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targaryen-dynasty · 7 months

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KINKTOBER SLEEPOVER.

No. 4 -> GIF.

Prince Regent!Aemond Targaryen x fem!Baratheon!Reader

WARNINGS: SEXUAL CONTENT-MINORS DNI; p in v, oral (f receiving), loss of virginity, praise kink, corrupting, forbidden love, slight size kink, READER HAS BLUE EYES AND BLACK HAIR (typical Baratheon traits)

WORDS: 1.7 K

NOTES: Another glorious request! Thank you tons @cryingforlife! 🫂

When House Baratheon came to the capital to celebrate the impending wedding of your older sister to the current prince regent, you had not expected to be called to the small council chamber around the hour of the wolf on the first night.

There not even had been time for you to change into one of your gowns, the black-golden robe you had fetched on your way out clearly serving to keep your appearance modest and partly appropriate.

Your black curls had flown with each hurried step you took, and the servant had done nothing to inform you on why your presence was requested so urgently… and by whom.

With the door closing behind you, there had been little to no light coming through to lighten the room, almost shrouding it in complete darkness safe for the several candles that illuminated the shapes of the table, the chairs and the silhouette of someone sitting in the king’s place at the head of the table.

Despite your pleas of ‘we can not do this’, ‘we should not do this’ and ‘what if anyone sees us?’ Aemond was very adamant to have you sitting on the council table, the skirt of your white nightgown barely rucked up high enough for him to stand between your parted legs.

“Let them see,” he growled in return, his lips pressing against your throat, slightly muffling his words. He pulled back enough to meet your blue eyes, and only then you noticed that he was not wearing his eye patch, the sapphire catching some of the light the candles granted. “Mayhaps then your father will realize that he should have given me your hand in marriage… not that of your dim-witted sister.”

The gasp you released was loud, and you weren’t sure if it was because you felt offended by his words – were you really? – or because he had slid a hand between your legs and dragged his fingers over your clothed cunt.

You were quick to seize his wrist, your eyes wide with shock. “I–I have never…” you stuttered, more afraid of the pain the act would bring than having your virtue taken by him. Aemond cocked his eyebrow at that, clearly amused by the meek attempt to stop him. “You really wish to deny your king what he desires?”

Did you?

No.

You vividly remember the anger you felt when you had heard your father denying his request to take your hand in marriage. It had happened not long before Lucerys Velaryon had sought out the Round Hall, the refusal most definitely adding to Aemond’s anger that had cost the life of his nephew.

There was little you knew about the prince back then, yet you had felt drawn to him from the very beginning, and turned ireful at the disrespect of Maris asking if Lucerys had removed his stones as well as his eye.

You docilely shook your head, which caused him to hum, pleased by your obedience.

While Aemond leaned in to claim your lips in a heated kiss, his fingers pinched the linen of your smallclothes to tear them down your legs, and, with the air being sucked from your lungs by him, you barely even noticed – until the cold air hit your soaked core.

You watched with wide eyes as Aemond sank to his knees, all shame and the fear of being caught vanishing straight away. There was nothing else than desire and lust filling your veins, especially with such an influential man kneeling between your legs.

Bowing his head forward, he pressed a kiss to your cunt that had you drawing in a sharp breath, the heat flushing your skin. Out of instinct, you entangled one hand into his silver hair, whereas the other gripped the edge of the table, keeping you grounded.

He used his tongue, dragging it through your folds, flicking it over your little bud and pushing it inside of your cunt. It didn’t take long for you to turn into a squirming mess, more so when his tongue was replaced by one finger, the whines you released melting into moans.

But you quickly noticed that there was a certain urgency in him, seeming as if he needed something in particular – feeling his cock being embraced by your tight walls.

When Aemond surfaced, his strong jaw and lips glistening with your arousal, you moaned yet again, eyes flickering between his and his lips with your mouth agape, not knowing where to settle.

Now it was you initiating the kiss, your hands coming up to cup his jaw and the back of his neck, pulling him in with such force it had him grunting. As you got to taste yourself on his lips and tongue, you whimpered, merely pulling back when you felt him fiddling with something between your bodies. He was undoing the laces of his breeches to free his hard cock.

At the sight of it, you swallowed thickly, mumbling an ‘tis not going to fit’ which had Aemond scoffing. “I shall make it fit,” he said, flashing you a smirk that was nothing short of smug.

His hard cock stood tall when he pushed his breeches and braies down, and the prince regent wasted no time in gripping your thighs to draw you even closer, your arse balancing on the table’s edge.

You felt his hand grip your hip, followed by the pressure of the tip of his cock prodding your entrance. Even though you felt your cunt clench around nothing from the mere anticipation of finally getting to sheath him, you shut your eyes and took in a deep breath. It was tight at first, not to speak about the burning that came with it, but since you were wet enough, he slid right in.

Your cunt choked his cock so tightly, he needed a few seconds to adjust, making him terribly aware that he was not going to last for too long. His cock twitched and throbbed with need, and he released a shuddered breath while you sighed in relief.

“The pain will ease,” he rasped, trying to relax you, and it worked, urging you to open your eyes and melt into his touch.

Aemond was generous enough to start with a slow, deep grinding that soon enough turned the stinging pain into pleasure, intensifying the pressure you felt in your stomach from the moment he had eased inside.

“Gods be good,” you panted, bringing your hands up to grip his shoulders.

Placing one hand on your chest, Aemond gently pushed you down on the table. It then traveled up to your throat, clasping around it. He didn’t mean to cut off your air, it solely rested there to pin you down as he increased the pace of his thrusts. His other hand grabbed yours, intertwining your fingers and planting it firmly on the wooden surface.

You just stared at him in awe, lips still parted and eyes wide, while your body moved over the table with the force of his thrusts. “That’s it,” Aemond praised, an unusual softness to his voice. Your face turned red at that, only noticing how much you actually enjoyed it as a fresh wave of your arousal dripped out of your core and coated his length and the sac of his stones.

And then it dawned him.

Aemond angled his hips and found the spot that caught the breath in your throat, your whines and whimpers turning into wanton moans. “Such a good girl,” he rasped. “You are taking me so well.”

The moan you released was the epitome of lewd, and it was a sight to behold as you arched your back with the sound leaving your lips.

“Fuck,” Aemond breathed, your cunt tightening around him in a way that was sure to milk him for his spend. “You were made for me,” he rambled, “you were made to fit my cock in this sweet cunt of yours.”

Your throat was released with him bracing his hand on the table right next to your head, supporting his weight as his thrusts grew harsher and determined, repeatedly brushing the spot that had you seeing stars. Your lids were heavy, and the coil inside of your belly tightened at a rapid pace. The sensation was rare for you, not even your fingers bringing you close enough to peak.

Your face contorted in pleasure, and your breathing turned more erratic, telltale signs that let him know you were close to bliss. “So, so good,” he groaned, his eye flickering to where your fingers were squeezing him with a vice-like grip – matching the clenching of your walls around him.

If it wasn't for him making you feel so good, the pace and force of his thrusts probably would have hurt, but you were far too lost in him taking his pleasure, conquering and claiming you as if he had done so plenty of times before.

“I–I…,” you trailed off, squeezing your eyes shut.

“Look at me,” he hissed, the command crystal clear, “I want to watch when you peak.”

The profanity of his words pushed you straight over the edge, moans and whimpers leaving your throat. You tried so hard to keep your eyes open, to fix them with his good one, yet, when the pleasure got too much, you closed them. Your back arched off the table, and the sight beneath him with your spasming cunt choking his cock brought Aemond to completion.

It was reckless, and, as prince regent and your sister’s betrothed, he should know better, but he pushed in to the hilt for one last time and spent himself deep inside of your twitching walls.

Stilling his hips, he closed his eyes in what seemed to be a rare moment of exhaustion, giving himself and you a few seconds to steady your breathing. Pulling out even before his cock had softened completely, he tugged it back into his breeches and helped with your attire.

There was a thick tension clouding the shared silence between you, and when his eye met yours once again, the young dragon wondered briefly what your life could have been if your father had granted him your hand in marriage.

If that could have been his one true chance of finding love and validation in something other than duty.

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mochinek0 · 4 months

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Daminette December 2023: 10-Defeated

Damian sat at his desk and briefly scanned the files of the new departments he was overlooking. One of them was the art department, which he was greatful for. The only thing that bothered him was the fashion department. He didn't agree that it was art. It was business. Clothing was a necessity, not a luxury. Clothes could be sold in stores. Art was meant to be displayed and shared. The Wayne heir scanned the file again.

'Head of fashion department was listed as Marinette Dupain-Cheng. I'm sure I can get rid of her and move the department. Nothing will get in Damian Al Ghul-Wayne's way.'

The Wayne heir approached the fashion department. He saw the office door open and observed the inside. There was a small woman with blue hair drawing on a tablet. He could see a gown forming under the movement of her stylus. Damian stood tall as he knocked on the open office door, but she never turned around.

'Brat.'

"Miss Dupain-Cheng!" he shouted.

To his surprise, the designer slammed her hand down on her desk and glared at him.

"You made me mess up." she snarled, "Who the fuck so you think you are to come in here and bother me?"

This wasn't the type of meeting he had been expecting at all.

"Damian Wayne." he answered, not use to people glaring at him, "I wanted to inform you that I will personally be keeping an eye on the department and see if it's truly necessary."

"Fine." Marinette snapped, "There's the door. I'm busy; you can show yourself out."

Marinette turned back to her tablet and began ignoring him, again. Damian couldn't believe that she didn't get scared by his name. She talked back to him! Damian walked out and slammed the office door.

'What a horrible person. I'm not just gonna get rid of her; I'm gonna fire her entire department! I'll just exploit her weaknesses and show that she's incompitent at her job.'

Marinette had noticed that Damian taking to lurking around her department. He had inserted himself into meetings and questioned everything: Is what you're buying necessary? How could it help Wayne Enterprise? Why did you choose this fabric? Why this shade? Why not vermouth?

It had been six months and she was ready to punch him. Mari had heard rumors that he was starting to neglect other departments he was covering. She couldn't understand his fascination and distaste for hers. After another grueling meeting, everything came to a head.

"Miss Dupain-Cheng, I highly suggest rereading the code of conduct." Damian stated, in front of the entire department.

Marinette could feel everyone's eyes on her, "And what have I done now, Mr. Wayne? I don't believe 'bow down' is a rule."

"Your behavior and attire are innapropriate in the work place." Damian commented, irked that she still went against his authority.

"Excuse me?" Mari shouted, "I am completely professional!"

Damian snorted, "You regularly seduce your staff."

"I wish." someone whispered, loud enough for everyone to hear.

"Mr. Wayne," Marinette spoke, "please, tell me how my business attire is innapropriate so that I may correct it."

Marinette knew she had him this time. She still made all her own clothing and inspected them the day before for any rip or loose seams. She wore button up blouses with short sleeves and a blazer. She made sure to wear pants as she didn't want to kneel in a skirt. Was this about her heels? Sure she didn't wear four inches like everyone else; she preferred something that was easy to move in. Especially if something had gone wrong and she needed to hurry to the other sde of Wayne Enterprise.

Damian's eyes roamed over Marinette. Her clothes were the same as they had been for the last six months, they hugged her curves. When she took off her blazer, he could see how her neck curved, especially when her hair was puled up in a messy bun or ponytail. He had seen her hair that way, too many times, when she was busy designing. Not to mention how her pants accentuated her when she yelled at an employee for ordering the wrong fabric. Those stupid tops that she crossed her arms under her chest when someone contradicted her.

"Well, Mr. Wayne." Marinette called out, "I'm waiting. Tell me which part of my outfit is the problem, right now. I'm buttoned up and tucked in. My pants go all the way down to my ankles or are my ankles distracting someone? I certainly can't be distracting someone with a foot fetish, as I don't wear anything open-toed. There are many more employees, here at Wayne Enterprise, that dress provocative."

"Are you sure?" the Wayne heir questioned.

"I can name five ladies on this floor alone!" Marinette growled, "Two are wearing corsets with a blazer. Another is in a mini skirt and if she sits, you can see the garter straps. Another is wearing the same outfit as yesterday and reeks of cigarettes, sweat, nd bad cologne. The last one is wearing last seasons Belmere cocktail dress with tulle bishop sleeves! Thy are sewing a collection and if that sleeve gets caught, we have to destroy that fabric and her sleeves will be ripped off. I am not losing product because someone decided to be stupid this morning, Carol!"

Marinette glared at Damian Wayne, "So, tell me how innapropriate I am or you can fuck off!"

"The clothes you wear demean you and suggest you are welcoming others to join you for a night." Damian stated.

Marinette felt all the rage bubble over and she punched him in the face, sending him across the floor.

"I quit!" she snarled.

Damian looked on as Marinette walked away.

'I won.'

What he didn't expect were the not so hushed whispers of the fashion department.

"I think Mr. Wayne had a crush on her."

"I wish she would seduce me."

"You and me both."

"Apparently, she was very popular in Paris with both genders."

"Wait, what?"

"Really?"

"I heard she dated Jagged Stone's only son."

"Wasn't Adrien Agreste trying to date her?"

"So was Zoe Lee."

"The actress!"

"Mmhmm and she's the second daughter of Style Queen."

"Damn! Why is she here then?"

"She could have gone with one of them and likely inherited a fashion label!"

"Marinette always yells at us when we dress innapropriate."

"Carol."

"I pushed my sleeves up, okay!"

"I think she wrote this years dress code herself."

"I wish that I could see what Mr. Wayne saw."

"Why?"

"Are you kidding me? Stuck up Dupain-Cheng as some sexy thing and not yelling a us? Talk about a perfect fantasy!"

Damian sat there blushing as the employees talked amongst themselves.

'Did no one really see what I saw? They hadn't seen the way her clothes accentuated her? They didn't see the way her body called out to others? Was I the only one who wanted to pin her down to gain control?'

Damian stood up, admitting defeat. Marinette Dupain-Cheng, the person who irked him for months, hadn't been at war with him or seducing him; he liked her. He couldn't tell until the evidence was stacked against him. As the other employees said, she didn't even need to be there. She could marry into money, likely immediately, and run a corporation against them.

'She's not going to get away from me that easily.'

By the time Damian found Marinette, Tim was already on his knees begging her to stay and his father was apologizing about his attitude.

"I can personally guarantee that Damian will be moved departments and you never have to see him again." his own father pleaded.

Tim noticed Damian out of the corner of his eye and stood up.

"You!" Tim shouted, stalking over to his younger brother, "What the hell? Marinette is dressed perfectly fine for her job!"

"Please reconsider, Miss Dupain-Cheng." Bruce spoke.

"I will work from my own home." Mari stated, "I will come to the office only for meetings; everything else will be paper trailed through emails and run by one of you."

"That is perfectly doable." Bruce answered, "We can send any equipment you need and-"

"I have everything already."

Damian looked on confused. He had never known them to suck up this badly, not even to board members.

"You don't even know who she is; do you?" Tim exclaimed.

"An employee by the name of Marinette Dupain-Cheng." Damian answered.

Bruce sighed. Apparently his son had never read her file and background information as to why she was the head of her own department.

"She is Jagged Stone's personal and exclusive designer." Tim snarled, "She designs for many different celebrities world wide. She is known throughout Paris! You can obviously see why we wanted her here."

Damian had no clue that the she was that well known or that his family was that desperate to have her.

"What can we get you to continue to work here?" Bruce questioned, "We can pay you how ever much you want."

"I'll bump your salary to $65,000 a design." Tim offered.

Marinette shook her head, "I only want one thing and I want Damian Wayne to apologize to me."

"80,000 a design!" Tim quickly shouted.

Damian could clearly see his family was horrified. They had zero faith he would apologize or admit his mistake. Damian swallowed his pride and bowed down, as he would to his mother.

"My apologies for making my own personal assumptions." He began, "They were baseless and you truly did nothing wrong. It was my own assumption that you were attempting to seduce me that caused this."

Marinette's cheeks turned red as she listened to his in shock.

"My parents did not conceive me naturally. My mother drugged Father. I was raised and taught by her, from an early age, that women will use any means necessary to seduce who they value as someone of interest; even wear revealing clothes. They will cling to those they desire. They will feign innocence when confronted." Damian continued, "I only observed what I was told, but my family is alos correct. Your clothing is appropriate for the work place. You have never touched me inappropriately. You also have never tried to suede me. You treated me as everyone else in your department and yet-"

Damian was smacked upside the head by Tim. Damian turned to glare at him, but when he looked up, she saw Marinette covering her face with her hands and her ears were bright red.

"Miss Dupain-Cheng?" Damian spoke softly.

Marinette looked between her fingers at him, nervously.

"Miss Duapin-Cheng?" Bruce questioned, cautiously.

"I-I don't understand how-how you can like me." She stammered.

"Well, for one thing, you have a killer right hook." Damian stated.

Out of all the things, he could have answered, that was not one of them. Marinette began laughing and her hands fell away from her blushing face.

The Wayne heir smirked, "I'm also not use to people telling me to 'fuck off'."

Marinette snorted as she thought back to the first day they met. Bruce and Tim nodded as they slowly made their way away from the young adults.

"Everyone back to work." Bruce commanded, "If I see this online, I'll personally make sure whoever posted it, is fired."

The fashion department was quick to get back to work, leaving Damian Wayne to confess to their blushing designer.

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voguefashion · 9 months

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“Pink is the new black” - Diana Vreeland

Thomas Gainsborough, Mary, Countess Howe, c. 1764.

Marilyn Monroe wearing a pink satin strapless gown with an oversized bow attached at back, designed by William Travilla for the "Diamonds Are a Girl's Best friend" number from Gentlemen Prefer Blondes (1953).

Vogue Paris, December 1964.

Jackie Kennedy wearing a Pink Chanel suit on the day of her husbands assassination in Dallas, Texas on November 22, 1963.

Margot Robbie on the set of Barbie.

Shirley MacLaine in a gown by Edith Head for What a Way to Go! (1964).

Brigitte Bardot wearing the famous pink and white gingham dress with a Peter Pan collar made of English lace, specially designed for her by Jacques Esterel on her wedding day to Jacques Charrier on June 18th 1959.

Reese Witherspoon wearing the pink leather 'driving suit' in Legally Blonde (2001), designed by Sophie de Rakoff.

Barbara Cartland the "Queen of Romance" fiction was often dressed in a pink chiffon gown.

"A brave new pink that accepts the challenge of the blazing summer sun." Elizabeth Arden "Arden Pink" advertisement in American Vogue, April 15, 1959.

Princess Diana wearing a pink sweater and pink and white gingham pants at her home at Highgrove, Gloucestershire, 1986.

Model Suzy Parker in the "Think Pink!" number from Funny Face (1957), costume designed by Edith Head.

Valentino Garavani Tan-Go Platform Pump in Patent Leather 155mm in Rose Violet.

Molly Ringwald wearing the 'prom dress' designed by Marilyn Vance in Pretty in Pink (1986).

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superprincesspea · 4 months

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Courted by the Dragon

Chapter 3 - Secret Admirer

Aemond Targaryen is both the cause and witness to the greatest humiliation of your life. You would rather die than see him again. Yet summer at court and the precipice of civil war have other ideas.

Masterlist

~~~

Several days after Aemond’s return to King's Landing, nothing had really changed in regard to your social demise, and it was time for yet another evening of feasting and dancing.

But before the night began, packages arrived at the door, and it seemed the young ladies in the Baratheon family had been gifted a new gown from a secret admirer.

There was even a package for you and, though your father hoped it was Lord Lannister who had sent them, you didn’t have the nerve to tell him the truth. Tyland Lannister had not spoken to you in four days. Nor had anyone else, even Ser Harrold.

With this in mind, you took the parcel with your name scrolled on top and opened it in the privacy of your room. Inside was a fine gown of sapphire blue silk. A much richer hue than anything else you possessed, and it was very beautiful. The fabric seemed to reflect the light, giving it an almost iridescent quality, like a sparkling gemstone. Aside from the dress, there was no note or explanation and you wondered if your father was right.

Perhaps Tyland Lannister had ordered the dresses before your fall from grace?

Afterall, this dress was much too intricate to have been ordered in haste, the craftsmanship and delicate stitches must have taken weeks and cost a tremendous amount of coin.

If it was a gift from Tyland, you knew it should be returned immediately. But you could not bring yourself to admit why that would be necessary, nor could you explain to your mother why you would rather wear one of your other dresses.

So, feeling like a fraud, you wore the sapphire blue while Cassandra and Maris wore pink and lilac respectively. Pretty dresses but not as exquisite as yours.

Entering the hall, the colour and beauty of the gown was enough to turn heads in your direction and, though you wanted to shrink into the wall, you remained defiant. Head up, back straight.

Even Tyland Lannister was looking at you, and you took that as an opportunity to cross the room, breaking free from the safety of your family.

“I’d like to thank you for the dresses, My Lord,” you said, curtsying with your head bowed demurely.

Yet when you met his eye, he seemed surprised.

“It is a beautiful gown indeed, but I did not send it,” he conceded, before hastily taking his leave from your side, as though talking to you was an act of treason.

You tracked his escape, but your gaze was distracted by the sight of Aemond. Standing across the room, a dark line of fine black leather and alabaster skin. He was looking directly at you, and a smile twitched at his lips for just a moment, before he turned his attention to the Lords and Ladies vying for his conversation.

Steeling yourself, you looked back to your family who now seemed impossibly far away. But you could not give in to the nervous energy which had begun to beat in your chest. You crossed the room again, this time on unsteady feet but steady enough to carry you to safety.

“Were the dresses from Lord Lannister?” Maris asked, excitedly.

“They were not,” you admitted feeling decidedly foolish for being bold enough to thank him.

Maris frowned, puzzled for a moment before a fresh wave of excitement overtook her face.

“Then who it be?” she said with a bright smile.

“Maybe it was Lord Karstark?” you suggested, both glancing at Cassandra who had been the main target of Karstark’s attention these past few days.

“He couldn’t afford it,” Maris decided before excitement claimed her face again, “perhaps it was the Queen?”

It seemed so unlikely. The Queen had not spoken to any of you since your first day in court, but you supposed it had to be someone and the options were few.

Regardless, you were not to find this information out tonight and, though you’d intended to spend the rest of the evening hiding behind your father's sturdy frame, circumstance had other ideas.

Today, it seemed, your family had the great honour of being seated at the Queen’s high table. Refusal would be unthinkable and, though you did consider it for a moment, you were not that brazen. All you could do was let your family lead the way so you could at least be seated last.

Your father sat by the Queen, your mother with Aegon while Cassandra and Maris flanked either side of Aemond. This situation suited you fine. You were more than happy to be curtailed to the end of the long table with only Helaena at your side.

The Princess, however, was not so pleased with the arrangement. Compared to your sister's company, you were only third best, and she insisted on swapping places with her brother. So, in the end, Aemond sat next to you.

“My Lady Baratheon,” he says with a smirk, his tone still as soft spoken and commanding as it had been on the beach. “It seems your endeavours to avoid me have been thwarted. As such, I believe you owe me the honour of your good name.”

“I’d wager your Grace is already privy to that information.”

With a small laugh, he slides his hands across the table to straighten the cutlery flanking his plate, “sometimes I find myself privy to all manner of things.”

You glare at him. His words might be vague enough for unsuspecting ears, but they are not vague to you. You know exactly what manner of things Aemond Targaryen has been privy to, and you don’t want to be reminded. Yet Aemond counters your look of contempt with one of amusement.

He thinks this is funny. You're his entertainment and, though that thought is enough to make you burn with frustration; you won’t lose your head in front of the entire court and Royal family. Instead, you clench your hands tightly together on your lap and ignore him as the servers walk the line, offering food to the Queen and her guests in order of importance.

The first platter which reaches your place at the end of the table, is the suckling pig. But before you have a chance to say anything, Aemond raises his hand dismissively.

“We will have the fish,” he decides, catching your attention. “Freshly caught in Shipbreakers Bay,” he makes sure to add, keeping his face even, though his eyes betray a wicked sense of humour as mortification begins to heat your skin.

“I requested it personally,” he continues, waiting for the fish to be brought forward then, picking up the long-handled silverware from the tray, he serves a delicate portion of lemon sole onto both of your plates.

“How attentive of your Grace to make my decisions for me,” you remark through gritted teeth, and he seems to enjoy the burrow he’s digging under your skin.

“Then perhaps my Lady would also like me to select the wine?” He suggests quite innocently, reaching to pick up one of several carafes which litter the table. “A gift from the Lord of Tarth. I am led to believe that if you stand on the beaches of Storm’s End on a clear day, you can see all the way to the Sapphire Isle.”

“Perhaps your Grace would find the Isle easier to spot if he was looking beyond the shore?”

A broad smile escapes across his cheeks. “Sometimes a shoreline can provide the most intriguing views, don’t you agree Lady Baratheon?”

You turn away from him, jaw set with indignation, but he only leans closer.

“I don’t believe I’ve ever seen a shoreline quite like the one below Storms End,” he whispers, eliciting another glare.

Part of you wants to tell him to get it over with, to stop teasing you and just tell everyone what he saw. But you don’t, and another server arrives with another tray of food.

Once more, Aemond takes it upon himself to serve you, using the long-handled silverware to portion samphire and buttered baby potatoes onto your plate.

Aemond’s chivalry would have been flattering to any other girl in the room. Afterall, he’s a Prince and an unmarried one at that. But every time he leans in to add to your plate, he catches your eye and all you can think about is how he has seen your naked flesh and has no intention of pretending otherwise.

“Do you not care for the fish?” he asks, noticing that you are only pushing your food around the plate instead of eating it.

“I seem to have lost all appetite this evening.”

“Perhaps some fresh air would help it return?” he quips, his eyebrow raised above his good eye.

“You mean to say a walk along the beach?” you reply tartly.

A smile quivers at his lips for longer than it should before he speaks. “I was going to suggest a turn of the gardens.”

“The gardens here are quite beautiful,” Maris, who has been quietly waiting for her chance, injects herself into the strange conversation, “do you walk them often, Prince Aemond?”

Aemond frowns for just a moment, but only you can see it, before his face soothes back to silk.

“I prefer to take the air with Vhagar,” he says, carefully slicing through his food.

“She is quite the dragon; we have seen her many times flying over Storms End in these past months.”

“Yes, the Stormlands can be quite pleasant on a hot day.”

“Perhaps when we have returned home, your Grace would like to stop by our hall on one of his adventures for tea and cakes?”

Maris’ smile is so sickly sweet when she says this that it could give you a toothache, but at least she's offering some reprieve from Aemond’s company.

“What say you, my Lady?” Aemond asks, returning his attention to you.

“I say Your Grace will do as he pleases regardless of my opinion on the matter.”

“ Sister !” Maris laughs nervously, her hand reaching to touch Aemond’s sleeve. “You must ignore her for she is no fun at all these past few days. Please, tell me of Dorne. Princess Helaena says it's where you’ve been hiding these past weeks, is it as wild and beautiful there as I am led to believe?”

“Wildly beautiful,” he replies, picking up his wine which causes Maris’ hand to slip from his arm, “which is why I like it

After that, Maris asks the prince about a thousand questions, and you drain two cups of wine until you’re finally allowed to leave.

You jump up at the first instance, moving in time with Aemond who had been standing to offer you his assistance. Instead, his outstretched hand hangs uselessly between you before he turns to offer it to Maris who’s still sitting down.

She fawns over the gesture with a doe eyed smile, and you can’t get away quick enough.

You excuse yourself from the table and disappear into the throng of courtiers. You want to find a familiar face and find it in Belis Trant, another young lady who has been enjoying afternoons in the garden with Maris and Cassandra.

“You got to sit next to Prince Aemond, how lucky,” she remarks with a smile of genuine glee.

“I suppose you could call it that.”

“You wouldn’t?” her eyes widen, before staring dreamily towards him, “he’s very handsome and so gallant.”

Gallant. The word hits you square in the back of the head, and it's certainly not how you would describe Aemond Targaryen. No, you glance back at him, wanting to see the arrogant smirk which sat on his face for most of dinner, but it's gone.

He’s nodding agreeably at something Maris has said and you realise, despite his many faults, he is not entirely unpleasant to look upon. In fact, he’s begrudgingly handsome.

Despite the patch across his eye, Aemond is without blemish and his jaw is as sharp as a sword's edge, his golden hair as smooth as spun silk. No doubt the envy of half the ladies in the room. But if that wasn’t enough for one man, Aemond’s body is long and lithe, yet strong and solid at the same time. Providing a dangerous mixture of power and speed.

A dragon through and through.

As you’re thinking this, he catches you staring, and your heart jumps into your throat before you force your attention back to Belis.

“You should speak to him and perhaps he will ask you to dance,” you say.

The pink of her rosy cheeks deepens, “oh I could never approach him as easily as that and besides…” her eyes trail once more over your shoulder. “He’s still speaking with Maris. So lucky!”

Daring another glance over your shoulder, you see your sister is still doing her best to flirt with Aemond and moreover, he still isn’t rejecting her exuberant conversation. Though his emotions hardly seem to register on his face, you think him quite content with her company and, somewhere deep inside, a fleeting twang of jealousy irks your low opinion of the Dragon Prince.

Yet you’re not jealous, you do not wish his attention for yourself, you simply wish Maris to be away from him. If only she knew what kind of a person he really was, then she would have no interest in such a man. But you can’t tell her that. You can only stand by as the music begins to play and space starts to clear in the middle of the room.

Looking again at your sister, you see that Aemond is gone, and he has not asked her to dance though that is no great tragedy. Maris is hardly short of suitors and, before long, her and every eligible lady is in the arms of some enamoured knight or lord. But not you. You can only idle on the periphery of fun with the old maids and undesirables- a crowd you’d hardly noticed in your first weeks in the Red Keep.

It seemed the treatment you received on the dancefloor was going to be no different to the treatment you received in the gardens. Even in your shimmering blue gown you were invisible to their attention though you were not immune to stares.

You could feel eyes everywhere, burning onto your skin with wonder and every hushed whisper or giggle seemed to make your ears prick.

After what felt like an eternity, your cousin Lord Boremund, who spent most of his time at the Red Keep, came to your rescue.

“Little cousin, you seem to have fallen out of favour this evening,” he teased, offering his hand to escort you to the centre of the floor. “A few days ago, there was not a man who didn’t want your pretty company and tonight you are the most beautiful wallflower in all of King's Landing.”

“I’m sure I don’t know what you mean.”

He snorts with disbelief, his thick brows raising with suspicion, “either you have displeased someone very much or... you’ve caught the eye of someone who does not wish to share you?”

"If that was the case, then I would not be dancing with you, my Lord.”

“Ah,” he nods his head in acceptance, but his eyes are stills shrewd, “very true, little cousin. Very true.”

The only consolation of this conversation is that Lord Boremund seems entirely oblivious to your little indiscretion on the beach and, if that was the case, maybe they all were?

Maybe Aemond hadn’t said anything at all?

When the music ends, you curtsy to your cousin, declining his offer of a second dance. One dance with a cousin was acceptable, two in a row was cause for gossip and you did not need to invite any of that.

Instead, you notice Ser Harrold, standing somewhat forlornly at the back of the room. Only a few days ago, you would have been in his company for most of the night. It didn’t make any sense for you both to be bored and lonely, while the rest of the room laughed and danced.

So, feeling a fresh sense of confidence, you head directly towards him, but he notices your approach and how could he miss it? With your shimmering blue gown, you’re like a crystal beacon. Except you’re not beckoning anyone, and Harrold seems to haste himself in another direction.

You could let him go, turn around and find the safety of your father but you don’t. You cut off his little escape, growing more and more weary of petty games.

“Can you not even stand and talk with me?” you ask directly.

His head lowers to avoid your gaze.

“Forgive me Lady Baratheon but, after careful consideration, I find your conversation to be a bore, your dancing merely adequate and your beauty,” he meets your eye, hesitating for a moment, “ forgettable . As a third daughter, you have very little to offer beyond your accomplishments of which there are few. So, yes , I cannot even stand and talk to you.”

Heat burns on your skin, the wine in your stomach turning sour.

You should say something, but you can’t. A lump has formed at the back of your throat, and its burning for a strangled release

You can’t even tell your family that you're leaving. You just go. Blindly hurrying towards the door but not before colliding into the arms of Aemond Targaryen who somehow sweeps you into the corridor before anyone has a chance to notice the commotion.

He cocks his head, waiting for you to give him some sort of explanation for your distress or perhaps an apology for having the audacity to crash into him. You do neither.

You shrug his hands from your arms and break away from his stare, offended by his proximity and how easily he must see the glossy layer of unshed tears which coat your eyes.

You leave him behind without a word and only when the door to your room is sealed shut, do you allow yourself to cry. Falling onto your bed, you sink into the comforting hug of the mattress.

What should it matter what Ser Harrold thought of you?

What should it matter if nobody danced with you?

You hadn’t even wanted to come here in the first place!

You should be happy Tyland Lannister and all the other sharks who lurked in the Red Keep were no longer interested in your company.

You should be thrilled to climb into bed with your stack of books and your own company, but you are not. You’re miserable and there was only one person you could think to blame. Aemond .

Everything had been perfect before his arrival. You had never felt more desired or more interesting than you did in those first two weeks.

Now you were a pariah with no means to defend yourself. Indeed, no accusations or implications or reasons at all. You were simply cast out and what could you say to that?

Nothing.

You could only sob uselessly into your pillow and you allowed yourself to cry until there were no tears left. But on one condition, these tears would be the only tears you’d allow the Red Keep to claim.

~~~

Thank you for reading!

#aemond targaryen #aemond x reader #aemond fanfiction #aemond one eye #hotd aemond #hotd fanfic #house of the dragon #ewan mitchell #romance #female reader

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purpleyoonn · 1 year

Text

Dance of Time 3

D A N C E O F T I M E

“A love like that was a serious illness, an illness from which you never entirely recover.” -Bukowski

Summary: You were finally back in the hometown you left right after graduation, researching the mysterious manor that laid outside of the town limits. Your family was acting weird, and the owner of the manor seemed to know more about you than he should. Everything changed when you entered the manor, and you weren’t sure your dance with time was going to last very long.

Pairing: Vampire BTS x Human Reincarnated Reader

Status: Coming Soon

Genre: soulmate au, reincarnation, yandere themes, possessive boys, angst, fluff,

Warnings: smut, violence, tempers, mentions of death, murder, some explicit descriptions of violence, blood,

Chapter Warnings: more flashback scenes, yandere boys, major discoveries, not much

Taglist: @psychosupernatural @carolinexkpop @strxwbloody @strawberry-moonpies @dustyinkpages @iamkookiesforyou @anaspectoflife @btsw1fe @yoongisgirl69 @toughbook @yoongibabs @mageprincess7 @dahliasbouqet @wittyreader @peachandmomo @sinceritythatcouldntbedelivered @m1sss1mp @yourleftsock @skyys-universe @cryingpages @drissteele @dustyinkpages @crushedblackroses @fluffy-canada-pancakes @blaaiissee @iiitsmaria @azazel-nyx @g-h-o-s-t-b-a-b-i @knjkitten @kleirielk @foreverweareyoung7 @lachimolala22019 @namuficxs @94z-93 @kimgmzmc @thenaverse

Masterlist // Chapter 2 // Chapter 4

————————————————–

Previously on Dance of Time:

You were a little confused, why would he choose to pick you up when he lives at the manor? Isn’t that out of his way to come and get you? It didn’t make sense. Plus, how did he know where you lived? Yeah, you lived in a small town, but even you didn’t know where most people lived in the town. You tried to question Mr. Kim about it, but you never received another email before you fell asleep to the sound of the wind blowing outside your window.

It was the next morning, and you were waiting to hear a car pull up the road. It was getting close to nine o’clock, and you were waiting on the front porch. You were excited about getting to tour the manor and had been ready since seven this morning.

You sat against the old porch swing, your camera bag and backpack sat next to you as you wrapped your jacket tighter around yourself. Your grandmother and uncle had yet to wake up, leaving you to relax into the silence of the morning.

You were nervous.

You had a weird feeling about today, probably stemming from the weird dream you had. It was almost incoherent, a series of flashing images you couldn’t make sense of. When you did try to make sense of them, your head started hurting, a pounding headache taking over until you had to try and take some Tylenol, hoping to have some relief before the day.

But that didn’t happen, as your headache became pounding and then your vision blurred.

The market was beautiful today as you walked slowly throughout the grass. You had tripped one too many times on it already and you knew your mother would surely punish you greatly if you were to rip the fabric of the gown she made you.

You couldn’t help but to move closer to the necklaces, a simple locket catching your eye as you stood in front of the vendor, a couple who seemed to be with child.

“That would look lovely on your neck, Miss.” You smile over to the woman, Mary, as she stood closer to you. She held it up to your neck and while her husband, Nicholas, held a mirror up for you to see.

“Indeed, it would, darling. If only our dear nurse had someone to capture her heart so, making the locket well within her heart.” Nicholas gestured back, noticing the ever-growing smile come across your lips.

“if only.” You turn around to see a man, his features blurred as he held his hand out for you to grasp as he bows a little in your presence. Your hurry to curtsey back, Lord… was surely not bowing to you.

“Please, Lord… do not worry yourself over a simple nurse.” You gesture softly for him to stand up, but he only continued to hold his hand out for you. His dimples bright against his cheeks as you finally placed your hand within his grasp.

“You are anything but a simple nurse, milady.”

“Y/n, are you alright?”

Your vision returned to see Namjoon; his hand held out to you in the same way the man in your vision was holding his. It shocked you a bit, your body frozen as it tries to determine if you were still hallucinating.

“Y/n?” Only when he asked again did you snap out of it. You quickly took his hand as he helped you off your front doorstep.

“I am so sorry about that. I haven’t been sleeping very well, you know? Sleeping in your childhood bed after so long can do wonders on you.” You chuckle, hoping he took your words as the joke you intended, letting out a breath when he laughs.

“I bet. Well,” He looks at his watch, a simple silver band that seemed to be engraved. “We should be going. I told my brother we would be there by nine.” You lean over to glance at his watch to see it was only a couple of minutes from nine o’clock, meaning you were running behind.

“I am so sorry.” You apologize as you lean down to pick up your camera bag and backpack, which Namjoon proceeded to take from you and move over to his car, placing them in the trunk.

“Please, Miss Jacquess, do not worry about it. I bet that once my brother sees you, all will be well.” You tilt your head a little at his words, not quite understanding why the sight of you would appease his brother but decided not to think about it.

Namjoon comes back around when you get close to the car and opens the passenger door for you, his hand resting on the small of your back, sending tingles and other feelings down your spine as he helps you into the car.

When you are buckled, you look up to see him looking towards your home, a small smirk barely visible on his lips. You turn to see what he was looking at only to see your grandmothers small frame peeking through the curtain behind the window facing the garden. Her eyes were hard, but you could see the worry shining through, the fear tugging at her lips as the car was pulling out of your driveway.

“Now, Y/n, my brother can be a bit…boisterous. So, I do apologize in advance.” Namjoon looks away from the road for a quicks second to see a thoughtful look cross your eyes, your fingers tapping against your jean covered thighs.

His own fingers squeeze the material of the steering wheel, the smell of you so intoxicating that he had a hard time controlling himself. It had been years since he had been in such close quarters with you, and he could help but be relieved that this would be the first of many that he would spend in close proximity with you again.

“Oh, you don’t have to worry, Mr. Kim. My uncle can be the same way.” Was your only response. You couldn’t seem to get yourself to focus on anything, like the wind was blowing its song through your ears.

You were having major déjà vu, and it was making your heart race and flutter as you listened to the man driving speak about his property.

When you did finally arrive at the manor, you were quick to notice the tall man leaning against one of the pillars in front of the manor, holding up the beautifully crafted balcony. Your mouth almost dropped in shock as you looked at the man.

He was almost as beautiful as the house itself, the pout on his lips speaking for itself as he begins to walk down the stairs and to the car. As you move to open your door a hand stops you, fingers on top of yours, sparks shooting up your spine as you look into the dark eyes of the man from before.

“A woman should never open her own door.” His voice was soft, as if talking about the breeze blowing through the large pine trees in the front of the property. His gaze was even softer, and reminded you of something with which your brain couldn’t grasp.

“Y/n, this is my brother, Seokjin.” Your mind counted the way he called the man his brother, your soul not buying the relationship said by the man. It didn’t make sense to you. Your hand that was still in his grasp was now held, his hand bringing your hand up to his lips, pressing a soft kiss to the top of your hand as he looked at you through his lashes.

“Please, dear, call me Jin.”

There it is. Another name that sends shivers down your spine causing you to pull you hand back into your chest, a nervous smile on your lips as the two men glance at each other.

“Alright, Jin. Thank you both so much for allowing me to join you on a tour of your family’s manor.” You push yourself out of the car, not wanting to be enclosed in the space longer than you had to. The day was starting to feel darker than you had hoped, and your mind kept telling you that something deeper was at play here; telling you that you needed to leave while you still could.

Jin could see the difference in you once you heard his voice. He wanted to smirk, the shivers down your spine the only indication he needed that you were back with them. He knew that you were ready, and that you were remembering them slowly.

Only when you stood a couple feet away from them, your camera bag in hand and your backpack on your back, taking photos of the manor did Jin turn to Namjoon.

“You are late.” His tone was clipped as he stared at you, your focus on the manor you didn’t even know was yours.

“I know. I showed up to her having a vision. Her eyes were white and I didn’t want anyone to see it.” Jin’s eyes flashed red for a second before turning to their normal black. He hummed in response, knowing that if the visions were returning this fast and this numerous that the gods truly meant this was their time.

“Eden realized too late that I was there. She peered through the window to see our darling already buckled into my car. I couldn’t help but smirk at her dejection.” They both let out a low laugh at the woman’s own fate being dealt to her.

“She should have known that we would intervene at some point. After pushing you to pursue school elsewhere, finding that stupid witch to place a cloaking spell. Well, it was time.” Jin growled out before shifting his demeaner and moving towards you, Namjoon following suit of his elder mate.

“Alright darling. Are you ready for the tour?”

-*-*-

The manor was beautiful, you couldn’t believe the amount of history you were standing in, contending with the likes of Stonehenge and Athens. There were hundreds of paintings lining the walls, gorgeous landscapes and portraits of probably past family members looking back at you as you walk with Namjoon and Jin, their voices echoing off the same walls.

“Now, Miss Jaquess, the history within these walls is as important to us as the blood within our veins.” Jin spoke softly as he stopped in front of the entryway. You could see a grand piano peeking past one of the walls and grew intrigued. You also noticed a couple of different things.

“This is our legacy.” Jin continued his probably prepared speech as you walked around, feeling Namjoon behind you as you saw the small, full garbage bin that remained next to the couches, their cushions rumpled as if someone was rolling on them. But what caught your eye the most was the fingerprints littering the keys of the piano as you neared closer.

For a vacant historical manor is sure did look lived in. You thought, writing your thoughts down in your notebook as you walked, following Jin as he spoke about the original floorboards that had yet to be restored.

You were at the foot of the grand staircase when you noticed a dark coloring on the floorboards. You stood to take a closer look when your vision blurred again, a quick image of blood spilling and soft moans filling your head before you were standing back up. Namjoon and Jin acted as if they didn’t notice anything, walking up the staircase as you followed suit.

Red eyes peered at you from behind the staircase, longing filling their body as the noticed your vision turn white at the spot where he first tasted your blood, where he first brought you to woes, your fingers curling into his hair. He couldn’t wait until you remembered him, remembered the way you felt about him.

You were welcomed by an opening that held several fainting couches and a nice Victorian rug as the centerpiece.

“This is where our ancestors would rest after their long days, their wife even having these ‘fainting couches’ made so she could loosen her corset.” Namjoon pointed to the layout of the opening before moving down one of the hallways.

The home was large, three separate floors not including the basement or the attic. It was one of the biggest buildings north of Sacramento when built, and it’s legacy continues today. You couldn’t help but be amazed by the history of the manor, hoping that your recorder was capturing each and every detail that both Namjoon and Jin were telling you.

Through the windows on the north corridor you could see the large garden, reds, blues, and purples shining brightly within the sunlight falling onto the property.

“Okay, so I do have some questions that I would like to ask, if that’s okay?” You speak for the first time since the tour began. The boys share another quick glance before Namjoon nods.

“Of course. What tour would this be if there were no questions to be asked.” His words had you calming down a bit.

“Okay. First question. Can you tell me why this manor was nicknamed the ‘Weeping Manor’?” You were still walking as you had your pen pressed to your paper, ready to write down whatever their answer was.

“I think you will actually find the answer within the last room.” Namjoon gestured to Jin who opened the door at the end of the north corridor.

The door opened into a large room, shelves filling the space as you looked towards the right, books with pages spilling out just calling your name as your mouth opened in awe. Right in front of you was a large oak desk, the top of it covered in your books and articles, you could even see some pieces highlighted or underlined as you slowly walked closer.

You felt nervous, the entire atmosphere shifting from joyful and playful to dark and eerie. You turned behind you to question Namjoon or Jin but they were gone. The door now closed and the room’s only light coming from the slightly open shades on the window behind the desk.

Your eyes flittered across the space, looking for the two men who seemingly disappeared into thin air, wanting to leave and be done with the tour. You didn’t like the feelings you were having, the cold air brushing across your skin coming from nowhere.

“Mr. Kim?” You called out, turning back around to the door only to have your eyes catch sight of a large family portrait.

It was a painting of the property, dating back to 1838 when the manor was originally built, even before the town had an official name and place on the map. Seven men resided in the front of the portrait, sitting and standing in a line just in front of the large pine tree that resided to the right of the men.

You moved forward to get a closer look at the portrait when the tiny description just below caught your eye.

“The Kim Coven. Ca. 1838.”

Coven? What did that even mean? Your confusion didn’t end there but grew into shock and something like horror when you finally looked up to the faces within the portrait.

The man standing within the middle of the painting was a spitting image of the man who gave you the tour. The same man who met you at the local diner and exchanged emails back and forth with you.

To his right, and to your even deeper horror, stood Seokjin, eyes almost staring at your shaking from beneath the paint.

You took a step back, your hand covering your mouth in fear as you tried to back away from the painting when you bumped into someone. A whimper leaving your lips as you tried to quiet your sobs.

“Please…please.” You began to beg, knowing you were done for.

“Oh, darling. Please don’t cry.” The man behind you coos, a hand moving up to move your hair away from your neck as a small kiss is pressed to your skin.

“You’re finally home.”

“Taehyung, love, I know you’re excited but you’re scaring our baby.” A voice from your left sounds out, the echo of his voice ringing in your ear as the man’s embrace on your abdomen slowly tightens.

“She seems more scared of Namjoon and Jin right now.” The man holding you hums, his nose pressed to the skin of your neck as you try to stop shaking. You couldn’t stop your tears now, even as you tried to force yourself to breath evenly.

“Please, I promise. I won’t say anything. I’ll never come back. I-I won’t write this article. Please.” You plead with the men, seven in all as they begin to move from behind the same shelves you were in awe of earlier.

You felt lied to, like a lion hoping for a meal only to be met with an audience wanting you to jump. Your brain began to connect the dots, pieces coming together that led to this moment.

“The sudden agreement to a meeting.” You begin to voice your thoughts aloud, receiving a humming in approval from Namjoon, who knew what you were doing.

“The table in the corner of the diner, where you didn’t eat anything.” Another hum, this time from the man who spoke to the man behind you.

“Moving the meeting to today instead of after the weekend. Almost like an urgency.” Jin couldn’t help but to roll his eyes at this one, knowing it was your grandmother’s fault for this point, not theirs.

“You knew my name before I even introduced myself. Recognized me despite not knowing what I looked like.” You looked up from the floor to see Namjoon standing in front of you, his portrait figure looking at you from over his shoulder.

“I—I don’t understand.” You let out, your brain missing some pieces still, unable to fully connect the dots. Your brain couldn’t comprehend the outcome without knowing who they were.

“You always were so smart, Y/n. Even then.” Before you could attempt anything else, your vision blurred again, for the third time that day.

“My love, I don’t understand how you can understand all of this.” His hair flew past his shoulders as he playfully threw your anatomy book from your lap. He instead took its place, his head flopping onto the material of your underdress, a smirk aimed at your affronted gaze.

“My love, why don’t you study my body instead?” A pillow hit his face before he could continue. Laughter bubbling from your lips at his scrunched up features. His hair now all over the place as he turned his gaze back to you.

“Oh, Yoongi. If you wanted my attention, all you had to do was ask.” You leaned down to place your lips on the man’s lips, moving to pull away only for his arms to trap you against him, smiling into your lips.

“Ellie, you are too smart for your own good.”

Your vision returned, this time the men were all stood in front of you, watching your vision return to normal. Your quickly caught sight of the man in your vision, Yoongi, you assumed. You touched your lips as if you could feel his lips, plush against yours.

“Who is Ellie?” Were the only words to leave your lips as sobs started to sound out instead. Their eyes seemed indifferent to your words, despite the sparkle of happiness glittering within.

“You.”

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bellarkeselection · 6 months

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Can you do a bash short were he comes back to France with y/n as his wife and they explain why they got married in Secret

Princess’s Make Their Own Rules

Nobody expected the kings Bastard to ever marry anyone. The note that his mother was his mistress was enough for people to turn the other way from the thought. But when Mary arrived at court, so did the Princess from England, and she had some shocking news for everyone at the French court. Stepping down from the carriage my eyes didn't even notice the rest of the court simply because I already had my attention set on the only person I cared about which was Sebastian or as he preferred to be called Bash. He moved through the crowd offering me his arm with a head nod. "Princess Y/n."

"Sebastian." I greeted looping my arm through his when he offered it to me. Together we began walking through the crowd who all just stared confused at us.

Bash tilted his head to the side complimenting on the dress I had worn. It was gold with short sleeves covered with lace. "I would have thought you'd stole into court wearing trousers." His blue eyes scanned me over smirking when he saw my horse riding boots peaking out from underneath.

"My sister is having a hard enough time ruling without a husband. At the very least, I thought I'd make my first impression at court good.. but later, you won't be seeing this ridiculous gown." I whispered the last part in his ear before we saw his half-brother, the now turned King of France Francis, coming towards us.

The blonde curly haired king smiled bowing at the same time I gave him a curtsey. "Princess Y/n, it's pleased to see you back at court."

"I'm glad to be back, you're grace. I was wondering if I could speak with you both privately for a moment?" I glanced between the pair so Francis nodded walking down the closet hallway until we reached an empty chamber door. Bash locked the door so we wouldn't be interrupted.

Francis raised a brow at me. “So what did you want to talk about with me?”

“I needed to give this to you. And ask that you wed me and your brother officially in front of the court.” Reaching for the necklace around my neck I revealed the ring that was hanging from the chain that was Bash’s mother’s ring. Since my sister was Queen Elizabeth we couldn’t legally get married because he was a bastard and I was a princess by birth. I handed over a sealed scroll hidden inside one of my boots and gave it to Francis.

Bash blinked his eyes confused at my boldness. “Y/n, you know that we can’t. You’re royal and I am a bastard.”

“And yet my sister has declared that she shall never marry anyone and bear children. So what is stopping me from following my heart and marrying the man I love hmm.” I lightly snapped at him with my hands on my hips.

My secret husband shifted his attention to his brother who had opened the scroll I had given him still in shock at the idea I was proposing. “Is this even possible. I mean unless I got legitimized as Henry’s son it shouldn’t be possible.”

“You’re right it wouldn’t be until this…” Francis clear his throat reading the letter aloud. “I Queen Elizabeth of England hereby declare that my sister Y/n and Sebastian de Poitiers are allowed to be wed. Sebastian shall inherit the title of prince and will be the master of my armies. He shall no longer be a bastard after marrying my sister and that is final.”

Bash steps towards me gently grabbing a hold of my shoulders where I focused on his bright blue eyes. “How did you get her to agree to legitimize me?”

“I told just how you have treated me, made me happy and that I just wished that stupid titles weren’t in our way. And she didn’t see any problems with not following what everyone else has done in the past. So…will you marry me Bash?” Lowering myself down on one knee in front of him I take his hands in mine staring up into his eyes.

Francis made a confused face at his brothers response. “No.”

“Uh…” I slightly froze not sure what would happen next.

Yet Bash lowered himself down on one knee where we were both on our knees and eye level with each. He holds my hands in his, his blue orbs pouring into mine when he delivers his question to me. “That’s not how this is done. This is how is done, Princess. Y/n, will you marry me and make this bastard the happiest man on earth?”

“Yes, Sebastian.” I nodded moving forward kissing him. He cupped my face kissing me back with Francis smiling behind us.

Comments really appreciated ❤️

#bash x reader #reign x reader #reign #sebastian de poitiers #secret wedding

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philibetexcerpts · 5 months

Text

15 November 1967: The Queen wore an evening gown of plain ivory silk crêpe for a royal performance at the Manoel Theatre in Valleta, Malta. Its left shoulder incorporated a bow and a draped panel of fabric. The hem of the skirt was embroidered with a band of gold and silver sequins and beads.

As for the jewelry, she wore the Girls and Great Britain and Ireland tiara, Queen Mary’s ruby earrings, the Baring ruby necklace, the Art Deco diamond and ruby bracelet, and her Jaeger-LeCoultre Calibre 101 watch.

#queen elizabeth ii #malta 1967 #qeii’s outfits #brf heirlooms

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doodleswithangie · 9 months

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"Boldness will be required in the days to come, Lapin."

My piece for "CANDY COUTURE VOL. 2" ran by @kindlespark as part of this year's D20 Zine Jam! This one was definitely a journey but I'm very proud of how it came together.

If you want to check out everyone's incredible pieces and for a look into our design processes, the zine is available here and as part of a pay-what-you-want bundle with 49 other D20 zines here! All proceeds from the sale of this bundle will be donated to the entertainment community fund in solidarity with the SAG/WGA strikes.

[Image description: Fanart of The Sugar-Plum Fairy and Chancellor Lapin Cadbury from Dimension 20's "A Crown of Candy." Alt text is provided and copied below the cut, along with a more detailed image description of their clothing.]

A recreation of Sugar-Plum Fairy and Lapin's meeting in Episode 1. They are depicted as haloed figures dressed in Rococo and Baroque inspired fashion. A cracked teacup mended with golden magic stands on the pedestal behind them.

As he bows, Lapin shifts his heavy blue cape to reveal an emerald green two piece suit. Both are adorn with lace appliques and beading.

The Sugar-Plum Fairy wears a Rococo style gown over an off-the-shoulder frilled chemise and draped in a cerulean wrap. A small pair of feathered wings is affixed to the bodice, which features beading and boughs of ribbon that pattern throughout the dress. Giant sugar plum leaves layer a red spotted fringed petticoat and striped purple underskirt below. Her hair is inspired by Marie Antoinette, with an extravagant headpiece of masks, sugar plum leaves, and feathers.

End ID

#dimension 20 #d20 #dimension twenty #d20 zine jam #a crown of candy #acoc #lapin cadbury #chancellor lapin cadbury #sugar plum fairy #rococo #baroque #historical fashion #digital art #artists on tumblr #doodleswithangie

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guess-my-next-obsession · 3 months

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Starlight, Chapter Two:

pairing: fae!ezra prospect x princess!oc (Marigold)

rating: Explicit (18+ only, minors dni, some pretty heavy stuff here (at least for me) just as a warning!, talks of violence/allusions to DV, a brief non-consensual but technically consensual (??) sex scene between Kaius and Marigold, general shit storm of angst piled onto our girl (if you can’t tell i’m in actual pain writing her pain so pls be gentle with me), the romance with ezra is coming i promise!!

wc: 6.2k

series masterlist

I awoke to the sound of a few familiar knocks against the main door of my suite, stone rolling against stone as it opened. My eyes batted open as I lay upstairs in bed pulling the blanket up to cover half my face as a set of footsteps ascended the staircase up to the second floor.

“Princess,” Ezra called, his voice already a strangely soothing balm to my near-constant anxiety. It felt naive and reckless to place this much trust in a man I’d only just met, but I couldn’t find a reason not to. He’d been kind, he��d been helpful, and as far as I could see, he seemed to be the only option for an ally—unless I counted my future husband. And I didn’t. “Miss Drusilla is here to ready you for the ball.”

Wedding, you mean? I murmured to myself.

I tossed my blanket back and slowly climbed out of bed with a stretch. Whatever magic Ezra had worked on me to get me tired forced me into the deepest and most restful sleep of my life. Another thing to like him for. I yawned as my feet padded over the giant blue rug beneath my bed and then cold stone floor before making it to the dark, wooden double doors separating me from my visitors.

Opening the door, I let my eyes lock with Ezra’s--just long enough to ignite a frenzy of sickly tender feelings in my chest--before turning to Drusilla. I gave her an instinctive once over, happy with what I saw. Some color had returned to her naturally pale skin, her purple eyes already a little brighter than earlier. She’d obviously had a bath, her waist-length white hair now swept to the side in a clean braid.

“Hello, Drusilla,” I said, giving her a sincere smile before turning to Ezra. Something more familiar and affectionate warped my smile into a smirk. “Hello, Your Grace.”

“You look well rested,” he said, his eyes subtly combing me over.

“Thanks to you,” I smiled. Ezra seemed to blush, his eyes falling to the floor for a split second before he was turning to the teenager beside him.

“I thought I’d come formally introduce the two of you,” he said, his eyes meeting mine only in short glances. “The ceremony is in two hours, followed by a feast, and then, finally, the ball.”

I felt sick.

“I’ll be returning shortly with the Royal Seamstress to deliver your gown,” he continued, his voice a bit warmer than when he’d started speaking. He must have felt my apprehension. “Until then, I’ll leave the two of you to get acquainted.”

As he turned to leave, I found my lips parting to call for him to stay.

“Thank you,” I said instead. “For everything.”

Ezra gave me a tender, if not weary, smile and nod before making his way down the staircase. Left with Drusilla, the two of us fell into an awkward silence for a beat before I willed myself to forget about my impending doom and speak. “It’s lovely to properly meet you.”

She hurried into a bow, her eyes still struggling to meet mine.

“Please, I don’t have many rules for my handmaids, but I do ask this one thing of you,” I started, my tone gentle as she finally dared to look me in the eye for longer than a second. “Please don’t bow or bother with titles. Back home, our handmaidens were like family, like sisters. We can be like sisters, too, if you’d like.”

“I’ve…always fancied the idea of having a sister,” she said, letting the smallest of smiles grace her face. “But what shall I call you?”

I smiled softly, thinking back to the days spent under the warm sun with my mother and sisters. At the name they gave me. “Call me Mari. It’s what my sisters always called me.”

Mari, it is.“ She smiled, soft and sweet, reminding me of my own girlhood that seemed so far gone and still so near.

“Tell me everything about yourself,” I demanded as I led her into my dressing room. I took a seat at the vanity, fixing my eyes on her through the mirror as she stood behind me, mindlessly finger-combing my curls.

“I wouldn’t know where to start,” she admitted.

“Well…are you an only child?” I asked, desperate to keep the conversation away from myself and the festivities she was readying my for.

“I had a little brother, Ash,” she said, reaching over my shoulder to grab a sack of pins. “He passed from a fever not too long ago.”

I frowned, letting my gaze fall to my lap as I considered the idea of losing any of my sisters—even the ever-challenging Octavia who was likely grinning with glee over my current situation—after having lost my mother. I wasn’t sure I’d ever smile again, which made every single smile Drusilla gave me all the more precious.

“I’m very sorry,” I managed. “My mother passed earlier this year. I know how hard it is to lose someone.”

“He would have liked it here in the castle,” she mused, her eyes and hands busy pinning my hair up. “He loved everything to do with knights and armor and danger. Too young to know the truth of it all.”

There was a tragic maturity about Drusilla, as if she was forced into adulthood before she was even a teenager.

“And you? What interests you?” I asked, determined to find a spark of light inside of her so that I could help it turn into a star as bright as the ones in the sky.

“It will sound odd,” she said, as bashful as a child.

“Go on,” I urged.

“I like to study the stars--or at least, one day I would like to. For now, I just observe.”

“There are no books--”

“The library in town burned two years ago,” she said, scowling as if she knew the culprit. “Even then, it was difficult to be let in looking…well, looking like trash.”

“How long have you been on your own?” Her eyes lifted to meet mine, a strange sort of pride glowing on her face.

“Eight years,” she said. “Seven with Ash.”

“That’s a feat I’m not sure most of the guards in the castle could accomplish,” I smiled. “I wish I could have met Ash, given him a home here with you.”

“He would’ve liked that,” she smiled back, her eyes dropping back to focus on her braiding. “I cannot tell you what your kindness means to me. The royals are usually so…cold.”

“Did you know the last King? Or Queen?”

“Only from afar, though I do remember seeing the Queen once as a little girl,” she said, placing the final pin in my hair. “I can’t remember her face, but I remember sadness in her eyes. I suppose I can’t blame her. To rule here…it’s an awful fate.”

I swallowed the lump in my throat at the realization that I was to share that exact fate. Drusilla realized, too, and quickly opened her mouth to apologize but was cut off by the sound of a metal hand knocking on the door.

“Enter,” I called, my voice fragile and on the verge of cracking. Ezra’s eyes were locked on mine even before the door was opened fully.

“I’ve…” He trailed off, noticing how rigid my posture was, how watery my eyes were. “Is everything--”

“You’ve brought my gown?” I managed, forcing my voice into one of feigned strength and dignity. I wasn’t sure if it was possible to maintain the latter anymore.

“Yes,” he nodded, clearing his throat as he turned to the doorway, allowing an old, but regal woman into the room. “Lady Rowena, the Royal Seamstress.”

The Seamstress looked every bit like Kaius, her raven black hair and peircing blue eyes hardly affected by her age. Only her skin gave it away, fine lines and wrinkles all over her face and neck, but she still looked capable of commanding a room. A lifetime ago, she must have been the apple of every evil Lord’s eye.

“Hello,” was all I could manage as her severe eyes studied me. I stood at attention, out of sheer intimidation.

“You’ve lost weight on the journey,” she commented, handing the garment bag previously draped over her arm to Ezra before she came stalking over, walking circles around me. “Good. Your waist is impossibly small. And those hips…those are child-bearing hips.”

I cringed, fighting hard to keep my face neutral as she faced me head on, scanning every feature from my forehead to my chest.

“Pity about the small chest,” she sighed. “Apart from that--perfection.”

“The gown,” Ezra reminded, walking the garment bag over to drape across the back of the chaise near the hearth. Though his motives remained a mystery, as well as his mind, she could tell that he was no fonder of the Seamstress than I was. I couldn’t help letting myself fall a little more into my fondness of him.

“Yes, yes,” she grumbled, her heels clicking against stone as she walked over to the garment bag and opened it, unveiling a terribly boring black gown that looked the antithesis of what I imagined my wedding gown would be. “Made from the finest silk and lace, imported directly from Florere.”

I stared at the gown for a moment, my face blank from apathy and shock. This shouldn’t be my gown. This shouldn’t be my wedding. My mother should be here. My sisters should have stopped my father--

“Princess?” Ezra spoke, bringing me back to the present. “What do you think?

Take it easy on her, his voice rang in my head, causing me to gasp. She’s even worse when insulted.

“It…it is lovely—“

“But?” Lady Rowena scowled, her diamond-blue eyes piercing into mine.

“It’s only—and I don’t mean any offense—“

“On with it, Princess,” the seamstress sighed, rolling her eyes.

“It looks perfect for a bride of Nox, but I am not a bride of Nox. At least, not fully,” I managed. “I would like for that to be represented by my gown.”

“What changes exactly?” Rowena asked through a tight jaw, her patience clearly growing thin. But I had already ventured this far. No sense in backing down now.

“I would like a golden gown,” I said, trying to force confidence into my tone. “And for the veil, I’d like there to be an embroidered sun, as well as stars. After all, this is a union between kingdoms, is it not?”

Lady Rowena eyed me for a moment before seemingly deciding that she approved of my request. Or perhaps she just approved of my courage in making a request to begin with.

“I will see what I can do,” she said, her voice the slightest bit softer than before.

“Thank you,” I said, wishing I sounded just a bit more like her. More like a grown woman who knew her power and owned it. Instead, I could only hear a little girl, desperate for approval.

Lady Rowena gathered the plain black gown and matching veil, slinging the silky material over her arm before giving me a bow and making her exit from my chamber.

Drusilla and I let out a breath of relief at the same time, forcing us to giggle while Ezra lingered by the door.

“She reminds me of the headmistress at the orphanage,” she said, walking with me back to the vanity. I locked eyes with Ezra through the mirror, finding a soft half-smile on his face as he watched us. As if the sight of me laughing--of both of us laughing--brought him peace. I looked away before it got too much to bear. Ezra made his exit a second later.

“Is that a good thing?” I asked with a laugh, finding it easy to do so in her presence.

“Not in the slightest,” she smirked.

We laughed again, the air light with the simple joy of being girls together—one twenty-five and one sixteen, neither quite ready to face the reality of the world we lived in.

“I am very thankful I met you, Drusilla,” I mused, looking at her through the mirror.

My entire life I dreamed of what it would be like to have a younger sister, to care for them the way my sisters cared for me. In Drusilla, I saw that dream start to take form.

“You’re too kind, Mari,” she said, fighting back a toothy smile. “I worry this kingdom will steal that from you.”

I swallowed, my eyes falling to my lap.

“I worry about that, too.”

I took a moment alone after getting dressed to look at myself in the mirror. Dressed up in black, save the changes I’d requested earlier, I looked like I was in mourning. Though in a way, I was. The life I thought I’d live, the man I hoped to meet, the love my household would share--all of it, dead and gone.

But I could not grieve, at least not tonight.

So, I gathered the heft of my skirt and lifted it as I made my way to the hall where Drusilla waited to bid me a goodnight before Ezra led me down to the Main Hall where my husband and our guests awaited my grand entrance.

“Good luck,” she whispered, reaching to tuck a stray curl around my face back to where it belonged.

“I’ll see you in the morning,” I managed, giving her a smile that I hoped would convey my gratitude for her company and kind words. I didn’t linger long out of fear that I’d gather the courage to jump from a window, my heels clicking against the stone floor as I made my way to Ezra who stood with his good arm held out to me.

“Shall we?” he purred, and everything about that voice hit me in the chest. This. This is what I should feel for my husband, this is what I hoped as a little girl to feel for him. Soft, sweet, safe feelings, not…fear.

“Off to the gallows I go,” I chided, earning a stern glare as we walked down the hall to the main stairs. “If I can’t joke with you, who can I joke with?”

Ezra warmed at my words. “As long as you learn to whisper. Even if I wasn’t Fae, I could hear you halls away.”

“No one knows who I am,” I rolled my eyes. “Besides, I shouldn’t have to censor myself in my own home.”

“It’ll always be his home,” Ezra warned, his eyes scanning the staircase leading to the Main Hall.

So many guests. So many eyes fixed on me the moment I took the first step. My grip on Ezra’s arm tightened.

I can tell that half of the men here feel very…passionate about you, he purred in my mind. And the women want to kill you.

Is that a good thing? I replied.

“It’s a dangerous thing,” he murmured in my ear, his voice sending a jolt of arousal down to the pit of my stomach. “Smile. Your husband’s watching.”

I fixed my eyes upon a handsome man in blue and black, his bright eyes glistening in the candlelight as he stood in front of an Archbishop clad in dreary gray. So handsome, and yet my gut lurched at the sight of him, my skin crawling with the urge to get away.

“Introducing the new Queen of Nox, Princess Marigold of Solis,” a man bellowed as I made the final step into the room, Ezra’s presence an anchor.

It’ll be alright, Princess, he whispered in my head. I swear.

I hope you don’t take oaths lightly, I chided, earning a small curl of his lips as he walked me down the aisle, unfamiliar faces gawking at every step I took. Can you do the thing where you save me from throwing up all over the floor now?

He let out a breath of a laugh so soft I could have imagined it and let his eyes glow that beautiful liquid gold, the warmth of it pouring over me like a blanket. I squeezed his arm in thanks and took a deep breath as I arrived at the altar, my King grinning at me like I was a jewel.

“Thank you, my Hand. I’ll take my wife from you now,” he purred, taking my arm from Ezra’s. I cringed at the coldness of his hand against my bare skin, at the way he gripped my arm hard enough to ache. “You’re a vision in black.”

I loathe black, I wanted to shout.

“Thank you, Your Majesty,” I bowed, letting him kiss my gloved hand.

“Shall we, then?” He nudged his chin towards the Archbishop, the old man scowling at me as I met his gray eyes. Giving a weary nod to my groom, I followed him up the small set of stairs leading to the dais with my hand held firmly in his.

“Your Majesty,” the archbishop bowed to my groom and him alone, his eyes never once meeting mine as he began to recite the words passed down from century to century, joining man and wife together under their god’s divine grace. A load of antiquated bullshit that meant nothing to me and my family, who pray to the Goddesses who value true love rather than all of this marrying for power.

It made me hate my father all the more.

When the archbishop was finished, Kaius--my King, my husband--took my face in his hands and stared at me, a wicked grin that promised we’d have fun together. More likely, that he’d have fun with me. I tried not to shudder as he pulled me in and kissed me, his lips soft and skilled and yet I felt nothing but shame. It felt wrong, like my body and soul agreed that I was not supposed to be here. When he pulled away, I forced a smile onto my face, but there was no hiding the tears in my eyes.

“Look at that,” he called out into the dead silent hall, his court and guests looking on with a mixture of awe and pity. “My bride is shedding tears of happiness.”

I wiped the rolling tear off my cheek and lowered my eyes to the floor. I hated the crowd’s staring, hated that my husband was already taking my pain and turning it into something that benefited him.

Eyes up. Ezra’s voice sounded again, only for my mind to hear. Don’t let them see you as a lamb. That voice lowered to a whisper. You’re a golden lion.

I don’t feel like a fucking lion, I griped back, lifting my eyes just to glare at him as he stood by the dais.

“Come, bride,” Kaius looked at me, his eyes sweeping over every feature, that handsome yet vile smirk spreading wider as I fixed a winning smile onto my face. “You are a stunning creature. Dull, perhaps, but…stunning, nevertheless.”

“You are so…generous with your compliments, Your Majesty,” I managed, corralling my restraint and those royal manners I was taught as a girl. Kaius’s responding wink was enough to let me know he saw right through my pretty smiles, but that he didn’t give a shit so long as I fulfilled my half of the bargain. An heir.

“Let us celebrate,” Kaius called out into the pin-drop silent hall as dinner commenced, his eyes dark as they remained on me as they had been all night. “To my beautiful bride and the true love we’ll share.”

“To true love!” the room called back, raising their goblets. I could only manage a murmur of agreement, by body outright refusing to play the role I’d been given. My eyes hadn’t left my plate besides to look to my right at Kaius seated at the head of the table, and directly ahead of me at Ezra who watched me just as carefully as the rest of the room. Only his attention felt welcome--reminded me of my humanity, my humor, my true self.

“My dear,” Kaius purred, lazy and bored and privileged. “Have you met my uncle?” He carelessy gestured at the man sat on the other side of me. I hadn’t noticed him, hadn’t met him, nor did I want to given his predatory gaze as my eyes met his.

“Lord Oziel of the Frostlands,” the old, musty smelling man leaned in and kissed my gloved hand. His face was severe, nothing at all like Kaius’s unnerving beauty. With his thick, raven black eyebrows, his pale and wrinkled jowls, and the odor of booze and bad breath permeating with every word, I found it a feat just to keep what little I had in my stomach down. “That beauty sitting across from you is my wife, Lady Emita.”

My eyes willingly turned from Lord Oziel to his shockingly young and gorgeous wife, Emita. Her skin was as dark as the night sky, her eyes a startling amber that looked like wildfire. Her perfectly symmetrical almond eyes locked with mine, and I offered a smile, hoping to win a friend at court who might understand my current predicament. But Lady Emita offered me no smile, no ounce of warmth or friendliness in her eyes.

“You’re from Solis?” she asked, lifting her glass to her lips. “You look like it.”

“Thank you,” I whispered despite my attempt at confidence.

“I didn’t mean that to be a compliment,” she chuckled, shaking her head as she stared down into the pool or dark red filling her cup. Out of instinct or embarrassment, my eyes flickered to Ezra’s, finding him with a clenched jaw, his fork stabbing at his plate a touch too aggressively for a royal.

“Emi,” Lord Oziel warned, sounding more like her grandfather than anything.

“Pardon me, Your Grace,” she waved a hand I supposed was meant to be an attempt at an apology. “Where I’m from, we don’t waste time with flattery.”

“Where is that?” I asked, my voice edged with frustration and embarrassment and disgust.

“Heims,” she replied. “Your sister…what is her name again, husband?”

“Princess Wilhemina,” I cut in, my heart pounding at the mention of my eldest sister, the future Queen of Heims.

“Yes, yes,” Lady Emita droned. “She is a rare jewel, managing to fit in so well in Heims. It isn’t as…soft as your Kingdom.”

“She is the strongest woman I know,” I managed, my heart calming now that I knew no insults would be hurled at my sister. “But I know many strong women in Solis. In fact, I can’t say that I’ve ever met a land who embraces women in power so much.”

“That didn’t stop your father from sending you off like cattle to the first buyer,” she challenged, her lips curling on one side the same way Kaius’s did when he was thoroughly pleased with the look on my face. That look that screamed naivety.

“You’ve had enough to drink,” Ezra cut in, plucking the goblet from Lady Emita’s grasp without care for the seething look she shot him. “And Lady or not, you’re speaking to your Queen. Mind yourself.”

“My good Hand,” Kaius grinned. “Always doing the work I don’t want to do. Corralling these socialites is no easy task, wife.”

Wife? Property.

“Queen or not--”

Lord Oziel’s kick to her shin under the table was so hard it rattled our plates, my face going pale at the act of aggression, at the way no one in the room paid it any mind. At least Ezra had the decency to let his magic wash away her pain.

She’ll be fine, he assured, his voice a pleasant echo in my mind, clearing away most of the haunting thoughts lingering in my head.

She might have a mouth, but it’s awful that Kaius allows him to treat her like that, I replied, lowering my eyes to my plate. Any idea why she hates me?

The North has always envied the South, he said. They think you’re untried, soft, naive.

And you?

For a moment, when I first met you, he replied while shoveling food into his mouth as ungracefully as I’d ever seen. I wasn’t sure why that made me like him more. But that judgment has long been wiped away.

I haven’t managed to win over my husband so easily, I chided, managing a bite of my own food. The first bite I’d eaten since…I couldn’t remember. Time felt so strange here, as if it was frozen and sped up all at once.

He looks happy, he offered. That’s as much as you can expect from him.

I expected him to be in love with me, I snapped, hating that in all my loathing and disgust, I still yearned for my husband’s approval.

Kaius might not be in love with you, but he is in love with the fact that every single man in this room can’t take their eyes off of you, he replied, stabbing another piece of steak with his fork. Goddess above, I couldn’t stop watching him eat like an animal. Couldn’t stop imagining what else he’d do like one.

All but you, I irresponsibly purred back, eyes fixed on him from across the table. Ezra’s eyes finally, albeit slowly, lifted to meet mine, dark brown meeting amber as I stared back. His stare flickered to my lips before lifting again, a subtle, hardly there smirk growing on his face.

Do you like having my eyes on you, Princess? His voice was like a drug at this point, but when he lowered it like that…I worried I might be beyond the point of help when it came to my addiction to it.

Do you want me to like it? I asked, twisting my mouth to control my growing smile as I let my eyes fall to my plate, my fork batting a few peas back and forth.

I want you to yearn for it, he managed, his voice strained with something akin to desperation.

I didn’t have time to tell him I already did before my husband dropped his fork to his empty plate and announced dinner was over, not caring if the rest of the room hadn’t finished their meals, and that the ball would soon commence.

“My bride, would you care to join me on the veranda?” Though I did not want to do anything of the sort, as if I had a choice, at least he went through the motions of asking.

Say no, Ezra warned, not at all like a General or the King’s Hand, but as a friend.

I said nothing in response, not willing to take the chance on what would happen if I denied my King anything, especially in front of his court, and accepted Kaius’s hand.

Marigold, Ezra called again, his voice only mine to hear. I felt guilty ignoring him, but if Lady Emita showed me anything, it was that these people did not care what happened to me. Kaius could do whatever he wanted, and they’d turn a blind eye. So, I followed my husband toward the veranda, allowing the ice cold to whip across my exposed skin.

Kaius was quick to pull me off into the shadows, where no one could see us. I couldn’t even see him as he leaned in to kiss me, a real kiss this time compared to the one we shared at the altar. His teeth bit at my lip and tongue as I struggled to keep up, struggled to want him.

“Shall we consummate our marriage here, in front of our guests?” he rasped into my ear, his hands wandering greedily. “Do you want them to hear us? Hear my name coming from your lips?”

I certainly did not.

“Bedroom,” I managed, breathless and dizzy and full of shame. “I want to go to your bedroom.”

Kaius had the audacity to look disappointed, but quickly grunted his agreement and tugged me back inside the warmth of the main hall. All eyes remained on us as he practically yanked me into the King’s corridor, a long, dark hall that connected his private wing to the rest of the castle.

“Don’t get used to calling the shots,” he warned, stalking down the hall in front of me. “I’m not usually so…submissive.”

As if I needed reminding of his affinity for dominance.

Though I’d never been touched before, at least not to this extent, I knew enough from my older sisters to know that I should be feeling at least a morsel of pleasure, but at best, sex seemed to feel more uncomfortable and foreign than anything else. It felt like a piston moving inside of me every time his hips snapped into mine. Not excruciatingly painful, but not pleasurable in the slightest.

But I didn’t let it show out of fear of bruising the King’s ego.

“Look at you,” he panted, reaching his large hand down to cradle my face as he drove into me, my overdramatic moans no doubt spurring him on. “So desperate for it.”

I held back my scoff. The only thing I was desperate for was for this to end. For me to fall pregnant with a healthy heir on the first try so I never had to do this again.

I couldn’t wrap my mind around the fact that men kill for this, start wars over this, give up every shred of moral decency to do this very act. It must feel dramatically different for them, otherwise, I’d think they were all severe masochists.

“Open your eyes,” he snarled, slipping his hand from my cheek to my throat. My eyes flashed wide with fear as he squeezed, not enough to hurt me, but enough to show me just how easily he could. “That’s better.”

Goddess, how much longer would this go on?

As if reading my mind, Kaius bottomed out in me with a groan loud enough to hurt my ears, his body falling forward to cover mine. I waited there, absolutely still beneath him as he caught his breath, waiting for him to roll over onto his side so that we could go to sleep and, hopefully, never have to do that again.

“Virgins are always so much better,” he mused as he finally rolled over, making my skin crawl. I turned onto my side, studying him in all his post-orgasmic bliss and wondered how such an attractive man could be so nauseating. “Would you like me to…call someone?”

I laced my brows together. “For…”

“To escort you back to your chambers,” he replied, as if it was obvious. “You didn’t think you’d be sleeping in my private quarters, did you?”

“I assumed--”

“Try not to do that,” he grunted, climbing out of bed and throwing his midnight blue, velvet robe on before pouring himself a drink.

I looked over at the ornate candle holder on the bedside table and considered throwing it across the room at him, but managed to refrain.

“Are you going to answer me?” he snapped, glaring at me from across the room. “Escort or no?”

“Oh,” I managed. I didn’t want some guard walking me back to my chambers in uncomfortable silence while I…processed the night. “I’ll manage on my own.”

“Good,” he nodded, tilting his chin towards the door. “You can go, then.”

Though I yearned to move quickly, my body wasn’t so ready for the hustle. I slowly climbed out of bed and ignored the sticky mess between my thighs as I slipped on my wedding gown that suddenly felt a lot heavier than before in more ways than one. Without so much as a goodbye, Kaius watched me leave from over the lip of his crystal glass, his eyes almost predatory. I knew instantly that I’d played my part too well.

He’d come back for more, heir or not.

I only allowed myself to breathe once the stone door of his chambers had closed, the cool air of the night drowning out the smell of his fine cologne still burning my nostrils. The guards posted along the halls of the King’s quarters didn’t look me in the eyes as I passed them, but I could still feel their desire. It made me feel sick in a way I never had before, knowing that if given a chance, each and every one of them would take it. Even if I had just been with someone else. Even with the tears streaming down my face.

I shattered completely the minute I turned down the hall and found I was finally alone. It was all I could do not to curl up in a ball in the middle of this cold, dark corridor and weep.

I wanted my mother. I wanted to fall into her arms and sob. I wanted to hear her voice and know that good things still existed in this world. But I was alone, and I’d always be.

As I descended the staircase to the second floor, I could hear the festivities still raging on in the grand hall below me. The world still turned, no matter how frozen in time it was for me.

“Your Highness?”

My head whipped in the direction of a familiar voice. Ezra stood in the shadows of a corridor near the landing at the bottom of the grand staircase, but he wasn’t alone. Still pressed against the wall stood a breathless, flushed Lady of the Frostlands. Lady Emita.

I felt sick again, for an entirely new reason. I hated her out of sheer jealousy, my eyes sharp as I ignored Ezra’s shocked stare. And then I hated myself for being so childish, so selfish. She was just a young woman, my age or even younger, trying to distract herself from her own brutal reality with a more age appropriate, more handsome, and charming man.

I just wished it hadn’t been Ezra.

“I…” I started to speak but couldn’t get the words out. My hand gestured up the staircase, towards where the King remained, basking in the afterglow of his pleasure while I…

Ezra’s face turned from shock to guilt before setting on rage, darkness so black it was blue pooling in his eyes.

“Are you okay?” he managed through gritted teeth, staying frozen just a foot away from his blushing mistress.

“I’ll be fine,” I replied, my voice strained as my throat tightened. He didn’t seem to believe me, but I couldn’t blame him given the tears still streaming down my face.

“Let me walk you to your chamber,” he offered, tipping his chin towards the corridor. Lady Emita clicked her tongue at him, clearly growing impatient, but he didn’t look her way. His dark eyes remained locked on mine. “With so many guests still on the grounds—“

“No,” I said, swallowing down the lump in my throat as I walked down to the landing with my chin held high, my jealousy so rampant I wondered if my amber eyes had turned a shade of green.

Standing closer to him, I could smell the wine on his breath, could see the remnants of lust in his eyes. I fought the urge to vomit at the thought of what I would have seen if I had stumbled upon the two of them just a few minutes later.

“Besides,” I said, my tone icy, my eyes still sharp. “It seems as though you’re currently busy.”

“It’s my duty to ensure your safety,” he countered, still not so much as glancing at his mistress. “I will never be too busy to tend to you, Your Highness.”

“I don’t need tending to,” I gritted out. Unlike Ezra, I couldn’t help but to constantly glance at Lady Emita. And unlike Ezra, I could see just how unwilling she was to share him.

“Princess,” he cooed, his eyes finally warming as he took one step away from Lady Emita and one step closer to me.

“I am not a princess. I am your queen,” I said, my voice on the verge of cracking. “That will be all for tonight.”

Though his lips parted to speak, I didn’t wait to hear what came out of them. I turned and let the sound of my heels drown out their lovers quarrel as Lady Emita finally spoke, cursing him with words so colorful I knew they could have only come from her crass husband.

I didn’t let myself cry until I was shut inside the confines of my suite, too fearful that Ezra had stubbornly followed me to ensure my safety. Too sick to sleep and too tired to think, I made myself comfortable in front of the fire in the sitting room, one of my mother’s favorite books in my hands until the world around me looked less cold and more like home.

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