you know that trope where itâs princess + knight, but theyâve both been captured by the bad guys and the princess is now gripped by the jaw by the villain, receiving a thin cut to her cheek while remaining completely still with a defiant look in her eyes even as a droplet of blood begins to trickle out of the wound, all while 3 people AT THE VERY LEAST need to have their hands locked on the knight because heâs thrashing around like a wild animal, trying so so so desperately, violently, to get to her?
Summary: It was well known within the team that there was one other person back in the day that had captured their team leader's heart. You knew Aaron back when he and Haley took a break from their relationship and he went to the academy and met you. What the team doesnât know is that you have been with the FBI ever since, working the west coast mainly until you get requested to join the BAU.Â
an// the timeline is a little different in this from the show, Aaron spent longer as a prosecutor before going to the academy and joining the FBI for this to work and to make the reader younger than Aaron. This is also a world where Foyet never happened and Haley is still alive.Â
summary: after thragg's confrontation with the coalition goes awry thragg knows where he needs to be and what he needs to do
thragg x viltrumite!reader
a/n: spoilers for ep 7 might be ooc?? but i'd like to think ALL gruff men are DOWN BAD for their wives the baddest viltrumite is no exception
Thragg has no wife, no children, and no home. Heâd sent his wife and heirs away to Earth while he fought- a safety measure to protect Viltrumâs future. He knows your womb has the power of creating the life that Viltrumâs declining numbers depend on; the power of creating new heirs belly swollen with possibility. It is then that he knows he's failed. Failed as a father, emperor, husband. The last word weighs heavy in his chest. His anger mingles with a sort of guilt a servitude, is it? He knows what he must do the moment he finds you. Â
Thragg is not one to grovel. His pride does not allow his anger does not make it a possibility. It is only you who is able to bring him to his knees. The woman you are and the mother you will be leave a gape in his chest and a tremble in his voice. When he sees you it feels as though his heart has stopped- it's only then he realizes how rapidly his pulse has been. He stands before you a shell of a man and lowers his eyes to meet yours. Your eyes swim with worry and he knows that what comes next will drown him. He gets on his knees kneeling before you. His voice has a slight edge. âMy love, Iâve failed. Weâve no land, no people, just will. Our children will have no home because of my failures. For this I feelâ he pauses and whispers a shaky breath âremorse.âÂ
The Emperor of Viltrum on his knees before you he does not serve his people he serves you. Â
âThraggâ you say voice the same as ever-sure as ever. âYou may consider today a failure but there is no limit to your merit as Emperor. You will succeed. We will get our justice. We shall prevail; we are without end.â Â
Thragg knows that this feeling is new. Anger so potent and raw that it elicits a single tear. He feels weak, ashamed, and yet somehow renewed with an insatiable bloodlust he will make it up to you and your children. He is honor-bound.
Her Brother, Her Best Friend, Her Love â Theodore Nott
Summary: Being Draco Malfoyâs twin means never being alone, especially when Theodore Nott has always been right beside her.
Warnings: None. MalfoyTwin!Reader
Word Count: 9.5K
Ever since they were young, Draco and Y/N Malfoy had been inseparable, not simply because they were twins, but because something deeper kept pulling them back together. A bond that lived under skin and bone. Beyond matching faces and shared birthdays. It was instinct. It was certain. As natural as breathing.
No matter how vicious their arguments became, no matter how cruel their pranks were, they always circled back.
Always chose each other.
They fought loudly, dramatically, the way only children raised side by side could. Doors slammed through the endless corridors of Malfoy Manor. Insults were hurled with the fearless precision of two people who knew exactly where the other was weakest and knew, too, exactly how far they could go before it stopped being a game. Pride bruised. Tempers flared. Threats were made that neither of them ever truly meant.
Yet when it mattered, when the world felt too large or too sharp, they were always side by side.
Draco was her shield.
Y/N was his anchor.
She still remembered the day everything changed.
They had been five, far too young to understand the weight of magic, or the fear it carried when it slipped its leash. The argument was ridiculous in hindsight, something trivial and childish: the last sweet on a silver tray in the drawing room. Draco insisted sheâd taken it. Y/N swore she hadnât. Voices rose, sharp and indignant, echoing off marble walls and gilded frames. Small hands shoved. Frustration bubbled over into something hot and uncontrollable.
And then Dracoâs magic exploded.
It wasnât intentional. It wasnât aimed.
It simply was.
The force hit her without warning, throwing her backward across the room as though the air itself had turned solid. Pain flashed sharp and blinding, and then nothing.
When she woke, she was tucked safely into her bed, silk sheets drawn neatly around her like they could keep the world out. The familiar scent of her room, lavender oil, polished wood, something faintly metallic wrapped around her. Voices filled the air, sharp and overlapping, frantic in a way the manor never allowed.
Her parents stood nearby, but it was her fatherâs voice that cut through everything else.
Lucius Malfoy, usually so controlled, so precise, sounded furious and terrified all at once as he scolded Draco. His tone was clipped, edged with something dangerously close to panic.
Draco.
Y/N turned her head.
He stood at the foot of the bed, small shoulders shaking violently, pale face streaked with tears. His hands were clenched at his sides like he didnât know what to do with them, like he was afraid to touch anything ever again. He looked shattered. Devastated. Like a child who truly believed he had destroyed the only thing that mattered.
His sister.
His other half.
He thought he had killed her.
The realization softened something deep in her chest. So when her eyes fluttered open, she didnât scream. She didnât cry. She smiled wide and bright, utterly unconcerned, as if the whole thing had been an exciting surprise.
So wide, in fact, that both of her parents froze.
âMummy! Daddy!â Y/N exclaimed, voice filled with wonder rather than fear. âDrayâs magic finally exploded!â
For a heartbeat, no one moved.
Then Draco broke.
A broken sob tore out of him, and he launched himself forward, climbing onto the bed and clinging to her as though she might vanish if he let go. His hands twisted in her nightshirt, desperate.
âIâm so sorry,â he cried into her shoulder. âI thought I killed you, sissyâI thought I hurt you forever.â
Y/N didnât hesitate. She wrapped her arms around him just as tightly, small fingers threading into his hair, holding him like he was the one who needed saving.
âIâm fine,â she murmured, steady despite everything. âSee? Iâm right here.â
Lucius, who had been the most worried of all, felt his anger melt away, leaving only a tight, aching relief he would never admit to anyone outside these walls. His pale eyes softened as he watched his children tangled together on the bed, so alike, so fiercely bonded.
Narcissaâs smile was gentler than the room deserved. Her hand found Luciusâs sleeve, a quiet touch that calmed him more than words ever could.
âI told you,â she said softly. âDraco would never hurt his sister. Not truly. Not ever.â
And from that day on, it was clear to everyone in Malfoy Manor: no matter how sharp their words became, no matter how loud their arguments, Draco and Y/N were two halves of the same soul, unbreakable, protective, devoted.
Each otherâs constant.
.
.
.
As the years passed, the world around them slowly expanded. Alliances were formed with careful precision, conversations were held behind closed doors, and names began to matter more than playthings. Soon enough, the Malfoy twins were introduced to other children who came from the same world.
Theodore Nott was the first.
They met when the twins were six, on a cold afternoon at Nott Manor, though Draco would later insist the weather alone warranted dramatic complaints. Theo was quieter than the Malfoy twins from the moment they met him: dark-haired, pale, watchful. He didnât rush forward like Draco. He didnât meet Y/N with bold confidence, either.
He observed.
Measured.
And Y/N, who was used to being watched, used to the way adults weighed her worth before they even learned her favorite sweets, noticed it immediately. Not the scrutiny of an adult, but something different. Something⌠careful. Like he was trying to understand her, not judge her.
The adults called it a playdate.
None of the children believed that.
Lucius and Narcissa watched with polite smiles and sharper eyes. Theoâs father remained silent, his presence heavy and unreadable, like a shadow cast across the room. This wasnât about toys or laughter.
It was about assessment. Who led. Who followed. Who watched quietly from the corners.
Draco, of course, detonated into the day like a firework. Within minutes, heâd tried to pull Theo into whatever reckless game he and Y/N had invented, issuing challenges and dares with an enthusiasm only a Malfoy child could muster.
Y/N lingered closer, studying Theo with curiosity rather than suspicion, her gaze sharp and quick. She didnât like people who looked at her as though she were an extension of her fatherâs reputation. Theoâs eyes didnât do that. His attention landed on her face, her hands, the way she stood beside Draco as if the space between them had always belonged to her.
Theo didnât protest. He didnât laugh loudly, nor did he shrink away.
He simply joined them.
Quietly.
And somehow, without anyone noticing exactly when it happened, he fit.
It was small at first. A steady presence that didnât demand anything. A boy who stepped out of Dracoâs chaos not because he feared it, but because he didnât need to compete with it. He watched. He listened.
And he remembered everything.
Y/N noticed it most when Draco got carried away. When Dracoâs dares became too sharp, too close to cruel, Theoâs gaze would flick to Y/Nânot asking permission, but checking. Are you alright with this? Are you laughing, or are you forcing it?
And every time she met his eyes, something in Theoâs chest tightened an unfamiliar pull he didnât yet have language for. He didnât know why he cared whether she was truly amused. He only knew he did.
The adults would later say it was inevitable that children of their standing were bound to grow close.
But Theo knew, even at six, that what he felt wasnât inevitability.
It was choice.
Because Draco was loud and impossible to ignore.
And Y/NâY/N was the center of gravity.
She didnât have to raise her voice to be noticed. She could stand perfectly still, and the room would tilt toward her anyway. Draco orbited her like a planet that didnât know it was tethered. Theo⌠Theo learned to do it more quietly. He learned to be close without crowding. Present without demanding.
It started as a simple thing: Theo liked being near her.
Then it became something sharper, something that settled into him like a secret.
Theo noticed the way Y/Nâs smile changed when she was genuinely entertainedâsofter, warmer, less guarded. He noticed how quickly she put that guard back up when adults turned their eyes on her. He noticed the second she stopped breathing whenever Luciusâs voice went cold.
And without ever meaning to, Theo began collecting those details like they mattered.
Like she mattered.
Someone who saw her without needing her to speak.
Someone who understood the spaces between words.
Someone who, even then, was already learning what it meant to stand beside herânot because he had to, but because he wanted to.
.
.
.
Months later, Lorenzo Berkshire and Blaise Zabini arrived. The Berkshires were new to England, newly rooted in a country still reeling from the warâs aftermath. Theyâd heard the stories of the chaos, the devastation, the fear that had once gripped the wizarding world. But more importantly, they understood something far more practical: survival required allegiance.
And allegiance meant choosing a side.
They chose the Malfoys.
And the Notts.
Blaise Zabiniâs family was spoken of in quieter tones. His motherâs name was whispered with intrigue and caution, followed by a long list of husbands who had vanished just as mysteriously as theyâd appeared. No one questioned it, not when Mrs. Zabiniâs inheritance alone rivaled most old families.
That afternoon, the Malfoy twins and Theo were sprawled across the manicured gardens of Malfoy Manor, circling a cluster of protesting garden gnomes. Draco was shouting instructions with far too much authority for a six-year-old, while Y/N laughed as she nudged one of the gnomes back toward its hole with the toe of her shoe. Theo lingered nearby, arms crossed, watching the chaos with the quiet amusement of someone who preferred storms from a safe distance.
âDraco, stop yelling at them,â Y/N said, crouching. âThey donât listen when you shout.â
âThey should,â Draco huffed. âThis is our garden.â
Theo tilted his head. âYouâre arguing with gnomes.â
Draco scowled. âAnd youâre standing there doing nothing.â
âIâm supervising,â Theo replied calmly, and when Y/N laughed, that same warm pull tightened in his chest like it had hands.
A familiar pop sounded at the edge of the lawn.
Dobby appeared, wringing his long fingers nervously. Behind him stood two boys.
One had shaggy brown hair and wide eyes, his gaze darting between the towering manor and the three children as if he wasnât sure where to place himself. The other dark-skinned, sharp-eyed held himself with effortless confidence, hands folded neatly behind his back as though heâd been taught to look like he belonged anywhere.
Y/N straightened first, brushing grass from her dress. Draco followed immediately, shoulders squaring as he stepped half a pace in front of her without thinking.
Theo noticed.
He always noticed.
It wasnât jealousy yet. Not quite. It was simply⌠a quiet alarm bell in his bones whenever the world moved too close to her.
âMs. Y/N,â Dobby squeaked, bowing. âMr. Little Malfoy, sirâthis is Mr. Lorenzo Berkshire and Mr. Blaise Zabini.â
Draco eyed them critically. âYouâre late.â
Lorenzo flushed. âS-sorry. The Flooââ
âItâs fine,â Blaise interrupted smoothly, stepping forward. His eyes flicked over Draco, then Y/N, then Theoâassessing, calculating. âThank you for having us.â
Y/Nâs smile was polite, practiced, but her eyes were curious, bright. âYou donât have to sound so serious. We were just torturing gnomes.â
Theo added, dry as ever, âAgainst their will.â
Blaiseâs mouth tipped into a small grin. âThey look like they deserve it.â
Draco snorted. âFinally, someone with sense.â
Lorenzo hesitated, then blurted, âYour house is⌠really big.â
Draco smirked. âObviously.â
Y/N shot him a look. âHe means itâs impressive,â she corrected, gentler. Then she offered her hand to Lorenzo first, because she could always sense who needed kindness more. âIâm Y/N. Thatâs Draco, and this is Theo.â
Theo gave a small nod. âYou donât have to be nervous.â
Lorenzo swallowed. âIâm not.â
Blaise raised an eyebrow. âHe is.â
Draco laughed outright, clearly approving. âI like you already.â
Theo didnât laugh, but he watched Y/N as she smiled, and felt that same strange certainty settle deeper: she pulled people in. Whether she meant to or not.
And Theo⌠Theo stayed close enough to catch anyone who fell into her orbit too hard.
.
.
.
Four more years passed, and with them came sharper awareness. The war no longer felt like a story told in hushed tones; it lingered in glances, in careful conversations, in the names their parents spoke with caution.
It was during one of those carefully arranged afternoons that Mattheo Riddle was introduced into their already forming circle.
At first, the adults hesitated. The name alone carried consequences. There had been long discussions behind closed doors, low voices and measured words. But eventually, a decision was made.
By then, the others were inseparable.
Draco Malfoy. Y/N Malfoy. Theodore Nott. Lorenzo Berkshire. Blaise Zabini.
They rotated through one anotherâs homes weekly, drifting between grand manors and inherited estates. The visits were no longer supervised closely; the parents watched from a distance, now trusting the children to occupy themselves while still observing carefully from the edges.
They were ten. A year away from Hogwarts.
That afternoon, the Malfoy sitting room was filled with the kind of comfort that only came from familiarity. Sunlight filtered through tall windows, turning dust motes into floating gold. The silver accents gleamed. The air smelled faintly of parchment and Narcissaâs perfume.
Y/N sat at the grand piano, fingers hovering over the keys as she worked through a piece Narcissa had assigned her. Theo stood close, too close for coincidence, leaning against the pianoâs side, eyes fixed not on the music, but on her hands.
Heâd been doing that for years: finding excuses to be near her without announcing it. Standing just off her shoulder in crowded rooms. Sitting beside her instead of across. Quietly becoming the place she could lean without realizing sheâd leaned at all.
âYouâre rushing the left hand,â Theo murmured.
Y/N glanced up at him, amused. âIâm not.â
âYou are,â he said calmly. âJust a little.â
She narrowed her eyes, playing anyway, deliberately dragging the left hand even slower just to spite him. âAre you correcting me,â she asked, âor admiring me?â
Theoâs ears went faintly pink. It always happened with her, like she could reach inside him and tug on every thread he tried to keep neat.
âBoth,â he admitted, voice quieter than usual.
Y/N laughed softly, warm and unguarded, and Theo felt that familiar pull in his chest, uncomfortable only because it was too big for him to hide. He liked making her laugh. Liked when she looked at him like the world felt safer with him near.
Across the room, Draco lounged in an armchair, arguing loudly with Blaise.
âThereâs no question,â Draco insisted. âThe Holyhead Harpies are overrated.â
âThey are not,â Blaise shot back. âYou just like being difficult.â
âI like being right.â
âYou like being annoying.â
Lorenzo, curled up on the rug with a book heâd stolen from Dracoâs bedroom, didnât look up. âYouâre both loud.â
Lorenzo blinked, rotated the book slowly, then frowned. âSo I am.â
Theoâs mouth twitched. Y/Nâs smile widened. He stored it away like he always did, another moment of her joy that felt oddly like something precious he was responsible for.
Then the door opened.
Narcissa Malfoy entered with her usual grace, her presence commanding attention without effort. Beside her stood a boy unfamiliar to them, with dark curls falling lazily over his forehead, posture casual but eyes sharp. Confident, but braced, like he expected the air to turn against him at any second.
All of the children rose immediately.
Narcissaâs gaze swept over them, soft but thoughtful. It lingered on Draco and Y/N a moment longer than the rest, as though she were measuring risks she could not name.
âChildren,â she said gently, resting a hand on the boyâs shoulder, âthis is Mattheo Riddle.â
The name echoed. No one reacted outwardly. They had been taught better than that. But Theo felt the shift instantly, the careful stillness. Dracoâs shoulders squared. Blaiseâs eyes sharpened with interest. Lorenzoâs grip tightened on his book.
Mattheo felt it too. He kept his smile in place, but Theo saw the tension in his jaw. He was used to the pause. The judgment.
Then Y/N stepped forward.
She didnât hesitate. Didnât glance at Draco or Theo for permission. She simply extended her hand, smile warm and unguarded.
âHi,â she said easily. âIâm Y/N Malfoy.â
Mattheo blinked, startled, before taking her hand. âMattheo.â
Theo watched his jaw tighten just slightly, something sour and instinctive twisting in his stomach. He didnât like how easily she smiled at him. Didnât like the relief that flashed across Mattheoâs face.
And without thinking, without deciding, Theo shifted closer to Y/N. Not touching her. Just there. A quiet line drawn in the air that said: Youâre not alone. You never are.
Draco cleared his throat. âDraco Malfoy,â he said coolly. âThatâs Theo, Blaise, and Enzo.â
Blaise inclined his head politely. âNice to meet you.â
Lorenzo blurted, âDo you like books?â
Mattheoâs mouth quirked. âDepends on the book.â
Theo studied him carefully before speaking. âYou can sit.â
It wasnât exactly an invitation. It was permission. Mattheo nodded, grateful, taking a seat near the others. Narcissa observed them for another moment before turning to leave, her hand lingering briefly on Y/Nâs shoulder, maternal, protective, before the door closed.
The room fell quiet.
Draco broke it first, as always. âSo⌠wizard chess?â
Mattheo exhaled. âIâm terrible.â
Draco grinned. âEven better.â
Y/N laughed, and Theo felt it the way that sound anchored him. No matter who joined them, no matter how the circle expanded, she was still the center. And Theo knew, even then, that whatever he felt for her wasnât fleeting. It wasnât childish. It wasnât something he could simply grow out of.
It had been building since he was six years old, quiet and stubborn and unshakable.
A devotion he didnât name yet.
But he carried it like a promise anyway.
.
.
.
It wasnât until Hogwarts that the boys and Y/N began to understand just how tightly bound they truly were.
They moved through the castle like a unit, even when they werenât standing together. People noticed. Whispers followed them down corridors. Sneers lingered at the edges of classrooms. Eyes narrowed whenever they passed. Other houses watched them with thinly veiled disdain, judging them before they ever spoke.
They didnât always say it to their faces.
They were too afraid for that.
But Y/N heard it anyway, murmured insults behind hands, sharp laughter that cut just a second too long. Words like Death Eater. Dark. Tainted. Words meant to peel the skin off.
She told herself she didnât care.
That she was used to it.
And in a way, she was raised in a manor where reputation was a second spine, where fear was a language people pretended not to speak.
But there was a difference between whispers in passing⌠And what people did when they thought no one would stop them.
It was a rare afternoon when she was alone.
No Draco at her side. No Theo lingering close. No Blaise scanning a room like a blade. No Lorenzo quietly trailing behind. No Mattheo leaning against a wall with that lazy smile that never quite reached his eyes.
For once, the boys were elsewhere, arguing about Quidditch and house points and some stupid bet that had dragged them toward the courtyard. Y/N had slipped away to breathe.
She sat near the Black Lake with her shoes discarded beside her, skirt tucked neatly under her legs, the grass cool beneath her palms. The water shimmered lazily; the giant squidâs shadow drifted far out in the distance like a secret too large to name. The sun was pleasant. The air smelled like damp earth and leaves.
For a few minutes, she let herself pretend she was just a girl beside a lake. Not a name. Not a reputation. Not a target.
She closed her eyes. Thatâs when the sunlight disappeared. A shadow fell across her face, sudden and deliberate. Y/N opened her eyes. Three Ravenclaw girls stood in front of her, older third years, maybe fourth. They wore confidence like armor and cruelty like perfume, the kind of girls who only felt powerful when someone smaller was in reach.
âWell,â the tallest drawled, âlook at that. Finally alone without your little Death Eater gang, little Malfoy?â
Y/Nâs spine went stiff. She hated that nickname, the way people used it, like she was nothing more than Draco Malfoyâs shadow. She didnât rise immediately. She forced her expression into something cool and blank, the same mask sheâd worn her whole life.
âMove,â she said flatly.
One of the girls laughed, as if Y/Nâs voice were entertainment. âStill bossy. Figures.â
âYou think youâre untouchable,â the first continued, stepping closer. âBecause of your brother. Because of your friends.â
Y/N stood, brushing her hands over her skirt even though it wasnât dirty, anything to keep her body moving, anything to keep them from seeing the way her pulse had jumped.
âIâm not bothering you.â
âNo,â the third girl said softly, circling. âBut your name does.â
Y/Nâs fingers curled at her sides. âI donât control my last name.â
âOh, please,â the first snapped. âYou control who you stand with.â
âAnd you stand with them,â the second added, eyes narrowing. âThe ones who think theyâre better than everyone.â
Y/Nâs jaw tightened. âIf you donât like who I stand with, walk away.â
The tallest girl smiled slowly and satisfied. âOr we could teach you what itâs like to be alone.â
Before Y/N could step back, a hand shoved her shoulder. She stumbled, heel sliding dangerously near the edge. Her stomach dropped.
âStop,â she warned, voice sharper now.
They didnât. Another shove harder. Her back foot slipped on damp soil. And then the ground vanished. She fell backward into the lake with a splash that knocked the breath clean out of her lungs. Cold slammed into her like a curse, stealing thought, stealing air. Her clothes grew heavy instantly, dragging her down. Her skirts tangled around her legs like hands.
She couldnât swim.
Panic exploded in her chest. She opened her mouth to scream, and water poured in instead. She thrashed, disoriented, kicking uselessly. The surface seemed impossibly far away, a bright, wavering ceiling she couldnât reach.
On the shore, the Ravenclaws froze.
For half a second, none of them moved.
Thenâ
âWhat the hellâ?!â
Dracoâs voice cut through the air like a whip.
The boys were running five figures, tearing across the grass from the path above. Draco was first, face twisted with horror and fury. Blaise was right behind him, faster than he looked. Lorenzo sprinted with his robes in his hands so he wouldnât trip. Mattheo followed, long strides eating distance, eyes locked on the lake.
Theo didnât shout.
He didnât hesitate.
He ran past them all and dove. The cold hit him like a fist. It stole his breath so violently his lungs seized his body, screaming to surface, to survive. But Theo forced himself down anyway, eyes burning as he opened them underwater.
Find her.
He saw her shadow beneath the surface hair, floating like ink around her face, movements frantic and weakening.
Theoâs heart nearly stopped. For one terrible second, all he could think was: No. Not her. Not Y/N.
He kicked hard, arms slicing through the water, and reached her just as her thrashing slowed. He wrapped an arm around her waist and hauled upward, fighting against the weight of her soaked clothes.
Upâupâ
They broke the surface with a gasp.
Theo coughed, choking on water, but he didnât let go. He couldnât.
Y/N sputtered, half-conscious, terror-stricken. Her fingers latched onto his robes like he was the only real thing left in the world.
On shore, Draco reached the girls.
âWhat did you do?â he demanded, voice shaking with rage. âWhat did you do to her?!â
âSheâshe fellââ one stammered.
Blaiseâs voice went icy. âShe didnât fall. You pushed her.â
Lorenzo planted himself between the Ravenclaws and the lake, fists clenched so tightly his knuckles went white. âStep back. Now.â
Mattheo didnât speak at first. He just looked at them. His expression was calm in a way that didnât match the moment, too still, too quiet. His eyes flicked from their faces to the lake and back again, and something dark settled there, something old.
The tallest Ravenclaw tried to scoff, but her voice wavered. âIt was just a jokeââ
Mattheo finally smiled. It wasnât friendly. It wasnât warm. It was the kind of smile that made people remember his last name, too.
âA joke,â he repeated softly, as if tasting the word. âThatâs funny. Because she couldâve died.â
The girlsâ faces paled.
Draco took a step forward, shaking with rage. âYouâre going to the Head of House,â he snarled. âYouâre going to Flitwickâsomeoneââ
Blaiseâs hand shot out, gripping Dracoâs sleeve, grounding him before he did something that would land them in trouble too. âDraco,â Blaise warned under his breath. âNot here.â
Dracoâs breathing was ragged. âThey pushed her.â
Mattheo leaned in slightly toward the Ravenclaws, voice low enough it felt private and dangerous. âIf you ever touch her again,â he said, âIâll make sure you spend the rest of your Hogwarts years afraid of empty corridors.â
One of the girls swallowed hard. âYou canâtââ
Mattheoâs eyes flicked to her. âTry me.â
Meanwhile, Theo dragged Y/N toward shore, muscles screaming, lungs burning, teeth chattering so hard it hurt. Lorenzo rushed forward, grabbing Y/Nâs arm and helping pull her onto the grass.
Y/N collapsed, coughing violently as water spilled from her mouth. She shook uncontrollably, soaked hair plastered to her cheeks. Her eyes were wide and glassy with fear.
Theo dropped beside her instantly, too fast, too desperate, one hand bracing her back, the other gripping her wrist like he could keep her tethered to the earth if he held tight enough.
âBreathe,â he pleaded, voice breaking. âPleaseâbreathe. Look at meâlook at meââ
Y/N gasped, chest heaving, and suddenly she was sobbingâquiet, broken sounds she tried to swallow down like she was ashamed of them. Her fingers clenched in Theoâs robes again, desperate.
âIâI couldnâtââ she choked. âI couldnâtââ
âI know,â Theo said fiercely, leaning close, forehead nearly touching hers. His hands shook as he held her, anger and fear tangled together until he couldnât tell where one ended and the other began. âI know. Youâre safe. Youâre safe. Iâve got you.â
Draco knelt on her other side, face white with terror and rage. He touched her shoulder carefully, like he was afraid sheâd shatter. âSissyââ his voice wavered, and he swallowed it down. âY/N. Iâm here.â
Blaise turned back to the Ravenclaws, expression polite but lethal. âWalk away,â he said smoothly. âNow. Before you make this worse.â
Lorenzo didnât move, jaw clenched, eyes bright with fury. And Mattheo, still calm, still terrifyingly quiet, kept his gaze on the girls until they finally backed away, stumbling over their own feet.
Only when they were gone did Theo look down at Y/N again.
Her cheeks were flushed from coughing, lashes clumped with water, and lips trembling. She looked small, too small for the weight her name forced onto her. Too breakable for the worldâs cruelty.
Theoâs throat tightened.
This wasnât just anger.
This wasnât just fear.
This was something that had been building in him for yearsâquiet and stubborn, living in the way he always stood a little closer, listened a little harder, watched her a little too carefully.
Love.
And as he held her there on the grassâsoaked, shaking, aliveâTheodore Nott knew one truth with terrifying clarity: He had been hers since he was six years old. He just hadnât known what to call it.
And now that he knew that the word existed in him like a vow, he would destroy anyone who ever tried to hurt her again.
.
.
.
It was in their third year when Y/N began to realize something had shifted. At first, she told herself it was nothing.
The third year changed everyone. Hogwarts felt smaller somehow, corridors darker, expectations heavier. Lessons stopped being games. Professors stopped indulging mistakes. The whispers sharpened, too, as if the castle itself had decided they were old enough to be punished for their surnames.
People didnât see children anymore. They saw names. Legacies. Consequences. Still, through it all, one thing stayed constant.
Theo.
He had always been there quietly, steadily, without demanding space or attention. Where Draco was loud in his protectiveness, Theo was subtle. Where Draco burned, Theo endured. He stood beside her in crowded corridors, drifted near her shoulder in the Great Hall, waited outside classrooms as if heâd simply ended up there, like it wasnât intentional at all.
Like it wasnât always about her.
Theo knew her moods before she did.
When she grew sharp and distant, he didnât push. When she laughed too brightlyâtoo polished, too rehearsedâhe watched closer, gaze narrowing the way it did when he saw something no one else was meant to notice.
When the world became too much, he simply stayed.
Sometimes, she thought he knew her better than Draco did. That realization frightened her more than anything else. Because Draco was her twin. Draco was woven into her like blood. It made sense that he knew her.
Theo⌠Theo wasnât supposed to.
And yet. It didnât crash over her in some dramatic moment. It crept in quietly, through small things she only noticed afterward.
Like the way her eyes searched for Theo first when she entered a room without meaning to, without thinking. Like how her shoulders loosened the second she spotted him leaning against a wall, arms crossed, dark eyes already on her as if heâd been waiting. Not in the obvious way, not like a puppy left at a doorâjust⌠present. Ready.
Grounding.
As if the chaos of Hogwarts softened when he was near.
She started noticing the details.
The way he always walked on the outside of the corridor, placing himself between her and the press of students without ever making a show of it. The way he handed her books before she even realized she needed them. The way he remembered things sheâd said once, months ago, in passing, like her words were something he kept instead of something he endured.
âYou donât like thunder,â Theo had said one night, voice low in the common room.
Y/N blinked at him. âI donât?â
âYou tense up,â he replied simply. âEvery time.â
She didnât remember telling him that.
Worseâshe didnât remember anyone noticing.
There were nights when they sat together long after the others had gone to bed, the Slytherin common room hushed beneath green light and the slow crackle of the fire. Draco would be asleep already. Blaise distracted with whatever drama he pretended not to enjoy. Mattheo off chasing something reckless. Lorenzo buried in a book, half-asleep over the pages.
Leaving just the two of them.
Theo never rushed to fill the silence. And somehow that made it intimate. Because silence with Theo wasnât awkward. It wasnât empty.
It was chosen.
She began to notice how close he sat. Not touching Theo, but near enough that she could feel his warmth, near enough that their shoulders almost brushed when she shifted.
She told herself it meant nothing.
Until it did.
Until one evening, when she laughed at something Blaise said and turned, instinctively, to Theo as if he were the person she wanted to share it with first. Only to find him already watching her. Not in the casual way he watched everything, always attentive, always aware.
In a softer way.
Like she was something precious he didnât want to startle.
Her breath caught.
Theoâs gaze flicked to her mouth just for a second, quick enough that she could pretend she imagined it.
Then he looked away first, jaw tightening like he was angry at himself.
That was when it truly began. Because once she saw it, she couldnât unsee it.
She thought about him when he wasnât there. Wondered where he was during lessons they didnât share. Felt something twist uncomfortably in her chest when other girls spoke to him, especially when they smiled too brightly, lingered too long, acted like they were entitled to his attention.
She told herself it was stupid.
Theo was her best friend.
Theo was safe.
Theo was constant.
But she was learning quietly, miserably, that safety didnât always mean the absence of risk. Sometimes it meant the presence of something worth losing everything for.
She started noticing the way he said her name. Not rushed. Not careless. Like it mattered. Like it was something fragile in his mouth. She noticed how his hand would hover near her back in crowded spaces, never quite touching, but always ready.
Like if the world shoved too hard, Theo would catch her.
And then there were momentsâsmall, cruelly gentle momentsâthat shattered her defenses.
The night she couldnât sleep after a nightmare, she slipped quietly into the common room, expecting emptiness.
Theo was already there.
Sitting awake with a book open in his lap that he clearly wasnât reading.
He looked up the moment she stepped into the room, as if heâd been listening for her without realizing it.
âYou too?â he asked softly.
Y/N nodded, throat tight.
He didnât ask why. Didnât demand details. Didnât try to fix it. He just shifted closer on the sofa and, without a word, draped his blanket over her shoulders, warm and heavy, smelling faintly like parchment and smoke.
She didnât give it back.
And Theo didnât ask for it.
It was then wrapped in his warmth, listening to the steady rhythm of his breathing, that the truth settled in her chest, heavy and undeniable.
She was falling for him.
Her best friend.
Her quiet constant.
The boy who knew her almost as well as Draco didâif not better, sometimes.
Theodore Nott.
And the most terrifying part wasnât the fear of rejection.
It was the fear that he already knew.
.
.
.
It wasnât supposed to be a confession.
That was the thing about it.
Fourth year had settled into something familiar, comfortable routines, shared meals, laughter in the common room, late-night walks that didnât need explanations. Y/N told herself nothing had changed. That whatever she felt was normal. That best friends stayed close. That comfort didnât have to mean more.
Theo told himself the same.
He had been telling himself the same for years.
So when they found themselves by the Black Lake that evening, neither of them thought anything of it. Not at first.
The sun hung low, turning the water molten gold. The surface rippled gently, calm in a way that felt intentional, as if the lake were holding its breath. Y/N sat in the grass with her knees drawn up, tracing absent patterns into the earth with her fingers. Theo stood a few steps away, hands in his pockets, gaze fixed on the water like it was easier to look at anything else.
âThis place always feels quieter,â she said softly.
Theo nodded. âItâs easier to think here.â
She glanced up at him. âYouâre thinking now.â
He huffed a quiet laugh, the sound almost reluctant. âAm I that obvious?â
âTo me,â she said.
That earned her a look that lingered a second longer than usual. Not intense. Not searching.
Just⌠honest.
Theo sat beside her, leaving space between them out of habit rather than intent. Like his body still remembered years of not taking too much.
âI figured something out here,â he said after a moment.
Y/N tilted her head. âAbout what?â
âAbout you.â
Her fingers stilled in the grass. âThat sounds ominous,â she tried to joke, lightness forced, heart suddenly too loud in her ribs.
âIt wasnât,â Theo said quickly. Then he corrected himself, mouth twitching like he regretted the words already. âWell. It was, but not in a bad way.â
She waited.
Theo swallowed, eyes still on the lake. âDo you remember first year? After⌠everything that happened here?â
Her chest tightened. Of course she remembered. The cold. The panic. The way the world had vanished beneath her feet.
âYou almost drowned,â he continued quietly, voice stripped down to something bare. âI jumped in without thinking. Didnât even realize what I was doing until I had you.â
Y/N nodded slowly. âI remember.â
âI told myself that was just panic,â Theo said. âFear. Adrenaline. I told myself anyone wouldâve done the same.â
He finally turned to look at her, and something in his expression cracked open just enough for her to see what he usually kept locked away.
âBut that wasnât it.â
Y/N frowned, breath shallow. âTheoâŚâ
âI think I liked you before that,â he admitted. âProbably since we were six.â A beat. Then, softer: âSince you smiled at Mattheo like his name didnât matter. Since you always pulled me into Dracoâs chaos even when I didnât want to be.â
Her breath caught.
Theoâs voice lowered, as if the lake might overhear. âBut that day⌠thatâs when I realized I loved you.â
The word settled between them, heavy and quiet, like the world had paused to listen.
âI was eleven,â he said, almost like he couldnât believe it himself. âAnd all I could think was that the world would be wrong if you werenât in it.â
Y/N stared at him, stunned like sheâd been struck clean through.
âYouââ She let out a weak laugh, shaking her head as if that could make it less real. âTheo, I didnât even know I liked you until last year.â
âI know,â he said gently. His eyes softened in a way that made her stomach flip. âYouâre terrible at noticing things about yourself.â
She scoffed automatically. âExcuse me?â
âYou notice everyone else,â he said. âJust not you.â
She opened her mouth to argue, then stopped. Because he wasnât wrong.
Theo looked back at the water like he needed something steady to hold onto. âI didnât say anything. Because I didnât think it mattered. Because I didnât want to change anything.â His jaw flexed. âAnd because⌠I was content just being here.â
Her chest felt too full. Too tight.
âAnd now?â she asked quietly.
He shrugged, helpless in a way Theo never was. âNow I realized I canât pretend I donât feel it anymore.â
Y/N looked out at the lake, the same water that had once terrified her, that had nearly taken her, that had shown Theo his heart before he understood it himself.
âI thought,â she said slowly, voice trembling at the edges, âthat what I felt was just comfort. That you were just⌠home.â
Theoâs lips curved faintly. âThose things arenât mutually exclusive.â
A shaky breath left her. âIâm scared.â
âMe too,â he admitted, and the honesty in it made her want to cry.
âNot because itâs dangerous,â she clarified quickly. âBut because I donât want to break what we have. Or the group. Or Draco.â
Theo nodded once. âThatâs why I never said anything.â
She turned to face him fully now, searching his expression like it held the answer to a question sheâd been too afraid to ask. âSo what are we doing?â
Theo hesitated, then answered with the kind of truth he always gave her. âWe tell the truth. And we go slow. And we donât make it obvious until weâre sure.â
Her fingers brushed his.
Neither of them pulled away.
âOkay,â she whispered.
Theo smiled, not wide, not triumphant.
Just relieved.
âOkay,â he echoed.
He leaned in carefully, giving her space to stop him.
She didnât.
Their kiss was gentle and uncertain, two people learning something new about themselves together. When they pulled back, her forehead rested against his, both of them breathing like theyâd been holding it for years.
âSo,â she murmured, a shaky smile breaking through, âyouâve loved me since I was eleven.â
Theo chuckled softly. âAnd you only just noticed.â
She laughed, warmth blooming in her chest like something waking up. Behind them, the Black Lake rippled unchanged, patient, keeping their secret, just as it always had.
.
.
.
Pansy Parkinson had always prided herself on her observant nature. But even she hadnât seen this coming.
The Slytherin common room was loud in the way only Slytherins could manage, controlled chaos wrapped in green firelight and stone. Conversations overlapped. Laughter bounced off the walls. Ambition lingered in the air like smoke, sweet and sharp.
Their group had claimed their usual corner.
Draco lounged across an armchair like he owned itâwhich, frankly, he did. Blaise sat on the couch opposite him, boots crossed at the ankles, expression bored in the way that meant he was listening to everything. Lorenzo was on the floor with his back against the sofa, skimming through a book heâd absolutely âborrowed.â Mattheo leaned against a pillar nearby, arms crossed, scanning the room with half-lidded eyes as if he was waiting for something to amuse him.
Y/N stood near the sofa, arms folded loosely as she listened to Draco complain about literally everything.
Theo stood beside her.
Casual. Relaxed. Normal.
(He was not normal.)
Pansy lounged nearby with Witch Weekly magazine, which she hadnât turned a page of in ten minutes, watching everyone like a hawk.
Theoâs shoulder brushed Y/Nâs. His body angled toward her, subtle and instinctive. One hand rested on the back of the couch behind her, not touching, but close enough that it might as well have been a line drawn in stone.
Pansy noticed immediately.
And then Marcus Flintâs younger cousin approached.
He had the unmistakable Flint confidenceâtoo much of it, reallyâand the audacity to think this was a good idea. He lingered at the edge of their space, cleared his throat, and stepped forward like he belonged there.
âY/N.â
Theo went rigid.
Not dramatic, Theo never did dramatic. Just⌠still. Alert. Like a blade being drawn an inch from its sheath.
Y/N turned politely. âYeah?â
âHogsmeadeâs this weekend,â Flint said, rocking back on his heels, smiling like he expected her to be flattered. âThought maybe youâd want to go with me.â
Theo didnât hesitate. He stepped forward, fully blocking the space between them. âSheâs not going.â The words came out sharp. Final.
The corner of the common room went quiet like the air itself had paused to listen.
Theo blinked, realizing too late that everyone was staring.
Y/N frowned. âTheo?â
âSheâsââ He swallowed, then rushed on, eyes flicking anywhere but hers. âSheâs already busy.â
Dracoâs brows knit together. âBusy with what?â
Theo panicked. âWith me,â he blurted.
Dead silence.
Blaise squinted. âYou?â
Lorenzo sat up like heâd been shocked awake. âSince when?â
Mattheo raised an eyebrow, slow and delighted. âThatâs new.â
Flint scoffed. âShe didnât say that.â
Theoâs jaw tightened. âShe doesnât need to.â
Flint crossed his arms. âI was talking to her, not you.â
That was a mistake. Draco shot to his feet. âAnd youâre talking to my sister.â
Flint rolled his eyes. âRelax, Malfoy. Itâs just Hogsmeade.â
Theo cut in quickly, words tumbling out now. âWe all know how the Flints are with girlsââ
Flint snapped, âOi, whatâs that supposed to mean?â
âYouâre not exactly known for your respect,â Theo shot back, then immediately looked like he wished he could grab the words out of the air. âI meanâhistoricallyââ
Blaise nodded thoughtfully. âHeâs not wrong.â
Lorenzo added, far too earnest, âItâs kind of a reputation thing.â
Flint bristled. âYou lot think youâre better than everyone.â
Draco stepped closer, eyes cold. âI donât think it. I know it.â
Mattheo smirked. âAlso, sheâs too pretty for you.â
Draco whipped his head around. âWatch it.â
Mattheo held up his hands. âProtective brother privilege.â
Flint scoffed again. âWhatever. Didnât realize she needed a committee.â
Theoâs hand slid without thinking to Y/Nâs wrist. Firm. Protective. Possessive enough that Pansyâs eyes widened.
âSheâs not going with you,â Theo repeated, quieter now, but somehow more dangerous. âDrop it.â
For a moment, Flint looked like he might argue again.
Then he took one look at Dracoâs expression, Blaiseâs calm stare, Mattheoâs amused menace, and Theoâs hand on Y/N like a promise and decided he valued his skin.
âFine,â he muttered. âDidnât want to deal with this anyway.â
He turned and walked off, grumbling under his breath. The common room noise slowly returned, as if it had been holding itself back.
Draco sat back down, irritated. âHonestly. The audacity. Glad you pretended to take my sister out, mate.â
Blaise shook his head. âFlints.â
Lorenzo shrugged. âYou did the right thing, Theo.â
Theo nodded faintly, still bright red from the horror of what heâd just blurted out in front of half of Slytherin. âYeah.â
He tried to play it off, chin lifted, shoulders squared, expression carefully neutral, but it was impossible to look intimidating when your ears were the exact color of Gryffindor banners.
Y/N stared at him. Half stunned. Half amused. Entirely doomed.
Because Theo Nottâquiet, composed Theo Nottâhad just announced with his whole chest that she was âbusy with him,â and now he was sitting there like a man awaiting trial.
Pansy Parkinson stopped breathing.
Literally.
One second she was lounging like a bored aristocrat, the next she went statue-still, eyes widening so fast it was like someone had cast a spell on her face.
Her gaze dropped.
To Theoâs hand still resting at Y/Nâs wrist like it belonged there. To Y/N leaning into him just slightly, barely anything, but Pansy had the observational skills of a predator and the soul of a gossip columnist.
To the fact that Theo hadnât moved an inch away. Not even after the entire table went silent. Not even after Draco noticed.
Pansyâs mouth fell open. A soundless, reverent sort of horror. âOh,â she whispered, like sheâd just solved an ancient rune.
Theo saw it.
Too late.
Pansyâs eyes widened againâsomehow widerâlike her brain was trying to expand past the limits of her skull. Her hand flew to her mouth.
âOhâOHââ
It wasnât even a word anymore. It was the beginning of an explosion.
Theo reacted on instinct. He grabbed Pansyâs arm like he was intercepting a Bludger. At the exact same time, Y/N grabbed her other arm.
âNope,â Theo muttered, voice flat with sheer panic.
âAbsolutely not,â Y/N hissed, eyes sharp as daggers.
They hauled Pansy upright so fast her magazine slid off her lap and flopped onto the floor like a defeated witness.
Pansy tried to speak.
Tried to inhale.
Tried to make the noise.
Y/N leaned forward, smile bright and fake. âBathroom,â she called over her shoulder in a sweet, perfectly normal voice, as if nothing suspicious was happening.
âEmergency,â Theo echoed immediately, too fast, too intense, like heâd rehearsed it.
Draco frowned. âWhy do you bothââ
âItâs Pansy,â Blaise said calmly, sipping his drink like this was weather. âThis tracks.â
.
.
.
The door slammed shut behind them with the finality of a courtroom verdict. In the bathroom, Pansy detonated. She doubled over laughing, one hand braced on her knees, the other clutching her chest like she was having a spiritual experience. She wheezed so hard her shoulders shook.
âI KNEW IT!â she choked out between gasps. âI KNEW ITâTHE STAMMERINGâTHE HANDâTHE FLINT EXCUSEââ
Theo clapped a hand over her mouth so fast it was practically a reflex curse. âQuiet,â he hissed, eyes wild, scanning the bathroom like Filch might leap out of a tapestry.
Pansy muffled-laughed against his palm, eyes glittering with pure evil delight. It was the most pleased Theo had ever seen her, which was saying something.
âYou practically short-circuited!â she wheezed the moment he loosened his grip. âYou said âbusy withâMEâ like you were claiming territory!â
âI panicked,â Theo muttered through his teeth, rubbing the back of his neck like the skin might detach and float away from embarrassment. âIt was tactical.â
Pansy gasped again, pointing at him with accusation. âTACTICAL? You sounded like a feral kneazle!â
Y/N covered her face with both hands. âMerlin. Iâm never showing my face at breakfast again.â
âOh, donât be dramatic,â Pansy said, still breathless, wiping a tear from the corner of her eye. âThis is the most entertaining thing Slytherin has had since someone tried to smuggle a pygmy puff into Transfiguration.â
Theoâs voice went flat. âHow long do you think before you tell someone?â
Pansy pressed a hand to her chest in mock offense. âHow dare you. I have integrity.â She paused, smirked. âSometimes.â
Y/N dropped her hands, eyes narrowing. âPansy.â
Pansy held up both palms immediately. âFine. I wonât tell. Not because Iâm kind, but because I like having leverage.â
Theo groaned, tipping his head back against the cold stone. âOf course.â
Pansyâs gaze snapped back to them, suddenly sharp again. âHow long.â
Theo hesitated, like saying it aloud would make it worse.
âFour months,â he admitted, and it sounded like a confession in court.
Pansy stared at him for a beat⌠then sighed dramatically. âI deserve compensation.â
Y/Nâs eyes sharpened. âNo.â
Pansy pouted. âAt least let me enjoy this. I have suffered through Draco Malfoyâs ego for years.â
Theo muttered, âWe all have.â
Pansy brightened again, grin returning. âOh, this is going to be delicious. I get to watch you both panic every time someone breathes near you.â
âYou cannot tell anyone,â Y/N warned, tone suddenly all Malfoyâcold, precise, dangerous.
âI wonât,â Pansy promised instantly, a hand over her heart like she was swearing a vow. Then she leaned in, eyes gleaming. âBut I will absolutely enjoy knowing.â
Theo made a low, defeated noise.
âAnd watching you both panic,â Pansy finished smugly.
.
.
.
Back in the common room, Draco sat with his arms crossed, expression sour. âStill,â he said firmly, like he was announcing a law, âno Flints near my sister.â
The boys nodded in agreement, solemn as if theyâd just signed a treaty.
Pansy returned moments later, wearing the most smug smile Hogwarts had ever seen, radiating the satisfaction of someone holding a secret that made everything infinitely more entertaining.
And Theo Nott, trailing behind her looking like heâd aged five years in five minutes, realized with absolute dread: This wasnât the end of the disaster.
It was just the beginning.
.
.
.
Mattheo Riddle went to the Astronomy Tower for one reason and one reason only.
Peace.
Well, peace and a cigarette, he definitely wasnât supposed to have.
Fifth year had been a slow, grinding, and exhausting kind of year. O.W.L's pressure dug its claws into everyone; professors watched them like they were waiting for someone to crack, and the castle buzzed with a tension that never quite settled. Even Slytherinâs common room, usually controlled chaos, felt too loud lately. Too many eyes. Too many conversations that turned sharp the second his name entered them.
The Astronomy Tower was different.
It didnât care who your father was. It didnât care what people whispered. Up here, the air was colder, cleaner. The sky felt closer. The stars didnât judge.
Mattheo leaned against the stone wall, pulled the cigarette from his pocket like it was a secret heâd earned, and flicked his lighter. The flame cupped itself against the wind, stubborn and bright. He inhaled, held it for a beat, then exhaled slowly.
Smoke curled into the night.
For the first time all week, his shoulders loosened.
Then he heard voices.
Soft ones.
Mattheo paused mid-drag, frowning as he angled his head toward the far side of the tower where the shadows were deeper and the starlight brighter. He considered turning around. Not my problem, his brain offered. Not my business.
But then he heard it.
Y/Nâs laugh.
Not her polite laugh. Not the one she used in corridors when people were watching, sharp and controlled like a blade.
The real one. Warm. Unfiltered. The kind that slipped out when she forgot she was a Malfoy for a second.
Mattheo froze.
He took another step quietly now, careful in the way only someone raised around danger could be careful. Smoke drifted from his lips as he moved toward a pillar just out of sight, back pressed to cool stone, the cigarette held low so the ember wouldnât give him away.
Theoâs voice followed low, warm, stripped of the careful distance he usually wore like armor. âYouâre going to get us caught one day,â he murmured.
Y/N laughed again, softer now. âYou say that every time.â
âAnd every time,â Theo replied, voice almost smiling, âIâm right.â
Mattheoâs eyebrows lifted. That didnât sound like casual conversation. He leaned his shoulder into the pillar, eyes narrowing as he peered around the edge, and promptly forgot how to breathe.
Theo stood close to her. Too close for coincidence. Not the polite, careful distance he kept from almost everyone else. This was familiar closeness. The kind that belonged to people who didnât have to ask permission anymore.
His hand rested at her waist, gentle, like he was afraid of nothing except startling her. His thumb brushed absent patterns against her robes like muscle memory. Y/N tilted her head up, fingers already fisted in the front of his jumper before he even leaned down, tugging him in like sheâd been doing it for months.
They kissed.
Not rushed.
Not stolen.
Not hesitant.
Soft and unguarded like two people who had stopped worrying about firsts a long time ago, and now only cared about here. About this. About each other.
Mattheo choked. He turned sharply, clapping a hand over his mouth as he coughed into his sleeve, eyes watering, lungs screaming like traitors.
âMerlinââ he hissed under his breath.
The sound echoed off the stone. Theo froze. Y/N stiffened instantly. They broke apart like theyâd been hexed.
âDid you hear that?â Y/N whispered, voice sharp with panic.
Theo scanned the tower, heart clearly hammering even from where Mattheo stood. âProbably just the wind,â he murmured too quick, too hopeful.
Mattheo laughed out loud. âOh, come on,â he said, stepping fully into view, cigarette dangling loosely between his fingers. âEven Hogwarts isnât that dramatic.â
Theo nearly jumped out of his skin.
Y/N gasped. âMattheo!â
Theoâs face drained of color so fast it was almost impressive. âHow long were youââ
âLong enough to traumatize me,â Mattheo replied dryly, taking one last drag like he needed it to survive this conversation. âAnd short enough that Iâm choosing to pretend I didnât just witness something sacred.â
There was a beat of horrified silence.
Then Y/N groaned and buried her face in her hands. âOh no. Oh no.â
Theo raked a hand through his hair and paced once, like movement could undo the last ten seconds. âYou werenât supposed to be up here.â
Mattheo shrugged. âNeither were you.â
He studied them more carefully now, not teasing, not smug. Observant. The way his eyes always went a little sharper when something mattered.
Theo hovered half a step closer to Y/N without noticing. Y/Nâs fingers caught Theoâs sleeve as if her body had already decided where safety lived. Neither of them looked embarrassed, not really.
Just⌠caught.
âHow long?â Mattheo asked quietly.
Theo hesitated, jaw tight, calculating the fallout.
Y/N answered for him, voice soft. âAlmost a year.â
Mattheo blinked.
Then blinked again.
âA year?â he repeated, disbelief cracking through his usual composure. âYouâve been dating in secret for a year?â
Theo nodded once, grim. âWe didnât want to change things.â
Mattheo let out a low whistle, eyes flicking to Theoâs hand still at Y/Nâs waist like it belonged there. âThat explains a lot.â
âWhat exactly?â Y/N asked cautiously.
Mattheo ticked them off with lazy honesty. âThe way he watches rooms before you enter. The way you always know where he is. The way neither of you can lie convincingly when asked if youâre tired.â His eyes narrowed slightly. âAnd the way Theo looks like heâs one bad day away from murdering anyone who breathes too close to you.â
Theo winced. âI knew I was obvious.â
âYouâre not obvious,â Mattheo corrected, voice unexpectedly gentle. âYouâre consistent.â
That quiet kindness landed strangely in the cold night air.
Then Mattheoâs mouth curved into mischief again, returning. âAlso⌠Pansy knows, Iâm guessing.â
Theo stiffened. âHowââ
âBecause sheâs Pansy,â Mattheo said, like it was the simplest answer in the world. âAnd because sheâs been watching you like sheâs holding a secret over her own head for entertainment.â
Y/N sighed, shoulders sagging. âShe swore she wouldnât tell.â
âAnd she didnât,â Mattheo said easily. âNeither will I.â
Theo studied him, suspicion flickering. âYouâre⌠okay with this?â
Mattheo shrugged, gaze softening just a fraction. âYouâre good to her. Sheâs happier.â Then he added, deadpan, âAnd somehow you managed to keep Draco completely clueless for a year.â
That earned a weak, helpless laugh from Y/N.
âThat part took effort,â Theo admitted, rubbing the back of his neck.
Mattheo smirked. âI believe it.â He stubbed out his cigarette against the stone and straightened, hands sliding into his pockets. âFor what itâs worth, you chose a terrible hiding spot.â
Theo groaned. âThis was our place.â
Mattheoâs grin widened. âNot anymore.â He stepped past them, then paused like an afterthought had just occurred to him. âOh,â he added over his shoulder, voice bright with impending chaos, âPansyâs going to be insufferable when she finds out I know.â
Y/N groaned again. âPlease donât tell her you saw us.â
Y/N flushed. Theo scowled. Mattheo laughed as he descended, footsteps echoing down the spiral like punctuation. When he was gone, silence settled again thick, private, almost tender.
Theo turned to Y/N, eyes searching her face like he needed to make sure she was still here, still okay. âYou alright?â
Y/N nodded, stepping closer until her forehead rested against his. Her voice was small, but steady. âI think so.â
Theo smiled faintly, breath ghosting against her lips. âThat makes three of us now.â
Y/N laughed quietly, and Theoâs hand slid back to her waist like it had been waiting.
Above them, the stars burned on as witnesses to a secret that had survived almost a year. And somehow, despite everything, Draco Malfoy still had no idea.
.
.
.
Blaise Zabini and Enzo Berkshire were absolutely not supposed to be in the girlsâ dormitory.
This was important.
This was criminally important.
This was the sort of rule that existed for extremely obvious reasons, like dignity, privacy, and the very real possibility of Draco Malfoy committing a homicide.
Unfortunately, Blaiseâs Potions notesâhis very expensive, very organized, very aggressively color-coded Potions notesâwere currently sitting on Y/N Malfoyâs desk because sheâd borrowed them earlier.
And Enzo, in a moment of supreme overconfidence and very poor decision-making, had said:
âWeâll just grab them quickly.â
Quickly.
Those were famous last words.
They crept down the Slytherin corridor like two criminals with the survival instincts of damp socks, their shoes barely making a sound against the cold stone floor.
Enzo kept glancing over his shoulder like Snape might materialize out of thin air.
âIf Snape finds out we were here,â Enzo whispered, âIâm blaming you.â
âYou need to borrow my notes,â Blaise hissed back. âThis is a joint crime.â
âI didnât realize borrowing notes required breaking into the girlsâ dormitory.â
âAdaptability is an important life skill.â
They reached the door.
It was slightly ajar.
Blaise stopped.
He frowned.
âThe girls never leave it open.â
Enzo shrugged. âMaybe they forgot.â
âY/N Malfoy forgetting something?â Blaise said skeptically. âThat seems unlikely.â
âMaybe Millicent exploded something.â
âThat seems extremely likely.â
Blaise pushed the door open slowly.
It creaked. Both of them froze. Nothing exploded. No screaming. No curses. Encouraged by the absence of immediate death, they stepped inside.
The room was dim, lit only by a floating candle near the window. Green curtains stirred softly in the draft, and the whole place smelled faintly like expensive perfume and parchment.
Very lived-in.
Very peaceful.
Very much like they had just walked into somewhere they absolutely should not be.
Blaise took two steps forward.
And stopped so abruptly Enzo walked straight into his back.
âOWâwhat isââ
Enzo leaned around him. And his brain immediately left his body.
Y/N Malfoy stood near her bed. Theodore Nott was right there. And they were kissing. Not a startled kiss. Not an oh gods someone might see us kiss. A slow, comfortable, deeply familiar kiss.
Theoâs hands rested at her waist like theyâd lived there for years. Y/Nâs fingers were tangled in the collar of his jumper, tugging him closer without hesitation. They were murmuring something between kisses, laughing softly like they had absolutely nowhere else to be.
They did not notice Blaise and Enzo.
At all.
Blaise blinked.
Once.
Twice.
A third time, just to confirm he hadnât accidentally inhaled something illegal during Potions earlier.
Enzo made a noise. It was not a word. It was a sound. Something between a gasp and the dying squeak of a very confused mouse.
Theo froze mid-kiss. Y/N froze mid-laugh.
They turned.
Four people stared at each other.
No one spoke.
No one moved.
The silence was so intense the floating candle flickered like it was uncomfortable too.
Then Enzo whispered very softly, very sincerely: ââŚIs this a prank?â
Theoâs soul left his body. Y/N slapped both hands over her face. âMerlin.â
Blaise pointed weakly. âYouâreââ He pointed at Theo. Then at Y/N. Then waved his hand vaguely between them. âYouâre⌠doing that?â
Theo opened his mouth. Closed it. Opened it again. ââŚYes.â
Enzo staggered backward and immediately sat down on the nearest bed like his legs had resigned from their position. âNo,â he said firmly. âNo, I need to sit for this.â
Blaise dragged a hand down his face. âHow long?â
Theo glanced at Y/N. She peeked through her fingers like someone watching a disaster unfold. â⌠A year.â
Enzo made a choking noise. âA year?!â
Blaise laughed once, sharp and horrified. âYouâve been dating for a YEAR?â
Theo winced. âWe were trying to be discreet.â
Blaise gestured wildly around the room. âYou are kissing in her DORM.â
âIt was locked!â Y/N protested.
Enzo slowly pointed toward the open door. âWAS IT?â
Y/N groaned and slid down onto the edge of the bed.
Blaise began pacing like a man solving a murder mystery. âOkay. Okay. No. This explains everything.â
Enzo frowned up at him from the bed. âWhat's everything?â
Blaise stopped pacing. Memories from the past year began assembling themselves in his brain like an extremely irritating puzzle. âHow many times did Pansy say âtheyâll be back in a minuteâ?â he muttered.
Theo rubbed his face. Blaise pointed dramatically. âPansy knows.â
Theo sighed. âYes.â
âAnd Mattheo,â Enzo added suddenly.
Theo stared at him. âHow did youââ
Enzo shrugged. âBecause heâs been smirking at you like heâs watching a very entertaining disaster unfold.â
Theo slumped like gravity had suddenly increased. Blaise crossed his arms, finally studying them properly. Not shocked anymore.
Just thoughtful.
âYouâre happy,â he said.
Y/N nodded. âYes.â
Theo met his gaze. âVery.â
Blaise sighed dramatically, like heâd just been handed an extremely inconvenient responsibility. âGreat. Fantastic. Wonderful.â
"Why do you sound annoyed?" Y/N asked.
âBecause,â Blaise said, pointing between them, ânow I have to supervise.â
Theo blinked. âYou were already doing that.â
âYes,â Blaise said. âBut now youâre a couple. Which means youâre statistically more likely to do something incredibly stupid.â
Enzo nodded gravely like a man agreeing to a military operation. âAnd if you make her cry, Nott, we will absolutely ruin your life.â
Theo raised his hands slightly. âFair.â
Blaise tilted his head, still watching him carefully. âTo be clear, we approve.â
Theo exhaled in relief.
âBut,â Enzo added, pointing a finger at him, âsheâs basically our little sister.â
Blaise nodded once. âWhich means if you hurt herââ
Theo sighed. âYouâll kill me.â
âNo,â Blaise said calmly.
âWeâll start with humiliation,â Enzo clarified.
âThen public embarrassment,â Blaise added.
âAnd then we kill you,â Enzo finished helpfully.
Theo groaned. âI liked you both better five minutes ago.â
Blaise shrugged. âFive minutes ago you werenât secretly dating Draco Malfoyâs twin.â
Enzo gasped suddenly. âOh no."
Theo stiffened. âWhat?â
Enzo looked between them with dawning horror. âWe have to lie to Draco. I'm assuming he doesn't know?"
Theo and Y/N shook their heads, signaling Blaise and Lorenzo of the true horror.
Blaise immediately nodded. âOf course. Constantly. Convincingly. For an unknown amount of time.â
Theo swallowed. âYou wonât tell him.â
Blaise snorted. âI like living.â
Enzo nodded seriously. âI enjoy my limbs unbroken. And for the record,â he added earnestly, âthis is the worst possible way I couldâve discovered this information.â
Theo groaned, dragging a hand down his face. âIâm sorry.â
Blaise rolled his eyes and strode over to Y/Nâs desk, snatching his precious Potions notes like a man reclaiming stolen property.
âNext time,â he muttered, flipping through them to make sure nothing had been ruined, âtry revealing life-altering secrets somewhere less inconvenient.â
Enzo lingered by the door, giving them one last deeply judgmental look. âAlso,â he added, pointing at them both, âif Draco kills us for this, Iâm haunting you.â
Theo sighed. âFair.â
With that, Blaise grabbed Enzo by the collar and hauled him toward the door. âLetâs go before we witness anything else we canât emotionally recover from.â
They slipped out into the corridor, the door closing behind them with a quiet click. Silence settled over the room again.
Y/N leaned back against the bed, covering her face as she laughed weakly. âWell,â she said between breaths, âthat happened.â
Theo stepped closer, resting his forehead against hers. âWe are running out of people who donât know.â
She smiled softly. âAt least Dracoâs still clueless.â
Theo closed his eyes. âFor now.â
And somewhere down the corridor, Blaise and Enzo walked in stunned silence, carrying the weight of the dumbest, most inconvenient secret Hogwarts had ever witnessed.
.
.
The Astronomy Tower was wrapped in stillness.
Not the eerie kind, just the soft, breathing quiet that came when the castle finally let go of the day. The stone beneath them held the cool of the night, and above, the sky stretched endlessly, stars scattered like secrets that had learned patience.
Draco and Y/N sat shoulder to shoulder against the curved wall, knees bent, cloaks pulled tighter around themselves against the wind. Below them, the Black Lake reflected the moon in broken pieces.
This was theirs.
No expectations.
No watching eyes.
Just twin time.
Draco flicked a small pebble over the edge and watched it vanish into the dark. He didnât rush. He never did when it mattered. His fingers drummed idly against the stone, a rhythm sheâd known since they were children, his tell when something heavy pressed at his chest.
âYouâre unusually quiet,â she said softly.
He huffed. âSo are you.â
She smiled faintly. âIâm enjoying it.â
âMm.â He paused. âIâm building courage.â
That made her turn her head toward him. âSince when do you need courage?â
Draco glanced at her, silver eyes catching the starlight, and for a moment he didnât look like the polished Malfoy heir or the sharp-tongued Slytherin prince everyone else saw.
He just looked like her brother.
The boy who used to steal her sweets and swear he hadnât.
The boy who once cried because he thought heâd hurt her with accidental magic.
Just Draco.
âI know,â he said quietly.
Her breath caught.
ââŚKnow what?â
Draco exhaled slowly, gaze drifting back to the sky. âAbout you. And Theo.â
The world didnât collapse.
It simply stilled, like everything had been waiting for this sentence.
She swallowed. âHow long?â
âA while,â he admitted. âLong enough that pretending I didnât notice started to feel insulting.â
She nodded slowly. âI was going to tell you.â
âI know,â he said quickly. âThatâs not why this hurts.â
That wordâhurtsâsettled deep in her chest.
She shifted closer. âDracoâŚâ
He closed his eyes briefly, then opened them. âIt stung that you didnât tell me sooner. Not because Iâm entitled to every part of your lifeâbut because youâve always told me everything. Even the things that scared you.â
Tears burned behind her eyes. âI was scared,â she whispered. âNot of you. Of what it would change.â
He nodded, accepting that. âI figured.â He hesitated, then let out a quiet laughâsoft, almost fond. âYou know,â he said, âMum knew before either of us did.â
He leaned back, hands folded over his stomach, voice slipping into something more reflective. âShe used to say it to Father and me when we were younger. That Theo watched you differently.â
Her heart tightened.
âFather would scoff,â Draco continued, a faint smile tugging at his mouth. âSaid Nott was just quiet. Reserved. Polite.â
âAnd Mum?â she asked.
âMum said that boys donât look at girls like that unless itâs already decided somewhere deep inside them.â
She laughed weakly through the ache. âThat sounds like her.â
âShe told us Theo didnât see you as a sister like the other boys do,â Draco said softly. âNot really. Even when you were small. Even when the rest of us were just⌠loud and stupid and pulling your hair.â
She closed her eyes, memories flooding back, Theo always standing a step closer, always calmer, always watching.
âShe said he saw you as something else,â Draco went on. âSomething precious. Something to be careful with.â
Her throat tightened.
âAnd Father?â she asked quietly.
Draco snorted. âFather pretended not to notice while glaring at every boy who even looked in your direction.â
She smiled sadly. âThat tracks.â
He glanced at her again, expression gentler now. âSo yes. I suppose I always knew it was bound to happen. You and him.â
She rested her head lightly against his shoulder, just as she had a hundred times before. He didnât move away.
âI didnât keep it from you because I didnât trust you,â she said. âI kept it from you because I needed to know it was real. That it wasnât just comfort or familiarity or something that would fade.â
Draco hummed thoughtfully. âAnd now?â
âAnd now I know,â she whispered. âAnd I wanted to tell you when I was ready. When it was mine to give.â
He was quiet for a long moment.
Then he lifted an arm and wrapped it around her shoulders, pulling her in. âI wouldâve waited,â he said softly. âHowever long you needed.â
She pressed her face briefly into his sweater. âIâm sorry it hurt.â
âI can live with a little hurt,â he replied. âBut I canât live with you thinking you had to protect me from your happiness.â
She pulled back just enough to look at him. âYou really are okay?â
Draco met her gaze steadily. âIâm still overprotective. I still glare at people. And I will absolutely hex Theo into oblivion if he ever hurts you.â
She laughed through tears. âNaturally.â
âBut,â he added, voice dropping, âIâm glad youâre loved the way you deserve. And Iâm glad itâs someone whoâs always known your worthâeven before you did.â
Her eyes shone. âYou always knew it.â
He smirked faintly. âSomeone had to. Youâre my other half.â
They fell into silence again, the comfortable kind this time. The stars continued their slow journey overhead, and the lake below reflected their light in gentle fragments.
Nothing had broken.
Nothing had been taken away.
If anything, something old and precious had simply been folded into something new.
And for the first time since the secret began, Y/N felt like she wasnât carrying it alone anymore.
.
.
.
The next morning, Hogwarts woke up like nothing monumental had happened.
The Great Hall buzzed with its usual chaosâclinking cutlery, animated conversations, the low roar of students arguing about homework, Quidditch, and absolutely nothing of consequence. Sunlight streamed through the enchanted ceiling, bright and deceptively peaceful.
Y/N walked in with Theo at her side.
That alone was not unusual.
They had mastered the art of looking normal. Walking close but not too close. Talking quietly. Laughing at the right moments. Separate plates. Separate seats.
Except todayâ
Today felt different.
Y/N felt lighter. Relieved. Like sheâd finally set something down sheâd been carrying for far too long.
Theo, on the other hand, looked like a man waiting for his execution.
They reached the Slytherin table.
Draco was already there, posture immaculate, flipping through the Daily Prophet with an expression of mild disdain. Blaise and Enzo were mid-argument. Pansy sat between them, watching Theo with far too much interest. Mattheo leaned back in his chair like a man who knew a secret and was enjoying every second of it.
Theo slid into his seat. Y/N paused beside him.
Theo looked up. âWhatââ
She leaned down and kissed him. Just like that. A soft, certain kiss pressed to his lips like it was the most natural thing in the world.
The Great Hall did not explode.
But Theoâs soul did. His eyes went wide. His body locked. His brain was fully disconnected. He pulled back so fast his chair screeched across the stone floor.
âWhatââ he hissed, looking wildly around the table. âWhat are you doing?!â
Blaise blinked. Enzo choked violently on his pumpkin juice. Pansy beamed like someone had just handed her front-row seats to a show sheâd been waiting years for. Mattheoâs smirk widened.
And Dracoâ
Draco slowly lowered his newspaper.
Theoâs heart stopped.
âOh gods,â Theo whispered. âDracoââ
Draco looked between them. Then he rolled his eyes. âFor Merlinâs sake,â he drawled. âYouâd think someone died.â
Theo stared at him. âYouâYou saw that.â
âYes,â Draco said flatly. âI have eyes.â
Theoâs pulse thundered. âAnd youâreâ?â
âAnnoyed,â Draco said. âBut not surprised.â
Theo blinked. âYou⌠knew?â
Draco took a calm sip of tea. âObviously.â
Theo turned slowly to Y/N. âYou didn't tell me you told him last night.â
âI didn't,â she said calmly, sitting down. âHe figured it out on his own. He was very mature about it.
Draco sniffed. âDonât exaggerate.â
Theo ran a hand through his hair. âI thought I was about to be murdered at breakfast.â
âYou still might be,â Draco said lightly. âJust not for that.â
Theo swallowed. âRight.â
Draco leaned back in his chair, finally giving Theo his full attention.
âListen carefully, Nott.â
Theo straightened instantly.
âI see you as my brother,â Draco said. âHave for years.â
Theo nodded cautiously. âSame.â
âThat,â Draco continued calmly, âis the only reason youâre allowed to sit there breathing.â
Theo exhaled. âFair.â
Draco glanced at Y/N, his expression softening just slightly. âIf you ever hurt my sisterââ
Theo didnât hesitate. âI wonât.â
âI know,â Draco said.
Then he leaned forward just a little. âBut if you do, my father and I will end you.â
Theo nodded solemnly. âUnderstood.â
Blaise leaned across the table.
âIs this the part where we clap?â
Enzo whispered, âI feel like I should be taking notes.â
Pansy sighed dreamily. âThis is exactly how I imagined it.â
Draco paused. Then, very slowly, he turned his head toward the rest of the table. His eyes narrowed. âActually,â he said thoughtfully.
âOh no,â Blaise muttered.
Draco looked from Blaise⌠to Enzo⌠to Pansy⌠to Mattheo.
âYou lot,â Draco said slowly, âowe me an explanation.â
The table went silent.
âAn explanation,â Draco continued, voice dangerously calm, âfor why every single one of you apparently knew about this before I did.â
Pansy froze.
Enzo stared at the ceiling.
Blaise suddenly found his toast extremely interesting.
Mattheo leaned back in his chair, grinning.
Theo whispered, âOh no.â
Draco pointed at Blaise first. âYou.â
Blaise cleared his throat. âTechnicallyââ he pointed at himself and Lorenzo, ââwe discovered it accidentally,â Blaise finished carefully.
Draco turned to Enzo. âYou.â
Enzo held up his hands immediately. âIn my defense, I was traumatized.â
Then Draco turned to Pansy. She smiled sweetly. âI took an oath of silence.â
Draco looked unconvinced.
Finally, his gaze landed on Mattheo. Mattheo didnât even try to pretend. He just shrugged. âI thought watching you figure it out would be funnier.â
Draco stared at all of them. Slowly. Then leaned back in his chair. âIncredible,â he said dryly. âI am surrounded by traitors.â
The table shifted uncomfortably.
Then Draco smirked. âThough technically,â he added lazily, âI knew before all of you.â
The table froze. âWhat?â Blaise, Enzo, Pansy, and Mattheo echoed in unison.
Draco took another sip of tea, as if this were the most obvious thing in the world. âOh, please,â he said. âNottâs been in love with my sister since first year. Though I'm sure he had liked her before that.â
Theo choked.
âFIRST YEAR?â Enzo blurted.
Pansy whipped around to stare at Theo. âMerlin, Nott, youâve been pining that long?â
Theo buried his face in his hands. Draco continued calmly, as if he were explaining basic arithmetic. âHe has been following her around like a bodyguard for years. It wasnât hard to notice.â
Mattheo leaned back, laughing. âSo youâve just been sitting on that information?â
Draco shrugged. âI was curious how long it would take them to figure it out.â
Y/N groaned. âDraco.â
He smirked. âAnd watching Nott panic around you for years has been extremely entertaining.â
Theo looked personally betrayed. âYou let me suffer.â
Draco nodded once. âCorrect.â
Then his gaze shifted back to the rest of the table.
âWhich brings us back to my original point.â His eyes narrowed slightly. âYou still owe me an explanation for why none of you told me.â
Blaise sighed. âBecause,â he said, âyouâre Draco Malfoy.â
Enzo nodded solemnly. âAnd we enjoy being alive.â
Theo muttered, âThey were trying to protect me.â
Draco shot him a look. âThey were protecting themselves.â Then he turned back to Y/N. âAnd you.â
She raised an eyebrow. âYes?â
âPublic displays of affection,â Draco said dryly, âkept to a minimum around me.â
She smirked. âJealous?â
âTraumatized,â Draco corrected.
Theo cleared his throat cautiously. âSo⌠weâre good?â
Draco nodded once. âWeâre good.â
Theo sagged in relief. Then Y/N leaned over and kissed him again. Theo nearly fell out of his chair.
Draco groaned. âI said minimum.â
Mattheo laughed. âYouâre never going to survive this.â
Theo stared at Y/N. âYouâre enjoying this.â
She smiled sweetly. âImmensely.â
Draco stood, folding his newspaper. âEat your breakfast,â he said. âBoth of you.â Then he paused and looked at Theo. âAnd Nott?â
Theo looked up nervously. âYes?â
Draco smirked. âGood luck telling my father youâre dating his daughter.â
Theo stared at him in horror. ââŚYouâre going to enjoy that conversation, arenât you?â
And just like that, the secret was no longer a secret. It sat openly at the Slytherin tableâprotected, accepted, mildly threatened, and very much alive. Exactly the way it was always meant to be.
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REMINDER: If you want to be on the taglist feel free to comment or message me :) and if I missed you pls lmk
pairing: king!bucky barnes x commoner!reader, cinderella au
warnings: 18+ MDNI, smut, dilf bucky, age gap, a man who yearns is a man who earns, jealousy, possessive behavior, daddy issues, physical violence and parental abuse, arguments, sexual tension, banter, semi-public sex, power dynamic, oral f!receiving, fingering, breeding kink, size difference, pet names: "my dear" "sweetheart" "my love"
word count: 16.3k
masterlist || đšđ˝. 1
a/n: due to popular demand + the new bridgerton season inspiring me. fic playlist
synopsis:
After fleeing the palace, you are now the most wanted woman in the kingdomâcaught between Prince Jamie, who won't let go, and his father, King Barnes, who refuses to lose.
After your discreet exit from the palace, you hadnât expected your step-family to return so soon. You had hoped for a few hours of solitude to bask in the memory of the Kingâs touchâto hold onto the feeling of his lips against your skin before reality reclaimed you.
But Beatrice wouldnât even spare you that small courtesy.
When you had tentatively mentioned your surprise at their early arrival last night, Beatrice had ripped her gloves off with a look of pure agitationâalready in a bad mood.
âThe King cleared the entire ballroom,â Beatrice snapped, her voice trembling with indignant rage. âApparently, some woman he was seeking went missing without his notice, and he turned into a madman. He ended the festivities right then and there, nearly throwing the delegates out of the palace in his haste to find her. The Prince had to deliver the Kingâs order because of how upset he was.â
She narrowed her eyes at you, unaware of the way your heart quickened anxiously at her words.
âA complete waste of a perfectly good gown. All because of some nameless little tramp who didnât know how to stay put.â
Beatrice paused, her tirade dying in her throat as she noticed your hesitation.
She took a slow step toward you, the sharp clack of her heels against the floors made you snap back to a reality you werenât ready to face.
âIâm surprised youâre still awake,â she pointed out suspiciously. Her eyes trailed over you, scanning from your head to your toes as if searching for a single hair out of place.
You blinked, forcing your spine to straighten despite the ache in your muscles.
âIâI had only just finished the kitchen,â you stammered. âI was about to climb into bed when the door opened.â
Her eyes narrowed into thin, venomous slits, and you swore you saw her eyebrow twitch as if she realized something. She stepped closer, invading your personal space until you could smell the expensive perfume. For a terrifying heartbeat, you were certain she would call you out, strip you of your dignity, and banish you from your own home and onto the streets to fend for yourself.
But she didnât.
Instead, a cruel, satisfied smirk curled her lips.
âGood girl,â she said, the praise sounding more like she was addressing a well-trained hound than a human being.
And now, with the morning sun rising over the large windows, you find yourself on your hands and knees again, the soaked sponge scrubbing against the marble floors. You were scrubbing a surface that should have already been polishedâhad Agnes not stomped across the foyer in her muddy riding boots without a care in the world.
âAnd donât forget to polish the shoes right after! Iâm going riding again later.â Agnes called out, kicking her boots off haphazardly.
They tossed in your direction, hitting the floor with a heavy thud that splattered even more fresh droplets of muck across the area you had just cleaned.
You winced at the sound, your shoulders aching with a deep, bone weary exhaustion. Your body was utterly spent, and your mind was miles away, still lingering in a dark study filled with the scent of ink, papers, and sex.
You remembered the way the Kingâs body had pressed into yours, the feel of his salt and pepper beard tickling your chin just before his lips collided with your own. He was a King who never knew what it was like to be hungry, yet he took you and made love to you like a man starving.
Agnes let out a tired groan, dragging her feet to meet her sister Margaret on the couch. She slumped down next to her, tossing her head back against the cushions with a weary sigh, acting as if she even knew what a truly hard day felt like.
âI canât believe it,â Agnes whined, her voice high and grating. âSuch gorgeous dresses wasted on a night that lasted a mereâwhat? Three, four hours? Ugh, I just canât believe it!â
âTell me about it, sister,â Margaret sighed, flipping the page of a book she was hardly reading. âPrince Jamie throws the most beautiful ballâand then his father comes in with a snap of his fingers and ruins it all.â
âI didnât see much of King Barnes last night either,â Agnes added, leaning in closer like sheâs sharing a secret. âHe appeared for the toast and then vanished like a ghost. He didnât even acknowledge the receiving line!â
Margaret let out a sharp, cynical laugh. âKing Barnes is always out and about, hardly ever present at his own balls, much less his sonâs. Makes you wonder why he ended it early in the first place. You know, I hear His Majesty has been messing around with several women behind closed doors.â
You felt your body go rigid.
âMargaret! You mustnât speak of the King that way!â Agnes giggled, though she didnât look the least bit offended.
âWhat? It is true! There are rumors,â Margaret insisted, smiling wide. She leaned in, using the book as âcoverâ, though her whispers were anything but quiet.
âThey say heâs a coldhearted rake who keeps a string of nameless girls in the west wing just to pass the time. He probably found a new plaything in one of the corridors and decided the ball was no longer worth his attention.â
You squeezed the scrub brush until your knuckles turned white, the soapy water burning the small cuts on your hands. Every word out of their mouths made you feel sickâalmost disgusted with yourself.
They were talking about the man who had held and kissed your hand with such kindness, the man who had looked at your burn marks and seen beauty instead of a blemish.
But to the world, he was just a predator who took what he wanted simply because he couldâand you were nothing more than a nameless rumor to be laughed at over morning tea.
âNow, ladies,â Beatriceâs voice rang from the stairs, echoing off the high walls.
Her hands gripped the railing as she stared down at everyone from above, slowly making her descent. With each step, the sharp clicks of her heels sounded like a threat.
âThatâs not the way to talk about our King,â she warned.
âIt wasnât fair!â Agnes continued anyway, picking at a loose thread on her sleeve. âThe Prince didnât even look our way. He spent the entire night dancing with that⌠that nobody.â
âA random woman,â Margaret scoffed, finally shutting her book with a sharp snap. âShe wasnât even that beautiful. Her hair was far too simple, and that dress? It looked like something from a past decade. Where was she from, anyway? Some⌠obscure foreign land?â
âShe must have been,â Agnes added, her voice rising to a whine. âDid you see her? She could hardly even dance! The Prince asks you to dance and you canât even deliver? Ridiculous.â
Margaret leaned forward, her eyes malicious. âAnd the Prince only had eyes for her. But that wasnât even the scandalous partâshe danced with the King, too! Right in front of the entire court.â
Agnes blinked, as if piecing something together. Then, she let out a sharp gasp that made you jump.
âWhat if Prince Jamie is no better than his father? What if theyâre just alike? Perhaps they shared her in a corridor in the west wing before the night was through.â
They both broke into fits of snickers, their hands covering their mouths as they giggled at the mental image of your degradation.
You just wished the marble floors would open up and swallow you whole.
To them, the most beautiful and profound moment of your life was nothing more than a dirty joke.
Beatrice met them in the living room, crossing her arms over her chest. âFret not, ladies. She was probably some impoverished Duchess from the North, trying to sink her claws into the crown before the night was up.â
You kept your head down, your fingers tightening around the damp handle of your scrub brush. Your skin crawled as they picked apart your appearance, your dancing, everything. They were completely unaware that the so called âimpoverishedâ woman they were mocking was currently kneeling in the dirt at their feet.
Every insult only felt like a splash of cold water, reminding you that in their worldâand Buckyâsâyou were merely an interloper who didnât belong.
From the corner of her eye, Beatrice noticed the frown on your face. A slow, cruel smile tugged across her red lips. To her, your grimace was nothing more than bitter jealousy. She turned to you, smoothing her skirt as her eyes locked onto yours with a sympathy so forced she might as well not have bothered.
âItâs a shame you couldnât have gone,â Beatrice said, her voice sweet and fake. âThe palace was truly beautiful. The way the light hit the gold⌠itâs a world you canât even begin to imagine, isnât it, dear?â
You bit your tongue so hard you tasted copper. You wanted to tell her. You wanted to look her in the eye and tell her that not only had you shared a dance with the Prince they sought after, but the King had worshipped you.
He had called you his girl.
He hadnât âruinedâ the ballâhe had ended it because he couldnât stand a single second of it without you by his side.
But you knew that arguing with the ignorant would get you nowhere, so you did what you did best, which was staying silent and unassuming.
âBut then, someone has to stay behind and make sure the house doesnât fall into ruin. We canât all be Princesses for a night.â Beatrice let out a small, airy laughâas if this was all just a joke to her.
âAnyway, back to work!â She suddenly commanded. âAgnesâ riding boots wonât clean themselves, and I expect the foyer to be spotless before afternoon tea.â She glanced at her daughters slouching on the couch. âUp, girls. Itâs time for piano lessons.â
Agnes and Margaret pushed up from the couch, giving you glances they would as if it giving it to a insectâthough, theyâd probably look kinder than that.
You dipped your brush into the bucket, the cold water stinging the raw skin of your hands. You had dreamt of him in the few short hours of peace youâd found in your bed, and even now, amidst the dirt and cruel insults, your mind was still entirely consumed by him.
You could still feel the phantom sensation of his touch against your waist and the husky rasp of his voice calling you his.
His girl.
And even though you knew deep down that a maid had no chance of being with a King, a small, stubborn part of you couldnât help but wonder.
You wondered if he was standing in that cold, empty study right now, staring at the empty space on the desk youâd left behind. You wondered if, despite the crown and the kingdom, he was still thinking about you all the same.
Back at the palace, the morning sun bled through the towering windows, but the light felt intrusive. Bucky stood eerily still, staring out over the kingdom that belonged to him, his tired gaze fixed on the town below.
He hadnât changed his clothes. He hadn't slept.
In his hand, he held your white lace glove. He squeezed it so tightly his knuckles turned white, the delicate fabric bunching against his palm. He kept finding himself closing his eyes, bringing the lace to his face to inhale the fading scent of rosewater that still clung to the threads.
Every time he exhaled and opened his eyes, those icy blue orbs were filled with a dangerous mix of both yearning and fury.
How dare you leave him?
He had marked you. He had claimed you. And yet, you had slipped through his fingers like smoke, leaving him with nothing but a scrap of lace and a hollow, agonizing ache in his chest.
He knew he should sleep. He should take a hot bath, wash the scent of the night off his skin, and finally eatâbut he couldnât.
Not when you were still clawing your way into his mind, nearly driving him mad.
A set of footsteps approached him with caution. It was the same attendant from last night, looking pale and trembling.
Bucky knew he should have sent the man to the gallows the moment he realized the attendant had helped you escape. It would have been easy. But it also would have been unreasonableâthe man was simply doing his job and doing what he was used to with⌠Buckyâs shameful previous moments before you.
âSire,â the man stammered, bowing so low he nearly tipped over. âRegarding the girl... and the abrupt end to the ball.â
âIt seems Prince Jamie also ordered the ballroom to clear shortly after you left the dais,â the attendant whispered. âHe told the guests it was by your direct commandâthat the King demanded the palace be emptied for a search. He spent the remainder of the night with the captain of the guard, scouring the lower gates for a âmissing guest.ââ
Buckyâs grip on the glove tightened until the lace threatened to tear.
Jamie.
His own son had used his name to chase after the same woman. Buckyâs jaw clenched so hard his molars ached. The boy gets one dance with a pretty woman and he forgets himself. He forgets who he isâand more importantly, who his father is.
âHe did, did he?â Buckyâs rumbled.
âYes, Your Majesty.â
The silence between them was so still and heavy, that the faint ticking of the clock across the room sounded like a hammer against an anvil. The attendant remained rooted to the spot, standing so rigidly perfect that his spine began to ache, his breath held in his chest as he waited for the Kingâs next move.
âBring him to me,â Bucky finally ordered. He glanced at the attendant over his shoulder. âMy son. Bring him to me. Now.â
âY-yes, Your Majesty!â
The attendant gave one final, frantic bow before scrambling away to fetch Jamie. Left in the sudden quiet, Bucky turned his gaze back to the window, his mind a turbulent storm of a million different thoughts.
Bucky had always prided himself on being a good King. He was a man who ruled with a steady hand, treating his people with a fairness that was rare for his station. He gave everything to the land and asked for very little in return; he was hardly ever a selfish man.
He took that same pride in his role as a father. He had raised Jamie with meticulous care, shielding him from the hardness of his own past. He had taught the boy how to be a gentleman, how to be polite, and above all, how to treat a woman with kindnessâall the virtues Bucky himself had lacked growing up.
But now, staring out at the kingdom he had built, Bucky realized that his own teachings had backfired.
He had taught his son how to recognize a woman of worth, and now, they were both hunting the same girl.
âFather,â Jamie panted, the words catching in his throat as he reached the top of the stairs. He came to a halt behind Bucky, maintaining a respectful distance between themâthe gap between a Prince and his King.
âYou called for me?â
Bucky turned slowly to face his son. He didnât offer a greeting; rather, he simply watched, his eyes tracking the way Jamieâs shoulders rose and fell with every labored breath. He took note of the sheen of sweat on the boyâs forehead and the way he struggled to compose himself after the lengthy climb.
Bucky pursed his lips, a small pang of disappointment hitting his chest as he judged his sonâs lack of stamina.
Perhaps he hadnât been such a good father after all. Because as he stood there, watching Jamie stumble over his own exhaustion, the only thing Bucky could think was that the boy was outmatched.
Jamie was too soft, too unseasoned. He could never hope to catch up to a woman like youâand he certainly wouldnât be able to catch up with you in bed.
âI hear that you cleared the guests out shortly after I performed the toast,â Bucky said, dangerously calm. âI couldnât quite remember if the invitation mentioned the ball ending at midnight. I found myself wondering why the palace was being emptied with such⌠urgency.â
Jamie stayed quiet.
Bucky took a step closer.
âI was also told that you ordered every guest to leave under my command,â Bucky added, his tone dropping deeper and quieter. âUsing my name to finish a party that you were so excited to host. Why is that, son?â
Jamie stood up straighter, his own blue eyes sparkling with an enthusiasm that made Buckyâs eyebrow twitch. He didnât see the storm brewing in his fatherâs expression; he only saw an opportunity to confide in the man he looked up to.
âI had to, Father,â Jamie admitted, a small, sheepish smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. âThere was a woman. Iâve never seen anyone like herâshe wasnât like the usual court vultures. She was... magnetic. But she vanished the moment the clock struck twelve.â
Jamie took a deep breath, his chest puffing out slightly as he warmed to the subject, completely oblivious to the fact that his father was slowly losing his grip on his patience.
âI used your name because I knew the guards wouldnât question it. I needed the halls clear so I could find her before she slipped past the gates. I just⌠I couldnât let her go without knowing who she was. I think I might be in love with her, Father. Iâve never felt this way about anyone before.â
Every word out of Jamieâs mouth felt like a personal insultâa boyâs shallow infatuation trying to claim territory already conquered by a King.
A desperate part of him hoped, prayed, that the woman Jamie was describing wasnât you. He wanted there to be a small, flickering chance that Jamie had met someone else, anyone else, who wasnât the girl in the silver blue dress.
âIn love?â Bucky repeated bitterly in disbelief. âYou shared a single dance with a stranger, and youâve decided itâs love?â
âIt was more than a dance,â Jamie insisted, his voice rising with that same stubbornness Bucky had at his age. âThere was a connection. I could tell she felt it, too. She was shy, hesitant, but there was a fire in her. Surely, you understand? You danced with her, too.â
Bucky felt like he wanted to punch a wall.
âYou saw her up close. She was beautifulâeven underneath the mask. Her eyes were so kindââ
Bucky couldnât stand to hear another word.
ââand her laugh was hypnotizing. She didnât even know how to dance, but she was the sweetest thing in the roomââ
Bucky felt like he was going insane. He had never, ever hated anyone as much as he hated his own son in this very moment. Each compliment Jamie uttered felt like a hand reaching for a prize that Bucky had already locked away in his soul.
âSonââ
ââI want to marry her, Father,â Jamie interrupted, his voice suddenly stern and determined.
His blue eyesâso like Buckyâs ownâmet the Kingâs with a steady gaze, and Bucky felt a wave of nausea roll through him.
âI finally found herâmy Princess. I want her to stand by my side at court as my wife. She would be the most perfect woman for it,â Jamie continued, a small, subtle blush creeping onto his cheeks at the mere thought. âPrincess BarnesâŚâ
Princess Barnes?
Bucky scoffed, a rude, incredulous sound that escaped his throat before he could stop it. Jamieâs head tilted, noticing the reaction, but Bucky was far beyond caring about appearances. Princess was a title for a girl playing at house. It was a secondary rank, a title that lived in the shadow of another.
No. That wasnât right at all. You werenât meant to be a Princess. You were meant to be a Queen. Queen Barnes. His Queen. His equal, his partner, his obsession. Not his sonâs plaything.
Bucky forced himself to reel back, drawing a slow, heavy breath into his lungs. He was a father first, a King second. He needed to speak carefully, to dismantle this before it ruined them both.
âDo not be a fool, Jamie,â Bucky said. âYou are talking about a woman you do not know. You are rushing into a fantasy. Marriage is about stability, about the crownânot about a girl who didnât know how to waltz... or⌠or one who didnât even have the decency to stay!â
It was cruelly ironic. He was lying through his teeth, and the taste of it was bitter. Every criticism he hurled at you felt like a sin, but he had to dissuade his son.
He had to make you sound small, sound insignificant, so that Jamie would stop looking for you.
âWait for the reports,â Bucky continued, his voice biting and harsh. His hand tightened around the lace, his grip crushing the delicate fabric more with every word.
âDo not waste your time. Focus on your duties. Do not go chasing shadows in theââ
âFather,â Jamie interrupted suddenly.
âWhat?â Bucky snapped, his patience fraying.
Jamie took a step forward. The moment Bucky saw his sonâs eyes lock onto the white fabric clenched between his fingers, his blood ran cold.
âThat glove,â Jamie whispered, his eyes widening with shock. He looked back up at his father, his breath hitching. âI recognize it. Itâs hers. I held that hand while we danced... I know the pattern of that lace by heart.â
Bucky pressed his lips together, his entire body coiling like a spring. He braced himself for the explosion. He expected Jamie to yell, to seethe in betrayal, to realize that his father had been hiding the woman he âlovedâ just a room away last night.
But instead, a bright, hopeful smile tugged at Jamieâs lips. His eyes sparked with a pure, joyous relief.
âYou found her,â Jamie breathed, letting out a small, huffing laugh of disbelief. âYou found her for me, didnât you? You saw how much I wanted her... and you went and found her.â
And now, Bucky wished Jamie wouldâve just yelled at him instead.
Before he could even respond, Jamie was already beaming with glee. Any other father would relish seeing their own son happy, but for Bucky, he felt like he was suffocating.
âWe must arrange a carriage for her at once!â Jamie exclaimed, already pacing the rug. âI need to have her hereâin this palace. I have so much to say to her, Iââ
Bucky shut his eyes tight, his mouth shuddering as he felt the delicate lace of your glove crushing against his palm. Right now, it felt like it was the only piece he had left of you.
âSon. Enoughââ
âThis is incredible! I⌠I never expected you to go out of your way for me like this, Father. I thought you were disappointed, but you were actuallyââ
Buckyâs heart was clawing its way out of his ribs. It was a frantic, taunting thud that made him feel like he was about to collapse under his own deceit.
âJamie. Stop itââ
âThank you, Father! Truly. Once we bring her back hereâthe moment she steps off that carriageâIâm going to propose. Iâll give her the world. Iâllââ
Propose?
Give you the world?
He wanted to give you the world?
Jamie didnât even know your world. He didnât know the way you tasted, or the way you trembled when a real man laid hands on you.
Bucky had given the order to the attendant the moment you vanished. He had planned to have his men quietly intercept you, to bring you back to his private chambers before your carriage could even take you past the palace gates. But Jamieâs âfake commandâ had ruined everything. The sudden, chaotic crowd of hundreds of guestsâthe horses, the carriages, the shoutingâhad created a wall of bodies and steel that Buckyâs men couldnât penetrate.
The guilt Bucky felt was suddenly swallowed by a surging, irrational wave of resentment. This was Jamieâs fault. All of it.
His sonâs childish interference was the reason you were gone. His vanity was the reason Bucky was standing here with an empty heart and a stolen glove.
Buckyâs restraint vanished completely. His arm moved in a blur of pure, enraged adrenaline. His fist collided with Jamieâs jaw with a sickening crack, the force of the blow sending his son stumbling back in pain.
âGoddamnit, Jamie!â Bucky barked, his thunderous voice echoing off the high walls like a cannon firing away. âI said that is enough!â
Buckyâs chest heaved, his eyes widening with horror as dark crimson began to leak between Jamieâs fingers, staining his pristine white cuffs. The adrenaline that had fueled the punch evaporated instantly, leaving behind a cold, sickening hollow. He stared at his own knuckles, then back at the blood on his sonâs face.
âFuck,â Bucky cursed. He took a frantic step forward, his hand reaching out. âJamieââ
âDonât!â Jamie hissed, flinching away from the touch. He looked up, his eyes glassy with tears he refused to let fall. He wiped his nose with the back of his hand, but the blood only smeared across his cheek, making him look even more broken.
âI just wanted to make you proud, Father. Thatâs all Iâve ever tried to do,â Jamie muttered, his gaze dropping to his boots.
âJamie, that isnâtââ
âI thought youâd be happy!â Jamieâs voice broke. âI thought youâd finally be glad to see me take a wife, to see me grow up. I thought this was my dutyâto find a woman who could lead by my side. But⌠but I can never win with you, can I? No matter what I do, itâs never enough. Iâm never enough!â
Bucky felt like his chest was being stepped on.
He had hit his own son.
In all the years of training and discipline, he had never once raised a hand to the boy in anger. The glove remained clenched in his palmâthe very thing that had started thisâand it suddenly felt as heavy as lead.
âJamie, please,â Buckyâs voice grew quieter, shakier than it had ever been. âYou have to understand. Itâs⌠itâs not that simple. There are things you donât knowââ
âI understand plenty,â Jamie spat. He glared up at his father, a look of such pure resentment that Bucky had never seen before. He wanted to die right then and there.
His own son no longer looked at him like a hero, but like a villainâa tyrant guarding his hoard.
âYou donât want me to have her,â Jamie said, his voice turning to a cold, final whisper. âYou donât want me to have anything.â
âSon, Iââ
Before Bucky could grab his arm, Jamie turned and bolted for the stairs. His footsteps thundered down the hall, each heavy stomp of his boot against the cold floor echoing like the heartbeat in Buckyâs aching chest.
âJamie! Jamie, wait!â Bucky called out, his voice cracking.
He started to follow, but he only made it halfway before he stopped, watching his son disappear around the corner and out of his reach.
You were out in the town again, but the atmosphere felt different, and almost suffocating. As you moved through the market, you couldnât help but notice the royal guards posted at every corner.
Usually, the guards were a lazy fixture of the townâslumped at tavern tables playing cards or nursing drinks, doing a halfhearted job at best. But today, they were different. There were far more of them than usual, all standing with rigid shoulders, their steel armor gleaming with a sharp, intimidating light against the dusty cobblestone walls.
At first, the way they scrutinized the passing crowdâspecifically the womenâ seemed merely inappropriate. But as you stole a glance, a chill settled deep in your bones.
They werenât just watching; they were searching.
You saw them whispering in low, urgent tones, gesturing toward various girls and pointing to the shade of a womanâs hair⌠or the curve of a jawline as if comparing them to a mental checklist.
They were looking for someone with very specific features.
They were looking for you.
You quickly averted your eyes, tucking your chin and clutching your wicker basket against your chest like a shield. You weaved through the morning crowd, trying to make yourself as small and unassuming as possible, desperate to melt into the shadows of the common folk.
You were just steps away from the safety of a produce shop when a commotion at a nearby bread stall caught your ear. Usually, you would have kept your head down, but the desperation in the young manâs voice made you pause.
A boy with a deep hood pulled low was caught in a heated argument with the stall keeper. Even from a distance, you could see his hands were shaking. A dark, ugly bruise was already blooming across the bridge of his nose, accompanied by a faint smear of dried blood.
âItâs just a loaf of bread and some cheese!â the young man argued, his voice surprisingly prideful for a man whoâs supposed to be hungry. âYouâre charging me five times the worth!â
The stall keeper let out a harsh, mocking laugh, leaning over his counter with a sneer.
âWell, when youâre wearinâ a brooch like that,â he pointed a greasy finger at the glimmering silver pin tucked under the boyâs cloak, âit means youâve got money. Or you stole it. Either way, pay up or move on, fancy lad.â
âI told you, I donât have the coin on me! I⌠I left in a hurry,â the boy muttered, his fingers instinctively clutching the brooch. âI wonât give you this. Itâs a family heirloom.â
The keeper scoffed, pulling the tray of food back. âThen starve. I donât run a charity for runaways.â
The boy looked so small in that moment, his shoulders slumping with a defeat that felt all too familiar to you. Despite the danger of the guards nearby, your heart ached for him. You knew exactly what it was like to be seen as insignificant, to be at the mercy of someone more powerful.
Before you could talk yourself out of it, you stepped forward. You pulled a few copper coins from the deep pocket of your skirt and dropped them onto the wooden counter.
âThat should cover it,â you said. âAnd the change is for your trouble. Let the boy have the food.â
The keeperâs eyes didnât even glance at you nor the copper. They remained glued on the glimmering silver pinned to the boyâs chest.
âI donât want your coin, girl,â he grunted, his gaze narrowing with greed. âI want that brooch. That silver alone is worth more than my entire stall.â
The young man bristled, his hand tightening over the heirloom, but before he could snap back, you spoke first.
âCome on, Gary,â you said softly, a small, knowing smile playing on your lips. âDidnât you used to pride yourself on making your craft affordable for the needy? Youâve helped me out plenty of times when the month was lean. Surely, you can lend a hand to someone else in need.â
Gary finally shifted his eyes away from the boy. When he realized it was you standing there, his harsh expression faltered just slightly. He took a long look at you, then back at the battered, hooded boy, and finally at the humble copper coins on the counter.
He knew you; he knew you worked hard and rarely asked for favors.
âFine,â Gary grumbled, snatching the coins off the wood with a reluctant huff.
He wrapped a loaf of bread and a thick wedge of cheese in a rough cloth and shoved it roughly toward the boy. âYou owe her one, spoiled brat. Donât let me see you around here again.â
The boy lifted his hands hesitantly to grab the parcel. He swallowed hard, shifting his attention toward you. His face flushed, and you couldnât tell if it was the humiliation of a common maid helping a man like him, or simply the throbbing pain of his injury.
âThank you, missââ he began.
As he tilted his head back to look at you, the sunlight caught the high curve of his cheekbones and the unmistakable cool shade of blue in his eyes.
The Barnes eyes.
Even with the dark, jagged bruise across his nose, there was no mistaking that it was him.
The blood drained from your face so fast, you felt your head spinning. You froze, your hands tightening on the wicker basket. Your heart, which had been steady just now in your confidence with Gary, now thrashed against your ribs like a trapped bird.
âI⌠Iââ you stuttered. You took a step back, bumping into a frantic man who yelled, âWatch your step!â but you paid no mind. Your gaze darted to the guards huddled at the end of the street.
It was no wonder why there were so many of them posted today. They werenât just looking for you. They were also looking for Buckyâs son.
If they saw you talking to himâif they realized who he was and who you wereâit was over.
You braced yourself for Jamieâs face to light up, expecting him to seize your hands and declare heâd finally found you. But instead, his brows furrowed in confusion. He took in your messy hair, your trembling lip, and your simple, soot-stained maidâs uniform.
To him, you were just a kind girl of the working classâa far cry from the elegant vision of silver, blue, and lace he had held in the golden ballroom.
Jamie leaned in slightly, his gaze searching yours with a look of dawning and haunting familiarity.
âAre you quite alright?â he asked softly. He paused, his eyes narrowing as he studied the shape of your faceâthe curve of your jaw, the fullness of your lips, the depth of your eyes. âWaitâŚâ
He trailed off, and you felt your stomach turn.
âDo I know you from somewhere? You look... strangely familiar.â
âI⌠no,â you stammered, forced a short, brittle laugh that sounded more like a gasp of air. âItâs a small town. You must have me confused with someone else. Iâuh, have a good day, Your HighnessâI mean, sir!â
Jamieâs face shifted, a flicker of recognition sparking in his eyes. You sucked in a sharp breath, mentally cursing yourself for that slip-up. Before he could voice the realization, you turned on your heel and bolted, weaving through the thicket of market-goers frantically.
âMaâam, wait!â Jamieâs voice called out from behind you, sounding strained and breathless.
You didnât look back. You kept your head down, convinced that every second spent in his presence brought you a second closer to a prison cell.
If the guards found you and dragged you back to the King, the rumors would devour you. Youâd be branded a whore. Your step-family would throw you onto the streets without a second thought. The King would never provide for you; he was a King, and you were a maid, for Godâs sake. And now, you werenât just caught up with the King, but with the Prince as well.
âPlease, wait!â Jamieâs voice grew more distant and more desperate the further you pulled away.
You rounded the corner into a narrow alleyway. Just as you were about to disappear around the far end to lose him for good, curiosityâor perhaps lingering empathyâmade you glance over your shoulder.
Jamie wasnât running anymore. He was halfway into the alley, his body swaying dangerously. His face, already pale, had turned a sickly shade of grey. He reached out a trembling hand, catching himself against the damp brick wall to keep from collapsing.
You stopped. You were ten feet away from freedom, but you couldnât move. You watched as his knees buckled, his head dropping as he fought a losing battle to stay conscious.
You hissed a curse under your breath. You were a commoner, a maid who had no business meddling with anyone associated with a crown.
Yet, your feet were already moving back to him.
You hurried back to him, slipping into the shadows just as he began to slide down the wall. You caught him by the shoulders, your wicker basket dropping to the cobblestones as you struggled to stabilize his weight with yours.
âSir? Sir, look at me,â you cooed, but Jamie didnât answer.
He instinctively leaned into your touch, his head rolling forward until his forehead rested against your shoulder. He was bigger and far heavier than you expected. Realizing you couldnât hold him up for long, you allowed him to slide down the wall, sinking to the ground with him to act as his support.
He smelled of expensive cedar wood and the sharp, metallic tang of blood. A soft, pained groan escaped his lips, and he weakly gripped your forearms, his fingers digging into the rough fabric of your sleeves.
âI... I have you,â you murmured, shifting your body to support him. âJust breathe. Youâre alright.â
Jamie let out a jagged, shallow breath, his eyes squeezed shut as he leaned more heavily into you.
âGod⌠this hurts like hell,â he rasped.
A small frown creased your brow. Despite the danger, the sight of himâso young and so clearly sufferingâpulled at a maternal instinct you couldnât suppress.
âHush now,â you murmured.
Reaching up, you gently pushed back the heavy fabric of his hood. It fell back, revealing the full extent of the damage. The bruise was even worse up close. A deep, angry purple had swollen the bridge of his nose. You reached out, your fingers brushing his sweat dampened hair away from his forehead to get a better look at his face.
Up close, the resemblance to the King was haunting, but where Buckyâs features were hardened by duties and age, Jamieâs were still soft and pure.
You wanted to ask what happenedâhow a Prince who was always protected, who had likely never raised a hand in a real fight, had ended up looking like that in a place like this, so far from the safety of the palace.
âStay here. Donât move,â you commanded softly when he tried to shift.
You stood up and reached for the clean rag tucked into the waistband of your skirtâa bit of linen you used for workâand hurried to the small stone well tucked into a nook near the alley entrance. The pulley creaked as you splashed the fabric into the bucket, the water coming up icy and clear.
Wringing it out, you rushed back to his side and sank back down onto the cobblestones. Jamieâs head was lolling against the brick, his eyes half open and glazed.
âHere,â you whispered.
You pressed the cold, wet cloth gently against his nose and forehead. He hissed, flinching at the initial sharpness of the cold, but then his eyes fluttered shut as the chill began to numb the throbbing ache.
âThank you,â he breathed, his hand coming up to weakly cover yours, holding the rag in place. He stayed like that for a long moment, leaning into the coolness and your presence.
Then, without opening his eyes, a small, pained smile touched his lips. âYou have very kind hands, for a stranger.â
You swallowed hard, keeping your eyes on the damp cloth. âThatâs just what we do in this town,â you spoke softly, your voice barely above a whisper. âWe help each other. Even strangers.â
There was a soft, moment of silence in the damp alleyway. Gradually, Jamieâs ragged breathing began to steady into an even pace. He seemed stable enough now to be left on his ownâyou could leave, you should leaveâbut for some reason, your feet wouldnât move. The way his shoulders had completely slumped was a sign that he felt safe.
Safe simply because of your presence.
âYeah,â Jamie breathed, the word trailing off into the quiet air.
He didnât open his eyes yet, but his head tilted slightly toward you, his skin appearing ghostly white against the dark, angry bloom of his bruise.
âBut youâre not a stranger, are you?â
You froze, your hand still trapped beneath his on the wet linen rag. You didnât dare look at him, terrified that the recognition in his voice would be reflected in his eyes.
âI⌠I donât know what you mean, sir,â you managed to say, though your heart was beating so loudly, you were certain he could feel it through your hand and up your arm.
âYour hands,â he murmured, his thumb brushing over your knuckles, âthey feel familiar. Hands Iâve held before. And your voiceâŚâ He sucked in a shallow, shaky breath, his eyelashes fluttering as he finally opened his eyes to look at you. âItâs soothing. Just like hers.â
You knew there was no point in playing dumb any longer. Prince Jamie was smartâand he had already seen right through you. Continuing the charade in front of an injured manâmuch less a Princeâ felt less like a safety measure and more like rubbing salt into an open wound.
With a defeated sigh, you tried to pull your hand away, but his grip tightened to keep you there.
It seemed that being unyielding and possessive were simply the many traits of the Barnes bloodline.
âYour Highnessââ
âPlease,â Jamie interrupted, his voice weak and tired. âJust call me Jamie. I⌠I hardly look like a Prince at the moment, and I certainly havenât been acting like one.â
Your frown deepened. You found yourself relaxing under his touch. He looked utterly defeatedâlonely, exhausted, and stripped of the regal armor he usually wore so well. Your heart ached for him, and the question slipped past your lips before you could think to stop it.
âWhat happened, Jamie?â
Jamieâs shoulders tensed, and you regretted the question the second it left your lips. But before you could retract it, he surprised you by actually answering.
âI had an argument,â he began, his voice sounding hollow. âWith the Kingâmy father.â He paused, a flicker of pain crossing his features that had nothing to do with his physical injuries. Then, his eyes locked onto yours. âWe had an argument about you, actually.â
You held your breath, not daring to speak.
âI wanted to find you,â Jamie continued. âI wanted to find you and make youââ he swallowed hard, a sudden flush of embarrassment creeping up his neck. ââI wanted to make you my wife. I thought you were the perfect woman to stand by my side on the throne. I assumed you were a noble woman in hiding.â
âOh, dearâŚâ you muttered before you could stop yourself.
Jamie caught the remark and huffed a dry, self-deprecating laugh. He seemed to realize in that moment just how naive his assumptions had been.
âI just wanted to make my father proud. I wanted to do my duty as his sonâto finally choose a bride. But when I told him I had decided it would be you, heâŚâ
Jamieâs jaw clenched as he remembered the look in his fatherâs eyesâthe look of a man who had no intention of letting his son claim the woman he wanted for himself.
âIâve never seen him act like this,â he continued. âHe hasnât slept, eaten, or even changed his clothes since the ball ended. When I told him I was adamant about finding you, he raised his hand to me. And⌠I left. I couldn't stay in that palace a moment longer.â
He tried to sit up a little straighter, groaning.'
âMy father is usually a cold, composed man. To see him lash out like this⌠to see him unravel over youâit made me realize that I wasnât the only one who wanted you. And who am I to compete against a King?â
He let out another laugh, though there was no humor in it. Only sadness.
âMy father,â Jamie swallowed hard, his sad blue eyes meeting yours. âHe loves you. And I can see why. Youâre kind, gentle, andâŚâ he looked down at your frayed, dirty dress before tracing back up to your face, âeven though youâre a maid, youâve captured my fatherâs heart. Terrifyingly so.â
âJamie,â you sighed, forcing a reassuring smile. You reached up, your hand gently cupping his cheek to try and calm him. âThe King doesnât love me. He loves the woman he saw at the ball. Nothing more.â
Jamie tilted his head, his brows furrowing. The look he gave you was hauntingly similar to Buckyâsâthat same piercing, knowing gaze, as if he were silently calling you out on your bullshit.
âHe didnât fall in love with the woman at the ball,â Jamie corrected softly, his eyes searching yours. âHe fell in love with the woman he saw at Marthaâs dress shop.â
You froze, blinking at him in sheer disbelief. âM-Martha? You know her?â
âMartha is a long-time family friend,â he explained, his voice finally steadying. âShe was the first person I ran to after I fled the palace. She told me everything.â He let out a weary, ragged sigh. âTurns out thereâs a lot I donât know about my father these daysâlike how he often sneaks out of the palace alone just to linger around her shop as a commoner.â
You bit your lip, the memory of that day rushing back vividly. You remembered him acting as a commoner who had been so charming, stumbling over his words as he spoke to you.
To say you hadnât fallen for him right then and there would have been a lie.
With a tired sigh of your own, you shifted closer, looking him directly in the eye with the firm authority like someone scolding a stubborn child.
âJamie, you need to go home,â you lectured softly. âThere are guards posted everywhere looking for you. Your father must be worried sick in that lonely palace of his.â
You watched his eyes carefully, noticing the deep well of hurt and loneliness they held. It made you want to stay, to protect himâbecause you knew exactly what it felt like to be cast aside and alone.
âYour injury would be healed much faster by proper medics at the palace, not by one of my cheap rags and cold well water,â you added, offering a small smile and a forced, lighthearted laugh to ease the mood.
But Jamie didnât budge.
âProbably,â Jamie whispered, his voice so vulnerable that it made your heart ache. He shrugged so weakly that it looked more like a shudder. âBut this feels far better. It feels like Iâm being cared for by a mother I never had.â
For a moment, you felt as if the air had been knocked out of your lungs.
For a man who held such a prestigious title and a legendary bloodline, he looked so smallâso utterly defeated. Every word that left his lips felt like a needle pulling at the strings of your heart.
With a soft, resigned sigh, you knelt back down in the dirt in front of him. You couldnât leave him like this; you couldnât send him back to a cold palace when he was clearly starving for even a shred of genuine warmth.
âI know that feeling all too well,â you said, your voice barely a whisper as a sad, knowing smile touched your lips.
âI live in a house that feels far too big for the little space Iâm allowed to occupy. I live among people who look at me but never truly see meâwho see a pair of hands to do their bidding rather than a heart thatâs breaking. I know what itâs like to starve for a kind word in a home thatâs supposed to provide shelter.â
You looked at the dark bruising on his face, your own chest aching with every breath he took. âBut Jamie⌠your father isnât like my family. He doesnât look at you and see a servant. I saw the way he looked at you at the ball; I heard the speech he made in your honor. He doesn't just love youâhe lives for you.â
âHe struck me,â Jamie whispered, his lip trembling.
âAnd you shouldâve struck him right back,â you added firmly. âAnd God knows, if I had been there, I wouldâve struck him, too.â
Jamie couldnât help but laughâa genuine, breathy soundâat the absurdity of the image. âStrike the King? Do you truly wish for a death sentence for the both of us?â
You couldnât help but giggle, and the sound seemed to make Jamieâs heavy shoulders ease just a little more. âHe wouldnât do that to youâhe values you too much. Me, on the other hand? Iâd be âoff with my headâ before I could even blink.â
He rolled his eyes again, though his lips remained curved in a soft, lingering smile. âDonât be ridiculous. He wouldnât dare.â
âSo, you understand how kind your father is, despite everything?â
Jamie chewed the inside of his cheek, his gaze dropping to the dirt wedged between the cobblestone. He knew the answerâbut just like his father, his pride was a stubborn barrier, refusing to let him admit it aloud.
âIâll return to the palace,â he said instead. âBut only on one condition.â He reached out, taking your hand in his again. âI want you to come with me. My father⌠heâs been searching for you since the moment you left that ballroom. Heâs going insane in there, and he needs you.â
âJamie, I canât,â you whispered, pulling back slightly. âIâm a commoner. A maid. I donât belong in those halls.â
Jamie didnât argue. He didnât try to persuade you with logic this time, or even use his title to his advantage.
He simply slumped back against the damp brick wall and crossed his arms over his chest with the indignant, brooding pout of a stubborn child.
âThen I wonât go,â he declared flatly, that princely entitlement coming back into his tone. âIâll stay right here in this alley. Iâll rot in the dirt and let the guards find me like this. And it will be all your fault.â
You blinked, stunned. âYou canât be seriousââ
âOh, but I am.â
You stared at him, realizing that for all their power and prestige, the Barnes men were impossibly, infuriatingly stubborn. You glanced toward the mouth of the alley where the guards were pacing.
You cared for him, but you had to put yourself first.
If Jamie returned, the hunt might end. The streets would clear. You could complete your chores without looking over your shoulder every five seconds.
You forced a smile and stood up, brushing the dirt from your skirt before grabbing your basket. You reached out a hand to him, and he looked up at you, his eyes wide and shimmering with sudden hope.
âFine,â you nodded. âLetâs go back to the palace then. Together.â
Jamie blinked at you, his expression frozen for a second as if he couldnât quite believe youâd actually agreed.
Then, a bright, genuine smile broke across his face. He gripped your hand, using it to hoist himself upâthough he was clearly doing most of the heavy liftingâand began brushing the alley dust from his trousers.
âOkay,â he breathed. âLetâs go.â
You let go of his hand and motioned to the end of the alley, where the silhouettes of the guards were still visible against the sunlight. With the wicker basket tucked carefully into the crook of your arm, you gave him a playful bow.
âLead the way, Prince Charming.â
Jamie couldnât help but snicker, the sound light and boyish.
As he led you out of the alley, his chin held high and his hood pushed back, the market noise began to ripple and change. The chaotic noises of bartering died down, replaced by whispering as people realized exactly who was walking among them.
âIs that Prince Jamie?â
âLook at the bruises on his face!â
âWhat is Prince Jamie doing outside of the palace?â
âIs that why there are so many guards?â
One of the guards finally spotted him as the crowd parted like a sea of fish.
âPrince Jamie!â he shouted, stumbling forward as his eyes went wide. âYour Highness! The King has been worried sickâheâs nearly razed the palace to the groundââ
Jamie raised a hand, stopping the guardâs rambling. âI am here, and I am safe,â he said calmly. âNow, arrange a carriage immediately. For me and the maiden. We are going home.â
The guard blinked, visibly confused. âY-your Highness?â
Jamie raised a brow, the Barnes temper flaring just slightly. âWell, donât just stand there gaping! I said arrange a carriage for me andââ he turned halfway, gesturing to the space at his side where you had been standing just a second ago. ââthe maiden.â
But as Jamie looked back, the space was empty.
You were nowhere to be seen.
You found yourself back on your knees in the living room, tending to the flickering flames of the fireplace.
Ever since youâd returned, Beatrice had been even snappier with you than usual. Your encounter with Prince Jamie had made you much later than intended, and for Beatrice, whose patience was already paper thin, this was the final straw.
âHurry up with those flames,â Beatrice barked from behind her teacup. âAnd once youâre finished, we need a fresh pot. Make it quickâyouâre already falling far behind schedule.â
âYes, maâamââ
You hissed as a stray spark leapt from the hearth and bit into your finger. You dropped the iron poker in pain, the metal clattering loudly against the stone.
âIncompetent girl,â Beatrice sneered in disdain. She set her saucer down on the side table with a sharp clack and swept out of the room, leaving you alone in the dim light of the rising fire.
It had been days since Jamie returned to the palace. You felt a twinge of guilt for breaking your promise to go back with him, but you told yourself it was necessary. He was a smart boyâ surely, he would understand that a dirty maid couldnât simply walk through the front gates of a large, pristine palace.
With Jamie home, the number of guards roaming the town had decreased significantly. It was exactly what you had hoped for, yet a small, desperate part of you realized something that hurt.
Bucky hadnât been looking for you all this time.
He was looking for his son.
Your eyes pricked with tears, though you tried to hide it behind the pain stinging your fingers from the fireplace spark.
It was selfish.
It was sad.
It was pathetic for you to crave the feeling of being desiredâof being wanted by the Kingâyet push away every advance both he and the Prince had given you.
As you pushed yourself up to start a new pot of tea, Beatriceâs voice rang out from the other room, shrill and demanding. âThe floors are disgusting! Clean them this instant!â
You called out a quick, âYes, maâam!â and retreated outside to the well. After fetching a heavy bucket of water and mixing in some soap, you began to scrub. The water, which had been clear only seconds ago, was already turning a murky gray. You had just deep cleaned these floors yesterdayâwhat could they have possibly done to make them this filthy again so quickly?
As you scrubbed, your body began to ache with every movement. You leaned back on your heels for just a small moment of respite, trying to catch your breath. The sudden sound of horsesâ hooves clacking against the cobblestone made you instinctively look out the window.
Your eyes widened as you saw the carriagesâfancy, polished, and several of them in a row.
The horses looked powerful and well fed, taken care of far better than you were.
Through the glass, you watched as the carriage door opened, and you felt your heart drop into the pit of your stomach.
King Bucky stepped out, looking every bit the sovereign in his dark, tailored suit. For a moment, you didnât believe a word Jamie had said about his father lacking sleep or refusing to change his clothes. This was the exact man you had encountered in the garden the night of the ballâclean, determined, and terrifyingly intimidating.
But it wasnât just his appearance that caught your breath.
It was the small, delicate flash of white tucked into his breast pocket. Peeking out from the dark fabric was a lace glove.
Your glove.
âWhat are you doing? Did I tell you to stop?â Beatriceâs voice shrieked from the hallway, sharp enough to shatter your moment.
You flinched, tearing your gaze away from the window. âSorry, maâam,â you murmured, your voice trembling as you gripped the scrub brush.
You forced your head down, focusing entirely on the floor as you tried to make yourself invisible. You couldnât understand itâwhy was he here?
He had already retrieved his son, hadnât he? What more could he possibly want?
Why couldnât he just leave you alone?
Three solid knocks echoed through the house. Beatrice let out an agitated groan as she stomped toward the door, completely oblivious to the royalty standing just outside. âWho could be here, disrupting my peace?â
As she swung the door open, her annoyed scowl instantly collapsed into a jaw drop.
âY-Your Majesty!â she stammered, her face turning red in shock.
At the sound of the title, your stepsisters came tumbling down the stairs, silk skirts rustling as they shoved one another for a better view. You didnât even need to look back to know they were vibrating with glee.
âThe King is here!â Agnes whisper yelled into her sisterâs ear.
âWhat is he doing here?â Margaret stood on her tippy toes, straining for a better view. âMy, heâs even more handsome in person!â
Agnesâs eyes widened, grabbing her sisterâs arm and bouncing. âDo you think the Prince is here, too? Do you think heâs calling on us?â
âHe must be!â Margaret beamed, her smile so wide it looked painful.
They both smoothed their hair, convinced the Prince had finally sent his father to claim them after the ball. You wanted to snort at how ridiculous they were. After your time with Jamie in the alleyway, you knew for a fact he would never look twice at those two.
Bucky stood just right outside the door, his presence so massive it seemed to suck all the air out of the foyer. He didnât look at the daughters. He didnât even acknowledge Beatriceâs low, trembling curtsy. His eyes were already scanning the interior of the house, sharp and predatory.
âI am looking for someone,â Bucky stated. âA lady who I believe lives in this household. May I come in?â
Beatrice blinked, her hands fluttering nervously at her throat.
She looked back at the living room, where the bucket of gray water sat and you were still huddled on the floor. âOh, Your Majesty... please, the house is quite a mess. Our maid is currently cleaning the floorsâitâs hardly fit for a Kingââ
Buckyâs eyes snapped to hers, cold and dangerous. âAre you denying your King entry?â
Beatriceâs breath hitched, and she let out a small, terrified squeak. âN-No! Never, Your Majesty! Please... forgive me.â
Reluctantly, with her hands shaking, she stepped aside. Bucky crossed the doorframe with a heavy, purposeful stride, the heels of his boots clicking against the very floors you had just been scrubbing. He stopped in the center of the room, his gaze landing directly on you.
His stare was so heavy, it felt suffocating. Yet you didnât dare lift your head. Beatrice scurried to his side.
âAre you here for my daughters, Your Majesty?â she gestured toward Agnes and Margaret, who were still lingering by the staircase. âAgnes, Margaret, come hereââ
Bucky raised a hand, silencing her instantly. âNo.â
Beatriceâs gaze followed the Kingâs, and when she saw how intently he was watching you, she let out an awkward chuckle. âI apologize. My maid must be in your way.â Then, her voice sharpened, loud enough to make you flinch. âThe floor needs scrubbing over here!â
âY-yes, maâam,â you muttered, keeping your head down as you dropped the sponge back into the bucket. You groaned, trying to heave the heavy wooden bucket to the other corner of the room. Bucky watched you, his expression pained as he saw the dirt on your skin and the exhaustion in your movements.
âWell?â Beatrice urged, her voice tight with a forced smile. âBe quick! Donât get in the Kingâs way.â
As you hurried your footsteps, your shoe caught a wet spot on the floor. With your arms aching from the weight of the bucket, you lost your balance. You gasped as the bucket tilted, and a wave of dirty, murky water splashed directly over the Kingâs pristine, polished shoes.
âOh⌠my⌠Godââ Agnes gasped from behind, her hand flying to her mouth in horror.
âThat imbecile!â Margaret hissed, her eyes wide with shock.
Terrified, you didnât even dare glance at Beatrice. Your head tilted up instinctively, your gaze locking onto Buckyâs with worried, pleading eyes.
In that split second, you didnât think about statuses or your station; your eyes gave away everything.
Please, donât be mad at me.
Sheâs going to kill me.
Save me, Bucky.
His expression remained completely unreadable, a mask of stone that made you feel utterly alone. Out of all the mistakes you could have made, this was the worst. This was enough to get you thrown onto the streets. All the hiding, all the rejecting the Prince and Kingâs advancesâit would all be for nothing because you were clumsy enough to spill murky water all over the Kingâs pristine shoes.
Weakly, your voice trembled, so quiet that only he could hear. âB-Buckyââ
But before you could say anything else, Beatriceâs voice barked out like a whip crack. âWhat the hell are you doing just standing there, girl!â
You finally turned to face her. Her features were scrunched into such an ugly grimace of rage, you felt like you could collapse.
âClean his shoes!â she commanded, her finger trembling as she pointed at the mess.
âIâŚâ
âDonât be stupid! Polish the Kingâs shoes this instant!â
Bucky swallowed hard, his voice thick. âThat wonât be necessary.â
But you were already too far gone in your panic. Tears pricked at your eyes, blurring your vision as you dropped frantically to your knees. Your heart was beating so hard it actually ached. All you could think about was the cold rage in Beatriceâs eyes and the threat of being cast out, leaving you with nothing but the clothes on your back.
You grabbed the hem of your apron, reaching out to scrub the murky water from his leather boots with trembling hands.
Buckyâs jaw clenched so tight, he felt a muscle leaped in his cheek. His heart throbbed with sharp, visceral pain. He had spent every waking moment since the ball dreaming of seeing you againâof finally finding youâand now, here you were.
You were finally right in front of him, but you were on your knees. In tears.
In any other context, the sight of you beneath him might have stirred a much darker and hungrier feeling in his blood. But seeing you like thisâutterly broken, terrified, and humiliatedâonly made him want to burn the house down with everyone else inside it.
âGet up, my dear,â he murmured gently.
His voice was so soft, intended only for your ears.
It was so gentle it felt out of place in this cold room, but you didnât even hear him. You let out a small, pathetic sniffle, wiping a stray tear away with the back of your palm before returning to the frantic scrubbing. You were a mess of desperation at his feet, and Bucky couldnât bear it.
âSweetheart, please,â he pleaded.
You ignored him again, your hands moving in a blur as you kept scrubbing and scrubbing.
Bucky didnât care about his suit or his dignity anymore.
He dropped to one knee right there in the dirty scrub water, his massive frame casting a shadow over you. His large hand shot out, firm but incredibly gentle as he always was with you, and clamped around your wrist to force you to stop.
âDarling,â Buckyâs voice broke, his brows pulling together, pleading. He sounded like a man on the verge of crumbling himself. âPlease. Enough.â
As your chin was tilted upward, the wall youâd built around yourself finally crumbled. Your face scrunched up, the effort to stay composed failing as the tears spilled over your cheeks.
You were so tired. Your body ached, and your heart yearned for the very man in front of you.
âIâm scared,â you whispered, the words broken and barely audible, a raw confession that youâve been holding in for years now.
Bucky let out a ragged, shaky sighâa sound of pure heartbreakâand pulled you forward. He didnât care how dirty you were, or that the murky water was soaking into his expensive suit. He had never cared about that. All he cared about was you.
He gathered you into his arms, crushing you against his chest as if he could shield you from the very walls of this house.
âOh, my dear,â he cooed, nuzzling his nose into your hair and breathing you in. âYou have no reason to be afraid anymore. I have you.â
Beatrice watched the scene, her face contorting into a mask of absolute horror.
To her, this wasnât a reunion; it was a scandal.
She saw her foolish stepdaughter throwing herself at the King, threatening the familyâs entire existence.
âWhat do you think youâre doing to our King!â she shrieked, taking a frantic step forward. âGet up, girl! Youâre making us look like a disgraceâYour Majesty, please, forgive her, sheâs touched in the headââ
âSilence, you wretched harridan!â Bucky seethed. The insult was so sharp it made Beatriceâs eyes bulge out of her head. âThe only thing that is a disgrace in this household is you.â
He stood up slowly, bringing you with him, his arm firm around your waist to keep you steady. He looked down at Beatrice and your sisters as if they were nothing more than insects beneath his bootsâexactly the way they had always looked at you.
âYou have treated this womanâthe daughter of this houseâas nothing more than a slave. In truth, you have treated her like trash,â he bit out harshly.
âIâve read the family ledgers. Your husbandâher father, may he rest in peaceâwas a nobleman of the highest order. This girl is a proper Lady of the house. She has noble blood in her veins, making her more significant than the whole lot of you. You, on the other hand, are nothing but a commoner who married into a title you donât deserve.â
Beatrice gasped in disbelief, her hand flying to her heart as if she were the victim. âY-Your Majesty!â
âEnough,â Bucky raised his hand, silencing her. âI donât want to hear another syllable from you. I came here for one thingâand that was her. Now that I have her, we are leaving.â
He looked over his shoulder, beckoning to the line of attendants waiting by the door. âCollect her belongings. Every last item. Whatever she decides to keep, whether it be as large as a trunk or as small as a ribbon, package it into the carriages. We are returning to the palace immediately.â
All the attendants nodded, bowing low to their king. âYes, Your Majesty.â
The attendants rushed into the house in a quick blur, you could barely process the shift in your reality.
Only minutes ago, you were on your knees in the dirty water. Now, the world was rearranging itself around you.
Bucky looked down at your sniffling face, his heart visibly breaking as he leaned down to bring himself eye to eye with you. His thumb, rough yet incredibly tender, brushed away the tears that traced your cheeks.
âYouâre okay now, my dear.â Bucky cooed gently. âIâve got you. Iâm never letting you go again.â
You had spent so much time pushing him away, fearing the consequences or the class divide, but now, even under the scrutiny of your step-family, you no longer cared. You felt your heart pulling toward his, and being in his arms felt like the only sanctuary you had ever known.
Behind you, Agnes and Margaret crept forward, clutching at their motherâs sleeves, their faces pale and twisted with confusion.
âMother, what is happening?â Agnes whimpered. âWhy is His Majesty touching her like that?â
Beatrice ignored them, her eyes locked on the King in a state of pure denial. She shook her head, her voice rising to a shrill squeak.
âY-Youâve fallen for her, Your Majesty? Truly? B-but sheâs just a maid! Sheâs a servant who spends her days in the kitchen and the dirt! She is nothing!â
Bucky stood back up to his full height, keeping you tucked securely against his side.
âShe was a Lady long before you even knew how to spell the word,â Bucky growled, his hand tightening protectively on your waist. âAnd as for her being a maid? That ended the moment I stepped through that door. From this breath forward, she is the woman who holds the heart of the King. From this moment on, she is your Queenâand you will treat her as such.â
The room suddenly went very quiet.
You looked just as surprised as Beatrice, your breath hitching in your throat. He was actually going to do it. He was making good on every promise he had made to you in the dark room of his study.
Before you could even find your voice to speak, Buckyâs hand found itself on your lower back, guiding you toward the door.
âCome, my dear,â he gestured, his tone leaving no room for argument. âWeâre leaving.â
As he led you out of the house that had been your prison for so long, you couldnât resist stealing one last glance over your shoulder. You werenât looking to offer sympathy or a farewell, of course. You simply wanted to see if a fly might find its way into their mouths, given how far their jaws had hung.
Outside, a prestigious carriage awaited you. The doorman snapped to attention and pulled the door open as you and Bucky drew closer. Jamie was already waiting inside, seated comfortably on the plush velvet cushions.
Poking his head out, he beamed the moment he caught the sight of you. The bruises on his face already looked a million times better. It was clear that since returning to the palace, he had received the proper care and rest he so desperately needed.
Jamie scooted over, patting the velvet seat beside him with an enthusiastic grin. âI was going to step out to help, but I thought itâd be better if I stayed in here. Your stepsisters wouldâve driven me up the wall the moment they saw my face.â
âJamie,â Bucky interrupted. He stood at the carriage door, one hand on the frame as he leaned in, looking grumpier than ever.
âOut,â Bucky commanded, giving a sharp nod toward the slightly smallerâthough still very fancyâcarriage waiting behind them.
âWhat?â Jamieâs brows furrowed. âBut we have plenty to talk about! I havenât even told her aboutââ
âYou can discuss it at dinner,â Bucky said, letting out a heavy, weary sigh. âRight now, I am tired. I want to sit with the woman I just spent three days hunting for without my sonâs constant commentary. Move.â
âOh, I see.â Jamie drawls, eyeing the both of you suspiciously. âThe Great King Barnes finally finds his Lady and suddenly his favorite and only son is chopped liver? Is that how it is?â
âSon, consider this a mercy,â Bucky rumbled. âThink of it as punishment for using my name under a false command at the ball. Your sentence could be a lot worse than a private carriage and a bit of silence. Now, move.â
âTruly, the heart of a tyrant,â Jamie muttered.
After a roll of his eyes, he slid out the door, but as he passed his father, he stopped for a brief second. He turned to you, his gaze softening from playful to genuinely warmâlike he missed you. He gave you a small little knowing smileâone that said he was glad you were safe, and even gladder that you were finally exactly where you belonged.
âSee you at the palace.â He said to you softly.
With that, Jamie hopped down from the steps and retreated to the carriage behind yours. Bucky watched him go until he was settled, then stepped aside and raised a hand to help you up into the plush interior.
As you sat, Bucky occupied the seat across from you. He leaned back tiredly, the carriage creaking softly. For a long while, he just looked at you, his head tilted slightly as he let out a slow, exhausted breath.
Silence filled the carriage. Despite him already declaring you his Queenâhis partnerâyou couldnât help but sit up straight, folding your hands primly over your lap out of habit and respect for the King of Brooklynne.
You didnât even know where to begin. You didnât know if you should thank him for dragging you out of that hellhole you called a home, or if you should apologize for the trouble he had gone through to do it.
âYour Majestyââ
âSweetheart, please,â Bucky interrupted, his voice sounding almost agitated. âI lost sleep over you. I couldnât eat. I⌠I couldnât even think. I felt like I was losing my sanity every moment I was in that palace and you werenât there.â
He paused, the clip-clopping of the hooves against the cobblestones filling the space for a second.
âMy heart burns for you,â he rasped, almost painful. âThe least you can do is offer me the decency of calling me Buckyâjust as you did earlier.â
You swallowed hard, your pulse fluttering in your throat. Buckyâs eyes were a cold blue storm of conflicting emotions. You felt as if he were picking you apart, piece by piece, intending not only to love you but to devour you.
He said he couldnât eat without you, and now that you were here in front of him, he looked as though you were going to be his next meal.
âIâm sorry. I⌠I just wanted to say thank you,â you admitted softly. You couldnât maintain his intense gaze, so you looked down, your fingers fiddling anxiously with the coarse fabric of your skirt.
âThank you for helping me out of that house, and thank you for never giving up on me.â
Your face flushed with a mix of warmth and embarrassment as you continued, still refusing to make eye contact.
âBoth you and Prince Jamie have been nothing but kind to meâa mere maid with rags for clothes.â
You huffed a small, incredulous laugh, one tinged with sadness for yourself. âYou both extended your hands to me and showed me worlds I never thought Iâd experience. In your presence, despite the gulf between our social standings, I have never felt alone. And for that... I am truly grateful.â
Buckyâs frown tightened as he leaned forward, his large hands catching yours and squeezing them firmly to still your fidgeting. The movement forced you to go still, and when he hooked a thumb under your chin to tilt your face up, there was no escaping him anymore.
âEnough,â he rasped, almost desperate. âEnough of this talk about social standings. You know none of that matters to me, not when it comes to you.â
Those piercing blue eyes searched yours, his thumb brushing warmly over the curve of your cheek.
âWhen I told you I was falling for you in that study,â he continued, lowering himself to one knee in the narrow space between the seats, âI meant every single word with every beat of my heart.â
While one hand remained on your cheek, the other began a slow descent. It traced the line of your ribs down to your waist, giving your hip a firm, possessive squeeze through your dress before trailing lower to rest over your thigh.
âYou arenât a âmereâ anything,â he whispered, his lips ghosting over yours. âYou are the very air Iâve been gasping for. Ever since the night of the ball, my body and my heart have been craving you. And now that youâre finally hereâŚâ
His hand found the hem of your skirt, lifting the fabric slowly, inch by painfully agonizing inch, past your knee. His tongue darted out to lick his bottom lip, a small groan escaping him at the sight of your bare thigh.
âI finally get to have you.â
Bucky leaned forward, his head dipping low as he pressed his face against the skin he had just uncovered. You shuddered at the feel of his stubble pressing against your leg, and he snickered.
He started at your knee, his lips brushing against your skin.
A low, vibrating growl tickled against your thigh as he began to work his way upward. Each kiss was slow, wet, and worshipful. He moved with a starvation that made your breath hitch, his tongue darted out to taste you, marking you as his over and over again.
âThese legs,â he growled, his voice muffled by your skin. âI missed feeling them wrapped tight around me. I missed the soft feeling of them in my hands. Did you miss that too, my dear?â
You swallowed hard, your heart hammering against your ribs as you looked down at the King of Brooklynne worshipping your body.
âI-I did, Bucky. I missed that too⌠being touched by you.â
âGood,â he soothed, his heavy, warm palm dragging up and down your leg possessively. âThatâs my good, perfect girl.â
As he continued to worship the curve of your leg, his hand reached beneath the bunched up fabric of your skirt. His fingers hooked into the edge of your thin, worn undergarments, but he didnât rush; he wanted to savor every second of your undoing.
With a slow tug, he began to peel them down, his knuckles grazing your hips and sending a wave of shivers through you. He watched your face the entire time, his blue eyes dark and hooded, waiting for the exact moment your composure finally shattered.
Bucky was barely holding on. His jaw hung slightly, his lips slick from the way he had been kissing and licking the skin of your legs.
It was an unbelievable sightâthe King on his knees, panting over you like a loyal, starving hound.
âI want to break you,â he rasped. His words were threatening, yet his voice was coarse but soft spoken. âI want to see you cry for me while I ruin you. I want to see you come apart for me, just as I did for you when you left me.â
He looked up at you then, still kneeling between your legs, his chest heaving as he took in the sight of you completely vulnerable in his carriage.
âGod,â he breathed, taking in your wet slit hidden just beneath the hem of your flimsy skirt. âIs that so wrong of me to want? To see my own woman completely broken for me?â
Buckyâs grip on your thighs tightened, while his other hand went down to cup his own erection through his pants.
âI should hurt you,â he sighed, his voice pent up with frustration. âI should pull you over my knee for daring to leave me... for making me endure that kind of agony. I should bind your arms together so you never even think about defying me again.â
He let out a shaky and jagged breath, his forehead dropping against your knee for just a second before he looked back up, his eyes searching yours, his cock already throbbing at the sight of your pleading face.
âBut I wonât,â he whispered, his thumb tracing the smooth flesh of your inner thigh. âI love you and respect you too much to ever truly lay a hand on your pretty little body in anger. Youâre my Queen. Youâre my soul.â
A dark, self-deprecating chuckle caught in his throat as his gaze dropped back to where he had bared you to the cool carriage air. His fingers twitched, hooking into the waistband of his trousers.
âBut fuck, Iâm already disrespecting you, arenât I?â he moved closer, his body hot as he crowded your space, his chest heaving against your knees. âBecause weâre nowhere near the palace, and Iâm about to fuck you right here in this carriage. Iâm about to claim you again before we even reach the front gates. Isnât that right, sweetheart?â
âYou said I was yours, Bucky,â you whispered, your voice trembling despite how hard you tried to keep it steady. âSo you can do whatever you want to me. Iâm not running anymore. Iâm here to stay.â
Bucky let out a low groan of satisfaction, burying his face against your thigh for a moment as if trying to catch his breath. Every word you spoke was like music to his ears.
âLean back,â he commanded in a rough, broken rasp. âLean back against the seat and hold on.â
You obeyed excitedly. The moment your back hit the plush velvet cushion, he grabbed your leg, his large hand wrapping around your calf as he hoisted it up, propping your knee over his broad shoulder. The position left you completely open and vulnerable, your thin skirt bunched around your waist as you exposed your cunt to him.
Bucky didnât waste time with a preamble. He ducked his head between your thighs, his tongue finding the sensitive peak of your clit. Your body jolted at the sudden, wet heat of the contact. He licked you with long, firm strokes, his tongue heavy and wet as he tasted your arousal.
A sharp, needy cry escaped your lips, echoing in the small space. You could only hope the driver was too disciplined to look back.
âAh! Bu-BuckyâŚâ your hands flew down to his hair, fingers tangling in his brown locks as your toes curled in the air.
Bucky only growled against you, his hand sliding up from your thigh to grip your hip, holding you steady.
His tongue continued to trace eagerly over your wet folds, sucking and lapping in ways that were anything but royal or noble. He was taking everything from youâyour pleasure, your scent, the taste of your arousal.
He wanted everything.
When he finally lifted his head to look at you from below, you felt like your heart could leap out of your chest at the sight of him. Drool collected around his chin and his lips were slick and swollen from making out sloppily with your cunt.
Buckyâs smirk was slow and predatory as he took in the sight of youâchest heaving, face warm, and eyes glazed with the pleasure only he was giving you. He looked like a man who had finally reclaimed his throne, but the only kingdom he cared about in this moment was the one between your legs.
âLook at you,â he taunted. âDripping all over my clean carriage.â He clicked his tongue. âNaughty girl.â
He lifted his hand, his long middle finger dragging slowly up the length of your slit, tracing the seam of your cunt from bottom to top, gently rubbing at the clit before dragging back down and poking his nub against your entrance.
He did it again and again, teasing the entrance until you were whimpering, your hips bucking on reflex for more of him.
âYouâre so wet, sweetheart,â Bucky rasped, his pupils blown wide with desire. âAre you this desperate for your King?â
âBucky, please,â you begged, arching your back against the seat. âEnough with the teasing. I canâtâoh!â
Before you could finish your sentence, Bucky buried his finger deep inside you.
The air left your lungs in a jagged gasp. You were agonizingly tight, your walls clenching and fluttering around him in a frantic, rhythmic pulse that spoke of how long youâd been empty without him. You gripped his shoulder, your nails digging into the expensive fabric of his coat as you tried to pull him closer, your body trying to swallow his finger whole.
âAlready making demands out of me,â he scoffed, though he was grinning. âYouâve got no shame, do you, my dear?â
He felt the internal squeeze of your muscles around his digit, making his jaw tighten so hard the bone looked ready to snap.
âGod, youâre so tight,â he choked out, his thumb finding your clit and rubbing slow, deep circles against it. âClenching around my finger like youâre never going to let me go. Youâre going to break me before I even get my pants off, arenât you?â
Your vision blurred as you felt yourself getting embarrassingly close. Your hips stuttered against his hand, your breath coming in shallow and broken hitches as you prepared to shatter all over his finger.
But just as the peak approached, the sensation vanished.
Bucky abruptly retracted his hand, the wet, sliding sound of his finger leaving you squelching in the carriage. You let out a cry of pure frustration, your body slumped back against the velvet, twitching and unfulfilled.
âBucky,â you panted in agitation, âwhy would you do that! I was close!â
He sat back on his heels, still kneeling in the narrow space between your legs. He looked up at you with a wicked light in his eyes, his chest heaving as he reached for the buckle of his belt.
âNot yet,â he teased. âI didnât give you permission to finish, did I?â
His fingers worked the leather of his belt and the buttons of his trousers irritatingly slow, his gaze never leaving yours. He watched the way you squirmed on the seat, your legs still draped over his shoulders, trembling and desperate for the contact he had just stolen away.
âLook at you,â he scoffed softly, though his hands were shaking slightly with his own restrained need. âSo impatient. I spent my time hunting the city for my Queen, and the moment I get her in my carriage, sheâs already trying to come without me. Where are your manners, sweetheart?â
Once he finally freed himself, his length sprang forth, thick and pulsing with a bead of pre-cum bubbling at the tip.
You watched, enamored, as his left hand wrapped around your leg, giving it soft, possessive squeezes, while his other hand wrapped firmly around his cockâgiving himself slow, deep pumps that made the veins in his forearm jump.
âFuck, you missed me, my dear?â Buckyâs thumb catching a bead of his pre-cum and smearing it against your aching clit. âDid you spend every night thinking about this? About how Iâd feel inside you again?â
You couldnât even find the words to argue. You just nodded frantically, your head thrasing against the velvet cushion as you let out a broken whimper. Bucky absolutely loved seeing you like thisâcompletely unraveled, stripped of your prim, timid manners, and desperate only for him.
âGood.â
He positioned himself, the slick head of his cock catching against your wet entrance. He paused for a second to catch his breath, his knuckles white where he gripped the edge of the seat, before he slowlyâinch by torturous inch âslid inside.
âFuck,â he gritted through clenched teeth, the word sounding both like a prayer and a curse.
You were so tightâBucky had to squeeze his eyes shut, his neck muscles flexed with every powerful effort to not simply snap and bury himself in you all at once.
He wanted to savor all of this.
He wanted to feel every ripple of your body as it stretched to accommodate him.
But fuck, you werenât making it easy at all.
As he tried to maintain a slow, steady pace, your walls began to clench around his cock in desperate pulses. You were squeezing him so hard it was a wonder he could move at all.
âGod... sweetheart, stop,â he choked out, his composure fracturing little by little. âIf you keep... clenching like that...â
You couldnât help it. You had missed Bucky, and your body missed being filled by him even more. Every deep, ragged pant he let outâdriven by how unbearably good you feltâonly made your muscles flutter and tighten more. He was so big, the feeling of him stretching you made your eyes roll back.
âIâm sorry,â you breathed, your nails digging into the firm muscle of his back through his clothes for support. âI canât help it. IâI missed you. I missed this.â
âChrist...â the groan escaped Buckyâs lips as his head fell back.
He didnât even try to be gentle anymore.
His hips surged forward, his massive hands sliding from the edge of the seat to your thighs and then your hips, his fingers digging through your dress as he kept you in place. He drew back just enough to gain momentum before slamming into you again, making your body jump against his.
âAh!â you cried out as Bucky fucked into you again and again, driving his hips deeper each time.
âSo⌠tight. Fuck,â he groaned, his voice a broken rasp of disbelief.
The carriage groaned under the violence of his movements. The wood creaked and strained, the vehicle rocking so violently that no one could possibly excuse the motion as a bumpy road. You were being jostled and slammed against the velvet cushions, the sheer size of him stretching you until you were sure youâd breakâand yet, it wasnât enough.
You wanted more.
He needed more.
âBucky! Ahâ!â
The sound echoed off the carriage walls, dangerously loud. Buckyâs eyes flared with as he quickly brought his hand up, his palm slamming over your mouth to stifle your cries.
âShhh,â he hissed against your ear, though his own breathing was a series of ragged, wet gasps. âThis is a royal carriage, my dear. All eyes are on us right now. Do you want the whole kingdom to hear me fuck you like a slut?â
He quickened his pace, his cock disappearing and reappearing in a blur of friction as he drove himself deeper into your sensitive pussy.
âIf thatâs what you want⌠then Iâll just drag you out of this carriage myself,â he threatened, his voice dropping to a dark, possessive growl. âI'll fuck you right there on the gravel where the whole kingdom can watch their King ruin his sweet little wife. Is that what you want, my dear?â
Wife.
You felt like you could collapse from just hearing the word.
The heat and smell of his warm palm against your lips only made you more frantic. You let out muffled, desperate whimpers into his hand, your eyes rolling back as your walls fluttered and spasmed around him. You were seconds away from release yet again, squeezing his cock so tightly he nearly choked on his own breath.
Bucky leaned in even closer, his teeth grazing the shell of your ear as he inhaled the scent of your skinâa intoxicating mix of salt, sweat, and the heavy musk of sex filling the carriage.
âFuck,â he groaned against your neck. âYouâre cumming already? Just from this?â
He taunted you, and although he would never admit it aloud, but he was barely hanging on. He was simply a determined King wanting to watch you shatter first.
âIâmmph, canât,â you whined into his palm. Your legs hooked around his waist, ankles locking behind his back to pull him even deeper, inviting him in to breed and fill you right there.
âMâgonnaâmphâcumâŚâ
Your mind went dizzy, your breath hitching sharply against his hand as the world outside the carriage ceased to exist.
You no longer cared about the palace or the guards. You only cared about the burning sensation of coming around Buckyâs cock. It was explosiveâa kind of release that your body had been starved of.
He felt the way you were milking him, the desperate, crushing tightness of your climax nearly forcing him to join you then and there. But he ground his teeth, refusing to let go just yet.
âThis is just the beginning, darling,â he rasped, his palm still firm over your mouth to catch your muffled, high pitched cries. âAfter this, Iâm going to fuck you in every inch of the palace. In every room, against every window, on the cold marble floors until you canât even remember your own name.â
He pulled back just an inch, his eyes dark and blown wide, searching your face to ensure you understood the delicious lack of mercy waiting for you behind the palace walls.
âThe next time I see you on your hands and knees, it wonât be for scrubbing floors,â he growled. âItâll be with your pretty tongue out, servicing my cock.â
Between the sensitive aftermath of your climax and the filthy possessive promises pouring from his lips, your senses were screaming and overstimulated. Every time his cock thrusted back into you, it felt like he was branding your soul.
He slowed his pace slightly once he felt himself getting close. His hips grounded against you in a circular motion that made you whimper for mercy. He leaned down, his lips wetting your cheek as he began to recite your future.
âFrom this second on, no one touches you but me. Iâm going to take such good care of you, my dear. Youâre going to have the finest silks, the softest beds, and the heaviest crownâbut youâre going to spend most of your time right here, pinned under me.â
He delivered a sharp, shallow thrust that made your hips twitch.
âIâm going to make you my pretty, perfect wife,â he continued, his hand moving from your mouth to cup your jaw, forcing you to look into his blown out, hungry eyes. âAnd Iâm going to spend every single night making sure I knock you up. I want you heavy with my heirs, so round and beautiful that youâll never even think about running away again. Youâre going to be so full of me that there wonât be room for anything else.â
The thought of it, that same reminder of being his Queen, his wife, and the mother of his childrenâsent a fresh jolt of lightning through your core.
You were a mess of tears and sweat, clinging to his shoulders as he began to pick up the pace again, his movements becoming more desperate, more frantic.
âIâm going to fill you so deep, youâll feel my love in your chest,â he hissed, his cock pulsing inside as he felt himself get closer. âMy wife. My Queen. My life.â
Buckyâs body suddenly went rigid, his muscles locking tight as he let out a final, guttural grunt of your name. His hips slammed into yours one last time, burying himself so deep it felt as though he was trying to merge with you as one.
âFuck... cumming!â he choked out almost painfully.
His head snapped back, his eyes rolling back as he finally let his body go. His hips froze as his cock pulsed and throbbed. Then, you felt the scalding, thick ropes of cum pumping into your coreâa seal on every promise he had just made.
âMine,â he panted, holding you close. âAll mine.â
He stayed buried deep inside you, his heavy chest heaving as he crushed you into the velvet cushions, his heart beating frantically in time with your own.
For the remainder of the ride, Bucky refused to let even an inch of space come between you, like he was scared of losing you again.
He pulled you onto his lap, wrapping his arms around your shaking, overstimulated body. His large hands, which had been so rough and demanding only moments ago, were now impossibly gentle as he stroked your hair and traced the line of your jaw.
Between the sounds of heaving breathing and the trotting of horses, he kept his lips pressed to your temple, murmuring soft, sweet promises into your ear, âMy sweetheart,â âI finally have you again.â âMy precious, darling girl.â
When the carriage finally lurched to a halt in the palace courtyard, the footman stepped forward, swinging the door wide and offering a steadying hand as Bucky allowed you to step out first.
Just in time, Jamie had hopped out of his own carriage and met up with you both, huffing a breath of relief.
âFinally!â Jamie called out. âThat carriage ride felt so longââ he paused, stopping a few feet away, squinting as he took in the sight of you.
Your hair was a birdâs nest, both of your lips swollen, and Buckyâs collar was half-undone and his hair was disheveled with gray locks sticking out in unusual directions.
âGood grief,â he remarked, completely oblivious to the carnal acts that just happened inside the carriage.
âYou guys look rough.â
thank you for all the love you guys showed for part one, and thank you for taking the time to read yet another lengthy fic <3 i wasn't planning on writing a sequel at all, let alone this soon, but the new season of bridgerton got me twirling my hair. i hope you guys like it!
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'Cause that's what families do. No matter how hard it is or how far apart they are. They find a way home. Even if they have to fight like hell to get there.
