dalia • 18 years old • future doctor • palestinian • slytherin x cabin 6 • full-time student, part-time writer
✧ check out my latest project: the crown of valenora
james potter x reader - royal fantasy series
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series summary: James Potter, a soldier of the royal guard, is assigned to protect the princess at all costs. His new duty proves far harder than he imagined, for the princess has a habit of doing exactly what she’s not supposed to, and hiding a secret no one must uncover.
chapter summary: Entering the sacred Temple of the Sun, you and James face Queen Dorcas as she uncovers the true—and dangerous—origins of your magic, revealing the tragic sacrifice that forged your powers and the legacy you were born to carry. (14.8K)
tags: discussions of grief and loss, MANY mentions of death, betrayal, mentions of sacrifice, emotional distress, lots of crying, grief, morally grey decisions, discussions of duty versus desire, corruption, internal conflict, emotional breakdowns, trauma from past events, purity and corruption, references to a character’s final moments, mentions of a character dying while protecting others, mentions of a fatal illness/poison, war and conflict, heavy angst, self-blame, feelings of unworthiness, mentions of rape in the context of historical tragedy (no graphic depictions), slight james pov and his internal crisis, emotional comfort after distressing revelations, chapter centered around grief and sacrifice. READ THE TAGS WITH CAUTION!!
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You had always known that coming to Solistia to find out the truth of your powers would demand a heavy toll.
You had prepared yourself for the arduous journey, the danger of ancient warnings, the disappointment of finding forgotten archives, and even the terrifying shock of some looming prophecy. You had braced your mind to face monsters, curses, or a legacy too grand for a single soul to bear.
But you had never prepared yourself for this.
To discover that the very essence of your being—the spark that defined your place in the world, the magic that was as natural to you as the breath in your lungs—was not a birthright at all, but a gift.
It leaves you feeling entirely, devastatingly hollow, as if the ground beneath your feet has dissolved into nothing, leaving you suspended in a void.
“What do you mean, gave them to me?” you ask, your voice shaking as you stare at the Queen. Your hands instinctively press against your chest, where that familiar, tingly warmth always resides. “That’s impossible. I’ve had my powers since I was born. My mother told me… everyone told me it was just a miracle of my birth.”
Dorcas shakes her head slowly, her expression heavy with a sadness that looks centuries old. “A miracle, yes. But not a natural one.”
Without another word, she turns and gestures for you and James to follow. She leads you out of the private room, navigating a series of increasingly narrow, torch-lit corridors that plunge deeper into the very foundations of the castle.
The opulent marble of the upper levels slowly gives way to ancient stone. James steps up right beside you, his hand brushing against yours in the dim light, a silent anchor as your mind completely spins.
Finally, down a spiraling staircase, Dorcas stops before a massive, reinforced iron door adorned with the emblem of a blazing sun. She presses her palm against a hidden groove in the stone wall, and with a heavy, grinding groan, the secret door slides open.
As you step across, you find yourselves entering an entirely different space: the Temple of the Sun.
High above, a massive glass dome opens up to the sky, allowing a single, concentrated beam of sunlight to pierce the darkness, illuminating a grand stone dais in the center of the room.
Dorcas guides you and James toward a pair of low, velvet-cushioned stone benches near the altar. “Sit,” she says softly, her golden gown shimmering in the shafts of light. “Please. I am going to explain the story from the very start.”
You and James sit down, the air around you thick with the scent of crushed lavender, old parchment, and a strange, metallic ozone.
“Long ago, before this land was ever unified, there existed a flower known as the Sun Drop,” Dorcas begins, her voice echoing off the high stone walls. “It grew in absolute secret. As the legends tell it, a single drop of the sun fell from the heavens, and in the exact spot it touched the earth, this flower bloomed. It possessed the ultimate duality: the power to heal the sickest soul, and the power to destroy entire armies.”
She pauses, the silence in the room suddenly thickening as her gaze locks entirely onto yours. “And that flower, my dear… is the exact origin of your power.”
You just stare at her. The words leave her mouth, but your brain flatly refuses to process them. A profound wave of confusion hits you, turning into a cold spike of disbelief.
What the fuck?
You wait for her to laugh, to drop the metaphor, to tell you the real reason. But the silence stretches, heavy and suffocating. There was absolutely no way. There was no way your entire existence—the burning magic running through your veins, the constant target on your back, the terror of running for your life, being trapped inside stone walls since the day you were born—simply came down to a literal fucking plant.
“A flower?” you blurt out, your voice cracking, laced with an incredulous, rising panic. “You’re telling me my magic—everything I am—comes from a flower? Are you losing your mind?”
Dorcas offers a patient, deeply sympathetic smile, entirely unfazed by your bluntness. “It was no ordinary blossom. For thousands of years, the magic of the Sun Drop remained bound to this specific land. A single lineage of protectors held its power, passing it down through generations.”
Beside you, James goes completely rigid. The sudden, absolute stillness of his body is terrifying. His hand drops immediately, his fingers white-knuckled against his leather grip as he listens with intensity.
He doesn’t say a word, but you can feel the shock rolling off him. His entire job has been dedicated to protecting you from an incomprehensible threat, and now he’s being told the enemy is a piece of history. He looks as though the earth just split open beneath his feet.
“They were a sacred bloodline,” Dorcas continues, leaning forward slightly, her voice dropping to a low, heavy whisper that makes your skin crawl. “They were known as the House of Delamaryse.”
She stands up slowly, walking over to a carved stone pedestal where a massive, ancient leather-bound volume rests under a sharp beam of sunlight. She carefully lifts the heavy, sacred book and brings it over, laying it wide open across your knees.
Your eyes drop to the pages. The intricate drawings of a glowing gold blossom stare back at you, illuminating the parchment. A cold, nauseating knot forms in your stomach and twists tight.
“Wait, stop. Just stop,” you snap, violently shaking your head as you push the book slightly away from you, refusing to look at it. Your chest heaves. “You’re telling me my entire life has been upended, that I’ve been hunted like an animal, forced to live like a prisoner in my own home… because of a weed? That makes absolutely no sense! It’s a plant, Dorcas! How is that possible? How does a plant grant me such power? How—”
Dorcas stops you, looking down at you with deep, sorrowful empathy that only infuriates you more. She doesn’t dismiss your panic, nor does she shrink from the raw anger bleeding into your voice. Instead, she gently places her hand over yours on the leather of the book.
“I know how absurd it sounds, Y/N. You are terrified, you are confused, and you have every right to be angry,” Dorcas says softly. “But this goes way back, centuries before you drew your first breath. This was not a tragedy chosen for you, but you deserve to know the truth. You deserve to know the damage your magic can make.”
“Damage?” you blurt out, your voice cracking as the word falls apart on your tongue. “What are you talking about? My magic only heals! It brings things to life, it doesn’t—”
“No, Y/N,” Dorcas interrupts gently, though her tone is unflinching. She looks you dead in the eye, holding your gaze. “You can heal, yes. But you can cause just as much damage. It is a duality. Light creates shadow, my dear. Life and decay come from the exact same root.”
Your breath hitches sharply in your throat, choking off your words. You yank your hand back as if her skin burned you, taking an instinctive step backward, staring at her in sheer, suffocating disbelief, your head spinning as the world tilts beneath your feet.
“No—no, no, no,” you whisper, shaking your head violently as you take another step back. “My magic only heals. It only heals. It doesn’t destroy,” you choke out, your hands flying up to clutch at your sides as the horror truly sets in. “It doesn’t destroy. That’s not what I am. That’s not what’s inside me!”
“You are capable of hurting. You are capable of immense destruction. You simply haven’t unlocked that part of it yet.” Dorcas interrupts gently.
The room seems to tilt slightly. Capable of hurting? You glance at James, whose grip on your shoulder tightens instantly, his own face pale with shock.
Seeing the sheer overwhelm written across your face, Dorcas steps back slightly, giving you room to breathe. Her tone softens, turning warm and patient. “I know,” Dorcas says, offering a small, comforting smile as she senses your panic. “It is a terrifying amount of information to take in all at once. So, let’s do this: I am going to explain the story from the very start. I’ll tell you exactly how it began, and then you can ask me anything you want. I promise I’ll go easy on you.”
The tightness in your chest loosens just enough for you to draw a shaky, shuddering breath. “Okay,” you whisper, your voice barely audible over the rush of blood in your ears.
James doesn’t say a word, but his hand slides down from your shoulder to wrap firmly around your wrist, his fingers a grounding anchor against your trembling skin. He pulls gently, guiding you back toward the velvet settee in the center of the temple.
You sink onto the soft cushion, your knees practically giving out as you sit. James drops down immediately beside you, his shoulder pressing solidly against yours.
Dorcas turns a page of the ancient text, the dry parchment rustling softly in the quiet temple. Her voice drops to a murmur. “Every single soul who ever held the power of light belonged to that house. But as the centuries bled on, the House of Delamaryse became utterly corrupted. The light of the sun is intoxicating, my dear. What began as a divine duty turned into an addiction. They grew to crave the Sun Drop out of pure, unadulterated greed, twisting a gift meant to protect into a weapon to wage wars and erase whole bloodlines from the earth.”
“They could do that?” James asks, his voice low. “They could turn a healing gift into a weapon?”
“That is the true tragedy of the light,” Dorcas replies, her dark eyes shifting from the book directly to you. “The power of the Sun Drop is not moral. It does not choose good over evil. It is simply a mirror to the soul hosting it. If the holder is pure-hearted, driven by love and compassion, the magic grants them the ability to heal, to mend, and to cultivate life.”
She leans in slightly. “But if the holder is consumed by malice, by rage, or by hatred then the magic doesn’t resist. It twists itself to match the violence in their heart, becoming an absolute force of destruction. It gives you whatever you truly desire—whether that is life… or death.”
“And, this was the fatal flaw of the Delamaryse bloodline,” Dorcas continues quietly. “Because their minds became so warped by power, they actively fed that destructive side. They weaponized the darkness inside the magic, plunging the realm into centuries of blood and warfare.”
“So the magic didn’t stop them?” you ask, your voice tight. “If it’s sentient and choses hosts, why did it let them keep using it for evil?”
“Because it was bound to them by blood,” Dorcas explains, looking up at you. “It was a literal prison for the light. For generations, they abused it, twisting a beautiful gift into a nightmare, until the magic itself simply couldn’t take it anymore.”
“Did it just… burn out with time?” James chimes in, his brow furrowing as he tries to register everything Queen Dorcas is telling you both.
James is completely frozen, his jaw set so tightly the muscle in his cheek twitches. His mind is spinning, trying to bridge two completely irreconcilable realities. It was miraculous enough that your power existed in the first place—that you could press a warm palm to a bleeding wound and draw the pain right out of a person. That was the magic he knew. That was you.
So to sit here and absorb not only that this sacred, terrifying gift came from a literal flower, but that for centuries, men had wielded the exact same golden light to torture, to butcher, to wage merciless wars, and to tear lives apart? It felt sick. It felt almost insane to link this grotesque, blood-soaked entity to the girl sitting next to him—the kindest, most selfless, and pure-hearted person he had ever sworn his life to protect. How could the same force that flowed through the hands of ancient tyrants who raped, pillaged, and destroyed be the same magic that lived inside your veins?
“Oh, I wish,” Dorcas says, a small, grim smile touching her lips. “It revolted.”
She turns a heavy parchment page, the ancient ink whispering against her fingers.
“It broke the chains of the bloodline entirely,” she says, gesturing to the text. “The magic of the Sun Drop is a living force. When the Delamaryse corruption grew too dark to bear, the flower chose to strip away its own hereditary rules. It built a defense mechanism.”
Your breath catches in your throat, a sudden chill running down your spine.
“It decided that it would choose its own hosts from then on. No more royal succession. No more birthright. It looks for a soul completely pure of heart,” Dorcas says, her gaze locking onto yours with profound gravity. “If someone consumed by greed or hatred tries to forcefully claim that light, the magic rejects them instantly, turning to ash. It cannot be stolen by the wicked anymore.”
“So… the line of Delamaryse broke,” you whisper finally understanding what happened, your fingers trembling against the ancient parchment. “But… if they lost the flower because of their greed… how did it end up in Valenora? How did it end up inside me?”
“Patience, my dear, patience,” Dorcas says, raising a calming hand, watching the frantic questions war with the rising panic on your face. With a rustle of her golden gown, she stands up from her seat and walks over to the high stone walls. She gestures up toward a line of towering, ancient portraits hanging in the arches.
“After hundreds of years, the magic permanently broke free from their house,” Dorcas explains, stopping beneath a dark canvas depicting a cruel-eyed man draped in heavy furs and gold. “The last member of the House of Delamaryse to ever hold its power was King Victor the Third, exactly 238 years ago. He was a tyrant, entirely consumed by the absolute authority the light granted him.”
She looks back at you, her expression grim. “He was ultimately killed by the ruler of this land—the King of Solistia at the time, King Alistair.”
Dorcas walks back over to the altar, leaning down to gently flip the pages of the sacred book resting on your knees. The parchment crinkles under her fingers, revealing dark, detailed ink illustrations of a burning kingdom. “With Victor’s death, the lineage of Delamaryse went entirely extinct,” she says, tracing the drawing of the kingdom. “The power had nowhere left to go, so the physical flower returned to its source. It went right back into the soil of Solistia. But protecting it was no easy task.”
James leans in closer, his golden eyes scanning the faded ink with focus as he seems nearly suspecting of everything she’s saying. “A weapon that size doesn’t just disappear off the map without every crown in the realm coming to dig up your soil for it,” James says, his voice low and analytical as he looks up at her. “If the bloodline died out, Solistia would have immediately become the primary target for every empire in the continent. How did your court manage to contain a threat of that magnitude without triggering a war?”
Dorcas’s hand stays resting on the parchment, her dark eyes shifting between James’s cold stare and your own wide, bewildered gaze. “King Alistair knew that exact, brutal reality,” Dorcas says, her voice echoing softly against the cool stone walls of the sanctuary. “He knew that as long as the world believed the Sun Drop still physically existed, empires would march upon our borders, tear up our lands, and slaughter our people just to steal it. Power is a disease, my dear, and men will burn down the world just to possess it. So, he made a choice. Solistia formally announced to the four corners of the realm that the Sun Drop was lost—destroyed, erased, and completely extinct during the fall and slaughter of the Delamaryse kingdom.”
She turns another page, the dry parchment rustling like dead leaves. Beneath her fingers lies a diagram of the very temple you are sitting in. “He staged the extinction perfectly,” she continues, her finger tracing the hidden subterranean tunnels beneath the city. “He orchestrated public mourning, buried empty caskets, and burned fake relics. By convincing the world that the magic was dead and buried, no one would chase it anymore. No one would bring their corruption or their armies to our doors. And ever since that day, the flower has been kept sealed deep within this very temple—kept away from everyone.”
Dorcas leans forward slightly, as her voice drops to a whisper. “No one living knew it still existed, except for the sacred keepers and the reigning royals of Solistia.”
A sudden realization hits you like a physical jolt to the chest. Beside you, James shifts, his shoulder tensing against yours as his eyes widen—the last terrifying piece of the puzzle into place.
Astravel.
It makes so much sense now—a nauseating, overwhelming kind of sense.
You and James had stayed there for two days, carefully orchestrating a distraction centered around Prince Regulus just to catch a fleeting, forbidden glimpse into their heavily guarded hidden archives. You had risked everything that night, sneaking past guards into the deepest vaults of a foreign court, desperate for even a single line of text that explained what was happening to you.
And you had found nothing.
Your mind then flashes back to all those years spent at home in Valenora. Ever since you were twelve years old, you had spent years digging through every dusty textbook, tome, and medical ledger in the grand library.
Back then, when you found nothing, you had assumed your parents were simply clever. You thought they had secretly scrubbed the shelves clean of any mention of your power to keep you safe and hidden. You had even begged your tutors, and later Remus, to smuggle in manuscripts from foreign merchants outside the castle walls—yet every single page remained clueless to your powers.
There were no records in Valenora, no manuscripts from Remus, and nothing in Regulus’s secret archives because the entire world truly believed the flower—and the magic tied to it—had died over two centuries ago. The truth hadn’t just been kept from you by your parents; it had been systematically erased by design, buried beneath two hundred years of lies, sealed vaults, and fabricated histories.
Your entire life was a secret that an entire continent had been tricked into forgetting.
“For years after the House of Delamaryse fell,” Dorcas continues, her voice echoing as she walks toward the back of the temple, “the flower just sat here. Because it had been corrupted for so long, the magic became incredibly selective. It would reject almost every potential host who tried to claim it. No one’s intentions were clean enough. No one was truly pure of heart. So, it remained a silent, dormant bud.”
Dorcas stops before a heavy, intricate stone pedestal built into the far wall of the temple. It is secured by an elaborate, ancient lock forged of solid gold and iron. She places her hand over the mechanism, whispering a short phrase in an old dialect, and with a series of heavy, metallic clicks, the stone door slowly slides open.
Inside the reinforced vault sits a beautiful, reinforced cylinder of thick glass. You and James step closer, your breaths catching in your throats. But as you peer through the glass, your brow furrows.
There is a small mound of rich, dark soil, and sticking out of it is a single, green stem. But there is no flower. It is completely bare.
“I don’t understand,” you whisper, stepping closer. “It’s… it’s empty.”
“Is it?” Dorcas murmurs, a mysterious smile playing on her lips. “Go on. Touch the glass.”
You glance at James nervously. He looks just as tense, his hand hovering near his side, but he gives you a small, encouraging nod. Slowly, you lift your hand. The moment your fingertips make contact with the cool surface of the glass, a sharp gasp escapes your lips.
Deep within the dark soil, the bare stem suddenly flashes. A brilliant, pulse of pure, molten golden light ripples up from the roots, traveling through the green stem. At the exact same second, the veins beneath the skin of your fingertips ignite, glowing with that identical golden fire.
In a panic, you gasp and violently pull your hand back, cradling it against your chest as the light slowly fades from your skin.
Dorcas’s smile is entirely devoid of malice. “The flower isn’t in the soil, my dear. It reacts that way because the flower is currently inside you. After a sun bearer’s death, the physical flower will always grow back in this exact spot of soil, precisely one month later, waiting for the magic to find its next home.”
You blink, your heart hammering a frantic rhythm against your ribs as you repeat the unfamiliar term. “A… a sun bearer?”
“Yes,” Dorcas explains, her eyes shining with absolute reverence as she looks at you. “Since you possess the pure, living essence of its power inside your very soul… that is what you are called. You are a Sun Bearer.”
Your eyes dart from the bare, glowing stem in the glass vault back to the massive leather-bound volume resting on the stone bench. You step backward, your legs feeling oddly hollow, and sink onto the bench next to James.
With trembling fingers, you pull the sacred chronicle toward you, and James leans over your shoulder, his breath hitching as you both begin to flip through the ancient pages. There are hundreds of pages, dense and yellowed with age, detailing the lineage of the Sun Bearers. You flip all the way back to the very beginning, your eyes catching the very first entry.
The ink is faded, nearly gray with the passage of centuries, reading simply: Ruxandra. There is no last name, just a clean beginning.
But as your trembling fingers turn the page, the pattern changes drastically. For pages and pages after her, every single name ends with the same stamp: Delamaryse.
You keep turning, the ancient parchment scratching against your skin as you scan generation after generation bound to that corrupted house.
Beside each name, written in a precise, meticulous script that looks entirely too clinical for the horrors it describes, is their date of birth, their date of death, and the exact, brutal manner in which their life was cut short.
As you read the fine print, a wave of cold nausea washes over you. It is absolutely, unequivocally horrific. Each entry details a fate worse than the last, proving that the magic was never a gift to these people—it was a curse.
Malakor Delamaryse (1042 – 1089): Flayed alive by his own council in an attempt to peel the magic of light directly from his skin.
Aethelgard Delamaryse (1085 – 1134): Dismembered by rival warlords using enchanted silver chains, believing his severed limbs would still hold the eternal power of the sun.
Lysandra Delamaryse (1130 – 1162): Bound to an altar and hollowed out alive; her chest was carved open so a mage could scoop the liquid magic from her beating heart.
Valerius Delamaryse (1158 – 1199): Betrayed by his guards, who starved him to weaken his magic before pouring molten iron down his throat to trap the light inside his corpse.
Caspian Delamaryse II (1195 – 1214): Locked in a dark iron maiden lined with siphoning spikes, slowly drained of her life force over months until her body decomposed.
Jefforious Delamaryse (1210 – 1253): Hunted by a syndicate that used dark crystals to rip the magic from his soul, causing his body to violently combust from the friction.
Victor Delamaryse III (1248 – 1288): Impaled through the throat on the battlefield by King Alistair I of Solistia
You flip through the final pages, the dates drawing closer and closer to the present, until the ink finally stops. Every single Sun Bearer listed in the book met a violent, catastrophic end. The power of the Sun Drop flower brought nothing but a legacy of blood, greed, and absolute ruin to those who held it. No one survived it. No one lived to grow old.
James’s hand finds your shoulder, his grip tightening until it almost hurts. You can feel the slight tremble in his fingers, his own eyes wide with a protective, fierce terror as he reads the grim fates of the people who once stood exactly where you are standing now—hunted, powerful, and doomed.
With a shaking hand, you flip toward the very back of the book, bypassing the centuries of Delamaryse names until you reach the most recent, freshly inked page.
The breath completely dies in your throat.
There, written in elegant, shimmering gold script, is your own name: Princess Y/N of Valenora. Beside it is your exact year of birth. But the slot beside it—the spaces meant for the date of death and the manner of your demise—sits completely, terrifyingly empty.
A chill sweeps down your spine, leaving your skin prickling with goosebumps.
Trying to pull your mind away from the empty slot of your own death, you frantically flip back to the very first page, your finger pressing against the faded ink of the first entry. You look up at Dorcas, your voice tight and strained.
“Who is she?” you ask, your voice barely a whisper in the vast temple. “Who is Ruxandra and why doesn’t she have a last name or a house like the others?”
Dorcas walks over, standing at the edge of the dais as she looks down at the ancient page with a somber, reverent expression.
“Ruxandra was the very first holder of the sun drop’s grace,” Dorcas explains softly, her voice echoing against the stone walls. “The legends tell us she did not belong to Solistia. She came from the distant lands of your people—from Valenora. But the House of Delamaryse discovered what she carried. Longing for the ultimate authority of the sun, they hunted her down, kidnapped her, and brought her across the borders to this land. They managed to forcibly rip the power from her before executing her.”
Dorcas sighs, a heavy sound filled with ancient regret. “Because she was taken so brutally, it was never recorded whether she was a royal of Valenora or merely a commoner born with a blessed soul. Her lineage was entirely erased, and her true last name remains lost to history.”
An overwhelming wave of sorrow hits you, your heart aching for the girl who started this bloody cycle centuries ago. You look down at Ruxandra’s name, processing the devastating truth that the power currently in your veins was bought with the blood of a stolen girl from your own homeland.
Beside you, James remains entirely silent, but you can feel the rigid, furious tension in his body as he stares at your name on the final page, silently vowing that your entry will never be finished like the rest.
Your head begins to throb, a sharp, white-hot pain blooming behind your eyes as the sheer magnitude of everything you’ve learned crashes over you. You sink lower onto the stone bench, pressing the heels of your palms against your temples.
Dorcas lets out a long, heavy sigh, her golden robes rustling as she moves closer. “I know. I know this is a devastating amount of history to bear all at once.”
“But I don’t get this,” you whisper, your voice cracking as you force your eyes open to look at her. “How did it reach me? How did I get this power if the flower rejects everyone? If it was kept under lock and key in Solistia, thousands of miles away from Valenora, it makes absolutely no sense.”
Dorcas’s face turns deeply sad. A shadow crosses her features as she steps down and sits directly across from you, taking your trembling hands in hers.“I will tell you everything,” she says softly, her voice carrying a heavy amount of sadness that makes your heart sink. “But it is a difficult truth to hear. Are you entirely sure you want to know?”
You swallow the thick lump in your throat and nod firmly, refusing to back down now. “I’ve spent my entire life wondering what was inside me, terrified of my own hands. I escaped my home, survived mercenaries, and took a massive leap of faith just to get these answers. Please.”
[highly recommend listening to Truth by ramin djawadi from the GOT soundtrack here]
Dorcas squeezes your hands, taking a slow, grounding breath as she prepares to unravel the past. “Years ago, before you were born, I was crowned Queen of Solistia at a very young age following the tragic, sudden death of my parents,” she begins, her gaze drifting toward the high stone arches.
“When you take the throne here, every reigning royal must swear a sacred, blood-bound vow to protect the Sun Drop flower. But a Queen cannot guard a secret alone. To help us, we appoint a Sun Keeper—a protector who does not possess the magic inside them, but whose sole, life-long duty is to guard the Temple of the Sun and keep the flower hidden from the rest of the world.”
She pauses, her dark eyes locking onto yours with a piercing intensity. “And twenty years ago, that Sun Keeper was Marlene McKinnon.”
A gasp hitches in your throat. Beside you, James stiffens instantly, his jaw tightening as his arm wraps more firmly around your shoulders. You both lean in, entirely spellbound.
“Marlene was half-Valenoran and half-Solistian,” Dorcas continues sadly, a fond but deeply melancholy smile touching her lips as she recalls the memories. “Her mother belonged to your kingdom, and her father belonged to mine. I first met her when I was only seventeen, right after my coronation. She was brilliant and fiercely loyal. But Marlene hadn’t grown up in our courts. She had actually been born in Valenora, and she lived there for the first part of her life, serving as your mother’s closest, most trusted lady-in-waiting.”
Your eyes widen, a sudden jolt running through your chest. “My mother’s?”
“Yes,” Dorcas nods, her expression softening. “During my coronation ceremony, Helena traveled to Solistia to deliver her diplomatic duties. She was already ruling at the time, older than me, and she brought Marlene along in her royal retinue. The moment Marlene set foot here, she fell entirely in love with Solistia.”
She pauses, adjusting the sleeve of her gown before continuing. “Since your mother was already happily engaged to your father and transitioning into her permanent role as Queen, she no longer strictly needed her childhood lady-in-waiting. So, with Helena’s blessing, I took Marlene into my own court.”
Dorcas gazes up at the glass dome above. “Marlene longed to experience her father’s kingdom, and over the years, she became my absolute closest confidante,” she says softly. “When the time came, I assigned her as the Sun Keeper because there was simply no one in this world I trusted more. For years, she kept the secret flawlessly.”
She sighs heavily, the regal posture she has maintained finally fracturing as her shoulders drop under the crushing of a bitter memory. “But after your mother married and gave birth to your older brothers, Marlene grew incredibly homesick,” Dorcas murmurs, her gaze drifting to the flickering flames of the hearth as if she can see the past dancing in the embers. “She missed Helena deeply. And so, with my full permission, I sent her on a voyage back to Valenora to visit her dearest friend.”
Beside you, James shifts slightly, his shoulder pressing against yours. You glance up at him, and for a fraction of a second, your eyes lock. A shared wave of silent surprise passes between you both.
Your mind races, trying to stitch the pieces together. Marlene? Your mother had told you endless stories of her youth—the grand balls, the old court politics, her favorite childhood friends—and yet, she had never once spoken the name Marlene. If she had, you would have instantly recognized it as a name tied to the high courts of Valenora.
Why had your mother buried her existence so completely?
Before you can voice the question burning in your throat, the soothing warmth of Dorcas’s hands—which had been a comfort only moments before—turns entirely ice-cold against your skin. When the Queen speaks again, her voice drops to a strained, jagged whisper, sending a shiver straight down your spine.
“And that was the single greatest mistake of my reign,” she breathes, her chest heaving slightly. “It is a regret I will carry to my grave.”
She takes a shallow, trembling breath, forcing herself to continue. “Marlene reunited with your mother, who was overjoyed to see her. At the time, Helena was glowing. She was pregnant with you.”
Dorcas stops. The words seem to catch in her throat, and she swallows hard, her eyes locking onto yours with a devastating intensity that makes your breath hitch. “But a horrific disaster struck. One that changed the course of all our lives.”
“Someone—an enemy whose identity remains unknown to this day—had somehow discovered that the Sun Drop flower still existed, and they knew Marlene was its keeper,” Dorcas whispers darkly, her gaze burning with fury. “They trailed her across the borders, following her all the way into Valenora, biding their time and waiting for the perfect moment to strike. During a private palace banquet, they finally found it. They slipped a lethal, black-market poison into Marlene’s goblet.”
She pauses, her eyes shining with unshed tears as she looks at you, her face twisted with a grief that time has failed to heal. “But Marlene had set her glass down,” Dorcas says, her voice breaking on a fragile sob. “And your mother, Helena, reached for it. She drank it by mistake.”
You freeze. A wave of pure, icy shock slams into your chest, knocking the air right out of your lungs as the blood completely drains from your face. The room tilts slightly. Beside you, James goes entirely rigid, his fingers digging in as if he can physically hold you together at this horrific revelation.
“Why?” you gasp out, the word barely clawing its way past the tight lump in your throat, your voice trembling as the nightmare loops in your head. “Why would anyone do that?”
“They wanted the Keeper dead so they could breach the temple unchallenged,” Dorcas answers, her voice cracking as she forces herself to continue, the words tasting like ash. “And the poison they used was deeply cruel. It was agonizingly slow, designed to rot a person from the inside out in a painful death. By the time they realized what had happened—by the time the first symptoms showed—it was already too late. Helena was actively dying and Marlene was fading right alongside her.”
She looks down at her hands, the gold bands on her wrists catching the temple light as she remembers the sheer terror of that day.. “Marlene was utterly desperate,” Dorcas says.
“She could not bear the thought of her childhood friend dying—especially not while Helena was carrying you. And so, in her grief and panic, she broke her sacred oath as the Sun Keeper. She confessed the truth to your father, King Edmund. She told him that back in Solistia, a hidden, miraculous flower existed that could cure any poison, heal any sickness, and snatch them both from the jaws of death.”
Marlene… she betrayed her kingdom’s greatest secret for your mother. She had given up everything, breaking a sacred oath, simply because she couldn’t bear a world without Helena in it.
Dorcas takes a shaky breath, her fingers slowly tracing the cold, carved stone edge of the altar. “Your father didn’t hesitate for a second. He gathered your mother and Marlene, and they rode frantically all the way to Solistia. It was a brutal, merciless journey—they rode their horses to death, covering a distance that should have taken weeks in just three days. But by the time they finally crossed our borders and collapsed at the temple steps, both women were right on the precipice of death.”
Your father? You sit rigid beside James, your chest tightening until it aches. Your father—the stern, unyielding King who ruled Valenora with an iron fist, a man built on protocol, and control—had thrown all of it away in a fit of wild, desperate panic. It felt almost surreal, impossible to align the cold, distant father you grew up with against the frantic man who had once bled his horses to death for a chance at a miracle.
Dorcas stops. She slowly looks up, her dark eyes hollow and swimming with grief. “I was in love with Marlene.”
The confession drops like a bomb into the temple, shocking both you and James. Beside you, his hand goes perfectly, chillingly still on your shoulder.
“I wasn’t allowed to be,” Dorcas says, a ragged, breathless laugh escaping her lips, as a single tear finally spills over her lashes and tracks down her cheek. “She was the Sun Keeper, bound to the temple and light. It was strictly, practically forbidden by every law of our kingdom. But I was so completely, helplessly in love with her that there was no going back.”
Dorcas turns her head slowly to look at you, her dark eyes swimming with a raw, agonizing vulnerability. “You might hate me for what I am about to say,” she whispers, her voice trembling as she holds your gaze. “I know it is terrible… I know it makes me a monster in your eyes. But oh, Y/N… love makes you so incredibly, devastatingly selfish. It strips away your honor, your duty, and everything you thought you were, leaving you with nothing but a desperate, starving need to keep one person alive.”
A suffocating silence falls over the sanctuary. Beside you, James’s frame goes completely rigid, a surge of white-hot fury instantly roaring through his veins.
His first instinct is pure, unadulterated rage. How dare she? How could a ruler, a guardian of the sacred light, sit there and confess to being selfish enough to choose her lover over a poisoned, dying pregnant woman? The absolute immorality of it makes his chest burn with disgust. A king’s unborn child. An innocent mother. It was monstrous.
But then—like a cold bucket of ice water dumped over his head—the fury abruptly halts. The anger dies in his throat, replaced by a sudden, sickening drop in his stomach as a terrifying thought strikes him right in the chest.
Would I be any different?
James stares at Dorcas, but he isn’t really seeing her anymore. His mind spirals, forcing him into a dark corner of his own soul he had never dared to inspect. If the positions were flipped—if it came down to a cold, horrific choice between an innocent woman with a baby, or you… what would he do? Is he really that selfish? That fundamentally broken and immoral that he would watch a mother and her child bleed out if it meant keeping you breathing?
He looks down at your hand gripped tightly in his, his knuckles stark white. He knows the truth and it terrifies him. He is desperately, dangerously in love with you. If he wasn’t, he would have dragged you back to the safety of Valenora weeks ago and washed his hands of the whole mess. But instead, he was here, running through foreign kingdoms, treading on edge, putting everything on the line.
He was already being selfish. God forbid his feelings were ever exposed to the King—his father and mother would bear the brunt of that treason alongside him. He was risking his parents’ lives, his own duty, and his family’s name, all for you.
A nauseating realization settles deep in James’s gut. He hated Dorcas’s confession. He loathed the fact that you and your mother had been the ones on the altar at the mercy of another person’s desperate heart. But in a twisted, horrific way… he understood her. He gets it.
Because love didn’t make you a hero. It made you a monster to everyone else, just to be a savior to one.
“I ignored the fact that Marlene had broken her sacred oath,” Dorcas continues, the words pouring out like a confession long overdue. “I discarded the rules of this kingdom because I simply didn’t care about the laws anymore. I wanted to save Marlene. I wanted only her. Over the kingdom, over the gods, and yes… even over your pregnant mother,” she admits.
“And I know it is a terrible, monstrous thing to admit to you, her daughter—but I couldn’t help it. I couldn’t bear the thought of a world without her. A world without Marlene was a world in complete darkness, and I was terrified of the dark.”
For you, her confession feels like a physical blow. You stare at Dorcas, your chest aching with a strange, convoluted mixture of betrayal and pity. All your life, royalty had been presented to you as a paragon of sacrifice—duty over desire, the crown over the heart. Yet here was a queen, admitting she would have traded your life before you were even born, just to keep one woman breathing.
A choked, ragged sob escapes the Queen’s throat. She closes her eyes tight, her entire frame shaking under the weight of a ghost she has carried for decades. “Your father had come right into this very room,” she breathes, her voice cracking as she relives the nightmare. “He fell to his knees on this very marble floor, weeping, begging me to save your mother and his unborn child. He was a king, but in that moment, he was just a desperate husband, a terrified father. Even Marlene, gasping for a breath through the agonizing burn of the poison, used what little strength she had left to grasp my hand and beg me to do the same. She begged me to save Helena. To save you.”
Dorcas’s voice cracks completely, a raw, jagged sound of pure torment that echoes painfully off the high stone walls of the ancient temple. “But I was entirely blind to their agony. The only pain I was capable of feeling was my own. I stole away to Marlene’s chambers that night, bringing the Sun Drop flower with me. I fell at her bedside, holding the flower out to her, and I desperately begged her to let me give the magic to her. I didn’t care about the realm. I didn’t care about the throne, or the balance of the world. I only cared about the woman dying right in front of me.”
Beside you, James sits completely motionlessly, but his mind is churning with sickening pain. He finds himself imagining Marlene— skin turning pale from poison—and the absolute, terror Dorcas must have felt. James’s gaze strays down to where his fingers are linked with yours. He imagines you in that bed. He imagines standing over you, holding the only thing in existence that could pull you back from your grave.
She threw her crown away.
A crown was supposed to represent duty, strength, and an allegiance to a kingdom. Yet in the face of losing the person who grounded her soul, Dorcas had discarded her symbol of ultimate power as if it were worthless on the floor.
James swallows hard, a terrifying realization settling in his mind. He knew, without a doubt, that he would throw his own duty away for you. Hell, looking back at the trail of treason he had already committed since leaving Valenora, he already had.
He had discarded his oath as a guard, betrayed his King, and put his own family’s lives on the line—all for you.
But would you?
The question hits him out of nowhere. Would you throw your crown away for him?
James slowly turns his head to look at you. Your face is pale, silent tears spilling down your cheeks as you listen to the Queen’s tragedy. His chest tightens until it physically aches. He knows you want out. He knows you would gladly throw that crown into the dirt if it meant gaining your freedom—if it meant escaping the expectations, the forced marriage, and the obligations you have.
But would you do it for him?
Do you even love him? Do you love him enough to walk away from everything you’ve ever known, not just for a chance at a normal life, but specifically to choose him? Enough to refuse the alliance? Enough to refuse to marry Prince Caelum?
He stares at your profile, searching your tear-stained face for a sign, a glance, anything—and a sudden, sharp pain tears through his chest. Because deep down, in the darkest, quietest corner of his heart, James already knows the answer. You wouldn’t.
You loved your family too much. You carried the duty of your kingdom too heavily. You would break your own heart, marry Caelum, and wear that crown forever before you let Valenora fall apart. You would throw away your crown for your freedom, but you would never throw it away for him.
A hot, stinging moisture suddenly burns behind James’s eyes. He quickly turns his gaze back toward the floor, biting the inside of his cheek so hard he tastes copper, fighting with everything in him to stop a rogue tear from falling.
Dorcas then shakes her head violently, her trembling fingers gripping the edge of the altar so hard the gold rings on her fingers click sharply against the stone. “She refused,” she whispers, a fresh wave of hot tears spilling over her lashes.
“She insisted it was her fault Helena had been poisoned. She told me that the lives of a mother and an innocent child outweighed her own. I cried, I screamed, I threw my crown across the floor as if it were nothing but garbage. I bared my soul to her, screamed it into the room, and told her that I loved her. And she just… she just looked at me with so much heartbreaking pity. She touched my cheek, her hand so cold, and told me that if I truly loved her, I would save Helena.”
Oh god. You feel physically sick.
The air in the temple suddenly feels too thick and suffocating. Your knees feel weak, your mind reeling in absolute horror. There is no way your power came from this. There is no way the light inside you was bought with this kind of devastating grief.
“Marlene…” your voice is a fragile, breathless whisper, scraping past the tightness in your throat. “Marlene isn’t… she isn’t dead, right? She’s just… she’s just recovering somewhere in the palace? Hiding?”
A wave of intense nausea hits you, so sharp and sudden that you genuinely feel like you might throw up right on the stone floor. You lean heavily into James. He wraps his arm even tighter around you, burying his face slightly into your hair, his own face pale with a mix of shock as he listens to the tragic origin of the magic you carry.
Dorcas shakes her head slowly, wiping her eyes with the back of her hand as she forces herself to finish the tale. “No, my dear. That night, I broke my own heart to grant her final wish. We took the Sun Drop flower, and we brewed a drink from its petals. Your mother drank it, and the magic worked flawlessly. The poison was completely vanquished from her veins, leaving her perfectly healthy.”
She looks at you, her eyes heavy with a devastating mix of reverence and sorrow, staring at you as if she is looking directly at a living miracle built from the ashes of her own happiness.
“And just two days later, right here in Solistia, your mother went into labor. You were born and blessed on this very soil, under the light of our sun. You were born healthy, vibrant, and carrying the very light that had just saved your mother’s life.”
She takes a ragged, trembling breath, her chest heaving as she forces herself through the final, darkest chapters of the memory. “Shortly after you were born, your family had to return to Valenora to secure the kingdom and quiet the rumors of the Queen’s sudden illness.”
“The moment they left, I gathered the absolute best healers on the entire continent. I emptied the royal vaults, buying every rare herb and elixir available. Helena sent the finest physicians from Valenora’s high courts, desperate to repay the debt. We fought for her. We fought so hard. They managed to keep her comfortable, to dull the agonizing pain, but the poison had already taken too deep a root in her blood. Two weeks after your birth… Marlene passed away quietly in her bed, holding my hand.”
Dorcas looks up at you through a fresh veil of tears, her voice thickening with a beautiful, devastating reverence that rings through the vaulted ceilings. “Marlene may have broken her oath as a Sun Keeper, and she may have given the sun’s power to a royal house outside of Solistia… but her heart’s sacrifice is the exact reason you and your mother are alive today. She was a magnificent woman.”
By this point, the sheer weight of the tragedy completely collapses over you. You are sobbing, the tears blinding your vision as a massive, suffocating wave of guilt and grief crashes directly into your chest. The light inside you suddenly feels like a stolen artifact, a beautiful thing bought with the death of the Queen’s greatest love.
Before anyone can stop you, before James can even reach out to steady you, you rush forward.
You throw your arms around Dorcas, shattering all royal protocol. You cling to the weeping Queen, burying your face directly into her shoulder as you apologize profusely, your voice breaking over and over again into ragged, breathless gasps. “I’m sorry,” you sob violently into her golden gown, your tears instantly soaking the embroidered fabric. “I’m so sorry, I’m so sorry… It’s my fault, she died because of me, I’m so sorry…”
You hug Dorcas so tightly, your fingers gripping her royal robes as if you are trying to anchor yourself in a world that has suddenly spun completely out of control. Your chest heaves with ragged, agonizing breaths.
There is no way Dorcas had to sacrifice the love of her life, Marlene, just for you to live.
Everything is so incredibly cruel. Everything is terrible, and the guilt that floods your veins is completely suffocating. This power humming inside you, the light you always thought was a beautiful miracle, has caused nothing but a legacy of pain, blood, and destruction.
“I’m sorry,” you choke out again, your voice small, broken, and utterly shattered against her shoulder. “I’m so sorry…”
Dorcas doesn’t pull away. Instead, she holds you just as firmly, her arms wrapping around you to rock you gently in the quiet, sunlit sanctuary of the temple. Slowly, her hands move up to your face. She gently pulls back, using her thumbs to wipe the streaming tears from your burning cheeks.
“I don’t regret it in the slightest, my dear,” Dorcas says.
You blink through your blurry, tear-stained vision, staring at her as the ancient temple seems to tilt on its axis. “What…?”
Dorcas offers you a bittersweet, gentle smile, though her dark eyes still shimmer with the heavy remnants of a twenty-year-old sorrow. “A few months after she passed, I found a letter Marlene had hidden for me,” she whispers, her gaze drifting back to the altar. “Deep beneath the floorboards in her chambers. Reading her final words… I finally understood. I found out that the flower wouldn’t have saved her anyway. Even if I had forced its light upon her, she was already far beyond its reach.”
You shake your head violently, your brow furrowing in deep, agonizing confusion as you try to force the puzzle pieces together. “How?” you demand, your voice rising in a desperate plea. “It’s the Sun Drop, it heals any sickness, any poison, any wound. You said it yourself—it was a miracle. How could a miracle reject the very woman sworn to protect it?”
“Remember what I told you before about the sacred texts?” Dorcas asks gently. She reaches out, her cold hand lightly brushing your arm, her dark eyes locking onto yours with an intensity that demands your full attention. “The magic of the Sun Drop changed drastically after the Delamaryse line fell in a tragedy of greed and betrayal. The magic became sentient, defensive. It built a ruthless, mystical defense mechanism into its very essence to ensure it could never be weaponized, stolen, or used by malicious hands ever again.”
She takes a slow, heavy breath, the silence of the temple wrapping around you both. “Marlene was the Sun Keeper,” Dorcas continues, her voice softening with reverence. “She spent years memorizing every text, every ancient scroll, and every hidden rule regarding the flower’s history. She knew secrets about its power that even I, as Queen, was never permitted to read. And through that sacred knowledge, she understood the flower’s ultimate truth: it acts as a force of divine natural selection.”
She pauses, letting the weight of those words sink in before she delivers the hardest truth of all. “It will only bond with, and heal, those who are entirely pure of heart. Marlene was a wonderful, brilliant, and fiercely loyal woman—but she was human. She was not pure-hearted. By her own admission in that letter, she harbored her own dark secrets, her own small greeds, and a deep-seated, vengeful rage against the enemies of our crown. She knew the flower’s magic would have sensed the imperfections in her soul and rejected her as a host.”
Dorcas lets out a bittersweet, ragged breath. “If I had forced her to drink it, the magic would have turned to ash in her throat. She begged me to save your mother because she knew, with absolute certainty, that Helena was the only way the magic would take.”
You freeze entirely, your mind racing at a frantic pace as you process this devastating new piece of the puzzle. The realization makes your skin prickle.
“But… but then how did it accept my mother?” you ask, your voice rising in desperation as you look for a loophole. “If my mom drank it, how did it heal her? She was a Queen, she had fought wars, she wasn’t an innocent child either!”
Dorcas gives you a long, profoundly meaningful look, the silence stretching taut between you.
Behind you, the air cuts short. James lets out a sharp, sudden gasp, his hand tightening so hard against your shoulder that it bruises. “It didn’t accept her…” James whispers, the sheer, staggering realization striking him like a physical blow.
Dorcas nods firmly, turning her sad eyes to James for a brief second before locking them right back onto your wide, terrified ones. “Exactly. It didn’t accept Helena,” Dorcas reveals softly. “It accepted you. The magic completely bypassed your mother’s system and targeted the new life growing inside her. Because you were an unborn child you were completely untouched by the cruelty of the world, a soul with a perfectly pure heart and absolutely no corruption in you.”
She reaches out, gently cupping your jaw with a hand that trembles only slightly. “You were her shield, and she was your vessel. If your mother hadn’t been pregnant with you at that exact moment, the potion would have failed instantly. Both Helena and Marlene would have died.”
The room falls into silence as the she explains the truth. “My guess is that the magic accepted you as its new host while you were still in her womb,” Dorcas continues softly, her voice echoing in the vast temple. “And you, my dear, healed your mother on your own from inside her belly. You were born as the world’s youngest Sun Bearer. You weren’t born with the gift naturally—you were granted it in her.”
She pauses, reaching out to gently squeeze your trembling hands, her eyes locking onto yours with absolute sincerity. “So really, I don’t want you to ever doubt the choice I made. I might have been desperately selfish in those dark hours, but looking back on it now, I don’t ever regret it. I want you to know deep in your soul that Marlene was going to die either way. Her having the flower wouldn’t have made a single difference; it would have only brought more agony.”
“She was a beautiful, magnificent woman, Y/N, and I am more than happy that a part of her sacrifice—a part of her—gets to live on through you.” she says with a smile.
Hearing her words, a wave of relief washes over the suffocating guilt in your chest. You swallow hard, looking into Dorcas’s eyes as the tears finally slow.
“Thank you,” you whisper, your voice thick with emotion as you squeeze her hands back. “I… I spent so long thinking this magic was a mistake because all it did was keep me hidden and locked away from the world. Knowing Marlene wanted my mother to live, knowing she wanted me to live… I won’t waste it. I promise I will carry her sacrifice with the respect it deserves.”
You nod slowly, letting out a shaky breath as you finally accept the heavy truth, choosing to carry Marlene’s memory without letting it crush you more than what you learned. But then, the gentleness in Dorcas’s expression vanishes, replaced by a stark gravity. “I just want you to stay pure,” she says, her grip tightening on your fingers. “It is nearly impossible in a world as cruel as ours, but you have to be so incredibly careful, Y/N. You must guard your heart against hatred, malice, and vengeance.”
She leans in closer, the urgency in her voice making your pulse spike. “If your heart becomes corrupted, I fear your power will lose its healing abilities entirely. The light inside you will twist. It will cease to be a source of life, and instead, it will become a terrifying weapon—a way to destroy everything and everyone you love.”
You pull your hands back slightly, your heart hammering against your ribs as panic flashes through your veins. The relief you felt seconds ago evaporates, replaced by a cold, suffocating dread. “But how?” you ask, your voice rising, laced with fear. “How am I supposed to prevent that? What if I make a mistake? What if I get angry, or scared, or—or hate the people who are hunting me? Does it happen all at once? Will I just wake up one day and be a monster?”
Dorcas shakes her head quickly, reaching out to steady you, her voice dropping into a calm but serious register to soothe your rising panic. “No, no, breathe, my dear. It won’t happen overnight,” Dorcas reassures you gently.
“Magic of this magnitude does not corrupt in a single moment of anger or grief. It is a slow, insidious erosion. It will happen like losing control of a slow-burning fire. The more you allow yourself to hurt others maliciously, the more you harbor genuine greed and hatred, the more you kill and damage the world around you… the more the power will twist.”
Dorcas looks at you now seriously, explaining carefully, “It adapts to the soul carrying it. It will turn corrupted gradually, until the magic itself starts to physically hurt you, burning you from the inside out. It builds and builds until it reaches a terrible climax—and only then, when the corruption is absolute, will you be stripped away from the power entirely.”
James, who had been listening intently with his brow furrowed, steps forward. “Wait,” he interrupts, his voice tight with confusion and a fierce, rising protectiveness. “If that is the defense mechanism of the Sun Drop’s magic—if it’s meant to protect the power from being weaponized—why does it wait until a Sun Bearer reaches total, absolute corruption before stripping them of the power? Why not take it away the very second they start straying?”
Dorcas sighs heavily, tracing the intricate carvings on the edge of the altar as she gathers her thoughts. “The exact blueprints of the flower’s sentience are unknown to us, James,” she explains, looking up at him.
“But the texts suggest it’s a matter of the magic’s own self-preservation and human free will. The Sun Drop’s magic is a force of absolute life. It understands that mortalkind is inherently flawed—that anger, grief, and mistakes are a natural part of living. If the magic stripped itself away at the first sign of human weakness, it would never survive in a host for more than a few years. It gives its host grace. It allows room for redemption.”
She looks between the two of us, her expression grim as her eyes linger on the way we cling to each other. “However, separating that magic from a living soul is a cataclysmic event,” she continues softly. “It has woven into your blood and your spirit. It cannot simply detach itself easily.”
James’s jaw tightens, his fingers digging slightly into my arm as he processes her words. “So what changes? When they reach that breaking point, what actually happens inside them?”
“The magic enters a state of total rejection,” Dorcas says, her gaze sliding back to him. “As the host corrupts the light, turning it into a weapon, the magic fights back against the host’s soul. That battle inside the body is what causes the pain. The power doesn’t leave early because it can’t. It has to be pushed to an absolute, volatile extreme of incompatibility before the bond violently snaps, purging the magic to protect its own existence.”
Dorcas steps closer, her voice dropping to a sharp whisper that seems to imprint itself directly into our minds. “A host cannot simply ask it to leave, nor can they wish it away,” Dorcas says flatly. “The only way the magic ever releases its grip early is if the host deliberately forces that incompatibility to its absolute breaking point. If they willingly invoke the cataclysm, tearing their own soul apart from the light to let it purge.”
“And if they do that?” James asks, his voice dropping, laced with a protective dread. “If they force it out?”
“Choosing to violently shatter that bond from the inside out?” Dorcas looks directly at me, her gaze heavy and devastatingly clear. “It would be an act of absolute, agonizing surrender. No one has ever survived the forces of that kind of purge unchanged.”
You let out a shaky, hollow sigh, pressing a hand against your stomach as another wave of intense nausea rolls through you. The temple feels like it’s spinning. “So… it’s either I get too corrupted and the magic violently rips itself out of me, or I force it to leave,” you whisper, your voice trembling as you look between Dorcas and James. “Both options end terribly. It’s a death sentence either way.”
Dorcas steps forward, offering a reassuring but guarded look. “Not necessarily, my dear. As long as you use your powers wisely and guard your heart, you should be perfectly fine. You are not destined for darkness. But yes, even if you wanted to force the magic out right now, it would practically be suicide.”
She turns back toward the altar, her fingers tracing the air above it. “The magic is a living entity of absolute life. When a host forces it out, the light leaves the body in its purest, most raw form. But there is a catch—a cosmic law of balance.” she admits, slowing down.
Dorcas stops. The words seem to catch in her throat, and she swallows hard, her eyes locking onto yours and James’s with intensity. “While inside a corrupted host, the magic suffers. So, the moment it is forced out, it reacts to the state of destruction you left it in. It acts like a mirror. As a final act of redeeming itself, the escaping light will instantly heal whatever damage or tragedy you are desperately trying to fix—but it leaves the host to bear the physical toll of that violent extraction. Once the magic is fully purged, it flies back to its origin, regrowing into a new Sun Drop flower.”
Dorcas points directly to the center of the altar, where the bare green stem sits trapped beneath the glass dome. “Right there. That is where it will sleep until a new cycle begins.”
James stares at the empty stem, his brow furrowed as his sharp mind processes the sheer weight of her words. “Has anyone ever actually done that? Has a Sun Bearer ever successfully forced the power out?”
Dorcas grows quiet, a flicker of remembrance crossing her features. “If I recall my history correctly… yes. Once.”
She turns back to the heavy, ancient text resting on the pedestal. Her rings click against the parchment as she carefully flips through the fragile, yellowed pages, going back centuries.
Finally, her finger stops near the top of an illustrated chapter detailing the fallen royal line. “Here,” Dorcas murmurs, pointing to a stark, elegant entry. “Around 410 years ago.”
You and James lean in, reading the looping calligraphy stamped beneath a painted crest:
Aurelia Delamaryse (1026 – 1059): agonizing death due to her body collapsing under the strain of the light’s spiritual purge, her life force consumed during a cataclysmic extraction of her magic.
“Aurelia Delamaryse,” Dorcas explains, her voice dropping into a solemn tone. “According to the old texts, she was being ruthlessly hunted for her life during the Great Purge of the bloodline. She was cornered, terrified, and had already used her magic maliciously to kill many of her pursuers, which had deeply corrupted her. But she had her infant child with her. To save her child from being slaughtered by the men hammering down her doors, she chose the unthinkable. She forced the Sun Drop light out of her body in an agonizing, desperate frenzy.”
Dorcas looks up from the book, her eyes dark with warning. “Because Aurelia was already so deeply corrupted, the escaping light acted like a mirror of absolute karma. It reflected all the damage, pain, and death she had inflicted on others right back onto her own soul as it tore away from her flesh.”
Dorcas grimaces in pain as she continues on. “The magic was too pure, and her corruption was too severe. The agony of the extraction was so overwhelming that she perished in the very process of it leaving her. It was a horrific end—but think of it as the universe’s ultimate way of restoring balance. The light saved her child, but it demanded her life in return.”
You and James stand frozen, staring at the ancient parchment in horrified shock.
Dorcas closes the massive text, cutting off the view of the century-old tragedy. “Okay,” the Queen sighs, rubbing the bridge of her nose as she steps back from the pedestal. “That is enough. I have dropped a bomb on both of you today with an overwhelming amount of information, and I think your minds have endured quite enough for one afternoon!”
A hollow nod is all you can manage. She is right. Between finding out your powers originate from a cosmic plant, learning a forgotten royal bloodline ruled it for centuries, and discovering that your magic was given to you by this very Queen at the devastating cost of her greatest love—it is completely paralyzing.
You feel a chaotic storm of guilt, fear, and grief colliding in your chest, making it nearly impossible to process a single thought. “I… I just need time to process all of this,” you say, your voice small and weary. “It’s just too much.”
Dorcas’s expression softens instantly. “You have all the time you need, my dear,” she says gently, gesturing toward the temple exit. “I insist that you and James stay here in the palace where you are protected. I have already had a grand chamber prepared for the both of you. Go, rest, and let your minds find some peace. We will speak more when you feel better.”
You look down at your hands, wrapping your fingers loosely around each other as you watch the faint, invisible pull of the magic beneath your skin. It feels entirely different now—less like a gift, and more like a miracle paid for in blood.
You feel so much and absolutely nothing at all, all at once, your mind spinning so fast it leaves you completely hollow. It will take days, weeks, maybe a lifetime to process this.
A desperate part of you wishes you had never asked. You wish you had stayed ignorant, because fuck, the truth is a terrible, agonizing thing to bear.
Then, you do the math in your head. Born in Solistia. Marlene died two weeks later. Your birthday was exactly two weeks ago. The lantern release is in two days. Two weeks and two days. The timeline snaps together in your mind.
“The lanterns…” you ask, your voice barely a whisper as you look up to meet Dorcas’s eyes. “They’re for Marlene, aren’t they?”
Dorcas lets a sad, tender smile touch her lips as she steps closer. She reaches out, wrapping her warm hands around your trembling ones. “Yes,” Dorcas says softly. “They are for my Marlene. It was my way of honoring her sacrifice, and everything she did for this kingdom. But mostly, it was my way of honoring the love I still carry for her. It is a comfort to think that sometimes, the people we lose aren’t completely gone. They leave, yes, but they leave so much of who they were and what they did behind. It would be a shame for us to simply wilt in our grief. The best I could do was make sure she was never forgotten. So, I made the release of the lights a national festival. Because Marlene was the light of my life.”
You swallow the lump in your throat, squeezing her hands back. In the middle of your own overwhelming shock, your heart aches for the grief this Queen has carried in silence for twenty years. “She must have loved you very much, too,” you reply, your voice thick with emotion. “To have inspired a love that can light up an entire kingdom. I don’t think she’s gone at all, Dorcas. Not when you keep her alive like this.”
Dorcas’s eyes shimmer with fresh tears, your gentle words offering a small balm to an old, aching wound. She lets out a watery, grateful laugh, gently patting your hand. “I like to think so,” she murmurs, wiping a stray tear from her cheek. “And the lights are only half of it. After Tomorrow night, before the lanterns take to the sky, we hold the annual charity ball in her name.”
She looks out toward the temple, her voice softening. “Marlene cared so deeply for the sick, the poor, and the children who had no one. The ball raises funds for the local orphanages and healers across Solistia. I wanted to ensure her legacy wasn’t just beautiful to look at in the night sky, but that her kindness actively continued to heal people, even long after she was gone.”
Dorcas turns back to you, her expression turning hopeful. “I know this is a massive amount to handle, but you deserved to know the truth. And I would really love it if you and James stayed here in Solistia to attend the ball and the lantern release.”
You glance back at James. The tight, terrified lines of his posture have softened, replaced by awe as he looks at you, his eyes silently tracking the conflict on your face. He doesn’t say a word, leaving the choice entirely up to you.
You quickly shake your head, fear biting at your chest again as reality crashes back in. “I’m really sorry, we can’t. We will surely be there for the lanterns, but we cannot attend the ball. We are running for our lives. If we go to a royal ball, we’ll be recognized by other visiting nobility or foreign delegates. Word will get back to Valenora instantly.”
Dorcas dismisses the worry with a gentle wave of her hand and a knowing, seasoned smile. “Oh, no, you won’t. It is a masquerade ball, my dear,” she reveals. “Everyone wears masks; no one will recognize the other, I assure you. You will be entirely anonymous. I insist on you staying here in the safety of the castle. And as for your boy James…”
She glances at him, her smile turning slightly mischievous despite the tears still drying on her cheeks. “…I will make sure you both have the finest ball attire Solistia has to offer. Just stay..”
You turn your head to look at James, silently asking him for his thoughts. James steps forward, a reassuring expression on his face as his fingers brush against your arm. “I don’t mind staying,” James says quietly, his voice a steady anchor for you. “If you want to be here for it, I’m with you.”
A sigh of relief escapes your lips, and you turn back to the Queen, offering a grateful, fragile smile. “Okay. We’ll stay. Thank you, Dorcas.”
Dorcas smiles wonderfully, her face illuminating with genuine happiness. “I am so incredibly happy you are here,” she says sincerely. She stands up, smoothing down the front of her gold gown. “I am going to head out now and arrange your quarters and your attire. Take all the time you need.”
With a final, affectionate nod, she turns and glides out of the secret door, leaving you and James entirely alone in the quiet, sun-drenched sanctuary of the Temple of the Sun.
The moment the heavy iron door grinds shut and Dorcas’s footsteps completely fade into the distant stone corridors, the fragile composure you had been desperately holding onto breaks like a failing dam.
The silence of the temple collapses in on you, heavy and suffocating. A violent, choked sob rips from your throat, and you turn blindly toward James—except you don’t even have to reach for him. His arms are already open wide, stepping into your space and catching you before your knees can buckle.
You collapse into his chest, your hands bunching tightly into the fabric of his shirt, burying your face into the familiar warmth of his shoulder. James locks his arms securely around you, pulling you flush against his chest, completely unbothered by how hard you are trembling.
He begins to rock you gently back and forth right there in the middle of the sun-drenched sanctuary, his large hand coming up to cup the back of your head, his fingers gently threading through the fresh blossoms and braids the girls had tucked in just hours ago.
“Shhh, it’s okay. I’ve got you,” James murmurs, his voice a low, steady rumble against your ear, thick with a raw, protective tenderness. “I know, love. I know. Just breathe. I’m right here.”
“It’s horrible, James,” you sob into his chest, your shoulders shaking violently as a frantic stream of tears completely soaks through his clothes. You hiccup, your breath catching painfully in your throat as your worries tumble out in a stuttering, panicked rush. “I-I didn’t know… I had no idea the truth was this bad. Everything is built on blood. Marlene… she’s dead because I was inside my mother, and the flower chose me.”
“Don’t do that to yourself,” James hushes, his grip tightening as if he could physically shield you from your own thoughts. “You heard what the Queen said. It wasn’t your fault. You were an unborn child.”
“But look at the book, James!” you cry out, pulling back just a fraction to look up at him through blurry, tear-stained eyes.
Your chest heaves as you gesture frantically toward the stone bench where the leather-bound chronicle rests. “Look at the history! Every single Sun Bearer… hunted down, poisoned, executed, tortured. No one survives this power. It’s a death sentence. And all this time… all those years I spent screaming in my room, hating my parents, blaming them for trapping me…”
You choke on a sob, a fresh wave of suffocating guilt washing over your face. “I thought they were just cruel. I thought they wanted to control me and hide me away like a prisoner. But they knew! They knew what happens to people like me. They just wanted me safe. They just wanted to keep me alive, and I was so selfish.”
James listens to your frantic spiral, his heart aching at the sheer amount of blame you are piling onto your own shoulders. He doesn’t dismiss your tears; instead, he gently uses the pads of his thumbs to wipe the streaming wetness from your cheeks, forcing you to look at him.
You look down at your hands, the weight of the confession pressing heavy on your chest. “It feels like a curse,” you whisper, the words barely escaping you. “I have this light inside me, but it was paid for in blood. How am I supposed to carry that, James? Knowing that Marlene died so I could live?”
James steps closer, his voice drops into that firm, grounded tone he uses when he needs to pull you back from the edge of your own mind. “Listen to me, love,” he says, holding your gaze. “You are not selfish. You were a child. You had no way of knowing the depths of this secret because they chose to keep you in the dark. Your parents wanted to protect you, yes, but keeping you blind to your own nature wasn’t a perfect solution. It just left you feeling broken and alone.”
“But she died, James,” you argue, a frustrated tear slipping down your cheek. “Marlene is gone because of me.”
He slides his hands down to grasp your shoulders, anchoring you to the present moment. His grip is steady, warm, and unyielding. “Think about what Queen Dorcas just explained,” James urges gently. “The flower didn’t just randomly pick a host to cause destruction. It chose you because your heart was pure. Out of two centuries of people, you were the only soul clean enough to hold that light.”
He continues reassuring you. “You didn’t steal Marlene’s life. Marlene made a choice out of love for your mother, and the magic used your innocence to save her. You didn’t bring pain into this world, Y/N. Your very first act, before you were even born, was saving your mother’s life.”
You look up at him, your breath shuddering as his words pierce through your guilt. “But what if my entry in that book ends like the others?” you ask, your voice cracking. “What if I can’t escape it? Every single Delamaryse who held this power died terribly. What if I can’t break the cycle?”
James steps even closer, closing the final inch of distance between you until you can feel the steady rise and fall of his chest. He reaches up, his fingers gently tracing your jawline. “I don’t care about a cursed bloodline, and I don’t care about the history in that book,” James vows. “As long as I have breath in my body, as long as I am standing beside you, I will protect you from anyone and anything. Your story is not going to end in a tragedy. I won’t let it.”
Hearing the absolute certainty in his voice, the suffocating dread in your chest finally begins to loosen its grip. Another tear spills over your lashes, but this time, it’s out of a sense of relief. You lean forward, burying your face back into the crook of his neck, your hands gripping his shirt like a lifeline.
James takes a deep, grounding breath and gently cups your face with both hands, using his thumbs to sweep away the tears clinging to your eyelashes.
He forces a soft, encouraging smile onto his lips. “Come on,” he murmurs. “No more crying, alright? You’ve carried enough for one day. Let’s just catch our breath.”
You take a shuddering breath, sniffling as you finally lean back slightly from his touch. You nod, wiping your nose with the back of your hand as you look around the ancient, sun-drenched sanctuary.
For a long, heavy stretch of time, you and James just sit together in absolute silence, the echoing quiet of the temple wrapping around you like a blanket.
Finally, you break the silence. “You know… I always thought the lantern lights were meant for me somehow. Every single year, they were released right around my birthday. I used to sit at my window in Valenora, watching them float across the sky, dreaming that they were a sign. A message just for me.”
You let out a hollow and slightly sarcastic laugh, shaking your head. “Turns out they were to honor Marlene’s sacrifice. It was all for a woman dead because of me.”
James shakes his head slowly. “It’s still beautiful, though. The way everything was connected. Think about it.”
You let out a sarcastic, bitter laugh, looking away. “Connected? James, it’s terrible. It’s a tragedy built on top of another tragedy.”
“Not all of it,” James counters gently. He squeezes your hand, leaning in closer to ensure you’re truly listening to him. “Think about the history Queen Dorcas just showed us in that book. The first-ever Sun Bearer was Ruxandra. She came from the land of your people—from Valenora.”
You look back at him, your brow furrowing, but he continues before you can protest.
“Then, Ruxandra was brutally stripped of her identity because of House Delamaryse. For over two centuries, that corrupted house held the power, abusing it and treating it like their birthright. Yet, thousands of years after Ruxandra’sdeath, the Sun Drop flower bypasses all of Solistia and comes right back to you. A princess of Valenora. It feels like some kind of ancient cycle finally correcting itself.”
You blink back the remnants of your tears, trying to follow the thread of his thoughts. “What do you mean?”
“The flower’s physical land might be Solistia,” James explains, his eyes bright with a quiet, profound conviction. “The drop of the sun fell here, in this soil. But the first true Sun Bearer—the person the magic actually chose to hold its essence—was not from Solistia. She was from Valenora.”
He reaches up, gently brushing a stray lock of hair from your face, his touch grounded and warm. “Against all odds, after all that bloodshed and corruption, the magic fought its way through history and came right down to you. It feels like the light was destined to be brought back to a daughter of Valenora. Like it finally returned home.”
You stare at him, your chest tight as a cold wave of reality cuts through the romanticism of his theory. You shake your head slowly, a heavy sigh escaping your lips as you look back toward the grand iron doors of the temple.
“There’s still so much that’s completely unknown, James,” you point out, your voice dropping into a tense, worried whisper. “Like… who poisoned Marlene in the first place? And why? If it was because an enemy found out she was the Sun Keeper, then how did they find out a secret that only the royal family of Solistia was supposed to know? Whoever did it… they could still be alive out there. It was quite recent. I mean, it was only nineteen years ago. Nineteen years is nothing.”
James grows quiet, his brows knitting together as he considers the chilling weight of your words. He shifts slightly on the stone bench, his jaw tightening. “Yeah. You’re right. It wasn’t that long ago. But… they didn’t strike back. In nineteen years, there hasn’t been another attack on Solistia. So I assume whoever did it either lost interest when Marlene died, or they’ve died since then.”
You sigh heavily, leaning your head against his armored shoulder, staring blankly at the sacred book of Sun Bearers resting nearby.
A deep, unsettling dread pools in the pit of your stomach, a whisper of intuition telling you that secrets this massive rarely stay buried forever. “I don’t think anyone would ever just lose interest in the power of the sun, James,” you murmur. “Let’s just hope that whoever did it is long dead, and the truth was completely forgotten with them.”
James agrees silently, a heavy nod settling between his shoulders, but a tense, unspoken dread hangs in the air between you.
Deep down, you are both hoping—desperately and fiercely hoping—that this ancient history isn’t somehow connected to the traitor back home in Valenora. The one who has already tried to take your life twice: once by sneaking into your private chambers with a blade before James was assigned as your personal guard, and a second time on your birthday, using a lethal poison that nearly mirrored the very story Dorcas just told you.
The parallels are too close for comfort. You can feel the silent, protective fury radiating off James as he reaches the exact same conclusion.
Breaking the silence, James finally stands up, extending a hand to help you up from the stone bench. You both take one last look back at the glass vault—at the empty spot of rich, dark soil where the Sun Drop flower is destined to grow once again the moment you are dead.
You turn and begin to walk out of the temple, the air of the subterranean sanctuary slowly lifting. But just before you reach the threshold of the secret iron door, James pauses. “Hey, Y/N?” he calls out softly.
You turn back to face him, your brow lifting slightly in question. James steps closer, a genuinely warm, incredibly tender smile breaking through the serious lines of his face.
“I’m really proud of you,” he says, his golden eyes shining with absolute sincerity.
Your smile grows wide at his words, genuine warmth blooming in your chest for the first time all afternoon. “What you just went through—and the way you handled all of it—was a lot,” James continues softly, stepping into your space. “I know it’s heavy, Y/N. But at least now you finally know the truth. No more hiding in the dark. No more guessing.”
You nod, letting out a long, shuddering breath as the suffocating weight in your chest finally begins to give way. “Yeah. At least now I know.”
James smiles, a rare, tender expression softening the hard lines of his face. He steps closer, wrapping his arms around you and pulling you flush against his chest. He leans down, pressing a sweet kiss into your hair. “Come on,” you murmur against his shirt, your voice thick with a bone-deep exhaustion. “Let’s go rest. We’ve both had a terribly long day.”
“Agreed,” James chuckles into your hair. He releases you just enough to slide his hand down your arm, his fingers locking effortlessly with yours.
You walk out of the temple together, where a royal attendant is already waiting to guide you back up the winding stone staircases and through the grand corridors of the palace. By the time you reach your shared quarters, your eyelids are already fighting a losing battle. You barely register the oak doors closing behind you or the soft tap of James’s boots on the rug. Your body moves on pure instinct, leaning your shoulder heavily against his as you take a deep, grounding breath in… and out. In… and out.
Your mind moves slowly, desperately trying to process everything this journey has led you to—the Sun Drop flower, the bloodlines, the tragic history, and the absolute duality of the magic inside your blood.
Without even realizing it, James has already guided you over to the massive bed, carefully helping you sit back against the stacked pillows. You let your head drop back, every muscle in your body sinking into the mattress, as you begin to drift off, right on the precipice of sleep.
But just before you close your eyes, you look up one last time—catching the light hitting James as he leans over you. Up close, the evening light catches the intricate golden specks scattered deep within his brown eyes, glowing like tiny, warm suns.
And with that light lingering in your mind, your eyes finally flutter shut, and you fall into a deep, dreamless sleep.
a/n: welcome to the VERYYY long rant, folks!!!!
okay... THIS is the chapter i've been waiting to post for what feels like forever. genuinely, ever since i started outlining tcov, i've been counting down to this exact moment because this is the point where so many of the questions that have been hanging over the story since chapter one finally start to get answers, and i am so excited to finally share it with you all.
i know this chapter is ridiculously long, but i actually made the conscious decision to keep everything together instead of splitting it into two chapters. at one point i did consider ending it halfway through on some dramatic cliffhanger, but i honestly thought that would have been a little too cruel 😭 there was just so much information that depended on the next revelation, and i felt like breaking it apart would have interrupted the flow too much, so i decided to throw every single lore drop at you all in one sitting and hope for the best.
so... the biggest reveal, princess' powers were never a miracle. they were never just something she was born with, and they were never some random blessing that appeared out of nowhere for no reason at all. they were a gift!!!!
a burden that someone consciously placed into her hands. and that someone was queen dorcas WOOHOOO.
i've been waiting SO LONG to finally write those words 🥳🥳💃💃
we also finally meet the infamous sundrop flower!! which... let's be honest... i think most of you probably guessed the moment i said "healing powers" 😭 i was definitely not being subtle with the Tangled inspiration there, and i knew from the beginning that people would make that connection pretty quickly.
but i always knew i wanted to take that concept much further than disney ever did. i didn't want the flower to simply be this perfect, miraculous object that exists only to heal people because, honestly, that's never really how power works. no power in history has ever been completely good or completely evil, and i think that is what makes it so interesting. it always depends on the hands it falls into, and on what those hands choose to do with it.
that's where the delamaryse bloodline came from. i absolutely LOVED writing their history because i wanted a family that represented what happens when people hoarded the flower for generations, convinced that its power belonged exclusively to them, until healing slowly became corruption and a power meant to save people became twisted into control.
and i think that's the biggest twist of the entire mythology. the sundrop flower was never meant to represent pure healing or pure goodness. instead, it embodies duality. it has the power to create life just as easily as it has the power to destroy it, making creation and destruction, light and darkness, mercy and vengeance all two sides of the exact same coin.
at its core, the magic itself is neither good nor evil. it's the same power regardless of who possesses it. the only thing that changes is the heart of the person wielding it, because the flower doesn't decide whether it heals or harms. the sun bearer does!!
i think that's honestly one of my favourite pieces of lore in the entire story because i never wanted princess to possess this flawless, perfect magic that automatically makes her the hero. i've always disliked the idea that light magic somehow equals moral perfection while darker magic automatically makes someone evil, because people are so much more complicated than that and i wanted the story to reflect that.
instead, i wanted the magic itself to mirror whoever carries it. if its bearer is compassionate, it heals. if they're consumed by grief, hatred, revenge, or anger, it destroys.
and i think that's such a terrifying responsibility to carry because nobody is perfectly good. every single person experiences anger, and everyone has moments where they want revenge or wish they could hurt someone who has hurt them. princess isn't exempt from that just because she's the protagonist, and that is exactly what makes her powers so dangerous in the eyes of the people around her.
which finally brings us back to king edmund and queen helena.
i'm not saying what they did was right because i still fundamentally disagree with so many of the choices they made, but hopefully this chapter helps explain why they made them. from the moment they realised what their daughter carried inside her, they understood that the fate of entire kingdoms rested in the hands of one little girl.
that's an impossible burden. they weren't simply protecting princess, they believed they were protecting everyone else from the possibility of what those powers could become if they ever fell into the wrong hands... or if princess herself was ever pushed far enough to lose control.
again... it doesn't justify it, but maybe it explains it. and i always think understanding a character is far more interesting than simply agreeing with them.
next, the biggest thing i wanted to explore with this reveal was the idea that magic, especially something as powerful and sacred as the sundrop, does not operate on simple rules. it was created from the connection between humanity, compassion, and the willingness to sacrifice something for another person. which is why princess having the power was never about her being the strongest, the most royal, or the most deserving. it was about the circumstances surrounding her existence and the impossible act of love that brought her into the world.
marlene mckinnon has honestly been one of the most important characters in the entire story from the very beginning, even before readers knew her name. the reason i chose her to be connected to both valenora and solistia was because she represents the bridge between these two kingdoms.
she belongs to both kingdoms, yet she is never fully allowed to exist in either one. her entire life is built around divided loyalties: her mother’s homeland and her father’s kingdom, her duty to the sundrop and her love for the people she considers family. and that is what makes her decision so heartbreaking.
marlene did not betray solistia because she stopped caring about her duty. she betrayed it because, in one single moment, the friend she loved was dying in front of her. i think it is very easy to look at her choice and immediately label it as selfish, especially because the consequences affected so many innocent people, including princess and helena. but the entire point of this storyline is that love is not always beautiful. sometimes love is messy, terrifying, and morally complicated and sometimes the person who loves you most can still make choices that hurt others. that does not erase the love behind their actions, but it also does not erase the damage caused by them.
that is why dorcas’s confession was such an important moment for me to write. i did not want her to be a perfect queen who always chooses correctly because that is not what makes a character human. dorcas is a ruler, but before she was a queen, she was a person who loved someone. and the hardest question this chapter asks is not “was dorcas wrong?” because yes, she was!!!! it is not about excusing what she did. the question is: “what would you become if the person you loved most was taken away from you?”
that is why james’s reaction was so important to include. because at first, his anger is completely justified. from his perspective, this woman is admitting that she was willing to risk princess’s life before she even existed. she was willing to choose marlene over a pregnant queen and an unborn child. and james, someone who has built his entire identity around duty, protection, and doing what is expected of him, should hate that. he should see dorcas as everything he has been taught never to become.
but then the uncomfortable truth hits him. he understands her!
not because he agrees with her actions, but because he realizes he is not as different from her as he wants to believe. james has spent his entire life believing that honour means choosing what is right no matter the personal cost, but loving princess has already challenged that belief. he has already endangered his future, his family, and his place in valenora because he could not walk away from her. he has already chosen one person over everything else.
and that is the parallel i really wanted to highlight between dorcas and james. dorcas is a warning of what love can turn into when you completely abandon yourself for another person. james is standing at the edge of becoming the same thing, and the terrifying part is that he knows it. the difference between them is not that james loves more purely or that dorcas loved incorrectly. the difference is that james is now aware of the consequences of that kind of love.
this entire chapter is basically asking whether love makes people better or whether it simply reveals who they truly are. because love can inspire the most selfless acts in the world, but it can also make people justify things they would have once believed impossible.
it can turn kings into desperate men, queens into rule-breakers, and protectors into people willing to destroy everything just to save one person.
and that is exactly why the sundrop chose baby princess.
because the power was never meant for someone who had never experienced darkness. it was never meant for someone untouched by pain or impossible choices. the sundrop belongs to someone who understands that love is complicated, that sacrifice has consequences, and that being a good person is not about never making mistakes. it is about what you choose after you realize the damage your choices have caused.
continuing with the lore of the sundrop, this was probably one of the most complicated parts of tcov to build because i never wanted the magic to feel like a simple “chosen one” power.
i wanted it to have rules, consequences, history, and most importantly, a reason for why y/n has it. the sundrop is not a reward nor not a weapon. it is not something that exists to make its bearer invincible. it is a living force with its own understanding of balance, and that was something i really wanted to establish in this chapter.
one of the biggest things about the sundrop is that it does not judge people based on perfection. because honestly, if that was the case, no human being would ever be worthy of it. everyone has flaws. everyone has moments of anger, grief, selfishness, fear, and regret. the purpose of the magic was never to find someone who had never experienced darkness. it was to find someone who, despite the darkness they would inevitably face, still had the ability to choose compassion.
that is why marlene being rejected by the flower was such an important detail.
i think this part might be one of the most heartbreaking misunderstandings of the entire lore because marlene was not rejected because she was evil. she was not rejected because she was cruel or undeserving of love. marlene was an extraordinary woman. she was loyal, intelligent, compassionate, and brave enough to sacrifice everything for someone she loved. but she was still human. she carried resentment, anger, and pain inside of her. she had wounds that never healed and feelings that, although understandable, still existed within her heart.
the magic does not look at someone and ask, “are they good?” because goodness is not that simple. instead, it looks deeper. it looks at the entire soul. it sees the parts people hide from the world, the thoughts they never admit, the emotions they bury, and the intentions behind their actions. marlene’s love for dorcas and helena was pure, but her soul still carried the the destruction of a human.
and that is what makes her sacrifice even more beautiful, because marlene knew. she knew the flower would not save her. she knew that even if dorcas gave her the magic, it would reject her. yet she still chose to give her final moments to someone else. she still used the little strength she had left to beg dorcas to save helena and the child she carried.
marlene did not become worthy of the sundrop because she was perfect. she became worthy of being remembered because, when faced with her own death, she chose love over herself <333
which brings me to princess. the reason the sundrop accepted y/n was not because she was a princess or because she came from a royal bloodline. it was because she was an untouched soul at the exact moment the magic needed somewhere to go.
i really wanted to explore the idea that she was not chosen because she was powerful. she became powerful because she was given the chance to exist. she was a child who had never experienced hatred, never chosen cruelty, never carried the burdens that eventually come with growing up. she was the one person in that room who could hold the magic without it rejecting her.
but i also wanted there to be a bittersweetness to it. because although y/n is the reason the magic survived, she is also unknowingly carrying the final act of marlene’s love. the power inside her is not just a gift; it is a memory. every time she heals someone, every time she uses the light, she is carrying the sacrifice of someone who died so she could have the chance to live.
the lantern festival was another detail that i knew had to connect back to this moment because it represents something bigger than just a tradition in solistia. it represents what happens when grief transforms into remembrance. dorcas spent twenty years carrying the loss of marlene. twenty years of loving someone she could never bring back, twenty years of knowing that the person she loved saved another woman and her unborn child instead of herself. and instead of allowing that grief to become bitterness, she created something beautiful.
the lanterns are not a memorial for death. they are a celebration of a life that mattered ❤️🩹 marlene’s story could have ended with betrayal, tragedy, and loss. she could have simply been remembered as the sun keeper who broke her oath. but dorcas refused to let that be the only thing people knew about her. she wanted the world to remember her kindness, her loyalty, her courage, and the love she carried.
because that is something i think is so important throughout tcov: people are never just the worst thing they have ever done.
marlene broke a sacred oath, but she also saved a life.
dorcas abandoned her duty, but she also loved someone so deeply that she was willing to destroy herself for them.
edmund was a controlling father, but once upon a time, he was a terrified husband who crossed kingdoms because he could not lose his family.
and james, which is where this entire chapter becomes painfully personal, is beginning to understand that love has the ability to change people into versions of themselves they never thought they could become.
the reason james’s reaction to dorcas’s story was included was because i wanted him to be forced into confronting something he has been avoiding for a long time. james has always viewed himself as someone who follows rules. someone who protects. someone who does what is right even when it hurts him. but loving princess has already challenged everything he believes about himself.
he has already crossed lines. he has already chosen her over duty. and when he hears dorcas admit that she would have sacrificed everything for marlene, james is forced to look at the terrifying possibility that he is capable of the same thing.
the difference is that james still has time to decide who he wants to become.
dorcas’s story is not meant to tell him that love is wrong. it is meant to warn him that love without balance can destroy everything around it. loving someone does not mean abandoning every other responsibility in your life. it does not mean losing yourself completely. because at some point, if you destroy everything else for one person, you may wake up and realize you have also destroyed the world that person wanted you to protect.
and that is something y/n will eventually have to understand as well. because the sundrop’s greatest challenge is not whether she can control the magic. it is whether she can remain herself while carrying something so powerful.
the delamaryse tragedy was included to show the opposite side of that balance. aurelia was not destroyed because she was angry or because she struggled. she was destroyed because she allowed her pain to consume every part of her until she became someone who used the light to hurt others.
the sundrop did not punish her for being human. it rejected her when she stopped seeing humanity in everyone else. and that is the greatest fear y/n face; not losing her powers, but losing herself.
but ultimately, this chapter is not meant to leave princess afraid of the magic inside her. it’s meant to show her that she is not carrying a curse, but she is carrying marlene’s sacrifice, whichwas not meaningless. dorcas’s love was not meaningless. helena’s survival was not meaningless.
all of those choices, all of those losses, led to y/n standing in that temple and finally understanding why the light chose her. she was never the mistake, instead she was the miracle everyone sacrificed to created :)))
that's all for this chapter!! i seriously cannot wait to hear all your thoughts because i know this one is probably going to spark a million theories. i really hope all the lore made sense and didn't completely overwhelm you all because i genuinely had the best time building this mythology over the past month, and getting to finally share it with you has been so incredibly exciting.
as always, thank you so much for reading. stay safe, stay healthy, stay hydrated, and i'll see you all in the next chapter <333
guys what if i told you chapter 17 of tcov is nearly 15k words, contains basically every lore drop i've been hoarding for the last seventeen chapters, reveals the full origin of princess's powers, explains how she got them, who gave them to her, why she has them, and dives into the entire history behind it all...
i have genuinely never been more terrified to post a chapter in my life because this is the chapter where i stop dangling crumbs in front of you all and start throwing the entire fucking loaf at your heads
because what do you MEAN i've spent months planting clues, symbolism, foreshadowing, random little details, and now i actually have to reveal whether any of it makes sense???
synopsis: professor lupin’s applied statistics class should have been easy, but it never was. for their final project, the golden trio tests whether looks affect dating choices, using remus as their secret subject. you, unknowingly drawn into their experiment, end up skewing the data, and his heart too.
wc: 3.1k
warnings: modern au, the golden trio is younger than y/n, romantic experimentation, café/library settings, fluff and crack with zero angst, not proofread.
a/n: this was inspired by a lovely levi fic i read a while ago. credits to the fic plot goes to anxi_aashi on ao3!! <3
“Ron, I know Professor Lupin said we could choose any topic we liked,” Hermione said, voice taut with disbelief, “but surely you don’t mean this.”
Ron looked up from the stack of papers spread across their table in the library, eyes gleaming with the kind of reckless enthusiasm that immediately made Hermione nervous.
“What?” he whispered—loudly enough to earn a glare from someone two tables away. “It’s a solid idea! Creative and educational.”
“Catastrophic,” she corrected.
Across from them, Harry stifled a laugh, though his grin betrayed him. “You can’t honestly be doing a study about whether people fancy Lupin or not.”
Ron’s brows shot up. “I never said Lupin! You said Lupin!” he hissed, glancing around as if the professor himself might materialize beside them them. “I’m keeping it anonymous. That’s the whole point of research ethics, Hermione. Haven’t you read the guidelines?”
Hermione’s sigh could have curdled the foam on her drink. “You have a list of interview questions that literally describe him to the letter. ‘Mild-mannered, prematurely greying, quiet but—’” she squinted at the parchment, “‘deceptively fit’? Ronald!”
Harry snorted into his coffee mug.
Ron went red but kept his chin high. “Look, it’s a serious question! Lupin’s a decent-looking bloke, right? But he’s not flashy like Lockhart was, and people adored Lockhart. I just want to test whether looks actually matter when it comes to who people fancy. For science.”
“Science,” Hermione repeated flatly. “You’re going to get expelled for science.”
The library was unusually full that evening—students packed into every table, laptops humming and coffee cups balanced precariously beside open textbooks as everyone tried to finish their end-of-term projects before exams swallowed them whole.
Ron’s pile of notes, however, was distinctly more chaotic than most. Empty coffee cups surrounded his laptop like trophies of bad decisions, and someone’s doodle of a wolf stretched across the corner of his summary page.
Applied Statistics was meant to be the easy option. Lupin had a reputation for being gentle, patient, the kind of professor who cared more about understanding than perfection.
It was supposed to be a quiet way to end their academic careers on a calm note. But then he’d assigned a final research project: design your own study, collect real data, and present your conclusions. The only rule was that the topic had to be appropriate for class.
Hermione had immediately started drafting a comparative analysis on probability and study efficiency between morning and night classes.
Harry was working on something about reaction times in competitive sports, using his old Hockey instincts as inspiration.
Ron—after three hours of staring at a blank document and two iced coffees later—had landed on human attraction. Specifically, whether someone’s appearance could statistically predict how likely they were to be asked on a date.
And in what could only be described as divine misfortune, he’d chosen his mild-mannered, unreasonably charming professor as his “model subject.”
“I still can’t believe you roped me into this,” Hermione muttered.
“I didn’t rope you in!” Ron protested. “I just need you to help me make sure my sample size isn’t biased.”
“Your sample size is going to be detention if Lupin finds out,” Harry said, grinning.
Ron shrugged, though the tips of his ears betrayed his nerves. “He’ll never know. I’m not putting his name anywhere, and I’ll make sure no one says it out loud.”
Hermione gave him a long, withering look before scanning his notes again. “You literally describe him as ‘the soft-spoken man with kind eyes, questionable jumpers, and a habit of vanishing for a week every month due to a mysterious illness.’ Who else could that possibly be?”
Ron grinned despite himself. “It’s anonymous if I say it is.”
He sat at a corner table, clutching his notepad like a shield, eyes flicking past rows of students lost in their screens. “All I need is one person to answer a few questions. Someone normal. Someone who won’t laugh in my face.”
Harry leaned back in his chair, looking far too amused for Ron’s liking. “You’ve been saying that for twenty minutes,” he said. “Just pick someone already. It’s not a marriage proposal.”
Ron ignored him, scanning again—and then his eyes stopped.
A few tables over, you sat hunched over your laptop, earbuds in, an empty coffee cup balanced precariously on a stack of notes. You looked tired in the soft, lived-in way of someone who’d been working too long, your screen glaring white against your face.
“That one,” Ron said suddenly, jerking his chin in your direction. “She’s not typing anymore. Perfect.”
Harry followed his gaze, smirking. “Looks like she’s about to call it a day. Go on, mate. Before she escapes.”
Hermione sighed, already closing her laptop. “If they’re busy, they’ll tell you,” she said, voice threaded with resignation.
Ron took a deep breath, straightened his posture, and picked up his notebook. “Alright. Science waits for no man.”
“Especially not for you,” Harry murmured under his breath, earning a sharp kick under the table.
Together, they made their way across the library, Ron clutching his clipboard like a life raft. You noticed them only when the shadow of their approach reached your table.
“Uh—hi,” Ron began, his voice slightly too loud for the setting. You pulled out your earbuds, blinking up at him. “Sorry to bother you. I’m doing a project for my Applied Statistics class, and I was wondering if I could ask you a few questions? It won’t take long, I promise.”
You studied him for a second—the nervous energy, the notebook, the faint red creeping up his neck—and decided you didn’t have the heart to say no.
Your motivation for work had long evaporated anyway. “Sure,” you said, leaning back in your chair. “Go ahead.”
Relief flickered across Ron’s face as he clicked his pen. “Brilliant. First question—do you identify as someone who’s romantically attracted to men?”
You frowned, caught off guard. “Uh… yes?”
“Right. And sexually attracted?”
You tilted your head with a grimace. “I think I’m a little old for you.”
His face went crimson. “No, no—bloody hell, not like that!”
Harry coughed behind him to smother a laugh.
You chuckled, amused by his mortification. “Then yes, I am.”
“Great,” Ron said quickly, desperate to move on. “Okay, so I’m going to describe a, uh, theoretical man to you, and you just tell me whether you’d go on a date with him, based on what I say. Alright?”
“Sure.”
He glanced at his notes, cleared his throat, and began reading. “Okay, so… he’s a bit reserved. Dresses like he owns only jumpers and sweaters, all in different shades of brown. Kind smile, good sense of humor, can be awkward when complimented, and occasionally vanishes for a week every month because of—er—some chronic condition. Totally normal. Nothing suspicious about that.”
You raised an eyebrow. “That’s… oddly specific.”
Harry coughed again, muttering something that sounded suspiciously like ‘textbook Lupin’.
Ron glared at him before looking back at you. “Out of the following answer choices, what would be your answer if this man asked you on a date: definite no, no, maybe, I guess, yes, or definite yes?” He looked up at you, pencil poised, clearly waiting for an answer.
You pretended to consider it, eyes narrowing thoughtfully. “He sounds decent. I’d say yes.”
Ron froze mid-scribble. “Yes as in yes, or yes as in maybe?”
“Yes as in yes.”
He continued to look at you like you’d grown a third head until Hermione cleared her throat, reminding Ron to keep going.
He snapped out of it and took a begrudging breath, reaching for the picture paperclipped to his question sheet.
“Okay, hypothetical follow-up. If this man looked like this—”
You leaned forward, and your breath caught in a laugh. The photo was clearly taken from somewhere it shouldn’t have been: what appeared to be some Professor mid-lecture, smiling faintly, sunlight streaking through the classroom blinds behind him. The image quality was terrible, but somehow, that only made it look better.
“—would your answer to the previous question change?”
You studied the picture again, amused by the sheer audacity of it all. “Well, in that case, I’m changing my answer. That’s a definite yes.”
Ron looked utterly baffled. “You’d actually—why?”
You smiled faintly. “I have a weakness for guys who seem quiet and kind, a little awkward but in a charming way… and he has some really, really pretty eyes.”
Ron blinked at you, clearly trying—and failing—to see the appeal. “Right. Fair enough. Data’s data.”
“Glad to help, researcher,” you teased.
He scribbled something down in his notebook with the seriousness of someone logging a scientific breakthrough. “Thank you for your time.”
As you packed up your things and left the library, you didn’t notice him still watching the door long after you’d gone. Nor could he have known that your name—just one of dozens written on that clipboard—would be the one that refused to fade.
***
Remus could tell almost immediately that the project was about him.
The moment Ron began his presentation, Remus recognized the uncomfortable familiarity in the data, the phrasing, and—Merlin help him—the word choices.
His first instinct was to be mildly horrified, followed closely by the urge to deduct twenty points on principle. But as the presentation went on, his irritation gave way to reluctant curiosity.
The truth was, it wasn’t a bad project. In fact, it was rather well designed—shockingly so, considering it came from Ron Weasley, who once turned in a probability worksheet with “winging it” written in the margin.
And while Remus wanted to be offended that his own students had used him as their unwitting test subject, he wasn’t about to become the sort of professor who graded out of bruised ego. So, he sat there, listening as the class analyzed his mannerisms, his “polite smile,” and the “hot scars all over his body” that apparently made him statistically attractive.
Ron, to his credit, was thorough. He explained his hypothesis, the methodology, the sample groups, and the confidence intervals... Remus even found himself smiling, until he skimmed over one particular detail that made his brows knit together.
When Ron wrapped up, Remus lifted a hand. The room fell quiet. Ron swallowed, clearly expecting to be scolded.
“Mr. Weasley,” Remus said, tone mild, “could you elaborate on the outlier you mentioned?”
Ron blinked. “Oh—right, yeah. There was one participant whose responses didn’t fit the pattern, so I had to exclude them from the analysis. Everyone else rated the subject’s attractiveness after seeing the picture, but this person said they’d go on a date with him before seeing anything. Highest pre-photo score by far.”
Remus tilted his head, feigning scholarly interest, though a faint heat crept up his neck.
He felt a little guilty for being so interested in this outlier, but while he wanted to pretend he was perfectly happy being single, he had to admit, it was kind of nice knowing someone found him attractive on something other than the physical level.
“I see. And… did they say why?”
Ron flipped through his notes. “Um… something about having a thing for people who seem a little awkward but in a charming way… and they specifically wrote, ‘He has really, really pretty eyes.’”
For a long moment, Remus said nothing. The class waited. Then, to everyone’s surprise, he chuckled—low and quiet, the sound carrying a hint of embarrassment and something warmer beneath it.
“Well,” he said, closing his notebook with deliberate calm. “Statistically speaking, Mr. Weasley, I suppose everyone’s bound to be someone’s outlier.”
The class laughed. Ron looked like he might faint with relief. And as Remus moved on to the next presentation, he couldn’t quite stop himself from wondering who, exactly, that particular outlier had been.
As curious as he had been in that instant, by the end of the day, the week, and even the month, Remus had completely forgotten about the random outlier from Ron’s project.
Until he saw you.
It was a rainy Thursday afternoon, and the campus café was packed; half students pretending to study, half professors pretending they weren’t exhausted.
Remus had queued for a coffee he didn’t particularly want, clutching his satchel in one hand and trying to ignore the headache forming just behind his eyes.
You stood in front of him in line, scrolling through your phone with the kind of absent concentration that made him smile despite himself.
When you reached the counter, you ordered the exact same drink as him—down to the dash of cinnamon—and turned around at the sound of his quiet laugh.
“Sorry,” he said quickly, the corners of his mouth twitching in apology. “It’s just—you’ve got impeccable taste.”
You blinked, caught off guard by his Welsh accent yet deep voice. The man before you was tall, soft-looking despite the tired eyes and slightly threadbare jumper.
You blinked. Something about him tugged at your brain. You knew that face. Or at least—you felt like you did.
“Thank you,” you replied, smiling. “It’s my go-to. Can’t survive the day without it.”
He nodded, and before you could pull out your card, the barista had already rung up two drinks.
Remus cleared his throat softly. “I’ll get both,” he said, tone polite but firm in that way professors have when they’ve made up their mind.
“Oh—you don’t have to—”
“Please,” he said, voice calm, a little low. “It’s easier than splitting the bill for identical drinks.”
You huffed a small laugh. “You really didn’t have to, but thank you.”
The two of you stepped aside to wait for your drinks. You glanced at him again, trying not to be obvious about it—but you were sure now.
It felt like it was right at the front of your mind. You knew you knew him, you were sure of it. You just didn’t know how. Which was weird, because you were pretty sure you would’ve remembered meeting someone as handsome as him.
“Sorry,” you said at last, turning toward him. “I know this is weird, but… have we met before?”
He looked mildly startled, brow creasing. “I don’t think so,” he said slowly.
You squinted at him. “Were you ever, like… in a commercial? Or maybe a university brochure?”
That earned a soft, weary laugh. “No. I’m a Professor. I’m fairly certain no one wants my face on their advertising.”
Your head tilted. “A Professor?”
He hesitated, clearly wary of where this was going. “Yes. Statistics, actually.”
It hit you like a lightbulb moment. Your eyes went wide, and the realization burst out before you could stop it. “Oh my god. You’re real!”
His brows rose in quiet confusion. “I—pardon?”
You covered your mouth, half laughing, half mortified. “No, sorry, that sounds insane. But there was this student—he came up to me weeks ago asking questions for a statistics project about attraction. He showed me a picture of some guy, and I thought it was, like, a stock photo or something. But it was you, wasn’t it?”
He blinked, then rubbed a hand over his face with a sigh that was equal parts tired and amused. “Red hair, bit of an attitude, usually trolls around with two others?”
“Exactly!” you said, snapping your fingers.
“Right,” he muttered, shaking his head with a wry smile. “That would be Weasley.”
You groaned, covering your face with one hand. “That kid didn’t tell me it was an actual person! I said yes both times—before and after the photo—and now this is just—mortifying.”
Remus chuckled, a warm, low sound that made your stomach flip. “Mortifying? I’d say flattering.”
You peeked through your fingers at him. “You’re not serious.”
“Oh, I am,” he said, his smile soft but teasing. “Statistically speaking, it’s incredibly rare to meet one’s outlier twice.”
The barista called your names, breaking the moment. You both reached for your cups, fingers brushing briefly over the cardboard sleeve. The contact sent a tiny spark of something electric up your arm.
Remus hesitated for a moment, then—almost shyly—added, “Since you were kind enough to answer that study, perhaps you’ll let me ask a follow-up question?”
You raised an eyebrow. “Which is?”
“Would you like to get dinner sometime?”
Your heart stumbled in your chest, and a grin slipped out before you could stop it. “Only if I get to pick the café next time.”
“Deal,” he said, eyes crinkling as he extended his hand. “I’m Remus.”
“Y/N,” you replied, shaking his hand and trying not to notice how warm it felt.
“Tuesday?” he asked, a hint of hope in his voice.
“Tuesday works for me,” you said, smiling.
“Perfect. It’s a date then,” he said softly, a trace of pink coloring his cheeks.
He held the café door open as you stepped outside, and you waved. “I’ll see you,” you said.
“Can’t wait,” he murmured back.
Even with a pile of work waiting for you, you felt unexpectedly giddy, and somehow, not embarrassed at all.
In fact, you already knew exactly which library to go to.
series summary: James Potter, a soldier of the royal guard, is assigned to protect the princess at all costs. His new duty proves far harder than he imagined, for the princess has a habit of doing exactly what she’s not supposed to, and hiding a secret no one must uncover.
chapter summary: As you and James finally cross the border into Solistia, you spend day exploring the vibrant kingdom and connecting with its people. Most importantly, you secure an audience with the ruler of the kingdom, Queen Dorcas Meadowes. (6.1k)
tags: no angst, mentions of abuse, homesickness, tangled references, hints of sex, unresolved sexual tension, talks of forced marriages, overall fluffy.
series masterlist map playlist moodboard
They say that repeating things becomes simpler the more times you do it, and in hindsight, it’s actually true. Infiltrating the royal castle of Solistia is shaping up to be much easier than breaking into Grimmauld of Astravel.
The reasons for this are simple, really. Mainly, Astravel is an enemy kingdom to Valenora, while Solistia is an ally. Most importantly, Solistia just looks friendlier, kinder, and significantly less likely to feature spikes with heads on them.
(Though, to be fair, James would heavily disagree with that assessment. Mostly because your grand master plan is to basically knock on the front doors of the castle, politely ask to see Miss Marlene McKinnon, and call it a day.)
“I really don’t think this is going to work,” James complains, his armored boots clanking as you practically drag him through the bustling streets of Solistia. “This is incredibly stupid. We can’t just walk inside and ask to meet a high court member! If this goes wrong, it goes so badly wrong.”
You ignore his panic for a moment, completely charmed by your surroundings.
Solistia is a beautiful, vibrant city. Children are laughing and playing everywhere, weaving colorful flower crowns on the cobblestone corners. You hold Pascal securely as the horses follow closely behind, matching your pace while you and your very stressed guard bicker.
You stop dead in the middle of the street. Turning on your heel, you step right into his space, growing much bolder after your shared kiss. Without a second thought, you reach up and cup his face, your palms resting flat against his warm cheeks.
“James,” you say softly but firmly, locking your eyes onto his. “We have come a really long way to arrive here. We survived Astravel, we survived the road, and we didn’t come all this way just to turn back now. We can’t just not talk to Marlene.”
Instantly, James softens like absolute putty under your touch. The worried expression completely melts, a sweet smile breaking through his panic as your hands gently squish his cheeks together, forcing his lips into a slight pout.
“No, of course,” he mumbles, his voice slightly muffled from your grip, though his golden eyes are completely fond. “I’m not saying we won’t meet her. It’s just… I really don’t like the idea of us just knocking on the castle doors like we’re delivering the afternoon mail.”
Before you can tease him, a tiny voice cuts through the air. “Excuse me, sir!”
You both blink, dropping your hands from James’s face as you look down. Standing right beside you is a little girl, holding a woven basket overflowing with brightly colored blossoms.
“Would you like some flowers for your wife?” the little girl asks, tilting her head up with a hopeful smile.
James lets out a low, flustered rumble, a sudden flush creeping up his neck at the word wife. “Oh—uh, yeah. Sure,” he stammers quickly, reaching into his pouch.
The little girl beams, pulling a vibrant bunch of dahlias from her basket and handing them over. James tosses her a few coins, then turns to you, clearing his throat as he extends the bouquet. A soft, slightly sheepish smile hitches on his lips as he places the flowers in your hands.
“Thank you,” you tell the little girl, cradling the dahlias. “They’re beautiful.”
The sweet girl giggles, looking at you with wide, adoring eyes. “You’re very pretty! Like a real princess!”
You let out a gasp of a laugh, completely charmed. “Well, thank you, but I think you two are much prettier.”
The two girls beam with pride, introducing themselves and happily explaining that they have a whole group of friends who sell flower baskets all across the quarters of the kingdom. The younger sister peeks at your traveling gear, curiously asking, “Are you from Solistia?”
“No,” you reply, offering her a warm smile. “We’re actually just here on a trip to see the lantern lights.”
The older sister gasps, her eyes lighting up. “Oh! The festival is in two days!”
You nod, but before you can say more, a sudden flurry of giggles surrounds you. Three more little girls from the neighborhood crowd around, their eyes darting from you to the colorful baskets.
One of them bravely reaches out, pointing to your hair. “Can we braid your hair with some flowers? Please?”
Amused, you look back up at James. The stress has completely melted from his face, replaced by a soft, breathtaking expression as he watches you with the children.
“Go ahead,” he says softly, gesturing toward a large stone courtyard nearby. “I’ll keep watch.”
With a laugh, you let the excited girls pull you down onto the sun-warmed edge of the fountain. Pascal settles comfortably in your lap, acting as a very pampered spectator while their nimble fingers quickly weave fresh, colorful flowers into your hair.
Across the cobblestone path, James leans against the stone wall, a captivated smile fixed on his face as he just stands there, completely unable to take his eyes off you.
“I’m Anya!” the oldest sister announces, immediately dividing a fresh bundle of cornflowers and white daisies. “And this is Luna, Maeve, and Clover.”
“It’s wonderful to meet you all,” you say, adjusting your stance so they can reach your hair more easily. “My name is Margaret.”
“Margaret,” Luna repeats, testing the name with a nod of approval. “That’s a pretty name. It sounds like a name from a storybook.” She reaches up, her tiny fingers gently parting a thick section of your hair. “Your hair is so pretty. Do you wash it with rosewater? The girls in the upper district wash theirs with rosewater so they can catch a lord.”
You let out a laugh. “Just regular well water, I’m afraid.”
“Well, it doesn’t matter anyway,” Maeve chimes in, leaning over your shoulder to weave a bright yellow primrose near your temple. She cuts her eyes toward the stone wall across the cobblestones, where James is currently standing. He has his arms crossed over his chest plate, his posture relaxed, but his gaze is fixed entirely on you. Maeve giggles, leaning in close to whisper, “Because you already caught him. Is he your lover?”
The question catches you completely off guard, and you stifle a sudden, breathless cough. “My—what? Oh, no. No, no. He isn’t my husband. It’s… well, it’s a little complicated.”
The four girls instantly exchange a lightning-fast look of collective realization, and then simultaneously burst into a chorus of high-pitched, delighted squeals.“Oooooh!” Clover gasps, clapping her flower-stained hands together. “So you’re like… in loveeee with him!”
“Shh! Shhh!” You immediately press a finger to your lips, as you glance frantically over at James. Luckily, a passing merchant cart rumbling over the cobblestones drowns out their voices.
You turn back to the girls, dropping your voice to an urgent, conspiratorial whisper. “Well… alright, yes. I am. But let’s keep that a massive secret, mhm? Just between us.”
The girls practically vibrate with excitement, crowding even closer until you are entirely hemmed in by the scent of fresh petals.
“A secret romance!” Anya whispers loudly, her eyes wide with pure, unadulterated drama. “What is it like? To be in love? Does your stomach feel like it’s full of butterflies? My mother says when she met my father, her heart beat so loud she thought the whole village could hear it.”
“It… definitely feels like butterflies,” you admit, a genuine, helpless smile tugging at the corners of your lips as you look down at the dahlias in your lap. “And sometimes it makes you feel entirely terrifyingly brave, and other times it makes you feel incredibly silly. It’s a lot of things at once.”
“How did you meet?” Luna asks, gently tugging a stray strand into a delicate French braid. “Did he rescue you from a beast? Or a rogue knight?”
“Nothing quite so legendary,” you chuckle, choosing your words with extreme care to leave out the minor details—like the fact that you are a runaway princess of Valenora and he is your sworn protector. “We actually knew each other when we were just children. We grew up together, but then… we got separated for a very long time. I didn’t think I’d ever see him again. But then, by some twist of fate, he came back. And now he works right beside me.”
“Oh, that is so romantic,” Maeve sighs, resting her chin on her hands as she stares at you dreamily. “He went away and became a big, strong man just so he could come back and protect you. It’s like the songs the bards sing at the tavern!”
You bite your lip to keep from laughing at how incredibly accurate—yet entirely reversed—her interpretation is.
“But wait,” Clover interrupts, her small brow furrowing in deep, childish confusion as she holds up a half-finished crown of woven ivy. “If you love him, and he’s right here… why aren’t you together-together? Like, holding hands and kissing?”
The innocent bluntness of the question hits you with a bittersweet pang. You look back over at James. He’s currently distracted, politely nodding as an elderly street sweeper stops to speak with him, his hand resting casually on the hilt of his sword. He looks so grounded. So entirely out of reach.
“Because it’s really, really complicated, Clover,” you say quietly, your voice dropping into a softer, more honest registry. “There are a lot of rules we have to follow. And besides… I don’t actually know if he loves me back.”
The girls instantly let out a collective, synchronized groan of absolute despair .“Are you blind, Margaret?” Anya asks, throwing her hands up in exasperation, looking entirely too mature for her size. “He has been staring at you the whole time! He looks at you the way my older brother looks at the baker’s daughter, like she hung the moon in the sky herself.”
“He does not,” you whisper-protest, though a treacherous, fluttering hope flares up in your chest anyway.
“He does too!” Luna insists, giving your shoulder a tiny, emphatic nudge. “When you laughed earlier, he smiled so big his eyes crinkled up. Boys don’t do that unless they’re completely lovesick. It’s a proven fact.”
“Absolutely a fact,” Maeve agrees solemnly, placing the final yellow primrose into your hair. “When we’re done, you have to go up to him, look him right in the eye, and give him one of your flowers. If he blushes, it means he wants to marry you.”
You can’t help but gasp-laugh at the sheer, unbridled confidence of eight-year-old dating advice.
“I will definitely take that under advisement,” you tell them, your heart feeling lighter than it had in days as the girls continue to chatter away, entirely lost in their own bright, innocent world of happily-ever-afters.
“Actually, you can find out if he loves you so easily in a more romantic way, Margaret!” Anya insists, her small fingers giving a final twist to a lavender stem. “The best opportunity is at the lantern release. It would be soooo romantic, just like a fairytale!”
“I wish my life was a fairytale,” you say, your voice tinged with a quiet melancholy. “But it sadly isn’t. Where I come from, there are many rules stopping me from loving James.”
“Well, you could just break them!” Luna pipes up, looking at you with the fierce, uncomplicated logic only a child can possess. “Rules are just words people make up. If you love him, you just have to do it anyway. You run away to a little cottage in the woods where the rules can’t catch you.”
You let out a bittersweet chuckle at her innocence. If only it were that simple. If only a crown of kingdom responsibilities could be traded for a cottage in the woods.
“But wait,” Maeve interrupts, her eyes wide with burning curiosity as she leans over your shoulder. “How did you even know you love him? I mean, is it like the books? Where you realize it exactly after a magical kiss?”
You bite your lip, a laugh escaping you as your mind instantly flashes back to just a few hours ago—the memory of his hands framing your face, the intoxicating warmth of his lips against yours, and the way the entire world simply ceases to exist.
“Well… kind of,” you confess, your voice dropping to a shy whisper. “We actually did have our first kiss a little bit ago.”
The fountain courtyard practically erupts. All four girls let out a collective, high-pitched gasp, completely losing their minds as they begin talking over one another in a flurry of absolute excitement.
“You kissed him?!”
“Was it under a tree? Did it rain?!”
“Did he dip you? Tell us, Margaret, did your leg pop up in the air like in the books?!”
“Shh, not so loud!” you laugh, throwing your hands up to placate the tiny, buzzing crowd before James can overhear their interrogation. “It wasn’t a book. But… yes, it is wonderful.”
“And that’s when you knew?” Anya asks, leaning in so close her nose almost touches yours.
“No, not exactly,” you say, your expression softening as you look across the cobblestones at James, who is still patiently waiting, keeping a protective eye on the perimeter for you. “I realized it slowly. It takes me a long time to see what is right in front of me, through everything we’ve been through together. But after that… yeah. I definitely know I love him.”
“See?” Anya whispers triumphantly, gently patting the final daisy into place. “We told you! You look just like a real princess now.”
[i recommend playing Kingdom Dance from Tangled here]
You let out a bubbling giggle, thanking them as all four girls suddenly swarm you for a tight, collective hug. They eagerly wish you a flurry of good luck and endless love for your upcoming confession, their little voices full of absolute certainty.
Breaking away with a warm wave, you turn and begin walking back toward James. He is currently standing near the horses, casually talking to a local merchant and buying a few supplies.
As the sound of your approaching footsteps draws closer, James turns around.
The moment his eyes land on you, his breath visibly hitches, and a smile so wide breaks across his face that you don’t think you’ve seen his eyes gleam quite this much behind his glasses.
He immediately abandons his conversation, stepping away from the merchant and striding toward you with a look of pure, unadulterated awe. “Hi, love,” he says.
“Hi!” you reply, the word tumbling out just a little too fast.
Oh god. James just called you love. (Yep, you are too far gone. Maybe those little girls are onto something after all.)
His brow lifts slightly at your breathy response, his lips twitching. “Hi.”
Your heart gives a violent trip. “Hi.”
James just stares at you for a long beat, completely mesmerized, before letting out a rich laugh that sounds like it comes from the very depths of his chest. In your humble opinion, that specific laugh should honestly be bottled and sold as some form of life-saving antidote.
The intense silence stretches, making your pulse spike, until you finally go quiet and nervously murmur, “What? Do I look bad?”
He immediately shakes his head. “No. Not at all.” He steps even closer, his eyes dipping down to your lips before rising back to yours. “But… is it bad that I really want to kiss you right now?”
A bold, dizzying wave of courage washes over you. Smiling, you lean up and press a quick, sweet kiss right to his lips, intending to pull away just as fast to tease him. But James thinks otherwise.
He would chase after you anywhere. He’d follow you blindly into a deathly, cursed vale; he’d march right through a hostile, enemy kingdom; he’d cross the border into another just to help you find the origin of your strange powers. James will follow you to the literal ends of the earth. So he certainly isn’t about to let you escape a kiss that easily now.
In one long, seamless stride, he is behind you. His fingers find your waist with practiced ease, curling firmly around your sides, and with a gentle but unyielding tug, he pulls you back until you stumble slightly and land flush against his chest.
He holds you close. So close it feels like the two of you are standing inside the tiny, sacred space between seconds.
“Hey, hey, c’mere,” he murmurs. His arms slip around you fully, locking you against his warmth, and this time, you don’t even try to resist.
“Why so shy, love?” he whispers, tilting his head down.
You pout instinctively, your fingers coming up to rest lightly against his chest. “Nothing.”
His brows lift in disbelief. “No, no. No hiding from me. What is it?” He leans down further, playfully brushing the tip of his nose against yours.
You try to glare up at him, but your traitorous heart is absolutely not cooperating. “You just… you’ve never called me that before,” you say, your voice so quiet and soft that it barely survives the narrow space between your lips.
James exhales a ragged breath, the sound full of a sudden, profound affection. He pulls you even tighter against him, burying his face in your neck before resting his chin lightly on top of your head. “Well,” he murmurs into your hair, “you should probably start getting used to it.”
You don’t even get a moment to tease him back before his arms shift, wrapping around you once more and tugging you flush against his chest. He begins to rock you gently from side to side, his chin hooked over your shoulder. “You’re so beautiful, y’know that?” he murmurs, his voice low and warm, like he’s sharing a sacred secret meant only for your ears.
He says it again, and then again. Each sweet repetition comes punctuation-marked by a soft kiss pressed to your cheek. His lips brush against your skin with fondness, the loose, dark ends of his curls tickling across your jawline. Another kiss lands, this time dangerously close to the corner of your mouth. “Such a pretty girl.”
You let out a helpless giggle, trying and failing to turn your face away as a ferocious warmth floods your cheeks. “James, stop, your hair is tickling me—”
He just smiles right into your skin, completely unbothered by your weak protests. Another kiss follows, this one slower, pressed just beneath your ear. “Been waiting forever to kiss you properly. Can’t tell me no now.”
You squirm in his arms, laughing harder now, your hands curling tightly into the fabric of his shirt as you try to wriggle away from the sweet torture, but his grip only tightens. With agonizing slowness, he uses two fingers to tilt your chin back up, forcing you to catch his gaze. “Can I get another one?”
You blink at him, a laugh trapped in your throat. “You are so—”
But you don’t even get to finish the thought. Because he leans down and kisses you again—harder this time. And oh, it is happening again. That familiar, dizzying chant is back, screaming inside your head, drowning out the rest of the city. James. James. James. He is everywhere. He is all at once. And there is no turning back.
James chuckles at your dazed expression, his fingers reaching up to gently adjust a loose primrose behind your ear.
As he moves, the sun shifts directly behind him, catching the polished edges of his silver breastplate. A sudden beam of light reflects off the metal, washing over your face in a warm, dazzling glow. When you look at James in this moment, it is as if the light of the sun itself is staring back at you.
A breathtaking warmth floods your chest, and your smile unfolds effortlessly, like a petal opening to the first touch of dawn. When James is around, it is always as if the sun is up. Without him, you merely exist in the shadows, waiting. But in his orbit, you no longer wilt; you bloom, you blossom, you grow. For a heart kept so long in the dark, to turn from the sun is to wither; to draw too close is to burn. Yet a flower born for the light will always reach, knowing that in order to truly bloom, one must brave the fire.
“Alright there, princess?” James teases, his eyes crinkling behind his glasses as he catches you staring. He lets his hand drop from your hair, giving your nose a playful little tap. “As much as I love watching you get pampered by your new little friends, we should probably move. Ready to go?”
“More than ready,” you say, finding your voice at last.
You turn back to the fountain and wave a final goodbye to Anya, Luna, Maeve, and Clover. The girls all giggle happily, waving back with frantic excitement and throwing you encouraging thumbs-up signs that make your cheeks burn all over again.
James leads the horses forward, and as you fall into step beside him, his fingers slide effortlessly between yours, locking your hands together. He squeezes your hand tightly, a smug, teasing grin spreading across his handsome face.
“So,” he murmurs, leaning down slightly as you walk side by side through the bustling cobblestone streets. “Care to share what you and your little army were whispering about over there? I heard the words husband and kissing. Should I be worried about my competition?”
“Oh, absolutely,” you scoff, rolling your eyes even as you squeeze his hand right back. “They were warning me about arrogant, loud-mouthed guards. They suggested I dump you in the river.”
James lets out a loud, delighted bark of laughter, bumping his armored shoulder gently against yours. “Ouch. Harsh crowd. Good thing you like me too much to let me drown.”
“Keep telling yourself that, Potter,” you shoot back, though the betraying grin on your face says otherwise.
Ahead of you, the grand, sweeping towers of the Solistian castle grow larger with every step, their heavy iron gates looming over the vibrant city.
“Alright then,” James sighs, his voice dropping into a conspiratorial whisper as the heavily guarded fortress fortress comes into clear view. “We are officially a few streets away from the castle. Remind me of the plan again? Is still just… walking right through the front doors.”
“Yes, that is the plan,” you say cheerfully, lifting your chin as you guide him toward the massive stone entrance. “We walk up, look important, and ask to see Marlene. Trust me, it’ll work.”
You ride your horses up the winding, inclined path leading to the grand palace gates, the rhythmic clatter of hooves doing absolutely nothing to soothe the sudden spike of adrenaline in your chest.
Both you and James are visibly tense. It is one thing to joke about having a foolproof strategy while walking through a vibrant market, but it is an entirely different reality now that you are staring up at the monolithic royal doors.
Because let’s be honest: the plan is that there is no plan.
As you halt your horses right before the massive entrance, a small contingent of royal guards instantly steps forward, their hands resting firmly on the pommels of their swords. Their expressions are unreadable, flat, and entirely uninviting. They look down at your traveling gear and James’s worn armor with deep suspicion.
“State your names and your business at the palace,” the lead guard commands, his voice blocking the threshold like an iron bar. “No one enters the upper keep without official royal business.”
You clear your throat, leaning slightly forward in your saddle to project as much unbothered confidence as humanly possible. “We are here on a matter of grave importance. We need to speak with a high court member immediately. Specifically, the Temple’s Protector.”
The guards exchange a dry, deeply unimpressed look. “The high court does not grant audiences to travelers off the street,” the leader replies, his tone sharpening. “Turn your horses around and leave the courtyard before you are removed.”
“Listen to me,” you press on, trying to keep your voice steady and authoritative as you attempt to convince them. “This isn’t a casual visit. If you just send word to Marlene McKinnon, she will understand—”
“No,” the guard barks, his patience completely evaporating as he takes a threatening step toward your mount. “I said leave. We do not take orders from—”
Before he can finish his threat, James moves with a terrifying speed, throwing himself between you and the guard’s space. “Step back,” James snarls, his voice laced with lethal authority that makes the guard instantly halt. “You do not address her like that. Touch her horse again, and we’ll see how long you keep that hand.”
Just then, the heavy inner doors creak open, and another batch of palace guards marches out into the courtyard, changing shifts. The atmosphere grows incredibly loud, tense, and chaotic as the newcomers join the fray, shouting demands and ordering you to dismount or be detained.
James’s eyes scan the rising threat, his posture rigid, his protective instincts screaming as he prepares to fight them all off himself to keep you safe.“You okay?”
You nod at James signaling you’re fine. But as the new guards approach the commotion, two of them suddenly stop dead in their tracks. Their eyes widen to the size of saucers, their faces completely draining of color as they stare directly at you.
“Princess Y/N?” one of them gasps, his voice cutting clean through the shouting.
In a fraction of a second, both of the new guards drop to one knee, their armored knees hitting the cobblestones with a heavy, synchronized clank as they bow deeply in absolute reverence.
The guards who were just screaming at you freeze. They look from their kneeling comrades back up to you, the horrifying realization hitting them like a physical blow. Their mouths fall open, and they immediately begin stammering out panicked, heavy apologies, dropping to their knees as well.
“Your Highness! Forgive us, we had no idea—”
Fuck.
A wave of pure, unadulterated panic slams into your chest. You look at James, and his expression perfectly mirrors the sheer terror freezing your own veins. How the hell do they recognize you? You are supposed to be out of your kingdom’s reach. How do guards in Solistia know exactly who the princess of Valenora is?
James doesn’t waste a single second. Acting entirely on instinct, his hand shoots out, his gauntleted fingers gripping yours in a crushing, urgent hold. “We’re leaving. Now,” he hisses, his voice laced with panic as he begins to forcefully yank your horse’s reins around to flee the courtyard.
You pull your horse back, completely ready to sprint down and never look back—but before you can even take a step, the massive, central palace doors swing completely wide open.
A sharp, commanding voice cuts through the panicked air. “Let them in.”
You freeze, your breath catching in your throat as your eyes dart toward the threshold. A man stands there, framing the doorway, looking entirely too calm for the chaos unfolding around him. Oh, fuck.
You and James dismount and follow the man inside, stepping through the towering walls and into the grandeur of the palace. The man guides you briskly through a maze of sweeping hallways and winding marble staircases, his footsteps echoing rhythmically against the stone.
Taking advantage of the distance between you and your guide, you lean in close to James, your shoulder brushing his as you whisper in a frantic, hurried rush. “Okay, fine. You were entirely right. We are completely screwed.”
James lets out a heavy, stressed sigh, his jaw tight as his eyes dart around the corridors. “This is bad. Word is going to reach Valenora that you and I are here. I’m supposed to be bringing you straight home, not taking you on a grand tour of other kingdoms.”
You chew your lip, a wave of guilt and reality hitting you all at once. “Okay… let’s just cut the plan short. We find the truth from this Marlene person, and then we head straight back to Valenora. No need for the lantern lights. It’s fine.”
James goes quiet at that, but before he can respond, the guide brings you both to a halt in front of a pair of towering, intricately carved grand doors. The man bows low, his arms sweeping outward as he pushes the massive doors open.
As you step across, you find yourself entering a cavernous courtroom, the sheer scale of it making your breath catch. High, vaulted ceilings stretch overhead, and as your eyes take in the elevated dais at the far end, the horrifying realization hits you like a physical blow.
This is the throne room. Which means the person currently standing with her back toward you is—
The man bows deeply, his voice booming through the vast, echoing space. “Your Majesty, Queen Dorcas. You have visitors from Valenora.”
The woman slowly turns around, and you are instantly struck by her breathtaking beauty. She has rich, dark skin, and her hair is elegantly put up in immaculate braids, with a massive, gleaming golden crown adorning her head. She wears a striking golden gown, with delicate, woven gold cascading like liquid light from her wrists and her neck.
She smiles warmly the moment she sees you, immediately stepping down from the dais and walking closer. Acting on pure royal instinct, both you and James immediately drop into deep, formal bows.
Except, you don’t get the cold, rigid greeting you expect.
Instead of addressing you with stately, detached royal diplomacy, a laugh escapes her. Before you can even straighten up, the Queen of Solistia steps right into your space and wraps her arms around you, pulling you into a tight, incredibly fierce hug.
“Oh, you’ve grown up so much!” Queen Dorcas whispers against your shoulder.
You freeze completely in her embrace, your eyes flying wide open. Behind you, James is standing in absolute shock, his jaw practically dropping to the floor.
The Queen of Solistia is holding you as if she has known you your entire life.
Queen Dorcas breaks the hug, her hands sliding up to hold your cheeks as she beams down at you. “Oh, you are an absolute beauty, my darling.”
You just stand there in utter shock, your mouth slightly open at her incredibly warm greeting. You blink rapidly, completely disoriented by the fact that a foreign ruler is treating you like a long-lost daughter.
“But tell me,” she continues, her hands dropping to her sides as her gaze shifts past your shoulder. “What brings you and…” She pauses, her eyes locking onto James, a knowing glint dancing in her dark eyes. “…and your boy here to Solistia?”
You clear your throat quickly, trying to summon whatever royal composure you have left. “Your Majesty, well… James, my guard here, and I came to Solistia hoping to meet someone from your high court. We just have a few questions we need answered.”
Dorcas throws her head back, letting out a loud, ringing laugh. “Oh, he’s your guard, too?”
You turn to her, your brow furrowing in deep confusion. Beside you, James shifts uncomfortably, clearing his throat as he braces his posture. Before either of you can ask what she means, the Queen tilts her head, a deeply amused smile playing on her lips. “I didn’t know you kissed your guards.”
The color instantly drains from your face.
Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.
Your heart drops straight into your stomach. You desperately try to play dumb, forcing a strained, breathless laugh. “I—pardon? Your Majesty, I’m not sure what you—”
“Oh, I have eyes everywhere, my dear,” Dorcas cuts in smoothly, waving a perfectly manicured hand. “And a little birdie just told me that the young lady arriving at my gates was the very same one spotted kissing the man with her right in the center of the kingdom.”
Your head snaps around, and you shoot a lethal, blistering glare at the man who escorted you into the throne room. Because of fucking course the kingdom has eyes, and if this isn’t the absolute cherry on top of this disaster.
Your mind instantly spirals into pure panic. You can already vividy imagine your parents receiving the news. Not only are you in Solistia, but you’ve been with James the entire time. Oh, and you’re kissing him. This single piece of information practically guarantees you’ll be trapped in your chambers for another decade, and James… James will be beheaded.
Nice. Perfectly fine. Everything is going great.
“Your Majesty, please,” James cuts in, his voice tight with sheer panic as he tries to step forward and defend you both. “It’s not what it looks like, I assure you—”
“Oh, don’t worry, I won’t say a word,” Dorcas interrupts, smiling as she waves him off, completely extinguishing his panic with a casual gesture.
She turns her attention back to you, her expression turning slightly thoughtful. “I’m just surprised Helena agreed to send you here alone with him. She is quite the protective mother.”
You let out a sharp gasp, your eyes widening. “You… you know my mother?”
“Of course I know her,” Dorcas replies smoothly, as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world.
“Oh… well, that’s the thing, Your Majesty,” you confess, the truth tumbling out before you can stop it. “My mother doesn’t actually know I’m here. I kind of… escaped the kingdom. And James only followed me to bring me back.”
The Queen of Solistia stops dead in her tracks, staring at you before she bursts out laughing. It is a loud, wheezing, entirely inappropriate laugh for a reigning monarch, echoing wildly off the high courtroom walls.
“Oh!” she gasps, wiping a tear of amusement from her eye. “Helena must be going absolutely crazy right now!”
Queen Dorcas turns, the heavy, metallic fabric of her golden gown sweeping across the polished floor as she opens a smaller, concealed door at the side of the throne room. She gestures for you both to follow her.
“And please, do not call me ‘Your Majesty,’” she adds smoothly over her shoulder, her tone warm and effortlessly casual. “It makes me feel much older than I actually am. You can just call me Dorcas, I assure you.”
Despite the sheer, world-ending disaster you have walked into, you can’t help but realize how genuinely sweet she is for a young queen. You nervously glance back at James, who looks like he is exactly one step away from fainting. His face is still pale, his jaw tense, and his fingers are practically glued to the hilt of his sword as his brain obviously tries to process the fact that the Queen of Solistia is now an accomplice to your elopement.
Realizing you need to salvage whatever serious momentum you have left, you take a breath and try to fix the mood, stepping closer to her as you enter the private chamber.
“Dorcas,” you say, testing the name cautiously on your tongue. “We really are here for an important matter. I didn’t escape my kingdom for nothing. We’re… we’re actually hoping to meet with the Protector of the Temple of the Sun. Marlene McKinnon? Is she here?”
She slowly turns around to face you, the vibrant amusement fading entirely from her eyes. Instead, a heavy, almost sorrowful expression settles over her beautiful features, her gaze softening with a deep, tragic pity. “I am assuming you are here to know the truth about your powers, aren’t you?” she asks quietly.
Both you and James let out a sharp, simultaneous gasp. The entire room falls into a dead, suffocating silence. You stare at her, your voice barely surviving the sudden lump in your throat.
“You… you know about my powers?” you whisper, your heart dropping to the pits of your stomach, horrified at what you just heard.
Dorcas offers you a wide smile, but what she says next leaves the blood in your veins turning to absolute ice, striking you and James into a state of total, paralyzed shock.
“Oh, my dear,” she murmurs in pity, her golden crown catching the dim light of the chamber. “Who do you think gave them to you?”
a/n: welcome to the long rant, folks!!!!
okay... there is SO much to unpack this chapter.
first of all, yes, i know this chapter is a little shorter than usual. it's sitting at around 6k words which, for me, practically counts as a drabble at this point LMAOO. the reason for that is because i actually caught the flu while writing it a few weeks ago, so by the end i was genuinely just trying to survive. i promise i'm making up for it though because the next chapter is MUCH longer and... well... let's just say that's where everything happens. all the lore drops, all the answers, all the things i've been teasing for what feels like forever. hehehehehe
now, let's start from the beginning because i absolutely adored the flower scene!!
it's heavily inspired by the scene in Tangled where all the girls in Corona weave flowers into Rapunzel's hair, which has always been one of my favourite moments in the entire film. there's something so soft and sweet about it. after spending her whole life believing the outside world would reject her, she's suddenly surrounded by complete strangers treating her with nothing but kindness. i always found that scene so comforting, and i really wanted our princess to experience something similar.
except... there was another layer to it 🤭🤭
i loved having her talk to those little girls about love because, in a way, she's trying to convince herself just as much as she's answering them. she tells the story almost like it's something impossible and beautiful that could never happen to her and that it's all a fairytale. she's already convinced there isn't a future where she gets to keep james. in her mind, falling in love with him was never the difficult part... believing she's allowed to stay in love with him is.
it honestly breaks my heart a little because she has already accepted that their story probably won't end the way she wants it to.
but don't worry, my girl. i'll try my best to give you the ending you deserve 🤞
then we have THAT scene afterwards. james casually greeting her, calling her love UGHHHHHHHH. i'm actually unwell.
it was so simple, but i think that's exactly why i adored writing it. after everything that's happened between them, affection has become so natural that it slips into his words without him even thinking about it.
fun fact though!! that moment was actually inspired by one of my older fics, my girl (the sirius x reader one). there's a scene in there that i've always loved, and i kept thinking about it while writing this chapter. i couldn't resist stealing a little inspiration from myself :)
also, there's a quote i've had sitting in my notes app since october 2025, months before i even started writing or posting tcov.
"to turn from the sun is to wither; to draw too close is to burn. yet a flower born for the light will always reach, knowing that in order to truly bloom, one must brave the fire."
i genuinely think this has become the unofficial motto of the entire series. because if there's one symbol that keeps appearing over and over again throughout tcov, it's the sun; solistia, light, healing, warmth, James as the sun, hope portrayed as sun, and now their love. and there's more soon! so everything always seems to circle back to it. and i think this quote perfectly captures princess and james.
loving james is dangerous. it puts everything she's ever known at risk. it threatens the future her family has spent years planning for her. loving him might destroy everything. but turning away from him would destroy her too because she's a flower born for the sun. she was always going to reach for him, even knowing she might get burned. and i honestly think that's one of my favourite pieces of symbolism i've written in this entire story.
now onto queen dorcas, because she absolutely deserves her own moment.
LMAOOOOOOOO. she absolutely knows they kissed LOL
the woman took one look at those two and probably had to physically stop herself from laughing. i just know james and princess were internally panicking the entire conversation while dorcas was standing there like... "oh, you two think I wouldn't find out?"
and finally, that ending... yeah.
who gave you your powers? well. uhm. that's certainly one way to end a chapter (sorry guys)
i've been waiting SO LONG to finally start pulling back the curtain on princess's magic, and i can promise you that the next chapter changes everything. so many questions are finally getting answered, but knowing me... they'll probably just be replaced by ten new ones.
thank you all so much for reading. i genuinely hope you enjoyed this chapter, even if it was a little shorter than usual. as always, i'd absolutely love to hear your thoughts, your favourite moments, and especially your theories!!
stay safe, stay healthy, stay hydrated, and i'll see you all in the next chapter.
Girl I’ve been wanting to read ur James series so bad but never actually got around to it, BUT this will change 🤭🤭 Can’t wait to see what you’ve come up with!!!💖💖💖
OMG HIIIIIII
AHHH PLEASE DO 🥹🥹🥹 i’d absolutely love to know what you think of it!!
it’s definitely a commitment LMAOO but i’m having so much fun writing it, and i’d love to hear all your thoughts and theories if you ever decide to give it a full read 🤭💗
series summary: James Potter, a soldier of the royal guard, is assigned to protect the princess at all costs. His new duty proves far harder than he imagined, for the princess has a habit of doing exactly what she’s not supposed to, and hiding a secret no one must uncover.
chapter summary: On the way to Solistia, you and James stop at a weird tavern full of strange people. Amid the chaos, the emotional walls between you two finally starts to break. (10.8k)
tags: scared animals, hints of sex and mentions of condoms, weird people, no angst, pure crack fiction, yearning, mutual pinning, tension.
series masterlist map playlist moodboard
It only starts to truly hit you a week after leaving your home, Valenora. This homesickness.
Today marks the seventh day away from your family, and when you map out the time in your head, the reality of your exile feels staggering. One day spent entirely on your own, terrified and running on pure adrenaline. Two days hiding out with James in a secluded, outer village on the fringes of Valenora. Two days navigating the scarred, blackened wasteland of the Vale. And now, two days submerged in the cold, hostile atmosphere of Astravel.
Seven days. A single week, yet it feels like an entire lifetime has passed since you last walked the familiar corridors of the palace.
Sitting on the edge of the bed in the small, shadowed room Pandora provided for you, you feel a heavy, suffocating guilt begin to intensify deep in your gut. But even more agonizing than the guilt is the sheer, hollow longing to be with your family again.
You find yourself aching for the small things you always took for granted. You miss having your father around, doting on you and looking at you with fierce, protective pride. You miss your mother’s elegance, just being near her and feeling the grounding presence of a woman who shaped so much of who you are, despite how strict and overbearing she can be at times.
You long to talk to Alaric, to hear his deeply comforting words whenever the world feels too loud. You miss the effortless laughter shared with Cassian and Elias, the easy chats with Lily, the simple peace of sitting in the royal gardens while the afternoon sun warms your skin. You even miss the casual, respectful banter with the palace servants.
There is so much to miss. But beneath that longing lies a crueler truth: there is so much more to miss out on, simply because you cannot go back.
Going home isn’t an option because it means stepping right back into your cage. It means being trapped again, stripped of your freedom, and forced down the aisle to be married off to Prince Caelum.
Across the dimly lit room, the scratch of a quill against parchment cuts through the silence. You turn your head toward James, who is sitting at the small, weathered wooden desk in the room Pandora gave you, his broad shoulders slightly hunched over a piece of paper as he carefully pens a letter.
“James?” you ask, your voice sounding small, cracking slightly in the quiet room. “Are you giving them many details?”
James pauses, the quill hovering just above the parchment. He doesn’t look up immediately, his eyes scanning the lines he’s already written. When he finally speaks, his voice is a low murmur. “I have to make sure the lies sound believable.”
James is currently writing the weekly letters he promised to send out to your family, giving them formal updates on his ‘search’ for the missing princess.
Back in Valenora, your family remains completely unaware that your personal guard is actually the one leading you away. They believe he is out there hunting for you, scouring the kingdoms to bring you home safely. To maintain the illusion and buy you both time, he has to weave intricate, fake trails into his reports—mentioning false leads, dead ends, and towns he hasn’t actually visited.
Watching him lie to the people who trust him—the people who trust both of you—makes the lump in your throat swell until it hurts to breathe.
You draw your knees up to your chest, wrapping your arms tightly around them as you bury your chin in your knees. “I feel like a terrible daughter,” you whisper, the confession tearing out of you, raw and bleeding. “A terrible sister. A terrible friend. Just… a fundamentally terrible person.”
The scratching of the quill stops entirely.
James sets the pen down on the desk. He turns around fully in his chair, his eyes locking onto you across the room.
He looks at you, seeing the tension in your shoulders and the unshed tears threatening to spill over, and his expression softens immediately.
He stands up, walking over to the bed with slow steps so as not to startle you, sinking down onto the mattress right beside you. “You aren’t a terrible person, Y/N,” he says softly.
He reaches out, pausing for a second before gently placing his hand over your tightly clenched knuckles. “You’re a human being who was pushed into a corner. You’re fighting for your own life, your own future. There is nothing evil or terrible about wanting to own yourself.”
He watches your face, reading the agonizing conflict tearing through your expressions. “Look at me,” James commands gently, waiting until you force your eyes up to meet his behind his glasses. “If it’s too much… we don’t have to keep going. We could cut down the trip right now. We can turn around, head back to Valenora, and I will personally escort you back through those palace gates. I’ll take whatever punishment the King deems fit for my treason, and you can go back to your family.”
The mere thought of it sends a sudden, violent spike of panic straight through your chest. The image of the palace gates slamming shut behind you, of being handed over to Prince Caelum like a prize, flashes vividly in your mind.
“No,” you say immediately, your voice sharp, desperate, and ringing with absolute certainty. You shake your head fiercely, your grip tightening on his hand. “No. Never. I can’t go back, at least not before finding out the truth.”
James watches you, a knowing look passing over his features. The corner of his mouth twitches up into a faint, melancholic smile, though his eyes remain deeply intensely focused on yours.
“I didn’t think so,” he replies, his voice dropping into a comforting, steady register that seems to anchor your fraying nerves.
He doesn’t pull his hand away; instead, he squeezes your fingers, offering you the absolute certainty you’re starving for. “Then stop torturing yourself with what you left behind. You chose to run, Y/N. And as long as you keep running, I’m right here running with you. We finish this.”
You look at James, staring into the familiar warmth of his eyes. It is true—you did choose to run. And a small, desperately selfish part of you wishes that this could last forever. You wish you could spend the rest of your days always on the run, moving from kingdom to kingdom, as long as it was with him. Having to go back home to Valenora wouldn’t be so bad if it meant just going back with James. Except going back meant reality. Going back meant facing the inescapable fact that you would be married off, sent across the sea to Thalassia to belong to Prince Caelum.
A heavy lump forms in your throat, but you force a small smile. “I’m really glad you followed me,” you tell him, your voice barely louder than a whisper.
James blinks, a soft look overtaking his features. “You mean out of Valenora?”
You nod, squeezing his hand back. “Yeah. It would have been so much harder doing all of this on my own. But it’s easier with you. You make everything easy.”
He smiles, though a flicker of profound melancholy crosses his eyes. He slowly pulls his hand away, rubbing the back of his neck as he looks down. “I wish I could make things easier at home, too.”
He sighs quietly, brushing his hands off on his trousers before standing up to begin pacing around the chamber, gathering and packing his scattered travel gear.
You watch him move around the room, the silence stretching between you. You do, James, you think selfishly, the unsaid words burning in your chest. You make them easier. You always have.
Ever since you were kids, when he would patiently let you tag along and play with him and your brothers, all the way to this very moment—where he had thrown away his job, his safety, and his entire life to go on a dangerous adventure across the continent just to help you find the truth about your powers.
There is so much you wish for. So much you want to say, so much you want to plead for. But you can’t.
“You won’t ever have to find out what it’s like without me,” he adds softly over his shoulder, throwing you one last reassuring glance before pulling a strap tight. “I promise.”
James grabs the freshly written letter from the desk, letting the ink dry for a fraction of a second before folding it tightly. He slides it safely into his tunic, then moves around the small space gathering the rest of your travel gear and hoisting the heavy packs over his shoulder.
“Come on,” James says, gesturing toward the door with a tilt of his head. “The longer we stay here, the more traction those fake trails lose. Let’s move.”
You push yourself off the bed, adjusting your heavy cloak and drawing the hood low over your face. Following closely behind his broad back, you step out of the room, leaving yet another temporary refuge behind. But this time, the heavy dread in your stomach is mixed with a sliver of relief—you are finally heading straight toward Solistia.
According to the maps James studied, the path ahead is clear. There are no more desolate, suffocating Vales to cross, and no notoriously deadly border sectors blocking your path. For the first time since you fled, it’s just open road.
The transition from the dim hallways of the house to the crisp, biting air outside is sudden. But right as you exit the rear of the tavern into the shadowed alleyway, a figure steps out from the darkness of a stone corner, blocking your path.
It’s Barty.
He takes a slow, dragging pull from a thick cigar, the smoke curling around his messy hair, as he exhales a cloud, a dangerous, knowing smirk playing on his lips as his eyes flick between the two of you.
“Leaving so soon?” Barty greets you both, his voice dripping with mock disappointment. “And here I thought we were all becoming such fast friends.”
James instantly shifts, his hand dropping naturally toward the hilt of his blade, his posture hardening into an iron wall between you and the man. “We got what we came for, Crouchie. We’re done here.”
Barty raises his hands in a mocking gesture of surrender, though the smirk never leaves his face. “Relax, Potter. I’m not here to spoil your little elopement. Consider me a delivery boy today.”
He reaches into the folds of his dark coat and pulls out a crisp, heavy parchment. It’s neatly and securely sealed in thick, black wax—a stark contrast to the standard imperial seals. “This is from Prince Regulus. It’s addressed to his dear brother, Sirius Black. The ex-prince.”
James’s eyes narrow slightly at the mention of Sirius, but he steps forward and takes the letter, flipping it over once before stowing it securely away with the others. “I’ll see that he gets it. Thank you.”
Barty lets out a sharp, mocking laugh, the cigar bouncing between his teeth as he steps back into the shadows to let you pass. “Don’t mention it. Safe travels, lovers,” he adds, his voice thick with a sarcastic, theatrical reverence. “Try not to get caught before you reach the border. It would really ruin the entertainment value.”
Ignoring his parting shot, you and James quicken your pace, turning down the cobblestone path that leads directly to the secluded stables where your mounts are being kept. The air inside the stable is warm, thick with the scent of hay and old wood, a welcome shield from Astravel’s damp chill.
As soon as you enter, two familiar, low nickers echo from the stalls. Maximus shifts his massive weight, his white coat catching the dim light, while Midnight tosses her dark mane impatiently.
“Missed me?” you murmur softly, walking over to Maximus’s stall first. You reach into your pocket and pull out a crisp, red apple, holding it out on your flat palm. The stallion eagerly takes it from your hand, the crunch echoing satisfyingly in the quiet space.
You smile, reaching over to give Midnight her own treat, smoothing your hand down the black horse’s nose as she huffs a warm breath against your cloak. “Good girl.”
James is already throwing the saddlebags over Midnight’s back, tightening the cinches with powerful tugs. He looks over his shoulder at you, his features softening just a bit at the sight of you with the horses. “Ready to ride?”
“More than ready,” you reply, pulling yourself up into Maximus’s saddle and gathering the leather reins into your hands.
James mounts Midnight in one fluid, effortless motion, the dark mare raring to go. Together, you guide the horses out of the stables and through the quiet, forgotten side-gates of Astravel. As the stone walls of the city begin to shrink into the distance behind you, falling away to reveal the rolling hills and expansive horizon leading toward Solistia, the heavy tension in your shoulders finally begins to give way.
The horses fall into a steady, rhythmic trot side-by-side. You turn your head slightly toward James, the wind catching your hood as the open trail stretches out ahead.
“So,” you begin, breaking the thud of hooves against the dirt. “How long until we actually cross over into Solistia? The path ahead looks clear on the maps.”
James adjusts his grip on Midnight’s reins, cutting a quick look over at you. “Actually, I was thinking we make a stop before heading straight to Solistia.”
You blink, shifting in your saddle to look at him properly. “A stop? Where?”
“You’ll see,” he replies, a small, enigmatic smile tugging at the corner of his lips as he urges his horse a fraction faster. “Just trust me.”
Truthfully, leaving Astravel doesn’t take long at all. Compared to the massive, sprawling land area of your home kingdom Valenora, Astravel is relatively small—mostly composed of its dense, heavily guarded city centers and localized populations rather than endless territory. Because of the compact geography, it only takes about two hours of steady riding before you finally clear the official outer borders, leaving the kingdom entirely behind and beginning the long path toward the City of Stars.
As the oppressive atmosphere of Astravel completely fades from the horizon, a genuine sense of relief washes over you. You look over at James, your eyes bright. “I’m so excited, James. Solistia must be a beautiful country.”
He smiles back, the harsh lines of his face softening at your enthusiasm. “I’m sure it is. My mother visited quite a lot when she was younger, and she always said it was a place absolutely full of life.”
“I can’t wait to see it myself, I’ve only ever read about the—” You stop mid-sentence, the words dying in your throat.
Your eyes narrow as you track the road ahead. The main path to the City of Stars is supposed to cut sharply to the east, but the trail you are currently following is clearly drifting more and more to the west. Reaching into your pack, you pull out your parchment map, unrolling it against the pommel of your saddle and tracing the lines with a gloved finger.
You look up, pulling slightly on the reins. “James… this isn’t the path to Solistia.”
“I know,” he says smoothly, not looking the least bit conflicted. He slows Midnight down to a gentle walk, matching your pace. “Look, by now we’ve been riding out for nearly three hours. We’re both exhausted, and the horses need to rest before we make the real trek across the borderlands. I know a good place for us to stay and rest.”
He pauses, correcting himself with a faint smirk. “Well, I don’t know it personally, but I’ve heard good things about it.”
He reaches over, his finger pointing to a small, unmarked spot of land on your map that sits tucked away very close to the kingdom’s edge.
You look from the map to his reassuring expression, letting out a soft sigh. “Alright,” you agree reluctantly, rolling the parchment back up. “Lead the way.”
You ride in silence for another hour, following James as he steers the horses away from the main road and deeper into a thick, heavily canopy-covered forest.
Right as you guide your horse past a dense thicket of old oaks, Maximus suddenly lets out a sharp, panicked snort.
Before you can even react, the massive white stallion rears up, jumping backward with a violent jolt that nearly throws you from the saddle.
“Maximus! Woah, easy!” you cry out.
Instinct taking over, you slide out of the stirrups and hop off immediately, your boots hitting the damp earth with a heavy thud as you try to soothe the trembling horse.
James is out of his saddle before Midnight even comes to a complete halt. He rushes over to your side, his hands instantly coming to your shoulders as his eyes frantically scan you for injuries.
“Are you okay? What happened?” he asks, his voice laced with urgency that always takes over when he thinks you’re in danger.
You shrug, letting out a breath as you stroke Maximus’s trembling neck to calm him down. “I don’t know. I think he just got spooked by something.”
Right then, Maximus lets out another high, nervous noise, shuffling his hooves and scrambling backward a few paces. Your eyes follow the horse’s terrified gaze down to the roots of a massive, ancient oak tree.
Sitting perfectly still amidst the damp moss is a small, bright green chameleon.
A breathless laugh escapes your lips. “Awww… is that what you were so scared of, buddy?” you coo at the massive, battle-trained stallion, who is currently eyeing the tiny reptile like it’s a dragon.
You and James crouch down together, carefully inspecting the little creature. As you get closer, you notice it isn’t moving away; its tiny, frail body is shivering, and one of its slender legs is bent at an awkward, painful angle. It’s slightly injured.
James gently slides his gloved hand under the creature, lifting it up into his palm with a surprising amount of care.
A soft smile breaks across his face as he looks down at it. “It’s actually… pretty cute.”
You look at him, your eyes wide and hopeful as a familiar warmth stirs in your chest. “James… can I heal it?”
James looks up from the chameleon, his hazel eyes meeting yours. The memory of your conversation on the trail—of his guilt over stopping you from using your gifts—lingers in the space between you. He smiles softly, his gaze incredibly tender. “Of course you can.”
He holds his palms out flat, presenting the tiny reptile to you. You bring your hands over his, hovering your fingers just above the creature’s shivering body.
Closing your eyes, you tap into that deep, sun-warmed reservoir of power within you.
A soft, golden glow begins to emanate from your skin. Spun gold threads of pure magic weave through the crisp forest air, gently wrapping around the chameleon.
In a matter of seconds, the fractured bone knits itself back together, and the creature’s dull scales flush into a brilliant, vibrant shade of green.
James carefully sets the completely healed chameleon back onto the mossy ground, his smile widening. He looks up at you, the golden remnants of your magic still reflecting in his glasses. “As I said before… a divine miracle.”
You laugh, a warm, genuine sound that echoes through the woods. But opposite to what you both expected, the little chameleon doesn’t scurry away into the brush. Instead, it turns right back around, eagerly climbing onto your boot and scrambling up the fabric of your trousers until it settles right against your chest.
You scoop it into your hands, your eyes lighting up with absolute excitement as you bounce on your heels, looking up at James with a wide, beaming grin. “James, look at him! Can we please keep it? Please?”
James completely freezes. He stops mid-breath, his heart doing a sudden, violent flip in his chest. We. Not I.
The tiny, casual word hangs in the air, and for a split second, James feels like he might just faint right then and there. His head spins at the sheer thrill of what that implies—a together.
Forcing his brain to start working again, he lets out a slightly dazed huff, shaking his head as he pushes himself up from the dirt.
He walks back over to Midnight, grabbing the mare’s reins just to give his trembling hands something to do. “It’s up to you,” he calls over his shoulder. “But I don’t know the first thing about feeding a lizard. That’s entirely on us.”
“Deal,” you beam, carefully placing your new companion on your shoulder. The chameleon seems perfectly content, blending slightly into the dark fabric of your cloak.
You ease yourself back into Maximus’s saddle. The large white horse is still a little tense and nervous, tossing his head tightly because the strange green creature is now riding shotgun on your shoulder, but you soothe him with a gentle pat.
The steady thud of hooves against the damp earth accompanies the quiet rhythm of the forest. On your shoulder, the little green reptile shifts slightly, its tiny claws gripping the fabric of your cloak as its swivel-eyes scan the passing trees.
You look over at James, a small smile playing on your lips. “I think I’m gonna name him Pascal.”
James glances over, the corner of his mouth lifting behind his glasses. “Pascal? What’s the reason for the name?”
You shrug your shoulders slightly, careful not to dislodge your new companion. “I don’t know. It just fits.”
As you guide the horses up a steady incline, the dense thicket of trees suddenly thins out, revealing a clearing at the top of the hill. Standing tall at the edge of the path is a massive, weathered wooden sign swinging gently in the breeze.
Carved deep into the wood, complete with a crudely painted illustration of a rather plump waterbird, are the words: The Snuggly Duckling.
You peak at the sign, your eyebrows raising in sheer disbelief. James pulls on Midnight’s reins, slowing the stallion to a halt. “Well, we are nearly there.”
“What is that?” you ask, pointing a finger toward the sign and then down the hill toward a sprawling, oddly shaped building tucked into the valley below.
“It’s basically sort of like a tavern,” James explains, turning to look at you with an amused glint in his hazel eyes. “Except… more homey? Or so I’ve been told.”
You look from the ridiculous sign back to him, incredulous. “Where did you even hear of a place like this? James, it’s in the middle of absolutely nowhere.”
“Well, see, that’s the thing,” James says, a faint, almost nostalgic warmth filtering into his tone. “I’ve heard about it from a few guards back home who used to travel these border routes. And, well… it’s also where my parents met when they were younger on a trip. So there’s that.”
A soft, surprised oh escapes your lips. The thought of James’s parents meeting in a place with a name like The SnugglyDuckling brings a genuine smile to your face.
Together, you urge the horses down the slope, arriving at the front of the eccentric establishment. The building is entirely made of heavy, dark logs and rough wood, looking as though it grew straight out of the forest itself. Lanterns glow warmly through the frosted glass windows, casting a welcoming light onto the dirt path.
You both pop off your horses, your boots hitting the ground with a soft crunch. Leading Maximus and Midnight to the wooden hitching post near the side of the entrance, you carefully tie their reins, giving Maximus one last reassuring pat on his nose.
As you turn back toward the entrance, James steps close to you. His broad shoulder brushes against yours, his presence instantly morphing back into that fiercely protective shield as his eyes scan the perimeter one last time.
When James pushes the heavy wooden door open, the wall of noise and heat that hits you is nothing compared to the literal wall of a man blocking the way.
“Huge” is an absolute understatement.
The man standing before you is at least seven feet tall, with shoulders as wide as a carriage and a jawline covered in a thick, unruly beard. To top it off, he is wearing an oddly shaped, horned helmet precariously balanced on his head.
Your first immediate thought is: Yup. This is it. We are going to get killed. James has officially dragged you both into a hidden den of lawless thieves, mercenaries, and cutthroats.
But before you can even panic, the giant man’s fierce expression completely vanishes. A wild, boisterous smile splits across his face, crinkling the corners of his eyes. “Heyaa! Welcome to the Snuggly Duckling!” he roars in a thick, rough accent.
James steps inside, completely unfazed, while you nervously cling onto the fabric of his sleeve, using his broad frame as a partial shield. As your eyes adjust to the smoky, amber light of the tavern, you find the place is absolutely packed to the brim with more of the exact same kind of men.
Big, scarred, and intimidating, they are all occupied with the most random assortment of tasks—some are loudly arguing over a game of cards, one is aggressively playing a lute, and another appears to be baking pastries in the corner.
“Welcome, welcome! What can I get ya?” a loud voice calls out. A burly man with a hooked nose and a leather apron waves you over, clearing a wooden table with a swift swipe of a rag.
You turn your head and shoot James a venomous glare that screams, What have you gotten us into?
James just chuckles, thoroughly amused by your terror. He gently guides you over to the table, keeping his hand low at your waist to steady you. “We’re just travelers passing through,” James explains smoothly to the bartender, his voice calm and polite. “We’ve heard excellent things about this place, so we decided to visit.”
The bartender leans his massive hands on the table, squinting his eyes curiously. “Oh? And where exactly did you hear about our little cozy place, young man? We aren’t exactly on the main royal highway.”
“From my parents, actually,” James says with a proud smile. “Euphemia and Fleamont Potter.”
The bartender freezes, his jaw dropping. “Fleamont? As in General Fleamont Potter?”
“The very same,” James nods, a chuckle escaping him. “Though he’s retired from the Valenora army now. He actually opened up a restaurant back home.”
The bartender lets out a massive gasp. He whips around, cupping his hands around his mouth, and roars across the crowded room, “Hey! Boys! Listen up! That’s General Fleamont’s boy right here! The Potters’ kid!”
The entire tavern goes dead silent for a fraction of a second before erupting into absolute chaos.
“The General?!” a man at the bar yells, nearly dropping his tankard.
“No way! The man who kicked the northern bandits out of the border routes?!” another shouts, slamming his cards onto the table.
Within seconds, a massive crowd of towering, heavily armed men abandons whatever they were doing and rushes over, completely crowding your table. They surround you both, laughing boisterously and slapping James on the back.
“How is the old war horse doing? A restaurant, you say?” one man demands, leaning over the table with a grin.
James laughs, trying to answer three people at once. “He’s doing great!”
Pascal clings tightly to your shoulder, his little eyes darting around in sheer bewilderment. You try to blend into the woodwork, but it doesn’t work.
“And who is this lovely little thing with ya?” the seven-foot-tall man with the horned helmet asks, leaning down with a wide, toothy grin as he notices you trying to shrink into your cloak.
The crowd chuckles, all eyes turning to you.
You swallow hard, forcing a polite, entirely fake smile onto your face as you mentally throw your royal title out the window. “I’m Margaret,” you introduce yourself, using your pre-planned alias as you glance up at James for backup. “James’s friend. Just a traveler.”
A collective, knowing “Ohhhh!” ripples through the massive crowd of thugs. They nudge each other with wicked smirks and booming chuckles, clearly misinterpreting what “friend” means, while James clears his throat, a sudden, bright flush of red creeping up his neck.
You quickly wave your hands, a bright laugh escaping you as you try to dispel the sudden, thick romantic tension rolling off the crowd. “Oh, no! No, we are just friends. Me and James are just headed to Solistia, but we stopped here along the way. And well… it seems so nice!”
One of the burly men smiles warmly, his rough face softening. “Oh, just you wait! You should wait till old Vladimir gets here. He’s a real fun-maker, that one!”
Right on cue, the heavy wooden front doors bang open with a thunderous CRACK.
The tavern falls into a collective hush as a man who has to be nearly eight feet tall—a literal giant of a human being—steps into the room, shaking the floorboards with every stride.
The bartender immediately cups his hands around his mouth, shouting over the crowd, “Hey! Vladimir! Come over here and meet these two! This is Fleamont’s boy!”
The massive giant, Vladimir, turns his colossal head. Instead of a scowl, a brilliant, booming smile breaks across his face. He marches over, his deep voice rumbling like thunder. “Fleamont’s boy?! Ha! Well, treat ‘em like guests!”
Before you or James can even process the sheer size of the man, massive wooden plates piled high with steaming, roasted food and tall silver chalices brimming with sweet wine are practically slammed down in front of you. The crowd finally disperses a bit to give you some breathing room, though the atmosphere remains loud, joyous, and incredibly alive.
You sit back in your chair, looking around the room at the singing, baking, lute-playing thugs, and a breathless laugh bursts from your lips. “This is the weirdest place ever,” you say, shaking your head in pure disbelief. “And I absolutely love it!”
James lets out a hearty laugh of his own, leaning forward over his plate. He rubs the back of his neck, a look of hilarious defeat on his face. “I don’t know, honestly… I expected something a bit more warm and sunny. Whenever my parents spoke of this ‘Snuggly Duckling’ place—the place they literally fell in love at—they made it sound so romantic. I definitely didn’t expect a tavern full of terrifyingly giant men.”
You laugh even harder at that, practically wheezing as you bury your face in your hands. “I know! Can you imagine your parents flirting while a seven-foot man in a horned helmet watches?”
James watches you, his hazel eyes crinkling behind his glasses. A deeply content, soft smile settles on his face just from watching you light up.
“If you’re uncomfortable at all, Y/N, we can leave,” he offers gently, his tone dropping so only you can hear. “We can find somewhere quieter.”
You shake your head fiercely, wiping a tear of laughter from your eye. “No. No, I like it here. They all seem so genuinely nice.”
James’s smile grows, his eyes locking onto yours with a warmth that makes your chest ache in the best way possible. “Yeah. They really are.”
Just then, a sudden, jarring CLANG echoes through the tavern.
You both whip your heads around to see old Vladimir sitting down at a massive, heavily out-of-tune upright piano in the corner. He cracks his knuckles, sits back, and starts playing and singing with absolute, roaring passion.
Except, it is utterly terrible. Every single chord is violently flat, his fingers are hitting three wrong keys at once, and his singing voice sounds like a distressed bear.
The utter absurdity of it is the final straw. You and James look at each other for a split second before bursting out laughing all over again, clutching your stomachs as you dissolve into pure, ecstatic joy.
Vladimir keeps bellowing his song, and by the third verse, it is near torture to your ears. He hits a high note so violently flat that Pascal actually burrows entirely underneath your cloak to hide.
Yet, despite the auditory assault, the entire tavern is loving it. The giant, scarred men are slamming their mugs, locking arms, and singing along at the top of their lungs, completely transforming the wooden floor into a chaotic dance pit.
The infectious energy completely takes over. Driven by pure, unfiltered joy, you suddenly stand up from the table and grab James’s hand.
He blinks up at you, his eyes widening behind his glasses as he’s yanked forward. “What are you doing?”
“Dancing, obviously!” you laugh, pulling on his hand to get his frame out of the chair.
James bursts into a breathless laugh, shaking his head as he tries to resist. “Y/N, I can’t dance. I literally don’t know how.”
You step in close, reaching up to boldly grab the sturdy collar of his tunic, pulling him a fraction closer so he can hear you over the roaring music. “Do you think they know how to dance either?”
James glances at a seven-foot man currently spinning a baking thug in a messy circle, and he chuckles, yielding entirely. “Fair enough.”
You drag him straight into the crowd and start dancing messily, throwing any semblance of royal decorum out the window.
You bounce, twirl, and stumble over your own boots, throwing your hands up in the air. James completely loses it, bursting out laughing as he tries to keep up with your chaotic rhythm.
The surrounding men notice, letting out boisterous cheers and slamming their mugs on the tables to encourage you both.
In the middle of a particularly clumsy spin, James catches you by the waist to steady you. He leans in close to your ear, his warm breath tickling your skin as he whispers, “Have I told you that for a princess, you dance quite terribly?”
You pull back, scoffing loudly as you playfully narrow your eyes at him. “Oh, and you’re better?!”
“But I’ve got an excuse,” he points out, his eyes gleaming with sheer, unadulterated mischief. “I’m not a royal. I’m a soldier. But you… you’ve been rigorously trained in court etiquette since you were a child, yet—”
You cut him off by smacking his chest armor with a mock-glare. “Don’t be so meaaannn, Jamie.”
The nickname slips out effortlessly, but its effect is instantaneous. James freezes for a fraction of a second, the breath catching in his throat.
The teasing, confident guard instantly melts; under that soft, childhood moniker, he might as well just be putty in your hands. A beautifully helpless, cheeky smile spreads across his lips.
“I’m nice,” he murmurs, his voice dropping an octave as his eyes soften completely. “I’m so nice.”
“Yeah?” you tease, leaning into the rhythm, dancing a step closer until the gap between your chests virtually disappears. “How nice, James?”
“I dunno,” he says, his gaze locking onto yours, thick with a sudden, heavy warmth that has nothing to do with the tavern fire. “Nice enough to accompany you on a high-stakes trip to another kingdom? Nice enough to help you escape your family and ruin my entire career? Is that nice enough?”
You smile, tilting your head up as you pretend to think about it, your heart hammering against your ribs. “I dunno… not nice enough to play the piano for me?”
James looks completely confused, blinking through his lenses. “The piano?”
You smirk and point a finger toward the stage ahead. Vladimir had just abandoned the bench a minute ago, currently standing on a table to lead a singing and drumming circle with the rest of the patrons. The keys are completely vacant.
“You want to play it?” James asks, looking back at you.
You shake your head, your smile growing softer. “I want to play it with you. You mentioned back on the trail that Euphemia taught you how to play when you were younger. And you bragged to me about how your playing is better than mine. So, since I’m a terrible dancer, let’s try the piano.”
You step even closer, your eyes full of challenge. “That is… if you’re nice enough to.”
James smirks, the dark hazel of his eyes flashing with a sudden, devastating confidence. “I think I’m nice enough to do that.”
“Yeah?” you challenge softly, your voice nearly lost to the tavern’s roar.
Instead of answering, James takes action. He grabs your hand, his large, calloused fingers locking firmly with yours as he pulls you out of the crowd. He looks up at a burly man nearby, whisper-shouting over the racket, “Hey, is it alright if we use the piano?”
The man waves a large mug of ale dismissively, a wide grin splitting his face. “Sure, yeah! Have at it, kid!”
James leads you up the few creaking wooden stairs to the little elevated stage where the upright piano stands. The bench is old and worn, but James steps ahead, pulling it out for you with an elegant, theatrical flourish.
He bows deeply from the waist, his eyes crinkling behind his lenses. “You first, Your Highness.”
You giggle, bumping your hip against his arm to break his formal stance. “I’m not a princess right now, only Margaret.”
He sits down right beside you on the narrow bench, his broad frame pressing warm against yours in the dim stage light. He turns his head, his face inches from yours, a soft, breathless smile playing on his lips. “Still… I’m nice enough, aren’t I?”
“We’ll see,” you tease, turning your attention to the ivory keys. “What do you want to play?”
James looks at the keyboard, a rare flash of nervousness crossing his features. “Something you know. Go ahead.”
You smile, hovering your hands over the keys for a brief second before pressing down.
A few melancholic notes ring out, perfectly tuned compared to the chaos from earlier. You start the slow, beautiful tune of a familiar melody—a song that you both grew up humming and singing.
James’s eyes light up as he recognizes it immediately. “Oh, no,” he groans softly, though he’s already raising his hands. “I’m so rusty. I haven’t played in years, Y/N.”
“I’ll guide you,” you whisper.
He tentatively presses a chord, his rhythm slightly hesitant. Smiling, you lift your right hand and place it directly over his. Your fingers slip between his, the contrast of his large, warm hand beneath yours sending a sudden, electric shiver straight up your spine.
Gently, you apply just enough pressure to guide his hand across the notes, correcting his placement and steadying his timing.
The tavern’s rowdy shouting seems to fade into a dull hum as the beautiful, haunting melody fills the immediate space around the piano. James catches the rhythm, his movements smoothing out under your touch. He stops looking at the keys entirely, turning his head to lock his dark hazel eyes onto yours.
[i highly recommend playing City of Stars by emma stone and ryan gosling here]
When he opens his mouth, his voice is a low baritone that vibrates right through the bench.
City of stars
Are you shining just for me?
The sheer intensity in his gaze makes your fingers tremble slightly against his, but you hold his look.
City of stars
There’s so much that I can’t see
James leans in just a fraction closer, his broad shoulder pressing firmly against yours.
Who knows?
You can feel the warmth of his breath against your lips now, his deeper, steadier voice completely unwavering as it blends right into yours.
I felt it from the first embrace I shared with you
That now, our dreams… they’ve finally come true
His dark, curly hair is slightly damp from the outside mist, looking so incredibly soft to the touch that you have to actively press your free hand into your lap to keep from reaching up and burying your fingers in it. Your eyes trace the scattered dusting of freckles peeking through his tanned, weathered skin, before finally dropping to his lips—the very same lips that just sang those words so gently, so sweetly, right into your soul.
City of stars
Just one thing everybody wants
James’s thumb brushes slowly against the back of your hand, a caress that sends a violent jolt of electricity straight up your arm. You lean into him, the scent of cedarwood, rain, and clean sweat enveloping you entirely as you look back up into his golden gaze.
There in the bars
And through the smokescreen of the crowded restaurants
He slips his hand out from beneath yours, but only to cup the side of your waist, his palm anchoring you to the bench, pulling you so close that your chest brushes against the heavy fabric of his tunic.
It’s love
Yes, all we’re looking for is love from someone else
A rush, a glance
A touch, a dance
James’s grip on your waist tightens, his fingers burying into the fabric of your cloak. He tilts his head slightly, his face dropping lower, his lips hovering mere inches from yours.
A look in somebody’s eyes
To light up the skies
To open the world and send it reeling
He leans in closer, the tip of his nose brushing against yours in a slow, agonizingly sweet friction. The entire world outside of this wooden bench completely ceases to exist.
A voice that says, “I’ll be here”
And “you’ll be alright”
You wrap your free hand around the collar of his shirt, pulling him down that final, torturous inch.
I don’t care if I know
Just where I will go
‘Cause all that I need is this crazy feeling
Your eyes flutter shut, completely intoxicated by his proximity, your mind entirely consumed by James, James, James.
A rat-tat-tat on my heart
Think I want it to stay
City of stars
Are you shining just for me?
Your mind completely blanks. The high stakes of your escape, the guilt of leaving Valenora, the fear of Prince Caelum—all of it is erased, replaced by a deafening, rhythmic chant that beats against your skull: James. James. James.
City of stars
You never shined so brightly
You are completely, entirely unaware that the rowdy, boisterous roar of the Snuggly Duckling has died down to absolute silence. You don’t notice that the men have stopped their drinking and card games, or that every single eye in the tavern is fixed on the small stage, caught in the sheer, magnetic pull of the gravity between you two.
The song ends, but the music in your head doesn’t stop. You hover there, a microscopic inch apart, your lips agonizingly close. Every single cell in your body is screaming, an all-consuming urge to be closer and closer and closer to him.
The loud, deafening chant in your brain reaches a fever pitch, drowning out your fears, your past, and your crown: James. James. James. James.
Then, the distance between you closes.
James leans in that final fraction of an inch, and his lips are suddenly on yours.
Your mind blanks out completely. A gasp is caught in your throat, instantly swallowed by the intense, desperate heat of his mouth. James’s large, warm hands leave the piano keys and slide up to cup your face, his fingers burying into your hair, tilting your head up to anchor you to him as his lips push deeper against yours.
It feels like a wall of heavy bricks has suddenly collapsed within you. The denial you’ve built up over months of duty, the walls you kept up to protect yourself and him—all of it is violently reduced to nothing. You can’t deny it anymore. You don’t want to.
You are in love with James Potter.
Deeply, irrevocably, and completely in love with him.
The realization floods your chest with a blinding, euphoric warmth. So, you do the only thing you possibly can do. You surrender.
You kiss him back, pouring every ounce of your hidden longing, your fear, and your devotion into the movement of your lips against his. Your hands fly up from your lap, your fingers eagerly sliding into the thick, soft curls of his dark hair, pulling him closer, desperate to dissolve the very air between you.
James breaks the kiss just a fraction, pulling back just enough to take a ragged, breathless drag of air. His thumbs smooth over your cheekbones, his large hands still framing your face like you are something fragile and priceless.
You look up into his eyes, your heart hammering against your ribs, and you find so much love staring back at you.
But the thing is… it isn’t new.
As you stare into the gold of his eyes behind his glasses, a sudden, staggering wave of clarity hits you. James’s eyes look the exact same as they always have. It isn’t like those sweeping romance stories Remus would always have you read back in the palace library, where the couple kisses for the first time and suddenly see each other in a completely different light.
There is no different light here. James looks at you all the same. He looks at you the exact same way he did when you were children, the same way when he caught you from falling off a tree on his first week, the same way he did when he agreed to treason just to help you run.
Because that’s the thing—whatever this thread was between you, it was always there. It wasn’t born out of a kiss; the kiss was just the moment you finally stopped running from it.
You feel so fucking stupid for trying to deny it for so long, for trying to push it down under the guise of duty and fear, when it was something that could never be denied in the first place.
A breathless, euphoric giggle escapes your lips at the sheer absurdity of your own blindness. James blinks, a soft, boyish laugh bubbling out of his chest as his eyes crinkle. “Is it bad that I want to kiss you again?” he murmurs.
Before he even has the chance to finish the sentence, you pull him right back down. Your lips smash against his again, fierce and greedy.
James is just so bright. He is so beautiful, so incredibly full of life, and it spills out effortlessly from between his imperfect cracks. He is just like the sun. He has always been your sun—the light you unknowingly chased through the darkest corners of your life. You kiss him over and over, your hands tangled in his soft curls, losing yourself completely in the taste of him, until he is laughing against your mouth, helplessly overwhelmed by your sudden boldness.
The spell is suddenly broken by a massive, deafening explosion of cheers behind you.
“Yeah! Get the girl, Potter!”
“Attaboy!”
“Fleamont would be proud!”
(That you and James are highly doubtful of, quite sure that if either of your parents found out you were tucked away in a tavern kissing, they would both have a heart attack on the spot.)
James pulls away from the kiss, breathless and grinning like an idiot. He whips his head toward the crowd, throwing a playful, triumphant shout back at them over his shoulder, his cheeks completely flushed a bright, happy crimson.
Overwhelmed by the sudden attention and the dizzying reality of what just happened, you let out a shy laugh, burying your burning face directly into his chest. You slide tightly into James’s side on the narrow wooden bench, wrapping your arm around his waist.
“Are you okay?” he murmurs, his voice low enough just for you to hear. “I didn’t… I didn’t overstep, right?”
“No, James,” you cut him off gently, looking up at him with a soft smile. “I wanted to kiss you.”
A brilliant, breathless smile breaks across his face at your confession. Emboldened by the warmth in his eyes, you lean in a fraction closer, a sudden bout of nerves making your heart flutter. “Was I… was I a good kisser? That was actually my first kiss.”
James’s smile softens even further, his gaze melting completely. “The best kisser,” he whispers, bumping his forehead gently against yours. “The only girl I’ll ever kiss, actually.”
You instantly puff out your cheeks, playfully glaring up at him as you jab a finger into his chest. “You better not be snogging other women, James Potter.”
James lets out a bright, boisterous laugh, throwing his head back before catching your hand and pressing a quick kiss to your knuckles. “Never. I swear it.”
Flushed and thoroughly embarrassed by the public display of affection in front of a room full of rowdy men, you quickly get up from the bench. Desperate to hide your burning face, you drag a smiling James behind you. He follows willingly, his fingers tightly hooked in yours as you both step down from the small stage and slide back into your original seats at the table.
As soon as your boots settle under the wood, the bartender—the one with the hooked nose and heavy leather apron—waddles over with a wide, missing-toothed smile. He picks up your heavy plates of roasted meat and potatoes, quickly reheating them over the crackling hearth before setting them back down in front of you to finally eat.
“Your singing was absolutely amazing, you two,” he bellows, his rough voice surprisingly gentle as he nods at you both with immense pride. “Brought a tear to old Vladimir’s eye, it did! And that ain’t an easy feat.”
“Thank you.” you say, a genuine laugh bubbling up from your chest as you take a warm forkful of food.
For the next hour, any fear you had about the Snuggly Duckling completely evaporates. You spend the evening happily chatting with these incredibly lovely people, completely fascinated by how sweet, gentle, and utterly soft-hearted they all are despite their terrifying looks, massive scars, and weapon-laden belts.
You learn that the seven-foot man with the horned helmet actually has a passion for interior design, and the scarred mercenary who looked like he could snap a man’s neck with two fingers spends his free time collecting porcelain frogs.
They ask endless questions about your travels, giving you the warmest, most genuine advice about the road ahead, completely treating you and James like part of their strange, giant family. Sitting there, tucked safely into James’s side while the tavern hums with life, you realize you’ve never felt safer in a room full of strangers.
“So, what brings two young folks like you out to the borderlands anyway?” the seven-foot man in the horned helmet asks, leaning his massive elbows on the table and making the wood creak. “Not many travelers wander this close to the Astravel border.”
You take a sip of your wine, glancing at James with a mischievous spark in your eye. “Well, we’re actually headed to Solistia. We’re on a bit of a secret mission.”
“A secret mission!” the porcelain-frog-collecting mercenary gasps, his scarred face lighting up like a child on festival day. “Ooooh, sounds highly dangerous. Are you spies?”
“If I told you, it wouldn’t be a secret anymore, would it?” you tease, leaning forward in your seat. “But let’s just say we had to get out of our hometown rather quickly.”
James chuckles, shaking his head as he cuts into a piece of roasted meat. “We come all the way from Valenora. We had to pass right through Astravel to get here, and decided to visit this place before heading to the city.”
“Valenora!” the bartender shouts from behind the counter, slamming a clean mug down. “Blimey, that’s a trek! Sprawling place, that kingdom. Endless fields. But Astravel… nasty bit of territory, that one. All stone walls and grumpy guards. How long did it take ya to get past their lines?”
“Too long,” James says, his hand naturally finding your knee under the table and giving it a reassuring squeeze. “Though, the kingdom itself is so compact. Once we actually got moving, it only took us about two hours to leave the outer borders behind.”
“Aye, Astravel is just the city and its people, not much land area to speak of,” the horned-helmet man nods sagely. “Just a tight little cluster of paranoia, if you ask me. Glad you two made it out in one piece. So, this Solistia mission… is it a mission of the heart?” He winks broadly, gesturing between you and James.
You feel your cheeks flush hot all over again, but before you can stammer out an excuse, James just pulls you a little closer to his side, his boyish grin flashing. “Something like that,” he replies smoothly.
The entire table bursts into a chorus of deep, rumbling awwws and laughter, the terrifying thugs of the tavern looking completely reduced to a group of gossiping school friends as they eagerly push more wine and food toward you.
“Aye, but seriously though,” the mercenary with the porcelain frog collection says, leaning in with a deeply solemn, overly serious expression that makes his facial scars twist. “If you two are heading all the way into the deep wilds of Solistia on a… mission of the heart, as we’re calling it… you gotta be smart. Careful to use some barriers and protection on the road.”
James, who had just taken a rather large gulp of his wine, instantly freezes. His eyes widen in sheer horror behind his glasses, and a violent cough erupts from his throat as he nearly spits the dark liquid right across the table. He barely manages to swallow it, hacking loudly into his fist, his face turning a sudden, alarming shade of dark crimson.
You blink, looking between James’s near-choking state and the mercenary’s deadpan face. You look thoroughly confused. “Barriers? For what?”
James finally recovers his breath, his eyes darting around frantically as his hands wave in the air. “Oh, no, no, no, don’t—”
The horned-helmet man chuckles and leans over the table to explain it to you like a teacher explaining a textbook. “Well, little lady, it’s quite simple, really. So when a man’s huge penis gets into a lady’s vagi—”
“NOPE! Nope, nope! We are not doing this!” James yells over him, his voice cracking in panic as he throws his hand out to physically cut the man off.
The words connect in your brain, and a wave of embarrassment floods your entire body. Your jaw drops, wishing the wooden floorboards would open up and swallow you whole.
The mercenary just shrugs his massive, armored shoulders, looking entirely offended by James’s interruption. “What? It’s science! I’m just giving ‘em practical advice for the road! You gotta prevent the little Potters from running around before you’re ready!”
“Don’t worry, won’t happen and we don’t need advice!” James groans.
To mercifully save you both from dying of sheer mortification, the bartender steps in, leaning over the counter with a broad grin. “Alright, alright, leave the poor kids alone, you degenerates.”
You glance toward one of the frosted glass windows of the tavern and notice that the golden, amber light inside is no longer matching the outside. The sky has deepened into a rich, twilight purple, and the sun is beginning to rapidly set behind the distant canopy of the trees. The shadows of the forest are stretching long and dark.
You gently nudge James’s side, pointing toward the window. “Ah, look at the time,” James says, pushing himself up from the wooden bench. “We need to get back on the trail before the light completely dies out.”
He reaches into the leather pouch at his belt, pulling out a handful of silver coins and scattering them across the wooden table. “For the food, the wine, and the hospitality,” he says, nodding respectfully to the bartender. “Thank you all. Truly.”
You turn your attention to the corner of the table where Pascal has been happily residing for the last hour. The little green chameleon is currently sitting perfectly content, aggressively chewing on a tiny piece of crisp lettuce the bartender had given him, his little jaw working a mile a minute.
“Come on, Pascal,” you whisper softly, extending your hand. The reptile opens one swivel-eye, looks at you, and lazily scrambles up your wrist, settling himself right back into his favorite spot on your shoulder, still clutching a tiny fragment of green leaf in his mouth.
You stand up beside James, wrapping your cloak tightly around your shoulders as you look out at the sea of giant, imposing men who had felt like monsters just a few hours ago, but now felt like old friends.
“Goodbye, everyone,” you say, a bright, beautiful smile lighting up your face. “Thank you for everything.”
The entire tavern erupts into a chorus of very cheerful, booming voices.
“Goodbye, Margaret!”
“Good luck on your secret mission!”
“Keep that boy in line!”
“Safe travels to Solistia, you two! And don’t forget what I said about the protection!” the mercenary yells out with a massive wink, causing James to let out a defeated groan and quickly usher you toward the door.
“Visit us again if you’re ever back through the borderlands!” the bartender shouts, waving his rag as you both reach the exit.
With final waves and laughter, James pushes the heavy wooden door open, and the cool, crisp evening air hits your faces, a stark contrast to the smoky warmth of the Snuggly Duckling.
You gently stroke Pascal’s small, smooth head as he rides on your shoulder, his little tail curling contentedly against your neck. Nearby, James is already at the hitching post, thoroughly making sure the horses are ready for the final stretch. He unties Midnight and Maximus, lifting his leather saddlebag to pull out four crisp, red apples. He feeds two to Midnight and two to Maximus, rubbing their noses affectionately to prep them for the road ahead.
Solistia isn’t far now—only about an hour’s ride away, considering The Snuggly Duckling sits just outside its outermost borders.
In fact, as you peer through the thinning canopy of the woods, you can already see the silhouette of the kingdom and its massive, shimmering castle towering in the distance under the rising moon.
“Y/N! Ready to go?” James calls out, stepping back to lead Maximus toward you.
You smile, greeting your loyal horse with a soft stroke down his mane before eagerly hopping up onto the saddle. James mounts Midnight with a practiced, fluid motion, and with a gentle nudge of your boots, you both begin guiding the horses down the dirt path, following the road that leads straight into the new kingdom.
The quiet of the woods is a stark contrast to the roaring tavern, and the space between you suddenly feels thick with an entirely different kind of tension. James clears his throat, turning his head to look at you, a soft, slightly nervous smile playing on his lips. “So… about what happened back there…”
“Do you regret it, James?” you cut him off gently, holding his gaze in the dim moonlight.
His head whips around, and he shakes it immediately, his eyes wide behind his glasses. “No! No, absolutely not. I don’t. But… I was worried you did.”
You smile softly, the warmth from the tavern still humming in your veins. “I told you already, I don’t. I’ve wanted to do that for a very long time, James. I’ve just been denying it.”
James lets out a breath, a mixture of relief and intense affection softening his features. “There’s so much we need to talk about, you know. We still haven’t talked about what happened back at your ball.”
And there it is. James is finally addressing the near-kiss you both shared on your birthday ball, and the heavy confession he had been right on the verge of spilling before you were forced to drug him to escape.
But before you can even find the words to respond, James raises a hand, cutting you off with a gentle shake of his head. “But… there’s time to unpack all of that. Right now, our focus is heading into Solistia, finding this Marlene McKinnon, and figuring out the truth about your powers.”
You let out a soft sigh, your hands tightening slightly on the reins. “So you will wait until then?”
James looks at you, his golden eyes filled with an unyielding devotion that leaves you breathless. “I’ve waited years just to be by your side, Y/N. You know well enough I’d wait anytime for it… for you.”
He pauses, adjusting his grip on Midnight’s reins as he looks out over the valley. “But speaking of what comes next… what exactly do you expect to find in Solistia about your powers?”
“Honestly, I’m expecting to find answers to things that have never made sense to me,” you admit, your eyes tracking the distant, shimmering outline of the kingdom. “I’m hoping Marlene can tell me why I can make things heal with a touch, or why right after I’ve been poisoned by powers started releasing golden light.”
James listens intently, his features softening with profound empathy. “We’ll find out,” he promises quietly. “Together.”
As your horses continue their steady pace, you finally cross the threshold, officially stepping over the borders and into the kingdom of Solistia.
The moment you enter the city limits, the atmosphere completely shifts. Even though the sun has set, the streets are vibrant, bustling, and radiantly warm. Lanterns glowing in shades of amber, violet, and gold string across the cobblestone pathways.
There are vivid colors everywhere you look, dominated by the brilliant crest of Solistia—a magnificent, blazing sun symbol woven into banners, painted on shop signs, and carved into the wooden archways.
Because it is already late, you and James guide the horses through the crowded, winding streets, scanning the stone-faced storefronts until you finally spot a cozy, three-story building. A painted wooden banner swings gently over the cobblestones, illuminated by a nearby lantern: Rooms for Rent.
Relieved to finally have a safe haven after days of endless travel, you both head inside, quickly secure a room for the night from the sleepy innkeeper, and make your way up the creaking wooden stairs.
As soon as you cross the threshold of your quarters, the relief is instantaneous. You drop your heavy bags onto the floor with a thud, your shoulders relaxing for the first time in hours. Drawn by a cool breeze filtering through the glass, you walk toward the back of the room and push open the heavy double doors, stepping out onto a stone balcony.
The view takes your breath away.
The entire city unfolds beneath you like a sea of shimmering stars, completely full of glowing and vibrant light. Towering high above the bustling market squares sits the royal castle, and it is nothing short of breathtaking. Massive stone walls rise into the dark sky, built with high-sitting, intricately laid colored bricks that catch the city’s ambient glow like a mosaic of precious gems. It looks less like a fortress and more like a living, breathing work of art.
James steps out onto the balcony beside you, the cool night air rustling his hair as he leans his forearms against the stone railing.
He looks up, momentarily speechless as he takes in the sheer scale of the architecture, before turning his gaze to you. “Well, we are finally here in Solistia” he says softly. “Where exactly do we start the search tomorrow to find this Marlene McKinnon?”
A wide smile stretches across your face as a wave of pure joy and relief washes over you. Today had been a total rollercoaster—escaping Astravel, surviving a tavern full of mercenaries, and sharing your very first kiss with James. Your brain hadn’t even fully processed that kiss yet, but looking at the glittering city, the fear of the last few days completely vanishes.
Every terrifying second was worth the leap of faith you took.
“We head straight to the source,” you lift your hand and point your finger directly at the massive, heavily fortified royal castle towering in the distance. “There.”
James follows the line of your finger, as dread washes over his features, then, he lets out a long, defeated groan, burying his face in his hands.
“You’ve got to be kidding me.”
a/n: time for the long rant, folks!!!!
okay, first of all, let's go in chronological order because i have SO much to say.
one thing i don't think people really talk about enough is how complicated freedom actually is. princess spent her entire life trapped inside those castle walls. she was sheltered, isolated, lied to, and never really allowed to make a choice for herself. logically, escaping should've felt like relief. it should've felt like everything she'd ever wanted. but that's not how people work.
there's this quote that i absolutely love that says, "a bird born in a cage thinks flying is an illness." i think it captures her so perfectly. because despite everything, that castle was still her home. those hallways raised her and those gardens were where she spent her childhood, her brothers are there, even her parents, despite all the mistakes they've made, are still her parents. abuse and love are unfortunately not always mutually exclusive, and i really wanted to portray that complexity. leaving doesn't suddenly erase years of memories and it doesn't stop someone from missing the only life they've ever known.
so i honestly sympathize with her homesickness so much :( and i think that's one of my favourite things about james in this chapter; he doesn't judge her for it! he doesn't tell her she's being irrational or remind her of everything the palace did to her. instead, he simply listens and validates those feelings, and more importantly he gives her a choice !!!! he tells her that if she wants to go back, they can.
that moment was so important to me because that's the first real choice she's ever been given without manipulation attached to it. james isn't trying to convince her to stay or to leave, but is showing her that whatever she chooses to do he will be there to support her.
UGH. I LOVE THEM SO MUCH. AND THEN... ("You won’t ever have to find out what it’s like without me," he adds softly over his shoulder, throwing you one last reassuring glance before pulling a strap tight. "I promise.")
KILL MEEEEEEEE. HE'S SO FUCKING ROMANTIC I ACTUALLY CAN'T
it's so embarrassing because I'M the one writing him and yet i'll finish a paragraph, lean back in my chair, giggle like an idiot and think, "...yeah i'd fold too." like james potter, the man that you are.
ALSOOOOO!!!!! PASCAL!!!!! YAYYYYYYY!!!!!
i've been WAITING to introduce him. if you guys know me by now then you'll know i absolutely love sneaking little disney references throughout this series. we already had maximus, and now we've officially unlocked pascal!!!! the crew is finally complete <333
new pet acquired. mission accomplished. AND THEN... THE SNUGGLY DUCKLING!!!!!
i don't know why i was so excited to write that tavern, but i genuinely had SO much fun. writing all the different personalities, the atmosphere, the little nods to Tangled... it was honestly one of my favourite settings so far. the only difficult part was trying to write everyone's dialogue in a way that felt distinct without making the accents impossible to read 😭 BUT I THINK WE MADE IT.
and NOW... the biggest moment of the chapter. city of stars!!!!!!
GUYS ARE YOU KIDDING ME. i have been waiting to write this scene for what feels like FOREVER LOL
ever since i first started planning tcov, i knew i wanted music to become something deeply personal between james and princess. throughout the entire story they've danced around their feelings, buried them beneath duty, responsibility, fear, and every excuse imaginable. they've communicated through glances, touches, promises, sacrifices, and all the things left unsaid, but they've never truly allowed themselves to simply feel what has always existed between them. in a way, music became the one place where they couldn't hide from it.
and i think what makes this scene even more special is that their love for music comes from the exact same place.
it's been hinted at quite a few times throughout the story that, despite growing up in completely different worlds, euphemia is one of the few things james and princess genuinely share.
she taught them both how to play, how to sing, and how to find comfort in music long before they ever found comfort in each other. she's this thread that's been connecting their lives since childhood without either of them really realizing it.
so for them to sit there together, playing and singing a song that euphemia taught them, one that's literally about solistia, the city of stars, just feels so incredibly full circle to me. there's something almost bittersweet about it, because they're unknowingly sharing a piece of the same woman who shaped them both, even before their lives became intertwined.
i don't know, i just think that's such a beautiful way for them to fall in love. not through grand declarations or dramatic confessions, but through something that has always connected them, even when they didn't know it was there.
so yup, that's exactly what i wanted this scene to represent. it's the first time neither of them is thinking about kingdoms, politics, arranged marriages, guards, responsibilities, or everything waiting for them outside that little moment. for just a few minutes, they're simply james and a girl hopelessly falling in love.
for the first time princess stops trying to convince herself that what she's feeling is admiration, gratitude, friendship, or some silly little crush she'll eventually get over. she finally allows herself to admit the truth and that is she loves him and she wants to kiss him so badly.
except... years of being taught that duty comes before happiness doesn't disappear overnight. even when every part of her wants to close the distance between them, fear wins. everything she's been taught her entire life reaches out and pulls her back before she can make the choice for herself.
so... JAMES MAKES IT FOR HER. HE KISSES HER FINALLY.
IT ONLY TOOK US...(checks notes dramatically) ...around 150,000 words 😇
this slow burn has genuinely become the funniest thing i've ever written because i know some of you were seconds away from climbing through the screen and forcing them to kiss yourselves. i could practically hear some of you screaming, "JUST DO IT ALREADY."
well... YOU GOT YOUR KISS!!!!!
and i'm so unbelievably happy with how it turned out because i never wanted their first kiss to happen simply because they were attracted to one another. i wanted it to happen because there was absolutely no denying the love between them anymore. after everything they've survived together, everything they've sacrificed for one another, and every promise they've made along the way, it finally felt earned.
and as if that wasn't exciting enough... THEY FINALLY MADE IT TO SOLISTIA!!!!! which means we're officially entering one of my absolute favourite arcs in the entire series.
i cannot even begin to explain how excited i am for these next few chapters because this is where everything starts shifting. so many of the little details, hints, symbols, conversations, and seemingly random moments i've planted since the very beginning are finally going to start connecting together. there are huge lore reveals coming, long-awaited answers, and truths that have been sitting right in front of everyone from chapter one.
i've genuinely been waiting MONTHS to write this part of the story, so i really hope you all enjoy it as much as i've enjoyed planning it.
thank you all so much for reading and sticking with me through this ridiculously long journey. i genuinely can't express how grateful i am that so many of you have fallen in love with these characters alongside me.
as always, i'd absolutely LOVE to hear all your thoughts, favourite moments, and especially your theories because you guys somehow manage to come up with the most insane (and occasionally terrifyingly accurate) predictions LOL
until next time, stay safe, stay hydrated, stay healthy, and i'll see you all in the next chapter.
HEYY d!! im so loving your series TCOV its the best damn thing I've ever read. now I was wondering two things, around how many chapters till it ends and after it ends do you have any other project planned like a series or you're going back to writing one shots? love you and your writing 💞😻
HEYY LOVE!!! 💗 first of all, thank you so much!! that is genuinely such a huge compliment, i'm so happy you've been enjoying tcov 🥹
as for how long it'll be, i'm currently estimating around 25 chapters, maybe a little more depending on how the last arc ends up flowing. i'm actually already written up to around chapter 18, so we're officially getting closer to the end than the beginning now
and YES!! i already have another project planned for after tcov! it'll also be a series, but a much smaller one this time, probably around 6 chapters only, just because i don't think i can emotionally survive another monster like tcov straight away LMAOO
AND I'M SO EXCITED FOR IT.
i might as well spoil it... IT'S GONNA BE A POLY MARAUDERS SERIES YAYYYYYYY 🎉
i know tcov is very fantasy, royal, tangled-inspired with all the kingdoms and magic, but this next one will be the complete opposite. it's going to be a college AU inspired by To All the Boys I've Loved Before by Jenny Han, and i am SO excited to write it because it's been sitting in my brain for months now. i don't want to say too much yet because i don't want to accidentally spoil the whole thing before tcov is even finished but i seriously cannot wait to start sharing more about it
andddd... since i can't help myself... here's a little sneak peek at the masterlist heheh
Hi Dalia! I have been loving your TCOV and I was wondering how you do your world building SO well??
hope your doing well!!
hiii love!! first of all, i'm so sorry it took me this long to get around to replying to this. and thank you so much!! i'm so happy you've been enjoying tcov 🥹 so excuse the absolute long rant I had because answering this ask was so much fun and I love walking about tcov
honestly, a LOT of thinking and an unhealthy amount of daydreaming LMAOO
i also can't take all the credit because a huge amount of my inspiration came from amara's fic eldia. tcov has grown so much into its own thing now, but at its core it was heavily inspired by that story. at this point i always joke that tcov is basically fanfiction of a fanfiction 😭
i love taking little bits and pieces from stories i adore and then twisting them until they become something entirely different.
for example, the hallow vale was inspired by the forest from Brave where merida wanders through searching for the wisps. i loved how magical and ancient that place felt, like it had existed for centuries before the story ever began, and i wanted the vale to carry that same feeling
eryndor definitely started with winterfell and house stark in mind. i wanted a kingdom that felt colder, complex, honourable, where duty comes before almost everything else.
solistia is probably the easiest inspiration to spot because i took a lot from house martell and sunspear. i loved the warm colours, the sun symbolism, the desert landscapes, and the pride that runs through that kingdom - which a lot of it will be explored soon!
astravel, though, is probably my favourite because i took SO much inspiration from the targaryens and house black. i found there were actually so many similarities between them already. both are incredibly powerful families with a long, complicated history, both have this obsession with legacy and preserving their bloodline, both have deeply dysfunctional sibling and family relationships, and both possess something that no other great house has.
for the targaryens it's dragons, while for house black in my story it's their connection to ancient dark magic. even the whole family tree being a mess of incest 😭 definitely played into how i imagined astravel. i wasn't trying to recreate the targaryens, but i loved borrowing those underlying themes of power, legacy, isolation, and the weight of an infamous family name.
then there's valenora, which is honestly a love letter to house tyrell and house lannister. aesthetically and politically i leaned heavily into both. i loved how the tyrells present themselves with beauty, flowers, celebrations, elegance, and diplomacy, while underneath it all they're incredibly intelligent political players. then i mixed that with the lannisters' emphasis on legacy, family reputation, power, and the impossible expectations placed upon their children.
even some of the character dynamics draw from those houses. the sibling relationships, the responsibilities each child carries, the way appearances are maintained despite everything happening underneath... all of that definitely influenced how i approached valenora's royal family.
and then thalassia was imagined with house greyjoy somewhere in the back of my mind, although i softened it quite a bit. i loved the idea of a kingdom completely shaped by the sea, where the ocean isn't just scenery but an essential part of its culture, history, and identity.
so yeah, tcov is honestly just one giant love letter to everything i've ever loved <3 disney movies, game of thrones, fantasy novels, other fanfiction, mythology, pinterest boards, music, and just random ideas that refused to leave my head
also, making a map helped SO much in the world building because once i could physically see where everything was, the politics and travelling suddenly became a hundred times easier to write. having valenora, solistia, thalassia, astravel, eryndor and all the surrounding regions laid out made the world feel real instead of just existing in my head.
tcov is probably the most self-indulgent thing i've ever written. i was genuinely maladaptive daydreaming about this story from around october 2025, constantly making up scenes, conversations, bits of lore, and random little details lol
then around february this year i was like "you know what? i should probably just write this thing and get it out of my head." and here we are ;)
so honestly my biggest advice is to spend time with your world outside of writing. daydream about it. ask yourself random questions about how things work. make maps, family trees, traditions, politics, religions, anything that makes it feel like the world existed long before chapter one began. half the worldbuilding in tcov never even makes it onto the page, but i know it's there, and i think that helps make the world feel more alive
thank you again for such a lovely question, and i'm really happy you've been enjoying the series 💗
synopsis: James Potter, a soldier of the royal guard, is assigned to protect the princess at all costs. His new duty proves far harder than he imagined, for the princess has a habit of doing exactly what she’s not supposed to, and hiding a secret no one must uncover.
tags: princess x bodyguard, forbidden love, royal fantasy world, violence, graphic scenes, smut, slow burn.
current word count: 139k
character introduction map playlist moodboard
chapters:
01 ✴︎ beginning of the end
02 ✴︎ a caged bird
03 ✴︎ of magic and secrets
04 ✴︎ flower of fate
05 ✴︎ breaking the cage
06 ✴︎ the parade
07 ✴︎ the last evening
08 ✴︎ there's escape in escaping
09 ✴︎ leap of faith
10 ✴︎ runaway
11 ✴︎ a free bird
12 ✴︎ into the unknown
13 ✴︎ astravel
14 ✴︎ high risk, high reward
taglist: open (comment to be added)
series inspired by: tangled, eldia by yagamidiary on wattpad (omg she’s so talented, check her work), brave, and game of thrones
note: if you’d like, you can find this series on ao3 under the same username (colouredbyd)
series summary: James Potter, a soldier of the royal guard, is assigned to protect the princess at all costs. His new duty proves far harder than he imagined, for the princess has a habit of doing exactly what she’s not supposed to, and hiding a secret no one must uncover.
chapter summary: Your dangerous plan leads you and James straight to Prince Regulus, uncovering the dark secrets hidden in the heart of Astravel and in the House of Black. (10.7k)
tags: nsfw, female masturbation, wetness, fingering, sexual frustration, dirty talk, mentions of genitalia, climaxing, trespassing into royal grounds, threats of execution, heavy discussions of family dysfunction and domestic abuse, emotional trauma, mentions of banishment, exile, depictions of black magic, political corruption, manipulation.
series masterlist map playlist moodboard
You wake up to the sound of running water. The sun is already up, spilling bright light through the small window.
You stretch out beneath the heavy furs, realizing for the first time just how incredibly well you slept. The bed here is a massive upgrade from that miserable, lumpy cot at the village tavern you two passed through two days ago.
(Considering you and James had been running on pure adrenaline and zero sleep for forty-eight hours straight before this, you probably could have slept on a bed of jagged rocks and still considered it a fit for royalty.)
You finally push yourself out of bed, knowing you need to get ready for the day and mentally prepare to sneak into the palace tonight. But as your feet hit the floorboards, you freeze.
The washroom door is cracked open just a few inches. Steam is curling out into the cooler air of the bedroom, and through the gap, you have a perfect, unobstructed view of James taking a shower. Completely naked.
The wise thing to do would be to turn around, ignore it, and give him privacy. But your feet feel glued to the floor. You are completely stuck staring wide-eyed as the hot water drops stream down his skin.
Because he is turned away from the door, you can’t see his face or his—well, private parts—but his back and everything else are on full display.
And fuck. You knew James was fit—you’ve seen him fight—but seeing him stripped bare is entirely different. His back muscles are thick, incredibly bulky, and covered in a deep, sun-kissed tan. Heavy, jagged scars run across his broad shoulders and ribs from years of brutal guard training.
This is the very first time you’ve ever seen a man naked, and the raw sight of him sets the pit of your stomach absolutely on fire. Without even realizing it, you press your thighs tight together.
Oh god, what are you doing?
The sudden urges hit you like a physical blow. It’s exactly like last night, when his stiff, hard body was pressed so close to you in the dark. It feels so wrong—so fucking bad because you are a royal princess and he is just a guard. You aren’t supposed to be attracted to him. It breaks every rule you’ve ever been taught.
Except, you can’t help it. You can’t turn it off. James is just so intensely kind. He’s understanding, caring, and impossibly bright. In the middle of all this darkness and running, he is a relentless ray of sunshine that you suddenly realize you just can’t live without.
Your breathing turns shallow and heavy in the quiet room. With your mind entirely short-circuiting, you do the only thing your body demands. Unable to pull your eyes away from the slide of water over his back muscles, you slowly sink back onto the edge of the mattress.
You reach down, your fingers trembling slightly as you lift the hem of your silk gown. Slipping your hand between your thighs, you slowly start to touch your body, closing your eyes and desperately imagining that the rough, heavy hands touching you belong to him.
You run a trembling hand across your stomach, your skin hot to the touch as your breath catches in your throat. The raw, electric sensation ripples straight through you, making your chest tighten. It’s the very first time you’ve ever let yourself explore these feelings, and the sheer intensity of it makes your head spin.
Then, the sound of the water changes.
Through the narrow crack in the door, you watch as James turns slightly to wash his hair. He’s in profile now, a perfect side view that leaves absolutely nothing to the imagination. The heavy stream of water beats down on his dark, wet curls as he runs his hands through them, causing the thick muscles of his biceps and shoulders to flex and bunch with every movement.
Your eyes track lower, and your heart violently thumps against your ribs. The sight of him—completely bare, thick, and fully aroused from the morning heat—sends a massive wave of heat straight between your legs.
Reaching beneath the fabric of your underwear, your fingers brush against your sensitive skin, finding yourself completely, slickly soaked. The wetness is entirely new, a shocking testament to just how badly your body is craving him. As you slide two fingers down the tight heat of your folds, a sharp, involuntary moan slips past your lips, echoing softly in the bedroom.
The pleasure is immediate and overwhelming. You lose yourself in the rhythm, experimenting with the pressure as you slide your fingers along your wet slit, occasionally frictioning the sensitive bundle of nerves at the top.
Your eyes stay locked on the bathroom door, tracking the heavy movement of James’s body under the water, your mind completely consumed by the fantasy of his weight pressing you down into the mattress. From this angle you can see his entire frame, including his cock, which hangs heavily.
The heat in the room is suffocating, and the desperate urge to have him near eclipses every shred of your restraint. It’s as if a switch has flipped in your mind, scattering all logic until your thoughts are reduced to a raw, singular craving: wanting James to touch you, to spread you wide open, to sink his fingers into you right where you’re aching for him.
The need is animalistic, a wild, predatory instinct that leaves you breathless.
Tracking the silhouette of his frame through the steam and the cascading shower water, you slide a finger deep inside your own slick heat.
A sharp, needy moan hitches in your throat, and you slam your free hand over your mouth to smother the sound. You friction against yourself, your pace turning frantic as the pressure builds to a fever pitch.
Your hips tilt automatically, chasing the friction, the heavy coil of a climax rushing toward you so fast it makes your knees weak. The world outside the glass completely vanishes, your entire mind dissolving into a desperate, white-hot rush of James, James, James.
You squeeze your eyes shut, the sensation of his heavy frame pinning you down into the mattress becoming vividly real. In the dark behind your eyelids, you imagine James hovering over you, his hands framing your face as he devours your mouth, his tongue mirroring the relentless thrust of his cock as he drives himself deep inside your soaking cunt.
You picture him filling you completely, stretching you open until there is absolutely no space left between you, moving with a devastating slowness that is so incredibly gentle, yet agonizingly deep.
In your mind, his voice drops to a rough, breathless whisper against your neck, his lips brushing your skin as the words spill out of him. “Look at you… you’re so beautiful like this, Y/N. So fucking good for me.”
The illusion of his voice breaks the last of your restraint. You slide two fingers deeper inside your dripping wetness, stretching yourself as you push inward, trying to replicate that bottoming-out sensation you can see so clearly in your head.
You move your fingers in a hard, frantic rhythm, your hips rolling up to meet the pressure as you imagine him sinking into you, taking his time to stretch you apart.
“You’re mine,” he murmurs in your mind, his imaginary grip tightening on your hips as he thrusts deep against your core. “Every single part of you belongs to me. Only me.”
The possessive words wind the tight, electric coil inside you to a searing, unbearable peak. The friction is blinding, and as the climax finally ruptures over you in violent, pulsing spasms, your hips twitch helplessly against your hand. You shove your knuckles deep into your mouth, biting down hard to choke back the loud, undone screams of your release as your walls squeeze tightly around your empty fingers.
Your core twitches with aftershock spasm, gushing out another warm wave of wetness into your underwear now that you’ve finally cummed.
Oh god. It was easily the best feeling you’ve ever experienced, leaving you completely spent, your skin tingling and your heart hammering wildly against your ribs.
You let out a shaky, trembling sigh, panting heavily as you try to catch your breath.
Then, the sudden silence hits you.
The spray of the shower water has abruptly stopped. Through the fogged-up glass, you see the dark silhouette of James’s frame moving, stepping out of the stall, followed by the faint rustle of him pulling on his clothes.
Panic instantly jolts through your veins, breaking the last remnants of your post-climax haze. Fuck, fuck, fuck.
You scramble backward, your limbs moving in a frantic blur. Heart in your throat, you immediately begin tearing your fingers through your hair to smooth down your appearance, desperately wiping the slick sheen of sweat from your forehead and temples.
Your heart is hammering against your ribs as the hem of your silk nightgown is quickly pulled down to your ankles, and with shaky hands you smooth out the wrinkled fabric. A quick rush to the small mirror follows, fingers running through your hair to make it look normal. It takes everything to swallow down the heavy breathing, desperately trying to catch a breath before he steps out.
Just as you manage to turn around, smoothing the front of your gown one last time, the washroom door swings fully open.
James walks out, fully dressed in his standard tunic and trousers, though his heavy guard armor is still slung over the chair. His dark curls are damp and clinging to his forehead, and he’s wiping the back of his neck with a smaller cloth.
He stops in his tracks the moment he catches sight of you. He takes in your wide, panicked eyes, your flushed face, and the way you are practically vibrating on the spot. “Oh,” James says, his voice a little raspy from the morning air. “You’re awake. Good morning.”
He looks you up and down, noting the sheer, frantic energy radiating off you. “What’s going on? You look…panicked. Are you alright?”
“I’m fine!” you blurt out, your voice a little too high. You force a bright, completely unnatural smile onto your face, smoothing your hands down your sides for the twentieth time. “Perfectly fine! Just… woke up a bit startled by the wind. It’s a beautiful morning, isn’t it?”
James stands there for a moment, the damp cloth hanging loosely from his hand. He looks at you, his eyes narrowing slightly in suspicion. “Yeah… it’s a nice day,” he says slowly, his tone dripping with skepticism.
He tosses the cloth onto the back of the chair and takes a slow step closer to you. The sudden proximity makes your chest tighten, the lingering heat from just moments ago flaring up all over again. He stops just a couple of feet away, crossing his arms over his chest, his gaze locking onto yours.
“You know, Y/N,” he murmurs, his voice dropping into a lower, teasing register, “you’re a terrible liar. What were you doing? Something you weren’t supposed to?”
“No!” you deny immediately, your voice squeaking slightly. You instinctively take a half-step back, your hands gripping the fabric of your gown. “I wasn’t doing anything. I told you, I just woke up suddenly.”
“Really?” James tilts his head, a glimmer of playful defiance in his eyes as he steps into your space again. “Because, I don’t know… you seem like you’re hiding something. Your hands are shaking, and you’re practically jumping out of your skin.”
“I am not hiding anything, James. It’s just warm in here,” you insist, desperately trying to keep your voice steady. Before he can press you any further and see right through your flimsy defense, you sidestep him entirely. “I need to get ready. Excuse me.”
You practically dive into the washroom, slamming the door shut behind you and leaning your back against the heavy wood. You let out a long, shaky breath, your heart thumping wildly against your ribs.
Oh god. You press your cool hands against your burning cheeks, completely mortified.
There is no way you were just doing that. There is no way you were just touching yourself to the thought of James—your guard, your protector—while he was just a few feet away. The sheer humiliation of it makes you want to melt into the floorboards.
If he ever found out, you would simply have to walk straight into a grave, burying yourself to escape the embarrassment.
Forcing yourself to focus, you turn on the water, stepping into the shower to wash away the sticky evidence of your morning. You scrub your skin quickly, trying to drown out the memory of his broad, scarred back in the rushing water.
Once you finish, you dry off and pull on your traveling clothes, making sure every button and strap is securely fastened. You take a deep breath, steeling your expression into one of absolute royal composure, and step back out into the main room.
James is already by the table, packing the last of your rations into the leather saddlebags. He looks up as you enter, completely professional again, though his eyes linger on you for a second too long to make sure you’re alright.
“Good, you’re ready,” James says, hoisting the bags onto his shoulder. “We need to move quickly. The man sent by Pandora—Barty—is going to meet us just outside her shop. He knows the secret passages into the palace, but he won’t wait around if we’re late.”
You sling your pack over your shoulder, doing your best to push the mortifying memories of the morning completely out of your mind. James leads the way, his hand resting casually on the hilt of his sword as you both step out of the inn and into the crisp, bustling morning air.
You navigate the winding streets until you reach the unassuming storefront of Pandora’s shop. Waiting just outside, leaning casually against the stone wall with his arms crossed, is a man who immediately stands out from the morning crowd. He has a sharp, almost predatory waggishness about him. His hair is pitch black, broken up by striking, vibrant streaks of green, and dark, intricate tattoos crawl up his neck and disappear beneath his collar.
As soon as he spots the two of you approaching, a highly mischievous, knowing grin spreads across his face. “Ahh, Margaret and James,” he drawls, pushing off the wall. He uses the fake name you and James agreed upon, his sharp eyes flicking between the two of you with intense curiosity. “Nice to finally meet you. I’m Barty Crouch Jr.”
“Pandora said you could get us inside,” James says, his tone completely no-nonsense, stepping slightly in front of you.
“Straight to business. I like it,” Barty chuckles, though his eyes remain perfectly calculated. He jerks his head toward a narrow, shadowed passage between two buildings. “Follow me. Let’s get you out of the open.”
You and James follow Barty down the cobblestone alleyway, which twists away from the main street and opens into a small, secluded courtyard. Waiting in the shadows are two large, stoic men. At their feet lie two heavy canvas sacks, metallic clinking echoing slightly as they shift.
Barty crouches down, unzipping the heavy canvas sacks. He pulls out a set of standard royal guard breastplates, tossing them onto the cobblestones.
“Here’s the play,” Barty says, his voice dropping to a low, intense murmur as he looks between you and James. “You both are going in disguised as Royal Guards. It’s the only way you’re getting past the outer gates without an immediate interrogation. We’re striking during the midday shift rotation at the western gate. The guards are tired, the new shift is eager to get inside, making it easy to slip a couple of new faces into the ranks.”
James steps forward, crouching to inspect the stitching on the leather under-armor. “And once we’re past the gates? The western courtyard is usually crawling with sentries.”
“Which is exactly why you aren’t going through the courtyard,” Barty replies, a sharp, knowing smirk cutting across his face. “You’re going to avoid the main areas entirely and stick to the servant corridors that run parallel to the armory. They’re narrow, mostly empty this time of day, and they bypass the secondary checkpoints. That leads you straight to the service stairs.”
You step closer, looking at the polished steel of the armor. “And Prince Regulus? Where exactly will he be?”
“At his private study,” Barty says, his eyes gleaming. “Upper east wing. It’s heavily guarded, but with those uniforms and a little bit of confidence, you can walk right up to the secondary landing. Getting inside the room is your problem, but I’ll get you to the door.”
James lifts one of the heavy steel chestpieces, testing its weight before nodding slowly. “It’s a solid route. Since we will figure out the layout of those inner corridors. Once we’re in, we can take it from there.”
Barty suddenly holds up a single tattooed finger, his waggish grin returning, though it holds absolutely no warmth this time. “Hold on, big guy. I hate to say it, but I’m gonna be with you through it all,” Barty says, stepping directly into James’s space.
The two men stare each other down, the tension in the narrow alley instantly spiking as James tenses his broad shoulders. Barty doesn’t flinch. “I trust Pandora with my life, and if she says you two are alright, then I believe her. But I don’t trust you.”
Barty shifts his sharp, green-streaked gaze directly to you, his dark eyes narrowing in the dim light of the alley. “How am I to know you won’t, say… try to assassinate the prince the second you get him alone? You want to see Regulus, you do it with me breathing down your necks. Deal?”
Before you can even open your mouth, a heavy shadow slips over you. James takes a step forward, positioning his frame right between you and Barty. His hand rests naturally on the pommel of his sword, his stance completely locked into one fiercely protective you know so well.
“Watch your tone,” James warns, his voice dropping into a low, dangerous tone. “You’re speaking to a lady. And if we wanted to kill the prince, Crouchy, we wouldn’t have wasted our time tracking his people down for a chat.”
And, well, if this doesn’t help the already apparent attraction you have for James, him defending you and being protective definitely makes matters harder for your poor heart to move on.
(Screw you, James Fleamont Potter, for being so charming, kind, gentlemanly, attractive—and that’s it. Stop looking at his shoulders. Focus.)
You peek around James’s shoulder, letting out a sharp, mocking scoff as you cross your arms tightly over your chest. “Oh, please. What we actually want is to deliver a vital message from his brother. That is all. We don’t have time for your paranoia.”
Barty rolls his eyes dramatically, entirely unfazed by James’s threat or your indignation. “Yeah, yeah, whatever you say,” he sneers, though his eyes dart warily back to James’s unyielding form. “I don’t really care about your family drama. I just care about keeping my own head attached to my shoulders.”
With a harsh grunt, Barty hoists the heavy canvas bags off the ground, stepping forward to dump the contents into your arms. Instantly, James’s arm shoots out, intercepting the heavy weight before it can even brush against you, taking the brunt of the gear himself.
“Here,” Barty grumbles, glaring at James’s protective intervention. “Take the gear. Follow me, and keep your mouths shut.”
You and James follow him down another dizzying twist of overlapping alleys until he abruptly stops outside a secluded, dead-end courtyard shielded by a crumbling stone archway. Barty turns on his heel, gesturing to the small space. “Change here. Strip down, put the uniforms on, and leave your personal bags outside the crates. We travel light from here.”
“Turn around,” James orders Barty flatly, his brown eyes narrowing behind his lenses.
Barty puts his hands up with a mocking chuckle, turning his back completely to lean against the brick wall. “Relax, Potter. I’m not looking at your girl.”
James stays rooted in place, a solid, human shield blocking Barty’s line of sight entirely as he nods gently to you. “Go ahead, Margaret. I’ve got you covered.”
You offer him a grateful smile and step deep into the shadows of the stone archway to change, pulling off your travel clothes and stepping into the thick, rigid layers of the royal guard uniform. The leather under-armor is stiff, and the steel breastplate is incredibly heavy, pressing down on your shoulders with an unfamiliar, grounding weight.
Fastening the final buckles and adjusting the heavy belt, you look down at yourself. You feel entirely different—stripped of your regular clothes and cloaked in steel.
You step back into the center of the alley just as James finishes strapping on his heavy gauntlets. Because he was already a guard back in Valenora, the structure of the armor isn’t much different on him—only the deep colors and the sharp crest of Astravel are different, making his broad shoulders look even more imposing.
But the moment James looks up and takes you in, his movements freeze completely. His jaw visibly drops.
He stands paralyzed for a second, his eyes sweeping over the rigid lines of the armor on your body, completely shocked by the transformation.
A boyish smile slowly breaks across his face. He steps closer to you, ignoring Barty entirely as his voice drops to a low, intimate whisper that sends a shiver right down your spine. “I have to admit…” James murmurs, his eyes crinkling behind his glasses as he reaches out to gently adjust the collar of your heavy breastplate. “You look quite good dressed as a soldier.”
You offer him a smug, knowing smile, tilting your chin up. “Oh, I know. And I already have experience. I’ve hit one with a pan before, remember?”
He bursts out laughing, the sudden, booming sound echoing in the narrow alley before he quickly catches himself and muffles it with a hand over his mouth, his eyes crinkling with amusement.
Oh, great. There goes your heart doing backflips. Why does James laughing leave you so completely breathless?
(It’s fine, perfectly fine. It’s definitely just the adrenaline from the high-stakes mission and absolutely nothing else at all.)
“Alright, lovers, wrap it up,” Barty cuts in, rolling his eyes as he motions toward a plain, covered black carriage that has just pulled up to the edge of the alley. “Get in.”
You and James climb into the cramped, dimly lit interior of the carriage, sitting closely opposite Barty as the horses spark into a sudden trot, heading directly toward the towering spires of Grimmauld Castle. The ride is bumpy, and the heavy metal of your armor clinks with every jolt.
“You know, if you clink any louder, the palace guards are going to think we’re transporting a sack of loose silverware,” Barty remarks dryly, shifting his legs.
“It’s the fit, not the soldier,” you whisper-talk back, leaning across the small gap to narrow your eyes at him. “Maybe if your kingdom invested in proper tailoring instead of whatever this is, we’d be silent.”
Barty lets out a sharp, dry whistle, his lips curling into a mocking grin. “Oh, the miss has claws. Trust me, sweetheart, the armor works just fine when you aren’t shaking in your boots.”
James’s jaw tightens instantly. His shoulder presses firmly against yours, steadying you through a particularly harsh bump of the carriage while his arm subtly locks around your waist to anchor you.
He leans his head down, his lips brushing the shell of your ear as he whispers, “Don’t waste your breath on him. He’s just trying to get under your skin.”
“I can hear you, Potter,” Barty snaps, leaning forward suddenly. His green-streaked hair falls into his eyes as the playful smirk vanishes from his face, replaced by a cold, deadly seriousness. “And you both need to stop acting like you’re on a stroll. Listen to me very carefully, because if you mess this up, we all end up on the executioner’s block.”
You and James both straighten up, the bickering instantly dying as Barty leans in closer, his dark eyes locking onto yours.
“When the carriage stops, we have exactly three minutes during the western guard rotation,” Barty explains in a harsh whisper, repeating the layout he’d mapped out earlier. “You follow two paces behind me. Do not look the other sentries in the eye. If anyone speaks to you, you keep your chin down and let me do the talking. Got it?”
“We know the drill, Crouchie,” James whispers back, his voice steady, his protective grip on your waist tightening just a fraction. “What about the servant corridors?”
“We bypass the main hall entirely,” Barty presses on, his words cutting fast through the dark space of the carriage. “It’s a straight shot up the narrow spiral stairwell near the kitchens. It’s tight and it’s dark, and there are no guard posts there during the dinner hour. That is your only window to get to Regulus’s quarters.”
You nod firmly, the gravity of the situation settling deep into your chest as you burn every single detail of the shift change into your mind.
James shifts on the bench, the heavy metal of his new armor groaning slightly as he inches closer to you. He leans in until his shoulder brushes against yours, his gaze locked on the window before he turns his head to whisper lowly into your ear, his voice barely audible over the rattling of the wheels.
“Okay,” James murmurs, his brow furrowed with intense focus. “After we get in… what then? How the hell are you gonna get information about your powers from a prince? We’re taking a massive risk just stepping through those gates.”
You glance across the cramped carriage at Barty, who is busy looking out the opposite flap, before leaning your head closer to James.
“Obviously, I can’t tell Regulus that I’m a princess, or that I have powers,” you whisper back, keeping your voice steady and confident. “But I have a plan. Regulus is known for being meticulous with the castle archives. We aren’t going to ask him directly about me. We’re going to use the message from his brother as leverage.”
James tilts his head, listening intently. “Leverage? How? We don’t have an actual letter, Y/N. Sirius didn’t write him anything. We’re using the claim of a message just to get through the door—but the second Regulus asks to see it, the lie falls apart. What’s the play once we’re face-to-face with him?”
You take a stabilizing breath, glancing briefly toward Barty to ensure he’s still distracted by the passing streets outside his window before turning back to James.
“I know we don’t have a physical letter,” you whisper back, your eyes sharp with focus. “But we have something better: the truth about Sirius’s current situation, which Regulus is desperate to know. I’m going to use his own paranoia and his obsession with security against him.”
James’s brow furrows as he leans in closer, his voice dropping to a harsh, hurried murmur. “Explain. Quickly.”
“I’ll tell Regulus that to fully understand the threat his brother is warning him about, we need to cross-reference the historical records of the realm—specifically the old lineage texts and manifestos detailing how magical anomalies were suppressed in the past.”
“You think he’ll just hand over restricted texts?” James asks, a mix of caution and genuine admiration in his eyes.
“I’ll convince him that the answer to his brother’s warning is buried in them,” you whisper, a confident smirk touching your lips. “He has the authority to pull those records right then and there. Once they’re in front of us, I’ll find exactly what I need about my powers.”
James tilts his head, his brow furrowing as he processes your words. “A rogue surge? Regulus isn’t an idiot, Y/N. If we just make up some random magical anomaly, he’s going to demand immediate proof or coordinate with his own mages to verify it instantly. If they run a scan and find nothing, we’re dead before we can even blink.”
“Which is why we aren’t making it up,” you whisper back, leaning in so close your lips nearly brush his ear to keep Bartyfrom catching a single syllable. “We’re going to link it directly to what happened to the Vale.”
James freezes, his eyes locking onto yours as the gravity of your words sinks in. The destruction and strange phenomena surrounding the Vale would be terrifyingly real, and completely unexplained to the outside world.
“Think about it,” you urge. “The news of a part of the Vale’s collapse has already reached the capital, and Regulus is undoubtedly losing his mind trying to figure out what caused it. I’m going to tell him that there is a direct connection between the magic erased and a specific ancient relic—one tied to the realm’s oldest magical lineages.”
A look of sudden realization dawns on James’s face. The tension in his jaw slackens slightly as he nods. “That gets the suspicions completely off our backs. It gives us an airtight reason for why we’re here without a letter, and it perfectly plays into his paranoia. He’ll want to know what caused the Vale’s destruction more than anything.”
“Exactly,” you agree, nodding sharply. “To protect Grimmauld from suffering the same fate, he’ll need to cross-reference the energy signatures from the Vale with the restricted archives on the realm’s ancient magic. He will pull those records himself to analyze the threat. And while he’s looking for a weapon, I’ll be reading those exact same pages to find the answers about what is happening inside me.”
James lets out a low, rough laugh, the sound vibrating through his chest as he shakes his head in genuine amazement. He looks at you for a long moment, a proud, almost fierce glint in his dark eyes.
“You’re brilliant,” he murmurs, his voice thick with admiration. “You really are so damn smart, Princess. Mapping out a political bluff like that using the Vale as a shield… it’s a hell of a strategy.”
But then, the softness in his expression shifts. The proud smile fades into a serious, calculating line as his tactical training kicks right back in. James doesn’t just survive on luck; he is a vanguard guard for a reason, and his eyes sharpen as he looks you up and down, dissecting the plan with the cold precision of a seasoned soldier. He leans back slightly against the carriage bench, crossing his arms over his heavy steel breastplate.
“But we have to look at the gaps,” James says, his voice dropping an octave, dead serious now. “Because Regulus is a tactician, and if we treat him like a regular academic, we’re going to end up in a dungeon. You’ve got the why covered, but we need to tighten up the how.”
You blink, shifting under his intense gaze. “What did I miss?”
“First off, the logistics of the meeting,” James explains, tapping a gauntleted finger against his armored forearm. “If we walk in there claiming Sirius sent us verbally to avoid intercept, Regulus’s very first question isn’t going to be about the magic. It’s going to be about Sirius. He’ll want to know exactly where his brother is, who he’s hiding with, and what his current physical state is. If you hesitate for even a second on those details, he’ll know we’re lying.”
You furrow your brow, the weight of the steel chestplate suddenly feeling heavier. “I can improvise. I know what Sirius is like.”
“Improvising with a Black will get us killed,” James counters firmly, his golden eyes unyielding behind his glasses. “I’ve spent enough time around high-ranking nobles to know how they interrogate. You need to let me handle that part of the conversation. I know Sirius’s movements, I know the layout of the outer borders where he’s been operating, and I can paint a picture of his survival that Regulus will actually buy. Deal?”
You nod slowly, realizing the weight of his words. “You’re right. He’ll want a status report before he believes the warning.”
“Exactly,” James says, his eyes narrowing as he thinks ahead. “Second problem: the archives themselves. Regulus isn’t just going to hand you a book and let you sit in a corner to read while he stands there. If he pulls those restricted texts to cross-reference the Vale’s energy signatures, he’s going to be looking at them with you. He’ll be analyzing the pages, asking for your input, and watching your eyes to see what you’re focusing on.”
James leans in closer, his shoulder pressing firmly against yours, his presence commanding and protective. “If he catches you staring at pages regarding internal power awakening, or bloodline manifestation, instead of weaponized relics, the game is up.”
James whispers as he makes sure Barty is still distracted. “So, here’s what we do: I am going to act as the distraction inside the study. Once the records are on the table, I will purposely bring up a flaw in the palace’s western border security—something real. That will give you a window of maybe two, three minutes tops to scan the texts without his eyes on you. You need to be fast, Y/N. Find what you need, memorize it, and close the book.”
You swallow hard, the reality of the danger pressing down on you. “Two minutes. I can do that.”
“Good,” James says, his gaze softening just a fraction as he reaches out, his heavy, gauntleted hand gently resting over yours, squeezing your fingers with a steady, grounding warmth. “And the last thing—if the bluff fails, or if he pieces together who you really are, you do not use your powers. Not unless I give the word. Grimmauld Castle is lined with anti-magic wards, and if you flare up in there, the whole guard rotation will descend on us in seconds.”
James’s face becomes serious once again. “If things go sideways, you drop to the floor, you stay behind me, and you let my blade clear the exit. I’m your shield in there. Do you trust me?”
Before you can answer, Barty suddenly raps his knuckles loudly against the carriage wall, breaking the heavy silence between you both.
“Alright, break it off, you two,” Barty calls out, peering through the small window as the carriage slows down to a crawl.
The shadow of the massive obsidian gates finally swallows the carriage whole. “We’re entering the outer courtyard. The midday shift change is starting. Put your helmets on, tuck your hair away, and get ready to play your parts. Don’t screw up.”
The carriage doors creak open, and the freezing, damp air of the outer courtyard hits you like a physical blow. Barty steps out first, his posture instantly shifting from casual arrogance to the crisp, rigid stance of a castle insider. He jerks his chin, signaling for you and James to follow.
Stepping into Grimmauld Castle is like walking into the belly of a sleeping beast. The structure is absolutely massive, built from jagged blocks of dark, light-absorbing obsidian and deep grey stone.
High above, vaulted ceilings lose themselves in the shadows, and the narrow, arched windows let in barely a fraction of the overcast daylight. There is no warmth here; no vibrant tapestries, no gold trim, barely a single hint of color to break up the monochromatic oppressive gloom.
Barty leads the way, weaving through the grand entryways just as the midday shift change throws the lower levels into a state of structured chaos.
Dozens of guards clad in the same steel uniforms march past, their armored boots rhythmically clacking against the stone floor.
The moment you enter the crowd, a wave of anxiety threatens to choke you, but a heavy, solid warmth presses right against your side.
James is there. He has positioned himself perfectly, walking just a half-step behind you, his broad frame acting as a physical shield between you and the passing soldiers. Through the narrow slit of his helmet, you can see his dark eyes scanning every single face, every doorway, and every shadow.
His hand hovers a mere inch above the hilt of his sword, his entire body wound tight like a coiled spring, ready to snap the moment anyone looks at you for a second too long.
Barty suddenly ducks to the left, slipping through a heavy iron-reinforced wooden door that leads into the servant corridors. You and James follow closely behind, the heavy door clicking shut and cutting off the echoing thunder of the main guard barracks.
“Keep your heads down and keep moving,” Barty mutters over his shoulder, his voice a low, raspy hiss as he navigates the labyrinth of narrow, unadorned stone hallways. “These tunnels run right behind the main halls. The servants use them to transport laundry and food. Just look like you’re on a routine security sweep.”
The air in these corridors is thick with the smell of burning candles and damp stone. Soon enough, the quiet is broken by the hurried footsteps of palace staff.
A group of maids carrying heavy baskets of linens rushes past, their heads bowed low, avoiding eye contact with the “guards.”
As they pass, the corridor narrows significantly. One of the servants, burdened by a massive tray of silver platters, stumbles slightly, veering directly toward you.
Before she can collide with your armored shoulder, James’s arm shoots out. His gauntleted hand firmly grips your waist, seamlessly pulling you flush against his side and out of the servant’s path. James handles your armored weight with effortless strength, his body completely absorbing the movement as he pins you protectively against the wall until the corridor clears.
He leans his helmet down, his hot breath brushing against the side of your neck through the gaps in your armor. “You alright?” he whispers.
“I’m fine,” you breathe back, your heart hammering from the sudden, intoxicating proximity. “Keep going.”
As he lingers for a fraction of a second too long, you look up and notice a few stray, dark curls of hair escaping from the back of his rigid armor. Without thinking, you reach up, your fingers gently tucking the soft strands back into place for him.
James freezes, then slowly tilts his head down to look at you, a soft smile breaking across his face as his eyes crinkle beautifully at the corners.
Oh, god. This is absolutely not helping.
You honestly have no idea if being around James is harder because of well, how he’s been acting ever since you’ve been out of Valenora—fiercely protective, infinitely sweeter, and constantly calling you by your actual name.
(To be fair, you did ask him to do that, so it’s not like he just did it on his own, but still.)
He is overall acting less like a stiff royal guard and much more like… a friend? Or maybe something entirely different.
Or, well, maybe things are harder because of what you did this morning. Your undeniable feelings toward him are becoming a massive liability, which by the way need to be buried deep down. Because nope. Absolutely not possible—or allowed.
James gives your waist one last squeeze before reluctantly stepping back into step, his eyes still locked onto yours. “Stay close,” he murmurs.
Barty glances back, rolling his eyes at the display, but steps up his pace. “We’re approaching the upper east wing. The service stairs up ahead lead right to the secondary landing outside Regulus’s private study. Once we hit the top, the servants won’t be here anymore—it’ll just be high-tier sentries. Look sharp.”
You steal a glance at James. He gives you a sharp, single nod of his head, his eyes burning with an unspoken promise: I’m right here.
Turning the corner, you follow Barty up a steep, winding spiral staircase made of cold, black marble, leaving the bustling underbelly of the castle behind as you ascend into the quiet, heavily guarded territory of the prince.
Barty steps off the final riser of the spiral staircase, adjusting the collar of his tunic to look presentable before turning back to give you and James a final, warning look. He points to his eyes, then to you, a silent reminder that he is watching your every move.
The secondary landing of the upper east wing is suffocatingly quiet. The walls here are lined with polished black stone that reflects the flickering light of towering silver candelabras. Two elite sentries, clad in heavy obsidian-plated armor and holding long, ceremonial halberds, stand like statues outside a massive pair of double doors carved with the intricate crest of the Grimmauld serpent.
Barty walks up with complete confidence. “Barty Crouch Jr. I have an urgent matter to bring before the Prince.”
The guards look at Barty, then shift their cold, unblinking gazes to you and James.
James stands perfectly straight, his posture commanding and rigid, carrying himself with the unmistakable authority of a seasoned veteran. He subtly shifts his weight, keeping his shoulder just an inch forward to partially obscure you from their line of sight.
After a tense, agonizing moment of scrutiny, the guards nod, turning the heavy iron rings to break the seal of the doors.
“Enter,” one of them barks.
The doors swing open, and Barty strides inside, with you and James following closely on his heels. The heavy doors click shut behind you, instantly locking out the rest of the castle.
The room is staggering in scale. It is a massive, two-story private library and study, wrapped in towering shelves of dark mahogany wood that hold thousands of ancient, leather-bound texts. At the far end of the room, positioned in front of a sweeping arched window that looks out over the jagged mountains, stands a large, ornate desk.
A man is standing with his back to you, looking out at the gray horizon. He has short, meticulously styled jet-black hair and fair skin. Aand wears an elegant, tailored black royal tunic trimmed with silver thread, a dark velvet cape draped over one shoulder.
For a split second, an ache hits your chest—his rigid, regal posture and the authority radiating from his silhouette instantly remind you of your brother, Alaric.
He doesn’t turn around when the doors close. He merely tilts his head slightly, his voice smooth, low, and dripping with an icy precision.
“You’re late, Barty,” the prince murmurs, his tone entirely devoid of warmth. “I assume you have a reason for disrupting my morning schedule.”
“Always, Your Highness,” Barty replies with a theatrical bow, a smirk playing on his lips. “I brought some unexpected guests. They’ve traveled a long way, and they claim they have something you urgently need to hear.”
The man slowly turns around, stepping away from the window and into the light of the chandelier.
Your breath catches in your throat. The resemblance to Sirius is so staggering it leaves you momentarily breathless. They share the same striking, aristocratic jawline, the same piercing, storm-gray eyes, and the same elegant bone structure.
But where Sirius’s features are softened by a wild, unruly mane of long hair, a reckless grin, and an aura of genuine, vibrant happiness, this man is the exact opposite. He is entirely cold.
Regulus steps forward, his boots clicking softly against the dark rug. His sharp gray eyes immediately lock onto you and James, tracking the crimson and steel of the uniforms you wear. He looks you both up and down, his gaze lingering on the slight mismatch of the armor’s fit on you, and the sheer tactical stance James is maintaining.
“You wear the armor of my guard, yet I do not recognize either of your faces,” Regulus says, his voice cutting through the room like a blade. “Who are you?”
Remembering your protocol, you place a hand over your breastplate and bow your head in a flawless, elegant gesture of respect. “Greetings, Your Highness. I am Margaret.”
James follows suit, his bow deep and respectful, though his hand never strays too far from his side. “And I am James. James Potter.”
Regulus’s eyes snap directly to James, his brow furrowing slightly in genuine surprise. “Potter?” he repeats, the coldness in his voice flickering with curiosity. “You aren’t from Astravel, nor the eastern territories. You’re from the South.”
“I am, Your Highness,” James answers smoothly, his voice deep and steady. “I am from Vaenora.”
The moment the word leaves James’s mouth, Regulus’s face hardens into stone. The temperature in the room feels like it drops ten degrees. He turns a furious, piercing glare directly onto Barty, who merely shrugs with an amused, innocent expression.
“A Vaenoran soldier inside my private sanctuary, wearing my men’s armor,” Regulus says, his voice dangerously low as he turns back to James, his eyes flashing with a lethal intensity. “What business could a southern guard possibly have that warrants infiltrating my castle? Give me one reason I shouldn’t have the guards drag you both to the gallows this very instant.”
James doesn’t flinch. He steps forward, his presence strong and unshakeable as he locks eyes with the prince.
“Because, Your Highness, I am not here on behalf of the Crown,” James explains, his voice carrying a gravity that commands the room. “I am here to deliver an urgent, verbal message from your brother. From Sirius.”
The moment the name Sirius leaves James’s mouth, the icy, calculation on Regulus’s face utterly shatters.
He spins around fully, his hands gripping the edge of his mahogany desk so tightly his knuckles turn white. The cold, aristocratic mask is gone, replaced by a raw, breathless shock that completely strips away his princely composure.
“Sirius?” Regulus breathes, his storm-gray eyes wide, darting between James and you. Step by step, he moves around the desk, his voice rising in an uncharacteristic, desperate rush. “He’s alive? Where is he? Where is my brother?!”
James straightens his posture, his broad shoulders squaring as he looks directly into the eyes of the panicked prince. There is no deceit in James’s expression now. You watch him from beneath the shadow of your helmet, realizing that while the rest of this mission is a carefully mapped-out bluff to your advantage, this specific moment is completely real.
You can see the genuine truth in James’s eyes, and for the first time, you truly witness the deep, complicated bond of care connecting these two brothers across enemy lines.
“He is well, Your Highness. He is alive,” James says, his voice dropping into a grounded, reassuring register. “He lives with me. He has for years.”
Regulus freezes, staring at James as if trying to piece together a puzzle that has haunted him for a decade. “With you? In the South?”
“Yes,” James nods firmly. “After Sirius escaped Grimmauld when he was sixteen, he fled across the border. He ended up in Vaenora, starved and exhausted, and my family took him in. When Queen Walburga announced to the world that he was officially stripped of his titles and banished, Sirius chose to bury his past. He stayed with me. We trained together in the guard academy. Now, he serves as a soldier in the Vaenoran royal army.”
You step forward smoothly, executing your part of the plan perfectly. You soften your voice, projecting the humility of a palace staff member. “I am a servant in the Vaenoran castle, Your Highness. I work closely with James and Sirius. Sirius desperately wanted you to know that he is alive and safe, but he couldn’t simply write you a letter. For a soldier to send correspondence directly to the Prince of Astravel… it would be considered high treason on our side, and a major political breach on yours. We had to come in person, under the radar.”
Regulus slowly swallows the lump in his throat, a look of grief washing over his fair features. He nods slowly, his gaze drifting to the floor as he processes a decade’s worth of missing information.
“He’s a soldier…” Regulus murmurs softly, almost to himself, before his eyes snap back up to James, filled with a sudden, aching vulnerability. “How is he? And why… if he has been safe all this time, why did he never try to send word? Why didn’t he ever visit?”
James, ever the tactician, knows the clock is ticking. He gently shifts the conversation, bringing the focus back to the reality of why you are standing in this room.
“Sirius didn’t just want to ease your mind, Your Highness,” James says, his tone turning sharp and urgent. “He sent us now because of what is happening across the borders. He sent us because of the Vale.”
The mention of the Vale instantly snaps Regulus out of his emotional stupor. His posture rigidifies, the cold prince returning in a flash. “The Vale? My mages claim that an area of it was restored and treasures were found that don’t match anything seen before.”
“Because it wasn’t anything normal,” you interject, stepping closer to the desk, your eyes locking onto Regulus’s. “Sirius has been tracking rogue movements along the border. Before the restoration, scouts intercepted whispers of an ancient, volatile magical anomaly—one tied to the realm’s oldest, darkest lineages. Sirius believes the collapse of part of the Vale was a test run. And he believes the people responsible are targeting Grimmauld next to try and break ancient curses and steal the treasures buried in Astravel.”
Regulus’s eyes narrow, his paranoia immediately flaring. “Targeting my kingdom? With what? If my mages cannot identify the energy signature, how am I supposed to defend against it?”
“Sirius remembered the layout of the private archives,” James answers smoothly, playing the final card of the bluff. “He told us that the only way to understand and counteract this specific anomaly is to cross-reference the reports of the Vale with the restricted historical records of the realm’s ancient magic—specifically the manifestos detailing how ancient, volatile surges were suppressed by the founding bloodlines.”
He looks up. “If Astravel is facing an unidentifiable magical threat that could mimic the destruction of the Vale, I cannot afford to be blind.”
He turns abruptly toward a massive, iron-reinforced door at the back of the library, pulling a heavy silver key from beneath his tunic. “Follow me. We pull the records immediately.”
He turns his head slowly, his storm-gray eyes narrowing into razor-sharp slits as he glares at you and James. “You speak of the Vale’s destruction with remarkable confidence for a common servant and a foreign guard,” Regulus says, his voice dropping into an icy register.
“The Crown has kept a tight chokehold on the details of what hapepend to the Vale. My own master of spies has barely been able to extract a handful of soil samples from the border. Yet you come into my private sanctuary, spinning a tragic tale about my brother, and expect me to simply hand over the keys to the most restricted magical archives in the kingdom based on a verbal warning?”
The tension in the room instantly spikes. Behind you, Barty shifts his weight, his tattooed fingers twitching toward his belt. James doesn’t flinch, but his frame tightens, his instincts kicking into overdrive.
“I don’t expect you to trust me, Your Highness,” James says, his voice perfectly steady, carrying the weight of a soldier who has looked down the barrel of a loaded crossbow.
“But I know Sirius. And I know that he wouldn’t risk my life, or the life of anyone else, to send a message across the border unless the threat was absolute. Look at the data you do have. The soil samples your spies brought back—did they find traces of an enemy? Or did they find nothing but crystallized glass?”
Regulus stiffens, his eyes widening just a fraction. James had struck a nerve. The sheer accuracy of the magical fallout—details only someone present at the aftermath of the Vale would know—shears right through Regulus’s skepticism.
“If this is a trick to compromise my security, I will personally flay you both,” Regulus mutters darkly.
He turns and strides toward the massive, iron-reinforced vault door at the back of the library. He inserts the heavy silver key, turning it until a sequence of heavy mechanical clicks echoes through the room.
The heavy vault door creaks open, revealing a secluded, dimly lit study alcove lined with glowing, enchanted glass cases. Regulus steps inside, his movements hurried and intense.
He bypasses the standard histories, walking straight to the restricted shelves, and pulls down three massive, leather-bound tomes thick with dust. He dumps them heavily onto a central reading table.
Regulus flips open the first book. “If the anomaly matches the ancient surges, the signatures will be cataloged in the chapters concerning magical suppression capable of destroying curses. Look here.”
He immediately buries his face in the text, his eyes scanning the ancient scripts.
Right on cue, your plan springs into action.
James steps up to the side of the table, purposely positioning his armored shoulder to block Regulus’s line of sight to you. He leans over the table, pretending to study a map of the kingdom’s ley lines laid out next to the books, before abruptly drawing a dagger and pointing the blunt pommel at the western border.
“Your Highness, look at this,” James interrupts, his voice sharp and demanding, perfectly mimicking a soldier flag-raising a critical security breach. “If the energy signature travels along the primary ley lines, your current guard rotation at the western gate is entirely exposed. Look at the structural blind spot right beneath the western ramparts. If a rogue mage stands here, the anti-magic wards won’t even register them until the surge is already triggered.”
Regulus’s head snaps up, his obsessive tactical mind immediately taking the bait. “What? That’s impossible. The wards cover a three-mile radius.”
“Not according to the topography of the western ridge,” James presses, leaning further over the map, actively drawing Regulus away from the books. “Step back and look at the angle. If you don’t adjust the sentry patrols right now, the entire western wall is a free target.”
Frustrated and consumed by the potential flaw in his defenses, Regulus slides the massive tome away from himself and steps toward the wall map where James is pointing, completely turning his back on you.
Now.
You slide silently into the empty space at the table. Your heart hammers against your ribs as you pull the heavy, dust-covered manifesto toward you.
Your eyes desperately scan the flowing, handwritten script, searching past the weaponized relics and historical battles, looking for the one thing you actually came for: the hidden records of internal power awakening and bloodline manifestations.
Your fingers fly across the heavy parchment, the brittle edges of the pages scraping softly against your leather gauntlets. With James holding Regulus’s attention at the map on the wall, and Barty keeping his distance, his eyes darting suspiciously around the room, you have only a fraction of a second to absorb the text.
You skim deeper, looking for anything that might explain the raw, untamed power waking up inside your own veins. Your gaze locks onto a section titled Magical Sources Outside of Astarvel.
Most of the entries are useless—brief logs about minor elemental surges in neutral territories that hold no relevance to you. You flip the page, until a specific paragraph catches your eye.
The text reads:
“…fragmented records from centuries past indicate anomaly occurrences and undocumented magical sources within the borders of Solistia. Though the Solistian Crown firmly claims no such internal sources exist, ancient scrolls from the First Era detail unexplained phenomena manifesting within the Temple of the Sun. The truth of these archives is fiercely guarded; only the appointed Protector of the Temple retains access to the unredacted lineages. At present, the keeper of those sacred vaults within the castle is Marlene McKinnon.”
You freeze staring at the name.
Marlene McKinnon.
It isn’t a complete answer, but it is a massive, undeniable breakthrough. It proves that there is something hidden in Solistia—and if the source isn’t public knowledge, the truth is meticulously documented right under the nose of their own protector.
You hadn’t truly expected to find a treasure trove of answers here in Astarvel anyway; the two kingdoms have been bitter adversaries for generations, and Solistia would never allow its deepest arcane secrets to fall into enemy hands.
You memorize the name, burning it into your mind. Marlene McKinnon. The Temple of the Sun.
Catching James’s reflection in the polished glass of the archive casing, you give him a subtle nod.
James catches the movement instantly. Without missing a beat, he seamlessly winds down his intense debate with the prince, stepping back from the tactical map. “I only bring it to your attention, Your Highness, because Sirius insisted your safety was paramount. The ridge is a vulnerability, but I leave the strategy to your superior judgment.”
“I will have the vanguard captain adjust the perimeter patrols by nightfall,” Regulus says, his voice tense but validating the critique.
He turns back to the table, completely unaware that you have just slid the heavy manifesto right back to the exact page he had been reading.
As the conversation draws to a close and Regulus begins closing the texts to lock them away, you steal a side-glance at James.
The immediate mission in Grimmauld Castle is done. The next phase of the plan is already taking shape in your mind: you need to return to Solistia, infiltrate the Temple of the Sun, and find whoever the hell Marlene McKinnon is.
Regulus slowly closes the heavy leather-bound tome, the dull thud of the parchment echoing through the quiet alcove. He turns back to you and James, his expression a complex mix of lingering tactical focus and profound emotional exhaustion.
“I am… in your debt,” Regulus says, his voice quiet but steady as he looks between the two of you. “For the warning about the Vale,—but more importantly, for telling me the truth about Sirius. For five years, I believed he had simply discarded everything, including me. To know he is alive, that he is a soldier, that he is… happy…”
He trailing off, swallowing hard as he rests his hand on his desk, his gray eyes softening with vulnerability. “Thank you.”
James steps forward, bowing his head with deep, unfeigned respect. “He never stopped thinking about you, Your Highness. He remembers you always, and speaks of you to us—his friends, I mean.”
Regulus clears his throat, carefully piecing his royal composure back together as he looks at the two of you, clad in his guard’s armor. “When do you intend to leave Astarvel?”
“Tomorrow morning, Your Highness,” James replies smoothly, his posture crisp. “We need to move under the cover of dawn to avoid any complications at the border checkpoints.”
The room falls into a heavy stillness. Finally, he looks back up, a resolute glint in his eyes. “Alright. I will send Barty to your place before you depart tomorrow. I will have a letter prepared for you to deliver directly to Sirius. it is long overdue that we speak, even if it is only on paper.”
A wide, genuinely radiant smile breaks across James’s face—a stark contrast to the stoic guard persona he’s been forcing all morning. The sight of it is almost jarring. “Of course, Your Highness! I will make sure it reaches his hands personally. You have my word.”
Seeing James’s sheer joy and relief makes your chest tighten, but as you watch the two men, an unexpected, crushing wave of guilt washes over you.
There is no denying now that these two brothers desperately need to heal, and this letter is a beautiful, miraculous start. But the raw emotion in the room suddenly acts as a mirror to your own fractured life, and it hurts to look into it.
Your mind immediately drifts back across the sea to your own brothers. Alaric. Cassian. Elias.
A cold, hollow ache opens up in your stomach. You look at Regulus—at the years of resentment and deep-seated pain he carried just because he thought his brother hated him for leaving.
You can’t help but wonder, with a sudden, suffocating panic, if your own brothers are sitting in their cold palace right now thinking the exact same thing about you.
Do they think you hate them?
Do they resent you for running, for leaving them behind to handle the kingdom’s secrets alone?
You swallow down the lump in your throat, your fingers tightening into fists at your sides. I hope they don’t, you think desperately. But the reality is that your situation is so much worse.
Sirius and Regulus have a bridge now; they have James, and they have a letter that will cross the borders tomorrow. But you are a ghost to your family.
There are no letters connecting you to each other. No hidden messages. Just a silent, gaping void, and the terrifying knowledge that you might never be able to explain the dangerous magic burning inside you that forced you to flee in the first place.
“We must take our leave, Your Highness,” you say, your voice remarkably steady despite the emotional storm in your chest. You offer a flawless, elegant bow. “Thank you for your time, and your trust.”
Regulus gives you a nod of acknowledgment.
Barty steps forward from the shadows near the door, gesturing for you to follow. “Alright, let’s get you two out of here before the afternoon patrol changes over.”
The walk back out of Grimmauld Castle is a blur of obsidian walls, narrow servant staircases, and tense maneuvering. Barty efficiently escorts you through the lower levels, slipping you past the outer gates under the guise of an off-duty security detail, until you are finally clear of the castle grounds and walking down the cobblestone streets of the capital.
The air out here feels lighter, though what you discovered still presses heavily on your mind. You and James walk side by side, keeping a steady, brisk pace. Only when you finally turn down a residential alleyway—completely out of earshot from Barty and any potential spies—does James finally break the silence.
“Okay. We’re clear. What did you find in that book? You gave me the nod—what did it say?”
You take a deep breath, glancing around one last time before leaning closer to him. “It wasn’t a total answer, but it’s exactly the lead we needed,” you whisper back, your eyes flashing with a renewed sense of purpose. “I skimmed the foreign records. There are undocumented, deeply hidden magical sources within Solistia. The text explicitly mentioned that centuries ago, unexplained magical phenomena were recorded inside the Temple of the Sun.”
James’s brow furrows beneath his visor, his tactical mind instantly analyzing the information. “The Temple of the Sun? Solistia has always claimed to be entirely devoid of raw, internal arcane sources. They pride themselves on a lack of magical anomalies.”
“Because they’re hiding it,” you explain, a sharp, determined edge to your voice. “The book said that the true archives and the bloodline lineages are fiercely protected. Only one person has access to the truth—the ruler and protector of the temple archives inside the castle.”
James stops walking for a fraction of a second, his dark eyes locking onto yours through his helmet. “Did you get a name?”
“Yes,” you nod sharply, burning the name into the open air between you. “Marlene McKinnon. She holds the records. If there is any answer to what is happening to my powers, it’s locked in her vaults.”
James lets out a low whistle, his gloved hand coming up to rest on the hilt of his sword as he absorbs the scale of the next mission.
Infiltrating Grimmauld Castle under false armor was a gamble; breaking into the sacred, fiercely guarded heart of Solistiato hunt down a high-tier protector of royal secrets will be an entirely different breed of dangerous.
It’s a suicide mission in the making.
He steps closer, weight of his heavy gauntlet settling firmly on your shoulder. “Alright then,” James says.
“Time to go get some rest. Because when the sun rises tomorrow, we cross that border into Solistia—and we find whoever Marlene McKinnon is.”
a/n: time for the long rant, folks!!!
okay… first things first, about the semi-smut.
GUYS PLEASE BEAR WITH ME 😭 writing a masturbation scene for a princess who has been sheltered her entire life and barely understands her own feelings is SO much harder than i thought it would be. i was genuinely fighting for my life writing that scene because i wanted it to feel true to her, not just throw smut in for the sake of it.
BUT, i promise proper smut is coming VERY, very soon. hehehehehe.
NOW. THIS CHAPTER.
good LORD there was so much lore.
and trust me when i say… this is only the beginning. the next few chapters are HEAVY. like heavy heavy. we’re finally entering the section of the story where so many truths start unraveling, pieces begin falling into place, and hopefully a lot of those little hints i’ve been dropping since the beginning start making a bit more sense.
ALSO!!!! WE FINALLY MEET BARRY AND REGULUS!!!!!
YAYYYYYYY!!!! i’ve been waiting forever to introduce them properly 🥹🥹
that being said this chapter absolutely kicked my ass. it was honestly one of the hardest chapters i’ve written purely because of how intricate everything had to be. coming up with a believable plan to infiltrate the archives, figuring out all the logistics, writing negotiations that actually felt convincing, balancing political tension with all the worldbuilding—it gave me the biggest headache imaginable.
besides, i really didn’t want to cheat my way through it either. i could’ve easily written something like, “they convinced the prince to let them into the archives,” skipped ahead, and called it a day. but i wanted you all to actually see the conversations, the arguments, the persuasion, the planning. i wanted it to feel like something that genuinely could have happened instead of the plot magically making things convenient.
which also meant… SO MUCH RESEARCH
and so many moments of me staring at my screen wondering why i ever thought writing fantasy politics would be fun lmao. so, if there happens to be a tiny plot hole somewhere…no there isn’t!
close your eyes and pretend you didn’t see it. let me have this one 😓
NOW FOR THE BIG REVEAL…MARLENE!!!!!
YAYYYYYY!!!!! i have been DYING to introduce her.
she becomes such an important character moving forward, even if not always in the way you’d expect. she really is the definition of haunting the narrative. she’s present even when she isn’t physically there, and i absolutely adore writing that sort of character. she is, after all the protector of certain hidden things within solistia (laughs evilly and runs away.)
AND OF COURSE BLACK BROTHERS ANGST!!!!!
regulus writing a letter to sirius absolutely destroyed me. you won’t actually get to read the letter just yet but don’t worry, it will come back later. (and i genuinely cannot WAIT for their reunion.)
one thing i do have to apologize for, though, is that i originally wanted this chapter to have a lot more romantic tension between james and princess.
unfortunately i got so mentally exhausted from writing all the lore, politics, and archive scenes that by the time i reached those moments i was just done 😭
i wanted to get this chapter finished because it had genuinely been giving me a headache for days, so i definitely skimmed over some of the romance more than i would’ve liked. forgive me, please i promise i’ll make up for it, and judging by what’s coming i think you’ll forgive me pretty quickly 🥳🥳
that’s all from me for this chapter!!
as always, i’d absolutely LOVE to hear all your thoughts, reactions, favourite moments, and especially your theories. watching everyone piece things together is honestly one of my favourite parts of posting this series.
also, if you haven’t noticed, i’ve been writing NONSTOP lately 😋 i’m currently about three chapters ahead, so updates should be coming much faster than usual. i told you guys that once i graduated and summer break started i’d become unstoppable, though, some of you doubted me (look who’s laughing now.)
anyways, i hope you’re all doing well. stay happy, stay healthy, stay hydrated, and i’ll see you all in the next chapter.
For The Crown of Valora - is Pandora's whimsicality based off of any specific beliefs or did you make it up completely? Specifically interested in the whole thread thing! I love Pandora as a character and am excited to meet Regulus!
ooh i love this question 💗🤭
honestly, it's a mix of both! pandora's beliefs are something i created for the story, but they're inspired by ideas and philosophies that already exist in different cultures and mythologies. i can't say too much because it'd spoil a few things later on, but she believes in higher divinities, things like mother nature, fate, and forces that exist beyond what people can physically see.
you could almost think of her as someone who works with fate rather than against it.
the whole thread concept is basically my own interpretation of ideas like the red string of fate, invisible strings connecting soulmates, lives that are destined to cross, and people whose paths are intertwined long before they ever meet. pandora believes those threads are real, and in her own way she can see them.
i'm so happy you're enjoying her though!! she's one of my favourite characters to write, and i absolutely cannot wait for you all to meet regulus properly because the two of them are some of my favourite people in the entire series 💗
series summary: James Potter, a soldier of the royal guard, is assigned to protect the princess at all costs. His new duty proves far harder than he imagined, for the princess has a habit of doing exactly what she’s not supposed to, and hiding a secret no one must uncover.
chapter summary: After defying the odds to reach Astravel, you and James strike a deal with an eccentric friend, securing a secret meeting with Prince Regulus and setting your master plan into motion. (11.6k)
tags: arguments, physical altercations, emotional vulnerability, infiltration, sexual tension, close proximity, mentions of erections and masturbation, sexual frustration.
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“Okay, yeah, how—fuck, we need to get out of here right now—”
James is already scrambling backward on his hands and knees, his boots skidding through the new grass as his eyes dart wildly around the glowing perimeter.
But you aren’t listening. The sudden, overwhelming surge of life in this dark vale has completely washed away the terror of the fall.
You let out a breathless laugh, practically jumping around on the vibrant emerald turf before throwing yourself flat on your back, staring up at the canopy of glowing flowers.
“James, this is so cool!” you squeal, your voice echoing off the stone walls as you run your hands through the soft blades of grass. “Oh my god, look at all these flowers and the lumicrysts!”
You roll over, digging your fingers into a cluster of shimmering earth, and pull. With a soft pop, you hold up a massive, raw purple crystal. It catches the twilight glow of the vale, refracting a brilliant, pulsing violet light across your face. “Oh, Remus would go absolutely insane if he saw this!”
“Are you out of your mind? We just dropped into a hole in the most lethal wasteland on the continent, and you’re rolling around like it’s a spring picnic!” James panics, his voice cracking as he finally manages to stand up, his hands shaking as he checks his perfectly healed bicep.
“This is the best day ever!” you cheer, pushing yourself up to your feet and tossing the massive crystal lightly in your hand. You flash him a wide, manic grin. “I am never going back to Valenora. Never.”
“We need to get out of here, you just—” James starts, marching toward you to grab your shoulders, his face pale.
But before he can finish his sentence, you step into his space and grab the collar of his shirt, shaking him with a sudden, wild burst of energy. “James! Don’t you get it? If I can do this by accident… I could heal and restore the entire forest!”
James completely freezes, the breath hitching in his throat. The frantic panic in his eyes suddenly hardens into pure, unadulterated dread. “What? No. No.” He rips himself out of your grip, shaking his head violently. “You cannot do that. You can never do that again.”
“Why not?” you argue, stepping right back into his space, your voice rising with desperate urgency. “Think about what this means, James. The magic worked. It actually listened to me!”
“We need to get as far away from this place as humanly possible,” James cuts you off, his voice dropping into a harsh, terrifyingly serious whisper.
“We can’t just run!” you press, gesturing wildly to the blooming greenery beneath your feet. “Look around us. How can you look at this miracle and tell me to hide it?”
He steps closer, his hazel eyes boring into yours behind his cracked lenses. “Because I know what people do to miracles, Y/N. Think for a second. The Astravel royals monitor the borders of the Vale. If they find out even a small part of this forest was restored—if they see these lumicrysts and treasures sitting out in the open—they will hunt down whatever caused it.”
“Then we take the crystals and leave,” you counter, though your chest tightens at the look on his face. “We use them.”
“And if they find out it was you?” James interrupts, his grip tightening on your shoulders as if he’s trying to ground you. “A royal princess with the power to erase curses and manifest Astravel’s forbidden hoard? They won’t just kill you. They will trap you, lock you in a cage deeper than the one you just ran away from, and use you as a human battery until you bleed dry.”
You flinch, the heat of your argument suddenly evaporating into a cold, heavy dread.
He rubs a hand over his face, a cold sweat breaking out on his neck as he looks at the golden sunshine fracturing the dark sky. “This is terrible. This is so incredibly bad.”
Determined to move, James spins around and strides toward the horses. Maximus and Midnight are standing near the edge of the grass, still shivering from the fall. James reaches out to grab Maximus’s leather reins to pull him forward.
“Come on, we’re moving—”
SNAP! Maximus violently whips his head around, baring his teeth and snapping his jaws barely an inch away from James’s nose. James shrieks, throwing himself backward into the grass to avoid losing a finger.
The white stallion lets out a loud, mocking snort, tossing his mane proudly as if satisfied with himself.
James sits up in the dirt, glaring death at the animal as he clutches his chest. “I hate this stupid horse,” he groans, his voice dripping with absolute misery.
James scrambles to his feet, dusting off his trousers with aggressive, jerky movements while keeping a thoroughly defensive eye on Maximus. He doesn’t even try to handle your stallion again; instead, he stomps over to Midnight, throws himself into her saddle, and tugs the reins to turn her toward the dark, sloping tunnel that seems to lead back up to the surface.
“We are leaving. Now,” he barks over his shoulder, not waiting to see if you’re following.
You sigh, watching him ride ahead into the gloom. Fine. He’s right.
He does have a point, even if his delivery is entirely lacking in appreciation. A heavy pang of guilt twinges in your chest as you look at the boundary line where the beautiful, glowing sanctuary abruptly stops and the suffocating, twisted black rot of the Vale begins again.
It feels wrong to leave the rest of the forest cursed, trapped in centuries of agonizing dark magic, but there’s nothing you can do about it now.
Maybe on our way back, you think, a small, stubborn spark igniting in your mind. Maybe when I’m stronger, I can come back and restore the whole damn vale.
For now, you need to move. You approach Maximus, who thankfully doesn’t try to bite you, and prepare to mount. But as you look down at the carpet of glowing grass, the dazzling purple hum of the lumicrysts practically begs you not to leave them behind.
You glance up. James’s back is completely turned to you as he navigates Midnight through the low-hanging rocks of the tunnel. He isn’t looking.
Quick as a flash, you drop to your knees. You grab a handful of the smaller, incredibly brilliant purple crystals, your fingers working furiously as you stuff them directly into your pockets and the leather folds of your boots.
You plan to keep one for yourself, obviously, but the rest are going to be peace offerings. You’re going to give them as gifts to all three of your brothers, Remus, and to Lily.
You desperately hope that, at the very least, bringing them the most valuable crystals in the entire realm—the literal legendary hoard that caused nations to wage blood-soaked wars for centuries—will be enough to buy your forgiveness.
(Because yes, a pouch of world-altering, forbidden magical treasures in exchange for forgiving the fact that you ran away, caused a scandal, and, oh yeah… literally drugged them all before you left… seems like a pretty fair trade.)
With your stolen bounty securely hidden, you quickly swing yourself up into Maximus’s saddle.
The air, though still biting and freezing, loses that heavy, static-like tension of the dead. Maximus and Midnight step out from beneath the canopy of twisted, skeletal trees, their hooves striking solid, normal dirt for the first time since you crossed the border.
You have completely exited the Deathly Hallow Vale.
You pull gently on Maximus’s reins, bringing the white stallion to a halt as you instinctively look back over your shoulder.
Behind you, the Vale remains a massive, intimidating wall of pitch-black darkness. But right there, dead in the center of the gloom where you had fallen, a brilliant, shimmering arch of colored light cuts through the grey mist.
A perfect, vivid rainbow hangs suspended over the dark canopy, glowing with luminescence that looks ridiculous against the bleak landscape.
You stare at it, a mixture of awe and immediate dread pooling in your stomach. “I give it an hour before every scout and guard in Astravel notices that and comes to investigate.”
James pulls Midnight up beside you, his gaze tracking up to the clouds. He stares at the rainbow, his jaw tightening before he lets out an exhausted sigh.
“Did you have to add the rainbow?” he asks, his tone a mix of sheer disbelief and exasperation. “A restored patch of forest is one thing, but a colorful beacon in the sky? You might as well have written your name in the clouds.”
You shrug your shoulders helplessly, though a tiny, defensive pout forms on your lips. “I had no idea I could even do that! I was just trying to fix your arm, I didn’t mean to break the curse.”
The mention of his injury makes you shift in your saddle, your eyes dropping to his right arm. The fabric of his sleeve is still torn and stained with dried crimson, but the limb itself is perfectly healed. “How does it feel, anyway? Your arm?”
James turns his head to look at you. The harsh, panicked edge he had held back in the cave completely melts away, replaced by a soft, genuine expression. He rotates his shoulder, flexing his fingers against the leather reins.
“Good as new,” he says softly, a small, incredibly grateful smile breaking across his face. “Better than new, honestly. Thank you, Y/N. I mean it.”
You offer him a small nod, the tension in your shoulders relaxing slightly.
James lets out another heavy breath, his posture slouching a bit as his shoulders drop. “And… look, I’m sorry,” he says, his voice dropping into a quiet, rough register that feels far too intimate for the open trail. “I didn’t mean to be so harsh on you back there. I shouldn’t have snapped at you like that.”
He hesitates, his knuckles tightening on the leather reins until they turn white. “It’s just… I’m worried, Y/N. The stakes are entirely different out here,” he confesses, his chest rising and falling in a sharp exhale. “Back home, a mistake meant a lecture from the King or a week of miserable extra guard duty in the rain. Out here, a mistake means we don’t make it to tomorrow. I just… I need to keep you safe. That is the only thing that matters to me.”
“I know, James,” you reply quietly, the lingering sting of the argument completely melting away.
You lean slightly across the small space separating your horses, reaching over to lightly brush your gloved hand against his forearm. It’s a small, grounding touch, but you leave it there, feeling the hard muscle of his arm relax beneath your fingers. “I understand. You’re doing your job, and you’re keeping your head when I’m completely losing mine. I don’t take that for granted.”
James looks down at your hand on his arm, his expression softening completely. The fierce, rigid guard vanishes, leaving only the boy who has watched over you for years.
“You aren’t sad because of me, are you?” he asks softly, the weight of his earlier harshness clearly still heavy on his conscience.
You shake your head, offering him a , reassuring smile. “No. Not because of you.” You look out over the horizon, your gaze drifting toward the scarred, blackened edges of the borderland. “I just… I wish I could restore the entire Vale. I mean, it’s beautiful. Even with all the destruction, there’s so much life trying to break through.”
Warmth spreads across his features, and he smiles— a real, genuine smile finally touches the corners of his mouth, breaking through the dread in his expression.
He has a really pretty smile, you think.
“Mhm,” he murmurs, his voice incredibly soft as he keeps his eyes fixed entirely on you. “It’s a divine miracle… how you turn anything ugly into this kind of beauty.”
You look down at your gloved fingers resting on his forearm, a faint, rueful smile touching your lips. “You know well enough it was an accident,” you reply, a touch of self-deprecation in your voice. “I didn’t mean to unleash that much power. I just… I lost control for a second.”
“Still,” James says, “It’s incredible. You turned a wasteland into something full of life. I’ve never seen anything like it, Y/N.”
You look back at the blackened, sprawling expanse of the Vale stretching out toward the horizon, the vastness of the destruction making your chest tighten. “I couldn’t have done that to the whole Vale… but I understand why you didn’t let me.” You pull your hand back slowly, resting it on your own reins. “I know why you stopped me from trying.”
James goes quiet, his jaw tightening as he stares straight ahead at the trail. The soft, gentle mood from a moment ago shifts into one much heavier, charged with a conflict he’s clearly been wrestling with internally.
“I don’t want to be that person,” he confesses suddenly, his voice dropping into a rough, strained register.
He pulls on the reins slightly, slowing his horse down so you stay perfectly side-by-side. “I don’t want to be the person who doesn’t let you do things. God, the last thing I ever want is to be like your parents—locking you away, controlling every single move you make, telling you what you can and can’t do with your own life.”
He lets out a harsh, self-deprecating breath, running a gloved hand over his face. “I know I’m being an asshole about this. The hypocrisy of it is eating me alive, Y/N. I’m sitting here letting you heal my arm when I’m hurt, letting you use your magic to patch me up, but the second you want to use that exact same beautiful power to heal a dying forest, I play the iron-fisted guard and command you to stop.”
He turns his head to look at you, his hazel eyes fiercely intense. “It makes me feel like a monster,” James admits quietly. “To deny the world your light just because I’m terrified of what it costs you to burn it. I want you to be free. I want you to use your gifts. But out here… every time you use your magic, it’s like lighting a signal fire for everyone hunting us. If I let you expend all your energy trying to save a forest, what happens when we’re cornered and you have nothing left to protect yourself? I’m forcing you to choose my peace of mind over your own nature, and I hate myself for it.”
You stare at him, the breath entirely trapped in your throat. A sudden shock ripples through you, making your hands go completely numb against the leather reins.
You had always figured James viewed your magic through the same lens as the rest of your family—as a volatile responsibility to be managed, controlled, and kept under lock and key. To hear him voice this guilt, to hear that he was actively tearing himself apart just trying not to become another one of your jailers, leaves you completely stunned.
Before you can even find the words to reply, James speaks again, his voice dropping into a lower, heavier register.
“I know you healed Rowan during your parade.”
Every muscle in your body goes completely, utterly still. Your heart stops. The world around you seems to drop away, leaving nothing but the steady, rhythmic thud of your horse’s hooves on the dirt.
“You… you knew?!” you breathe out, the words barely a whisper as you turn your head sharply to face him, your eyes wide with sheer panic.
“I didn’t know at the exact moment it happened,” James admits, keeping his gaze fixed straight ahead on the trail, though the tight set of his jaw betrays how much the memory weighs on him. “But I found out later. Sirius and Peter were talking, and Peter casually mentioned that a little boy from our village had randomly gained his sight back, out of nowhere, without any medical explanation. It made me think. I asked Peter later on exactly when the boy’s vision had returned… and it happened to be the exact same day as your parade.”
“Why didn’t you say anything?” you demand, your voice trembling with a mix of shock and leftover fear. “If you knew this whole time, why didn’t you confront me?”
James pulls gently on the reins of his stallion, Midnight, slowing the massive black horse down until he turns to face you fully. “Would you have wanted me to reveal to your parents that you healed a boy’s sight on your parade?” he asks gently. “Would you have wanted me to drag you in front of the King to explain why you openly dismissed their strict orders against using your powers?”
He shifts in his saddle, his posture radiating a fierce, protective warmth that leaves you entirely defenseless. “Y/N, what you did for Rowan was incredible. It was the least selfish thing you could have ever done. It would have been incredibly selfish of me to bring it up just to get mad at you for it. Despite the massive risk it posed to your safety, I couldn’t bring myself to lecture you for curing a boy’s blindness.”
James’s expression darkens slightly, a deep, raw sincerity bleeding into his tone. “But I had to lecture you today. Because healing an entire forest puts a target directly on your back. And if choosing your safety over everything else makes me selfish… if keeping you alive in a dangerous place like Astravel means I have to deny the world your gift, then fine. I am so incredibly selfish.”
You sit frozen in your saddle, feeling a dizzying, overwhelming rush of emotions fight for dominance inside your chest. James cares. It’s so stupid, so incredibly dangerous, but he cares.
For your entire life, your parents and the high court have called you reckless, volatile, and selfish whenever your magic slipped through your fingers. But James doesn’t see a reckless princess. He sees someone beautiful and kind, and the only reason he is screaming at you to stop is because he cannot bear the thought of a world without you in it.
And oh god… this isn’t helping bury your feelings at all.
Shit, shit, shit.
You have feelings for James. It’s undeniable now, a brilliant, terrifying fire burning right beneath your ribcage, and it is no longer a secret you can easily hide from yourself. But it has to stay a secret from the rest of the world.
Goddamn it, you are engaged to Prince Caelum. You are a future queen, bound by duty, bloodline, and political chains. You cannot fall in love with your guard. You cannot fall in love with James Potter.
You cannot.
James continues to stare at you, the tense line of his shoulders finally dropping as the heavy silence stretches between your horses. The afternoon sun dips just low enough beneath the canopy to catch the edges of his glasses, illuminating the warm, hazel depths of his eyes. A soft, incredibly relieved smile touches his lips.
“You understand now why I got mad at you?” he asks, his voice barely louder than the rustle of the leaves above. “It was never because you wanted to use your powers. It was because using them right there would have gotten us caught.”
You swallow the lump in your throat, forcing the mess of your thoughts down deep where he can’t see them. You nod slowly, your hands relaxing their grip on the reins. “I get it. I do.”
You take a quiet breath, looking up to meet his gaze through the glare of the sunlight. “Thank you, James. For actually explaining it to me.”
He tilts his head slightly, his smile softening into curiosity. “For explaining what?”
“The why,” you say softly, a faint, rueful smile touching your own lips. “It’s… it’s just nice to actually know the reason behind being denied things, or being told no. My entire life, whenever I wanted to do something, my parents would just say no. That was it. End of discussion. There was never a ‘why’ for the ‘no.’ It was just an iron wall.”
You look down at your horse’s mane, your voice dropping a fraction. “But you… when you have to stop me, you take the time to tell me why. And it’s nice.”
James is nice.
Because he isn’t just your guard, and he isn’t just a soldier following orders. He is the only person in your entire world who respects you enough to give you answers, even when those answers are hard to hear.
“You deserve to know the why, Y/N,” he murmurs, his voice warm and steady. “I’m never going to just hand you a wall. But honestly…someone has to keep a lid on things out here. Otherwise, you’ll accidentally turn the whole damn continent into a flower garden before the week is out.” he laughs.
You snort, a laugh escaping you as the heavy tension completely breaks. You lean slightly across the gap between your horses and nudge his armored arm with your elbow. “Hey, don’t even joke about that. You can’t let my parents find out about any of this. Knowing them, they’d go absolutely insane if they ever discovered I used my powers out here.”
James lets out a chuckle, “Oh, trust me, I think you’ve got a much bigger problem than them finding out about your magic. Like, for starters, the fact that you escaped a high-security royal palace.”
You look down at the reins in your hands, your smile fading into a softer, more reflective expression. “I know,” you murmur, a quiet laugh escaping you. “I know it seems so harsh and terrible, the way I just vanished. But it really was my only way out.”
James stops laughing, his gaze softening completely as he looks at you. “I know, Y/N. You don’t have to explain it to me. I was there, remember?”
A warm, genuine smile spreads across your face, and you look up at him through your eyelashes. “I like that.”
He blinks, glancing down at you with a curious tilt of his head. “Like what?”
“That you just get it,” you say softly, your voice carrying over the steady rhythm of the horses. “You get me, and you actually understand why I act the way I do. I mean, don’t get me wrong, you definitely lecture me just like my brothers do—but you do it out of actual concern, not because you’re trying to control me.”
James lets out another laugh, a rich, easy sound that clears away the last of the tension between you. “I couldn’t control you even if I tried. You’re a force of nature.”
He pauses, his smile turning incredibly gentle as his eyes hold yours. “Besides… I think what you did was brave.”
“Brave, or incredibly stupid,” you murmur, though the heavy weight in your chest feels a little lighter now. “We still have to figure out where we’re going. If the Astravel border guards saw any of that light, we don’t have much time.”
James’s gentle expression slowly shifts, the soft look in his eyes sharpening back into focus. “Then we don’t waste another second,” he says.
James snaps open the leather map case resting against his saddle pommel. “We’re staying as far away from the main roads as possible,” he decides, pointing a gloved finger toward a narrow, rugged trail that winds along the eastern edge of the Astravel border.
“We’ll follow this side path. It strays completely away from the Vale’s perimeter, just in case the scouts start fanning out from the anomaly. It’ll take longer, but it keeps us hidden.”
“Lead the way,” you say.
As the horses kick into a steady trot, leaving the border of the forest behind, you take in your new surroundings.
Astravel is completely, utterly different from Valenora. Valenora was a kingdom of sprawling golden fields, white stone palaces, and warm, sun-drenched courtyards. This is the very first foreign kingdom you have ever set foot in, and it feels entirely hollow.
The landscape is dark and grim, the soil a sterile, bruised purple-grey. There isn’t any natural color or vibrant greenery; the trees here are short, gnarled, and covered in a pale, mossy rot, as if the land itself is starved for sunlight.
The weather is significantly colder, too—a sharp, icy wind bites relentlessly at your face, forcing you to pull your heavy hood tightly around your chin.
“It’s so bleak here,” you whisper aloud, shivering as you look at a distant, jagged mountain range that looks like black teeth cutting into the grey sky. “It feels dead. Not like the Vale, but… like the life was just sucked out of it.”
James doesn’t look back, his eyes trained on the dark path ahead as the wind whips his hair across his forehead.
“Yeah,” James replies, his voice grim and flat against the howling wind. “And you should meet the people here. They’re even less warm.”
You listen quietly as the horses’ hooves thud rhythmically against the frozen earth, the icy wind whistling through the bare branches. “If the people are worse than the weather, we’re in for a miserable trip,” you reply, pulling your cloak even tighter around your body.
James doesn’t laugh. He shifts in his saddle, checking the perimeter one more time before looking over at you. “We need to find a place to rest tonight. The horses need the rest, and so do we. Plus, we need some time to plan how we’re going to get to Prince Regulus.”
You nod in agreement, your body aching from the long hours of riding. “Where do we find a tavern around here then?”
“Well, that’s the thing about Astravel,” James says, his voice dropping slightly. “Taverns aren’t the safest places here, and we don’t blend in so well. But I know a friend who lives in the outer rim. It’s been years since I’ve been in Astravel, though.”
Your eyebrow raises beneath your hood, your curiosity piqued. You lean forward slightly, shifting your weight on Maximus to get a better look at him. “When was the last time you came here? And why? It’s not like you have family in this kingdom.”
“I don’t,” James says, his voice drifting as a distant, almost nostalgic look crosses his face. “All my family is back in Valenora. But when I was fifteen, my dad dragged me along with him on a military exchange. He was helping train some of the vanguard guards here, and they threw me right onto the training grounds with the local squires and some of the younger royals to learn the ropes.”
“Wait, the royals trained with the regular guard?” you ask, tilting your head. “My parents would have had a stroke if my brothers tried that.”
James lets out a chuckle. “Astravel handles things a bit differently. But yeah, that’s actually where I met Sirius. He was still a prince then, obviously. We got pretty close, and every time my father had to come here for guard duties, I’d beg him to let me come along.”
You watch the way his knuckles tighten slightly on the reins, sensing the shift in his energy.
“One night, Sirius showed up out of nowhere on his private horse,” James continues, his voice dropping. “He had completely escaped Grimmauld Palace and was sobbing his eyes out. He kept saying he was going to run away from his family forever, that he couldn’t breathe in that place anymore. Honestly, I thought he was losing his mind at first.”
Your chest tightens at the description, a sudden, sharp wave of empathy hitting you. “He felt trapped,” you murmur, looking down at your own hands.
Well, that’s one thing you have in common with Sirius Black.
James glances over at you, his hazel eyes softening behind his cracked lenses before he looks back to the trail. “Yeah. I realize that now. But back then, he insisted that my father could sneak him out of Astravel and into Valenora.”
“And did he?” you ask, leaning in closer.
James lets out a dry laugh, shaking his head. “Are you kidding? Obviously not, my dad would never agree to smuggle a prince across the border—it would have caused a massive war if we were caught. So, Sirius and I planned it entirely behind his back.”
You let out a stunned, breathless laugh, staring at him in disbelief. “You? The guard who constantly lectures me about the rules? You smuggled a prince?”
“Hey, I was sixteen and reckless!” James defends himself, though a smirk plays at the corner of his lips. “We managed to sneak him into the back of the royal carriage, hid him under the floorboards beneath all the heavy gear, and kept him completely quiet all the way to Valenora.”
You stare at him, completely captivated. “I’m surprised sir Fleamont didn’t find out.”
“Oh, he found out,” James says with a grimace. “But it was too late. By then, the journey to Valenora had taken a whole week. During that time, the news had already spread across the continent. Queen Walburga had publicly disowned and banished her son from the throne, giving the heir position to his younger brother, Regulus.” he grimaces.
“She basically announced to the world that his crown was stripped. So, at that point, my dad couldn’t just kick Sirius back to Astravel since he was officially a banished exile. Instead, he took him into our home. He trained him, raised him, and made him a vanguard.”
James cuts a look at you, the wind ruffling his hair. “Long story short… I know Astravel, and I know how the people here think, because of Sirius. And the friend we’re going to see? She’s one of the few people Sirius trusted before he left.”
“Wow,” you breathe, the sheer weight of the story hanging in the freezing air between you. You shift slightly in Maximus’s saddle, your chest tightening with a sudden, deep wave of respect for Sirius back home.
“I knew Sirius was a rebel—I mean, the way he walks around the palace corridors like he owns them, the way he talks back to the high council—but I never knew he did all that. To just turn his back on a throne and run…”
“He didn’t just turn his back on it,” James says, his eyes fixed on the narrow, rocky path ahead as Midnight steps carefully over a frozen root. “He tore his way out of it. Sirius would have choked to death if he stayed in Grimmauld Palace. The abuse, the expectations, the pure cruelty of his mother… it was poisoning him. When he hid in that carriage, he knew he was giving up wealth, power, and a crown. But he didn’t care. He wanted his soul back.”
You stay quiet for a long moment, digesting the gravity of what James just shared. It makes you think of your own flight from Valenora—the suffocating gold cages, the heavy expectations, the terrifying truth of your own magic. You look at James, your voice a soft murmur over the howling wind. “Did your father punish you? When he found out?”
James lets out a sharp, breathless laugh, though his eyes hold a fond warmth. “Oh, he absolutely skinned me alive. I couldn’t sit down properly for a week, and he made me clean the vanguard stables with a toothbrush for a month. But once the fury faded, and he saw how broken Sirius actually was… my dad just opened the door. He treated Sirius like his own blood from that day forward.”
“And Regulus?” you ask, the name of the younger prince heavy on your tongue. “The brother who took his place?”
James’s smile vanishes, his jaw hardening. “Regulus stayed. He was always the quieter one, the perfect son who did what he was told. When Sirius left, Regulus became the heir.”
You nod, shivering as the icy wind picks up, biting ruthlessly at your cheeks. You pull your heavy hood tighter around your chin, looking out over the grim, colorless landscape. “So, this friend we’re heading to see… the one Sirius trusted. Who is she? What’s her name?”
“Pandora,” James replies, a slightly guarded, highly amused look crossing his face.
He checks the perimeter one more time, his gaze scanning the shadows before finally settling on you. “And I’m warning you right now,” he says, dropping his voice as he leans in slightly. “She’s a little… strange. She’s brilliant, but she operates on a completely different frequency than the rest of the world.”
Your eyebrow raises beneath your hood, a flicker of amusement cutting through your exhaustion. “Strange how?”
“She has this borderline unhealthy obsession with witchcraft, old folklore, and rocks,” James explains, rubbing the back of his neck. “Mostly crystals and cosmic alignment. If she starts trying to read your palm or talking to the air right next to your head, just roll with it.”
“A witchy rock collector?” you ask, incredulous. You glance back at the bleak, oppressive streets behind you. “In a kingdom this grim? How is she even alive?”
“Don’t let the eccentricity fool you,” James says, his tone instantly shifting into something sharp and serious. “Pandora is incredibly wealthy. Her family left her massive fortunes and sprawling estates across several different kingdoms. She doesn’t need to work a day in her life.”
“Must be nice,” you murmur.
“Exactly. Which is why she can get away with running a bizarre little shop right under the nose of the Astravel crown,” James continues, nodding. “She has eyes and ears everywhere, and her supply lines run straight into the heart of the city. If anyone has the resources, the hidden maps, or the bribed contacts to sneak two heavily wanted runaways into Grimmauld Castle without the crown guards knowing… it’s her.”
You look toward the faint glow of the shop window, the reality of what you’re about to ask of this stranger setting in. “And you think she’ll actually help us?”
James sighs. “I hope so. Because if she says no, we’re going to have to fight our way through a fortress of black iron, and I really don’t want to find out what happens if my sword melts again.”
“Let’s just hope she likes you enough to listen then,” you reply, keeping your voice low as the horses push forward through the biting cold.
“I actually met her through Sirius,” he explains, adjusting his glasses as he speaks over the howling wind.
“Though, to be fair, she doesn’t actually like Sirius all that much. He was always too loud for her taste. But she’s an incredibly close friend of Regulus. They grew up running in the same high-society circles before Sirius’ escape. If we explain to her exactly why we need to see him—and that it involves a matter he cares about—she’ll probably help us.”
The deeper you ride into the district, the more the grim, oppressive architecture of Astravel begins to shift. Finally, James pulls Midnight to a stop in front of a sprawling, three-story estate that completely defies the kingdom’s bleak aesthetic.
While the surrounding buildings are made of sharp, unwelcoming black iron and bruised stone, Pandora’s place is built from a warm, weathered timber and pale stone, adorned with circular windows and winding brass pipes that gleam faintly in the grey twilight.
James quickly dismounts, tying the reins of Midnight and Maximus to a sturdy hitching post near the side entrance. “Keep your hood up,” he whispers, gesturing for you to follow him up the steps.
He pushes the heavy oak door open, and a delicate, melodic brass bell chimes somewhere deep within the building. The moment you step inside, the freezing air of Astravel is instantly replaced by a strange, intoxicating warmth. The scent of burning white sage, dried lavender, and rich, roasted meats washes over you.
You look around, your eyes wide with curiosity. The layout is utterly bizarre—nothing like the strict, orderly shops of Valenora or the grim armories of Astravel.
It feels like a fusion of an antique boutique and a cozy, high-end tavern. To your left, velvet-lined shelves are crammed with ancient leather-bound books, jars of shimmering powders, and spinning celestial globes. To your right, heavy wooden tables are scattered across a polished floor, where a few patrons are sitting in plush armchairs, eating stews and drinking from steaming tankards.
It’s a little odd, a total contradiction of purposes, but it feels strangely alive.
Before you can explore any further, a tall, burly man wearing a stained leather apron steps out from behind a counter, wiping his hands on a rag. He eyes your heavy, travel-worn cloaks with immediate suspicion.
“Can I help you two?” he asks, his voice deep and entirely uninviting. “If you’re looking for a warm meal, tables are to the right. If you’re looking to cause trouble, the city watch is just down the block.”
James steps forward, lowering his hood just enough for the man to see his face, his posture radiating calm vanguard authority. “We aren’t here for trouble. We’re here for Pandora Lovegood. Tell her she has visitors.”
The man scoffs, crossing his massive arms over his chest. “Lady Pandora doesn’t just take unannounced guests from the road. Give me a name, or get out.”
“Tell her it’s Potter,” James says smoothly, a confident, slight smirk playing on his lips. “James Potter.”
The man gives James a long, incredibly odd look—his eyes darting from James’s messy hair down to the subtle, high-grade leather of his vanguard boots. For a second, it looks like he might argue, but the sheer seriousness in James’s gaze changes his mind.
The burly man grunts, tossing his rag onto the counter. “Stay right here. Don’t touch anything.”
He turns and disappears through a thick velvet curtain at the back of the shop, leaving you and James standing in the humming warmth of the strange tavern, waiting for the elusive Pandora to appear.
“This place is quite cool, actually,” you murmur under your breath, your eyes tracking a small, self-spinning brass solar system hovering over a nearby shelf. It feels so far removed from the cold, clinical gloom of the rest of Astravel.
“Don’t touch anything,” James immediately warns in a tight whisper, catching your wrist before your fingers can brush a glowing vial of amber liquid.
He leans in closer, his shadow falling over you as his gaze sweeps the tavern side of the room. “And keep your hood down. Your identity needs to stay completely hidden. If anyone in this kingdom recognizes a Valenora royal, we are dead before the night ends.”
You nod seriously, tugging the heavy fabric of your cloak forward until it shadows your face entirely.
Just then, the heavy velvet curtain rustles, and the burly man returns. His suspicious gaze lingers on the two of you for a beat before he jerks his chin toward the back of the room. “Follow me.”
James gives you a quick, reassuring nod, and you both step behind the curtain.
Instead of a lavish back office or a cozy sitting room, the man leads you straight toward a narrow, hidden archway. A winding spiral staircase of cold, damp stone cuts sharply downward, descending deep into the belly of the building. The air grows thicker, hummer with a strange, pulsing energy that vibrates right through the soles of your boots.
At the bottom of the stairs lies an underground basement, lit only by dozens of floating, dripping tallow candles. The walls are lined with floor-to-ceiling shelves overflowing with ancient artifacts, dried hanging herbs, and jars of preserved specimens. The man steps aside, gesturing toward a heavy, tapestry-woven curtain at the far end of the room.
James pushes the tapestry aside, stepping into a secluded, circular chamber.
Sitting in a grand, high-backed velvet chair in the center of the room is a woman. Her legs are gracefully crossed, and her hands rest lightly on her knees.
She possesses a striking, deep complexion that beautifully contrasts with her long, cascading silver hair, which is meticulously woven into intricate braids that drape over her shoulders. Her eyes are completely closed, her breathing slow and perfectly rhythmic.
What sends a sudden shiver down your spine, though, is that despite her closed eyes and your completely silent footsteps, she doesn’t miss a beat.
“Ahh, Potter,” she purrs, her voice melodic and laced with a strange, eerie detachment that echoes off the stone walls. “What brings a golden boy of Valenora so deep into the dark?”
James opens his mouth to answer, stepping forward. “Pandora, we need a favor—”
Before he can finish a single sentence, the woman’s eyes snap wide open. They are a piercing, unsettling shade of violet, and they lock instantly past James, drilling straight into you. The sheer intensity of her gaze makes you freeze beneath your cloak.
She tilts her head, her silver braids shifting. “And who are you?”
You swallow hard, keeping your voice steady and adopting the false inflection you rehearsed on the road. You lower your head slightly, letting the shadow of your hood do its work.
“Margaret,” you introduce yourself smoothly, offering your cover name without a hint of hesitation. “Just a traveler passing through, I work as a servant in Valenora, Lady Pandora.”
“You’ve got…” Pandora trails off, her voice dropping into a breathless whisper.
She doesn’t finish the sentence. Instead, she leans so far forward she’s nearly out of her chair, her eyes tracking something invisible that seems to wrap around your entire torso.
Her hands begin to move frantically now, her fingers plucking at the empty air around you as if she’s physically grasping thick, heavy threads.
Snap, pull, twist.
She murmurs a string of words under her breath, her brow furrowing. “A woven knot… twisted up… but the colors are bleeding into the dirt. So bright, yet so frayed. A tether that drags the whole world behind it…”
“Right, okay, that’s enough of the thread-work—so, as I was saying,” James interrupts firmly, stepping directly between you and Pandora to break her eerie focus.
He steps into her line of sight, his face hardening as he forces her to look at him. “Pandora, focus on me. Please. Just for a second.”
Pandora blinks, her violet eyes slowly refocusing on James, though her fingers give one last, lingering pluck to the empty space before dropping into her lap.
“We don’t have time for riddles,” James says, his voice low, urgent, and thick with gravity. “We aren’t just passing through. I need to see Prince Regulus, and it has to be tonight.”
Pandora stares at him, her brow furrowing slightly. “Prince Regulus? James, you know what happens to Valenoran guards found sneaking around his quarters. Why would you risk that?”
“Because Sirius asked me to,” James confesses, leaning in closer so his voice doesn’t carry. “Sirius needs his brother to know he’s alive, and that he’s well. But it’s more than that, Pandora. I have to warn Regulus about what’s coming—something that puts his life, and the entire kingdom, in immediate danger.”
He steps closer to her chair, his hands extended in a tense, silent plea. “You know the castle layout. You know the shift rotations, and you have access to the underground supply lines that run straight past the royal wing. I need you to use them to sneak us in. Without a single high knight realizing we’re there.”
Pandora stares at him for a long, quiet beat, the eccentric mist completely vanishing from her eyes, replaced by a cold, practical mask.
“No,” she says flatly.
“Pandora, please,” James pushes, stepping closer to her chair, his hands extended in a silent plea. “I wouldn’t ask this of you if it wasn’t a matter of life and death. I can pay you, I can—”
“I said no, Potter,” Pandora cuts him off sharply, raising a single, ring-adorned hand to silence him. A cold smile plays on her lips as she tilts her head, her silver braids catching the dim candlelight.
“You can’t bribe me. There is nothing a couple of broke, desperate runaways from Valenora could possibly offer me that would outweigh the risk of having my head placed on a spike outside the castle gates. My safety is not for sale.”
“Pandora, listen to me,” James pleads, his voice tight with desperation as he takes another step toward her chair. “I am not asking you to commit treason. All I am asking for—the only thing—is to help us find a way to speak to Regulus. That is all. Just a meeting in the dark. He’s your friend, too.”
Pandora waves her hand dismissively, cutting him off without an ounce of pity. “It doesn’t matter, James. A meeting in the dark carries the same executioner’s axe as a rebellion. I cannot help you. Now, I suggest you take your ‘Margaret’ and leave before the town guards smell the Valenora on your boots.”
The finality in her voice sends a spike of panic straight through your chest. If Pandora closes this door on you, your only lead dries up before you even step foot inside the castle.
Stepping forward, you break your silence, your voice urgent as you try to bridge the gap. “Lady Pandora, please, just listen to him,” you plead, your hands instinctively clenching at your sides. “We wouldn’t be asking this of you if there was any other way. It is incredibly important. Lives are literally hanging in the balance, and Regulus needs to hear this warning before it’s too late. Please.”
Pandora doesn’t answer right away. Instead, her head tilts at a strange, unnatural angle. She lifts her hands back into the empty space between you, her slender fingers twisting and looping through the air as if weaving an invisible loom.
“Oh, darling,” Pandora hums softly, her violet eyes locking onto you with an intensity that makes the hairs on your arms stand up. “Your strings are so incredibly red. They are bleeding into the air.”
You blink at her, completely thrown off balance by the sudden shift. “My… my strings?”
“Mhm. Your strings,” she nods, a small, knowing smile spreading across her face as her fingers trace a jagged line through the air toward your chest. “The ones tying your fate. You really should mend them before they get too frayed and snap. Because when a red string snaps, it leaves a very nasty stain.”
She smiles wickedly, a sharp, knowing look gleaming in her eyes that sends a genuine shiver down your spine. The sheer creepiness of the expression makes you instinctively take a step back.
James notices. His protective instincts instantly flaring as he steps right between you and her, cutting off her line of sight.
He grabs your arm in a firm grip and turns you toward the exit. “Come on, Margaret,” he mutters quietly. “Let’s go. We’ll find another way.”
“Nice seeing you again, Lovegood.” James says bitterly, throwing a furious glare over his shoulder at the girl in the chair.
He pulls you along, his stride heavy and pissed off, clearly done wasting his time on riddles and rejections. But as your boots near the threshold of the door, a sudden wave of desperation overrides your fear.
You can’t leave empty-handed. You can’t let this be a dead end.
Digging your heels into the floorboards, you pull your arm free from James’s grasp. “Wait, James, stop,” you say sharply, digging in your heels.
James halts, turning to you with his brow furrowed in frustration, but before he can protest, you turn your body completely back toward Pandora.
“Wait!” you call out to her, drawing her violet eyes back to yours. “What if I can offer you something of great value? Something entirely irreplaceable, in exchange for helping us see the prince.”
James violently snaps his head around to look at you, his eyes wide with warning, but you ignore him.
You turn fully back to face Pandora, who is watching you with an amused expression “I told you, darling,” Pandora says smoothly, leaning back. “You cannot bribe me.”
“Don’t consider it a bribe,” you reply, stepping closer to her velvet chair. “Consider it a price for your efforts. A token of gratitude for keeping our heads attached to our necks.”
Pandora tilts her head, her piercing violet eyes clouding with confusion. “And what could that possibly be? A sack of stolen gold? Some Valenoran jewelry? I have no use for ordinary treasures.”
Without a word, you unbuckle the brass clasp of your satchel. You reach deep into the velvet lining and wrap your fingers around the massive, raw purple crystal you had smuggled from the vale.
The moment you pull your hand out and expose the stone to the air, the dim, candle-lit basement is violently flooded with a brilliant, blinding violet light.
The raw, ancient energy humming from the stone causes the glass jars on the shelves to loudly rattle, and the flames of the floating tallow candles move wildly.
This crystal truly is a magical phenomenon.
Pandora completely freezes. Her jaw goes entirely slack, and her violet eyes widen so large they look like saucers. In a flash, she abandons her seat and scrambles up from her high-backed chair, stepping toward you as if physically pulled by a magnetic force.
“It… it can’t be,” she whispers, her voice trembling with pure, unadulterated reverence as she reaches out with shaking hands.
You place the heavy, pulsing crystal into her palms. She holds it close to her chest, inspecting every flawless detail, her eyes reflecting the radiant purple glow.
“It is,” you say softly, a confident smile playing on your lips. “It’s a lumicryst.”
“How…” Pandora breathes, her head snapping up to look at you, a mixture of awe and absolute shock twisting her features. “How did you get this? Where did you get this? The King’s curse has held the Vale for centuries—no one touches these and lives!”
“It doesn’t matter how or where I got it,” you counter smoothly, crossing your arms under your cloak. “All that matters is that it’s going to be yours. If you help us.”
James stands completely paralyzed a few feet away. His face has gone pale, his eyes darting from the glowing crystal to you.
The realization of what you just did hits him, and his jaw tightens in pure panic. He takes a furious step toward you, opening his mouth to yell. “Are you completely out of your mind?! You can’t just—”
“Deal,” Pandora cuts him off sharply, her voice ringing through the chamber.
(And just like that, goodbye to the lumicryst you’d been hoarding for yourself. But hey—anything for a pass into the Astravel archives.)
She doesn’t even look at James. Her gaze is entirely locked onto the lumicryst, a deeply impressed, and slightly manic smile spreading across her face as she cradles the world-altering treasure.
“The crystal is mine,” Pandora murmurs, her tone turning sweet and utterly satisfied once more. “And the hidden passage into the lower kitchens of Grimmauld Castle is yours.”
The heavy velvet tapestry falls shut behind you as Pandora retreats further into her private vault. The basement returns to its dim, amber candlelight, leaving a tense, suffocating silence in its wake.
The second Pandora is out of earshot, James spins on his heel. His face is pale, his jaw clenched so tight the muscles leap in his cheek.
He steps directly into your space, his eyes blazing behind his glasses as he hisses at you lowly. “Are you completely, utterly out of your mind?!” he fumes, his hands gesturing wildly toward your satchel. “A lumicryst, Y/N? You just flashed a legendary, world-altering piece of contraband to a woman who reads the wind! You’re going to get us exposed! If the crown guards intercept her, or if she slips up, that crystal tracks straight back to the Vale—which tracks straight back to you!”
You don’t flinch. Instead, you calmly adjust the strap of your satchel, raising an eyebrow at him. “At least my plan worked,” you whisper back, matching his low, intense tone.
“You were about to walk out that door with absolutely nothing. We need to see Regulus, James. I paid the price.”
James opens his mouth to deliver a furious retort, but the rustle of the curtain cuts him off.
Pandora steps back into the chamber, the crystal already safely hidden away, “Arguments are bad for the aura, children,” Pandora chimes sweetly, smoothing down her dark silk robes as she stops in front of you. “Especially when we have a palace to infiltrate.”
James forcefully swallows his anger, clearing his throat and stepping back into his professional vanguard posture. “You said you have a way in.”
“I do,” Pandora says, her silver braids swaying as she tilts her head. “I know a guard stationed at the lower western gate of Grimmauld. A man named Barty. He owes me a rather substantial debt, and he happens to be quite flexible with his loyalty when I ask nicely. By tomorrow morning, I will have everything prepared. I’ll send Barty here to meet you. He will bring standard Astravel guard gear for the both of you—armor, helmets, cloaks—so you can blend right into the midnight shift rotation. Once you’re suited up, he will personally guide you through the lower courtyard and into the servants’ corridors.”
You lean forward, your interest piqued. “And he can get us all the way to the Prince’s private wing?”
“Barty knows the layout like the back of his hand,” Pandora nods. “He will get you past the secondary checkpoints. But once you are inside the royal wing, you are on your own. My reach only goes so far.”
Is Barty reliable?” James demands, his voice dropping into a hard, skeptical register. “If the pressure gets to him and he panics, he could easily sell us out to the High Knights just to clear his own debts. I’m not risking our necks on the word of a desperate debtor.”
Pandora tilts her head, her fingers tracing a slow, lazy circle in the air as if smoothing out a wrinkle in time. “Barty owes me a great deal, yes. But he’s also a close friend of Regulus,” Pandora replies, her voice dropping into a sing-song cadence that does nothing to mask the underlying threat.
She offers him a sweet, thoroughly chilling smile that doesn’t reach her wide, unblinking eyes. “As long as you don’t try to harm the prince, he would never dream of selling you out, Potter. He loves Regulus far too much to compromise his safety.”
James holds her gaze for a long, tense beat, the muscles in his jaw tight enough to snap. He clearly doesn’t love the idea of relying on a loose cannon like Barty Crouch, but he knows this is the only hand you both have left to play.
Slowly, he lowers his arms to his sides and gives a nod of acceptance.
Pandora’s sharp, eerie smile fades, replaced instantly by an icy, unwavering intensity that completely commands the room. “But listen to me closely,” she says, her voice dropping into a dangerous whisper that echoes off the stone walls. “This better be for Regulus’s good. I am only doing this for him… and, of course, for that magnificent crystal. If I find out you brought Valenoran trouble to his doorstep to hurt him, there isn’t a corner of this realm where you will be safe from me.”
The gravity in her voice sends a cold shiver straight down your spine, leaving no doubt that she means every single word. James instinctively shifts, his shoulder subtly blocking half of your body from her view, but you refuse to hide behind him this time.
Stepping forward past James’s guard, you look her dead in the eye. “We are here to help him. I give you my word.”
Relaxing your shoulders, you offer her a soft, genuine smile—a token of appreciation for a girl who, beneath all her strange riddles, is just trying to protect the people she loves. “Thank you. For everything.”
Pandora eyes you for a moment, the tension breaking as she lets out a soft, dramatic sigh. “Yes, yes. Save the gratitude for when your heads are still attached tomorrow night.”
She steps toward the archway, her rings clinking together. “I have a room prepared for you upstairs. You look like corpses, and you need rest if you’re going to survive Barty’s energy tomorrow.”
She walks to the base of the spiral stone stairs and cups her mouth, calling out into the upper floor. “Mulciber! Get down here!”
A moment later, the heavy, thudding footsteps of the burly man echo down the staircase. He appears at the bottom, his massive frame nearly blocking the light, his suspicious gaze still firmly fixed on James.
“Lead them to the eastern guest suite,” Pandora instructs the brute, waving her hand dismissively as she turns back to her artifacts. “Make sure they aren’t disturbed. They have a very long day tomorrow.”
Mulciber grunts in response, jerking his thick chin toward the stairs. “Follow me.”
You and James exchange one last look of mixed exhaustion and lingering tension before pulling your hoods back over your faces.
Side by side, you follow the bulky man up the damp stone steps, leaving the mystical underground sanctuary behind to prepare for the madness of Grimmauld Castle.
Mulciber leads you out of the heavy atmosphere of the basement, up through the curtained-off back room, and down a long, quiet hallway attached to the upper half of the estate where rooms are kept for rent.
James walks half a step ahead of you, his hands shoved deep into his pockets, his shoulders tense. He leans his head back slightly, keeping his voice incredibly low so it doesn’t carry down the corridor.
“I don’t feel like this is going to end well tomorrow, Y/N,” he murmurs, his tone laced with a heavy, anxious weight. “Sneaking into Grimmauld Castle with a guard named Barty who works for an eccentric rock-collector? We are playing with fire.”
You step a little closer to him, keeping your own voice at a whisper. “It will end well, James. We have a plan now, and a way inside. Besides, from what you told me about Sirius, this Regulus can’t be that bad. He’s his brother. We just need to talk to him.”
James lets out a faint, unconvinced grunt just as Mulciber stops in front of a heavy wooden door.
The massive man unlocks it, throws it open with a rough jerk of his arm, and steps aside without a word. James gives him a tight nod, and you both step inside.
The room is modest but surprisingly nice. A small hearth crackles with a low, warm fire, casting long shadows across the dark timber walls. There’s a washbasin in the corner, a small wooden wardrobe, and a single window looking out into the bleak, windy Astravel night. But as your eyes scan the space, you freeze.
There is only one bed.
It’s a decent size, piled high with thick, heavy furs to combat the northern cold, but it is undeniably, single-handedly, just one bed.
Mulciber pulls the door shut behind you, the heavy thud of the lock clicking into place signaling that you’re finally safe for the night. James immediately drops his heavy travel pack onto a wooden chair, his eyes tracking over to the bed.
He clears his throat, a faint, awkward tightness settling in his jaw. “You get the bed,” he says immediately, his voice leaving absolutely no room for argument as he unbuckles his sword belt. “I’ll take the floor. I’ve slept on worse during guard training.”
“James, you don’t have to—”
“I do,” he interrupts softly, offering you a brief, reassuring look. “Don’t worry about it.”
Realizing it’s useless to argue with a stubborn man like him, you give in.
You take a quick, scalding shower in the attached washroom, the hot water washing away the grime of the Hallow Vale and the freezing chill of the Astravel roads. Changing into a pair of soft, clean sleeping clothes, you climb under the heavy furs of the bed.
True to his word, James has already gathered a few extra blankets from the wardrobe, spreading them out on the hard floor near the hearth, using his folded cloak as a pillow.
The fire slowly burns down to a bed of glowing red embers, throwing the room into a deep, heavy darkness.
But as the hours tick by, sleep completely eludes you. Every time you close your eyes, the terrifying horrors of the Hallow Vale flash violently behind your eyelids. You can still feel the suffocating dead air; you can still see the jagged, rotting black vines weeping with dark magic.
A deep, irrational paranoia twists your stomach, making you feel like at any second, a rotted vein will burst through the floorboards and drag you down into the dark forest again.
You shiver, staring wide-eyed at the dark ceiling, your heart hammering against your ribs.
After what feels like an eternity of tossing and turning, you shift onto your side. You look down toward the floor, where James’s silhouette is completely still against the dim embers.
“James?”
The silence of the room stretches for a second before you hear the soft rustle of heavy fabric shifting against the floorboards.
“Yeah?” James’s voice cuts through the quiet, surprisingly alert and entirely devoid of sleep.
He turns over onto his side to face you, pulling the thick blanket down slightly.
In the dim, ambient glow of the room, you can just make out his silhouette. Without his armor, he looks completely different.
His messy dark curls are sticking out wildly in every direction from tossing and turning, and his glasses are missing, resting somewhere on the floor beside his makeshift bed.
Without them, squinting slightly in the dark, he looks soft. Cute, even.
You swallow hard, your voice shrinking into a quiet murmur. “I don’t know… I just can’t sleep.”
James shifts again, propping his head up with one hand as he stares up toward the height of the bed. “Why? What’s wrong? Are you in pain?”
You go quiet for a few seconds, staring down at your hands beneath the furs, feeling a sudden wave of embarrassment. “I know it’s stupid,” you confess, the wind outside rattling the glass pane emphasizing your words. “I’m just… a little scared. Every time I close my eyes, I feel like those vines from the Vale are going to drag me under again.”
The tension in James’s posture instantly melts. He offers you a deeply warm, comforting smile that you can feel more than see in the shadows. “It’s not stupid, Y/N. Look at me.” He waits until you peer over the edge of the mattress. “I’m right here. I’m not going to let anything touch you, okay? I will protect you. Nothings gonna happen to you. I promise.”
You let out a breath you didn’t realize you were holding, pulling the blankets up to your chin. “Okay. Thank you, James.”
“Anytime. Now try to get some rest.”
Another five minutes pass. The room settles into stillness again, save for the Astravel wind. But despite his reassuring words, the paranoia doesn’t leave your limbs.
You turn to your left. Then, a minute later, you roll tightly to your right, the heavy furs rustling loudly in the quiet space.
Suddenly, you hear a long sigh from the floor. James sits up completely, his shadow casting a tall silhouette against the wall. “Alright, what’s wrong?”
“What?” you ask innocently, freezing mid-turn. “I didn’t say anything.”
James laughs, rubbing a hand over his face. “You didn’t have to. I can hear you vibrating from down here. I know there’s something you want to say, so just spit it out.”
You huff, burying half your face into the fluffy pillow as heat rushes to your cheeks. You hesitate, the silence stretching between you until you finally gather the courage.
“Can you… sleep up here?” you ask, your voice dropping into a shy whisper. “With me? On the bed? I just… I think I’d feel a lot safer if you were closer.”
James completely freezes. Even in the dark, you can see his shoulders go entirely rigid. He stares at you, his voice momentarily catching in his throat. “Are you… are you sure that’s alright? You know, considering you’re technically still engaged to the prince back home… I don’t want to overstep.”
You can’t help but let out a genuine laugh at his sudden nervousness, the absurdity of your situation washing over you. “James, look at us. I’m a runaway princess accused of harming the crown, and we’re currently hiding in an underground fortress in an enemy kingdom. Sleeping in one bed with my guard isn’t going to make things any worse than they already are.”
James lets out a defeated chuckle, shaking his head at your logic. “Yeah… I suppose you have a point there.”
He doesn’t argue further. Grabbing his pillow and trailing his heavy blanket behind him, he stands up and climbs onto the elevated mattress. He slides beneath the heavy furs, settling onto the empty half of the mattress.
However, the moment his back hits the bed, James turns as stiff as a wooden board.
He lies flat on his back, staring straight up at the ceiling, his arms locked rigidly at his sides, barely even breathing as if he’s terrified that a single movement might accidentally brush against you.
With James lying right there, just inches away, the dark room suddenly feels entirely different. The cold Astravel wind outside seems to vanish, replaced by a suffocating, intoxicating heat that radiates directly from his side of the mattress.
A strange, fiery pit ignites deep in your stomach, sending an electric shiver straight down your spine.
Your skin feels like it’s on fire, and you can’t help but instinctively clench your thighs together as a sudden, ache pulses between them.
It is a completely foreign, overwhelming sensation. You’ve never felt anything like this in your entire life. With him this close, every nerve in your body is screaming at you to bridge the gap, to press yourself against him.
Oh god, you think, your heart hammering wildly against your ribs. Is this what they call arousal?
You certainly know what sex is—you aren’t completely naive—but growing up as a cloistered princess, the Royal Court had strictly forbidden the older maids from giving you the actual details. The mechanics and the raw, physical reality of it are entirely foreign to you.
Frustrated and deeply flustered, you let out a silent, internal curse. Fuck.
You violently shove your pillow into a new position and yank the heavy furs up to your chin, desperately trying to force your brain to sleep.
But as you toss, your body betrays you. Unconsciously seeking that heat, you shift backward, accidentally grinding your lower back right against James’s hip.
James lets out a sharp, muffled grunt of surprise—and what sounds like sudden discomfort.
You freeze, your face instantly burning. You quickly roll over onto your side to face him, peering through the shadows. “Sorry! Did I kick you?” you ask, your voice tight with embarrassment. “I… I tend to move around and kick a lot in my sleep.”
James doesn’t move a muscle, still stiff as a board, though his breathing has suddenly become remarkably shallow. “No,” he chokes out, his voice a full octave rougher than usual.
He clears his throat quickly. “No, it’s fine. It’s just… a little hot in here.”
“Right,” you murmur, nodding quickly despite the freezing climate outside.
You try your best to ignore the wetness pooling between your thighs, and even worse, the urge to touch it down there.
James goes entirely quiet after that, closing his eyes and shifting his head away. Taking that as a sign that he’s trying to fall asleep, you finally let out a long breath.
You turn away, tightly closing your eyes and doing your absolute best to ignore the persistent, throbbing heat between your legs. Exhaustion from the long journey finally wins, and within minutes, you drift off into a deep, heavy slumber.
You fall asleep completely unaware of the absolute torment you’ve left him in. Beside you, James is staring wide-eyed at the dark ceiling, his hands clenched into tight fists at his sides.
The sudden, accidental pressure of your body shifting against his had sent a violent, searing jolt straight through him.
James is currently fighting for his absolute life, dealing with the massive, undeniable boner he has no right to harbor. To have you—the princess he is sworn to protect and forbidden to touch—sleeping just inches away, completely vulnerable and trusting, is a brand of torture.
He doesn’t dare move an inch, terrified that even a single breath might shatter his fragile self-control.
So, yes. It is going to be a very, very long night for one James Potter.
a/n: time for the long rant, folks!!!
okay… SO MANY FEELINGS THIS CHAPTER.
i genuinely had the biggest smile writing this one because it feels like we’re finally reaching a point where all the little moments i’ve been building up are starting to pay off.
first of all, i need to talk about james because i love this man with my entire heart.
one thing that’s always been really important to me while writing him is making sure the difference between care and control is clear. yes, he can be stubborn. yes, he can be overprotective. yes, sometimes he says things that princess absolutely wants to roll her eyes at. but it never comes from a place of wanting to control her decisions. it comes from someone who has spent years believing his purpose is to protect people, and suddenly the person he’s trying hardest to protect is also the person asking him to let her make dangerous choices.
that’s such a difficult balance, and i adore writing that internal conflict.
and then… there’s princess.
oh, sweetheart. those feelings are getting a little difficult to ignore, aren’t they? :)
i’ve loved writing the gradual shift in the way she looks at james because nothing about it happens overnight. she isn’t suddenly in love because he smiled at her once. she’s slowly learning to trust him, to understand him, and to see the boy beneath the armour and the title of royal guard. it’s been such a slow, careful journey, and watching her walls come down little by little has honestly been one of my favourite parts of this series.
something else i really loved about this chapter is that, unlike some of the earlier chapters that leaned more heavily into james’ perspective, this one spends much more time inside princess’ head.
and i think that difference is really important. because if you’ve been paying close attention throughout the story, james has lowkey been in love with princess since… like chapter three 😭
his feelings have been there for a long time now. he’s just been trying very, very hard to shove them somewhere deep inside his brain because falling for the princess you’re sworn to protect is, objectively, a terrible career decision.
but the point is that james’ walls fell first, he let himself care before she ever did.
princess, on the other hand, is completely different. she’s spent her entire life learning that getting attached to people only ends in losing them, disappointing them, or having them taken away from her. every relationship she’s ever had has come with duty, fear, expectations, or sacrifice attached to it.
so she doesn’t fall all at once and her walls don’t collapse like james’, they come down brick by brick.
sometimes without her even realising she’s the one taking them apart. and i honestly think that’s one of my favourite parts of writing their relationship. they’re both falling in love, but they’re doing it in completely different ways and paces. james fell quickly and then spent forever trying to hide it, while princess is taking the slowest possible route toward accepting feelings she’s been denying for chapters.
i think that’s one of the most beautiful things about love. it never looks exactly the same for two people, even when they’re falling for each other.
and without spoiling too much…i cannot WAIT for you all to read their confession whenever we finally get there because i’ve been imagining that scene since before i even started writing tcov 😭
NOW. NEW CHARACTERS!!! welcome barty and pandora!!!
i absolutely adore pandora. she is whimsical, strange, unpredictable, and somehow always seems to know more than she lets on. i love writing characters who make you question whether they’re simply odd… or whether every seemingly random thing they say actually means something.
so here’s my tiny warning: pay attention to pandora. she has a habit of saying things that sound completely absurd until suddenly… they don’t. that’s all i’m saying. :)
ALSO… UM. HELLO?????
ARE WE FINALLY GETTING A LITTLE BIT OF SEXUAL TENSION HERE?????
after all this yearning… all the almost moments… all the lingering glances… all the accidental touches…
i fear these two are starting to realise they are, in fact, very attracted to each other 😭
and because i know someone will ask…smut is, in fact, approaching. the slow burn has officially reached the point where it’s no longer quite so slow anymore LMAOOO.
i’ve been waiting FOREVER to write these next few chapters and i genuinely cannot believe we’re finally here.
speaking of next chapter…I AM SO EXCITED because we finally meet regulus!!! i’ve been waiting to introduce him for ages, and with him comes even more lore surrounding the kingdoms, the journey, and everything that’s been hiding beneath the surface of the story.
we’re also getting closer and closer to solistia, which means we’re getting closer and closer to finally uncovering the truth behind princess’ powers. some of you are getting… alarmingly close with your theories.
that’s all i’ll say 🤭
thank you all so much for reading, commenting, screaming in all caps, sending theories, and losing your minds alongside me every chapter. genuinely, reading your reactions has become one of my favourite parts of posting this series, and i appreciate every single one of you more than you know 💗💗
i hope you’re all doing well, staying happy, healthy, and hydrated <3
and as always… i’ll see you in the next chapter my loves <3 <3 <3
