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bunny-yan · 4 months

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I love reading all your works and although I miss giant man heavily- THIS DUKE GUY IS SERIOUSLY MAKING ME QUESTION MY SANITY 0_0!! I just really want to know more about this story, it sounds so interesting and I can't deny I want the reader to either escape this situation entirely or find a way to survive in these awful conditions ;-; I need to know what's the king's deal with his brother and I do hope that when reader gets out of their confinement they can go back to being distant and aloof to their abusers (I mean, in that same air of "I'm technically not doing anything wrong to our agreement, so you can't be mad at me for just doing my "job""), they can do what they're told (unwillingly) but Duke better not expect some lovey dovey treatment anymore-

Being the masochist I am I would even go as far as to say that reader would barely acknowledge the duke's presence after this betrayal, but the second the King is said to be coming inside their home for a "friendly family visit", reader actually express an immense amount of fear and stress- It's the only time they're able to express genuine emotions without faking politeness and serenity for their sake of their "dear" husband.

SORRY I'M JUST CRYING AND VOMITING AND BARKING, DROOLING, GOING ABSOLUTE BONKERS-

i think it would be interesting to write a story where the darling is absolutely horrified whenever the King plan to visit and the duke is distressed between making you stay and subjecting you to his brother's attention or allowing you to leave, knowing that he'd have to go to his in-law's house to drag you back. but his relationship with his brother is what i want to dive in headfirst

TW: mentions non-con, pretty tame overall, general angst

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He was intimately familiar with his brother’s things.

Things he couldn’t touch. Things he couldn’t imagine would ever become his own because he was the second son and second sons had to pave their own path since they weren’t meant to take over and couldn’t be given away as easily as daughters.

His brother was used to receiving everything he could never have.

His parent’s love and affection, their time, the teacher’s unimpaired praise, the latest toys when they were younger, the best clothes growing up, and he even had his pick of the most beautiful women from all of nobility.

When his accomplished brother eventually succeeded in something no other ducal household had done, rising to become the monarch of the kingdom, the position he could only dream of having was given to him as a consolation prize. There was no pride in having attained the duke’s title. It was simply another of his brother’s hand me downs that had been sapped of all gratification and sentimentality. There was nothing he’d experienced that his brother hadn’t already conquered.

Until he met you.

Unimpressive you.

Hailing from one of the diminished baron families that only had a title to separate them from everyday commoners, his brother, his king thought it prudent to choose a partner that would keep his brother humble considering his newfound status.

There really was no point in resisting. No one piqued his interest enough to fight for and he wasn’t stupid enough to imagine a life with someone that could ever gain him recognition significant enough to stand by his brother’s side.

Getting engaged without his say in the matter was simply a reminder of where he stood, a reminder that wasn’t needed considering his apathetic stance on the direction his life went. But after meeting you, for the first time he’d actually been grateful to his brother.

Timid reluctance on your first meeting quickly changed to hopeful curiosity after a surprisingly passionate wedding night. You began to seek him out, interested in getting to know your husband. Interested in getting to know him.

Not the second son.

Not the King’s younger brother.

It was hard to wrap his head around at first, but the more he received this attention that he’d never gotten the chance to receive before, the more he’d crave it. Irritation quickly turned into easy intrigue when you would visit him simply to ask how his day was going. How he felt. If he was interested in discussing the duchy’s current issues. If he wanted to vent about anything and everything. So great was your interest in his worries. It caught him off guard for someone to be so concerned about his wellbeing.

It was unfamiliar.

He wasn’t used to the bleeding concern that would fill your eyes whenever he was injured during training and though it happened rarely, a part of him felt a sense of urgency, wanting to behave a little more reckless just to see that look in your eyes. To feel your soft comfort and care.

Even more surprising was the way he could completely let his guard down around you.

Taking off the constant edge, he often found himself lying in your lap, arms encircling your waist as you caressed his hair or allowed a thumb to brush against his cheek when you weren’t carelessly messing with his ears or tracing the shape of his face with your fingers. It was an intimacy he could've never hoped to imagine. To dream about and yet he did. He’d often drift off in moments like these, waking when you’d shake his shoulder to rouse him from his dreary state and if you’d managed to fall asleep as well he was overwhelmed with feelings he couldn’t describe at the sight of your peaceful face, sleeping beside him.

It was easy to fall in such a tranquil rhythm, living while being needed. Wanted by someone who had no obligation to be with you. He remembered just before your engagement was finalized, his brother offered him the opportunity to divorce if the relationship didn’t last. It would’ve been a huge blow to his pride, but he wouldn’t be stuck with someone he couldn’t stand to be around. He tried to treat you indifferently, refusing to allow you to become a stain on his perfect record, but you blew through his defenses so easily. It could’ve been your easygoing personality or the fact that his walls would’ve crumbled at a touch, had someone cared enough to destroy them and now that you had crossed to the other side he didn’t want to return to that emotionally destitute solitude, knowing what genuine companionship felt like.

You’d changed him.

From a man alone, seemingly content in his sole authority, to one that smiled on occasion with eyes that warmed to the things you said, grateful to have someone treat the rare laughter that’d erupt from his lips as a sacred treasure.

You changed him… And the King noticed too.

The Duke shouldn’t have been surprised. It never took his brother long to pick up on things like this. He was partly to blame for making it so obvious that he wanted to return to his manor, to return to you. And anything that interested the King’s younger brother was sure to pique the King’s interest.

He felt at odds when the King raised the proposition.

On one hand, he hated the idea. The thought of allowing him to touch you in the same manner that he had was repulsive. It aroused every rebellious instinct the Duke possessed which was surprising considering he never once thought to deny his brother anything. It wasn’t the second son’s place to deny the eldest what he wanted. He’d been reminded of that time and time again regardless of what it was. Even the gifts he’d received for his birthday, his favorite model cars that his older brother had no interest in would be snatched away if he spared them even a glance. The young Duke, scolded if he protested.

On the other, he didn’t want to appear as a greedy child who couldn’t share. His brother often showed an interest in the things that he liked, but if he pretended they didn’t really matter, that interest would wane to the point of nonexistence. So he’d play nice and share. No matter what his brother did, he was sure you wouldn’t develop an interest in him. You wouldn’t stroke his hair like you did his or whisper sweet nothings in his brother’s ear. These things were parts of you that were reserved for him and knowing this only gave him a sense of pride that grew when he noticed the signs of irritation on his brother’s face. For once, he relished in the fact that he had something that his brother never would.

He’d forgotten how much his brother didn’t like to lose.

The Duke sensed that things had changed after his brother’s visit.

You’d looked at him with sad, eerie eyes, mouth opening to say something you couldn’t quite put into words. Something you dared not to voice.

But you didn’t have to explain. He knew everything.

Petting you, he held you tight before going to handle his business as usual. Except you usually interrupted his work to bring him a snack or force him into a conversation over tea. Neither of which happened that day. Or the next. Or the day after that.

Concerned, he asked if you were okay and to his surprise you began to cry. You tried to explain to him what happened, but he shook his head, confused as to why you were bringing it up. You’d done your part and the King was sure to lose interest now that his curiosity had been satisfied.

The Duke didn’t understand the look of betrayal in your eyes.

He didn’t understand why you no longer invited him on trips to walk around the garden that he’d filled with flowers that reminded him of you. A section with his and your birth flowers tangled together where the two of you would linger felt distant. It felt strange being there by himself as he traveled in search of you, wondering why it was so hard to catch a glimpse of you these days.

You had dinner in your room, not the one the two of you shared. The bedroom, that you’d all but lived in since your wedding, felt empty and unused whenever he set foot in there now.

You went out, sometimes earlier than he woke up and you didn’t come back until the sky was dark and the only sound that greeted him in the pounding silence were cicadas and the sound of a pen attempting to scratch away the dread, the worry that built after not seeing you, the concern that this wasn’t something that would simply go away.

You couldn’t look at him, let alone touch him when he did manage to track you down and he couldn’t bear that disgustingly familiar sting he felt whenever you’d move away from his outstretched hand, avoiding the touch he’d attempted to share. Balling his fist, he’d pull away and attempt to convince himself that you needed space. It was normal to have hiccups in a relationship and space was something, along with time, that helped.

But with every passing day, every moment, the distance between the two of you seemed to get larger. Any attempt he made to bridge the gap only seemed to push you farther away and he hated the smug look on his brother’s face as he poked and prodded his brother on how married life was going.

As if he’d known this would happen.

Finally having enough of this, he asked you. What was wrong? Why had you changed? How could he get you back to how you were before, is the question he didn’t get a chance to ask because, to his surprise, you’d gotten angry.

You’d never been angry with him. Frustrated with his nonchalant behavior or confused with his hard to read moods, always. But never angry.

At least not like this.

You looked at him as if you were searching for something and something surged in his lungs when you drew away, unable to find whatever it is you were looking for. It felt like he had failed, recognizing those eyes that plagued him his entire childhood, and he couldn’t even be certain of what.

He couldn’t understand why you were claiming that you were leaving him!

You’d become an irreplaceable existence in his life and yet you were so ready to rip that away from him. To leave, abandon him to the crushing loneliness he didn’t realize he endured before. Now that he’d gotten a taste of happiness, he was hesitant to let it go.

More than hesitant.

The thought of you being anywhere but by his side felt appalling to even imagine, an incomprehensible idea.

He couldn’t let you go. Not if it meant returning to that time. But why is it that the words he’d been desperate to express, words that became harder and harder to say as soft pudgy hands became calloused and hard, were impossible to tell you?

Don’t leave me.

“You have a duty to this duchy.”

I don’t want to be alone.

“A responsibility to uphold.”

Please.

“If you’re so willing to view what happened as a shameful act regardless of my permission, then maintain it as a personal defect and don’t let it interfere with your obligations.”

Don’t go. Don’t go. Don’t go.

Hold me. Touch me like you did before. Look at me as if I’m the only one, the only one, the only one.

He couldn’t bear to imagine you on the arm of another. To think of you looking at anyone else the way you did when you were happy, concerned, in love.

He grabbed at his chest, begging for something, for anything to alleviate this torment, for someone to tell him what he’d done wrong.

“So, how is married life?”

His brother wore an easy grin, calmly laid back with a woman on his lap and a man at his side.

Ever the pious ruler.

He’d rather die than admit that things weren’t going well. The Duke couldn’t bear to see his brother’s smug grin.

“You were so excited to show them off to me, I couldn’t help but be curious. But they’re rather boring aren’t they?”

The Duke stilled himself.

“Even in bed they seemed content to just lie there and it was hard maintaining an ere-”

“Please excuse me, Your highness. I have matters to attend to at home.”

He got up and began to walk out, not having to turn around to see the shit-eating grin on his brother’s face. The look of superiority as if he’d always be below him.

“Oh, baby brother. When will you ever learn?”

Those words stayed with him. Even as he pulled out the key to unlock the door to your shared bedroom. It was relieving not having to search the entire manor to find you, but you had become quiet. Despondent to his words or touch. Even now as you sat on the bed, you didn’t move when he sat next to you. You didn’t spare a glance in his direction when he placed a hand on the small of your back and you said nothing when he asked you to speak to him.

He should’ve known.

In their younger days, his brother couldn’t bear to see him have anything that he hadn’t already played with.

How could he forget that his brother only lost interest in those model cars that he’d been so proud of, that he shined everyday, that he treated more preciously than himself, after he’d pulled the wheels off of them?

#yandere #yandere oc #yandere x you #male yandere #yandere x gn reader #yandere x darling #yandere x reader #ask #yandere male #gn reader #yandere duke

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vodrae · 8 months

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Batkids :

Dick : Romani

Jason : Latino, (I think half Bazilian half Mexican but I can go the wrong way here)

Tim : Caucasian

Stephanie : Caucasian

Harper : Caucasian

Cassandra : Chinese (because Asian means nothing)

Duke : Black-American

Damian : Inherits all his mother's genes, Arab-Chinese

It's just funny to me that at first sight everybody would assumed Bruce's bio children are the 3 wild bisexuals (like their dad)

Jason is 100% latino, with black hairs and glowing green eyes, like Damian, all it needs is one picture taken with Selina.

Only one. And all Gotham would speculate to know not if, but how did Bruce and Selina hide their relationship so long.

And then out of nowhere Talia Head, Lexcorp's CEO, would drop the bomb, she's the one in long term relationship with Selina and Bruce had the kindness to...Give a part of him for every kids.

Jason, Damian, and Cass are hers.

Tim, Harper, Cullen are Selina's.

Duke is Alfred's grandchild by Julia Pennyworth.

Dick is the lovechild of them three, only one officialy adopted after the Flying Grayson's murder.

And Stéphanie broke into the fridge one day and Bruce didn't ask question.

I want chaos, I want to see the kids not knowing if they want to to laugh, admire her or puke (of joy to be a real family)

Kate, then annouce she's in the same situation with Poison Ivy for Barbara Gordon, but their lover was murdered, it's logic because...RED. The anarchy ! (If we're going with Barbs being Jim's niece then adopted daughter.).

Why didn't Bruce asked question for the blondie, LEMME TELL YA. Because Steph is the lost daughter he had in college with a certain Harleen Quinzel ! She told Jack Ryder !

And then everybody leaves the gala. Mission accomplished.

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sailor-brunette · 3 months

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So many shoujo getting anime these days...yet here I am,still waiting for Kitchen Princess,I Swear I Won't Bother You Again and Accomplishments of the Duke's Daughter...

#Brunette ramblings #Brunette salt #Kitchen Princess #I Swear I Won't Bother You Again!#Accomplishments of the Duke's Daughter #Shoujo #Shoujo manga #Shoujo anime #Light novels

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vixvaporub · 2 years

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Accomplishments of the Duke's Daughter | Koushaku Reijou no Tashinami – Chapter 40

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forbidden-sunlight · 2 years

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I’m not seducing the female lead’s obsessive father!

[yandere!regis floyen x agent!reader headcanons]

PART FOUR: POINT OF NO RETURN

PART THREE

warning: spoilers from the manhwa, obsessive behavior, implied violence. Please take caution.

Hey guys, hope you’ve been doing well and ready to dive into this next chapter! Special thanks to @impeakcharacterdesign and @rouecentric, you guys are awesome! I seriously could not have finished this on time without your honest feedback and assistance with writing some of the more difficult parts.

So without further ado, let’s go ahead and get started~! :)

Interacting with the characters of the various worlds was an unavoidable part of your job. How were you supposed to complete your task without the necessary information? The simple answer was that you couldn’t and only a fool would attempt to go in blind.

The Chapter was willing to overlook a few instances of intimacy if it was for the sake of the mission. But only a few. An agent going beyond attaining information and forming an attachment to a denizen of that world violated the organization’s rules.

You had no intention of going back to being a high school girl who bullied the female lead out of jealousy due to an illogical, unrequited love for a scumbag male lead. You deserved more than being cannon fodder.

Were you greedy? Yes. Petty? Absolutely. Why exactly Jubelian Floyen sent an invitation for tea at her family estate in a week, to a ‘loyal’ member of the Empire? You were not certain, though you hoped you could find out swiftly before the organization noticed your movements in the forbidden world.

They always had a way of keeping an eye on their agents without any of them knowing, yourself included.

Fortunately, you were able to keep yourself busy until the day for the tea party had arrived. Not wanting to keep your esteemed host waiting too long as the Griddlebone estate was near the capital, you made the necessary arrangements to leave early enough but not too early so as to not surprise the female lead with arriving unexpectedly.

When the carriage stopped at the main gates, the driver spoke to the armored guards briefly before they granted passage inside towards the main palace. Stopping at the entrance, the footman quickly pulled down the iron steps and then opened the door. Upon stepping out, he graciously offered a gloved hand to help you climb down from the carriage.

A chorus of voices unanimously welcomed you and your escort when the two of you approached the bottom of a bone white staircase. On either side, servants were lined up. Duke Regis Floyen and his daughter Jubelian stood at the very top, wearing matching elegant outfits fitting for a tea party. You bowed your head towards them, curtseying alongside the footman.

Once pleasantries were exchanged, you were led inside the estate.

You had no idea what would happen today, but you prayed that this tea party would be the last time that you would have contact with either character in the novel world.

When you walked through the doors, a shiver crawled down your spine. There was something going on in the Floyen duchy….something very, very, wrong.

Regis was shocked and nervous all at once when his aide informed him that Marquess Griddlebone had accepted his daughter’s invitation for tea.

How in the world was Jubel able to accomplish such a feat when he himself could not persuade that woman to come to the duchy without hearing her rejection almost immediately?

Nonetheless, he is pleased at this unexpected turn of events. He was not too worried with the arrangements as Jubel had done an excellent job when she held a tea party for the very first time. He asked if he may attend as well, if not for a little while as it is customary for the hosts to greet their guests. He did not want to appear so rude as to be absent when someone is visiting his daughter. Jubel agreed.

When he saw Marquess Griddlebone walk up to them in a verdant gown with golden leaves, he felt his heart hammer against his chest at the sight of her beauty. He greeted the marquess with a bow and kissed her gloved hand. He wanted his lips to linger there further, but i t would be considered rude by the rules of nobility.

Nor did he want Marquess Griddlebone to be uncomfortable in his presence.

Pulling on the reins of his self control, Regis moved away from the young woman and allowed Jubel to lead their guest to the lobby. He followed close behind as a silent observer. Earlier he had explained to Jubelian that his schedule for the afternoon was cleared, as such he wanted to see what kind of woman that Griddlebone truly is.

His daughter agreed with him wholeheartedly, though she believed that their guest was marginally better than Lady LaRue’s company.

Jubel, bless her sweet soul, stumbled with her words in Griddlebone’s presence yet the latter did not say anything. Instead she flipped her fan open and asked his daughter about her interest in books, music, amongst other things.

The shift in conversation eased Jubel’s anxiety, allowing the younger aristocrat to lead a discussion about poetry and the latest opera performed in the capital.

Yet if Griddlebone was comfortable in their presence, why did the hand that held a teacup tremble? And her fist…she clenched it around the folded fan so tightly. Was her ladyship all right? Was she ill?

Regis wanted to say something…but what could he say without drawing too much attention to his daughter’s guest?

Just when he was about to speak up, however, a servant and Griddlebone’s footman interrupted their tea time. They apologized to him as well as his daughter for the intrusion, but there is an urgent message from their guest’s estate.

Marquis Griddlebone, a man in peak health, had suddenly collapsed in his office. Everyone in the family was required to come home immediately, including his only daughter. The news obviously caught the calm and collected woman off guard, as she stood up and bowed her head to them. She is terribly sorry that their time together has been cut short but she must return home post-haste.

Jubelian was sympathetic and offered to escort their guest to the main entrance as well as reschedule their little get-together. He was also in agreement, inclining his head and hoped that the marquis was all right.

Griddlebone nodded, turning to the footman and ordered him to bring the carriage around before Jubelian led her out of the drawing room.

Regis felt disheartened watching as Lady Griddlebone was escorted out by his daughter. Heavens knew He had many wants in his troubled life, yet perhaps his want for her to stay was amongst his most desperate.

His eyes roved over the place she sat, imagining that she was still in that chair, smiling at him lovingly. He was distracted from his daydream when something caught his eye.

“Ah — it seems Lady Griddlebone left behind her fan.” He said to no one in particular.

She must have left it in her haste, he realized. An unexpected glee rose in him at the thought of her leaving a piece of herself behind — even if unintentionally. It felt like a gift, just for him.

“I’ll have it sent to her estate at once.” His aide reached for it and before he could pick it up, Regis swiftly grabbed it. He didn’t know why, but the thought of someone else touching the only thing he had of her had him panicking. He felt as though they would erase any trace of her.

He felt slightly embarrassed by the confused look his aide shot at him and quickly tried to save face. “The lady is an important guest and even something as simple as returning a fan must be treated carefully. I’ll see that she gets it back myself.”

His aide jolted, surprised at the sudden declaration but quickly schooled his features to a mask of indifference before he nodded. “As you wish, Your Grace.” He bowed his head and left the room, closing the doors behind him.

Now alone in his office, he allowed himself to indulge in his fantasies. He caressed every fold of the fan, thinking about how she had held it in her hand so tightly, it would be wonderful if she held his own the same way. He would never let her hand slip from his grasp.

The craftsmanship was remarkable, truly fitting a woman as elegant and wonderful as her. If given the chance, he would shower her in riches just as, if not more so, luxurious as this fan.

He hesitantly pressed his lips along the fan’s edge, reminiscing on how her skin felt against his lips as he greeted her. If they were alone and if she were willing, he would have gladly gotten down on one knee and kissed each of her fingertips. He was sure that if he was allowed to indulge himself in her presence just a bit, he would be able to hold on just a bit longer with her.

Just then, a bright light illuminated the room. Alert, Regis grabbed the sword concealed under his desk and raised the blade over his head but halted when his eyes saw golden words floating in the air, a dark green tint highlighting a text that made his heart hammer against his chest.

“Would you like to make a deal?”

#yandere manhwa x reader #yandere male #yandere regis #yandere regis floyen x reader #regis floyen #yandere x reader #yandere manhwa au #the chapter chronicles #father i dont want to get married #forbidden-sunlight

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leiawritesstories · 8 months

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To Honor And Cherish

Rowaelin Month, Day 25: Arranged Marriage

A/N: Hi everyone! If you remember As I Am, it was a Regency AU crossover fic that I started when i was still very much a baby writer. Lol I'm still a developing writer, who are we kidding? Anyway, that fic has a very special place in my heart, but it was...just too much, too complex to properly handle. So.......I did a little mini rewrite with just Rowaelin! because I loved their story and it was an excuse to rewatch Bridgerton S1 😂

All that to say, here's a little mini Rowaelin rewrite of AIA, and i hope you enjoy :))

Word count: 4,670 (oops)

Warnings: none ;)

@rowaelinscourt

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Numb, Aelin stared out the carriage window, firmly refusing to look across the small but opulent vehicle and meet the gazes of her parents--her mother, teary-eyed with wistful pleasure; her father, proud of his accomplishment in achieving the best marriage match of the Season. The lace trim along the neckline of her simple, pale blue morning gown itched at her collarbone, and she focused on the slight discomfort, using it to control her roiling emotions. Before she was fully calm, though, the carriage rattled to a stop, and she realized with a small jolt that they had arrived.

"Aelin, darling." Baroness Evalin Ashryver reached across the carriage and touched her daughter's gloved hand. "Shall we?"

"Haste to the wedding, as it were," Aelin returned, dryly.

Evalin frowned. "It is as if I taught you nothing of decorum." She took her husband's arm and stepped elegantly out of the carriage. "We have but three hours, darling."

"I am highly aware of that fact, m'lady," Aelin muttered under her breath, accepting the footman's assistance as she exited the carriage. As she followed her parents into the west entrance of St. Paul's Cathedral, she spared one final glance at her family's carriage, knowing that it may well be the last time she rode in it.

Baron Rhoe Galathynius allowed his wife to lead the way towards the bridal rooms and fell into step beside his daughter. "The Duke is a good man, Fireheart," he murmured. "I promise, I have never been careless with your future."

A small corner of Aelin's heart softened. "I trust you, Father." She tucked her hand into the crook of his arm. "I simply feel...well, to be perfectly honest, I feel disregarded by this whole process. I know the conventions of our society, but I thought we were going to be more of a partnership when it came to my marriage." She couldn't help the hint of reproach that crept into her words.

"That was my intention, too," Rhoe admitted. "However, your mother is...a very determined woman, and when she came to me with her shortlist of suitors, it was not in my best interest to reject it outright."

"I see."

"I did my best to investigate each of the men on that list," Rhoe continued. "As I said, I have never been careless with your future, my Fireheart."

Aelin sighed delicately and flicked a grateful look up at her father. "I know." Her posture stiffened, just a fraction, as they approached the door to the bride's preparation rooms. "I quite liked Dorian, you know."

Rhoe's lips twitched with amusement. "I doubt he would have made much as a husband, though."

That brought a hint of a chuckle from Aelin's throat. "I never said I was considering him as a husband, though he certainly did make a clever suggestion: a nominal marriage, in which we were perfectly happy together with our own, ah, partners."

"Ah, Havilliard," Rhoe chuckled. "Dare I say he may not have made the most ideal husband? He'll certainly be a fine honorary uncle, though, I'm sure."

"He will." Aelin squeezed her father's hand. "Oh gods, the door approaches."

"It will be alright," her father assured her. "And if it is not, write to me and I will take care of it." The steel in his eyes drove home his promise.

"I love you, Father," Aelin whispered, rising onto her toes to peck a soft kiss onto his cheek.

Rhoe smiled. "I love you too, my Fireheart." He held the bride's door open. "I'll see you in a few hours."

Aelin took a controlled breath and walked through the door. The instant the thick oak door clicked shut behind her, Evalin was leading her off down the short hallway into a lovely, sunlit room, where a flurry of attendants swarmed around the women already gathered there, busy curling and arranging hair, applying cosmetics, steaming and fluffing dresses, and assuring every lady present that it was going to be a perfectly lovely wedding day.

"I feel as though I may vomit," Aelin murmured.

Evalin waved at one of the maids. "Please bring a basin; the bride has nerves." She patted Aelin's shoulder with a brief, perfunctory attempt at comfort. "It is perfectly normal to feel anxious before your wedding, darling. I could hardly stop trembling on the morning that I married your father."

Aelin cracked a faint smile. "Why, Mother, I thought you were always the very picture of composure."

"Hardly." For a moment, Evalin's rarely-seen softer side made an appearance. "I believe I'd only met Rhoe three or four times before we were married, and we were little more then formal acquaintances when our parents signed the betrothal agreement."

"That's three or four times more than I've met the Duke," Aelin mused.

"I trust your father's judgment." Evalin's tone was noticeably cooler. "You will make a fine Duchess, darling."

Aelin didn't reply, choosing to focus on the sudden flurry of attendants encircling her, helping her out of her dress and into simple undergarments and a white satin dressing gown. She let them lead her to a chair, sat down, and watched in the mirror as her lady's maid twisted her hair into an elegant knot.

"No, no!" Evalin snapped at the maid. "She is a bride! She must wear her hair up higher for the veil!"

"Leave it, Philippa." Aelin held up her hand. Evalin frowned in disapproval, opening her mouth to overrule Aelin's wishes, but Aelin calmly folded her hands in her lap and fixed her gaze onto her mother's in the mirror. "I am the bride, Mother, not you." Steel and flame underlaid her words, a subtle but strong note of command.

Disapproval and shock bloomed over Evalin's feature, but she said nothing.

"Very well, milady," Philippa said quietly. The young, dark-haired lady's maid--only a few years older than Aelin was--tucked the last two pins into Aelin's hair and flicked her mistress a tiny but immensely proud smile. "What do you think?"

"It is perfect." Aelin gave her lady's maid and longtime companion a grateful smile. "Mother, would you please oversee my cosmetics? You know how little experience I have with all of that."

Placated, Evalin directed Philippa to apply simple makeup to Aelin's face, enhancing her clear skin and soft lips and concealing the faint shadows beneath her eyes. Though she was only twenty-one, Aelin had long since struggled with poor sleep, and it manifested in the circles smudged under her eyes.

"There," Evalin announced. "Lovely." She touched Aelin's shoulder. "Has your stomach settled, darling? It is time for the dress."

"My stomach will survive," Aelin returned. She stood and followed her mother into the next room, where she removed her dressing gown and allowed Philippa and two other attendants to busy themselves with arranging her undergarments.

"Deep breath, milady," Philippa prompted. Obediently, Aelin inhaled deeply and held the breath, keeping her face carefully blank as Philippa tugged with practiced ease on the laces of Aelin's corset. "Very good, milady, just another few seconds." With a final sharp tug, she tied the laces into a neat bow. "Exhale, milady."

Aelin released her breath with careful control. The corset was as restricting and uncomfortable as always, cinched tightly around her waist and stomach, drawing her already-ladylike figure into a conventional image of a lady with an impossibly small waistline. "Well, I would prefer to breathe properly, but thank you, Philippa."

Philippa dipped her head. "All things for the beauty of the bride." She helped Aelin step up onto the small, round, raised platform in the middle of the dressing room. "Up you go, milady." She and two other attendants helped Aelin step into her wedding gown--a beautifully tailored spill of white silk that molded closely against her bodice and fell into a cascading, lace-paneled skirt with a cathedral train. Soft cap sleeves laid over her shoulders, paired with matching white silk gloves.

"Oh, my daughter," Evalin whispered, tears misting up her eyes. "You are the perfect portrait of a bride."

"Stunning, milady," Philippa murmured into Aelin's ear as she adjusted Aelin's skirts.

Aelin simply stared at her reflection in the full-length mirror, wondering where she had gone and when this porcelain-faced doll had replaced her. She felt oddly separated from her emotions, as if she had somehow stepped out of her own body and was watching it go through the motions of being a bride.

With light-handed gracefulness, Philippa tucked the two silver combs of the lace veil into Aelin's hair and gently tossed the airy spill of hand-wrought lace, allowing the two layers of material to drift naturally down Aelin's back. "Look at you," she whispered.

Aelin looked. "You truly work wonders," she said softly, the corners of her lips curling up.

Philippa smiled. "Hardly. Let's get you to the wedding, milady."

In a rushed blur, Aelin was helped into her shoes, handed a huge, almost cloyingly sweet bouquet of roses and lilies, and led down a series of winding hallways until she stood before the great wooden doors to the cathedral nave where her father was waiting.

"A vision," he murmured, pride and joy shining on his face.

Aelin managed a faint smile. "A nervous vision."

Rhoe chuckled quietly. "Not to increase your nerves, Fireheart, but everyone is ready. They are all waiting for you." He tucked her hand snugly into the crook of his elbow. "Shall we?"

A strange sense of calm descended over Aelin, and she felt her resolve return, turning her spine into composed steel. "We shall." She nodded to Philippa, who stepped forward and draped the upper layer of her veil over her face, arranging the lace so Aelin could still see. "I am ready."

With a great groaning creak and a thunderous swelling of organ music, the cathedral doors were swung open, revealing Aelin and Rhoe to an eager audience of hundreds of society's finest. Rhoe walked Aelin slowly down the aisle, his steady presence at her side keeping her sane, keeping her on her feet.

Halfway down the aisle, Aelin could finally clearly see the man standing at the altar, waiting for her. The Duke of Doranelle. Her soon-to-be husband. He was tall--taller than her father--and broad-shouldered, his perfectly tailored black suit clinging to the kind of well-muscled physique that made her think he'd served in the army. His hair was tied back in a short tail and powdered white, as was traditional, his face had the kind of elegantly structured planes and angles that would make a sculptor cry with joy, and his eyes--pine-green and piercing--were honed in on her.

He looked about as tenderhearted as a block of ice.

Refusing to be the timid, demure bride this duke no doubt expected her to be, Aelin locked her gaze onto the duke's and kept it there for the remainder of her procession down the aisle.

Rhoe stopped at the base of the four steps leading up to the altar, just in front of the waiting duke and the bishop. The bishop, in full clerical finery, opened the book in his hands and offered a polite smile.

"Dearly beloved," he began, "we are gathered here today to witness the divine institution of holy matrimony." He spoke on for another minute, then turned to Rhoe and Aelin. "Who gives this woman to be married to this man?

"I do." Rhoe spoke with conviction. He took Aelin's hand from his arm and, at the nod of the bishop, laid her gloved hand in the duke's outstretched, gloved one.

The duke's large hand closed around Aelin's, and she felt the oddest sensation flicker at the base of her spine. She cast a cool, appraising look at the duke through the lace of her veil, a spark of satisfaction flaring within her at his tiny, well-concealed inhale, and returned her attention to the bishop.

The wedding ceremony droned on and on, and Aelin let the words spill over her, not paying too much attention to anything except the way her corset dug into her ribs and the too-strong scent of the massive bouquet of flowers in her free hand. She snapped back into focus when the bishop directed her and the duke to turn towards each other for the exchange of vows.

Facing her, his deep pine gaze locked onto her turquoise one, the duke spoke first, repeating the bishop's prompted words. "I, Rowan Whitethorn, take thee, Aelin Ashryver Galathynius, to be my lawfully wedded wife, to have and to hold from this day forward, for better or worse, in sickness and health. I vow to thee to honor and cherish till death do us part. In the presence of God and man I make these vows."

The bishop nodded slightly at Aelin and murmured the words. She spoke, her voice clear and unwavering. "I, Aelin Ashryver Galathynius, take thee, Rowan Whitethorn, to be my lawfully wedded husband, to have and to hold from this day forward, for better or worse, in sickness and in health. I vow to thee to honor and cherish till death do us part. In the presence of God and man I make these vows."

She could almost sense the finality of the words.

The bishop motioned at one of the groomsmen, who stepped forward with a small white pillow upon which laid two gold bands. One was thicker and wider, a man's ring. The other was more delicate, crowned with a square-cut emerald. The bishop spoke words over the rings and then directed the duke--Rowan--to place the ring on Aelin's finger.

With surprising gentleness, Rowan lifted Aelin's left hand and slipped the silk glove off of her arm. Cradling her smaller hand in his large one, he looked into her eyes as if trying to read her soul and slid the ring onto her finger, the coolness of the gold quickly warming to her skin.

At the bishop's prompting, Aelin unbuttoned Rowan's glove and slipped the white cotton material off of his hand. With her still-gloved hand beneath his now-bare one, she returned his searching, probing look and slid the ring onto his callused, tan finger.

The bishop flipped a page in his book. "I hereby pronounce thee man and wife," he proclaimed. Applause rippled through the cathedral in waves, the assembled congregation clapping politely for the newly married Duke and Duchess of Doranelle. The bishop waited for the applause to quiet down, and then spoke the last few words of the ceremony. "You may kiss the bride," he concluded.

Rowan reached down and lifted the veil off Aelin's face. With the lace no longer between them, his keen gaze roved rapidly over her face as he tilted his head down and touched his lips to hers. It was barely a whisper of a kiss, more ceremonial than anything, but in those few seconds of contact, Aelin had the oddest sense that she wanted to know what a real kiss from that man felt like.

As the organ burst into joyous swells of music, Aelin laid her newly ringed hand upon Rowan's offered arm and walked beside him down the aisle and out of the cathedral. Sunlight beamed down upon the newlywed couple, and she blinked at the brightness of its glare.

There was a gentle tug on her hand. "Here," Rowan prompted, leading her down the cathedral stairs towards a waiting carriage. It was simple on the exterior, its boxy frame glossy, the doors engraved with the crest of Doranelle. A footman opened the door and placed a stepstool on the ground, and Rowan steadied Aelin as she gathered her trailing skirts over one arm and stepped up into the carriage. Inside, it was paneled in deep green silk, the seats well-cushioned and comfortable.

She sank into one seat with a suppressed groan of relief. Rowan settled into the seat opposite hers, his brows quirking with something that might resemble amusement if he possessed human emotions.

"What?" she inquired, deceptively polite. "Have you never thought that perhaps a woman grows exhausted after spending hours standing in uncomfortable shoes that pinch her toes and shift all her weight to paper-thin soles and tiny little sticks of heels?"

Rowan opened and closed his mouth several times, struggling for words. "I confess I had never thought about that, no."

"Typical." Aelin adjusted her skirts, lifted her veil over her shoulder so as not to sit on it, and fixed her attention on the city slipping past outside the window.

Across from her, Rowan shifted in his seat. Clearly, he had not anticipated that she would ignore him--typical male arrogance. It was only a few minutes before he spoke. "Aelin."

Though the sound of her name on his tongue did funny things to her heartbeat, she ignored him.

"Aelin," he tried again. She still paid him no heed.

So he turned his head towards the opposite window and set his jaw in a hard line. They passed the remainder of the carriage ride in tense silence, only exchanging looks and a perfunctory touch when they arrived at the Galathynius home in the city for the reception and Rowan escorted her out of the carriage and into the house.

The whole thing flew past in a blur of greetings, pleasantries, gifts, a delicious dinner that Aelin barely tasted because her corset made it nearly impossible to properly eat, toasts, dancing, and finally, being swept off to change into travelling clothes. She blew out a short breath of relief as Philippa helped her out of her wedding dress.

Her lady's maid laughed. "Better?"

"So much better," Aelin groaned. "Do you know how awful it is to walk around with ten yards of silk following you like a stray cat?"

"Sounds horrendous," Philippa agreed. She buttoned up the back of Aelin's simple satin travel dress and laid her lightweight cloak around her shoulders. "Enjoy your journey, milady. I will see you once you reach Doranelle."

"You are the best." Aelin squeezed Philippa's hands affectionately. "I left a little something for you in my dressing-table." Tucked into the drawer was an envelope containing a small sum of money for her ever-faithful lady's maid. "I look forward to seeing you at our new home." She smiled and went down the stairs.

Rowan waited at the base of the staircase, the lines of his face etched in granite. He had changed from his formal black wedding suit into brown trousers, vest, and jacket and a white linen shirt and washed the powder from his hair. She was mildly surprised to see that beneath the powder, his hair was light brown and slightly curled at the ends.

Evalin enveloped Aelin in her embrace. "You will make a wonderful Duchess," she murmured. "I look forward to visiting you once you've settled in." Aelin smiled and turned to her father.

Rhoe wrapped his daughter in his arms. "I'm so very proud of you, my Fireheart," he whispered. "Write me if you need anything. I'll keep your mother from invading, as much as I can."

Aelin chuckled. "Thank you, Father."

Rhoe grinned at her and turned his attention to his new son-in-law. "I will not hesitate to do anything my daughter asks of me," he said, his words edged with paternal warning. "Take care of my Fireheart, Your Grace."

"I will, sir." Rowan linked Aelin's arm with his. "Are you ready?"

"I am." With a final wave to her family, she and the duke left her family home, climbed into his carriage, and began the silent drive towards his estate in the country.

As evening deepened into night, Rowan glanced at his watch. "We should be stopping for the night in half an hour or so."

Aelin raised her brows. "At an inn?"

"No. At Mistward House." He offered no further explanation.

"Forgive me for not memorizing the details of each of your holdings before the wedding, Your Grace," she deadpanned.

His controlled expression did not even budge. "Mistward House was my mother's dowry property. Doranelle itself is another half day's journey from here."

"I see."

Shortly later, their carriage pulled to a stop in front of a brownstone manor house with ivy trailing up parts of the walls and warm golden lamplight shining from a few of the windows. It would have been wonderfully welcoming under any other circumstances, but all Aelin could think of was the very real possibility of what might happen inside that house in not very much time.

Rowan climbed out of the carriage and held out his hand, and she accepted it as she stepped down from the carriage. He escorted her inside and made a brief greeting to the few staff who were there.

"Everything is ready just as you requested, Your Grace," the middle-aged lady who must have been the housekeeper said. "It it so good to see you here again, even if only for the night."

"Thank you, Mrs. Ellys," Rowan returned, a hint of warmth in his tone. "We shall see if we visit Mistward later in the summer." He turned back to Aelin. "This way."

She followed him down the hallways, memorizing the simple path back to the front entrance as they walked. He stopped in front of a dark wooden door, paused for a few seconds, then pushed the door open and led her into a warm, softly-lit bedroom with wood-paneled walls, a large, soft-looking bed, and a small fire crackling behind the fireplace grate. In any other context, it would have looked positively homelike and comforting.

Rowan closed the door with a muted click, and Aelin suddenly realized that despite what she'd wondered, there would be no separate bedrooms, not that night.

"There is a washroom through that door," he said, pointing towards a door near the back of the room.

She nodded, took her small bag of nightclothes, and headed straight into the washroom. The door had a lock, so she locked herself in the small but sparkling clean room, braced her hands on the edge of the sink, and breathed as deeply as she could while still confined by that godsdamn corset. With almost robotic movements, she took off her cloak, dress, shoes, stockings, and undergarments, untied the laces of her corset, and carefully, painstakingly loosened the damned contraption until her lungs were free and she could throw it to the ground.

As always, the corset's boned structure had left red imprints along her sides. She frowned, chose to ignore the marks, and pulled her soft cotton nightgown over her head, letting the comfortable material settle against her skin.

After washing her face, Aelin pulled the pins from her hair and left them beside the sink. If the stone-faced duke took issue with her leaving her hairpins in the washroom, he could stuff the pins up his ass. She ran a comb through her hair, tied it back in a loose braid, and left the washroom, resolved to continue ignoring her husband for as long as possible.

Her husband, in return, barely spared her a second glance as he went into the washroom, dressed in his own nightclothes. He was in there for a short time, the splashing of water indicating that he was washing up like she had. She took the opportunity to drape her dress and cloak over the dressing screen in the corner of the room and take a slow walk around the bedroom, half expecting there to be some kind of secret entrance.

She had already climbed into the (very comfortable) bed when Rowan emerged from the washroom and methodically blew out each of the lamps in the room before climbing into the other side of the bed, his back turned to her.

Perfect. The less contact she had with the man, the better.

Aelin awoke in the middle of the night with Rowan's arm draped over her waist, his hand skimming her hipbones through the fine material of her nightgown.

Blindly, half-panicked, she jerked sharply away from him and his touch, pulled the sheet over herself, shut her eyes tight and mentally screamed at herself to breathe, gods damn it! She managed a short breath, and then another, and a deep breath, and another, and another.

As her head cleared, she opened her eyes, finding her husband awake, sitting upright a full arm's length away, his unfaltering eyes latched onto her. Concern and fear were written written all over his face.

"Aelin?" he whispered.

"I'm here," she croaked.

Worry and rage clashed in the depths of his gaze. "Who hurt you?" he breathed, primal violence simmering just beneath the controlled softness of his voice.

"Why do you care?" she whispered, defensive.

He closed his eyes and tipped his head back, and when he met her gaze again, muted pain joined the storm of emotions roiling in the depths of his stare. "Because my bastard of a father hurt my mother, and I swore an oath to never be anything like him."

It was the most human she'd ever seen the duke be in their few hours of knowing each other.

A tiny corner of her heart softened at the rawness of his words. "It was...an associate of my father."

Rowan pushed the sleeves of his nightshirt up, exposing his forearms. "Will you tell me who, Aelin?" He pinched the bridge of his nose. "I do not mean to pry, but I...if the man is still alive, I will end him."

"He is long since dead, and he was Lord Hamel," she said, simply.

"Arobynn Hamel?"

"Yes."

He exhaled slowly. "Hamel was one hell of a bastard," he whispered, roughly.

She just nodded. "I've always wondered if it makes me a horrible person for being happy that he's dead."

"It doesn't." The swiftness of Rowan's reply shocked both of them. He sighed. "It does not make you anything but justified, Aelin."

There was that infernal flutter in her guarded heart. "I might just have to admit that you're human after all."

A half grin curved his lips. "How might I prove my full humanity to you, Your Grace?" Gods burn her, the man had a sense of humor.

She shrugged indifferently, tamping down the part of herself that wanted to squeal like a little girl. "You could start with letting me get a full night's sleep." Maybe it was the late hour, maybe it was the fact that she was overwhelmed from the events of the last day, or maybe it was sheer insanity, but then she let a smirk curve her own lips. "Or, if you intend not to sleep, you could give your wife a kiss."

Rowan inhaled sharply, his nostrils flaring with surprise. "Say that again."

"I was under the impression that you weren't the command-giving type." The snarky retort tumbled unbidden from her lips.

In a single, smooth move, he was inches away from her face, his arms braced on either side of her--enough space that she didn't feel trapped, but close enough to feel the heat of him. "And I was under the impression that you wanted a kiss, Your Grace."

A lazy grin unfurled across Aelin's face. "Kindly give your wife a kiss, Your Grace."

"Never stop calling yourself my wife," he murmured, and he kissed her. At first, it was a soft brush of his lips, then he sank one hand into her hair and deepened the kiss, slow and leisurely and unhurried.

After a long, blissful moment, she broke the kiss, leaning slightly back to catch her breath, and a huge yawn split the air between them. She laughed, softly. "Good night, Rowan."

"Good night, Aelin," he murmured. She settled back down into bed, and he tucked the covers up over her. His arm lingered around her shoulders, hesitant, hopeful. "Is this alright?"

The warmth of him was still strange, but comforting. "Yes."

She fell asleep with her duke's arm around her and the warmth of his body behind her, solid and steady and protective, nothing at all like the ice-faced man who had sworn vows to her just that morning.

will there be more? who knows... ;)

~~~

TAGS:

@live-the-fangirl-life

@superspiritfestival

@thegreyj

@wordsafterhours

@elentiyawhitethorn

@morganofthewildfire

@backtobl4ck

@rowanaelinn

@house-of-galathynius

@tomtenadia

@julemmaes

@swankii-art-teacher

@charlizeed

@booknerdproblems

@chronicchthonic14

@earthtolinds

@goddess-aelin

@sweet-but-stormy

@clea-nightingale

@autumnbabylon

@darling-im-the-queen-of-hell

@llyncooljones

@silentquartz

#my writing #rowaelin month #rowaelinmonth #rowaelin month 2023 #rowaelin #aelin galathynius #rowan whitethorn #rowan x aelin #rowaelin fanfic #rowaelin fanfiction #rowaelin au #regency au #rowaelin regency au #to honor and cherish #100000% bridgerton and p&p inspired #gotta cite my sources lmao

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amerrierworld · 1 year

Text

Keep Me Close (pt 1?)

Summary: You have resolved nearly all the problems in the village except one. And she’s unhappy with both you and Alcina.

Characters: Alcina x you, the Lords, the entire village!

Word Count: 2.2k

Warnings: None (yet) but might have some NSFW soon. Some angsty stuff coming up. A bit AU/out of character, you might find it a little absurd but I just want them to have a happy ending okay ;-;

Alcina couldn’t believe you had managed to convince her to throw such a massive party. Somehow, your attempts at making peace with the village and expanding her wine production to more than just humans had paid off.

Everything was going wonderfully. Until Mother Miranda had shown up.

The ballroom had been lavishly decorated with candles and drapery. Each of the Lords had shown up dressed to the nines with a little entourage, and Alcina let you handpick staff and villagers to invite that you knew and trusted; friends, acquaintances, you named it, and they were there.

Karl had accused Alcina of becoming soft with a human at her side. Alcina had smiled and blew a plume of cigarette smoke in his face, neither agreeing nor denying him.

The truth was, she was much happier this way. You brought joy and delight to the castle. With the weather steadily warming at this time of year, you had even taken it upon yourself to take the daughters outside to blow off steam when they were restless and begging to kill some poor soul at work in the kitchens.

At one point, they had managed to adopt a young Vârcolac wandering through the woods. You had no idea how, but the beastly canine was now their personal pet, as obedient as a lapdog and as murderous as the lycans.

Sure, maiming and death still occurred occasionally, but hey, you weren’t a miracle-worker. Trespassers were still killed on sight, traitors and disobedience were awarded with limb-chopping or decapitation depending on the Lady’s mood, but you were quite proud to say that the Castle was much more welcoming, and more importantly, clean.

You had revitalized Castle Dimitrescu, and had rejuvenated some of the humanity in the Dimitrescu family itself. Gosh, what an accomplishment. Though it didn’t happen overnight. There was enough blood spillage, shouting, skillful avoidance and trickery to last you a lifetime. But after all that, and after a wonderful new deal with the Duke to provide top-quality livestock for fresh blood and meat in the Castle, you felt you deserved a nice celebration. The farmers had agreed to tend to the Castle’s new livestock in exchange for peace. There was enough to feed everyone what they needed, and in return their families and friends were protected. Now, eating human was an occasional delicacy for Alcina and her daughters, and Alcina felt she enjoyed that a lot more than barbaric slaughter and tearing limbs without care. It felt like a luxury and a treat, though a little twisted.

The night you had convinced Alcina of your ways was when Dani, restless and out for blood, had held you with her blade at your throat, screaming obscenities and demanding her mother let her cut your throat so that you would stop meddling in their affairs. She called you a whore for sleeping with Alcina yet going behind their backs to change their way of life. Alcina nearly let her daughter kill you, thinking what’s one more? when three of the maids had burst from the kitchens and cellars, yanking Dani off of you. One lost a hand, another lost her head. Alcina stared in wonder as the women crowded you and declared they’d protect you, because none had shown such care to them in all their time at the Castle, despite being allowed to live.

It had made Alcina long for love and loyalty again. Ruling with fear only got your so far, and she questioned if her morals were worth thinking about again. And what’s worse, you didn’t want the power over the staff that you had given yourself. You simply wanted things to be quiet and peaceful and good.

And then on the next day, when you made amends with Dani despite her threatening to kill you again by offering a fresh dish of raw meat and blood, Alcina realized she had been falling in love with you all along.

Now, Alcina watched you from her throne-like seat, leisurely laid back with a fresh cigarette and a newly fitted cream dress adorned with subtle crystals, reminiscent of her jazz performances when she’d be decked out in sequins and dazzling pearls. She had a fur boa draped over her arms, and exuded the power of a rich matriarch.

Alcina had never seen the grand ballroom like this in all her years under Miranda’s service. As a younger woman before the Cadou, yes, there were many lavish feasts like this. But since the world took a dark turn in this small part of Romania, there had not been this much laughter in a room for decades.

You were swinging from one dancing partner to another. The Duke had provided a lovely band to perform and you took every opportunity to dance with their music. Your shoes were tucked by Alcina’s seat after you complained about your toes hurting. Alcina had smiled and slipped them off for you, kissed your hand, and sent you on your way to the dance floor. You were dancing with the baker now, who had learned to make blood-infused bread specifically for the Castle, and mastered new pastry skills for your sweet tooth alone.

“Oh Mother, this feast is hard to resist,” Daniela groaned pathetically by her mother’s side, pushing her raw lamb around on her plate. “I remember a time when all these people would have been appetizers, dinner, dessert, and then some!”

“Calm now, Dani,” Alcina scolded lightly. “You’ve been doing so well. What is it now, four weeks?”

“Almost five,” she pouted. “Can’t I have a cheat day?”

“If you do, Y/N might be cross with you.”

“Not even one of the mean ones?”

Alcina scanned the crowd. Everyone was in good spirits and seemingly well-behaved. There was one guest however, that Alcina didn’t like. He was too much of a flirt and far too cocky for his own good. He had tried to charm you on the way in, much to your dismay and to the amusement and jealousy of Alcina. He was properly drunk, hanging by one of the tables with another glass in hand, and not even trying to hide the fact that he was eyeing a few of the maids passing by with plates and glasses, who seemed most uncomfortable.

“Hmmm,” Alcina thoughtfully blew out a smoke ring. “Maybe that one. But don’t make a scene, Dani. And don’t make it obvious.”

Daniela giggled devilishly and poofed away in a herd of flies.

“Must you encourage her so, Mother?” Bela sighed from her seat at the table. Out of the three, she had been the most strong-willed, coming up with new enticing ways to eat raw meat and blood to keep their appetite up. Daniela, however, always had more of a taste for the hunt than the actual meal at the end, and that was even harder to resist.

“We both know a cranky Daniela is much worse than a satisfied one,” Alcina hummed, sipping her glass of wine.

“Perhaps she just needs a lover,” Cassandra interjected. “That should leave her satisfied enough.”

“And who do you suggest is mad enough to put up with our sister?” Bela scoffed, chucking a piece of veggie at Cassie’s face. She burst into a cloud of flies to avoid the impact, and the meagre carrot rolled around under the table. It was just for decoration anyway.

The Lords each had a seat amongst the Dimitrescus. Donna had Angie perched on her lap, who was tittering away with nonsense and annoyance. The most intriguing guest was a curious masked individual that had come in quietly next to Donna. They appeared genderless, though being clothed in robes of deep, dark blue, and not speaking a word made it hard to decipher what kind of person Donna brought in by her side. Still, Alcina was pleased to see her sister had finally found a partner of some sorts.

Karl had brought another monstrosity of an experiment that was much more behaved than the last one. It resembled something between a large dog and a small horse, and made no noise. You had made sure the half-mechanical creature was well looked after. Freshly oiled, and freshly fed.

Sal, poor, lonely Sal, seemed much more in his spirits than usual. You had convinced him to take ownership of his own life, and find something to do besides pining over Miranda’s affections. With your care and attention, you had discovered how much of a romantic Salvatore Moreau actually was. He needed things to romanticize his life. So, to add onto your list of crazy, silly ideas, you helped him find a skincare routine, gifted him a modified typewriter that he could use with ease, and a pile of water-friendly toys to splash around with.

Alcina had been flabbergasted at the sight of a happy, laughing Sal emerging from his water-filled home. He told them how he had finished another one of his short stories, and the exercise of chasing weights at the bottom of his lake had made him much more content. You had laughed and clapped excitedly for him.

“I don’t know how you do it,” Alcina sighed that evening as you crawled into bed with her. “You have more positive hope in your pinky than I do in my whole body. What on earth possessed you to give Sal a moisturizer?”

“Hey, those waters aren’t the best for your skin you know,” you tutted. “Sometimes a little self-care goes a long way. Turns our a lot of his moping has to do with those sores and humps -- they’re apparently very painful. Aren't you glad he’s not whining for Miranda and begging for someone to love him now?”

Needless to say, they all loved you. And they were all thriving because of you.

That is why no one has told Miranda about you.

Alcina knew Miranda would find out about the party and that she had not been invited. She’d be in for a scolding of a lifetime, probably a bit of torture, but she knew she could handle Miranda on her own. That wouldn’t be the problem. This way, Miranda’s anger would only be pointed at her, and not you. Heaven forbid the priestess ever found out what hold you had over Alcina. You wouldn’t survive a second in her presence. She begged whatever gods or demons existed that Miranda would never find out about you.

Alcina felt another deep sense of dread fill her, and suddenly had the urge to drag your to her side and keep you close. Perhaps the party was too large. Perhaps not this many people should have come. Perhaps--

As if on cue, you appeared by her side. Face shining with a glowing layer of sweat from dancing, you took her cup of wine and took a deep swig -- the taste of blood no longer disgusted you. Alcina felt her worries melt away and smiled happily.

“Hello, darling,” she said softly, leaning down to greet you with a deep kiss. You giggled as she teasingly nipped at your bottom lip. “What happened to your dance with the baker?”

“Oh, he stubbed his toe. He needed to sit out for a second,” you pointed to where the baker was sitting at a table, who was rubbing his feet with a grimace on his face.

Alcina chuckled deeply. “No one can keep up with you, can they?”

“Well, one person can,” you replied. “But she’s refusing to dance with me!” You tugged at the boa and she scooped you up to set you in her lap, back pressed against her chest as you surveyed the masses.

“Darling, I hardly have the grace of a dancer anymore. I would knock over at least five dancers in the process. You don’t want to dance with me.”

“What if they all sat down and it was just us?”

“Then I would mess up out of sheer panic,” Alcina grinned. “What if I stubbed your toes? Crushed them? I wouldn’t forgive myself.”

“Ugh, fine.” You turned your head up to look at her. “But you better make it up to me tonight.”

Alcina gave you a chaste kiss and then trailed her lips down your cheek to your neck, as a strong, possessive hand curled around your middle. “It’s a deal. You may live to regret that statement.”

“I doubt it,” you hummed softly, squirming as warmth filled your body at her lips caressing your skin. “Maybe we should just go to bed now.”

“And leave all the festivities?” She tutted. “Your guests will be disappointed.”

“Don’t act like you haven’t been thinking about it all night. You always do,” you huffed, your hand grasping Alcina’s. “I’ve been thinking about it too, you know.”

Her hand clutched you more tightly, and a low growl came from her throat just behind you. “Don’t tempt me, dear. I might strip you now and take you right here until you pass out. Wouldn’t that be a sight for them all?”

The end of her sentence had dissolved into a low, hungry whisper. Possessive, demanding Alcina was always your favourite. You grinned, lifting her hand from your form and kissing along the knuckles.

“Patience, my love. Before you know it, the night will be over.”

Suddenly, Daniela appeared in front of them, fresh blood dripping from her scythe and mouth, probably from the drunkard that Alcina had pointed out. You were about to scold her for going against her new diet, but her wide, panicked eyes caught both yours and Alcina’s attention first. The night was definitely over now.

“It’s Miranda,” Dani’s shaky voice was unmistakable. “She’s at the door.”

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