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will byers stan first human second
One Nice Bug Per Day
Misplaced Lens Cap
#extradirty
ellievsbear
Xuebing Du
Andulka
trying on a metaphor
Lint Roller? I Barely Know Her
❣ Chile in a Photography ❣
$LAYYYTER
Mike Driver
hello vonnie
Keni
Show & Tell
i don't do bad sauce passes
"I'm Dorothy Gale from Kansas"
taylor price
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@kazbrkker
@norths to @kazbrkker
of course the barrel of the bastard needs no introduction. @norths is off the grid! kazbrkker is in the house.
not tagging any mutuals cause it’s been long since I’m active but feel free to boost 🖤 I’ve missed everyone btw:(
I miss my tumblr baes I hope yall are doing so well :((((
im a simple girl. im praying for more DAA!caleb x non!mc reader angst 🙏🏻
rich because my feed is filled with BANGERS AFTER BANGERS of fics. yall don’t know the joy of not even have to search for fics because you’ve manipulated curated a sexy little algorithm to do that for you.
I love you, Pete.
THE LONG WALK (2025) dir. Francis Lawrence
There are only two stories.
Someone arrives. And someone leaves.
AN IDOL UPDATE? PLEASE lansoandainsoabsakns im rolling on the floor Infold is so unserious
wait I’m dying for a DAA academic rivals to lovers fic with caleb???? the angst of seeing caleb with MC, his ‘death’, then seeing him as a Fleet officer again WOULD EAT SO HARD 😔😭
who do i have to bribe to write this PLEASE.
romantic at heart but asexual in my soul. life is so hard wanting love from a distance away
Duty's Cruel Embrace, 6
Chapter Six: Lilies and Marigolds
acc.masterlist | s.masterlist | ao3
previous chapter | next chapter coming soon!
pairing ; prince!xavier x princess!reader
synopsis ; you finally arrive in philos. xavier draws a line. you make a new ally.
word count ; 12.5k words
author's note ; hi everyone! tysm for waiting! i hope you enjoy this chapter! be sure to read the warnings!
trigger warnings ; mentions of death/murder, political intrigue, slight sexual tension, slight sexism/manipulation/misogyny, let me know if i missed anything else!
my ladies in waiting ♛ °˖✧ @velaenam , @schwnapps , @massivenutkid , @celestialforce , @exitingmusic , @zeskyzed , @eve-ishu , @underfcvcked , @duffyinwonderland , @hiqhkey , @dooopiee , @awkward-stierle , @justpassingdontworry , @queenkymmie , @miffysoo , @kazbrkker , @applepi405 , @flamedancer13 , @prplbunny , @loreleis-world , @animecrazy76 , @emo4r , @crazygirl3001 , @creator-freak , @spacenott , @luckypup0506 , @wltneko9006 , @wonys-won , @sh4do3 , @chi-the-moogle , @wakeupr41 , @iconoclastoc , @partycityyyyyyy , @maskedbunni , @aceniixx , @na-naami , @babyx91 , @ippilulu , @anothergojostan , @hazenoon , @blessdunrest , @maryy237
The mountains are colder than you anticipated them to be. Philos has begin its descent into the winter solstice, the once warm weather and climate slowly transforming into the winter skies. The higher the carriage moves along the dirt path, the more and more the chill settles into your bones. If it weren’t for Xavier offering you his dark blue cloak, you were sure to suffer in silence, hands trembling in your lap while the wind whips inside of the wooden vessel.
Talia sits across from you. A dark gray fur blanket is draped over your lap. The tiny window in the wooden carriage provides you with a shielded view, the underwhelming form of entertainment you have to pass the hours. That is, besides taking to your new friend, of course. You can see the landscape through the small box and even then, you have to constantly draw back a tiny curtain in order to watch the changing environment.
You wished to be with Xavier, to be on the back of his horse. Alas, you do not have the proper clothes nor will he even allow you to be out in the open. When you asked, he declined your words, claiming that you would not wish to see the boring green hills. Little did he know that is all you wish to do. In Nabira, all there was to see were rolling sand dunes and stone structures that stretched far and wide. In Philos, you have the imagery of a new world presented before you to help you pass the time. You pressed into him for more information but your betrothed simply trotted up ahead, fixing himself at his father and Jeremiah’s sides once again. Your eyes have settled on the back of his head, eyes narrowed at the white cloak that has replaced the blue one that sits around your shoulders.
“Will you tell me of Nabira?” Talia’s voice speaks up, interrupting your silence.
“Nabira?” you ask, raising an eyebrow. “Why doth thy dwell upon this matter?”
“A golden kingdom…beautiful princesses…a rich history,” Talia hums to herself, glancing out her designated window. She drops the thin veil of fabric and looks at you with big, blue eyes. “My father spoke of it but,” she sharply inhales, “he is a man, so, thou knows the detail is not great when it comes to them.”
A quiet chuckle falls from your lips. You shake your head, amused with your friend and the way she speaks. It feels informal, relaxed. There is something about it that you find comfort in. Perhaps it is knowing that she is a friend — or so you have led yourself to believe — and not an enemy has allowed you to bask in the comfort of knowing that you do not have to pretend to be someone the world wishes for you to be.
“Nabira is…breathtaking,” you begin, swallowing the bitter taste that forms on your tongue. “Its beauty comes from the people. At least, that is what I choose to believe in. The people are kind and noble. They live in harmony and protect the land they live on. The streets were lined with vendors and food…with merchant goods that anyone could pay for. I think I will miss the food the most,” you chuckle, feeling a sense of fondness settle into your chest. Nostalgia for a place that you are surely never to return to.
You purse your lips as your memory takes you to the place you loved the most. The sacred statues that were meant for an Emperor and his Empress to bask in. Their images remain above the layers of sand, a reminder of Nabira’s strong and rich history with the world that expanded and burned from all around it.
“No…I will miss the quiet of the desert the most,” you begin, voice softer than you expected to be. Talia leans forward, hanging onto every word. “I would wake up early in the morning. My chambermaid would help me sneak out so that I may walk freely in a patch of land that sat behind the palace. There are statues there…an old outpost. I would get there before the sun rises and just think. Allow my mind to be empty.”
“It sounds…peaceful,” Talia quietly says. You nod in agreement, meeting her gaze.
“It is. It is beautiful, too. The stories about gold laying in Nabira’s sand have always been true to me. I would see that gold when the wind picked up. The sun would come up from beyond the dunes and it made the top layer of sand look like shining metal. My brother and I would sneak out all the time to visit that area. My father eventually put up targets for us to practice archery. My brother hated it. He preferred swords over arrows. He always said that a real soldier fights in battle and not from the backlines.”
“Your brother sounds like a true knight,” the woman across from you smiles, “do you know when he will arrive for your wedding?”
“My brother is dead,” you whisper, “he was the last man to lose his life in the battle Philos waged on my kingdom. Your prince killed him.”
Your words hang in the air. The tension grows thick with anticipation. They exist and yet it is merely a story now, one that you may whisper to your future children when they ask about the kingdom from which you came. A stinging sensation crosses your eyes. Your vision turns glossy and a breathy chuckle — one that is short lived — exits your lips. The dark blue cloak is soft against your face as you tap your tears away.
It is the first time since leaving Nabira that you allowed them to fall. Who knew that talking about your old home and brother would cause you to break?
Talia reaches forward. Her hand quickly finds yours beneath the cloak. She does not grasp it but rather places hers on yours. The gesture is small and simple. Yet, it moves you far more than you realize. The look on Talia’s face shows you that you are not alone in this world. That you can lean on her — your friend — when you need it.
“It sounds like Nabira was blessed by the heavens,” Talia murmurs.
You nod, a true and genuine smile breaking across your face. A breathy laugh falls from your lips. It dies as soon as it comes out. You wipe away one last tear, shaking your head to gain your composure back. Reaching out, you move the thin veil out of the window and look back at Xavier, noticing the way he freely laughs and smiles with Jeremiah who rides beside him.
If only Talia knew that Xavier took two lives from Nabira that day. A father with no children to dote on or protect. A king without a future while Philos flourishes.
“Tell me,” you clear your throat while your focus remains on Xavier, “what awaits me in Philos?”
“What does your Highness mean?” Talia asks, raising an eyebrow at you.
“I mean,” you turn and look at her, an irritated expression sitting on your face, “what trials will I endure?”
“Princess, the people in Philos are kind. They will treat thou in turn—”
“I am but an outsider, Talia, need I remind you?” you close your eyes and sigh, shaking your head. You pinch the bridge of your nose and turn your attention back to the rocky landscape. The green hills have turned into a multitude of grays and blacks. Talia assured you that the color will return but you aren’t too sure. “Nobody is kind to an outsider unless they have an agenda.”
“I cannot conjure a reason for them to despise thee,” Talia sighs. She stares at the back of your head, her eyes traveling down the long strands of dark hair. The blue cloak suits you well, in her humble opinion. You wear the colors of Philos like any other woman who was born behind the kingdom walls. A part of her envies you. Your beauty, that is. Not your circumstance. “The people there are kind.”
You hum in response, lost in thought. Of course, she will not speak ill of the place she calls home. She probably even feels trapped to be sitting with you inside of the carriage. Just an innocent bystander forced into the political game you find yourself in. At least one of you has stepped foot inside of the battleground, the stone castle that sits on the mountain.
What awaits you behind the castle walls has flooded your mind. You find no relief in the quietness of your head but rather unadulterated chaos, a mess beyond your abilities to clean up. The white noise in the back of your head grows louder with every turn of the wooden wheel of the carriage. You grip the fabric of the fur blanket on your lap, fingers red and trembling.
The environment changes. The steep hill that the carriage ascended plateaus. You force your head out of the small window, your cheeks feeling the gust of cold air that flies by your head. The sight of a village comes into view. The gray rocks remain but are less in volume, replaced by pine and oak trees. The village consists of various sized houses placed right beside each other. They are built out of a mixture of wood and stone.
A mixture of panic and suffocation hit you. You swallow the never ending lump in your throat, the fabric of your dress growing uncomfortable by the second. Your hands desperately reach for the fabric curtain, tearing it away from the window. Your eyes are wide and bewildered, focusing on the blue sky outside.
“Stop the carriage,” the words fall from your lips before you can stop them. When the carriage keeps moving, you raise your voice so that they can hear you and your demand. “Stop the carriage!”
The horses neigh and whine, their hooves sliding along the dirt. The soldiers and knights stop in their path. Their attention turns to you and your head that is poking out of the medium sized window. You stare right back at them, narrowing your gaze, begging them for a reason to snap.
“May I inquire why you have decided for us to stop?” Xavier’s voice is filled with humor and light. His horse trots up to the carriage, a lazy smile on his face. One hand holds onto the reins while the other rests on his lap. “Does my betrothed need something?”
“I wish,” you breathe the words out, wanting to slap the smug look on Xavier’s face, “to be free of this vessel and ride with my prince.”
“Oh?” Xavier asks, genuinely surprised by your request. “Is that all?”
“Aye,” you nod. You pull out of the window and look at Talia, offering her a small and sympathetic smile. “Please forgive me, my lady. I grow tired of the carriage and wish to breathe some fresh air.”
“Tis okay!” she beams at you with a wide smile. “I understand. Would thou have me oversee—”
“Tis okay,” you match her words, pushing the carriage door open with a light smile, “I wish for thee to rest once we arrive. It has been a long journey...rest for me, Talia. One of us should.” You bow your head to her but feel the woman grab your hand. You draw back in. She holds the black veil in her hands, a look of genuine help resting across her face.
“Shall I pin your veil?”
“That shan’t be necessary, but thank you,” you say, “I wish for the people to see my face. Please keep it safe…tis a family heirloom.”
Talia releases your hand. She bows her head and keeps the veil in her lap. You feel Xavier’s touch on your other hand, slowly drawing you free from the carriage. His hand travels up to your elbow and he steadies you with ease. You turn to look at him, the outside world much brighter than it was inside of the carriage. His horse is planted firmly beside the carriage, one of the soldiers holding the reins so the stead stays in place. Xavier remains on the horse, a silver crown now placed atop his head. You ignore the sight of it, turning to look at the horse as Xavier helps you move from one vessel to another.
Xavier places you in front of him, one of his arms wrapping around your waist. He draws you into his chest, your back flush against him. A sharp inhale. Your lungs fill with air, your eyes slightly widening as you look around at the soldiers and men who surround you. Even the village just up ahead stares at the two of you with wonder in their eyes.
“Did I hear you correctly when thou said she wished to be seen?” Xavier whispers in your ear, his breath hot on your ear. You can hear the smirk in his voice, the cockiness. “Dost thou wish to be seen with me?”
“I wish to see my people’s faces,” you shoot an arrow right through his ego. You can hear his scoff in your ear. You tilt your chin to look at him, hands taking the reins from the soldier. Xavier stares at you, enamored with your beauty and presence, the way you easily command his attention. “Dost thou wish for it to be something more?”
“If I said yes?” Xavier questions you. “What would thou say to grace my ears?”
“Thou has seen the sands of Nabira and the seas of the known world,” you begin, keep your words sweet yet poisonous, “we hath known of one another for such a short time. Who is to say that you won’t remember the splendors of your own home?”
Your words cause Xavier to fall silent. A lump forms in your throat. In every moment you have spent on Philos’ ground, you have wondered what path you should take with Xavier, your future husband. The heir to the throne. The one man who can save you when you need it the most. He is also the same man who can end it when he decides he has grow tired of you.
Your relationship stands on a battlefield. Dead bodies already litter the ground, the earth reclaiming the corpses as its own. Your brother. His brothers in arms. His blade is already stained with the blood of his crimes. The bow that sits in yours has just been handed to you, fingers resting on the drawstring. It all matters who is the first to strike. If he decides to take that step towards you with the sword in his hand instead of a flower. The timing is important and the importance is heavy.
The crown feels heavy already and yet you do not wear its metal yet. You bear their colors and the responsibility of its future. Of creating its future. Your future depends on the man who sits behind you. The same one that puts on an innocent demeanor while his hand rests dangerously low on your stomach. People are always watching. All it takes is one enemy to gaze their eye upon the scene to spark a rumor, one that can devastate your reputation and good standing with the man…with the kingdom.
The horse grows restless. Xavier’s eyes remain on yours. They darken ever so slightly. The change is subtle but evident in the way his grip on your body tightens. A possessiveness that overtakes his actions, the slight strain of his muscles. His eyes remain on you and you alone, no one else.
“Continue the march,” Xavier speaks, eyes never leaving yours, “we will ride behind.”
Xavier takes the reins from you, plucking them free with ease. He gives them a gentle tug, the horse shaking its head before beginning its trot to the side. The animal settles into the shade of a nearby tree, the sun finally poking out through the gloomy clouds that hang overhead. The fresh scent of the trees and beautiful environment around you swallowing you whole. You tear your gaze off of Xavier, looking forward as the men and soldiers trot onward, their chants of victory beginning to sound from ahead as soon as they reach the village.
“Pray tell, domina,” Xavier speaks your mother tongue as if it were his own, watching as the military passes by, bowing their heads to the two of you as they walk past, “why do you insist to be seen with me?”
“I wish for the people to see me. To see what their future looks like,” you speak in blunt terms, watching as the soldiers return from which they came. The ache in your heart returns, the grief from your brother’s death settling into your bones. “I wish to smell fresh air and get out of the carriage. It was suffocating.”
“Was Lady Talia not interesting enough for thee?” Xavier asks with an amused chuckle.
“Tis not her that is problem but rather the man who wished for me to remain hidden,” you close your eyes as soon as the words leave your mouth. The prince’s grip on the reins tightens. The gloved hand that rests on your stomach presses into your flesh ever so slightly, the most subtle of changes and movement. You suck in a breath, hearing the faint draw of a bowstring in the back of your mind. Your body relaxes and you lean into Xavier, tilting your head to the side before looking back at him. You switch to his native language when you say, “Why did you place me in there?”
“Protection,” his response is immediate. No hesitation. It’s alarming but all you can do is sit in silence until he elaborates. He shifts uncomfortably on the horse, the two of you moving back into the position you were held in while traveling across the desert to get to the sea. His hand moves from your stomach and onto your waist, gently squeezing your side. “What did you see it as?”
“A cage,” the truth falls from your lips. It hangs in the air between the two of you. Xavier’s touch on your waist loosens. “A cage for those to see that I…belong to you.”
The walls you have built remain fortified. You stand strong against him, vocalizing your displeasure from the constant push and pull of his ego and possessive nature. The blue of his eyes lightens. The light finally returns to the blue shades of his irises. His lips part, a look of shock spreading across his face.
“Must you talk so plainly while people watch?” Xavier asks. A hint of irritation rests in his voice. An underlying annoyance from your constant questions and push backs of his signs of love towards you.
“Why?” you tilt your head to the side, feigning innocence. “Do you not wish for your people to see that their prince has placed pretty chains on his princess?”
“Pray tell,” Xavier removes his hand from your waist, grabbing your chin. His once light and gentle touch is now rough, the man yanking your head to look back at him when you move to turn away. “What madness has consumed thee? Did that Lemurian plant something in thine mind?”
“Do not speak of him that way,” you speak in a hushed tone, a fierce protective energy sitting behind your words.
“Why? Dost thou hold love for him in her heart?” Xavier leans in, his breath hot on your face. A shiver runs down your spine. You shake your head, denying the claim, but the expression on his face tells you that your prince does not believe you. “Why must you protect him? Hm? Still feel loyal to your old betrothed?”
“I am…” your voice shakes. You hesitate to respond, falling silent.
You have to be smart about this. The pieces of the game’s board you find yourself on is constricting. You are forced into the space beside Xavier, his sword raised to your throat. There are only so many moves that you can make, moves that can allow you to live another day or kill you before you meet any other piece on the board. The game must continue, not end.
“I am loyal to you, Xavier. He is…my friend, believe it or not. He wishes to see me safe and I with him,” you shakily breathe out. The horse jerks. A quiet gasp flies from your lips, body pushing back into Xavier’s. He yanks on the reins and gets the horse under control. Your hand grips Xavier’s wrist, steadying yourself.
“You are mine,” Xavier’s tone is possessive, voice low. He only acts this way at the mention of that damned Lemurian. “He is not yours to protect. You are mine. Be rid of your loyalty to him at once.”
You shake your head, turning away from him, to look at the village instead of the anger in his eyes. He grabs your chin when you turn away from him, drawing your face right back to his. Xavier’s hand slips down your chin and to your throat, holding you in place against him, gently squeezing.
“Say it. Say you are mine.”
“I’m yours,” you nod and clear your throat against his tight hold.
The trembling feeling of fear shudders through your body. Your grip on his wrist tightens, nails digging into his skin. This excites him. The way you immediately relied on him for help, the way his skin tingled from your touch, the fabric of his clothing slipping up his arm. Xavier leans down, the tip of his nose brushing against the shell of your ear. The man presses his forehead to your temple. It sends a shock down your body but you do not know if it is one from fear or excitement. He deeply inhales, taking in the floral scent of the oil you graced your skin with that morning. Who knew the fragrance of rosemary could be so addictive?
“We shall talk about this later. Only then may you speak freely.”
With one flick of the reins, the horses kicks away from its spot under the tree, launching forward. Xavier keeps his hand on your waist although you can still feel his touch on the lower half of your face…on your throat. The burning sensation refuses to leave you alone. You can still feel the way his anger exuded in his words and tone. The way his eyes darkened when you called Rafayel your friend and that you cared for him. The casual mention of a man that you have only met a handful of times but in your bedroom at home — a place that your father refuses to vacate until he hears word of your marriage — you have all of the letters he wrote to you tucked away in a golden box underneath your bed. A secret that you kept for yourself and nobody else.
Those letters are across the world now. There is no use in trying to find comfort in them anymore.
Xavier kicks the side of the horse and it lunges forward. Its cry blends in with the sounds of chanting soldiers, crying townspeople, and the overwhelming chaos that the King and his son have finally returned home. It is only when their eyes begin to land on you that their happy cheers turn quiet, a murmur overtaking the crowd. The sound of the horse’s hoofs connecting with the ground fills your ears. It is the only tangible thing for you to hold onto, to keep you grounded in reality instead of focusing on the searing hot pain in your neck.
Is this how your brother felt when Xavier thrust the blade through his throat? Is this how your brother felt as his life and soul slipped free from his body? Will your blood grace the gray stones and rocks of the road, turning everything red?
You look to the side as the horse slows down. You and Xavier are now towards the front of the army, trotting alongside his father. You instinctively — or perhaps your move is calculated — reach for Xavier’s hand, feeling slightly overwhelmed with everyone’s eyes fixed on you. Their murmurs and whispers. The way the adults point to you while the younger girls clap their hands in excitement. Happiness is prominent on their faces. Their words and shouts mix in with the general volume but you pick up on words that become common.
Princess. Wedding. Heirs. Salvation for the kingdom. All of which point to you and Xavier as you move through the streets.
A royal weddingis always an extravagant affair. Something for the common people of the kingdom to look upon in wonder, to imagine what it is like to live a life of luxury. A life where your sworn duty is to protect the people of the realm…to protect the crown. A little girl always dreams of being the center of an event like this, to have gold and silver thrown at her feet like you will ensure in the next coming days.
Oh, how you would love to sing the bittersweet praises of being a princess. A domina. Someone who demands and manipulates power with ease. Someone who controls the actions of others while metal chains in the form of a crown and scepter. The image of gold and pure divinity has been placed upon you and yet you are forced to carry the sins of the kingdom on your back, to protect a man who can do as he pleases with no repercussions whatsoever. Oh, how you wish you could get off of this horse and take that small girl in your arms and tell her to run as far away from the kingdom as possible. That the less power you have, the freer one actually is.
You turn your head to the side, looking at the lines of people who begin to crowd the streets. People pass white flowers around — lilies, they look like — and toss their petals into the air. The wind captures them, floating them above yours and Xavier’s heads before slowly falling from all around you. Their silence turns into praise, their language filling your ears as you listen to them cry out for your attention.
“Our princess!” the people chant from the street. “Her beauty is transcendent! She wears our colors well!”
The continuous praises feed into Xavier’s ego and pride. His hand flattens against your stomach, keeping you as close to him as possible. You place your hand on top of his, forcing a smile onto your face as you wave to the people in the streets. They throw the petals into the air, the scent of lilies becoming overwhelming. They cheer and clap, calling out to you by your title rather than your name.
The common people also cheer for Xavier, their beloved prince. They cry out his name. Hailing their future king. Their relief that their devoted Lumière is heard in their relieved voices and yells. The prince reaches out and captures a petal that slowly descends the air. He rubs it between his two fingers before drawing it in front of your face. You stare at the white petal, noticing the golden core and pollen on the lilies. The colors shimmer under the pale sunlight. It takes your breath away, reminding you of the place that you have left behind.
“They adore you,” you speak despite knowing that Xavier does not wish to hear your voice. Your voice rises above the crowd, just audible enough for Xavier to listen. You clear your throat, trying to come up with anything to say to dissolve the tension that has settled between you and the prince. You turn and look at him, offering him a small smile. “They must be happy that their prince is home.”
“They stare at you, my princess,” the man cooly responds, blue eyes and hardened expression softening, “they praise their future queen and welcome thee to our land.”
“You are too kind, my prince,” you bow your head to him.
The crowds have grown. Children sit on top of their fathers’ shoulders, waving around pieces of purple and light blue cloth. Just to the side of the road, a small band has formed and they have begun to play melodies that you have never heard before. The music enamors you, helping dissipate the ugly tension in your chest. The instruments play a happy tune. One of good fortune and wisdom. At least, that is what you tell yourself as you listen to the notes of the song.
“Look,” the prince whispers in your ear. He raises his arm and points towards the cloudy sky. Your eyes follow the line of his arm, slowly dragging across the white fabric of his sleeve. “We are home.”
That’s when you see it. The infamous castle of Philos. The castle was built into the side of the mountain during King Charlemagne’s reign. It is a testament to his strength and the prosperity he brought with him while holding the title of the Holy Roman Emperor. A castle in the sky belongs to king and queens chosen by Astra. Picked from the gods themselves. Now, the castle of divinity belongs to Philos. To Xavier’s family, the Shens.
The Shen family, about two hundred years ago according to books you read while their army attempted to break through Nabira’s walls, broke into the mountain, below the floors of Charlemagne’s mountain castle, and expanded into the earth. The stone from the mountain laid the paths you and your prince ride on now. It built the town and homes of the peasants that sit beyond the castle walls. Inside, they built a fortress. One has to go through the layers and corridors of the mountain to even reach Charlemagne’s castle where the royal family — and now you — rest for the night.
Supposedly, the grand hall sits in the center of the mountain with colorful stained glass that showcases pale blues, purples, and yellows across the stone floor. Flags and banners hang from the high ceilings and soon, Nabira’s own crest shall be displayed among them. Deep into the earth, there are dungeons that suddenly drop into the rocky river that sits beneath a high drop.
You have read about the tales from prisoners who were able to escape — or were freed — from the cells. They claim that the jail cells are small with only three walls and a slightly slanted floor. There is no fourth wall. No wall to protect the prisoners from the harsh seasons. No wall to protect them in their sleep if they were to roll down the slant, dropping to the rocky chasm below.
There are tales about the creatures that live in the river and surrounding forest below. Whispers of the animals evolving for a carnivorous diet, one built by the Shens from the countless prisoners who fell to their deaths, their blood staining the water and rocks as well as the sand in the depths below.
“Home,” you whisper to yourself. The rest of your life sits behind these walls. What a chilling yet resolute thought to have.
The military has stepped from the town that sits at the base of the mountain. Xavier’s hand slides along your body, resting on the top of your thigh. He gives it a gentle squeeze as his father and his horse move up ahead. The silver crown reflects the light of the day. You peel your gaze away from it, turning around to look at the town that now looks so tiny. The army has dispersed. Only the noble knights and King’s Guard remain as well as the carriage that carries Talia. The cheers from the town remain but you are forced to turn back around.
Loud creaks pierce your ears. You wince at the sound. Xavier’s hand instinctively squeezes your leg, the man steadying the restless horse with ease. The wooden gates are slowly peeled open, revealing another rocky path but this time, the road is lined with white lilies and green grass. The sun shines brighter behind the castle walls. They poke through the fluffy white clouds as the sun begins to fall after hanging in the sky throughout midday.
“Please tell me there is not another day of travel ahead of us, Xavier,” you turn to look at the man, watching as a small smile spreads across his face.
“No,” he shakes his head, “we have arrived, my love.”
“Will you show me around?” you ask, your question both genuine yet planned.
Xavier’s anger caught you off guard. The calm, cool, and collected demeanor that he once showed you — and even enamored you with — was cast aside in his moment of anger. He grabbed you, forced you to look at him. The mention of your Lemurian friend set him off and you need to earn your place back in his good graces. You do not want to bring shame upon your family if the marriage between the two of you is ruined. Sure, you have Rafayel to flee towards in case things go wrong, but your reputation will be in shambles. You will be disowned by your father and Lemuria will surely eat you alive if you do not bend to their will as well.
Besides…Philos is a beautiful place. Perhaps the flowers are not poison like you have lead yourself to believe them to hold in its pollen.
“Of course,” Xavier bows his head to you. His hand moves up your thigh, sending chills and waves of heat into your stomach, and settles on your waist. “On the morrow?”
“Aye,” you nod, “tis agreeable.”
The horse whinnies, its white hair catching your attention. You reach out and gently slide a hand up and down its neck, settling its nerves before it begins to follow the King and his path. A gust of wind pushes past you. You shiver and hug the dark blue cloak to your body, noticing a white substance sitting on the rocks the further the smaller group travels up the rocky mountainside. The incline increases and you fully lean into Xavier, his arms keeping you protected against the harsh winds and slope. He places his chin on your shoulder, his cheek warm against your own. He gently leans into you, his hair tickling the side of your face.
“Are your hands cold?” you ask in a low voice. Xavier simply nods. You quickly readjust the blue cloak, reversing it on your body so that it acts like a blanket over your and Xavier’s arms. He pushes further into you, clinging to the warmth you have to offer. “Is that…snow?”
“Yes,” Xavier quietly chuckles. “Have you never seen it before?”
“No,” you admit, feeling the defenses you put up slowly come down. “I have read about it…heard about snow falling in nearby cities but…I have only ever seen the frost of the morning on the sand dunes before the sun melted it away. My brother and I would—”
You close your mouth before you can continue, heart tightening. Xavier notices the way you hold your arms closer to your body, the way your grip on him disappears, clinging to the horn of the saddle instead of him. Flashes of your brother’s corpse fill your mind. The weight of Xavier’s silver dagger familiar beneath your palms despite nothing existing beneath it besides the leather of the saddle. Your heartbeat quickens and your eyes sting from the sudden realization that your life has permanently changed rushes throughout your mind.
You will no longer wake up to the golden image of Nabira. You will no longer seek refuge with the statues tucked behind the deserted castle gardens. You and your brother will not be able to sneak around the golden palace, hiding from your father as he and his right hand man search for you through the long corridors. No longer will you be able to hear your brother’s laughter or the sound of his footsteps as he creates a diversion. No longer do you have a source of comfort to run to when life gets hard. You do not have a family anymore. It was ripped apart the moment Xavier thrusted his dagger through his esophagus.
“Domina, I…” his voice falls quiet. He feels the tension in your body, the way you have fallen silent while trapped in the depths of your mind. “I do wish for thou to know I mourn the loss of thine brother as well. I feel your pain.”
“Do you?” you breathe out, feeling the sharp pain slice through your heart. “Do you understand?”
“Yes,” he nods, “it…it takes a lot to kill a man.”
“And yet thou has done it so brilliantly.”
“That’s hardly fair,” Xavier tries to reason with you.
Before you can respond, the front gates of the castle itself come into view, beginning to open on its own. Trumpets and buisine sound off from the distance. The music adds to the daunting appearance of the mountainous castle.
The castle is vastly different from what you imagined. The words in the scrolls and books you have read are nothing in comparison to the grandness that lays before you. Your attention moves back to the world in front of you, the fortress that you are likely to rarely ever leave now that you have arrived. The wooden pillars are tall and integrated into the rock around it. You can only sit there and wish that your husband is generous with the length of the chains he has placed on your wrists.
As the horses walk through, you look up and see that the courtyard still sees the blue sky, birds flying overhead while singing their song. It is as if a large chunk of the mountain was removed for the open area to thrive. It was a smart move on whoever designed the palace, though, seeing how it provides an extra layer of cover if enemies ever decided to attack.
You glance up. Just above the courtyard sits watchtowers with archers and soldiers inside. They’re stationed sporadically around the perimeter of the open area, looking down into the courtyard itself as well as the immediate surrounding area. They are ready to kill those who wish to bring harm to the Shens and the castle.
Your chin tilts back down as you look ahead where a line of people wait. A woman stands in the front of the pack. She wears a golden crown on her head and a white dress. She looks like an angel, the white fabric gently flowing with the wind. A golden band sits around her waist and the bottom of her skirt is a mix of light blues and purples, probably dyed for the luxurious effect. She has pale blonde hair — like a very warm silver — and she opens her arms as soon as you and the others draw near.
“My love! My son! They have returned to me!” she cries out with vibrant joy prominent in her voice.
The horses come to a stop. You glance at Xavier, who wears a smile on his face, eyes flickering to you. A nearby servant approaches the horse, taking the reins from the prince.
“My mother,” Xavier whispers to you. He swings one leg off of the horse and drops to the ground below. His hands move to your hips, helping move you to the curved edge of the saddle. You hesitate, looking down at Xavier with the slightest expression of panic written all over your face. His grip moves to your waist. He gives you a gentle squeeze. Your heart skips a beat and you loathe yourself for it. “Tis okay. I have you.”
With a gentle tug, Xavier helps lower you from he horse and onto the ground. He acts as a barrier between you and the rest of the world, their cries and cheers for the safe return of their king and heir loud from behind. The space between you and the horse is minimal but it allows you the chance to breathe as your fur lined shoes connect with the hard ground.
The ground beneath you feels different. You can’t quite put your finger on it, but it feels like a mixture between something plentiful and destructive. Before you can focus on it, Xavier gently grabs your chin and turns your face to look up at him.
“Are you nervous?” Xavier asks.
The question is easy. Simple enough to answer. Yet, you find yourself stumbling over the words inside of your head. His touch on your waist is electrifying when you know that you should be feeling nauseous. The way his blue eyes burn into yours makes your legs feel weak. You know that you should hold so much hate towards him and the people who stand behind him, the people who invaded your home and tried to make it their own before kidnapping you across the country all because they needed a queen. An empty womb and open legs for Xavier to claim as his own.
The funny thing is, though, that the person you hate the most in this whole situation is not Xavier. It is not his parents who embrace each other in the background. It is not Rafayel who sailed you across the sea. It is not the innocent soldiers who walk along the stone pathways. It is not the dead soldiers whose bodies have been burned.
No…your hatred lies with your father. And your brother. And yourself. Your own kin who have acted so selfishly and stupidly. You hate the man who signed his name on the marital contract. The man who pressed his ring into the molten gold wax on the paper. The man who held you in his arms when you were just a babe fresh from your mother’s womb. You hate the man you called your brother, the same one who foolishly thought that he could out fight a man — your future husband — who is famously known for his swordsmanship and quick thinking in battle. A man known for his ruthlessness and swift wins.
Yourself. You loathe yourself for allowing yourself to go with them. Was it truly a lost cause to fight back? It was a matter of a day that allowed you to come to peace with the choice your father made. The residual anger still lingers in your bones, you feel it in the tremble of your fingers, the way you try to use Xavier to ground yourself. You hate yourself for not fighting back. You hate yourself for not pushing against the wills of the men in the world around you. You despise the fact that you are finding reasons to stay in Philos, for finding comfort in Xavier’s presence when you should be getting revenge for the fallen men and women of Nabira as well as your brother.
Here you are. Reaping the consequences of your inaction to save yourself. Forced to walk alongside Xavier, hand resting on the crook of his elbow, feet slightly dragging against the ground as he draws you closer to your new family…the ones you are now loyal to all because your brother didn’t think to say no to a fight.
“My father already enjoys your company,” Xavier looks down at your hand, the look of fear on your face.
He can see it no matter how hard you try to fight it. One who has been in countless battles and skirmishes knows when someone is truly afraid. That same look sits on your face, the same one a first time soldier wears when he joins the royal army once he is of age. The prince merely wonders why you are afraid of his family and home.
Oh, the things Xavier does not realize.
“My mother will love you as well,” he comments, the soldiers and servants of Philos’ castle already working around them, scurrying to get the horses to the stables nearby. “She has begged me to find a wife so that she may have another lady in the castle.”
“Oh,” you slowly nod, humming in response.
Your grip on his arm tightens, gaze flitting to the line of ladies the queen’s age that stand behind her. They hold flowers in their arms. Lilies with marigolds. Another woman holds tulips and irises in her arms.
The sight confuses you. You hold back the scrunch of your face and tilt your chin towards the Queen, who wears an enormous smile on her face. She looks effervescent. A vision for sore eyes. Her hair shines beneath the rays of the sun and her eyes are as blue as Xavier’s. Her face is slightly wrinkled from age but she still looks as young as she did in her youth.
“Xavier,” her voice is angelic, kind and soothing. It reminds you of your own mother before she passed. You look up at Xavier, watching as he drops your arm to greet his mother with a hug. “Tis been an age since I’ve seen thee! So much has changed!”
“Mother,” Xavier smiles, slowly drawing away from her. He takes his place back at your side. You can hear your heartbeat in your ears, the way you focus on the thumps on the inside of your ribcage. The prince reaches for your hand and you take it. He pulls you forward, his free hand slipping to the low of your back. “I would like you to meet my betrothed, the princess from Nabira.”
“Ah,” his mother breathes out. From behind her, you watch as the King disappears into the abyss of the mountain, the grand doors to the rocky palace laid open for your arrival. “The princess of Nabira. Thou is even more beautiful than my son’s letter have described you to be.”
A smile forms across your face. It is both natural and habitual. You bow your head and lower yourself into a curtsey, using Xavier to keep you steady before drawing yourself back up to the Queen.
“Tis a pleasure to finally make thine acquaintance,” your voice is as sweet as honey. With a quick glance to Xavier, you notice his look of approval, the way he has shed his sudden anger and jealousy in favor of something more calm and appropriate.
“These are my ladies in waiting,” the Queen turns and gestures to the women who stand behind with flowers, “they thought flora would be appropriate for a welcome to the kingdom.”
Xavier detaches himself from your side as the Queen’s ladies approach you. They bow their heads and do the smallest of curtsies. They place the bouquets into your arms. Xavier’s touch slips free from your body and he walks past, turning on his heel to look back at you and the pile of flowers and unspoken meanings in your arms.
“I shall take my leave,” Xavier announces, hands clasped behind his back, “I trust that my betrothed is in good care?”
“Yes! Go! There is a feast awaiting you in the great hall!” his mother beams, turning to look at him. She waves him away with the flick of her arms, earning a laugh from her son. “We shall soon join thee. Fear not, we shall return thy fair maiden to thine arms soon!”
You do not listen to to them as you speak. The eyes of the ladies in waiting are too much to bear, their gazes traveling up and down your body, immediately judging the dirt that sits on the hem of your skirt as well as the way you try to hug the blue cloak to your body as the chilly wind brushes past your body. You struggle to balance the flowers and your dignity, eyes focused on the colorful petals that sit in front of your eyes.
When you were a child, your mother spoke to you about the meanings behind flowers. The two of you wove flower crowns made out of Damascus roses, sitting on a patterned blanket while your father and brother play pretend just a small distance away. You looked up at the clouds as your mother’s voice fell on your ears, the sweet symphony of words and meanings filling your ears.
“Roses are for love,” she held you close, the flower crown hanging in the forefront of the blue sky. “Red is love. Pink is gratitude…yellow is for friendship.” You reached out for the flowers, wanting to grasp onto the colorful petals while your mother laughed and chuckled in your ear. “The language of flowers is not tricky…tis a way for us as people to convey meaning without having to say it.”
Death stares at you in the face. The lilies and marigolds. Their golden hues burn into your eyes. The pollen feels thick, stems heavy. Your gaze flickers to the tulips and irises. The cooler shades are a sharp contrast from the heat of the marigolds. Looking at those flowers gives you a sense of purpose, their meanings giving you the chance to gift yourself a rebirth in the new castle…in your new life in Philos.
“Princess!” Talia’s voice sounds from behind. She immediately finds her spot at your side. She takes the flowers from your arms, bracing the impact of them for you. “We heartily thank you for these pretty blossoms. I shall ensure they grace the most fitting place in my princess’ chambers.”
“Lady Talia of Toulouse. I received word of your gracious act to accompany my new kin on her journey here,” the Queen’s smile does not change. “I have made it that you shall be near her at night when she may need it the most.”
Your ears heat up, head perking up at the sound of her words. There should be no reason for you to be alarmed, right? The Queen simply wishes for you to remain comfortable in Philos. To live life as a true Philosian princess would. There is no reason for you to be afraid in the castle…especially not one that there is no viable escape out of.
“That is appreciated, Your Grace,” Talia finally bows her head and curtsies. Her eyes meet yours. She sucks in a sharp breath, the woman immediately knowing that you need to break free from this charade. “My Queen, will you direct us to our chambers yourself or will there be someone to aid us?”
“I would love to,” the Queen smiles, eyes moving back to you, “there is much for us to discuss.”
The Queen turns to her ladies and gives them a knowing look. They bow and turn away but one stays, the one that held the marigolds in her arms. The same one who looked at you from the corner of her eye as if she was just waiting for the right moment to pounce on you, to strike you down. You size her up as well, gifting her the same grace she did to you. It is only when the Queen turns around that your eyes move back to her and not the world around you.
“Come,” Xavier’s mother says, stretching her hand out to you, “allow me to present the castle to you.”
You take her hand. Her touch is warm and oddly comforting. The woman brings you to her side, clasping your hand in both of hers, resting it on her stomach.
The two of you begin to walk towards the gargantuan doors of the castle. The dark wood looks down at you as if it is judging you, watching as darkness envelops your body as soon as you step foot into the mountain. The air is somehow even colder than it is outside. Maybe it is just the way you blindly walk for a couple of seconds before stepping into a grand foyer.
Light pours in from stained glass windows that line the ceilings. The walls are lined with banners and art, metal armor with swords at the ready that stand beneath torches that hang from the walls. A golden chandelier hangs from the middle of the ceiling. Candles surround its circumference and coats the room with warm tones. The sight takes your breath away.
“I felt the same upon my arrival,” the Queen speaks from beside you. She smiles at your reaction, taking note of the way your big eyes reflect the flames from the candles and the light. “I hail from the west. Normandy. I heard stories of the castle’s luxury. Tis a humble place,” she looks down at you and meets your gaze, smile widening, “never did I imagine I’d dwell in such a fair domain.”
“Tis beautiful,” you reply, turning to look at the way the light drops in from the ceiling as if it were coming from the heavens themselves. Echoes of your footsteps sound from beside you, carrying up the walls as servants pass by with a respectful bow of the head. “Never did I think a place could rival Nabira’s palace.”
“I can assure you that Philos has plenty to offer you, princess,” she responds. The Queen angles the two of you down a nearby corridor, one that breaks into a stone stairwell. You begin a slow ascent up the stairs, the Queen’s grip tight on your hands. The ceiling is lined with candles, the flames illuminating the gray stone ceiling. “My son informed me that you are smart. Do you like to read?”
“Yes, Your Grace,” you nod, climbing the stairs with her, “I know many languages as well. Although, I much prefer to spend my time outside.”
The Queen looks down at you with a raised eyebrow and a smile. A laugh escapes you. The two of you depart from the stairwell and step out into a long hallway. One of the walls is lined with windows that display the village down below. Your heart has steadied itself, no longer beating out of control. Xavier’s mother’s touch has calmed you down and her kind tone has calmed your nerves.
“What is it that you like to do outside?” her question comes naturally.
“Archery,” you say the word with the hope that the Queen does not beseech you for enjoying such an un-womanly activity.
“Archery,” she repeats, the word not foreign in her mouth but still heavy, “Xavier tried to learn when he was young.”
“Did he?” you ask. The Queen nods, her smile turning pretty under the pale light of the candles.
“He lacks the patience,” she chuckles. “Prefers the sword. The first lesson he received was from his father. He asked ‘where do I hit them?’ and his father said to stick them with the pointy end. It came much easier to him after that.”
The two of you share a laugh, leaning into one another. You have to remind yourself that you just met this woman, that she may be wearing a mask in order to trick you and slice you out of her son’s life. The Queen gently squeezes your hand and looks down the corridor, spotting two familiar figures. Your pace comes to a slow stop.
“Xavier, Jeremiah,” she calls out to them.
The two men turn and look down the brightly lit corridor. Xavier’s eyes immediately land on you, the corner of his mouth tugging upwards. He rocks his weight onto his back foot and watches as you gracefully walk alongside his mother, your respective ladies in waiting following in tow. Jeremiah’s body stiffens when he sees you. He bows his head while Xavier remains relaxed. When he turns to the Queen, though, his demeanor loosens and when he bows his head, it is casual and is matched with a smile.
You notice it immediately. While Xavier steps to your side, freeing you from his mother’s grasp, your eyes remain focused on Jeremiah and the way he loses all of his strict formalities when the Queen is around. You feel as if there is something more there. Like there is a story behind their stolen gazes and quick peeks.
“Long time no see,” Xavier says. His joke and voice are warm on your ears. He gently tilts your face to look at him, a small smile tugging on his lips. “How dost thou find this castle thus far? Jeremiah and I plan on attending the feast. I trust that you will come?”
“Yes,” you reply with a nod. His hands find yours. You look down, heart skipping a beat at the sight of your conjoined hands. It is the first time you have felt his skin in a long time. On the journey to Philos, he usually wore gloves. Now it feels foreign to even feel the calloused texture of his skin. “Thine mother was guiding me to my chambers.”
“They’re beside mine.” Xavier smiles. “Most chambers are for husband and wife.”
“Ah,” you breathe out, a small smile flickering across your lips before they disappear, “so I truly cannot be rid of you.”
“Don’t make me laugh,” he responds, amused, “you will learn to appreciate my presence in time just as I have grown accustomed to yours.”
You step towards the windows of the corridor and look out the glass, overlooking the steep drop that rounds the back of the castle. Just below the border of the mountain and the castle sits a line of jail cells. The stories about the drop being ruthless and into the chasm below are true. A cold chill floats up your spine. It stops where your heart is located, the organs and flesh and veins around it running cold.
What would it feel like to live in one of those cells? Are summer days chilly? Do the prisoners freeze in the winter? Are there other cells that the King uses? These cells surely must be for the most horrific of men, people who deserve death for acts such as murder, treason, and political insurrections. Traitors to the crown.
Xavier appears behind you, resting his chin on your shoulder. He rests his hands on the stone railing in front of you, trapping you in front of him. Funnily enough, though, you do not feel intimidated by his presence but a weird sense of relief and safety. It is almost as if you have forgotten his threatening words earlier that day about speaking freely.
“My great grandfather thought our prisoners would enjoy the view,” Xavier murmurs into your ear. Your body stiffens. He chuckles. “It gives them a choice.”
“A choice.” The words fall from your mouth, heavy with the weight of possible futures.
“Yes,” he hums in response. “A choice…” he sucks in a breath, the hissing sound ringing in your ears, “to see the greener side of things. A life that they may live if they give us what we need.”
“Life or death,” you whisper. Your breath fogs the glass, blurring the sight of the cells. “Not much of a choice.”
“Still a choice regardless,” the prince pulls away. You turn around and lean against the wall, the cold temperature from the glass seeping through the thick cloak that sits on your shoulders. Xavier’s blue eyes drop to the piece of clothing, his smile turning into a smirk. “You look good in my colors.”
“Thank you.” You look up at him, cheeks barely heating up before the icy chill from his threat looms over you once again.
From just over his shoulder, you watch his mother and Jeremiah. They speak in hushed whispers, their eyes remaining on you and you alone. Their gazes burn into your skin, the whispers just barely touching your ears before the words vanish before you can comprehend them. You do not know if they speak to tear you down or to lift you up.
“I wish to sit beside you at the feast,” you begin. Xavier’s smile grows. He takes your hand and brings it up to his lip, pressing a chaste kiss to your knuckles.
“I will see to it personally,” he lowers his voice as if sitting beside one another is a secret that just the two of you will share. His blue eyes remain on your hand, his thumb gently grazing and caressing your skin. “Must I ask why thou seeks my company?”
“Familiarity,” you breathe out, dragging your eyes away from his mother and Jeremiah. “There is more for us to speak on.”
“Tis true.” He nods. He releases your hands and turns on his heel, standing beside you now. His eyes land on his mother and friend, his face softening. “Must I leave her side?”
“Aye,” his mother responds, “her and I have much to discuss.”
There’s a sharpness in Her Highness’ gaze. The way her glaze flicks up and down, judgmental yet timid. You know that she does not know if she can trust you or not. You feel the same towards her. It is all one big game that leaves you feeling dizzy. There is some safety in the game, though. One that comes in the size and shape of the man that stands beside you.
Despite him snapping at you earlier in the day, you feel that he has cemented himself by your side. Someone that you can lean and rely on. He has made it clear to those with eyes and ears that you belong to him, to the space just under his thumb. He controls the world around you with ease. Perhaps he is a piece on the game board that you can learn to manipulate with time.
“Must you talk about it now?” Xavier looks down at you while addressing his mother. “I dost not wish to part from my heart.”
“I will return her in due time,” his mother speaks. She steps away from Jeremiah and extends her arm to you once again. You move towards her without wasting another second. Xavier tries to grab you but you slip free, his hand dangling in the air. “She will be at thine side in due time.”
“Patience is a virtue,” you remark. The comment earns a smile from the Queen herself. You bow your head to Xavier, the corners of your lips quirking up. “I shall see you soon.”
The walk up to your chambers is more on the quiet side. The Queen speaks to you about the rich history of the castle, the intricacies of the architecture from the Holy Roman Emperor Charlemagne himself. She tells you about the small quirks, the way Charlemagne has paid homage to his wives in the walls and decorations.
Art lines the walls. Depictions of King Charlemagne, the man who fought and founded Philos’ birthright, and his ventures are seen in each and every painting. The battles he fought in. The many political meetings and ways he helped build Philos from the ground up. Every story is laced with a lesson, something that the many kings and queens of the kingdom held close to their chests as they ruled the land.
Nabira had the same. More statues than art, vocal stories passed down through the generations. You remember your father speaking to you to Emperor Caleb’s victories in battle with his right hand man, Gideon, when you were just a child. You and your brother were enamored. You wonder if Xavier felt the same hearing about the successful men and kings who ruled his land in the previous centuries.
“Thine chambers are connected with my son’s,” the Queen informs you once you reach the top of the last stairwell, the floor plateaus. She steps towards the chambers, dropping your arm. Talia and her own lady in waiting wait inside alongside servants who quickly work to arrange the room to how Talia orders them to.
The space is large and open. Windows line the walls, the big glass panes allowing in light from every angle. The room looks heavenly, divine. A place suitable for the royals of the Kingdom of Light — a nickname bestowed to Philos in many books you read from historians and travelers — to take rest in. You wonder if the view from the common area is one that looks like the view from the dungeons down below. A table sits in the center of the room with four chairs around it. A fireplace sits just to the left and a basket full of fur blankets sits beside it.
The servants up here wear different colors. The servants below wore purples and blues mixed with silvers. Up here, the servants wear white and gold to match the royalty that lives here. They have become the angels for the divine.
There is one more staircase, one that leads to the King and Queen’s chambers. A place you and Xavier will inhabit once his father passes and he becomes king himself. You glance at it, feeling as if something sacred is sitting at the top of the stairs, a place where a king and queen may be alone with no one to bother them. It is a place where not even the gods of Philos and Nabira can reach them.
You turn back to the opened door and meet the Queen’s gaze. She exits the chaos. You catch a sight of the flowers her and her ladies brought to you, the flowers lining the window that overlooks the vast land of Philos. She walks back to the space in front of you, taking your hands in hers.
“Is something the matter?” she quietly asks.
You don’t know how to respond. Your emotions are all over the place, unable to remain still and content in one area. One moment, you’re stricken with grief, and the next, you wish to run into Xavier’s arms and thank him for the kindness he has shown.
The Queen tilts her head to the side, a knowing look set in her features. She sighs an gently squeezes your hands.
“I know that this is new,” she speaks, clearing her throat, “I know thou must be scared. I wish for us to…”
The Queen falls silent. You hang onto every word, hoping that she finishes her sentence. When she doesn’t, a putrid taste spreads across your tongue. The only sugar and sweetness you have to dispel the taste is to speak for her, a move that not even you thought you would make so early in being in Philos.
“There is a saying in Nabira,” you fill in the silence. The Queen looks at you with slight wonder in her eyes. You let out a shaky breath and look down at your hands. She’s trembling. “A friend who understands your tears is much more valuable than a lot of friends who only know your smile.”
“What does it mean?” she asks, hanging onto every word. Her grip on your hands tighten.
“I am in the same situation as thee when you were a maiden,” you speak from the heart, “thou said that you hail from the west. Normandy, yes? Well, I hail from the east. Much farther east.” A small laugh escapes your mouth. The Queen chuckles with you, trying to ease the tension that may have formed. “We are both women who wished for something else in life. Thou knows the tears and heartache that is to come from being the wife of powerful men. In time, I will learn what thou has experienced. I will know how it feels to have the eyes of Philos on me. The responsibility of providing an heir for thine son. To be the queen they expect me to be.”
“Friendship,” the Queen whispers. Your eyes meet hers. They are even more vibrant up close than from afar. There are specks of silver in her irises, the same silver that Xavier wears for hair and are seen in his eyes. “I dost not wish to see thou fail. Many women wish to live in these quarters with us. Tis thou who shall prosper in these conditions. I will ensure it.”
“Thank you,” you whisper.
“Of course,” she whispers back. She takes her place at your side, your silent alliance now weighing in your heart. “May I speak of a story?”
“Aye,” you nod.
The Queen walks you to the wooden table in the center of the room. A dark blue carpet lays beneath the table. Stepping on it feels much better than the stone floor. You relax into the chair and she sits beside you. An unfinished game of chess sits in the middle of the table. You sit behind the black pieces while the Queen sits behind the white. She smiles at the game with a fondness that only a mother can have.
“I have not touched it since they departed,” she speaks with a warm smile. She reaches out and plucks one of the white pieces from the board, rolling the piece between her fingers. “Xavier and my husband love to play. They can stay up for hours with a glass of wine or mead. I listened to their laughter before they left for war. I…missed it while they were away.”
She places the piece back onto the board. The ivory was cool between her fingers but the quick warmth made her uncomfortable. She looks back up at you, the new princess who inhabits her space. It is nice to have another womanly presence in the castle, one that has a mind of her own and does not agree with everything that she says. You are well read, speak many languages, and have brought back the smile on her son’s face. She likes you already and yet she knows that there is an even bigger game at play here, one that she holds much power in. Power that you will take from her hands once her husband passes.
“When I first arrived, my husband’s mother did not like me,” the Queen confesses as the maids and servants work around the two of you. Two glasses of wine are set in front of the two of you. You offer the servant a kind smile just as the Queen does. “She refused to see my belongings in the chambers thou is placed. Spoke that I twas not the woman for her son.”
The Queen’s laugh is infectious. She brings the glass up to her lips, taking a long drink from the glass. You follow suit, looking down at the dark red liquid. The glass has a green tint to it. Forest glass. You were always interested in the origin of glass in the west. Typically, you drank from gold chalices that have been in your family for generations. You have drank Nabiran wine before, the same from Lemurian cellars, but from Philos? You have not tasted the fruits of their land. You draw the glass up and tilt it back.
The wine is sweet yet vinegary. You can tell that the cooks and kitchen staff tried to save it with honey and sugar but the sharp sour taste shines through. You swallow it as soon as it touches your tongue, not wishing to savor it. Perhaps with time, you will grow used to it. But now you shall suffer in silence as the Queen revels in her story.
“I dost not wish to treat thou in that manner,” she announces to you. “I wish for us to hold peace in our hands and not war.”
“I feel the same,” you admit. You can feel the weight be lifted off of your chest. Nausea no longer plagues you. Maybe it was the wine but you choose to be a fool and live in ignorance in this moment, to bask in the pleasures of the Queen’s sweet words. “Friendship can be hard to come by. I wish to hold on to what we now have, Your Grace.”
“Good.” The word is blunt. You meet the Queen’s eye. “Court will be…complicated. There are maidens and ladies who wished for Xavier’s hand. Twas his father and I who bestowed the gift of him to choose his own wife. Twas a choice neither of us enjoyed. Pray tell, what did thee to do sway his heart?”
“He…” you fall silent. Tears stain your eyes. You blink them away as soon as they come, hoping that the Queen doesn’t pick up on it. “He challenged my brother to a duel. My brother…lost. Thine’s son’s dagger was still in my brother’s neck when I visited his body. I simply returned the weapon to its rightful owner.”
The Queen doesn’t immediately respond. Her face flickers with different emotions. Confusion. Anger. Excitement. Joy. Sadness. Disgust. Then it finally settles on…respect.
“He deserved it,” she says. She swipes her tongue over her teeth, the wine dulling the white noise in her head. “Xavier’s vice is his recklessness. He doth not ponder consequences of his deeds. Been that way since he was a babe.”
“It has its benefits,” you comment, trying to alleviate the slight sting that you feel on your betrothed’s behalf.
“He’ll die because of it,” the Queen’s response is immediate. She looks at you with a sudden darkness in her eyes. Every hint of positive emotion is no longer evident on her face. “Thou shall keep him safe,” she says, “you will make him think twice before acting, yes? Thou will protect him this way.”
The weight of her words fall onto your shoulders. Friends who understand your tears are worth more than the ones who only know your smile. She knows the responsibility of being a queen. The one person in the world who knows and understands their husband — their king — better than anyone else. Even mistresses do not know their lover kings as well as their wives do. The women who were forced into marriage to a man who thinks he is as divine and important as the gods.
The wives are the ones who truly keep their husbands in check. They are the ones who whisper in their ears at night, the ones who speak reason into their actions. They are the ones who keep them under control. To remind their king that much more is at stake than his legacy and current mortal obsessions and temptations.
It is a responsibility that you now hold. To keep your beloved Xavier in line before he destroys everything that the men — their wives — who have come before him has fortified and built from the ground up. The future of Philos now lays in your hands. The political game you find yourself in belongs to you and Xavier’s mother. The realization has your head spinning but you refuse to let it show.
“Yes,” you say with a nod, finally finding the courage to answer her, “I will.”
“Good.” The Queen finishes her drink. The wine glass hits the wooden table with a loud thud sound. The Queen swallows the rest of the alcohol and stands. You follow suit, your glass barely touched, and bow your head to her just as the servants that line the walls do. Her lady in waiting exits your bed chambers with Talia close behind. “Please, change,” the Queen gestures to the open doors where Talia stands, “thine betrothed is waiting.”
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NOOOO THE SIX ORGASMS PERIOD HACK GOT REBLOGS DISABLED JUST AS I TRIED TO REBLOG IT whatever. I'm trying that next period.
Rescued media. Fuck it.
a private japan investor won the auction for the original jane birkin bag and in my daydreams it’s gojo buying it for his wife on a whim
can we have a bonfire? I’m hosting. the fuel is my life because it’s up in flames. admissions free but bring marshmellow
rb to give a snout-out to the gays
no. one party anthem
interlude(iii): separate and ever deadly | prev track< | setlist
hot gossip and headlines
synopsis: your best friend has always been an asshole - whether it's in his band or in his bed. him ditching you? nothing new. but when one bedroom door closes, another one opens
pairings: rockstar!Suguru Geto x f!Reader x childhood fwb!Sukuna
content: mdni, fluff + (mostly) angst! hurt and comfort, breakup aftermath, gojo + sukuna shenanigans, multiple povs, regret, jealousy, complicated relationships, pining and yearning
a/n: art by @baobei-bu and divider by @/animatedglittergraphics-n-more <3
Satoru Gojo never thought he'd see the day he'd be watching Sukuna get fucking dog walked.
Or that he'd wish he was on the leash instead.
"The soda's flat," You were pouting, pushing your drink in front of you before Sukuna just switched yours with his.
"Just take mine," He grumbled.
"So, um, how long have you known each other?" Gojo asked, brows furrowed together as he swirled his straw around in his drink.
You readjusted anxiously in your seat, although it was harder to tell with the way Sukuna's hoodie swallowed you. Despite the small diner the latter has chosen, he'd still pulled the hood over your hair, insisted on you sitting on the inside of the booth so it'd be harder for anyone to see you. Gojo had assumed for a second that he was just being a territorial asshole until it hit him that Sukuna was just trying to shield you whatever way he could.
He refused to say much, letting you take the lead and keeping his mouth shut most of the time. Only sparing the occasional rare glance at Gojo to remind him how much bad blood there still was between them even outside of their bands.
"I dunno, since we were like, in diapers?" You looked over at him, your chin propped in your hands. The man next to you huffed, scrunching his nose up as if he was annoyed, but his shoulder kept brushing against yours, too close and too comfortable even for childhood friends.
Sukuna hadn't stopped staring at you since you sat down.
Barely took his eyes off you in his passenger seat either. Listened to every word you said like he couldn't stand to miss a single syllable, a tattooed hand resting on your headrest that you didn't seem to notice while you leaned back to pass Gojo some of his CDs to choose what to listen to from.
As if giving the tension a sound track would make it go away.
It was still probably the most awkward fifteen minutes of his life. Forced to sit in the back like a little kid watching his parents pretend that everything was fine.
Honestly, the whole thing made his head fucking hurt.
His best friend's ex-girlfriend he definitely didn't have a crush on was best friends with their biggest competition. In the charts and in your bed.
"Suguru doesn't know," Gojo slowly said, less of a question and more of an observation.
Knowing Suguru?
He probably would've sent that stupid sex tape to Sukuna himself if he just saw the way your 'best friend' was looking at you.
And if he found out now?
Suguru was going to fucking lose it.
He'd been spiraling since your breakup already. He didn't say anything. But it showed. In the exhausted rings under his eyes and the sheer number of cigarettes he'd smoke in the evenings after rehearsal and recording, despite him insisting that it was under control, that he only ever did it when the girls weren't around. His fatigue was in the permanent frown etched in his face, the snarky remarks and fights he'd been picking over the stupidest shit.
He acted fine when his daughters were there. The same old Suguru. Reserved and responsible. But the second they were asleep or being babysat, some switch flipped, his carefully crafted guard cracking and breaking around the edges.
But this wasn't something a few smooth words could fix.
"I tried telling him like ten times," You shrugged, but any idiot could see that you were struggling to talk about it too. Picking at your nails and studying the knots in the wooden table. "But you know him. Too busy."
You couldn't hide that kind of hurt.
It was ridiculous that he felt the tiniest bit responsible for it. If he hadn't pushed you to get together, hadn't texted you or stolen that stupid pick, would any of it had even happened?
A tiny voice in the back of his head suggested the slim possibility that maybe he might've had a chance if he hadn't shotten himself in the foot by trying to put Suguru's happiness first. Convinced you were too good for him, too cool to give him a chance - so why should he try when you would just choose Suguru like everyone else?
"You two are just friends though?" Gojo hesitantly posed the question as if the immediate shift in the air didn't answer it.
If you weren't having sex now, you definitely had before.
"Yeah," You answered, to Sukuna's obvious disappointment? Irritation? Annoyance?
"Yeah?" Gojo repeated.
"I mean, we used to fuck before me and Geto started dating," You freely admitted, your eyes flitting over to the pink-haired asshole by your side, searching for some reaction. It was almost impressive how fast his face softened, the crease between his brows and the lines by his lips disappearing when your focus was on him. And Gojo realized what it was before written in his eyes, a feeling he unfortunately was well-acquainted with. Anxiety. "But we got in a big fight a few months ago and stopped talking until, uh, recently."
It was Sukuna's turn to shuffle uncomfortably in his seat.
"Oh," Gojo swallowed hard. Another complicated history that he wouldn't stick his nose in if he had any sense.
It was hard enough to compete with Suguru. Sukuna?
"Can we talk about something else?" You sighed, glancing back out in the dim restaurant, probably looking for the waiter.
Your phone started ringing, and you sucked in a sharp breath before you even checked it. Chewing on the edge of your lip while you stared at the screen while you glanced over at Sukuna again.
"Everything okay?" He grunted.
"It's the maintenance guy," You mumbled. "I'm just gonna take it outside."
Sukuna had to shuffle out of the booth to let you through to answer.
But the second your figure slipped out the front door, Sukuna's harsh stare was focused on him.
"What the fuck do you want with her?"
"I don't want anything from her," Gojo frowned. And it was true. Pretty much.
He liked you. Liked talking together. Trying to get a giggle out of you. When your hand would brush against his or you'd scrunch your nose up at him. Finding new details to memorize in your smile and learn all your little mannerisms.
You didn't judge him. Would listen to him ramble and sometimes laugh at his shitty jokes. Understood him in a way no one had ever bothered to.
Gojo didn't want to let go of you. Didn't want to not have some small place in your life, whatever it might be.
"We might not be together, but I swear to fucking God, if it's about sex and you hurt her, you'll have to buy yourself a new face," Sukuna warned, shoulders stiff and tense, knuckles white and condensation from his drink dripping over them. "Or maybe your dad will just pay for that too."
He'd probably grab his collar and throttle Gojo if he knew he already finished on your face. If he saw the image of you that had been burned into his mind, glossy cum on your parted and panting lips, all fucked out and full, wide-eyed with fluttering lashes while your pretty tits bounced in time with every thrust.
It was easy to assume you hadn't exactly told Sukuna about what the three of you had done at the party. Shit. What the hell had the two of you talked about there?
Gojo didn't even remember texting him. Only had his number through other mutual contacts in the music industry. It wasn't like he'd ever consider the chance Sukuna would show up.
But you were worth making an exception for, he supposed. He'd do the same in his shoes.
"We're just friends," Gojo gritted his teeth. He was trying to be, at least. Trying to ignore the faint flutters in his own stomach when he saw you. How the sound of your laugh you made something in his heart stir, left him empty and aching just waiting to hear it again. It was wrong.
And anyway, he didn't need Sukuna and Suguru ready to strangle him over you.
Sukuna scoffed at him, jaw locked like he was considering biting his head off for putting himself in the same category.
"You think I buy any of your or his bullshit?" He practically growled, but it wasn't so intimidating when he glanced through the thick glass window behind him to make sure you were still fine outside before looking back at Gojo. "If it was up to me, I'd punch you again just for showing up at her door after that asshole friend of yours broke her heart, but for some fucking reason, she actually likes you."
Gojo hated himself for how much he liked hearing that.
Someone showed up with the food, dropping off plates and asking about refills.
It wasn't really a truce. And they weren't allies. But they still ate without shouting or fighting, so it was close enough.
"She won't tell me what he did," Sukuna eventually grumbled, wiping away a smear of sauce from his lips with a napkin.
"He was a dick," Gojo admitted, on accident, really, his big mouth speaking before his sometimes tiny brain could shut it up. "Pretty much accused her of calling the paparazzi to take those pictures."
"Are you fucking kidding me?" Sukuna snarled, dropping his food and glaring at him like he did it.
"That's what I said," He threw his hands up in annoyance. "I mean, like, I get that he's overprotective when it comes to Nana and Mimi, but if she was my girlfriend-"
He stopped talking the second he saw you walking back, unhappy and flustered.
"What happened?" Sukuna immediately asked, rough and raw, but reaching out to touch your wrist. Out of habit, instinct.
You swallowed hard, on edge still and tapping your feet.
"They want to do more work inside my place so they told me to stay out for the next few nights but don't want to pay for a hotel," Your voice cracked. Frustrated and fed up with everything, clearly.
"You can stay at my place," Sukuna muttered, but you shook your head.
"They don't even want to let me back in to get my stuff," You protested.
"They can't do that." It only took him approximately four seconds to get even more irritated than you were.
"Can you yell at him?" You huffed, an arm wrapped around your waist and a cute pout pushed together on your lips. Your other hand held out your phone, and Sukuna was quick to snag it from you, standing up to let you back in.
"Why don't you tell me what you told her?" Sukuna snapped into the speaker, walking out front and leaving you alone in the booth with Gojo.
"So," He awkwardly chuckled. "You and Sukuna?"
"I know he seems like a dick," You sighed, sipping your drink. "He is one."
Gojo couldn't help but actually laugh at that, cracking a grin at your easy shrug. "Yeah."
"But he's working on his stuff," You murmured, eyes flicking up to meet his, softer, letting some of that shield down. "I just, um, appreciate you being cool about this, I guess."
"Sure," Gojo flushed, face heating up more than he'd like. "Anything for you."
He meant it more than he should.
More than a friend should.
"Can I ask why all of you hate each other anyway?" You tilted your head to the side, curious and anxious all at the same time.
"Yeah, it's, uh, kind of embarrassing," Gojo admitted, ruffling his hair. His palms were sweaty, had been since he made the drive to your apartment for the second time. The first? He'd followed Suguru up to your door, just to drag him away before he could make an idiot of himself.
"I'm listening," You laughed a little, but it just sounded like you were getting ready to be disappointed.
"It happened a long time ago," Satoru hesitated, the puzzle pieces of the memory in his head and what was happening now snapping together a little too cleanly to be comfortable.
"Just tell me," You groaned.
"It was my idea for us to go their show. But we'd been drinking like, a lot," He muttered, sheepish already. "There was this after party, and I went up to him, I swear, just trying to talk about the show, but it started an argument."
Even your grimace made his stomach flip, the small breath that slipped between your lips like you expected as much before he continued.
"It was mostly just insulting each other and shouting until Suguru saw the lock screen on his phone and said he was probably just jealous and then, he, um, sorta said he'd fuck his girlfriend," Gojo muttered the last part quietly, swallowing hard and averting your stunned gaze. But he peeked back up, painfully aware how hard you were second-guessing Suguru even more than you already had.
"Sukuna didn't have a girlfriend then," You muttered.
He wondered if you'd already came to the same conclusion he had.
"I didn't see who it was," Gojo shook his head. "I only remember what Suguru said because two seconds later, Sukuna punched him."
"Oh," You breathed, looking kinda like you'd been punched yourself.
"If it was you-"
"I doubt it," You interrupted. "He, um, was sleeping with other girls back then."
You picked listlessly at your food before waving over a waiter to ask for a to-go box. It only took a minute for him to bring it, Sukuna still outside probably cussing your poor maintenance guy out.
He wasn't sure what to say. How to help you. Words were something he was usually clumsy with. He'd force them out and laugh too loud and fill the air with chatter just to hear himself speak.
But he didn't want to do that with you.
Gojo wanted to say something that would make you smile, that would erase even a fraction of how fucked up it all was.
"I'm just trying to say Suguru probably doesn't remember either way," Gojo frowned. If he did, he surely would've said something by now to him, if not to you. "He was pretty wasted."
"Okay," You mumbled, closing the lid on the to-go box and reaching to grab the check on the table.
Gojo beat you to it, pulling out his wallet next and getting out of the booth. "I've got it tonight."
It wasn't much. But maybe it was a start.
Sukuna got off the phone a few minutes after he paid, what was left of the food boxed up and bagged, glaring at Gojo once again when he said he paid for everything, grumbling under his breath about not wanting to owe him shit before insisting on carrying the food for you.
The car ride back to your apartment was at least less excruciating. He only wanted to throw himself out the car twice when he caught the way you glanced at Sukuna, unsure how to feel about how you were comfortable around him in a completely different way than what it was like when you were with Suguru.
The air was charged. Every glance felt like it dragged on forever. The little brushes and grazes that meant nothing and everything.
They both followed you up to your floor though, Sukuna glancing around like your guard dog when you pushed open your front door to see one of the water stains on your ceiling leaking onto your plastic-covered coffee table.
"Shit," You groaned. "Can you guys just help me grab some of my stuff?"
"Sure," Gojo volunteered first, earning a pointed eye roll from your friend. "Mind if I just use the bathroom first?"
"Yeah, it's that first door there," You distractedly nodded, pointing down the hall before turning your attention to Sukuna to ask him to grab a suitcase from the shelf in your closet.
Gojo had just shut the door behind him, already pulling down his zipper when he saw what was on the counter.
Two pregnancy tests.
RIVAL ROCKSTARS SETTLING A SCORE OVER DINNER?
Suguru was fucking sick of getting blindsided by headline after headline.
Yet another betrayal.
His best friend sitting across from the biggest jackass he'd ever met. Casually eating a fucking cheeseburger. Dated last night.
"What the fuck is this?" Suguru gritted his teeth, shoving the blurry photo in Satoru's face.
"It's nothing, Suguru," He lied. Staring at his guitar and tuning it soberly between recording songs, just sitting there as if having a meal with Sukuna could mean nothing in any universe.
Everyone else was on a lunch break, papers scattered with lyrics and notes and sheet music and instruments still out.
"Since when do you hide stuff from me?" Suguru scoffed. A three-day-old headache was bursting behind his eyes, tension pounding and throbbing from the still-growing stress of being stuck as front page news no matter how hard he tried to get the photos taken down.
"Probably when you decided to treat your girlfriend like shit," Satoru scoffed. "Sorry, ex."
As if you weren't already fucking haunting him.
The conversation wasn't supposed to go like that. You weren't supposed to just leave. Weren't supposed to shut him out and break it off before he could even get everything out.
The whole thing was a blur. It wasn't meant to be a confrontation.
He was just hurt.
What was he supposed to think? No one knew but you about breakfast. You checked your phone like fifty times while eating a single waffle during it. Left his house two minutes after you got back. He'd been busy, okay, but you'd been pulling away from him for weeks.
If it was just a photo of the two of you? He'd probably think it was some braindead idea Manami or some other higher up had concocted. But his contract was supposed to protect his daughters. It was in the fucking fine writing that they couldn't use or publish any photos of them and they'd strike down anyone that did.
He wanted to believe you. Wanted to think all of it was some awful misunderstanding. That maybe you'd told a friend who called the paparazzi instead.
That Suguru hadn't somehow hurt you, one of the only people he trusted, so much that you'd feel so inclined to sell him out for a few bucks.
Anything other than it being you.
But he didn't have the fucking luxury of being soft when it came to his children. Couldn't risk putting them through any more than they already had been.
He expected you to deny it, to be as fucking baffled as him, to give him some straw to grasp at so he could focus the anger elsewhere. He'd gone about it wrong, yeah, said it the worst way possible, throwing the most terrible thought that crossed his mind out because he needed to hear you say no.
Wanted to hear you tell him you loved him just one more time so he could trust his gut.
Suguru hadn't once considered you'd break up with him. Block his number and cut him out of your life completely.
Gojo has chewed him out for it when he admitted what happened afterwards.
Called him a prick and a pussy and said he was goddamn moron for thinking for even a second you'd do something so shitty.
The girls didn't want to talk to him. Just asked about when you'd be back every other day. Nanami kept looking at him like he knew something he fucking didn't, offering to take the girls a few nights out of pure pity. Even Haibara was disappointed. The only people happy with him were the two people whose opinions he didn't give a fucking shit about.
"Why don't you ask your new girlfriend to fix it for you?" Satoru snapped.
"Are you fucking kidding me?" Suguru scowled. Maybe you broke up with him. But there wasn't a chance he was going to risk losing you forever by laying even a single fucking finger on someone you told him you didn't like.
"Nah, I'm not," Satoru shrugged. "Sort your shit out."
"Why do you care so much about my relationship?"
Suguru knew. Had known ever since he caught the puppy dog eyes and sly flirts Satoru snuck in every time you were around. Clinging too close just to stare at the floor like he was considering killing himself when Suguru would kiss you.
"You're just not the kind of guy I thought you were," Satoru bluntly answered.
That stung almost as much as your silence.
"So you're hanging out with someone who hates me now?" Suguru retorted, a slimy, sinking feeling slowly making it's way to his gut at heading Gojo confirm all the terrible things he already thought about himself.
He wasn't the good guy. Hadn't treated you right and broke your trust despite whatever excuses he'd been holding on to. Turned on you instead of leaning on you.
"We just have a mutual friend," Satoru muttered. He looked uncomfortable, eyes shifting away as he sat the guitar back down, about to walk away before Suguru started following him.
"So what now? You're just not going to talk to me anymore either?" He was acting like the asshole he didn't want to be. But he didn't know how to get back to how things were a few weeks ago. Get back to being the guy that had the girl and his friends and everything handled.
"You made your bed. Sleep by yourself in it."
Satoru was chewing the inside of his cheek like it was candy, still clearly concealing something and stressed over it no matter what he said.
"I don't know what to do," Suguru heard himself say. "I want her back."
He hadn't expected Satoru to laugh at him.
"Good luck getting her," He scoffed, sliding his phone back in his pocket and heading towards the door. "I just don't really want to be around you right now either."
Who would Suguru lose next?
He needed proof. A plan. Some way to show you that everything had just fucking spiraled out of hand. That he didn't want to break up or be without you.
The tiniest seeds of an idea had sprouted from one of Gojo's comments. Although, he wasn't one he was particularly fond of.
He just needed Manami's phone to do it.
reblogs n comments are super appreciated <3 love hearing your thoughts !! also apologies for any typos >.< was it so mean of me to use that header art hahaha ;p we'll find out next chapter what exactly went on between sukuna/reader/gojo after dinner ;p
taglist: @universal-s1ut @lavenderdaydream97 @nylve @cashshiii-blog @inthedarkshadows000 @adiantumvenustum @chsuguru @pnkblueberry @byerno6 @favvkiki @sugurusfavemonkey @kindadolly @sillymortalblob @starmapz @apchmon @chaoticgood-munson @nymphsdomain @fire-pirhana-plant @msheds0519 @aldebrana @xixflower @mitsuyq @moncher-ire @ssetsuka @beepbeepyddgjj @d3ad-ins1de @lauuriiiz @levislug @nonamevenus @vertigoswan @mortallyshadysoul @dazaisfavgf @sugucultfollower @seellove @thelightknight21 @insomniakookies @surgeonsofazeroy @sugusmonkeyy @ratedrrrr @elukewarm @madisonmonroexx @alt--er--love @swtbckyboo @dear-fifi @gojosfiance @skyxxx17 @theogborjie @evilari111 @disappointedpeaches @beautiful--macabre
rb on main because this is a masterpiece and everyone deserves to read it.
Bucky just wants his arm.
i survived a tuesday, and for what? wednesday? disgusting.
Duty's Cruel Embrace, 3
Chapter Three: Past and Present
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18+ MINORS DNI
pairing ; prince!xavier x princess!reader
synopsis ; you and xavier journey to the port of tartus where your first betrothed awaits you.
word count ; 14.6k words
author's note ; hi everyone! i am so sorry about the delay in updates! i am trying my best to work on these chapters asap!! i hope you enjoy this chapter as much as i enjoyed writing it!
trigger warning ; mentions of death, alcohol use, weapons, xav and reader make out and he gets just a little handsy, light sexism, talks of political marriage, let me know if i missed anything!
my ladies in waiting ♛ °˖✧ @velaenam , @schwnapps , @massivenutkid , @celestialforce , @exitingmusic , @zeskyzed , @eve-ishu , @underfcvcked , @duffyinwonderland , @hiqhkey , @dooopiee , @awkward-stierle , @justpassingdontworry , @queenkymmie , @miffysoo , @kazbrkker , @applepi405 , @flamedancer13 , @prplbunny , @loreleis-world , @animecrazy76 , @emo4r , @crazygirl3001 , @creator-freak , @spacenott , @luckypup0506 , @wltneko9006 , @wonys-won , @sh4do3 , @witchbybirth
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please go check out @velaenam 's story domina of the east! there are light spoilers for her story in this chapter <3
The crown prince of Philos remained close to you after you left the king’s tent. He remained far away, always behind you, never slipping into your line of sight. He had to convince himself that you were not looking for him, that you were on your own mission in life, one that does not revolve around him. He detests the idea of you being loyal to another cause, one that does not belong to him.
You are to be his wife, are you not? You will be the woman he shares the throne with, the woman who will bear his children and provide heirs for his future and legacy. He should be allowed to claim you as his own. As his one and only.
You were now away from your kingdom, a day’s ride to be exact, and soon the two of you will be on a boat heading across the Mediterranean Sea back to his kingdom of Philos. He knows that in time, you will grow to love Philos as much as he does. All he can sit and wish is that the two of you fall into something like love, a way for you to live in harmony for the rest of your lives.
Will it be love? Or will it simply be a partnership that you two barely tolerate?
He knows, though, that you will not be won in war. Your game of cat and mouse, the constant push and pull, the game that has brought him so much more excitement than he could have ever imagined. It is the reason why he is drawn to you. It is the reason why Xavier hasn’t been able to keep you away from him while on your journey to the port of Tartus.
He watches you from afar. Just like how he keeps his distance from you, you keep your distance from the other men at camp, the disgusting soldiers who laugh and tell the tales from their skirmishes and battles in Nabira. He sees the look of disgust on your face. Your expression slightly twists into something fatal, devastating, mourning the loss of the soldiers from your kingdom. You even wince at a few of their motions, the way they describe slicing the necks of the men that they have encountered in the battlefield.
Whenever you pass by, too, the soldiers either remain silent and bow their heads with respect, or they throw taunts your way, calling you pet names as if you now belong to them.
But you belong to him. Xavier knows it…even you know it.
Xavier remains by your tent throughout the night. He had his squire bring him one of the wooden chairs from his father’s tent and he placed it beside the entrance to your tent. Men walked by, their drunken laughs being silenced from Xavier’s scowl. The tip of his blade remained beneath the earth, his hand remaining on the hilt. Soldiers partied in the distance while Xavier listened to the rustling of the thin blanket he provided for you — the one he brought from his bed chambers in Philos — and waited for the night to come to an end.
The bright blue moon was his only light in the night as the majority of torches were snuffed out. He looks up at the Heavenly body, focusing on the imperfections that shine brightly on its surface. Xavier wonders if you like the moon as much as he does. He loves watching the Heavenly bodies in the night sky, looking upon them as they twinkle from the depths of the darkness.
The prince wonders what lies beyond the sky. Are there other worlds like his own? Are the men on that distant and far planet forced into unnecessary wars that their fathers wish to wage? Do the men there get to freely choose their wives or are they forced to marry vipers in disguise from a kingdom across the known world?
A sigh leaves his lips. Xavier looks away from the sky and shakes his head, turning his attention towards the ground. There are shadows from the scattered patches as grass of the campsite. There is a mixture of sand and dirt and grass, the combination of two different kinds of ecosystems merging together.
A sense of longing and worry overwhelms his mind. Xavier closes his eyes and rolls his head back, cracking his tensed up joints and bones as a quiet groan escapes his lips. He knows that his journey and time in Nabira is coming to a close. He will finally be back in Philos, a place he knows like the back of his hand. He has dreamed of his kingdom almost every single night since he has reached the desert, sailing away from the green scenery into the abyss of the desert.
Back in Philos, Xavier remembers the endless rolling hills of green grass, the steady streams and rivers that run through his kingdom. He remembers each and every crevice and rock of the mountainside where the Philos castle sits. He remembers the dark gray stone bride that attaches the base of the mountain to the rest of the village. Xavier misses the sound of the roaring river that runs beneath the bridge, the perpetually cold water spraying over the edges when the winds are strong.
Nabira is a completely different environment than what he is used to. Getting used to the desert was harder than he imagined, his right hand man back in Philos, Jeremiah, telling him what he should prepare for. He thought that the hot temperature was comparable to the hottest summer day in Philos but after experiencing the coolest day in Nabira, he knows that he is not meant for this type of climate. He supposes that he misses the green scenery. He is tired of the constant tans and browns, the only green coming from fabrics and the scattered patches of shrubbery that lay somewhat near oases.
He thought that he would find his inevitable demise in Nabira because who can truly survive a war as destructive and brutal as his father’s campaign for Nabira. Who can survive in the endless stretches of desert with little to no water to live off of, his body aching and his skin turning rough and red under the blazing sun. Even the metal of his armor has made him feel so suffocated while traveling through the sand dunes. Perhaps his inevitable demise did not come in the form of death but rather in the form of a beautiful woman behind a black and gold veil, the woman who has infiltrated his every waking and unconscious thought ever since he met her.
You…you have proven to be an intoxicating potion that has been slipped into his drink, a spell that is your name that has taken control over his mind.
Xavier opens his eyes to the sun already above the horizon. His light blue blanket is draped over his body, the hand on his sword covered. A quiet groan vibrates his throat. He slowly sits up, back tense. Xavier’s blue eyes scan the immediate area, the morning sun warm against his skin. You slowly approach from afar, a silver cup in hand along with a plate with bread, nuts, and dried meat. Xavier hides the small smile that begins to form on his face, covering it up by clearing his throat and sitting up in his chair.
“I can ride the horse for us today,” you say to him, skipping the greeting. It amuses Xavier. “Here,” you mutter under your breath, “eat. Drink. Your father wishes for us to embark from this place as soon as possible. He thinks we can reach Tartus by sunset if we move fast enough.”
Xavier takes the plate and chalice from you, your fingers grazing against each other. You ignore the way the corner of his lips perk up, the way his cloth shirt exposes the top part of his chest. You clear your throat and tear your gaze away, looking at the soldiers who tear down the campsite. They scurry around as their king watches. The silver crown on his head reflects sharp flashes of light whenever he turns, the man’s squire and his noble attendant by his side as he quietly speaks his demands.
“When did you wake, princess?” Xavier asks.
You struggle to respond. Your gaze meets his and all of the words slip out of your mind. You have memorized and learned Xavier’s mother tongue when the Philos troops were first seen on the outskirts of Nabira’s borders. Countless books and endless nights studying their words, the way they speak. The teachers in Nabira helped you become fluent but sometimes the words slipped free from your mind, leaving you with a mouth and brain filled with an empty void.
Xavier tilts his head at you, perking up an eyebrow. He slowly chews the hardened bread, narrowing his blue eyes at you. He slowly stands. The light blue blanket slips off of his body, hanging over the top of his sword. Xavier places the chalice and plate down, turning his attention back to you.
“Take your time,” he whispers, “or, you can say it in thy own tongue.”
“I woke at dawn. The dogs’ barks woke me,” you speak with no hesitation.
Xavier picks up on your words. His year in Nabria allowed him to learn some of your language, not all of it because he has always been stubborn and, quite frankly, did not think that he would get a Nabiran wife out of the crusade. He watches you closely as you gesture to the pack of nearby dogs, their snouts red from blood from that morning’s hunt.
“I didn’t want to wake you,” you continue, finally turning back to wake him. Xavier’s. Your expression softens at the sight of his tousled hair, the way the silver strands poke out in every direction. You wave him down, which he immediately obeys, and you gently flatten the hair back against his head. “You looked so peaceful.”
“Peaceful,” Xavier quietly repeats the word in your tongue. You freeze and pull away from him, eyes slightly widened. Does he know your language? Has he learned during his time in Nabira just like you have with his? “What does that mean?”
“Peaceful,” you state after a moment’s hesitation, swallowing the lump in your throat.
“Peaceful…” he whispers with a slight nod. “I will ride for us today. Be ready soon. A solider will handle your tent for you.”
“Xavier,” you watch as he drapes the light blue blanket around your shoulders. With one hand, he picks up the plate and chalice, balancing the silver cup on the plate, his sword now resting in his free hand. He steps around you. You watch him as he leaves, disappearing into the chaos of the Philos camp.
You sigh. You hang your head low as you stare at the ground. The leather bag your father gave you sits beside his wooden chair. The chair looks so uncomfortable…why would he spend the night like that? Did he truly wish for you to see this act of service as one that shows you can trust him? Or is it a false sense of security that he will use against you in the near future?
Confusion infiltrates your mind. You allow yourself to gather your belongings, plucking the golden bow from the inside of your tent. It sits around your bodice, the golden point sticking up into the sky, the quiver of arrows attached around your hips. The black crow feathers absorb the heat of the day. You feel them between the pads of your fingers, fiddling with them. They help keep you company as you walk through the camp, looking around for the man you are forced to be allies with.
Whether you like it or not, you know that Prince Xavier is your only saving grace on the journey to Philos. Even then, once you reach his kingdom, he is still your only ally in the political world that is much different from Nabira.
You cannot help but question if Xavier will be there by your side like he vowed to do. You do not know if he will remain loyal to you and the aid you require. Your mind wanders across the many possibilities that you will encounter in the new world.
Does Xavier have a mistress? Is there another woman in his life that you will have to learn to tolerate during your political and arranged marriage? You do not know what waits for you in the near future. It feels as if you are willingly walking into a lion’s den.
You can try your best to hide behind the furs they will gift to you. You can try to hide behind the crown of thorns that they will place onto your head. At the end of the day, though, it is you and you alone that is in charge of your life. You will have to fight for your spot in the Philos court, to fight to show the nobles that you earned your position as the future Queen of their kingdom. They will try to bring you down but you must persevere.
“Princess,” Xavier’s voice sounds from behind. You do not turn, simply continuing to stare at the ancient ruins from your ancestor’s empire.
After it fell hundreds of years ago, the Roman Empire lost its influence. Their colonies and cities fought back against Roman control all while the title of emperor was being fought about in the heart of Rome. You read about it in the books your father gifted to you as a child. Your brother did not particularly enjoy reading about the fall of an empire, but you enjoyed seeing how Emperor Caleb’s laws and provisions remained in place when it came to Nabira. He ruled far before the empire fell. His descendants, your ancestors, kept his vow alive. It is admirable, really.
There are broken statues and pillars in the distance. Another outpost that was once under Roman control. Now Mother Nature runs it with vines reclaiming the white and cracked stone. Xavier’s armor and chainmail sounds from behind you. His white horse whinnies. The scraping of metal rubbing against itself used to irk you, send chills down your spine, but now it is a welcoming sound of the man you will call your husband.
“Is thou ready?” he asks.
“How long do you think that has been there for?” you ask and gesture to the crumbling pillars. Xavier takes his place at your side, his eyes fixed on the landmark. His horse remains tethered to its reins.
“I do not know,” he quietly responds. “Centuries, probably.”
“Centuries,” you muse with a chuckle. Xavier looks down at you, confusion written across his face. “Is there a centuries old outpost in Philos?”
Xavier remains quiet. He studies the side of your face, taking in the slenderness of your cheeks, the hollowness behind your eyes. You’re tired, yes, and he can tell that you have not been able to stop thinking since you woke up that morning. He clears his throat and tugs on the leather reins.
The white horse trots around and settles in the space in front of you. Your eyes flicker to Xavier and he avoids your gaze, simply sliding the reins into your hands. He grabs your waist and you place your foot into the stirrup. In one motion, Xavier helps you onto the horse, your leg kicking over the horse. You remove your foot and scoot forward. Xavier takes your bag and attaches it to the side of the horse, placing it beside his. You quickly reach inside and pluck out the diary your father gifted you, placing it in the small space in front of you and the pommel of the saddle.
Xavier quickly mounts the horse and takes his place behind you, his armored hands rest on your thighs for the briefest of moments. You lean back into him, already accustomed to his presence behind you. He leans in, his lips close to your ear. His breath is hot against your skin. It sends chills down your spine.
“You’ve been thinking,” he murmurs. He takes back the reins from you and gently kicks the horse’s side. It lets out a huff and turns on its hooves, moving back towards the camp. “Thinking of the past and history…tell me what is on your mind, princess.”
You look straight ahead. The camp has been broken down while you were lost in your thoughts. The soldiers have resume their marching positions, already beginning the journey to the Tartus port. You assume that Xavier’s father is at the helm, guiding his men through the last of the desert. The two of you assume a position towards the back, the soldiers and guards a part of Xavier’s future Kingsguard taking their place behind you.
“Shall I take your silence as your answer?” he quietly hums.
You roll your eyes and angle your face to look behind you. His eyes meet yours, a hint of amusement in his blue irises. It irritates you to see just how much fun he is having with this. All of the positive feelings you felt towards him begin to slowly dissipate, his sudden cockiness grating your nerves.
“I think of the future,” you finally respond, turning your head back towards the front. Your drop your gaze to the diary in your hands, the horse’s trot just stable enough for you to read.
“I thought you were lost in the past,” Xavier chuckles. You suck in a breath, shoulders tensing. “Now thy worries over the future?”
“Yes, your Highness, ’tis what I said,” your voice is sharp.
You open the diary with a huff, frowning at the tan pages. You flip through the entires, knowing that your ancestor’s words are completely foreign to the man who sits behind you. You stop at one entry whose words catch your attention. You see the old Emperor’s name, Caleb, and stop flicking through the pages.
“Do you wish to be alone?” Xavier quietly asks. He slightly leans forward and stares at the pages. The script is a mystery to him. He may be able to comprehend a few spoken words, but to read it? It is an entirely different story. Your silence is answer enough for him to nod to himself, tearing his gaze away from the diary and to focus on the environment around you.
You silently struggle with your feelings for the crown prince. He has been nothing but kind to you — besides your confrontation when your fathers’ decided on a marriage between the two of you — and he has been patient with your blunt questions. He even sat in front of your tent to make for sure that you were safe. His kind gestures make your heart flutter but your mind combats every single instinct that kicks in.
You do not know if you can trust him. You do not know if he is someone worth your love and attention or if he will have it in himself to return the positive afflictions. Will it even be possible for your heart to come to love a man like him? You know that you can tolerate him, that you will find a rhythm that the two of you can fall into if love does not blossom or come into fruition. There is just that hint of hesitation, though, the single insecure thought that lingers in your mind.
You are a woman. He is a man. He is able to get away with so much more than you ever will. He will be allowed to keep mistresses if he so desires and you will remain alone in your separate bedchambers with nothing but a book and the candlelight to keep you company. He is allowed to lose control, to show his anger while you must remain quiet and obedient, subservient to him and him alone.
Unfortunately, you live in a world dominated by men. For your entire life, you were surrounded by powerful men — even your brother as a boy employed more power than you — who could control the outcome of the Nabiran kingdom with a snap of their fingers. Oftentimes, your father’s male advisors would shut you out of political meetings. Whenever the Lemurians, or other diplomatic kingdoms, came to visit, you were told to entertain the women and girls who were brought along while the men drank wine from behind closed doors.
Always forced to watch, never allowed to participate.
The day has been long and hard. You sat in silence, only speaking in short whenever Xavier asks you a question or if you need anything. The sun begins to make its descent back towards the horizon and you can’t help but feel relieved. With the sight of trees and greenery now coming into view, you know that the port of Tartus is near. The sand dunes have turned into grasslands, the yellow and green grass replacing the golds and browns of the sand.
“Princess,” Xavier’s voice draws you out of your thoughts. You hum in response, eyes remaining closed as the horse continues on its way. “Why did thou remain silent before?”
“My mother taught me that if one does not have a kind thing to say, to not say it at all,” you play coy and dance around the meaning of your silence.
Xavier simply chuckles in response, shaking his head. He enjoys this game with you, whether you are aware of it or not. He rests his hand on his thigh, looking away and at the setting sun.
The Philos army travels across the bluffs of the new village. It is governed by Nabira but most of its soldiers come from Lemuria, an old alliance that formed between the kingdoms centuries ago. Two halves that operate in peace and harmony. Xavier looks away, thinking that it will take about an hour to reach the port. He feels your body relax against him once he notices you finally catch wind of the sight.
“Is there someone thou wishes to see there?” there is slight hint of jealousy to his voice and in the way his body slightly tenses up.
Xavier knows that you were originally betrothed to the Lemurian prince, a man by the name of Rafayel. He has only met the prince a handful of times and their interactions were short and brief. He has the most unusual appearance, his hair a vibrant purple color and his irises holding more than one color. Rafayel is extremely extroverted, the complete opposite of the prince himself. Xavier prefers to engage with parties from the outside whereas Rafayel loves to be in the middle of it all.
He does not wish to speak ill of your previous betrothed, simply following your mother’s advice that you bestowed upon him.
“And if there is?” a small smirk flashes across your face.
You hide it as you turn to face him, his hand finding itself on your side as you lean into it, getting the best look possible. His brows are slightly knitted, his jaw clenched. His eyes have lost all of their wonder and dare you say it — sparkle — that he once held towards you. There is a darkness behind his eyes and yet all you can feel amusement towards his sudden possessiveness towards you because, well…what else could it be?
“Will thou play the role of my knight in shining armor?” you lower your voice.
Xavier’s Adam’s apple bobs up and down. His grip on the leather reins tightens. His heart pounds on the inside of his chest. He unconsciously moves towards you, leaning in as his breathing grows heavier.
You truly are a viper, aren’t you?
You let out a quiet sigh. Leaning forward, you pluck the veil from your bag, placing it over your head and the diary. Xavier may not be able to understand the written form of your language, but you wish to have some kind of privacy from the outside world as you travel the last length of distance. The diary opens up with a soft crinkle sound, your finger acting as a bookmark. Sunlight breaks through the sheer veil but protects your eyes from the star, the veil providing slight shade for you.
In the quiet of my chambers, the oil lamps flicker low… The weight of my crown feels most distant. I confess to these pages that I dare not speak aloud.
Caleb. My emperor.
Your ancestor’s silent plight calls to you. You see her words, feeling as they resonate throughout your body. The ink looks shaky as if her hands were trembling as she wrote these words. She has gone through the same conflict you feel inside of your heart and mind. Forced to be wed to a stranger, a man who holds power.
Yours is a mere prince, the weight of a newer yet large kingdom resting on your shoulders. Your ancestor, though? She married an emperor who ruled an empire that stretched from one side of the world to the other.
And yet your internal struggles remain as one, the same trouble of having to share the sheets with a man who is so foreign to you. Does she share the same worries of a mistress? Does she also feel the inexplicable urge to cross the distance, no matter how big or small it may be, and to unite with him as one?
Betrayal coated over a toad. But for some reason I find myself wanting to kiss him.
He stands atop marble steps now gilded in cracks and anger. But I can't help my feelings for him. Even when duty made a stranger of him.
Yet in the stillness that followed…Gideon emerged.
A quiet laugh leaves your lips before you can stop it. You continue to read through the passage, unable to contain the small gasps that leave your body from the revelations that she has confessed to the pages of the diary. The heat from the irony of the situation making the sun even more unbearable. You feel the warmth of Xavier’s armor push into your back. From the corner of your eye, you watch as he reaches to the side of you, picking up the corner of the veil before slowly lifting it up.
“Yes, Xavier?” you ask with a quiet voice, closing the diary. “Is there something thou wishes to say?”
“What…amuses you?” Xavier asks in a quiet voice. “Thine’s smile disappeared when she saw me…how may I see it again?”
You swallow the lump in your throat. Your gaze flickers to the sliver between his head and the fabric, the blue sky growing darker. Xavier simply leans to the side and effortlessly catches your gaze once again.
“Answer me,” his command is harsh while his tone reeks of slight desperation.
Perhaps you made your judgment on him too quick. Maybe Xavier truly does wish to make an effort to be your husband. Your future with him will now be one that is easy and complimentary, yes? You will both make an effort for things to be good. Maybe love will come out of it in due time.
“Are you asking me that as the future king or as Xavier?” you quietly ask. Xavier’s face flinches. Your eyes drop to his lips before moving back to his eyes.
He does not reply. You slightly tilt your head to the side, the sunset flashing into your eyes, illuminating your irises. Xavier’s breath hitches and he suddenly believes in his country’s religion again. He blinks at you, too flustered to focus.
Suddenly, the sound of men’s snickering and cheers captures your attention. You draw away from Xavier, your posture straightening. You turn to the front, staring through the veil, noticing that the soldiers stare at the two of you. Embarrassment floods your body, your cheeks heating up. Xavier slips out of the veil, his sharp glare silencing the soldiers.
“Turn around,” Xavier commands them with such ease it sends chills down your spine.
He slows your horse, the soldiers passing by on their own animals or jogging around you. Xavier watches them as they go, your horse coming to a full stop. His hands slip under the fabric that pools at your hips, his gloved hand resting on your stomach, pulling you closer to him. You cannot move. You’re frozen as time and the soldiers pass you by, only able to fully breathe again once the sound of their horse’s and footsteps fade into nothing.
Xavier removes the veil from your body, holding it away from you as you try to snatch it back from him. The horse whinnies. You glare at him, turning back around to the front, watching as the soldiers march into the distance. Xavier’s grip on you tightens. The raised metal of his coat of arms pokes into your skin, leaving you breathless. He leans down, the tip of his nose grazing against the shell of your ear with closed eyes.
“Do you wish me to be?” Xavier whispers into your ear.
“Wish thou to be what?”
“To be yours, your knight in shining armor,” Xavier is breathless, his cheeks bright in color. You close your eyes, unable to think of an immediate response.
Is it not early to show such affections? Is Xavier showing his cards too easy? It feels like a trap. A sudden sweetness to win your favor before his alliance with Nabira can be severed when your Lemurian friend comes into the portrait. There is no way that he could possibly feel jealousy towards an old suitor. You were never going to leave Xavier even if you tried. You need Philos’ alliance for your father’s sake. You are unequivocally his despite your distaste towards the matter.
“Do what you want,” you breathe out, “it is no matter to me.”
“Truly you do not mean that,” he quickly follows up.
“Unburden yourself, Xavier,” his breath hitches at the sound of his name, “and take us to the port.”
Xavier follows your command. He kicks the horse into motion, tightly holding the reins to keep the horse in check. The horse shifts into a gallop, crossing the distance with ease and flipping up through the pack. The people part for his highness and you remain resigned in front of him, focusing your eyes on the port that lies ahead.
You wish that your childhood friend, a boy you haven’t seen in little over three years since the crusades were first brought to Nabira’s attention, is there to see you to your new home. Rafayel was the one who sailed the seas and rode on a horse with his father as soon as they saw Philos’ army. They did not hesitate to offer help, help which your father declined, and you had to say goodbye to the man you originally were ready to marry.
It will be nice to see him. You can silently plead for aid and protection with the Lemurian ladies in the Philos court — if they have any, that is. He is sure to help you. Maybe he will find himself at your wedding to the infamous Lumière, a man who was sure to have killed both Nabirans and Lemurians in battle. Xavier was a common enemy before he turned into your betrothed. Does that change things with your Lemurian prince now?
After an hour, the Philos army reaches the lively port. The army stays on the outskirts of the port city while you, Xavier, the King, and a smaller portion of the army make your way through the decorated scene. You know that today is a Lemurian holiday, one where they take the night off and dance the night away. They are very free spirited people with art, music, and their navy being their priorities and greatest achievements. Even Rafayel is known to have a few masterpieces under his belt at his young age.
The smile returns to your face. Many of the Lemurian and Nabiran citizens bow their heads at you, stopping in their tracks to show their reverence for their domina. It was sure to be known by now that you are leaving for the rest of your life, that you will never return. Tonight will be as much about your release from the kingdom as much as it is their holiday.
Xavier keeps his eyes on you, watching as you gaze upon the Lemurian rich city with such wonder and awe. It is different from Philos’ much more mild mannered festivities. The city, even when it is an ocean away from their kingdom, is much more vibrant and colorful compared to Philos’ whites and grays color scheme. Much more lighter and monotone from the Lemurian’s bright blues and pinks and purples.
He knows that you will have much fun tonight. There is no reason for you to listen to him or keep you away from that friend of yours. He may accompany you, though, even if you disagree to it. He wants to see what his future bride likes to take part in. It is what every good husband should know, no? He should make for sure that man does not taint your honor or bring any stigmas onto yourself for the Philos court to hear about before your arrival.
It is the least he can do as your future husband.
The horses arrive at the Lemurian’s biggest ship, the Abysswalker, a ship that Rafayel is known to command, just as the sailors disembark from the wooden ship. As soon as Xavier’s horse comes to a slow, you swing your leg over the horse’s head and slide off of the animal, your feet colliding with the earth made dock that the Aysswalker is connected to.
“The domina has arrived,” Rafayel calls to his men as he walks down the wooden plank over the small gap between the ship and the dock, “make sure to behave.” A smile spreads across his face. Your eyes flicker to his hair, which is longer than you remember it being, the purple strands stopping right when they meet his shoulders.
“Is that a command for me or your men?” you smile at him, resting your hands on your hips just as he steps foot back onto land. He stops right in front of you and leans down, brushing your hair out of your face.
“I’d like to think it was one for you,” Rafayel’s smile is as bright as the rest of his face. He mimics your hands on the hips and rests back on one foot. “Did you get shorter?”
“One would think you are insufferable,” you retort back.
“Welcome to Tartus, my lady,” Rafayel takes a step forward, delicately taking your hand. He brings your knuckles to his mouth, his eyes meeting yours, and presses a sweet kiss to your hand like the true gentleman he is. You crack a smile at him, feeling even safer with him than you do with Xavier. Rafayel’s eyes flicker to Xavier, who has gotten off the horse and made himself at home in the space behind you. “Prince Xavier, we have been expecting thy’s arrival.”
“Is that so?” Xavier rests his hand on the hilt of his sword. You purse your lips in annoyance. “Will you be the one who escorts my queen and I to Philos?”
“Yes,” Rafayel’s posture stiffens at the mention of you being his so called queen. His eyes move to you, catching the annoyance that moves across your face. “My apologies if our banter has crossed a line with your…king.”
“I am not his queen yet,” you muse, feeling the tension begin to form between the three of you. You are simply weighing all of your options. You do not wish to marry a man who may be planning your death, making it look like the journey to Philos destroyed you. At least you know you are safe with the Lemurians around.
“Ah,” Rafayel nods his head, turning his attention back to Xavier, “allow me to show you to your quarters. Thou must have had a long day. Rest will do you well before we set sail.”
Xavier nods and steps around you, following the men that immediately move from behind Rafayel. The Philos soldiers set off, except for his father’s Kingsguard, for their own camp since they will be traveling back to Philos by foot. About three years journey across the land if Xavier’s father decides to not send any ships to pick them up and ease the distance. He hesitates when he notices that you and Rafayel do not move a muscle, your eyes never leaving each other’s.
“It’s been a long time,” you whisper to him over the sound of squawking birds, “you’ve grown into the role of Captain.”
“Admiral, actually,” Rafayel’s smile grows more smug by the second. You nod your head at him, keeping it coy and detached. “Do you wish to celebrate tonight, my lady? I remember you telling me that you would love to celebrate the holiday.”
“I would love to if you are the one who keeps me company,” perhaps you are a little too polite in your response. It is all in good faith and all at the expense of your soon to be husband. You like the way his face darkens when another man offers you his gaze, the way he grows jealous at even the slightest thought of you plotting against him or simply when you entertain someone who isn’t him.
“I shall join too, then,” Xavier steps back. His eyes move to yours then your lips. “I shall accompany you.”
“Three is considered to be a crowd,” Rafayel tries to interject.
“Who is to say that he may last through the night?” you challenge. Xavier’s nostrils flare. “My prince, perchance you have spare clothes for me to wear.”
“It can be arranged, princess,” your head snaps in his direction at the title. Rafayel smirks and steps away, walking towards the nearby building by the dock.
You let out an amused huff of air. Xavier steps in front of you. He tightly grips his sword, looking down at you with intense eyes. You attempt to step around him but Xavier blocks the path, his armored hand digging into your flesh. You let out a quiet gasp, feeling a stinging sensation as he yanks you towards him.
“Am I to be worried, princess?” Xavier asks, his voice low and dangerous.
“We speak of clothes,” you say.
“Do you think me a fool?” Xavier counters. You catch the sharpness in his tone.
“You know I am to be yours,” you match his tone, “he means no harm.”
“He is mad.”
“Just as you are?” you lift your connected hands to his eye line.
Xavier immediately releases his grip. He takes a step back, the scrapes of his armor quiet, and diverts his gaze. You purse your lips and walk around him, following in the direction that Rafayel walked in.
The purple haired prince approaches a tall sandstone building. It is much taller than the rest of the seaside village, a landmark for those watching from afar but also a place for nobles and diplomats to stay. You have never been here but your brother has and he told you all about how lively the village is, the way the candles are never snuffed out, acting like golden stars in the night sky.
You pick up the extra fabric that pools near your feet as you walk. You slice through the crowd, the people dispersing as soon as they notice you, and watch as Rafayel waves his hands at the guards by the door. The wooden doors creak to life as you reach the top of the stairs. The prince offers you his arm and you immediately take it.
Xavier scoffs from behind, glaring at the sight of your connected bodies. A scowl overtakes his face as he steps through the doors, entering inside of the brightly lit noble-run home. Servants scurry past, holding sheets and plates of food, bowing their heads at Xavier as they pass. He approaches his father’s side, his eyes never leaving you and Rafayel as you laugh about some comment he makes. Xavier does not see the humor you do in the prince. Do you not know that he is known to be a rake? Xavier and his hand, Jeremiah, have watched as Rafayel passed himself around the ballroom, never taking the time to act like a proper human being.
“Do you know of the festivities, father?” Xavier has to pull his gaze away from you and Rafayel, turning to look at the king that stands beside him. “Will they be…worthwhile?”
“You should partake,” the king responds. He barely even looks at Xavier as he speaks with one of the captains in his army, “unwind. Get to know your wife. Be a prince.”
“Be a prince?” Xavier repeats the words with a slight scoff. “Am I not the man you molded me to be?”
“Tonight,” Xavier’s father sighs and dismisses his man. From over his son’s shoulder, he watches as you and Rafayel disappear up the stairs with a governess close behind, a role that you will soon grow used to once you reach Philos. “Drop thy sword and shed yourself of thine armor. Indulge yourself. Be ready to leave it behind as soon as the sun rises.”
“Yes, sir,” Xavier mutters to himself.
He bows his head to his father and turns away, one of the servants beckoning for him to follow to his temporary bed chambers. The prince allows himself to relax on the journey up through stairs, the metal armor on his body finally beginning to weigh him down. He reaches the top of the stairs. The sound of your laughter stops him in his path. He abandons the servant and walks down the hallway, the clicks of his metal boots echoing down the corridor.
You sit in a room with Rafayel, along with a handful of other nobles who reside in the seaside village, and hold a glass of wine in your hand, swirling around the dark liquid before bringing it up to your lips. The language has changed from the one from Philos to a picture between Nabiran and Lemurian. Neither you nor Rafayel could stick with just one. You watch Rafayel from over the rim of the gold chalice, his drunken friends lounged on the couch as they twiddle with the strings of a lute, the dull notes filling the calmed atmosphere.
“Tell me, domina,” Rafayel begins. He takes a sip from his chalice before lowering it to the table, crossing the distance, and placing himself in the open space beside you, “what do you think of life outside of Nabira’s castle walls?”
“Tis different,” you cooly respond. You place your goblet beside his. “I never thought I would have left so soon.”
“Right,” Rafayel leans down, his eyes fixated on yours, “one did not think your father would ever let you leave the palace. He barely let anyone in for that matter.”
“And yet here I am,” you muse, slightly narrowing your eyes at the purple haired man, “outside of the walls, about to set sail on your ship towards my new fate.”
“I knew I would have the honor of sailing with you,” the prince begins. He slowly leans in some more, your noses a dangerous distance from one another. He tilts his head to the side, taking in the floral scent of your perfume, the way you hold yourself strong against his sudden closeness. Rafayel lowers his voice, his eyes slightly darkening. “I always thought the destination would be Lemuria rather than...Philos.”
You hesitate to respond. You watch Rafayel carefully, observing the way his eyes are all over your face, taking you in from a short distance. He smells like the sea, the hint of salty water and his sweat, his musk, mixes in with the scent. His eyes are vibrant and yet you can see the overprotective nature of your friend begin to seep out.
When Rafayel and his aunt, the Princess Talia, visited Nabira when he was just a boy, he would refuse to let you leave his sight. The two of you would always sit next to each other during meals and he would make you show him all of your favorite places in the Nabiran palace. You showed him the statues of your ancestors, the painted images that you quietly prayed to. He watched as you shot your arrows and in turn you watched him as he fought your brother with wooden swords — although you remember him favoring a trident instead.
“Are you disappointed in the outcome, my prince?” you quietly ask.
“Do not call me that,” Rafayel whispers. “I know the game thou dost engage in.”
“Call thou what?” you play the role of an innocent damsel much to his dismay.
“My prince.”
“Why not?” you tilt your head to the side, eyes never leaving his. It feels as if you can barely breathe with him so close to you, the tension bubbling in the air. “It is thy’s title, is it not?”
“Yes but,” Rafayel sucks in a breath, his voice neither rising nor falling, “I am no longer yours.”
“Thou art my friend,” you whisper, “art thou not?”
“I should be glad that you are his vixen to deal with,” Rafayel pulls away. With the distance, you are able to breathe again. “You are his princess—”
“Domina,” you sharply correct him, your gaze narrowing, “I am not married to him yet.”
“You aren’t,” Rafayel shifts his weight to his back foot, watching you closely, “but thou will be soon enough.”
Your body runs cold. There is truth to his words, you know it to be true. Denial runs through your thoughts. You have accepted your fate and yet here you are, spiraling over someone else pointing out the less than ideal circumstances you find yourself in.
A small smile breaks Rafayel’s serious demeanor. He reaches for your chalice, taking it from its place, and brings it to his lips, sipping the dark red wine that sits inside the cup. You tear your gaze away from him, clearing your throat, and notice a silver figure move into the darkness of the hallway, the wooden door closing shut.
“That prince of yours is trouble,” the Lemurian says from behind you. You do not turn to look at him, simply wishing that you will see Xavier soon. “I do not trust him.”
“Is that so?” you hum, finally turning to look at Rafayel. He simply nods in response.
You look back to the door, pushing off of the table you stand beside, and walk towards it, pushing the wooden panel open. You take a step out. The corridor is much more dark than the inside of the parlor room. Lit candles hang from chandeliers, the wax spilling over the dark metal. The light is warm, a deep orange to cut through the darkness of the night, and you look at Rafayel from over your shoulder.
“Fetch me when you are ready to embark,” you offer him a small smile. Rafayel simply nods in response, turning away from you and to the nobles inside of the parlor.
You disappear down the corridor, following the sound of footsteps up the next flight of stairs. The figure escapes you as soon as you reach the top and you let out an annoyed huff of air. You take a glance around and let out a quiet sigh, walking down the stone hallway. The sounds of your sandals swiping against the floor fills in the silent hallway. You can hear the faint crashing of distant waves, the ocean restless as ever, while you navigate your way towards your bedchambers. As soon as the door comes into sight, you disappear behind it.
Your leather bag and bow sit on your bed, a welcome sight for sore eyes. You approach the bed and sit on the edge, a small frown forming on your face. Rafayel’s words of warning sit with you. They leave you no comfort nor do they make you feel secure in your silent alliance with him. Xavier has given you no signal that he wishes to betray you — quite the opposite, actually, with his sudden posessiveness over you — nor has there been any signs from his father that he wishes to make you a martyr to the people of Nabira.
The sudden competition between Xavier and Rafayel is nothing you could have ever expected for yourself. You always thought that the other men in your life would respect the choices made for you. You are forced to remain passive when it comes to your marital status while the men around you are actively dictating who you will fall asleep beside for the rest of your days. This is, unless your husband were to die. Then you would be forced off to wed yet another man in power whose only mission in life is to secure his throne and provide his kingdom with an heir.
The leather bound diary stares at you. It sits beside the leather bag, its gold accents and jewels beckoning you towards it. You reach out and grasp the small book, bringing it towards your chest. Perhaps your ancestor’s words will bring you some semblance of peace. The pages welcome you as soon as you open the diary, her handwriting already calming down your rapidly beating heart.
Caleb was the sun. Gideon is the moon.
How could she have had the same predicament as you? Feeling affection towards two men. Your familiarity with Rafayel, the bright spirited man whom you have held affection towards for so long.
Then there is Xavier. A man whom you have been forced to share horseback with, forever tied to his reins, unable to make an escape from his intense eyes and wandering hands. In the time you have spent together, little has been said. You originally thought that silence was the best way to show your rebellion towards him and the arranged marriage.
You move to the next passage of the diary entry.
He speaks little, but in his silence, I find refuge. I see the burden he carries. The way his eyes linger too long when he thinks I do not notice. The protection he offers in more ways than one.
Could you too find refuge in his silence? You know he watches you every chance he gets. You are sure that he will never be too far from you if he is to attend the Lemurian festivities tonight. He is sure to drown in the crowd, to fade into the background while you take center stage with your would have been husband, the man you always imagined standing beside instead of the fair headed man your father sold you off to.
Will this be a test for him to show his worth to you? A way to win your heart over in the political game of intrigue that you have found yourself in? He has been in it for his entire life, surely he knows how to win the heart of his chosen princess…your heart.
I should be ashamed, but I am only tired. Tired of pretending the ache in my chest is loyalty alone… If the gods hear me, let them judge gently. My heart is torn between crown comfort and love. Let this ink keep my secret.
You never believed in the gods. Sure, your mother held an expectation of religion upon you, but you knew the truth. You knew that the gods abandoned the earth a long time ago, around the fall of Rome, when magic and Evols have left world. They took all of the splendor with them. The magic that you wished so desperately to see.
Tales told during the fall of Rome have left the world wondering what happened to people who held magic. Did they die with the Emperor and his bloodline? Were they hunted for sport and killed in gladiator battles like martyrs? Or has the magic the world once held in its people slowly vanish throughout the years?
Your mother always liked to joke that you hold the same power like your ancestor, arguably one of the greatest Emperors that Rome has had, but more in the way of him being able to connect and unite his empire together. You have always had the charm of an angel and people naturally gravitated towards you. According to your mother, you also hold a special connection to the past, something that nobody has ever seen before.
You like to call it empathy but your mother thinks your ancestors have chosen you to be their voice.
You close the diary and let out a slow exhale. The pads of your fingers run along the cover, feeling the warm metal against your touch. It grounds you as your mind wanders away from itself. You stand from the bed and take a quick peek into a nearby trunk, pulling out a blue silk dress, one made in a Lemurian fashion. You hold the dress in your hands. It feels devastatingly heavy despite the thinness to it. Your thoughts turn into the future, what it holds for you. You have accepted the fact that you are stuck between two men.
Both of whom wish to see you by their side, whether they have said it aloud or not is neither here nor there. Both men wish to see you thrive but to thrive under their control, a queen that will serve them the best for them and their reign. You do not know if you should feel flattered by this revelation or if you should pack your things, steal a horse, and run back to the safety of the Nabiran border.
A knock at the door. Your posture straightens. You wipe away a tear that you did not know even fell. The door pushes open and you narrow your eyes in the darkness, seeing a pale head of hair enter your chambers. You quickly stand, hands folded in front of your stomach. Xavier is quick to close the door, making sure that it does not make too much noise to alert any of the guards who stand down the hall. He wears a white cotton shirt, the small strings of fabric remaining untied, exposing the top part of his muscular build. The sleeves are slightly puffy. One glance down shows that he wears leather pants and matching boots. He is a prime example of what a peasant in Philos would look like. Well, that is what the books you have read told you. He turns around, his eyes finally landing on yours.
He is silent. He slowly takes in your appearance, his sword remaining attached to his side. His blue eyes drop from your face and to your body. Suddenly you feel small under his gaze. You swallow the lump that forms in your throat, hands growing clammy. You fidget with your fingers as Xavier takes slow and calculated steps towards you. The air thins with every step. You tilt your head to look up at him, the silk gentle against your skin, moving with your body. You take a step backwards. The back of your knees hit the bed frame, the slightly splintered wood pushing into your flesh.
“You look…beautiful,” Xavier breathes out.
His hand moves towards your face, gently cupping your cheek. You do not move. His touch sends chills down your spine and your mouth goes dry. Xavier’s eyes drop from your face, the tips of his fingers grazing against your skin. You suck in a sharp breath. The tips of his fingers move from your cheek to the exposed skin on your shoulder. There is a strip of blue and white silk with a layer of sheer and pearls covering it. It hangs from your shoulder, acting like a loose sleeve. Xavier’s calloused finger hooks around the sleeve, giving it a gentle tug.
“Thou is silent again,” Xavier quietly remarks.
“I have nothing to say,” you murmur. His eyes flit to yours. Your heart skips a beat, cheeks slowly heating. He leans in, trapping you against the bed
“Is it polite to not give thanks?” Xavier matches your volume. You try to look away but he tilts his head to meet your eyes once again. “Answer me.”
“Pray tell, why dost thou concern himself?” you whisper. The candle flickers in the background. You try to use it to steady yourself but Xavier’s proximity makes you feel uneasy.
“Thou is my wife,” Xavier murmurs. He reaches up and pushes the dark hair out of your face, his eyes focusing on yours once again. “My bride’s concerns shall be mine.”
“I am not thy bride,” you breathe the words out and close your eyes just as he leans in.
Your foreheads meet and his hands find themselves on your waist. He pulls you close to him, your body flush against his. Your hands rest on his chest, pushing against his defined muscles through the thin fabric of his shirt. He keeps you close, though, his breathing mixing in with yours, growing heavier by the second. His hand moves from your waist to the back of your head, his lips now hovering beside your ear.
“Why must you deny me the pleasure that is you?” Xavier sighs. “Must thou remain difficult?”
“I am not a heart to be won, just to be forgotten,” you respond. You unconsciously move your hands from his chest and place them around his neck, hooking around him. He pulls you closer. “I am not won through chivalrous gestures nor will I be swayed with grand romance.”
“Then tell me,” the prince pulls away. His hand slips from the back of your head and to your cheek. His touch is fire against your skin. It burns. Your stomach flips in on itself. You catch yourself before you can lean into it. “Tell me how I shall win thy heart.”
“Tis not my heart to be won,” you loosen your grip on him, “tis respect and honor. Duty.”
“Duty?” his face flickers with confusion. You slip away from him but the tips of his fingers graze along the bare skin of your arm. He captures your hand, not allowing you to escape him quite yet.
“Love will grace thine hearts in time. Tis a truth we must embrace. I seek a noble soul, a steadfast protector, who shall remain at my side, undaunted by the whispers and tales woven by thy’s court,” your whisper grows louder. Xavier loosens his grip on your hand, allowing it to fall back to your side. “Thus shall you win my favor and heart’s desire.”
The village streets are as lively as Rafayel described to you as a child. Tonight’s celebration is one from Lemurian tradition, a Festival of the Sea. It is a way for the Lemurians, who originated in coastal towns in the early days of the Roman Empire, to give back to the sea, to give the oceans their thanks and praises for providing them with the means necessary to survive. Lemruians are servants to the sea and they bow to no man.
You consider yourself lucky to have an alliance with them, especially with their prince. An alliance with a Lemurian is almost always a guaranteed victory, especially when the battles take place on the sea or in royal courts across the continent.
Your arm is wrapped with Rafayel’s, his long purple hair getting caught with the wind. The two of you laugh as you reach the center of the seaside village, smiles plastered on your faces as Xavier plays the role of chaperone, remaining just a few seconds behind.
The three of you are a couple drinks in. You have passed through the stalls passing out desserts from your home kingdom and Rafayel’s as well. At one point in time, you passed off your favorite treats for Xavier to try. He finished them all with no questions or refusals, the loose crumbs from the sweet bread seasoned with saffron remains along the outline of his lips. You fought the urge to reach out and wipe the specks away.
Temptation is a slippery slope, though.
The sun has finally lowered below the horizon. Candle light and torches illuminate the night as people pass by each other with practiced ease. You miss the mixture of blues and oranges but appreciate the sight of the stars in the sky, their light and twinkling appearance putting you at ease.
You turn and look at Xavier from over your shoulder. He trails behind you and Rafayel, having remained silent for the majority of the night. You had hoped that tonight would have brought him out of his shell but you learned to appreciate his respect and openness to new traditions and cultures that are laid before him.
Xavier watches as the mixture of Lemruains and Nabrians flows throughout the village. It is unusual for him to see. The only time that Xavier has such two kingdoms get along so well — tried to, at least — was at his cousin’s wedding. One of Philos’ daughters was wed off to a king to the northwest of them, located on a smaller island.
Xavier’s mind wanders to his cousin’s wedding. He wonders what it felt like to be married to a stranger. Did her husband feel as intoxicated with her like he feels with you? Did his cousin’s husband fall in love the moment she tried to put him in his place?
He remembers his cousin’s tears the morning of her wedding. She did not get in a choice in the matter, much like you, but unlike your circumstance with Xavier, the first time she met her king was at the wedding altar. She did not have the liberty of meeting him beforehand, they did not receive the chance to get to know each other like Xavier has with you. It is not like you talked much, though. You have remained silent while you rode across the small stretch of desert.
“What does he think of?” you turn back around, looking towards the tile ground. Rafayel looks down at you, barely sparing the fair headed prince a glance before he stops walking, stopping you with him.
“Your Highness,” Rafayel waves his hand in front of Xavier’s face. He wears a smug smirk on his face, his arm still linked with yours. He stands slightly in front of you, his face not in your eye line. “Your domina asked a question of you.”
“You did?” Xavier turns his attention to you, his once hardened expression softening.
“Twas wondering what you think of,” you state, looking straight into his eyes. You can still feel the burning sensation of his skin against yours, the way the fire and spark lingers on your body, gifting you no release. The corners of Xavier’s lips perk up in a moment of happiness but it disappears as soon as he opens his mouth to speak.
“The future,” he responds, beginning to use your own words against you.
“The future?” you tilt your head to the side, feeling seen with the way he speaks.
“Tis what I stated.”
Rafayel’s eyes flicker between the two of you. The purple haired prince does not particularly enjoy the sudden familiarity between you and your prince. He slips your hand free from his arm, catching your attention, but he quickly laces your fingers with his. You look up at him just as the heart of the village, the city square whose floor is covered in beautiful and vibrant tiles that are laid in a design of a lotus flower, begins to play its next song.
“Dance with me, domina,” Rafayel requests of you. You begin to shake your head, not remembering the last time you have danced was, especially in the carefree and energetic Lemurian fashion.
“I do not know if it is a good idea!” you laugh. From the corner of your eye, you watch as Xavier slips free from your vision.
“As long as it is a choice we make,” Rafayel draws you close to him, your hands resting upon his chest, as your combined laughter floats into the air.
The city square is flooded with people. You and Rafayel take to the center of the dance floor, assuming your beginning position together, his hand massive in comparison to yours. There are a few other couples lined up around you, their smiles as big as yours. Xavier remains in the background. One of Rafayel’s soldiers places a chalice filled with wine into his hand. He immediately begins to drink as the music swells, the string instruments and makeshift drums filling the night air.
Rafayel remains in place as you circle around him once you listen for the note to move. Your body is loose as you step around the Lemurian. Your eyes meet his blue and pink ones, feeling as the man’s hands attach themselves to yours. You memorize the sharpness of the gold and red lines on his face, admiring the way they make him look more mature. He spins you around with ease. The crowd that surrounds the dance floor is a blur.
You do not catch the scowl on Xavier’s face as he passes off the chalice to the Lemurian soldier. The wine burns down his throat. His body tingles and feels so light yet so heavy at the same time. His blue eyes remain on you and you alone. The blue silk of your dress catches in the wind while Rafayel spins you around. He wishes it was him in the Lemruian’s place.
“Thou remembers the steps,” Rafayel speaks once he brings your body back to his. The two of you dance with ease, the steps to the routine coming back to you through muscle memory.
“Tis back like a faded memory!” your laugh is breathless, the wine from before finally taking an effect on your body. You close your eyes, your smile big across your face, Rafayel’s hands guiding you through the moves. His hands attach to your waist and he lifts you up in the air, your silk dress flowing in the wind, before your feet connect with the ground again. You look up at him from over your shoulder once the music comes to an end, slightly out of breath. “I need wine!”
“Aye!” Rafayel cheers from over the sound of applause. He claps his hands together before taking your hand into his, leading you away from the dance floor.
Xavier’s head perks up as soon as he catches a glimpse of your blue dress leaving the dance floor. He pushes through the crowd as people file onto the mosaic tiled floor. He bumps into a few peasants, offering a quiet apology as his vision blurs. He spots your skirt and follows it like it is his North Star. The prince does not lose sight of it, watching as you sit at a nearby table where Rafayel takes the spot by your side. The man stumbles up to the table and sits on the wooden bench, making for sure that he is in front of you.
“Xavier,” there is a hint of concern in your voice. You lean forward just as a woman places glasses of wine and mead onto the table. “Art thou—”
“The prince will be okay, my domina,” Rafayel interrupts. He reaches over you and places the glass of mead in front of Xavier, placing one of wine front of you. You turn and look at him, beginning to shake your head. “Aye, calm, domina. He can take care of himself.”
“Tis not why I worry,” you mutter under your breath.
You look at Xavier. His cheeks are light pink in color, his eyes disoriented as he looks directly at you. It sends chills down your spine. you look him up and down, noticing the beads of sweat that roll down his neck. The man is clearly not used to the heat, thankfully, he will be back in his kingdom and you with him. There is enough space for him on the bench beside you. You gesture to it and the man’s eyes grow wide. He stands and rounds the table, taking the place by your side.
“Necessary?” Rafayel asks in his mother tongue. The sound is sweet on your ears. You welcome it with open arms.
“His men are watching,” you return your words in his language while covering your action with an excuse, nodding your head to the Philos dressed soldiers who stand not too far away. “Does thou wish for my image to be tainted?”
“If it means I get to thou mine, it would have been worth it,” Rafayel’s voice is genuine.
You pause in your moment, feeling Xavier lean into your side. You meet Rafayel’s gaze but he is quick to look away. A frown forms across your face, your stomach erupting with butterflies. Rafayel finally turns to look back at you, his face void of his charade, one that he kept on to ensure that your prince felt safe in enemy territory.
“Might I take a quick leave? The night is not over and I wish to break bread with thou one last time before we sail the sea,” Rafayel stands from the bench and leaves before you can even respond.
You face forward, staring at the group of people who dance and sing in the Lemurian tongue. The chalice of wine in your hand grows lighter as you sip on the alcohol, your body slipping into a more relaxed state. Xavier groans from beside you, his blue eyes desperately wanting to meet yours but you are too to notice him. He sits up, holding all of his weight to himself now, and stares at the lively scene before him.
Philos is not like this. Their celebrations are much more tame in comparison to the Lemurians. They dance in organized rows and their desserts are are frivolous as their clothes. Many woman in Philos dress their best every single day. Their fashion is to catch the eyes of possible suitors — or perhaps the eye of a prince — and to show off their wealth. It is materialistic now that he thinks about it. Xavier never paid too much attention to it, his head always in a book or sparring with other soldiers at the base of the mountain. His time, much like yours, has been dedicated to the betterment of his kingdom, not to learn dances for celebrations or worry if he wears the most expensive fabrics.
Although, Xavier will spend the kingdom’s treasury if you asked him to. He will buy you all of the silks and jewels that you could ever ask for. He will hand you gold coins for exotic animals and perfumes if it meant he got to see the same smile you wore on your face while dancing.
“Princess,” Xavier slightly slurs the word, his rationality finally catching up to him.
“Prince,” you return his greeting, turning your head to look at the man.
“I wish to leave this place,” he informs you. You raise your eyebrows, slight dejection morphing across your face. “I wish to leave while thou wishes to remain. Pray tell, when I depart, dost thou intend to spend the eve with Prince Rafayel?”
“What hath befallen thee?” your voice is loud enough to listen to over the sound of the string and wind instruments. The banging of the drum is noticeably absent as a slower song plays. “Why worry oneself with trivial matters?”
“It matters,” Xavier reassures you. His eyes move away and he spots Rafayel approaching with a plate of desserts and Lemurian delicacies. He notices, though, that the plate lacks any food from Nabira. He scoffs and turns back to you. “I do not wish to see thee with a man of his stature.”
“He is an Admiral,” you comment, a small smile tugging the corners of your lips up.
“And I a prince. One who commands his own vassal!”
“You are both princes,” you correct him, “and yet you are the one who wishes to conquer.”
“I do not wish to conquer,” Xavier shakes his head, “I follow my King’s command but he? That vile villain, wishes to conquer.”
“Lemuria holds no dream of conquest,” it is your turn to scoff and look away. Xavier quickly cups your cheek and brings your gaze back to him. There is desperation and anger in his eyes, a hunger that slowly begins to overtake him.
“Lemuria may not,” Xavier whispers, “but he does. He doth desire to conquer thee as his own.”
Silence falls upon you. Your posture straightens and you turn away from Xavier, a chill running down your spine despite it being a hot night. Rafayel approaches the table and sits across from you, placing the plate in the center. His blue and pink eyes focus on Xavier, who remains effortlessly devoted to you, while you stare at the party that unfolds from afar, a look of confusion and calculation written all over your face.
“What? What concerns thee?” Rafayel asks with a quiet snort. He glares at Xavier before his expression softens as soon as you turn to face him.
“I wish to take my leave back to my chambers,” you stand and Xavier follows suit. “My betrothed will ensure I am safe.”
“No,” Rafayel stands and is quick to walk around the table. He takes your hands in his own before you even realize it, a quiet gasp escaping your lips. “Allow me, my lady.”
Xavier reaches to the connected hands, breaking them apart. He gently pushes you behind him, his tired and reddened eyes narrowed at the sailor. Rafayel clenches his jaw, his hands returning to his sides, before his eyes flicker back to you. He lets out a stiff chuckle. He bows his head and steps to the side. His eyes remain tied to Xavier’s, blissfully unaware as you reach for the sweet saffron bread from the plate, tucking it behind your back and out of sight.
“Fair night be unto thee, my domina,” Rafayel bows his head as Xavier guides you away, “we shall meet upon morrow’s dawn to take you home.”
You pause. Xavier looks down at you, noticing the strain that flashes across your face.
Home. Is that not the place you were plucked from? It is now a two day ride away from Nabira’s borders and after your journey across the sea, you will be months away, years if you travel by foot.
Xavier places his hand on the low of your back. He glares at Rafayel and gently pushes you forward. You walk through the crowd, bowing your head back at people who pay you the respect first.
Tonight, you were barely seen as a domina, as a political and heavenly figure that must have respect gifted towards. You were as normal as the servants who passed you by, their smiles as big as yours as you danced with Rafayel. Your feet hurt. Xavier remains close to your side, waving away any of his soldiers that step forward to help. The two of you find yourselves walking along the dock where the Abysswalker floats which sits beside your inn for the night.
Xavier remains a small distance from you, watching as you walk the line along the dock where the ocean water sprays you whenever a wave comes crashing in. There are no more lanterns around to guide you through the night. The only light now comes from the bright and full moon. You look down into the waves, the water as black as night. You look back up at Xavier, whose back straightens as soon as your eyes land on him. You hold out the piece of bread.
“Eat this,” you speak. He takes the bread and rips it apart, your mind still dizzy from the glasses of wine you have drank throughout the night. “It will save thee a headache.”
“Will it?” Xavier quietly hums to himself. He brings the spiced bread up to his lips, slowly chewing as he watches you. “Why take leave with me?”
“Why fill my head with thoughts of conquering and worry? Hm?” you are quick to counter. You slow your steps and so does Xavier. He finishes the bread with a few more bites, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. “What mission did thine accomplish?”
“Truth,” Xavier states.
The moonlight shines along your dark hair, the light reflecting off the strands. It brings Xavier comfort to know that the moon adorns you with its beauty, that the silver colors of the night suit you as much as the golden colors of a day in the desert do.
“Truth? Is that you speak of?” you step closer to Xavier. He simply nods in response. You do not know if he speaks of truth in an objective or subjective manner.
The problem with truth and so called honesty, as you have come to learn from many moments in your life, is that there is always motive behind it. People do not willingly expose their worries or sorrows, they do not put their cards on full display for their enemies to see because, well, that is what you and Xavier are, no? The truths that originate from men in power, from soldiers and nobles, are always attached with a hidden context, something that you know to look out for.
So…what is Xavier’s motive for showing you his cards?
“I do not wish to be thine enemy,” Xavier fills in the silence. The lights of the noble-run inn flicker. You focus on the yellow flames instead of the blue in Xavier’s irises. “I wish for us to unite as one.”
“The why speak of campaigns for my heart?” you ask, feeling vulnerability slip into your voice.
“Duty’s embrace is cruel, domina,” Xavier slips into your mother tongue. You hold back a gasp, shock written all over your face. “I do not wish to see us succumb to the cruelty and coldness that come with it.”
“Why does thou work hand in hand with it? Duty forced thee across the world! You are an accomplice to duty,” you speak, closing the distance between you and him. Perhaps it is the wine that has given you the courage to speak up. Maybe it is the way you have finally realized that you are now doomed and will be imprisoned in a place that does not want you.
“You are as much of an accomplice as I am,” Xavier counters.
“Duty did not force me to set honor to the side and traverse the realms to slay innocent people,” your breathing grows heavy, “it did not force me to smite those who oppose my rule.”
“You speak of thine brother?” Xavier switches back to his tongue. It frustrates you.
“Of course I speak of him,” tears fill your eyes, “he was taken from me. It was your doing.”
“He was well aware of his intent,” Xavier groans, “he knew the rules of combat as did I.”
“A battle to the death,” you laugh and push past him. The silk of your dress sends chills down his spine. “How pitiful.”
“What course of action would thou have taken, then?” Xavier grabs your hand, pulling you back to him.
“Terms,” you spit the word out, “terms for peace.”
“The battle between thine brother and I was the terms,” Xavier’s voice drops. “His fate hath been tied to him since birth as was yours. Be grateful that you are alive.”
“Grateful for a life of servitude and political games?” your anger begins to boil deep inside of your chest. “A life with a man who does not care for me? Who chose thee on a whim? Ah, yes, your Highness, I am eternally grateful for the life fate hath laid for me.”
You rip your hand free from Xavier’s. You turn around and rush towards the tall stone building, the wooden doors opening as soon as the soldiers spot you. Xavier is hot on your tail. You move with precision, the layout of the building already memorized in the back of your mind, as you traverse the stairwells and long corridors. Xavier has kept a decent distance, following you down the dark corridor that leads to your bedroom.
“Who said I do not care?” Xavier steps forward, closing the distance with a few easy strides while you hold the fabric of your dress skirt in your hands.
“Thou dost not care by forcing his betrothed to leave everything behind,” you approach your door and grab the black handle.
You pull on it but Xavier’s hand pushes the wooden panel back into its place, trapping it and you in the process. You can feel the heat from his body on your back. You close your eyes, fists balled at your sides, feeling as Xavier leans down, his lips grazing the fragrant skin of your neck. His hand leaves the door, wrapping itself around your body, keeping you in place. You do not fight back. You lean into his chest, your back fully pressed against him.
You remain near him despite all of the warning bells in your head ringing all at once. You ignore your mind’s plea for freedom, following your innate desire to remain close to the man you will call your husband.
Xavier slowly inhales, taking in the floral scent of your perfume. His free hand reaches around your body and plants itself on your chest. The heat from his hands seeps through the thin material and you shudder, a pool of warmth forming in the pits of your stomach. You let out a breathy sigh, tilting your head to the side to give Xavier more room.
“Duty’s embrace is cruel and cold,” Xavier murmurs against your skin. Your body heats up, your face flushed as you lay your hand on top of the one that rests on your chest. “Let us endure this trail as one.”
“As one?” you breathe out.
Xavier slowly kisses your neck. He starts at the base and works his way up, pressing a feathery kiss where your pulse is the most prominent. You gasp and push your body back into his. The candlelight is dark enough for the two of you to get away with this scene, your quiet breaths and the sounds of Xavier pressing his lips over and over along your skin the only things that will give you away.
“Why me, Xavier?” you ask.
Xavier turns you around, pressing your back up against the door, hands pressed against the wood on either side of your head. He towers over you, his breath smelling like mead and wine, a sweetness stained on his mouth. You reach out and place your fingertips upon his lips, dragging them across the leftover wine stains. Xavier kisses your fingers, his blue eyes locked onto yours. You shudder. The man frees his hand from the door and cups the side of your head, his fingers tangling themselves into your hair.
“Say it again,” Xavier whispers in your native language. He avoids the question. “Say my name.”
“Xavier,” you follow his command like the obedient wife you think he wishes you to be.
A low grunt vibrates in the back of his throat. Without wasting another second, Xavier pushes forward, connecting his lips with yours. His grip on your hair slightly tightens as you accept his tongue into your mouth. He leans into you, the door creaking from the weight. Neither of you care. You wrap your arms around his neck, pulling his closer to yours if it is even possible. Your breaths mix in as one, quiet words of praise coming from Xavier’s mouth, muffled between your colliding lips.
He finally tastes the wine you allowed upon your lips. You taste the saffron from the bread on his tongue. The bitter mixes in with the sweet, intoxicating you deeper into the kiss. He reaches down and lifts you up, your legs wrapping around his torso. The prince pushes you into the door, the tan stone acting as a barrier between you and the rest of the world.
Xavier pulls his lips away from your swollen ones, traveling down the side of your face to your neck. He targets your pulse point, biting down on your skin. You let out a gasp, eyes flying open from the sensation. Your legs tighten around him. You feel something press into your core. It shocks you. The sound of guards stirring near the stairs makes you dig your nails into his nape.
“Xavier,” you breathe out, head rolling back into the wood of the door. Your voice remains low, matching the quiet of the night. “We shall be discovered.”
“I do not wish to leave,” Xavier’s breath is hot against your skin. His hands travel from your waist to the fabric of your dress His fingers slip under the dress and graze along the back of your leg, leaving chills in his wake. “Do not make me leave.”
“My honor—”
“Shall remain intact,” Xavier sighs and pulls away from your neck. His eyes look at your skin, a small smirk forming across his lips as dark red and purple spots littler one side of your neck. He keeps you in his arms, using one hand to hold you while he opens your chamber doors. “Duty is cruel indeed,” he mutters under his breath.
He walks you inside your room, roaming towards the bed. You feel his defined muscles from under his cloth shirt, your cheeks heating up all over again. Xavier lowers you onto your bed, quickly gathering the scattered belongings and setting them on the trunk at the foot of your bed.
He stops at the bow. He picks it up, inspecting the golden accents that are molded into the dark wood. His blue eyes flicker to you, the prince setting the weapon down atop your weapons.
“I wish to see you shoot,” he comments, remaining in place.
“Thou will,” you whisper, “in time.”
Xavier nods. His eyes flit to the empty space in bed beside you, his body wanting to move to lay beside you. He slowly steps towards the door, the candlelight just bright enough to show him his way. He pushes it open and looks back at you, a soft sigh leaving his lips.
“Until tomorrow, domina,” Xavier calls to you.
“Will you get me before we leave?” you quietly ask, sinking into the blankets below you.
“Of course,” Xavier nods.
The prince silently leaves the room, closing the bed chamber door to be as quiet as he can. Xavier quietly walks down the hall, finding himself at the stairwell. Just as he is about to set foot on the stones, he spots the Lemurian prince staring at him from below. He does not speak, simply glaring at the Philos Prince.
“Say it,” Xavier barks the command.
“Thou’s greed will ruin her,” Rafayel’s voice is low and dangerous. The muscles of his arms flex, his blue and pink eyes narrowing on the prince who stands at the entrance of the stairwell. “I refuse to see it happen.”
“Need not worry,” Xavier tilts his head to the side. He licks his lips, tasting the floral notes of the oil you graced your skin with. “She will be safe with me.”
“Is that so?” the Lemurian prince asks. He moves up the stairs, the men now at eye level with each other. “Do not make me sink a boat to be rid of you.”
“If I did not know any better, one would think thou has issued a threat,” Xavier’s eyes sharpen.
“Not a threat,” Rafayel’s eyes darken, “a promise.”
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rb on main because this series deserves to be READ. made me into a raf girl in 14.6k words ok???? work
