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emilykaldwen · 1 month

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The Maiden and the Drowning Boy | Aegon x OC | Chapter Eight

Rating: Explicit Ships: Aegon II Targaryen x Abrogail Strong (Lyonel Strong's Daughter), Jacaerys Velaryon x Helaena Targaryen

Summary: As the kingdom teeters on the edge of chaos, Alicent Hightower swaps the pieces on the board: Aegon will marry Abrogail Strong, Larys’ younger sister and heir to Harrenhal. Caught in the web of intrigue and political machinations, the pair must figure out where their loyalties lie, and what they mean to one another.

Tropes: Childhood Sweethearts/Friends to Lovers, Generational Trauma and Cycles of Abuse, It's All About the Character Development, Unreliable Narrators, Multi-POV, Canon Divergent, Bisexual Aegon II Targaryen, Book/Show Mash Up, Fix-It Of Sorts, Stopping the Cycle of Abuse before it gets us all killed, Team Neutral, fairy tale vibes meets victorian medievalism meets grrm

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SPICY CHAPTER AHEAD (no seriously it's like 5k worth of smut in here)

CHAPTER EIGHT - SOMETHING IN YOUR TOUCH

Don’t tell me to leave, he silently begged. Let me adore you, let me touch you, let me taste and have you, let me know it’s alright. Aemond has a birthday, the girls gossip, and Aegon is a (sexy) creep. And we earn our explicit rating.

It was Aemond’s nameday and the royal gardens were more alive than they’d been in ages. Three of the terraces that spilled from the Queen’s ballroom were filled with courtiers, from young men and women newly arrived to King’s Landing, to the Queen’s ladies and children of the Small Council, to those who were slowly trickling in preceding Aegon’s nameday celebrations. Minstrels were playing beneath the shaded cover of the cloistered walkway, and there were tables laden with cakes and meats, even a marchpane facsimile of Vhagar that had surprised them all when the queen, beaming brighter than Abby had ever seen her, proudly revealed it.

“Happy nameday, my darling,” she’d told Aemond, slim hands on his upper arms, a fond kiss to his cheek. Even now, at seven and ten, he only blushed lightly at the affection of his mother rather than pull away with complaint. So rare was Queen Alicent’s softness that not even a crowd of peers could dissuade Aemond from pulling away for some sort of manly pride that he was too old for a kiss from his mother; he’d sprouted another few inches, now taller than Aegon, who was rather put out by it all.

In spite of the warmth from the midday sun, Abby could feel the promise of autumn on the breeze, a cool caress that tugged at the fire-kissed curls that hung loose down her back, held back by a pair of lapis and amethyst combs. Normally her hair would be worn pulled back in a knot at the crown of her head, but she was acutely aware of the mark below her right ear that she need not draw attention to.

She tilted her head back to feel the sun kiss her cheeks, ignoring the feeling of Aegon’s eyes on her back, of the shiver and prickle that came when one knew they were being watched.

The scent of lemon preceded the whisper of silk and Helaena’s amused voice against her ear. “You’re blushing,” the princess sing-songed, laughing softly as Abby huffed and lightly smacked her hand against her sister’s chest. It did little to deter her, and Helaena rested her chin on Abby’s bare shoulder, tugging a little at the skirt. “I like this dress. He does too.”

“I didn’t wear it for him.” The light silk organza was luxurious, shifting in colors from the softest pink and periwinkle into sage, baring her shoulders with the low neckline edged in embroidered blue flowers centered with pearls. It helped with the heat of the capital and she couldn’t deny that she felt lovely in it. “If he enjoys it, that is simply a bonus.” She bit her lip and chanced a glance over her shoulder.

Aegon stood beneath one of the cypress trees with a goblet held lazily in one ringed hand, his other arm braced against the trunk of the tree. His own eyes were on her, angling around Aemond who stood in his way, teeth pressed into his lower lip. The moment he realized she had caught him watching, he gave a slight start and Abby scrunched her face at him, teasing. His surprise eased into a satisfied smirk, the gold of his dragon stamped buttons on his black jerkin catching the light as did the rings on his fingers. She watched him tap two of them against the goblet he raised and after a shy moment, she gave him a smile and tapped her own fingers against her chin.

“Adorable,” Wylla teased from her other side, the roll of her eyes evident in her voice. Abby squeaked in surprise, the elder girl having seemingly appeared to seize the opportunity for teasing. Her cheeks flamed and she looked out towards the low hedge maze below on the next terrace.

“I didn’t wear it for him,” she emphasized, and it was Wylla’s turn to smirk as Helaena hummed her own disbelief. “You’re both ridiculous. Did you race across this whole garden just to say that to me?” Wylla raised her eyebrows in challenge. Abby squinted blue eyes at Helaena’s innocent look. “Are you both conspiring to tease me so?”

“Never,” Helaena said emphatically and Wylla was all innocence in her agreement.

“Of course I wouldn’t vault over a hedgerow at the opportunity to tease you. I’m conspiring to tease the foolish one.” She nodded her head in the direction of the brothers and Abby frowned.

“Foolish one? Which one?”

Wylla scoffed. “The one who cornered me in the hall a week ago asking - nay, demanding that I recount the tale of the Night’s King and the Corpse Queen so he could compare it to some moldy book he was brandishing like a madman.”

“Is he still going on about that?” Abby asked, catching Helaena’s own eye roll.

“I wish you’d warned me that he’s on some obsession about some kind of treatise on,” she pitched her voice lower, an attempt at modulating her voice to sound more like Aemond. “Northern Myths In Relation to the Founding of the Night’s Watch and King Beyond the Wall. Who does he think he is, taking my land and claiming to know more about it?”

“He thinks he’s Aemond Targaryen,” Helaena said dryly. “What more do you want?”

“An explanation on if the audacity comes with the dragon and that book to give him a good crack on his big head.”

Abby hummed. “The audacity absolutely comes with the dragon. Have you met Princess Helaena?”

The princess smiled serenely, her silver hair like spun gold beneath the sunlight and her lavender eyes shining with the kind of dreamy mystery they always held.

“Tis true.” Heleana sighed and pressed her hands against the low wall they were leaning against. “One does not need a cock to prove their might when they ride the oldest dragon. Sorry, second eldest dragon.” Even in her annoyance with her brother, there was amusement in her tone. “I can’t lord that over anyone anymore. Well, I suppose I can still lord it over Aegon, but then he comes back about Vhagar and then Aegon says that Sunfyre is the most beautiful dragon and Vhagar is a hoary old beast and then Aemond tells him to come say that to her face.”

The three of them fell into laughter then and Abby was grateful for the attention to be taken off of her dress and the way she was trying to hide the fact that she enjoyed Aegon gazing at her. It was good to have this. It was good to see Helaena freer than she’d been in some time. It was good to have Wylla by her side, a piece that Abby did not realize she’d been missing in her life. With the companionship that Wylla Karstark provided, it had struck her how isolated they’d been, this clutch of theirs. There'd once been a time when they’d played with more children than just their relatives. She recalled great games in the Kingswood carried out between all the children of the court, not just the Queen and Princess’ children, but those of the Small Council and others who littered the Red Keep and the capital.

That was before Princess Rhaenyra had left for Dragonstone. That was before that awful night on Driftmark.

“How do you like our new Baratheon friends?” Abby asked, hoping to keep the light mood up.

The princess hummed and folded her hands in front of her. “Floris is very sweet. I think would much rather run around like a little fawn than act so demurely.” The fondness in Helaena’s voice was undeniable as she spoke of the little girl. At present, Floris was running in circles around the fountain with one of Lord Beesbury’s granddaughters, her laughter a bright, bell-like sound.

It was not often that the other children of the court got to spend time amidst the royal family. Abby had suggested the opportunity, both for the Baratheons to be introduced to the court, as well as the opportunity for her and Helaena to start vetting ladies for their households, and to perhaps find companions for Aemond that didn’t involve whatever competition he’d decided there was between him and the Fossoway boy.

“Well, someone must have realized we were teasing him,” Wylla’s hushed voice broke in. Abby glanced up to see Aemond making his way over. In that moment Abby realized how grown he had begun to look, no longer the awkward and gangly boy he had been. Apart from his newfound height, the baby fat had started to melt from his cheeks, leaving behind a more stern look, one with the potential to be frighteningly intense. It appeared that others had noticed as well, eyes following his movement as he approached.

“Oh no,” Helaena groaned. “I swear, his hearing is ridiculous.”

“He’s come to tell us more about his Night’s King treatise,” Abby warned with another giggle, bumping her shoulder against Helaena’s who huffed softly. “Perhaps you can counter with a lesson on the molting practices of that type of lizard for Asshai. The one with the ruff around its neck and the spitting.”

“Your Grace!” Wylla’s voice called out as she gathered her dove gray skirts in hand to intercept Aemond. “I neglected to tell you about the Selkies of the Bay of Seals.”

She felt Helaena’s tension beside her ease slightly, her nails scraping against the sandstone wall and gaze drifting towards the glimmer of the bay and the seagulls that drifted through the air. There was a thrum in the girl beside her, the kind of vibration that Abby could feel in the air, as if Helaena’s very being sang with a tension like a tuning fork.

“Should you wish to find Dreamfyre, I shall set another distraction,” Abby murmured softly, letting her pinky finger touch Helaena’s pinky where their hands rested beside one another. Helaena returned the gesture with a shake of her head.

“I’m not some fragile thing,” she whispered, and the drifting quality to her voice made it unclear if Helaena spoke to her or to herself. “I will not give him the satisfaction, nor will I cause Mother concern.”

“You are not some fragile thing. You ride the second oldest dragon in the world.” Abby smiled and bumped her shoulder into Helaena’s and the princess huffed, returning the gesture. “He doesn’t get to demand something you do not wish -”

“Hush.” The hiss of the word had Abby snapping her mouth closed, head ducking down with instinctive apology. It was a tender subject, painful as a bruise for Helaena, and one that seemed to worsen with each passing of the moon. Helaena would not speak of it, but Abby was no fool to see that she did not hold the same desire that her brother did.

Sometimes, when she and Aemond sat together in the library, her feet resting on his boots while they made themselves at home in the comfortable nook below one of the stained glass windows, Abby thought she saw the same hesitance within him. She wished he’d speak his mind to her, as he had on many subjects, just as Helaena would speak hers. But this? This was a subject that neither of them had any desire to speak of and she could not figure out if they felt too beholden to the performance, or if there was something else she didn’t understand.

Floris Baratheon’s loud shrieks of laughter drew Abby’s gaze up from their hands to smile softly down at the way the girl found such joy in her new playmates.

“If you tell your mother that you do not wish for it, she will not force you, just as she did not force you and Aegon to wed. We both know if she had her heart set on you and Aegon marrying, she wouldn’t have broken the betrothal so quickly when Aemond was making his claims.” Even though she had not betrothed Aemond and Helaena, as Aemond had so fervently demanded. It had not escaped her that the queen and Lord Hand had grown increasingly anxious once Princess Rhaenyra had given birth to her fourth son, Prince Daemon’s son, and the past four years had been increasingly stressful with not knowing what would happen next. Aegon was nearing twenty, he should have been married already, if not to Helaena, then to another daughter of a great house. Helaena could have been sent away to secure someplace like the North and Cregan Stark, who had just taken his place as Warden.

Yet here they were, her and Aegon, hand in hand, counting the weeks until their wedding, and no news yet of Helaena’s potential betrothals and only a few lords out there of an age with her worthy of the hand of a princess of the realm. It was not uncommon for maids to marry young. Queen Alicent herself had been five and ten when she’d wedded the king, the man old enough to be her father. Abby’s own stomach curdled at the idea of Larys marrying her to an old lord looking for his third wife in a young and untouched maiden.

“Rivers drenched in flame,” Helaena murmured, fingernails biting into the back of Abby’s hand and the touch of pain pulled a gasp from her. “Sorry.” Helaena snatched her own hand back quickly and blinked. “I told grandfather that I’d die if he married me to Aegon. Aemond shouldn’t get all the credit for it.”

Abby was silent, watching Helaena from the corner of her eye as the princess scraped her fingertips along the sandstone. Her mind, however, whirled with the revelation that Helaena had never even hinted at before, and Abby briefly glanced over her shoulder to the gathered party.

Aemond had become suitably distracted, peppering Wylla with questions about selkies, and further beyond, there was Warren Fossoway gathered with some of the other young men around Aegon, whose lilac eyes had focused on the telling of something or another that had the boys falling into raucous laughter. Ladies mingled, from younger than her and Helaena to the women who served the queen and wives who had accompanied their husbands to the capital. Queen Alicent herself was below, on the lower terrace where Floris and Lord Beesbury’s granddaughter were playing about the fountain still, their laughter like delighted garden sprites. Then her eyes were drawn to the group near the arched entrance to the godswood.

The Lady Cassandra, eldest of the Four Storms, as the Baratheon daughters had come to be known, was to put it simply, beautiful. She was only a scant few months older than Helaena, older than expected for the eldest daughter of a Lord Paramount to remain unbetrothed, let alone unwed. Abby recalled the sour look on Lady Myrielle Penrose’s face at the news of the Baratheon arrival - Cassandra had been set to marry her brother before Bennard Penrose was caught with Lord Hayford’s daughter at a tournament in the Stormlands. Now, here the heir of Storm’s End stood, with her hair as black as raven wings, a storm of twisted curls and waves half pulled up in a thickly braided net of gold and pearl. Her features were sharp, giving her a cold sort of beauty that was both ensnaring and intimidating, as if she were Argella Durrandon reborn. She appeared older and more worldly than Abby had expected with her gown of gold satin, the bodice embroidered with black lace and appliques that evoked antlers and gave the illusion of armor.

“Do you think she can push her breasts up any higher out of that gown?” Helaena asked. Abby choked on her swallow of cider, only just managing to cough it back up into her goblet before she sputtered everywhere. She did her best to ignore the eyes on her while dabbing at her mouth with her handkerchief, and resolutely ignored the way Aegon was watching her again. His eyes burned into her, stoking something aching low in her gut.

“I think you should worry less about her bosom and how she shows it off, and more about looking for others who might work as ladies for you.” Abby coughed once more into her handkerchief and cleared her throat. Helaena clucked her tongue.

“Is that because you’re jealous of her ample bosom?” Helaena teased, and Abby prickled with indignation, huffing and running her fingers over the ivy design along the goblet in her hand.

“No, I’m not jealous of her ample bosom. I do not want you to be lonely when I’m gone, Helaena,” Abby defended herself, only half a lie, but there was still truth in the statement. She wanted to reach for Helaena’s hand, but just because Helaena had been physically affectionate did not mean she welcomed it from the outside. “We will make sure your ladies will care for you properly, but you have to give them a chance.”

“You don’t have to baby me, you know,” the princess said, her large lavender eyes narrowed in a vague sense of annoyance. “I’m not helpless.”

A soft exhale. “I don’t think you are, and I wouldn’t leave you if I didn’t have to… and I simply want to make sure that-.” That what? Abby could not lie to herself that she liked to be needed, that she needed to be needed, and she loved Helaena. She was protective of Helaena, and the idea of her being surrounded by people that didn’t understand her, that didn’t know what days she needed loose fitting dresses and quiet, or to wake up in the middle of the night, whispering and giggling with each other when dreams became too much for them both.

“Abby,” Helaena interrupted. “You’re starting to sound like Mother.”

She flushed. Alicent Hightower was a gracious and clement queen. She cared for the small folk, she kept the kingdom running as the king fell deeper into his illness. She took responsibility for her after the death of her father when she didn’t have to. Alicent was the closest thing she had to a mother anymore. But she was not kind. She was not soft, nor gentle. She fretted and raged, and fear had begun turning her into a taloned woman liable to strike rather than comfort some days. “I take great pride in being your lady. I would prefer to be assured that things continue as normal, or even better.” Helaena made a little huffing sound before softly laughing and Abby shook her head. “The Seven forbid you end up with a host of Lady Penroses.”

“You are right,” Helaena agreed, twisting her fingers together and plucking at the soft sapphire silk of her sleeves. The neckline of the simple gown was heart shaped, the appliques on the bodice mimicking flame. An appropriate call of the Hightower and blood of the dragon that made up the princess. “I do not like change. I do not want to have to get used to it all.”

Abby tentatively rested her hand on the taller girl’s shoulder, her fingertips only just touching the edge of Helaena’s sleeve. “You are an afternoon’s ride away, whenever you desire to escape the confines of your tower. I imagine there are quite a few fascinating specimens at Harrenhal for you to collect.”

Helaena made a thoughtful face, nodding. “This is true. And I can’t imagine anyone would beg to come along for such an adventure. Their loss, always.”

“Floris might.” Now the pair of girls were balancing on the edge of the fountain, carefully reaching their hands out to put beneath the spray of water. “Unless, of course, you suddenly decide that you would rather Lady Cassandra stay.”

It had been two days since the arrival of the Baratheon girls, and while Helaena and Abby both had grown fond of little Floris, Cassandra was a whole other story entirely. The pair turned their gazes towards the other end of the terrace where Cassandra still remained. Helaena shook her head and looped her arm through Abby’s, tugging her along.

“Come, let us go speak with the heavy breasted storm so you can decide if you’re taking her with you, or if we'll send her back to Storm’s End before she suffocates us all.”

Cassandra continued to hold court across the garden and Abby’s eyes darted around for Wylla, for a moment feeling the ache of insecurity at not having the elder girl around. She was still with Aemond, brow furrowed and the pair of them gesturing wildly at whatever disagreement about the selkies had developed into. Abby stifled a laugh.

“Aemond might end up tossed over the wall should he keep that up,” she murmured to Helaena.

“Good, perhaps that would knock some sense into him.” Abby glanced from Aemond’s arrow-straight form to Helaena curiously. Helaena’s silver hair shone gold beneath the sunlight, and her large eyes drifted to remain fixed on the group of women they approached.

“Your Grace,” came Lady Cassandra’s husky voice, unexpected in its roughness and yet perfect for the image she presented. It gave her an enviable air of mystery, of womanly secret that Abby was acutely aware she lacked. The others around her quickly followed suit with demure murmurs and all dropped into smooth, elegant curtsies. It was a picture of perfection in the gentle swish of fabric. Cassandra’s large dark eyes moved over to her, a dark brow arching in curiosity. “I apologize, but I don’t believe we’ve yet met.”

A slight shake of her head, Abby inclined her head in greeting, unsure if she needed to curtsy to the daughter of a lord paramount now. “We haven’t, although I did have the pleasure of meeting your sweet sister, Floris. I am Lady Abrogail, of Harrenhal. Companion to her Grace, the Princess. I am most pleased to make your acquaintance, Lady Cassandra, and I hope for us to become friends.”

Cassandra’s smile was wide and broad, all straight, pearly teeth and sharp cuspids. “I’m sure we will, Lady Abrogail. Harrenhal, you say?” A soft chuckle and a curious cock of her head. “That great, haunted place.”

Ugly place was implied beneath the husky tone. It was one that she had heard enough over the years to recognize immediately and though it continued to sting, she would not let it shake her. “Yes, my elder brother is the current Lord, and I’m quite looking forward to seeing my family upon our return there. The lands are beautiful, and the cherry and plum orchards are renowned for their autumn meads.” She laughed, her eyes drifting across the rest of the young women in the group. “Lady Elinor, is it?” she asked the slight woman to Cassandra’s right, hovering and small. Her mouse brown hair looked as soft as fur, curled delicately around her narrow face. Abby smiled. “I hear that Bronzegate also has some of the best strawberries outside of the Reach. I’ve always wanted to attend one of your harvest festivals. I adore strawberries.”

Lady Elinor’s shy look relaxed and she returned her smile with a beaming one of her own, stepping forward into the circle of ladies. Abby kept her eyes affixed upon her, although she noticed the sharp glint in Lady’s Cassandra’s deep gaze. “Aye, my Lady. If you enjoy strawberries, you should try our strawberry wines. They’re not as heavy as the barrels from the Arbor, if I do say so myself.” The pride in Lady Elinor’s voice eased Abby’s nerves and she relaxed. She would not let the beautiful woman intimidate her, especially if Lady Cassandra was going to be the one to accompany her to Harrenhal.

“We will have to send for some, then, for the Prince’s nameday,” she said, glancing briefly over her shoulder in Aegon’s direction and the bickering between Aemond and poor Wylla who was in fact, looking to hold her own. Let this woman see that while she was perhaps the eye of the storm in her own home, she would not let her push her around, nor any of her ladies, and sweet Floris. All bouncing breasts, and hateful thoughts. What an ugly combination. She would have to tell Helaena later.

“I hear the Prince’s nameday feast will be one for the books,” Lady Cassandra cut in, tossing her curls over her shoulder. “Hunt and a tournament? And the feasts should be grand. I do love a good feast. Do you enjoy dancing, your Grace?”

Helaena did not meet Cassandra’s pointed look, but she rarely met anyone’s eyes head on. “No.”

Abby dug her thumbnail into her palm to keep from laughing. The pair of the Queen’s ladies exchanged glances, for the truth was quite the opposite.

“Well, I’m sure there will still be fun and revelry for all,” Cassandra’s smile was stuck in place and she cleared her throat somewhat. It was clear that she would not do to become a companion to Helaena, and Abby brushed her arm against her dear sister’s. “You know, I heard a rumor that the king plans to declare Prince Aegon his heir, that’s why it’s such a celebration.”

There were soft gasps amongst the ladies. “Oh, do you think so?” Lady Elinor whispered, a hand pressed to her cheek. Cassandra tutted, waving over a servant to refill her goblet with arbor gold.

“He’s unmarried, and the celebration is larger than any thrown since Princess Rhaenyra’s wedding. Isn’t that right, Your Grace?” The lady’s dark eyes shot over to Helaena with wide eyed eagerness and a coy smile slashed across her lovely face. Abby felt a prickle of heat along her throat.

Helaena tilted her head, gazing idly over the rest of the party. “I suppose. Mother finds frivolous celebration unseemly when the treasury could be used to rebuild the poor houses that had fallen into disuse.”

“And with the king’s ill health, it doesn’t seem appropriate to throw such festivities,” Abby added encouragingly, her shoulder brushing against Helaena’s.

“The king’s ill health?” Lady Cassandra said, as if she didn’t know after spending a week in the Red Keep that the king was rarely seen. “Well, all the more reason then to finally declare Prince Aegon heir.” Her gaze drifted before she laughed. “But do not look now, my friends, for the Prince in question has not stopped looking this way.”

Something unpleasant churned in Abby’s stomach and she felt a flush heat along the back of her neck and ears. The Queen’s ladies exchanged another glance before drifting their gazes to Abby, and she was not sure if they meant them as pity or uncertainty as to what they should say. It was obvious what Cassandra had meant - that Aegon was staring at her, of course.

“Pay him no mind,” Abby said airly, goblet tight in her delicate hand. “We don’t. It’s best to not encourage him.” Cassandra laughed louder, and Abby saw the demonstration for what it was. The tilt of her head showing off the fine line of her neck, and the jewels that decorated her. That ridiculous bosom with all the secrets inside making them shake with her laughter.

Was Aegon staring at Cassandra now? She was beautiful, and so polished, even with her callous nature hidden beneath the lady’s mask. Aegon didn’t care about personality, that much Abby knew. He liked pretty things. Pretty mouths and smiles and attention. One didn’t need a personality when they were-

“I’m sorry, I don’t seem to understand what’s so funny. Did I miss the joke?” Helaena’s voice interrupted the path of Abby’s swirling thoughts and the princess said it with such a straight face that Abby knew that it was true. Crowds could be difficult for her some days, and the backhanded nature of ladies always put her on edge, with doublespeak being at least thrice as difficult to maneuver as simple polite evasion and conversation.

Was Aegon staring at the raven haired beauty or was he still looking at her? She wanted to turn her head to look, but wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of her doubt or jealousy. Not that Abby was jealous. She wasn’t. This was simply the insecurity of her new dress, and what her station was now, and where she stood and… and…

Abby brushed her hair away from her neck, where her curls had covered the little bruise that Aegon’s mouth left, her fingers trailing over the spot. Cassandra’s eyes caught the motion, and Abby gave a slight smile. “It will be refreshing to have someone so joyful with us at court. The days can get quite boring and monotonous.”

Cassandra hummed. “Truly? You seem like the kind of lady that has no problem occupying her time.” Her hand dropped awkwardly from her neck and Abby felt the heat creep along her throat and up her cheeks. The other girl smiled, the flash of those sharp cuspids again. “You know the sort.”

The servants' passage, one Aegon had taken to perusing on nights when sleep eluded him, snaked through nearly every inch of the castle. He had his half filled goblet in hand, the warmth of the plum cider that Abby favored coursing through his veins. His dagger was in his boot, his shirt loose and light along his skin and breeches half unlaced.

His footsteps were quiet, the murmurs from the rooms behind a soft lull. He stopped at the crosspath to pet Theraxis, the cat stalking for prey in these night hours before returning to his mistress’ room.

“You stay out. Don’t want to be interrupted,” he told him softly. The great furry thing rubbed against his calf before vanishing into the darkness, as if it took his words to heart.

It was the whimper Aegon heard first and it wrenched an agonized sigh from him as he came upon his intended goal. He leaned forward against the wall, eyes to the little peep holes that Maegor had commissioned throughout the Red Keep, and he threw back the remains of his drink before setting it on the little ledge where the one from the day before sat.

Abby was alone in her room, tucked there in her bed, safe and sound. The fire was a low glow, and it turned her creamy skin warm and golden. Her hair was like dragonfire, bloody red and gold against her white sheets. The back of her hand was pressed against her mouth and her knees were drawn up. The softness of her nightgown was bunched along the tops of her thighs - sweet things, spread as they were.

Another moan escaped her, and he bit his lip as he palmed his quickly hardening cock. Aegon had dreamt of her before. He’d pictured her heart shaped mouth rounded out in cries of pleasure, the sound of his name tumbling out of her with her frantic gasping, twisting memory to suit his fantasies of his Maiden. In spite of what he lamented over wine and whores to his brothers, about his fears to touch her, his fears to corrupt her, his self-control was slipping with each smile and each flirtation she sent his way.

He had no way to see the sweetness between those thighs, not from this angle. The ugly thought of someone spying on her tore at his gut, and it was the only reason he was relieved that he could not see. But fuck him, he could hear the wet slick. Maybe it was his imagination; it probably was, but it didn’t matter as he watched her dainty little hand palm down the curve of her belly and vanish between her spread legs.

His cock bobbed painfully as he fisted it, precum dripping over his knuckles while he stroked.

What are you wishing I’d do to you? He wondered with the confidence that came from knowing it was his touch she surely must be fantasizing about. He never missed her casual affection, and the teasing she’d done, stepping right to him in the market fair the previous day. It was him that she desired. And that was after all the adorable kisses she initiated; the first time she’d dragged him behind the tapestry outside of his mother’s room and tried to suppress the giggles that bubbled out of her, the way she cupped his face and pressed the sweetest, clumsiest, most eager of kisses across his face and his mouth.

Yet, she’d thought him disinterested. Even in his lamentations that she deserved better, someone wholly not him, the very thought that she could be taken from him was not something he could bear. Not something he could stand. But, gods, her squared shoulders and her firm speech about how she wouldn’t put up with his attitude, the way her blue eyes brightened like the afternoon sky, had gotten his blood running. So rare was it that Abrogail Strong was ever so firm and he desired to see more of it, desperate to draw it out of her.

Would she be that way writhing beneath him, demanding to ride him the way they rode Sunfyre? Or would she be desperate and wanting, begging and mewling as he pressed those damnable, adorable grasping hands into the sheets while she squirmed.

It was obscene, this tableau, soft, safe and innocent in her bed. It should be the most sacred and tender of images. Yet the sight before him, her thighs spread and trembling, her head tossing restlessly against the pillow, was just as sacred, just as tender, as her usual air of innocence. Abby’s hips rolled up against her stuttering touch. Aegon squeezed the base of his cock, trying to hold off his peak so he could enjoy this as long as possible. He wanted to see her face. He wanted to see if her brow furrowed how it did when she was reading. He wanted to see if her mouth rounded in surprise as it did when they flew together.

As if his precious Maiden had heard him, she turned towards him… and then kept turning until she was on her knees, pert ass in the air and her face pressed into her pillow.

Seven hells, he was going to explode. He watched Abby shove her nightgown into her mouth to muffle those desperate sounds that were growing louder. The nightgown had fallen down from the angle, the round of her ass shoved into the air, rocking desperately against her hand. The firelight caught at the tears on her soft cheeks and he licked his lips, swearing he could taste the salt of them. He couldn’t see the delectable apple shapes of her breasts, the only thing left hidden by the bunched up fabric caught around her arms.

“Fuck,” he muttered, louder than he would have liked, but it didn’t appear that she’d heard. She continued to whimper and grind against her hand. As his seed slipped slick over his hand, dripping to the stone floor - and there was a strange feeling of waste at the way it splattered across the stones - he realized that she wasn’t able to come from her own inexperienced touch.

Oh, his poor little rabbit.

He watched her writhe in the low firelight, fitful and sobbing in her bed as she stroked frantically at herself. Aegon’s eyes slid to the left, where the crack of the passage door was just visible.

He really shouldn’t.

He really, really shouldn’t.

He tucked himself back into his breeches and ran his hand along the crack before he located the latch. The stone moved easily, silently, and the sounds within the room suddenly cleared as he stood in the doorway, watching her barely half a room away. From this vantage, he could see the shadow between her pretty thighs, and even if he just came, his cock was twitching once more.

Aegon was relieved that his footsteps made no sound as he approached the bed, and it took every ounce of his willpower not to groan when he saw the slickness of her cunt and the shimmer of arousal running down her thighs. His mouth was watering, and he could feel himself drool at the decadence laid out there, belonging to him. Aegon finally got his legs to move, the firelight catching the cum that still streaked along the back of his hand, but he didn’t care. The bed dipped as he set a knee on the edge and he watched her large eyes shoot open, the nightgown slipping from her mouth.

“Aeg?” she choked out while he ran his fingers soothingly from the base of her spine. He felt her shudder and wriggle in her surprise, and it truly hadn’t occurred to Aegon that this might have gone far worse, that she might have shouted and screamed at the intrusion, that the guards might have found him here, or worse, his mother. He was too focused on the heat of her body against his with only his linen shirt separating them. Aegon marveled at the little freckles and moles that dotted along her back like droplets of ink against her flushed skin. On his knees beside her, Aegon draped himself over her so his arms bracketed her trembling body on the cusp of her peak.

“Shhhh, I’ve got you,” he promised. Aegon dipped his head down and was able to kiss the corner of her trembling mouth and moved to trace his lips and tongue over her cheek to capture at the salty lines of her frustrated tears. His right hand stroked along her arm and he groaned low against her soft skin when he felt the slippery wetness along the back of her wrist. “I’ve got you.”

Abby gasped and trembled and whatever protest she might have had gave way to a low whine at the feel of his touch. Aegon soothed her, kissing her cheek, the corner of her eye, nuzzling his nose into the softness of her hair. The scent of her bergamot oil clung to the damp curls at her temples and twisted a needy sort of pull low in his gut. He was desperate to dive his fingers the last few inches to join hers into the soaked treasure of her cunt, but instead he continued to stroke his fingers up and down her arm. The awareness that her breasts were free and ripe and waiting for him pulled a low groan that he unsuccessfully tried to muffle into her curls. “Come here, hunītsos,” he crooned, and pressed his palm against her quivering belly to hold her against him. Slowly, Aegon rolled them to the left, so he was on his side, her head resting on his arm and cradled in the curve of his body.

Aegon took the moment to meet her gaze fully and admire the way she looked in the firelight. Her eyes were wide and the ocean blue of them was a vivid rim around the black pupil that reflected the light. Her dark lashes fluttered and her mouth was swollen red and bitten near bloody from how she’d tried to keep her sounds in. He could see the scarlet smudged on the bit of her nightgown that she’d shoved into her mouth. Cradled as she was against him, Aegon drew the arm that supported her head around to slip beneath the edge of her rucked up nightgown and graze his fingers along the soft warmth of her breast, just there on the underside, and a slow smirk cut across his face at the way she jerked against him. Aegon glanced down and saw her pretty little toes curl into the bed.

“Good girl, ñuha hunītsos. Whatever is the matter?” He asked, his voice low, crooning softly to her like the skittish little rabbit he had named her. Abby whined and her feet pressed against his shins, tangling their legs, and the smile across his face grew. “Use your words,” he murmured against her temple. “Tell me what it is that has you so distraught?” His voice was low and soft, slow and soothing, and he relished in the way his words made her squirm against him. He felt a stirring in himself and instinctively his hips pressed against the bare curve of her ass, his palm hot and fingers spread across her soft belly. Aegon pressed her closer and his own eyes went half lidded as Abby’s fluttered.

“Please,” she whispered in a breathless tremble. Her pink tongue darted out to lick along her bitten mouth and he leaned down to brush his own against hers. He couldn’t help himself. There was no hesitation to slide his tongue along hers the moment their mouths met. The way her own was languid and needy all at once, the way he swallowed her exhales and she his. She tasted of plum cider and berry tarts from supper, the merest hint of copper from the blood on her ripe lips. “Please,” she said when they broke apart, and the hand that was not still between her thighs came up to cup his cheek.

Aegon did not flinch at the contact. No, there was never a reason to flinch at her hands touching his face. Instead, he nuzzled into the cool touch of her palm and nosed at the curve of it, desiring to taste her fingers, to nibble and drag his teeth along her wrist where her heartbeat lay.

“Tell me what you wish for, Abrogail,” he told her, his eyes fixed on hers, the gentle cadence of her full name on his tongue as familiar to him as his own. The logs in the fire popped and he watched her throat bob as she swallowed. Don’t tell me to leave, he silently begged. Let me adore you, let me touch you, let me taste and have you, let me know it’s alright.

“Please.” A third time. Songs said wishes needed to be said three times. “Let me be the only one you touch this way. Aegon? If you want to have me, let it only be me.”

I’ve never asked for anything from you, Aegon.

Aegon’s heart thudded as loud as a war drum, so loud he swore that it was echoing in the room. His eyes searched her face and she was guileless, as always, soft and pliant against him and he could see the way her own heavy lidded gaze searched his. A soft exhale escaped him when she pressed against him of her own volition this time, the fabric of his breeches all that separated his hardening cock from the curve of her ass.

I loved a maid as fair as autumn, with sunset in her hair. His Maiden, shivering from arousal, for a peak not yet reached, begging for him and begging to be his only. His Abby never asked for anything, and yet she asked for this. This one thing that people like them should never expect, never want.

“Should I be faithful to you,” he murmured with his mouth pressed against the soft pad of flesh at the base of her thumb, “my darling hunītsos, I can have you however I desire?” He had a thousand fantasies of how he’d take her. In her bed, in his, on the back of Sunfyre, in the solar, in the stables, the stairwell… and yet this moment gave birth to a thousand more and he was breathless with it.

His sharp teeth nipped at her palm and Abby jerked, the softest and most surprised giggle escaping her. Aegon couldn’t help but smile at the innocently playful sound and he pressed a kiss to her lifeline.

“Yes, you may,” she whispered. “Mo realta geal.” Aegon blinked in surprise at the foreign words, and it took him longer than he’d admit to realize she’d spoken the Riverlands tongue he hadn’t heard from her in years. Abby’s voice was such a blend of the lilt of her home and the accent of the Keep that he’d long stopped registering it, but the words that flowed from her, musical and light, brought it rushing back.

“What does that mean?” he asked, and she giggled softly, teeth scraping against her lower lip. “You’re not going to tell me?” Abby shook her head, a soft sound in the negative, and squealed when he snapped his teeth against her hand with a low growl. Aegon watched in fascination as the bite and growl had Abby’s answering squeals taper off into strangled moans, and he felt her body shudder and press tightly back, wriggling and shivering. The tugging low in his gut went straight to his cock and his fingers pressed against her belly to hold her in place while he rubbed himself against her backside.

Abby shivered and he felt her toes curl again against his calves. “A-aeg… please.” A strangled whimper, her eyes fluttering and face flushing a deeper shade of red that matched her hair.

“Please?” he asked, his fingers resuming the lazy touch along the petal soft underside of her breast, and his other hand stroked down her stomach to the soft skin above the thatch of red curls. Louder, Abby cried, and he leaned down to capture it before it could get too away from her. Her sounds belonged to him and him alone, and he wanted to taste them and see if they were as sweet as her penchant for all sweet things. “Touch you here?” He wasn’t really asking at all. Aegon stroked the back of his fingertips over her damp curls where her own fingers rested and shifted his mouth to drag his tongue along the bead of sweat coursing down her throat and took a taste of her pulse.

Her answering moan was all that he needed to finally join her fingers. He relished the way her body went taut and her back bowed, how violently she shook with the first experimental stroke of his middle finger skating feather soft over that bundle of nerves she’d been struggling with. His calloused fingers squeezed her breast soft in his palm, thumb swiping over the pebbled peak. Aegon swore he could see the way her blush bloomed like spring across her belly when he looked down to their hands, begging for him to drag his tongue across the clenching curve and the beads of sweat that gathered.

Aegon’s middle finger caressed further down, gliding through her slick folds and over her fluttering entrance to find a soft ridge of skin. Her maidenhead was still intact. The sound that escaped him was something he’d never felt before; the growl he made felt like it belonged to Sunfyre more than he.

His. That fragile bit of skin, that most intimate part of her that belonged to him. He imagined the little streak of crimson smeared on his cock while she writhed beneath and he throbbed painfully in anticipation.

Not tonight. He wanted to take care of her tonight. For now, he focused on his touch. The sound was just as wet and obscene as he’d imagined, the touch of her cunt wet and soft. “Are you going to help me, hunītsos? Tell me what you like.”

Abby whimpered and her hips rolled into his hand through clear instinct and she turned her face into his cheek. He hushed her softly, but not truly meaning it, for he wanted to hear every sound that escaped her so he could learn how to pluck her properly. “Or do you not know what you like, hm?” He kissed her nose and the curve of her cupid’s bow with soft, innocent pecks. “Is that why I didn’t see you peak?”

“I can’t… it’s too much,” she choked out, and her slick fingers gripped the wrist of his exploring hand. He could feel how the skin had wrinkled from how long she’d been working herself. He crooned wordlessly to her and licked along her quivering mouth, twisting his own hand to take hers and twine their fingers together, the back of her hand pressed into his palm.

Poor little thing. She could not have much of an idea of what she was doing if she had not been able to make herself come.There was the warm swell of pride in his chest that she’d never know pleasure that wasn’t by his hands and his mouth, and eventually his cock. That he’d get to do this for her, to treasure her this way, to make her feel the way no one else could ever hope.

Aegon hummed against her mouth briefly before lifting his head and taking a look at the way she was laid out before him. Her thin nightgown was gathered up beneath her arms and useless in covering any part of her and his own heated skin felt like too much. He still had his boots, and the weight of the dagger inside was still there.

Regretfully, Aegon pulled his hand away and the frantic whine that escaped her made him grin and nip at her nose.

“Come back,” she pouted, so very unlike her, and reached for him. The possessive feeling inside of his chest, that tender place where Sunfyre curled inside of him, flared hot and warm at her need for him - him and no one else.

“I’m not going anywhere,” he promised, stroking his wet finger along her lip before he pulled away further so he could sit up. Her head lay on the mattress, the golden red halo of hair that escaped her braid wild around her face and she gazed up at him. Abby was a vision. He could see her shaking from how strong her arousal was, the spray of goosebumps along her skin, how achingly taut her pretty pink nipples were. Her hands reached for his shirt and he grinned, lifting his arms to reach back and pull his shirt over his head and tossed it to some other place that didn’t matter.

Immediately, her hands pressed against his belly. He’d regained some of his muscle since Cole had been putting him through his paces, and the lack of inordinate amounts of wine had ebbed away some of his softness. He groaned low at the feel of her slick fingers leaving streaks over his stomach and watched, mesmerized, as her hand moved down to tentatively stroke over the thick erection barely contained by his half laced breeches.

Aegon sucked in a long breath and reached out to stroke her hair back from her face while she touched him, his eyes trying to shut. But he kept his gaze focused on her face. Trembling, yes. Inexperienced, definitely. But instead of demure and fragile, hiding herself from him, his Maiden had propped herself up on an elbow and her soft face scrunched up in unrestrained curiosity. Pearly teeth bit at her lower lip and her eyes rolled up to meet his.

“Beautiful,” he murmured, cupping her cheek. In answer, his preening Abby leaned forward to press a kiss against his stomach. Aegon thought the Stranger would take him there. Thoughts of gently encouraging her to take him out and wrap her delicate fingers around him flooded his mind. How he’d tenderly guide her on how to please him, how to take him so he could rest his cock on the soft pillow of her tongue, how he’d watch her eyes as he disappeared inside her succulent mouth.

Fuck, he thought. I’ll come right now. Aegon felt like a new boy again, peaking in his breeches at the sight of a pair of tits and fluttering eyes.

The heated thrum of his blood had him thinking of taking the dagger from his boot to slice away her useless nightgown and he was going through the last threads of his restraint not to. She could keep that last beacon of her modesty, even when she was bare and open to him. Instead, Aegon moved to remove his boots and dropped them to the floor, the dagger finding a place on the side table. He nudged her aside so he could push her pillows up and then took his place reclining back against the headboard.

“Come here, ñuha hunītsos,” he commanded her. The gown fell back down when she moved over to him and uncertainty had pushed away the curiosity that lightened her features just a moment before. Her nerves were coming up and Aegon reached for her, grazing his fingers along her arms. “Only you, Abs, I promise.” Only her. He’d only touch her this way. She eased into his open arms. She was so pliable even while she trembled, exactly like a little rabbit, and it made him hungry. Gods above, he was a man starving. Before he could think better of it, Aegon reached up to the neckline of her gown and tore it in one swift, sharp motion. The sound of it giving way was as loud as the crackling fire and Abby’s beautiful eyes rounded, mouth falling open in shock and she squeaked.

“Aegon!” High pitched and barely a whisper, Abby was caught between giggling and scolding him, clutching at the torn edges of her nightgown. She was so deeply pink, she could be one of the blossoms in the garden. I want to write songs to the way you look right now. “What are you-”

He cupped her face and greedily drank from her mouth again, eager to hear and taste and feel more of those sounds from her. Eager to alleviate her nerves and to draw her back into the heavy lidded decadence she had just been in. He wouldn’t apologize for it either. Seven, he’d keep the ripped garment as a trophy, kept under his pillow to comfort him when he had only his hands for company. To pass away the endless days before she’d be in his bed every night.

Aegon drew her back in and she came into his arms, and something broke in the cage of his ribs to have her curled up against him, her breasts pressed up against his chest, every inch of her curved into his spaces, as if he were Galladon of Morne and she truly was the Maiden herself come down to love him. He’d been with women, too many to count and too much of a drunken haze to remember much, but here and now, it was seared into his memory with the boldest of color and sound and taste. To have her curled against him like this, whining and whimpering his name like a prayer made him drunker than his favored arbor red.

A final, tender kiss, and Aegon regretfully pulled away from the sweetness of her mouth to gently turn her so she was sitting in his lap. The gown had been lost and she was naked in his arms when he coaxed her to lean back. Her pert ass fit against his nearly painful erection, and her head rested back on his shoulder. “Relax,” he told her while he watched the way his splayed fingers encompassed her thighs and coaxed them apart to hook on either side of his slightly bent legs. He did not want to have her closing them during this. Aegon wanted her open for him.

“Fuck,” he muttered for the countless time against her shoulder and laved his tongue along the salty taste of her skin before pressing reassuring kisses against the trail. Abby squirmed, her hands coming up to cover herself and he let her have it for the moment. There was no harm in it, and it brought him such joy to see the way her delicate fingers spanned the soft weight of her breasts. “You’re so beautiful. Such a good girl.”

Abby gulped for air and nodded. “I try so hard.” He smiled against the curve of her shoulder and watched his fingers stroke along the damp, sensitive skin of her thighs.

“I know you do. You try so hard at everything. Let me do this for you, Abby. But you have to promise me something.”

“A-anything. Anything, Aegon.” So trusting. So fucking trusting and he swore he would be worthy of this unyielding faith she had in him.

“You told me you never asked me for anything-” She made a sound and moved to turn, but he bit down into the softness of her shoulder and instead she cried out in shock, in pleasure, maybe a light bit of pain. In the carriage, she has made the softest of moans when he’d tugged her hair, and the way her skin flushed when he cupped the fragile curve of her neck had heated his blood and made him curious what hidden desires he might coax from his hunītsos. His wanton little rabbit who desired him with such bright eyed eagerness, without fear or hesitation. Aegon soothed the bite with a kiss before continuing. “But I want you to ask me for more, to tell me when something feels good. I only desire your pleasure. Let me do this for you.”

Abby met his eyes then, and he could barely make out the beautiful blue in how blown her pupils were. Her pink tongue darted out to lick her lips.

“Yes,” she whispered and it sounded like a prayer, it sounded like relief as she sagged into his body, and when Aegon pressed his middle and ring finger against her mouth, she opened up and greedily sucked them down with the lingering taste of her clinging to his skin. His other arm held her close to him and he dragged his fingertips slowly up and down the center of her body, from between her pert breasts down her along the clenching muscles of her belly. The sound of her mouth went straight to his cock and Aegon carefully shifted against her ass to keep his own peak at bay. Slowly, he drew his fingers away and he didn’t hesitate to finally drag them once more between her folds. The sight of watching his hand there, against her curls twisted something deep inside of him that had his head spinning.

Abby was soaking. He could already feel the dampness running onto the front of his breeches and he let out a low, long moan of his own. “You sound like the heavens,” he told her with his mouth against the shell of her ear, tongue licking against the soft skin. Aegon took his time simply relishing in the way she felt, exploring the shape of her before he mercifully began to stroke his fingers against the bundle of nerves she struggled so much with. Abby let out a strangled cry and her body arched, but he held her tight, the same way he did when she tried to move too much on Sunfyre; to hold her close against him so the feel of her could sear into his skin, so she could feel the pounding of his heart in tune with hers.

“More,” she whispered in a strangled voice, and the curl of his grin was a feral thing against the shell of her ear. Her hips rolled into his touch even with the way he held her steady and the whine she made was a heady thing. “Too much,” she said almost immediately after the words spilled. He laughed and continued the steady rhythm of circling that precious spot.

“More and too much,” he teased, and Abby tried to arch again when he tapped gently, the sound of it soft and slick. Her toes spread out as her heels pressed frantically into the bed and he could feel the way she shook beneath his touch. Vibrating and threatening to fall. “You must have worked your poor little cunt for so very long to be this close already.” Aegon’s cock was aching. He felt like his balls would burst and if he couldn’t bury himself inside of her. He wanted to decorate her with his spend and trace it across her fire-touched skin.

Aegon kept the pace, fingers steadily increasing the pressure on that aching clit of hers. Slowly, his hand rose from where he pressed it against her belly to cup the breast he’d teased before. He barely had the time to relish the weight of it before the swipe of his fingers against that tightly pebbled nipple sent her falling over the edge, a cry so loud he had to quickly clap his hand over her gaping mouth so as not to alert her brother in the next room. It did little to stop her. If anything, Abby whined louder, shuddering against his body, her hips rolling up into his hand in a clear seeking motion. It was enchanting, a heady thing more intoxicating than the finest red wine, or her sweet ciders that he favored lately.

“Lykirī,” he commanded her and in response, Abby’s teeth caught on his fingers and nipped sharply. An amused laugh vibrated through him and puffed against her curls and Aegon slapped her cunt, his own teeth catching along the smooth column of her neck. Fingers now two knuckles deep in her warm mouth, he had to hook his leg around one of hers to keep her from squirming away. “I won’t leave you without seeing how you take me,” he promised. Warned, truly, while he pressed warm, wet kisses along the curve of her shoulder. He was pulsing against the curve of her ass, unable to help the roll of his hips up to try ease the ache.

Aegon’s middle finger traced her still fluttering entrance and gently, carefully, oh so tenderly, he pressed the blunt tip of his finger in. Her first peak would make it easier, but he was barely to the second knuckle before he bit down on the curve of her shoulder and let out a low groan.

Abby was a vice, tight and warm, and all he could think was ‘how the fuck am I going to fit?’

He needed to stop for his own self, for her to get used to the intrusion. Aegon was left gasping against her skin and trying to tell himself he couldn’t sink in all the way, that he couldn’t add a second digit and feel her stretch and whine. He didn’t want to hurt her. No, Aegon wanted to show her the pleasure she would find with him, in his arms, in their marriage bed. Abby choked around his fingers, pulling them from her mouth with a gasp, strings of spit connecting his hand to her swollen lips.

“Feels… feels… good.. You’re so good… to me…” she panted, and something warm and bright bloomed within his chest at her praise. Aegon’s finger pressed deeper and she rolled her hips up and he felt her arm squirm awkwardly between them, but he was too distracted by the warm vice of her body until he felt her soft hand over the hardness of him. He gasped and his own fragile whimper tore from him. Unbidden and instinctive, he rubbed his mouth against her shoulder and felt his vision going hazy and spotty. Aegon’s hips rolled up into her hand, wanting to bare himself to her and let her play and explore, but he realized that just as he had snared her into him, she had done the same. “For me?” she asked, and Aegon thought he was going to die. Another whimper, a choked gasp of laughter as he slowly sunk in as far as he could.

“Always,” he promised her. Her fingers squirmed and when she moved her body to give herself more room, it forced herself to ride his finger, which in turn made her tremble and shake. Abby’s petite grasp was scrambling against the half undone laces and Aegon’s hand moved with her body to help her work her hips against him. Her arousal was dripping onto his hand, the wet sound of their joining nearly better than the little grunts and shaky mewls she made. He tried to hush her and Abby lifted his hand to suck down his fingers again to muffle her sounds.

He was going to die. Aegon was going to die in this bed, his Maiden shimmering and shining from pleasure, the last thing he’d taste and touch and see. When her fingers managed to slip inside of his half-laced breeches, cool hands against his warm flesh, he was so utterly lost. Aegon groaned, her name a mantra as he bit down into the curve of her shoulder, his finger moving more frantically inside of her, curling up to find that spot that would make her shake. He hadn’t peaked in his breeches since he was a lad, and there he was, rutting up against her hand.

It was only through his own experience that he kept going until she followed him back over the edge, crying against the gag of his fingers and little rush of damp slipping across his palm while he worked her down. The feel of her squeezing his finger, and her own hand on him, had his mind spiraling, and it was taking everything in him not to shift her body over his and thrust his cock deep into her.

Aegon lost time after that. His head had gone fuzzy and hazy and when his senses had come back, his arms were wrapped around her. Abby had turned against him enough that she could press her face into his neck, and with heavy lidded eyes, Aegon watched her look at the way her own hand glistened with him.

Tentatively, Abby lifted her hand to her mouth and the tip of her tongue darted out to lick him from her finger.

He had died. Aegon Targaryen had died bringing his betrothed her first peaks, and came with just a touch of her hand like a kitling. Now he was in the afterlife, watching her savor the taste of him, smelling like bergamot and sugar, of sunshine and musk.

“You’re…” Aegon’s words trailed off and he nosed against her, licking his way into her mouth and tasting himself on her tongue. He had no words for what he felt. Her hands reached into his hair to tug and bury those messy fingers and Aegon didn’t care. His own hand, covered in her, stroked along her hip and hauled her closer to him, her breasts crushed against his chest, nipples dragging against his skin. Blindly, he reached for his discarded shirt and when they broke away, Aegon shifted them so he could slide his shirt over her head and do up the laces.

Abby was heavy limbed and flushed, the ocean blue of her eyes glittering beneath her drooping eyelids. She was a mess, and so was he, and had this been any other time, he’d order them a bath and fresh sheets. He’d cuddle her in the steaming heat of the water and see how quickly he could make her shatter, and guide her in the desperate dance she clearly was eager for.

For now, it was a secret thing. Something sacred, maybe holy.

Aegon knew nothing except that Abby was yawning and burrowing into his chest and he could do nothing but stroke her sweaty curls from her cheeks and press kisses against her freckles. The night was long ahead of them. There would be enough time to leave.

Not even his mother could tear him from her arms right now.

[Chapter Nine]

#fic: the maiden and the drowning boy #aegon ii targaryen #aegon ii targaryen fic #aegon ii targaryen fanfic #aegon targaryen #aegon x oc #aegon ii targaryen x oc #hotd #hotd fic #hotd fanfic #house strong #aegon x abby

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oddduckthatgirl · 8 months

Text

The Eyes of the Dragon

Summary: the Prince arrives at Casterly Rock

Pairing: Deamon Targaryen x Lannister!oc

A/N: This is the third installment in my AU story. You can read Chapter 1 and Chapter 2 here. I appreciate all that likes, reblogs and comments. Thank you for reading and interacting!

Jaylon had not slept well. She tossed and turned most of the evening. She watched as the early morning sun bathed her chambers in light. Anxious energy coursed through her veins and she knew the only remedy. She dressed in her riding attire and decided to stay hidden until closer to midday once her obligation this morning had ended.

She broke her fast with her father, step-mother and Jasline. They all gave her a look upon seeing her attire but nothing was said. Jaylon sat in silence while her family discussed the events of the coming day. She tried to not pay more attention than needed to. Her brothers with their wives would be arriving sometime after midday. She knew to be expected at dinner but other than that she had resigned herself to be on her own.

Once the morning meal was finished, she walked back to her chambers and into seclusion. She felt a hand hook her arm. Jasline laughed at her jolt of surprise, “oh now dear sister. Certainly you do not plan on riding all day.”

“No. I’m going to hide in my chamber until near midday and then I shall go for a ride. All the while you will dazzle the Prince with your beauty and charm. By dinner, his Highness will have found his perfect match.”

“Yes, after I tell him all about you he will.”

“Jasline,” choosing her next words carefully, “I see you are committed to this but please don’t squander your chance or perhaps undermine everything for the idea of love.”

“Love is the greatest gift we have. I would risk everything for Thomas.”

She wanted to tell her to not be juvenile. Instead she remained silent.

“You need not worry. I can be extremely persuasive.”

“I am well aware of your ability to sway the opinion of almost anyone. I fear that if his opinion is swayed, I will be blamed by Father for undermining his idea. That somehow I convinced you to do this for me and he will never forgive me.”

Jasline hugs her tightly, “I will shoulder the blame. Even if he wishes to blame you, I will ensure he will not and cannot.”

The sisters stand in each other's embrace for a few moments of silence. Jasline felt Jaylon slump against her. She believed her sister to be the strongest person in the Seven Kingdoms. However she also knew that she was the safest place for Jaylon to be let her guard down. She also knew to not mention the feeling of wetness now present on her shoulder.

“All will be well,” she whispered while rubbing circles on Jaylon’s back, “I’m sure he is a wonderful man despite the rumors. He is clearly fiercely loyal to his family. He will be loyal to you. Do not be afraid, sister.”

Jaylon nods and stands away from her sister. She wipes her tears, “I will endeavor to not be.”

Their quiet was interrupted by a thundering sound overhead. They looked to the sky to see the shadow of a dragon.

Jasline smiles, “I should be going. I will see you at dinner then?”

Jaylon nods and disappears into her chambers. Jasline begins her walk back to the courtyard. She went over everything she wanted to say. She knew how important it was to present Jaylon as an attraction other than herself. She felt a sense of calm come over her and she knew to her very core this was the right course of action.

What she couldn’t prepare herself for was the actual sight of him. She was formally introduced by her father and she gave her best curtsey. As her eyes met his, it nearly stole her breath. Targaryens are known for their appearances and Jasline now understands why. The silver hair was an obvious sign but his eyes, violet. She had never seen anything like it. For a moment, she had forgotten how to speak.

“Lady Jasline, a pleasure,” inclining his head as he spoke.

“The pleasure is entirely ours, Your Highness. You honor our house with this visit.”

There were more pleasantries exchanged and her father conducted a small tour of the grounds. Daemon seemed to at least feign interest in the words your father was speaking. No matter how fine Casterly Rock is, it is not the scale of the Red Keep or even Dragonstone. He is at least polite enough to carry on conversation with only the occasional glance to Jasline.

She did her best to keep herself calm, knowing soon she would be relatively alone with the Prince. Her father would chaperone them but keep his distance. She hoped he would catch on to what she was hinting at. She was taken out of her reverie by being asked to show His Highness the gardens.

“Shall we then,” smiling softly as she speaks.

He motions for her to lead the way. Her father trails behind. She gives information to the Prince about the flowers growing or about the path to walk. He listened to her politely. When she reached a point that she was sure her father had stopped listening, she lowered her voice, “I’m sure that you could care less about these gardens.”

“Am I so transparent,” mirth lighting his violet eyes.

“I would like to say I am glad I have been given the opportunity to meet you. I would be remiss, however, if I didn’t apologize for my younger sister Jaylon not being there to greet you.”

“She had duties to attend to, or so I’m told.”

Jasline sighs, “I’m afraid she has this habit of not conforming to formality. So it was advantageous for her to not be present.”

He smiles, “She sounds delightful.”

“She is delightful and beautiful, if I must say. Her hair is lighter than mine and her eyes are a shade of blue and gray. She’s quite well read and speaks seven languages. She is also more adept at High Valyrian than I.”

“Lady Jasline, if I didn't know better I would say you were trying to turn my attention.”

“Am I so transparent,” she returns his words.

“Very well then. Shall we be more honest with each other?”

“As you wish my Prince.”

He stops to appear to admire some plant, “I know that you have been exchanging letters with a Baratheon. A great deal of them.”

“Thomas, your Highness. I love him.”

“Then, why would your father agree to this at all?”

“Thomas is a second son and fifth born. I am an eldest daughter. Father believes him to not be worthy of me, even with a prior marriage, which I know you have knowledge of as well. I have a way that we could be of greater assistance to each other and in turn to my sister.”

“I’m listening.”

“I cannot presume to know your mind or what you were told about the need for you to be wed. I can only hope the desire was for a Lannister bride, not a specific one of us.”

His eyes locked on hers, “then why exclude your sister from greeting me?”

“Father believes her to not be suited for you. For all her strengths and intelligence, she can be quite strong willed. In addition to that, she does have a reputation amongst the Lords of Westeros. Seeing as no match has been found for her.”

“If you’re asking what I know of her, she sounds as if she will not suffer a brute or a simple man. She also sounds as if she is not afraid to speak her mind.”

“She is not afraid of that. What she does fear is a life that will be dull. She told me there is more to being a wife than bringing an heir forth. That one must have the strength to support her husband even when every other person defies them. As much of a warrior as you are, she would be one for you.”

“One has to wonder,” he takes in the view as to not draw any attention, “you wish to put your sister in my way. To have me take her to wed even against the wishes of your father. Why?”

“Your Highness,” she sighs, “it would be unfair to you to force you to wed someone who loves another.”

“It would be. No more unfair than asking you to stop feeling for him the way you do,” the two of you rounded the path back toward the courtyard, “I can choose whomever I wish. So, how can I be of service to you Lady Jasline?”

“My sister has told me many times that marriages are arrangements. All I need is mine to be arranged. My words to my father fall on deaf ears….”

A wry grin crawls across his face, “but the word of a Prince and heir to the throne would carry all the weight you need to ensure your happiness.”

Tears well in her eyes, “I would owe you a great debt. However, I believe the gift of my sister would be enough for repayment.”

“A Lannister that would even propose a debt? You are most serious my Lady,” gripping the hilt of his sword, “I should like to speak with her without calling attention to her.”

“She has said that she would be riding near midday. There is a young mare who she favors that is a bit restless. Perhaps my Prince could take leave to check on his mount and find his way to our stables that are just off the courtyard?”

He laughs and she thinks it’s a privilege to hear, “not that you have given any thought to this.”

She mimics a look of shock, “of course not my Prince.”

The pair walked back in the direction of Jason Lannister. Daemon was sure to thank Jasline for showing him the gardens, but he skillfully convinced the lord of the house that it would be wise for him to look in on Caraxes lest some farmers lose cattle.

The ruse was convincing enough. Daemon even assured him he could make his way back to the courtyard without an escort. He had the sense to head in the direction of where he had landed. He took in the ground of Casterly Rock and thought in another life it would have been a fine place to spend his youth.

What he wasn’t prepared for was the sight of her. He stepped behind the shade of trees as she rode towards the stables. She is far more fair than her sister, he thought. She was clearly a skilled rider; she had complete control of her mount. She radiated joy from her very spirit; it felt as though he was seeing her without any pretenses. That joy made her seem even more beautiful than that was already apparent to him.

Her cheeks were flushed from the heat of the day and the ride, blonde braid falling over her shoulder, shirt catching the breeze. Not much was able to render Daemon speechless but she very well might. He decided to try and observe her more closely. He stayed out of sight and crept into the opening of the stables.

She was trying to coax her mount back into her stall, “Come now Cercsi, you’ve had your fun. I know you needed it. You’ll get used to all the attention on you soon young one. Not that it becomes easier.”

The horse seemed to protest more. Daemon couldn’t help his smile. Her voice was lovely, like a song.

“I really must insist you go back in,” patting along the neck of the horse, “I need to go make myself presentable. Father will be extremely cross if the Prince were to see me like this.”

He looked over her riding attire, while not exactly what a proper lady would wear to court, she looked no less lovely.

“I’m sure if I am seen and Father finds out, he’ll marry me to a Stark. I don’t believe I can endure Winterfell.”

“How fortunate for Lord Stark then and for you my lady, future queen of the North,” he couldn’t help himself.

She did not turn. Instead scoffed at the notion, “I’m afraid my disposition isn’t suited for Winterfell good sir.”

“Queen certainly seems to suit you,” treading quietly as he moves a few steps out of the doorway.

“Titles can be little more than just words. I’ve met Lords and Ladies who are just as regal as one with a birth rite. Also met common people with more honor than some Lords. Words are the least of what makes one deserving of the title: king, queen, Prince.”

“Princess,” a call to the title he hopes to bestow to her.

“As does good breeding. What man dares to lurk and sneak up on a woman alone,” she turns and faces him. Whatever tongue lashing she had thought to unleash was stolen from her. She flushed pink and quickly bowed, “your Highness. Please accept my apology.”

He crosses the distance between them quickly. Tucking his fingers under her chin, he lifts her eyes to meet his. Gods she was breathtaking, “for speaking your mind? You need not be sorry for that. Especially not for true words spoken with good intent. Birth rite is the very least of what makes anyone worthy of the title King, wouldn’t you agree?”

Jaylon swallows and takes a small step back, “since I fear the answer would be akin to treason it would be wise to say nothing.”

“She told me you were intelligent.”

“Whom do you speak of my Prince? How do you know I’m not more than a simple stable hand?”

His fingers brush the braided golden hair over her shoulder. To her credit she didn’t turn away from him. Brave girl, he thought, “it’s the hair.”

Cheeks burning with color as she attempts to stay calm, “I suppose it is no easier to hide I’m a Lannister than to conceal your own heritage, your Highness.”

Eyes locked with her, “Daemon. Please,” he holds his palm open and she places her hand in his. Daemon swore he felt his blood hum, “and you my Lady?”

“Jaylon,” her head swam when his lips kissed her fingers, “I do really need to get her to her stall.”

“Of course,” he allows her to focus her attention on her mount, “I saw you ride in. It was an impressive sight.”

“Thank you….Daemon. Our horses are some of, if not the best trained and bred steeds in all of Westeros. She is just young; this is her first season.”

He allows the mare to smell him before he rubs his hand along her snout, “she seems agreeable enough.”

“Her temperament is wonderful, like all our horses. She is just a bit headstrong. At times, she needs a ride to alleviate the anxious energy she feels. We often do this dance when I bring her back in.”

He smiles as he chooses his next actions. He takes the lead and gives a small firm tug. The mare follows his lead into her stall. Triumphant, Daemon latches the door, “perhaps the lady just needs a firm hand to guide her.”

I don’t believe he’s talking about the horse,” she mused. Jaylon did her best to not be so taken by him. It is no wonder that most consider Targaryens closer to Gods than men. His confidence. His intelligence. His appearance. He was everything these lesser lords could ever dream to be. A Prince in every meaning of the word, heir to the Iron Throne. A powerful dragon with his gaze fixed on her.

He stood as close to her as would be deemed appropriate, “I do wish you had been there to greet me this morning. What duties would have kept you from greeting your Prince?”

“My duty to not be noticed,” she blanched at her own honesty, “forgive me. That was…”

He held up his hand to dismiss the words, “Honest. Admittedly, I could see why your Lord father would want to hide you away. You are a rare beauty.”

Her eyes dropped, “you would tire of saying that. As any man would.”

“Lesser men, perhaps. I will say it until you believe it, Jaylon. They will be the last words on my lips.”

Before she could respond, the voice of Jason Lannister filled the stables, “your Highness please accept my apologies for the appearance of my youngest daughter.”

Daemon masked his amusement with a look of confusion, “whatever for. I was coming back after seeing Caraxes and I saw a rider pass. I was so taken with the sight of the steed, I found my way here to ask my questions about your stock. It would appear it is the best in the Seven Kingdoms. And your daughter was very helpful in addressing any questions I had.”

For once in his life, Jason Lannister was dumbfounded.

“She was riding and dressed for the occasion. No need to apologize or scold,” Daemon’s eyes drifted to Jaylon’s. He watched her skin burn under his gaze, “I will accept your apology for hiding the best stock from my sight.”

“Of course your Highness,” Jason at least had the sense to agree, “I trust then you were pleased with our stables and our stock?”

“Very pleased,” eyes never leaving Jaylon, “so much so I will ensure my brother knows that only Lannister stock will fill the royal stables.”

“Your Highness,” Jaylon says, “Lord Father. As it would appear this is gentlemen’s business, I would ask to take my leave so I can prepare for dinner.”

“Yes of course,” Daemon inclines his head, “although I cannot imagine it would not take more than a change of clothing for you to appear more presentable, my Lady.”

“My Prince is too kind,” she bows, hoping he wouldn’t notice how flushed her skin was.

As she walks away, Daemon waits until she’s out of sight before making his next move. He walks to each stall and surveys each animal. They are of good stock and should serve the City Watch well.

“I wasn’t keeping her from you,” Jason whispers.

“You weren’t exactly forthcoming.”

“She is my youngest and second born daughter. Hardly worthy of a Prince. She doesn’t have the regard for formality and duty as Jasline does.”

“You forget yourself my Lord,” Daemon brushes the mane of a curious horse, “I am a second son. Also a Prince. I know what is worthy of me.”

“I urge you then,” Jason pleaded with him, “consider that she has rejected or been rejected by every eligible lord in the Seven Kingdoms. For two years I have done my utmost to find a match for her and still none would suit. She is obstinate and can be quite vexing. Jasline is far more suited to a life at court. She would be the most dutiful wife.”

Daemon knew not to press him more. He simply nodded and turned the conversation back to business. He will be more than happy to explain himself later in the evening.

Not as happy as seeing what Jaylon would present herself in at dinner.

#hotd #hotd daemon #daemon targaryen #daemon x oc #daemon au #oddduckthatgirl #secondsarewelcome

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himbopatrol · 1 year

Text

King With No Crown

King With No Crown - Chapter One

Pairing: Aemond Targaryen x OC (Nadja Mormont - afab)

Word Count: 3.1k

Warnings: eventual smut, sexual tension, flirting, slightly older oc (she’s 21, Aemond’s 19), typical HOD blood and violence 18+

I hardly proof read, sorry.

Summary: Nadja Mormont has been forced to move to Kings Landing within the Red Keep at the hand of her father. Twenty-one and many suitors behind her she finds her eyes lingering on Prince Aemond.

Chapter One:

Nadja Mormont stood in front of her bedroom mirror, staring back at her sorrow and hatred. Hatred for her father and house at this particular moment. Her long dark hair windswept from her enraged walk through the courtyard to her room. Sunken eyes deep. Laurel, her handmaiden, approached from behind, a soft brush in hand. She gently began detangling the ends. She said nothing, nothing until Nadja snapped.

“I can do it myself!” She barked. Laurel stopped, her small smile fading gently. Nadja sighed. “I’m sorry, forgive me Laurel,” Nadja turned to face her, tilting her head and cupping her soft jaw. Laurel stared up at Nadja with bright and watery eyes.

“They can’t make you go, can they my lady?” She whispered softly.

Nadja swiped her thumb across her plump lips. “I’m afraid they can, whether I go willingly or not.”

Lady Nadja Mormont scowled at the heat, scowled at the crowded city, scowled at the titan that was the Red Keep. Without lifting her head, her eyes peered up and out the carriage window to reach the tallest towers. Her father had sent her to King's Landing in hopes of learning a few lessons as a lady of the court, a lady in waiting, maybe to even get close to the royal family and the queen heir when she came into power. He thought the warm waters and thick air might do her Southern mothers blood that coursed through her veins some good. As much as she was not used to it, something inside her stirred as she exited the carriage and the heat hit her flushed cheeks. Her fingers clenched shut the bear skin wrapped around her shoulders, refusing to move it even as she felt the sweat building. Nadja knew her father sent her here for a reason, because now at 21, Nadja had turned down every suitor, maiming a few along the way. She remembered how her father found her last time. Drenched in the suitor's blood, standing over his lifeless body in her chambers, knife still warm in hand. I told him no… and he chose not to listen. She smiled at the memory, the prick deserved it.

Otto Hightower stood at the base of the stairs, awaiting Nadja Mormont. He bowed his head, “Lady Mormont, a pleasure.” Nadja waited a few beats before dropping her head and shoulders. “You’re not burning my lady?” He placed a firm hand on her shoulder, scratching the fur, as she walked towards him. She shook her head, he paused at her refusal to speak thus far. “I understand your hesitation Lady. Your father and I exchanged letters on your, situation, but you will be just fine here. Your father is a good friend, I wouldn’t let anything happen to you,” he explained, leading her up the stone steps. She glanced at him from the side of her eye. A few servant men close behind them, carrying her things behind them. They strained at a few of the bags as she had insisted on bringing her library, and her heavy winter cloaks. As the large doors greeted them he asked, “Now, would you like a tour now or do you wish to retire to your chambers for some rest after your long journey?” He paused. “My granddaughter, Princess Helaena, could show you around, she’s very…gentle.”

“It’s only midday, a look around sounds lovely, Princess Helaena sounds lovely,” she finally spoke. Otto was slightly taken back by her words, and her voice. A dark, raspy voice for a lady, it reminded him of Princess Rhaenyra.

“Wonderful,” he said, taking his hand off her shoulder, “I’ll retrieve the princess, wait here.”

Nadja stood awkwardly as the servants walked by with her things, assuming they were bringing it to whatever millionth room in the castle she was staying in. Her fingers twiddled with one another, as her feet shuffled. It was eerily quiet, besides the occasional hand maiden, servant, or court member quickly making their way by, ignoring her. A sudden gasp to her right startled her. She turned on her heels to see who she could only assume was Princess Helaena, who was beaming at her.

“Gods, but you are gorgeous!” the princess squealed, hastily making her way towards her, her fingers immediately finding the ends of Nadja’s dark hair to twist and stroke.

“Hm, pretty,” Nadja spoke under her breath, watching the princess let go of her hair.

“What?” She smiled.

“Pleasure to meet you Princess, I am Nadja Mormont,” she bowed her head. Maybe this wouldn’t be so bad, she thought.

“The pleasure is all mine,” she smiled, she instinctively linked their arms together to walk together. “This is so exciting, you look like fun, some of these ladies here are so stuffy,” she wrinkled her nose.

“We’ve just met, though I can guarantee, I am fun,” Nadja smiled.

“Oh I can just tell, I knew as soon as I saw you. I knew when I first heard you were coming to live with us,” replied Helaena. “Now, come along, there are so many things to show you and so many people to meet and make friends with.”

Helaena led her around the throne room, the tower where council meetings took place, several courtyards, the kitchen, their apartments, Helaena had made it a point to show how close their rooms were, making Nadja smirk. And how exciting that her brother's room was just there too. “Oh! My brothers, come to the sparring courtyard, they’ll be there,” she led her down a tight staircase.

Standing over a muddy courtyard, Helaena and Nadja stood watching several men of the court, Kingsgaurd, and the Targaryen princes, the sun beaming down on them. “That one there, with the short hair, the one scowling. He’s my eldest brother, and father to my children, Aegon,” she said in some tone between sugary and sour. Nadja raised an eyebrow, finding him sitting to the sidelines, clearly bored and bothered. “That one there,” Helaena closed an eye and pointed into the ring of men, “he’s my other brother, with the long hair, Aemond,” she finished. Nadja found her grip on Helaena’s arm tightening when her eyes landed on the younger prince. She stiffened. “Come now,” Helaena pulled. They slowly made their way down the stone stairs, getting closer to the sound of clashing swords and grunts. “Aemond, Aegon!” She exclaimed over the noise as they reached the bottom. Aegon hardly looked up from where he was sitting, not until he noticed the girl on his wife's arm. A man charged at Aemond who took a graceful step to the side, placed a large hand on their armored chest and with ease shoved the man to the ground, letting the other man slip on the way down. His hair flipped around his face and he seemed out of breath. Nadja bit her cheek, unable to take her eyes off the prince.

“What is it Helaena?” Aemond spoke over the comradery, clearly annoyed by the interruption.

“There’s someone I like you to meet,” she answered, unbothered by his tone.

“Hello,” Aegon appeared in front of them, smiling only at Nadja.

“Hello Aegon,” Helaena said, “this is Nadja Mormont, she’s a new lady of the court,” she placed an arm on her back, trying to get her to step forward.

“Hello Nadja,” he smiled, taking her hand and giving it a kiss.

“Hello,” she attempted to hold back a grimace. Her eyes landed on the other, walking up behind Aegon, pushing a man out of the way in the process.

“Who could be so important that I am to be interrupted from my practice?” Aemond asked, not having looked up yet. He almost ran into Lady Mormont before he stopped, dead in his tracks, his eye trained on her. Nadja stared up at him. Her breath hitched. He was so close she could smell the mud and smoke on him. And he, her perfume. Aegon and Helaena watched their brother clench his jaw for a brief moment. “Forgive me, my lady,” he said, suddenly polite. He went for the opposite hand his brother had touched, placing a gentle kiss on it.

“Nadja,” she coughed, finding her voice. “Nadja Mormont.”

“Hm,” he hummed. “Aemond Targaryen,” he spoke with a power that made Nadja swallow her spit. His eye looked her up and down, clocking her bear skin, curious as to what she looked like underneath the bulky fur.

“She’ll be having dinner with us tonight,” Helaena announced.

“What?” Nadja turned to the princess.

“I won’t have any arguments, I insist,” she smiled. “Now, let us see the library,” she pulled Nadja away. Aemond instantly missed her scent lingering, chewing at his bottom lip, he turned back around.

“Compose yourself brother,” Aegon teased, earning him a hard shove from his baby brother as he walked away.

Helaena stayed silent until they were back inside the Red Keep. “Aemond, he’s much nicer than he appears,” she says quietly, as to not let anyone else hear. Nadja only nodded her head. “He isn’t betrothed,” she added simply.

“What?”

“He has no wife, no children. Many of the ladies here find him, well, scary, and he’s never much cared for things such as love,” Helaena explained. “But he seemed to like you,” she smiled simply.

“Yes, he seemed… soft under the edge,” Nadja replied.

“Exactly,” Helaena responded softly. “He’d probably melt in your hand,” she added, making Nadja smile at her bluntness.

“You know,” Aegon began as the brothers walked through the halls to their separate chambers, getting ready for dinner. “I heard from Helaena that she has a Southern mother,” he smiles.

“And?” Aemond asked.

“A very Southern mother, from the Summer Isles.” Aegon explained, his brother stopping and staring at him.

“So?” Aemond sneered.

“So, they are known for their devotion to sex, and according to Helaena her mother practiced some sort of witchcraft, blood and such,” Aegon couldn’t hide his smile. “And with being a woman of Bear Island, I can only imagine she’s…a handful.”

“Why should I care?” Aemond snapped.

“Because I saw how you looked at her. I’m surprised you didn’t take her there, I almost did,” Aegon commented, quickly being shoved into the stone wall, groaning at the impact. His brother's arm against his throat.

“Keep your place brother,” he threatened, slowly letting him go.

Aegon coughed. “You’ve just met her and now you’re trying to kill me. Maybe she already cast a spell on you,” he laughed, watching his brother strut away to his room.

Dinner was entirely uneventful to anyone not paying enough attention.

Aemond sat on the end of the table, the King was bedridden, leaving the seat next to Alicent empty and cold. Across from Alicent sat Helaena, and to Helaena’s left, nearest Aemond was Nadja, with Aegon to her right. Helaena’s children sat at the other end of the table and next to Aegon, playing with their food.

Nadja liked Alicent, she reminded her of a woman of bear island, giving, yet sturdy. She had met her once when she was just a babe and Alicent a young woman, younger than her currently. She could just vaguely remember a sweet girl, seemingly sad though. That sadness still carried in her that night at dinner. Nadja’s father and mother often spoke of her sacrifice and loyalty to duty, something they admired of her.

Aegon watched his brother watch Nadja, catching glimpses of her for himself as well. About halfway through dinner he leaned over to Helaena, “Switch seats with me, will you?” he spoke close to her ear.

“Why should I do that?” She asked softly, tilting her head towards him.

“Because I wish to converse with Lady Mormont, and your babes need you,” Aegon replied, annoyed.

“Your babes too,” she hummed. “You had a great deal in making them Aegon,” she turned fully to him. “But I know you must get me confused with all your other girls,” she smirked, making her mother’s eyes widen and Aemond smile. Nadja slowly placed a hand over her mouth to stifle a laugh, catching Aemond’s attention. Helaena stood, pushing her food over, “There you are, my darling,” she spoke, making Aegon roll his eyes as he scooted over to her chair.

“Lady Mormont,” Aegon smiled, Nadja turned her head to the older brother, making the younger tilt his own, silently trying to follow her profile.

“Prince Aegon,” she smiled back, just trying to appease him.

“I see you have still yet to shed your northern skin,” he said referring to the fur still wrapped tightly around her shoulders, he ran a hand through it, Queen Alicent rolled her eyes at her son. “You’re in Kings Landing now Lady, wouldn’t want you to get sick from the heat.”

“Mm, how right you are,” she said as if it was just now occurring to her. Nadja pushed back slightly, undoing her cloak, letting it slip off her shoulders. Aegon and Aemond stared at the newly exposed skin, Aemond gripped his fork, turning his knuckles white. She wore a fairly simple black dress, long sleeves off the shoulders, pushing at her chest. Her shoulders and chest sprinkled with dark freckles. Only Aemond noticed the several small scars across the span of her skin, how he wanted to quietly trace them with his fingers. Nadja slipped the cloak to her left hand, letting it dangle, and without making any eye contact she held the fur out to Aemond, signally for him to take it. Alicent raised an eyebrow, imagining her son wouldn’t take it well. Helaena smiled to herself. Aemond sucked in his cheeks before quickly standing. He took the cloak and slowly draped it on the back of her chair. Slowly because it allowed more time to stare at her exposed skin and for another angle of her chest. As he made his way back to his seat he noticed dark lines emerging from her sleeves, some tracing along her fingers. Ink. Nadja Mormont had tattoos.

Aegon made a bold move of pushing her hair back, Nadja thought about how she might react back home. Knife through his hand? Sadly no, that’s not appropriate for a prince. “So your father is over Bear Island, but your mother is?”

“From the Summer Isles,” Nadja answered.

“Does she reside at Bear Island with your father?” He popped a grape into his mouth, Nadja forced away a natural eye roll.

“Yes, your highness. She quite likes it there. Though in recent years she had sailed back from visits,” Nadja said.

“How does such a Northerner even acquire a woman of the Summer Isles?” Aegon smiled.

“He had visited the Summer Isles as a young man, and caught the eye of my mother. She was so keen on him she agreed to move to the North, abandoning the sun and warm beaches. A part of me is thrilled to be so South. I think the sun will agree with me, and I would prefer to swim in not so freezing waters for once. A part of me misses the cold though, so brutal and honest I think, something I can agree with,” Nadja explained. Aegon had stopped listening, but not Aemond, he held onto every word she said, disappointed when she stopped talking.

“And is it true that your mother was? Is? Some sort of–”

“My mother never put a spell on my father, there was no need. But yes, she was a prostitute, something not looked down upon there as it is here, but she was also a seafarer, and a good one from my experience. I am proud to have the sand and sea running through my blood alongside snow and great bears,” Nadja answered the prince's question before he could ask it.

Nadja made her way towards her chambers, not quite alone as she would have liked. She could hear the echoing footsteps behind her. As she turned the corner of a tight hallway, she was shoved against the wall, a heavy breathing Aegon Targaryen pining her there. “Hello little cub,” he gave her a toothy grin.

“Get your hands off me,” she groaned, pushing him back. “You’re drunk, go attend to your wife, not me,” she snapped, knowing talking to the prince like that might not work in her favor. She turned her heel to walk away.

“Bitch,” he mumbled before grasping at her hair, followed by a harsh tug. She quickly wrapped her fingers around his wrist, twisting it, making him cry out. He bent over in pain, she wasn’t letting up.

“Call me that again,” she whispered. Before he could a firm hand yanked him back and out of her grasp. Aemond held his brother, letting him fight against it.

“My brother is an idiot and doesn’t know what’s good for him, forgive him,” Aemond struggled to get his words out as Aegon wiggled around.

“No,” Nadja replied simply before turning again to walk to her room. Aemond threw his brother to the side before falling on her tail.

“Lady Mormont,” he exclaimed. She ignored him. He continued after her. She quickly opened her door, going to slam it before Aemond slipped in behind her.

“Is there something I can help you with, my prince?” She asked, trying to gain composure.

“No,” he stepped back, realizing he was in her room, unwelcomed. “Are you okay?” He asked quietly.

“Fine,” she responded quickly.

“Did he hurt you?”

“No.”

“It didn’t seem as though you actually needed my help,” he couldn’t help but smile, smile that such a woman could bring his brother down to his knees like that. “It looked like you had it handled.”

“That I did,” she straightened up, “but thank you for helping me nonetheless,” she bowed her head.

“Hm, do you spar?” He crossed his arms behind his back and took a bit of a wider stance.

“I certainly can, do I enjoy it?” She asked like it was a task. “Yes, I do,” she smiled, making Aemond smile, and even a light chuckle escaping his lips.

“And would you like to, tomorrow?” He kept his smile. “If you’re not busy, that is, though this big castle can get a little cramped and I do know my way around it, we’re bound to run into each other eventually,” he smirked.

“Sure,” she smiled.

“Goodnight Lady Mormont, I’ll make sure a guard is posted outside your door in case my brother gets any more ideas” he bowed his head before backing up to leave.

“Goodnight and thank you Prince Aemond,” she curtsied in response.

“Aemond, Lady Mormont,” Aemond spoke softly.

“Nadja.” Aemond began to walk away. “Aemond?” He turned. “Do you really have the largest dragon in the realm?” She asked, with a smile tugging at her lips.

He hummed before leaving, “I do Nadja.”

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aemonds-fire · 3 days

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Answered Prayers: HOTD Dark Series Aemond Targaryen x Female OC Part Five : Bound by Murderous Secrets

First infatuation, then obsession. Prince Aemond has found the lady of his dreams, and the gods give him a way to keep her. But she is not the sweet, demure lady he expects. She has a will of her own and is willing to go to great lengths to get what she wants. Perhaps they are more alike than they thought.

Series Warnings - 18+, Minors DNI, Smut, Dark, Murder, mention of murder/suicide, medieval-canon sexism, coercion, some DUB/CON - NON/CON , Profanity

Word Count 8230

Aemond Targaryen Masterlist

Answered Prayers Masterlist

The days since his last visit to your chambers pass quickly. You settle into a routine of spending your mornings with Princess Helaena and her children, while the prince attends to his training or studies. Aemond then joins you and his sister, often for a midday meal, before escorting you off to the library or for a walk in the gardens.

He is clearly carrying out his plan of making sure you are seen together. On these little public outings, he is always on his most courteous and respectful behavior, and so long as you play your part of a proper lady who is pleased with the attention of a royal prince during this difficult time for you, your time together goes smoothly.

It seems as if an unspoken truce has been declared between you. You both restrict yourselves to safe and polite topics of conversation, trying not to antagonize each other.

However, the currents of your true relationship are always swirling beneath the surface. Your intense dislike of being forced into a probable marriage with the prince versus his equally intense determination to make you his bride. And something else now flows underneath the calm facade you both wear. The sensation of his gaze lingering on your lips or the swell of your breasts evokes ebbing and surging emotions; the feel of your delicate hand in his strong one evokes memories of those long fingers inside you, causing you to whimper with pleasure.

More and more, you find yourself sneaking glances at him, taking in his tall, lithe body and gazing at his strikingly handsome face. You are still conflicted about your new thoughts and feelings about him, still resentful at his interference in your life and the fact that you are something of a prisoner here. You don’t love him, but you don’t despise him either.

Aemond is certain he loves you, but he admits he is desperate to possess you because he has never been destined to possess anything. He is a second son, destined to inherit nothing. As a boy, he was a royal Targaryen child without a dragon, forced to risk his young life to claim one on his own, and when he did, it cost him his eye. When he met you, the only thing he could claim to possess was Vhagar, not his own father's love or control over his own life, as his duty to his family had already claimed it.

'I need her to be mine alone, to be only for me and no one else,' he thinks.

But why? He knows why—a reason he can barely admit to himself, and one he would never admit to anyone else.

He’s grown used to seeing looks of pity or distaste in ladies eyes. Yes, some ladies have made it known that his attention or even advances are welcome, but that is because he is a prince, so he shuns them. The whore Aegon brought to him was eager to lay with him, but she was a whore who was paid generously. A maid servant he once availed himself of was willing to accept him for her position and a coin.

However, for him, something about you is different. In this strange relationship with you, he has seen many things in your eyes, including anger and defiance, but he has never seen pity or distaste there. He’s also caught glimpses of something else—something he never expected to see in a woman’s eyes for him. Desire.

At best, Aemond hoped to be married to a lady who could tolerate him and perhaps even hold some affection for him. But he never allowed himself to hope that a lady would desire him. But you do; he’s seen it, felt it, and tasted it. That's why, when you submit to him, it drives him mad and makes him crave more from you. He may never have your love, but if he can have your desire, he will do anything to keep it.

While the two of you are examining your feelings and settling into a somewhat more comfortable existence, a new storm sails into Blackwater Bay.

One morning, you receive a summons from the queen. As you follow the kingsguard to the royal chambers, you think this must have to do with your relationship with Aemond. Either the queen has taken notice of the time you are spending together, or he has already spoken with his mother about his intentions. As you are ushered into the queen’s chambers, you are surprised to see her father, the Hand of the King, Lord Hightower, there as well. They greet you politely, invite you to sit, and quickly explain the reason for your summons.

“Yesterday, Lord Dorian Redwyne arrived here at the Red Keep. He has requested an audience to petition for a betrothal with you,” Queen Alicent informs you.

This is not what you were expecting to hear. Lord Dorian Redwyne is the younger, unmarried brother of the current Lord of the Arbor. The wealthy and powerful family occupies Arbor Island, sitting directly across the Redwyne Strait from your home, The Three Towers. The Redwynes have also sought a marriage match between you and Lord Dorian since before you were of age, though he is much older than you.

Lord Hightower adds, “House Redwyne is a loyal and valued house. They even have close ties to House Hightower. This would be a very favorable match.” Arching your brow in surprise at what you are hearing, you quickly respond, ”Yes, it would be a very favorable match for House Redwyne. They would gain control of both sides of the Redwyne Strait and double their lands, but it would most likely be the end of my house.”

Holding up his hand to try and appease you, he says, “There can be negotiations on certain matters, Lady Mira.”

You continue on with a question that bothers you. “Why is Lord Redwyne involving the crown in this? If he seeks my hand, he should be speaking with me since I am now the Lady of House Costayne.”

“Lord Redwyne requested our assistance; since you are a young and inexperienced lady and have very recently lost your father, he thought you would benefit from guidance in this decision,” explained Lord Hightower.

Noticing the anger growing within you and wanting to diffuse the situation, Queen Alicent interjects, “Lady Mira, we wish to assist you in this decision. All we ask is that you think it over and consider the benefits.”

"We will hold an audience with Lord Redwyne and yourself tomorrow morning," says Lord Hightower. We will help you make the best decision for you and your future children.”

Before you can respond, there is a soft knock on the door, followed by Aemond entering the room. After greeting his mother and grandsire, he says, ”I was looking for Lady Mira, and Helaena said that she was with you. I hope I am not interrupting anything.”

Lord Hightower, rising from his chair, answers, “No, Aemond, we are finished speaking with her.” Turning to you before leaving, he asks, ”Please consider what we discussed. I will see you tomorrow, Lady Mira.”

After his grandsire leaves, Aemond asks, “Is everything alright?”

“Yes, everything is fine. Lord Darion Redwyne arrived here yesterday, and he is asking for Lady Mira’s hand. We wished to discuss the possible betrothal with her,” she tells her son.

Other than a slight clenching of his jaw and him flexing his hand, he shows no reaction to this news. After a quiet moment, he says, “Hmm, Lord Redwyne coming here personally to ask for Lady Mira’s hand while she still mourns her father? I find that to be rather inappropriate behavior.”

Queen Alicent looks lovingly at her son and says, “You’re always so protective of others. Of course, Lady Mira would not be forced into anything too quickly, but Lord Redwyne says that a match had long been discussed with Lord Costayne.”

After wishing the queen a good day, Aemond politely escorts you from her chambers. Once out of his mother’s sight, his pace picks up and his grip on your arm tightens, letting you know he is quite agitated.

Struggling to keep up with his long strides, you whisper harshly, “Will you please slow down?"

Ignoring your plea, he continues walking swiftly, taking you down a long corridor that you are not familiar with, before stopping before the door at the end. With a hasty glance to ensure no one is around, he opens the door and literally shoves you inside, before following you in and locking the door behind him.

Glancing around quickly, you find yourself in chambers that are much larger and more lavish than your own. You can immediately tell the occupant of these chambers is male, for no feminine touch is to be seen. Large bookcases filled with old books, a collection of daggers, and artwork depicting dragons in Old Valyria adorn the room. These are his chambers, you realize. You can smell the scents of the leathers he wears, the oils he favors, and something else you cannot place—something smoky and dangerous—dragon.

Furious with him, you spin around to face him and ask, “Are you mad? You bring me to your chambers in the middle of the day. I cannot be here!"

Aemond says nothing; his back leans against the door. His expression would be unreadable to most, but you have learned to pick up the subtle signs on his face. His eye is downcast, looking at some spot on the floor, his lips drawn in a tighter line than usual, but you can see the flaring of his nostrils and the clenching of his fists that give away the anger simmering inside him.

Still not looking at you, he asks, “Why is he here?’

A simple question, but the low growl of his voice causes the fine hairs on your arms to rise on your skin. Trying to control your anger with him, you take a deep breath before answering, “The Redwyne’s have long sought a marriage between our houses.”

“Hmm,” is all you hear from him for a moment before he finally raises his now-narrowed eye to you. “Did you send for him?”

Taken aback by the question, you can only manage a small shake of your head and a whisper, "No."

You can’t help but take a step back when he suddenly advances toward you. His hand takes hold of your arm, and his long fingers easily wrap around your slender limb. You can feel his grip's strength, which causes you to wince slightly in pain. “You have resisted me from the beginning. You have made it clear that you have no wish to marry me on many occasions,” he contends menacingly as he now towers over you. “Now, did you send for him as a means to escape me?"

Intimidated by the cold fury emanating from him, you again deny asking for Lord Redwyne to come to your aid against him. As his eye searches your face for any sign of dishonesty, your breath catches in your throat. Gradually, his hurtful grip on your arm softens, though he does not let go.

“Do you wish to marry him?” he asks, moving his head close enough to brush his lips against your forehead and breathe in the fragrance of your hair.

You feel his arm go around your waist, pulling you closer to him. Feeling uneasy in his embrace, you answer, “No, I do not wish to marry Lord Redwyne.” Unable to push him away, you plead, “Now let go of me.”

“I will never let go of you. I will not let anyone take you from me,” he whispers near your ear. With a deep breath, he finally releases you and steps back. Looking at you intently, he asks, “Why has Lord Redwyne taken the unusual step of sailing here personally and involving the crown in seeking a marriage with you?”

Sighing, “House Redwyne wants to join our lands under one house. I think he believes their close ties to House Hightower will favor them, forcing me into marriage whether I wish it or not.” You begin to pace, taking the opportunity to put some distance between you. “There will be an audience tomorrow morning with Lord Redwyne and myself to discuss the matter, but your grandsire has already made clear to me that he favors the match.”

Aemond appears to contemplate this information for a moment before abruptly saying, “Come, I will take you back to your chambers.” Taking your hand, he leads you to a hidden doorway, much like the one in your chambers. Leading you through a dim and narrow passageway, he softly tells you to stay quiet. After several sharp turns, he stops before a door that you would have completely missed if you were alone. He sends you first to make sure no servants are around, then follows you into your chambers.

You immediately notice a letter for you sitting on a table. On it, you can see the House Redwyne seal. Breaking the wax, you open the letter, frowning as you read it. Turning to Aemond, you tell him, “Lord Redwyne asks to meet me later today to speak about a betrothal.”

Snatching the letter from your hand, he quickly scans it before crumpling it in his fist and angrily tossing it into the fireplace to burn. Turning back to you, he orders, "You will not meet him." I will speak to my grandsire, making it clear I intend to marry you. In the meantime, you will remain here in your chambers.”

“The Redwyne’s will not take this quietly…” you begin.

“It does not matter what they want,” he growls. “I am a prince; I ride the largest dragon in the world, and you will marry me.”

Slightly annoyed by his continued domineering ways, you can’t help but quip, “What would you do, burn the Arbor?”

In an instant, he has you in his arms. “If I had to, I would burn the Arbor. I would burn it all for you,” he tells you before pressing his lips against yours with a kiss that steals your breath away. He hungrily deepens the kiss, not relenting until he feels you return it with equal passion. Gradually releasing your kiss-swollen lips, he whispers, “You were willing to kill for what you wanted, and so am I.”

Looking up at him and searching his eye you realize that he means every word. You feel somewhat stunned, uncertain if you should love this man or be utterly terrified of him. Aemond is a fine line between reasonability and madness, love and cruelty, virtue and villainy.

With one last soft kiss, he tells you to remain in your chambers while he goes to speak with his family before leaving by the secret passage.

As usual, you think of him even when he is not by your side. You know you should be frightened of him. He is a dangerous man, of which you have no doubt. While every shred of common sense tells you to fear him, you do not. You do not love him, and you question if he truly loves you, but he clearly feels something for you, and you now feel drawn to him. Knowing this warrior, dragonrider, and prince of the realm wants you over anyone else is an intoxicating feeling.

As the day wears on, with still no word from him, you become more and more uneasy. You know well that being left alone with your thoughts is sometimes not the best thing. You believe that Aemond is very determined for you to be together, but part of you is angry that men are arguing over and deciding your future while you have been told to sit in your rooms.

You remember the letter from Lord Redwyne. Even though Aemond threw it into the flames, you still remember when and where he wished to meet. And that time is soon approaching.

Impulsively, you decide that you will meet Lord Redwyne and have your say.

As you make your way to the Weirwood tree in the Red Keep's godswood, the sky is already changing colors as the sun sets. You arrive to find Lord Redwyne awaiting you.

“Lady Mira, I’m happy you accepted my offer to talk,” he says. Though his tone is civil, there is an arrogance about him that is off-putting. Looking at him, you cannot help but compare him to Aemond, and you find him lacking in every way. He lacks the height and grace of movement the prince has, and his features are plain. For you, there is nothing remarkable about him.

“I have no intention of marrying you, Lord Redwyne. House Costayne will not become part of the Arbor,” you say firmly. “And you insult me by involving the Hand of the King in this matter.”

He laughs at you like one would at a silly child. “I suspected you would be resistant and headstrong. That is why I asked for the crown’s assistance to help guide you into making the right decision.”

“It is the right decision for you, but not for me or my house. You will not double your lands at my expense,” you calmly insist.

Lord Redwyne gives you another condescending smile. “A betrothal has long been talked of; your father had basically agreed to it before his death. Since he did not have a son, this was the best way to protect your future. Who better to marry his daughter than his powerful and wealthy neighbors?”

You cannot help the smirk that forms on your lips. “Perhaps there is another I wish to marry."

“Prince Aemond?” He chuckles. “I have heard that you have been seen in his company, but he will not be allowed to marry you. Your house and lands are too insignificant for the Targaryens. A lady from a more powerful house with more to offer will be his betrothed.

“Put aside your silly notions of being a princess and agree to the marriage. Sail back to your home with me, and I shall secure a septa to travel with you to ensure no question to your honor." He tells you, 'Marry me, and you will have a good life and children to raise.'

“No, I will never marry you. We are finished here." As you turn to leave, he grabs your wrist angrily.

“You dare reject my house? You dare reject me?” He sneers at you. “For what? Do you wish to be a princess so badly that you would marry a disfigured boy with nothing to his name?”

“You will unhand her now, Lord Redwyne,” you hear Aemond say as he steps out of a nearby door of the Keep. “I will not tolerate anyone putting their hands on my future wife.”

You take advantage of the distraction to tear your wrist from Lord Redwyne’s grasp, backing away from him. Watching the two men closely, you see arrogance from Lord Redwyne and menace from Aemond.

“Your grace,” the lord says, bowing slightly. "The lady and I were simply discussing matters related to our betrothal, with no intention of harm."

Aemond slowly advances closer, placing himself between you and Lord Redwyne. Openly smirking at Redwyne now, he says, “Your betrothal will not happen.”

Lord Redwyne tries to maintain an air of conviction, but you can tell his confidence wavers a little at the cool composure of the prince. Choosing to steer clear of a direct confrontation with Aemond, he declares, "We will settle everything tomorrow morning, your grace." He then takes his leave of you, disappearing back into the Keep.

Aemond glowers at him until he is out of sight before turning to you. “I told you to remain in your chambers,” he hisses at you, clearly angry with you.

"Yes, sit in my chambers while men decide my life." You snap back at him as you walk past him.

The prince’s hand grabs hold of your arm. “Where do you think you are going?”

“Now I wish to return to my chambers,” you saucily reply. At this point, you are sick and tired of men interfering in your life.

With a low growl, he says, "I will escort you.” Keeping a firm grip on your arm, he begins to lead you back inside.

“I can find my own way back,” you grumble to him.

"This day has already tested my patience enough. I warn you not to push me any further.”

He leads you through the Keep, down corridors you are not familiar with; he does not escort you to your chambers, but back to his. You are horrified at what he has done, but you are unable to prevent him from pushing you inside. A maidservant stares wide-eyed at your arrival with the prince before hastily bobbing in respect with a whispered “your grace.” Aemond barely glances at her before commanding her to leave, warning her not to speak of this to anyone. She quickly obeys without a word.

Once she has left, he turns to you. “Never defy me again! I told you not to meet with him, and I expect your obedience.”

Aemond begins to pace his chambers like a caged animal. You have not seen him like this before. He is usually one who keeps a tight grip on his emotions, but now he looks to be dangerously close to losing control. Something tells you that his anger is not just because you disobeyed him.

“Did you speak with your grandsire?” You ask hesitantly.

“My grandsire sees me as nothing more than a political pawn,” he sneers. He stops his pacing to rest his hands on a table, bracing his long arms on the edge. Huffing with fury, even his scar looks darker and redder against his flushed skin. “He seeks to make House Redwyne more powerful and an indebted ally by marrying you to them. For me, he is looking towards House Baratheon.” Aemond closes his eye as he tries to reign in his emotions. “Since I have declared my intent to marry you, I think he will allow Lord Redwyne to take you back to the Reach. I have been told to stay away from you."

You wrap your arms around yourself as the severity of your situation sinks in. Meanwhile, Aemond continues to grouse about his talk with Lord Hightower.

He says bitterly, "I will be the one to defend this family from any threat, and he speaks to me as if I am a child."

“Now you know how it feels,” you snap back testily. Outrage builds within you at the prospect of having to marry Lord Redwyne, but your wrath is not only towards him but also towards your father, Lord Hightower, and Aemond. “Your grandsire told you no, but you will not be forced to hand over your house to a man you despise, marry him, and have his children."

He raises his head, fixing his eye on you with a dark look of warning, but you ignore it. “If you would have let me go home as I wanted, I could deal with this from the safety of my house, surrounded by people loyal to me. Because of you, I am trapped here, about to be handed over to Lord Redwyne,” you lash out.

You angrily turn away, wanting to distance yourself from him, but he has other ideas. Taking hold of your arm, he pulls you back to him. Infuriated, you hiss at him, “No, I’m leaving. Let me go.”

His eye darkens with rage. “You do not command me,” he growls, looming over you.

Your eyes are flashing with defiance. “Let me go.”

Aemond crashed his lips against yours, kissing you harshly. Suddenly, his hands seem to be everywhere on your body. You are furious that he would do this now, when your future hangs in the balance. Pushing against him, you manage to turn your head away, breaking his kiss. ”Stop it. My life is about to be ruined because of you.”

With an almost crazed look in his eye, he snarls, “Do you think for one second I will let him marry you or let him touch you? There will be nothing and no one between us.”

“You already said your grandsire refused to give you permission to marry me.

“I don’t give a shit what he said. If he will not give it, I will take it," he tells you right before he wraps his arms around you, just below your hips, lifting you off your feet. He carries you to his large bed, dropping you onto the soft bedding.

Fuming at his actions, “What do you think you are doing?” you demand.

“I'm making you mine,” he tells you determinedly. “You will not be married off to him or sent back to the Reach if there is a chance you carry my child. My mother will not allow it.”

Your eyes widen in shock as you realize what he intends. You roll to scramble off the bed away from him, but he catches your ankle, dragging you back to him. You find yourself lying on your back before him, with your skirts twisted and hiked up to your thighs.

You feel him slide the palm of his hand up your thigh before taking the soft fabric of your smallclothes in his fist, tearing them with a vicious yank that bites into your skin.

“If you try to fight me, I swear to the Seven, I will tie you to my bed.”

You force yourself to lie still, not doubting him for a moment. While gritting your teeth and glowering up at him, you sneer, "Stop. I do not want you touching me.”

With his all-too-familiar smirk on his face, he says, “You love it when I touch you.”

Trying to keep your voice from wavering. “You are mad, selfish, and dangerous.”

”You are willful, disobedient, and stubborn.”

“I should have poisoned you when I had the chance.”

"And I should have had you arrested and executed like the murderess you are," he says as he climbs onto the bed, positioning himself over your body. As he leans down over you, his face is inches above yours. "But I can’t. I can’t let you go because I cannot imagine my life without you, nor do I want to.”

Hearing those words and seeing the look of sincerity on his face, the burning rage inside you cools and fades away. Closing your eyes for a moment, you feel a single tear fall down the side of your face. You’ve always had a strong and willful spirit, but you are tired of fighting and frightened of what your future holds. Opening your eyes, you see Aemond still above you, staring at you intently, trying to read the emotions on your face.

“Mira, I may not be able to find the words to tell you how I feel, but I can show you,’ he says softly before placing his lips on yours. This time it's a gentle kiss—a restrained kiss that encourages you to respond rather than demanding it. It isn’t until you wrap your arms around him, pulling him down to you, wanting to feel more of his weight on top of you, does he cease to hold himself back.

As the kisses become hungrier, his hands become bolder. Soon the two of you are in an entangled state of limbs, with hands grasping and exploring each other. Then comes the mutual realization that the clothing you are both wearing are an impediment that needs to be removed hurriedly. Fingers begin unfastening buckles and undoing laces before garments are tossed away. Soon there is much more exposed skin for lips to kiss and fingers to touch.

After your hair has been freed of pins, ties, and braids, there is only one more thing that you want gone. “Take off the eyepatch,” you whisper in his ear as he buries his face in your neck, nipping at your skin. You feel his body tense and still at your request.

When he continues to hesitate, you remind him, “You said there would be nothing between us.”

His hand grasps the leather strap around his head and pulls it off. He keeps his face hidden from your view for a moment before raising his head to let you look at him.

You take a moment to appreciate the brilliant blue sapphire, surrounded by reddened and damaged flesh. Knowing instinctively that he needs reassurance from you, you simply put your hands on the sides of his head, pulling him in for a passionate kiss. And you continue kissing him—his lips, his cheek, and his scar—proving to him that the sight of his injury changes nothing for you.

Aemond revels in your kisses, allowing himself to feel a depth of emotion that is quite rare for him. With a silent vow to give you everything your heart should ever desire, the flames of his passion become an inferno. His desire to possess you drove him before, but now he needs to worship you with every ounce of his being. Each sigh, whimper, and cry of pleasure he can coax from you will be his reward.

With one last taste of your lips, he begins to trail his mouth down your body. He lavishes his attention on your breasts, teasing your hardened peaks with his fingers and tongue until you give him the sighs he desires to hear.

He runs his large hands over the curves of your hips while his lips trail kisses over your belly, going lower and lower until his fingers grasp the flesh of your thighs and he can see your soaking wet cunt. His fingers quickly become coated with your slick wetness as he drags them through your folds.

You lie on his bed, breathing in the smell of him on the bedclothes, while he begins to massage your sensitive bundle of nerves, causing you to bite your lip. You’ve parted your legs willingly, wanting him between your thighs. You make eye contact as he licks your cunt, swirling his tongue around your pearl. When he inserts two long fingers inside you, you can’t hold back a gasp. The minor discomfort of him beginning to stretch your walls quickly fades.

His relentless sucking, nipping, and licking of your little pearl, combined with the new sensation each time his fingers pass over a certain spot inside you, is quickly causing a growing pressure deep within you. Soon, your heart is pounding as ecstasy radiates through your body, leaving you whimpering breathlessly, trying to hold back your moans.

While you recover from your intense peak, you watch Aemond rise up, sitting back on his heels. In your blissful state, the sight of him kneeling between your spread legs is magnificent to you. His long, silvery hair falls over one strong shoulder, and a patch of pale hair covers the middle of his chest. Several scars stand out on his pale skin, and each muscle is outlined along his abdomen, leading down to his perfect cock standing fully erect.

With each movement he makes, the light catches his sapphire eye. He positions you so the tip of his cock can slide through your slick folds. Looking at you intently, he says, “Tell me you want me.”

You return his gaze and nod, answering, "Yes, I want you."

Guiding himself to your entrance, he slowly pushes almost half his length inside you before pausing, letting your body adjust to his size.

With your hands on his slim hips, you can feel him tremble with the effort his restraint is taking. With a look of wonder on his face, he gazes down at the junction of your bodies, as if this is the most beautiful sight he has ever seen.

He begins moving again with slow back-and-forth movements before sheathing his full length into you. Your eyes go wide, stifling a cry at the sudden pain you feel. Aemond moves, propping himself over you, softly whispering praises to you as he begins slow, smooth strokes. Gradually, the pain diminishes, and the pleasure builds with each thrust from him.

“So fucking tight…you feel so good." You hear him growl as his movements pick up in pace and strength. Your body instinctively begins arching to meet his thrusts, ignoring the discomfort you still feel, while your nails leave marks on his back.

His hand moves between your bodies, finding the bud between your legs. His fingers are moving swiftly, knowing he will not last much longer. With his efforts, the sensation in your already stimulated bud builds quickly. As his peak nears, any restraint is gone as he fucks you harder. Once your peak causes your walls to clench around his cock, his own release follows quickly. You feel him twitching inside you as he buries himself as deeply as he can, his seed spilling into you.

“Ao issi ñuhon,” he mutters as you both tremble from the intensity of your pleasure. (You are mine)

“I do not want you to attend the hearing in the morning; I will go alone,” he tells you as you lay together. Your head rests on his chest, and his arm is around you. Your fingers are smoothing over the muscled planes of his abdomen.

“I do not think my attendance is optional,” you sigh, feeling more content than you can ever remember.

He covers your hand with his larger, stronger one, saying, "As your prince, I command that you stay in your chambers and do not attend. Once they hear what I have to tell them, it will be unpleasant, and I would spare you that.” Leaning down, he places a kiss on top of your head.

Glancing up at him, you are about to argue, but you decide against it, choosing to trust him.

Later that morning, Aemond makes his way to his mother’s chambers. He finds his grandsire and Lord Redwyne already there, and they are clearly not happy to see him.

Lord Hightower immediately says,” Aemond, there is no need for you to be involved in this. I have made my decision. Once Lady Mira arrives, this matter will be settled once and for all.”

Standing straight, Aemond responds, ”Lady Mira will not be attending. As her prince, I have commanded her to remain in her chambers. I have already made it clear that I intend to marry her, and she has consented to my offer of marriage.”

Lord Redwyne begins to sputter angrily, while a frustrated Lord Hightower scowls at his grandson. The queen gets up to go towards her son, but pauses when he holds out his arm to prevent her from coming closer.

“Also, Lady Mira shall not be permitted to leave the Red Keep. I will not allow it,” says Aemond with determination.

"Aemond, please," starts Queen Alicent before he interrupts her.

“Mother, I know this will upset you greatly, but Lady Mira may already carry my child. She cannot leave.”

The queen pales at her son’s words. “What have you done?” she asks nervously.

“Do not fear, mother. I have not harmed her. In fact, I made sure she enjoyed it immensely,” he responds smugly, looking directly at Lord Redwyne as he speaks.

Outraged, Lord Redwyne curses while Lord Hightower purses his lips and glares at his grandson.

“And if you doubt my word, I’m sure Lady Mira’s maid will attest to the fact that the lady did not spend last night in her own bed,” Aemond continues with a smirk. "She spent it in mine.”

“You fucking…!” spits Lord Redwyne.

“Enough!” Lord Hightower bellows with exasperation.

“Mother, shall we begin preparations for my marriage?” He asks with a smile.

"No," insists Lord Redwyne heatedly, "I'll take the little whore as she is, with an apology and compensation from the Crown for the insult. Lord Hightower, we had an agreement, and I demand that it be kept. Force her to drink moon tea and be done with this.”

“No, I forbid it,” insists the queen. “She will remain here at the Red Keep.”

After considering the situation for a moment, Lord Hightower declares, "We will confine Lady Mira to her chambers under guard until we determine if she is indeed carrying Aemond's child. If she is not with child she will marry Lord Redwyne and return to the Reach with him.

Addressing his grandson, “In the meantime, I order you to have no contact with the girl. Am I clear?”

Aemond, still glaring at Lord Redwyne and imagining all of the ways he would like to kill him, turns to his grandsire and coolly replies, “Yes, grandsire, you are quite clear.” Before he leaves, he turns to his mother and says softly, “I am sorry, mother. I know I have disappointed you, but I had no choice.”

Though you find it difficult to wait in your chambers while Aemond attends the hearing, you are now confident that he would move mountains to ensure you stay with him. After taking your maidenhead, the two of you lay together in his bed, with Aemond swearing to you that he will do whatever it takes to protect you and make you his wife.

Before leading you back to your chambers before dawn, you let him take you a second time. Despite the soreness between your legs, you regret nothing. The pain you briefly felt was a small price for the ecstasy he can make you feel.

As unlikely and unbelievable as your relationship with the prince may be, you know that he loves you, and you think you could fall in love with him. Already, you know that you never wish to sleep in a bed without him next to you. While you always thought him handsome, to you he is now the most handsome man in the world, with a face and body chiseled by the gods. The memory of the euphoria you felt with him last night causes your heart to skip a beat and a warmth to grow between your legs.

Time passes more quickly than you realize while you dreamily think of your prince. Soon, you are brought back from your daydreams by a knock on the door and a guard announcing the arrival of the queen to your chambers.

Before you invite the queen to sit, you curtsey low. You notice she looks stressed; the skin around her fingernails is red.

Taking a deep breath, she begins, “Lady Mira, my son has made it clear that he wants to marry you. He says that you have consented to his offer of marriage.”

“Yes, your grace. I have,” you respond, directly looking at the queen.

Sighing, though looking nervous, “Aemond also claims he has taken your maidenhead and that you may carry his child. Did you also consent to that?”

“Yes, your grace, I did,” you again reply directly.

Looking somewhat relieved at your answer, but still on edge, she continues to inform you of the Hand of the King’s decision regarding Lord Redwyne’s demands.

Though not the result that you had hoped for, you thank the queen for telling you the outcome of the hearing. You still have many questions, but you know that Aemond will visit you regardless of his grandsire’s order. With an awkward silence between you and the queen, she soon takes her leave of you.

Your day passes quietly alone in your chambers. You try to read, but the lack of sleep the night before causes you to doze off, your book falling open on your lap.

You awake to the feel of lips grazing your cheek. When you open your eyes to the sight of Aemond kneeling beside you, you can't help the smile that brightens your face.

“Did someone not get enough rest last night?” He teases you gently while brushing a few strands of hair from your face.

“Well, there is this very handsome prince who led me to his chambers last night,” you tell him with a sly smile, stroking his face with your fingertips.

“He sounds like quite a rogue,” he says, taking hold of your wrist so he can kiss each of your fingers.

"Oh, he is," you whisper, as he leans in to softly kiss you. Slowly and gradually, you both deepen the kiss, each wanting more. Eventually, Aemond rests his head against your shoulder, enjoying the feel of your fingers smoothing his hair.

Knowing that your situation still needs to be talked about, you say, “Your mother came to see me earlier. It appears my fate is still to be married to Lord Redwyne.”

Aemond sighs, “He still foolishly insists on it. He is truly desperate to gain your lands, but it will not happen.” Pulling back so he can look at you, “I know you have more of the poison you used. I need you to give it to me.”

His request surprises you, and you gaze at him with curiosity. “What do you plan to do?"

“It is best if you do not know, but I will handle everything,” he assures you. Aemond rises to his feet and offers his hand to help you up.

He gives you a slight nod of his head when you look at him, silently asking if he really wants to do this. He follows you to where you keep your jewel case, watching as you open the false bottom to reveal the other vial of poison.

“We are more alike than either of us thought at first. We are both willing to take matters into our own hands when needed,” he says softly. Taking the vial from your hand and pocketing it, he tells you, “I wish I could stay with you, but it would not be wise for me to be caught here.”

You look at him with disappointment in your eyes, but you understand the logic in what he says. Placing your arm around his waist and resting your head against his chest, you want to keep him close for as long as you can.

“Remain here in your chambers as you have been ordered, and do nothing to draw attention to yourself. I will not risk seeing you again until this is over,” he tells you quietly as he puts his arm around your shoulders. “In a few days at the most, no one will be standing between us. I promise.” He lifts your chin with his fingers and kisses you one last time before leaving with the poison.

Aemond stands in the shadows of the narrow alley, leaning against a building. It is a moonless night, and with his hooded cloak over his commoner's clothes, he is barely noticeable. From his vantage point, he watches Lord Redwyne walk down the Street of Silk and enter a building across the way. Once the lord has disappeared from view, Aemond crosses the narrow street and makes his way to the back of the building. He chooses a new spot where he can see a certain window on the second floor and settles in to wait for a signal.

Just when he begins to worry that too much time has passed, he sees a figure lighting a candle in the window he has been watching. He quickly begins to climb a shaky set of stairs that lead to the second floor of the building he has been watching. Once inside, he quietly opens the door to the nearest room.

Looking to make sure no one is paying attention, he quickly slips into the room, locking the door behind him. The first thing he sees is Lord Redwyne's body on the floor, as well as a spilled cup of poisoned wine lying nearby. The only other person in the room is the whore that Aegon brought to his chambers more than a year ago.

“Did you have any trouble?” He asks quietly.

"No, he never suspected anything. He didn’t hesitate to drink the wine I offered him,” she replies with a smile. “When will the men come to remove him?” She asks.

“Soon,” Aemond nods as he begins searching Redwyne’s pockets, finding the anonymous note instructing him to come here if he wanted information about Lady Mira’s involvement in her father’s death. Along with the note, Aemond also takes some of the lord's rings and any coin he has.

“Where is the vial?’ He asks the whore.

Retrieving the vial from a drawer, she hands it over to him. “I’ve missed you, your grace,” she says seductively.

He smiles back at her, then moves behind her, stroking her throat with his left hand. “Have you?” He asks with a low voice.

While she chuckles softly and leans back against him, he silently unsheathes his dagger and whispers "I'm sorry" in her ear before quickly covering her mouth with his hand and plunging the dagger into her breast and into her heart. Soon, she stares up at him with wide, lifeless eyes, and he gently lowers her to the floor. "I cannot let you live with what you know,” he murmurs.

He wipes her blood from his dagger on the bed sheet and quickly moves about the room. He pours the poisoned wine from the pitcher onto the floor and empties the contents of drawers onto the bed to create the illusion that thieves have been present.

After one last look around, he takes the anonymous note that incriminates Lady Mira from his pocket, lighting it afire with a candle. He tosses the completely burned note onto the bed, then takes the candle and ignites the bedclothes. Racing to the door, he drops the candle on the floor before exiting the room. In the hallway, he hurries to the outside stairway and down the stairs, leaping over the railing the last several feet to the ground.

He stays in the shadows, making his way not back to the Red Keep but towards Flea Bottom. Moving quickly through the seedier alleys, he drops the empty glass vial, shattering it with the heel of his boot. In another alley, he drops the rings he took from Lord Redwyne’s body before finally turning towards the Red Keep.

Aemond only feels a sense of relief when he returns to his chambers, having navigated the intricate network of secret passageways within the Red Keep. After changing and washing off the grime he wore to make himself less conspicuous, he sat in front of his fireplace. Now all he has to do is wait.

Aemond follows his usual routine of training and studies, along with visits to Helaena and her children. Trying to cheer his sister, who sorely misses Lady Mira’s companionship, he spends extra time playing with the little prince and princess.

His mother summons him to her chambers while he is there.

Entering her chambers, he greets his mother with a kiss to her cheek and a curt nod to his grandsire, since relations between them are now strained.

Noticing that his grandsire looks tired, he asks. “Is anything wrong?”

Leaning back in his chair, Lord Hightower replies, “Lord Redwyne has been missing from the Red Keep.”

Aemond arches his brow but says nothing.

“The other night, during the hour of the owl, there was a fire in a small brothel on the Street of Silk. When the fire was put out, two bodies were found, a man and a woman,” says Lord Hightower. Pausing for a moment, he continues, “The woman was a whore, and the man was Lord Redwyne. According to City Watch, it appears that thieves attempted to rob the lord, killing them both. Then they either accidentally or deliberately set a fire."

“Hmm, are they sure the man is Lord Redwyne?” Aemond asks his grandsire.

"The clasps on his clothes and the signet ring he wore identified him," sighs Lord Hightower. They were all adorned with the Arbor's sigil.

Keeping his expression neutral, Aemond says, “While I will not say he was a friend, this is tragic news for his house. It would appear that Lord Redwyne’s taste for depravity made him underestimate the dangers found in this city.” As he steps forward to address his grandsire directly, Aemond asks, "Since forcing Lady Mira to marry Lord Redwyne is no longer an option, are there any other obstacles to my betrothal to her?"

Queen Alicent responds to Lord Hightower's question, saying, "No, Aemond, there will be no more opposition to your betrothal to Lady Mira."

“Thank you, mother,” he says, giving her a soft smile. “With your leave, I would like to give my betrothed the good news. It has been too long since I last saw her. I wish to assure her that we can put this difficult time behind us.”

With the queen’s permission, Aemond leaves to see Mira, excited to be able to be with her again.

After he has left the room, Lord Hightower muses, “Lord Redwyne’s death is too coincidental and too fortuitous for Aemond, in my opinion.”

Queen Alicent gives her father a cold look before saying firmly, “He is my son, and I will not hear any more on that subject.” Without another look at her father, the queen leaves to visit her daughter and grandchildren.

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astralarias · 7 months

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since I'm bringing Lady Midday to the art party tomorrow, some screens of her current vindicator look! (may be mildly obsessed with adding gif effects to screenshots now)

#horrible girly <3 #gw2 #guild wars 2 #sylvari #*gifs #*#lady midday (oc)

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guess-my-next-obsession · 9 months

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Ivy & Stone, Chapter Thirteen: A Lovely Bride She'll Be

pairing: victorian au!frankie morales x oc (florence bell) / victorian au!javi gutiérrez x florence bell

rating: E (18+ only, angst, jealousy, one mention of being drunk, not gonna list any other warning so i don’t spoil anything but if you’ve been reading this far, it’s just more of the usual shit!)

wc: 8.4k

a/n: so much here to digest, please do not be afraid to screech in my ask box 🫶🏼 i am screeching too

series masterlist

While the Bell family carried on with planning and arranging Anna’s engagement dinner, Frankie fell right back into what he knew best: tending to the garden.

Poppy sat outside with him in the uncharacteristic English sun for as long as she could stand it, but eventually made her way back inside the house to carry on with Lady Elizabeth, Anna, and Maribel, the women all taking a quick liking to her in a way that made Frankie feel all the more insecure. It was his status and his status alone that made him an exile here, cast aside as nothing more than a tool to make their estate look as nice as they considered themselves. Although truthfully, he didn’t mind making himself useful and his appearances scarce. He’d all but made up his mind that his proposal to Poppy had been a terrible mistake and didn’t wish to face her anymore than he had to.

It was around midday when a carriage came rolling in, its wooden wheels crunching along the gravel as it neared the estate. He knew who it must be, the final members of the Bell family coming to offer their congratulations to Anna and Andrew. Setting down his hedge trimmers in the tiny workshop that his entire affair with Florence started, he rushed over to the water spicket to rinse his hands and forearms clean before disappearing back to his cottage for a proper bath, knowing that tonight was the big dinner—a dinner he was shockingly invited to, surely all in thanks to Joseph Bell.

With every step he took towards his cottage, he could feel his heart racing in his clammy palms, his thoughts spinning enough to make him sick, the anticipation of seeing Florence after so long—and so much—finally settling in. He tried to keep his breathing steady, but couldn’t control his shaking hands as he took his suspenders off one at a time, his eyes a blank stare ahead at the pond behind his cottage. Stripping himself down to nothing, he stepped in the cold water and let it shock his nervous system, washing away every anxious thought and sickening worry. He let himself sink beneath the water, cooling his heated cheeks and wetting his sweaty curls, before surfacing again with a deep gasp for air.

Just mind your own. She won’t even notice you. She may not even look at you…may not even remember you.

Somehow the thought of being in the same room with her and her ignoring him like a stranger or a ghost made him even sicker.

To say that Florence had been giving Javi the cold shoulder would be an understatement. The entire ride from Swalley to the countryside just north of London was silent, aside from Leo’s occasional questioning about the passing sights.

Something about his distance the night prior had turned her feelings a bit sour. She hated his constant insistence to shield her from the world already, but there was something in his eyes that told her that this was something new, like he was shielding his thoughts from her. She was no longer this precious thing he wanted to protect, and instead of feeling relief over that fact, she was hit with the harsh realization of why that was. He now saw her as something to fear, or something too dangerous to hold close.

“Are we close?” Leo asked Florence, his eyes trained on her as she simply stared out of the window, giving no signs of even hearing him.

Javi cleared his throat, glancing at Florence before turning to the little boy. “Yes, just a few more miles.”

“I cannot wait to see everyone,” Leo gushed, a wide grin on his face as he continued trying to get a response from his sister, going as far as knocking his boot against hers. She finally looked at him with a jerk, her eyes lost as she met his eyes before quickly glancing at Javi and finding him already staring. “Have you decided to stay at home, Flo?”

Florence’s eyes turned stern as she kept them locked on Javi’s and replied, “Yes, I think I will.”

“I thought we were going to stay at my family’s home, my love?” Javi said, his brows furrowed.

“No, I would feel much more comfortable in my old bedroom,” Florence replied, her tone flat as she spoke to him.

Javi nodded, his lips pursing into a flat line as he accepted her coldness as though he expected it.

“Whatever you’d like, Florence,” he said, turning his gaze to the window.

She watched him for a moment, her heart breaking slightly at this sudden shift that seemed irreparable. Could she ever really spend the rest of her life proving that she was a friend and not an enemy, that she loved him as she said she did, that she was perfectly content…most of the time, at least? No, she thought. She’d grow to despise his insecurity and turn even colder than she already was. Looking down at the ring on her finger, she suddenly felt all of its weight, the urge to pluck it off rising high in her throat until she was forced to sigh and leave it be for now.

“Frankie, my love. You look dashing.” Poppy was in her dinner gown, a soft blue number with gold detailing down the skirt, her golden hair done up in an elaborate braid with two delicate curls framing either side of her face. Frankie felt she looked right here, like she was born for this world, and he supposes she technically had been.

He, however, couldn’t help like he was wearing a costume of sorts, his coat and vest suffocating him even more than the tension in the air as the family stood around the first floor awaiting the arrival of Florence, Javi, and Leo.

“Thank you, as do you,” he managed softly, hating how formal he felt he had to be around the person he was expected to spend the rest of his life with.

“Mr. Morales,” Joseph Bell walked over with two glasses of red wine in hand, offering one to Frankie. “Pardon me, Miss Poppy. Could I steal your fiance for a moment?”

“As long as you bring him back,” she joked with a winning smile, watching as the men walked off into a lone parlor together, Joseph shutting the door behind him for extra privacy.

“Florence is coming tonight,” Joseph said, taking a seat in the chaise by the window while Frankie remained standing by the fireplace. “How are you feeling?”

“I haven’t given much thought to it,” Frankie lied poorly, earning a hearty chuckle from his employer.

“If that isn’t the most blatant lie you’ve ever told,” he said. “Be honest with me, now.”

“I feel as though at any moment my heart is going to give out,” he confessed with a small, weak laugh. “Is this normal?”

“You know, when I was younger, I was in a position much like my niece’s. I fell in love with a girl from the country, no money, no land, nothing. And though I must acknowledge my hardships were lessened on account of my sex, I was threatened by my parents when I informed them of my plans to marry her that I’d be disowned and cut out of any inheritance I had claim to,” Joseph said, taking a more sympathetic tone.

“Are your intentions to remind me of why it is clear I must leave her be? Because I assure you, I have not forgotten for a moment,” Frankie said, sipping his wine before taking a seat in the armchair across from Joseph.

“No, my intentions are to convince you to follow your heart,” he said, smiling gently at him. “I followed mine and left the country with her to start anew, and although she left me far sooner than I would’ve hoped the Lord would’ve called, I cannot tell you that a single bit of me regrets choosing love. Look at everything that became of me, all that I’ve gotten on my own. There is no reason the two of you can’t find that, as well. Especially if you return to America with me and run the landscaping company I intend to start.”

“You’re serious?” Frankie asked, his brows knitting together. “You want me to run a company of yours?”

“I do,” he smiled. “Me and my wife never got to have any children, but I see something of a son in you, Mr. Morales. I’d like all of my companies to eventually go to you, and whatever family you start.”

“And if I choose Poppy?”

“My offer will remain,” he said. “Poppy will make a perfectly lovely wife, but I know you know deep in your heart that you will never love her, at least not the way you’ve loved before.”

Florence swore she could hear her heart beating as she stepped out of the carriage to greet her family, her hand reluctantly resting on Javi’s until she was on solid ground. Javi remained at her side as they watched Leo run into his father’s arms, Lord Thomas scooping the boy up before setting him down again to fix his attention on his wife and daughter’s reunion.

“My, you’ve gotten darker,” Lady Elizabeth said as she stood in front of her daughter with a small smile. “Has France been very sunny?”

“It has,” Florence replied, her tone all-too cordial.

“Well, perhaps you’ve brought some of that sunlight with you,” she said, nodding at her daughter before moving her attention to Javi. “And you look well rested. I trust this vacation has all but secured an upcoming wedding date?”

“My love, we have plenty of time to discuss that later,” Lord Thomas interjected, inadvertently saving both Javi and Florence from having to vocalize the current state of their relationship. Instead, Florence was pulled into a tight embrace, her arms willingly squeezing her father back. “I’ve missed you, darling.”

“I’ve missed you too, father,” she hummed, closing her eyes to soak up his familiar warmth that she hadn’t realized she missed.

When Lord Thomas pulled away to corral everyone inside the home, Florence felt that weight on her ring finger again, her eyes fixed on the way her parents fawned over her fiancé while she could hardly even look him in the eye. Thankfully, it wasn’t long before she had something new to look at, a pale, bright, and pretty face with the bluest eyes she’d ever seen, hair as golden as the stars in the sky, a white-gloved hand resting upon her ex-lover’s arm.

Feeling her lips start to part from the shock of not only seeing Frankie standing in the dining room, but with a woman on his arm, Florence quickly composed herself and turned her eyes to her uncle as he approached her with a wide grin.

“Florence, my God, you’ve grown!” Florence forced a smile onto her face and welcomed him in for a tight embrace. “You need to visit me more often. I think you’d love New York.”

“I’m certain I would, only issue is getting there,” she said with a chuckle. “Between mother’s controlling nature and my own personal…circumstances, I’m not sure I’ll ever get to visit you.”

“Just stow away like your sister,” he suggested with a wink, earning a genuine laugh from her.

“Speaking of, where is the bride-to-be?” Florence asked, turning to look around the room for her younger sister and her mysterious love.

“I believe they are likely helping each other into their outfits for the night, judging by the noises I heard coming from Andrew’s room last night,” he whispered, causing Florence to gasp at the gossip.

“While our parents are around?” she asked in disbelief. “I cannot imagine Anna even speaking to a man let alone—“

“Hush, your mother is coming over here and I don’t wish to see the two of you come to blows this evening,” he smiled and turned to let Lady Elizabeth in on their conversation. “Hello, Lizzie. I was just getting reacquainted with the niece you’ve been keeping from me.”

“She’s far too busy with her engagement to visit you in dreary old America,” she scoffed before turning to her daughter. “Anyway, I’ve just come over to remind you that while we’ve invited someone from your past, that does not mean you have to interact with them.”

“Mother,” Florence sighed, feeling a headache come on. Joseph quickly intercepted a server to grab a glass of wine from their tray, handing it to his niece. “Thank you, Uncle.”

“Go take your seat, dinner will be served shortly,” Lady Elizabeth ordered with an eye roll, watching her daughter walk off to take her seat at the table across from Javi, neither of them looking at the other.

“Excuse me, I don’t believe we’ve met.” Florence turned to the soft voice sounding from over her shoulder, finding that pretty faced blonde from earlier sitting beside her. “I’m Poppy, Frankie’s fiancé.”

“Fiance?” Florence asked, trying to conceal the way her gut twisted with jealousy and anguish. Frankie appeared next to Poppy, taking his seat beside her without meeting Florence’s shocked eyes. “I wasn’t aware Mr. Morales had gotten engaged. Allow me to offer my congratulations.”

“Thank you,” Poppy beamed, oblivious to the tension on either side of her. “You must be Florence?”

“I am,” Florence nodded.

“I know so little about you unlike the rest of your siblings, so please, tell me a little about yourself,” Poppy rested her gloved hand on top of Florence’s, and though every primal instinct inside of her told her that this was her competition, she couldn’t bring herself to hate this woman simply because of her choice in fiance.

“Well, I love to read, I love being in the sun, I enjoy painting, although I’m not very good at it—“

“She is perfectly lovely,” Javi interjected, earning Florence’s eyes on his. “At everything.”

“Is this your fiancé?” Poppy asked Florence, earning a hesitant nod. “Congratulations to you as well, then!”

“Yes, thank you,” Florence managed before reaching for her glass of wine and downing it in one gulp before asking the server for another. “I have to make a visit to the powder room, but I’m sure my fiancé would love to have his brain picked at until I return.”

Watching Poppy laugh and turn to Javi, Florence stood up and turned to walk out of the dining room and up the stairs to the second floor, passing Anna and her fiancé on the way, although she did not stop to greet either of them. She seemed to be in a sort of catatonic state that left her ears ringing and heart beating so fast she worried that this was going to be the end for her.

Opening up her old bedroom door, she locked herself inside and instantly began to hyperventilate, her chest heaving as she paced around the room trying to concoct an exit plan to get her out of this living nightmare.

“Florence?” Anna’s voice sounded from the other side of the door, causing Florence to fall silent in hopes of her sister giving up and leaving her to stew in her dread. “I know you’re in there crying, let me in.”

“So you can laugh at me?” Florence called.

“Let me in,” Anna repeated herself. Florence sighed and wiped her eyes as she stomped over to the door to open it, seeing her sister’s face contorted with concern. “Oh, sister.” Florence was frozen as Anna pulled her into her arms and held her tight, unaccustomed to such affection from her. “I know this must be very difficult for you, seeing Frankie after everything.”

“It is,” Florence agreed earnestly, melting into the embrace once she realized how oddly nice it felt to be held by such an unlikely person. “But…that isn’t all that’s wrong.”

“What else is it? Poppy?” Anna asked, pulling away to shut the door behind her before walking Florence over to the chaise by the window.

“Well, yes,” Florence sighed. “But it’s more than that. It’s…it’s Javi and I.”

“Has something happened?”

“I fear too much has happened, that’s the issue,” she said, allowing Anna to lift her handkerchief to her eyes to dab away her tears. “He doesn’t trust me.”

“Even after all this time?” Anna frowned. “What else can you do? You’ve agreed to marry him, Frankie is engaged, what else could possibly stand in the way of your happiness?”

“He knows something that I’ve been trying to convince myself isn’t true,” Florence said, meeting her sister’s green eyes. “He knows I’ll always love Frankie more than him. Even in marriage, even if I have to watch him start a new life with that perfect woman downstairs—why did he have to choose someone so beautiful and kind? Couldn’t he have chosen someone at least a little bit unlikable?”

“Poppy is a sweet girl, but I can see clearly how much more she is in love with him than he is with her,” Anna said, resting her hand on Florence’s knee. “Besides, it isn’t like you chose someone unlikable. Frankie told me himself that the worst thing about Javi is how little there is to hate him for.”

“But I do,” Florence cried again, letting her face fall into her gloved hands.

“You don’t hate him,” Anna assured, rubbing her palm over her sister's shoulders.

“Perhaps I don’t hate him, but I cannot even look him in the eye without wondering when I will,” Florence replied. “It’s only a matter of time before we become his parents, living separate lives in separate homes, only seeing each other during the holidays. The thought alone makes me feel as though I’m doomed. And the only thing that is making me feel the least bit better is the fact that I know he feels this way, too. He may never admit it, he may always try to fight it or ignore it, but he knows.”

“Have you spoken to him?”

“Not since last night,” Florence said. “I came to his room—and do not judge me for this, because I have it on good authority that you’ve developed your own habit of sneaking into rooms—“ Anna laughed and nodded. “I came into his room in hopes of connecting, of reassuring him that although Frankie would be here, I did not care. But he turned me away and shut down entirely. He couldn’t look at me let alone touch me. I am a young, beautiful woman, Anna. I want a lover who will love me, touch me, look at me. I fear with him I’ll only ever get a passing glance.”

“Well,” she said, sighing. “What are we to do about this then?”

“What do you mean?” Florence chuckled dryly.

“I’m aware I haven’t always been the most sensitive person, but love has changed me. I can now see the difference in a person when they’re in love and when they aren’t. Everything about them becomes lighter, easier, you can see their happiness glowing in their eyes. And you, my sister, have not been glowing for a long, long time.”

“How do I fix this? Mother will disown me—“

“To hell with mother and what she wants,” Anna said. “What do you want?”

“I want…to be happy,” Florence shrugged and felt a tear slip down her cheek. “I want to not have to sit beside Frankie and his bride to be and pretend that it doesn’t kill me. I want to travel and see the world without a male chaperone. I want…to be able to choose my own life.”

“Then you need to tell Javi,” she said, offering a sympathetic smile. “Everything else will come after.”

“I cannot tell him tonight, it would ruin your engagement dinner.”

“Trust me, having a dinner with our family is the only thing ruining my engagement dinner, but if you don’t want to do it tonight, that is your choice. We can send Javi home after dinner and you can take the night to figure out what you want to say and do tomorrow.”

Florence nodded and wiped the remainder of her tears away.

“But for now, we must go down before mother throws a fit,” Anna smiled and stood up, holding her hand out for Florence. “Just a few hours and you’ll be free to wallow.”

“Did love really turn you into someone I like?” Florence teased, earning a pinch to her side.

“I can go back to the mean sister you used to have if you want.”

“No, no. I like this Anna much better.”

If the charade of dressing up like one of these high society monsters wasn’t enough to make Frankie feel sick, Florence’s presence surely did it.

She was sat so close to him that he was forced to smell her familiar perfume, had to hear her whispering to her uncle who sat beside her about her mother’s overly emotional speech to Anna and Andrew, and worst of all, had to witness every single glance between her and Javi, which thankfully was rare for some reason tonight. The only thing between their bodies was Poppy, and though he should have been glad for that space, he only felt trapped by it.

Once dinner ended and everyone began to migrate from the dining room to the main sitting room, Frankie found himself remaining in his seat, unsure of where he could go to alleviate himself of this burning ache to talk to her, to touch her, to engage with her.

“What are you doing sitting here all by yourself?” Poppy asked, walking up to where he sat and combing her fingers through his curls. “Come sit with me in the parlor.”

“I—“ Frankie started, shaking his head as he continued staring at his half-eaten plate of food. “I feel unwell. I think it would be better if I went back to my cottage.”

“It must’ve been something in the food,” she frowned. “Florence and Javi aren’t feeling well, either.”

Frankie swallowed his disgust at the thought of the two of them running off to be together.

“Poor Javi’s had to take his carriage back to his estate all alone,” she continued. “I can’t imagine taking a carriage ride with a nauseous stomach, especially when there’s no one there to tend to me. Though I suppose he’s got servants, hasn’t he?”

“Florence didn’t go with him?” he asked, turning to look at her.

“Of course not, they aren’t wed yet,” she giggled. “Unless you all have different customs than we do in America.”

“No, you’re right,” Frankie nodded. “I thought they’d already got married.”

“No,” Poppy said, giving him another pet. “Anyways, perhaps you should get to bed, then. I can walk you?”

“No,” he assured, shaking his head as he stood up. “I will be fine on my own, but thank you.”

“Are you sure?” she asked, cupping his face with her hand.

“Yes,” he nodded, forcing a smile. “I think I just need a bit of rest from all this travel and excitement.”

“I will see you for breakfast, then?”

Frankie only nodded in response, grabbing her hand and pressing a kiss to her knuckles before excusing himself quietly from the home.

By the time Frankie had made it back to his cottage in the woods, night had fallen and turned the entire area dark except for the clearing in the pond where he took a cold plunge earlier, the moonlight peeking in from overhead lighting up a feminine silhouette in a wash of midnight blue. He squinted at the figure as he stood near the door to his cottage, wondering if all those myths and legends he’d read about as a boy were in fact true and that a siren stood waiting to take his life.

“Hello?” he called, watching as the figure began to sink further into the water until only her head remained visible. When he parted his lips to speak again, his voice was less confident, terror beginning to creep in and take control of his body. “Hello?”

When no response came, he was forced to decide whether or not he should lock himself inside his old cottage and wait for this entity to consume him or approach it, and against all reason and logic, his feet began stepping towards the bank of the pond until he was mere feet from this shadow of a creature.

“Frankie,” a sob sounded, the shadow turning to face him. Frankie breathed a deep breath of relief at the sight of Florence’s face washed in the moonlight, but the minute he saw the sorrow in her eyes, his fear returned.

“Florence, have you gone mad?” he whispered, looking around for anyone who might see this odd interaction. “What are you doing? The water must be freezing.”

“I just wanted to take a swim,” she said, standing up in her soaked and now sheer slip, his eyes falling to her body before lifting again to meet her stare. “I forgot how cold it gets in the evening,” she continued, attempting to climb out of the pond only to stumble and fall back into the water. “I think I might be a bit drunk, as well.”

“Come here,” he sighed and walked to her, his pants getting soaked from the knee down as he reached to help her up and out of the pond, her skin ice cold. “You’re ice cold, come on.”

Frankie took his coat off and wrapped it around her shoulders as he guided her into his cottage, shutting and locking the door behind him.

“Give me a moment to light the fire,” he said, the sudden realization that this was their first interaction in nearly half a year dawning on him and turning him awkward. “You can, um, undress. I’ll keep my eyes—“

“I went from being desired by two of the most beautiful, good men in England to being shunned by both,” she said, her tone dark as she chuckled. “Have I really aged so poorly in the last year?”

“Florence,” Frankie sighed, keeping his back turned to her until he heard the wet slap of her slip against the floor. “I have spare clothes in the basket next to—“

“The bed, yes, I’m familiar,” she snapped.

Frankie clenched his jaw as he watched the flame ignite in the hearth, his head shaking as he tried to gather the strength not to argue with her.

“I’ve put on your clothes, now will you look at me?” Florence asked, finally pulling his eyes to hers. “Can I confess something?”

Frankie nodded, resting his hands on his hips as they remained on opposite sides of the open room, the sofa the only thing separating them.

“I want to strangle you,” she said flatly, earning a chuckle of shock from him.

“You want to strangle me?”

“Yes.”

“Why?” he asked, watching her as she stepped forward.

“Because,” she said, suddenly sounding less confident and more childish.

“If I’m to let you strangle me, I think I deserve a proper explanation—“

“Poppy,” she said, crossing her arms over her chest. “She’s certainly as pretty as a poppy.”

“She is,” he nodded, trying to mask his emotions with indifference.

“That’s why I want to strangle you,” Florence said, throwing her leg over the back of the sofa to climb onto it. “You’ve gone and found someone I cannot hate.”

“Or perhaps my choice in partner had nothing to do with you,” he returned, remaining tall over her as he stood by the fireplace watching her make herself comfortable on his sofa.

“You want to marry her?”

Frankie didn’t answer.

“And you love her?”

Again no answer.

“For the love of God, the least you could do is answer me!” she shouted.

“I cannot answer you because I do not want to lie to you!” he shouted back, the sound so foreign to her that it forced her into silence, her eyes meek as she looked up at him. “How can I lie to you and tell you that I want to marry her when the only person I can imagine spending the rest of my life with is you—a quarrelsome, indecisive, selfish, maddeningly intoxicating woman who I have not stopped loving since the minute I saw you reading in your little nook in the garden! How can I lie and tell you I love her when there’s no room for it in my heart, because you’ve taken up every bloody inch! I am not a liar, Miss Bell, and so I will remain silent.”

“You think I’m quarrelsome?” she asked, standing up and slowly stepping towards him.

Frankie nodded.

“And indecisive?”

Another nod.

“Selfish?”

She was close enough now that her chest was pressing against his, her fingers lifting to trace the ridge of his furrowed brow.

“And maddeningly intoxicating,” she purred, honey pouring out of her mouth with every breath as she eyed him up like a feast.

“What are you doing?” he whispered, his eyes falling to her plump pout.

“Intoxicating you, I hope,” she smiled, her finger trailing lower to trace the curve of his bottom lip. “I’ve missed you, my sweet Frankie.”

“Florence—“ he groaned, his eyes shutting in hopes of holding onto a semblance of his honor and strength.

“I’m leaving Javi in the morning,” she whispered. “I’ve realized something on the trip from France.”

“What is that?” Frankie whispered back, his voice breaking with emotion.

“I haven’t loved Javi since the night he betrayed me,” she said, causing his eyes to bat open. “Since the night he hurt both of us. I tried…I tried to convince myself that I was overreacting, that I could move on and be his wife, that I could forget you, but I can’t. And he can’t either. He knows where my heart lies and always has, it’s been me who’s been ignorant this entire time.”

“You love me?” he asked, a tear falling from his eye and down his cheek. Florence caught the tear with her thumb and pressed it to her lips.

“Every moment of every day since the first time I saw you trimming that bush of violets,” she smiled, bringing her hand back to his face only to have him move it down to his heart, holding it there

“Do you know how mad you drive me?” he asked, bringing his lips to hover over hers. “I had to cross a sea in order to breathe, and even then…” He shook his head and sighed. “And even then, I was suffocated with missing you.”

“I’m here,” she said, her voice a wanton whisper. “I’m here and I’m choosing you. My mother and father can shout and disown me, I do not care. I only care that…that I haven’t lost you.”

“You haven’t,” he whispered, a look of pained adoration on his face as he filled in the gap, pressing his lips to hers and repeating the same words over and over until he ran out of breath. “I’m yours.”

Frankie lifted her up, her legs wrapping around his waist as he carried her over to his bed, her hands cradling his face to keep his lips against hers. It was sloppy, messy, and desperate the way they clung to each other, both of them practically falling onto his bed, the wooden frame cracking beneath them.

“Your bed,” she giggled.

“It doesn’t matter,” he rasped, trailing his kisses down her neck as his hands fumbled with the button on his trousers.

“Wait—“ Florence stopped his frantic movements with her hand over his, drawing his dark and desperate eyes to hers. “We don’t have to rush anymore.”

Frankie nodded and moved his hands to rest on her hips, his white blouse on her frame sliding up as he let his hands roam up and down her curves as he kissed her slowly and more intentionally, her legs falling open to allow him room to rest in between them.

“I never want anyone the way I want you,” he whispered against her lips. “You’re the only woman I’ve ever touched, do you know that?”

“I hoped it was still true,” she smiled at the ceiling as his kisses trailed lower down her jaw and neck.

“The only woman I want to taste,” he rasped, his hands bunching up the white cotton blouse on her frame until he was peeling it off and casting it aside, his lips finding the stiffened peaks of her breasts. Florence moaned and arched her back, her eyes fluttering closed at the pleasure of feeling his tongue on her skin after so long. “My sweet Florence,” he cooed, kissing his way down her stomach until he was settled between her thighs, spreading them even further apart with the breadth of his shoulders. “Can I taste you, my love?”

“Please,” she whispered, combing her fingers through his curls in encouragement. The first genuine smile to grace his face in the last six months appeared and with it came that simple she loved so much, the sight bringing a grin to her own face as she watched him lower his tongue to her folds, dragging it flat and slow up her seam just to hear her sweet moans again. “You feel so good, my love. I can hardly—god, I can hardly take it.”

“You taste so sweet,” he groaned, a pained look of arousal and hunger on his face as he pulled back to watch as his fingers circled her bundle of nerves slowly, inching her towards the high she knew was bound to come.

Frankie’s hands gripped her thighs as if she’d vanish if he let go, as if he still wasn’t sure this was really happening. Here she was in his bed singing his name like he was a god she’d been forbidden to worship, and suddenly nothing else mattered anymore. All the hurt, all the longing and all the cursing of her name vanished before him into the air with every soft sigh and sweet, melodic moan his skillful tongue pulled from her.

“Frankie, I want--,” she gasped as Frankie interrupted her begging by giving her exactly what she wanted, his finger easing into her and curling causing her hips to buck against his mouth, a ragged sob of relief leaving her lips. “Frankie.”

Frankie pulled back and sat up on his knees, keeping his fingers inside of her to work him open while the other hand popped open the button of his trousers and shucked them down enough to let his aching cock free, the tip angry and weeping at the sight of her spread open beneath him, her face wreck with pleasure as she cupped the weight of her breasts in her palms.

“I need you,” he panted, forcing her eyes open, a smile replacing the open-mouthed look of awe on her face. “Can I?”

“Please,” she begged, her voice hoarse from her cries.

She reached for his face as he slipped his hand from her and planted both by her head, holding his body over hers as he leaned down to kiss her languidly while he pressed his hips into hers, his length lining up with her entrance a slowly pressing in an inch at a time, each time pulling all the way out before pressing back in until he was fully engulfed in her heat. Frankie let out something between a sob and a groan, his face falling into the crook of her neck, his lips pressing sweetly against her collarbone as he stilled himself inside of her for a moment to gather his composure.

“You--” he rasped, turning his face to meet her for another slow kiss. “You’re heaven.”

Florence smiled and stroked her thumb over his cheek as she held it, pressing a kiss to the tip of his nose before tossing her head back against the pillow as he pulled out and pressed back into her, setting a slow and deliberate pace that had her hands traveling to his back to carve her name into his skin with her nails.

“Fuck,” he moaned, clutching the sheets for purchase as his strokes grew rougher, her moans spurring him on. “Tell me what you need, my love.”

“Just this,” she cried, hugging the breadth of his shoulders. “Just like this, I’m so close.”

Frankie moaned again, kissing the side of her face and jaw as he pounded his hips into hers, not daring to change the tempo in the slightest as he felt his own release building dangerously quickly at the feeling of her walls pulsing around him.

“Frankie, my love,” she cried, her eyes squeezing shut and legs crossing around his waist to keep him right where he was.

“Baby,” he whined, nipping at her jaw. “I’m--”

“Stay inside,” she begged, turning her face to meet his lips, both of them panting in unison. “Please, stay inside.”

“Do you know--”

“I know, just,” she interrupted herself with a gasp as her high finally hit, warm sparks of euphoria trickling down her spine and thighs. ”Please.”

Frankie nodded and pressed himself even deeper with each stroke until he was spilling inside of her, the foreign feeling taking his breath away as he let himself fall into her arms, careful not to crush her. He sung her praise and kissed every inch of skin he could find, slipping his arms under the curve of her spine to hold her tight to him as their hearts pounded in unison.

After they both regained their sense, Florence let out a giggle that was infectious enough to pull one from him as well, the two of them laying tangled in the sheets with a satisfied glow on their cheeks.

“I cannot tell you how much I’ve missed this feeling,” she said, tracing the curve of his nose with her fingertip.

“What feeling is that, my sweet Florence?” he asked, catching her fingertip with a soft kiss.

“Total contentment,” she replied, trailing her hand to his shoulder to smooth over his warm skin. “Feeling like there’s nothing missing in the world. With you, I’m not wanting for anything in the world. I have it all right here.”

Frankie smiled and leaned in to kiss her deeper than he had all night, no lust or desperation in it, just complete and total adoration. “I love you, Florence.”

“And I love you, Frankie,” she grinned.

Frankie rolled them onto their sides, his elbow propping up his head as he watched his hand map the curve of her side.

“It may be premature talking about our future, but…earlier your uncle mentioned something to me, and I haven’t been able to shake the image of it since,” he said, lifting his eyes to meet hers. “He asked me if I’d run one of his companies, which would…well, it would give me the chance to provide for myself, but also…a family.” Florence smiled, resting her hand over his as it sat on her hip. “I could provide for our family.”

“Are you asking me to follow you across a sea and become an American? Raise your babies?” she asked, a playful lilt to her voice that left him unsure of whether or not he overstepped. “Because I’d love that. I’d love being anywhere in the world with you in any condition. You are the love of my life. I will follow you anywhere.”

“You would?” he smiled, his eyes turning glossy with emotion.

“Francisco Morales, I want to be your wife. I want to have your children. I want to spend our lives together far away from all of this, from my mother and this world she clings to. Will you--”

“Aren’t I the one who’s supposed to ask?” he interjected with a grin.

“Then go on and ask, because I will if you don’t.” Frankie laughed and nodded.

“Florence Bell,” he started, leaning in to brush his lips against hers. “Make my wildest dreams come true and be my wife.”

“That isn’t a question,” she grinned. “But yes. In this life and every life, yes.”

After a warm evening spent inside Frankie’s cottage, her dress hung out to dry overnight, Frankie bid Florence a temporary goodbye, watching as she walked back to her family’s home in the morning mist and dew to face the reality of her situation while he handled his own and packed the last of his things to prepare for a quick evacuation to the port.

A few hours had passed since she left, and now that the birds had begun to chirp, he knew that the rest of the house would be awake and making their way down for breakfast. He changed into his usual clothes today, vowing to never dress up in that costume again, and started towards the back of the house where the kitchen and servant’s entry was, hoping to bypass Elizabeth and Thomas so that he could find Poppy and explain his situation, apologize for the torment his own pain caused her, and then leave her.

When he arrived at the kitchen, the head cook and her red-headed daughter that had fawned over Frankie last winter were standing at the stove, not even glancing at him. He was thankful for their ignorance, the thought of another confrontation draining him of all of his energy. He found Poppy soon after in the main dining room sitting at a table with most of the family, Elizabeth and Thomas the only noticeable absences besides Florence.

“Mr. Morales!” Joseph Bell chimed, a gleeful look on his face as he sat at the head of the table, his fork loaded with a fat sausage. “Come, sit. We have a plate waiting for you.”

“I’m afraid I must decline,” he said, his eyes glancing at Poppy as she sat gossiping with Anna. “Poppy, can I have a moment with you in the garden?”

“Unchaperoned?” Benjamin teased with feigned disgust.

“Of course,” Poppy said, setting the napkin in her lap on the table before scooting out of her chair and following Frankie out through the kitchen to the garden where he took a seat on a wicker bench. “Is everything alright?”

Frankie swallowed his nerves and shook his head, his eyes fixed on the wet grass beneath his feet as he couldn’t muster the courage to meet hers.

“I…want to start off by saying that none of this was ever my intention,” he said, not seeing the immediate drop of her smile. “I thought I could move on and start a life with you, forget about the person who…who I truly love and long to spend the rest of my days with, but…I can’t.”

“What are you talking about?” Frankie turned to face her, regret and sorrow written all over his face.

“I’m in love with Florence,” he said. “I feel as though I always have been, even before we ever met. This world and her parents forced us apart, but…last night--”

Poppy sighed, shaking her head as she turned to look into the distance.

“You weren’t sick,” she said. “You were only lying to sneak away with an engaged woman? While I sat worrying over your health?”

“I am truly sorry, Poppy,” he said earnestly. “I had no intentions of seeing her, but I found her outside of my cottage and--”

“All thoughts and care of your fiance vanished?” she spat, standing up. “Save your apologies and explanations. I do not care to know what happened or why, I only care that minutes ago I was happy and in love and set to marry a man I thought was good and kind and honorable, but you are none of those things. You are cruel and selfish, just as Florence is. Both of you chose lust over honor and are shattering hearts you do not plan to mend. I cannot say you aren’t fit for each other, because it seems you are a perfect fit. Two irresponsible, heartless souls who only care about yourselves.”

“Poppy, I truly--”

“I wish to never see your face again,” she said, taking off the ring he gave her and throwing it at him before storming back into the house, leaving him to stew in the reality of the hurt he caused. The hurt that still felt worth it for what he got.

Perhaps he was everything she said and more, or perhaps he’s simply a man in love, unable to curb all of its demands.

It was hardly dawn when Florence snuck her way into her home, finding her mother and father pacing in his study still dressed in their pajamas.

“Florence?” her mother called, stomping out of the room to her daughter who stood frozen in just her slip and Frankie’s overcoat in the foyer. “You stupid, selfish, insolent child. I cannot believe you come from my loins, I cannot fathom where you find your nerve--”

“I do not care what you think of me,” Florence said. “You have always held me to a standard I would never reach. You expect me to be you, to live exactly how you’ve lived and to do as you’ve done, but I hate you. I resent you. I do not want to be you.”

“You’re ruining your future,” her father chimed in. “Have you thought for a moment about Javier?”

“He’s all I’ve thought about for the last year!” she bellowed. “I’ve thought and thought and hoped and sacrificed, but the truth is that he and I are far better off without each other than we’d ever be together. He wants a different life than I want. He…he is better off chasing that life than settling for a woman that grows colder and crueler with each passing day. I love him enough to want better for him, and I love myself enough to want better for me.”

“You’re going to regret this when you’re my age,” Elizabeth said, shaking her head at the ceiling.

“I don’t think I will,” Florence sighed. “I know I’m making the right choice, and when I tell Javi, I know he will agree.”

“I--” Elizabeth was stunned into silence, her head shaking as she met her daughter’s eyes. “You are no child of mine. I want you out of this house by the end of the day. Take your gardener with you.”

“They can come with me,” Joseph said from the staircase, making his way down in his robe, a pipe in his mouth. “If you do not want them, I do.”

“This isn’t a matter that concerns you,” Thomas said, pointing his piercing glare at his brother.

“It wasn’t, no. But the minute your wife disowned your own child, your eldest daughter, it became my duty to care for her as my own. She is my family and deserves a home, whatever home she chooses to create with whomever she wants to create it with,” he said, turning his eyes to Florence. “Florence, my dear, we can leave this evening.”

Running into his arms, she hugged him tight and whispered, thank you.

“Now go on and get dressed, I will accompany you to Lord Gutierrez’s estate.”

Florence wasted no time in hurrying to get dressed, knowing that it did not truly matter what effort she put into her appearance for this meeting. Her gown was the last thing Javi would be thinking about.

It was a thirty-minute ride from her family’s estate to Javi’s, and the entire way, her uncle offered his support and advice.

“Just tell the truth, not about what has happened with you and Mr. Morales, but about how you are feeling. He already knows where your heart lies, but he does not yet know how you feel about him.”

When they finally arrived, Florence’s stomach was twisted in knots as she saw Javi sitting on the steps of his front door, his hands clasped as he watched the carriage come to a stop.

“I’ll be waiting here for you,” Joseph said, patting her shoulder.

Florence stepped out of the carriage with the help of the footman and kept her eyes locked on Javi’s as she closed the distance between them, the realization that this was the most eye contact they’d shared in the last two days dawning on her.

“Hello,” she started meekly.

“You’ve come to give me my ring back,” Javi said simply, resolution written in his brown eyes.

“I have,” she confessed softly, slipping the ring off her finger and handing it to him.

“I understand,” he said, his eyes locked on the piece of gold in his palm. “You love him.”

“I do,” she nodded, her eyes round with sympathy. “And I love you too. Enough to stop us from making the worst mistake of our lives.”

“I know,” he whispered, lifting his eyes to meet hers. “I never would have found the courage to do it myself, so…I do thank you.”

“You know I never intended for any of this to happen,” she said, taking a seat beside him. “Everything I said and felt for you was genuine, it just wasn’t--”

“Enough,” he completed her thought. “I knew the entire time, I just…committed myself to the idea of spending my life with the first person I truly connected with. I didn’t stop to think about whether or not it was realistic.”

“You have so much life left to live, Javi,” she said earnestly, reaching for his hand. “You will love and live and experience so much more without me beside you dampening your light. Please, go out and live. Do not listen to your father, do not worry about pleasing anyone. Love whoever you want because life is too short to settle for normalcy when you are not normal. You are exceptional.”

Javi smiled weakly and nodded.

“I hope he treats you as good as you deserve,” he said. “And I hope our paths cross again so that I can see it in your eyes as I do right now.”

“I wish for that too,” she smiled and squeezed his hand.

“How has your mother taken the news?”

“She disowned me,” Florence chuckled. “But that’s alright. I never wished to be owned in the first place.”

Javi laughed too and nodded. “No, you didn’t.”

After a tight hug and a farewell, Florence climbed back into her carriage and sighed in relief.

“Are you alright?” Joseph asked, surprised when she smiled and nodded.

“I’m more alright than I have ever been.”

41 notes · View notes

rosenongrata · 1 month

Text

hardest of hearts.

summary: lady kagome ikeda & dr. ratio reunite at herta space station.

a/n: these two are fun to write. potentially OOC ratio but like. this is my first time writing him give me a break dhjfghjkgdfhjkdfg. ANYYYYYWAYYYYY

cw/s: OC x Canon (kinda) otherwise none?? they kinda argue but it's nothing extreme.

words: ~700

"So, this is where you ran off to, Kagome?"

A familiar voice unceremoniously graces the grey-haired maiden's senses, yet she spares no time in continuing to ignore it. She shuts her book with a soft thud, but does not rise from her desk - instead, she pulls out another book and looks to her assistant with a serene smile.

"Dear Junko, can you grab me some more Sakura tea from the lounge?" Kagome requests with the grace of a princess.

"…Are you sure? I don't want to leave you alone with this…freak." Junko side-eyes Dr. Ratio who had trampled into the isolated office just now, "That feral dog might bite you."

"…Pardon? A feral dog now, huh? I'd say you need to look in a mirror—" Dr. Ratio moves his mouth to retort, but is no short of interrupted.

"Shut up." Junko - the white-haired yet rather ragged-looking young lady - spits, her lilac eyes glowing with apparent rage. "Why are you even here - to berate my boss?" She hisses.

"Ah, your boss. Mrs. Ikeda certainly has risen through the ranks - from a professor at the Intelligentsia Guild to a well-known member of the Genius Society. Or is it Ms. Ikeda - yet again?" He retorts in a state of ataraxis - all the while keeping his eyes trained on his once-colleague.

"How dare you—" Junko growls, storming over to him and raising her hand.

"Junko." Kagome finally intercepts, "Please - two cups of Sakura tea. One for him, one for me." She breathes, her demeanor similar to his own.

"…As you wish." Junko's hand flops to her side as she scoffs and strides past the so-called "doctor," moving to the door - and then she's gone.

"Now, Dr. Ratio…" Kagome sighs, gesturing to an empty seat in front of her desk, "Sit. Please."

"Hmph. I will. You needn't rise to the occasion." He scoffs while striding over, taking a quick seat - folding one knee over the other, and crossing his arms. "Now, you… Do tell me why you insist on running away from the leagues of erudition. I didn't peg you for being a coward nor a heretic."

"Why are you so concerned with what I do with myself?" She finally glances at him - her dull silverine eyes giving no sway to any emotion. Perhaps curiosity, but nothing beyond or below that. And before he can respond, she speaks again, "But that's neither here nor there. Why did you come? Surely not to grace me with your presence."

"Hardly." He shakes his head, already unamused with her lackadaisical and apathetic view of him. "I was begged - utterly beseeched - by colleagues to implore you to return to the Guild."

"No thanks." She swiftly answers, with no hesitation - with no pause. "I am quite content with my plentiful supply of Sakura tea and midday catnaps." She smiles, a similar smile to earlier. She does truly seem happier - at least, in his gilded eyes.

"Tea and catnaps… I must admit that it is odd to hear that coming from you of all people." His fingers tap against his bicep, "It appears to me that you've grown quite comfortable with your…new life. Tell me - just how cushy is it?"

"Very." She smiles more, but now it's teasing - almost downright mocking. "Anyway, you skirt around your true feelings… Now, you tell me," She sighs with the serenity of a nymph at rest, "You did not come here out of the favor of others, but to visit me all on your own, hm? You missed me. I'm quite flattered."

"You—" He grumbles, a blush tinting his cheeks, "You are being ridiculous - even more so. Perhaps even beyond lunacy. Why would I ever dare step foot in your office out of my own volition?"

"You're the lunatic. Or maybe a fool in love… Hehe." She giggles.

"I am leaving—" He rises to his feet, his full - and haughty - height.

"Halt for a moment." She also rises, grabs a small piece of paper - a sticky note - and sticks it to his forehead. "My number - should you ever want to…debate the likeliness of your infatuation."

"…You insult me." He turns on his heel and storms out of the office.

"We are equals, Veritas - don't forget that. I will never look down on you, but…I do enjoy teasing you. Have a nice day."

(Have a nice day? Not with you in my thoughts—) He tears the sticky note from his forehead, staring down at the string of numbers on it - it's indeed her phone number. (Ridiculous woman… She is no idiot, but she is beyond insanity.)

#mine #oc #original character #honkai star rail #hsr #hsr dr ratio #dr ratio x oc #oc x canon #hsr x oc

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amazingnerd · 1 year

Text

The Dragons Fire.

chapter 3.

Pairings: Daemon Targaryen x OC!Fem!Reader

Themes: Cursing, misogyny, arranged marriage, enemies to lovers.

Previous: Chapter 2

Next: Chapter 4

Gaelyra is awoken by the sound of her curtains being pulled apart followed by the quiet creak of her balcony doors being swung open. She cracks an eye open and she does not recognize the person who has opened the doors. She sits up with a groan, her hair a mess as she sees multiple servants moving around her room, all of them carrying different things.

She narrows her eyes, still half asleep, and she blinks in confusion. Terra comes walking in the room carrying a dress and her eyes widen as she sees Gaelyra still in bed, "Have you been in bed all day, my lady?" She questions her, draping the dress down across the couch before she walks into the washroom.

Gaelyra sighs, running a hand through her hair, "I thought I told you I did not want to be disturbed until the feast." She says, still quite groggy.

She hears Terra scoff, "My lady, do you know what time it is?" She pokes her head out of the washroom to look at her mistress, "It is far past midday! The feast is in a few hours!" She moves to Gaelyra and she pulls the covers off of her, taking her hands and pulling her up, "Come! We do not have long and we need to make you presentable." She says, leading a sleep heavy Gaelyra into the washroom.

Gaelyra finds a steaming bath waiting for her. The sweet smell of lavender hangs heavy in the air and a few petals float on the top of the water. Another servant comes into the room with a steaming pitcher and she pours the water into the bath, turning to look at Gaelyra, "I recommend letting it cool, my lady." She says.

Gaelyra nods quietly, not really paying attention as she removes her nightgown. Now naked, she walks over to the bath, not even hesitating for a moment as she climbs into the still steaming hot water. The servant with the pitcher gasps, "My lady! You will burn yourself!" She says.

Gaelyra ignores her as she gets comfortable in the bath, closing her eyes and breathing in the smell of the lavender and the flower petals floating around her.

The smell is calming, the hot water soothing, it's exactly what she needed. Her muscles are sore after fighting all those men yesterday and the hot water does wonders to make her feel better. Today is going to be big, this will be her first appearance to the public as a future princess, she needs to make it count or she'll be hearing about it for the rest of her life.

She's never been to a kings feast before. Yes, her family has had many feasts and banquets in the past, but she's certain that despite her family's immense wealth and social standing, she knows their feasts would pale in comparison to the grand display that surely awaits her.

Gaelyra takes in a deep breath, and she lowers her head down into the water. She welcomes the silence that follows, all other sounds muffled thanks to the water. She stays under for a long while. She thanks all the time she spent in the water for giving her the ability to hold her breath long enough to calm her mind. She blows her held air out through her nose as she pushes herself back to the surface of the water.

She lets out a gasp as she takes in some air, leaning back on the tub and pushing her now soaked hair out of her face. Gaelyra looks over at the window by the tub. It's open, allowing the warm air of the new spring season into the room with her. As she sits there in this warm bath in silence, she can hear the distant sound of the people of the city. She hears the faint music, the soft sound of chatter and laughter, and something else, something she can't quite recognize.

"What is that sound?" She questions, turning her head to look at the servant who brought her bath water.

Said girl stops what she is doing to listen for a moment, and as she identifies the sound she goes back to what she was doing as she speaks, "That is the Dragonpit. My lady. I imagine it is feeding time now." She says.

Gaelyra's eyebrows go up in surprise, "How close is it to the castle?" She questions.

"Not far. My lady. You could probably see it from that window if you were standing up," she informs her calmly, getting a few towels and folding them neatly for later.

Gaelyra turns her head to look out of the window. The servant girl is right, even from this low angle, Gaelyra can see the very tip of a large, grand dome. The stables for the royal dragons, a home for legendary beasts.

She's never seen a dragon in person. She's only ever heard of them from books and from the stories that her mother would tell her as a child. They are said to be larger than life. Ancient dragons are said to have been taller than the castle here at King's Landing, and long enough that if they were to lay down on this city, their bodies would cover it from nose to tail. Such large dragons have slowly died out with the years, but there are still a few left. One of them being Vhagar, the former mount of the deceased lady Laena Velaryon. Her betrothes previous wife.

That thought makes Gaelyra's jaw clench. She is no dragon rider. She's never even seen a real life dragon.

Why in the seven hells would the king choose her to be his brothers next wife? She is nothing compared to a Velaryon. Yes, she has the blood of the dragon flowing in her veins, but she is too different from other women here. Surely there would have been someone else, someone better, that would eagerly and happily be wed to the prince. Someone that the men here could easily control. Someone who would rather die than go against a gold cloak in combat.

Perhaps she will ask the king why he chose her to marry Daemon over gods know how many other women that actually wanted to be wed to him.

She is really not looking forward to seeing Daemon again. She threatened his life yesterday, and what did he do? He just smiled at her without a care in the world. That fucker. She hates him. She already hates him so much and she's only known him a week, she can only imagine how much she is going to despise him as time goes on.

Give him a chance.

The words from her mother's letter echo in her mind and she purses her lips. Her mother, her sweet, always optimistic mother, Gaelyra would do anything to talk to her right now, to vent her anger, her mother would know what to do, she'd know exactly how to help Gaelyra in this situation.

It's then that Gaelyra remembers something and she opens her eyes, turning her head to the doorway to call out, "Terra?"

"Yes, my lady?"

"Is my family coming to the feast tonight?"

There's a short pause before Terra answers, "I believe so, mistress."

Gaelyra feels a smile come to her face in response, leaning her head back against the tub. She closes her eyes. She hopes that her brothers are coming. Samruel and his wife, Fiyona, are definitely coming. The two of them and their shared social nature never miss out on a good celebration, Graehar would come just to see Gaelyra though he will likely keep to himself, and she can already imagine that her parents will come to talk with the king about the engagement and how this will benefit both houses.

She wonders if her mother is looking forward to coming. Gaelyra forgets sometimes that this was once her mother's home, before she was engaged to Jaegar and moved to the Riverlands to be with him. She doesn't remember her mother ever leaving to visit King's Landing, so this must feel like some kind of homecoming for her dear mother.

Either way, Gaelyra is just excited to see her family again. Particularly her mother and brothers, after the last conversation she shared with her father, she isn't exactly happy about seeing him again. Though for her mother's sake, and her brothers, she will put on a happy face.

"My lady?" She hears Terra call for her and she opens her eyes to see her lady-in-waiting standing beside the tub with a towel in her hands. She holds the towel out to Gaelyra and said woman sighs, knowing she needs to get ready for the feast. She stands up in the tub, taking the towel from Terra with a quiet 'thank you' sent her way.

Now smelling strongly of lavender, Gaelyra let's Terra and the servants do what they want to get her ready.

After she puts on some undergarments, they find her a white corset and they put it on her, tightening the strings tight enough so that the corset highlights her waist and the other features of her body, while also supporting her posture. Then they take the dress, a beautiful gold dress, and they put it on her, tying the strings in the back until it is snug around her body. It is modest so that she looks proper, but the collar dips just enough that she can see the curves at the top of her breasts in the mirror. Looking at herself in the mirror, she is nearly left in awe. The dress is beautiful on her.

Once they are satisfied with her dress and the way it looks, they lead her to the vanity. They comb her hair until it is dry, then they braid it back in a beautiful, intricate style. The servants talk amongst themselves about how this style will show off her beautiful face and how pretty the braids look in her red hair. She tunes out most what they say, only answering if they address her directly, which isn't often. They seem content with leaving her alone while they do their work, and she is grateful for that.

Eventually they finish with her hair and she stands up from the vanity, looking at herself in the mirror. She won't lie, her hair does look quite beautiful. The servants did well, braiding her hair in a way that is both beautiful to look at and comfortable to wear. She likes it.

She sees Terra move towards her out of the corner of her eye and she turns her head to look at her. Terra smiles at her and she stops in front of her, carrying something in her hands. She lifts her hands up and Gaelyra sees what exactly it is that her friend is holding.

A necklace, with a silver chain and a large red ruby hanging from it in a silver pendant. She tilts her head at the necklace, "It's beautiful," she says, bringing her hand up to trace the fine silver surrounding the ruby pendant.

Terra smiles, "Indeed, my lady." She says, moving to stand behind Gaelyra. She moves her hair to her shoulder and she brings the necklace to her neck, putting it around her neck before she moves her lady's hair back to where it was, fixing any imperfection as she does so.

Gaelyra looks at the necklace in the mirror, bringing her hand up to carefully touch the ruby, "Where did this come from?" She asks, looking at Terra through the reflection in the mirror.

Terra does not look up from her hands as she straightens any wrinkle in the dress, leaning down and fixing the skirt so it flows just right, "A gift from the prince Daemon, my lady," she says, having no clue what she just said made Gaelyra's eyes widen.

She looks down at Terra, "A gift? From prince Daemon?" She repeats, not believing it. "Are you certain it was him that wished me to have this?"

Terra pauses and looks up at Gaelyra, "Well, I am fairly certain it was him who gave me the box in the corridor this morning. If it was not him, we may have an imposter in the castle," she jests, giving her a smile.

Gaelyra purses her lips and she looks down at the necklace around her neck. It is very beautiful, she won't deny that, but why would Daemon give her a gift? He's shown nothing but animosity towards her whenever they happen to meet, he's insulted her multiple times, and avoided her like she had some kind of plague since she arrived here. What kind of game is he playing by giving her this gift?

Terra seems to see the doubt in Gaelyra's face because she stands up and looks at her lady with a calm expression, "Perhaps it is a peace offering my lady," she suggests, "An apology for how he has treated you thus far." She brings her hand up to push a loose strand of hair away from Gaelyra's face, looking at her with a small, warm smile, "You should ask him. Maybe he has finally accepted this engagement as the blessing that it is." She says.

Gaelyra bites the inside of her cheek, "Perhaps..." she says, though she doesn't truly believe this. There's a knock on the door and a knight walks in, bowing to Gaelyra before he straightens his posture and speaks, "The princess Rhaenyra, my lady. And her husband, ser Laenor Velaryon." A moment after he announces them, the princess walks into the room with her husband by her side.

Gaelyra hasn't really interacted with the heir of Driftmark outside of a greeting said in passing. He usually keeps to himself, though in the few times that Gaelyra has seen him, he has always been cordial and polite, a gentleman.

Of course it's always nice to see Rhaenyra, Gaelyra could feel a smile come to her face the moment the guard announced her, and that smile stays as she turns to watch them enter.

Rhaenyra smiles at Gaelyra as she makes her way farther into the room, "You look beautiful, Gaelyra." She says, admiring the dress with a smile on her face.

Laenor nods his head in agreement, giving a smile, "Absolutely stunning, my lady." He says, ever so polite as always.

As Rhaenyra looks at Gaelyra, she sees the necklace around her neck and her smile grows, "So my uncle did decide to give it to you I see," she says, reaching up to touch the jewel within the pendant.

Gaelyra looks at Rhaenyra with her brows raised, "You knew about this?"

Rhaenyra nods and lowers her hand, "He came to me yesterday with the idea, and I told him it wouldn't be a terrible thing to do. Especially after how he acted on your first meeting and during that incident at the training grounds," she gives her a knowing look and Gaelyra looks down in embarrassment. She suppresses a groan. Wonderful, if Rhaenyra knows about it then she can be damn sure that the king knows about it too. Seven hells, half the castle probably knows about it by now.

Gaelyra scoffs quietly, "I'm sure Daemon is eager to see me after what happened between us yesterday," she says, her voice dripping with pure sarcasm as she pulls at a random spot on her dress.

Rhaenyra takes her fidgeting hand, giving it a small pat as she looks at her face, "Gaelyra, there is one thing that you must know about my dear uncle... He is impressed by impulse and gall." She tells her, "He does not admire that which conforms, and you, my dear lady, have already made quite the splash against the sea of conformity." She tells her with a smile on her face.

Gaelyra laughs quietly, pushing her hair back behind her ears and looking at her friend, "Thank you, princess. Truly." She says.

Rhaenyra smiles and turns towards the door, releasing Gaelyra's hand, "Come, the feast is about to begin. We will escort you there," she says, walking to her husband and taking his arm. Gaelyra nods and she takes her skirt into her hands, following Rhaenyra out of her chambers and into the corridor.

The castles corridors are crowded and bustling. Lords and ladies from all corners of the realm have gathered at the invitation of the king. A big announcement will be made on this night, an announcement which could bring about many changes to the kingdom. None of them know for certain what the announcement is exactly, but most theorize that it has something to do with the new face here in the castle. With the fair lady Gaelyra.

Gaelyra recognizes some of the faces that she passes in the corridors, old friends and allies of her house. She gives them all her greetings as she passes them, and they bow their heads to her in return.

After much walking and many familiar faces, they come to the great hall. There are already many people within the hall. All of them either royal family members or special members of court that get first pick of the seats before the rest of the guests are invited in. Rhaenyra and Laenor walk in without hesitation, the both of them used to such gatherings. Gaelyra however, is not. Back home, she would always try to avoid celebrations such as these. She does not enjoy the loudness of crowds nor the bland conversation that such parties provide, but this party is for her and her betrothed, so she knows that she cannot just make up some false excuse to get out of it.

She has to be there. Even if the very thought of being amongst all these nobles makes her stomach churn. She takes in a deep breath to gather her courage and she raises her head, holding it up high as she makes her entrance to the great hall.

Plate after plate, extravagant dish after extravagant dish, all sit side by side on the many tables which stand in the great hall. She can't even count the number of wine goblets and silver utensils that sit by the plates. Hanging from the tall ceiling above her are multiple banners displaying the house of the dragon sigil. The three headed red dragon almost glowing like a beacon in the candlelit hall.

Servants move all around her to put some finishing touches on the hall, but she keeps her gaze focused ahead, towards the high table. The king sits at the center beside his lady wife, Alicent Hightower, a woman that Gaelyra has yet to meet face to face. Rhaenyra and Laenor take the two empty seats to the kings left, and now that just leaves the seats at the end of the table.

In the seat to Laenors left, the rogue prince sits. He stares down at the wine goblet in his hand with a bored expression that amuses Gaelyra a bit. The feast hasn't even officially begun yet and he already looks like he is ready to leap out the nearest window.

As she gets closer to the table, he brings his gaze up from his goblet and his eyes land on her. His eyes look her up and down, and a smirk forms on his lips as his eyes stop at her neck, seeing the necklace he sent for her. After the incident at the training grounds yesterday, he left and went straight to the royal jeweler to have them make it for her. He made sure that they got every detail right, and he waited. By morning, it was done. He almost gave it to her himself but her lady-in-waiting stopped him. She told him that her mistress was bathing and while Daemon wouldn't care at all if he saw his betrothed naked, the woman blocked his path and told him to leave. She promised that she would give the necklace to the lady Vaela herself and that satisfied him enough that he was just fine with leaving the necklace in the capable hands of the handmaid.

Now that he is seeing it around her neck, a new, strange emotion fills his heart. He can't quite identify it nor does he understand it. It's not love, nor lust. It feels different, softer. Curiosity perhaps? She decided to wear the necklace despite the two of them having a rough introduction. She decided to wear it all on her own, and that surprises him. He does not have time to ponder on this emotion further, because Gaelyra has reached him.

There is an empty chair beside him reserved for her, a male servant comes forward to pull out the chair for her. When she has taken her seat her chair is pushed in and the servant walks away, leaving Daemon and Gaelyra side by side for the first time.

Daemon watches her in silence for a brief moment before he speaks, "Hello, betrothed." He says, speaking softly so that only she can hear him, "You look good." He says in Valyrian.

Gaelyra narrows her eyes at him, "I do not understand what you are saying." She reminds him.

That makes him chuckle, "Ah, yes. Forgive me, it slipped my mind," he says, taking a sip of the wine in his cup.

She nods, quietly thanking a servant as they fill her cup with wine. The servant nods and bows their head before walking off to do some other tasks. Daemon lowers his cup to speak to her, "Why do you thank them?" She looks at him in question, "The servants." He adds, "They are here to serve us, that is their duty, why thank them?" He questions.

Gaelyra does not hesitate in her answer, "Because, if the roles were reversed, I would like someone to thank me for my work." She says, taking her cup into her hand and bringing it to her lips.

Daemon hums, "Well, if that were the case. I don't think you would be thanked, especially not by that cunt Otto Hightower," he says, gesturing down to the other end of the table where said man is seated.

Gaelyra looks down the table to the man clad in green, her eyes examining him. She is known for her good instincts, especially when it comes to people. They have never lead her astray, and she can tell with just one look, she doesn't like him. She knows that he is the hand of the king, but she does not like him. Perhaps it is the way he carries himself like he himself is royalty, or it could be that he looks at everyone, especially his daughter, like they are pawns. Pieces to be used by him in a game of power and politics. It nauseates her.

She furrows her brows slightly, "I suppose he does look like a cunt," she says. "Is he aware of how insufferable he looks?" She questions, her tone far too nonchalant for the words it carries. Insulting the hand of the king could bring about serious consequences. But who would dare harm the prince's betrothed?

Her words make Daemon laugh, but he muffles the sound by laughing into his goblet, earning a strange look from Laenor, who sits at his other side. One look from Daemon and the heir to Driftmark quickly turns his gaze away to engage in conversation with the king.

"You know," Daemon says, looking at her, "You could get yourself into serious trouble speaking in such a way." He points out.

She scoffs, "Let the trouble come. As your gold cloaks will tell you, I can send any man to his knees."

The rogue prince cannot help the smirk that comes to his face. The doors to the great hall are opened once more to allow the guests in, and the feast begins.

••••

Music is played, conversation is shared, and delicious food is eaten within the hall as the evening goes on. The merriment in the air is palpable, even Gaelyra, who usually doesn't enjoy gatherings like this, is having a nice time. Having an endless supply of wine helps too, but she is genuinely having a good time. She and the king have spoken a lot as those at the high table talk amongst themselves. They speak of many things and at first Gaelyra didn't know what to say. How does one converse with a king? Though after a while, she finds it is rather easy to talk with Viserys. He is kind, humble, and warm. He does not feign interest when in conversation, which is something she admires and respects about him. A lot of men in this room only pretend to care when in actuality they are thinking about the drinks or which lady they could fuck. But not Viserys, he is genuinely happy to be in conversation with his brothers future bride, and soon, Gaelyra even feels comfortable enough to be honest.

The creak and groan of old wood draws all eyes to the entrance of the hall. A man wearing the colors of blue and gold steps into the room and Gaelyra's eyes widen, she recognizes him. It's one of the guards from her home. The man holds his arms to his sides and his posture is straight as he speaks loud enough for the entire hall to hear, "The lord Jaegar of the house Vaela, his lady wife, lady Ellya. And their two sons, ser Samruel, and Graehar."

Gaelyra straightens up a bit in her seat as the man steps to the side, and the chatter of the hall quiets a little as those from the legendary house of Vaela walk into the room. Jaegar walks with Ellya at his side, her arm linked with his. They are both dressed in their best clothes, the lady Ellya wears a blue dress with gold bangles, and her silver hair is braided back in a beautiful but simple style. Her husband Jaegar wears the colors of his house, blue and gold, with his house crest stitched into the breast pocket of his waistcoat. He stands tall beside his wife, his hand placed over hers on his arm as he walks into the room.

Their sons, Gaelyra's brothers, walk in behind them. They are both dressed similarly to their father, with their own individual touches added on. Samruel walks with his wife Fiyona, a beautiful woman with long black hair and eyes as blue as the sky on a clear day. Unlike Samruel, who grew up coming to big parties, she looks quite nervous. Fiyona was a common woman before she met Sam, so occasions like this are still foreign to her. Gaelyra wishes she could get up from this table and reassure Fiyona that all is well. Though it looks like Samruel has that covered, as every time Fiyona looks at him, he meets her gaze like she is the center of his entire world, and Gaelyra can see her sister by marriage relax.

Graehar walks behind his brother and Fiyona. The shy Graehar is the youngest in their family, almost at the end of his adolescence. He plays with the arm of his sleeve nervously, his eyes flickering over the faces in the room. She knows that look. He's looking for something.

Her little brother's gaze finally meets hers, and the young man smiles wide. He found her. She too smiles, and she makes a move to stand but she is stopped by a hand on her arm that gently pushes her back down into her seat. She turns her head and she sees that the hand belongs to Daemon and he looks at her, shaking his head. A silent word leaves his lips. Later, he says. He pats her arm before he moves his hand away. She knows that it's probably not customary for someone who has the privilege to sit at the high table to stand up and leave it just to greet some guests. Daemon likely just saved her from humiliating herself at her first public appearance. She thanks him silently, her stubborn nature not allowing her to speak the words aloud.

Jaegar and Ellya stop at the bottom of the stairs. Jaegar gives a deep bow and Ellya takes her skirts into her hands, bending down into a curtsy. Fiyona also gives a curtsy and both Samruel and Graehar bow to the king. Jaegar lifts his head up to look at Viserys, "My king," he greets, "You honor me and my house tonight. I thank you," he says, bowing his head once more.

Viserys smiles at Jaegar, "I am happy to see you my friend. Sit, enjoy the celebration." He says, gesturing with a wave of his arm to a collection of seats at an empty table, no doubt reserved for the family of the future princess. Jaegar bows his head in gratitude, but just before he turns to lead his family to their table, his eyes fall upon Gaelyra. Her face hardens as she makes eye contact with her father. Their last conversation echoes in her ears in that moment and she is silent, her eyes staring at him with an unreable look.

He seems to be frozen in place until Ellya elbows him in the side, snapping him out of it. He clears his throat and nods to Gaelyra, "Daughter." He says.

Gaelyra does not respond, and Jaegar leads his family to sit down at a table to enjoy the feast. Gaelyra let's out a sigh and she reaches forward, grabbing her goblet of wine and downing the rest of it.

She is grateful for the lightness in her head, the wine is doing its job. Perhaps the rest of this night will be bearable.

"If I may I have your attention, lords and ladies."

She spoke too soon. It's time for the announcement.

All eyes are on the king now. A fond smile rests on his face as he speaks, "What a wonderful evening this has been. A night of merriment, of drink, and of laughter. I, and the rest of my family, are all pleased to have you all here tonight. But I have not called you all here just to make merry, I have an announcement to make," he says. Everyone watches, listening intently for what the king will say next. He smiles and looks towards Daemon and Gaelyra, "Some of you may be wondering to yourselves who this beautiful woman is, she is Gaelyra of house Vaela. An honorable house, lead by an honorable man," Jaegar raises his cup to his king in response to that, and Viserys sends his old friend a smile before he continues in his speech, "I have gathered you here tonight to make this known to the realm; My brother, prince Daemon, and the lady Gaelyra of house Vaela, are to be married before summers end." He looks back to the guests, "In two seasons, there will be a royal wedding, and you, my people, will have a new princess!"

As the crowd cheers, Viserys turns to the band and after he gives them a nod, they begin to play their songs once more. Men and women rise from their seats and gather on the floor to dance together. Gaelyra lets out a silent breath of relief, that wasn't so bad. Now she can relax. She watches the men and women dance with one another, her expression calm. Seeing the people smile as they move to the music, it's nice.

"Would you like to dance?"

Gaelyra turns to look at Daemon with her eyes slightly widened, "Me?" She says. She is surprised. She just assumed the two of them would sit at the table all night, exchanging only occasional glances and small bits of conversation. She didn't think he'd want to dance with her, so yes, she is surprised.

He rolls his eyes, "Who else would I ask to dance? My brother?" He questions her.

She narrows her eyes at him and he sighs, standing from his chair. He holds his hand out to her, and he softens his expression, "My lady, would you do me the incredible honor of sharing a dance with me?" He asks, blinking his eyes innocently at her.

She chuckles at his exaggerated actions, reaching her hand up and placing it into his, "I don't see why not," she says.

He smiles at her and closes his hand around hers, leading her from the high table and down to the floor. The crowd parts as the prince and his fiancé move to the dance floor, letting them pass through with ease. When they reach the center of the floor they stop and Daemon turns to Gaelyra, moving their locked hands up and placing his other hand onto her waist, while she moves her free hand to rest it on his shoulder. Their eyes remain locked on one another as they begin to move to the music.

They are silent for a while as they dance with one another, looking into each other's eyes. Gaelyra wonders what he could be thinking. She herself is wondering just why he asked her to dance. He didn't have to. Then again, he has done a lot of things today that he didn't have to. He gave her a gift, he's spoken to her like they were friends, and he stopped her from embarrasing herself when her family came in. He didn't have to do any of that. So why didn't he just ignore her like he has been since she got here? Why give her this gift? She doesn't understand.

Perhaps it is a peace offering, my lady. An apology for how he has treated you thus far.

Terra's words from earlier run through her mind then. Perhaps her handmaid was right.

You should ask him.

Gaelyra opens her mouth to do just that but he beats her to it by speaking first, "So," he says, "Do you like the necklace?" He says, glancing down at the pendant resting against her collarbone before he looks up at her again.

She too looks down at the pendant, the red ruby sparkles in the candlelight that illuminates the great hall, "It is beautiful," she says. She bites the inside of her cheek and as she looks back up at him she asks him the question that has been pestering her since this necklace was placed around her neck, "Tell me, prince, why give this to me?" She asks. She shakes her head at him, "This is an arranged marriage, and we did not know one another before this, you need not be kind to me, so why give this to me?"

His eyes watch her closely as she speaks, and when she has finished, he turns his gaze away to another spot in the room. Gaelyra turns her head to look as well, and she sees that he is looking at two young girls. They have silver hair on their heads, dark skin, and dark, sparkling eyes. They both couldn't be more than nine years old, but still, they are beautiful.

"My daughters," Gaelyra looks back at him as he finally speaks, and his eyes continue to focus on the two girls, "They live with their grandsire at Driftmark. I see them so little now, but every time I do, they remind me more and more of their mother." He says.

Ah yes, the lady Laena Velaryon. Gaelyra never knew her, but she has heard that she was a kind and brave woman. From the stories that she has heard about the fallen Velaryon woman, she would have liked to have known her, perhaps the two of them would have gotten along well.

Daemon looks down at Gaelyra, and his eyes are solemn, "She was taken from those girls too soon. They are still healing from her passing. We all are. But..." He hesitates a moment. He takes a deep breath, and he pushes himself to speak, "I grew comfortable in my life with her. She was more than my wife, she was my friend. And if I am to marry again, I want to have that once more." He says. "I will not be in another marriage where I am in misery when I am with my wife. I will not do that again."

He must be speaking of the lady Rhea Royce. Gaelyra remembers her. She met her only once, long ago. She was still a youth, and even back then, she did not like Rhea, and Rhea did not like her. They were too different in ideals. But they were forced to interact when the Royce house wanted to do business with hers, thankfully it was only the one time, and Gaelyra was spared from further knowing the arrogant Rhea Royce. When news reached her about Rhea's accidental death, Gaelyra did not shed a tear. One less noble woman like her in the world is not that tragic of a loss.

To be married to someone like her must have been misery. Gaelyra only had to be with Rhea one time for a short period of a few weeks, she can just imagine how Daemon must have felt being tied to her by marriage.

He looks into her eyes, and his expression is almost gentle, pleading as he says, "So, if you will allow it, lady Gaelyra, I want us to start anew. From this night on, I want us to try and be friends."

She was not expecting him to say that. But his words have touched her heart, he has decided to make an effort to be her friend, so perhaps she should try to make an effort as well.

She gets an idea, and she smiles, looking into his eyes, "My prince, I think starting over is a splendid idea." She steps back from him, and she bows her head, "My name is Gaelyra. It is wonderful to meet you, your highness." She says, tilting her head up to look at him with a warm smile.

He too smiles and he takes a step back, placing his hand onto his chest and bowing his head, "I am prince Daemon Targaryen, my lady. And the pleasure is all mine," he says.

Her smile grows and she moves towards him, taking his hand in hers once more and resting her other hand back onto his shoulder. He rests his hand on her waist, while his other hand holds hers gently in his. With this new agreement still fresh in their minds, they continue their dance, and the both of them now move with much lighter hearts.

••••

Gaelyra decides to step out for some air after a few hours. She slips from the great hall and into the quiet corridors. With the feast going on the rest of the castle is fairly empty, with there being only a few guards patrolling to make sure there is no trouble. But it is still silent enough that Gaelyra can have some much needed quiet after being surrounded by the chaos and noise of the feast.

She only has to walk for a short time before she finds a long corridor. There are many balconies along this hallway, these balconies overlook the vast city of kings landing. She stops at one balcony in the middle of the hall and she leans against the railing, shutting her eyes and breathing in the cool night air. Winter is coming to an end and spring approaches, which means that she will be married soon. Before summers end, she will be a Targaryen.

Her agreeing to be amicable with Daemon does give her a small sense of hope, and the warmth that Viserys has shown her tonight does help her to feel welcome here, but there's something nagging at her. Something pulling at her heart that makes her feel empty inside. She doesn't know what it is that could be making her feel this way. She doesn't like it one bit.

"A penny for your thoughts, sister?"

Her eyes snap open at that familiar voice and she turns in the direction of the voice. She grins as she sees two heads of red hair shining in the moonlight. They both move closer to her and she walks forward to meet them, throwing her arms around them, "My brothers!" She cries out with a grin on her face.

Samruel and Graehar smile at their sister, the two boys return her embrace with one of their own, holding her tight between the two of them. After a long moment of just holding her beloved siblings close, she pulls away and smiles at the pair of them, "Oh I have missed you! How have you been?" She questions.

Samruel looks at his sister fondly, "We have been well, my sister." He says. "Though I must confess the house lacks a certain warmth without you in it."

Gaelyra smiles at her elder brother before she turns her attention to Graehar. She gasps and reaches up to pinch his cheek, "Baby brother, have you gotten bigger? I think you've grown taller since I last saw you!"

Graehar laughs and lightly bats her hand away from his cheek, "It has barely been a fortnight since you departed, sister. I do doubt I have grown since we last saw one another." He says with a teasing roll of his eyes.

Gaelyra smiles at him, "You never know, brother. You never know," she says.

Samruel leans against the balcony railing, his eyes looking out over the city, "Just think, Gaelyea, before summers end you will be Gaelyra Targaryen, princess of the city of Kings Landing..." He waves his hand in the air as if to highlight his words, and he smiles at her, "That has a nice ring to it." He says.

She chuckles in response, standing next to Samruel and looking out at the city, "I suppose so," she says. Graehar joins them at the balcony, looking out at the city which almost seems to glow in the night. When Gaelyra speaks, he notices the distant expression on her features and the young man furrows his brows. Something is bothering his sister.

He reaches over to his brother and he nudges him in the side to get his attention. Sam looks at Graehar in confusion and his little brother gestures with a nod of his head to their sister, who still seems to be lost in her thoughts. Sam looks over at Gaelyra and he sees the look in her eyes, this makes him furrow his brows as he addresses her, "Sister?"

Gaelyra blinks and snaps herself out of her thoughts, looking at Samruel, "Hm?" She hums.

Sam tilts his head at her, "You are not yourself."

Graehar scoffs, "Took you long enough to notice..." He mutters at his brother, earning him a sharp elbow in the gut from Sam, making the young man grunt.

Gaelyra laughs softly at her brothers, and the sound makes the both of them look at her. She smiles at them, though it does not reach her eyes, "I am fine." She says. They both narrow their eyes at her, clearly not believing her. She sighs, "Really you two, I am fine." She assures them.

Graehar shakes his head at her, walking over and placing a hand onto her shoulder, "I know I speak for Sam as well when I say this but... Gaelyra, we're your brothers. We know you better than anyone. We know something is weighing on your mind, so what is it?" He questions.

Gaelyra's shoulders sag in defeat. Damn. Is she really that easy to read? She needs to work on concealing her emotions better. She decides to just speak to them. Better them than anyone else.

She reaches down and holds up the ruby pendant around her neck, "Prince Daemon gave this to me," she says. "He says it's a gift. A friendship offer. He wishes for us to be friends in this marriage, and I agree, and yet I..." she shakes her head and looks away, trailing off for a moment before she pushes herself to keep going. "I have doubts." She admits.

Graehar, ever the understanding and sweet little brother, tilts his head at her with concern in his emerald eyes, "Doubts?" He repeats in question.

She nods, "I cannot help but worry that this may be some kind of game. My brothers, our house controls a majority of the Riverlands. What if Daemon is trying to get in my good graces just to get himself more power?" She sees Sam's fists clench against the stone railing of the balcony as anger flickers in his eyes for just a moment, but then it's gone, and he pushes himself off the railing to meet her gaze, "Gaelyra, can I tell you something?" He questions.

She, confused, nods her head. He walks towards her in silence, and he places his hands onto her shoulders, his face is completely serious as he speaks next, "Daemon Targaryen is the type of man that if he didn't like you. You would know it. You remember Rhea Royce?" She nods, and he continues, "I heard they did not even consummate their marriage. I heard that he avoided her like she had a plague. So, dear sister, why do you think he would give effort into being friendly with you? Why do you think he and the king chose you specifically to be wed to him?"

She opens her mouth and he frowns, "If you say to forge a stronger alliance between our houses I will throw myself off the balcony." She quickly closes her mouth and he chuckles, shaking his head. He looks into her eyes once more, "It's because he likes you, Gaelyra. Perhaps it was something you did or it could be because you inherited our mothers beauty, but Daemon Targaryen likes you. And I have heard that that is no small achievement."

Gaelyra frowns slightly, looking down to the floor at her feet. She looks up as a hand is placed onto her cheek, and her head is tilted up to look at Sam. He smiles gently at her, "You should be proud, sister. You have done something that even the most powerful noblemen have failed to do." He pats her cheek, "You got the rogue prince to like you." He says.

She smiles at him, feeling much better now. Perhaps Sam is right, maybe Daemon does actually like her. Maybe this necklace isn't a piece in a game of gain and favor. Perhaps it is genuinely a token of friendship from her soon to be husband.

She really hopes so. Because she may not love Daemon, but it would really be nice to at least be friends with him going into this union.

With this new hope in mind, she takes a deep breath and she smiles at her brothers, "Come, I'd like to show you two around." She says, walking forward and placing a hand onto each of their arms.

The two men are in no hurry to return to the celebration, so Gaelyra leads them down the corridor to show them the rest of the castle. Thanks to her brothers, she feels a lot better about what will come next for her.

For the first time since she got here, she has hope for her future as a princess of the seven kingdoms.

A/N: Apologies for the delay on this chapter, life has been busy. As for the taglist I just decided to tag those who I've noticed have been following the series so far. I hope that's okay and I hope you guys like this long chapter! 💙

Taglist: @simbaaas-stuff @vilmakamunen @addie333333 @livinthesweetlife @enchantedbones @the-baybieruth @cheappixel @immyowndefender @strawberry07cake @saramarvel01 @paranoyse @harrietgamersstuff @idkwhy5000 @missyviolet123

#house of the dragon #daemon targaryen #daemon x oc #fantasy #daemon targaryen x oc

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flowerwrites06 · 2 years

Text

golden lotus II — kth

Plot: Refusing and underestimating a warning from Time can have its prices. One God pays the worst of it. Pairing(s): God!Taehyung x Goddess!OC (Name: Angel) Rating: G | PG | M | R 18+ Type: Drabble | Oneshot | Two Parter | Series Word Count: 6.9k Genre: Romance Fantasy | Gods & Goddesses Tags & Warnings: sexual content, violence, jealousy, obsession (not from main couple), character death (temporary) Authors Note: the second part!

Crisp morning air brushed against his tired skin though it couldn’t sour his mood in the slightest. Angel had suggested for them to take a walk up the mountains so she could check on some mushrooms growing while also showing him something special. Taehyung didn’t care what it was but still had an excited tingle in his belly seeing how happy she got talking about it.

The sky still had a greyish blue hue as the sun slept for a couple more hours. Kiku, the Sun Goddess hated autumn mornings the most and tried to oversleep just until it was too close to midday. Mountains of fresh green, scent of morning dew in the damp air as Taehyung watched Angel’s hair flowing over her face. He had the strongest urge to brush the strands away, touch her soft skin again after so long but kept his hands to himself.

“You aren’t allergic to mushrooms, are you?” Angel asked, a little breathless going up the incline of the mountain but her tone was still bright.

“Not at all.”

“Good.” She spoke with a smile squeaking her voice. “I’m going to make some mushroom stew. I heard it can warm your heart in the coldest winter.”

Taehyung smirked, stopping himself from playfully tapping her flushed nose. “Where did you hear that?”

“There’s this nice lady who gives me strawberries from her farm in exchange for my figs. She tells me the stories behind different foods.” Angel shrugged lightly. “It’s—comforting knowing everything in nature has its own meaning and purpose. Almost reassures you that your purpose will come alive one day.”

“Is this not your purpose?” He gestured out to the view.

Hazy blue mountains almost blurred like abstract strokes of a painting while the trees looked like their own shadows in full form. Angel couldn’t help but sigh a little happily. “I love this place. It’s the only thing that could ever feel like home for me…but—”

“But?” Taehyung’s expression softened as he tried to search for more answers in her eyes. Except they were just as confused as he was.

“There’s a part of me missing…I don’t know…my mind conjures up all these thoughts that…strange thoughts like I’m—” Angel had to pause as they reached the denser parts of the forest. “Like I’ve run away from home almost.”

His heart jolted in excitement even though there was a slight tinge of sadness. Taehyung knew Angel long enough to see the sheer confusion and loss hidden in her eyes. Confusion he wished he could dissipate in seconds but any explanation would have caused more headaches than she deserved.

Angel breathed out a chuckle. “You must think I’m crazy.”

“No.” Taehyung didn’t hesitate. “You’re not crazy. You’re thoughtful, it’s nice.” Corner of his lips tilted upward watching her glistening eyes flickered over his way. The brightness behind his favourite orbs brought a comfort in his belly.

She grinned, continuing to walk so the burn on her cheeks wouldn’t become far too visible to him.

Through the thick forest, the trees were decorated with moss while the floor was lightly scattered with growing mushrooms. Angel had a keen eye in recognizing which ones were edible and immediately crouched down to gently pull them out. As she placed the mushrooms into the basket hanging over her elbow, she moved to pat the damp soil affectionately. “Thank you.” She murmured.

His human formed heart must have been incredibly weak as it practically melted hearing her sweet voice sending her gratitude to the land. Even as a human, Angel was perfect beyond imagination. “You thank the land?” Taehyung smiled unable to breathe in proper patterns as the urge to kiss her cute cheek overwhelmed him.

“The forest is a living entity.” Angel explained, standing back up on her feet. “By doing this, I’m taking pieces of her so it’s good to give thanks.”

“That’s really sweet.” You’re amazing. You always were. Taehyung wanted to say so much more but his throat kept closing from how fast his heart raced through his ribcages.

Angel giggled lightly almost killing the God in the process before they both walked further up the mountain. Heat gathered under her clothes, sweating sticking it to her skin. Her excitement, however, surpassed every other discomfort. “I found this place when I first came here…can’t even remember when.” Or maybe it was a dream? Nothing never came clear to her anymore. “But I know it’s sacred. Some people don’t even believe it exists.”

Taehyung furrowed his brows as they walked through the thinning trees. A burst of nostalgia tingling down his spine when he looked around at the colorful flowers growing near the moss covered trees. He had been here before. Centuries ago, he remembered padding through this very area where his entire life changed. It couldn’t be though.

However once they reached a little clearing bursting with gold, butterflies soared across Taehyung’s belly. Blossoms gathered all around into a beautifully random field with only or two trees providing shade making it look brighter than the other parts of the forest.

“I call them Golden Lotuses.” Angel’s voice broke through his thoughts. “They kind of look like them anyway.” She carefully padded through the field making sure not to step on any of the flowers while Taehyung—as speechless as he was followed without question.

She found a big enough patch of grass so they could sit down and rest for a few moments. Once Angel settled herself, she looked up at Taehyung expectedly before he finally took the hint and sat down in front of her. “Isn’t it beautiful?” She smiled around at the flowers, petal shining in gold and the bits of pollen resembling glitter of some kind glimmering like tiny diamonds. “I told the lady about a field like this and she said it sounded like the birthplace for the Goddess of Creation.”

Taehyung’s head shot up, breathing hitching slightly in his throat. “You–you know the Goddess of Creation?” He tilted his head.

“Only from stories.” She giggled shyly. “I usually hear stories of her in tragedies. They say she was murdered by the Goddess of Living Souls because she was jealous of her beauty. The Great Protector was being distracted by something so he couldn’t save her on time.”

“Or the Great Protector was an asshole who couldn’t listen to his wife properly.” Taehyung mumbled a little in anger. However, the heat in his chest slowly faded into a flutter hearing Angel laugh again.

“That’s one theory, I suppose.” Angel gazed around in silence, taking in the comforting scent that almost resembled a warm vanilla. Her eyes paused on a tiny bud hidden amongst the fully bloomed and she reached out to gently pull it from the ground. She patted the ground again silently thanking the earth before facing Taehyung. “May I?”

Taehyung’s features softened seeing her kneel down in front of him. He had for a second forgotten just how small his love was, remembering how he used to cradle her in a way while she told him stories. “Yeah.” His voice was a whisper as the ability to gain a higher tone seemed impossible with how Angel was shifting closer.

Angel placed the bud behind his ear gently, fluffing his hair so it connected well with his entire look before shifting back with an accomplished smile. “Gold looks nice on you.” The pollen glitters made his deep eyes sparkle causing her to stare a little longer than she probably should have been.

Lips stretched out into a smile as he practically let himself drown into her gaze. Even in this form, Angel looked so thoughtful whenever she looked over him. As if she wanted to ask so many questions and express so many feelings but ended up becoming comfortably quiet to take everything in. “What’re you thinking about?” Taehyung wanted to keep his voice calm so he wouldn’t disturb the peace between them.

“I just feel nice sharing this with someone.” Angel shifted back into herself though a smile was still present on her lips. “Feels lonely sometimes being up here.”

“I’ll be here now though.” Taehyung reached his hand out for a moment before pulling back.

“But for how long? Not everyone likes being away from the world.”

“I don’t mind being away from the world.” He never lived in this world in the first place. Niether did she. “I’ll be here as long as you’ll have me.” He gave her a reassuring smile.

Angel hummed happily, cheeks burning a little. “Thank you.”

“Why have you called me?” Jungkooks’ deadpan voice echoed slightly in the throne room. Hatred always radiated around the Gods aura whenever he came close to Jimin but this was not the time to be bothered by it.

With a twitch of his plump lips, he spoke. “You might despise my very presence…but we’re not so different from each other.” Jimin stood in front of the throne almost as a protective stance. Only his Master could ever sit on it. No one else.

Jungkooks didn’t hold in his bitter laugh. “Ingars are rejected beings of the world. No one wanted to birth you as a human so you’re here…slaves of Gods. We are not the same.”

Jimin kept his chin raised despite the burn brewing in his stomach. “However we have a very similar goal.”

“And what is that?” He seethed.

“You don’t want Angel and Taehyung to reunite just as much as I do.”

The God scoffed although it wasn’t hard to notice his confidence diminishing ever so slightly. “What’re you talking about?”

Fingers clasped together, Jimin stood for a few silent moments to relish in his upper hand before speaking again. “Ingars can sense a Gods power. That is also why we’re slaves of Gods because we understand what we’re up against and we’re not stupid.” He raised a brow. “And you, great God…I can practically smell the desire on you for the Goddess of Creation.”

Bitter smile faded as Jungkooks narrowed his gaze, clear scowl across his features as the amber beamed in his eyes, perfect to intimidate anyone who stood in his way.

Except Jimin was far too dedicated to Taehyung to feel fear for another God anymore.

“You can’t deny it.” The Ingar shook his head. “You’ve always wanted to know what she tasted like. You still do. Now she’s there…no recollection of Taehyung.” A smile ghosted over his lips seeing the softened expression on Jungkooks. “A blank slate of absolute beauty and ethereal power.”

Gaze burned into him with the slight vision of Jimin’ head bursting into flames as he screamed in agony. Despite his mental protests, the thought did seep through to his conscious mind. How Angels’ long, flowing hair would feel in between his fingers. How she smelled whenever she passed him. The moans he caught when walking by their chambers. So needy and sweet. “You really think you have any authority to tell me what I can or can’t do?” Jungkooks hated that his voice was soft, almost meek.

Jimin only grinned as something tingled down his spine. He was breaking. “I don’t have to tell you to do anything. You are—after all—the God of Indulgence. It’s what you do best.” His eyes brightened watching the acceptance as Jungkooks’s eyes faded into a hazel again. “Indulge.”

“Taehyung is going to hate you for saying this.” He tilted his head.

His lips twitched now hearing those dreadful words. Jimin kept his stance as proper as he could pretending it didn’t feel like a thousand stabs to his chest. “No God should be maddened by love to abandon his throne and give it to an Ingar. Don’t you think a God with a clearer mind would let you rule the Heavens in his stead?”

Thankfully, Jungkooks moved deep into thought again unable to form a decent response. Taehyung did trust people far too blindly. Maybe something had to be done about this reunion. But…

“Don’t worry about Belle.” Jimin spoke before Jungkooks’ thoughts could catch up to him. “She would understand that you have bigger things to take care of.”

Jungkooks pressed his lips together. He wanted to spend more time to think it through but there was this tug at the pit of his belly. This is what you do. It’s what you were born for.

Taehyung had the heavens and the love of the Earth, even the good graces of the Mother herself. It was why he was chosen out of the three brothers despite being the youngest. That didn’t mean he deserved to have Angel twice over. He didn’t listen to Tempus. He lost her once. He doesn’t deserve to get her back again.

“I’ll take care of it.” Jungkooks answered trying not show the twisted tickle of excitement that brewed in his stomach as he turned on his heel and moved to the earth below.

The God disappeared from the throne room leaving Jimin to relish in his second achievement with a wide grin and sigh of relief.

“Why did you do that?”

Jimin turned his head to see Hoseok coming out from one of the pillars with a saddened expression. “You wouldn’t understand. I do this for Taehyung.” He kept his gaze at the front of the throne room.

“Belle takes care of Ingars, Jimin.” Hoseok winced. “She’s practically our Mother, you can’t just—”

“Taehyung is my Master.” He shot the other a warning glare.

Hoseok tightened his jaw, shaking his head. “Even if Jungkooks does succeed in taking Angel…how do you think Taehyung is going to feel? He’s been grieving her for centuries, you really expect him to just forget her again.”

“If Angel stays a human and falls in love with someone else then he might.”

“How do you know she’s even going to fall in love with him?”

“It’s Jungkooks sole ability to bring out the indulgent desires in people. She’s going to fall in love with him…and stay away from Taehyung.” Jimin couldn’t help but smile at the thought of having his Master all to himself again.

Hoseok, on the other hand, felt fearful seeing the expression on Jimin’s face and finding nothing but an obsession rotten into pure madness.

Coming into the village always became a daunting and refreshing experience for her after being surrounded by animals and plants for most of the year. Angel rode her scooter slowly until she came to a stop near farmer Mins store. Bags of freshly harvested rice carried over to the machine where Min would refine until it turned into a white-ish colour ready to cook.

Angels shoulders ached a little from lugging it around but thankfully, the days were a little cooler nowadays despite sweat gathering at the back of her neck.

“Still not giving up your secret on how you manage to grow all these things so quickly?” Min teased, lines on his tanned face prominent when he grinned.

She chuckled breathlessly placing her hands on her waist. “It’s just luck.” Angel blew cold air down her chest to freshen herself a little when Min moved onto the second bag.

The purr of a motorcycle slowed down in front of the shop. Figure dressed in complete black, long dark parted to the side touching his lashes as he got off the vehicle and picked a metal box strapped on the passenger seat.

Angels eyes flickered down on how tightly his arms flexed clearly heavy before she quickly pulled her gaze away, mentally slapping herself for staring.

“The spare parts you wanted.” He breathed out, placing it on the counter.

“Thank you, son.” Min acknowledged while working on the last bag of rice. “This is Jungkooks, he’s been helping me for a couple of days.” He gestured to the young man.

Jungkooks turned to face the girl, eyes softening as he gave her a small smirk.

“Nice to meet you.” Angel spoke with shy close-lipped smile.

“This is Angel, she works up at the farms in the mountains.” Min continued to introduce the both of them as the machine turned off causing a buzz in their ears.

“That’s a lot of bags to take up the mountains.” Jungkooks looked down at the four thick rice bags. “You want some help?”

While Angel would love to argue that she could do it herself, there was an ache on her shoulder that screamed a little louder. “Uh—yes, if it’s not trouble. Just two of them would be okay.”

“No problem.” Jungkooks smiled walking over to the bags and carrying one of them with surprising ease over his shoulder and placing it on the passenger seat. He could still feel her gaze on him when he carried the second one causing a slight tingle in his belly. How long had he observed those same eyes fixated on Taehyung the whole time? With a light sigh, he had the stacks on the passenger seat before he securely strapped them in. “Did you need help to putting them on your scooter?”

Angel hummed a little in question, quickly mentally nudging herself before shaking her head. “No, no it’s okay. I’ll take these ones.” She chuckled nervously.

Her shoulder panged a little more with pain but it was nothing she couldn’t handle. Starting up her scooter again, Angel drove back up to the mountains while Jungkooks followed with a roar of his motorcycle for the incline.

Sun shone brightly down the mountains today, trees and grass a beautiful shade green perfectly accompanied by the bright blue sky. If Angel didn’t know any better she would’ve thought an enlarged picture was displayed before her. Nature sometimes looked far too beautiful to be real.

Angel opened the wooden gates so they could both drive their small vehicles into the courtyard to park. They dropped the rice bags onto the ground for Angel to take care of later.

“Thank you.” She breathed out. “You really didn’t have to.”

“It’s no trouble, seriously.” Jungkooks grinned.

Angel drawled out her gaze again unable to take it off, seeing his hair a little clumped together from sweat and his caramel toned skin glowing in the bright daylight. “Would—” She gestured behind her. “Would you like some tea—or juice, maybe? I made some plum blossom juice that’ll help you cool off.”

He pretended to wonder for a little while even though his decision was already set. “Yeah…I’d love to.” Jungkooks felt his heart jump seeing the beautiful giggle passing through her lips as she led him towards a little sitting area slightly hidden amongst the plants and roses.

“Have a seat here. I’ll get the glasses.” Angel smiled before prancing out of the tiny sanctuary and disappearing amongst the roses.

While Jungkooks waited, he heard footsteps coming towards him. Thinking it was Angel he turned to face the new figure with a grin before it quickly disappeared seeing a sweaty and confused Taehyung.

“What the hell are you doing here?” Taehyung seethed, dropping the basket of lotus flowers on the floor before stomping over to him.

Jungkooks merely smirked. “Just spending some time with a nice girl. What’s the problem?”

The God scoffed bitterly inching closer. “You touch a fucking hair on her head—”

“If she wants me to do it then you have no business kicking my ass.” He stated simply.

Taehyung tightened his jaw, fury burning in his chest and belly while tears stung behind his eyes. “You know what she means to me.” He muttered trying not to have his voice shake in front of him of all people.

Jungkooks felt a light sinking inside him but he quickly averted his gaze. “You don’t own her. Niether do I. I’m simply doing something I’ve never been able to do.”

“You mean you’re gonna sleep with her and move onto the next thing you want your hands on.” He seethed.

“Who said I only wanted to sleep with her?”

“What about Belle?”

If Jungkooks had kept a decent poker face before, it was nowhere to be found now. Expression hardened immediately glaring at the God. “I’m not going to explain myself to you. And for Angels sake, I’d suggest not making a fuss out of it.”

“Oh!” Angels cheery voice shattered through their tension as she walked to the sitting area with a tray. A clear jug filled with purple liquid and three empty glasses stacked on top of one another. “Good, you’re here. It’s nice and cold.” She poured the plum blossoms juice into each glass. “Taehyung, this is Jungkooks. He helped me carry the rice bags up here.” She gave them a full glass with a small smile.

So beautifully unaware of the heated glares shared between the two Gods. Taehyung moved to sit next to Angel out of pettiness.

“I thought about making some sweets for the farmers in the village.” Angel announced in a gentle to the both of them. “Their harvests have been quite slow so I wanted to give them packages of some necessary crops along with it. I have far too much for two people.” She smiled at Taehyung and he immediately returned it albeit a little weakened.

Jungkooks hummed while taking a sip from the lightly sweet juice. “I could help you distribute them. Min doesn’t give me a whole lot of work so I end up getting a lot of free time.”

“That’d be nice.”

Taehyung noticed the subtle flush on her ears that wasn’t there before causing a twist in his belly. It was one thing watching Jungkooks look at Angel a certain way but to have it returned. To see her blush his way and bite down a smile when she noticed Jungkooks looking. He forced himself to take a deep breath, curling his fingers into his palm tightly. “We could start working on it tomorrow.” He quickly smiled even though his eyes weren’t doing the same thing.

Jungkooks was right, Taehyung didn’t own her. Despite the clench in his heart, he had to accept the fact that the love of his life may just slip from his hands this time around. Maybe second chances didn’t exist and fate pulled its strings however it wanted without caring who it hurt or what it destroyed.

Writing in a diary had been one of Namjoons suggestions for Taehyung after Angel passed away. Something solid that held all of his memories of her just in case his mind became too fragile to carry them. Taehyung kept the empty notebook for a few years until a few centuries ago, he started spewing his thoughts.

The first day they met when Taehyung saw her playing in the garden of golden bride blossoms where she was born.

The day they first kissed under the peach tree.

The day Angel opened herself up to him, legs tangled, bated breath in the throes of pleasure deep within the gardens at night where no one could see them.

Taehyung wrote everything in his diary. The pages were messy and sometimes a little crumpled. A few of them still had stains of his tears while others had dried up peach flowers pressed against it. However the state, the diary became precious to him. Sometimes when the days got too hard, Taehyung remembered holding it to his chest and pretending it was her instead.

Gods can’t cope like humans do. This was the best I could find. Namjoon told him all those years ago. The King of the Underworld lost the love of his life too except his tragedy was far more permanent. Former Queen Wilhelmina—Minnie, Namjoon would call her—fell into the pit of monsters some called Tartarus. It was a place no God or Goddess soul could come back. Diminished forever.

He almost felt silly mourning Angel when Namjoon had to sleep at night knowing the love of his life could never in any shape or form come back to him. Though his older brother told him in a serious tone that his grief was always valid no matter what others have suffered.

Taehyung didn’t realize how deep he drowned in his thoughts, his hand completely still over the final word on the page as the distant roar pulled him back. Eyes flickered up the closed door of his room when he gained his bearings again. The roar belonged to an irritatingly familiar motorcycle.

Two weeks, Jungkooks had been prancing in and out of the farm, delivering things to Angels door while she invited him in for treats and stories.

Sometimes Taehyung would catch her examining herself in the mirror before he arrived causing his heart plummet back into the abyss. It was not her fault. It was no ones fault. Jungkooks was not forcing her to like him nor was Angel obligated to be loyal to Taehyung in any way other than a good friend.

But he still couldn’t deny the clench in his chest remembering how she used to excitedly rush towards him whenever their eyes met.

Taehyung got off the bed, placing his diary to the side before walking towards one of the windows of his room. It had a clear view of the courtyard where he saw Jungkooks placing baskets of cotton flowers on the ground. He saw the large grin tugging at his lips when another figure rushed towards him.

Loose white T-shirt with her long hair out as Angel smiled down at the flowers. She was speaking about something in such a delicate manner and Taehyung tried not to imagine ripping Jungkooks’ smug smirk off with his bare hands.

As per usual, Angel leads him into the sitting area so he could take a rest as they disappeared out of his sight causing another sink in his belly.

The problem was that Taehyung couldn’t just leave out of the blue either. What would the reason even be? I don’t like that you’re attracted to someone else instead of me like I hoped? Angel would kick him out the second he even insinuated the notion.

Except Taehyung knew Jungkooks. He had an agenda. A twisted desire to take anything that he wanted even though it might break a relationship or someones heart. He never truly cared. For a moment, he thought the God might have some care and loyalty to Belle but as expected, Jungkooks was capable of nothing but being a puppet to his own desires.

Jungkooks rode off out of the farm as Angel unloaded the cotton plants on the ground, sitting down on a wooden stool in front of the spread before tying her hair back. Her plantation was a bit far away while she had to take care of her cow giving birth and Jungkooks happened to come around to harvest the plants.

Lulu pitter pattered across the courtyard, sniffing the little cotton plants before waddling over to her leg. She always managed to wake whenever Angel did no matter how quiet her footsteps were.

Brushing her tawny fur, Angel focused back on pulling the fluff from the withered looking plants before placing them into a basket. Light crunching of footsteps caused her ears to prick up as Lulu immediately rushed over towards the oncoming figure. She looked up at the male and smiled. “Morning.”

Taehyung hummed tiredly even though he had been awake for an hour or so already. “I saw Jungkooks coming in again. What happened?”

“He was just helping me harvest the cotton plants.” Angel gestured at the scatter of brown and white.

He scoffed out a small chuckle. “Why didn’t you call me?”

She shrugged nonchalantly making Taehyung burn a little with frustration. “You were sleeping so I didn’t disturb you.”

“I came here to help you on the farm.” He strode around her and crouched down next to the basket, taking a plant to pull the cotton bits out with her. “This means waking up early in the morning for harvesting. Jungkooks isn’t a farmer.”

“Maybe not but he got the plants so it’s fine, Taehyung.”

“I know…it’s just you’ve been sending me off to do errands a lot.”

“He offers and I agree.”

“So you’re just going to agree to everything he offers you?”

Blood boiled inside her as Angel shot him a clear glare, a thick silence plunging between them. One even Lulu could notice when she whined and began prancing towards the pumpkin patches. “I wanted the cotton plants to make a blanket for you because it’s getting colder and you were using a really thin one.” She explained, pulling off the cotton a little roughly than normal.

Taehyung let out a deep sigh weakly placing the cotton bits onto the basket. “I’m just—worried. You can’t keep welcoming people in like this, they might take advantage of you.”

“Where was all this worry when I invited you in here? Hm?” Angel furrowed her brows, pointing an empty cotton plant at him. “You could’ve just as easily taken advantage of me.”

“But I wouldn’t—”

“How do I know that?”

“You can trust me.” He tried to shift forward until a few of the plants pricked him causing him to move back.

“I’ve only known you a couple of months more than Jungkooks. What’s to say you’re not the one I should be looking out for?”

Heart pounded against his ribcages as he saw their bond trembling, threatening to break apart again like it did all those years ago. “I see the way he looks at you…and I recognize it…very well. I know what he wants and you should be careful.”

“What if I want what he wants too?”

Taehyung swallowed down the painful lump in his throat, shifting where he crouched before standing back up on his feet again with a sigh. He looked down at the woman; that confused look in her eyes again. She was still trying so hard to figure things out. He would only make everything complicated by fighting against it. “Then you know yourself better than I do.”

Angel didn’t reply and moved back to working on the cotton plants again to distract herself from the slight sinking feeling in her gut. “The green plums are ripening. Can you pick them out for me?”

He took a small breath to say something else but it was clear their conversation would only spoil rotten if they kept dragging the same issue. “Of course.” Taehyung padded over to the edge of the farm where the sugar plum trees stood. His only hope now was that the fight was temporary and not something he was going to regret for centuries again.

Once the cotton was completely freed from its plants, Angel decided to take a walk down the peach blossom trees to calm herself down a little. Petals gently trailed down to the ground with familiar scent of honey and almond that seemed to manifest in the natural aroma of her favourite flowers. Aside from the Golden Lotus flowers anyway.

“You okay?”

Angel turned to the side, eyes a little widened at the sudden voice in a calm place. Though her heart quickly calmed seeing Jungkooks. “It’s nothing.” She shook her head. “I get like this sometimes.”

Jungkooks’ expression softened carefully padding closer to the girl. “Like what?”

“Zoned out and confused.” She chuckled nervously, taking a deep inhale until her chest puffed out before loudly sighing to ease some of tension on her nerves. “I don’t know why though…I love being here, in this place and I definitely don’t want to go to the city with those boring buildings.” Angel grimaced lightly. “But—”

He stood only an inch away from her, hands in the pockets of his jeans but his eyes reaching deep into hers. There was this sensible part of him that felt a tinge of guilt. Jungkooks knew who Angel was truly and clearly she desperately wanted to know who she really was. But the selfish part of him liked it. The other Angel would immediately start thinking of Taehyung or go to him for comfort. Not this time. “It’s okay to feel confused sometimes.” Jungkooks smiled. “I never know what I’m doing with my life half the time.” He meant it as a joke but it felt too real to say it out loud.

This was what you did. You indulge in anything you ever want.

Angel grinned, letting out a small chuckle through her nose before relaxing against the bark of one of the blossom trees. A strange tug pulled at her belly almost to the point of aching. Brows furrowed at the feeling as she squirmed lightly.

“What is it?” Jungkooks smirked towering over her gorgeous form until he could almost cage her against the tree. He waited until she breathed a little easier, leaning in and brushing their noses to relax her into the touch.

She felt the blossoms falling on her head.

Blurry shapes coming towards her.

The tug in her belly turning to searing pain as Jungkooks’ lips pressed chastely against her own.

Blood. So much blood everywhere.

Heat rushing to her head, something stomping on her arms. Bones crushing under the impact.

“Jimin…” Crying. Begging. So much pain.

Angel pressed her hand against Jungkooks’ chest, breathing heavily like she had just reached the surface after almost drowning. She looked up at the peach blossom tree, feeling her heart race through her ribcages until it could jump to her throat.

“What’s wrong?” Jungkooks cupped her cheek gently, feeling a burn of clarity when he realized his actions. “Did I do something wrong?”

“No uh—” She shook her head. “I just—I just remembered something, I need to go.” Angel attempted a small smile before rushing back to the farm.

Jimin.

Who’s Jimin?

“Jimin…” Belle whispered looking down at the orb in her hands, light reflecting the thick tears brewing in her eyes at the vision before her.

Jungkooks pinning Angel against the tree with full confidence and kissing her. Maybe he forgot. Or maybe he didn’t care that Belle could watch over all of them to ensure Taehyung and Angel were doing well. Clearly Jungkooks didn’t want the same.

Swallowing down the painful lump in her throat, she forced herself to watch the whole ordeal until Angel pushed him away gently before leaving. Belle let out a shaky breath. “You’re saying Jimin did it.”

Hoseok stammered lightly feeling a tight clench in his heart seeing the good-hearted Goddess look so broken. A part of him wanted to embrace him to provide some comfort but he knew that was far too inappropriate. “He admitted it to me. Said he did it for Taehyung so he could be with him instead.”

“So—he sent Jungkooks here?” Belle asked.

“Yes.”

“Was he…threatened in any way?” Hopeful eyes looked over at the Ingar but the reluctant expression on his face was enough of an answer for her. Belle scoffed lightly. “Of course he wasn’t.”

Hoseok played with his fingers to resist himself from just wrapping his arms around her. So many Ingars loved her. Every Ingar did save for one. “Should I not have told you, dear Goddess?”

“No, you did good.” Belle nodded immediately, wiping away her tears before smiling at the Ingar. “You did good, Hoseok, don’t worry. But I do need you to help me.”

“Of course, anything.”

Closing her palms together, the Goddess adorned a more collected look even though her eyes were still reddened from her sadness. She met Hoseoks’ gaze with a proper stance closing off the vulnerability that was shown not too long ago. “I need you to discreetly send two messages.”

Hoseok nodded without hesitation. “To whom?”

“One to the God of the Ocean.” Belle instructed. “And other to the King of the Underworld. Tell them it’s a case of the highest form of treason which needs their immediate audience.”

The Ingar bowed down before nodding. “Right away, dear Goddess.” Hoseok declared, turning on his heel and walking out of her private chambers.

Door thud closed; sound reverberating in her ears as Belle dropped down on the edge of the bed. Stupid to think he had any other feelings other than desire. Sniffling, she shifted to hug her knees to her chest, sobs pushing out of her while she waited for the two Gods to settle a long buried tragedy once and for all.

Brisk walking turned to sprints as Angel tried to get to the farm as soon as possible. When she reached the courtyard, her heart dropped at the lack of any figure near the green plum trees. Though the fruits were all picked off. Her mind still had that name rushing over and over again. Trying to figure out what it meant. Why it was so important to her.

And why Angel suddenly felt the need to find Taehyung when she remembered it.

The desperation to see his face grew like a weed in her heart. She scoured each room, hoping to catch a glimpse of him somewhere until finally coming down to where grape vines were. A light sigh of relief passed through her. He was still there.

Carefully padding into the aisle he stood in, Angel placed her hands behind her back coming closer shyly. “You must’ve been working for a while.” She glanced down at the basket filled to the brim with fresh grapes.

“I wanted to distract myself.” Taehyung mumbled, keeping his eyes on the grapes as he picked more of to add to his pile.

She looked up at the thickening grey clouds mixing in with the sharp, dampened air kissing her flesh. “Looks like it’s going to rain soon.”

The man only shrugged in response glancing up at the sky. “I like rain.”

“Yes but once Tonitruas drums start beating, it’s gonna get dangerous so—” Angel gently held onto his arm except the other seemed to still. She met his gaze; immediately finding slight shock across his eyes. “What?”

“How do you know Tonitrua?” Eyes widened hearing that name again from someone on earth.

Tonitrua and Nijis story had been ancient. Lost in the ages and adapted to new names with changed stories that matched their current society. Hearing someone say the original term felt strange—and hopeful.

Angel averted her gaze in thought, bottom lips pouting out a little making Taehyungs heart flutter. “I actually don’t remember.” She chuckled. “Maybe one of the stories Grandma Jung told me.”

In his softened state, Taehyung allowed himself to be pulled by Angel into the sitting area where he placed the heavy basket of grapes. When Angel left to come back with some basins to put all the grapes in, rain began trickling down on the farm calmly creating a comfortable atmosphere around them.

“Maybe now that it’s raining, the farmers can get good harvests.” Angel muttered filling the basins up with water and carefully washing the fruits; aside from a few she snacked on herself. She brought one up to Taehyung mouth with a sweet smile.

He hesitated for a moment before biting onto the grape gently, pretending his cheeks weren’t on fire at the action. “If not we have a lot of flour and grains they could use.”

Angel hummed. They continued to wash the grapes in a serene silence watching the rain grow a little heavy, blurring the mountains from clear sight in a grey fog. The memory hit her then of what she saw under the peach blossom tree. Strange and terrifying dreams were something Angel had grown used to; even Mother Jung suggested it was due to her working all the time. Except it still made her curious to whether it all meant something. “Taehyung?”

“Yeah?”

“Do you know a Jimin?”

Taehyung’ heart leaped right up to his throat as his hands stilled over the basin. “Why—why do you ask?”

“It’s weird but—I had this—dream, I guess…it was really scary and I could feel something hurting here.” Angel gestured to her abdomen causing Taehyung to swallow down a lump in his throat. “Then I kept saying Jimin–or…I don’t know if it was me but—” She shook her head, searching his expression before chuckling nervously. “It sounds really strange, I know.”

“No, it’s cool that you want to find a meaning.” Taehyung smiled. He could never imagine how fuzzy her mind must be, holding all those memories in the back but never understanding why they were there. “Sometimes if a name comes up in this life that you don’t recognize, it could be from a past life.”

Angel taught him that.

“I wish there was a way we could figure our past lives.”

He sighed. “I wish it too.”

Angel bit down her bottom lip, keeping her gaze down on the grapes as she took longer than normal caressing one grape. “Jungkooks kissed me.”

Taehyung didn’t mean to but his fingers managed to squeeze one of the grapes into nothing but skin and juice as the words reached his ear. “Sorry.” He opted to snack on the destroyed fruit before wiping his hand. “Did you—was it consensual?”

“I mean I wanted him to…” She shrugged. “But when it happened I—it felt weird.”

“Is he a bad kisser?” The corner of his lips twitched up.

Angel giggled. “No but…it kind of felt wrong.”

Taehyung’ eyes flickered up to face her, curiosity piquing. “Like how?”

“Like—I was cheating on someone or just kissing the wrong person, I don’t know.”

“I guess that’s understandable.” Taehyung tried his best not to grin too hard at the new information even though a proud smile brightened his features. “Maybe your soulmate is nearby…I heard that’s a thing where you can’t date other people if the one you’re meant to be with is close to you.”

“Is that so?” Angel smirked. “That’s interesting cause I live alone up here.”

“Alone?” He raised a brow, unable to hide the slightly offended look on his face. Though it quickly faded when Angel let out an adorable chuckle.

With a bright smile, she picked up the basins of clean grapes. “I might take you up on that soulmate thing though.” She mused before disappearing into the storage area.

All the while, Taehyung couldn’t help but let out a small, excited laugh knowing even in the midst of memory loss and Jungkooks’ interference, Angel still fought for them somewhere deep inside. The thought was all he needed to stay hopeful.

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