in his chest. “If only that had been the only reason, we would’ve solved this problem a long time ago. Other factors may have come into play in this whole situation,” Emperor Aymon scoffed lightly, “My condition, for one.” 

Emperor Aymon lowered his voice when he continued further, “And those factors may also be the reason why the entire realm is fighting for its survival right now.” 

“Do you know who might be behind this?” 

Yoongi had to bite his tongue to keep himself from asking the real question; “Is there someone who is deliberately making the Emperor ill?”

“I can’t say,” he hummed, almost to himself. Almost as if he didn’t want to say more. 

“But you have suspicions.” 

Instead of answering his son, the Emperor pushed himself higher to lean back against the bedrest, finding comfort so he could breathe better before asking Yoongi firmly, “You need to look closer into what is happening. Find out how far it has gotten. We don’t want a repeat from the past.” 

Yoongi was taken aback. “The past—?” Deep down, he already had a hunch at what the Emperor was insinuating, although he had doubts about it. 

Emperor Aymon fell into another coughing fit before he could finally speak again. “Find out how bad it has gotten, and find the source of this disorder. Find any proof—” Another cough slipped right out of him, and he could barely find his voice to add, “Make sure that you’ll have a clue and an answer before you find her and bring her back home.” 

As always, every conversation that Yoongi shared with the Emperor had always ended with the mention of his missing childhood friend. “You make it seem like Queen Milena is the answer to everything.” 

He always does. It made Yoongi wonder if there was something that he was missing. 

A haunted smile flickered briefly on the Emperor’s pallid face. “She might as well be,” he murmured in a fading voice, and Yoongi already knew that he wouldn’t have his answer, not even when his father whispered as he slowly faded into slumber, “She’s the link to the past, after all.” 

Yoongi may not be able to understand completely Emperor Aymon’s fixation on finding the missing Queen. But he still sees it as his duty. His obligation as the Crown Prince of Emburn. It also helps that he has his own agenda in finding the Queen. Although he has yet to reveal even to the Emperor that he has found the Princess. 

The only person in this realm who is related to the Queen. 

Yet revealing this will only make his work harder. It may also steal any precious time that he can share with you before he would have to reveal everything and involve you in the entire spectacle. The things that you barely have any knowledge of as someone who is still unfamiliar with the realm, and absolutely no clue of your true family lineage. 

Stepping out of the main palace to make his way out into the Eden Isle Gardens — the place where he would always be able to find solace — Yoongi can already sense the heaviness lingering in the air. It might be his own agitation that is making him feel this way, he realises, but it feels unsettling how hard it is for him to shake this feeling off. 

Especially when he notices that this agitation has only been escalating after the unpleasant time he just shared with the Empress. He could barely get himself together when he walked out of the Empress’s parlour. The scents from the wild flowers and the sycamore leaves are still clinging heavily all over him, keeping his thoughts rooted to the conversation that he had with the Empress even as he is walking far away from it. 

Even thinking back to the conversation he had with his father cannot help erase the edginess that is lingering in his chest. If any, it is only making him feel more restless. 

He should be out there right now, to reconvene with his mercenary army and start gathering new information from his men. But he is currently not in the right mind to be acting like the strict captain of the brotherhood that his men have known him to be. Not one that would fit to wear the crest and the disguise of a commoner when his mind is filled with matters involving Emburn and the weight of the crown. 

Yoongi also knows that he won’t be able to focus when his mind is occupied in trying to understand what the Empress is planning to do. He knows that his mother would stop at nothing to make sure that he takes the throne, only that she seems to want Yoongi to do it under her terms. 

It is during times like this that Yoongi feels grateful for having the mercenary army working under his command. Being only the Crown Prince — one with little to no power or enough privilege to meddle with other kingdoms’ business — makes it impossible for Yoongi to directly investigate the issues on his own. 

Not to mention, having the responsibility of protecting his own identity before he could finally take over the throne forces him to hold back from exposing himself the these foreign kingdoms. That includes passing through various borders and entering foreign territories as much as he wants.  

And it’s not like they would easily welcome him had he travelled under the Emburn Empire’s flag either. 

Which is why Yoongi has been sending out his men to investigate on his behalf. Moving around in small groups of army men, the Brotherhood of Jorn has been able to travel through the fairy tale realm to gather all the information that Yoongi needs. 

Hiding under the guise of a mercenary group that isn’t tied to any ruling kingdom, the common people have been able to welcome the men of his brotherhood with open arms. Most would find themselves becoming more open to sharing not only the most current gossip spreading around the land, but also the most confidential subjects that Yoongi and his men from Emburn would have missed. 

As a matter of fact, the day he met you in Grimm was actually one of the rare times that Yoongi had to spend traveling to these places himself. Reports from his men about the situation in Grimm had just reached him, and he decided that he had to witness it himself to figure out what exactly was happening.

And he didn’t like what he was seeing. 

Grimm, among some other places where the most prosperous farmlands existed, was beginning to experience some sort of a peculiar plague. 

The rivers were drying. Crops were rotting long before the farmers could get the chance to harvest. Little children and old folks were starting to fall ill. Farm animals have stopped producing and many have fallen into a peculiar sickness which no scholar could solve. 

Yoongi wouldn’t have believed it had he not been there to see it for himself. He had even spent time asking around to find more details from the local farmers. Seeing is believing, and he was beginning to realise that his father might have been right about the realm being affected by the imbalance of nature. 

His investigation that day may have led him nowhere, seeing that he wasn’t able to acquire more information from his visit to the farmlands. Yet he would never be able to regret the long hours he spent that day at Grimm. Not when he gained something good from his outing at the end of the day. 

He wasn’t lying when he said that fate must have had something to do with you crossing his path that day. Because unlike the other times when he had to be sneaky and use magic to track you down, fate itself — and the magic portals — had brought you straight to him for a change when he least expected it. 

Yoongi was in the middle of dealing with the farmers who were confiding with him about the failing crops when he felt a disturbance in the air; the ripples of magic which could have only happened when a magic portal was activated. 

Soon after, before he could make up his mind to find you, you appeared right before his eyes. 

Like a mirage. A gift from fate. The perfect distraction that had come at the perfect time that it felt like a blessing to have you there. 

As Yoongi enters the Eden Isle Gardens, revelling in the subtle ripple of magic welcoming him in his secret place of solitude, Yoongi begins to hold out hope that fate will be on his side again today.

Taking shelter at the center gazebo, Yoongi takes a seat and turns his gaze towards the portal gate before him. None of these portals would lead him to find you, as they are gateways that would only open under the Emperor’s commands. Only the Emperor holds the key to these portal gates connecting Emburn to other kingdoms that are part of an old alliance formed by the former Emperors of Emburn and the Royal Council ruling the empire. 

Yet here he is, sitting at the same place where he always finds himself when he needs a moment of reprieve. The same place where he was sitting that many years ago. 

This is where he would find solitude and peace, embracing the silence as he escapes from reality. To forget his troubles even if for a brief moment, and slow himself to be taken back to the past, reminiscing the events and the conversation that happened and shared on the night fate turned his life around. 

But there is another reason why he finds himself sitting here today. 

The sun is still high, not exactly the usual time that he would normally choose to be hiding away in this place. Yet the energy that has been luring him into the magic gardens has been so strong, just as strong as the memory that has been pulling him back to this place.

Once again, Yoongi finds himself being captivated by the same portal gate that has always drawn his curiosity. The portal gate that has been permanently locked, guarded by the Emperor’s spell. 

On the other side of the portal lies the fallen empire and the barren landscape that was left from the tragedy that happened many years ago. The crawling white mist that Yoongi would sometimes see creeping from beneath the gate is the only thing left of the opulent empire that once was. 

Other times, looking at the portal gate and the darkness beyond had left him with an eerie feeling. An uneasiness that was created not only by the stories that Yoongi had learned about the past, but also from the haunting dreams that he has been getting since the first time he returned to Emburn. 

And yet, for some reason, as Yoongi keeps his eyes on the locked gate, none of the shadows and the dark mist lurking from behind the gate feels alarming. The energy that the gate is emitting feels enchanting, like an alluring spell that makes it hard for Yoongi to ignore. Somehow, the energy feels different today. It feels oddly comforting. A feeling that he has never felt coming from that specific portal gate before, yet utterly welcome. 

What is happening, he wonders to himself as he silently questions why it seems as if the portal gate is trying to lure him in. 

Leaning against one of the lean pillars under the gazebo, Yoongi is suddenly overcome with exhaustion. The day has yet to reach past noon, yet it already feels like he has already had a long one. 

Having no desire to leave this place and let this brief moment of reprieve slip out of his hand, Yoongi chooses to remain here a bit longer. His duties are waiting for him, Yoongi knows this fact well. Soon enough, he knows that he is going to hear from one of his men — or Yijeong — coming with new reports from their investigation through the realms. Yet he cannot find it in him to care. 

Yoongi moves to the small bench at the center, closing his eyes as he reclines back and tries to relax. In the silence that engulfs him moments later, he allows himself to take everything in, allowing the warm breeze to take him away. Into another place where he could imagine himself being with you. 

Somewhere in a place where he wouldn't have to face his future obligations and the entire ordeal regarding the Emperor’s throne, and you wouldn't have to worry about revealing the secrets of your family bloodline. 

“Why do I feel like I’ve known you for a long time? I know it’s weird, but each time we talk, it feels more like I’m talking to an old friend.” 

He recalls that late afternoon in Grimm, when you said those words to him. The day he sat across from you at the old tavern which has become the secret rendezvous spot for him and his brotherhood. The innocent smile you gave him nearly broke every bit of resolve that he had. The truth hung desperately on the tip of his tongue while he spoke to you, and his guilty conscience has been following him since, chastising him for keeping everything from you. 

Because for Yoongi, you weren’t exactly strangers. Not on the first day he came across your path in Narlès. Not even on the days he was secretly following — or, in Yijeong’s words, stalking — you in various places. 

He knows that you wouldn’t have had any recollection of the day the two of you met for the first time. You were still too young, too little, too gullible to the happenings occurring all around you. Yoongi was also nothing more but a mere little child back then, and sometimes he would wonder if the memory that he has of that night is real. That it wasn’t a dream, nor was it simply a vivid imagination which he conjured to feel hope. 

For many years, Yoongi has felt isolated from the world. Isolated by his own memory, as he had no one else who remembered that day as he always did. No one to witness what happened or to hear the conversation that was shared. 

He remembers how difficult it was to even convince Yijeong about your existence. Because the rest of the realm never seemed to know of your existence, nor had they ever become aware of what happened that day between Yoongi, the missing Queen, and you. 

“There was never a report of Queen Milena having a child,” Yijeong had told him that night when Yoongi first revealed to him about your existence. 

It was the night when Yijeong, disguised in his black cat form, came to join Yoongi here in the magic gardens. The first ripple of the magic from the portals started luring Yoongi’s soul, alarming him of your movement for the first time, and he had to reveal to Yijeong why it mattered to him to find you. 

At first, Yijeong remained in denial. He had believed that he knew everything there was to know about Queen Milena and refused to believe that there was something that he may have missed. Even after coming across your path back in Smotia, long before Yoongi had the opportunity to experience such a blessing, Yijeong still couldn’t accept what Yoongi was trying to say. 

“I’ve studied everything there was to know about the missing Queen, ever since you told me to look for her on behalf of His Majesty Emperor Aymon, but never once have we ever heard about a child.” 

Yoongi had first bit his lips, affected by the doubts that Yijeong had about you, only to then make up his mind and remind his friend, “Have you forgotten? By the time everyone had their eyes and minds off of the war against my father’s alliance, the Queen was already taken.”

The silence that fell after was almost deafening. Yet Yijeong’s comprehension was clear when he spoke, “And only you knew about the Queen’s child.” 

Yoongi could sense the uncertainty in his friend’s voice. There was scepticism that followed every word he spoke, yet Yijeong was still open to listening. That alone was enough for Yoongi to continue, 

“And the Emperor. My father was there when the child came to this realm with the Queen for the first time.” 

As he sat at the gazebo that night, looking over the desolated path leading towards the restricted portal gate connecting his home with the fallen empire, his memory brought him back to the past. Just like always. 

Just like now.

It feels like a lifetime ago when Yoongi, still the gullible child that he was, sat down at this very same seat at the heart of the gazebo together with one of his father’s guests. His father, who was still in the process of preparing himself to take over the throne from the previous Emperor, had welcomed some special guests that day. 

It was a meeting between alliances that was done behind the Royal Council’s knowledge. Even the reigning Emperor of the time had no knowledge of what was transpiring prior to Emperor Aymon’s crowning ceremony. Yoongi was too young to understand the reason behind such secrecy. Yet now that he is older, he has begun putting the dots together, even if the Emperor is still trying to keep him in the dark about what was actually happening then. 

Yoongi remembers watching his father strolling down the walkway after the gathering, heading towards the portal gates with the last of his remaining guest — the man whose face Yoongi can barely remember after so many years have passed. At the time, young Yoongi had remained in this very same gazebo, accompanying the Emperor’s other guest, the soft-spoken woman whom his father had claimed to be a childhood friend who was special to him. 

The woman, who was the Crown Princess of a neighbouring empire at the time, hadn’t been alone. It was the reason why Yoongi was made to stay with her, and how he was so drawn to be with her instead of following his father around the garden like he used to.

“She’s so small,” Yoongi still remembers saying those words while being completely in awe, while the Crown Princess, Her Highness Milena, was humming to herself, completely transfixed at something else which had caught her eyes. 

Yoongi had reached out to the small bassinet that was placed next to the Crown Princess, and immediately, he had pudgy little fingers wrapping themselves around his, surprising both him and Princess Milena. 

“How fascinating,” Yoongi recalls hearing her whisper softly. 

“What?” 

Young Yoongi was confused, unable to understand what was so fascinating about a small baby reaching out to grab his hand. 

But Yoongi can easily remember now that it hadn’t been the contact between the two little children which had amused her so. It was the sparkle of blue and silver dust that grew around the entwined fingers which had charmed Princess Milena. A sign that the simple contact had brought forth a flow of mana that was growing so strong while connecting the two of them.

“What is this?” Yoongi sputtered in shock, unable to understand what was going on, while the Princess remained calm.  

“It’s okay, little Prince. This is a sign from Fate,” Princess Milena mused to him as she brought her hand gently onto Yoongi’s to stop him from pulling away in panic. “It means that your souls are connected. This is quite rare to happen, especially in this time of age.” 

Yoongi didn’t completely understand and could only ask her, “What does that mean?” 

A long time has passed since then, yet Yoongi still remembers the fond smile that she gave him as she clasped her hand around Yoongi’s and her baby’s tiny fingers, keeping them entwined together until the sparkles of magic dust slowly faded. 

“It means,” Princess Milena gently said as she turned her gaze from Yoongi’s curious one to her baby’s face, who was smiling goofily at Yoongi, “The two of you are bonded by Fate. Our ancestors call this bond as ‘love-mates’, yet we mostly refer to this as a soulmate bond.” 

The Queen turned to Yoongi once more, just as he felt his fingers growing warm with the tingle that came together with the sparkle of mana rising between them. The baby girl inside the bassinet was still giggling and cooing to herself as her eyes found Yoongi again, drawing his attention to her just as the Queen whispered, “You are soulmates. You, little Prince, and my little Princess, my precious lily flower, are bonded for life.” 

Yoongi opens his eyes as the warmth that he feels from his memory begins surging through his hand — the same hand that was clasped under the gentle hold of Queen Milena’s hand and your clutching fingers. The feeling is real, intense, and it goes all the way up to his arm. 

Almost as if the flow of mana has been awakened by his memory.

But as he looks down on his hands, Yoongi knows better than to believe that his memory of your touch is the only reason behind this sensation. This is the sign that he has been waiting for. The sign that can only come from the portals, letting him know that there is someone who is activating the magic to allow them to pass through.

Judging from the way his amulet is also responding to the ripples of energy that are now spreading all around him, he knows that the only person who could be behind this phenomenon would be you.

Dragging his eyes away from the locked portal gate before him, Yoongi turns and hastily starts making his way out of the magic gardens. His heartbeat is racing rapidly in his chest. At the thought of finally being able to see you again, Yoongi feels elated. The funk that he has found himself in all day melts away. Hope starts to rise with every step he takes to get out of this place. 

Yoongi has kept his personal portal gate hidden inside his bedchamber, and the journey back seems so far away. He wishes that he had the same ability as Yijeong — to shapeshift into another form to his desire and grow some wings so he could speed up. 

With fast strides, Yoongi soon arrives at the Lumina Apex Hall, the small private building connecting the magic gardens to the royal garden which is more accessible to anyone else residing in the Palace. Closing the glass door behind him, Yoongi walks past the pond of silver fairy dust to make his exit, only to come to a halt. 

As he turns towards the main entrance door, he finds that the royal guards who were supposed to be waiting for him and guarding the place are no longer present. 

Instead, standing by the entrance door is one of the guests that Yoongi has been working so hard to avoid. 

Princess Celestyna stands between the trailing stickweed vine growing around the archway of the entrance door of the Hall. Wearing a slim-fit, ankle-length day dress in a mix of soft peach and ivory, the second Princess of Kosha Empire appears completely out of place in front of the dark-coloured vines and the smoky shadow glass walls. 

Yet her smile is bright, and her expression starts growing even brighter once her eyes fall on Yoongi who is walking carefully to approach her. 

“Good afternoon, Your Highness,” she greets Yoongi with a formal curtsy, “I am Princess Celestyna of Kosha Empire, here to greet the Crown Prince of Emburn.” 

Yoongi bites his tongue, swallowing down the rude retort threatening to spill out. He dislikes it the most when someone who is clearly uninvited dares to step foot in a place that is considered sacred by his people. Not even the royal guards would dare to step foot inside the Lumina Apex Hall without his orders. 

But the Princess is a guest to the empire — a special guest to Empress Ariane, to be exact. The last thing that Yoongi needs is to have the Empress breathing down his neck about disrespecting her guest. 

Yoongi nods and waits until the Princess straightens back up before asking, “How did you get here?” He looks around, noticing that the royal guards that he assigned to stay close have officially left their station without his knowledge. “Where are the guards?” 

“I came here because I wanted to see you, Your Highness,” the Princess answers gracefully with a coy smile on her face. The fact that she is completely disregarding his question about the guards isn’t lost to him when she continues, “The Empress sent me at my request to see you. I know that you are a busy man, but Her Majesty has also proposed for us to spend time together while we have the chance to so that we can get to know each other.” 

Yoongi resists the urge to groan and roll his eyes. He should have known that expressing his thoughts openly with the Empress this morning would only lead to this. He had known that the Empress was up to something. He just didn’t think that she would be initiating her ploy so soon after their altercation. 

“How splendid,” Yoongi says instead with a bite in his voice that is barely noticeable and a forced smile on his face. “Why don’t we find someplace else to talk? Somewhere that would be more comfortable?” 

Just not here, he muses to himself, as he is eager to get the Princess out of this place. 

“Excellent,” Princess Celestyna excitedly says. While she seems happy that Yoongi agrees to spend time with her, Yoongi himself feels bitter. He says nothing as she steps aside, urging Yoongi to walk ahead. “Please lead the way, Your Highness.” 

Swallowing down his bitterness, Yoongi steps forward to make his exit and lead the way out of the Hall. He has his mind set on taking the Princess to the outdoor patio in the royal gardens — just anywhere but here — that he fails to notice the Princess as she suddenly makes a move. He obviously wasn’t expecting her to match his pace and for her to be sliding her arm around his elbow as she walks out of the Hall with him.

As if they are old friends. Or whatever it is that the Empress is trying to mould them to be. 

Having no desire to cause trouble between him, the royal guests, and the Empress, Yoongi chooses not to push her away and fight it. He keeps his silence as he politely escorts the Princess towards the royal gardens. The arm that the princess is holding feels cold, while the surge of energy that he feels on his other arm grows stronger that he has to clench his hand tightly by his side to stop it from trembling. 

As he continues to walk away from the Hall, going the opposite way from the portal inside his bedchamber that is no doubt already glimmering in response to your magic, Yoongi feels — for the first time ever — the distance between you growing further.

As if he is an entire universe away from you. 

— © 2024 Yoonia, all rights reserved. reposting/modifying of any kind is not allowed. unsolicited translations are not allowed.

[eyesofshan-if]

LEE HANSOL (이 한솔 ) — THE LIEUTENANT COMMANDER

Your closest and oldest friend in the Samjogo, as well as your faithful lieutenant. Honourable beyond compare and steadfast in any situation, you can trust him to have your back at all times. Although he is of noble birth, Hansol has never once looked down on you or your origins.

It is said that among every generation, only a handful are talented enough to become warriors of great renown, and even fewer among them are those with the potential to become legends whose stories endure for generations. Already bestowed with a title for his outstanding contributions in the Geurim rebellions, tales of Lee Hansol — the Divine Spear that Pierces the Heavens — will surely be passed down in the history books of the Haeian Empire.

Yet, instead of walking in his father's footsteps to become one of the Five Great Generals, Hansol has followed you to the Samjogo — the personal vanguard of the Crown — content to remain under you as your lieutenant.

APPEARANCE

Tall, broad shouldered and well muscled, Hansol has brown hair that is usually tied up in a high ponytail with a crimson ribbon and honest brown eyes. A red headband keeps his hair out of his eyes.

He is often seen with a confident and polite smile that shows off the dimple in his left cheek, his skin tanned honey-brown from hours of martial training under the sun. You usually see him in his black and crimson Samjogo's uniform, but he prefers to wear simple pine-green robes when not on duty.

[pradnyesh1008]

Embark on a journey to the heart of Veridonia, an empire shrouded in tradition and mystique. The Golden Throne stands as the symbol of power, yet beneath its gilded exterior lies a realm of political intricacies and hidden secrets, waiting to be unveiled. In a world where politics, intrigue, and war are the norm, you must navigate your way through the complex web of alliances and enemies that surround you. This game is for those who love adventure, drama, and intrigue. It is a game where every decision matters and every outcome are different. It is a game where you can shape the fate of an empire and make history.

“Dive into the epic world of ‘The Golden Throne’ with its first book, ‘Crown of Conquest’. A journey you won’t forget!”

In the vast continent of Veridonia, a great empire stands on the brink of uncertainty. Emperor Varian III, the revered ruler who has led his empire with wisdom and strength for decades, finds himself facing a devastating reality.

As his health deteriorates, the absence of a suitable heir threatens to plunge the entire continent into chaos and ignite a destructive war between the kingdoms. Now, facing his own mortality, the emperor grapples with the realization that his thriving nation could crumble without a clear successor.

News of the Emperor’s failing health spreads like wildfire, reigniting ancient rivalries. The various kingdoms, each vying for power and control, sense an opportunity to assert their authority. Fear murmurs within the hearts of the people, and trepidation blankets the land.

Whispers of an impending civil war pervade the corridors of power, and tension begins to mount as rival factions strategize and secretly forge alliances in anticipation of the emperor’s demise. Drawing upon an elite advisory council, composed of trusted ministers, scholars, and military strategists, the emperor endeavours to explore all possible avenues to secure a peaceful transition of power.

Noble houses assert their claims to the throne, while whispers of treachery and deceit echo through the corridors of the imperial palace. A sense of urgency fills the air, as the emperor’s condition deteriorates, and time becomes the most precious commodity.

As the final days of the asserting claims and authority draw near, a solution begins to emerge from the chaos. King Aric, the king in the north, your/MC’s father, emerged victorious, chosen as the heir to the Golden Throne. In this epic tale of power, loyalty, and betrayal, will you succeed in helping your father preserving the legacy of his predecessor, or will Veridonia descend into a dark age of war and destruction? Are you ready to claim your destiny? Will you follow your father’s footsteps and become a worthy successor to the throne? Or will you carve your own path and challenge the established order? The fate of a continent hangs in the balance, and only time will tell. This is the thrilling saga of “Crown of Conquest”.

 A rich and immersive setting inspired by real medieval history, culture, and geography.

 A branching storyline with multiple endings and consequences based on your choices and actions.

 A customizable character with four different personality options and various traits that define your skills and abilities.

 A dynamic stat system that reflects your character’s growth and development throughout the game.

 A diverse cast of characters with their own backgrounds, motivations, and agendas.

 You can befriend, romance, or antagonize them depending on your choices.

 Violence and Gore: The game frequently depicts gory, brutal battles and graphic acts of violence.

 Frightening/Intense Scenes: There are many intense scenes that can be frightening for some readers.

 Graphic Deaths: Characters often meet violent, graphic ends.

 Torture Scenes: There are scenes depicting torture.

 Sexual Content: There will be many scenes with sexual acts.

 Dark Humor: The game contains dark humor, which may be unsettling or offensive to some viewers.

 Sadistic Behavior: Some characters exhibit sadistic behavior which can be disturbing.

 Substance Abuse: Characters are shown consuming alcohol excessively.

Demo:

Forum:

https://forum.choiceofgames.com/t/wip-the-golden-throne-60k-words/142838/59

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[ofliterarynature]

TBR TAKEDOWN: Week 14 (September 1)

TLDR: I have too many unread books, and I’m asking tumblr to help me downsize. Pick one or none, comment if you have opinions, and please reblog if you can! Book descriptions below the cut, see my pinned post for more info.

The Ladies of Mandrigyn by Barbara Hambly

The City of Mandrigyn was conquered, and its men enslaved in the foul mines of the evil Wizard King, Altiokis. Now the women of the city, led by Sheera Galernas, have come to hire the mercenary army of Captain Sun Wolf. But Sun Wolf was too wise to become involved in fighting against wizardry…

...Until he woke to find himself kidnapped and offered a grim choice by Sheera. He could train and lead the ladies of Mandrigyn against Altiokis - or he could die in lingering agony from the anzid they had given him and for which only they had the antidote.

There was more to the ladies than Sun Wolf could have guessed. There was also far more to the evil of Altiokis then anyone knew.

But above all, there was a great deal more to Sun Wolf and his destiny then he had ever dreamed.

Gideon Smith and the Mechanical Girl by David Barnett

Nineteenth century London is the center of a vast British Empire. Airships ply the skies and Queen Victoria presides over three-quarters of the known world--including the East Coast of America, following the failed revolution of 1775.

London might as well be a world away from Sandsend, a tiny village on the Yorkshire coast. Gideon Smith dreams of the adventure promised him by the lurid tales of Captain Lucian Trigger, the Hero of the Empire, told in Gideon's favorite penny dreadful. When Gideon's father is lost at sea in highly mysterious circumstances Gideon is convinced that supernatural forces are at work. Deciding only Captain Lucian Trigger himself can aid him, Gideon sets off for London. On the way he rescues the mysterious mechanical girl Maria from a tumbledown house of shadows and iniquities. Together they make for London, where Gideon finally meets Captain Trigger.

But Trigger is little more than an aging fraud, providing cover for the covert activities of his lover, Dr. John Reed, a privateer and sometime agent of the British Crown. Looking for heroes but finding only frauds and crooks, it falls to Gideon to step up to the plate and attempt to save the day...but can a humble fisherman really become the true Hero of the Empire?

The Crossing Places by Elly Griffiths

Forensic archeologist Dr. Ruth Galloway is in her late thirties. She lives happily alone with her two cats in a bleak, remote area near Norfolk, land that was sacred to its Iron Age inhabitants—not quite earth, not quite sea. But her routine days of digging up bones and other ancient objects are harshly upended when a child’s bones are found on a desolate beach. Detective Chief Inspector Nelson calls Galloway for help, believing they are the remains of Lucy Downey, a little girl who went missing a decade ago and whose abductor continues to taunt him with bizarre letters containing references to ritual sacrifice, Shakespeare, and the Bible. Then a second girl goes missing and Nelson receives a new letter—exactly like the ones about Lucy.

Is it the same killer? Or a copycat murderer, linked in some way to the site near Ruth’s remote home?