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randomshyperson · 6 months

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Lacy - Werewolf!Reader x Wanda Maximoff - Kinktober #07

Summary: This Halloween, Wanda receives a surprise visit from her favorite werewolf. The problem is that it's very difficult to keep a crush hidden during mating season.

Warnings: (+18), mutual pining, semi-public, very vague allusions to omega verse, beefy!reader, power!bottom wanda, a bit rough but they are actually sweet to each other, some praising and dirty talk. | Words: 3.144k

A/N-> First, I know nothing about werewolves. It was never my thing growing up (I’m a witch type of person I suppose) but I know about omegaverse stuff and since it’s wolf-based I tried some references from that lore. Also, I was totally thinking about Wednesday's show (and Wenclair ship tbh) when writing the school but you all be free to image whatever you wish. Also, the name is from Olivia Rodrigo’s song, ‘cause it’s such a friends-to-lovers/mutual pining coded lyrics. Good reading folks!

General Masterlist | Kinktober Collection | AO3 | Wattpad

-&-

The mating season was always the most tiring part of the year.

Even as a child, her days were marked by hard work and running errands - her mother was always very busy with orders, and somehow, the twins were obliged to finish the tasks in record time, so as not to delay the calendars and keep Natalya busy when her customers needed her.

As the largest and most respected apothecary in the country, Natalya Maximoff was also one of the biggest dealers in magical items - and this also included natural suppressants. Her customers wrote to her from all over the world, many famous packs like the Romanoffs or the Howletts only bought her products, and the witch was always very busy at this time of year.

So when their mother told them that she would leave the Maximoff Magical Articles Boutique in their care for two whole days, while she delivered packages around the world, none of them were surprised, as this had been done dozens of times before.

Wanda's indignation stemmed from the fact that her twin brother, as soon as there were no more magical remnants of the portal his mother had conjured to travel through, put on a jacket and told her he was leaving.

"But you can't leave me alone!" Wanda hurried away from the counter. Pietro chuckled, adjusting his hat on his silver hair. Since he had turned 18 last month, he had grown a good few centimeters, and even with her best serious expression, Wanda, who hadn't grown much since she was 15, no longer succeeded in frightening him. That, and well, like his father, Pietro had a bastard heritage of lycanthropy, and with his new skills, he had also gained extreme confidence.

"What, you gonna tell me you're scared of some little wolves?" He sneered, his fangs protruding from his smile. Wanda huffed angrily, her cheeks slightly red. "Don't be silly, Wanda. You're a witch. Nobody's is crazy enough to mess with you."

He tries to pat her on the shoulder, but Wanda pushes a finger against his chest. "I'm not afraid of any wolves, you selfish idiot! Mom says the store is our responsibility. And you're sneaking off to do who knows what! I don't want to spend all night looking after this place on my own. Apart from the season, it's Halloween, and kids go apeshit and-"

"Jesus, Wanda, I'll make it up to you!" He cuts in, already pulling away and ignoring the other girl's protests. "I've got to go, I'm taking Crystal to the movies, then we'll settle up!

"Pietro!" But the call was ignored and the store door was slammed in her face.

Wanda huffed to herself. She could survive a Halloween night, but her brother would owe her a lot if he didn't want to be snitched on. She returned to the counter, texting him another dozen curses before texting to her mother that everything was under control.

And lucky for her, that's how the evening actually went.

Most of the few customers who showed up were locals, a few sorcerers in need of ingredients, and even a traveling vampire who needed to replenish some reserves for a long trip. Some children also asked for candy, and tired of getting up so often, Wanda decided to leave the jars outside.

It was almost at the end of her shift, when she was ready to close the shop, that a delicious smell wafted into the room. Wanda, who was distracted by the holiday lessons that the institute where she studied always offered when there were short vacations or not, was snapped out of her concentration by the fascinating smell. She looked up just as a figure stumbled into the store, covered by a school uniform hood.

She didn't need you to remove the cap to recognize you, and yet, when your face became visible, Wanda felt her heart unlearn how to beat properly.

"Good evening?" You looked between the shelves, approaching the cashier, only to hesitate as soon as you saw Wanda. "Oh, h-hi. Uh, is Madame Maximoff around?"

You looked uneasy, adjusting your hair and fiddling with your fingers. Your flushed face must have been due to the walk from the Institute to the store.

Wanda shook her head as she replied: "She had some orders to place. How can I help you?"

The color of your face deepened, and you couldn't look her in the eye for more than two seconds. "Hmm, I kind of need... suppressants." And it was the turn of Wanda's face to heat up. You continued talking anxiously. "I thought I still had some, but my reservation ran out, and since I'm in the dorm, I wouldn't want to... well, would you have any left? I know it's very short notice but I really need it."

Wanda nodded quickly, equally at a loss for words. You see, if you were any other of her werewolf colleagues, the situation might even be comical. She wasn't like Pietro and didn't make friends very easily, but she shared the same taunting nature. One horny wolf in the store and Wanda would have jokes for the rest of the year. But it was you, her longtime secret crush, emanating a very pleasant scent and in need of something so intimate that Wanda could barely control her own thoughts about what other ways she could help you if there were no other suppressors in the store.

"My mom usually sells everything before the season starts, but I can look in the warehouse to see if we have any leftovers. I'll be right back." She says, smiling softly at your anxious figure.

Wanda has never seen you in heat before; the mating seasons for new wolves begin at the end of puberty, between the ages of sixteen and eighteen, and the vast majority of her werewolf classmates at the Institute return to their packs at this time of year, already matched with their partners in the traditions of the lycanthrope. Wanda only knows about the rituals from her father's family, because each clan, from the Vampires to the witches, is very private about it all. Witches like her mother, who specialize in all kinds of products, are the exceptions.

Wanda tries the storeroom next to the counter, but after a few boxes, she snorts in frustration. Her mother really did sell everything, and she almost reprimanded you for not planning properly. For older, mismatched wolves, being without suppressors could be really dangerous. For you, a new werewolf, it would only be quite painful. It was easier for her to feel sorry.

And while she tried the last few shelves at the back of the storeroom, you grew even more restless outside. Wanda had no idea how intoxicating the essence of a witch, especially a witch one cared about, was. If you hadn't been so desperate, you would have given up going into the store as soon as you could smell her from around the corner, but then again, your brain wasn't working very rationally right now.

And there was also a scarf on the counter, Wanda's most characteristic item since she had received it as a gift so many years ago. Many of the times you've noticed her, she's worn the item around her neck and it made sense that her scent was so strong in the room, even though she was upstairs.

Your limbs moved by instinct, you didn't have to think much, just let yourself be guided by the urge to exhale that distinctive smell more deeply.

Your face was pressed against the scarf when Wanda reappeared, and her confused giggle made you jump away mortified.

"Are you all right there?" She ventured, receiving a very quick and embarrassed nod. Wanda chuckled again in amazement, and without caring much about your current condition, she approached. "I looked upstairs, but my mother sold everything, sorry. There's something else you might like to try, maybe a calming potion so you can sleep while... well, this happens to you."

You quickly agree, still embarrassed at being caught. Wanda doesn't mind, if anything, she always found it very entertaining how different you were from the other werewolves she knew; loud and confident to the point of being idiotic. Pietro was a prime example. And if it wasn't for your distinctive stature, she could easily have assumed from your shy and careful personality that you were just an ordinary human, perhaps a mermaid from the way you seemed to bewitch Wanda's attention all to yourself.

"I'm sorry." You mutter suddenly, while she is searching for a sleeping potion on the shelf under the counter. Wanda turns her face up in confusion, but you're looking away. "From the scarf, I know it's... weird. But my body seems to be acting on its own. Just forget about it when we get back to school, okay? I'll be normal when it's over."

"Don't worry, I don't mind." She assured meekly, before finally finding some bottles that could help you and taking them back to the counter. She bit her lip at the way you were panting, and the way your trembling fingers pulled some notes and coins out of your pocket. "You can take these two vials today, and this one in the morning if you're still..."

"Horny'?" You joke, and take Wanda by surprise, but she manages to return the short laugh. Your hands push out the money and she turns away to pack the vials into a small bag. "So, one now and two tomorrow."

Wanda quickly denies it. "No, darling, two now and one tomorrow. Are you... are you sure you're all right? You're sweating-"

"Just give me a minute." You interrupt her with a gasp, the sudden wave of heat catching you completely off guard. The room starts to spin, and for a whole moment, all you can feel is your own arousal and the way you want to touch the witch in front of you. Your body gives way, and your hands force down on the counter, disastrously strong enough for the wood to crack. Wanda jumps in fright, worried, but you grunt quietly. "Shit, I'm really sorry-"

She hurries around the counter, and her soft hands make you jump away. "Hey, it's okay, I just want to help you stand up."

But you gasp in despair, wrenching your body away from her. "Don't touch me, Wanda, for God's sake." You grunt, and if you hadn't sounded so affected, Wanda would have taken offense. Instead, she stands ready to catch you if you lose your balance again, and that's exactly what happens. This time, your weight falls forward, and Wanda's body serves as a barrage.

Your wolfish weight is almost too much for her, and it doesn't help that your face is buried against her collarbone, and your arms embrace her clumsily. "Hm, so soft." She hears you sigh, as she struggles to drag you over to the reading area of the store's bookshelves, where there's a sofa to put you on. When you fall into the cushions, you look up with dreamy eyes and an easy smile playing on your lips. Wanda gasps softly from exhaustion.

"Wait here a moment, okay? You feel like you're burning up with a fever. I'll get you some water." She explains, but it doesn't seem like you're listening very much, disconcerting her with the way you're looking at you so discourteously, your pupils dilating. Wanda adjusts a strand of hair, self-conscious under your gaze. "I'll be right back."

She practically runs out of there, and alone, realizing her own hands are trembling as she remembers the sensation of having your body against hers. She shakes her head to push the thought away, you were clearly in a vulnerable moment right now, and Wanda doesn't think she'll survive the shame of being rejected once the heat wears off.

When Wanda returns with the water, she almost drops the glass on the floor. You haven't moved, but you've changed position, limp against the sofa, evidently rubbing yourself down the item as you whimper.

"Oh, detka, let me help you." Wanda abandons the glass on a shelf, and rushes to your side, kneeling beside the sofa. You gasp in embarrassment, trying to escape her gaze, but Wanda's hands grab your warm face. "Let's go upstairs. I'll make it better." She whispers the invitation, but the thought alone is enough for you to grunt in affection and pull her face towards you.

It's a hungry kiss, and the position doesn't help. Wanda has to grab your shoulders to keep from falling to the floor and ends up breaking into a giggle when a moment later it's you who's throwing yourself at her, desperately kissing her as if she's going to disappear.

The lightness disappears quickly. She feels very hot and bothered, especially when your tongue slips into hers as if you already knew exactly how to kiss her, and your hands touch her entire body with determination. Her plea for you to slow down turns into a moan when your knee pushes between her legs.

It's almost primitive the way you seem willing to have her right there on the floor, angrily trying to pull her clothes off while your moans mingle. Wanda's face burns and she struggles to match the kiss, losing that battle all too easily when your palms begin to stimulate her nipples.

She can feel the wetness begin to bother her through the fabric of her panties, and perhaps, you can smell it too, because you grow more impatient, and begin to murmur disconnected compliments into her skin, your hands reaching down to unzip her pants. Wanda chokes between moans, practically whimpering when your fingers find her so ready.

You enter her, all at once, without a second thought. You suck on her tongue as she squeezes your fingerprints and soaks your hand. It's dirty and rough, and Wanda couldn't hold back even if she tried. Yet the store door opens, and she has to bite down hard on your shoulder to muffle her own noises.

Whoever the customer is, asking if there's anyone there or if the store is open, Wanda makes sure they don't see her. Her eyes are scarlet, and it's never been harder to do a concealment spell than it is now, with your fingers thrusting inside her as if the world around you hardly mattered. Finally, the customer leaves and her magic plays its part in locking the door before Wanda digs her nails into your back and comes against your fingers.

It's not enough - Nothing seems to be. You continue your movements inside her until Wanda is spasming again, begging for a pause. Your hungry mouth finds its way into her most intimate place then, just to tear more pleasure out of her. She loses count of how many times she comes, on your fingers and tongue, until the whole store smells of sex.

Fuck, she has to move you before Pietro comes back.

It's only when you let her breathe, retreating like a wounded wolf, that Wanda notices the puddle of moisture on your pants. You came at the mere act of watching and touching her.

"Hey, are you okay, sweetheart?" She coos gently, propping herself up on one elbow now that you're lying on your back, one arm over your face. Your clothes are as torn as theirs, but there are many more marks on her body than on yours.

You sniffle quietly, and Wanda looks at you with concern. "Why didn't you stop me?" you ask upset, and Wanda stares in shock for a moment. Then, swallowing dryly, she works up the courage:

"You didn't want this?"

But your reaction is to laugh incredulously. "Of course, I wanted it, Wanda! But I'm talking about you. Why didn't you stop me? You're a witch, you could have knocked me down, look at you! You're all purple, and I... God, I can't believe I... hurt you."

She climbs into your lap before you can despair, ignoring your soft protest and grabbing your crying face. "I haven't stopped you because I've wanted you to since we met." She assures you determinedly, caressing your cheeks. "I'm in love with you, you idiot."

Sniffling softly, you raise hopeful eyes. "Really?"

Wanda smiles, her weight against your chest. "Really." She assures you. "And don't worry about the marks, I... like it rough."

You groan in embarrassment, looking away and amusing her. There's a moment's pause, and then finally: "I like you too."

Wanda bites back a smile. "I got that impression, you know? When you were all whiny on me."

Your laugh is sincere and shy, and Wanda kisses you as your hands grip her thighs. But before she can deepen it the way she'd like, you break again.

"Thanks for helping with the heat... but I'll take you on a date after this. I promise."

She pulls on your bottom lip with a provocative bite. "I'll charge." She assures you in a naughty whisper, and you sigh contentedly as she presses your hips together. Smooth movements, and you're already seeing stars again.

Your breathing becomes shorter, and Wanda traces her fingers along your jaw, while her other hand moves down. "I bet you're all warm and tight."

You sigh, closing your eyes and nodding in agreement. Wanda kisses you leisurely, also taking time to slide her fingers into your pants and assess the effects of everything so far. She's not surprised by the immense wetness, but the sensation of sinking into you is overwhelming. She can feel ready for another when she starts to stimulate you and watches you squirm beneath her.

"So good... don't stop..." You moan helplessly, and the grip on her thighs is almost strong enough to hurt. Wanda makes a mental note of how to make you lose control of your strength, before curling her fingers inside you and being rewarded with the sweetest sounds in the world. "W-Wanda!"

She decides she likes it very, very much when you whimper her name like that. She continues her motions a few more times until you come hard on her fingers. Wanda thrusts a few times, before removing them and bringing them to her mouth, sucking them clean while you try to catch a breath.

Your murmurs are labored, and Wanda kisses your cheek a few times. "Come on upstairs, sweet baby, I'll take care of you." She tries to get up, but your hands steady her on your lap.

It's almost ridiculous how easily you lift the two of you, and Wanda has to hold onto your shoulders, chuckling softly at your uncertain stumbles on the way upstairs.

She'll have time to look after the store when you fall asleep. Right now, she's more focused on kissing you again.

#wanda maximoff x reader #wanda x reader #wanda maximoff oneshots #kinktober 2023 #wanda maximoff smut #marvel imagines

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rosepompadour · 1 year

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Olivia Hussey's Juliet is energetic, hurtling across the church floor into Leonard Whiting's arms in a cloud of lilac silk, and darting around the balcony with all the exultation of requited first love. She is the happiest Juliet on film. In Paramount's promotional reel for the film, Olivia is shown window-shopping for underwear in Carnaby Street's boutiques and bopping to the latest dances; an official profile verified that she 'loves dancing and music, approves of mini-skirts and loves mod clothes.' She is presented as a wholesome, hyper-feminine starlet who wears 'no make-up except for mascara and has always worn her hair long.' Olivia’s identification with the character was passionate and absolute: 'I feel very close to Juliet, and I understand all her motives and feelings. I would be able to kill myself for love.' These Interview quotes stress a dreamy, adolescent instability: 'I do daydream a lot. Sometimes I laugh and then the next minute I'm in tears - and I don't know why.’ Kissing in her school uniform but coveting thigh-high boots, Olivia Hussey was the dimpled, laughing it girl for 1968. - SEARCHING FOR JULIET, SOPHIE DUNCAN

#imagine thinking that romeo and juliet are equally interesting characters 💅🏻#romeo and juliet #perioddramaedit #olivia hussey #sixties sweethearts #*

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karahalloway · 25 days

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(Less Than) Noble Intentions: Chapter 19 - Field Day

Fandom: TRR

Pairing: Drake Walker x F!OC (Harper Gale)

Series Summary: The social season may be over, but Harper Gale’s problems are just beginning. With everyone at court a potential suspect, can she and Drake survive the engagement tour and get to the bottom of the plot against her and clear her name? An AU take of TRR2 featuring my OTP - Harper & Drake.

Masterlist: (Less Than) Noble Intentions

Chapter Summary: It's off to the bridal boutique, but Harper and Olivia have a secondary agenda...

Word Count: 6,200

Rating/Warnings: M (royal bitchiness, possible emotional abuse, kidnapping, threats of murder)

Chapter theme song:

A/N: So, I have tried to keep everything as realistic and accurate as possible in terms of the locations that are touched on in this chapter. The only thing that is made up is the antique store. As usual, translations for the French and Italian are at the end.

Chapter 19 - Field Day

The five-minute drive to the bridal boutique is every bit as excruciatingly awkward as can be expected.

"What part of we are already running late is so difficult to comprehend?" derides Madeleine before the limo door even shuts. "When I tell you to hurry, I expect you to do exactly that!"

"I'm sorry, Lady Madeleine," stammers Penelope tearfully. "The heel of my shoe became caught on—"

"Save it!" the Countess of Fydelia snaps. "If you cannot do something as simple as totter down a corridor without breaking your neck, then frankly, I do not see how you are supposed to be of use to me."

Penelope's face turns whiter than a sheet. "I—"

"As lest you forget, I took you on as a lady-in-waiting as a favour to your family, given the historically close personal relationship between our fathers," Madeleine reminds her with a steely edge to her voice. "But that does not mean that I cannot send you packing just as easily. And if you do not get your act together, then that is exactly what will happen. Am I clear!"

"Yes," Penelope whimpers, lowering her gaze.

"What was that?" demands Madeleine imperiously.

"Yes, Your Majesty."

"And the same goes for the rest of you," adds Madeleine, casting the haughty gleam of her gaze over the limo. "One misstep — proverbial or otherwise — and you are gone. Not just from my employ, but from court as well."

Shifting my gaze over to Hana, I see that she is just as perturbed as I am about this borderline psychotic power-trip.

Talk about being a queen bitch...

Olivia scoffs from her seat in the corner. "How about you try making a threat you can actually carry out..."

Madeleine bristles. "As Queen I will have the authority to—"

"Do exactly what Christian permits you to do," Olivia interjects flatly, examining her nails. "As lest you forget, you will only ever be a queen consort — not queen regnant."

The Countess of Fydelia's eyes narrow. "That is but a technicality."

"I still wouldn't overplay my hand," Olivia cautions with a smile. "Wouldn't want to get caught out on a technicality now, would you?"

Madeleine glares down the length of the limo like a viscous viper.

"Didn't think so," smirks the Duchess of Lythikos as the driver pulls the vehicle to a stop...

...and the paps immediately descend on us like a swarm of black flies.

"What the—?" I blurt, catching the flash of the cameras through the blacked-out windows. "When did they get here?"

"Five minutes ago," replies Madeleine tartly, slotting a pair of shades on.

My jaw drops. "You... told them where we were going?"

"Of course," she affirms as the Royal Guard who had been riding shotgun manages to squeeze his way through the human press to open the door. "Royal patronage elevates the esteem and profile of any institution. It is only right that the press should be invited to cover the visit."

"Like that's the only reason..." I mutter as Madeleine steps out of the limo and the roar of the crowd becomes deafening.

"Contessa!" several people shout. "Contessa Maddalena! Quaggiù, per favore!"

"It's horse shite, by the way," Olivia advises as she slides past me. "The only thing she is looking to promote is herself."

"Well, she definitely seems to be succeeding..." I admit, watching the Guards struggle to hold the photographers back as Madeleine sashays her way towards the doors of the boutique.

Olivia scoffs. "It's an act of desperation. Nothing more. She knows she is on thin footing with Christian... and the public."

"Great..." I groan, pulling Drake's blue aviators from my clutch as I, too, exit the limo.

Rather than being an unfortunate one-off, it seems like yesterday's altercation at the Apple Harvest Festival was actually the opening salvo in a concerted campaign of media brinksmanship that Madeleine is determined to win.... at my expense.

Yet, I'm just not sure I have it in me to play her contrived publicity game. The paps have already up-ended my life more completely than I would've ever thought possible, so the last thing I want to do is pander to their voracious appetite for scandal.

"Duchessa Harper! Duchessa Harper!" the photographers shout as I step out onto the sidewalk. "You made it to Italy! What do you think of the city so far?"

"You did not travel with the King and future Queen! Were you forced to make alternative arrangements because of your argument?"

"Will you attend the opera tonight?"

"When was the last time you spoke to your family? Is it true you cut all ties with them?"

Gritting my teeth, I force myself to keep my head down and my feet moving forward as the invasive questions zing over my head like bullets. Camera bulbs flash in my face as the photographers press in, trying to get that front page close-up...

...and that's when I spot him.

My heart skips an uncomfortable beat as recognition hits me like a punch in the chest.

Oh, my God, the photographer from Applewood!

He's standing in the second row, regarding me almost casually, like a tourist at a zoo, faded red baseball cap slung backwards over his head, just as in the picture Ana de Luca had saved on the flash drive.

Our eyes meet and I stumble to a stop, unable to tear my gaze away, my morbid curiosity overpowering my senses even as the paps close in around me...

...but then I feel the warmth of a hand on my back and the sound of a familiar voice brings me back to earth.

"Nous vous tienons, Demoiselle," Allard assures me, appearing at my side to shield me from the press invasion.

Glancing up, I see that Schweitzer has taken up position in front of me, using his body like a blocker to force a path through the crush.

Curling into the safety offered by my Guard's no-nonsense attitude, I let them whisk me into the boutique.

"Thank you..." I say sincerely as we pass through the doorway into the foyer.

Allard relinquishes his hold on me with a nod. "Certainement. Vous allez bien?"

"Yeah..." I reply, heart pounding as I try to recollect my bearings. "I just—"

"Oh, my gosh!" gasps Hana, stumbling into the boutique behind us. "That was horrible!"

"C'est le bordel!" agrees Kiara as she and Penelope manage to squeeze themselves through the press before the Guards shut the door. "Qu'est-ce qu'elle croyait?"

"She wasn't," Olivia replies flatly, shooting an accusatory glance over her shoulder at Madeleine, who is already being given a queen's welcome by the boutique's owner.

A tense silence descends as we all process this assessment.

"I... I suppose we should go through," Hana suggests eventually.

"Oui," Kiara affirms with a huff, smoothing the front of her dress. "Sa Majesté expects our assistance."

Penelope glances uncertainly towards the fuss being made over Madeleine. "I don't think she's expecting mine..."

"Don't be silly!" Kiara admonishes, looping her arm through her friend's to tug her forward. "She just had a petite éclat. Every bride gets nervous and she is under a lot of pressure to maintain constant perfection. But that is why we need to help her, non?"

Penelope looks like she's about to disagree, before finally acquiescing with a sigh. "I just miss Merlin and Morgana..."

"J'sais..." consoles Kiara, patting her reassuringly on the back of the hand. "Hopefully once the tour is finished, Madeleine will allow you to send for them."

"I doubt it..." Penelope mutters meekly as they join Madeleine in the store proper. "She said she hates yappy little dogs. You don't suppose they have anything here with poodles on them, do you?"

"I don't think this boutique specialises in that type of lingerie..."

"Oh..."

"I'm sure they have some pretty floral designs, though!" Hana offers encouragingly. "Italian lace is known around the world for its intricate rebrodè detailing."

"Yes, because that's what men care about on the wedding night..." Olivia mutters dryly, turning towards me. "You coming, or what?"

"Huh?" I ask, snapping my head up. "Umm... Yeah. Sorry."

"You better be," she snips disdainfully as she starts down the foyer as well. "I refuse to be the only sane participant in this clown show..."

I glance warily back towards the front of the boutique, where the paps were still battling each other, trying to snap a shot of us through the tastefully curated window displays.

"What?" Olivia objects after a beat. "No snide comment? No wry clap-back? You're not conveniently coming down with a sudden fever, are you?"

"I... I saw him," I admit, tearing my gaze away from the feeding frenzy outside.

Olivia grabs my wrist to yank me to a stop. "Saw who?"

"The photographer," I say tightly, pulling my arms around myself in a bid to stop myself from shivering, despite the record-breaking temperatures outside. "From Applewood."

"Dion Guillard..." clarifies Olivia, staring at me intently. "Are you sure?"

"Yes," I nod.

Olivia purses her lips. "He could be here on his own volition, or because someone invited him. Either way, we should make use of this opportunity."

"How?"

"By making him an offer he can't refuse," she replies slyly, pulling her phone out.

My eyes widen. "You mean right now? But Madeleine—"

"Has enough sycophants coddling her already," she counters flippantly as she quickly types up a text. "We only have one chance to do this. Do you want the truth, or not?"

I swallow down the lump in my throat. "I do."

"Good," she nods, slotting her phone away again. "You don't mind if I borrow your hunks, do you?"

"Umm..."

"I'll take that as a 'yes'," she responds, clicking her fingers authoritatively at Allard and Schweitzer. "Meet me in the back in fifteen minutes."

Before I have a chance to respond, Olivia has already spun on her heel and is striding towards the rear of the store, my two Guards in tow.

"'Kay..." I mutter under my breath.

I have no idea what Olivia's plan is... much less how she thinks to arrange a clandestine meeting with the photographer under Madeleine's nose while there's an entire army of paps parked outside watching our every move.

But I've learned during the course of the social season that the Scarlet Duchess is as enterprising as she is resourceful, having pulled a number of successful ploys in a bid to advance herself in the competition. And Drake seems to trust her implicitly, otherwise, he wouldn't have asked her to keep an eye on me while he's off in Dubai.

So, it looks like I'm just going to have to trust her, too.

Taking a deep breath, I move towards the other end of the shop floor, pretending to peruse the various items on offer while I wait for the allotted time to tick down.

Luckily, Madeleine is busy loudly shooting down each and every lingerie option that is presented to her by both the boutique staff and her increasingly frazzled ladies-in-waiting, so nobody really notices when I announce a pretend visit to the restroom.

Slipping back out into the foyer, I move as casually as possible towards the back of the store, knowing that the paps are still watching me like hawks through the windows.

Rounding the corner, I allow myself to speed up a bit, casting my gaze left and right, looking for Olivia...

...when I'm suddenly yanked into a dimly-lit storeroom stacked with cardboard boxes and plastic-wrapped veils and dresses.

"Hey! What the—?" I protest as the door is shut promptly behind me.

"You're late," Olivia informs me dryly, clicking the lone light bulb on above us.

"Sorry, I had t—"

I reel back in horror as my eyes land on the bound and gagged form of Dion Guillard perched on top of a box of lingerie.

"Oh, my God!" I gasp. "When the heck did this turn into a kidnapping?"

"Ten minutes ago," she replies breezily.

I drop my head in my hands. "I am going to jail... I am literally going to jail..."

"Oh, ye of little faith..." Olivia admonishes, stepping over to the photographer.

He shrinks instantly back from her.

My brows shoot skywards. "Jesus Christ... What did you do to him?"

"Nothing," she shrugs. "Yet..."

A chill runs down my spine. Apparently, Olivia's reputation is more than well deserved...

"I presume you know who we are?" she asks Dion levelly, coming to a stop in front of him.

The man nods tightly, brows bunched together beneath the line of his baseball cap.

"And your current circumstances leave you under no illusions as to the lengths we're willing to go to obtain — by force, or otherwise — the clear and unvarnished truth?"

His gaze slips to meet mine for a second before sliding back to Olivia's to give her the barest of nods.

"Good," she smiles, reaching towards him. "Then this will go that much faster."

In one quick motion, she yanks the scrunched-up handkerchief from the photographer's mouth, making him wheeze.

"Sa mère la pute de—"

"Who are you working for?" Olivia demands, folding her arms.

Dion spits on the floor next to her feet. "I'm a freelancer. I work for—"

"We know who you are," Olivia interjects with a wave of her hand. "You're a lowlife slug who's willing to do anything to make a name for himself. You demonstrated as much when you sold compromising photos of my friend here to the press. The question is, who hired you?"

Dion scoffs. "Nobody hired me. I work for myself! That is what I've been trying to—!"

"Liar," Olivia accuses. "We know you didn't just stumble upon this by yourself. Who's your client?"

"Nom de dieu..." he disparages under his breath. "I told you already, I—"

Olivia is suddenly up in his face, knife pressed to his throat. "And I didn't like your answer."

Dion jerks back instinctively. "Your petite friend is correct... You are going to jail..."

"They'll have to find your body first," she tells him silkily. "What little will be left of it, anyway... Because no one here is going to the police. And I'm sure that your so-called friends out the front will secretly be glad for your unexplained loss. The freelance photography business is oh-so cutthroat, after all..."

"Tu es une salle grace..." he snarls through clenched teeth.

Olivia presses the knife tighter. "Then you should know that it's not in your interest to test what's left of my patience..."

Dion laughs bitterly. "À quoi ça rime? You say already that you will just—"

"What if we paid you?" I interject, stepping forward.

Olivia's head snaps angrily around. "Harper, stay out of—!"

"Paid me?" the photographer cuts in, eyes swirling to meet mine with interest.

"To give us the information we're after... voluntarily," I clarify, in a bid to avoid the impending bloodshed. "And to sell us the photos from Applewood."

Dion frowns. "I already sold the pictures to the papers..."

"Not all of them," I correct, hoping against hope that my gut instinct is correct and I haven't just torpedoed Olivia's interrogation for nothing. "You only sold the ones you were told to sell — the ones that fit your client's narrative."

Dion seems to assess me in a new light. "You come prepared... Fine. I'll do as you ask... for five million."

"Ducats?" asks Olivia.

"Euros."

I very narrowly catch my jaw from falling to the floor at the sound of the obscene price tag.

"You've been paid once already," counters Olivia. "The highest we can go is one million."

"Four," insists Dion, somehow managing to find the balls to negotiate even with a knife pressed to his throat. "There are a lot of pictures."

"Which no one else is willing to buy, so two is our best and final offer."

"Three," declares Dion. "And I'll forget this conversation ever happened."

Olivia purses her lips for a moment, before whipping the knife away with a flourish. "Fine. Start talking."

Dion lets out a low exhale. "I received a call some days before the Jamboree. The person had a tip on one of the Prince's suitors, and said it would make big news if it got out. Naturally, I was interested."

"Who was this person?" I ask.

"I don't have a name," he replies. "The tip was anonymous, and the call came from a hidden number."

"Was it a man or a woman?" Olivia queries.

"A man."

Olivia and I exchange a glance. Tariq or Godfrey.

"How did you get into Applewood?" I ask, turning back to Dion.

"A security pass was delivered to my apartment. No return address," he adds before either of us can ask.

"And that didn't seem suspicious?" I press.

"Demoiselle," he scoffs. "I am a paparazzo. I am not going to... How you Américans say? Count the teeth of a dog?"

"Look a gift horse in the mouth..." I correct dryly.

"Once on the estate, I took some pictures of the Jamboree — in the event, you know... nothing came of the tip — but then I received a message on my phone that the suitor in question was on her way back to her room with her paramour, andI should make myself ready."

"How did you know which room to go to?" I cut in.

"There was a blueprint of the manor included in the same envelope that provided me my security pass," Dion explains. "It was your room that was marked."

His words hit me like a kick to the guts.

It's been clear for a while that my run-in with Tariq has been anything but chance. But to learn the malicious extent of the planning that had gone into setting it up makes me want to actually puke.

Who was sick enough to even think up something so twisted?

"What then?" asks Olivia, diverting Dion's attention from my momentary muteness.

He shrugs. "I took the photos, and left."

"How?" I croak in disbelief. "How could you just stand there while—?"

"I am a journalist," he shrugs apathetically. "My business is to be impartial..."

"You watched me get assaulted," I hiss through trembling lips. "There is nothing impartial about that!"

He shrugs again. "Affairs are messy. Maybe you should choose your lovers more carefully."

I feel my fists clench at my sides as I take a step forward. "He is not—"

Olivia's hand pulls me back. "How did you deliver the photos?"

"There was no delivery," Dion counters with the same level of nonchalance that he's exhibited since he started talking. "I selected the best pictures and put them out to offer to the newspapers. The Sun offered the most for them, so I sold to them the exclusive rights to publish."

"That's it?" queries Olivia. "No one else was given copies?"

Dion scoffs. "Absolutement pas! Selling copies to anyone else would violate the license agreement with the most influential tabloid newspaper in the country! Why would I put myself out of business? I am not an idiot..."

"You didn't send any samples to the person who tipped you off?" I press, having finally managed to regain my composure somewhat.

"Non," he insists. "I said before — he was not a client. I have no obligation for him. And even if I did, I have no way to contact him because—"

"—the conversations were anonymous," I finish wearily.

Apart from lending credence to our suspicions that Godfrey may have had a hand in the set-up, this conversation has confirmed literally nothing.

The people involved in the plot have been too careful in covering up their tracks.

Which means that all our hopes now rest with Tariq... and Drake's ability to find him.

Dion nods. "C'est correct. And I told you everything you asked. We still have a deal, yes?"

"On the condition that you hand over all the remaining photographs — including any digital and backup copies — and disappear off to a godforsaken island somewhere," Olivia clarifies.

Dion nods eagerly. "Naturellement. I always desired early retirement."

"Good," she approves, cutting the bonds from his wrists with a cold smile. "Otherwise I will personally ensure that you don't live to spend a single Euro of your newly acquired millions."

The flash of the wicked-looking blade so close to his groin causes the photographer to blanch involuntarily. "Je le jure."

Olivia flashes him a cold smile. "We'll be in touch..."

"You're just letting him go?" I hiss into Olivia's ear as Dion pushes himself up.

"Unless you would prefer to dump him in the Tiber?"

I reel back. "What! No! I just—"

"Your instinct was right," she advises softly, as Dion gathers his bag and Allard escorts him back out. "He is an opportunistic shark. He just had to be made to believe that he was fleecing us."

My eyes widen. "So, you played bad cop deliberately."

"As you said, this is my area of expertise," she smirks. "And I knew you would not be able to keep your sentimentality at the door."

"Umm, thanks... I think..." I mutter. "But where are we supposed to get three million Euros from? We may both be aristos, but neither of us is Jeff Bezos..."

"The Palace has a designated slush fund set aside for these sorts of expenditures," Olivia assures me breezily, slotting her knife away. "Since you are now a member of the royal family, we'll just send the bill to Jonathan."

I slant her a wry look. "I'm pretty sure that's not what either he or Christian had in mind when they decided to clean up my image..."

"Oh, please!" she admonishes, stepping back out into the corridor as well. "As recently as last year, Constantine was authorising expenditures of five to ten million Euros to stop pictures of Leo shagging B-list actresses on top of various vehicles making it onto the front pages. Three million Euros is trump change for the Rys."

"If you say so," I concede, my mind still reeling from astronomical sums of money that had been so casually bandied about. "Let's just hope Dion doesn't screw us over..."

"He won't," she assures me. "Nobody is stupid enough to cross a Nevrakis."

"The people who blackmailed you did..." I remind her cautiously.

Olivia's mouth tightens as we reach the end of the corridor. "Which was their first mistake. And one that they will pay for dearly."

"You never actually told me what they threatened you with on the night of the Coronation Ball..."

Olivia glances at me sharply. "The less you know the better."

"But—"

"It is for your own protection," she insists. "You haven't played this game long enough to know how to handle something so... explosive."

My eyes widen. "What? More explosive than—?"

Olivia clamps her hand over my mouth. "What did I tell you on the plane?"

"Sorry..." I mumble through her fingers.

She withdraws her hand. "If — on the very slim chance — I require assistance, I'll ask for it. In the meantime, you should rejoin the bridal parade."

"Why? Where are you going?" I ask as Olivia moves towards the back loading doors.

"None of your business," she ripostes, disappearing outside.

"Bye to you, too..." I snip as the door slams closed in her wake.

Olivia may now be on my side, but she is still as caustic as ever.

Turning back towards the main part of the boutique. I barely make it four steps before Madeleine's shrieks of outrage — and the sound of breaking glass — echo down the hallway.

"How many times do I have to tell you, no thongs! They are ribald and tasteless!"

"Yeah, no..." I mutter under my breath as I promptly spin on my heel to head back towards the rear of the store.

I don't care what Kiara may have said earlier; I have no interest in spending the rest of the morning being trapped in a bridal boutique, being screamed at by Madeleine. I have much better things to do with my time... and sanity, especially given that I'm still trying to mentally and emotionally process what the photographer had said. And after everything else that's happened in the past twenty-four hours, a small break would definitely go a long way in diffusing my pent-up stress.

Admittedly, a part of me feels bad for leaving Hana behind to suffer the full brunt of Madeleine's tirade, but trying to pull her away as well would only jeopardise my chances of making a successful getaway. I'll just have to think of some other way to make it up to her.

Not wanting her to get into any unwarranted trouble on my account, I decide to pull out my phone to send her a quick text letting her know that I'm not feeling well, and that I'll hopefully see her at the opera in the evening.

Slotting my phone back into my clutch, I push the back doors of the boutique open with a decisive shove, and step out into the sunshine.

Letting my eyes adjust to the brightness outside, I find myself in a small courtyard. On a whim, I turn back towards my Guards.

"Which way to the Trevi Fountain?" I ask, pulling my sunglasses back down over my face.

Allard and Schweitzer trade glances, clearly uneasy with this request.

"Demoiselle, that is not a prudent—"

"—way to get lost in the crowd?" I counter. "I can't think of a better one. If I don't advertise myself, no one will know I'm even there. Especially while the paps are tied up on the other side of the building."

My Guards don't seem convinced. "Commandant Walker left specific instructions to—"

"I'm not planning on disappearing on you," I assure them. "I just want to make a quick detour to grab some pastries, and check out the fountain. So, which way is it?"

Perhaps seeing that I'm not going to be swayed by any cautionary counter-argument, Schweitzer gives Allard a one-shouldered shrug of acquiescence.

Allard pulls a face before finally resigning himself as well. "Par ici," he says, indicating the far side of the courtyard.

"Thanks," I chirp with a smile, setting out across the cobblestones...

...and promptly get the heel of my stiletto pumps stuck in a crack between the stones.

"Eugh," I grumble, as I manage to wrench myself free after a brief battle. "I really didn't think this through..."

"Would Demoiselle require a taxi?" asks Schweitzer as he helps steady me from behind.

"I was hoping to walk..." I admit sheepishly.

"Via Borgognona is nearby," Allard suggests. "It is a well-known shopping street, though quieter than the more famous Via Condotti. Demoiselle might find more... comfortable footwear there."

"Not to mention some more appropriate clothes in general," I gripe, already feeling the tight fabric of my pencil dress start to stick to me. "How far away is it?"

"Just around the corner."

I flash him a bright smile. "Perfect!"

With Allard leading the way, and Schweitzer holding my hand, we manage to cross the courtyard without further incident, and sneak past the paps still thronging the front of the bridal boutique without getting spotted.

Crossing the pedestrianised thoroughfare, my Guards usher me down a narrower street that is lined on either side by cream-coloured buildings casting some welcome shade in the midday heat.

We pass a smattering of tourists and locals, but luckily everyone seems to be too absorbed in their phones or personal conversations to pay any specific attention to me.

And — more importantly — as Allard promised, the street is composed entirely of fashionable-looking independent boutiques.

"Let's try this one," I suggest, indicating the arched entryway of a store with an Italian name that I do not recognise, but which nevertheless seems to have several options for sandals on offer. And — given the scalding nature of the weather — an open-toe option is definitely appealing right now!

Stepping into the air-conditioned entranceway, I am immediately greeted by an immaculately made up woman with a severe ponytail, who starts questioning me in rapid-fire Italian.

"Umm..."

Luckily, I am saved from the embarrassment of trying to cobble together some kind of inappropriate response with the very limited — and wholly unhelpful — Italian that Bertrand had managed to teach me on the plane by Allard, who steps deftly up to my side.

"Lei è alla ricerca di alcune nuove scarpe."

"Che tipo de scarpe?"

"Sandals," I say, having understood the gist of the question. "No heel."

"Prego," the assistant says, flicking her hand towards some minimalist shelving.

"Gracia," I acknowledge with a smile.

Moving over to the indicated section, I quickly assess the options...

...and nearly die when I lay eyes on the price tags.

"Almost a thousand Euros...?" I gripe under my breath "For a few scraps of leather...?"

But then my eyes land on a pair bejewelled, gladiator-style sandals.

Given my limited window of opportunity to sneak in some sight-seeing before people start to question my absence, I don't have the luxury of being able to hunt for a bargain. And if I'm going to end up forking out this much money on a pair of shoes, I'm at least going to spend it on something that I like the look of.

And these sandals definitely fit the bill.

Decision made, I pull out my phone to quickly find out how my normal US shoe size converts to the vastly different European sizing, and turn back to the patiently waiting assistant.

"Size 36, please."

With a nod, she disappears 'round the back.

While she's gone, I take the opportunity to look up the location of the little pastry shop that the President had mentioned.

Since I'm heading towards the Trevi Fountain anyway, and Madeleine had pulled us out of this morning's meeting before the refreshments could be served, I had been serious when I told my Guards of my intent to tackle two birds with one stone. Especially since it's nearly lunchtime, and chances are I won't otherwise see food until the opera this evening.

The assistant reappears with my selection, and after a quick try-on, I give her a nod to ring up the extortionate purchase, being excessively grateful that I still have cash left in my US account, given that I don't actually have access to my new Cordonian accounts yet.

Stepping back out onto the street, I change out my shoes, slotting my pumps away into the high-end bag that I've been given, and dumping the shoebox in a nearby trash can.

My toes flex gratefully in their newfound freedom as I cross the street to the clothing boutique, wondering how much a top and pair of jean shorts is going to set me back...

In the end, however, I am pleasantly surprised to emerge back onto the street in a simple, white wrap-dress, a straw Panama hat, and a matching straw bucket bag in which I've stowed my old dress and shoes, all for under two hundred Euros, which means I was able to make recourse to the money Drake had given me, and still have plenty of cash left over for other potential emergencies.

"Thanks for the suggestion," I tell Allard sincerely. "It has definitely saved me from melting into the pavement!"

"De rien, Demoiselle," he acknowledges with a smile. "Are you ready to continue?"

"Lead the way, Monsieur!" I tell him with a grin.

Taking up poll position with a scoff — with Schweitzer bringing up the rear — Allard takes us left at the next intersection to zig-zag us down various side streets, presumably in a bid to avoid both the ferocity of the midday sun, and the chances of me being recognised on the busier avenues.

But, the back route pays off, and within ten minutes, I find myself standing on the edge of the crowded plaza that serves as the gateway to the romantic monument.

"Wow..." I breathe, taking it all in. "It sure is busy!"

Allard and Schweitzer exchange a tense look, no doubt worried about the prospect of being able to keep tabs on me in the press.

"I'll be fine," I assure them. "Just a quick peek and then we can get moving."

Neither of them look convinced, but they don't try to dissuade me as I plunge into the crowd.

Skirting around wedding parties, tour groups, and other miscellaneous sightseers, I manage to work my way to the front of the throng, and my mouth parts with a gasp at the sight spread out before me.

The four-storey monument rises up from the base of the fountain, framing the dynamically positioned statues from under whose feet the water gushes into the aquamarine pool.

It's like a Renaissance painting brought to life.

But, while I'm glad to have made the trip out here to see it in person, I can't help but feel my chest tighten morosely as I gaze up at the beauty of the world-famous landmark.

I didn't necessarily realise it at the time, but part of the reason why I enjoyed my outing in the Cordonian capital so much was because I had Drake to share the adventure with. And it was the same in Avignon — his wry quips and local knowledge had definitely brought the whole experience to life, making me see the city through different eyes than I probably would have had I been by myself... like I am now.

Eugh... I miss him...

Reaching for the ties of my bag on impulse, I pull the fastenings apart just enough to plunge my hand inside. Finding my purse, I snap it open and extract a Euro from the coin pouch.

Squeezing my fingers 'round the warmth of the metal, I clench my eyes shut with a heartfelt wish as I turn back towards the fountain...

...before sending the coin flipping through the air to land in the water before me with a soft plop.

Blinking my eyes open, I am somewhat disappointed to find myself still standing solo by the railing, and Drake has not magically appeared before me like the hot Italian guy did in The Lizzy McGuire Movie.

"Worth a shot..." I console myself somewhat dejectedly as I reach back into my bag to extract my phone so I could snap a couple of pictures to send to my mom.

Mission accomplished, I turn away from the fountain to make my way back to the edge of the square, Allard and Schweitzer falling into step behind me as I scan the various store-fronts clustered around the fountain, searching for the bakery with the pistachio croissants.

My eyes suddenly land on something in one of the window displays...

...and without really thinking about it, I let my feet carry me inside.

The little brass bell above the door jingles as I step into the cramped confines of what appears to be a shop selling a motley collection of antiques and touristy knick-knacks. A wizened old man sporting glasses and a thick head of white hair looks up at the sound of my arrival.

"Buon pomeriggio, signorina," he greets. "Posso aiutarla a cercare?"

"Umm... sì," I say hesitantly. "Hai avo... in the window?" I point at the item that had caught my eye with an embarrassed flush.

The man's face cracks into a grin. "Ah, certamente!"

Stepping out from behind the counter, he ambles his way over to the window display, to pull back the protective glass. Reaching in, he lifts up the silver chain and holds it out to me.

I run the tip of my finger across the edge of the pendant with a smile. "It's perfect."

"For you?" he asks, lifting the chain up to my neck indicatively.

"No," I laugh. "It's a present... Por mi amore?"

His eyes light up. "Ah, bellissimo! Lo avvolgerò in su per voi!"

"Gracia," I say as he scuttles excitedly back behind the counter in search of a box.

Pulling one out with a conspiratorial flourish, he sets about packaging up the piece as if he were swaddling a precious child for a hazardous journey, even managing to dig out a slightly dusty ribbon to tie on top.

"Cento euro," he declares, presenting the completed ensemble to me.

Pulling my wallet out, I extract my card. "Visa?"

"Sì! Ovviamente!" he proclaims, slapping a brand new Square card machine onto the counter, that was starkly at odds with the otherwise Ollivander-esque décor of the place.

Slotting my card into the reader, I complete the purchase, and am just about to reach for the box to stow it away in my bag when I feel a sudden presence behind me.

"This is becoming a bad habit with you..."

I freeze at the sound of the familiar voice.

No way...

The story continues in Chapter 20 (Coming Soon!)

A/N: As per usual, translations below:

At the bridal boutique: Contessa! Contessa Maddalena! Quaggiù, per favore! - Countess! Countess! Over here, please!

Nous vous tienons, Demoiselle - We got you, m'lady

Certainement. Vous allez bien? - Certainly. Are you alright?

C'est le bordel! Qu'est-ce qu'elle croyait?" - What mess! What was she thinking?

Sa mère la pute de— - Your mother is a whore of a—

Nom de dieu - Oh, my God!

Tu es une salle grace - You're a real bitch

Absolutement pas! - Absolutely not!

Je le jure - I swear

Out and About Par ici - This way

Lei è alla ricerca di alcune nuove scarpe - She is looking for some new shoes.

Che tipo de scarpe? - What kind of shoes?

Prego - Please

Gracia - Thanks

De rien, Demoiselle - No problem, m'lady

Buon pomeriggio, signorina. Posso aiutarla a cercare? - Good afternoon, miss. Can I help you find anything?

Por mi amore?* - For my love? *This is a completely butchered attempt at Italian. The grammatically correct way to say it would be 'È per il mio amore'. However, Harper is improvising, so she's not going to get things completely correct 😇

Ah, bellissimo! Lo avvolgerò in su per voi! - Ah, lovely! I will wrap it up for you!

Cento euro - One hundred Euros

Sì! Ovviamente! - Yes! Of course!

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ao719 · 1 year

Text

Vancross

Vancross - Real As A Dream (Chapter 14)

Most of the characters belong to Pixelberry.

Summary: A group of friends embark on their final year at Vancross Institute with the hopes of making it their best year yet. When a new face with a complicated family plagued by secrets and rumors arrives on campus, new friendships are formed, a new relationship blossoms, and threatening challenges arise.

Title inspiration: Infinitely Falling - Fly By Midnight

Main Pairing: Liam x F!OC

A/N: Multiple crossover series. There will be random sprinkles of canon throughout this story, but for the most part, it’s pretty much out the window. Thank you to @burnsoslow for prereading! Please excuse any errors.

Rating: M • Warnings: This series will contain nsfw material, language, some alcohol and drug use, and is not suitable for minors. If you read, you acknowledge you are 18+

Catch up here

After arriving back to their suite and quickly packing their bags for their impromptu weekend trip, Croía and Alia walked out of their building, flanked by their guards who were carrying their bags. Liam had told them not to worry about finding something to bring for the ball because the palace had a boutique with an array of gowns for them to choose from.

“Ready?”

Croía heard his voice and looked up, seeing Liam, grinning as he walked toward her. “Yeah,” she smiled.

They walked to the waiting SUV that was parked at the back entrance of campus and loaded their bags before slipping inside. Anthony, Liam’s guard, promised updates to the others before driving off and heading for the airport.

Liam leaned over to Croía. “I’m really glad you’re coming,” he said before kissing the top of her head.

“Me too,” Croía smiled as she looked at him.

Blaine’s head suddenly poked between them from the back seat. “What about me?” he asked, tapping his cheek to Liam.

Laughing, Liam palmed his face and shoved him back. “I think you have enough to worry about once Lena gets wind you’re there.”

“Why does he need to worry about that?” Croía asked.

Blaine, Alia, and Liam all chuckled. “My sister is absolutely smitten with Blaine, and she makes no attempts to hide it, either.”

Croía stared at him; she found herself a little nervous about meeting the rest of his family. “What are your brother and sister like?”

“Lena is your average, obnoxious little sister,” Liam chuckled. “But she’s a good kid. Leo … Leo is …”

“Awesome,” Blaine laughed.

Liam chuckled. “He’s very carefree and laid back, a bit of a jokester, says what he means and means what he says. And I’m sure he’ll try to embarrass the fuck out of me in front of you.”

“Yeah, he will,” Alia laughed as she and Blaine nodded in agreement.

“So, what are the plans, anyway?” Blaine asked.

“Nothing until the ball tomorrow evening,” Liam subtly rolled his eyes, shaking his head with a small smile. “And then coming back sometime Sunday. So tonight and most of the day tomorrow we can do whatever.”

After a short drive, the SUV pulled up to the tarmac alongside the waiting jet. When Liam exited the vehicle, he was approached by Jackson. “Hello, sir,” Liam chuckled.

Jackson shook his head with a good-natured grin as he shook his hand, then looked at the others that gathered around him. “Rashad and Olivia are already on board with your parents, I just need to add these guys to the manifest. I already know you two,” he nodded with a smile toward Blaine and gave a bow of his head to Alia before gesturing to the jet; they grinned before heading for the stairs.

Liam slid his arm around Croía’s waist. “Croía, this is Jackson Walker, my parent’s head guard. Jackson, this is my girlfriend Croía.”

Jackson bowed his head, already having been made aware of Croía’s title. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

“You as well,” Croía smiled.

“Jackson here is like my second father,” Liam chuckled as he looked at her. “You remember my best friend Drake that I told you about, the one that lives in New York with our other friend?” She nodded in reply; he had talked about them on several occasions since she’d first met him. “This is his dad.”

Croía smiled with a nod of understanding as she glanced back at the guard. She already knew her upbringing was different, but hearing that truly solidified it. Liam’s childhood best friend — a man he spoke so highly of, a man he made sound more like a brother than a friend — was a commoner, the son of a guard. Her parents would never. She was barely allowed to associate with their court of nobles let alone anyone her parents deemed beneath them.

“Yes, yes. I can tell you loads of stories about this one growing up,” Jackson tilted his chin toward the Prince.

“Whatever do you mean? I was a saint,” Liam grinned. “Still am.”

Jackson arched a brow and looked at Croía. “You’re not really buying this illusion of perfection, are you?” She laughed as he glanced back at Liam and dropped his voice. “I could write a book.”

Liam smirked. “But you won’t.”

“Can’t,” Jackson corrected him. “It’s in my contract,” he winked as he clapped him on the shoulder before gesturing to the aircraft.

Liam laughed as he and Croía walked toward the jet and climbed the stairs. When they turned the corner into the cabin, he smiled at his parents in the front; Blaine, Alia, Rashad, and Olivia were all in the back.

“Hello, again,” Eleanor smiled. Liam kissed her cheek before shaking his father’s hand. “I’m glad you could make it, Croía.”

“Me too,” Croía smiled. “Thank you for inviting me.”

“We’re glad to have you,” Constantine nodded. “The flight is a couple of hours. Why don’t you two go get settled?”

Liam nodded before he and Croía headed toward the back of the cabin, and after greeting Olivia and Rashad, they settled in their seats. Several minutes later, the aircraft was turning onto the runway. Croía looked out the window as they started to lift into the air; she felt Liam’s hand slip into hers, and she looked at him. “Are you excited?” he asked.

“Yeah,” Croía grinned. “I’ve only ever been to two places outside of Drakovia — New York once, and then school.”

Liam leaned over and pressed a soft kiss to her lips. “We won’t have time to really explore and show you the sights, but I promise to make it worth your while,” he smiled.

****

A couple of hours later, Liam glanced up at the cabin light above upon hearing the soft chime, signaling the passengers to fasten their seatbelts for landing. He smiled as he looked beside him and gestured to the window. “Welcome to Cordonia.”

Croía looked out the window as Liam leaned forward to peer over her shoulder; the jet dropped from the clouds and the island below came into view. A wide grin spread across her face as she took it in.

Sandy beaches and a bustling city boarded the seaside below, and far off in the distance toward the other side of the island, Croía could just make out the silhouettes of mountain peaks against the dusky sky. As they circled toward the airport, Liam pointed out the palace, perched atop a massive hill above the rest of the city.

“It’s beautiful,” Croía smiled. It truly was. It looked like something out of a dream and not a place she would have expected to visit just a mere few months ago. At that moment, she only wished she had more time to be able to explore it.

When the jet landed, everyone was escorted off to the waiting vehicles. Rashad and Olivia said their goodbyes; they were heading back to their duchies just for the night. The others climbed into the three-row SUV and took off for the palace.

After a short drive, they pulled through the gilded gates at the bottom of the hill; Croía looked out the window, taking in the pristine grounds as they drove up the long drive. When the palace came into view, her eyes slightly widened. No, it wasn’t the first palace she’d seen — she grew up in one — but the welcoming bright colors and Baroque architecture of the Cordonian palace were vastly different in contrast to the dreariness and isolation of the one she grew up in.

The SUV came to a stop outside of the doors and everyone climbed out; they were greeted by staff as they came to retrieve their bags from the motorcade. Croía stared up at the structure in awe.

“Welcome to our home,” Eleanor said as she came beside her.

Croía looked at her. “It’s beautiful,” she smiled.

“Wait until you see the inside,” Blaine chuckled from behind her.

“Come on,” Liam grinned, taking her hand and leading her inside.

Croía didn’t think the place could surprise her anymore, but when they stepped into the foyer, it blew her away. A panoply of historical paintings lined the walls, and two massive staircases curved around from either side of the foyer, leading up to the second level. To her left was a great room and what appeared to be a few small offices. To her right, two opulent white and gold doors were opened, leading into an enormous ballroom.

“Li!”

At the sound of the voice, Croía glanced over to see a man walking down one side of the staircase; he had the same height and build as Liam as well as the same blonde hair and blue eyes, and he wore a smile as he approached. There was no doubt who he was, but she waited for the introduction. She looked up at Liam who was grinning as he took a step forward; the two shook hands before pulling one another into a hug, but a moment later, their feet shifted, and in that hug, they began to playfully grapple.

“I can still kick your ass,” the man grumbled through a laugh.

“Bet,” Liam chuckled before swinging his arm up and wrapping it around him in a headlock.

“Whenever you two are done acting like children, there are introductions to be made,” Constantine said.

Liam and the man stood upright with smiles, both combing their hands through their now-disheveled hair. “Missed you, little brother,” the man laughed.

“Missed you, too,” Liam snorted. He glanced over, gesturing with his hand. “You know Blaine and Alia.”

“Alia, you look lovely as always,” Leo crooned, kissing her on the cheek. He then looked at Blaine. “You’re still ugly.”

“Still better looking than you,” Blaine quipped.

“That’s not what your mom—” The man paused, sliding his eyes to Eleanor who was arching a warning brow as Blaine coughed to cover up his laugh. “Heh.”

Liam silently laughed, shaking his head as the man turned back to him; his eyes fell on Croía with a broad grin. “Croía, this is my brother, Leo. Leo, this is Croía.”

“It’s nice to finally meet you,” Leo said as he stepped up and greeted her with a kiss on the cheek.

“You as well,” Croia smiled.

“Liam here hasn’t shut up about you since the start of the school year when you two got paired up on that project together,” Leo smirked.

Liam’s brows shot up. “That’s not—”

“It’s true,” Leo interrupted. “He talked about you non-stop like a schoolgirl with a crush.”

Blaine and Alia laughed as Liam furrowed his brows; he shook his head, looking at Croía. “I-I didn’t—”

“And he went on and on and on about how beautiful you were,” Leo interrupted again, “but his words didn’t do you justice.” Croía’s cheeks flushed, and beside her, Liam shook his head with a smile, not bothering to try to correct his brother’s exaggeration that time. “So, Trystan Thorne’s baby sister …” He grinned, crossing his arms over his chest. “How is your brother?”

“He’s doing ok,” Croía smiled. “I heard you two were suitemates the year he attended Vancross.”

“We were,” Leo nodded with a grin. “We certainly had our fair share of fun. I’ll have to get his number from you so I can call him and catch up … and to badmouth Liam, of course,” he smirked before dodging a punch from Liam.

“You’re here!” another voice sounded from the top of the stairs. Croía glanced up to see a girl with blonde hair coming down the stairs. When her eyes fell on Blaine, they widened along with her smile as she picked up her pace. She went to Liam and wrapped her arms around him. “Hi.”

“Hey, yourself,” Liam replied as he hugged her back. When she stepped back, she looked at Croía and tilted her head to the side. “Lena, you know Blaine and his girlfriend Alia.” She gave him a sideways glance at his extra emphasis on Alia’s label before smiling at the pair. “And this is Croía. Croía, this is my sister, Lena.”

“It’s nice to meet you,” Croía smiled.

“You too,” Lena grinned. “I’m glad to see you’re still with us after Liam cooked you dinner.”

Constantine, Leo, Blaine, and Alia barked out a laugh as Eleanor shook her head with a faint smile. Liam narrowed his eyes. “Don’t you have a tea party or something to go to?”

Lena’s eyes slid to Blaine with a smile. “Nope.”

“Alright,” Eleanor said. “It’s been quite a long day and we have yet to eat. Liam, why don’t you take everyone to your wing to get settled, and you can call down to the kitchens to have something brought up for all of you.” Liam nodded before kissing Eleanor’s cheek. “Lena, have you eaten, sweetheart?”

“No,” Lena replied. “I’ll just go with Liam.”

“No, you won’t,” Liam shook his head.

“Come on! Let me come hang out with you!”

“No, because you’re not coming to hang out with me. Go with Mom and Dad and eat with them.” Liam looked at Leo as they started toward the stairs. “You wanna eat with us?”

“Liam!” Lena bemoaned.

“Don’t worry, little sis,” Leo smirked. “I’ll flirt with Blaine for you,” he laughed. Lena’s cheeks burned as she narrowed her eyes while the others started up the stairs.

When they reached the landing, Leo said he needed to stop in his wing but would meet them at Liam’s before disappearing down a corridor. Blaine and Alia turned one way while Liam, who was holding Croía’s hand, turned another. “Where are you going?” Blaine asked when he realized.

Liam glanced over his shoulder. “I’m not in the east wing anymore,” he replied, gesturing his head for them to follow. As they walked and turned down a few corridors, Croía took in her surroundings; the entire place was luxurious.

“Why did they move you?” Alia asked.

They finally neared the backside of the palace and Liam pushed open a door that led into an antechamber and a set of double doors. “After the abdication, they said I should have a bigger space, so they put me in the south wing.”

Liam pushed open the doors and they stepped inside the sprawling wing. Blaine grinned as he looked around. “Hell yeah, they did!” It was much grander than Liam’s old space.

The first level housed the kitchen, living, and dining areas spread out through an open-concept floor plan; it was painted a deep black, and the floor was a combination of marble and black wood. Near the massive chandelier that hung by the entryway was a staircase leading up to the second floor.

“Ok, Crown Prince,” Blaine rocked his head before feigning a hair flip.

Liam laughed, shaking his head. “They had it remodeled. It didn’t always look like this.” They grabbed their bags that sat at the bottom of the stairs before heading up. He turned to Blaine and Alia once they reached the top. “Guest rooms are down there. Pick whatever one you want.”

“Where’s yours?” Blaine asked, and Liam pointed to a lone door that stood at the end of a small hall at the opposite end of the other longer one in response. “A master suite. Noooice,” he shook his fist.

Liam chuckled. “What did you guys want to do for dinner? I’ll call down to the kitchens while you get situated.”

“I’m good with whatever,” Alia answered.

“Pizza and wings?” Blaine suggested. “Something easy and greasy.”

Liam looked at Croía, who nodded in agreement. “I’ll make the call and meet you guys back down in the living area.”

Blaine and Alia turned to find a room while Liam, still holding Croía’s hand, led her down the other hall. He pushed open the door, and she looked around as they stepped inside the massive bedroom. Like downstairs, it was painted in a deep, rich color. A door leading to a master bath and another leading into a walk-in closet was on one side. A king-sized bed was against the back wall, covered in stone-gray bedding. And along the other side was a set of double doors that led onto a balcony.

“This whole wing is yours?” Croía asked as she moved to look out the balcony door window.

Liam smiled sheepishly as he came up behind her. “When Leo and I turned 18, we got our own wings. Lena will get her own next year. It’s just to give us our own space within the palace. No one comes unannounced … except my mom, only on birthdays, though,” he chuckled. “She lets herself in every year to make a birthday breakfast, and the rest of the family comes to eat. So Sunday, she and the others will let themselves in. But other than that …” He wrapped his arms around her. “It’s my place.”

“It’s amazing. This whole place … I’ve never seen anything like it.”

“Your room at your palace isn’t like this?” Liam quipped with a chuckle.

“No,” Croía shook her head. “I have a room. Not a wing. And it looks nothing like this …” She turned in his arms and peered around his broad shoulder. “And I don’t have a king-sized bed.” Liam bit his lip through a smile as he pulled her back until they collapsed on the mattress. “And mine isn’t this soft.”

Liam propped himself up at her side, looking down at her as he smiled. “I know I already said it, but I really am glad that you came.” She smiled up at him as he leaned down, capturing her lips in his. His hand settled on her bare waist where the hem of her shirt had risen as the kiss deepened.

Croía slightly arched into him when his thumb brushed against her stomach. “You have to call down for dinner,” she whispered against his lips before kissing him again.

“Mmm,” Liam hummed with a smile before pulling back. “We can pick this back up later.”

****

A short while later, Liam, Croía, Blaine, Alia, and Leo sat around the living room with various pizzas and flavors of wings set out on the large coffee table. The others caught Leo up on life at Vancross, and Leo asked Croía more about Trystan and his life in New York; he kept his questions as casual as possible, careful not to ask about his banishment from their country or the rumors that went along with it as for the reason why.

A knock on Liam’s door caused them to fall silent for a moment. “It’s probably Lena,” Liam chuckled. “Wanting to hang out.”

“I’ll run her off,” Leo smirked as he stood from his seat. As he rounded the corner to answer the door, the other four continued talking. A moment later, he came back. “Hey, Li …”

Liam looked over his shoulder, and a broad grin spread across his lips. “No fucking way.” He stood, and Croía looked behind her to see two men standing on either side of Leo, both with grins of their own as Liam approached them.

“Hey, brother,” the one man said as Liam shook his hand and pulled him into a tight embrace.

“What the hell are you guys doing here?” Liam asked as he stepped back and moved to the other man, greeting him the same.

“Like we’d miss your birthday weekend,” the second man chuckled.

“You didn’t have to come all the way home for this,” Liam shook his head as he stepped back. Despite his words, Croía could hear a happiness in his tone that said he was glad they were there. “You guys hungry?” He asked, gesturing to the pizza and wings.

“Starving!” the second man said as he walked by Liam, rubbing his hands together. “Hey, Blaine. Alia,” he smiled as he greeted them. He then looked at Croía. “I don’t think I know you …”

Liam chuckled as he, Leo, and the other man approached. “You know Blaine and Alia,” Liam said, gesturing to the pair on the loveseat; the first man tipped his chin toward them in silent greeting. “And this,” he said, taking Croía’s hand, helping her to stand to bring her beside him; he slipped an arm around her waist. “Is Croía. Croía, that’s Maxwell,” he pointed to the one now shoving a slice of pizza into his mouth; she chuckled with a wave before looking at the other man. “And this is Drake.”

“I’ve heard a lot about you,” Drake said, tilting his chin toward Liam with a grin. “Nice to meet ya.”

“You as well,” Croía smiled. “And Liam’s talked a lot about you, too.”

“I told her how Liam hasn’t shut up about her,” Leo chimed in. “Isn’t that right, Drake?”

“Oh, yeah.” Drake knitted his brows, nodding as he sucked in a breath; he knew what Leo was doing, and what kind of guy would he be if he didn’t give his best friend a hard time every once in a while? “He’s had it real bad for you from day one.”

“Really?” Liam scoffed, cutting his eyes to Drake. “You too?”

Drake shrugged, clapping Liam’s shoulder. “Honestly, Croía, this poor little prince has been a walking hard-on for you,” he snorted as he dodged out of the way of Liam’s fist. Blaine choked, spraying beer from his nose from the sip he’d just taken as Leo threw his head back with a bark of laughter.

Liam looked at Croía, shaking his head as he stifled a laugh. “Please ignore these assholes that I call my friends and family.”

****

After visiting with Drake and Maxwell for a few hours, the two-headed home for the night; they made plans to meet up with the others at the private beach the next morning to relax and hang out before Liam’s birthday ball. Leo went back to his wing and the other four called it a night.

Once changed, Liam sprawled out on the bed and closed his eyes; it was much larger and more comfortable than the one in his suite back at Vancross.

Croía stepped out of the bathroom after changing and brushing her teeth, walking around to the other side of the bed. She clicked off the light on the nightstand and slipped beneath the comforter, letting out a content sigh a moment later. “I think this bed is the softest thing I’ve ever laid on.”

Liam looked over at her and began scooting closer. “I’m glad, but you’re too far away.” She giggled when he draped his arm over her waist, pulling her back flush against his bare chest and molding her body to his. “That’s better,” he whispered into the crook of her neck. Croía tilted her head back; a stream of moonlight coming through the balcony door illuminated his face, allowing her to make out his smile. He leaned down, capturing her lips in a slow kiss. When he drew back, he brushed the tip of his nose against hers. “Where were we earlier?”

Croía quietly chuckled as his lips found her neck and his fingers grazed her thigh beneath the hem of the shorts she was wearing.

*******

Croía felt the bed shift and her eyes fluttered open to see Liam sitting on the edge beside her. “Good morning, beautiful,” he smiled, leaning down to smother a kiss against her cheek.

“Morning,” Croía smiled. When he drew back, she saw a sparkle in his eye as he grinned. “What?”

“I like waking up with you in my bed,” Liam chuckled before kissing her lips.

Croía smiled. “You’ve woken up with me in your bed before.”

“Yeah, but not here … in my home … in Cordonia. It feels different,” Liam grinned.

“You’re so cute,” Croía giggled.

Liam smiled, leaning down to trail his lips up her neck before finding hers again. When he drew back, he brushed his hand across her cheek. “We’re going to eat breakfast then head down to the private beach to meet the others. Leo and Lena are both tagging along.”

“Ok,” Croía nodded as she sat up in bed.

****

At the beach, Croía lounged beside Alia in a chair; on her other side was Olivia, and next to her was Lena. On the sand, the guys were playing a three-on-three game of volleyball — Liam, Blaine, and Drake against Rashad, Leo, and Maxwell.

When they first arrived, Croía sat and talked with Drake and Maxwell, getting to know Liam’s two oldest friends a little more. They told her about school and life in New York, and Drake talked about Riley, who had been unable to make the trip due to work she couldn’t get out of. They told her stories about them growing up while playfully poking fun at Liam a bit more, but also telling her about what a great person he was.

Croía smiled to herself as she watched Liam laughing and joking with his friends and brother. She’d never met anyone so well-liked by so many people. He was the golden boy at Vancross but here in Cordonia as well; the people’s Prince and future King, a bright spot in the lives of his friends and family. It wasn’t like she couldn’t see why, though. From the moment she had met him, he treated her with nothing but respect and kindness, two things she hadn’t exactly been used to. And he continued to treat her in ways she wasn’t used to … to make her feel things she wasn’t used to.

The way Croía felt about Liam was something she had never felt before; not too long ago, it wasn’t something she’d even thought possible for herself with the way she had been isolated in Drakovia. And her feelings seemed to grow stronger every day, but as someone treading in very unfamiliar territory, she wasn’t sure exactly what to call it. Sure, she’d heard about love, she’d read about it in stories and watched it play out on television screens, but she’d never experienced it. Maybe it wasn’t yet something that she could call love, but it was, at the least, heady infatuation.

“Hey,” Liam’s voice pulled Croía from her musings and she glanced up as he approached her, shading her eyes from the sun. He leaned down, kissing her cheek. “Want to go for a walk with me? There’s something I want to show you.”

“Sure,” Croía smiled.

“We’ll be back,” Liam called out to the others as he helped her to stand from the lounge chair.

As the pair walked down the beach hand-in-hand, Drake watched as he stood next to Blaine. “If he’s going where I think he’s going … that’s a pretty big deal.”

Blaine furrowed his brows. “What do you mean?”

“Let’s just say he’s never taken anyone else there before … ever.”

“Not even Kennedy?” Blaine questioned, not sure of the ‘where’ he was even referring to. “All those times she came to visit?”

Drake shook his head. “Not even her.”

“Well shit,” Blaine chuckled, looking back as Liam and Croía disappeared into a pathway between the trees. “Our boy’s in lurve.”

****

Liam silently led Croía along the path deep into the trees that bordered the beach. “Where are we going?” she finally asked.

“It’s just up here,” Liam replied.

A few moments later, Croía could make out a burble of water; it continued to grow louder the deeper they walked into the path until the sound surrounded them. She glanced around but saw nothing of its source until he veered off the pathway.

Liam led her to a clearing, and glanced down, watching her face light up at the sight. “This is the Forgotten Falls.”

Croía grinned as they walked toward the edge of the plunge pool, looking up at the massive waterfall. “Liam, this is amazing!”

“There’s a folklore behind it,” Liam said. “The story goes that hundreds of years ago there were two lovers from warring clans. They were forbidden from being together, but they would meet here, at this hidden cove, and make their plans to run away together. When the day came for them to leave, they vowed to meet here at dawn. When dawn came, the woman waited and waited, but her lover never appeared. It’s said that he was caught by her people and killed. But she never had the heart to leave this spot. So she knelt on the cliffs and wept, and her tears became the waterfall … until that’s all that was left of her.”

“That’s beautiful. Heartbreaking … but beautiful,” Croía smiled sadly.

“Well, there’s a little silver lining,” Liam smiled. Croía could hear a hint of mischief in his tone and looked over at him. “It’s said that if two lovers climb to the top of the waterfall—” he pointed up to it “—and jump in together, they’ll get the blessing of the lady of the waterfall.”

Croía chuckled as she looked back at the falls; her gaze abruptly snapped back to him once she realized what he was saying. “You want to jump?”

Liam nodded with a grin. “If you’re up for it, that is.”

Croía looked back at the falls again, glancing up at the high cliff above. “And we have to climb? There’s no other way up?”

“We have to climb,” Liam nodded, taking her hand and leading her toward the wall of rocks and vines; she glanced at him, mirroring his smile as she gave a nod. “You go first, and I’ll be right behind you.”

Liam helped Croía get situated on the first few notches on the wall, pointing out a clear path for her to go up; she scaled, and he followed right behind, watching her carefully to make sure she didn’t slip. After several long minutes, she disappeared over the ledge; Liam’s head popped up, and he smiled at her as he hoisted himself onto the edge of the cliff.

“How was that?”

“Not bad,” Croía chuckled. They both stood and she peered over the edge. “I didn’t realize how high up we were.”

“If you can do the skycoaster at the amusement park, this will be a piece of cake,” Liam smiled, reaching out his hand.

Croía took it, and he laced their fingers together as they took several steps back. “Are you sure the water is deep enough down there? How many times have you jumped off this?”

“It’s deep enough, I promise,” Liam chuckled. “And by myself, I’ve jumped loads of times.”

“And with someone else?”

Liam glanced at her, his blue eyes sparkling against the sun. “Never,” he smiled. No, she might not pick up on the significance of that, but he knew. “Ready?” She nodded and they looked straight ahead. “Three … two … one!”

They took off in a run and flung themselves over the edge; Croía let out a scream as they fell, and Liam laughed beside her before they hit the plunge pool with a splash.

When they surfaced above the water, Liam wiped the water from his face and looked at her with a grin. “Verdict?”

“Amazing,” Croía chuckled.

****

After several more jumps off the cliff, Liam and Croía stood in the plunge pool; his feet were anchored in the sand with her legs and arms wrapped around him as he held her tightly. She glanced up at the falls above them. “Do you believe it?” she asked as she glanced back at him. “The folklore behind it?”

“I’m sure along the way any truth became stretched and fabricated to sell the tale.” Liam chuckled when she gave him a look. “I believe in the message about love behind it.” He smiled sheepishly.

Croía held his gaze as that question she’d been asking herself floated in her mind. “Have … have you ever been …”

“In love?” Liam questioned, and she nodded. He smiled, scanning over the details of her face before meeting her gaze again. “I thought I had been … but I’m not sure that’s exactly what it was.”

Liam wasn’t sure because what he felt before didn’t feel like this. It didn’t make him feel the way he felt when he was with Croía. His feelings for her had grown into something he never saw coming, and it happened rather quickly. If what he felt before was love, this was a vastly different kind of it, so different that there wasn’t even a comparison to make between his past and present.

Leaning in, Liam captured her lips in his; when he drew back, she rested her forehead against his. “We should probably head back. We’ll be leaving soon to go get ready for the ball.” Croía nodded, kissing him once more as he lowered her to stand in the water, feeling him smile against her lips.

****

That evening, Liam and Blaine stood in the living area of the wing, waiting for Alia and Croía. When they returned from the beach, the two had gone into the palace boutique with Lena to pick out their gowns.

“They’re probably doing each other’s hair,” Blaine chuckled.

Liam laughed, glancing down at his watch. “We have plenty of time. It’s not a typical ball anyway; there’s no receiving line or announcing anyone in. I asked them to keep it as casual as possible.”

“A casual ball,” Blaine snorted. “Sounds like a bit of an oxymoron to me.”

“Look at you using your big words,” Liam teased, laughing when Blaine flipped him off.

Just then, Alia rounded the corner from the stairwell; Blaine grinned as he took in the sight of her wearing a champagne-colored fitted twist front halter top gown. “Baby,” he crooned as he approached her. “You look damn good.” Liam nodded his agreement as he offered her a smile.

“Thanks,” Alia giggled before kissing him.

A moment later, Croía came into view and Liam’s heart stuttered. She wore a one-shoulder A-line gown with a thigh-high slit in a dusty shade of mauve. Her hair was loosely swept back in an effortless low-twisted bun with a few curled tendrils falling to frame her face. It was the first time he’d seen her this way, the simple yet elegant dolled-up version of the Princess of Drakovia. “You look …” Liam trailed off, his smile growing with each sweep of his eyes. “Wow.”

Blaine laughed. “I think the word he’s looking for is—”

“Incredible,” Liam interrupted with a sheepish smile. “You look incredible.” He approached her, leaning down to place a tender kiss on her lips.

Croía’s cheeks blushed. “Thank you.”

“Shall we?” Liam smiled, holding out his arm. Croía chuckled as she switched her clutch into her other hand and linked her arm through his.

****

More than halfway through the ball, Croía headed to the bar to get a refill. Despite it being a ball, the evening was as Liam promised: casual and laid back. It wasn’t something she was used to seeing. When balls were held in Drakovia, which wasn’t very often, the atmosphere was entirely different.

For starters, everything had to be perfect and grandeur beyond reason. The timing for every moment of the ball was planned down to the wire; nothing was to go a second more or less. Her parents would sit predatorily in their thrones on the dais the entire evening, eyeing the guests as if they were prey. They greeted no one until they came to them, and even then their conversations were no more than a mere nod of acknowledgment to their subjects, perhaps a hummed hello if they liked them enough. The few dances they allowed were all traditional choreographed numbers. And Croía was expected to be barely seen and never heard; it’s what had made sneaking out so easy … until it wasn’t. After the incident where her sister caught her and the son of her mother’s guard, she was not allowed to leave the dais beside her mother unless she was asked to dance in one of those choreographed numbers, which was a rare occurrence.

This ball, however, was unlike one she’d ever seen. The King and Queen of Cordonia wandered around the room, greeting every guest with smiles, taking time to speak with each of them as if they were all old friends. There had been only one choreographed number — The Cordonian Waltz — at the beginning of the evening to officially commemorate the start of the ball. After that, Liam stayed with Croía and his friends, laughing, drinking, and dancing, but spoke with the guests in attendance, introducing her to each of them, and thanking them for coming to celebrate his birthday.

As she waited for her drink, Croía’s eyes fell on the table that housed the multi-tiered birthday cake that was now cut into; the crowd had gathered around it not too long ago to sing happy birthday to Liam. It was beside another table that was piled with gifts, despite Liam’s request that in lieu of gifts, a donation be made to one of his charities instead. It was another reminder of how much his court adored him.

Just as Croía grabbed her drink, she felt a pair of hands curl around her waist, and she smiled when Liam nuzzled into her neck. “Enjoying yourself?” he asked.

“I am,” Croía chuckled.

“Want to go get some fresh air with me before the fireworks?”

“Sure,” Croía nodded. She followed Liam toward a set of doors, setting her clutch and drink down on one of the tables before taking his offered hand. He led her out onto the balcony, nodding to a few others who were out there as he headed toward the stairs. “Where are we going?”

“I want to show you one of my favorite places,” Liam smiled. He guided her away from the palace toward an entrance between a row of hedges that arched to create a canopy above a pathway. “My mother designed this maze,” he said as they started down the path; it was lined with lights, as was the canopy above them. “I used to come in here and stay for hours … and Drake and I would play maze-tag,” he chuckled.

“Maze-tag?” Croía giggled.

Liam looked at her with a lopsided grin. “Yeah,” he nodded. “We’d run through to the large tree at the center of the maze.” His grin grew. “Wanna play?”

“I don’t know where I’m going,” Croía chuckled as she looked up at him. “You would already have an advantage.”

“I’ll give you a head start,” Liam smiled. “I’ll even turn around so I don’t see which way you go.”

The playful spark in his eyes caused Croía to laugh; she turned to face him, walking backward as he bit his lip through a grin. “Turn around then.”

A low rumble of mischievous laughter escaped Liam as he rubbed his hands together and turned his back to her. Croía slipped off her heels to quiet her steps before turning and sprinting down the pathway to the first split. She veered left and kept running, to where she didn’t know. The center. A large tree. That’s all she knew.

Croía took a right, another right, and then a left, glancing over her shoulder; she could hear his footsteps, but couldn’t tell which direction they were coming from.

“Oh, Croía,” Liam loudly singsonged, causing a giggle to erupt from her as she continued to run. When she took another right, she halted to a stop when Liam came around the opposite bend. “Fancy running into you here,” he smirked. She eyed the entrance to the next path and she knew it had to be the one to the center just by the way he was also eyeing it. She took off toward it as he did the same, both laughing. “No, you don’t!” He lunged for her but she dodged his grasp with a melodious laugh, and he swore he could listen to that sound all night … for the rest of his life … and never tire of it.

With Liam hot on her heels, Croía raced toward a large tree she could see beyond the pathway. She turned as she exited the hedges into the clearing and he swept her into his arms as she laughed again; he swung her around before placing her back on her feet.

Croía turned and a soft breath fell from her lips; the center of the maze was covered in dim twinkling lights and flowers. A large-flowered rope swing hung from the tree, which was also wrapped in lights. “This is beautiful.”

“Do you have mazes at your palace?” Liam asked.

“Yeah,” Croía nodded. “But they look nothing like this … they have more of a horror film vibe.” Liam laughed as he slipped an arm around her waist. Just then, a whistling sound pulled their attention to the sky; the first of the midnight fireworks went off, exploding in the air and sending streams of gold down. She turned in his arms as they wrapped around her and she looped hers around his neck. “Happy birthday, Liam.”

Liam smiled. “Thank you.”

Leaning down, Liam captured her lips in his. Sure, he had been surrounded by family and friends celebrating him that night, but that particular moment with Croía was what made his heart feel so full he thought it might burst. And that feeling further solidified what he knew was happening.

Drawing back, Liam met her gaze when her eyes fluttered open; he smiled as he brushed his lips against hers. “Come on,” he said, taking her hand in his. “We don’t want to miss the whole show.”

****

That evening, after the ball had ended, Croía and Liam headed back to his wing with the others; Drake and Maxwell were staying the night to have breakfast with everyone in the morning before they headed back to New York.

After changing out of her gown, Croía had realized she’d left her clutch down in the ballroom; Liam had offered to go get it for her, but she told him she’d run down.

Once she had retrieved her clutch from the table she’d left it on, Croía headed up the grand staircase, back toward Liam’s wing. “Croía?” She glanced up upon hearing her name to see Eleanor standing at the end of the main corridor, holding two full bags in her hands. “Is everything alright?”

“Oh … yes,” Croía nodded. “I just left my clutch in the ballroom.”

Eleanor nodded as Croía fell into step beside her. “Did you enjoy yourself this evening?”

“I did,” Croía smiled before she glanced down curiously at the heavy bags in her hands.

“I had to raid the big kitchen for some ingredients,” Eleanor chuckled.

“For breakfast?” Croía asked, and Eleanor nodded. “Liam told me you make him breakfast every year,” she smiled.

“Well these—” Eleanor struggled to raise the bags “—are for one dish in particular. Liam has quite an affinity for baklava, so while it’s a dessert, I’ve always made some for him for his breakfast every year,” she chuckled.

“Let me help you with those,” Croía offered to take one of the bags. “They look heavy.”

“Thank you,” Eleanor smiled appreciatively, handing one to her. “I know it’s late … but if you’re up for it, would you like to help me with the baklava? I can show you how to make it for him should you feel like spoiling him one day,” she chuckled.

Croía met her gaze and smiled. “I’d like that.”

Eleanor led her to the west wing of the palace and into the King and Queen’s quarters, and Croía looked around as she followed behind her. She was surprised to find it a little smaller than Liam’s; it had a similar layout and was just as grand but in a simpler, more homey way. She glanced over to the open living area as they walked to the kitchen; the first things she noticed were the walls and fireplace mantle decorated with family photographs. Again, her parents would never; they didn’t have a single photograph of any of their children on display.

Croía set the bag on the counter next to the one Eleanor had set down and placed her clutch on an empty stool. “We’re not going to wake His Majesty, are we?”

Eleanor laughed as she began to empty the bags. “No. That man can sleep through a bomb.” Croía laughed before looking over at the edge of another counter where a trio of framed photographs sat; they were all of Eleanor, each photo with one of her children when they were younger, helping her in the kitchen. She giggled when she saw Liam’s; he was covered in a deep red substance. “I was teaching him how to make jam,” she chuckled. “He made quite the mess as you can see.”

Croía glanced back at her. “You’re very close with all of them,” she smiled. Even Leo, who Croía knew wasn’t biologically hers, seemed to have such a strong bond with her. She wondered what that felt like … to have that close of a relationship with a parent.

“They drive me up the wall sometimes,” Eleanor chuckled. “But I wouldn’t trade them for anything.”

“Liam’s always spoken very fondly of you and about how close you two are.”

Eleanor smiled at her. “And he speaks just as fondly about you.” She noticed the blush that crept up Croía’s cheeks as she smiled sheepishly … and she also noticed the look in her eyes. She knew that look and what it meant, and she felt her heart swell a bit for her son. “Alright,” she smiled, stepping away to grab two aprons from a hook; she handed one to Croía. “First thing … the phyllo dough …”

*******

The following morning, Liam awoke to Croía nestled in the crook of his arm, sound asleep. Not remembering her coming to bed, he winced, realizing he had fallen asleep before she’d gotten back from grabbing her clutch; he hoped she hadn’t gotten lost. He softly kissed her forehead before slowly slipping from the bed, careful not to wake her. After throwing on a shirt, he crept out of his room, quietly shutting the door behind him.

Liam quietly padded down the hall from his bedroom and down the stairs, smelling the aroma that wafted in the air; he knew exactly what to expect once he rounded the corner. As he suspected, he chuckled when he saw Eleanor in the kitchen, preparing breakfast. “Good morning.”

Eleanor turned with a grin. “Good morning,” she replied as he greeted her with a kiss on her cheek. “Happy birthday.”

“Thank you,” Liam smiled as he poured himself a cup of coffee. He inhaled the scent of the French toast she was making as he turned back to the counter; his eyes scanned the food already prepared for what he knew was there. When he spotted it, he grinned and grabbed a small plate, layering two slices of baklava onto it before taking a seat on the stool.

“You can’t even wait for the others?” Eleanor chuckled when she turned, watching him take his first bite.

Liam covered his mouth as he chewed, hiding his grin behind a fist. “It’s my birthday,” he laughed.

Eleanor shook her head with a good-natured grin. “And how is it?”

“Amazing, as always,” Liam chuckled. “Thank you.”

“Well, you’ll have to thank Croía, too,” Eleanor smiled, and Liam gave her a curious look. She turned back, checking the food on the stove. “I saw her last night on her way back from the ballroom after she retrieved her clutch. I asked her if she’d like to help me. We talked a little while we made it.”

Liam looked down at the plate as a warm smile curled on his lips. “Thank you … for being so welcoming to her.” When Eleanor turned back, she gave him a look, and he chuckled. “I know it’s how you treat everyone, but to her … I can almost guarantee it means so much more than you just simply being nice.”

Eleanor studied him thoughtfully as the thoughts she had the night before crept back into her mind. “You really care about her … more than I’ve seen before. Not that you didn’t care about others in the past, but this … seems different for you.”

Liam let out a breathy laugh as he glanced back down at his plate; he stayed quiet for a moment before the words came tumbling out. “I think … I think I’m in love with her …” When he looked back at his mother, she was smiling. “I know it might sound crazy—”

“Why would it sound crazy?” Eleanor questioned.

“Because I know it probably seems soon … we’ve only been seeing each other for a few months, but …” Liam shook his head. “I don’t know. I thought I’d been in love before … but it wasn’t … it didn’t feel like this.”

“Perhaps you should talk to her …”

“I don’t want to say anything yet,” Liam shook his head. “I don’t know how she feels. And I know this is all new for her, so I don’t want to … spook her or make her feel like I’m trying to rush things to a place she might not be ready for.”

Eleanor was fairly certain she knew how Croía felt for him, but she didn’t want to insert her opinion. This was something Liam needed to figure out on his own. “Well … just be patient with her then,” she smiled.

Just then, the door to Liam’s wing burst open; Constantine, Leo, and Lena trailed inside. “There he is!” Leo grinned. He came behind Liam and wrapped his arm around him in a chokehold. “Happy birthday.”

Liam chuckled, receiving more birthday wishes from his father and sister. “Thank you.”

“I smell bacon,” a voice came from the archway. Liam glanced over to see Blaine with a sleepy grin standing next to Alia.

“I smell it too,” Drake mumbled as he strode into the room. He, Blaine, and Alia greeted the royal family and wished their friend a happy birthday before moving to the coffee pot.

“Happy birthday!” Maxwell grinned as he rounded the corner.

“Thank you,” Liam chuckled. A moment later, Croía walked around the corner, and he grinned when her eyes fell on him. She greeted everyone else as she made her way towards where he sat on the stool at the counter; his arm curled around her waist as hers went around his shoulders, and he pulled her to him. “Good morning.”

“Morning,” Croía smiled. “Happy birthday.”

Liam placed a soft kiss on her lips. “Thank you.” He turned toward the counter a moment later, watching as the others began to load their plates. “And I hear I also have you to thank for this,” he said as he grabbed another slice of baklava.

Croía glanced at Eleanor, sharing a smile with her before looking back at Liam. “You’re welcome, but your mom did most of the work. But she did show me how to make it.”

Liam grinned as he kissed her cheek. “Do you want coffee?”

“I can get it.”

“I’ll get it for you.”

“It’s your birthday. Get your breakfast,” Croía chuckled. She moved to the coffee pot while Liam filled a plate; she made herself a plate a moment later and joined him and the others.

Eleanor smiled as she looked at the crowded table, her heart feeling full.

****

The staff loaded bags into a waiting SUV as Blaine, Alia, Croía, Rashad, and Olivia said their goodbyes to Liam’s family; Drake and Maxwell had left an hour beforehand, catching their flight back to New York.

Liam made his rounds to his father, Leo, and Lena before stopping in front of his mother. “Thank you,” he said as he hugged her.

“You’re welcome,” Eleanor smiled. “I’m glad you had a decent birthday.”

“It was perfect,” Liam grinned as he stepped back. “I’ll see you guys soon.”

“Break, right?” Eleanor said.

Liam nodded. “We have the ski trip in a few weeks followed by a long weekend the week after, those last four days for exams, then break.”

Eleanor smiled. “Well, I’m sure I’ll talk to you beforehand, but just in case, be careful on your ski trip.”

“It’s just a weekend ski trip,” Liam chuckled. “What could go wrong?”