#the prince in the scarlet robe

[retroillustrates]

We are the Four-Who-Are-The-One

[retrocatastrophy]

Ranking Corum from the comics from my fav to least fav versions/interpretations

#1: The vanishing tower (Jan Duursema)

I love the colors, and the armor looks beautiful and it doesn't clash. Maybe a little busy appearance vise, but it doesn't bother me. I love his face as well. Not the typical male protag face, but still so handsome in his own way. Not a lot of guys can pull the full lips off so well

#2 The balance lost (Francesco Biaginni)

It has the vibrant colors I like, and mutes down his armor to put the scarlet in focus, and it works. His hair 👌 The minus is his face, but it's still not too bad.

#3 Sailor on the seas of fate (Michael T. Gilbert)

I love his silver hand and helm. Not sure about putting so much reddish colors in, but still very appealing. I don't like his eyepatch tho.

#4 Chronicles of Corum (Mike Mignola)

I do like it, but it's too simplistic on occasion. I didn't like his look in the king of the swords, which is the same segment as the vanishing tower. The colors are somehow too muted. But I still love how they aren't afraid to give him a big nose and lips. Took me a while to get used to his look, but I still like it a lot

#5 French Elric comics (Julien Telo)

It's a cameo appearance only, so I don't know much about this Corum, which I hate, as the first part of sailor on the seas of fate is my fav Elric segment.

[angbands-last-hero]

[crisisofinfinitemultiverses]

Corum: The Prince in the Scarlet Robe by Patrick Zircher

[vivid-dreamscapes]

Dragon King!Bakugou, who spent many night in secret with you before finally proposing, marrying you within the month after.

Dragon King!Bakugou, who is worried you’ll feel pressured to do the after-marriage consummation ritual, so he doesn’t bring it up. But his soreness certainly do—with good intentions, of course.

Dragon King!Bakugou, who makes sure the night is perfect, having spent the day preparing everything, making sure the room was arranged to his liking. The room you two had spent so many nights before had transformed, practically gleaming with the flicker of firelight from candles and scented incense. Soft silk sheets laid over the king's bed, the room filled with the sweet scent of roses. Even a small table filled with fruit and water to replenish energy midway through sits at the beside.

Dragon King!Bakugou, who waited for you in the room patiently and calmly, but internally freaked out. After all, he was nervous about preforming this ritual with you. Not just because not most people lived through having sex with dragon royalty (yes that idea came from the webtoon The Dragon Kings Bride), but because it was you.

Dragon King!Bakugou, whose eyes immediately widened once you entered the room. They drank in the traditional consummation nightgown you had been fitted into, consisting of silky white lace that hugged every contour of your body. The bodice of the dress embroidered with elaborate patterns, the material dipping low on your chest, revealing a tantalizing amount of skin. The back of the gown completely exposed, the delicate lace wrapping around to the front in the form of a tie. Your hair adorned in flowers of his favorite variety.

Dragon King!Bakugou, who has a traditional consummation outfit of his own, a set of clothing that could only be described as borderline ancient. A simple robe of deep red and black silk drapes his shoulders, leaving his toned chest exposed. Loose, dark silk pants of the same material hang low on his hips. His arms completely bare, showcasing the intricate tattoos that wrapped around them in swirling designs. His servants had even taken the time to weave a strand of pearls through his hair. The overall image he portrays can only be described as dangerously attractive.

Dragon King!Bakugou, who informs you without a second thought that you look like a goddess. When your reply is ‘don’t insult the deities like that’, he smirks and steps closer. “Careful, my lady. Blasphemy is a very serious offense."

Dragon King!Bakugou, who sees your nervousness and guides you to the bed, hand in yours.

Dragon King!Bakugou, who lays you down on the scarlet silk sheets with a surprising gentleness for being the King of dragons.

Dragon King!Bakugou, who smiles upon hearing your a virgin, his response mumbled it or he skin of your neck as his calloused fingers brush over you collarbone, taking down the nightgown. "So, you're a virgin, my lady. The gods have clearly favored me tonight."

Dragon King!Bakugou, who starts off slow with kissing and touching, only to find out your maids had done him the favor of recommending you don’t wear underwear in the first place

Dragon King!Bakugou, who fucks you so hard your left gasping and begging, even as he tries to do it slowly so he won’t kill you.

Dragon King!Bakugou, who in the morning is left with a very alive you, curled up naked in his arms.

Dragon King!Bakugou, who opens the door with a surprisingly happy look on his face, only to find the entire castle staff waiting to hear if you’re alive or not, raising an eyebrow lazily. “Calm down. They aren’t dead. They’re…they’re fine. A little sore, but otherwise fine.”

Dragon King!Bakugou, who falls in love on sight with the little baby prince that exists nine months later as proof of the ritual having worked.

[chimielie]

sun seeker

summary: you are a princess, a future queen. somehow, this is still not enough.

word count: 1.5k

cw: fighting, oikawa’s an asshole (sorry), arranged marriage/royalty au, fake history stuff, angst to fluff (i guess), i’m not telling you who the love interest is but like. Guess, misogyny, ambiguous ending

a/n: if i tell you that i imagined a whole other side for oikawa will you forgive me? also this was supposed to be a short drabble related to between lightning strikes but it very much was not. my bad

Your betrothed is unexpectedly quiet.

It had only been a few days since you met the crown prince, having been sequestered in your father’s court in the country for most of your life, learning to fill the seat of someday-Empress. The capital is huge, bustling with people, always noisy—or so you surmised from within your veiled carriage. You had thought, as you bowed before the Emperor and Imperial Heir, that your life was finally beginning, finally growing beyond the narrow confines of etiquette training and religious rituals.

Instead, you felt your dreams shrivel and die as your daily routine proceeded exactly as it had for close to two decades. The only difference was time mandatorily spent with Tooru, who seemed… less than enthused by your match.

You had dreamed of someone who chafed against authority as you had, who felt as bound by propriety despite the privilege of your positions. Alas, you found him to be both sullen and arrogant, eager to rule but in denial of his own dissatisfaction with a noblewoman such as yourself. It made you want to scream. You had not chosen the circumstances of your birth, the path which you had been led to walk. It was not your fault that fate had pushed you two so forcefully together without regard for your desires, ambitions, or personalities.

“I was told you visited the temple this morning,” you say, watching your fiancé pause a long sip of tea, his brown eyes temporarily widening. Your face slips momentarily into a frown; you cannot conceal your frustration with his clear disdain for such small talk but unwillingness to bring anything more engaging to your table.

“Yes,” he says finally, setting down his cup. Light brown liquid sloshes over the rim and onto his fingers; he wipes them on his robes without care for the expensive fabric. “There are many rituals that must be done to ensure the most auspicious wedding possible.” His voice catches noticeably on the word wedding. You take a sip of your own tea to hide your grimace.

It is lukewarm. How long have you been sitting here, trying to force civility?

“Did it go well?” You ask in turn, your pitch straining. Behind you, one of the imperial guards snorts. When you try to discern which of them broke character, they have all returned to a stoic, uniform position. You straighten your posture.

“It was satisfactory,” Tooru says. You hear the snort again, and the crown prince’s lips twitch, just barely.

You shut your eyes tightly for a moment, trying to take in a deep breath. Your chest feels tight, though, bound by heavy fabrics and scarlet ribbon. There doesn’t seem to be anywhere for the air to go.

“What did you do this morning?” He asks, and you throw the cup at him.

His Imperial Highness is athletic beneath his aristocracy, and he dodges it easily. It bounces off one of the silk screens behind him and lies, cracked in two, in a puddle of lukewarm tea on the floor. You bury your face in your hands and scream through your teeth, a short, guttural noise that carves a little more space in your chest to breathe.

When you look up again, he stands over you, his perfect brows pulled into an expression of concern. You know without looking that two of the Imperial Guard are standing behind you, hands on their weapons.

“You have asked me that,” you say slowly, fighting to push the words out through the red haze of rage, “twice now. And you asked what my plans were yesterday. And the answer is always the same: wait in my rooms for you to call, because I am a painting of a woman waiting for you to walk in and criticize my form and decide that I am satisfactory.”

“I didn’t—” he says, and for a moment you become a fairytale heroine instead of a scorned princess, sitting on the floor looking up at him with despondent eyes that betray your desire to be loved. “This is what we are,” he decides finally, expression no longer concerned. “I think perhaps you need some rest.”

“You cannot be serious,” you seethe, pushing yourself to your feet. One of the guards puts a hand on you, ready to restrain you.

Tooru turns, his back facing you. He glances back as he exits, tone bored, eyes cold.

“Do not worry yourself,” he tells you, “I still find you satisfactory.”

You lunge after him, but two strong hands clamp down on your arms, hauling you back. You writhe and kick, but when you look up at your guard, his face is impassive, his eyes distant.

“I hate you,” you snarl, and watch as his eyes flicker down to your face. Seeing you. “I hate you,” you say again, but it sounds much more like a sob.

You can’t sleep that night.

The moon is full, high and bright, and every time you close your eyes, you see visions of your future. A glorified concubine, living in an expensive sanitarium, surely to be driven to insanity before your husband can ascend the throne.

You sit up, wild-eyed, and throw your door open with more force than you realize.

“Princess,” says your guard, startled.

“I can’t sleep,” you say, your heart thrumming in your chest. “Hajime, please, I can’t sleep.”

“I can’t let you out of your quarters,” Iwaizumi Hajime, head of your security detail, says.

“I don’t want—” you start, and he gives you a knowing look. “I know. Please just come and—talk with me. A little.”

He sighs, deeply, a rush of wind through cypress trees, and follows you into your room.

“Sit,” you order him, and the moonlight affords you the ability to see his green eyes flash with panic. “I am your future queen. Sit.”

He sits, trying to maintain his stern, professional face, even as you peel his helmet off and run your hands through his flattened hair.

“You lied to me,” you hum, and he jerks under your touch, façade breaking. “You told me Tooru never shut up.”

“I knew him a long time ago,” says Hajime. One of the few who had come with you to Kyoto, he had been raised here and come to your father’s court as a youth to learn to fight. “He’s not—he’s stubborn. He’ll soften eventually.”

“I don’t care,” you say bitterly. “Why did you hold me back?”

“He’s the prince,” Hajime says, his voice rasping with exasperation.

“I am the princess,” you say, and his lips press together into a straight line.

“My princess,” he murmurs. Hajime has always run warm, much more suited for Kyoto’s climate than your hometown’s. When he wraps an arm around you and pulls you against his side, you can feel his body heat through his armor.

“You let him say horrible things to me,” you say. His hold on you tightens.

“He is my oldest friend.”

“I am your—” you sigh heavily, pushing away from him, looking out at the moon. “I am nothing to you. I will live, though I am ungrateful. Many would say I am the luckiest woman in all the land.” The air is very cold without his touch.

“You are not nothing to me,” Hajime says, and you smile wistfully at his selective hearing.

“At least I am satisfactory.” You don’t see what happens, but Hajime’s helmet clatters loudly on the floor a moment later. “What—”

“He is my oldest friend,” he repeats himself, but his voice is low, so deep in his chest you can barely hear him. It does not matter; you can feel his words. “I wanted to kill him.”

Your lips part on a silent gasp, and he leans in close, so close that you can nearly taste him. You’ve always loved the way he smells, something base that relaxes you instantly. You haven’t been this close to him since you left home.

“He’s the Emperor,” he continues, “I can’t hurt him. I held us back.”

“Us?” You ask, his fingers suddenly tightly intertwined with yours.

“Ask me to help you leave,” he says, and you shut your eyes against his gaze, frightening and familiar all at once. “Ask me to take you away from here. I had—I have plans, and you will not be happy with him, Princess. You will be more than satisfactory, satisfied—you will be loved.”

Something knotted tightly unspools in you, red threads laying themselves out in perfect lines. You duck your head and nod against his shoulder, face rubbing against the metal of his armor.

You aren’t likely to succeed, you know, no matter how thoroughly Hajime has planned. Your fiancé will look for you: a stubborn man, like he had said. You do not know if his disdain for you or his love for Hajime will protect you. You could both die.

“Take me away,” you say, voice ringing out like a queen’s.

The moon, at its fullest cycle, chases its estranged wife into the day. The crown prince wakes without his betrothed. The world only spins forward.

[highladyandromeda]

Shadows of the Heart

Part 3

Azriel x Fem!Reader

Summary: After years apart, Y/n returns to Velaris, bearing the weight of sacrifice and secrets from her past. Reunited with Rhysand and his Inner Circle, she navigates the complexities of rekindled friendships and unresolved tensions. 

WC: 1.2k

Warnings: n/a

[Prologue], [Part 1], [Part 2]

She was going to need a very strong drink, Y/n mused, to survive this night. 

Her magic, ever attuned to the world around her, picked up on the increasing hum of conversation from the floors below—a sure sign that Rhysand had summoned his entire family for a grand welcome. "He's always had a penchant for gatherings," she reflected with a half-smile, tinged with nostalgia, before an exasperated roll of her eyes. The temptation of the room's plush bed and soft sheets beckoned, threatening to pull her back into their embrace. It's almost unfair, she thought, how much more inviting the beds were here.

Pushing aside thoughts of luxurious linens, Y/n rises, confronting her reflection in the mirror. Her body still appears gaunt, her complexion a touch too pallid, yet there's a hint of vitality returning to her cheeks, thanks in part to the subtle touch of rouge she's applied. With practiced movements, she adds a dusty rose hue to her lips and frames her striking scarlet eyes with kohl, each stroke of makeup bolstering her confidence.

Her wardrobe, courtesy of Rhys, offers a variety of choices. From it, she selects a burgundy tunic adorned with intricate gold embroidery at the collar and sleeves and matching pants—a nod to her past, the garments echoing the color of her old robes and providing an unexpected solace. She tries not to think deeply about the cobalt blue dresses that called to her instead, remembering that she cannot stay in Velaris for long. 

“And the guest of honor arrives!” Rhys’s voice cuts through the lively chatter as he spots Y/n making her entrance. Mor quickly springs into action, her enthusiasm undiminished as she loops an arm around Y/n’s, escorting her to a prominent seat at the table—directly across from—

“Lucien?”

“Y/n?”

The recognition between them sparks instantly, lighting up the room. “Mother above, Lucien! You’re alive!” Y/n couldn't help but exclaim, her surprise propelling her forward to clasp his hand across the table.

Lucien, taken aback by the fervor of her greeting, blinks in confusion. “I—uh, was there a reason you thought I wasn’t?”

Y/n's smile wavers, her impulsive action catching up with her fatigue. “Ah, well, I just, I uh—” She scrambles for an explanation that wouldn’t reveal too much. 

Y/n thought fast, there was no way she could announce that the Prince of Vallahan once received a summons to funerals in Autumn, personally signed by Beron, and had tried to invite her. She always assumed that Eris would protect Lucien but after so many years, it was impossible for her to be sure. 

“I heard rumors,” she finally said, settling on the vaguest of truths. The answer, unsatisfying and ripe with unasked questions, hovered in the air. Yet, she offered nothing more, only adding, “I’m glad to see you, though.”

“Likewise,” he responded, a warmth returning to his voice. “I’m sure Nuan will be thrilled to know you’re back.” An unspoken glance passed between them, with the promise to catch up later.

It was Nesta who broke the silence, her voice cutting through the tension with a clear, measured tone. "You two know each other well?" Nesta queried, her eyes darting between Y/n and Lucien.

Rhys, seizing the moment to alleviate the growing tension, clapped his hands together with a flourish.

 "Well, Y/n's always had the most elusive of friendships.” he declared, a twinkle of mischief in his eyes. "Let's celebrate reunions and new beginnings. To Y/n's return, and unexpected friends among us."

As the evening unfolded, Y/n found herself enveloped in the whirlwind of introductions and reunions. She sat in between Rhys and Mor and was properly introduced to the rest of them, Amren and Nesta’s sharp eyes causing the smallest tinge of discomfort before she was pulled into stories from Feyre and Cassian, her heart aching as they recounted the past years from under the mountain to the war with Hybern. 

Azriel and as Y/n learned that night, Elain, stayed quiet, but that was a bit of a reprieve truly, among the strong spirits and personalities of the others. It was overwhelming to keep track of their enthusiasm, but Y/n didn’t let her exhaustion show. She had already slept for so long and she refused to let Rhys’s efforts go to waste, as she knew it was his way of showing her that she was still a part of his family. 

Besides, although they were all excited, no one brought up her blood magic, or how exactly she and Mor ended up together, or worse, what she had been up to in her years away. She assumed they’d either been placated by a brief explanation from Mor or been warned off by either her or Rhys, allowing Y/n to enjoy a peaceful night before an onslaught of questions at another time. Judging by Amren’s, Nesta’s, and even Azriel’s stares burning into her, she could feel that it must have been the latter and that their self-control would only last so far. 

She hoped they’d stay quiet for now, as she had no interest or energy to untangle the complicated…adventures of her past centuries. Especially with the joy and shock she felt when Rhys told her of Nyx and of the Trove. She’d never admit it out loud, but the joy gave away to such deep despair; of having missed these monumental moments in her dear friend’s life. Rhysand truly was the brother she never had, and although she was overjoyed that he’d found so many people to love who loved him back, she couldn’t help but feel sorrow for what was no longer hers. 

Luckily, she was quickly pulled from those thoughts as small wisps of the night curled around her shoulder, the shadows' cooling touch almost seeming to comfort her. She noticed Azriel's subtle attempts to rein them in, a hint of embarrassment in his demeanor.

"Please, don't bother. I quite enjoy their company," Y/n reassured him softly, her words drawing a rare, soft grin from the shadowsinger, catching Cassian’s attention.

Smiling mischievously, Cassian takes the chance to ask Y/n about her recovery and whether she’d be up to join them in training tomorrow morning, dodging the glare Rhys sent his way. 

Y/n couldn't help the laughter that bubbled up at Cassian's invitation, a lightness filling her despite the whirlwind of emotions she'd been navigating. 

"I suppose I could use a bit of... physical activity," she conceded, her gaze flickering to Azriel, whose shadows seemed to dance with approval at the prospect. "Though I must warn you, I'm a bit out of practice."

Cassian's grin widened, his eyes alight with the challenge. "Out of practice, she says. We'll be the judge of that. Right, Az?"

Azriel merely nodded, the corner of his mouth twitching in amusement, clearly intrigued by the idea of Y/n joining their morning routines.

Rhys, though he had initially sent Cassian a glare for his untimely proposal, couldn't mask the warmth in his eyes. "It's settled then. Training at dawn. But let's not forget, Y/n has had quite a journey back to us. We'll take it easy," he added, a protective note in his voice that didn't go unnoticed.

As the evening drew to a close, Y/n felt a sense of comfort she had been missing since she left. Though she knew she couldn’t stay forever, her heart felt lighter than it had been in ages. With promises of tomorrow's training session hanging in the air, Y/n retired to her room, the night's whispers a comforting lullaby.

A/N: Ok, I promise that the next chapters will have more Azriel and reader interactions, especially with the upcoming training session!! Also, I want to explore a reader and Lucien friendship because I think that he's so underrated when in fact, Lucien has such interesting powers and is so well-traveled. For my tag list, I tagged everyone who asked and those who commented on the first 2 parts. If you'd like to be included, please just let me know. 💕

TAGLIST: @strangelygreat @enfppuff @trip-n-sal @inloveallthetime @annamariereads16 @mybestfriendmademe @mariahoedt @annblvd @ania-swissweet @yearninglustfully @sleepylunarwolf @quiettuba @gorlillaglue25 @lilah-asteria @naturakaashi @sillymercury @itsswritten @xlosttdreamss @kennedy-brooke @xyzmeh @lucky7rosie @copenhagenspirit @collide-with-the-music @starsinyourseyes @dianxiaxiexie @maybefoxysouls @golden-canyon @violet-potter

[inchidentally]

@vastappenen LISTEN okay so this is the full spin-off of the Charlos part of my Prince Lando AU post

I cannot write real fic so this is just like me doing a retelling of what's gone on in my mind lol - and this is the post of Charles in White that's screencapped above

(side note my friend was listening to this haunting music while I wrote this so it might help set the scene - it's called "Fancy on a Bach Air" by Yo-Yo Ma)

this gets a bit NSFW toward the end so fair warning!

ok so to start, this is what was in my original post

Unfortunately the royal courts of Europe were shaken by a quick series of upsets: His Serene Highness Lorenzo of Monaco abdicated the throne in search of a quieter life - his heart had never been in it since his father, the former Sovereign Prince, had become ill and abdicated. This left Lorenzo’s unwed brother Charles to be hastily crowned Prince Regent at the tender age of 22 (too young to be crowned Sovereign Prince bc modern monarchy rules I’m inventing). As a result Charles suffered the loss of his long-time suitor, nobleman Sebastian Vettel, who couldn’t bear the thought of being Sovereign Prince let alone of a land that wasn’t even his own.

Enter the Sainz Vázquez de Castro elders seizing the opportunity and negotiating a deal with Monaco in private conclave with the Papal State (??) to wed their son Carlos to the Prince Regent. Carlos is ashamed at giving in to the temptation… to not just be Prince Consort but to be Sovereign Prince, to rule over the vast wealth of Monaco and by extension the Holy See, to have the coveted beauty Charles in his bed. So he agrees to be spirited away to Monaco and the ugly business of dissolving his betrothal to Lando is left to members of church and state.

But Carlos experiences a complete conversion when Charles is on his knees in the cathedral - looking up at him with docile green eyes as Carlos’ fingertips touch the warm red roses of Charles’ lips as he holds the chalice of holy wine for Charles to drink. Carlos was almost hard beneath the ermine and velvet robes in a house of God when the crown was on his head and Charles next to him - and slightly below - smiling up at him with filaments of gold hanging from pendants on his chaplet, framing his achingly beautiful face. If Carlos feels his immense happiness and prosperity darken whenever he sees Lando’s picture or encounters him at one of the courts then no one need know.

ok so I've removed this from the narrative to of course be charlos true happiness endgame and removed Seb entirely, or he can just be called a close confidante and possible candidate to marry Charles but not very serious.

I imagine young Carlos Jr. moving through the royal courts as a child and teen and seeing the royal children of Monaco sometimes. in my weird version of royalty I have it that Lorenzo is the natural successor to the throne and therefore has always been allowed to dress and be seen "normally". as a second child, Charles was always the rightful property of whichever alliance would maintain Monaco's independence. he was raised mostly in the Prince's Palace and when playing or venturing to where he could be seen he's attended by a retinue of guards each carrying a gonfalon to conceal the young prince from view. on the rare occasions that the prince will be around those not within his immediate family or private staff, he is carefully wrapped in embroidered, jeweled white silks or cottons (depending on the climate) with only his eyes visible. the only color allowed being a scarlet silk girdle around his hips. until he reaches maturity or is married he wears a ferronnière with a single white diamond at his forehead. (I imagine the wrapping as looking like fancy white fireproofs that cover the hands as well and a long, flowy tunic over the top with smart little white renaissance boots (that Charles hates).

Prince Charles is also not permitted to speak outside of his family circle/staff but he is taught multiple languages and fond rumors spread that the prince has a charming lilting accent that comes from a little of everywhere. he is also taught the piano and there is a place on the shore that only locals know of where fairy echoes of his playing can be heard. they call it his 'lone voice' because the mood inside the palace can be judged by the prince's choice of music. childish and jolly for a while, then more challenging pieces, until his eighteenth birthday and an unknown dirge for his godfather who had perished during a racing tourney that summer. the prince's music would change over the years but it would never be joyful again.

I imagine many instances over the years of Carlos Jr. being coaxed by a conniving Carlos Sr. into bowing low to the small, mummified-looking creature that everyone assures him is a prince. the eyes and vague suggestion of white-clad hands and feet are the only indications that this is true, but the big green eyes are very expressive and seem to smile whenever they meet Carlos' own big brown eyes. Prince Lorenzo has a kind smile and would be a good playmate but solemnly maintains his position by his parents' side. Prince Arthur comes along in a bundle of energy and mischief - being blessed with a birthright to total freedom so long as his elder siblings are alive. he enjoys being swung around and thrown in the air by Carlos Jr. which helps pass the tedium of royal engagements. Arthur is clearly the favorite of Charles who rather mothers him - especially when the Sovereign Prince falls ill and hushed preparations are made behind palace walls for Lorenzo to take the throne. Charles is so deep in mourning for his godfather and soon his own father that his presentation at court is delayed indefinitely as it would be cruel to open him up to marriage bids that would inevitably take him from his home.

in the meantime, Carlos Jr. has grown into his large features and promises to inherit all his father's looks and daring. at his father's encouragement - "by the time you wed a virgin, you will need to know everything there is to know about pleasing them" - Carlos enjoys countless conquests across every continent on the globe. he's a seasoned bachelor by the age of 20 and has been given his own estate outside of Madrid to party, race expensive cars and drink expensive wine. but even as he wakes between the thighs of this or that beautiful boy or girl, his mind recalls the hours spent at court in Monaco trying to discern the subtlest lines of Prince Charles' body beneath the absurd layers of drapery. he knows for sure that the prince is slim but not scrawny. that his posture is upright and proud and stands about the same height as Carlos. at times when he scoops Arthur up to hold on one hip, Carlos can discern the fine dip of a small waist - probably small enough for Carlos' big hands to meet around. what a gift-wrapped present for whoever got to marry him!

but by the time they next meet, news has traveled all over of the Sovereign Prince's health and plans for the reluctant Prince Lorenzo to be hastily crowned. during their first visit after this news, Carlos Jr. makes his usual low bow to Prince Charles but when he looks up he sees tears clouding the prince's green eyes. it twists Carlos' heart and he boldly takes the prince's hand and presses a hurried kiss to the silk and at the same time trying to speak with his eyes how sorry he is for the prince. the small noise Charles makes at Carlos' boldness is a precious secret Carlos holds like a tangible thing against the breast of his tailcoat as he hurries down the steps before any of the other royals can notice what he's done.

[this is when the above section from my AU comes in and Carlos is attempted to be married off to Prince Lando, Lorenzo abdicates, Charles can only be named Prince Regent bc of his status etc and a hasty arrangement is made for him to marry Carlos]

at their wedding I imagine Charles' veil/headdress to be much lighter and tied in a simple knot at the base of his head. the only time Charles is called to speak is to swear fealty to the crown, to his country, and to his husband (it's also the first time Charles' voice has been heard by almost everyone in the Cathedral including Carlos. it sounds like joyous music, dipping deep and rich one moment and high and sweet the next - with a little bubble of laughter at the end. Carlos wants to hear him talk forever.) when the priest finishes his blessing, Carlos put a hand beneath Charles' chin and guides him to stand. he moves closer to Charles than he has ever been permitted and circles his arms around his neck to untie the knot. the veil falls away and a collective gasp rises up from the cathedral through the clouds of incense. Carlos doesn't gasp so much as suck in a triumphant breath through his nostrils and lifts his chin in triumph. Charles is not just the chaste ideal of beauty that the court and citizens of Monaco had whispered about for years, he is the vision of temptation itself: a delicate brush-spatter of freckles beneath a flush on finely molded cheekbones, a straight French nose that was the final word on French noses, and perfectly smooth lips in the shape of a patriotic 'M' and the exact red of Monaco's flag. the prince's hair and brows have all the shades of a glossy hazelnut and a thick fan of lashes surrounded the green eyes - all that Carlos had known of him until now. but soon, he would know everything about Charles and in a way no one else ever had or would.

Carlos is supposed to buss a small, ceremonial barely-there kiss to Charles' lips to please the court but of course he can't help himself and, holding Charles' face in his big hands, presses a fiercely possessive (thankfully still close-mouthed) kiss that nearly makes Charles collapse. murmurs go around the cathedral of "well, those Spaniards, you know".

when they are crowned, my version of royalty has the priest setting the heavy gold crown on Carlos' head but Carlos in turn places the chaplet of gold leaves and gemstone pendants on Charles. Carlos is flying as high as mortal can when he can finally lead Charles out to the balcony and show him off to the waiting public. Carlos wonders if there's a man on earth who possesses more wealth than he does at that moment.

but there's one more thing he doesn't yet have! oh you bet the bedding ceremony is weird and fucked up and poor Charles is using the short time they have alone as they move through the halls (merely flanked by guards) to nervously and apologetically explain to Carlos what they will need to do. something about protocol for regents who found it difficult to "perform" under such circumstances etc. Carlos just puts a big warm hand to Charles' lips as they are rushed along, leaning into to whisper that he'd take Charles' virginity in front of his own grandmother if that's what was required and his desire still wouldn't be dampened.

the chamber is small and has one purpose. the clergy stand behind wrought iron mullioned screens but Charles can see their eyes clearly and has known many of them all his life. he'd probably faint dead away from nerves if Carlos didn't pull him close and kiss him so deep and dirty it should've turned Charles' white gown red with lust. Carlos tells him to look only into his eyes, that he'll take good care of him. there's a whole intense sexy element to Carlos unwrapping Charles the rest of the way, just like the birthday present he'd imagined when he was a teenager. he probably spends WAY too much time on foreplay considering the witnesses are only there to see one thing and then leave but Carlos knows that Charles deserves this. by the time they've reached the point where Carlos can reach a hand between them and literally 'come' up with the goods to hold up and be viewed, Charles' moans are reaching up to the rafters. there's a rustle and murmured blessings as the priests finally withdraw.

Carlos is like FINALLY and decides to give Charles every bit of the benefit of his vast experience and looks smug as hell when Charles' attendants have to physically carry Charles to his own bed bc Carlos fucked him senseless lmao

agfalsgfsla this was so weird and detailed and I do not know WHERE it came from but if an actual writer sees this and wants to write it properly PLEASE tag me or message me!!!

EDIT: these are great photo references for adult Charles and Carlos in this AU

source

[sweepingboy]

Mu Qing's hands shake as he hurriedly changes the blood-soaked bandages - the young prince in front of him is breathing heavily, having fallen into a troubled sleep. The wound is non-lethal Xie Lian will live, but he needs to be brought to the palace as soon as possible - with the improvised materials in the rickety cart, Mu Qing can't patch the gaping hole in his abdomen properly. Feng Xin nearby tries to assist him, his eyebrows drawn down to the bridge of his nose, stress and guilt read on his face.

Their carriage slows down abruptly and Mu Qing struggles to keep his balance. Shouts and clanking of weapons are heard from outside.

Is that? ....

Mu Qing pulls back the curtain slightly and freezes in horror for a second - they are outnumbered.

He looks anxiously at Xie Lian. Rumors have been circulating around the capital for a long time now, of an assassination attempt on the royal family....

Feng Xin, realizing that something is wrong, grabs the hilt of his sword, ready to defend the prince to the last, but Mu Qing stops him, "Don't! He's getting worse by the minute, you'll waste precious time."

"Do you have any better ideas?!"

Mu Qing's brain is frantically thinking.

"Take off his clothes."

"What?!"

" He's their target" hisses Mu Qing "I'll buy you some time. You need to get him out of here as soon as possible, he needs urgent care".

He throws on the prince's robe, hastily tying the belts. Feng Xin's eyes follow his every move. " I'll get out through the window and distract them."

"Mu Qing-" a strong hand catches his wrist. The bodyguard looks at his face as if trying to say something but failing to find the words.

Mu Qing swallows "Don't waste a second" he says and in the next instant, he jumps out of the cart. His heart is pounding as he hears the sounds of a chase behind him.

Laughing and shouting, the stomping of horses - this must be how the prey feels. Mu Qing loops around like a fox trying to throw the hounds off the trail. The expensive fabrics of the prince's already scarlet-colored outfit cling to tree branches and finally lose their splendor when he stumbles and flies to the ground, into fresh mud and stale leaves.

"This is the end" thinks Mu Qing when one of the riders catches up with him. A sturdy man is smiling contentedly. He turns around when he hears the neighing of the horse and the rumble of the cart moving away, but when his gaze turns back to Mu Qing, the smirk on his face is even wider. "It seems your servants have abandoned you Your Highness."

For a second, the boy is relieved. The man dismounts as his companions catch up with him. Mu Qing feels fear clutching his heart as they slowly surround him. He closes his eyes, mentally preparing for the worst "Xie Lian..... Please take care of my momther"

A firm hand grabs his chin.

"Good" hums the stranger.

"The young prince is known for his beauty! You can tell he's not some street rat!" Echoes his friend.

If Mu Qing wasn't in this position he would have laughed. But he grits his teeth as one of the men takes out ropes to tie him up "What do you want? Name yourself!"

"Hush, Your Highness" the rope digs painfully into his wrists "you are in no danger" as if he were a feathwe the leader lifts him up and sits him onto his horse. "As for introductions... You'll figure it out soon"

Mu Qing let's out a shaky breath as the man scrambles behind him and grabs the reins. What he's gotten himself into?

[rollup2theparty]

—⋆𐙚₊˚⊹ scarlet heart! sung hanbin

❦ when you find yourself in the heart of your favorite graphic novel, you didn't expect to fall for the crown prince knowing the slim chance of a happily ever after. (scarlet heart & extraordinary you inspired)

౨ৎ ONE SHOT (fem!reader x s.hanbin)

⟡ soulmates / star crossed lovers / historical

⚠︎ character death / minor angst / mentions of blood

notes!! im not the most confident in fantasy so this one is rlly short but i hope uu enjoy!! lmk if u have any feedback (not proofread)

all you ever wanted was to escape, escape the horrid reality of your austere 9-5, escape the mundane plethora of emails and meetings, escape the job you drag yourself to daily. its true that your greatest desire would be to flee the repetitive soul-assassination that is this routine life of yours but you sure didn't expect it to turn out like this.

you try to count your fingers, all five. this confirms it, it can't a lucid dream. so how could it be that the scene set in front of you looks identical to the opening panel of the final chapter to your favorite graphic novel? in a blink, you transport to a wooden palanquin dressed in your finest ensemble, hand carried by a parade of men.

your distress translates to shivers, you have no idea where you found yourself yet you know exactly where you are going, the crown prince's quarters for a royal wedding... your royal wedding.

the palace looks identical to the illustrations you were used to seeing, the mass from behind the dignified gates cheer as you proceed with the extravagance of a royal procession. while the stage before your eyes bears close resemblance to the masterful drawings of a human author, they gave the imperial heir to the crown no justice. no artist, painter or mastermind could possibly illustrate the way his eyes gleamed with a sentimental yearning, the way his nose fell perfectly between his cheekbones, the way his cupids bow rested delicately above the perfect balance between a plump smile and a knife-sharp jaw. he was angelic to the extent that it was almost bewitching.

familiar memories of moonlit evenings by the lake where the fish swam side by side with the star-filled sky accompanied by the soft embrace of his touch ran through your head like a prologue slideshow. the jittery feeling as he placed a refined jade pin adorned with golden feathers and a blush-pink rose in your palm materialized in your mind like the experience was truly yours. you watch the glimmer of the illusory night reflected on the water beneath your feet. your heart beat escalates, tickled by the warm paced breath on your neck. his hands gradually moved to your cheek, gracefully pushing back the strands of hair that fell on your face. whisker smile appearing on cue, his left hand right snaked pass the silk fabric of your robe and around your waist, he leaned in and your heart stopped.

"i'll love you in every life." he whispered-

and you snap back to the present as you make your bows, exchange wine and partake in a feast made for kings (literally). your groom excuses himself to change out of his ceremonial robe and you rise up to do the same, knowing that the two of you will reunite, veiled behind the tapestry. the retinue scramble to clear out the remnants of your dinner as the two of you step into the vicinity where you are man and wife. he tugs on your robe and pulls you in as he gently envelopes his fingers around yours, the awe that left your brain fogged failed to remind of you of a rather special ending, one with an agonizing pierce of a double edged sword.

the pain was so intense, so nauseating, it was nothing but all-consuming. the friction of cold metal through your skin and bones left you quivering as you fell to your knees in acute agony. you sink into the arms of your lover as you slowly succumb to the fatal pain, taking slower breaths, gradually reaching the end.

star crossed, ill-fated, and damned, the nature of your relationship was meant to be doomed. teardrops grazed your cheeks as his screams and yells turn into nothing but the sound of your defeated heartbeat and you are tugged back to the real world.

your eyes open to the harsh light of the office bullpen and you doubt the reality you experienced was anything more than a fever dream, until you spot the emerald emblem lodged in the corner of your desk. as you begin the question the line between fantasy and existence, your speculation is forced to a halt as your supervisor clears his throat to introduce a new member to the team. a dashing man in a white button up and tie with the same eyes, cheek dimples and fleshy lips. like you are bound to each other with an invisible thread, the two of you are destined to meet in every life, dimension and universe.

[retroillustrates]

Corum, my beloved

[starsfic]

white snake au: Qi XiaoTian saves a bull one day. some time later, he meets a beautiful man

“I’m sorry, what.”

“You heard me.”

He did, he just wanted to make sure he heard right. “You…want to marry me.” 

Qi Xiaotian was the son of a simple innkeeper who prided himself on his noodles and of a scholar who was always broke. He lived in the backroom of the inn, despite having a perfectly good bedroom at his parents’ place next door. He was always busy working and having fun with his bestie. Hell, he hadn’t even thought of marriage yet! Even if he was “super pretty” according to Long Xiaojiao and creative and smart, according to his fathers, not a lot of people were lining up to marry an innkeeper’s son.

Until now.

The grand sedan had arrived out of the blue, carried by strange metal creatures, and out stepped the man who stared at Xiaotian like he was an idiot. “Yes, I want to marry you.” He was beautiful, with red hair pulled back to reveal a sharp face and sharper amber eyes. He was dressed in fine robes that seemed suited for a prince. “I did not come all the way here simply to see the views.”

Xiaotian managed a nod. “Of…of course not.” Still, that didn’t answer his question. “Why?”

The princely man stared at him, a brow raising. “That is a fair question,” he said. “But it’s not important. I know you are kind and good and that’s enough.” He leaned forward. “I saw how you helped the bull.”

“The bull…oh!”

A few weeks ago, Xiaotian had been running errands. The sun had been hot and he was carrying many groceries. However, he had seen the bull under a tree. It had been a gorgeous creature with scarlet fur and golden horns and Xiaotian had been unable to resist getting closer to see.

That was how he realized that the bull was trapped.

Those fine golden horns had been caught in the branches of the tree. Xiaotian had no idea how it got stuck. But he couldn’t help it. Tossing the baskets down, he had sprinted to help.

The bull had been gentle, allowing him to climb up and begin to free its horns. Using the knife he kept on himself and patience, Xiaotian had worked for hours. Even when the sun grew too hot, he had kept at his work. Eventually, the last branch had been yanked loose and the bull had been freed.

Xiaotian hadn’t really thought about it until now.

“Was that bull yours, my lord?”

Now a pleased smile creased the man’s face. Heat blossomed in his cheeks at the sight of it. A smile of his own creased his face and Xiaotian looked away, unsure of what to say. “You could say that,” the lord said. “But it was enough for me.”

A warm hand wrapped around his.

“I am Prince Red, and I will be your husband.”

[wpmorse]

The dais still stood beneath the empty Iron Throne, though all but one table had been removed. Behind it sat stout Lord Mace Tyrell in a gold mantle over green, and slender Prince Oberyn Martell in flowing robes of striped orange, yellow, and scarlet. Lord Tywin Lannister sat between them. Perhaps there's hope for me yet. The Dornishman and the Highgardener despised each other. If I can find a way to use that . . . Tyrion Pg 900

Tyrion arrives at his show trial to face his already-convinced accusers.

This is mostly another excuse to show off another aspect of the Iron Throne.

[forgottenarthur]

Marian/Arthur - “ you’ve been so quiet. what’s on your mind? ”

The prince started. In truth, he'd not known someone was there, so lost in his thoughts he'd been. Sitting in the broad windowseat, long legs outstretched with Aria's book in his lap, he'd been reading for hours when movement outside the window had caught his eye. Aria's scarlet cloak wafted in the breeze, a stark contrast to the snow-struck world ringing round her. She'd stopped in her course, noting a stablehand, and the ring of her familiar laughter had wafted, too, all the way to Arthur, his book forgotten in his lap, his arms crossed over his chest as he watched, entranced, as crimson heat overtook her cheeks, green-dark eyes shining bright.

Surprise bloomed in his chest -- a princess, even reduced now to a lady as she was, but still a princess raised -- stopping for a casual chat with a hand and, not only that, she grew entirely absorbed in it. Her face was angelic in happiness, her forest-dark gaze star-bright and dancing all about her as if the whole of cosmos bent closer when she smiled. How could she be so joyful in such circumstances? Everything she'd once known lost to her!

Unconsciously, Arthur leaned closer, as if he could prize the secret from the smiling curve of her lips or the flush of her rosy cheeks. He didn't think he'd ever been so pleased in his whole life as she was now to stop and chat with a servant in the blistering cold, yet another bell-soft peal of laughter seemed to make all the ice sparkle.

Sighing, he leaned back against the cushions pillowing his back, his eyes roving now over this icy landscape: her native home. How it would change from here on out, Arthur already knew. He'd watched his father conquer other worlds long before he'd ever set foot in hers, and whatever sweet wildness was here to be found: that, he'd stamp out and ring all in stone and iron to suppress it and, strangely, something in Arthur's chest ached now to think of that brutally civilizing force, to think of the way her eyes danced now like starlight, and to think they might be suppressed only into tame, flickering candlelight.

Was this how he, too, would someday be? If he lived, he would be emperor, and if he was emperor, would he too smother the stars beneath the tread of his imperial heel? Was it always destined to be so? Was that the only way, the only path to survival? For him, he knew it was empire or death: his only salvation. But was he doomed to uproot every flowering plant in his path? Would she ever smile like this again?

Arthur jolted at the familiar sound of his mother's voice in that moment and, quickly, sat up, swinging his legs around to sit in a less relaxed way, the window and Aria in her scarlet cloak now to his back.

"Mother--" he took a moment, processed what she had said. Arthur licked his lips, unconsciously glancing down. He saw the long-forgotten book in his lap and he slammed its cover closed.

Glancing up again, he spotted his mother following where his gaze had earlier strayed. Arthur pressed his eyes shut, knowing she could not fail to note Aria, robed as she was in crimson against a backdrop all of white, and rubbed the back of his neck.

"The Lady Aria is quite a beauty, isn't she?"

Arthur shook his head. She was, but he didn't wish to be having this conversation. "It's awfully cold out--" he began, not quite sure where he was going, but wishing to dislodge the line of thought he feared was forming in his mother's mind.

"And you...worry she will catch a chill?"

"What? No, I--" Arthur shrugged, helpless. "It's not like that, Mother."

"Hmm..." Marian slowly seated herself beside her son. "What is it like, Arthur?"

"I--" he shook his head again; rubbed the back of his neck again. "Will I be emperor, Mother?"

Her face shone with astonishment, settling into certainty. This was not the question she'd been expecting, but she had never shown even a hint of doubt that that was to be his future. "Of course."

Arthur fell silent a moment. He wished he could be so sure. He thought death a more likely outcome, in truth. "This is a beautiful place," he said, gesturing around them.

"It is."

"She's talking to a stablehand, you know."

"The princ--Lady Aria?"

He nodded. "They talk to stablehands here. Princesses. Talk to stablehands."

Marian's brows furrowed.

"It's a very natural conversation, too. Friendly."

"Arthur...Are you...jealous?"

"Mother!" he reddened. "Focus! What this means is...it's normal. Maybe she's not a princess, anymore, but she was one, once, and it was ordinary to them, then, that a princess ought to speak on friendly terms to a stablehand."

"What are you driving at?"

Sighing, he rubbed his arm. "I don't know, I--I don't know."

"Is that the type of Emperor you wish to be?"

"What?"

"One who speaks on friendly terms to a stablehand?"

Arthur frowned. "Is that...possible?"

"When you're emperor, Arthur, anything will be possible."

"Anything?" Unconsciously, Arthur glanced towards the window behind him. Aria was laughing again, and taking her leave. He glanced down at the book in his lap. "Anything..."

But he couldn't be so sure.

[princesssarisa]

Do you know any of the names and meanings of the Robin Hooh characters?

Robin: Derived from Robert, meaning "bright fame."

John (as in Little John and Prince John): "God is gracious."

(Friar) Tuck: It might mean "gardener," or else be an allusion to his "tucked up" curtailed robe.

Will (Scarlet): Short for William, meaning "strong helmet."

Alan-a-Dale: "Alan" means ""small rock" or "handsome," while "Dale" means "valley."

(Maid) Marian: Derived from Mary, meaning "bitter," "drop of the sea," or "beloved."

Guy (of Gisbourne): "Wood."

Richard (the Lionheart): "Brave ruler."

[aphroditestempleimagines]

The Obsidianite Jewel

A fem!reader x Chevalier Michel Fanfiction

Chapter 18 -> Chapters Masterlist

Words: 3217

Warnings: language, violence, death, blood

Summary: It all started when your fiancé, Prince Gilbert, brought you to the palace of Rhodolite. He hoped he would find the secrets of the princes. Instead, he lost your heart to the brutal beast. However, Gilbert is not going to let your heart wander away easily

Chevalier stood alone outside the closed heavy door of the cathedral. He stared at its wood and iron frame, carved with depictions of mythology and built with the finest materials, befitting of the crown jewel of the Istidorian Church. His long white cape and usual robes were replaced by a black suit, roses elegantly embroidered on the chest with gold thread; he had not worn that thing in years. He took a deep breath. He had not known hesitation in his life, yet this feeling could be nothing but. He clenched the letter in his one hand, the white roses in the other. Everything would change once he crossed that doorstep. Everything would be real.

She would really be gone.

He pushed the door open. At the end of rows of cushioned benches laid the open coffin, filled with white flowers as if brought out from a fairytale. Yet this reality was the furthest thing from it, since the woman that rested inside was the light of his life, snuffed away too soon.

He manoeuvred his way among the crying people, held by guards in a row to bid their final farewell. James had placed Melville among them in order to let Chevalier approach from the family's seats. He thanked him with a nod, the guard returning a sorrowful look. It was strange how that single look of pity comforted him in his deep despair; perhaps it was another thing he had lacked when he had first needed it.

It had been a year since he had last seen her, so full of life and hope. The woman in the coffin looked nothing like it. Her skin was stuck on her frail bones, her eyes tired even in eternal sleep. All the makeup of the undertakers could not hide those things from him. She wore a white dress; he never attended her wedding so he could not tell if it was just a coincidence. Her hands held a bouquet of red roses. Chevalier reached for the petals. His breath caught. He would recognise that texture anywhere; they had been brought in from Rhodolite.

"How did she die?", he almost did not ask.

"Scarlet fever your Majesty", said Melville.

"That's a lie. There are no signs of that"

Melville lowered his head. "Broken heart", he finally confirmed Chevalier's fear.

It was the same. The same thing all over again. Had he truly become his father? Leading a good woman to die of this affliction? Yet the King had never loved his mother. He had loved y/n with all his heart's might.

He felt a tear slide down his cheek. Did he imagine it? People were staring. Irrelevant, they did not matter. But had he truly lost his composure? He tried to shake the tears away but only called forth more. His body was not responding. It was not that of a beast anymore, but that of a human. A human in pain. A human in loss. A human like her, like everyone else.

He leaned forward to place a kiss on her frozen forehead. He touched his own oh the same spot, his warmth never transferring as he had hoped.

"Come back", he whispered, "Come back"

He repeated those words again and again even as his eyes fluttered awake, the tears he had shed in his sleep watering his pillow. He brushed his fingers underneath his eyelid, gathering those peculiarities people called tears. He sat up on the bed and buried his face in his hands. He could not allow that dream to come true. He would not.

He walked to the main deck, where James chatted with Silvio, who manned the wheel.

"Wakey wakey sleeping beauty", James grinned, "I was just about to have Silvio here give you true love's kiss"

"Don't pull me into your weird fantasies, shithead", Silvio barked, "It's enough that I have to sail you all the way to bloody Istidor"

"If you did not want to owe me a favour you should had been better at playing cards", James smirked at him.

"We both know you cheated you bloody cod"

Chevalier let out a long sigh. It was a ridiculous idea to involve the Jangling fool to begin with. "How far are we from port?", he interrupted their continuing banter.

"Port?", James' face contorted in confusion, "We're not going to a port"

"Then well shall we-"

"Their castle has a beach enclosed between the walls", Silvio said, "And all this trouble because this crook is a criminal on multiple levels"

"Hey", James crossed his arms in front of his chest, "I'm starting to regret helping you set up the trade route"

"You didn't help jack squat!", Silvio fumed again.

Chevalier did not dally longer to listen to the rest of that pointless conversation. He climbed down and walked to the stern. In isolation he sat, his hands on the rail as he gazed at the trail of sea foam the ship left behind. Benitoite was long gone in the horizon on his right. They had sailed to the open sea instead of following the coast to avoid detection. It was crazy to think, but Chevalier had never been this far from Rhodolite before. It was like an invisible hand constantly quenched his heart as he was to far away to learn, let alone react, if disaster befell his people.

Did you ever feel that way? You must have. You have been the official heir to the throne from the moment you were born. Yet you travelled away from your homeland, to reside in what was basically the wolf's den.

Chevalier buried his face in his hands. Who was he to think he had any say in your actions? Who was he to claim he should be your saviour? Yet again, how could he stand on the sidelines? The thought of going against your choices made him more nauseous than the relentless sea. The thought of him even remotely resembling what disgusted him about your relationship with Gilbert...

Soon the ship turned and the horizon beyond which the land resided disappeared behind Chevalier. They must had reached their drop-off point. By nightfall, they were bidding Silvio goodbye as he and James boarded a boat to cross the small stretch of water to the shore below the Royal palace.

"Don't put your trust in him", Silvio grabbed Chevalier's arm before he boarded the rowboat, "He's not worthy of it. He always has another goal"

Chevalier did nothing but nod to Silvio's warning. The prince of Benitoite had not provided him with any new insight. He was well aware that both he and James were using each other; there was nothing else they could do when they had only met a few days ago. He trusted that he could help, but he never took as guaranteed that he would.

James rowed the boat inside a cave, hidden by unforgiving rocks underneath the cliff where the castle stood. They passed under a drawn iron gate, its spikes hanging menacingly above their heads. They docked in front of a small wooden door which James opened with a black iron key he wore around his neck. As he pulled it out, a small religious pendant was pulled with it; James was quick to tuck it back inside his black silk blouse. They climbed over a thousand steps to reach a network of tile-paved corridors. James lit a lantern on one of the walls and carried it along the way until they happened upon a glass wall, a large ballroom residing on the other side. James hung the lantern and pulled a small lever on the side, letting the glass door relax enough to push it open. They slipped on the other side and the young prince pushed closed the glass door, the ballroom's reflection concealing the path from which they came.

Chevalier's hand fell on the hilt of his sword. "Why did we come out here?", he asked.

"'Tis the only way out of that maze"

"I sincerely doubt that",

James let out a sigh. The low whistle of armour became louder and louder as the seconds passed. "Don't fight", James said simply before throwing his sword away and putting his hands behind his head. Soon after, a group of soldiers from the King's guard surrounded them. The eyepatched prince stood in shock on the steps behind them. "I caught an intruder", James said theatrically, "An enemy to the crown. Now isn't that worth reinstating me?". Gilbert smiled in satisfaction as the soldiers took Chevalier to the dungeons and James to the King's office.

Chevalier's blood was boiling as he restrained himself from annihilating his captors. He had not even let Clavis do something like that in his presence. He took a deep breath as the soldiers tossed him unceremoniously into one of the cells. After a while, Gilbert passed by to mock him. Chevalier looked at him with his icy blue eyes, never uttering a word to him. He looked around; perhaps he could escape. Maybe he could pick the lock like his idiot brother would and steal a sword from one of the guards. If he had a sword and he had his wits he would be as good as free. But such a thing would defeat the purpose of him coming all the way there.

"Pssst", a whisper was heard from behind him. Chevalier turned to see Melville's freckled face peak from the shadows that sheltered a hidden door on the back wall. Was this part of James' play?

He followed Melville inside another maze of corridors until they reached a wooden door. Melville pushed it open and they entered the King's study through a library. The guard gave a slight bow to the man sitting on a large armchair behind the book-ridden desk and returned to the hidden corridor.

"Take a sit", the man pointed at the chairs on the other side of the desk before returning to his paperwork.

So this was King Edward. He sat proudly, his back straightened, as he examined the papers in front of him with grace. His face was scared on the left. His great longsword was left on his side, always kept at arm's length. Chevalier looked around; all doors to the room were closed. He saw the chairs the King had offered him. They had no arms to them, as a King's chair should. This was a test like all the rest of his family liked to pull.

"I did not come here as a conversant of your Majesty", Chevalier dragged one of the chairs to sit next to the King, "I came here as Chevalier"

The King let out a light chuckle. "As Chevalier, huh?", he repeated, "And what could just-Chevalier dare request a King?"

"Your daughter's hand", he said.

"In case you didn't realise, the princess is already engaged", Edward dipped his feather quill in the ink and continued writing.

"I asked for your daughter", Chevalier said again.

"You did not ask for something different than what I said", the King lectured, "From what I've heard you're known to respect such things as duty and titles. My daughter is the crown princess. She will wed someone of her stature"

"From what I have heard, you, unlike me, do not hold titles and duty in the same importance when family is concerned"

King Edward let down his pen. He turned his serious gaze at Chevalier, the unwavering might of experience meeting the coldness of pride. "And what do you know about family?", he spat. He stood and walked closer to Chevalier. "Your father was a lecherous fool who prayed on women in response to his own hollow heart", he told him, "Your own mother resented you. You don't see the type to care about family"

"I care about your daughter"

"That is not enough"

The King took a step back, letting out a heavy sigh. He walked to the fireplace on the other side of the room. A portrait of a woman hung above it, recently brought to the room. She greatly resembled y/n but her hair was a different colour.

"Why did you call me up here then?", Chevalier asked, "You did not throw this charade in front of Gilbert's face to tell me to go back to where I came from"

King Edward placed his hand on the mantle. "You're here to be given a choice", he said, "If you want my daughter there are two ways to get to her. Either let Rhodolite become part of our Kingdom and marry her as the Earl of a prefecture or she forfeits her claim to the title and you marry her as a nobody"

"Neither is possible", Chevalier said, "But if you wish then I'll step down as King and travel here as my former self"

"I will not accept such a condition", said the King, "I gave you your options. Either choose or leave"

"Rhodolite is a nation that has been fighting against invaders for decades. I can't let it become a slave in the span of one night. I shall not."

"So you have chosen for y/n to come with you then"

"Let me be clear, I will NEVER ask that of her", Chevalier said determinedly, "Even if she agreed in the spur of a moment out of love for me she would ultimately regret it. I could never replace any of the things she's known her whole life. Not her home, not her family, not her birthright, not..."

"I know who you are Chevalier", the Istidorian King said, "I know you plan to go to war with the continent and unite the kingdoms in the name of peace". He turned to meet Chevalier's gaze. "I will not, do you hear me, I will NOT have you use Istidor in order to spread your tyrannical reign to the rest of the world"

Chevalier was regretting the place and time he had first uttered that plan. That damn plan. To his bleeding heart it appeared as a mere triviality. "Fuck that", he uttered for the first time in his life.

"Excuse me?"

Chevalier's brows furrowed as his eyes drilled into Edward's. "All I want is for me and y/n to be together", he clenched his fists, "I would not even care about proposing marriage or anything else if it weren't for our positions. I'd wait for her to feel free to move on. I would settle as her unnamed lover for a lifetime if it meant we would be an 'us'. But I understand who our ranks made us to be. I am aware of the barriers and the rules that have been placed to keep us in line with a standard. That is the only reason I'm here instead of her room asking her to stay with me"

King Edward's chuckle put a stopper on Chevalier's argument. "You really are a piece of work", he covered his face with his hand. He pulled up his chair and sat next to Chevalier once more. "I don't want y/n to marry Gilbert either"

Chevalier frowned. "What?"

"I know what Gilbert wants and that is to abolish the aristocracy and nobility from the world. Though a beautiful dream, I did not spend half of my life trying to convince the idiots in this country to let my daughter be the sovereign for Gilbert to come and dismantle her power"

Edward opened the drawer to his right. He searched between the papers and stamps and other trinkets he had shoved inside the small compartment instead of organising them until he found a small golden ring. "This is my House's seal", he handed the ring to Chevalier, "Not the King's, but my Family's". He stood and opened a cabinet between the library shelves. Unlike the rest of the room, the objects inside the cabinet were neatly organised and stored in small boxes. Edward took a blue velvet one in his hands and sat back down. Inside laid a gold medal on a blue ribbon. "This was my mother's", Edward said, "it is worn by the King's Consort or, in y/n's case, the Queen's consort. The ring I can give you with my blessing. But this, you have to earn in the eyes of the people's council"

"I'm assuming you have a plan for that", Chevalier's eyes narrowed,"Otherwise you wouldn't have brought me to see you"

Edward lifted the medal to eye level. He twirled it in his hand, his eyes glued to its shiny material. "I was not lying when I said that marrying you would cause problems.", he explained, "But in truth is the only solution I would accept is your abdication from the Rhodolitian throne and reinstatement as King Consort here"

Chevalier nodded his head. He was prepared to do this. A title, in the end, meant nothing in his eyes. "I simply request some time for a Belle to choose a new King before I leave", he said in earnestness.

The King of Istidor seemed enthralled by that answer. "You are a talented man", the King smiled, "It'd be a shame to clip your wings so soon". Chevalier responded with a frown to which Edward said "I'm not dead yet. You don't have to abdicate right now. Just in the future. Y/N would have to travel back quite frequently of course but other than that you are free to start your life together in peace"

"Would a mere promise like that be enough to convince them?"

"Which is why you need some back-up", Edward took a map from a small bin he kept next to his desk and spread it over the table. "Do you see that?", he pointed his finger at a mountainous region up north, "That is where my daughter is right now. A count that has a great dislike of me has organized a revolution. I want you to go there and help snuff it out, not by being a strategist but by being a leader."

"What is that supposed to mean?"

"If you inspire the people then the people will follow you", the King said, "We keep pretend the nobles have all the power but in truth, especially in a Kingdom as large as this, they are merely ants compared to the number of lesser wealthy people. They are the true power in this country. If they want you here, the council will have to obey or be faced with widespread criticism and even violence"

Chevalier lifted his eyes from the map. "That is how you ensured y/n would be Queen isn't it?", he said, "You turned her into their hero"

"Now you're getting it", Edward gathered the map back into a neat roll before handing it over to Chevalier, "It's on you now, son"

Chevalier reached for the map. The moment he touched it he was pulled closer, close enough for the King to rest a fatherly hand on his shoulder.

"Do you know why I exiled my son?", asked the King. Chevalier shook his shoulders. "Because it makes men like Gilbert trust him", Edward said, "I don't worry about him betraying me. That is the kind of trust I expect from my family, and why I can never call Gilbert that. Question is...can I call you? I'd like to. My daughter loves you. You certainly don't lack in intelligence and capability. But I will not put you over her safety or her inheritance. So be careful not to stir up the wrong kind of trouble"

Chevalier nodded. He could do nothing else. And with that, the King led him to another path and gave him the directions to find his way out.