Massive thank you to @avananabread for bringing this to my attention and giving me some info! You're an angel!!
Find all other reports here!
BREAKING NEWS
I fear my smear campaign theory might've been right on the nose. Here's what I know from researching:
In 2024, Papergames (Infold) filed a lawsuit against Archosaur Games, the owner of Silent Whispers, for trademark infringement. Archosaur had used registered trademarks like Shining Nikki, Infinity Nikki, and Miracle Nikki as search keywords in WeChat ads to promote their game Life Makeover. Papergames won in 2025.
During the trial, it was found that a company called Tencent is the second largest stockholder of SW.
Tencent is a MASSIVE company that has been known to sink its competitors using vile tactics like smear campaigns, hiring bots, paying off the media, and undermining the public opinion. The current situation is far too similar for it to be a coincidence.
Shanghai originally stepped in to support Ppg, as they contribute a large amount of taxes to the city, but this wasn't enough to stop the campaign
However, Tencent didn't (and couldn't) expect this level of global support. We are quite literally acting as Infold's shield. WE are the only reason this campaign is starting to crumble.
Remember, SW has a Sylus clone and they recently released a werewolf character as well. In recent posts that I've seen, his eye color has changed from green to yellow, and his skin is lighter. Example.
This perfectly explains why the police and Infold's legal department are so involved. This was never just about a group of online bullies, these are PAID TROLLS. Their job was to spread misinformation and try to change the public opinion about LADS.
There is substantial evidence to suggest that SW has also been purchasing likes and views. Here's a post to support this.
The smear campaign is crumbling FAST. Posts and comments are being deleted, police are investigating, and RedNote is actively taking action against those who spread misinformation. Here's a post.
This has always been bigger than a vocal minority disliking Valko. Valko was the scapegoat. This was a full-blown attempt to sink Infold as a company.
DO NOT STOP POSTING! The more we can show our support for Valko, the more this smear campaign crumbles.
EDITS BELOW
Posting links to various X posts that support these claims
Translated conversation
SW was in development in 2016, while LADS started development in 2018. THIS IS SPECULATION: LADS released first and gained popularity FAST. This reeks of jealousy and pettiness, in my opinion. Nothing like the frustration of someone else being more efficient and more effective.
Screenshots and initial trial info
Previous allegations against Tencent:
Tencent vs. ByteDance in 2018. Accusations: paying public relations firms to publish negative articles, spreading false information, manipulating public opinion, unfair competition
WeChat moderation and censorship. Accusations: censorship of politically sensitive topics, protests, criticism of Chinese authorities, certain historical events
Frequently associated with paid commenters ("water armies," 水军), fake reviews, coordinated social media promotion, influencer networks
- valarr targaryen x wife!reader x aerion targaryen
to the realm, your marriage with the young prince is a storybook union worthy of songs. but after tragedies befell you one after another, the love that once seemed effortless begins to fracture... and it doesn't help that another prince has his obsession set on you
genre/warnings:
suggestive, tw. miscarriages, angst, smut, hurt/comfort, mentions of infidelity, arguments, injury and blood in tourney (aka valarr and aerion fighting each other for you), pregnancy, fluff
notes:
wc. 5.8k ! reposted with rewritten & extended scenes! i fell in love with valarr at the first sight really *sigh* and aerion is my sidepiece i loved writing this so i hope you will enjoy it too <3
You and the Young Prince are beloved by many in King’s Landing.
Valarr, the gallant heir of House Targaryen, and you, his graceful princess, seem to embody everything the realm hopes for: beauty, devotion, and a love that appears effortless beneath the watchful eyes of the court. You married young, and despite all whispers and warnings the elders told you, both of you were tremendously happy in your marriage.
“A toast to my beloved princess—my constant strength and guide through another year added to my name!”
His voice would ring proudly through the hall, rich with affection as goblets were lifted in your honor. He would gaze at you with such tenderness afterwards, and anyone with eyes would gasp at the breathtaking show of love.
A love match. Yours was the picture-perfect royal union… at least until the tragedies began.
“Valarr, I—” you would choke on your own tears each time you carried a child to term only to lose them before you could ever hold them in your arms.
And every time, he would pull you into his arms.
“I’m sorry… I’m sorry,” he would murmur softly, shushing your sobs as he held you close, mourning the loss just as deeply even as he tried to be your comfort.
A loss that the maesters called misfortune. Another that the septas named the will of the Seven. Each time, the court offered condolences, and each time you and Valarr stood side by side, composed and dignified as a royal couple ought to be.
But grief, no matter how carefully hidden, has a way of changing things.
Behind closed doors, the silences between you began to grow longer. The smiles you once shared became sparser, weighed down by sorrow neither of you quite knew how to speak aloud. Yet before the court, you both still played your roles flawlessly.
Because in King’s Landing, the prince and his princess were meant to be perfect.
“Your Grace, do you feel well?”
Your maid’s gentle voice broke through your reverie. You had been staring at the skies above Summerhall for far too long, your gaze distant and unfocused.
You turned to her with a placating smile. “I’m fine, Rose. Come, let’s go.”
Summoned to Summerhall by Prince Baelor, the moment you arrived, Valarr was swept away into discussions with his father and the other men of the court, leaving you with little to do but free time for yourself.
The castle grounds had grown quiet by the late afternoon, most servants busy with their duties. Your steps eventually carried you beyond the courtyards, towards a humble district where smallfolk lived and worked beneath the protection of the castle.
However, your walk was cut short.
An old woman stood near the edge of the road, her back bent with age, her thin hands clutching a bundle of herbs. Yet it was not her frailty that caught your attention.
It was the way unsettling way she stared at you.
Her eyes were too sharp for someone so old—watching you with an unsettling intensity. You slowed, uncertainty prickling along your spine, and then the woman spoke:
“The princess of love and beauty,” she murmured, her voice thin and rasping. “Yet cursed with the misfortune of having shadows strangling the brave prince’s sons in her womb.”
A cold shiver crawled down your spine. The words struck like a blade and it felt as though your darkest nightmares had been dragged into the open for the world to see.
You did not stay to hear more.
Your breath came quicker as you fled— the woman’s voice still echoing, stirring those bleak memories of the silent chambers, the hushed voices of maesters, Valarr’s arms around you while you wept until your body ached.
You only wanted distance—from that witch, from her terrible eyes, from the shame. And in your haste—
You collided with someone.
A solid figure stood in your path, and the sudden impact forced a startled breath from your lungs. Strong hands caught your waist before you could fall.
“Well now...” a smooth, velvety voice drawled above you, low with unmistakable amusement. “Where is the princess rushing off to in such distress?”
You wouldn’t mistake that voice for anyone else’s.
Prince Aerion Targaryen stood before you, tall and imposing as ever, silver hair gleaming in the afternoon light. His grip on your waist was firm enough to keep you from retreating so easily.
“Unhand me, my prince,” you proceeded to say afterwards, and he did. For a three good seconds, he observed the lacy black dress you were wearing, and let out a snort.
“You are not in mourning. Why do you always wear this unseemly dress?”
His words offended you really. It hadn’t even been three moons since you lost your babe, and he dared to ask this?
“I am, in fact, in mourning. Please let me be.”
Aerion snorted again.
“Do not mourn too hard, sweet cousin. A fine fruit can only grow from a good seed. One cannot expect much from… defects.”
Your eyes hardened. “What are you insinuating?”
“I’m merely suggesting that the fault may not lie with you at all, my princess,” Aerion replied, a thin, cruel smile curving his lips.
Valarr’s face rose unbidden in your mind—his gentle patience, the way he would tighten his arms around you on the nights he mourned your lost babes. Never once had he spoken a word of blame. Never once had he let you feel alone in it.
The insult burned hotter than if it had been aimed at you.
“You will hold your tongue, Aerion,” you spat, your voice suddenly sharper, eyes flashing with apparent rage as you didn’t bother to address him properly. “You speak of a prince of the realm. And a far better man than you will ever be.”
Aerion’s smile faltered for the briefest fraction of a second before it returned, colder than before.
“How fiercely you defend him,” he scoffed. “How touching.”
He leaned closer, his voice dropping to a quiet murmur meant only for you.
“Think about it. If it were me, I surely will not fail you. The blood of the dragon runs stronger in my veins than it ever will in his.”
Talking with Aerion always felt like talking to the wall. You didn’t deign him with more response, simply turning on your heel to head back towards the castle.
However, you failed to realize that watchful eyes had taken note of the closeness between you and your cousin-by-law. Only later would you learn that this encounter with Aerion would bring consequences you had never anticipated.
The tale that soon spread was a wild one: you, the princess consort, is having an affair with the Bright Prince himself.
“T-that— that is bloody outrageous!”
You paced restlessly in your marital chambers, righteous anger coursed in your veins— it wasn’t enough that they had insulted you, but to pair your name with that mad prince?
Your husband, calm as ever, only stared at you quietly from his desk.
“You must not believe that treason—” you turned to Valarr in a flurry. “There’s no truth in it! I just stumbled into him while we were at Summerhall, that’s all!”
Valarr remained silent, studying you as he twirled the quill in his hand. He hadn’t voiced any accusation or anything, and it made your heart twist.
“I swear to you—” you pressed on quickly as you approached him, almost breathless now. “I barely spoke to him, and whatever he implied, I shut it down immediately—”
Valarr finally set the quill down. The soft tap of it against the desk sounded far too loud as he rose from his chair. His gaze never left yours as he crossed to where you were, and your heart thudded painfully under the weight of that unreadable stare.
He stopped before you, seemingly disregarding whatever it was you were saying, and it was without any warning when—
“I would never dishonor you like that, dear husband, you must believe me— Mmph!”
He pulled you into a sudden, searing kiss.
His hand came up to cradle the back of your neck as though the gesture alone could silence the storm of words tumbling from your sweet lips. You almost gasped, instinctively curling your fingers around his doublet.
It was nothing like the tender kisses you were used to. The kiss was rough, intense—almost hungry. His grip tightened slightly at your nape as his mouth claimed yours again and again. The force of it made you stumble a few steps back before he steadied you against him.
When Valarr finally pulled away, he sighed, a haze settling into his gaze.
“I do not wish to speak of my vile cousin, love.”
“But those rumors— I swear it, I—”
“Shush,” Valarr smiled then, pressing a finger on your lips. It was soft at first glance, reassuring even—yet it did not quite reach his mismatched eyes, which remained dark and distant. “I know.”
Your prince had always been gentle. He had never let anger rule over him, but sometimes you just wished he would. You looked at him sadly as his dashing blue and brown eyes focused solely on you, thinking of everything he had achieved until now.
The realm might think that the heir of Dragonstone had everything handed to him in silver platter, but they had never seen all the effort he put to remain worthy of it. He was the perfect prince to everyone, yet behind closed doors, only you saw the exhaustion he tried to hide, the endless trainings he would endure, the weight of expectations that followed him like a shadow.
And that only made the guilt inside you feel worse, because he had done everything right, except for one flaw. You.
His wife who had not even managed to give him an heir. Worse still, now these boundless whispers of your supposed infidelity threatened to besmirch his name.
You opened your mouth again, still trying to explain, but Valarr didn’t let you.
He captured your lips once again.
This time there was no restraint at all. His hands slid to your waist, fingers squeezing your flesh as he pulled you firmly against him, the kiss deepening with a fervor that stole the breath from your lungs. There was urgency in the way he held you now—something restless beneath the calm he had worn only moments ago surfacing unbidden.
“H-husband—”
“Quiet,” he commanded, lust taking over him, “—ah, my princess...”
Before you quite realized what he intended, he guided you backwards... and the edge of his desk pressed suddenly against the backs of your thighs.
With a swift motion he lifted you and bent you forward over its polished surface, the scrolls scattering beneath you. Valarr stepped between your knees, devouring your lips with renewed intensity and forced his tongue inside, even rougher this time.
Where he was usually careful and soft, his hands now held you with a more possessive grip. When he pulled you closer, the tug was harsher. When his lips wandered across your skin, the kisses he left behind were hotter and harder.
He was the only Targaryen prince who knew your body best. He knew where to touch, where to caress, where to lick and suck—
And what to do to get you nicely warm and ready for him.
“Look at me— will you?”
He tipped your chin towards him before he entered you in one swift go. The sudden stretch tore a broken cry from your lips as you threw your head back, moaning his name in broken syllables as tears fell from your lashes.
And before long, the chamber fell quiet save for the sounds of your mingled breaths and flesh tangled together, the lamplight flickering softly against the walls as the night became a blur around you.
There would be a grand celebration for King Daeron’s nameday in King’s Landing.
The festivities were to last ten days and nights to remind the realm of the strength and prosperity of House Targaryen. Lords and ladies from across the Seven Kingdoms had already begun to arrive, and there would be feasts and a grand tourney held in the king’s honor.
The first day, however, was reserved for the feast.
The great hall blazed with candlelight, the long tables heavy with roasted meats, fruits, and sweet wines. Music drifted through the hall as servants moved tirelessly between the guests. You sat quietly in your seat, hands folded neatly in your lap as you forced yourself to maintain the composure expected of a princess.
“Greetings to you, my princess...”
And it was impossible not to feel the stares.
Whispers had already traveled faster than ravens through the court, and though everyone only spoke to you in pleasantries and riddles, you could feel the weight of their judgment.
“Pay them no mind.”
You looked up when Prince Baelor spoke gently beside you. Your father-in-law regarded you with a kindness—with those very same mismatched gaze your husband had—that made your throat tighten.
“The court feeds on foolish gossip,” he continued. “It will pass soon enough.”
You managed a small, grateful smile. “Thank you, Your Grace.”
His reassurance was sincere, and you knew he meant it kindly, but it did little to quiet the shame that lingered in your chest.
As the evening wore on, the musicians eventually struck up a livelier tune. The feast slowly shifted into dancing, couples rising from their seats as the center of the hall cleared.
You watched absently as the first pairs took the floor... but then your breath caught.
Valarr had stepped down from his seat and extended his hand—not to you. Kiera of Tyrosh accepted it with a bright smile.
Your fingers curled in your lap as you watched them join the dancers.
Kiera moved gracefully beside him, her gown sweeping across the floor as they turned together. They made a handsome pair—your composed prince and the elegant daughter of a powerful lord. The lords and ladies in the hall had noticed as well.
“She suits him…”
“A fitting match…”
Each word sank into your chest like a needle and the longer you sit here, the more you couldn’t bear to watch the dance floor any longer.
Rising quietly from your seat, you began to make your way toward the edge of the hall, hoping to slip away before the sting in your eyes betrayed you, however...
“My princess.”
You froze. Prince Aerion suddenly appeared before you, his silver hair gleaming beneath the candlelight. He bowed slightly and offered his hand, though the smile that followed was anything but respectful.
“Would you grant me this dance?”
Your first instinct was to refuse, but then you realized too many eyes were already on you. Refusing him openly would only feed the whispers further. Biting back your anger, reluctantly, you placed your hand in his.
Aerion led you to the dance floor, and he drew you into the proper steps with unsettling ease.
“You look miserable tonight,” he murmured, his voice low enough that only you could hear.
“I am merely tired, my prince,” you replied stiffly and Aerion chuckled, almost tauntingly.
“Such loyalty to a man who leaves you sitting alone while he dances with another.”
“Prince Valarr is my husband,” you hissed.
“Yes,” Aerion’s violet eyes lit with a manic glint, “and yet I cannot help but think you would fare far better with me instead.”
“Do me a favor and cease this nonsense.”
“But it is true.” His grip tightening slightly at your waist as the dance carried you through another turn. “I would never leave you sitting alone while the court talks about you.”
You said nothing. You simply endured the remainder of the dance in tense silence.
The moment the music ended, you pulled away hurriedly. Without waiting for his reply, you turned and left the hall.
The air in the corridors felt cooler, quieter. You exhaled slowly, hoping the distance from the feast would steady your thoughts. Footsteps sounded behind you to disrupt your newfound peace, however.
“Running away so quickly?”
You sighed. “Aerion, please—”
He followed you down the corridor regardless, his long strides quickly closing the distance. Before you could move again, he stepped in front of you, blocking your path in the empty hall.
“You avoid me as though I were a monster,” he said with a faint laugh.
“Because you behave like one,” you snapped.
His smile sharpened. You tried to step past him, but his hand shot out, catching your wrists. “Aerion— let go!”
But he did not move. Instead, he pushed you back a step until your shoulders brushed the cold stone wall behind you.
“You deserve better than that dull, careful cousin of mine.” Aerion leaned closer, his face only a mere inch from yours. “A princess should not waste herself on a dragon who barely burns.”
“I will hear no more of this—!”
For a moment, his grip tightened hard enough to bruise, his gaze dark, and the deserted hall suddenly felt far too small.
His hand slid from your wrist to your arm, pressing you firmly against the wall. He leaned down, attempting to seize your lips in a rough kiss—
You turned your head sharply, the contact landing against your neck instead. Panic surged through you as you shoved against his chest.
“Aerion, stop!”
Your voice broke into something close to a shriek as you struggled against him. His hold only tightened as he tried again, heedless of your resistance.
. . .
The banquet hall had become suffocating for Valarr too.
While he had asked Kiera of Tyrosh for his first dance, it was out of courtesy since he had been talking to her. What he had not expected was to see you take the floor with Aerion out of all people.
It made him restless, because even though everything was false, the fact that it had become such a rumor in the first place meant he wasn’t able to protect you. And lately there had been a strained distance between you he had been meaning to mend too.
His gaze moved across the tables, searching instinctively for you. He was thinking maybe he could excuse both himself and you from the feast and retire to your chambers. When he didn’t find you, he stepped out to the corridors.
And that was when he heard it. A muffled cry.
Valarr turned the corner— and the sight that greeted him was one he would never have imagined could happen even in his nightmares.
You pinned against the wall, your dress disheveled, tears in your eyes as you struggled against the man holding you in a very compromising position.
Aerion.
For a heartbeat Valarr did not think. Could not think. That was also when the world seemed to narrow into something blindingly red—
He lunged. His hand seized the back of Aerion’s collar and tore him away from you with brutal force. The sudden motion sent his wretched cousin stumbling back a step before his fist followed like a punishment.
Bam!
The punch landed squarely on his jaw and the Bright Prince staggered under the blow. Valarr’s chest heaved, every muscle in his body coiled tight with rage. For a moment it took everything he had not to strike again.
“Valarr!” you gasped, immediately pulling him back. He turned to you only to find your shaking hands and tear-streaked face— and the sight made his heart lurch in his chest.
Your husband forced himself to step back towards you as he glared at his kin. His voice, when it came, was tight with restrained fury.
“I will regain my honor tomorrow. At the joust.”
Valarr did not wait for Aerion to answer as he took your hand firmly, and pulled you away from the corridor, leading you back towards your marital chambers.
Behind you, Aerion remained where he stood. His cheek throbbed where the punch had landed, but he barely felt it as much as the sting that burned incessantly in his chest.
Because in his own twisted way—
Aerion had already given his heart to you too.
The door to your marital chambers barely closed when Valarr turned to face you and placed both hands on your shoulders, checking you over.
“Did he—” His voice faltered slightly before he forced the words out. “Did Aerion do anything to you?”
You shook your head like a limp puppet, still trying to process what had just happened. The tension in his shoulders loosened only slightly, but it was still there, still burning.
“You cannot challenge him tomorrow.” You started trembling, realizing the gravity of what he said earlier. “Valarr… please...”
He clenched his jaw. “He will answer for what he did.”
“You cannot do this over me!” Your voice rose despite yourself. “The entire court will be watching. If something goes wrong—”
“Something has already gone wrong,” Valarr cut in sharply. “Aerion has insulted me. He laid his hands on you— and you expect me to simply stand by and do nothing?”
“But you will be in danger—”
“I will be fine.”
“You will not!”
Your words echoed in the chamber, and for the first time, you saw how composure slipped from the Young Prince’s face.
“Is your faith in me truly so little?” he questioned, hurt. “Do you truly believe I cannot defeat him in a fair duel?”
“That’s not what I mean— he is a monster!” you said quickly, the words tumbling out in distress. The memory of Aerion’s grip on your arm flashed through your mind, followed immediately by the terrible image of Valarr lying bloodied in the arena. Your stomach twisted.
“You’ve seen how he fights. He has never cared for honor in a tourney. He plays foul whenever it suits him. I don’t want anything to happen to you—”
“But I would do anything for you!”
The words burst from him so suddenly, louder than you had ever him yell before, and you fell silent, wide-eyed.
“I cannot stand idly when my cousin dishonors the woman I love and pretend it means nothing!” Valarr continued, his voice sharp. “I cannot watch you be treated like that and remain silent!”
His knuckles curled into tight fists at his sides, the restraint he had always carried now visibly fraying.
“You think I care about the court’s whispers?” he went on, quieter now, his gaze on you almost painful. “No. Let them whisper.”
You shook your head weakly, tears falling. “Valarr…”
“I hate how they questioned your honor because of what we have been through, but even that is still better than seeing you in childbed again.”
Valarr looked away briefly, as though gathering the strength to continue. His eyes then returned to yours, heavy with something you had rarely seen from him—raw grief, as he shook his head.
“I will not put you through that again if I could help it. I cannot subject you to that ordeal again. Even if we are to remain childless— then so be it.”
His words struck you deep.
“I cannot watch you mourn our lost children again and again.” His blue and brown eyes gleamed with unshed tears. “The pain you feel… I feel it as well. And for all I know, it may be because of me.”
Your heart clenched painfully. This was not what you wanted to hear, and the sight of your composed husband broke down in tears was not something you wanted to see.
“I’m sorry I cannot give you healthy children,” he choked out, voice hoarse. “I’m sorry for taking away the joy that should have been yours. I’m so, so sorry that our marriage has brought you more grief than happiness. I’m sorry...”
So this was why he always apologized to you. You couldn’t bear it any longer.
Before he could say another word, you stepped forward and wrapped your arms tightly around him.
“Don’t say that...” you managed amidst your own tears. “I’m the happiest with you. I could only endure all this with you by my side...”
His arms slowly came around you in return, holding you just as tightly—as though the two of you were the only things keeping the other from falling apart.
Because after all, before the throne, before the realm and its endless expectations— you and Valarr had always been, first and foremost, just two people who loved each other.
“May the luck of the Seven shine upon all the combatants!”
The tourney started at the crack of dawn. Knights in gilded armor lined the field while the stands overflowed with nobles and commonfolk alike, all eager to witness the spectacle.
You sat stiffly in the royal box beside Prince Baelor. Jousts had never excited you, the thunder of hooves and splintering wood only made your heart pound with dread rather than thrill.
The first round belonged to the lords of the realm. Knights from every corner of Westeros rode proudly into the lists as they tilted against one another. The crowd cheered loudly each time a lance shattered or a poor soul was thrown from his saddle.
Yet you barely watched— until a roar suddenly erupted from the crowd.
You looked up just in time to see Aerion lowering his lance after his last winning tilt. Across the field, Ser Leo Tyrell lay sprawled and bloodied in the dust beside his fallen horse.
The crowd cheered wildly as he removed his skull-like helm. Even from afar you could see the cruel curve of his smile. Not long after, he rode toward the royal box, stopping below the platform and looked up at you, making your insides churn uneasily.
“My princess,” he called smoothly, his eyes catching the morning sun. “Please grant me your favor.”
You truly hesitated, because you had wished to grant yours for your husband in the first place. But at Baelor’s urging and the knowledge that the house of the dragon must be seen united in front of these people, you relented.
You silently dropped the wreath to his lance, and he grinned in response.
“I shall wear it proudly,” he told you with a smirk.
You forced yourself not to respond. He rode away soon after, leaving murmurs of the audience who wondered why the prince royal was asking the favor of the princess consort of his own cousin in his wake.
The second round of the joust began not long after.
Many combatants gathered at the center of the field, their armor gleaming beneath the growing sunlight, and the herald raised his staff, announcing:
“Prince Valarr of House Targaryen, Heir of Dragonstone, will choose his opponent of the day!”
Valarr came riding into the arena atop his black destrier, his armor dark and polished like obsidian. He looked calm—almost impossibly so—as he surveyed the line of waiting knights.
Your heart pounded painfully in your chest as you watched your husband rode slowly past the gathered challengers. Then, almost immediately, he lowered his lance and pointed it directly at—
“Prince Valarr chooses Prince Aerion Brightflame, second son of Prince Maekar of Summerhall!”
Gasps rippled through the stands before they broke into cheers. Prince Baelor beside you exhaled slowly, and you clutched your heart.
Your felt sick to your stomach. He really made good on his promise to Aerion. “No...” your voice came out in a croak.
Noticing your distress for a while now, Prince Baelor reached over and gently took your hand.
“He will be fine,” he assured you as you squeezed his palm. You looked at him helplessly, tears already shining in your eyes.
Baelor watched his son ride into position with a thoughtful expression. “My late wife used to worry like you whenever Valarr entered the lists too,” he said then, a nostalgic smile on his face. “She would clutch my arm just as tightly.”
His gaze softened when your first tear fell and you hurried to wipe it. As a father, he was glad that his precious son had you to worry about him. He is in good hands, he thought.
Baelor too had taken measures to keep Valarr safe all this time, but he also knew that for better or worse, his son had inherited certain stubbornness from him, especially when he was after something he wanted.
The two royal princes of House Targaryen lowered their visors... and the first tilt began.
Your heart was in your throat as you knew the truth others didn’t. Valarr was not the most naturally gifted fighter. While Aerion thrived in the field as though born for it, Valarr had to earn his skills through relentless training and work harder than most to simply match what Aerion could.
And it showed. Each pass forced him to fight to remain upright in his saddle.
For the first three tilts, Valarr and Aerion broke their lances evenly. It was during the fourth tilt that disaster began.
Aerion angled his lance downward toward Valarr’s horse and the impact sent the animal crashing sideways. Your husband fell hard into the dust.
A cry escaped your lips, but before you could even breathe, he was already rising, demanding his right for contest of arms.
The clash of their blades echoed across the arena as they struck again and again. The fight was fierce, relentless, the princes accumulating wounds from each other.
Then Valarr knocked the morningstar from Aerion’s grip— the crowd roared as the two abandoned their weapons entirely—
And they fought with their bare hands.
. . .
Valarr’s head was still ringing from the earlier fall. The world swayed with each breath and he could taste his own blood, but he forced himself to remain standing as he lunged at his vile cousin.
Each time he remembered how he had forced himself on you the night before, his blood boiled, and it was what fueled him upright. However, Aerion was always the better fighter— his blows came hard and fast, and Valarr had to take several strikes to the face.
They were clearly wearing each other out. Every strike grew heavier, every breath harsher as the fight dragged on beneath the blazing sun.
Then suddenly—whether by chance or by the Seven’s judgment—Aerion stumbled.
And Valarr seized the moment. He surged forward and struck him again and again, every punch driven by the fury he had kept buried from the night before.
Aerion lost his footing and fell into the dirt. Valarr staggered forward, chest heaving, driving his boot sharply into his cousin’s chest.
“Yield,” he demanded through ragged breaths. “Yield, cousin!”
Aerion glared up at him, his silver hair matted with dust and his own blood, his face badly bruised. For a long moment it seemed he might refuse out of sheer spite as he spat on his boots.
“I yield.”
Done. It is done.
“Prince Valarr is victorious!”
The crowd thundered in cheers, but he barely heard it. His gaze lifted instead towards the royal box.
Towards you, who looked breathtakingly beautiful in the colors of Targaryen crimson and black. Even from the arena floor, he could see the track of tears on your cheeks. His heart warmed so much at the sight of you.
And seeing that, he vowed he would crown you his Queen of Love and Beauty by the time this tourney ended.
“I told you… I bloody told you!”
Your voice rang through the chamber as you hovered anxiously beside him.
Valarr sat at the edge of the bed after a maester finished binding another bruise along his ribs and left. Dark blotches were already blooming across his arms and shoulders, and a shallow cut near his mouth had been carefully stitched. Yet he boyishly grinned at your irked face.
“I only wished to win the victor’s laurel,” he said almost innocently, though the faint wince he tried to hide betrayed how sore he truly was.
“For what?” you demanded, looking pale after enduring days of anxiety that it made your gut not sit well with you, arms crossing over your chest. “So you could come back marred with bruises from head to toe?”
Valarr merely smiled. Because despite the aches in every limb, the memory of this morning still lingered warmly in his mind.
“I name you, my beloved princess... the Queen of Love and Beauty.”
The gasp had swept through the stands and everyone was stunned in silence before the cheers and well wishes roared the moment he dipped his lance towards you.
He had fought for eight days just for that, pushing his aching body to the edge so the realm could see exactly what he wanted them to see. A prince utterly devoted to his wife.
To Valarr, that alone had been worth every bruise.
But you were still glaring at him.
“And what if something worse had happened?” you continued, clearly not ready to forgive him so easily, a hand above your heart. “What if—”
But your words faltered as a sudden wave of nausea rose in your throat, the color draining from your face as your stomach lurched unpleasantly. You placed a hand over your mouth.
“What is it?” he started, concern sharpening his voice.
However, you were unable to answer him as the urge to throw up overwhelmed your senses. You turned abruptly, and hurried towards the chamber pot.
Valarr was on his feet instantly despite the protests of his battered body. “My love—”
He reached you just as you finished retching, both arms coming to steady you. “Are you unwell?” he asked, alarmed. “How long have you been feeling ill?”
You wiped your mouth with a trembling hand. The room seemed to sway slightly as you leaned against his bare chest for support. For a moment neither of you spoke as you evened your breath.
It was then that realization dawned on the two of you.
A thought—one both of you had not dared to voice—hung heavily in the air. You remembered that night on his desk, and you almost let out a gasp.
You had gone through this before, and Valarr felt the same fragile spark of hope stir in his chest, but he forced himself to calm down.
Your eyes slowly lifted to meet his, your hands shook slightly as Valarr took them in his own. He held you carefully, his thumbs brushing over your knuckles in quiet reassurance. His mismatched eyes held yours steadily.
“No matter what happens this time,” he declared, “I would stay beside you. I would take good care of you.”
You had heard his vows before—spoken before the gods, before the High Septon, before the realm itself. And never once had Valarr failed to keep his word.
If the Seven chose to bless you this time, then you would welcome the miracle with hope.
And if they did not… You would still have him. And he would still have you.
When he pressed a tender kiss to the side of your head, you knew that much was certain.
yandere!satoru who was looking for sweets to buy from outside a bakery was approached by you, a total hottie. standing there frozen, he stared at your face a bit too long with wide eyes, it got you concerned. "um, excuse me? are you okay?" that snapped him out of his daze, blushing in embarrassment.
"y-yes. sorry." he meekly replied, appearing smaller than his usual tall stature. what would a chick like you possibly want from him? although he often gets approached by people interested in him and wanting his number or social profile, it's a rare occasion he gets approached by a woman his type in terms of physical appearance.
perhaps, you're interested in him? it got him excited. he watches you hand him a card that he assumes contains your number. in response, he excitedly accepts it. "you have such a pretty and photogenic appearance. you're also tall, fit to be a model. I'm y/n, y/n l/n. I'm actually recruiting models. if you're interested, please send an email to this account for your application. i would love to have you on our team." his smile deflates, disappointed as fast as soon as he got excited.
"oh... i see. t-thanks..."
"I hope I'll get to see you on the auditions." that was all it took him to apply right when he got home that day. a week later, as you expected, he auditioned and got in for the lineup. the models you've recruited was just for a one-time runway event.
but unlike the rest of the models, it was yandere!satoru's debut of being a full-time model. the face that soon often appeared on billboards, poster advertisements, and magazine covers. it was a huge success that brought him fame and wealth. same goes to you but without the fame. from being just a model recruiter, you became his personal manager.
he personally picked you to take that position because you're the only reason he's where he is right now. well, at least that's what he said. nevertheless, you're happy you could afford to live comfortably now. you just had to put up with the things he unreasonably demand of you.
it's not even that he's overworking you. in fact, yandere!satoru barely lets you do anything on set but it's his constant need of your attention and approval that has got you exhausted. "what do you think of this, love? does this earrings look better on me or this sparkly one?" he just had to feel your embrace after a long day and smell you on his clothes. he even calls you pet names you never agreed on and people automatically thinks you're dating him.
you never denied it because he reasoned, it's to keep other people from approaching him. prioritizing his safety, you agreed. it only then became a problem to him when you got interested with geto suguru, another big shot celebrity. an actor who's known for his incredible talent of perfectly executing any role he's given. a figure who could rival him when it comes to looks, fame, and wealth.
yandere!satoru became a lot possessive of you, prolonging his photo shoots just so you'd stay til late with him, you wouldn't have time for a date. if you tried to take a day off, he would let you rest but would follow you. "what has gotten into you? i don't need you tailing me around even on my days off work. i need some time alone too, y'know?" no, he doesn't.
he has to make sure you're not getting any positive progress regarding whatever relationship you have with suguru. you already have him here, why look anywhere else?
yandere!satoru would try to do anything at all to make you busy or stay within his sight. he'd accept projects that would take place overseas and of course, you had to go with him. during those times, he'd notice you on your phone often. he would stare at you while his makeup is getting done or when the photo shoot is ongoing.
"satoru, look here, please!" you'd look up from your phone and meet his unimpressed eyes before he looks at the camera. he ignored you when you complimented him after the shoot was done. he remained silent on your short trip back to your hotel, it left you wondering why.
"satoru?... is there something wrong?" why, there are lots! ever since that suguru showed interest back at you, you're not the same anymore.
he sits on the side of his bed, his bare back faced you while he's drying his hair with a towel. "suguru, huh? is he better than me?", you stared at him in confusion until you registered his tone. "are you— are you jealous?"
he finally faces you, his brows slightly furrowed and his teeth clenched tightly in his closed mouth. "you know i liked you. no, actually," he stands up, towering over you. "i'm in love with you. i know you know that so how could you entertain someone else?"
"h-huh?"
he went on and on about the things he did for you to show you how he's serious about you. the more he mentioned things, the more you realized that it wasn't just him being a good friend or a gentleman. how could you be so blind? he then confessed to you on the spot to make it simpler for you to understand.
that night, you didn't sleep a blink. you questioned what and how to feel about everything. sure, you liked yandere!satoru before but wasn't it only as a friend? you over analyzed things, landing you to think that maybe you actually liked him too the way he liked you and you're just distracting yourself by going on dates.
when you got back to japan, you stopped going on dates with suguru until you went out of touch. maybe it was the guilt of "using" him to get over your feelings, you ghosted the celebrity. things were going in yandere!satoru's way without him doing anything. he waited until you approached him yourself, asking for his forgiveness on something you never did.
of course, he forgave you. in exchange, he became more clingy. he wasn't afraid of being intimate with you anymore, even in public. news quickly spread about your relationship and satoru's sudden engagement with you. the model has finite patience to wait, he gets married to you a month later. he had to tie you down with him before you get to think again.
you are the picture-perfect empress of eastern empire… until your husband the emperor, zen’in naoya, demands a divorce! but you won’t take this lying down . . .
genre: 18+ suggestive content—minors do not interact!—kinda ooc, slowburn, angst to eventual fluff, marriage of convenience, heavy pining, mentions of infidelity, infertility, misogyny, pregnancy, explicit smut, childbirth, curses
note: inspired by and taking some elements of manhwa remarried empress
001 — 𝐀𝐋𝐋 𝐇𝐀𝐈𝐋 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐄𝐌𝐏𝐑𝐄𝐒𝐒 !
in which your husband suddenly casts you aside for his expecting mistress… but you won't be dethroned just like that, because the newly coronated western emperor, gojo satoru, sets his sights on you! and thus your revenge against your ex-husband begins...
002 — 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐂𝐑𝐎𝐖𝐍 𝐎𝐅 𝐃𝐈𝐀𝐌𝐎𝐍𝐃𝐒 !
in the wake of your scandalous divorce, you fall into the arms of emperor gojo satoru. for a while, you believe you have found love… until it becomes clear that your new husband is scheming behind your back! love, marriage, divorce… are you doomed to go through this path the second time?
003 — 𝐋𝐎𝐍𝐆 𝐋𝐈𝐕𝐄 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐄𝐌𝐏𝐈𝐑𝐄 !
the path of love is never easy for you, be it now or back then. love, pain, betrayal and tragedy — you have been through them all. after all is said and done, you just want one chance at happiness. so will your second marriage be what you always want it to be, or will it be one last heartbreak you have to go through?
:: 𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐑𝐀𝐂𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐒 ::
you — empress of eastern empire. formerly a noble lady from an acclaimed clan and then made a crown princess of eastern empire to marry your childhood friend, naoya
gojo satoru — emperor of western empire. previously known as the "cursed prince" for being blind during a period of his childhood. for the longest time, he has been in love with you
zen'in naoya — emperor of eastern empire. your first love, crown prince naoya, wasn't the spiteful emperor who divorces you during the 5th year of your marriage, but the throne seems to shape his ambitions the longer he sits there. has he loved you all this time, you ask? dunno, only he knows
hanabi — naoya's mistress. your head maidservant ever since your marriage to naoya, she is actually compliant and doesn't seem to hold any malice against you. she bears his child, and elevated to the rank of royal consort
geto suguru — the duke. a neat and proper person, emperor gojo's peer, confidant and voice of reason. gojo claims he names his messenger cat (sugu-chan) after him out of love and respect
ieiri shoko — the countess. shoko, geto and gojo went to the imperial academy together, which is why she's so casual around both of them. after marrying gojo, she becomes your lady-in-waiting
:: 𝐄𝐗𝐓𝐑𝐀𝐒 ::
prequel: how sugu-chan the cat came to be
empress confronting hanabi (takes place in all hail the empress)
duke geto and the empress’ paintings: part 1 | part 2 | part 3
the path of love is never easy for you, be it now or back then. love, pain, betrayal and tragedy — you have been through them all. after all is said and done, you just want one chance at happiness. so will your second marriage be what you always want it to be, or will it be one last heartbreak you have to go through?
genre/warnings:
18+ suggestive content—minors do not interact!—might be ooc, angst, hurt/comfort, a lot of fluff, marriage of convenience, explicit smut (semi-public sex), pregnancy, childbirth, mentions of curses
note:
loosely inspired by and taking some elements of manhwa remarried empress. this is the final part of remarried empress au trilogy! wc. 9.4k ! i'm so happy with how well-received this little series is :') thank you so, so much for reading!
credit header goes to @/poro06625649 in twitter!
prev. all hail the empress | the crown of diamonds
general masterlist | series masterlist
“Satoru...”
Once, to you, love meant complete acceptance. To be able to accept someone so wholly, unquestionably, as they are.
Until you excelled in everything, a stone throw away from perfection even, and Naoya still spurned you.
When you married Satoru out of sheer impulse just to preserve your standing, you thought you had found that kind of love at last. Until it became clear a part of him wanted something else, and you couldn't accept that.
At the same time, you also felt like a hypocrite, because you wanted that love for you, and yet you couldn't give the same to him and even doubted him altogether. Using each other, you had even said.
But right at this moment... none of that mattered anymore.
Not when Satoru forcefully hurled Suguru aside, fought his way through the searing heat, tearing away debris after debris, punching through the remnants of the collapsing pagoda, all while dreadfully screaming your name.
“Where are you!? Gods, answer me!” He looked like a desperate madman. He was hyperventilating, bloodied, and yet he kept violently flinging the debris, determined to find you.
That sight of him struck you straight in the heart. He could've obliterated the whole tower with his ability if he wanted to, but he didn't. Doing so would seal your fate entirely.
He yelled your name once again, pouring his anguish and frustration into the air that his voice grew hoarse. “Where are you!”
If this isn't love, you thought almost tearfully. Then what is?
“Satoru!” and so you forced yourself to walk, despite being on the verge of collapse. Seeing him like this tore your heart to shreds. “Satoru!”
He stopped abruptly, his chest still heaving violently before turning to you. At first, he thought it was the voice inside his head. Everything around him was a chaotic blur, so when he turned to find you standing there, miraculously unharmed, he was stunned.
A shuddering breath escaped him as he gazed at you, the blue in his eyes filled with so much fright you had never seen before. "Y/N...?"
You staggered on your feet, your dress appearing singed at the edges—but you were there, alive.
"What are you doing!?" you admonished, almost in tears. "Why do you hurt yourself like that!?"
Suddenly, it was hard to breathe, but he didn't hesitate. He flung the splinter in his hand away and sprinted towards you, roughly pulling you into his arms.
"—!" he rasped, almost gasping for air, while squeezing the back of your head closer. "Heavens, I thought... I thought you were—!"
Satoru was trembling so badly in your embrace, unable to utter another word as he buried his face in your shoulder. He was beyond shaken—grunting, taking sharp breaths, and holding you so tightly that it left you at a loss of words.
He only pulled back once, albeit shakily, to have a good look of your face. There was one bruise on your cheek and you were covered in soot.
But you were still the most beautiful thing he had ever seen.
"I'm fine..." you tried reassuring him, lips wobbling, placing a hand on his palm that touched your face. "I'm fine now..."
Then Satoru pulled you close again, and you came willingly. Simply holding you, he inhaled the scent of the roses mixed with ash in your hair, feeling your breath on his neck.
To see this man, usually so self-assured, reduced to such a mess out of fear for you touched you deeply. You nestled closer to him, feeling a sense of peace wash over you.
In that moment, as you two clung to each other, nothing else matters.
"You've always coveted what I have..."
The ice in your eyes and the chill in your words felt like a curse. Hanabi was beside herself every day ever since she had left Western Empire. No way, she even saw you in her dreams!
Granted, her impulsiveness had almost cost her everything. She shouldn't have placed that curse on the necklace— she shouldn't have dared to attempt it in the first place.
But seeing that piece that had tied you two together—the testament to Naoya's remaining affection for you, however small it was—made Hanabi burn with jealousy. Why did he remember you still? Hadn't he dethroned you and chosen her?
Also, why did you put it as if she had been trying to take all that you had? She was now a royal consort, she was just demanding what she was due!
"...and sooner or later, that will be your downfall."
Hanabi shivered as an intense chill seemed to enter her body, spreading rapidly to her limbs and brain, immobilizing her. What is it? Why are your words struck her to the core?
"My lady, are you alright?" her attendant walked up to her as she clutched her chest.
"I-I..." Hanabi faltered, trying to even her breath. "I'm not feeling that well..."
"Shall I get the physician? You do look pale..."
"Please do."
Damn you. The more she thought about it, the angrier she became. You must've cursed her, that must be it! Why else did she keep hearing your voice?
"Sending you back to Naoya is a punishment in itself—you know that by now."
No, she had come this far. Even if she couldn't have Naoya's favor, even if she couldn't become the empress... she would fight tooth and nail to remain a consort.
After all, all her life, she was meant for this.
. . .
And true to her conviction... once again, fortune favors the bold.
"My lady, congratulations! You're with child!"
Hanabi blinked at the cheerful royal physician as he delivered the news. "R-really? Are you... sure?"
"Certainly! Oh, this is great news! The emperor will surely be delighted by this news!"
For a full minute, Hanabi sat there, stunned in amazement. She had really done it, and if it was a boy this time, then...
"Aha..." she burst into a small titter then, before breaking into a full-blown laugh. "Ahahaha!"
You're wrong, Empress Y/N. This time, I will show you.
"Congratulations, my lady!" the ladies around her gathered, showering her with praises. And Hanabi knew that finally, her time had come.
True paradise begins in hell. And now, I've risen from that hell.
Contrary to what you told Satoru, you were, in fact, not fine.
Shoko was the one who led you out of the burning pagoda, sustaining burns herself in the process. Immediately after you found Satoru, who was frantically on the verge of losing his sanity searching for you, you collapsed in his arms.
You had inhaled a significant amount of smoke, there was a gash in your arm, and you were even bleeding due to the stress.
And therefore, you were put on bedrest for the next upcoming weeks by the royal physician's orders and by extension, Satoru's.
However, during those three weeks, Satoru never visited you even once.
. . .
"Are you sure you're well enough to be walking around already?"
After being confined to your bedchamber for what felt like forever, you decided to take a stroll in the royal gardens. Shoko was the one in charge of watching you like a hawk these days. She didn't usually follow you around—you noticed she often went out on her own—but lately, she insisted on being by your side.
"Mm-hmm, I'm perfectly well now, Shoko," you gave her a smile as you admired the blue roses in the bushes. "You don't have to keep an eye on me all the time. I'm feeling better already."
You would be lying if you said you didn't miss your husband. A part of you of course wanted Satoru to check on you, or at least, your baby. Three weeks had passed, and your belly was now rounder and heavier.
"Oh, well... That's good then..."
Shoko seemed a bit unsure, frowning even, and you had your guesses, so you decided to bite the bullet. "How is Satoru these days?"
"Eh?"
"You must've seen him. He isn't avoiding you like he does me."
"Your Majesty..." Shoko let out a long sigh, seemingly exasperated and sorry at the same time, and you knew you hit the mark with it. "He's well, don't worry too much about him."
"Is he taking enough breaks?"
"He— err, I'm not really sure about that."
"Then, next time you see him, along with my general condition, tell him that I want him to do so."
You didn't mean to make Shoko uncomfortable, and if you did, then it was most definitely not what you intended. You just wanted a way to communicate with your brooding husband, that was all.
"You absolute imbecile! This is beyond ridiculous, why are you refusing to meet your own wife and talk to her?!"
If it had been anyone other than Countess Shoko, they would have certainly been hanged for their outrageous words against the emperor.
Satoru actually felt bitter for not visiting you ever since that day of the fire. Truth to be told, he was worried sick, the terror of thinking you might have perished in the blaze still lingered with him to this day.
He wanted nothing more than to hug you and bury his face in yours. He genuinely wanted you to be well and safe, always. Preferably, if he could keep you close too.
So, why did he avoid you on purpose?
First, the utter awkwardness. Second, the very fact that you had allowed those scums from Eastern Empire to be released. He still couldn't accept it, no matter how. In his eyes, you did it out of love for Naoya.
And that, in and of itself, was like a betrayal of his heart.
"She is becoming unhappy," Shoko noted earlier, frustration evident in her tone. "And on some nights, she also experiences hip pains due to carrying your baby. You're heartless if you don't even come to look at her even once!"
But then, Satoru felt as if he'd been punched in the gut. His unborn child.
...he had left you more or less alone now, hadn't he?
In reality, you preferred the secluded comfort of your study over the royal gardens.
And yet, that beloved study Satoru gifted you on the day he married you and you became the empress of Western Empire felt constricting lately. You almost felt claustrophobic.
Maybe it was the burgundy walls, or perhaps it was the sting of bitterness in your chest that you tried to suppress so others wouldn't see. You didn't really care which though.
So, you often wandered through the gardens to enjoy the fresh air, and at times, stopping by the spot where the pagoda once stood.
Nothing. Now that was all that left. The image of a once-beautiful tower reduced to dust and the scorched earth evoked a sense of loss within you, and what made it more painful was knowing that you were the one responsible for its destruction.
But still, what hurt the most was... what had happened to the man who had trembled with fear, believing you might not have escaped the burning pagoda? Why had he spared you with nothing at all?
"Meow..."
You looked at the squirming cat in your arms, his fluffy tail tickling you. "Oh, Sugu-chan, do you want to take a walk too?"
The clear blue eyes of Satoru's pet cat looked back at you demurely before he leapt out of your arms and trotted ahead, as if leading the way.
With nothing better to occupy your time, you often played with Sugu-chan to amuse yourself these days. The cat, with its gentle disposition, frequently curled up next to you for comfort and he somehow made those days better.
"Sugu-chan, don't stray too far!" you called out, trailing closely behind him. Knowing well that you weren't well enough to chase after him should he run off, you watched to ensure he didn't disappear from sight. "Oh!"
And sigh, he did just that. Sugu-chan leapt into the bushes, prompting you to release a resigned breath before navigating through the maze-like foliage.
"Sugu-chan, where are youuu?" you drew a breath, glancing around in confusion. "If only you were calmer like your namesake..."
After navigating several corners, you turned another and spotted a fluffy white fur, and you swore to the skies that you would yank Sugu-chan by his tail if he were to wander off again, when—
"Meooow!"
"Bad, bad cat! Why did you bite me—!?"
—and there you saw your husband, crouching down as he clutched his hand, before he whipped his head to look at you—
"Satoru," you straightened your back by instinct, your heartbeat quickening.
His eyes turned blank for a second, before those blue pools regarded you with a look you couldn't really discern. "Y/N."
. . .
It was awkward silence throughout the way. You didn't even realize when you had arrived at Satoru's study.
You had wanted this unsettling atmosphere between you to end. Why couldn't both of you just be honest already? You were about to voice your thoughts when suddenly Satoru, who had his back on you, suddenly said:
"I will not have a scandal. Therefore, you will behave in a way that nothing is known against you. In return, you will retain your privileges as the empress of the Western Empire, and continue to fulfill your duties."
That? That's the first thing he said to you after those weeks sonorous silence? This stiff, faux nonsense of him pardoning you of your supposed treason?
"Is that all you have to say to me?" you blurted almost immediately, feeling your anger rising. "After everything—"
"After everything— yes." Satoru's back was still facing you, his light blue robes shifted slightly as he tucked his hands inside his pocket pants. "Despite everything, I have nothing but concern for you, Empress. And your act of treason— even if you take no offense, I still consider it a stain on my name to let a pair of criminals go free. Consider it my generosity that I decided to overlook it."
Your body felt like shaking, his strained and formal words irked you, and at the same time, pierced through your heart and tore it to pieces.
"I've told you— I can't let Megumi be condemned for a deed he hasn't committed," you stated firmly, staring hard at his back as if you could bore a hole through him. "He is a kind boy, he used to be my ward. And you know as well as I do, he isn't capable of such a thing!"
"What about that consort—the woman who overtook your place?" he suddenly turned to face you, and the expression on his face almost made you shrink. There was no emotions in his eyes, just a dark hue of blue. "She was the one staging it, wasn't she?"
"I'm not vindictive enough to sentence her to her death here, Satoru." The more you argued about this, the more you felt like you were losing him. "Naoya will deal with her as he sees fit."
The mention of your ex-husband seemed to trigger something in him that his lips curled into a sneer.
"So much trust you place in him. As I thought, I should've never expected the same for me. Granted, we're just using each other, aren't we?"
Your own words thrown back at you, it felt like your shattered heart was being stomped on and reduced to dust, because how could he?
Still, you blinked away your tears, steeling yourself with the one fact even Satoru wouldn't be able to refute. "You said it yourself—you intend to use me for your war against the Eastern Empire. How am I not supposed to see that as you using me?"
You let out a scoff when Satoru wasn't able to answer you, but then suddenly it occurred to you that there might be another reason, one you had suspected, and yet still not able to make sense of.
"I'd think jealousy is insulting to you, so why?" you questioned, suddenly feeling a sense of betrayal. "Why is it that you can't believe that I can love you the same way I did Naoya? Or possibly even more?"
To Satoru, that very thought still felt like a thorn inside his chest. How you managed to see through him almost made his facade falter—
"And if you feel that it's unfair to you how you're the one who keeps proving yourself—then tell me," you suddenly demanded with a gritted teeth. "How am I supposed to believe you've loved me when I know marrying me came at just the right time for your goals?"
"That's not true!" he suddenly raised his voice, all pretentiousness forgotten. Right in this moment, to your surprise, he no longer resembled the cold, distant emperor he seemed to be.
“From the very moment you led me by the hand twenty years ago, I’ve longed for you! And now that I finally have you— it goes beyond mere infatuation or obsession! Heavens help me, but fuck it— I love you so damn much!”
It was everything. Satoru had poured his entire heart out in one go, believing it would be enough, until he saw you trembling, visibly holding back tears.
Your pretty eyes widened as you took in his confession. Your precious lips parted slightly, wobbling in effort to hold yourself together—
—until you felt light all of a sudden, as if the boulder in your heart had came crashing down, as if you had let go of all fears, and a small chuckle escaped you.
"You said, the woman you thought to have a semblance of affection for you doesn't exist," your voice was uneven but you tried so hard to sound clear, a relieved smile forming on your lips. "But she does. I do."
“I love you, Satoru.” The first of your tears fell then, and your voice came out in a sob. “I believe I love you. I'm the happiest while being with you. And so, to hear you say that I'm just a part of your plans makes me so incredibly sad, I—”
“I just want… the honest truth from you.” You took a deep breath to steady yourself, your eyes glistening like diamonds as you fought back the tears.
He swore something inside him twisted and bled at your voice, and suddenly, nothing else mattered—
Not when you have bared everything.
Before he could think, he took two decisive strides towards you and pulled you into his arms.
"Don't cry..." he pulled you tighter into him. "I'm sorry— don't cry, sweetheart, please—"
You kept sniffling into him, and Satoru felt his heart break then, as never had he seen you so utterly dejected that you surrendered in his arms.
How was it possible that the mere realization and sight of your genuine affection and tears reduced him to a man who would give up everything for you?
“It’s true, I have been planning to wage war against Eastern Empire for years. I took measures to keep them in check, and I do think having you by my side would definitely give me an advantage. But that’s not it... when I saw how you were being wronged there, I was even more convinced it was the rightest thing to do.”
He loves you. Even if he had committed various things, be it heinous or deceptive, one truth that transcends all is that his love for you is genuine.
“You mean so much to me,” he whispered into your ear, his hand tracing along your spine. “Everything else might be true, but you— no, I have loved you first before everything.”
Oh. You looked up to him, finding his clear, steadfast gaze on you. So this is how he is like when he isn’t hiding behind that crafty smile. When he is being most truthful.
The overflowing emotions obliterated whatever doubts you had left. You felt full. A profound, pervasive sense of love radiated through your myriad thoughts.
And to him, nothing was more liberating than knowing that you returned his love with equal fervor.
You felt bliss... utter bliss.
You didn't really know when you fell asleep, but it felt like the best rest you had in ages. For weeks, you had been waking up in the middle of the night, either in cold sweat or feeling tingling, barely-there stabs in your growing belly. On those nights, you would clutch the pillow beside you for comfort.
But tonight, you felt warm, and the first thing you noticed was Satoru's hair right in your face. He had laid his head above your chest, and his fingers were gently stroking your visible bump.
"Satoru...?" you asked sleepily, and he immediately turned to you in slight surprise.
"Did I wake you?" he looked almost alarmed. "Or do you feel any kind of pain or—?"
"No, just—" and you bit your lip when that familiar stab of pain shot through your hips. Your hand pressed against the spot as you let out a small grunt.
"Hey, what do you feel now?" Satoru immediately moved beside you, capturing you in the warmth of his embrace. "Does it hurt much? Do I need to call for—"
"No need to, it's fine—"
"It's not fine," he firmly retorted, his jaw set in a tight line. "The royal physician will come here first thing in the morning and that's final."
A faint smile formed in your lips as you curled closer and sighed contentedly into him. "Whatever you wish then, Your Majesty."
Satoru took that as a hint of sarcasm, but he simply pressed you closer and placed his warm hand over the spot where your hand rested. "Shoko told me. How long have you been enduring this?"
"Fairly recently, actually. A few weeks or so..."
I never knew. He berated himself because how would he be aware of this when he had completely shut you down? The stress must've gotten to you, and you were so delicate right now...
"Sorry," he sighed into your hair, his voice so quiet it was almost unheard. "From now on, everything that makes you uncomfortable, please tell me."
You looked up at him, searching his face, and when your innocent eyes met his, he relented.
"I'll do everything in my power to ensure you have a smooth journey in delivering our child." His words, sharp yet genuine, made your heart nearly leap out of your chest. "I hate seeing you in any sort of discomfort."
He fretted over you this much and yet he used to think you wouldn't show him the same affection in return. That was so ridiculous when you thought about it now.
"Ah," you giggled freely, wrapping your arms tight around him, and Satoru was taken aback at how that simple affirmation from you made something inside him feel lighter.
His endearing queen, who loved him back, now right in his arms. As he massaged your waist, he thought back to many years of careful planning and schemes, just for one particular goal...
“Not anymore,” he told you quietly, and you sleepily blinked your eye open. “I love you too much to break your heart.”
“Hmm?”
You were puzzled, and could feel his hot breath at such a close distance. And then those blue crystal of eyes met yours, full of warmth, and the corners of his lips curved into a soft smile, one that caught you by the heart.
“I’m made of many things. The emperor of this land, a soldier of many ambitions... but in the end, just a man.” His voice was languid and yet so gentle that it almost lulled you to sleep again. “If it were up to me, I’d have no qualms with warring the Eastern Empire. But now... I no longer wish to do that.”
Anticipation surged within you at his words, but still...
Noticing your reluctance, Satoru pinched your cheek and smiled. "It's not what you want. I thought I could proceed with it even if it'd leave you heartbroken... but apparently I can't."
And with his next proclamation, you knew without a doubt that this time, they were truer than anything else.
“And do you know? Because I love you, I’m willing to do anything for you. Mark my words, my queen— From now on... Heaven and earth, I would give it all to you.”
"Mm..." Whether it was your hormones or the sheer sincerity that shone through his words, tears were brimming in your eyes as Satoru gave you his oath. "Thank you... for thinking of me."
"Anything for you, sweetheart." He dipped his head to press a kiss on your lips and you were about to snuggle closer to him when you felt that familiar flutter and suddenly let out a gasp—
"Satoru!" you exclaimed, almost startling him, but you immediately reached out and placed his hand on your belly. "Feel it!"
And then, his eyes widened slightly. It was the most wondrous moment he had ever experienced in his life as he felt the baby inside you kick and ripple beneath his palm.
"Ah..." he exhaled the breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding. "Baby... she moves..."
The very idea of a precious baby girl that was an exact replica of you suddenly made his heart lurch. Satoru swore in that moment to protect her with his life... he didn't know it was possible, but he was already in love with her even when she wasn't born yet.
"Why are you so sure it's a girl?" you teased, wrapping your arms around his neck and smooched his jaw when he was rendered speechless. "I want a boy, you know."
Satoru snapped out of his trance and sullenly huffed. "I still hope it's a girl. I want a princess I can spoil rotten."
"I want a baby boy who looks like you." Your sincere wish surprised him, and he turned to you in bewilderment. "That way, even when you're away, I won't miss you as much since I still have the little prince near me."
"Ha." Satoru feigned a snort to cover the faint blush steadily gathering in his cheeks. Good heavens, how cute was it that he wanted a girl who resembled you and you wanted a boy just so he'd look like him? He was so giddy that he failed to come up with a witty comeback for you.
Pure bliss. After everything, this is your life from now on.
Shoko stood in front of your chambers the next morning, her heels clacking like a ticking watch of doom.
Unlike the everlasting frown etched on her face, she was actually in a dilemma, debating her choices outside your chambers. It was late morning already, but she'd hate to go in if you were not alone.
If she went ahead and caught you with Gojo on your bed—and worse, naked—with her own eyes... no, it was unthinkable what the sight would do to her. She would never recover. She would spew unforgivable profanities and Gojo might have her banished for real.
"What are you doing?"
Shoko whirled around so fast to suppress her shriek, and shot a look of distaste as soon as she saw who was behind her—Duke Geto. "Don't sneak up on me like that! You're not small like Sugu-chan!"
Suguru, prim and neat with his tied bun and black robes, raised one eyebrow, clearly swallowing any comments regarding the cat. "What are you doing, loitering in the hallway?"
"The empress hasn't woken up yet, and it's nearly midday. She has engagements with the master of tea parties later."
"Don't bother. Satoru's there. He'll most likely tell you that her schedule can be rearranged, and his word is law."
Shoko barked a laugh and Suguru too broke into a smile.
"So, they're good now?"
"Yeah... seems so."
"Thank fuck. Gojo owes me one for this."
The two friends chuckled again, relieved to know that the cold war between both of you had ceased.
Suguru leaned against the wall, his eyes crinkled at a memory. "Don't you remember those days, when Satoru used to watch the empress at each and every ball we attended, back when she was still the crown princess?"
Shoko crossed her arms, letting out a loud snort. "Oh yes. Everyone talked about him. The prince smitten by a rival country's betrothed... his reputation took a hit, but he never cared."
"I never took him seriously until recently. He was so adamant in his plans for the East that I thought... maybe it was all just to realize his war plans."
"Geto... don't tell me," the countess eyed her longtime friend incredulously. "Have not seen enough of the empress' paintings hanging in the halls? Is that not convincing enough for you?"
Throughout almost one year of your marriage, Satoru had commissioned at least five paintings of you to hang in the palace halls. Servants, members of parliament, and peerage must have seen at least one of your pictures whenever they turned a corner.
"If that's not stupidly in love, I didn't know what that is." Shoko shook her head with a smile. "Gojo has been spellbound for like years. I just never thought he'd really have her in the end though."
Suguru and Shoko had been by Satoru’s side for many years. Suguru was the closest to him still, and he had seen his friend for everything he was.
And knowing that Satoru was genuine in choosing this path, all Suguru could do was be happy for him.
“Life always has its ways… heh, I suppose all’s well that ends well.”
SOME MONTHS LATER . . .
"There, there, Sugu-chan!"
Suguru flinched. Satoru snickered.
"Meow!"
And you continued to tickle the white cat happily, seated a few feet away from both of them with a broad grin on your face.
"Should... Her Majesty be so close to the cat?" Suguru eventually asked, casting a skeptical gaze on you. The presence of the feline was certainly not what he expected when he entered Satoru's study per his summons. "It's dirty often and may affect her health."
"No, no... I never let him walk outside anymore and he has to be cleaned all times before the empress plays with him." Satoru's sly smile was a clear sign of taunt. "Suguru~ Won't you play with him too?"
Suguru shot him a withering look, his eyes twitching again the moment you addressed the cat by his childhood nickname.
"Oh, Sugu-chan, you're so gentle..." you exclaimed with a giggle. Your fingers gently scratched the cat's chin and behind his ears, causing him to purr happily and roll onto his back.
"Meooow~"
"Anyway, why did you call me here?" Suguru let out a sigh, disregarding the background noises and leveled a questioning look at his friend and ruler of the country.
"Hmm, nothing of importance actually, my cat just misses you is all," Satoru shrugged nonchalantly and Suguru really was about to pop a vein at his blatant response.
He then threw a sharp glance towards the pet and Sugu-chan immediately let out a dissatisfied hiss. This was always the way since the first day Satoru adopted him.
"Your cat, evidently, dislikes me at first sight."
"That's because he senses your animosity!"
Seeing how uncomfortable the duke looked, you suppressed a laugh and scooped up the feline into your arms. "Forgive me, Duke Geto. It's my idea to bring you here since I'm curious how you'd react if you and Sugu-chan are in the same room..."
...well, if it was your wish, who was he to deny it? Satoru would come for his head first should he do so.
You winked. "I'll bring him out for a walk, feel free to talk to your heart's content."
"Don't overexert yourself," Satoru warned, his playful expression towards him shifting to a concerned look for you, surprising Suguru in the process. "If walking is too much, take a rest."
"Yes, yes... I'll be fine~"
Satoru never took his eyes off you until you left his study, and Suguru couldn't help but smile.
"The way you always soften around her will never fail to surprise me," he noted with a hint of amusement.
"Then get surprised all your life because that's all I will do," he retorted with a proud smirk. "Oh right... how is the progress for the new courtyard?"
To replace the pagoda lost in your incident, Satoru came up with another gift for you—a private courtyard for your own personal pleasure. It still remained a secret from you, with Suguru tasked to oversee its construction.
"It's expected to be done before the empress' birthday, don't worry."
"Good..." His lips curved with satisfaction, before a blush tinted his cheeks. "And by then, the baby must've already..."
You were far along now, evident from how your dresses were no longer able to hide the curve of your swollen belly. He was to become a father soon, and anyone could see how elated Satoru was.
And suddenly he fixed his sharp gaze on his friend. "And Suguru, what about the other thing I asked? Have you looked into it?"
"Yeah...?"
"Zen'in Naoya's wench—" Satoru's eyes glinted with something akin to malice, as he still had that smile. "What did you find about her?"
Royal Consort Hanabi. A while ago, he also asked him to investigate her background, and Suguru almost forgot about it if he hadn't asked.
"Prior working as a palace servant, she was a former maid for Duke Kamo. As with all servants there, she was not treated kindly."
"Kamo? Interesting..."
The Kamo clan used to sit at Eastern Empire's throne up until Naoya's ancestors usurped it. Now, the heir remained a wealthy duke, and it was well-known that the fates of anyone who crossed him didn't end well.
Satoru hummed, barking a snort. "Well, I suppose that's it then. Suguru, proceed as is."
"I really thought you were done with any of your revenge plans." Suguru really didn't want to bring it up but he wasn't sure if this would bode well.
"I've given up on spilling blood, because that's not what my queen wants..." Satoru's smile froze on his face, yet his eyes sparkled. "But that doesn't mean I'll let that lowly bitch go unscathed. Our empress might be a saint and have chosen to spare her, but I most certainly am not as forgiving."
The chilly white light of the chandelier above him cast an eerie glow on Emperor Gojo Satoru at that moment, and Suguru almost shuddered.
"Didn't I tell you before? Anyone who dares to lay their hands on my empress... they have to pay the price."
Meanwhile in the Eastern Empire's palace, the royal consort still was the object of everyone's praises as of late.
It was almost astonishing how well she was treated recently, all because she was carrying the emperor's child, Hanabi thought with irony. So this was her life now.
Valued when she is able please the emperor, discarded when she fails to do so.
Sometimes it made her wonder, if it were still you in her place, would you be treated the same way? Or would you always be revered just like you were, unconditionally?
No matter. Her thoughts always leaned towards comparing herself with you, despite how much she hated it. Yet it was no use thinking of it now.
After all, now Naoya was in her arms.
She couldn't help but marvel at the sight of his sharp eyebrows and jaw. Hanabi had always thought, he was most handsome when he was vast asleep, when he wasn't hurling profanities at her or anyone else.
At first, she just wanted his love, and then a happy ending. She was never audacious enough to covet the empress' seat. But now she had to, after what you said to her.
"...that will be your downfall."
How could you? How dare you? Hanabi had gone through so much, who are you to dictate how her fates will turn out?
She now carried a son. She had even gone to an oracle to make sure of it. Soon, she would be the empress of this empire, and you would be forced to regard her as an equal.
And she was very much looking forward to that day…
Safe to say... you have long since thrown away any thoughts regarding the one woman who isn't worth a second of your time in your blissful days...
“Satoru, hng— ahh!” a lustful, provocative moan escaped your lips as you bucked your hips against his lips—face—and all the while, you weren’t even properly dressed.
But your emperor of a husband insisted on dipping his head inside your thin bathrobe and devouring you right on the staircase leading to the bathing chamber.
“Ah—aah—hah!” you threw your head back, spreading your legs impossibly wider around his shoulder, as you felt his lips licking your drenched nub.
You wanted so badly to see him, but weren’t able to do so as not only your belly had become such a dome that hindered you from seeing your lower half, Satoru hiding under your robes meant you wouldn’t be able to see him at all.
And so, all you could do was feel, feel and feel.
Feel how sticky wet your womanhood was, feel how his hair was tickling your thighs, and feel how as he eagerly sucked and nipped at you, it almost made you see stars—
“Satoru, the servants… mmrngh! Can walk in!” you tried to reason and yet failing at the same time as a shuddering pleasure washed over you like a rising tide.
“So be it,” came Satoru’s daring reply from underneath. “Let them see… and I’ll tell them— this is how their empress comes to be s-so swollen… with the fruit of my labors!”
You moaned again unabashedly, not even bothering to hold it back as the noises you made echoed throughout the hall, your fingers curling and clawing at the marbled tiles.
And soon, you couldn’t hold it in anymore as you came around his tongue.
“Ah…” you writhed breathlessly, feeling how your cum helplessly gushing out, limp against the stairs. Your body jerked, and cramped as you felt him taking in everything that came out of you.
When he was done, Satoru gently removed your light robe and embraced you, taking in every detail. He admired the cascade of your hair over your shoulder, the softness of your skin—seemingly even softer in recent months—and how your body gracefully accommodated the baby.
So heavy with his child… and yet it only roused his desires.
“Look at you, do I tire you out?” he chuckled, licking the remnants of your juice off his lips. You shot him an unamused look and poked his chest in response.
“Here, let me clean you up...”
After cleaning you, he gathered you and brought you to the bath tub, submerging both of you in the warm water.
Satoru pulled you close from behind, wrapping his arms around your upper body, gently kissing your neck.
“You’re so affectionate,” you giggled as you caressed his cheek. “I had half a mind that you’d be repulsed with how big I’ve become, and yet you never stray far from my bed.”
“Nonsense. Your chamber is the temple and I worship any ground you walk on.”
“You’re not worshipping me?”
“I do more than just worship you, my goddess.” Satoru drawled out with a lazy smile, burning a wet kiss on your face. “You know that.”
At this moment, you felt warm and fulfilled, resigning yourself to your husband's arms with a contented sigh... until you let out a low hiss when you felt the familiar pounding from inside your belly.
"Shh," Satoru warm hand pressed on the protruding spot in your bump, soothing you. "There, there... don't hurt your mama, hmm?"
Soon, you'd have your baby in your arms, and your heart melted at the very thought. That little baby would soon be running the palace halls, bringing joy to this empire.
"You know I'd protect you from anything and everything," your husband said to you in a whisper, lovingly breathing in your scent. "So my only wish for you is to deliver the baby safely. Afterwards, leave the rest to me, hmm?"
I don't want to lose you. That was clearly the fear behind his words. Satoru's grip on you tightened and you kissed his arm, reassuring him.
After everything you went through, this would be your happy ending, and you would do whatever it takes to win it.
And then the day comes —
Your labor pains started at the crack of dawn, and you were immediately brought to the birthing chambers afterwards.
Even within the confines of your chambers, your cries echoed through the halls. Shoko and several of your maids stayed with you inside, while the Archbishop guarded the entrance.
"It's almost a day and a half," Satoru muttered restlessly, unable to go on with his day as he paced outside. He had been with you when you woke up to your waters breaking, and he hadn't been able to think straight since.
A maid rushed outside with bloodied towels and he immediately stopped her. "How is the empress? Is she alright?"
The petrified maid bowed her head. "Her Majesty is losing blood, Your Majesty!"
He lost all reasons that very moment. "I have to come inside—!"
"You can't be in there, Your Majesty!" Archbishop Yaga sternly forbid, standing in his way. "It's women's business inside—you should be ready when they announced the birth of the child!"
Satoru's eyes twitched with fury and he was really about to drive past him when this time, it was Shoko who came out, looking alarmed. "Gojo! She's asking for you!"
"He cannot!"
"Suguru..." Satoru turned to his friend with a look and immediately, the duke went to the man’s side.
The emperor then regarded him with an unsettling smile. "Do you like being the Archbishop?"
"Huh?"
"Would you want to keep your position as the Archbishop?"
"Your Majesty!"
"Do you believe you can keep your position as the Archbishop... by defying me?"
Yaga fell silent, as if he had just swallowed a sour lemon, and Satoru seized the opportunity to push him aside. "Then move."
Even after Satoru had rushed inside, Suguru remained near the archbishop and Yaga looked at him incredulously. "He went inside already, why are you still here?"
"His Majesty's orders. Have to keep an eye for you for evaluation since he has another candidate in mind should he deem you unfit in your role..."
"Who is the other candidate!?"
"Ah, he told me his name was... Priest Akutami?"
. . .
Pain blinded your senses that you fell back to the sheets after strenuously pushing, and the next thing you knew, Satoru's face was in your sight.
"Sweetheart, hey..." he took hold of your hand and planted a firm kiss on it. His cerulean eyes gleamed brightly as he gazed at you. "I'm here now."
"Satoru—" your voice came out as a whisper, before another contraction seized you and you moaned. Your eyes rolled back involuntarily as the intense pain surged through you once more. You could feel how close you were, yet it was so painful you could barely breathe.
"Take deep breath, here—" he helped you to sit straighter and gave you his arm to hold.
"Your Majesty, I can see the head already!" the midwife exclaimed in joy, and Satoru turned to you with a smile.
“A little bit more,” he encouraged you, pressing a kiss on your temple. “Just a bit more, my sweet, you can do it, hmm? Here, hold onto me.”
And with his voice as your lifeline, you groaned and pushed once more, putting a part of your soul into it before you blacked out and collapsed in his arms.
At first, everything was silent, but then a sound reached your ears— a cry. Your baby's first cry.
"I-it's a princess!" the midwife announced, and the room erupted into gasps of wonder.
You looked at Satoru through bleary eyes, and for the first time, you saw him utterly speechless.
He was struck by the sight of that tiny being being gently cleaned by Shoko before his gaze returned to you.
You were sweaty, panting, limp, appearing haggard with tears in your eyes and streaking your face, and yet...
You are still the most beautiful thing he has ever laid his eyes on.
"A girl... just... like you wanted..." you managed to say with a hoarse voice and wobbly smile, and seeing you, without a moment's hesitation, Satoru went in and locked you in a deep kiss.
"Thank you—" even he himself was near tears when he pulled away and pressed his forehead against yours. There were so many things he wanted to tell you, countless celebrations he envisioned, all in praise of you and the heavens above for granting him such unparalleled happiness—
"...!" But suddenly, you curled into him, suppressing a scream and failing that it turned into a devastating wail, and you dug your nails into the flesh of his arm. "Ahhh!"
"What happened?" Satoru looked at you in alarm, then to the midwife who hurried to tend to you once more. "What happened to the Empress?!"
The midwife probed your belly, her expression lighting up with understanding. "O-oh my... there is another baby, Your Majesty!"
He didn't have time to dwell on the revelation when you cried out again. Setting aside all surprise, he aided you once more, and after more minutes of intense effort—
"A prince! The Empress has given birth to a prince!"
Twins. The whole Western Empire rejoiced at the news that their new empress had delivered a prince and princess for the nation.
Amidst the flurry of upcoming festivities and celebrations, you spent most of your days resting, as the birth had taken a lot out of you. Satoru took charge of the planning again, despite his busy schedule, and of course, he never failed to visit you and the babies regularly.
And whenever he did, his breath was always taken away.
Two precious babies lay still in the bassinet, peacefully asleep. Satoru gently poked each of them on the cheek.
The princess... as if the heavens had answered his prayers, she resembled you so closely that he fell in love all over again. She was so precious and small, and he imagined she would grow into a beauty just like you.
Satoru had sworn it before and did so again—he would protect her at all costs.
And the prince... he was so much like Satoru that it made his heart skip a beat. With his hair and eyes, his one concern was whether he had inherited his curse too. But regardless, he was determined to help and guide him should that day ever come.
When the boy cooed in his sleep, Satoru knew he too owned a part of his heart. He would definitely raise him well, teach him how to protect you and his sister, and one day, to succeed him as well.
As of you... you were asleep much like your children, and Satoru failed to hold back a smile. He gently combed your hair and just like that, you were roused from your sleep.
"Satoru, hello," you croaked and leaned into his touch.
His eyes fondly crinkled as he looked at you. "How are you feeling?"
"Good. It's been weeks. I've been feeling better for a while actually." You threw him a meaningful smile. "I might've cheated my way out of royal duties to rest..."
"Heh. Then keep cheating until the allotted time then. I'll permit it."
You raised an eyebrow. "When will my time be up?"
"The ceremony to present our babies..." Satoru played with your fingers. "We're expected to hold them and show them to the masses. You have to be there so they won't forget who the empress is."
"Right..." but you suddenly deflated and your husband tilted his head. "After that... we can't keep them out of the prying eyes anymore, everyone would delve into their affairs too."
Satoru's eyes fixed on you, sincere and true. "We can't avoid it, but if you wish for them to be out of the limelight for a little more time, I can arrange it. Your wishes come first."
The thought that your precious babies would be faced with many court intrigues made you want to keep them inside the protection of your womb a little longer. Yet, just as you and Satoru had experienced yourselves, sitting at the highest seat of monarchy required unbending will. Both of you would have to teach that strength to your children.
As if knowing what you were thinking, Satoru gathered both of your hands and squeezed it with a smile.
“Still, we are going to be there for them, are we not? Don’t worry. I’m here, and there’s no way I’m letting our son face any sort of curse alone.” He caressed your knuckles. “And you will be here for our daughter, teaching her how to become a magnificent lady just like you. As long as we’re here... they’ll be okay, hmm?”
Right at that moment, as you stared back at his deep, sparkling eyes, you could've sworn that you had fallen in love with Gojo Satoru once again.
You used to think that to love is to be accepted wholly, but after everything you had experienced, you realized that it also came with a load of worries, and you used to fear them, until...
A smile so pretty bloomed in your face as you squeezed his hand back.
“I love you,” you held his gaze unwaveringly, your eyes shining like glitters. “So long as we’re together, there’s nothing we can’t do, yeah?”
He seemed taken aback at first, before breaking into a smile so dashing it was almost blinding.
“Chasing after you and making you my empress is possibly the greatest deed I’ve achieved my entire life,” Satoru declared with a grin, and you knew your heart was truly his in every sense then.
“So, right. From now on and forevermore— You and me. Always.”
. . .
The presentation of the new crown prince and princess of Western Empire was an unforgettable affair. The grandeur of the celebration rivaled even the festivities of your wedding itself.
Given that it was both a ceremony for the babies and also nearing your birthday, Satoru decided to host a grand ball to mark the occasion. This lavish event ensured no one would dispute your position, regardless of how you came to hold it, and it was also befitting the bestowal of official titles upon your children.
Your son and daughter squirmed in their crib as they were brought forward, and once again, as you stood before the assembled court, you felt a twinge of reluctance to finally present them to everyone.
But Satoru's eyes held you with so much certainty that you found reassurance in his gaze.
And by the moment he cradled your son and you held your daughter, and he declared to the court—
"Here I present to you, the Crown Prince and Crown Princess of Western Empire!"
You feel wholly sure. With Satoru by your side, you let go of all your fears. Time and time again, he had proved the extent of his love for you, and as you ushered a new era with him, you believed all was going to be well.
Just like your coronation not long ago, the crowd cheered in joy.
Gazing upon the sea of people roaring and cheering below… a familiar warmth surged within you.
Once again, it was a sight beyond belief for you, as they chanted praises and acclamations—
“LONG LIVE THE CROWN PRINCE!”
“ALL HAIL THE EMPEROR!”
“LONG LIVE THE EMPIRE!”
SOME WEEKS LATER . . .
"We've received a very strange invitation..."
You looked up from your baby boy and curiously peeked at one of Satoru's aides who was on duty today, Todo Aoi. He had come bearing news.
You had always thought he was quite eccentric, but today, he looked uncharacteristically serious.
"Strange, how?" Suguru questioned.
"From?" Satoru added with a totally uninterested expression.
"Eastern Empire," the man coughed awkwardly, as if thinking hard. "Apparently, a prince has been born and the royal consort is to be crowned as the new empress..."
"Who!?" Shoko, who was holding your baby girl, whirled around in surprise.
"Royal Consort Hanabi, I believe her name is. She is to be the Empress of Eastern Empire."
It was such a deafening silence all of a sudden that you could hear a pin drop. Suguru and Shoko gaped. You were stunned.
Only Satoru who didn't seem to show any reaction to the news.
Suguru cleared his throat, feeling the need to double-take. "Empress of... where?"
"That conniving hag..." Shoko muttered under her breath, before her gaze accidentally landed on you.
You were surprised, but strangely, you didn't feel anything. Long ago, you would've been heartbroken by this turn of events, but now, it just eluded you how she could maintain her position as long as she could. Well, when one is favored by luck, anything is possible though...
Satoru suddenly clapped his hands, letting out a mocking laugh.
"Is it really that surprising?" he asked with so much sarcasm, catching all four of you off guard. "When the emperor can barely fulfill his duties, even a scullery maid could rise to become the mother of the nation. The real question is..."
It was as if a sudden chill descended upon the room when he next spoke:
"How long... will she last?"
The question is answered soon enough.
Empress Hanabi's reign in the Eastern Empire lasted for only seven days. It was known as the greatest scandal ever gracing the history.
She had given birth to a son, who was appointed as the crown prince on the same day as her coronation. Emperor Zen'in Naoya personally led the ceremony. At first glance, it really seemed well...
Until seven days later, he suddenly erupted in fury.
The palace walls have ears, and behind closed doors, servants whispered about the incident. It began with Naoya launching into a tirade, claiming that the princess born to Hanabi previously, as well as the newborn prince, were not his by blood.
It was the highest form of treachery to deceive the crown, and so a death sentence was about to be imposed on Hanabi for this… until the emperor suddenly fell ill due to a stroke, rendering him unfit to rule. Prince Megumi ascended the throne as the new emperor.
Despite his stern demeanor, the young emperor showed abundant kindness. He considered the plight of Hanabi's children, realizing they would be in peril without their mother, so he chose to banish her instead.
. . .
How did it end up like this?
Hanabi didn't know how many days and nights she had cried, cursing fate and her life, as she was being sent away from the palace.
Everything was in her grasp. Her very grasp! Until... until—!
She sobbed her heart out once again, mourning her short-lived life, before it was cruelly robbed from her.
Her children... they were all of Naoya's blood. Despite doubts surrounding them, she was faithful to him and to the crown. All of this... was all a whole scheme to trap her!
...was it you? Could you have orchestrated this? Could you truly be so wicked as to ruin her life entirely?
"You've always coveted what I have, and sooner or later, that will be your downfall."
Was this the price of defying her social status, just like your omen, after all...?
"That can't be!" she screamed inside the wagon set to bring her to the unknown, her voice drowned by the sound of the rainstorm happening outside. "Empress Y/N... you're a horrible human being!"
With every fiber of her being, she hated you so much for ever crossing your path with hers.
Even until the end, she never realized that it was all her own doing.
After hours of journey on the road, she was brought inside a mansion she failed to recognize due to the storm at the first glance. She had given up on resisting because it was futile.
But upon realizing who awaited her in the room, she trembled in fear and backed against the wall.
Hanabi wished she could lose her sanity amidst the whirlwind madness happening to her, because really, it might be better than all of this.
His impressive height gazed down at her from above. It was impossible to hide from his piercing stare.
Duke Kamo Choso, with his crooked sneer, greeted her.
"Well, hello, Hanabi... it has been a while, huh? Did you miss me?"
in the wake of your scandalous divorce, you fall into the arms of emperor gojo satoru. for a while, you believe you have found love… until it becomes clear that your new husband is scheming behind your back! love, marriage, divorce… are you doomed to go through this path the second time?
genre/warnings:
18+ suggestive content—minors do not interact!—might be ooc, angst, fluff, hurt/comfort, marriage of convenience, explicit smut, pregnancy
note:
loosely inspired by and taking some elements of manhwa remarried empress. this is the second part of remarried empress au trilogy! wc. 9.2k ! thank you so much for your love in the first part🩵 but as of now, TAGLIST IS CLOSED so i'd appreciate it if the comment section won't be flooded with asks for tags :')
credit header goes to @/mongsanghwa in twitter!
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Heavens, help me... I love her too damn much!
For Gojo Satoru, love was once an abstract concept. At first, he thought it was admiration, or a sense of obsession—
But on the day he watched you become Zen’in Naoya’s bride, Satoru realized it was much deeper than that. It felt like the sharpest sword had pierced straight into him and lodged itself there.
And then, years later— as if hearing his prayers, you became his. Since then, his life was perfect, because he wasn't lying when he said that you were everything he wanted in life.
Yet in a twist of fate, that same sinking, horrific feeling washed over him... as he watched the pagoda he built for you engulfed in flames.
You were there. Satoru felt himself staggering as he took in the mortifying sight. You and his unborn child are inside!
He didn't waste a breath as he dashed towards where you were, crushing everything in his path in the process, but just as he was about to enter the scorching temple—
“Satoru, no!” Suguru grabbed him, restraining him with his own body. “Get back!”
“No!” he screamed at him frantically. “She is there! Suguru, let go—!”
And then the worst happened, as the pagoda completely crumbled into a heap of rubble. Satoru's breath was knocked out of him as he faced the reality that he couldn't save you in time. And he felt like losing his consciousness as he wheezed, and thrashed in Suguru's hold.
It was all too much for him to comprehend as he struggled against the devastation before him.
How... did this happen? You were happy. You were about to welcome a child into your lives! The two of you really were...
SEVERAL WEEKS PRIOR
Your husband is trying to use you to wage a war... against your homeland.
You secluded yourself in your study, trying to make sense what you just overheard.
In a broader perspective, Satoru's actions could be constituted as national defense. If he perceived the Eastern Empire as a threat, then countermeasures were indeed necessary. But if not...
Regardless, it was not the very idea that blew you, but how he planned to use you to sway sentiment in your former country, to weaken them.
Is that what he's been aiming all this time? You felt like a hypocrite to question this since you too were using him. But these days, you were certainly not using him—you were falling in love with him.
It was strange, because you were supposed to be furious if that was his intent from the start. Yet what you felt right now was profound sadness, possibly even denial and heartbreak. You kept thinking how there must be another explanation—
“Sweetheart, hello~!”
You were startled when the door to your study was suddenly flung open, and the man from your thoughts strode in with a broad grin, completely oblivious to your inner turmoil.
"Satoru." You fixed him with a genial smile, even as nausea churned within you. Straightening your skirts, you looked up at him.
"I've been told you haven't been well, and Shoko said you've seen the physician," Satoru frowned, his long fingers cradling your face as he half-sat on your desk. "How did it go? What did he say?"
"Oh..." you clammed up, feeling at loss. "He said..."
Your dashing husband tilted his head curiously, bright eyes softened, worried lines etched on his face were so clear... and despite your conflict, you didn't have the heart to deny him this news.
"I'm with child." This time, your smile was genuine as you pushed back your intrusive thoughts. "Satoru... I'm carrying our child."
For a full ten seconds, Satoru was stunned, staring at you with a blank expression, his lips slightly parted. "H-huh...? Child? A... baby?"
"Mm-hm. A living baby."
"O-oh..." Satoru blinked his eyes rapidly—looking at your face, then your abdomen—before his expression broke into absolute wonder, broadly grinning. "T-that's... oh— it's—!"
To say he was speechless didn't cut it as he stuttered, messed his hair, pinched his own cheek, becoming restless yet looking so incredibly giddy—
"My queen!" Satoru suddenly lifted you and spun you around midair. "My beautiful wife—!" before gently sitting you on the desk and burying his face in your skirts, hugging your waist tightly. "Good lord, I'm— I'm so—!"
It hadn't truly dawned on you until now that you were going to become a mother. Witnessing Satoru's unabashed reaction as he nestled his face into you… nearly brought tears to your eyes.
Right in this moment, you didn't entertain any other thoughts. You were deeply moved by your husband's overwhelming excitement for your baby. And the realization that, despite Naoya's accusations—
Satoru looked up at you the second you sniffled, and he immediately drew you closer, pressing his forehead against yours.
"Hey, no tears, yeah?" He rested a hand on your jaw, his eyes sparkling with utter adoration as he gazed at you. "This is wonderful. We're going to be parents. This child... a part of you and me—we're going to bring them into the world."
You tugged his collar close and brushed your lips against his. And he responded with equal fervor. You yearned for this closeness with him.
. . .
But still in the back of your head, that lingering, buried fear whispered—
Is the man who adores you this much... capable of hurting you to the same extent?
With your bare bodies pressed closely, and you under him, Satoru could sense the rapid beat of your heart. And in return, you felt the heat of his palms against your skin and the tremors in his breath.
Yet now, in your marital bed, it quickly became clear to him that you, who were usually so composed and collected, were nervous. Satoru couldn't suppress the smile spreading across his face even if he tried.
"This is far from our first time, Empress." His coy smirk taunted you as he littered kisses along your jawline and chest. "What are you so jittery about, hmm?"
"Ah..." you let out a soft sigh as he sucked your breast with his mouth. "N-nothing... you're mistaken."
"Hmm... not confessing? Right..." He then grabbed the generous mound of your other breast and fondled it, making you squirm and moan.
But in the midst of this eroticism, suddenly your mind was thrown back to—
“That’s why I have her here.”
"Satoru," you breathed out, catching his hands. He looked up to you in slight surprise, thinking that you wanted to stop.
But he was in for a plot twist when you first pushed him, then flipped him underneath you, straddling him and capturing his lush lips, yanking his hair in the process.
"Whoa— hey..." Satoru held your hips, visibly startled but clearly enjoying your sudden whim, snickering. "My queen—ohh— you're a sight to behold, on top of me."
He grabbed the flesh of your bottom, sinking his fingers into it and pulling you forward. You let yourself be moved until your thighs were next to his ears.
Suddenly, it was, at once, the most peculiar experience—the greatest confidence boost you had ever received, and the hottest thing he had ever seen.
"You're so damn wet already," your husband nipped your inner thigh playfully as he observed your folds, and you gasped. "Are you ready?"
In response, you slammed yourself onto his face because, right now, you were in a less than forgiving mood.
"You look good under me," you darkly retorted, but then you choked on your own breath when your husband started licking your folds messily with his tongue.
Satoru smirked at the sound of your breathless noises, responding by lapping even more fervently. Your fingers tangled in his hair, tightening their grip on his scalp as you began to grind yourself against his face.
"You a-are really n-nasty!" you moaned, voice breaking at the feeling his sinful tongue parting your opening. "Maybe y-you have lied to me… all th-is time."
Satoru furrowed his brows in slight confusion, and perhaps a bit of annoyance, as he pinched your clit in retaliation, causing you to draw in a sharp breath.
"You're— awful!" but contrary to your claims, your face contorted with pleasure as the tight coil in your belly spasmed. "How m-many women... h-have you beguiled like m-me?"
He almost laughed into your ass. Literally. If being called awful was the price for pleasuring the most beautiful woman in the lands, then Satoru would be happy to be that horrible person every day of his life.
But then, you suddenly shifted on top of him, no longer positioning your hips in his face, and he quickly caught your face, crashing his lips against yours so both of you wouldn’t part for even a second.
"Nobody else," he murmured, wet lips and tongue ravishing yours, so much lust glistening in his eyes. "I'm all yours— forever." Just as he whispered it amidst pants, he groaned when your hand sneakily went to his very hard length.
And firmly grasped it. He got swollen just by tasting you and hearing your noises earlier. He growled, and against his senses, he pushed you down to lodge it inside you, penetrating and splitting you apart in one go.
“Ah—! Satoru— it’s too…!” you babbled breathlessly, your nails digging into his shoulders, feeling his huge cock pulsing inside your tight walls.
“Your fault,” he rebuked, eyes narrowing into darker shades, rigorously moving his hips against yours as he sat up. It was impossible to hold it in any longer, he could feel it already.
He tensed up, adjusting his position, so close to losing it inside you, and when he heard your dirty mewls and felt you shudder—reverberating through his body too—Satoru gripped your waist tighter, groaning, holding you in place to release his load inside you with precision.
Your body gave in as well, releasing at the same moment his cum burst inside you. Your vision blurred as the nastiest of moans escaped you, yet you felt so safe as your husband caught you in his arms.
. . .
"Are you okay?" Satoru asked worriedly after you rolled off him in the aftermath of your bliss. "Do you feel sick?" Your unfocused eyes met his, and he looked panicked, pulling you closer. "Shit, did I go too far? I shouldn't have, especially with the baby still in the early stages..."
"I'm... okay," you croaked, trying to reassure him. "Just tired..."
Heaving a relieved sigh, Satoru pecked you in the lips.
"Am I... a mess?" you leaned on him with a blissful smile, feeling his cum still trickling out between your legs.
"Yeah... My beautiful mess, that is." Satoru chuckled, reveling in the state of your disarray. "Soon enough," his hands traced your skin before settling on your tummy, a fond smile curving his lips. "Our baby will grow here."
"Yes—" you replied, placing your palm over his. "Do you... want a boy or girl?"
A boy would be the much sought-after prince, and you fully expected him to favor it, until to your surprise, Satoru lightly hummed and pressed a kiss on your belly button.
"Does that matter? What's important is you deliver them safely and they're healthy," he chuckled. "A princess will be nice... she'll turn out to be as lovely as you."
"But the heir has to be a prince..."
"Nah. I can always amend the succession norms. I'm the emperor."
And you giggled next. Seeing how free you looked, Satoru thought you were the woman overturning his skies and stars, and you truly are—as now you are the mother of his own flesh and blood, his future empire.
There will be a nation-wide celebration for you. Satoru insisted it was a must, and he would invite dignitaries from neighboring empires and kingdoms as well.
Including the Eastern Empire.
. . .
“Your Majesty. I... bring a gift and an invitation from the Western Empire.”
Naoya clacked his heel on the carpet, casting a sharp, yet uninterested look at his aide.
“There will be a celebration for—” the poor man gulped uneasily, faltering as if he could foresee how his emperor would react. Naoya scowled.
“Spit it out.”
“The former empress’ pregnancy, Your Majesty!”
“What...?” At that moment, he snapped his head towards him. It felt like everything he had ever known came crashing down. “Y/N...?”
That can’t be possible. For many years both of you had failed. That was why he took that maid and divorced you. No, upon reflection, it was never truly his intention to divorce you—he had wanted you to raise that child if you couldn't bear one.
But then you completely ignored him and had an affair with Gojo Satoru. He was furious. He couldn't bear the disgrace of it all, so he went with the divorce, if only to assert some control. However, the joke was on him, as you ultimately fled with Gojo entirely.
But if you aren’t infertile... Then, what did that make him?
Numerous thoughts ran through his mind. Was it possible that it was his child instead of Gojo’s? How many months had it been anyway?
...or could it be that he is the one who is—!
“No...” he muttered, frantic, taking sharp breaths. “Absolute rubbish!”
The aide stared at him in fear, as Naoya appeared unhinged now. But soon, that fear gave away to pity, as the emperor trashed his desk and howled in frustration— but contrary to the expected fury, Naoya looked like he was mourning, evident by the way he flung everything but the very portrait from his coronation day.
Of him and you. Even after that disastrous divorce, he had never taken it down from the wall of his study. Now, Naoya was staring at it, a multitude emotions clouding his eyes.
This man, just as the aide had always thought, has thrown away the only good thing he has in his life.
“Are the invitations sent already?” Satoru asked with a blooming smile, rolling the yarn out of his cat’s reach as the poor kitty grappled to catch it. “And how are the preparations going?”
“Banquets are usually handled by the Empress, but you really go out of your way and do it instead,” Suguru shook his head, unamused by the added workload it brought him, especially considering his disinterest in festivities.
“They’re all sent, some of them responded—before you ask, Naoya hasn’t— and I’ve cascaded the preparation to Shoko, since I have no clue what to do about it.”
“Well, not that I care if he’s going to stay sour and wants his name tarnished in the daily papers as a bitter ex-husband…” Satoru shrugged, petting Sugu-chan as the cat purred contentedly. “He is tactless, he very well might be.”
“You really want to spite him, don’t you…” Suguru sighed. “You even sent him a note. It was unnecessary.”
“He was the one hurling curses at me and my empress first. I’m just returning the favor.”
The note in question was of lines after lines of flowery nonsense about gratitude and whatnot. Satoru imagined Naoya's vein would burst after reading his card.
“I’m happy for you, Satoru.” As exasperated as Suguru was, his smile was genuine when he said it. “A royal baby, huh...”
"Suguru." The emperor's voice suddenly dropped an octave, surprising him. "What about the placement of the totem I told you the other day?"
The abrupt shift in conversation made Suguru visibly uncomfortable, and again, they were back to this topic.
"You're seriously going to do this?" the duke asked, almost in disbelief. "Satoru, you're going to become a father. You have everything already. This will lead to war one way or another, and—what if the Empress finds out? How do you think it'll make her feel?"
However, Satoru's gaze was cold as he dismissed most of Suguru's tirade. There was a chill in his expression that made his longtime friend inwardly questioned who the man before him was.
"I'm asking you. Have you done it or not, Suguru?"
"You're going to put a curse on a whole village, Satoru."
"I told Zen'in Naoya the moment I got Y/N, that it would mark the beginning of his downfall. I'm making good on that promise."
Suguru pressed his eyes shut to calm his fury. Morally, what Satoru did was wrong, but politically, this was the art of war. Suguru purely opposed to this out of consideration for you.
Few understood Satoru's actions as well as Suguru did. He might understand, others like you and Shoko wouldn't.
"Just remember, when the Empress catches wind of this, she's going to resent you," Suguru warned. "No matter what your reasoning might be."
Satoru's upper lip curled upwards, his eyes bereft of light, narrowing with indifference.
"Unless you never tell her, that is of no relevance."
Love... has he ever loved you all this time?
Naoya had never been confronted with that question or pondered it, simply because he never considered love existed within the context of something as grand as monarchy.
You were chosen because you were well-bred and well-versed in the arts of nobility. You were indeed the epitome of an ideal empress, a fact evident throughout your tenure.
But...
"Naoya!" you yelled at him and caught his hand. "You're a fool! Why did you keep doing that!?"
It was a long-buried memory, when you were still in your teens, around the time you were just made the crown princess. His hands, bruised and bloodied, and you tended to them.
"I'm not weak, you know," he sullenly barked. "I have to train to be stronger."
"You definitely have to train, yes... but you have to take breaks!" you retorted angrily.
"Why do you care so much anyway?" he snapped back. "It's not like your hands that are injured."
And that moment, you were suddenly almost in tears. Naoya never understood why.
"Don't cry." But his instincts told him to make you not cry. "Don't cry. I'm fine, see?"
. . .
Zen'in Naoya jerked awake from his slumber, realizing he had forgotten what his dream was, that it was still the late afternoon, and he was still in his study.
All he felt was that nostalgic feeling, and it intensified when he glanced up... only to see his coronation portrait on the wall.
It was almost as if you were still here. You were incredibly stunning, he had to admit that. Why hadn’t he realized until just recently?
The way your crimson dress flowed out, and that thin, serene smile on your face... you were a picture-perfect empress, and that was not an exaggeration. No one could measure up to you—
"Your Majesty~!"
Especially not Hanabi.
"Your Majesty, the princess has started holding her head up!" Hanabi, now no longer dressed in rags but rather in one of your dresses, excitedly remarking, "Soon, she will start to—"
Naoya's gaze fell on her dress. He recognized it instantly. That specific deep, vibrant shade of red with serpent-like waistband. It was one of his gifts to you for your birthday. "Why are you wearing that?"
"Huh?" she seems perplexed. "Oh this... I thought it looks pretty..."
But to her surprise, he suddenly flared with fury. "That isn't yours, you dullard," he spat out.
Her expression sank in heartbreak as he continued with his venomous speech. "Know your place." His words cut like a blade. "And I keep telling you, a princess is of no use to the throne!"
Hanabi fought to hold back the tears, because not only had he insulted her, worse still, he showed no interest in their daughter. "She is still of your blood, Your Majesty," she replied, her voice trembling.
"I told you, I only want a heir." His sneer caused her eyes to widen in shock. "Other than that, I won't care."
"Your Majesty, please—" Hanabi was desperate for him to acknowledge their daughter, when she caught sight of your ethereal face on the wall.
He still hasn't taken it down. It made her eyes twitch, and her own anger to rise.
"The former empress..." she stared at your picture resentfully. "You still have her here. We never even have our portraits painted..."
Naoya's icy gaze leveled at her without a hint of sympathy, despite the woman standing before him being the mother of his child.
"Why do you look at me like that?" Hanabi asked, tears spilling from her eyes. "You used to care for me when you thought I would bear you a son. Even if it's a daughter, she deserves love too, doesn't she?"
In the last five years, she had come to know that the emperor wasn't always this manic person. He used to be gentler, or at least not as vindictive.
And she never truly wanted you to be cast away like that. She looked up to you, admired you from up close, and meant it when she said she would carry your legacy as best as she could.
"Are you dumb?" Naoya barked. "I told you to know your place!"
...yet why? Why are people in this palace so harsh to her?
“I wish you luck on that, Hanabi. Beware, the emperor is fickle…”
Your unkind eyes, Naoya's disdainful stares even after she gave birth to his child... She didn't even care about becoming the empress anymore. She just wanted a happy life!
"If it was the former empress' child... even if it was a princess..." Hanabi turned to him with determination even amidst her pitiful tears. "You wouldn't cast her aside just like you do now with my daughter, would you, Your Majesty?"
Naoya's gaze, devoid of emotion and filled with blatant disinterest more than anything, shot through her, hurting her more than if it was filled with fury instead.
The lack of warmth in his stare made her feel like being looked through rather than being seen. As if she is that insignificant.
"Leave," he ordered coldly next, turning his back on her.
And there is her answer.
Hanabi had been your maid for five long years. She knew who you were, what you stood for, and your whole demeanor. Yet, despite her best efforts, she could never emulate you in the same way, could she?
. . .
"My lady... don't you know that the former empress is with child?"
Once again, Hanabi felt the sting of ice when her lady-in-waiting delivered the news.
"Empress... Y/N?" she whispered. "How...?"
You were stripped of your titles here, and yet you still remained a queen somewhere else. Hanabi might have won Naoya's favor, but now she was losing it while you had another emperor's affection.
Not much had changed about you. You still occupied the highest seat a woman could possibly attain. Whereas she...
"But she is barren!" she turned to her confidant then, almost in disbelief.
"Evidently not. Emperor Gojo has proven that."
How nice. A part of Hanabi wanted to congratulate you because she knew of your sufferings—how much you longed to hold a baby from your womb in your arms.
How unfair... But another part of her couldn't help but despise you. Because even in your absence, she still had to live in your shadow. Because you, who had lost everything, regained it all so easily.
"And my lady... Emperor Gojo is going to throw a banquet for this occasion next month. You are expected to attend it."
"Sweetheart, you asleep?"
One night, several weeks later, just as you were about to drift off to sleep, you felt the sheets shift as Satoru slipped into bed beside you.
Though you didn't turn to face him, you felt his warm hands wrap around your waist from behind.
"Satoru... you're back," you murmured sleepily.
"Mm-hmm," he whispered, pulling you closer to his chest and burying his face in your hair, taking in your scent. "Shoko told me you've been in your bedchamber since breakfast. Are you okay?"
"I get queasy if I walk too much, so I've been lying down all day... But don't worry, the physician said it's normal in early stages of pregnancy."
His grip on you tightened, as he caressed your belly. "Hmm, naughty baby. I'm sorry I wasn't here..."
"Where were you?"
For days now, he had been away, and you hadn't really questioned him. You had your guesses though—
"I was overseeing the construction of a new pagoda," he said softly, kissing your neck. "For you, actually."
That was so unexpected that it made you open your eyes fully. "What— for me?" Building pagoda was definitely not a small affair. Usually it was for religious purposes.
"It's a gift to the heavens for blessing me with you and our baby. It's expected to be completed before your celebration banquet."
The tower would be the testament of his love for you and your unborn child. Despite yourself, your heart swelled with overwhelming warmth.
"You're so silly... why do you spend the tax funds for that?" you brushed off the faint heat in your face, not daring to look at him still.
"Whatever I wouldn't do for you?" he cheekily retorted, chuckling.
You had never felt this cherished before, and this time you were certain—you were more than ready to fall in love with this man.
But he... is planning to use you, isn't he?
"Satoru." You shuffled to turn and face him, causing him to crack his lidded eyes open. You gazed at him, placing both of your hands on his face, caressing his face softly.
You're so kind to me. I appreciate you for that. You wanted to tell him various things, but the darkness in your heart ever since overhearing his exchange with Suguru made it hard for you to do so.
"Mm? What is it?" he drawled with a small smile, leaning into your touch.
“You... love me, don't you?”
His bright eyes found yours then, sharp and steady. An impossibly fond smile graced his lips, as if finding what you said the most natural thing there was.
“Throughout heaven and earth,” he proclaimed, his voice steady to match his eyes. “Yes, my queen.”
...then you would trust him, if only just for this moment. The genuine sincerity in his eyes, the raw authenticity in his words... it all felt too real.
And so, even when you were well-aware of the bitter possibility of truth, you leaned in and kissed him, giving yourself to his touch as his hand slipped inside you.
And soon, came the day of the lavish banquet solely held to celebrate your pregnancy.
You were seated on your throne, dressed in a stunning aquamarine gown. The skirt of the dress was full and flowing, spilling onto the floor in a waterfall of shimmering fabric. Upon your head perched your crown of diamonds, glinting beneath the light, and your ceremonial veil to make you look as queenly as you could possibly be.
Everyone would agree that you were a sight to behold, and that you were worthy of every praise possible.
"Many congratulations to you, Your Majesty."
"This is a splendid news! A royal baby!"
"To think that the emperor has settled down... sniff, how long have we been waiting for this...? We almost gave up."
You almost giggled at the way Archbishop Yaga wiped his tears with a handkerchief as he presented you with his gift.
Despite your initial reservations, you enjoyed the festivities more than you expected. You had opposed the idea at first, finding it quite unnecessary, but Satoru had pouted for three long days until you eventually relented to appease him.
Speaking of him, he was equally dressed to impress, looking every bit as an emperor he was in an exquisite aquamarine military uniform and robes. Despite engaging in conversation with Earl Nanami, he kept a watchful eye on you, stealing glances in your direction to ensure you were well.
You nodded at him, and he threw you a wink. You smiled.
Everything was truly going well... until the herald announced:
"Prince Megumi and Royal Consort Hanabi from Eastern Empire!"
There was suddenly a hush over the crowd as the two made their entrance. You stilled, looking at the figure responsible for your checkered life—
Hanabi was starkly different since the last you saw her at the courthouse during your divorce. Her dress was now a vibrant shade of burgundy red, reminiscent of a gown you once wore. Gone was her air of humility, replaced by a display of extravagance befitting a noblewoman.
She is no longer your maid, but Naoya's consort. There was no trace of the woman who once served you. You were actually impressed, as she could actually shape herself into the image of a royal consort.
"Empress." However, your attention quickly shifted to Naoya's nephew, and once also your ward, Megumi, as he bowed before you respectfully. "Congratulations."
A fond smile tugged at the corners of your lips as you regarded the young prince who had once been a very shy individual. It reminded you of the days spent with him just to get him out of his shell.
"Thank you, Megumi."
"Diamonds suit you far better than golds do. I wish only for the best for you, Your Majesty."
It warmed your heart, really. Using that reference to your gold crown from your time in the Eastern Empire, you could see how much Megumi truly understood your position and bore no resentment towards you.
Could the same be said for Naoya though?
Right after you received his gift—an ornate box that seemed oddly familiar to you—Hanabi suddenly blurted out:
"So, fate has smiled upon you. Congratulations Empress Y/N." She kept that soft, meaningful smile on her face as she offered her felicitations.
Ever since her arrival was announced, something about her demeanor had bothered you. There was a subtle emptiness that seemed to linger in her gaze.
"Thank you," you responded, and that was when you noticed it. There was never any celebration for the birth of her daughter and Naoya, only a passing announcement.
And so, you added. "Congratulations on the birth of the princess too."
You could have sworn her expression fell for a moment, but she quickly regained her composure and bowed her head to you.
For a while, you lost sight of her in the crowd, feeling quite comfortable in your dais. Soon after, Satoru returned to your side, and the herald announced:
"Attention! His Majesty the Emperor's gift for Her Majesty the Empress!"
You looked at Satoru questioningly, and he gave you a dashing smirk before turning to the crowd.
"Thank you, all of you, for joining us to celebrate this joyous occasion." The way he carried himself and the sheer confidence he exuded was mesmerizing, you couldn't deny how it made you swoon. "I've been infamous for many things, and I'm sure the tales have spread far and wide. So please, allow me one more gesture with you as the witnesses."
The crowd giggled at his words, and you finally spotted Hanabi among them, quietly assessing the scene.
Your husband turned to you, a soft smile on his face.
"This is for you my empress— my lovely queen. Words can't describe how elated I am to know that now you bear our child." He took your hand and pressed a kiss on it. "And it's only fitting that I praise you along with the skies and the stars."
A footman arrived and presented a pearly box. Satoru opened it, revealing a necklace inside. The centerpiece was a large, flawless diamond surrounded by smaller, perfectly cut stones of the same kind. No matter how you saw it, it was truly a work of art, meant to captivate and dazzle anyone who laid eyes on it.
You let out a gasp. "This..."
Satoru grinned, picking up the jewelry and preparing to place it on you. "Nothing much. Just a little trinket for you."
"This is not just a 'little trinket'!"
Your banter elicited another round of snickers from the audience as Satoru fastened the necklace around your neck. The moment he did, the crowd erupted into applause.
"Actually, my real gift is the new pagoda in the royal gardens, built in honor of the Empress," Satoru stated effortlessly, grinning unabashedly. "Feel free to stop by later, everyone."
To the ton, for him to gift you with something so sacred was the height of extravagance. Some of them wondered how you had managed to turn the elusive emperor into someone so devoted to you.
And a few... might be harboring ill will against you for it.
. . .
Later that night, you were sorting through the gifts you had received throughout the day.
"I don't understand, why would you give an expecting woman this?" Shoko picked apart a manuscript that was the gift from Archbishop Yaga. "Who would read this?"
"I wouldn't, but I'm sure Duke Geto would," you replied, and soon the two of you were giggling together.
From jewelry to ornaments, you were pleased with all the gifts presented by the guests from day one. While most were given out of formality, it was heartwarming to imagine your baby seeing all these someday.
Your attention soon turned to the box Megumi handed you earlier—Naoya's gift.
You were intrigued, because what could your spiteful ex-husband could possibly give you? And you immediately reached over to open the lid to find...
"What's that?" Shoko asked as your eyes widened in slight surprise.
Inside the box was an intricate gold and ruby necklace. One you knew well. The very one you wore during your coronation as the Empress of the Eastern Empire.
Years ago, Naoya himself had chosen this piece for you, and now he was gifting it to you, again?
“From now on, it’s going to be me and you, Empress.”
Reliving years of your marriage with him wasn't easy. You two were childhood sweethearts, and had been happy in the beginning. You couldn't pinpoint when things began to fall apart, but suddenly Naoya turned into such a person you didn't recognize altogether.
Seeing this relic made you nostalgic, and before you realized it, you touched it, trying to get a better look—
"Ah—!"
Suddenly, a sharp, unexpected pain shot through your abdomen. You instantly dropped the jewelry, letting it crash to the ground, and clutched your lower belly.
"Empress! What happened?!" Shoko rushed to your side in an instant, holding you up, and you whimpered.
"It hurts—!" Your breath hitched, as a seemingly invisible knife gutted you from inside. The intensity of the pain was overwhelming, leaving you gasping for breath. "Shoko, please—"
And before you could even scream or think, the pain blindsided you and your vision titled, before blacking out completely.
First came the warmth, then a reassuring squeeze on your hand. As your consciousness returned, you felt groggy, with your surroundings sharpening into focus.
The first thing that became your main focus the moment your eyes fluttered open was Satoru's face, a mixture of fright and relief etched across his features.
"You're awake..." He breathlessly muttered, sitting on your bedside, interlacing his fingers with yours. "How do you feel?"
"Sa...toru..." your voice was hoarse, barely above a whisper, and as soon as he heard you speak, he exhaled sharply, pulling you into a tight embrace.
"Heavens, I—" he let out a long sigh, his breath hot against your neck. "I'm so glad... you are..."
"What h-happened to me...?" you were feeling feverish and a dull throb was pounding at the back of your head, before the shock of it all dawned on you. "B-baby...! Our—!"
"Baby is okay too, don't worry," Satoru assured, pulling away from you to gently touch your cheek and squeeze your hand. "Both of you are fine for now..."
The horror that you might lose your baby shook you to the very core. Your vision blurred with the threatening onset of tears.
"Wh-at happened to me, Satoru...?" you asked again as he wiped your first falling tears, your heartbeat sounding so loud in your ears. "I-I was just..."
His expression took on a sudden shift, as if a dark cloud had passed over his face.
"You came into contact with a cursed object," he stated, his eyes hard as he locked onto yours. "You were cursed, Y/N."
"What...?" You were rendered speechless, feeling your body starting to shake. Cursed object? Your past coronation necklace?
Naoya was trying to curse you?
"It's okay, I'm here now, yeah?" Satoru's voice broke through your spiraling thoughts, grounding you in the present. "Look at me. Hey, look at me." he repeated, his deep blue eyes locking onto yours with intensity.
“I’m here. I’m here with you. Nothing—absolutely nothing—will touch you so long as I’m here.”
But in that moment, your mind was so overwhelmed with fear for yourself and your unborn baby that you couldn't fully grasp the magnitude of the mess unfolding before you, and you just cried in his arms.
Feeling your feeble fingers fisting his robes and your inconsolable tears staining his collar, Satoru gritted his teeth.
“This won't happen again,” he whispered into your hair, feeling his rage simmering as he felt the tremors of your sobs against his chest. “I swear, I won't let anything like this happen again.”
To Satoru, that was more than enough to justify all his subsequent actions. Putting a curse on his empress essentially amounted to an act of beginning a war.
And it also meant he no longer had to operate behind the scenes.
“Keep them in Clock Tower. No contact. Only food and water at designated times.”
Satoru's icy gaze on the captain of royal guard compelled him to hastily comply with the order, before his eyes landing on the map of the entire continent.
In response to the incident that befell you, he issued orders for open hostility along the eastern and western borders. Soon after, he would formally declare his intention to go to war.
So close. He was so close to achieving his end goal.
. . .
"Satoru!"
Several days later, Suguru burst into his study, visibly outraged. He clenched his fists, looking as if he was about to throttle him altogether.
"You—" he heaved a harsh breath. "You have gone too far!"
"What are you talking about, Suguru?"
"Is cursing the entire winery village not enough for you?" This was the first time Suguru had been this furious with him. "Did you really have to massacre the neighboring district as well?!"
"They have placed a curse on my empress." It was so easy for him to say it. "Anyone who dares to harm her shall die."
"You can direct it at Zen'in Naoya! Not the innocent civilians!"
Satoru remained silent, neither shaken nor enraged, and he had finally had enough.
“Are you even sure it’s because the empress is cursed?" Suguru challenged. In his view, this farce had been going on too long.
“No, Satoru. You are just using her. For so long, you have wanted to bring bloodshed to Western Empire. You were almost there when Empress Y/N proposed that deal to marry you.”
You were informed, days later.
“His Majesty has placed the prince and royal consort of the Eastern Empire under strict watch in Clock Tower.”
Clock Tower was essentially the prison where they kept war criminals. Learning that Satoru had confined both Megumi and Hanabi there left you aghast.
After some days of bedrest and getting better, you realized that the entire situation still didn't make sense to you. As hateful as Naoya was, harming you would do him more harm than good. Eastern and Western Empires stood evenly matched in military power, and hence, a conflict between them would bring devastation to both sides.
And moreover, you knew for sure was that Megumi was definitely not the one responsible for this. He was just a boy!
You had to let him out somehow. You had to talk to Satoru about this.
Or at least that was what you thought when you came close to his study.
“Are you even sure it's because the empress is cursed? No, Satoru. You are just using her. For so long, you have wanted to bring bloodshed to Western Empire. You were almost there when Empress Y/N proposed that deal to marry you.”
You stopped on your tracks—stunned into place, to be exact.
“And you’ve struck gold when she did because her influence will provide you with greater advantage.” Suguru scoffed then, lightly shaking his head with a sneer. “Love? How laughable. All these years, you are planning your warpath, how could you claim you love her when you're trying to ravage her homeland without even considering the impact it would have on her?”
It felt like whiplash. Geto Suguru's voice had your feet rooted to the spot, causing all your doubts to resurface and sizzle in an instant. The very question you had tried to avoid, it was suddenly shoved in your face.
What... will Satoru say? Your heart thumped so loud in your ears it made you almost stagger. He couldn't possibly. He simply couldn't. All his actions... they reflected his affection for you and you believed it because you felt it yourself too.
But Satoru's next response was—
“Even when she is derided as the devil, I will bring an end to the Zen’in line in this lifetime.”
And a part of your heart withers then.
The tips of your fingers trembled, finally taking in everything that you had tried to ignore for the past few weeks. It all caught up to you in one overwhelming rush.
Suddenly, it felt as if something inside your chest was torn out and held up for you to see.
"I'm telling you, that day will come sooner than you think, Satoru." Suguru's voice broke through, his frustration palpable. His words snapped you out of your reverie, and you took a step back, retreating to the safety of your study.
The first time you felt utter hollowness wrecking you was when you had suspected that Naoya might have taken Hanabi to his bed. The feelings overwhelming you now were eerily similar to how you felt back then.
Only in this case…
You had used him first, and if he used you in return... you couldn't fault him.
But isn't it still a bitter truth, even when a mutual transaction is very well within his rights, to know that what you believe as love may apparently not really be the case?
Love... of course, he loves you.
Of that, he was certain.
But at the same time… he had his ambitions.
Destroying the Eastern Empire. Was it so wrong that he wanted it? Didn't you want this as well? After all, Naoya had spurned you for a lowly servant and made your life hell, didn’t he?
Satoru strolled through the halls and made his way to your study, where the sight of you, so pretty and regal in your seat, greeted him.
His beautiful, graceful wife and empress of his nation. For so long, he had desired you, and now here you were, perched within his walls. His heart couldn't be more full— his life is complete already.
"Sweetheart, hey... how are you feeling today?" an adoring grin was visible on his face as he approached you. "Does the baby give you trouble today?"
You didn't answer though, and didn't look at him either. It was quite strange, Satoru thought.
"What's wrong? Is there something—" And when you finally turned to him, the look in your eyes was so eerily cold it almost gave him a chill.
"Release Megumi from your dungeon," you told him with a strained tone. "And return him to his home empire."
The smile on Satoru's face vanished that instant.
"I can't do that."
You rose from your seat, facing him. "He is just a child."
Satoru regarded you with a stern look. “That child you speak about is a prince of the Eastern Empire. He has committed a great crime against you.”
“Naoya didn’t do it.” Your steely gaze was unflinching. “He might be senseless, but he isn’t insane enough to deliberately go into a war he might possibly lose.”
Satoru's eyes darkened at your words, as you stood before him with determination. The way you were so adamant somehow took him aback. “How... could you defend him? He has wronged you!”
It was one question you had expected, and you had the answer ready.
“Even if he has, I could never wish doom upon my own homeland, Satoru. I’ve lived most of my life there, I did a great deal of things there— even if you harbor some sort of misguided contempt or just bloodthirsty enough to lay ruin to Eastern Empire, I refuse to be the puppet for your schemes!”
There it was. You had said it. Everything would crumble once again just like your previous marriage.
Satoru was staring at you in slight disbelief, his eyes gleamed with something that you couldn't really pinpoint. Anger? Disappointment?
“Your life was in danger, as was our unborn child’s. Don’t you care about that—!” he actually had to stop to catch his breath. “Don’t you care that our child nearly didn't make it?”
“And? You must have thought it was the perfect grounds for declaring a war?” but you didn’t relent and questioned him with a scoff. “And afterwards, you would try to use me to gain defectors from Eastern Empire, is that it?”
You saw the flash of surprise in your now-husband's eyes right when you recited his words, but you weren't about to hold back any longer now.
“Now you’re using my safety to justify your actions,” you hissed, feeling like suddenly you understood what all of this was. “You’re quite cunning, Satoru. I’ve heard everything—you will do anything to bring an end to the Zen'in lineage! You won’t even consider the repercussions of my reputation being tarnished across the lands!”
“Is that even important now?” Satoru gritted his teeth to suppress his irritation. “You have been cursed. Do you honestly think I would let them get away with cursing my empress? How could I, who seek to protect you, be more vicious than whoever in Eastern Empire who cursed you with that necklace?”
“You’re doing this for your personal gratification!” you exclaimed. “It is never about me. You’re just a warmonger!”
The moment those words left your lips, Satoru stilled. His gaze on you faltered, and you could’ve sworn hurt flashed in his face.
“Just how low… is your opinion of me?” he asked, his tone dropping, eyes devoid of emotion. “You jump into conclusions only after overhearing something in a passing and yet you know for sure Naoya wouldn’t harm you—” he clenched his jaw.
“You… really loved him, didn’t you?” he asked with a sardonic smile. “I know it already. You won’t ever be able to do the same for me. You can’t even trust me.”
You were rendered speechless. Despite your doubts of him, hearing this still felt like a slap in your face.
Won’t be able to do the same for him? No. That’s not true. You are—
Satoru let out a defeated laugh and ran his hand through his hair, leaving you uncertain whether he was amused or heartbroken by your lack of response.
“It’s funny, how I have loved you for so long... but apparently the woman I believed to have even a semblance of affection for me doesn’t even exist.”
It felt like that one part of you that was capable of feeling love had been stabbed once again.
To say this out loud hurt you deeply, unbeknownst to him. You didn’t mean this at all, still it was what came out of you, out of spite—
“In the end, we’re just using each other. That’s all we amount to.”
Satoru bitterly snorted, finding your accusation so unfair to him.
“How cruel is it that I’m the only one who has to prove this love to you? What about you? You’re terribly, horribly selfish!”
You stayed silent, looking away, caught between the scorching knives that seemed to twist your heart and conflicting emotions in it, uncertain of what to believe anymore. And you didn't really know what heartbreak was like before—
“It has been really exhausting, and I don’t want to bother anymore.”
When his gaze next met yours, dark and piercing, you realized he was no longer the same man who once promised you love and devotion.
“You're free to believe whatever truth you wish. But remember, even if you are my wife and the empress of this nation, should you commit any transgressions… I won’t hesitate to accuse you of treason, Empress.”
You have committed treason.
Satoru had conducted investigation of the sorts just to prove his point. And yet days later, no direct evidence pointing towards Megumi or Hanabi were found in that cursed necklace.
Punishment for treason is imminent death. You were well-aware of that more than anyone, but your consciousness wouldn't allow it if Megumi had to be hanged due to Satoru's antagonism.
"Your Majesty, your kindness knows no bounds," Megumi said, dropping to one knee before you and lowering his head in the throne room. Satoru had chosen not to grace any of you with his presence, leaving you alone to bid farewell to both Megumi and Hanabi.
Since then, you hadn't spoken with him, nor had he visited your chambers. It was as if he considered you nonexistent at all.
And it is really only a matter of time before he finds out.
But at the very least, you were right. It was never Megumi. That boy was fond of you, he could never. So, you shifted your gaze on the woman next to him.
"Royal Consort Hanabi. A word."
It was the cue for everyone else to exit the throne room. Now, you were faced with this woman once again, and yet one thing remained the same— you were still towering over her.
"Why did you do it?" Your calm gaze betrayed a quiet anger that was unmistakably clear. All because of this woman. It was beyond you, how despite having left your past life behind, she had somehow managed to taint your new one as well.
Hanabi looked away, a hint of shame coloring her features. "Your Majesty knows, so why do you spare me?" she asked quietly.
"How preposterous of you to think that I have spared you," you scoffed. "All this time, have you learned nothing at all from standing by Naoya's side?"
She flinched, visibly making herself smaller at your unforgiving tone, still, she dared herself to meet your eyes.
"Can I ask... why you never consider it as Emperor Naoya's doing?" she seemed more confused more than anything, even as her lips wobbled. "The two of you... you don't really hate each other, so why...?"
You didn't want to dwell on why Naoya had chosen that specific piece of jewelry to return to you. If anything, you'd consider it his final parting gift and be done with it.
But the naivety of this woman was astounding. Someone like her wouldn't last long in your seat. You let out a sigh, torn between feeling sorry for her or not.
"You have much to learn about court affairs, Hanabi. And do not think this is an act of mercy. Sending you back to Naoya is a punishment in itself—you know that by now."
Hanabi trembled where she stood, her breaths were shallow, and her hands shook slightly as she struggled to maintain composure in your presence.
Realizing it was futile to continue the conversation, you decided to conclude it.
"Know that I will never forgive you for what you have done to me." Your sharp eyes squared on her, the cold ire in your tone making her shudder.
In all the years Hanabi had known you, you had never appeared more fearsome than you did now, adorned in silks of deep blue hues, with that crown of diamonds gleaming in your head.
Then, as if sealing her fate, you delivered these parting words:
"You've always coveted what I have, and sooner or later, that will be your downfall."
The palace felt suffocating for you. After sending Hanabi away, you took a walk in the gardens, followed closely by your ladies-in-waiting.
Good heavens, what have you done? You definitely didn't regret saving Megumi, but no matter how, you had committed a great crime against your own empire. A sentence would loom over your head!
And what about your baby? Would Satoru execute you while you still had his child inside you?
The very thought made your vision tilt, and you had to lean on the wall for support. Your ladies-in-waiting were immediately clamoring against each other.
"Leave," you commanded, trying to catch your breath while doing so. "I'll… take some time to rest here."
It took you a moment to realize you had reached the pagoda that Satoru had commissioned for you. This was your first time visiting it. The structure was magnificent, towering in height and adorned with exquisite decorations, leaving you in awe.
"It's a gift to the heavens for blessing me with you and our baby."
You wanted to cry. His voice, soft and smooth, conveyed those words so easily to you. He really loved you, didn't he? What made you so unsure about that undeniable fact?
And now you had broken his heart.
Your hand reached for your belly. Though hidden by your dress, you could distinctly feel that it had become firmer these days, holding the product of your love with Satoru.
"I'm sorry, baby..." you whispered, heartbroken. "I didn't mean to drag you into this too..."
You felt nauseous, your breaths come in short pants, and you felt a headache coming. It didn't really register to you that you had crashed into the candle table, before you collected yourself and ventured deeper inside.
You just wanted a sense of peace and quiet. You would think more later, and right now, the darkness inside felt like a comforting lull for you to rest.
. . .
Or at least that was what you had intended, until you looked back and saw the swirling inferno creeping through the halls.
It didn't take long for Satoru to figure out you had really orchestrated Megumi's release.
More than his wounded pride, it was the searing pain of realizing that you truly believed he was only using you for his own benefit. It felt like an insult to everything he had done for you.
Why couldn't you see that? Just how hard is it for you to understand?
And now that it had come to this... what did you expect from him? Should he really make good on his word and punish you? It tore his heart to even consider it.
However, what was worse was… did you think he was really capable of that too?
Amidst his heartache, suddenly he heard loud commotion from outside his study, yells and cries of help— and it roused him from his thoughts that he came out of his study, only to come right into a familiar face.
"Anyone! Anyone at all!" one of your maids was running, sobbing and hysterical. "Her Majesty! Please help Her Majesty!"
"What is all of this ruckus?" Satoru demanded, catching the maid by the hand, as she stuttered in tears.
And then, everything came crashing down with the next words.
"The Empress— is trapped inside the burning tower!"
in the wake of your scandalous divorce, you fall into the arms of emperor gojo satoru. for a while, you believe you have found love… until it becomes clear that your new husband is scheming behind your back! love, marriage, divorce… are you doomed to go through this path the second time?
genre/warnings:
18+ suggestive content—minors do not interact!—might be ooc, angst, fluff, hurt/comfort, marriage of convenience, explicit smut, pregnancy
note:
loosely inspired by and taking some elements of manhwa remarried empress. this is the second part of remarried empress au trilogy! wc. 9.2k ! thank you so much for your love in the first part🩵 but as of now, TAGLIST IS CLOSED so i'd appreciate it if the comment section won't be flooded with asks for tags :')
credit header goes to @/mongsanghwa in twitter!
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Heavens, help me... I love her too damn much!
For Gojo Satoru, love was once an abstract concept. At first, he thought it was admiration, or a sense of obsession—
But on the day he watched you become Zen’in Naoya’s bride, Satoru realized it was much deeper than that. It felt like the sharpest sword had pierced straight into him and lodged itself there.
And then, years later— as if hearing his prayers, you became his. Since then, his life was perfect, because he wasn't lying when he said that you were everything he wanted in life.
Yet in a twist of fate, that same sinking, horrific feeling washed over him... as he watched the pagoda he built for you engulfed in flames.
You were there. Satoru felt himself staggering as he took in the mortifying sight. You and his unborn child are inside!
He didn't waste a breath as he dashed towards where you were, crushing everything in his path in the process, but just as he was about to enter the scorching temple—
“Satoru, no!” Suguru grabbed him, restraining him with his own body. “Get back!”
“No!” he screamed at him frantically. “She is there! Suguru, let go—!”
And then the worst happened, as the pagoda completely crumbled into a heap of rubble. Satoru's breath was knocked out of him as he faced the reality that he couldn't save you in time. And he felt like losing his consciousness as he wheezed, and thrashed in Suguru's hold.
It was all too much for him to comprehend as he struggled against the devastation before him.
How... did this happen? You were happy. You were about to welcome a child into your lives! The two of you really were...
SEVERAL WEEKS PRIOR
Your husband is trying to use you to wage a war... against your homeland.
You secluded yourself in your study, trying to make sense what you just overheard.
In a broader perspective, Satoru's actions could be constituted as national defense. If he perceived the Eastern Empire as a threat, then countermeasures were indeed necessary. But if not...
Regardless, it was not the very idea that blew you, but how he planned to use you to sway sentiment in your former country, to weaken them.
Is that what he's been aiming all this time? You felt like a hypocrite to question this since you too were using him. But these days, you were certainly not using him—you were falling in love with him.
It was strange, because you were supposed to be furious if that was his intent from the start. Yet what you felt right now was profound sadness, possibly even denial and heartbreak. You kept thinking how there must be another explanation—
“Sweetheart, hello~!”
You were startled when the door to your study was suddenly flung open, and the man from your thoughts strode in with a broad grin, completely oblivious to your inner turmoil.
"Satoru." You fixed him with a genial smile, even as nausea churned within you. Straightening your skirts, you looked up at him.
"I've been told you haven't been well, and Shoko said you've seen the physician," Satoru frowned, his long fingers cradling your face as he half-sat on your desk. "How did it go? What did he say?"
"Oh..." you clammed up, feeling at loss. "He said..."
Your dashing husband tilted his head curiously, bright eyes softened, worried lines etched on his face were so clear... and despite your conflict, you didn't have the heart to deny him this news.
"I'm with child." This time, your smile was genuine as you pushed back your intrusive thoughts. "Satoru... I'm carrying our child."
For a full ten seconds, Satoru was stunned, staring at you with a blank expression, his lips slightly parted. "H-huh...? Child? A... baby?"
"Mm-hm. A living baby."
"O-oh..." Satoru blinked his eyes rapidly—looking at your face, then your abdomen—before his expression broke into absolute wonder, broadly grinning. "T-that's... oh— it's—!"
To say he was speechless didn't cut it as he stuttered, messed his hair, pinched his own cheek, becoming restless yet looking so incredibly giddy—
"My queen!" Satoru suddenly lifted you and spun you around midair. "My beautiful wife—!" before gently sitting you on the desk and burying his face in your skirts, hugging your waist tightly. "Good lord, I'm— I'm so—!"
It hadn't truly dawned on you until now that you were going to become a mother. Witnessing Satoru's unabashed reaction as he nestled his face into you… nearly brought tears to your eyes.
Right in this moment, you didn't entertain any other thoughts. You were deeply moved by your husband's overwhelming excitement for your baby. And the realization that, despite Naoya's accusations—
Satoru looked up at you the second you sniffled, and he immediately drew you closer, pressing his forehead against yours.
"Hey, no tears, yeah?" He rested a hand on your jaw, his eyes sparkling with utter adoration as he gazed at you. "This is wonderful. We're going to be parents. This child... a part of you and me—we're going to bring them into the world."
You tugged his collar close and brushed your lips against his. And he responded with equal fervor. You yearned for this closeness with him.
. . .
But still in the back of your head, that lingering, buried fear whispered—
Is the man who adores you this much... capable of hurting you to the same extent?
With your bare bodies pressed closely, and you under him, Satoru could sense the rapid beat of your heart. And in return, you felt the heat of his palms against your skin and the tremors in his breath.
Yet now, in your marital bed, it quickly became clear to him that you, who were usually so composed and collected, were nervous. Satoru couldn't suppress the smile spreading across his face even if he tried.
"This is far from our first time, Empress." His coy smirk taunted you as he littered kisses along your jawline and chest. "What are you so jittery about, hmm?"
"Ah..." you let out a soft sigh as he sucked your breast with his mouth. "N-nothing... you're mistaken."
"Hmm... not confessing? Right..." He then grabbed the generous mound of your other breast and fondled it, making you squirm and moan.
But in the midst of this eroticism, suddenly your mind was thrown back to—
“That’s why I have her here.”
"Satoru," you breathed out, catching his hands. He looked up to you in slight surprise, thinking that you wanted to stop.
But he was in for a plot twist when you first pushed him, then flipped him underneath you, straddling him and capturing his lush lips, yanking his hair in the process.
"Whoa— hey..." Satoru held your hips, visibly startled but clearly enjoying your sudden whim, snickering. "My queen—ohh— you're a sight to behold, on top of me."
He grabbed the flesh of your bottom, sinking his fingers into it and pulling you forward. You let yourself be moved until your thighs were next to his ears.
Suddenly, it was, at once, the most peculiar experience—the greatest confidence boost you had ever received, and the hottest thing he had ever seen.
"You're so damn wet already," your husband nipped your inner thigh playfully as he observed your folds, and you gasped. "Are you ready?"
In response, you slammed yourself onto his face because, right now, you were in a less than forgiving mood.
"You look good under me," you darkly retorted, but then you choked on your own breath when your husband started licking your folds messily with his tongue.
Satoru smirked at the sound of your breathless noises, responding by lapping even more fervently. Your fingers tangled in his hair, tightening their grip on his scalp as you began to grind yourself against his face.
"You a-are really n-nasty!" you moaned, voice breaking at the feeling his sinful tongue parting your opening. "Maybe y-you have lied to me… all th-is time."
Satoru furrowed his brows in slight confusion, and perhaps a bit of annoyance, as he pinched your clit in retaliation, causing you to draw in a sharp breath.
"You're— awful!" but contrary to your claims, your face contorted with pleasure as the tight coil in your belly spasmed. "How m-many women... h-have you beguiled like m-me?"
He almost laughed into your ass. Literally. If being called awful was the price for pleasuring the most beautiful woman in the lands, then Satoru would be happy to be that horrible person every day of his life.
But then, you suddenly shifted on top of him, no longer positioning your hips in his face, and he quickly caught your face, crashing his lips against yours so both of you wouldn’t part for even a second.
"Nobody else," he murmured, wet lips and tongue ravishing yours, so much lust glistening in his eyes. "I'm all yours— forever." Just as he whispered it amidst pants, he groaned when your hand sneakily went to his very hard length.
And firmly grasped it. He got swollen just by tasting you and hearing your noises earlier. He growled, and against his senses, he pushed you down to lodge it inside you, penetrating and splitting you apart in one go.
“Ah—! Satoru— it’s too…!” you babbled breathlessly, your nails digging into his shoulders, feeling his huge cock pulsing inside your tight walls.
“Your fault,” he rebuked, eyes narrowing into darker shades, rigorously moving his hips against yours as he sat up. It was impossible to hold it in any longer, he could feel it already.
He tensed up, adjusting his position, so close to losing it inside you, and when he heard your dirty mewls and felt you shudder—reverberating through his body too—Satoru gripped your waist tighter, groaning, holding you in place to release his load inside you with precision.
Your body gave in as well, releasing at the same moment his cum burst inside you. Your vision blurred as the nastiest of moans escaped you, yet you felt so safe as your husband caught you in his arms.
. . .
"Are you okay?" Satoru asked worriedly after you rolled off him in the aftermath of your bliss. "Do you feel sick?" Your unfocused eyes met his, and he looked panicked, pulling you closer. "Shit, did I go too far? I shouldn't have, especially with the baby still in the early stages..."
"I'm... okay," you croaked, trying to reassure him. "Just tired..."
Heaving a relieved sigh, Satoru pecked you in the lips.
"Am I... a mess?" you leaned on him with a blissful smile, feeling his cum still trickling out between your legs.
"Yeah... My beautiful mess, that is." Satoru chuckled, reveling in the state of your disarray. "Soon enough," his hands traced your skin before settling on your tummy, a fond smile curving his lips. "Our baby will grow here."
"Yes—" you replied, placing your palm over his. "Do you... want a boy or girl?"
A boy would be the much sought-after prince, and you fully expected him to favor it, until to your surprise, Satoru lightly hummed and pressed a kiss on your belly button.
"Does that matter? What's important is you deliver them safely and they're healthy," he chuckled. "A princess will be nice... she'll turn out to be as lovely as you."
"But the heir has to be a prince..."
"Nah. I can always amend the succession norms. I'm the emperor."
And you giggled next. Seeing how free you looked, Satoru thought you were the woman overturning his skies and stars, and you truly are—as now you are the mother of his own flesh and blood, his future empire.
There will be a nation-wide celebration for you. Satoru insisted it was a must, and he would invite dignitaries from neighboring empires and kingdoms as well.
Including the Eastern Empire.
. . .
“Your Majesty. I... bring a gift and an invitation from the Western Empire.”
Naoya clacked his heel on the carpet, casting a sharp, yet uninterested look at his aide.
“There will be a celebration for—” the poor man gulped uneasily, faltering as if he could foresee how his emperor would react. Naoya scowled.
“Spit it out.”
“The former empress’ pregnancy, Your Majesty!”
“What...?” At that moment, he snapped his head towards him. It felt like everything he had ever known came crashing down. “Y/N...?”
That can’t be possible. For many years both of you had failed. That was why he took that maid and divorced you. No, upon reflection, it was never truly his intention to divorce you—he had wanted you to raise that child if you couldn't bear one.
But then you completely ignored him and had an affair with Gojo Satoru. He was furious. He couldn't bear the disgrace of it all, so he went with the divorce, if only to assert some control. However, the joke was on him, as you ultimately fled with Gojo entirely.
But if you aren’t infertile... Then, what did that make him?
Numerous thoughts ran through his mind. Was it possible that it was his child instead of Gojo’s? How many months had it been anyway?
...or could it be that he is the one who is—!
“No...” he muttered, frantic, taking sharp breaths. “Absolute rubbish!”
The aide stared at him in fear, as Naoya appeared unhinged now. But soon, that fear gave away to pity, as the emperor trashed his desk and howled in frustration— but contrary to the expected fury, Naoya looked like he was mourning, evident by the way he flung everything but the very portrait from his coronation day.
Of him and you. Even after that disastrous divorce, he had never taken it down from the wall of his study. Now, Naoya was staring at it, a multitude emotions clouding his eyes.
This man, just as the aide had always thought, has thrown away the only good thing he has in his life.
“Are the invitations sent already?” Satoru asked with a blooming smile, rolling the yarn out of his cat’s reach as the poor kitty grappled to catch it. “And how are the preparations going?”
“Banquets are usually handled by the Empress, but you really go out of your way and do it instead,” Suguru shook his head, unamused by the added workload it brought him, especially considering his disinterest in festivities.
“They’re all sent, some of them responded—before you ask, Naoya hasn’t— and I’ve cascaded the preparation to Shoko, since I have no clue what to do about it.”
“Well, not that I care if he’s going to stay sour and wants his name tarnished in the daily papers as a bitter ex-husband…” Satoru shrugged, petting Sugu-chan as the cat purred contentedly. “He is tactless, he very well might be.”
“You really want to spite him, don’t you…” Suguru sighed. “You even sent him a note. It was unnecessary.”
“He was the one hurling curses at me and my empress first. I’m just returning the favor.”
The note in question was of lines after lines of flowery nonsense about gratitude and whatnot. Satoru imagined Naoya's vein would burst after reading his card.
“I’m happy for you, Satoru.” As exasperated as Suguru was, his smile was genuine when he said it. “A royal baby, huh...”
"Suguru." The emperor's voice suddenly dropped an octave, surprising him. "What about the placement of the totem I told you the other day?"
The abrupt shift in conversation made Suguru visibly uncomfortable, and again, they were back to this topic.
"You're seriously going to do this?" the duke asked, almost in disbelief. "Satoru, you're going to become a father. You have everything already. This will lead to war one way or another, and—what if the Empress finds out? How do you think it'll make her feel?"
However, Satoru's gaze was cold as he dismissed most of Suguru's tirade. There was a chill in his expression that made his longtime friend inwardly questioned who the man before him was.
"I'm asking you. Have you done it or not, Suguru?"
"You're going to put a curse on a whole village, Satoru."
"I told Zen'in Naoya the moment I got Y/N, that it would mark the beginning of his downfall. I'm making good on that promise."
Suguru pressed his eyes shut to calm his fury. Morally, what Satoru did was wrong, but politically, this was the art of war. Suguru purely opposed to this out of consideration for you.
Few understood Satoru's actions as well as Suguru did. He might understand, others like you and Shoko wouldn't.
"Just remember, when the Empress catches wind of this, she's going to resent you," Suguru warned. "No matter what your reasoning might be."
Satoru's upper lip curled upwards, his eyes bereft of light, narrowing with indifference.
"Unless you never tell her, that is of no relevance."
Love... has he ever loved you all this time?
Naoya had never been confronted with that question or pondered it, simply because he never considered love existed within the context of something as grand as monarchy.
You were chosen because you were well-bred and well-versed in the arts of nobility. You were indeed the epitome of an ideal empress, a fact evident throughout your tenure.
But...
"Naoya!" you yelled at him and caught his hand. "You're a fool! Why did you keep doing that!?"
It was a long-buried memory, when you were still in your teens, around the time you were just made the crown princess. His hands, bruised and bloodied, and you tended to them.
"I'm not weak, you know," he sullenly barked. "I have to train to be stronger."
"You definitely have to train, yes... but you have to take breaks!" you retorted angrily.
"Why do you care so much anyway?" he snapped back. "It's not like your hands that are injured."
And that moment, you were suddenly almost in tears. Naoya never understood why.
"Don't cry." But his instincts told him to make you not cry. "Don't cry. I'm fine, see?"
. . .
Zen'in Naoya jerked awake from his slumber, realizing he had forgotten what his dream was, that it was still the late afternoon, and he was still in his study.
All he felt was that nostalgic feeling, and it intensified when he glanced up... only to see his coronation portrait on the wall.
It was almost as if you were still here. You were incredibly stunning, he had to admit that. Why hadn’t he realized until just recently?
The way your crimson dress flowed out, and that thin, serene smile on your face... you were a picture-perfect empress, and that was not an exaggeration. No one could measure up to you—
"Your Majesty~!"
Especially not Hanabi.
"Your Majesty, the princess has started holding her head up!" Hanabi, now no longer dressed in rags but rather in one of your dresses, excitedly remarking, "Soon, she will start to—"
Naoya's gaze fell on her dress. He recognized it instantly. That specific deep, vibrant shade of red with serpent-like waistband. It was one of his gifts to you for your birthday. "Why are you wearing that?"
"Huh?" she seems perplexed. "Oh this... I thought it looks pretty..."
But to her surprise, he suddenly flared with fury. "That isn't yours, you dullard," he spat out.
Her expression sank in heartbreak as he continued with his venomous speech. "Know your place." His words cut like a blade. "And I keep telling you, a princess is of no use to the throne!"
Hanabi fought to hold back the tears, because not only had he insulted her, worse still, he showed no interest in their daughter. "She is still of your blood, Your Majesty," she replied, her voice trembling.
"I told you, I only want a heir." His sneer caused her eyes to widen in shock. "Other than that, I won't care."
"Your Majesty, please—" Hanabi was desperate for him to acknowledge their daughter, when she caught sight of your ethereal face on the wall.
He still hasn't taken it down. It made her eyes twitch, and her own anger to rise.
"The former empress..." she stared at your picture resentfully. "You still have her here. We never even have our portraits painted..."
Naoya's icy gaze leveled at her without a hint of sympathy, despite the woman standing before him being the mother of his child.
"Why do you look at me like that?" Hanabi asked, tears spilling from her eyes. "You used to care for me when you thought I would bear you a son. Even if it's a daughter, she deserves love too, doesn't she?"
In the last five years, she had come to know that the emperor wasn't always this manic person. He used to be gentler, or at least not as vindictive.
And she never truly wanted you to be cast away like that. She looked up to you, admired you from up close, and meant it when she said she would carry your legacy as best as she could.
"Are you dumb?" Naoya barked. "I told you to know your place!"
...yet why? Why are people in this palace so harsh to her?
“I wish you luck on that, Hanabi. Beware, the emperor is fickle…”
Your unkind eyes, Naoya's disdainful stares even after she gave birth to his child... She didn't even care about becoming the empress anymore. She just wanted a happy life!
"If it was the former empress' child... even if it was a princess..." Hanabi turned to him with determination even amidst her pitiful tears. "You wouldn't cast her aside just like you do now with my daughter, would you, Your Majesty?"
Naoya's gaze, devoid of emotion and filled with blatant disinterest more than anything, shot through her, hurting her more than if it was filled with fury instead.
The lack of warmth in his stare made her feel like being looked through rather than being seen. As if she is that insignificant.
"Leave," he ordered coldly next, turning his back on her.
And there is her answer.
Hanabi had been your maid for five long years. She knew who you were, what you stood for, and your whole demeanor. Yet, despite her best efforts, she could never emulate you in the same way, could she?
. . .
"My lady... don't you know that the former empress is with child?"
Once again, Hanabi felt the sting of ice when her lady-in-waiting delivered the news.
"Empress... Y/N?" she whispered. "How...?"
You were stripped of your titles here, and yet you still remained a queen somewhere else. Hanabi might have won Naoya's favor, but now she was losing it while you had another emperor's affection.
Not much had changed about you. You still occupied the highest seat a woman could possibly attain. Whereas she...
"But she is barren!" she turned to her confidant then, almost in disbelief.
"Evidently not. Emperor Gojo has proven that."
How nice. A part of Hanabi wanted to congratulate you because she knew of your sufferings—how much you longed to hold a baby from your womb in your arms.
How unfair... But another part of her couldn't help but despise you. Because even in your absence, she still had to live in your shadow. Because you, who had lost everything, regained it all so easily.
"And my lady... Emperor Gojo is going to throw a banquet for this occasion next month. You are expected to attend it."
"Sweetheart, you asleep?"
One night, several weeks later, just as you were about to drift off to sleep, you felt the sheets shift as Satoru slipped into bed beside you.
Though you didn't turn to face him, you felt his warm hands wrap around your waist from behind.
"Satoru... you're back," you murmured sleepily.
"Mm-hmm," he whispered, pulling you closer to his chest and burying his face in your hair, taking in your scent. "Shoko told me you've been in your bedchamber since breakfast. Are you okay?"
"I get queasy if I walk too much, so I've been lying down all day... But don't worry, the physician said it's normal in early stages of pregnancy."
His grip on you tightened, as he caressed your belly. "Hmm, naughty baby. I'm sorry I wasn't here..."
"Where were you?"
For days now, he had been away, and you hadn't really questioned him. You had your guesses though—
"I was overseeing the construction of a new pagoda," he said softly, kissing your neck. "For you, actually."
That was so unexpected that it made you open your eyes fully. "What— for me?" Building pagoda was definitely not a small affair. Usually it was for religious purposes.
"It's a gift to the heavens for blessing me with you and our baby. It's expected to be completed before your celebration banquet."
The tower would be the testament of his love for you and your unborn child. Despite yourself, your heart swelled with overwhelming warmth.
"You're so silly... why do you spend the tax funds for that?" you brushed off the faint heat in your face, not daring to look at him still.
"Whatever I wouldn't do for you?" he cheekily retorted, chuckling.
You had never felt this cherished before, and this time you were certain—you were more than ready to fall in love with this man.
But he... is planning to use you, isn't he?
"Satoru." You shuffled to turn and face him, causing him to crack his lidded eyes open. You gazed at him, placing both of your hands on his face, caressing his face softly.
You're so kind to me. I appreciate you for that. You wanted to tell him various things, but the darkness in your heart ever since overhearing his exchange with Suguru made it hard for you to do so.
"Mm? What is it?" he drawled with a small smile, leaning into your touch.
“You... love me, don't you?”
His bright eyes found yours then, sharp and steady. An impossibly fond smile graced his lips, as if finding what you said the most natural thing there was.
“Throughout heaven and earth,” he proclaimed, his voice steady to match his eyes. “Yes, my queen.”
...then you would trust him, if only just for this moment. The genuine sincerity in his eyes, the raw authenticity in his words... it all felt too real.
And so, even when you were well-aware of the bitter possibility of truth, you leaned in and kissed him, giving yourself to his touch as his hand slipped inside you.
And soon, came the day of the lavish banquet solely held to celebrate your pregnancy.
You were seated on your throne, dressed in a stunning aquamarine gown. The skirt of the dress was full and flowing, spilling onto the floor in a waterfall of shimmering fabric. Upon your head perched your crown of diamonds, glinting beneath the light, and your ceremonial veil to make you look as queenly as you could possibly be.
Everyone would agree that you were a sight to behold, and that you were worthy of every praise possible.
"Many congratulations to you, Your Majesty."
"This is a splendid news! A royal baby!"
"To think that the emperor has settled down... sniff, how long have we been waiting for this...? We almost gave up."
You almost giggled at the way Archbishop Yaga wiped his tears with a handkerchief as he presented you with his gift.
Despite your initial reservations, you enjoyed the festivities more than you expected. You had opposed the idea at first, finding it quite unnecessary, but Satoru had pouted for three long days until you eventually relented to appease him.
Speaking of him, he was equally dressed to impress, looking every bit as an emperor he was in an exquisite aquamarine military uniform and robes. Despite engaging in conversation with Earl Nanami, he kept a watchful eye on you, stealing glances in your direction to ensure you were well.
You nodded at him, and he threw you a wink. You smiled.
Everything was truly going well... until the herald announced:
"Prince Megumi and Royal Consort Hanabi from Eastern Empire!"
There was suddenly a hush over the crowd as the two made their entrance. You stilled, looking at the figure responsible for your checkered life—
Hanabi was starkly different since the last you saw her at the courthouse during your divorce. Her dress was now a vibrant shade of burgundy red, reminiscent of a gown you once wore. Gone was her air of humility, replaced by a display of extravagance befitting a noblewoman.
She is no longer your maid, but Naoya's consort. There was no trace of the woman who once served you. You were actually impressed, as she could actually shape herself into the image of a royal consort.
"Empress." However, your attention quickly shifted to Naoya's nephew, and once also your ward, Megumi, as he bowed before you respectfully. "Congratulations."
A fond smile tugged at the corners of your lips as you regarded the young prince who had once been a very shy individual. It reminded you of the days spent with him just to get him out of his shell.
"Thank you, Megumi."
"Diamonds suit you far better than golds do. I wish only for the best for you, Your Majesty."
It warmed your heart, really. Using that reference to your gold crown from your time in the Eastern Empire, you could see how much Megumi truly understood your position and bore no resentment towards you.
Could the same be said for Naoya though?
Right after you received his gift—an ornate box that seemed oddly familiar to you—Hanabi suddenly blurted out:
"So, fate has smiled upon you. Congratulations Empress Y/N." She kept that soft, meaningful smile on her face as she offered her felicitations.
Ever since her arrival was announced, something about her demeanor had bothered you. There was a subtle emptiness that seemed to linger in her gaze.
"Thank you," you responded, and that was when you noticed it. There was never any celebration for the birth of her daughter and Naoya, only a passing announcement.
And so, you added. "Congratulations on the birth of the princess too."
You could have sworn her expression fell for a moment, but she quickly regained her composure and bowed her head to you.
For a while, you lost sight of her in the crowd, feeling quite comfortable in your dais. Soon after, Satoru returned to your side, and the herald announced:
"Attention! His Majesty the Emperor's gift for Her Majesty the Empress!"
You looked at Satoru questioningly, and he gave you a dashing smirk before turning to the crowd.
"Thank you, all of you, for joining us to celebrate this joyous occasion." The way he carried himself and the sheer confidence he exuded was mesmerizing, you couldn't deny how it made you swoon. "I've been infamous for many things, and I'm sure the tales have spread far and wide. So please, allow me one more gesture with you as the witnesses."
The crowd giggled at his words, and you finally spotted Hanabi among them, quietly assessing the scene.
Your husband turned to you, a soft smile on his face.
"This is for you my empress— my lovely queen. Words can't describe how elated I am to know that now you bear our child." He took your hand and pressed a kiss on it. "And it's only fitting that I praise you along with the skies and the stars."
A footman arrived and presented a pearly box. Satoru opened it, revealing a necklace inside. The centerpiece was a large, flawless diamond surrounded by smaller, perfectly cut stones of the same kind. No matter how you saw it, it was truly a work of art, meant to captivate and dazzle anyone who laid eyes on it.
You let out a gasp. "This..."
Satoru grinned, picking up the jewelry and preparing to place it on you. "Nothing much. Just a little trinket for you."
"This is not just a 'little trinket'!"
Your banter elicited another round of snickers from the audience as Satoru fastened the necklace around your neck. The moment he did, the crowd erupted into applause.
"Actually, my real gift is the new pagoda in the royal gardens, built in honor of the Empress," Satoru stated effortlessly, grinning unabashedly. "Feel free to stop by later, everyone."
To the ton, for him to gift you with something so sacred was the height of extravagance. Some of them wondered how you had managed to turn the elusive emperor into someone so devoted to you.
And a few... might be harboring ill will against you for it.
. . .
Later that night, you were sorting through the gifts you had received throughout the day.
"I don't understand, why would you give an expecting woman this?" Shoko picked apart a manuscript that was the gift from Archbishop Yaga. "Who would read this?"
"I wouldn't, but I'm sure Duke Geto would," you replied, and soon the two of you were giggling together.
From jewelry to ornaments, you were pleased with all the gifts presented by the guests from day one. While most were given out of formality, it was heartwarming to imagine your baby seeing all these someday.
Your attention soon turned to the box Megumi handed you earlier—Naoya's gift.
You were intrigued, because what could your spiteful ex-husband could possibly give you? And you immediately reached over to open the lid to find...
"What's that?" Shoko asked as your eyes widened in slight surprise.
Inside the box was an intricate gold and ruby necklace. One you knew well. The very one you wore during your coronation as the Empress of the Eastern Empire.
Years ago, Naoya himself had chosen this piece for you, and now he was gifting it to you, again?
“From now on, it’s going to be me and you, Empress.”
Reliving years of your marriage with him wasn't easy. You two were childhood sweethearts, and had been happy in the beginning. You couldn't pinpoint when things began to fall apart, but suddenly Naoya turned into such a person you didn't recognize altogether.
Seeing this relic made you nostalgic, and before you realized it, you touched it, trying to get a better look—
"Ah—!"
Suddenly, a sharp, unexpected pain shot through your abdomen. You instantly dropped the jewelry, letting it crash to the ground, and clutched your lower belly.
"Empress! What happened?!" Shoko rushed to your side in an instant, holding you up, and you whimpered.
"It hurts—!" Your breath hitched, as a seemingly invisible knife gutted you from inside. The intensity of the pain was overwhelming, leaving you gasping for breath. "Shoko, please—"
And before you could even scream or think, the pain blindsided you and your vision titled, before blacking out completely.
First came the warmth, then a reassuring squeeze on your hand. As your consciousness returned, you felt groggy, with your surroundings sharpening into focus.
The first thing that became your main focus the moment your eyes fluttered open was Satoru's face, a mixture of fright and relief etched across his features.
"You're awake..." He breathlessly muttered, sitting on your bedside, interlacing his fingers with yours. "How do you feel?"
"Sa...toru..." your voice was hoarse, barely above a whisper, and as soon as he heard you speak, he exhaled sharply, pulling you into a tight embrace.
"Heavens, I—" he let out a long sigh, his breath hot against your neck. "I'm so glad... you are..."
"What h-happened to me...?" you were feeling feverish and a dull throb was pounding at the back of your head, before the shock of it all dawned on you. "B-baby...! Our—!"
"Baby is okay too, don't worry," Satoru assured, pulling away from you to gently touch your cheek and squeeze your hand. "Both of you are fine for now..."
The horror that you might lose your baby shook you to the very core. Your vision blurred with the threatening onset of tears.
"Wh-at happened to me, Satoru...?" you asked again as he wiped your first falling tears, your heartbeat sounding so loud in your ears. "I-I was just..."
His expression took on a sudden shift, as if a dark cloud had passed over his face.
"You came into contact with a cursed object," he stated, his eyes hard as he locked onto yours. "You were cursed, Y/N."
"What...?" You were rendered speechless, feeling your body starting to shake. Cursed object? Your past coronation necklace?
Naoya was trying to curse you?
"It's okay, I'm here now, yeah?" Satoru's voice broke through your spiraling thoughts, grounding you in the present. "Look at me. Hey, look at me." he repeated, his deep blue eyes locking onto yours with intensity.
“I’m here. I’m here with you. Nothing—absolutely nothing—will touch you so long as I’m here.”
But in that moment, your mind was so overwhelmed with fear for yourself and your unborn baby that you couldn't fully grasp the magnitude of the mess unfolding before you, and you just cried in his arms.
Feeling your feeble fingers fisting his robes and your inconsolable tears staining his collar, Satoru gritted his teeth.
“This won't happen again,” he whispered into your hair, feeling his rage simmering as he felt the tremors of your sobs against his chest. “I swear, I won't let anything like this happen again.”
To Satoru, that was more than enough to justify all his subsequent actions. Putting a curse on his empress essentially amounted to an act of beginning a war.
And it also meant he no longer had to operate behind the scenes.
“Keep them in Clock Tower. No contact. Only food and water at designated times.”
Satoru's icy gaze on the captain of royal guard compelled him to hastily comply with the order, before his eyes landing on the map of the entire continent.
In response to the incident that befell you, he issued orders for open hostility along the eastern and western borders. Soon after, he would formally declare his intention to go to war.
So close. He was so close to achieving his end goal.
. . .
"Satoru!"
Several days later, Suguru burst into his study, visibly outraged. He clenched his fists, looking as if he was about to throttle him altogether.
"You—" he heaved a harsh breath. "You have gone too far!"
"What are you talking about, Suguru?"
"Is cursing the entire winery village not enough for you?" This was the first time Suguru had been this furious with him. "Did you really have to massacre the neighboring district as well?!"
"They have placed a curse on my empress." It was so easy for him to say it. "Anyone who dares to harm her shall die."
"You can direct it at Zen'in Naoya! Not the innocent civilians!"
Satoru remained silent, neither shaken nor enraged, and he had finally had enough.
“Are you even sure it’s because the empress is cursed?" Suguru challenged. In his view, this farce had been going on too long.
“No, Satoru. You are just using her. For so long, you have wanted to bring bloodshed to Western Empire. You were almost there when Empress Y/N proposed that deal to marry you.”
You were informed, days later.
“His Majesty has placed the prince and royal consort of the Eastern Empire under strict watch in Clock Tower.”
Clock Tower was essentially the prison where they kept war criminals. Learning that Satoru had confined both Megumi and Hanabi there left you aghast.
After some days of bedrest and getting better, you realized that the entire situation still didn't make sense to you. As hateful as Naoya was, harming you would do him more harm than good. Eastern and Western Empires stood evenly matched in military power, and hence, a conflict between them would bring devastation to both sides.
And moreover, you knew for sure was that Megumi was definitely not the one responsible for this. He was just a boy!
You had to let him out somehow. You had to talk to Satoru about this.
Or at least that was what you thought when you came close to his study.
“Are you even sure it's because the empress is cursed? No, Satoru. You are just using her. For so long, you have wanted to bring bloodshed to Western Empire. You were almost there when Empress Y/N proposed that deal to marry you.”
You stopped on your tracks—stunned into place, to be exact.
“And you’ve struck gold when she did because her influence will provide you with greater advantage.” Suguru scoffed then, lightly shaking his head with a sneer. “Love? How laughable. All these years, you are planning your warpath, how could you claim you love her when you're trying to ravage her homeland without even considering the impact it would have on her?”
It felt like whiplash. Geto Suguru's voice had your feet rooted to the spot, causing all your doubts to resurface and sizzle in an instant. The very question you had tried to avoid, it was suddenly shoved in your face.
What... will Satoru say? Your heart thumped so loud in your ears it made you almost stagger. He couldn't possibly. He simply couldn't. All his actions... they reflected his affection for you and you believed it because you felt it yourself too.
But Satoru's next response was—
“Even when she is derided as the devil, I will bring an end to the Zen’in line in this lifetime.”
And a part of your heart withers then.
The tips of your fingers trembled, finally taking in everything that you had tried to ignore for the past few weeks. It all caught up to you in one overwhelming rush.
Suddenly, it felt as if something inside your chest was torn out and held up for you to see.
"I'm telling you, that day will come sooner than you think, Satoru." Suguru's voice broke through, his frustration palpable. His words snapped you out of your reverie, and you took a step back, retreating to the safety of your study.
The first time you felt utter hollowness wrecking you was when you had suspected that Naoya might have taken Hanabi to his bed. The feelings overwhelming you now were eerily similar to how you felt back then.
Only in this case…
You had used him first, and if he used you in return... you couldn't fault him.
But isn't it still a bitter truth, even when a mutual transaction is very well within his rights, to know that what you believe as love may apparently not really be the case?
Love... of course, he loves you.
Of that, he was certain.
But at the same time… he had his ambitions.
Destroying the Eastern Empire. Was it so wrong that he wanted it? Didn't you want this as well? After all, Naoya had spurned you for a lowly servant and made your life hell, didn’t he?
Satoru strolled through the halls and made his way to your study, where the sight of you, so pretty and regal in your seat, greeted him.
His beautiful, graceful wife and empress of his nation. For so long, he had desired you, and now here you were, perched within his walls. His heart couldn't be more full— his life is complete already.
"Sweetheart, hey... how are you feeling today?" an adoring grin was visible on his face as he approached you. "Does the baby give you trouble today?"
You didn't answer though, and didn't look at him either. It was quite strange, Satoru thought.
"What's wrong? Is there something—" And when you finally turned to him, the look in your eyes was so eerily cold it almost gave him a chill.
"Release Megumi from your dungeon," you told him with a strained tone. "And return him to his home empire."
The smile on Satoru's face vanished that instant.
"I can't do that."
You rose from your seat, facing him. "He is just a child."
Satoru regarded you with a stern look. “That child you speak about is a prince of the Eastern Empire. He has committed a great crime against you.”
“Naoya didn’t do it.” Your steely gaze was unflinching. “He might be senseless, but he isn’t insane enough to deliberately go into a war he might possibly lose.”
Satoru's eyes darkened at your words, as you stood before him with determination. The way you were so adamant somehow took him aback. “How... could you defend him? He has wronged you!”
It was one question you had expected, and you had the answer ready.
“Even if he has, I could never wish doom upon my own homeland, Satoru. I’ve lived most of my life there, I did a great deal of things there— even if you harbor some sort of misguided contempt or just bloodthirsty enough to lay ruin to Eastern Empire, I refuse to be the puppet for your schemes!”
There it was. You had said it. Everything would crumble once again just like your previous marriage.
Satoru was staring at you in slight disbelief, his eyes gleamed with something that you couldn't really pinpoint. Anger? Disappointment?
“Your life was in danger, as was our unborn child’s. Don’t you care about that—!” he actually had to stop to catch his breath. “Don’t you care that our child nearly didn't make it?”
“And? You must have thought it was the perfect grounds for declaring a war?” but you didn’t relent and questioned him with a scoff. “And afterwards, you would try to use me to gain defectors from Eastern Empire, is that it?”
You saw the flash of surprise in your now-husband's eyes right when you recited his words, but you weren't about to hold back any longer now.
“Now you’re using my safety to justify your actions,” you hissed, feeling like suddenly you understood what all of this was. “You’re quite cunning, Satoru. I’ve heard everything—you will do anything to bring an end to the Zen'in lineage! You won’t even consider the repercussions of my reputation being tarnished across the lands!”
“Is that even important now?” Satoru gritted his teeth to suppress his irritation. “You have been cursed. Do you honestly think I would let them get away with cursing my empress? How could I, who seek to protect you, be more vicious than whoever in Eastern Empire who cursed you with that necklace?”
“You’re doing this for your personal gratification!” you exclaimed. “It is never about me. You’re just a warmonger!”
The moment those words left your lips, Satoru stilled. His gaze on you faltered, and you could’ve sworn hurt flashed in his face.
“Just how low… is your opinion of me?” he asked, his tone dropping, eyes devoid of emotion. “You jump into conclusions only after overhearing something in a passing and yet you know for sure Naoya wouldn’t harm you—” he clenched his jaw.
“You… really loved him, didn’t you?” he asked with a sardonic smile. “I know it already. You won’t ever be able to do the same for me. You can’t even trust me.”
You were rendered speechless. Despite your doubts of him, hearing this still felt like a slap in your face.
Won’t be able to do the same for him? No. That’s not true. You are—
Satoru let out a defeated laugh and ran his hand through his hair, leaving you uncertain whether he was amused or heartbroken by your lack of response.
“It’s funny, how I have loved you for so long... but apparently the woman I believed to have even a semblance of affection for me doesn’t even exist.”
It felt like that one part of you that was capable of feeling love had been stabbed once again.
To say this out loud hurt you deeply, unbeknownst to him. You didn’t mean this at all, still it was what came out of you, out of spite—
“In the end, we’re just using each other. That’s all we amount to.”
Satoru bitterly snorted, finding your accusation so unfair to him.
“How cruel is it that I’m the only one who has to prove this love to you? What about you? You’re terribly, horribly selfish!”
You stayed silent, looking away, caught between the scorching knives that seemed to twist your heart and conflicting emotions in it, uncertain of what to believe anymore. And you didn't really know what heartbreak was like before—
“It has been really exhausting, and I don’t want to bother anymore.”
When his gaze next met yours, dark and piercing, you realized he was no longer the same man who once promised you love and devotion.
“You're free to believe whatever truth you wish. But remember, even if you are my wife and the empress of this nation, should you commit any transgressions… I won’t hesitate to accuse you of treason, Empress.”
You have committed treason.
Satoru had conducted investigation of the sorts just to prove his point. And yet days later, no direct evidence pointing towards Megumi or Hanabi were found in that cursed necklace.
Punishment for treason is imminent death. You were well-aware of that more than anyone, but your consciousness wouldn't allow it if Megumi had to be hanged due to Satoru's antagonism.
"Your Majesty, your kindness knows no bounds," Megumi said, dropping to one knee before you and lowering his head in the throne room. Satoru had chosen not to grace any of you with his presence, leaving you alone to bid farewell to both Megumi and Hanabi.
Since then, you hadn't spoken with him, nor had he visited your chambers. It was as if he considered you nonexistent at all.
And it is really only a matter of time before he finds out.
But at the very least, you were right. It was never Megumi. That boy was fond of you, he could never. So, you shifted your gaze on the woman next to him.
"Royal Consort Hanabi. A word."
It was the cue for everyone else to exit the throne room. Now, you were faced with this woman once again, and yet one thing remained the same— you were still towering over her.
"Why did you do it?" Your calm gaze betrayed a quiet anger that was unmistakably clear. All because of this woman. It was beyond you, how despite having left your past life behind, she had somehow managed to taint your new one as well.
Hanabi looked away, a hint of shame coloring her features. "Your Majesty knows, so why do you spare me?" she asked quietly.
"How preposterous of you to think that I have spared you," you scoffed. "All this time, have you learned nothing at all from standing by Naoya's side?"
She flinched, visibly making herself smaller at your unforgiving tone, still, she dared herself to meet your eyes.
"Can I ask... why you never consider it as Emperor Naoya's doing?" she seemed more confused more than anything, even as her lips wobbled. "The two of you... you don't really hate each other, so why...?"
You didn't want to dwell on why Naoya had chosen that specific piece of jewelry to return to you. If anything, you'd consider it his final parting gift and be done with it.
But the naivety of this woman was astounding. Someone like her wouldn't last long in your seat. You let out a sigh, torn between feeling sorry for her or not.
"You have much to learn about court affairs, Hanabi. And do not think this is an act of mercy. Sending you back to Naoya is a punishment in itself—you know that by now."
Hanabi trembled where she stood, her breaths were shallow, and her hands shook slightly as she struggled to maintain composure in your presence.
Realizing it was futile to continue the conversation, you decided to conclude it.
"Know that I will never forgive you for what you have done to me." Your sharp eyes squared on her, the cold ire in your tone making her shudder.
In all the years Hanabi had known you, you had never appeared more fearsome than you did now, adorned in silks of deep blue hues, with that crown of diamonds gleaming in your head.
Then, as if sealing her fate, you delivered these parting words:
"You've always coveted what I have, and sooner or later, that will be your downfall."
The palace felt suffocating for you. After sending Hanabi away, you took a walk in the gardens, followed closely by your ladies-in-waiting.
Good heavens, what have you done? You definitely didn't regret saving Megumi, but no matter how, you had committed a great crime against your own empire. A sentence would loom over your head!
And what about your baby? Would Satoru execute you while you still had his child inside you?
The very thought made your vision tilt, and you had to lean on the wall for support. Your ladies-in-waiting were immediately clamoring against each other.
"Leave," you commanded, trying to catch your breath while doing so. "I'll… take some time to rest here."
It took you a moment to realize you had reached the pagoda that Satoru had commissioned for you. This was your first time visiting it. The structure was magnificent, towering in height and adorned with exquisite decorations, leaving you in awe.
"It's a gift to the heavens for blessing me with you and our baby."
You wanted to cry. His voice, soft and smooth, conveyed those words so easily to you. He really loved you, didn't he? What made you so unsure about that undeniable fact?
And now you had broken his heart.
Your hand reached for your belly. Though hidden by your dress, you could distinctly feel that it had become firmer these days, holding the product of your love with Satoru.
"I'm sorry, baby..." you whispered, heartbroken. "I didn't mean to drag you into this too..."
You felt nauseous, your breaths come in short pants, and you felt a headache coming. It didn't really register to you that you had crashed into the candle table, before you collected yourself and ventured deeper inside.
You just wanted a sense of peace and quiet. You would think more later, and right now, the darkness inside felt like a comforting lull for you to rest.
. . .
Or at least that was what you had intended, until you looked back and saw the swirling inferno creeping through the halls.
It didn't take long for Satoru to figure out you had really orchestrated Megumi's release.
More than his wounded pride, it was the searing pain of realizing that you truly believed he was only using you for his own benefit. It felt like an insult to everything he had done for you.
Why couldn't you see that? Just how hard is it for you to understand?
And now that it had come to this... what did you expect from him? Should he really make good on his word and punish you? It tore his heart to even consider it.
However, what was worse was… did you think he was really capable of that too?
Amidst his heartache, suddenly he heard loud commotion from outside his study, yells and cries of help— and it roused him from his thoughts that he came out of his study, only to come right into a familiar face.
"Anyone! Anyone at all!" one of your maids was running, sobbing and hysterical. "Her Majesty! Please help Her Majesty!"
"What is all of this ruckus?" Satoru demanded, catching the maid by the hand, as she stuttered in tears.
And then, everything came crashing down with the next words.
"The Empress— is trapped inside the burning tower!"
you are an empress perfect in every way... until your husband suddenly casts you aside for his expecting mistress. but you won't be dethroned just like that, because the newly coronated western emperor, gojo satoru, sets his sights on you, and thus your revenge against your ex-husband begins...
genre/warnings:
18+ suggestive content—minors do not interact!—might be ooc, kinda slowburn, angst to eventual fluff, divorce, marriage of convenience, heavy pining (from gojo's part), childhood friends trope, mentions of infidelity, misogyny, infertility, explicit smut
note:
loosely inspired by and taking some elements of manhwa remarried empress (but i promise you, it's different). my god, for the past month this is all i can think about *sobs* wc. 10.5k ! this is the longest thing i've ever posted here, and if you'd give it a chance, then i'll be really, really thankful!
credit header goes to @/gojokko in twitter!
next. the crown of diamonds | long live the empire
general masterlist | series masterlist
“I accept the divorce.”
Your perfect life was done for. Everything you had worked hard towards— it was now in shambles and tatters.
You, an ethereal, revered empress... someone untarnished in the face of public and private, had just agreed to the emperor’s blatant request of separation.
“My god... how can this be!?”
“Your Majesty! Please reconsider!”
Emperor Zen’in Naoya of the Eastern Empire, your husband—and companion for more than ten years—smirked as he looked down at you, paying zero attention to the uproar in this courthouse.
But then you heard that kind, velvety voice from the back of your head:
“If you become my empress… that will make me the happiest man alive.”
This place has turned into a whopping circus ever since you and Naoya stepped inside anyway. And so, having nothing worthy left to lose, you declared, “And I demand an immediate approval for my remarriage.”
Your boldness once again stirred a wave of clamor among the crowd, and even Naoya was glaring at you in disbelief now. “A remarriage…? How dare you—!”
“Well... is it the time for my grand entrance?”
Deep from behind the curtains, suddenly he emerged, dressed in the most lavish robes befitting his own throne, outshining everyone in the room as if he was the one owning the place.
“Heh.” His low chuckle stunned even the mass as he took big strides towards where you were.
This would seal your fate. From now onwards, you would no longer be the perfect empress. Your messy divorce and remarriage will relegate that image to history.
“My goodness, that’s…” the woman in the front gasped. “Western Empire’s…”
“Gojo… Satoru?” Naoya's eyes lit with genuine fury as the other man took his place by your side. “You couldn't possibly mean…!”
You interrupted him regally. “Yes, he is the man I wish to remarry.”
This event was going to blow up tomorrow, with scandalous titles no less than The Deposed Empress Remarries! And there was no going back, ever.
How did your pristine life turn into such a shameful debacle? None of these turn of events would be imaginable for you several years prior...
SATORU, THE CROWN PRINCE OF WESTERN EMPIRE
To Satoru, you were more than just the east’s breathtaking empress—you had captured his attention long before you ascended to that role.
Seven years ago, you were the renowned noble lady, the paragon of perfection sought after by many lords and monarchs alike.
You were both cunning and fair, pretty in the face, came from an illustrious family known for birthing famous empresses in either western and eastern empires. You were the quintessential template that mothers advised their sons to seek in a wife.
The fairest in the land—that was how people called you. And Gojo Satoru is always and only interested in the best.
“Suguru... look at her.” His eyes would soften at the sight of you as he nudged at his closest ally and confidant, the duke. “She is so... pretty, isn’t she?”
Unfortunately, you had been promised to the Eastern Empire’s crown prince from a long time ago too. There was little that the outsiders, including himself—even if he was the heir apparent to his own throne—could do to sway your heart.
“There's more to women than their faces, Satoru,” Suguru sighed, thinking that what he had was a mere lust. “Moreover, she’s engaged to the Zen’in... and they have a very good relationship. Nothing you can do about that.”
“Hmph.”
To be honest, he couldn’t fathom what you could possibly like about that murderous Zen’in spawn. He was a pompous human being, no less.
How on earth could you stand someone like that? Satoru had always wondered… especially when it was well-known to the land that you and him were on good terms despite your arranged marriage.
—and once, he thought he knew who you are…
. . .
Satoru swallowed the bitterness rising in his throat as he attended the royal wedding of you and Zen’in Naoya. Despite hating the circumstances, he had to admit it was a fairytale wedding—albeit with the wrong groom.
You were the epitome of picture book princess. In his eyes, and in the eyes of the attendees of your wedding.
Oh, and he made headlines too, that day—
“My princess, may I have this dance?”
Two hours hadn’t even passed by after you swore your vows as Naoya’s bride, and there he was, asking for your first dance, in your own wedding ball, right in front of your newly wedded husband.
Everyone bet on you turning him down and making a fool of himself, but instead, to spare his feelings, you put your delicate hand in his, and with a wide, shy smile, you said, “Yes.”
Satoru thought it was his greatest achievement then. To have made Naoya red-faced, to have made him watch as he put his hands on your waist, twirl you around— and come one breath away from your face.
“Princess, you’re…” his breath caught as he pulled you close, staring straight at your face—and suddenly he felt like life was so unfair to him as the slow melody of waltz was all he could hear.
How could you be this close... and yet so far by being somebody else’s wife?
And yet he forced the words out, with sincerity he had never showed anyone else before, even as his heart bled and shattered. “You’re so incredibly beautiful.”
Your eyes widened, sparkling with wonder, before you thanked him with the loveliest of smiles. “Thank you. You’re too kind.”
Satoru was certain... you had ruined him, because no one else would ever be able to turn his world with just a smile like you did, even as you broke his heart too into a million pieces.
. . .
Ever since that day, everyone had branded him as a prince in search of scandal—coveting the princess married to Zen’in clan.
What everyone didn’t know was that it went beyond that. His obsession of you went beyond your beauty and charms and wits. Rather, it goes a long way back.
YOU, THE CROWN PRINCESS OF EASTERN EMPIRE
As inconceivable as it was, once upon a time, you and Naoya were a truly, happy couple.
Handpicked by the late emperor to become his son’s wife, you couldn’t be more proud. With you being the next empress of the Eastern Empire, your clan once again proved itself that it was always worthy of a seat in the monarchy.
But beyond that, you were elated that it was Naoya that you ended up marrying. Your own childhood friend, who often led you around his palace by hand and filled your days with many joy and laughs.
“One day soon, when we are the emperor and the empress—” younger Naoya was always someone who had big dreams about ruling his nation. “We will create a nation in which no one can do anything as they please! We’ll establish order, and anyone who goes against it will be punished! That way, it’ll encourage fairness!”
Not knowing it yourself, you had given your heart wholly to him. You had agreed to all his dreams and visions. You devoted yourself to them all, even more so after your marriage and coronation, as he promised you an ever after.
“From now on, it’s going to be me and you, Empress.”
YOU, THE EMPRESS OF EASTERN EMPIRE
“Your role is to give an heir to the throne, Empress.”
Your title had never sounded so heavy to you before now, especially when Naoya was the one saying it.
You sighed, gathering your wits and scattered feelings before levelling your calm gaze on your husband. “I understand that, Your Majesty. But it is not something that I can do on my own.”
This year would mark the fifth year of your marriage to Naoya. You understood that the fact you still weren’t able to be with his child would raise questions from the court, but still, must you be reminded of this fact over and over?
Your husband—no, the emperor—barked a satire laugh.
“Oh, really? As I understand it, being infertile is not something I can help you with.”
That hurt. It was a searing pain, like being branded with a red-hot iron. And it felt as if he had torn through your chest with his fist alone.
“I’m not infertile.” Your eyes gleamed with pure defiance as you lifted your chin, facing him in his audience chamber.
It dawned on you that lately, one of the few ways you could speak to him was by requesting an audience as opposed to your usual midnight talks in your private chambers.
When did it start to change? Or was Naoya this kind of person right from the very beginning and you were just blinded by love back then?
"Oh? And what would you call being childless for five years then?" Naoya sneered at you from his dais, placing one hand on his jaw. "Bad luck? You must be terribly cursed with misfortune then."
You fisted your dress, summoning all your strength to hold back tears. Don't you dare cry. Not in front of him.
It wasn't as if you didn't want to carry his heir. For many women, holding their baby in their arms is a cherished dream, and when they hold a position of power like yours, it becomes not just a desire but a duty.
You tried everything—calling in the best doctors, consuming horrible potions, even consulting with the oracle. And they all said you were perfectly healthy and fine. You were at your wits end too.
The irony. You were celebrated in public for your competence, while privately, you suffered your husband's cold detachment and cruel remarks.
. . .
"Empress, where should we put the welcome gifts?"
You studied the floor plan of the banquet hall for your annual New Year's ball with a thoughtful hum before pointing at the entrance.
"Place it here. We want our guests to know that we are generous, and it's easily accessible since the parlor is the first area they reach after arriving."
You loved planning festivities. It was therapeutic in a way, and it gave you little time to think of anything else.
"Oh, and I want to have a welcome arch and flowers placed at the entrance too. This is the grandest event of the year, second only to the Emperor's birthday... we must display the grandeur that befits such an occasion."
Your head maidservant, Hanabi, placed a hand on her abdomen and nodded with a warm smile. "That's a very clever suggestion, Your Majesty! I'll ensure they arrange everything just as you wish!"
As she scurried away, you watched her with an assessing gaze. Hanabi had been with you throughout the five years of your marriage, always at your side, assisting with day-to-day matters and serving as your confidant. She was a great aide.
And you were observant by nature... so of course you noticed things.
...and if you were correct, then she was most definitely with a child.
The thing is... she is unmarried. You hesitated to jump to conclusions without evidence, yet the timing struck you as more than coincidental—it nagged at you for weeks now, suggesting a connection you hoped did not exist.
Because if they really did... then...
You didn't dare to think, because it would be more than a nightmare. But you weren't able to let this go either, so you did what was necessary.
You planted a note in Hanabi's chamber, and then you waited in the gardens, the chilly midnight air wrapping around you like a shroud.
You had done everything you could. Five years ago, you let go of everything and had decided to spend your life with your first love—Naoya.
Because you truly and devotedly love him. You give your all for him—for your life together.
"Ooh, Your Majesty~! It's so cold out here, why not in our usual—"
Hanabi's voice faltered as soon as she saw your crimson gown, feeling like the world had collapsed on her. And you rigidly turned towards her, feeling more or less the same.
And yet, what you had received from him is the greatest betrayal.
SATORU, THE EMPEROR OF THE WESTERN EMPIRE
He first realized something was clearly wrong with you during the New Year’s ball that you hosted.
Satoru had just been crowned emperor during this time, and though rulers typically sent envoys to such grand celebrations due to concurrent festivities in their own lands, it had been several months since he last saw you. He wants to see you.
A meritless action, but he wanted to, regardless.
But that day, you were a fantastic actress in this stage called banquet hall and nobody was the wiser… but he would know, because you mattered a lot to him.
"Your Majesty, you don't seem well." He approached you with a glass of champagne, affixing a friendly smile. "Is there anything amiss?"
Taken aback, you didn't expect such close proximity that you took a step back. His smile almost faltered, but he kept it up.
"Emperor Satoru—"
"Ah, none of that, no. Address me just as you usually do, hmm?"
A smile finally tugged at your lips. "How is that fair, when you address me so formally?"
Satoru chuckled. "You, my queen, deserve all the finery and grandeur there is. And I will see to it that you do."
That was his nickname for you ever since you ascended the throne. Both of your countries refer you as “empress”, but he loves addressing you as “queen” instead.
There was a shift in your expression, and he thought you looked melancholic. It bothered him, stirring a desire to erase that somber look from you. Because above anything and everything, you had to be happy and smiling.
"You're still a flirt, I see, Satoru," you remarked, throwing him a soft smile. "It won't do you good if you're seen with me most of the time, you know."
No, I’m doing this just for you. He wanted to tell you that, but he sighed instead. "You've got it wrong. When I'm in the company of the most beautiful woman in the lands, what's there to be ashamed of?"
Perhaps hearing that finally melted you a bit as you freely giggled this time, and Satoru was glad that he made you laugh even a little.
"You would think that, huh..." you fondly mumbled. And then your expression crumbled, and he could've sworn something painful flashed in your eyes—
What happened to you? He so desperately wanted to ask, but then he saw that preying gaze on both of you. Zen’in Naoya. Satoru clicked his tongue as he watched him weave through the crowd, his gaze locked ominously on both of you.
“Seems like we don’t have much time, after all,” he began, urgency sharpening his words. “But rest assured, whenever you want to talk to me, just send a little birdie my way and I shall answer.”
“Huh?” you blinked at him questioningly, totally not getting what he meant.
He winked, then took your hand and placed a kiss on it, eliciting murmurs of surprise from the crowd at his bold gesture. “And chin up, my queen. You have nothing to fear, and if it makes you feel better...”
He leaned in to whisper in your ear, “To me, a diamond is most beautiful. And you… are one that sparkles above all.”
“Naoya, unhand me this instant!”
You were tired of this shit, of Naoya always manhandling you—of him always having a total control over you.
After seeing how close you got to Satoru, Naoya practically saw red. Still, in the prying eyes of public, he remained unperturbed, but his vice-like grip on your arm was sure to leave bruise as he unkindly led you out of the ballroom.
"Naoya!" you raised your voice this time, even louder than before, uncaring even when the wandering eyes of the servants curiously followed the two of you.
You were not made an empress just to follow him. And with that conviction, you forcibly pulled your arm away from his grip right after he shut the door to the drawing room close, not even wincing at the stinging feeling.
His eyes shone with anger. “You insolent—!”
“No—” You stood your ground, and suddenly you got very irate and burst out, “How dare you, Zen’in Naoya!”
He looked at you with equal surprise and mortification, clearly unprepared for your righteous tirade.
"You have made a mockery of our marriage! You have insulted me and your own throne by carrying on with— with the help! My maid!" you screamed at his face, pure anger coursing through your veins. "How could you!?"
Naoya took in your outburst with eerie silence, a sneer slowly forming on his lips. "You get riled up over that? Have you forgotten emperors are free to take mistresses, especially when the empress isn't capable to bear any heirs?"
A burning arrow shot straight to your heart at his response but you willed yourself not to show it. "Regardless, you could've done better and not put our throne to shame by fucking a servant."
"I've told you time and time again. A woman's duty is to bear children, and since you've proven yourself beyond barren, I did you a favor."
"A favor...?"
"As soon as Hanabi births that child, you can raise him as your own," Naoya frankly stated unabashedly, as if proud with his idea. "Saves you the trouble and I get my heir, a win-win solution, no?"
Raise him as my own...? Saves the trouble? You could've sworn that throughout your entire life, you had never been so insulted before now, right in this moment.
"What I do, I always have my throne in mind. And yet you..." his eyes narrowed into unsatisfied slits. "What are you trying to achieve by whoring yourself to that rake, Gojo Satoru? Are you telling people of the ton that you're having an affair?"
His voice made you want to throw up. The realization that everything you thought you had together might have meant nothing to him at all made you feel sick.
And so, hiding your trembling hands and swallowing you unshed tears, you responded to him with a clipped tone—
"You're most despicable, Naoya. And you are a complete fool if you think even for a second that I'd want to raise your bastard!"
He seemed taken aback by your rejection, but you didn't falter. "And oh, since you want to make use of that lowly maid so much, feel free to take her back and track her down yourself, because I've sent that wench away."
With that, you turned your back on him, striding out with your head held high, even as your life crumbled into dust.
Days after your full-blown argument with Naoya, your situation only worsened. By now, even the palace servants knew you had incurred his wrath, while Hanabi had won his favor by carrying his child—possibly the heir to the throne.
The child she was carrying was no threat to your position. After all, you were the empress. A child of your blood would trample over any bastard.
However, you'd be damned if you shared a bed with him again, and Naoya made it clear that his mistress would be elevated to the rank of royal consort. Given the current trajectory—and history's tendency to repeat itself—emperors often divorced or banished their empresses in favor of their mistresses.
Bah. You could only scoff at your laughable predicament. You came from a prestigious clan and were revered, yet now you were no more than a scorned woman.
Dark thoughts consumed your mind for a time—you couldn't deny that you had considered leaving the palace for self-imposed exile or even ending your life. However, reason always prevailed.
You wouldn't give Naoya what he wanted most: your compliance. And around the time when you resolved to do that, a finely decorated envelope arrived at your study, with no signature whatsoever.
Intrigued, you opened it to find an intricate dried rose bookmark and a folded letter nestled inside.
Greetings to you, my queen. Yeah, it's me. Hope you won't be too surprised. But if you do, know that I always mean well.
Satoru. You weren't expecting this. A small smile tugged at your lips. How long had it been since you last smiled so freely?
I've heard you love reading, hence the bookmark. Fun fact: I made it myself, with Shoko's help. She is sooo bad at explaining though so if the flower is wrinkled... please blame her.
This time, you giggled. He was an emperor, for god's sake. Should someone of his station write so informally like this?
Now... I'm no oracle, but even I know that you must be having bad days. And so, let me entertain you with several tales from my kingdom. So, the other day, my good friend Suguru, the duke—you must've heard of him surely (they said he is the most handsome bachelor in the West but they must be missing an eye for saying so because clearly I'm more!)—just fired a pair of his servants because he caught them in a thirst! He is so uptight! Why can't he let two people in love be!?
Before you knew it, you found yourself chuckling at the lines upon lines of anecdotes Satoru had penned in the letter. The way he wrote, it was as if he was right here, saying all of this to you in real-time. For a while, you were completely absorbed in the world of the Western Empire he described, and all your worries and anxieties seemed to fade away.
Okay, that's it for now. This is just a teaser actually, so if you want to subscribe to more tales of my humble little country, you can always be my empress reply to this letter! :D Look out for a white cat near your windowsill during the hour of snake—he is my trained pet, and put your message in his little backpack. Don't worry, he's cute and doesn't bite!
You were so giddy by the end. His message warmed your heart so much that your eyes grew misty. In the aftermath of Naoya's betrayal, you were certain your life would be filled with much sadness to come.
Yet, your friendship with Satoru might just be the thing that would save you.
No matter how much his friends Duke Geto and Countess Shoko urged him to see reason—that you were no longer available and occupied with your duties as the empress of your own empire—Satoru couldn't help but still cast an eye your way.
You were clearly unhappy, and to him, someone as radiant as you should be happy.
And so, that was why he took his quill and started writing that letter to be sent to your place, along with a rose strapped inside.
He knew that, being the kind person you were, you would most likely respond, but still, the moment his cat arrived back with your reply, he was elated beyond measure.
Of course I knew it right away! I omitted your name because who knows who might catch your cat on the way. Anyway, I hope Mr. Cat will arrive back to you safe and sound.
Firstly, thank you for your letter. I must say I'm so happy to receive it :) I haven't had best days so reading it made me smile. And secondly, of course I'll subscribe to your stories of Western Empire. I've been wanting to visit it myself but just haven't gotten the chance to... so if you will continue it, I shall be happy to read :D
If anything he wrote brought you joy, then Satoru was content. He had achieved his goal then.
And it was his own little secret that... by corresponding with you, it allowed him to savor the feeling of having you as his own, if only through words.
Mr. Cat's name is Sugu-chan after Suguru but you can call him whatever you wish. And don't worry, he is strong and can fight if necessary! And don't be too formal with me, my queen. We have known each other forever. Anyway do tell me, what is your favorite color now? Let me guess, is it still that specific shade of crimson?
You name your cat after your best friend...? And you're making it hard for me to be less formal when you always address me as queen! Hmm, I suppose so. I love burgundy. I've even had my study designed with that exact color scheme. It just gives me the confidence I need, you know.
So you still love burgundy... I'll keep that in mind ;) Frankly, any shade of crimson suits you—you're always a vision in them. Back then and especially during your coronation. I love blue, so I think we're a match? :D
Back then...? Hmm, surprisingly yes, red and blue would make a good match... Anyway, I believe you promised me unusual tales from your 'humble little country', so please indulge me!
You've forgotten it already? Around the time we first met, back when I was still known as "the cursed prince"? It holds such importance for me but sadly it seems like it was just a passing moment to you :(
Oh, yeah, I haven't forgotten about it! So, this time let me tell you about the time when Earl Nanami got wasted . . .
Days turned into weeks, and weeks into months. Amidst the turmoil of your marriage, exchanging letters with Satoru became your sole respite. His stories regarding his own empire amused you, and sometimes it got you to wonder what it was like to live there.
However, running away from your problems would never solve them. Writing to Satoru may have helped you to cope, but still, your real issue with Naoya wouldn't vanish simply just by ignoring him.
. . .
"Your Majesty..."
For a good one minute, you stood still. Your lady-in-waiting had delivered an earth-shattering news—but admittedly, a possibility you thought was in the cards the moment you went against Naoya.
"His majesty has summoned the high priest to his study," the elderly woman added, close to tears. "But it is very likely that he has submitted the petition for—" her voice faltered when she caught sight of the emptiness in your eyes, unable to continue.
A divorce. Naoya had been considering a divorce. And by now, he was set on it.
"I'm so, so sorry..." she choked out, her voice breaking with sorrow to mourn you, but you remained expressionless, lost in your thoughts.
The last time an empress of Eastern Empire was divorced was more or less a century ago, because she had committed a grave treachery against a royal consort by poisoning her. She was sentenced to death by hanging afterwards.
The irony. You were in similar situation, only that you weren't vengeful enough to resort to poisoning Hanabi. Speaking of her, her baby was due in another four months, and now she was living happily in Naoya's quarters.
"Don't be. I'm perfectly fine."
To consolidate his illegitimate child's position, Naoya used the most effective way. Since you wouldn't listen to him, and Hanabi must be a far delightful companion rather than you, he was more than willing to cast you aside in favor of making her his empress instead.
You thought it would hurt more, and yet what you felt the most right in this moment was white-hot anger. This is unacceptable. It was the greatest insult to you both as a woman and as the empress.
Now, all you could think of was how to uphold your dignity and plot your exit from this palace with your head still held high.
If I can't be the empress here...
And after a sleepless night, you came to a daring solution. And your plan—
...I'll be one somewhere else.
It was an invitation, Satoru thought, almost in disbelief. Or it sounded a lot like one, didn't it?
Heart beating a little faster and blushing, he reread the latest letter you had sent him.
It's only the beginning of summer, and the heat is sweltering... I'm considering treating myself to a trip to the winery village on the border between the east and west. I think it'll be nice if I have a companion...
Winery village was right in the middle of the western and eastern empires, and it was a safe zone. Vineyards were vast and thick, but it wasn't exactly a popular vacation spot. So, it intrigued him why you would want to go there.
Just as he was about to reply to you that it was a very good coincidence that he too wanted to pay a visit to the said village, suddenly—
"Gojo! Gojoooo!" Shoko suddenly burst into his study, startling him.
"Shoko! What the heck?!"
Lady Shoko might be a countess, but she, Satoru, and Suguru all attended the same royal academy. Despite their prestigious titles now, Satoru insisted that in private, both Suguru and Shoko address him just as they did before he ascended the throne.
Still, she was ruder than Suguru in many ways. Satoru gave her a stink eye, but his confusion grew as she seemed to be delivering momentous news.
"Gojo, have you heard that Naoya will divorce Y/N?!"
"Wha?" it felt like a ton of bricks suddenly fell down on his head. And then his friend proceeded to tell him everything she knew.
"It wasn't made official yet, but even the townsfolk have been talking about it. They also said that Naoya have taken a mistress, and that she was formerly the empress' maid."
Satoru listened to her in silence, but the moment he heard that the Zen'in spawn planned to divorce you, anger flared within him. And to add insult to injury, he two-timed you with a servant?
The fucking bastard. He never deserved you at all. How crushed must you have been, enduring all this shit?
"Now, I wouldn't normally encourage you this," Shoko took out the cigarette she stashed in the folds of her dress and sighed. "But since you never let go of that weird fixation on her, should the royal divorce happen..." she shrugged as she took a seat in front of him.
"No matter how laughable it is, you might have a chance."
She is so right. These long years of longing for your affections and dreaming of having even a minute more of your time... there was now chance to turn it to reality.
When you arrived at the winery village for your vacation to breathe in some fresh air, honestly, everything was still in shambles.
You couldn't forget the horrified looks from the court when Naoya announced the divorce. Most were shocked and pleaded with him to reconsider. Some from your circle of ladies even sobbed, openly stating that you didn't deserve this fate.
“Empress... His Majesty shouldn't be that harsh...” Hanabi had said to you afterwards, seemingly concerned for you. “Your legacy here… I’ll make sure to carry them on.”
Sometimes you didn’t know whether Hanabi was pretending to be dumb or indeed she was. One thing you knew though...
“I wish you luck on that, Hanabi.” You looked down at her with eyes as cold as ice. “Beware, the Emperor is fickle, be sure to not run out of entertainments.”
You knew you deserved a better fate than being the empress of the Eastern Empire, but seeing those who still cared for you made you solemn. Your loyal maids, those who supported you... and what about organizations you've spent time and energy to?
“My queen, ah, there you are.”
Satoru's voice from behind startled you, interrupting your daydreams. He quickly came beside you and extended his hand, asking for yours.
You offered him your right hand, and he promptly pressed a kiss on it, his bright blue eyes gazing up at you.
It wasn't as if you just noticed how pretty his eyes were, but now that there was no ballroom and scrutinizing eyes around you, you couldn't deny that the way his eyes sparkled as he gazed at you—solely and purely on you—made you breathless.
What... would it be like to have this man... to be your husband instead?
"I missed you. I know we talk daily through letters, but seeing your beauty firsthand is always a sight for sore eyes," he cheekily commented as he let go of your hand. "Now, I get to see you without your pesky husband around, and yeah, you never fail to make my silly heart race."
You chuckled. "You always flatter me..."
He only gave you a toothy smile, and you two strolled the vineyard. For a while, you talked about nothing of importance, like where your ladies-in-waiting were, how things were from his side.
"How do you find being the emperor?"
"It's tiring! It's boring too to look through accounts and oversee those trivial state affairs! And not to mention how many people have been nagging me to take a wife soon!"
"Oh? You haven't been on the lookout already?"
"Nah. No one is good enough, I need someone already familiar with state affairs and such," he said, wrinkling his nose sourly at the thought. But then he cast his eyes on you.
"And frankly, you are my standard," he fixed you a meaningful smile. "No one comes close. If you weren't betrothed to the Zen'in back then, I'd have proposed you in a heartbeat."
Thump. Thump. Thump. Your dead heart suddenly came to life. Gojo Satoru had just confessed his affections for you so candidly, and it got you thinking how much easier your life would be with him. He would love you, take care of you...
And beguile you.
His eyes fondly crinkled at you. "You are everything I desire in a woman to be my wife."
He adores you so easily, so fluidly... and yet, Naoya, who has you fully, is throwing you away.
Satoru observed how your face fell once again, just as it had during the New Year's ball. And now he knew, it was because you were facing your impending divorce.
But he wasn't going to tell you that, instead, he would willingly be your confidant and offer you his very being. He was about to crack a joke to lift your spirits, when you blurted—
"What if I said... I want to be your empress?" you kept your pace, not looking at him at all. "What if I said... I'll leave everything and come to you?"
Huh? What…?
That was loaded. Have you entertained the thought too? Satoru had craved the very idea for so long he didn’t even miss a beat—
“Then I’d marry you.” His voice was straight and true, shooting straight to the most tender part of you that Naoya had torn to shreds. “If you become my empress… that will make me the happiest man alive.”
No hesitation. It almost reduced you to tears. You stopped where you stood, willing yourself not to tremble. There is still one person who sees this much value in you.
“Then I’ll be yours,” you breathed out. “I’ll be your empress, Satoru.”
Satoru could've sworn time had stopped. If one moment ago, you looked like you were about to shatter, now you were a vision of the dignified and perfect queen he had always known you were.
“I’ll be your queen— your everything.” You declared, locking eyes with him, the intensity of your gaze not escaping him.
How many years had he dreamed of this moment? How many long nights had he endured, yearning for you, knowing you were beyond his reach?
Finally, finally... Satoru grinned, swearing to all the divine beings out there that he had never known how liberating it was to finally have what he wanted. “That would be my greatest honor.”
He drew you close—you let him—and after one second of taking in your enchanting eyes, he crashed his lips against yours.
His lips started soft and gentle, then became fiery as his tongue met yours. He pulled you closer, one arm around your waist and the other holding the back of your head. You responded eagerly, pressing against him, fingers tracing his neck and feeling the lines of his undercut.
One is finally having the woman he had wanted for so long, and the other was plotting her escape from her misery.
You were using him. He knew it. Yet, he didn't care. Hidden behind bushes and vines, you shared your very first heated kiss, aware that this moment would leave its mark as both the greatest stain and triumph in your lives.
And when he finally pulled away, lips swollen and wet, with a wolfish grin, he promised you once again—
“Give me everything that is yours... and I swear on my life, I will do everything to turn your life into a living dream.”
“Empress, your husband His Majesty the Emperor, has requested a divorce.”
It was how your once pristine life transformed into the scandal of the century inside the courthouse.
"If you accept this petition, then you will no longer be the Empress of Eastern Empire. You will lose all the rights you have as a senior member of the imperial family..."
You donned your finest attire—the intricate crimson and black dress you had designed and commissioned the dressmaker to create. Today, faced with Naoya's divorce decree, it would be the last time you adorned the colors of his empire.
"The ties that bound you together as husband and wife would be severed—"
Good riddance, you thought.
"If this is not what you want, you have the right to—"
"I accept the divorce."
Your voice cut through the heavy solemness of the witnesses and turned them into a mass of disbelief. You disregarded Naoya's smirk and held the priest's gaze. "And I demand an immediate approval for my remarriage."
The crowd was in for a second wave of uproar when you boldly stood your ground, and they erupted into clamors once again when Satoru made his grand entrance and took his place beside you.
"You—!" Naoya was so furious that he roared. "This is my empire!"
"And?" Satoru challenged with a dauntless smile. "I'm here to propose, and since she accepts your divorce request, I believe she has no relations with you any longer and is free to marry someone else."
You remained motionless, until your cold fingers met warmth when Satoru linked his hand with yours reassuringly.
"This is treachery! I won't fucking permit it!" Naoya hollered as he faced the high priest, who had a grim face while observing this three-way headlock between the three of you.
"Emperor Naoya, that matter falls into the jurisdiction of the church." The high priest let out a sigh and then turned to you, assessing your calm gaze.
Regardless, Naoya paid him no mind. "I refuse to grant you any permission to remarry! You will be banished to the cold palace until the rest of your pitiful days! Not only do you fail miserably by being barren beyond help, you also dare to whore yourself—" he was now rambling curses at you before everyone in the court, and it pierced you deeply—
Until Satoru tugged you behind him, so that you wouldn't have to see his face any longer.
"High priest!" Satoru's voice blared as he clenched his jaw, irate at the string of profanities directed at you. "Do you still truly believe that the deposed empress can't remarry? When she has suffered through this man's downright betrayal?"
Your head was spinning. You wanted this whole ordeal to be over already.
And thankfully, even the high priest saw reason, that you were undeserving of this debacle. In the end, his words held more weight than anyone else's, even Naoya's.
"I accept Empress Y/N petition to marry Emperor Satoru!"
In the chaos of the courthouse after the high priest granted your wish, Naoya shook his head in disbelief, looking at both of you with intense disdain.
"You've always wanted that wench, haven't you, Gojo?" Naoya cackled with a malice you would never have expected from someone who had been your husband for ten years.
You had tuned out all the noise. This dumpster fire was too much even for you. But then, you felt a strong arm enveloping you, sealing your fate as the match made in this courtroom—
"I have, yeah," Satoru replied with a smug grin. "And now that she is mine... it's just the beginning of your downfall, Zen'in."
Your wedding banquet in Western Empire lasted a week long.
True to his promise, Satoru spared no effort to make you happy. The moment he brought you to his palace, he ordered immediate plans for wedding celebrations. Make it grand, make it unforgettable... he took charge himself.
And on the final, seventh day, as you were about to be formally crowned as the empress of the western lands, you were stunned.
"This is your coronation dress, Empress," your new lady-in-waiting, Shoko, said with pride. "Gojo— I mean, His Majesty, specifically has his late mother's dress altered to suit you."
You promised yourself that you would no longer wear any shades of crimson. As much as you loved the color, it reminded you too much of your homeland and Naoya. No matter how much you despised him now, once upon a time, he was everything you loved and more.
And you thought you couldn't possibly love another color until you saw the extravagant navy dress in your chamber. Made of luxurious satin and adorned with literal diamonds, it shimmered under the light and flowed gracefully with layers of brocade cascading to the floor.
To give you something so valuable... You had expected to enter into a marriage out of necessity, but your new husband had no intention of ceasing his ways to win your heart.
If it's with him, maybe... just maybe...
Today is the day.
Satoru sat on his throne before his court in the grand hall of his audience chamber. His hair was pulled back, and he was dressed in his official attire, robe of silk and a crown made of pure gold.
Next to him, another resplendent crown adorned with jewels and diamonds shimmered in the light—the empress' crown. Your crown.
Today was the day this empire would truly acknowledge his queen. He stole a glance at you on his other side, and his breath was taken away.
With your hair tucked into an elegant updo, you were the very vision of a fairytale queen. You were incredibly stunning, almost otherworldly— shade of blue suited you as much as crimson did, just as he thought.
This day would go down in history. But before that, he would ensure that the news would reach Zen'in Naoya. He would spite him so hard.
"Today marks a momentous occasion. We gather here to celebrate not only my marriage and my new wife's coronation," Satoru glanced at his audience with a smirk, his expression widening as he spotted his best friends Suguru and Shoko. "But also the start of her reign... and as we know it already, her fame and beauty are second to none."
The crowd burst into giggles, clearly aware of his scandal at the Eastern Empire's courthouse. And even you smiled.
Satoru shrugged, playfully rolling his eyes. "Spare me, I'm a newlywed, after all. Anyway..." His gaze shifted to the intricate crown, a relic of his late mother's, and then back to you. "Come."
You knelt before your new husband, bowing your head. The whirlwind journey from the East, your remarriage to Satoru... It had all felt surreal until this moment. Now, the weight of reality settled upon you, almost shaking your very core—
But just as the thought crossed your mind, Satoru placed the crown upon your head. As the jewels settled into place and you rose to face the crowd, his voice cut through the air:
"And here I present to you, your new empress!"
The room erupted in applause, the cheers echoing around you. Everyone congratulated you without fail, and your breath was taken away.
It was a sight beyond belief, as they chanted your name, over and over again—
“ALL HAIL THE EMPRESS!”
"I have something for you!"
You wouldn't expect that you would ditch your last night of wedding celebrations along with your husband, and yet here you were, led by the hand by a very giddy Satoru.
"Where are we going?" you questioned him, your pretty dress sweeping the halls in a rush.
He turned to you to send you a wink. "Trust me, sweetheart. You'll love it."
Somehow the way he called you made your heart thump a little faster inside your ribcage. This man is really, truly, your husband now.
He was such a refreshing person, it almost made you let go of everything that molded you into the perfect empress in the east, and be just... you.
"Here." Both of you stopped in front of a grand door, and he ushered you inside. "Come, come~"
A study, you realized as you stepped inside, but then a gasp left your lips—
"How do you find it, hmm?" Satoru put an arm around your waist, proud of how the burgundy walls and mats enveloped the entire space, creating a tranquil sight that perfectly matched your taste.
It was so much like your private study in the Eastern Empire's palace. You might now hate that place, but your private study was filled with the memories of smiles while writing back to Satoru's letters and waiting for his cat to come. And to have this now in your new home...
"You remembered..." you looked up to him, almost tearing up.
"Of course I do," he pressed a kiss on your temple. "I said that so long as you're with me, I'll turn your dream into reality, didn't I?"
This man really treasures you, or at least that was what his actions had proven so far.
"You're everything I've ever wanted and more," Satoru said, wrapping his arms around you from behind in a warm embrace. "You might not realize it, but I've been in love with you since you first visited western lands."
"What?" you turned to him with genuine confusion. "How?"
"That blind boy who you led by the hand... he had no friends," Satoru sighed against you. "The first and only person who asked him if he was lost... is you."
Suddenly, you were thrown back in time to your first encounter with Satoru many years ago. He was known as "cursed" for being born with peculiar eyes, had been blind for a period of his childhood, before he awakened the true extent of those brilliant blue eyes and brought his clan to power by wielding them.
Back then, you thought it was wrong for him to be left alone, so you took him by the hand and escorted him back to the palace, unaware that he was the infamously cursed crown prince.
"You made me feel less lonely. And I thought then... someday, somehow... through some sort of miracle in which I regained my eyesight and could see you... I'd immediately ask for your hand."
But you were named the crown princess of the Eastern Empire. The thought of how crushed Satoru must have felt upon hearing the news pricked at your heart.
You felt soft, you felt loved, and most of all, you felt an overwhelming certainty that with this man by your side, you would finally experience the genuine love that had been missing from your life for so long.
"You have me now," you whispered in response.
Unlike your first kiss in the winery village, this time, you were the one who faced him and pulled him into a searing kiss.
Be it impulse, overwhelming feelings or something else... you didn't care. You just want him.
And wouldn't you know, your new husband... is also a wonderful, dashing lover.
"You're so... fucking beautiful..." Satoru's lips were on yours, claiming them with a fierce passion that left you breathless. His hands roamed your body, tracing each curves and lines.
You moaned into his mouth, clutching his robes. He captured your wrists with one hand, using the other to tilt your head back so he could leave bruises on your neck in the process, making you moan.
"Keep making that sound, yeah?" Satoru rasped, his hot breath giving you goosebumps. "Keep me going with your voice."
As he gripped your waist, it dawned to him once again that you were here, with him.
Seeing his colors on you ignited desire straight to his cock. His empress was stunning, more so now than ever, more than any woman Satoru had ever seen.
He led you to the bed, his movements urgent yet tender. The air was thick with desire as you lay back, pulling him down with you. You arched your back, pressing yourself closer to him, craving more.
This wasn't your first time, yet you had never been this excited before. From heated kisses until somehow managing to get rid of your underwear and left you in your dress... your body nearly thrashed in response.
"Look at you... An queen of two empires, yet rendered putty in my hands," Satoru wickedly grinned as he slipped a hand under your dress, rubbing his thumb teasingly over your clit. You let out a soft sigh at the prodding. You were getting wetter by each second... and Satoru felt his cock straining against the tight material of his dress pants.
"More..." you pleaded, arching your hips. "More...!"
Any of your wishes would be his command, so he pushed two fingers inside you at once, and you let out an erotic gasp. Satoru was so close to tearing his pants off by seeing how tight you clenched around his digits.
Breathy moans fell from your lips with each harsh brush of his thumb over your clit, his fingers fucking you fast—
"Satoru...!" you shuddered, gripping his shoulders as you became limp and came into his hands in spurts.
"My queen..." he then captured your lips in a brash kiss, and you reciprocated it. He pulled away only to press his forehead against yours in an attempt to calm his raging heart. "No matter what."
His watery, sparkling eyes was mesmerizing to you, and you took one breath before you crashed your lips into his, tangling your fingers in his hair, pulling him closer.
"As pretty as you look in this, I'm going to take it off," Satoru murmured with a meaningful smirk, slowly undoing the laces of your dress. "I want to see you completely naked... just for me."
Soon, you laid bare, and the cold air made your body shiver. Satoru clenched his jaw tightly at the scrumptious sight.
It was almost difficult for him to take in all of you at once—your flushed cheeks, swollen lips, erect nipples, and legs spread wantonly for him. Satoru had been here so many times in his dreams, and to see it becoming reality...
"If back then, you had chosen me instead—" he sounded almost heartbroken, which startled you. "I would have treated you right from the start—"
You looked up to him. "You would..."
"Don't you know how many years... I've been just there— watching you and that bastard? Knowing I can do even more than him?"
"Mhm..."
You rose, tugging him closer, before you unclasped his robe, letting it fall to the floor. "Satoru... right now... I'm yours."
He allowed you to undress him and soon he too was out of his stuffy royal attire. Your eyes wandered on each part of his body you touched. His chiseled body, snow-like skin, and then the hardened bulge that sprung out the moment you undid his pants—
The sight of his cock alone only turned you on even more. You gently gripped the glistening head, running a thumb over the tip before gliding your hand towards the base of his length. With a gentle rhythm, your hand moved from base to tip in a slow, teasing motion... before pecking his head.
"Yeah... you're right." His eyes never left yours, admiring you as if you were the most precious gemstone, before catching you off guard. While you rubbed him, he snaked a hand around your waist, pulling you so that you tumbled on top of him.
You moaned loudly as his cock—big, both in length and width—entered you, his hands gripping your thighs to spread them apart so he can shove himself deeper.
You felt so, so full, as you pulled Satoru to you tightly, groaning into his shoulder. And he started to set the pace, moving against you.
"Ahh," you moaned out shakily, fingers clawing into his back. To him, the sounds you made drew him in like a siren's song, it made him throb inside you. "Ahh—hngh!"
"Feel good?" he asked, voice sultry and deep, as he thrusted into you particularly harder, causing you to stifle a moan. "Let it out—hah—sweetheart... I want to hear you, hmm?"
And you did. You felt hot. Your unabashed, nasty sounds with each thrust drove him to the edge. With every lift of your hips, you squeezed him so tightly it almost made his head spin. His breaths came in short pants too.
"You fit me so damn well," he groaned, holding your hips hard enough to leave imprints of his fingers. "So fine..."
One woman. It took just one woman—you—to unravel him like this.
"Satoru, harder—" You commanded, wrapping your arms around his neck even as you trembled. "N-not enough... harder!"
He actually had to swallow, because you and your pussy felt so damn tantalizing. "As you wish, Your Majesty."
He slammed his hips against yours twice—no, thrice the previous speed, and you incoherently squealed. The squelching sound of your hips slamming against each other, and the immense wetness coming out where you two were joined... it was clear: you were addicted.
"Did Naoya ever make you feel as good as I do you now?" he drawled, sinking into you impossibly deeper, squeezing your left mound and flicking your right nipple at the same time. "Did he... ever make you ride him like this?" And then he instantly regretted his words.
Because the moment he said that, you felt cold, reminded of nights in which Zen'in Naoya grabbed you just to forcefully breed you. You winced, and Satoru caught it.
"I..." you shifted your gaze away from him, and he could've sworn that it was sorrow he saw flashing in your pretty eyes. "I-I... don't want to talk about him..."
Feeling remorseful, Satoru reached for the back of your neck and pulled you to him, kissing your lips softly. "I'm sorry—"
"You don't have to—"
"Tonight, I'll make you scream my name so hard you'll forget him," he promised as he pulled away from you, his eyes darkening. "Tonight, give me everything and I'll show you how a man truly loves his woman."
And he followed through. He worshipped you meticulously, treating your body with the reverence one might bestow upon delicate glass. He peppered kisses on every inch of your skin he could reach, lips and tongue trailing down, his relentless thrusts so well-paced and brutal at the same time.
"I'm— close!" You whimpered, and yet still grinding your hips against him. He was watching your every move, every wave of pleasure that was evident on your face— committing it to memory for those moments when he couldn't hold you close.
You gasped—as a mind-blowing orgasm then ripped out of your very being, your hips faltering as you surrendered to ecstasy with a cry of his name, coming all over him. "Satoru... Satoru! Ahhh!"
And Satoru kept his gaze on your face as he too busted inside of you hard, feeling himself filling your womb with his essence, his hands kept your waist steady, memorizing the way your lips part and the way your body went limp into him with satisfaction.
Dear heavens, I love you. The sight of you was nothing but perfection, and with everything he had, he was very sincere when he said—
"You're flawless, sweetheart."
2 MONTHS LATER
"If you give me a son, I'll throne you as the empress right on that very day."
The Eastern Empire's palace was bustling as the royal consort's screams echoed through the halls. The day Naoya had been eagerly awaiting had arrived—his mistress was delivering his heir.
Yet unbeknownst to him, whispers in the dark suggested the royal baby was arriving suspiciously early. Many, still mourning the previous empress who had been dethroned so abruptly, were not exactly thrilled with this turn of events.
"My lady, just a little bit more!" the maid encouraged. Hanabi strained once again as the pain peaked and her body spasmed, letting out the loudest wail as the baby finally slid out of her.
"W-what... is it?" on the brink of passing out, Hanabi asked anyone who might hear her. She had to know, for she was so close to obtaining her throne—
"It's a girl, my lady!" the midwife announced.
What?
Her world crumbled at that very moment. A girl? A girl can't be the heir!
She wanted to sob, to utterly mourn, and right at this moment she was full of fear, because if Naoya knew—!
Like a curse, he suddenly made his presence known in the birthing chamber. His face scrunched in distaste at the scent of blood filling the air. He took one look at Hanabi, tearful and frazzled after the ordeal, then turned to the midwife, who was trembling at his presence.
"A baby girl, Your Majesty."
In that instant, fury flashed through him. He shot everyone in the room a glare before his eyes settled on his consort, full of spite.
"You useless tramp."
Your life with Satoru in Western Empire was wonderful.
He was everything Naoya was not. Satoru adored you, prioritized your well-being and happiness, often humored you, and made your days an endless delight.
And dare you say... you had begun to return his affections as well.
How could you not? Everything he did, he did with you in mind. He eased you into your position so seamlessly, and soon you found your place comfortably at court.
"He is mixing pleasure with his kingly duties," Suguru grumbled, watching his best friend order the gardeners to plant more blue roses simply because you mentioned finding them beautiful earlier. "Empress, you have to keep a tight grip on his leash."
"Well, at least he's happy." Shoko shrugged and nudged you. "Can't you see by now? How much of a loser he is for you?"
You did see him—a man who showed you everything he had. He had given you everything you unknowingly needed.
And you just wished... you could return the same for him. It still made you bitter, knowing you might never be able to give him heirs due to your condition.
. . .
"Sweetheart... what's on your mind, hmm?"
You looked up to him as he pressed a kiss on your cheek, an arm securely around you, sweaty and panting after your steamy session.
With his hair down and messy after you yanked him earlier, your lips curved into a genuine smile. "You look hot like this, you know?"
He clicked his tongue. "Hmm, I am, of course. But no use in changing topics, I know you well enough now."
Your bare body was pressed against his chest, fingertips tracing gentle lines on his skin.
"There's a possibility that... I can't give you any children." You almost felt ashamed saying this to him, unable to look at him in the eye. "I-I... I've failed for many years—"
"Hush," he silenced you with a finger to your lips, his expression firm. "No thinking that, yeah? I don't care."
"But—"
"Children are gifts," he said then, caressing your face tenderly. "It's not up to us to control how it'll take or not. And I married you not because I want heirs or such—I love you, you know?"
Your glassy eyes met his, and you willed yourself not to shed a tear.
He grinned cheekily. "Besides, you've felt it yourself—my sexual potency is undeniable. And I don't believe for a second, that you're what that bastard claimed you to be. I bet he's the one who is impotent—"
"Satoru! You're so obscene—!" you giggled freely and poked his chest.
At that time, you were just relieved that he didn't mind. Though it was still weighing in your mind on some days, you felt a newfound sense of liberation compared to when you were still in the Eastern Empire.
But you were in for another plot twist. Perhaps Satoru is correct, and your doubts are unfounded...
"Ugh..."
Your stomach churned in discomfort, a sickening nausea that seemed to twist your insides and threaten to force its way up. This had happened for days now.
You wanted to find a physician before Satoru was aware of your state. You didn't dare to hope or speculate, because you were tired of it by this point. You just wanted clarity.
Yet, the physician's words left you speechless.
"Your Majesty... it seems that you are with child," he remarked in wonder as he assessed your vein. "Yes, definitely. You are with child."
It was a revelation you hadn't expected. For years, you had been convinced that you were unable to conceive, but now...
You were carrying a new life. Yours and Satoru's.
You felt like bursting with joy as you made your way to his study. Your heart swelled with an overwhelming sense of happiness. Above anything else, you were eager to share this news with him—
...until everything you had known turned on its axis once again.
Right before you went past the ajar door, you saw a glimpse of your husband and his most trusted confidant, overhearing snippets of their conversation:
"Satoru, however you look at it, this is tantamount to declaring war," Suguru sighed, clearly at odds with his perspective. "It's not wise."
"We can finally put an end to them this way," Satoru's tone was steely as he moved a chess piece across the map, positioning it on the border between east and west. "No better time than now."
"The Empress will face the greatest backlash from this. They'll accuse her of being vengeful enough to provoke an attack on her home country—"
"On the contrary, her presence will encourage those still loyal to her to defect. That's why I have her here. We need defectors—"
You let out a choked gasp, backing away from the door in shock. For one good minute, you refused to comprehend what Satoru was implying.
. . .
. . .
Did your new husband... marry you for his own hidden agenda?
summary: you had always adored damian… till you overheard his complaints to his brothers on your clinginess. so why was it that when you decide to give him what he desires, he is the one trying to close the gap he desperately wanted?
pairing: damian wayne x fem! reader
content: hurt-comfort, angst+fluff, hea, grovelling+yearning, desperate damian who bites his own words that make him go through it, reader with boundaries
“She’s clingy.”
Damian’s voice is unmistakable. Cut-throat, swift in its delivering blow. Even with his back turned to you, you could recognise it in a heartbeat.
“C'mon, Dames.” Dick teases. “You enjoy her company.”
A cold, scathing scoff echoes. “Her smothering can barely be considered company. Consuming my entire week—then coming along to the gala just to torment me further? You're mistaken.”
Pressing the gap of the door shut, your numb fingers dig into the wood. His bitter admission parted from his lips so easily. His harshly thrown words didn’t just shatter your heart physically into pieces—no, there isn't a harsher tidal wave crashing over you than the realisation that whatever bond you shared with Damian was a complete, utter lie.
Damian, who was prone to being harsh with his words, but had never gone out of his way to hurt you on purpose. You had even considered it a charm of his, because there had always been something tender laced within his actions, that always spoke louder than his words.
When he quietly swapped his plate with yours, a quiet consideration without ever once looking up, having memorised your allergies without you realising.
When he subtly placed his hand behind your back in galas, chasing off vultures who aimed for your status, with a silent glare that places you under his direct protection.
When he carried you all the way to his bedroom after a bad sprain on your ankle from a bad fall down the stairs in his manor, with biting remarks and a tender caress over your swollen skin as he applied an ice-pack, worry creased into his brow.
Was it all a ruse?
The wound is only inflicting on itself with every memory torn apart and searched for any evidence, any signs for his dislike. You trusted Damian, which is why it hurt so much to hear him talk about you this way. As if those small moments were all mere inconveniences for him, that burdened him. You had assumed he at least reciprocated your friendship, but now… if only he had faced you instead, with an honest willingness to express how uncomfortable he was.
If it was space Damian wanted, he should have communicated it with you. Instead of mouthing it to his brothers behind your back, without allowing for your voice of input to clarify on the boundaries he wanted.
You don’t notice time passing, standing in the corner of the hallway, your heels digging into the soles of your feet—till you felt a heavy hand on your shoulder. You flinch, brushing the sudden grip off only to find Damian in your swarmed vision. Concern flickers in the green flecks of his eyes… or was it annoyance? The ability to read through his mask, it feels as if it’s been an illusion all along.
“Spaced out?” Damian taunts, one brow cocked at your strange behaviour. "I told you not to come."
I told you not to come. You’re not sure what is the appropriate response, not when you feel a clog in the back of your throat. You never had to think twice on your words before, not in front of him.
“Tired.” You admit, because at the very least, that word carried a semblance of truth. You’ve never felt more exhausted in your life, and the culprit was standing in front of you, completely unfazed. “I think I should head home.”
His eyes widen imperceptibly, not expecting you to take his words so literally. You were never one to skip out on a dance before a gala has ended, no matter how boring the event was. Often, you’d drag him by the arm as your partner, only because the look on his face was easily the best memory of the night. At least, it should’ve been.
His lips part, ready to form his signature 'I told you so', but your ghastly expression makes him hesitate. He clears his throat, offering his hand and slotting himself by your side. “Very well. I’ll escort you.”
“No.” It blurts out quick, desperate.
His surprise slips through his impassive expression. His hand still outstretched—freezes, doubt etched into the crease of his mouth.
“You should be with your family.” You reply, straining a smile. “I won’t take up more of your time.”
It was meant to sound considerate, but the quickness of your tongue made it sound like a solemn promise.
His eyes narrow in puzzlement but you’ve already turned, moving out of his reach towards the exit. He doesn’t make an attempt to stop you, and it hurts that maybe, part of you still hoped he would. To prove his statement wrong, that you mattered more than being a nuisance.
You’ll give him what he wants. Space. Maybe you needed it too, to understand the emotions weighing on you. This hurt—betrayal—shock, you needed time to process it. To reevaluate what Damian Wayne really means to you.
Damian hasn’t heard from you in two days. In the past forty-eight hours, he has tracked your location to ensure you weren’t kidnapped, or lost your phone. Both suspicions were refuted, and the only anomaly that remains is your uncharacteristic silence ever since that night at the gala.
His gaze flickers back to the opened message channel, where his text ‘Have you arrived?’ remains unread. Running a hand through his locks, this may be Damian's first—for his conclusions to come up empty. His text was a mere front, an opening to ask about your wellbeing. His confidence in your reply was absolute, and he never once considered ending up in this standstill. Despite being apart from your constant presence, he finds that you’re somehow occupying more of his mental capacity.
He should’ve went after you the moment he saw that strange, desolate expression on your face when he found you, hidden alone in the corner. Your solemn attitude rang caution bells, concern—which is why he offered to bring you back. It was instinctive, natural. He never expected your rejection. The sting caught him off-guard, words of concern trapped in his throat. He didn’t master the skill of comfort as easily as you did, with sweet, honey words easily coming to your forefront.
He’s overthinking the situation, analysing it till the details have gone runny in his hands—blurry aside from the clear vision of your back turned towards him. Still, there was something about your goodbye… that left him strangely unsettled.
"There you go again." He hears your teasing voice, already memorised in his mind—a poke of your finger against his cheek. "Overanalysing the situation. Just ask me, Dami."
He shakes his head, trying to dissuade the many possibilities that ended in zero conclusions. It’s not a big matter. Today was one of the rare occurrences where his biology classes coincided with yours, leaving a lunch break where he could demand for answers. He’s sure that once he sees your usual, brightened expression—the discomfort in his chest will disappear.
Damian waits with strained patience outside your lecture hall. Various eyes are casted onto him—a rare, Gotham Times worthy sight of a lone Wayne waiting for some mysterious figure, but the attention is none of his concern. His eyes are locked on you instead, watching you pack your bag through the open gap of the door, the AC blasting a cold breeze against his nose bridge.
You’re laughing at some unheard joke from this distance, and it should soothe his worries—to see you refreshed compared to your exhaustion two days ago. He understands better than anyone how exhausting those galas are, which is why he tried to dissuade you from attending in the first place. Still, you had insisted on accompanying him, much to his chagrin. He at least hoped you didn't flunk your midterms today by overexerting yourself, despite his previous warnings, or else he really wouldn't be able to restrain himself from saying I told you so.
All fleeting thoughts of teasing you are discarded at the sight of an unknown blond male, chatting you up and making you laugh as hard as you did. His foot taps in a repeating manner, discomfort swarming in his chest the longer he watched, before catching his own fretting and forcing himself to stay still. This unknown variable is not a problem. Once you spot him, you'll come to his side instead—naturally.
This reassurance paces his impatience, waiting for you to notice him as you made it towards the door. His chest rises, anticipation creeping in as your head raises—and meets his gaze.
You smile, like you always do, and it has the same application of a soothing balm over the minor migraine he's formed from over-checking your coordinates. Waiting for you to come to him, his lips part with a ready excuse for why he came to find you instead of meeting at your usual lunch spot.
Only for you to walk right past him.
He blinks, unable to process what just happened. Impossibly in a single moment, he became invisible to your eye. His mind works in overdrive, unable to piece the facts together that you just walked past him. The probabilities calculated don't align with reality, but his body reacts faster. His hand reaches out, grabbing onto your wrist impulsively—right as you made your turn towards the hallway.
You stumble, gaze flickering down to his grip in surprise. “...Damian?” You blink as if stunned, like you hadn’t just walked past him like he was a ghost.
“You haven’t responded to my messages.” He blurts out with almost immediate regret. Now, his position comes off as a confrontation, and that blond is staring at him with vague amusement. Pathetic, he feels shame burn in the back of his throat. This wasn't how it was supposed to go.
You stare at him unblinkingly, before your mouth parts in acknowledgment. “Ah, that. Tim should've updated you, did he not?”
Tim. A heated frustration arises in his chest, but he can’t figure out what exactly is stoking the fire. The realisation that you prioritised Tim's messages over his, or your strange nonchalance to his concern. “You’ve been conversing with Drake?”
“I needed his help with finding a new collection—he’s also a fan of the series.” You shrug. "With the midterms and his constant updates about the shipment from Japan, I must’ve missed yours."
“Your business with Drake isn’t my concern.” He spits out, harsher than intended. An uncomfortable slither of emotions is writhing in his chest, and the thought that you and Tim have been conversing in secret all along these past two days, bonding to something he wasn’t privy to... it was irritating.
Why had you gone to Tim instead? If you had asked him, he could've easily gotten you the collection.
“What is our relationship then?” You implore casually, eyeing his reaction. “If your concern is so situational."
Whatever he was expecting, he didn’t expect that. His lashes flutter, his composure all but ruined as his mind tries and fails to merge the you he knows, and the you in front of him. You don't seem angry. So, why was he beginning to feel a sense of dread?
“Weren’t you the one who always decided the labels for us?” He asks after a moment, his voice rough against the unexpected impact of your question.
Your expression finally flickers, disappointment slipping through the cracks of your smile. His response has displeased you, even he could read into that.
“I’ll let you answer for us this time.” You reply, and it’s distant—cold. Unlike you. “You can choose whichever you deem fit.”
“Wait.” His rushed voice sounds desperate even to his own ears. The sight of your back turned towards him is something he never wanted to see again. His gaze flickers between you and the blond, questioning. “Are we not supposed to have lunch together?”
You turn back, staring at him with an unreadable expression. Your smile reappears, but it doesn’t reach your eyes. “I’m having lunch with Lawrence, so it’s okay. You don’t need to accompany me.”
Damian views the world akin to a battlefield. There are allies, enemies, changes in fronts and positions. He has fought hard to feel deserving of every position in his life, whether it had been his grandfather's heir, his father's blood son, or Robin. Right now, he feels as if his position beside you has been ripped out of his hands. Accompany? Is that how you saw it, like some sort of duty imposed on him that you could dismiss him of whenever you pleased?
"See you around, Dami." Even his nickname given by you comes off flat from your tongue. As if you were going through the motions, interacting with him from behind a wall that's suddenly been constructed without his notice.
You weren't completely ignoring him like he suspected, but this distance... feels much worse.
There was something, very obviously wrong.
You aren’t sitting beside him. In the seat reserved for you, that’s meant for you.
It had been set from the very start, maybe initially because the two of you were the only children ever-present during family business dinners... and later, with your constant chattering that the adults found had an amusing effect on him.
He's gotten used to exchanging cuts of his meals with yours, or swapping his glass if his had more ice cubes in them, because you liked your beverages freezing cold. Used to you whispering unrelated stories and jokes into his ear when his father talks business with your father, and he has to resist a quirk up his lips because it would mean that you won in your little game to crack his exterior. Now, it's as if an entire routine has been disrupted, and Damian was a man of routine.
He watches you, eyes like a hawk over your every movement, trying to detect any pause in this unreachable mask of yours. You slice your steak without fault, placing your cut between your lips as you nod along to your father's words, seated at his right hand. You don't blink an eye in his direction, and he's tempted to walk right over and drag you out of that very chair.
To corner you in a space without prying eyes, and... what? He swallows dryly, forcing himself to look back down at his untouched meal. What could he say without sounding like a lunatic?
That he suspects that he's done something wrong merely because you've switched seats today? Or that you've been skipping out on lunches with him. Or all the way back to that cursed gala, when you had refused his hand to escort you back home.
Another troubled ‘Tt’ slips past his gritted teeth, and that finally reaches your ears.
When he meets your curious gaze, a silly gust of hope appears so quickly in his chest at the luck that he's finally caught your attention. He raises a brow, a silent question, gesturing to head to a private room with the tilt of his head. You've always understood his silent words better than anyone else did.
Which is why it shocks him when you merely cast your gaze back to your father, leaving his question unanswered. He wasn't deluding himself in this occasion. You're clearly rejecting his gesture, pretending as if you never saw it.
His grip tightens, crumpling into the table cloth, shame colouring his features. He has to put an end to this. Regardless of your coy act, he knows you. Maybe you had a bet with one of his brothers—who knows what schemes they've configured after their constant interrogations during the gala, successfully running a fuse on his temper.
Or maybe, he’s displeased you with an inadequate response. You had mentioned it before, the term 'labels'. Honestly, he never once considered trapping you in something so jarringly concrete. Bonds, human connections—they were always needlessly complicated.
What you meant to him, it expanded beyond the limitations of languages. You, who saw past his sharp exterior and pushed him beyond his limits, and him, who found himself staying despite every rational thought pleading him not to expose his weakness so easily out in the open.
It was simply natural from the moment he met you, instinctive to remain by your side just as you always found a place to slot beside his. Terrifyingly easy, that he refused to let anyone see the softness you evoked out of him. It was meant for you, and only you. Now, the strike of your absence, despite being only a few feet away from him, is running a deeper cut into his conscience, tracing back to the questions that's been bombarded on him by his siblings.
But—what does she mean to you, Dames?
What would your life look like without her?
In a desperate attempt to brush off questions that aroused a panic he had never felt before, he came up with quick, venom-filled words to dissuade his brothers. Oddly enough, he never wished to reveal what you meant to him, not aloud.
It made it feel too real, too vulnerable. As if the world could swallow you whole if he admitted just how irreplaceable you were, that he couldn't envision a life without you by his side. His grandfather had made it so—that any weaknesses should be removed from its roots.
He did not want to remove you from his life, so you are not his weakness.
He's tempted to curse his brothers to oblivion. If only they hadn't sprung such obnoxious questions, then these thoughts wouldn't be invading him, and the universe wouldn't have punished him for it.
He had already felt the brimming inevitability of something bound to go wrong the moment he was faced with vulnerability. If it had been anyone else, he would have retreated in a similar manner as he always had. To not show weakness, to prove that he was above silly affections and attachments to others—but it's you.
He has to fix this. Whatever it is that's wrong. If only you would look at him, then maybe you'd see his desperation too and let him in.
Damian doesn't receive an opening till the next gala. A cruel twist of fate the universe has decided to play on him, as if openly mocking his distress, to end up right back where the entire fiasco started.
He's barely kept himself sane. In these past two weeks, you've only responded to his messages—horrible attempts of reconnection, with mere one word replies, and visited the manor to hang out with his other siblings. When he had caught you lounging on Tim's bed, ranting about the new series you both were so invested in, he nearly tore the door straight off its hinges.
He craves for your silly rants during lunches. Your presence dipping the corner of his bed as you sketched doodles of his family in their vigilante costumes. Your warm laughter that soothes a long night of patrol.
He misses you... terribly.
It doesn't help that you're a vision tonight, only worsening the trembling ache in his chest. Dressed in your favourite colour that make you so strikingly vivid, already seared into his mind as he stares unblinkingly, he doesn't realise he's been holding his breath till your heels click with an ever-increasing volume towards him. Your nearing approach is what finally snaps him out of his daze, and his hand immediately shifts. Out of mere habit, for you to hold onto his arm as always.
Your hand doesn't lift to meet his, remaining stuck to your side. It pushes him off balance, and he has to force himself to respond when you greet him.
"You...look beautiful." He admits, his voice a weakened imitation of itself. He hates this, and you look—you are beautiful. So much so that it hurts. Even if he tried to reach his hand out for you, he has the suspicions that you’ll only back away from his touch.
"Thank you." You smile politely, and the tone of your voice, practiced and composed, stings.
His lips part, ready to pull you aside and ask what he has done wrong. He is ready to do whatever you ask, to plead for forgiveness so long as that look in your eyes finally fades, anything to get you back. The real you, not hidden behind cruel distance and polite masks.
A familiar, dreadful face cuts in before he can. Damian’s gaze hardens, trained on the blond that's been trailing after you since two weeks ago, who currently has his hand outstretched for you. His scowl falters, panic swarming his instincts—when your own hand reaches out to take the stranger's invitation.
He utters your name, a weak pulse forming a lump in his throat.
You turn back, casting him a quick glance like his existence was an after-thought. "Lawrence offered to dance with me earlier. We'll catch up later, Dami."
His chest seizes completely. He doesn't process the alteration of his own steps, only finding your wrist captured between his fingers, his shoe stepped in between the gap of you and your dancing partner, functioning as an opposing barrier.
“I’m afraid—” His voice cuts in, deadly calm. “—she already has a partner for tonight.”
Your head whips around, unable to hide your shock. His jaw clenches, eyes narrowed at the suitor who's dared to try for your hand. Perhaps it's his building paranoia stemming from your continued absence, but the sight of someone taking you away by your willing hand is truly driving him mad.
It doesn't take long before Lawrence registers the message Damian sends with a single, warning glare. Hands off.
Finally able to breathe once the bastard's been chased off, he turns back to meet your gaze and is surprised to find the barely concealed anger in your eyes. You've never looked at him this way before.
That same discomfort that's plagued him constantly for the past two weeks builds in his chest at the thought that you even entertained the possibility of dancing with Lawrence. Damian had always been your dancing partner, no matter how much he claimed to dislike partaking in galas like these. If anyone was going to deal with sore feet from the accidental missteps of your heels, it will always be him.
“Is that the label you’ve decided on?” You ask, the first words uttered without that strange, distant tone you've used before. “Partners?”
“Does it displease you?” He presses, trying to gauge your reaction. “I will change it to whatever you prefer.”
You purse your lips, conflict arising in your gaze. “I don’t understand you.”
He exhales lowly. “I should say the same for you. You are the one who’s—” His jaw twitches, desperation slipping past his façade. “—drifting away.” From me, why are you acting as if I don’t matter—as if this doesn’t matter?
He shouldn't have drank all that wine from earlier.
Alcohol doesn’t affect him, not with its supposed dizzying sensation and loss of control when recklessly consumed, but it did make him bolder, his tongue sharper. Yet, seeing you trying to evade him—out of his reach, he found himself doing something he sworn to never do—being impulsive.
At the lack of your response, his hand still wrapped around your wrist tugs gently, a quiet plea for you to say something. He feels useless, small—and you're the only thing he desperately needs. To help him make sense of the chaos that's consumed his every waking thought, that's plunged and follow him into his dreams.
Eventually, you sigh. "We should talk."
A small hope reignites at this chance you've given him. It's automatic, already mapped out in his head as he guides you to an empty room on the second floor. You don't rip away from his hold at the very least, but from your strained steps, you're not ecstatic to be with him either.
Shielded from prying eyes once he shuts the door, you're quick to pull your hand out of his hold. His own mask fractures at the loss of your warmth—but when he forces his gaze away from your disconnected hands, he finally sees you shed your own to reveal your honest expression. You look tired, a mirrored reflection of the agony that’s been inflicted on him these past two weeks.
You settle at the loveseat, head resting on your palm as if the very weight of your unreadable thoughts have consumed you, leaving you exhausted. If only he could reach in and unravel them himself, to understand the change in you.
“Drifting away?” Your voice muses at his words, and it lands like a punch. Do you truly not understand what you've done to him? “You’ve seen me the entire week.”
He shakes his head adamantly, coming to stand before you, neck craned down to face your averting gaze. “I won't be easily fooled. You’re avoiding me. Standing in places you’re not supposed to be.”
It sounds childish. God, he was being driven insane the longer you stood there, finally in his sights and he just couldn’t stop drinking you in.
“Opting for the furthest seat. Skipping lunch breaks. Accepting another dance partner. Ignoring my messages. Not being by my side.” It pours out without stopping, even as he feels warmth burn at the back of his neck, reaching his ears. “Your behaviour has changed. Even when you're close, you’re out of reach.”
“And you say I’m the clingy one?” Your expression flickers, a mix of hurt and solemn amusement.
His brow creases. “When have I ever—”
His own voice echoes in his mind, in a taunting afterthought. “She’s clingy.”
The gala. The interrogations. Your sudden change in behaviour. You overheard his callous comment. His reckless mistake.
He calls out your name weakly. The gravity of his mistake—it feels as if the entire universe is collapsing onto him.
You let out a sigh, and the acceptance in it terrifies him. As if you’ve already prepared yourself in these past two weeks, to fully be out of his life.
“I overheard you at the charity gala.” Your admission coincides with his guess, and your unwavering gaze leaves him stripped of all his defenses.
It's dawning on him in quickening alarm, with how each passing day, you must've lost hope in him. That his careless words must've wounded you deeply, leaving you to rightfully pull away. That he is a complete and utter idiot, who has hurt the one person he swore to protect.
"Do you feel less smothered? After all, wasn’t space what you wanted?” You ask, and there is no anger in your voice—only apathy. "It was what I needed."
The admission silences him. His heart is thudding so hard that he hears the rush of blood in his eardrums.
No. It wasn’t what he wanted. Your absence has ruined him, and it wasn’t the faults of his brothers, or revealing his vulnerability. It was all on him.
“Isn’t it better for us both, if we kept our distance?” You propose. “Since we’ve gone past the line of hurting each other. It’ll be convenient for the both of us, and less burdensome for you.”
Your calm demeanour is a bigger slap to his face than you shouting at him, demanding for him to apologise or to make things right. In the face of your acceptance, it’s as if you expected that this was the outcome he wanted.
He has a paralysing realisation, that if he doesn't beg for your forgiveness, you'll never come and seek for his repentance ever again. With every passing second, he feels time running out of his hands as your expression closes at the lack of his response, ready to abandon the room. Abandon him.
Desperation strips Damian bare of his pride when his knees hit the ground, landing harshly before you in the lowest form of begging. He doesn't give you time to process what he’s done before his fingers gently wrap around yours, caressing them with a firm grip.
“Damian!" Your expression warps in shock, meeting the intensity seared in gaze. "What are you doing? Get up—"
“I was wrong.” He admits without hesitation. “All the words I said, not a single one of them holds the truth.”
Your shock dampens, and he sees the barest hurt displayed on your expression. It pushes him to strain past his walls, to keep speaking if it meant not seeing your back turned towards him.
“You asked me to define us once, by labels.” He recalls. “I am not good with words. It has always been—difficult. To understand when to push further and when to fall back. To not act as if every situation is a death sentence if I bared my vulnerabilities out in the open, but—I know that my faults are not an excuse for my actions."
"I have broken your trust and left you feeling unsure of your position in my life, and I must correct it. You are not clingy, or a burden. You are the most important person in my life."
“The lies were nothing more than a cover... my brothers had caught onto my attachment and wouldn't give up on their interrogations.” He admits through the grit of his teeth. “They were always more observant of what I tried to push down, and my behaviour around you—it was obvious that you had an effect on me. It's as if you are the center that I gravitate towards, pulling me in towards your every whim and desire.”
“They tried to help me make sense of it, and I panicked. Selfishly, I wanted to keep my weakness a secret only known to the promises I've made for you in my mind. My fondness for you felt like a curse if I revealed it.” He whispers. “I had always assumed that what you held closest to your heart is what you should guard the most."
“I uttered those foolish words because I had assumed that if only I knew the extent of my devotion towards you, you would be safe. That we could continue as we always had, without declaring a target on your back, so that the world wouldn’t rip you away so easily.”
“I was a coward.” He murmurs, pleading in earnest. “I have mistreated you and taken you for granted. I tried to convince myself that lies were better than revealing the truth, which is that I have always coveted to by your side."
"I am deeply sorry. For ever making you feel that you're anything less than.” He breaks. "That couldn't be further from the extent to which I adore you. To which I need you. I can’t imagine a life without you, so—"
"Please—" He's never been taught to beg, but he can't lose you. Even if it takes him years, decades to regain your trust, it doesn't matter. "—it is selfish of me to beg for your forgiveness, but I will do anything. I will explain the full truth to my family. I will take on any punishment but—I can’t lose you. These past two weeks have been torture, and... I miss you."
Finally, after his chest is heaving with the burn of his confessions and a lack of oxygen, does he quiet. In the face of your coming judgement, he has never been more nervous in his life.
"Damian." You mutter. "I have not forgiven you."
His breath hitches, and despite all he's done to expect this outcome, he couldn't have been more unprepared for the impact of the blow. His hands falter around yours, and his knees have gone weak.
"W—What do you want me to change?" He can barely hear his own voice over his rapturing heartbeat. "Is it something I said? My behaviour, my actions—I can improve. I can fix this."
You give him a look that signals that you're not done. He forces himself to quiet, lips pursed as he slowly—painfully waits.
"In these past two weeks..." You admit. "I really tried to reevaluate what you mean to me."
"I understand you, more than anyone else has because you've let me in." You answer. "But just because I see you—and I know that's a vulnerability you don't easily show to people—doesn't mean that you get an easier way out."
"You did hurt me. I'm acknowledging that, and because I care about you, it hurts even worse." You reveal. "It wasn’t fair that you brought up such harsh words to describe me behind my back, and it’s not going to be something I can brush over easily, no matter the reason. I don't think we can fully go back to how it was before, not without moments where I will feel doubt. That's a trust you have to rebuild, not just with one big apology, but through your words and actions, every single day."
He nods, hanging onto every word you're willing to give him, even as your vocal admission of him hurting you feels like a vicious whip.
"But I am willing to give you that chance—to heal the hurt you've caused me, to prove that you won't pull away when you're scared I'm getting too close." You declare. "I'm giving you a chance to fix your mistake, because I know you, Dami. I know you'll keep your promises, and that you have a heart. One that's willing to change."
He lets out a shaking breath, and he finds your fingers caressing over his in a gentle touch. Not forgiving him completely, but reassuring in its warmth.
"I—" Left bare after pouring his heart out, the adrenaline rush that came from his full vulnerability has finally left his chaos-ensued mind blank.
From the very moment you had entered his life, it was an undeniable fact he had only grown to understand, to not fear—and it was that he loved you. The same distant concept he once viewed through the multiple perspectives of others, now existing right there in his beating heart. Yet, it didn't feel right in this moment. Not when you were giving him this chance to rebuild the trust he has broken. He will wait, for as long as you'll let him, he will cherish anything you'll give him.
"I know." You whisper, silently reading what he’s trying to convey through a single glance. "We'll figure us out together."
He sighs, head falling against your lap, lips brushing over your intertwined fingers—a soft, imperceptible kiss to your knuckles. It's natural, instinctive, everything he could ever want. To rest in your presence that’s finally allowed him to breathe again, surrounded by your warmth and voice.
"I thought you hated dancing." You muse.
"Not when it's with you." He admits quietly. "I haven't trained myself to bear the crushing of your heels, just for someone to take my place."
"I can't believe you called me the clingy one." Your amusement doesn't displease him, not in the slightest.
"Perhaps I shall reinstate our relationship to my brothers then." He murmurs. "I'm sure they'll have a field day once I admit that I'm the one who can't bear to be without you."
Finally, he hears the familiarity of your laugh. He has missed that.
"I'd like to see that."
likes, reblogs, and comments are highly appreciated! <333
Sinopsis: When whispered rumors threaten the fragile peace of her marriage, a Targaryen princess must decide whether to trust her husband—or the poison planted by his cruel cousin.
Warnings: Emotional manipulation, Rumors and jealousy, Mild verbal harassment
WC: 5,000 words approx.
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The morning sun filtered through the window like a golden caress upon your face. You shifted beneath the sheets, the languid weight of sleep still clinging to your eyelids, stretching an arm toward the side where Valarr usually slept, searching for the warmth of his chest, the weight of his arm around your waist. But your hand found only cold fabric and empty pillows. You sighed as you opened your eyes, gazing at that vacant space, the sheets still rumpled yet stripped of warmth—silent witnesses that your husband had left the bed before dawn.
You knew that in a few days you would depart for Ashford, for the celebration of the Lord’s daughter’s birthday. The women of the castle spoke of nothing else: the gowns they would wear, the songs that would be sung, which knights would ride in the tourneys. But Valarr, even with the journey so near, did not neglect his duties. Firstborn son of Prince Baelor, blood of the dragon—and that blood demanded that he be the first in the training yard when the sun had barely begun to stir.
You rose slowly, stretching your arms above your head until your shoulders gave a soft crack. You had slept well, without nightmares, without sudden wakings, and so there was no haste in your movements. Valarr always let you sleep a little longer, and you treasured that small, silent gesture of love.
Your maidens helped you dress. The gown was pale blue, the color of the sky when the morning is still young, with long sleeves embroidered in silver thread that seemed to catch the light. When you were ready, you looked at yourself in the polished metal mirror. You adjusted a strand of hair that had escaped your arrangement, nodded in satisfaction, and thanked the girls with a smile and a slight inclination of your head.
The corridors of the fortress already thrummed with the coming and going of servants and guards. The men paused in their duties to bow their heads as you passed; the women lowered their gazes in respect. You returned each greeting with a gracious smile—the one your mother taught you to wear always, the one that showed royal blood could also be kind.
You had barely set foot in the great hall, before your eyes had even adjusted to the candlelight still burning upon the long tables, when his voice reached you like a tear across fine silk.
“The beauty seems to be granted to rather incompetent types, does it not, cousin?”
Aerion leaned against a column, arms crossed, that crooked smile fixed upon his face like a mask that never quite fit. You forced yourself to smile politely, though inside your stomach tightened. His presence always unsettled you, irritated you, pushed you out of that calm you worked so hard to maintain as the heir’s wife.
But today you had a reason to remain steady. A reason that weighed more than any foolishness Aerion might utter. Though it was not yet time to share it.
“I see you have arrived,” you said, measuring each word. “I am glad to see you, though the day dims in your absence.”
The venom in your words was subtle, barely a trace, but Aerion scented it like a hound scents blood. His smile widened, and you kept your expression serene as you walked further into the hall.
“If you are attempting to say you miss my presence when I depart,” Aerion said, pushing off the column to follow you, “I must think my cousin a fool who does not know how to satisfy you.”
You felt him draw closer behind you, far too close. Like a young dragon stalking its prey, playing before striking. You stopped but did not turn.
“My husband satisfies me more than enough,” you replied, your voice steady despite the faint tremor of your hands beneath your sleeves. “Revealing my intimacy is not something that pleases me—least of all with someone who would not understand what I speak of. You do not know the kind of love that can exist between two people.”
Aerion halted. You were provoking him, and you knew it. You could see in the tilt of his mouth and the gleam in his eyes that your dart had struck true.
“The whispers in the corridors cry that your husband leaves your bed in the mornings to go to another,” he said, lowering his voice until it was nearly a whisper. “Or to others.”
You turned toward him. You felt the blood rush to your chest, the words catch in your throat. What? It was the only thought that came. The mornings without Valarr, the cold sheets, the emptiness at your side. Training, you always told yourself he was training. No—you would not doubt him. You could not. That was what Aerion wanted, to sow discord between you and Valarr.
“I am not mistaken, am I?” Aerion stepped closer—now he truly stood too near. “It was only a matter of time. Opening your legs for my cousin so often makes him lose the spark. I… I would never lose it.”
You stared at him. You wished to say something—anything—but the words would not come. There was a knot in your throat that tightened with each passing heartbeat, fed by the doubt Aerion had just planted like a poisonous seed.
“Cousin.”
Valarr’s voice cut from the entrance of the hall, sharp as the edge of a freshly honed blade.
“You should step back from my wife. Or matters will be misunderstood.”
You looked at him. He stood there, his hair still damp from the morning’s training, his clothes lightly marked with sweat, his knuckles reddened from the sword practice. But you looked away almost at once. You did not want him to see that doubt in your eyes—the question now gnawing at you from within.
“Misunderstood?” Aerion stepped back, but with a mocking slowness, as though it were all sport. “Not at all, cousin. Your wife is always so kind, so trusting.” He paused, and his smile widened. “Though I thought your wife ought to know what is said of you. I have only just arrived, and already I hear you must leave her. Does the brothel please you more than your own bed, Valarr?”
Valarr’s jaw tightened. You saw him take a step forward, fury contained in every muscle of his body. But before he could answer, the doors of the hall opened wide and his father entered—Prince Maekar—followed by Daeron and Aegon.
“Princess!” Aegon’s small voice rose above the murmur of greetings, and the boy crossed the chamber running toward you.
You knelt just in time to receive the impact of his little arms around your waist. He smelled of grass and sunlight, of a child who had been playing since early morning.
“Aegon,” you greeted him, and though your smile was forced at first, the sight of his happy face made it turn genuine.
“I have missed you so much,” the boy said, squeezing you tighter. “Yesterday I found a snail in the garden to show you, but it escaped. Do you think snails can run very fast?”
As the child spoke to you with that seriousness only children can muster for important matters, you felt Aerion’s gaze withdraw. He cast one last mocking smile at Valarr before disappearing among the people filling the hall.
Valarr approached you, but you began walking toward the high table, Aegon’s hand in yours, listening attentively as he explained how much his snail had grown before it fled. You did not look at Valarr. You could not.
And Valarr, left a step behind with his hand half-extended toward you and the emptiness of your absence burning at his fingertips, knew that Aerion’s words had struck their mark. That the doubt now lodged within you was like a splinter in the flesh—small, nearly invisible, yet painful each time it brushed against anything.
Normally your seat was always beside Valarr. It was such an ingrained custom that no one needed to speak of it; it simply happened: you at his right, he at your left, hands finding one another beneath the table when no one watched. But this morning everything was arranged differently. Prince Baelor occupied the center of the high table, in the place that usually belonged to the king. Daeron II was ill, confined to his chambers with maesters coming and going, and so Baelor presided over the meal in his stead.
You sat to the left, with Aegon pressed close to you like a small golden shadow. The boy had taken your hand and would not release it, and you did not have the heart to pull away. Valarr was obliged to sit to his father’s right. The distance between you was only a few steps, yet to you it felt like an abyss.
Baelor tilted his head when he saw you seated apart. His clear eyes—the same Valarr had inherited—rested upon you with a mixture of curiosity and concern. It was exceedingly rare for you not to sit together at table. People would notice. They would whisper, invent stories. But instead of questioning you, Baelor offered a warm smile that reached your heart like a small embrace.
Prince Maekar and Daeron, seated further down, inclined their heads in greeting. You returned the courtesy, feeling Valarr’s gaze burn against your profile without daring to turn toward him.
“Enjoy the meal,” Baelor said serenely, and the entire hall bent over their plates.
Your eyes fixed upon the food without truly seeing it. Your appetite had fled. A small, sour red fruit rested at the edge of your plate, bright and glossy, and your hand instinctively sought your side—where Valarr’s hand always was, ready to take it away and eat it for you. You were not a demanding person, yet that particular fruit displeased you, and at times you felt guilty for it, for being fastidious over something so insignificant when there were those who truly went hungry.
But today Valarr was not beside you to remove it. The fruit remained there, red and mocking, reminding you of his absence.
Then the thought crossed your mind like a blade: was Valarr seeing someone else? Had Aerion witnessed something real, or were they only lies meant to wound you? How did Aerion know that you woke alone in the mornings? Because it was true—you always woke alone. But at what hour did Valarr leave? When the sun began to peer through the windows, or much earlier, when the sky was still dark and the stars had not entirely withdrawn? You had never known for certain.
You had barely touched your meal when you felt a tug at your sleeve. Aegon leaned toward you and whispered with that solemnity only small children can lend to the simplest things:
“Did you know that if you do not eat you can faint? Once I went on rebellion and nearly turned gray.”
His words were a childish tangle, mixing rebellion with fainting and impossible colors, but they made you tilt your head and smile in truth. You ran a hand through his pale hair, so like that of his elder brother.
“I shall keep it in mind, my little dragon.”
Yet the food still would not go down. Each bite seemed to grow larger in your mouth rather than smaller. At last you leaned slightly toward the center of the table and spoke softly, for Prince Baelor alone:
“My prince, I am very tired this morning. If you permit it, I wish to retire to my chambers.”
Baelor regarded you with those all-seeing eyes and nodded gently.
“Rest, daughter. May the gods go with you.”
You rose carefully, smoothing the skirts of your blue gown.
“Please, continue to enjoy the meal,” you said more loudly, so that all might hear, and began to walk toward the exit.
Behind you, unmistakably, you heard the scrape of another chair being pushed back. Valarr was rising to follow you. But you did not turn. You left the hall without looking back, feeling his gaze fixed upon the nape of your neck, feeling the weight of what you did not dare to ask him.
The corridors were quieter now, most of the servants occupied in the dining hall. You walked slowly, in no haste to arrive anywhere, and when you reached your chambers you stopped before one of the great windows overlooking the inner courtyard. Sunlight poured in, bathing the ancient stone in warmth and brilliance.
You leaned against the sill and stared without seeing. Thoughts circled in your mind like caged birds. Was what Aerion had said true? Or were you making a tragedy out of something that had slipped from his lying lips? But then—how did he know about the mornings? How could he know that you woke alone unless someone had seen it, unless something was truly happening?
Doubt was a small but ravenous beast. It fed on every solitary moment, every glance you did not dare hold, every unspoken word between you and Valarr.
The sound of your chamber door opening pulled you from your thoughts. You did not need to turn to know who it was. You knew the weight of his steps, the way the wood creaked beneath him.
Valarr had entered. And this time you would not be able to flee.
“You should have waited for me. We always leave the hall together. We always sit together.”
Valarr’s words did not sound like those of a prince accustomed to obedience. There was no anger in his voice, no command, none of that sharp tone he sometimes used with servants when something was not done as it ought to be. He sounded like a child—like those little ones in the yard complaining that the game ended before they could join. There was something wounded in the way he said it, something that tightened your heart despite the anger you still carried within you.
You did not turn toward him. You kept looking out the window, though you no longer saw the courtyard, nor the sunlight, nor anything at all. Your fingers toyed with the edge of your sleeve, twisting the fabric, releasing it, twisting it again.
“Why did you not tell me about the rumors?”
The question left your lips before you could stop it. Your voice sounded small, strange, as though it did not belong to you.
Behind you, Valarr fell silent for a moment. Then you heard him sigh.
“Because that rumor does not exist. Of course…” He hesitated, searching for the right words. “There will always be rumors that cast doubt upon my love for you. And Aerion will always be there to bring them into the castle and serve them on a silver platter. But they are not—”
“Then how did that rumor begin?” Now you turned toward him, your eyes locking onto his. “Someone must have seen you leave before the sun had fully risen. Not when it was already peering over the horizon—before. Much earlier.”
The words spilled out so quickly they nearly stumbled over one another. Valarr looked at you steadily and then, slowly, lowered his gaze to the floor. It was a small gesture, barely a moment, but you knew him too well. You knew every line of his face, every way he fell silent when something weighed upon him, every sigh he released when he did not wish to speak. And now, with his hands clasped behind his back and his eyes on the floor, he was telling you everything without words.
You felt your chest quicken, your blood pounding at your temples.
“You promised you would tell me if…” Your voice broke. Your eyes burned with the threat of tears. You swallowed hard. “If you stopped loving me. I told you I would understand.”
“No, no.” Valarr crossed the distance between you in two long strides. He dropped what he had been carrying—a cloth bag that hit the floor with a dull thud—and his hands cupped your face with a tenderness that almost hurt. “I have not stopped loving you. Nor will I ever stop loving you. Never.”
You looked at him, confused. The tears were there now, ready to fall, but confusion held them back.
“Aerion twisted the rumor,” Valarr said, drawing in a deep breath. “He did not—well, perhaps a little, he added more poison than there was. No one truly knows where I go in the mornings. I swear it by the Seven. I think they began speaking of a brothel because that is what people assume when a man leaves his wife alone at night—they think he goes to such places. But I would never…” He closed his eyes tightly. “I would never do that to you. I am only preparing.”
“Preparing? Preparing for what?”
Valarr opened his eyes and looked at you with a tenderness that unraveled you completely.
“The maester said you are in your fourth moon now. By the time we return from Ashford it will be the fifth, and surely everyone will notice. We will not be able to hide it any longer.”
Your mind took a moment to grasp his words. The fourth moon. The journey. The swell of your belly still hidden by your gowns, still small because it was early.
“My father said long journeys are often uncomfortable for women with child,” Valarr continued, stepping back slightly to bend and retrieve the bag he had dropped.
He reached inside and withdrew something. It was a cushion—not very large, but well made, the fabric neatly stitched, the stuffing even.
“They are cushions,” he said, almost shyly. “I made them myself. Well, I had the materials brought to me, but the stitching is mine. That is why I must rise before you, to have time to finish them before you wake. I have only completed one so far. That is why I asked you to sit in different places these past days.”
You stared at him, hardly believing it. And then you began to remember. The times he had asked, with that effortless casualness of his, whether the armchair was comfortable. Whether the wooden seat in the library hurt your back. Whether in the carriage it might be better to bring a large cushion so you could rest.
“Is it comfortable?” he would ask as you sat.
“If you were to place a cushion somewhere, where would you put it?”
“Do you not think it would be more comfortable with something behind your back?”
And you had thought they were idle questions, the sort a husband asks out of habit, out of courtesy. But no. He had been taking mental notes. Learning where you sat, how you sat, what you would need to be comfortable during the journey.
“And besides…” Valarr reached into the bag again and pulled out something else.
It was a small wooden horse, carefully carved. You could see the mane, the legs, even the eyes.
“I am making toys for our baby. If it is a boy, he will have a horse to play with. If it is a girl, I am carving a princess—and afterward I shall make her a prince so they may play together. But those are more difficult, they take longer. I still have time, but when your belly begins to show I will know time is running short, and I shall have to hurry.”
The tears you had been holding back finally spilled over. But they were not tears of sorrow. They were of relief, of shame, of a love so vast it could scarcely fit within you.
“I am sorry,” you whispered, clutching the cushion and the wooden horse as though they were the most precious treasures in the world. “I should have known Aerion would seek something to trouble me with. I should have trusted you.”
Valarr gently took the cushion and the horse from your hands and placed them carefully upon a nearby table. Then he returned to you and lifted your chin softly so that you would look at him.
“Aerion could make even my father doubt if we had not lived with him so many years,” he said, a faint smile touching his lips. “There will always be rumors. There will always be those who wish to see us undone. But my heart beats only for you, my wife. And for the baby who is coming.”
He brushed a strand of hair from your face, tucking it behind your ear with a tender gesture.
“I did not wish to tell you about the cushions because I knew you would be angry if you learned I sleep poorly at night while sewing. But I want my wife”—his hand lowered to rest over your belly, barely touching it, with a reverence that felt sacred—“I want you to travel in comfort. I want to protect you both. Always.”
Then he pressed his lips to yours.
The kiss tasted of breakfast, of mint, of Valarr. It tasted of home and forgiveness and all the things that required no words. The two of you had guarded the secret carefully—only Prince Baelor knew of your condition. You wished to be certain all was well, that the child grew strong before announcing it. It was your small royal secret, something that belonged only to the two of you.
Valarr drew you against his chest, and you remained there, listening to the steady beat of his heart, feeling his arms encircle you with care, as though you were both fragile and precious at once.
A man so deeply in love, you thought—how could he set foot in a brothel? How could he abandon his wife, the woman who carried his child, when every night he had asked the gods to grant him a family? When every night, before sleep claimed him, his lips whispered a prayer that the child be born healthy, that you be safe, that the three of you might look upon one another’s faces when the time came.
“I love you,” you murmured against his chest.
“And I you,” he replied, resting his cheek against your hair. “More than anything in this world.”
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This work is mine. Copying or translating this fic is strictly prohibited. Any issue must be notified directly to me. Thank you.
synopsys: In which your husbands dragon knows something you don't
au where the dragons are alive
tw; ooc dragon ig
wordcount: 3.3k
requested by @ntcc2605
The morning light filtered through the gauze curtains of your chambers, painting the room in shades of gold and rose. You stretched languidly beneath the silk sheets, a smile already forming on your lips before you even opened your eyes. The other side of the bed was empty, but the indent in the pillow beside you was still warm, and you could hear the soft sounds of someone moving about the adjoining sitting room.
"Valarr?" you called out, your voice still thick with sleep.
A moment later, your husband appeared in the doorway, already dressed in a loose tunic and riding leathers. His brown hair, with that bright streak of silver-gold running through it was slightly disheveled, as though he'd been running his hands through it repeatedly. His mismatched eyes lit up the moment they found you, and the smile that spread across his face made your heart flutter in a way that three moons of marriage had done nothing to diminish.
"You're awake," he said, crossing the room in three long strides and sitting on the edge of the bed. He leaned down to press a kiss to your forehead, then your nose, then your lips. "I was trying to let you sleep."
"Mmm." You looped your arms around his neck, keeping him close. "And where were you going, all dressed up like that?"
The slight shift in his expression told you everything you needed to know. You'd been married long enough now to recognize that particular look, the one that meant he wanted something, something he suspected you wouldn't like, and was trying to figure out the best way to ask for it.
"Aerrix needs exercise," he said carefully. "I thought I'd take her out for a flight before breakfast."
You stiffened almost imperceptibly, but Valarr caught it. Of course he caught it. He caught everything where you were concerned, had done since the very beginning.
You remembered those stolen nights before your marriage with perfect clarity, the way he'd find you in dark corridors during feasts, pulling you into alcoves and empty chambers just to have a moment alone with you. The way he'd climb down from his dragon and run to you the moment he landed, unable to bear even the few minutes it took to stable the beast properly. The way he'd whisper promises of forever against your skin in the moonlight.
Valarr Targaryen, the Young Prince, and absolutely, completely, hopelessly in love with you. And you with him.
But there was one part of him you couldn't quite love, no matter how hard you tried.
Aerrix.
You'd never met the dragon, thank the Seven. You'd seen her from a distance, of course a massive creature of black and white, scales seeming to shift between the two colors depending on how the light hit her. She was larger than most of the other dragons, and louder, and from what you'd heard, meaner. The dragon keepers gave her a wide berth. The other dragon riders kept their own mounts carefully separated from her during flights. And everyone, everyone, knew that Aerrix tolerated exactly one person in the entire world, Valarr.
"Don't make that face," Valarr said now, his thumb gently stroking your cheek. "It's too early for that face."
"I don't know what face you're talking about."
"You're making your 'my husband is going to suggest something dreadful' face." He grinned, that boyish grin that had probably convinced you to do approximately seventeen thousand things you never would have done otherwise. "I haven't even suggested anything yet."
"You were about to."
"I was considering suggesting something." He kissed your nose again. "There's a difference."
You sighed, but you were still smiling despite yourself. "What is it, Valarr?"
He was quiet for a moment, his fingers tracing lazy patterns on your shoulder. When he spoke, his voice was softer than before. "I want you to meet her."
Your heart stopped. Actually stopped, right there in your chest, for what felt like several very long seconds.
"Valarr—"
"I know." He held up a hand, cutting off the protest he could see building in your expression. "I know you're frightened of her. I know you've avoided the dragonpit entirely since we married. I know you flinch every time someone mentions her name." His eyes were earnest, pleading. "But she's part of me, my love. The largest part of me, some would say. And I want—" He paused, searching for the right words. "I want you to see that part of me. I want to share it with you. I want..." He trailed off, looking almost shy for a moment. "I want to take you flying someday. Both of you. My two favorite beings in all the world."
You stared at him.
"Flying," you repeated flatly.
"On Aerrix."
"On your volatile, aggressive, people-eating dragon."
"She doesn't eat people."
"She ate a whole sheep in one bite last night . I heard the keepers talking about it."
"She's a dragon. Dragons eat sheep. That's not the same as eating people."
You sat up in bed, pulling the sheets with you, and fixed him with your most formidable look. "Valarr Targaryen. I love you. I have loved you since before I knew what love was. I climbed out of windows to meet you in the dark. I lied to my own mother for you. I married you knowing that being your wife would mean a lifetime of people staring at me and whispering." You took a breath. "But I will not go anywhere near your dragon."
Valarr's face fell, and something in your chest twisted painfully. He looked so disappointed—not angry, never angry with you, just sad in that quiet way that made you want to give him absolutely anything he asked for.
"I understand," he said quietly, and he meant it. That was the worst part. He always understood. "I won't push you."
He kissed your forehead again and stood, and you watched him walk toward the door with his shoulders just slightly slumped, and you felt like the worst wife in the entire Seven Kingdoms.
"Valarr."
He turned.
You took a deep breath. "I'll... think about it."
The thinking about it lasted approximately three days, during which Valarr was so pathetically hopeful and so carefully restrained in his hopefulness that you wanted to both kiss him and strangle him in equal measure.
He didn't bring it up again, not once. But he'd look at you across the dinner table with those eyes, and you could see the question hovering there, unasked. He'd come back from flying Aerrix and describe the clouds to you, the way the world looked from above, the feeling of freedom, and you could hear the longing in his voice, not for you to share the experience, necessarily, but for you to understand it. To understand him.
On the fourth day, you gave in.
"Take me to her," you said, the words tumbling out before you could lose your nerve.
Valarr had been in the middle of drinking his morning tea. He choked.
"Take you—now? You mean it?"
"I mean it. Before I change my mind."
He was on his feet in an instant, pulling you up with him, his excitement so palpable it was almost contagious. "You won't regret this. I promise you won't regret this. She's going to love you. I know she will."
"That's what I'm afraid of," you muttered, but you let him lead you out of the chambers and toward the dragonpit.
The dragonpit loomed before you, a massive structure of stone and iron that seemed to swallow the light. You could hear them before you could see them, the rumbling, the occasional shriek, the heavy sounds of massive bodies shifting against stone. Your steps slowed.
Valarr's hand tightened around yours. "I'm right here. Nothing is going to hurt you."
"You can't promise that."
"I can. Aerrix won't hurt you. I won't let her." He stopped walking, turning to face you fully. "Do you trust me?"
You looked at him, at this man who had married you in front of the Seven and all the realm, who looked at you like you were the most precious thing in his world.
"Yes," you said. "I trust you."
He kissed you once, quick and fierce, and then he was leading you forward again, into the dragonpit.
The interior was dim and hot, lit by torches and the faint glow of dragon fire from deeper within. Valarr led you past several dens, each containing a dragon of varying size and color. They watched you pass with those unblinking eyes, and you pressed closer to your husband, your heart pounding.
And then you reached Aerrix's den.
She was magnificent.
That was the first thought that crossed your mind as you stood at the entrance, staring at the massive creature sprawled across the rocky ground. She was easily three times the size of the other dragons you'd passed, her black and white scales gleaming in the torchlight like polished gems. Her horns curved back from her head in elegant spirals, and even in sleep, her sides rose and fell with a rhythm that seemed to shake the very ground beneath your feet.
She was also absolutely terrifying.
"Seven help me," you whispered.
Valarr squeezed your hand. "Stay here. Let me approach her first."
He walked forward, his footsteps echoing in the cavern, and you watched as Aerrix stirred. Her head lifted, those massive golden eyes opening and fixing on her rider with unmistakable affection. She made a sound, a rumbling, crooning noise, and Valarr laughed, pressing his forehead against her snout.
"Good morning to you too," he said softly. "I've brought someone to meet you. Someone very important to me."
He glanced back at you, gesturing you forward.
Your feet wouldn't move.
"It's all right," he called. "Come slowly. Let her see you."
You forced yourself to take a step. Then another. Aerrix's head swung toward you, those golden eyes fixing on your small figure with an intensity that made your blood run cold. You could feel her breath now, warm and smelling faintly of smoke, ruffling your hair and your skirts.
This is it, you thought hysterically. This is how I die. Eaten by my husband's dragon. Mother will be so disappointed.
You were close enough now to see the texture of her scales, the way they overlapped like armor. Her nostrils flared, and you felt her inhale a great rush of air that pulled at your clothes and hair. She was smelling you. Learning you.
And then, impossibly, she made a sound.
It was low and rumbling, like thunder in the distance, but softer somehow. Warmer. It vibrated through the stone beneath your feet and up through your body, settling somewhere in your chest.
"What..." you breathed.
Valarr's jaw had dropped. "She's... purring. She's actually purring." His voice was full of wonder. "She's never—no one—she doesn't even let the keepers near her. And she's purring."
Aerrix's massive head shifted closer, her golden eyes soft now, warm. She made the sound again, louder this time, and then she did something that made Valarr choke on air.
She nudged your hand with her snout.
Very slowly, hardly daring to breathe, you lifted your hand and placed it on her warm scales. The purring grew louder, vibrating through your palm and up your arm, and Aerrix's eyes half-closed in what could only be described as contentment.
"She likes me," you said, stunned. "Your terrifying, volatile, people eating dragon likes me."
"She loves you," Valarr corrected, his voice thick with emotion. "Look at her. She's absolutely besotted."
And indeed, Aerrix was now trying to maneuver her massive head into your space, clearly seeking more attention. You laughed and scratched behind her horn, and she made a sound of pure dragon bliss.
"Well," you said, looking at your husband's dumbfounded expression. "I suppose I have to fly with you now."
Valarr's face split into a grin so wide it was almost silly. "Tomorrow? First thing in the morning?"
"First thing," you agreed.
The next morning dawned clear and bright, and you made your way to the dragonpit with Valarr's hand firmly clasped in yours.
Aerrix was waiting.
She lifted her head the moment you appeared, that familiar purring sound rumbling through the air. Her golden eyes fixed on you, and she made a noise that was almost like a greeting.
"See?" Valarr said, squeezing your hand. "She's happy to see you."
"She's happy to see me because she wants me to pet her."
"That too." Valarr grinned and led you forward, toward the dragon's side. "Now, the trick is to mount quickly and smoothly. I'll go first, then help you up behind me. Just hold onto my waist and don't look down."
You nodded, your heart pounding. Aerrix watched you with those golden eyes, and for a moment you could have sworn she looked... pleased.
Valarr climbed up onto the dragon's wing with practiced ease and reaching down for you. "Come on, love. Up you go."
You took his hand, put your foot in the stirrup he indicated, and—
Aerrix moved.
It was a small movement, barely a shift of her weight, but it was enough to make you lose your balance and stumble back. Valarr caught you before you could fall, but when you tried again, the same thing happened. Aerrix shifted just enough to make mounting impossible.
"What in the seven hells?" Valarr muttered, leaning down to look at his dragon. "Aerrix. Stop that."
The dragon looked up at him with an expression that was almost apologetic, but when you reached for the saddle again, she moved once more, not aggressively, not dangerously, but with clear intent to prevent you from getting on her back.
"I don't understand," Valarr said, genuinely confused now. "She loves you. She purrs for you. Why won't she let you mount?"
You tried again. And again. And again. Each time, Aerrix would shift or sway or simply lower herself to the ground, making it impossible for you to climb into the saddle. She wasn't angry about it—she kept purring that same rumbling purr, kept looking at you with those warm golden eyes—but she was absolutely, completely, and totally refusing to let you ride her.
"This has never happened," Valarr said, running his hands through his hair in frustration. "Dragons don't—they don't do this. They don't disobey their riders, even less refuse to take flight."
"Maybe she's changed her mind," you suggested, trying not to feel hurt.
"No." Valarr shook his head firmly. "That's not it. Look at her—she's still purring. She's still happy. She just... doesn't want you on her back."
Aerrix rumbled in what sounded like agreement, and you could have sworn there was something knowing in her golden gaze.
Days passed. Then weeks.
Every attempt to mount Aerrix ended the same way, gentle but firm refusal. The dragon would purr and nuzzle and follow you everywhere, but the moment you tried to get on her back, she would shift away. It was baffling. It was unprecedented. Dragon keepers were consulted. Other riders offered theories. Nothing explained it.
Valarr grew increasingly frustrated. You grew increasingly tired.
Because you were tired. Constantly tired. You'd fall asleep in the middle of conversations, nod off during meals, barely have the energy to get out of bed in the mornings. You were also vaguely nauseous at odd times of day, and certain smells that had never bothered you before now made your stomach turn.
You didn't think much of it, at first. But when you nearly fell asleep standing up during a formal dinner with Valarr's parents, your husband took one look at you and carried you bodily to the maester's chambers.
"Something's wrong," he said firmly. "I want the maester to look at you."
The maester asked you questions—about your appetite, your sleep, your monthly cycles—and you answered them, increasingly confused by the direction of his inquiries. He felt your belly, checked your pulse, and asked a few more questions.
Then he smiled.
"Well, my lady," he said, his eyes crinkling at the corners, "I believe I have an explanation for your symptoms."
"What is it?" Valarr asked, his arm tightening protectively around your shoulders.
The maester's smile widened. "Congratulations, my prince. You're going to be a father."
The room went absolutely silent.
You felt the words wash over you, not quite making sense at first. Father. Going to be a father. That meant—
You looked down at your belly, still flat beneath your gown, and felt something shift inside you.
"A baby," you whispered.
"A baby." Valarr's voice was strange, thick with emotion. You looked up at him and found his eyes bright, his face working through about seventeen different expressions before settling on one. He was smiling. He was absolutely, radiantly, incandescently smiling. "We're having a baby."
And then he was kissing you, laughing against your mouth, lifting you off the ground and spinning you in a circle while the maester watched with tolerant amusement.
The explanation for Aerrix's behavior came later that evening, when you and Valarr went to the dragonpit to share your news.
Aerrix was waiting, as she always was, her massive head lifting the moment you appeared. She made her usual purring sound, rumbling and warm, and you walked toward her without fear. You placed your hand on her snout, feeling the warmth of her scales.
"She knew," you said, looking at her golden eyes. "Didn't you? You knew before any of us."
Aerrix blinked slowly. Then, very deliberately, she lifted her head and looked directly at Valarr with an expression that could only be described as smug. If dragons could smirk, she would be smirking. She let out a little rumble that sounded suspiciously like dragon laughter.
Valarr gaped. "Are you laughing at me?"
Aerrix made the sound again, louder this time, and you could have sworn she was absolutely delighted with herself.
"She's been laughing at me for weeks," Valarr realized, his mouth hanging open. "Every time I tried to figure out why she wouldn't let you mount, every time I asked the keepers, every time I pulled out those books, she was sitting there, knowing exactly why, and just watching me struggle."
You burst out laughing. "Oh, that's perfect."
"I've been losing my mind for weeks!" Valarr threw his hands up. "I consulted the dragonkeepers! I read three books on dragon behavior! I asked my father! I asked my grandfather!"
Aerrix made a sound like a dragon snort, and you could have sworn she rolled her eyes.
"She's been protecting the baby," you said, still giggling. "That's all. She felt the new life and decided we needed guarding."
Valarr crossed his arms, staring at his dragon. "You could have told me."
Aerrix blinked at him.
"Somehow," you said, "I don't think she feels bad about it."
"She doesn't." Valarr sighed, but he was fighting a smile. "She absolutely does not. Look at her. She's preening."
Aerrix was indeed preening, her head held high, her scales practically gleaming with self-satisfaction. She nudged your belly gently with her snout and made a soft cooing sound.
"She's talking to the baby now," Valarr said flatly.
"She's bonding."
"She's showing off."
You scratched behind Aerrix's horn, and she purred loudly. "You have to admit, she was pretty clever about it."
Valarr came to stand beside you, wrapping an arm around your waist. "Oh, she's clever. She's also never going to let me forget that she knew before I did."
"Probably not," you agreed.
"Never," Aerrix seemed to rumble.
Valarr looked at his dragon, then at you, then at your belly. A smile finally broke through. "So. After the baby comes. Flying together?"
You looked at Aerrix, who was now gently resting her massive head against your side, still purring like a contented cat.
"Yes," you said. "After the baby comes. We'll fly together."
Synopsis: Valarr Targaryen truly was a perfect man in all aspects: looks, humour, intellect. If only there wasn't the unforgettable fact that he was your sister's betrothed.
Pairing: Valarr x Tyrell!Reader
Word count: 3k+
Tags: friends to lovers, unreciprocated yearning (that is actually reciprocated), fluff, slight affection at the end, happy ending
A/N: first fanfic 🫠. unedited 👁👄👁 so if you see any mistakes, no, you didn't <3
The waning crescent hovered above as you watched with a quiet reverence. The cold danced around you, nipping at any exposed skin that was not shielded by the heavy lapis gown. Laughter and music lazily spilled out of the Great Hall, yet it was not enough to tempt you back into the warmth and light.
The stars were plenty of company, and were certainly more welcoming than the boisterous guffawing of lords and drunken ramblings of ladies.
"Do you not enjoy dancing, my Lady?" A soft voice questioned, pulling you out of your reverie. A quiet gasp escaping you as you're startled by the intruder. But it settles into something tender, warmer, a welcome familiarity as you recognise the gentle voice.
Your lips move before you can even think about the words.
"I do, when the music is softer, and the company." You replied, your gaze travelling to the Young Prince behind you, your heart lurching at your new companion. The silver streak in his hair seemed to sparkle under the moonlight.
An intrusive thought forced itself onto the forefront of your mind. He was unfairly handsome under the silver moonlight, features softer, and the look in his eyes almost causing you to stop breathing.
A small laugh huffed out of him.
"Then that truly is an issue, Lady Tyrell," Valarr teasingly commiserated, a soft smile adorning his face, as he stood beside you, heat radiating from his person. "For King's Landing is always loud, and the company sharp."
Adoration seemed to stain both his voice and his gaze, as he found himself unable to look at anything but you.
You found myself inching closer, the warmth tempting as you reciprocated his tone. "What a shame, my Prince, as I was just beginning to enjoy the capital and our conversations, but I suppose, if King's Landing ought not change, then I must."
"And I shall weep if the day ever comes." His hand came up to play with a strand of hair that had escaped from your updo, before letting it go with a slight hesitance. "Who else will entertain my tirades?"
His hands clasped behind his back, as if fearing he would succumb to any more impulses.
You hummed for a second in false contemplation. "I would imagine that responsibility falls upon your betrothed."
His features seemed to tighten slightly, his brows furrowing as he found himself unable to respond.
"Speaking of my sister," you continued, forcing your gaze away from his face, before you could notice anything else. "I suspect she will be anchored to the floor, unable to stop dancing."
"Yes." He managed out, copying your actions of admiring the moon. "Your sister seems to be fond of dancing, I believe she was engaged with one of your father's knights before I came looking for you. And before that, numerous lords and knights"
The last part came out in an almost whisper, was it humiliation? Embarrassment? That his betrothed seemed determined to dance with every man in the hall before focusing her attention to him, the prince she intended to marry.
No, that would be too simple for a man like Valarr. It was deeper, more painful. He had no issue with what his betrothed did. Rather, the issue lied in who his betrothed was.
It shouldn't have shocked you that Verena Tyrell would sooner walk into the sea than stop dancing, but a knight? Well it was not exactly strange for Verena to dance with anyone available, but you would have expected for the majority of her attention to be directed at her betrothed, who stood beside you.
You wanted to say a thousand things, to reassure him that her enjoyment for dancing was simply a penchant, nothing more. But you knew your sister, and if the prince held all of her affection, then he would have been anchored with her.
Yet here he was.
'With you.' An unwelcome thought whispered, and you almost flinched at the idea.
No, not with you. Not truly.
"Perhaps it is time we should return." You offered, the greedy part of you wishing to stay.
An emotion that you dared not name danced amongst his bi-coloured irises. "Perhaps."
And yet neither of you moved.
—
"I beg your pardon? The tale is meant to be romantic!" You exclaimed, ungracefully plopping yourself underneath the shade of the great oak.
"Oh, I apologise, my Lady. Clearly, I should find the death of two people to be so romantic." Valarr's voice was laced with heavy sarcasm as he joined you, his eyes rolling as he ranted. "It is evidently a cautionary tale. Their actions are motivated by childish ignorance and a penchant for impulsion."
You watched him incredulously. "And does that not make it romantic? They were so enamoured by each other, that they were determined to be with each other, either in life or death." Your hands wild as you gestured aimlessly, as if the liveliness of your actions validated your point.
He pointed at you, with thinly veiled amusement. "Now you are being wilfully ignorant."
You sighed deeply, passing your hand over your features.
"Verena, help me here. Please tell your betrothed that the tale of Caelestis and Aisline is a romantic tragedy, not just a tragedy." Your voice exasperated as you directed your attention towards your older sister. "Verena?"
Verena's attention was evidently not engaged in the conversation you were having with the Prince, but rather further away, with two knights sparring. You nudged her quickly before Valarr could truly notice what was taking up her attention, and if he did notice, he provided no inclination to show for it.
"Pardon?" Her voice came out choked, as if the noise itself startled her.
"We were discussing the tale of Caelestis and Aisline, my Lady." Valarr replied, his fingers busying themselves by twisting the rings on his hands.
"Oh, that. I found that tale terribly boring. They were both so simple, and stupid."
"Well stupid might be a bit severe," Valarr began, his gaze darting between the two Tyrell sisters. "They were in love."
With the two sisters directly in front of him, he couldn't ignore the glaring differences that seemed to mock him. Verena, who was easily bored by tales and stories unless they involved real gossip. Verena, who'd rather watch knights sparring than debate and share interpretations. Verena, who'd rather dance than even talk to him. And you…
Words could not even begin to describe the pure joy and ecstasy he experienced at just the sight of you.
"A moment ago you were claiming that they were both ignorant." You pointed out, a grin threatening to force its way onto your face. "Is the opinion of the Prince so fickle, that it can change at a moment's notice?"
He huffed out a sigh, his face turning pink. "That's treason." His voice coming out as a mumble, his mind still reeling from his own thoughts.
It was a miracle that he could even think in your presence.
"Pardon, it's what? Because all I could hear was that you agree with me and that my interpretation is the superior one, correct?" The grin now unashamedly taking residence on your features.
The blush seemed to travel to his neck, and even his ears were tinged pink, as his gaze was fixated on your lips.
"I think I would like to go to the gardens," Verena proclaimed, rising from her seated position. She turned to direct a judging look towards the two of you. "Make haste, please."
Valarr quickly copied her actions, offering a hand to aid you. You hesitated a moment, before accepting his hand, feeling the steady warmth beneath it.
His touch lingered for a moment too long, as if it required strength to remove it.
"Shall we, my Lady?" Valarr asked, his voice low and polite as he offered his arm to Verena, who accepted it with little enthusiasm. Yet his gaze was fixed on you as he uttered those words.
—
Dinner that night had served venison and the fawning of Lady Aenora Tyrell, as she gushed over her daughter's betrothed, twirling her fiery locks. Your father, Lord Leo 'Longthorn' Tyrell, a slender man with silver hair and a silver beard, seemed content in discussing grain stocks with Prince Baelor, who didn't shy away from such a riveting conversation.
Verena remained uncharacteristically quiet during the meal. She really did try to talk about ... Well, she was not exactly sure what you and Valarr were talking about. But she tried paying attention, she truly did.
It was not her fault that…
"He is plain." Verena confessed, her voice low as she picked at the threads of her embroidered sleeve. Her body was slouched over the embroidered chaise, eyes fixated on the fire you were hovering over.
The Red Keep was cold at night, the type of chill that crawled into your skin and settled into your bones, refusing to leave, and despite you crowding over the fireplace, the chill never left you.
You gasped at the revelation, your gaze darting around the room to ensure you were truly alone. "He is a prince."
"And the Prince is dull, and a terrible bore. Is that truly what my life will be subjected to if I marry him?"
"When you marry him, sister, you will see how foolish these thoughts were. He is the heir, and will one day be king, and you will be his queen."
She flinched at my words. "Then I suppose that the realm and I will serve the insipid king."
An anger washed over you with her words. Why was she being so ungrateful? "Stop that, Verena, self-pity does not suit you."
"I must pity myself, as everyone is determined to believe that I am the luckiest woman to ever live." She hissed at you, her face flushing red. She rose so that she was now directly in front of you, the light of the fire dancing across her face, causing her features to seem more severe. "But if this is luck then I do not want it."
You didn't move as she tried encroaching on your personal space, an incredulous laugh escaping your lips. "What more, pray tell, could you want? You—"
"I want fire! I want lively, I want messy and mistakes. I want—" Her voice stuttering as her hands moved wildly. "I want something real, and if that makes me the most selfish woman in Westeros, then so be it."
Your heart dropped at her words. She was to marry him, a man you called one of your greatest friends, and, when the wine dulled your senses and softened your mind, the man your heart stuttered over. He was not yours to want, but you couldn't reign in your wondering thoughts, pondering over pointless 'what ifs?'
"He is nice." You managed out, the words almost getting stuck in your throat as you thought of a thousand different, more eloquent ways of describing the man you thought of as a friend. But 'nice' was all you could manage in front of your sister.
"I should not be cruel, I know." Her voice was softer now, as if the confession would break her if she said it too loud. "He is kind, and gentle, and soft, but that is not what I want."
"I'm afraid that what you want is not destined for you." Your voice barely a whisper, as tears threatened to escape.
She watched you with quiet contemplation, her eyes shining with an emotion that made her seem much younger than she was.
This silence settled like the cold, and she soon retired herself to her own room without uttering a word.
Your darling, foolish sister.
—
Sleep did not welcome you kindly that night, as you spent the majority of the late hours tossing and turning, unable to stop thinking about what Verena had confessed.
It had taken her a sennight to come to this conclusion, yet in the grand scheme of things, even this was too slow as wedding preparations had began. Your heart twisted with a multitude of emotions: pity, melancholy and a shameful envy that seemed to haunt you.
But you were soon seized with another emotion.
Fear.
A frantic maid rushed into your room, a candle flickering lowly in her grasp as she tried gasping out a sentence to you. You tried calming her, asking her to explain the issue as scenarios flooded your mind, each worse than its predecessor.
But she couldn't manage to utter the words, only ushering you out of your quarters despite only being in your nightgown, and into your parent' quarters.
Your mother was wailing as if someone had been killed; utterly hysterical as she draped herself over a chair, her body trembling with sobs.
Your father was not much better, pacing the floor with a paled face and red-rimmed eyes, and the little composure he had dissipated at the sight of you.
"What has happened?" Your voice quiet and unsure as you watched soundless tear fall from your father's eyes. He couldn't stop watching you. Your mother's sobs grew louder at the sound of your voice.
The Lord Paramount of the Reach finally gathered the little courage her had to answer you. "Your sister has ran away."
"With a knight!" Your mother managed to choke out, the words seemingly wrenched out of her chest.
You could feel the blood drain from your face. What? This had to be a joke, a cruel jest that Verena decided to play. She enjoyed bad jokes, and you found yourself desperately wishing for it all to be just that. A bad joke.
"You are lying." Your voice cracked, tears threatening to spill as your gaze flickered between your parents. "Please, tell me you are lying."
Your father whispered your name. "My poor girl." And despite him saying your name, you couldn't truly tell if he was talking about you, or Verena.
"Father, please." Your voice came out quiet, sounding more like a child as you pleaded with your father.
His hands came out to caress your hair, the hair so similar to Verena's, and your heart clenched at the action, finding yourself unable to breath.
Your sister, your only sister, left you. She ran away, for what? For something lively? For a spark?
"We will have to tell the Princes tomorrow, to-." Leo Tyrell was not a weak man, but in this moment his voice had no strength. "To break the betrothal and to be dismissed. And perhaps they will be gracious and help prevent any scandal."
Scandal? How in the name of the Seven could he be thinking about potential scandal in this moment.
"Verena is missing and you are fearing scandal? Your daughter might be in danger, we have to try to find her!" Your voice laced with confusion and exhaustion as your pulse raced against your neck.
"Verena has made it quite clear that she does not want to be found." He whispered. "And from this day on, I only have one daughter and I will not allow Verena's stupidity to ruin your prospects."
"How?" Your eyes frantic, as they darted around the room. "How do you know she doesn't want to be found? What if she was taken under duress? Who is this knight she has supposedly left with?"
"She left a letter." He responded, gesturing towards the table your mother was sat at.
The hand it was written in, the words sprawled onto the page — they were all your sisters. You didn't want to believe it, but how could you deny it when the evidence was glaring at you. The very same words she confessed to you hours prior, written in cursive as she described that she could not be prevailed upon to marry the Prince, not when her heart belonged to another. To a knight who was in your father's employ. The Knight she danced with. The Knight she would watch spar. The Knight who reciprocated her love.
And despite the grief that gnawed at your heart, you couldn't find yourself to be angry at her. Verena had always lived life according to her own terms, no wonder she would find love in the same manner.
But that wouldn't stop you from grieving your living sister.
—
You couldn't look Valarr in the eyes as your father recounted the events of the prior night.
Baelor listened with patience, his royal brow furrowed in quiet contemplation, his hands twisting the rings scattered on his fingers. A habit shared by his son.
"If your Grace could be merciful, and allow us to be dismissed and retreat with no whispers about the situation." Your father concluded, his voice stronger than it was last night, but it was heavy with mourning and regret.
Baelor hummed, his focus turning to meet his son's eyes — the very same eyes that mirrored his; Targaryen violet, and Dornish chestnut.
"I do not believe that is entirely necessary." The Prince finally announced, voice resolute and sure.
"Your Grace?" Your mother questioned, her hand grasping your father's under the table, desperate for some semblance of comfort.
"A Tyrell can still be wedded to a Targaryen." His focus shifted to you, and a chill seized you as his gaze peered into your soul. "You have another daughter."
"We have another daughter." Your mother repeated, a strange hope intertwining her voice as she looked up at her husband.
You couldn't look away from Baelor, his unwavering gaze petrifying you.
During the late hours of the night, when you allowed your thoughts to wonder unleashed, this was what you gave yourself permission to dream of. But you didn't want it like this. Not as a second option, to quieten the whispers of scandal. In those moments of faltering weakness, you would imagine that any fondness you held for Valarr was reciprocated. Yet now, when the moment to prove whether it was just a foolish fantasy or an undeserved prophecy, you couldn't gather the courage to look at the young Prince.
But he hadn't stopped looking at you since you had entered, his gaze transfixed on your person, almost reverent. And it was that fondness that had forced Baelor to contemplate his decision.
Your father nodded slowly. "The previous betrothal had never been officially announced, we will just have to form a new one."
"And it is done. The wedding will commence like intended, just with a different rose as the bride." Baelor concluded, rising as he dismissed the meeting.
And you rushed out of the Hand's Solar, the room suffocating and stifling, leaving your parents behind.
Someone called your name, but you did not care, continuing to rush down the stairs, and trying to find the nearest exit.
Your name was called out louder this time.
Valarr.
"My Lady, please." His voice pleading as he chased after you.
"My Prince, I apologise, but you must excuse me—"
"Does the very idea of marrying me repulse you so, that you cannot even look at me?" He hissed out, emotions heavy and exposed as his gaze desperately chased yours.
You finally relented, meeting his eyes, violet and chestnut dark with an emotion you didn't have the courage to identify. But you couldn't respond.
He barked out a cruel laugh. "What sort of punishment is this? What have I done to face such cruelty?"
"My Prince." You managed out as your heart clenched, feeling as if he was stabbing you rather than speaking. It truly was a foolish fantasy, to believe the friendship he held for you could be anything more. He continued walking towards you, until the space between you was heavy with everything unsaid. His hand grasping your elbow, forcing you to face him, his face mere inches away. "It was never meant to be like this. You are my greatest friend and I am truly so sorry that—"
"Must I show you my heart, rip it out of its cavity? For you to understand that I have always been yours?" His confession ripped through you, your heart seizing as you felt it raced. "And why torment me so, why haunt me when it is clear that you are not mine?"
His voice wavering as tears pricked at his waterline, his eyes only prettier with the shining emotion. He swallowed harshly, willing himself to not look away from you, watching as the truth dawned upon you.
You were truly speechless, an incredulous laugh escaping you. "You do not hate me?" Tears uncontrollably spilling, causing him to raise his trembling hands, carefully wiping away your spilt fears.
"How could I?" His voice cracked, as he cradled your face, with a gentleness reserved for something holy.
You relented to your heart, and let your lips meet his. And Valarr kisses the way he argues, unrelenting and fervent, lips chasing yours as you tried gasping for air. His lips travelled, to your cheek, jawline, neck; his hands encircling your waist, steadying you as you swayed under his reverent touch. You embraced him, his hands drawing you closer as you listened to his stuttering heart.
A soft comfort for the upcoming days, chased by whispers and wedding preparations, with kisses stolen in the dark, under the watchful moon.
v.t. — your prince needs cheering up after a mediocre tourney. (w.858)
“you rode very valiantly.”
valarr sighs, shaking his head — not at you, just dislodging the sweat-slicked hair from his face. “very valiantly,” he mumbles, pulling leather gloves from his fingers. “certainly i did.”
there's resentment in his voice, the sort of self-pity that princes enjoy so much. you humor it, taking the helmet from his hands and setting it on the chiffonier beside the bed. the chambers that lord ashford had provided to his royal guests were very fine.
"you did very well," you assure him, sliding a hand around the back of his neck, pressing your thumb into the tense cord of muscle that runs from jaw to collar. "you had very good form, you carried your lance well."
"you know that my father toys with the order, don't you?" he huffs. "my valiant challengers — every one of them was over forty. he picked undistinguished foes, so that i might appear victorious."
with a little shrug, you lean forward. you're eye level with him, where he leans back against the vanity, sulking up at you.
he's pretty: mismatched doe eyes and messy dark hair.
you can't resist the temptation to reach out, card your fingers through it. you start at his temples, pushing up, away from his face. his hair is sweaty from his helmet, and it sticks straight up. he huffs, clearly unamused, trying to glare at you from under his lashes. it's unconvincing, moreso when his eyes flutter shut in pleasure. you smooth his hair back down, rubbing the back of his neck as he relaxes. his head tips back in surrender to the feeling.
"you still won," you offer gently. "you came out a champion. your father only does it in your best interest. your reputation is important for your future position in the realm."
you work in tandem with him to get the armour off. gloves first, and when his hands are bare he uses them to cradle your jaw and pull you close. his mouth slots against yours in a slow, deliberate kiss.
"what would i do without such staunch support?" valarr murmurs into your mouth. "i would never ride again — i would never again enter into the lists."
you giggle at his dramatics, abandoning the pursuit of disrobing him in favor of wrapping your arms around his neck.
"i'm sorry that i didn't ask for your favour," he continues between kisses.
"lady ashford deserved it," you reply diplomatically. "she is the birthday girl, after all."
he hums, nipping your bottom lip, "but you are my girl.
valarr pulls back, one hand braced on the curve of your waist, as he fumbles with the buckles on his breastplate. he disregards the clatter of it as it falls, full focus back on your mouth as he haphazardly steps over the steel.
"look," he says between kisses, coralling you backwards towards the chaise in the center of the room. "i wanted something of yours while i rode, so i took this." he fishes a thin lace scarf from where it had been tied just below his sword belt.
you gawk, reaching for it. "did you take this from my trunk?'
he grins, pulling it back before you can get a hold of it. "so what if i did?" he pushes you back by your shoulders, onto the sofa, "i couldn't have your favor, i needed something from my lady."
his hands, soft and bare of leather, push your gown up as he spreads your legs to settle between them. "my lover," he whispers, fingers dancing up your thigh, massaging the soft spot where leg becomes hip. "i grow restless waiting to confess my devotion."
"to confess your devotion?" you ask, lacing fingers into his thick hair. holding him in place, guiding him up.
"to the courts," he clarifies, propping himself up on one arm to gaze into your eyes. "i tire of catering to the whims of lords who think that i may perhaps marry their daughters, all while my lady sits in wait."
before humoring whatever you have to say in reply, valarr lowers himself to kiss you again. slow, but intense. his area of expertise.
with very little willing, he slips one hand under your back and eases you atop him.
riding armour is different from that worn in proper battle. with his chestplate left behind, there isn't anything to obstruct your access or poke uncomfortably into you as you straddle his hips.
his hands roam your body, up the back of your thighs, coming to rest against the bottom of your ribcage. he supports you like that, keeping you steady against him.
"terribly improper to sully each other before we're wed," he whispers, encouraging your body downwards. "but i presume that you wish for it as i do."
he watches you nod, one hand coming to your face. he cradles your jaw, thumbing over the line of your lower lip. "beautiful, darling girl," valarr hums. "i promise that we'll be wed as soon as we return to king's landing." he guides your head down, his thumb on your chin easing your mouth open as his lips meet yours.
⋆.ೃ࿔*:･
𓂃 ࣪˖ ִֶཐི༏ཋྀ lets talk about valarr more !
𖦹 please don't feed my writing to any ai chatbot as source material. i will find you.
synopsys: In which you're oblivious and try to set him up.
wordcount: 4.1k
requested by @verouys
The gardens of the Red Keep had always been your sanctuary, though today they felt more like a cage of blooms and buzzing insects. You sat on the stone bench beneath the weirwood sapling—the one that would never grow properly in this southern soil—and pretended to read a book about Dornish poetry.
You weren't reading. You were watching.
Across the garden, Valarr Targaryen stood with a cluster of courtiers, his black doublet immaculate despite the afternoon heat. That ridiculous streak of silver-gold in his brown hair caught the sunlight like a promise, and when he laughed at something one of the lords said, you felt your stomach do something entirely inappropriate.
Not that you'd ever admit it.
You'd known Valarr since you were both children, stumbling through dance lessons and falling asleep during Maester's lectures. He was your best friend. Your only real friend, if you were being honest with yourself, which you tried not to be about certain things.
He caught you staring and grinned, excusing himself from the courtiers to cross the garden toward you.
"You've been on that same page for twenty minutes," he said, dropping onto the bench beside you. Close enough that his knee brushed yours. Close enough that you could smell the faint sandalwood of his soap. "Is Dornish poetry that captivating, or are you just avoiding Lady Elisweth again?"
"Both," you admitted, snapping the book shut. "She wants to discuss her daughter's upcoming marriage to some Reach lord, and I've heard the details fourteen times. I counted."
Valarr's mismatched eyes softened with amusement. "Fourteen? You're certain it wasn't fifteen?"
"I'm an excellent counter."
"You're excellent at everything." He bumped his shoulder against yours, and warmth bloomed through your chest like spilled wine. "Walk with me? The Small Council is meeting, and I'm meant to be observing 'the duties of a future king' or some such nonsense. Father won't notice if I'm late."
You should have said no. You should have remembered that every time you spent alone with Valarr, you ended up feeling confused and fluttery and generally nonsensical. But you never did.
"Fine," you said, standing. "But if your father asks, I was lecturing you on Dornish poetry."
"Tyrannically, I'm sure."
The walk through the godswood was comfortable, familiar. Valarr talked about his younger brother Matarys's latest mischief—something involving a cat, a pie, and the Master of Coin—and you listened, laughing in all the right places. This was easy. This was how it had always been.
Which was why you felt safe enough to bring up the topic that had been nagging at you for weeks.
"Valarr?"
"Hmm?"
"Can I ask you something? Something... personal?"
He stopped walking, turning to face you with an expression of genuine concern. "Of course. You can ask me anything."
You bit your lip, suddenly uncertain. But the question had been burning in your mind ever since Lady Florent's dinner party, when Valarr had spent the entire evening speaking to exactly three people: you, his father, and the wine steward.
"Why don't you ever... talk to women?"
His face did something complicated. "I talk to you."
"That's different. I'm me." You waved a hand dismissively. "I mean other women. Ladies at court. Eligible ones."
Valarr's jaw tightened almost imperceptibly. "I talk to them when necessary."
"Necessary." You stared at him. "Valarr, you're the heir to the heir. You're eight and teen, unmarried, and I've watched you literally walk around Lady Cassana rather than pass her on the stairwell."
"I was going the other direction anyway."
"You turned around mid-step and walked into a tapestry."
He had the grace to look embarrassed. "It was a very nice tapestry."
You grabbed his arm, pulling him toward a stone bench beneath an ancient oak. "Sit. We're having a proper conversation about this."
"I don't want to have a proper conversation about this."
"Sit."
He sat.
You settled beside him, tucking your feet up on the bench and turning to face him fully. "Valarr, be serious with me. Your parents have been trying to arrange matches for you since you were fifteen. Your mother sends you to speak with eligible ladies at every feast. And you... what? Grunt at them and leave?"
"I do not grunt."
"You absolutely grunt. I've heard it. It's a very distinctive grunt."
He crossed his arms, looking remarkably like a sulking child despite being nearly six feet of Targaryen prince. "I simply haven't found anyone suitable."
"No one? In three years of introductions? There have been dozens of women, Valarr. Beautiful ones. Clever ones. One of them could recite the entire lineage of House Targaryen from memory."
"That one tried to correct my Valyrian pronunciation."
"So?"
"So, my Valyrian pronunciation is perfect."
You threw your hands up. "You're impossible."
"I'm selective."
"You're turning down every match your parents suggest. Lady Roslin? Rejected. Lady Alysanne? You hid in the stables for three hours. Lady Jeyne? You told her you preferred horses to people, which I suppose is honest, but—"
"She asked if I thought she was prettier than my horse."
"Was she?"
Valarr paused, considering. "My horse has very kind eyes."
You burst out laughing, and after a moment, he joined you. This was why you loved— liked. This was why you liked spending time with him. He could always make you laugh, even when you were trying to be serious.
"Valarr," you said, once you'd composed yourself. "You have to marry eventually. You're the heir."
His expression shifted, something flickering in those mismatched eyes. "I know."
"So why not at least try? Give someone a chance? You might be surprised."
He was quiet for a long moment, studying your face with an intensity that made your skin warm. "And what about you?" he asked softly. "You're unmarried as well. I've noticed you turn down your share of suitors too."
"That's different."
"Is it?"
"Yes." You looked away, picking at a loose thread on your sleeve. "I just haven't found anyone who... who makes me feel..."
The way you make me feel, your traitorous mind supplied. Who looks at me the way you do. Who makes my heart race without even trying.
"Who makes you feel what?" Valarr prompted, his voice unusually gentle.
"Safe," you said finally. "Comfortable. Like I can be myself without pretending."
He reached out, tucking a nonexistent strand of hair behind your ear with such casual intimacy that you forgot to breathe. "You deserve that," he said. "Someone who loves you. All of you. Not just the lady at court, but the girl who feeds bacon to the castle cats and argues with maesters about Dornish poetry."
Your heart was doing something alarming in your chest. "You remember the cats?"
"I remember everything about you."
The words hung in the air between you, heavy with meaning you couldn't quite grasp. Valarr's hand lingered near your face, his thumb brushing your cheekbone, and for one wild, impossible moment, you thought—
"Your Grace!"
You both jerked apart as a page came running down the path, red-faced and breathless. "Your Grace, the Small Council—your father sent me to find you—he's very insistent—"
Valarr closed his eyes briefly, exhaling slowly. "Of course he did." He stood, smoothing his doublet, and for just a moment, his gaze caught yours. "We'll finish this conversation later."
It sounded like a promise.
Except you didn't let him finish it.
Because the more you thought about that moment in the godswood—the way he'd looked at you, touched you, spoken to you—the more confused you became. Valarr was your friend. Your best friend. He'd never given any indication of wanting more than that.
Had he?
No. No, certainly not. He was just... affectionate. That was all. He'd known you forever, so of course he was comfortable with you. It didn't mean anything.
He remembers everything about you.
You shook the thought away. It meant nothing. Valarr was simply a good friend. A very close, very handsome, very attentive friend who happened to make your heart race and your thoughts scatter.
Stop it, you told yourself firmly. He's your friend. Nothing more.
The problem, you decided, was that Valarr needed to find someone. Someone who wasn't you. Someone he could actually marry and love and—
Your stomach clenched painfully at the thought.
But it was the logical solution. If Valarr found a wife, he'd stop looking at you like that. Touching you like that. Making you feel things you had no business feeling. He'd be happy, and you'd be happy for him, and everything would go back to normal.
Normal. Yes.
You just had to find him the perfect match.
Lady Emilia Massey was beautiful, accomplished, and had a laugh like chiming bells. You'd positioned yourself strategically near the lemon cakes at the afternoon gathering, watching as Valarr approached her with the expression of a man walking to his own execution.
"Lady Emilia," he said, bowing stiffly. "Would you care to walk with me in the gardens?"
She dimpled prettily. "I would be honored, my prince."
You watched them disappear down the path, feeling oddly hollow. This was good. This was what you wanted. Valarr deserved someone lovely and appropriate, someone who wouldn't make him grunt and flee.
Twenty minutes later, Valarr reappeared—alone.
"That was quick," you said brightly, perhaps too brightly. "Did you enjoy your walk?"
"There was a bee."
"A bee."
"A very aggressive bee." He sat down heavily beside you, reaching for a lemon cake. "It kept circling us. She was quite distressed. I escorted her back inside."
"You escorted her back inside because of a bee?"
"Would you prefer I let her be stung?"
You stared at him. "Valarr, there are bees in the gardens constantly. You've never once escorted me inside because of a bee."
"That's different."
"How?"
He took a bite of cake, avoiding your gaze. "You're not afraid of bees."
"I'm terrified of bees."
"You've never mentioned it."
"You've never given me a reason to."
He had no response to that, just looked at you with an expression you couldn't read.
Lady Marcella Crane was next. You engineered an introduction at the library, knowing Valarr spent his mornings there. She was clever, well-read, and shared his interest in dragon lore.
You watched them from behind a shelf of histories, pretending to be absorbed in a book about the Dornish Marches. They talked for nearly an hour. An hour. You'd never seen Valarr talk to anyone for that long except you.
When they emerged, Lady Marcella was smiling. Valarr was... Valarr.
"The library was pleasant," he reported later, when you found him in the training yard. "She knows quite a bit about dragons."
"That's wonderful!"
"Yes." He parried a practice blow from a knight, then turned back to you. "She suggested I grow a beard."
"A beard?"
"To look more 'kingly,' she said. More 'distinguished.'" He paused, lowering his sword. "Do I need to look more distinguished?"
You studied him—sweaty, flushed from exertion, that ridiculous silver streak and his brown hair plastered all over his forehead. "No," you said honestly. "You look like you."
Something warm flickered in his eyes. "Good. That's what I prefer to look like."
By the fourth rejection, you were beginning to suspect a pattern.
Lady Celine Hightower was too tall. Lady Arwen Oakheart talked too much about her horses. Lady Jenna Marbrand laughed too loudly. Lady Sara Westerling had an unfortunate preference for boiled eggs.
"She boiled them," Valarr said, as if this explained everything. "At the breakfast table. In front of everyone."
"People eat boiled eggs, Valarr."
"Not at my breakfast table they don't."
You pressed your fingers to your temples. "You're impossible. You're genuinely impossible. What do you want in a wife? Tell me. Give me something to work with."
He considered this, tilting his head in that way that made your heart flutter traitorously. "I want someone who doesn't try to be someone they're not. Someone who's comfortable with silence. Someone who laughs at my jokes even when they're not funny."
"Everyone laughs at your jokes. You're a prince."
"You don't."
You blinked. "What?"
"You don't laugh at my jokes just because I'm a prince. Sometimes you don't laugh at all. You just look at me like I'm an idiot and change the subject."
"You are an idiot sometimes."
"Yes." He smiled, that real smile, the one he saved for you. "That's what I mean."
You didn't understand. You never understood, not really. But something in his words made your chest ache.
Lady Rosa's Frey's cousin was the final straw.
You'd watched Valarr spend exactly four minutes with her before excusing himself to check on his horse, a horse that was, as far as you knew, perfectly healthy and didn't require checking. He didn't speak to another woman for the rest of the evening.
You were brooding about it in the library the next morning when Matarys Targaryen—Valarr's younger brother, all of fourteen and insufferably pleased with himself—slid into the chair across from you.
"You're doing that thing again," he said.
"What thing?"
"The thing where you stare at my brother like he's a puzzle you can't solve and your face does that crinkly thing."
"My face does not do a crinkly thing."
"It absolutely does. It's very sad to watch." He helped himself to an apple from the bowl on the table, biting into it with a loud crunch. "Still trying to marry him off?"
"I'm trying to help him find happiness."
"By forcing him to talk to women he clearly doesn't want to talk to?"
You frowned. "He has to marry eventually. He's the heir."
"Does he, though?" Matarys leaned forward, lowering his voice conspiratorially. "I mean, have you considered why he doesn't want to talk to them?"
"Because he's difficult and picky and once rejected someone because she ate boiled eggs?"
Matarys snorted. "No. Well, yes, that's also true. But there's another reason." He glanced around dramatically, as if checking for spies. "A secret reason. A family secret."
You leaned in despite yourself. "What kind of secret?"
"The kind that explains why my brother has turned down every eligible lady in the Seven Kingdoms." Matarys bit into his apple again, chewing with infuriating slowness. "Think about it. He's handsome, charming when he wants to be, heir to the Iron Throne. Any woman would be thrilled to marry him. And yet—"
"And yet nothing," you said. "He's just... particular."
"He's particular about women because he's not interested in women." Matarys raised his eyebrows meaningfully. "At all."
The words took a moment to land. And then another moment. And then they crashed into your brain like a runaway cart.
"You're saying—"
"I'm saying nothing." He held up his hands innocently. "I'm merely suggesting that if my brother has shown zero interest in every eligible lady you've thrown at him, perhaps the problem isn't the ladies. Perhaps the problem is that they're ladies."
Your mouth opened. Closed. Opened again.
"But he—we've been friends forever—he's never—"
"Never what? Shown interest in anyone? Talked about wanting to marry? Glanced twice at any woman at court?" Matarys shrugged. "Strange, isn't it? Almost like he's waiting for someone who isn't a woman."
He stood, brushing apple crumbs from his tunic. "Anyway, just a thought. I'm sure you'll figure it out eventually. You seem clever." He paused at the door. "Well. Clever enough."
And then he was gone, leaving you alone with the most horrifying realization of your life.
Valarr Targaryen, the heir to the Iron Throne, your dearest friend in all the world—
Preferred men.
It made so much sense. The discomfort around eligible ladies, the avoidance, the way he seemed utterly uninterested in every woman presented to him. He wasn't being picky. He wasn't being difficult. He simply... wasn't attracted to them.
And you, his closest friend, had been torturing him by forcing introductions to woman after woman.
Guilt crashed over you like a wave. How could you have been so blind? So stupid? He'd trusted you with his friendship, and you'd spent weeks trying to marry him off to people he could never love.
Well. You'd fix this. You'd make it right.
You just had to find him a man instead.
Ser Davon Fossoway was handsome, chivalrous, and currently unattached. You cornered him after the midday meal, explaining that the prince had expressed interest in discussing—something. You hadn't quite worked out the details.
"He wants to discuss... swordplay?" Ser Davon looked confused but hopeful. "With me specifically?"
"You're an excellent swordsman, aren't you?"
"I like to think so, my lady."
"Perfect. He specifically mentioned wanting to speak with an excellent swordsman. In private. In the gardens. By the rose arbor."
The rose arbor was romantic. Everyone knew that. You were very clever.
Ser Davon arrived promptly. You watched from behind a hedge as Valarr approached, looking baffled.
"Ser Davon? My... my friend said you wished to speak with me about something?"
"I understood it was you who wished to speak with me, my prince."
"Oh. Well. I suppose we can... speak?"
They stood there awkwardly for a long moment.
"Lovely weather," Ser Davon offered.
"Yes. Very... weather."
"Good for swordplay."
"Is it?"
"Generally, yes. Dry ground, you know. Less mud."
"I... see."
Another long pause.
"Well," Ser Davon said finally, "if that's all, my prince, I should return to my duties."
"Yes. Duties. Of course."
Ser Davon bowed and fled. Valarr stood alone in the rose arbor, looking like a man who'd just survived a battle he hadn't known he was fighting.
You needed a different approach.
Ser Addam Rowan was older, more confident, and reportedly very charming. You arranged for him to encounter Valarr in the library, where the prince spent his mornings. Surely a shared interest in books would—
"Are you... following me?" Valarr asked, when you appeared behind a shelf for the third time that week.
"What? No. I'm researching. For a thing. A research thing."
He raised an eyebrow—the one above his blue eye, which always made him look particularly skeptical. "You're researching in the military history section? You once told me you'd rather clean the dragonpit than read about battles."
"This is... different research."
"What kind of research?"
"The kind I don't need to explain to you."
He stepped closer, close enough that you could smell sandalwood and parchment. "You've been acting strange for weeks. Setting me up with ladies, then suddenly with knights. What's going on?"
"Nothing's going on. I just want you to be happy."
"I'm happy."
"You're lonely."
His expression shifted, something vulnerable flickering across his features. "I'm not lonely. I have you."
"That's different. That's—I'm your friend. You need more than a friend. You need someone who can be... who can give you..."
"I have everything I need."
You swallowed hard, your throat tight. "Valarr, you don't have to pretend with me. I understand. I figured it out."
"Figured what out?"
"That you're not... that you don't..." You lowered your voice, glancing around the empty library. "That you prefer the company of men."
The silence that followed was deafening.
Valarr stared at you. His mismatched eyes went wide, then narrower, then wide again. His mouth opened. Closed. Opened.
"You think," he said slowly, "that I prefer men."
"I understand if you can't say it openly. With your position, it must be—"
"I don't prefer men."
"But you never—all those ladies—you never showed any interest—"
"I showed interest in exactly one person." His voice was strange, tight with something you couldn't identify. "For years. Constantly. Relentlessly. To the point where my parents have a bet about it."
You blinked. "A bet?"
"Mother thinks I'll confess by my nineteenth nameday. Father thinks I'll wait until I'm twenty. They've been wagering for three years."
"I don't understand."
"I know you don't." He laughed, but there was no humor in it. "That's the problem. That's always been the problem. You don't see it. You've never seen it."
"See what?"
He stepped closer, and closer still, until you were backed against a shelf of musty histories with nowhere to go. His hands came up to frame your face, gentle but insistent, and his eyes—one blue, one brown—burned into yours.
"You," he said softly. "Only you. Always you."
And then he kissed you.
The world stopped.
No—the world started, for the first time in your life. Colors brightened. Sounds sharpened. Everything you'd never understood, never let yourself feel, came crashing down in the space between one heartbeat and the next.
Valarr's lips were soft against yours, tentative at first, then firmer when you didn't pull away. His hands slid into your hair, tangling in the strands, and you made a sound you didn't recognize—somewhere between a gasp and a sigh.
When he finally drew back, his forehead rested against yours, breath coming fast.
"Now do you understand?" he whispered.
You couldn't speak. Couldn't think. Could only stare at him—this boy you'd known your whole life, your dearest friend, the one who remembered everything about you.
"Why didn't you tell me?" you finally managed.
"I tried. Constantly. You never noticed."
"I'm stupid."
"You're not stupid. You're..." He laughed softly, warm breath ghosting across your lips. "You're you. And I love you. I've always loved you."
Something cracked open in your chest, flooding warmth through every part of you. "I love you too. I think I have for years. I just didn't—I couldn't—"
"I know." He kissed you again, quick and sweet. "I know."
"What do we do now?"
"Now?" He smiled—that real smile, the one you'd always thought was just for you. It was. It had always been. "Now we tell my father he owes my mother a foot massage."
You pulled back, confused. "What?"
He took your hand, pulling you toward the library door. "Come on. I want to see the look on my father's face."
The walk through the Red Keep was a blur. Valarr's hand stayed wrapped around yours, warm and solid, and you couldn't stop staring at the way your fingers intertwined. His thumb traced patterns on your skin, soothing and electric all at once.
Prince Baelor Breakspear and his wife Princess Jena were in the hand's tower, enjoying the afternoon sun on their private terrace. When you appeared in the doorway, hand in hand with their son, Baelor's eyebrows shot upward.
"Valarr?" Jena set down her wine glass, a smile already curving her lips. "And... oh. Oh."
"Mother. Father." Valarr squeezed your hand. "I believe you know the Lady Y/N."
Baelor's gaze dropped to your joined hands, then rose to meet his son's eyes. Something passed between them, a look of understanding, of recognition, of finally.
"Son," Baelor said slowly, "is there something you wish to tell us?"
"I wished to introduce you to my future wife."
The words hit you like a physical blow. You turned to stare at Valarr, who was watching you with an expression of such warm certainty that your knees went weak.
"Future—Valarr, we haven't even—"
"I've been waiting years," he said simply. "I'm not waiting any longer."
Jena clapped her hands together, beaming. "I knew it. Baelor, pay up."
Baelor sighed, reaching for his coin purse. "You said by his nineteenth nameday. His nameday is still three moons away."
"The spirit of the bet, husband. The spirit."
"I don't believe in the spirit of bets. I believe in strict interpretation."
"You owe me a foot massage, and you know it."
While his parents bickered good-naturedly, Valarr tugged you closer, wrapping an arm around your waist. "They've been doing this since I was fifteen," he murmured. "Every time I looked at you too long, Mother would nudge Father and whisper 'there it is.'"
"You looked at me?"
"Constantly. Relentlessly. To the point of embarrassment."
You thought back over the years—every lingering glance, every casual touch, every time he'd appeared at your side without being called. How had you missed it? How had you been so blind?
"I really am stupid," you murmured.
"No." He pressed a kiss to your temple. "You're perfect."
"Now you're just being romantic."
"Is it working?"
You smiled up at him—this boy, this prince, this man who'd loved you for years without you ever knowing. "Yes," you said softly. "It's working."
On the terrace, Baelor handed over a small pouch of coins with exaggerated reluctance. Jena accepted it with a triumphant grin, then raised her wine glass in your direction.
"To the future," she called. "And to my son finally having the sense to act on what's been obvious to everyone except the two of you."
Valarr groaned. You laughed.
And when he kissed you again, right there in front of his parents and half the court, you finally understood what you'd been missing all along.
Nothing at all.
Because he'd been there the whole time. Waiting. Hoping. Loving you.
Pairing: Prince Valarr Targaryen x Reader ( referred to as 'You')
Sequel: A Prince and A Dragon
Word Count: ~3.8k
Summary:
Upon arriving at Ashford Keep, Ser Duncan the Tall mistakes Prince Valarr’s wife — and mother of his child — for a nursemaid. Unfortunately for him, he says so aloud. Fortunately for him, she does not take offence.
The gates of Ashford Keep yawned wide beneath a hard blue autumn sky, their ancient towers hung with green-and-gold banners snapping briskly in the wind. House Ashford’s sigil: the white sun-and-chevron blazing against orange, caught the light with almost defiant brilliance, as though determined to rival the dragon standards riding in beneath it. Our Sun Shines Bright, their words declared, and on this day it seemed they meant to prove it.
Within the walls, the courtyard churned like a struck anthill. Destriers stamped and snorted steam into the crisp air; grooms darted between iron-shod hooves with half-swallowed curses; squires wrestled bridles with reddened faces and thinning patience. Petals scattered ceremoniously across the cobbles were ground at once into damp streaks of colour. The air carried leather, sweat, hot iron, and the faint sweetness of harvested grain drifting from the fields beyond the walls.
Trumpets split the noise clean in two.
The herald’s voice rang from the steps of the great hall, gilded with importance. “Our Lord of Ashford humbly welcomes the great and honourable Baelor Targaryen — firstborn son of King Daeron the Good, Prince of Dragonstone, Hand of the King, and heir to the Iron Throne.”
Fanfare burst bright and brazen. Heads bowed in rippling waves as the Targaryen procession rode through the gate beneath a forest of dragon banners.
Prince Baelor inclined his head with effortless grace, silver hair catching the sunlight like polished steel. “My Lord of Ashford.”
“It is a great honour to receive Your Grace,” Lord Ashford replied, bowing so low that the hem of his cloak brushed stone.
“It is a great honour to be received.”
Behind Baelor rode Prince Maekar, stern and hawk-eyed. And behind him—
Chaos.
“Boy, stop gaping. See to my horse.”
Prince Aerion’s voice cracked sharp as a riding whip.
Duncan the Tall, who had been staring perhaps a heartbeat too long at all that silver hair and dragon silk, started as if boards had clapped beside his ears. “I’m—I’m not a stable boy, m’lord.”
Aerion’s pale gaze skimmed over him with cool disdain. “Not clever enough?”
Dunk flushed the colour of boiled crab. “Um…”
“Well, if you cannot manage horses,” Aerion continued lazily, “fetch me wine and a pretty wench.”
“Oh, m’lord pardons. I’m—I’m no serving man either. I have—I have the honour to be a knight.”
Aerion inspected him as one might a bruised apple at market. “Oh. Well… knighthood has fallen on sad days.”
A horse screamed then, high and wild, hooves striking sparks from stone. The crowd jolted back in a flurry of silk and curses.
“Move away!”
Dunk was already moving. “Whoa, whoa. Easy now.” He caught the bridle with steady hands, his voice lowering to something patient and sure. “It’s all right, girl. Too many people. I don’t much like it either.”
The mare shuddered, then eased beneath his touch.
“I agree,” Dunk murmured when she nickered.
“The pretty ones are always temperamental,” came a dry voice behind him.
“He meant the princeling, not the palfrey,” another added.
Dunk turned to find two white cloaks observing him with faint amusement.
“Ser Roland Crakehall,” said the broader knight. “And this is my sworn brother, Ser Donnel of Duskendale. Gods, boy. Do you ride your horse into battle, or does it ride you?”
Donnel grinned. “Forgive Ser Roland. It is not often he must look up to cast his eyes down.”
“Yes, yes, I am quite the rascal,” Roland muttered. “Now tell me, Ser Duncan — is there a proper place to shit around here?”
Dunk blinked. “Uh… not really, no.”
“A man of such birth has never deigned to disturb his arsehole with hay.”
“He’ll deign before the week is out,” Dunk said with a crooked grin.
“Where are you from, man? You do not smell House-bred.”
“No place, really.” Dunk shrugged. “No place at all.”
“I know it. My family’s from there.”
“You’re not a Darklyn of Duskendale?”
“We were crabbers. Far back as it goes.”
“Ser Donnel?” someone called sharply, and Donnel’s attention snapped away at once.
Dunk hesitated. “May I ask, ser… how the son of a crabber came to wear white?”
“Same way we became crabbers,” Donnel tossed over his shoulder as he strode off, cloak stirring.
“‘Same way we became—’” Dunk began, too earnest to know when to stop.
“Are you Baelor Targaryen?” a stable hand called from behind him, dry as dust.
“N-no.”
“Then move the fuck out of the way.”
“Right. Yes. Of course. Apologies.”
As Dunk shuffled aside, the yard shifted again in waves of armour and colour. Near the far wall, away from trumpet and spectacle, something quieter unfolded — subtle enough that most missed it entirely.
While princes traded pleasantries and lords measured bows, you withdrew without fuss — the practiced retreat of one long accustomed to spectacle and tired of its glare. Your gown of deep red silk brushed the cobbles, edged in black, simple but finely made. At your throat hung a slender gold chain bearing a small three-headed dragon — a gift commissioned by King Daeron himself after you bore Prince Valarr’s son and heir. The metal caught the light softly: modest to the unknowing, unmistakable to those who understood.
You crouched, skirts pooling around you, and brought yourself level with the boy at your side.
He bore his father’s stubborn jaw and serious mouth, though his hair was brown and wind-tossed rather than silver. Through it ran a single white streak at the center of his brow like a slash of moonlight. One eye blue, one brown. Both were far too solemn for six.
“Hello, sweet boy,” you murmured, straightening his collar. “It is rather stuffy with all these people, is it not?” Your thumb brushed his cheek, gentle even amidst iron and noise. “Father is busy with his duties. Shall we say goodbye to the horses for the day?”
He nodded gravely, fingers curling around your dragon pendant so the tiny heads knocked softly together.
Inside the wagon behind you, half-hidden in shadow, his dragon lay curled upon wool and straw. Not large — not yet — but real. Breathing. The only dragon hatched for House Targaryen since the last had died in smoke and memory. Its existence drew reverence and unease in equal measure. Even now, glances flicked toward the wagon, quick and hungry, like crows daring not to land too near.
Your son looked back toward it, frowning faintly.
“Just a moment,” you said gently.
You lifted him into the carriage and laid a steadying palm against the dragon’s flank, feeling muscle twitch beneath warm scales. “Easy. Too many eyes today.” It was meant as much for your son as for the creature.
Arms circled your waist from behind.
Valarr.
He leaned in to peer at the small beast as your son declared, “Papa, he wants to get out.”
Valarr smiled, brushing the boy’s hair aside and pressing a kiss to his temple. He followed it with a soft caress of your cheek and a brief, careful kiss to your lips — restrained, public, but unmistakably his. “We must complete the arrival procession first,” he said. “Your rooms are ready. We will move our things inside shortly.”
“We were going to say goodbye to the horses,” your son added. “Will you join us?”
“Not yet.” Valarr’s hand remained warm at your waist. “I must stand with your grandfather and speak to Lord Ashford. But go on. I am sure they would enjoy kind company after such a journey.”
Even from across the yard, Valarr’s gaze returned once, brief but certain, as if he counted wife, child, and dragon all in a single glance and found none of them worth leaving unwatched for long.
The family turned toward the dragon, who quieted beneath the touch of his young rider and his future king. Valarr watched a moment longer and murmured, almost to himself, “He grows.”
It was not the princes or the banners that caught Dunk’s eye, but the small island of calm at the edge of the yard: a woman, a boy, and a wagon; everyone else seemed careful not to crowd too closely.
He saw you there, sleeves brushed with straw, posture unpretentious, your hand steady on horse and child alike. No crown. No glittering display. Only a woman soothing a beast and a boy speaking to it as though it were a friend.
The boy pressed his cheek to a stallion’s neck. “We shall not ride you into the lists,” he informed it solemnly. “You are far too noble for that.”
Dunk drifted closer before he quite realized it. “Aye?” he said, bending slightly in an effort to meet the boy on fairer terms, though he could not truly manage it. “And what if the horse disagrees, young lord?”
The boy looked up, stern enough to shame a bannerman twice his age. “Horses do not disagree with me.”
Dunk’s brows rose. “Is that so? Gods, I’ve been doing it wrong all my life. Mine disagrees every morning.”
A pause — long and deliberate — and then the boy’s mouth twitched. A small, stubborn giggle escaped before he could swallow it.
You watched Dunk with faint amusement, curious what sort of man could be so tall and so plainly earnest. Men often mistook composure for harmlessness. It was an error you had seen before. He mistook your look for encouragement.
“You must be the Targaryen prince’s nursemaid,” he said warmly. “And doing a fine job of it.”
Your son stiffened at once. “I am not in need of nursing.”
Dunk chuckled. “Aye, I can see that. You’ve the look of a boy who’d bite anyone who tried.”
“I would,” the boy said promptly.
“Good. That is a proper princeling.”
The boy’s shoulders drew back a fraction, pleased despite himself.
“But princes tend to wander,” Dunk went on. “Best keep one close. They’re like cats, I’ve heard.”
“I am not a cat.”
“Worse,” Dunk said solemnly. “Cats don’t have men with swords following them.”
Your son’s gaze flicked briefly toward the wagon.
“Mine does,” he replied.
Dunk nodded. “Sensible. I’ve always said a prince ought to have men with swords.”
“I have a dragon,” the boy added. He said it without boast or wonder, as though stating something as ordinary as the weather, which somehow made it far more convincing.
Dunk blinked, then laughed warmly. “A dragon? Aye, of course. And I’ve a castle back in No Place.”
“It is real,” the boy said, unimpressed.
“Of course it is. What’s it called?”
“He does not like strangers.”
“That’s wise of him,” Dunk replied. “I don’t much like strangers either. Especially not those with teeth.”
The boy’s laughter slipped free again, brighter this time.
“And does your dragon breathe fire?” Dunk asked. “Or smoke and disappointment, like certain lords I’ve met?”
Your son snorted.
You bit the inside of your cheek to hide your smile. There was something disarming about this enormous knight who did not yet understand he stood beside the future of his house and spoke of dragons as though they were kittens.
“And you are?” you asked gently.
“Ser Duncan the Tall.” He bowed, awkward but sincere. “At your service.”
“You are very tall,” your son observed.
“It seems to be my chief accomplishment.”
A smile tugged at your lips.
“Most fine ladies would scream at a startled horse,” Dunk continued, gesturing to the mare you had calmed. “Then the horse would scream, and then I would scream, and the whole yard would think dragons had come to eat us.”
Your son’s giggle rang clear this time — quick and bright as a coin striking stone — and he clapped a hand over his mouth, eyes shining despite his effort at dignity.
“And you believe I am his nursemaid?” you asked, your voice smooth as silk drawn over steel.
“Well,” Dunk said earnestly, “you’ve the look of someone sensible. Court ladies look like they’d faint at the sight of dung. You look like you’d clean it up and scold the horse for good measure.”
For a heartbeat, you went very still.
Dunk — blissfully unaware that he had just wandered to the edge of a cliff — smiled at you like a pleased fool who thought he had paid a compliment.
It was low and bright and utterly unoffended, the sound cutting clean through the din of hooves and harness. A few nearby heads turned without knowing why.
Behind you, a white cloak shifted.
Ser Roland approached with the quiet inevitability of gathering storm clouds.
“Your Grace,” he said evenly.
The words struck like a dropped blade.
Dunk went rigid, as though ice had been poured down his spine.
Your Grace.
Your son’s fingers tightened in yours — small, sudden, firm — and in the space of a single breath, Dunk’s mind seemed to race backward over every word he had spoken. Nursemaid. Cats. Smoke and disappointment. Dragons. All of it lined up before him like men awaiting sentence.
You inclined your head, serene. “It is nothing. Ser Duncan was offering his… assessment.”
Your smile softened deliberately, saving him from the edge he had not known he stood upon. Your son studied Dunk with grave deliberation, as though weighing whether this enormous knight was dangerous or merely foolish. After a moment, having decided the latter, he gave a small, dignified wave — a princeling’s mercy.
Dunk’s face burned scarlet.
“M’lady,” he managed, bowing far deeper this time. “I meant no disrespect.”
“None taken, Ser Duncan,” you replied, amusement still warming your tone. “It is refreshing to be thought sensible.”
The kindness in your words was the only plank between him and drowning.
He bowed again, too fast, too deep, nearly folding himself in half. You saw it then — the dawning horror in him. Not fear of swords. Not fear of pain. But the realization that he had been joking with a woman who, in another life, might have seen his head mounted above the gate and thought little of it.
Beside you, your son looked up at him with all the solemnity he wore like armour.
And then he failed at it completely.
His mouth twitched. His mismatched eyes shone. He pressed his lips together so tightly his cheeks puffed, as if he could trap the laughter inside by force of will alone.
Ser Roland stepped nearer, white cloak settling about him like snowfall. He did not raise his voice. He did not scowl. He merely looked at Dunk as though measuring the precise distance between foolishness and death.
Dunk, who had faced charging horses and hunger and a hundred small humiliations, went as still as a penitent before judgment.
You felt the laugh rise again, sharp and bright, but habit swallowed it. A princess did not snort in front of the Kingsguard, no matter how dearly she wished to. Your shoulders lifted faintly with the effort, and your fingers tightened around your son’s hand — not to still him, but to steady yourself.
Your son, of course, interpreted this as encouragement.
A slight sound escaped him — half-hiccup, half-choked breath — that might have passed for a cough if anyone had been charitable.
Dunk shot the boy a desperate look. Please. Don’t.
The boy’s eyes widened with innocent delight, as if he had been handed a new toy.
Dunk’s face had gone beyond red now — it bordered on catastrophic. “M-my lady,” he stammered, the words strangled nearly beyond recognition. “I— I truly meant no—”
“I know,” you said gently, rescuing him once more. You did not let your smile sharpen. “Thank you for speaking with us, Ser Duncan. You were… a welcome distraction.”
Ser Roland’s gaze flicked to you — brief, restrained, the faintest question in it — and you met it with the calm that had been forged into you by necessity. Whatever you were within, you were composed without. That was the rule. That was survival.
Dunk bobbed another bow, puppet-like. “Yes. Yes, my lady. Thank you, my lady.”
Roland looked back at him.
It was not a threatening look.
It was worse.
It was the look a seasoned knight gives a nervous squire who has somehow wandered into a lord’s solar and knocked over a cask of Arbor gold.
What, it said without words, in seven hells are you doing?
Dunk straightened an inch, caught the look on Ser Roland’s face, and immediately reconsidered the wisdom of straightening at all. His hands hovered awkwardly at his sides — too large, too empty — as though he might somehow fold himself into something smaller if he only tried hard enough.
You gave your son’s shoulder the gentlest squeeze. “Come,” you murmured, the word meant for him but also for the moment itself — to move it along before it sprouted teeth.
You turned, silk whispering over stone, and the courtyard’s roar rushed back in at once. Iron rang against iron. Voices rose and collided. Horses stamped and snorted, leather creaked, and banners cracked overhead like sails straining in a stiff wind. Somewhere, a stable boy shouted for a room. The world did not care that Ser Duncan the Tall had nearly perished of embarrassment beside a wagon.
Your son behaved for precisely three steps.
Then, just as Dunk’s heart might have begun beating normally again, the boy twisted at the waist and called back with bright, sudden curiosity, “Ser Duncan!”
Dunk flinched as if his name were another whipcrack. “Y-yes, my… young lord?”
“Are you jousting?” the boy demanded, as though this were the most pressing matter in all the Seven Kingdoms.
Dunk blinked. His eyes flicked to Roland, then to you, then back to the child. “I—” He swallowed. “Aye. I hope to, my—” Every title in his mind seemed suddenly treacherous. “My prince.”
Your son nodded once, solemn as a war council. “Good,” he said. “I will watch.”
Dunk’s expression did something helpless and painfully sincere. He looked like a man being offered honour when what he truly feared was public humiliation. “Ah,” he managed. “That’s… very kind.”
“I like tall knights,” the boy added thoughtfully, as if this were a strategic consideration.
Dunk attempted a smile that wavered between pride and impending doom. “Then I’m likely to be your favourite, I suppose.”
Your son beamed.
Dunk leaned forward a little, lowering his voice as though they were conspirators instead of spectacle. “But you shouldn’t… ah… You shouldn’t cheer too loudly, Your—” He faltered again. “You might frighten my horse.”
Roland’s mouth did not move, but something in the quiet set of his jaw suggested he was enjoying this far more than any sworn brother ought.
“Your horse is frightened of me?” your son asked, eyes wide with delighted offence.
“No,” Dunk lied at once. “Of course not. My horse is frightened of… noise. And lances. And… glory.”
The boy stared at him for a breath, then giggled outright — bright and boyish and utterly unsuited to a yard thick with steel.
You drew in a careful breath, shoulders tightening as you wrestled your own laughter back into something dignified. “Come, sweet boy,” you said, attempting sternness and failing slightly at the edges. “Leave Ser Duncan to prepare.”
“I am preparing,” Dunk insisted quickly, as though he might be examined on the matter. “I always prepare.”
“By talking?” your son asked, delighted beyond reason.
Dunk nodded with grave conviction. "Talking is important. That’s how you convince the horse not to throw you.”
As though the world itself had chosen to join the jest, a low sound rose from within the wagon behind you.
It was not the sound of any horse in Ashford’s stables.
It was rough. Throaty. A rumble that seemed to carry weight in the air itself. Squires paused and looked toward the carriage, and Ashford knights and maids visibly stiffened.
Dunk froze mid-bow, eyes widening. His head turned slowly toward the wagon, like a man staring at a dark doorway he has just heard breathe.
“What—” he began, voice cracking. “What was that?”
You did not look back. Your hand remained steady on your son’s shoulder, as though deep, resonant growls were as commonplace as squeaking wheels or unruly squires. “Oh,” you said lightly, silk-smooth. “He’s just tired.”
Dunk blinked. “He?”
Your son, still grinning, answered with perfect innocence. “My dragon.”
Dunk laughed at once — too loud, too quick — the laugh of a man who assumes a child is inventing marvels. “Ha! Aye, right. Your dragon. Of course.”
The wagon shifted faintly. Straw rustled. Something heavy resettled.
This time, Ser Roland’s gaze moved before the sound had entirely faded. His eyes sharpened at once, not in surprise but in recognition, as though he had spent long enough near danger to know exactly what shape this one wore. A moment later, the look was gone, smoothed back into Kingsguard composure.
Dunk noticed none of it.
He only shook his head fondly at the boy. “Well,” he said warmly, “your dragon has better manners than most knights I’ve met. Growls once, then goes back to sleep. Doesn’t even demand wine.”
Your son’s laughter burst free again, delighted and bright.
You bit the inside of your cheek so hard you tasted copper.
Because if you laughed now — here, in front of Roland, with half the court already measuring your son’s shadow for greatness — you might never stop.
That evening, when the yard had emptied of banners and bluster, and only the soft scuff of hooves and the low breath of horses lingered in the dark, Dunk sat cross-legged beside his mare, brushing her down by lanternlight. The glow turned her flank to warm bronze, leaving the rest of the world in shadow.
Across from him, Egg sat on an overturned bucket, polishing a helm with far more concentration than the task required.
“I made a bit of a fool of myself today,” Dunk said at last.
Egg did not look up. “That narrows it down very little, ser. Go on.”
Dunk scratched at his jaw. “Met a princeling. Mismatched eyes. Serious as a septon at a funeral. Claimed he had a dragon.” He huffed softly. “Nice lad. Said he’d watch me joust.”
“That sounds harmless enough.”
Dunk hesitated, brushing slowly. “Might’ve called his mother a nursemaid.”
Egg’s polishing stopped.
Very slowly, he lifted his head.
“Did anyone,” he asked carefully, “call her Your Grace?”
“…Yes.”
Egg closed his eyes.
“What was she wearing?”
“Red silk,” Dunk said, trying to remember. “Simple. Had a dragon pendant at her throat.”
Egg opened his eyes again and stared at him with something approaching despair. “Ser. That was Prince Valarr’s wife. Mother of his son.”
Dunk blinked once.
“And if the boy says he has a dragon,” Egg went on flatly, “then he has a dragon.”
Dunk blinked again.
Egg leaned forward, lowering his voice as though the very straw might carry it. “Please tell me you did not say any of this in front of her husband.”
Dunk shifted. “Well.”
“Ser.”
“He might’ve been nearby.”
Egg made a small, strangled noise and pressed the heel of his hand to his forehead. “Ser. Prince Valarr is not known for enjoying insults directed at his wife.”
“I didn’t insult her!” Dunk protested at once. “I said she looked sensible!”
Egg’s hand slid down his face.
Dunk paused.
“…Might’ve called his mother a nursemaid.”
Egg very slowly looked up at him.
“Ser.”
“It was complimentary.”
“Ser.”
Egg covered his face fully now. “Seven save us.”
Silence settled between them, broken only by the steady rasp of brush through horsehair.
After a long moment, Dunk cleared his throat.
“…The dragon didn’t eat me,” he offered weakly.
Egg lowered his hands and fixed him with a long, measuring stare.
“Be grateful,” he said at last, “that the prince did not.”
⟡ — in public, he is the picture of old-money restraint. hand on the small of your back at galas, a quiet, proud presence at your side. he'll pull out your chair, help you with your coat, and his compliments are always whispered, for your ears only. in private? he’s a cuddler. a true, unabashed, cuddler. he loves having you in his lap while he’s reading a book, nuzzling his face into your neck while you watch a film, his long limbs tangling with yours in sleep. it’s like he needs constant, quiet physical confirmation that you’re there.
⟡ — yes, he likes to know where you are. the location sharing is non-negotiable. but you’ll find he shares his with you just as readily. it’s not about control from his side; it’s about connection. he finds a strange comfort in knowing you can see he’s still at the office, or stuck in traffic, or at his father’s house. it’s his way of saying, my life is open to you.
⟡ — he won’t just buy you the most expensive bag. he’ll notice you admiring a specific artist at a gallery and then, three weeks later, a small piece from that artist will be waiting on your vanity. he remembers you mentioned a book you loved as a child and tracks down a first edition. his gifts are staggeringly generous, but it’s the frighteningly attentive observation behind them that makes them meaningful.
⟡ — dating valarr means being absorbed into his family orbit. baelor will call you for advice on jena’s birthday gift. matarys will text you memes and ask you to pick him up from parties he doesn’t want his parents knowing about. even brooding uncle maekar will grudgingly pour you a drink and ask your opinion on current events, actually listening to your answer. you’re not just his girlfriend; you’re a new piece of their dynasty.
⟡ — he is your ultimate soft place to land. had a terrible day? he won’t necessarily offer solutions. he’ll run you a bath, pour you a drink, order your favorite takeaway, and just let you vent, his calm presence a balm. he finds immense purpose in being your shelter.
nsfw
⟡ — sex with valarr is where the calm fully shatters. it’s intensely, overwhelmingly possessive, but it comes from a place of near-reverence. he’ll murmur “mine” against your skin like a prayer, his hands mapping your body as if memorizing a sacred text. the obsession isn't just about owning you; it's about being the only one who gets to see you like this, who gets to make you feel this way.
⟡ — he loves when you’re a little bratty. a teasing remark, a defiant smirk, wearing his favorite shirt out to a girls' lunch just to get a rise out of him. it lights a fire in those mismatched eyes. he’ll take great pleasure in "correcting" that behavior, a firm hand on your thigh under the table, a whispered promise of what’s to come later. but the punishment always, always ends in overwhelming, praise-laden reward. “you’re so good for me,” breathed into your skin as you come apart is his ultimate kink.
⟡ — the man who loses control is meticulous about putting you back together. once the storm passes, he is tender to the point of being fussy. warm cloths, water held to your lips, lotion massaged into any sore spots, endless soft kisses. he’ll wrap you in his softest cashmere and hold you for as long as you need, his earlier intensity replaced by a drowsy, satiated devotion. this part is as crucial to him as the sex itself.
⟡ — he’s dominant in bed, but it’s underscored by a shocking vulnerability he shows only to you. he needs to hear you say you’re his. he needs the verbal affirmation as much as the physical. the moment of his climax is often when this cracks open—a raw, guttural “i love you” or a desperate, clinging hold that reveals the depth of his need beneath all that control.
⟡ — he will spend insane amounts of money to guarantee absolute privacy. a private villa, a secluded beach, a restaurant booked entirely for the night. knowing you are completely alone, that no one can see or hear, allows him to fully shed the "prince valarr" persona and be just a man consumed by his woman. more secure the environment, more unhinged and freely he loves you.
Summary - Your cousin by law long wanted for you. Annoying as that was, it was thought that his desires would simmer down as the years went by. Unfortunately, they had boiled over. One day when Aerion simply crossed the line, your husband snaps and reminds him whose you are.
Warnings - Violence, Aerion being a little shit, pissed Valarr, protectiveness, post-Ashford + alive Baelor.
WC: 2.1K
Prince Aerion was known was for being a brat whose wants — at least in his mind — outweighed others'.
Each and every thing had to be his, grabby hands ravaging and the discarding when something was no longer useful to him.
His cousin was the opposite.
Valarr was the picture of chivalrous duty, a man who treated all with dignity and respect, and strived to please and ease.
The knowledge that some day he would sit the Iron throne had long weighed on his shoulders, and schooled him into the honourable prince he was.
He prided himself on being trustworthy, kind, just, and loving.
The vows he said when he married you were the truest words he had ever spoken, and he would never dream of disrespecting them.
Each and every day with Valarr was like walking on a cloud, for how effortless it was. Love was unconditional, and worries disappeared the moment you shared them with him.
The foolish dream so many girls have of a perfect husband had some how come true for you.
Your marriage was the picture of happiness, surrounded by a large family and a growing one of your own, your third babe developing strong in your womb in its fifth moon.
There was only one problem; Valarr's cousin's liking to you had enlarged latterly, and Brightflame always tended to reach for what was not his, just as he had today.
It had barely been a week since you had returned from Ashford, and a stressful one at that.
Valarr had been occupying himself mostly with sitting with his father while he recovered from the shallow yet concerning wound, and running after his sons. It was only in the eve that you had been delighting in his company.
That left you vulnerable to Aerion's scheming.
Each afternoon you took a walk in the gardens to relax, and then a tea after.
Your cousin by law crashed that party.
"I have been looking all over for you." The prince said with a pleased-with-himself grin, taking the liberty of sitting down beside you.
"Oh?" Your eyebrows raised just slightly, giving him a small smile. If there was anything you knew about him, it was that he was very easy to upset, and that it never worth doing so.
The pierce of his violet eyes almost burned yours — so used to Valarr's soft, mismatched gaze — as his eyes flitted across your body, lingering on your belly.
How different things would be, had his seed been the one to fill your womb.
A sneaking hand of his reached forward, tucking loose hair behind your ear. "I hear that your husband has been neglecting you."
A quiet huff of amusement left you, turning your head dramatically — to lose his touch on your face — and setting your cup of tea down.
"My love is merely busied. He worries for your uncle, as I am sure you do." You made a point of referring to your prince as such, emphasising what little interest you had in the games of the boy before you.
Though Aerion did not seem to accept the message. He clicked his tongue in disapproval, "We make time for the things we care most about. His priorities seem backwards as of late." The prince reached out to hold your knee, and let his touch drift slyly to your thigh.
Your eyes rolled discretely, picked your cup back up, and cupped your bump with your other hand as if to protect the babe inside.
He scooted closer on the stone bench, lowering his head to appear less of a threat. The prince always sympathised as an imp would, unable to truly embody it.
"I would never do such a thing as dishonourable as ignoring a pregnant lady of mine."
Your eyebrows raised, just as his hand did to your chin.
"Especially not one as beautiful as you, princess."
That was it.
"Good day, Aerion." You smiled politely, rose from your seat, and scampered away surprisingly quickly.
For once, the prince didn't follow you, only cursed you under his breath "Fucking whore…" as he watched you go, pushing the cup and saucer of yours off of the edge of the table, watching them shatter delicately.
That evening, you sat in your chambers, the chair rocking back and forth as you held one of your sleepy toddlers, rubbing his back slowly to soothe him. Baelon had fallen earlier; or rather his elder brother Baelor pushed him.
Soft words drifted from your lips, cupping the babe's back as your eyes began to flutter shut.
The peace was suddenly disturbed by your husband, who pulled your son from your arms, handed him off to a nursemaid, and gripped your shoulders.
Valarr had heard his most troublesome cousin chatting to a barely lucid Daeron about his 'progress' with you. That cannot be good.
"What did Aerion do?"
Your brows furrowed, lazy eyes rejuvenated in surprise. "He… came to me when I was having tea. He touched me… spoke of your "priorities being backwards", that you were dishonourable, and the like."
The prince's mismatched gaze was ablaze with anger, and his eyes narrowed at your words, voice low and almost scared.
"He touched you? Where?"
"My leg, my face."
Seven hells. Your husband was enraged that he had laid his dirty hands upon you, made you feel discomforted in your own body.
His cousin had always been debauched and overly interested in you, but he had thought that Brightflame would've given it a rest by now — considering you were getting no less pregnant with your third — but that was a pointless thought.
Aerion only wanted you more.
He sucked in a sharp breath and pressed a swift, hard kiss to your temple, striding out without another word.
"Valarr!" You called after him, unable to rise from your unstable chair to chase him.
"I will return!" The Young Prince called back, practically running out of the chamber and heading straight for his father's.
Valarr passed the guards and entered, hearing his sire's hearty chuckle. He rounded the curved wall to come to the foot of the bed, face taught with purpose.
Conveniently, Maekar was at Baelor's bedside already.
"Aerion came to bother my wife during her afternoon tea." He said pointedly, gripping the dragon-headed stud at the end of the furniture, gaze pointed at his uncle.
The usually calm prince was beginning to lose himself, the stress of his father's near passing and worry for you had boiled over. "He touched her, and spoke of my dishonour and neglect."
With that, his voice began to rise. "My pregnant wife-"
Baelor sat up against the pillows, and glanced to his brother, sensing that this was not going to end well. "Valarr-"
"No!" The prince snapped, tone sharp and unforgiving as it was briefly pointed at his sire, and then back at Maekar.
"Your son has been bothering my wife for years, and I have brushed it under the rug for the sake of familial peace." He raised a tense hand and pointed at the silver-haired man. "No more!"
The uncle huffed — face scrunched with bother — at his impossible position. A large, veined hand rose to rub at his forehead.
The eldest prince looked at his heaving son — whose face was red with anger and overwhelm — and sighed. "Let us separate them. Make it so Aerion and the princess' guards will not allow them to be together alone."
Valarr shook his head pointedly. "That is insufficiency itself. He will apologise, and I will make it so that if he even glances at her again, he will regret it."
Baelor sighed — there was nothing he could do to calm his son his words were more than called for. He looked to his brother, who nodded.
Not even Maekar could deny that his son was utterly out of control.
None of the princes had noticed the doors opening until a maid placed the little Prince Baelor into his father's arms.
The eldest of the princes adored his grandsons, and had been enjoying their company while he was confined to bed.
Valarr however was not allowing his family to be separated tonight, and held his son firmly on his side, allowing the babe to tug at his doublet.
The vengeance in him had lessened the slightest bit. He looked down at his son and brushed a hand over his head, the child's mismatched eyes — violet and the colour of yours — crinkling at their edges as he smiled.
The Young Prince looked back at his father and uncle — a rather apologetic look for his outburst, but in no way was it regretful.
He strode out of the rooms and thought of his comments.
He could not deny that there was possessiveness in his words; but he could not help it.
It was he that shared your vows, kissed your lips, warmed your bed, and filled you with both love and babes. You were his, not fucking Aerion's.
The weight of your son in his arms reminded him of that fact.
"Mummy…" Baelor murmured, a whiny lilt to his high voice.
Valarr pressed a kiss to one of the many silver streaks in his hair, and held him tighter. "I know."
He wished to bring his son to your arms himself, to watch his family be united, but he had one last duty to fulfill.
He handed his son off to the maid that had been following him, and headed straight for Aerion's chambers, pushing the door open aggressively and seeing his cousin sat on the floor before the hearth, warming his dagger for some reason or another.
Disturbing as ever.
"Aerion." Valarr said coldly, crossing his arms over his chest as he approached.
The younger didn't bother looking back, and drawled his reply like it was taking valuable time out of his eve. "Yes, cousin."
"Look at me." The elder said lowly, staring down at him, the flames of the fire flickering in his pupils.
The silver-haired huffed and turned his head.
A hand met his cheek in a quick, sharp slap. He made a sound of surprise and offence, his own raising to rub the spot growing a blush.
Valarr crouched down, face twisted with disgust as he looked at the boy before him. This green child six years his younger, who knew nothing of women, children, or morality.
"If you so much as think about my wife ever again, you will regret it."
Aerion's expression hardened, the usual blind rage growing inside of him.
The heir to the heir had no patience for it.
He grabbed the younger by his obnoxiously red collar, and spoke in a harsh whisper.
"Do you hear me?"
His cousin breathed roughly, jerking in the hold, but was caught by the neck.
"Do you hear me?" Valarr snarled in repeat, squeezing the bobbing apple of his throat.
Finally, Aerion croaked out an answer.
"Yes."
His cousin was satisfied with that and pushed him back — not simple enough to trust that he would not be struck if he just let him go — and walked out without another word.
Your husband entered your chambers much more relaxed than he left, and met your gaze as you laid in bed, waiting for him with a pout upon your lips.
"Aerion will not bother you again, my sweet." He said quietly as he came to the edge of the bed, reaching out to cup your cheek.
You did not bother asking what he had done to be sure of that fact, frankly not caring. You only sighed in relief.
Sheets rustled as he crawled in to the bed with you — careless to his clothed self — and drew you into his arms with one powered arm around your waist.
Both of his hands settled on your belly, holding the child inside as best he could with the barrier of your skin.
"I am sorry that I was not there to stop it." He murmured into your neck, pressing a kiss there.
Guilt had been racking him from all angles as of late, but the thought of neglecting you had hit him the hardest.
"Do not be ridiculous." You murmured into his hair, inhaling the scent of fir from his bath oil. "I would have told you to leave, had you bothered me during my tea."
The prince chuckled.
That night, you fell asleep prematurely with your head upon his bare chest, listening to the beat of his heart.
Valarr stayed awake, carefully shushing your two boys as they crawled and ran about the bed, giggling mischievously, just as you would.
The Young Prince would do anything to protect this wonderful family of his; to protect you.
Soft lips pressed the side of your temple.
"Sweet dreams, my darling."
Valarr Targaryen m.list ♖
hi... i hate this but we move - i'm pretty sure this was a request but i forget who for, so if it's u pls lmk!!
hit up my inbox if you have any requests or js wanna thirst <3
