𝖆 𝕮𝖚𝖗𝖊 𝖋𝖔𝖗 𝕱𝖎𝖗𝖊 ــــــــــﮩ٨ـ ᴀᴇʀɪᴏɴ ᴛᴀʀɢᴀʀʏᴇɴ x oc
𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐘: 𝖶𝗁𝖾𝗇 𝖺 𝖿𝗂𝗋𝗌𝗍-𝗒𝖾𝖺𝗋 𝗆𝖾𝖽𝗂𝖼𝖺𝗅 𝗌𝗍𝗎𝖽𝖾𝗇𝗍 𝗂𝗌 𝗍𝗁𝗋𝗈𝗐𝗇 𝗂𝗇𝗍𝗈 𝖶𝖾𝗌𝗍𝖾𝗋𝗈𝗌, 𝖾𝗌𝖼𝖺𝗉𝖾 𝖻𝖾𝖼𝗈𝗆𝖾𝗌 𝗁𝖾𝗋 𝗈𝗇𝗅𝗒 𝗀𝗈𝖺𝗅, 𝗎𝗇𝗍𝗂𝗅 𝗌𝗁𝖾 𝖼𝖺𝗍𝖼𝗁𝖾𝗌 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝖺𝗍𝗍𝖾𝗇𝗍𝗂𝗈𝗇 𝗈𝖿 𝖠𝖾𝗋𝗂𝗈𝗇 𝖳𝖺𝗋𝗀𝖺𝗋𝗒𝖾𝗇, 𝖺 𝗉𝗋𝗂𝗇𝖼𝖾 𝖿𝖺𝗋 𝗆𝗈𝗋𝖾 𝖽𝖺𝗇𝗀𝖾𝗋𝗈𝗎𝗌 𝗍𝗁𝖺𝗇 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗐𝗈𝗋𝗅𝖽 𝗌𝗁𝖾'𝗌 𝗍𝗋𝗒𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗍𝗈 𝖾𝗌𝖼𝖺𝗉𝖾.
📖: Wattpad, Masterlist, AO3
ﮩ status ــــــــــﮩ٨ـ ongoing ﮩ
𝖈𝖍𝖆𝖕𝖙𝖊𝖗 𝖙𝖜𝖊𝖑𝖛𝖊 ── 𝖆 𝖈𝖍𝖎𝖑𝖉 𝖔𝖋 𝖒𝖎𝖓𝖊
The man didn't stop walking.
No introduction. No reassurance. Just a glance thrown over his shoulder—brief, assessing—before he continued down the narrow street as if it were already decided we would follow.
So we did.
He whistled softly, some idle tune that didn't quite belong in a place like this, as the path twisted through uneven stone and shadow. The air hung thick with the scent of damp wood and something faintly sour. My gaze stayed on his back, on the way he moved—easy, unthinking. Not cautious. Not hesitant.
He knew this place.
That didn't mean I trusted him.
"If this turns out to be a waste of time," I muttered, pulling off the hat he'd given me and loosening my hair, "I'm blaming you."
Aerion walked beside me like none of this concerned him, hands tucked loosely into his pockets, posture relaxed in a way that felt deliberate.
"You're the one with the mission," he said. "I'm just helping you."
"I insisted on finding answers," I corrected, sharper than I meant to be. "Not following strangers through streets I don't know."
"You really should learn to be more grateful," he murmured, gaze drifting elsewhere.
My head turned toward him immediately, eyes narrowing.
"And how many times do I have to tell you that you should learn how to mind your own business?" I said, each word placed carefully.
A faint smirk touched his lips.
"As I said, my betrothed," he replied, the sarcasm woven cleanly through his tone, "you are my business now."
Before I could respond, his hand caught my arm, pulling me slightly toward him—quick—his fingers, digging slightly.
I frowned, ready to shove him off. Then I saw it. A jagged stone, half-buried where I'd been about to step. I would've tripped. I brushed his hand away like it had lingered longer than it had.
The man ahead of us let out a low chuckle, full and unrestrained.
"Mi wife also nags like that," he said, glancing back at us with a grin. "Strong woman. Very strong."
I blinked at him, caught off guard. "We're not— I mean, he's not—"
"It's alright, m'lady," he cut in cheerfully. "I understand women like you. Sometimes, she throws bread at me when I don't wake on time."
Aerion scoffed softly under his breath, the sound edged with quiet amusement.
I shot him a look.
He met it.
"What?" he asked, folding his arms.
"Remind me," I said after a moment, quieter now but no less pointed, "why you're still here."
"Because you would've failed without me?" The smirk returned.
I let out a short, humorless breath.
"That's bold."
"It's accurate."
"No," I said flatly, "it's arrogant."
"It can be both."
Silence slipped in between us—tight. Hanging.
I shook my head slightly.
"You're impossible."
"And yet," he said, glancing at me briefly, "you're still walking beside me."
That—I had nothing for that. So I said nothing. Ahead of us, the man cleared his throat. Loudly. Too deliberately. We both looked at him. He smiled, a little too wide.
"Mi wife and I argue often," he continued, as if the moment hadn't shifted. "It only means she cares deeply for me."
Aerion let out a quiet laugh. Short. Dry.
"That's unfortunate."
The man faltered.
I turned sharply toward Aerion. "Don't."
"What did I say?"
"More than you should've."
"That's hardly my fault."
The man laughed again, though it came out weaker this time, uncertain.
"Yes, well... love is—"
"Stop."
The word cut through him clean.
He fell silent immediately.
I exhaled slowly, dragging a hand through my hair, trying to push the irritation down before it spilled over into something worse.
Enough.
Enough about love. Enough about anything that tried to force meaning into something that wasn't even real. I didn't ask for this. I didn't ask for any of it. I was supposed to be studying. To be building something real. Something that made sense. Not this. Not him. Not a life I couldn't even call my own.
The man didn't speak again.
Neither did we.
We kept walking, our footsteps echoing faintly against the stone.
No one spoke.
And none of us were willing to be the first to touch it.
── ⟢ ・⸝⸝
The air changed before she saw it.
The further they walked, the more it settled into something not even her mood could ignore—a warmth in the breeze, faint traces of perfume clinging to it, something sweet threaded beneath the usual rot of the streets.
Home.
Aesarys' steps slowed.
Red, draped along the outer walls like it always had been, silks shifting lazily with the wind, catching what little light the evening offered. Nothing about it had changed. It stood just as it always did—quietly indulgent, quietly dangerous. Almost... untouched by the world beyond it. And yet—The moment her gaze lifted—She was already there.
Madam sat on the balcony, one leg crossed over the other, arms folded neatly against herself. The light barely touched her face, but it didn't need to. It caught just enough—just enough to reveal the sharpness in her eyes.
Watching.
Waiting.
For us.
A flicker passed through Madam's expression. Not surprise—never that. Recognition. Something quieter beneath it. Something that might have been relief, if it hadn't been buried so quickly.
Aerion didn't slow.
"Hm." He glanced around, unimpressed, as though the place failed to meet some private standard of his.
A small pouch left his hand without ceremony. Coins clinked.
The man caught it with ease, grin widening. "Much obliged, m'lord."
Aerion didn't answer. He had already moved past him. The man disappeared just as easily. And just as they reached the steps—The door opened.
Madam.
She stood there as if she had always been meant to open that door at that exact moment, her presence filling the space without effort. Her gaze went to Aesarys first. Not her face.
Her hair.
"I see you've forgotten to dye your hair this week."
Aesarys' hand rose instinctively, fingers brushing against the strands—dark at the ends, lighter at the roots where the color had begun to give way.
"No worries. I'm sure you still have salvia officinalis in your room," Madam added lightly. "Unless you intend to keep it that way."
She noticed. Of course. She always did. Her gaze shifted then. To Aerion. Taking in his lazy posture, the condescending raise of his head as though everyone around him was below him in some way.
"Ah. You've brought a man home."
Her head tilted slightly, eyes narrowing—not in curiosity, but in quiet disapproval.
"Don't tell me you've decided to elope."
Aerion huffed out something close to a laugh, a smirk already forming, like he found the situation more entertaining than he should have.
Aesarys stepped forward before he could speak.
"Eloping with him would leave us both hungry and shelterless," she said flatly, brushing past Madam and into the house.
Behind her, she heard a stifling laugh. Approval. Not spoken. No. madam never spoke to signal anything. But that low chuckle was enough. She didn't need to turn to know Madam was smiling. She could hear it in the silence.
"Well?" Madam's voice came, light but edged, directed behind her. "Are you stepping in, or shall you remain outside like an ornament?"
Her grip on the door loosened, stepping aside to invite the prince.
Footsteps then followed as Aerion entered.
The door closed.
And just like that—The world outside ceased to exist.
The warmth returned immediately, heavier now, wrapping around them like something alive. Laughter echoed faintly from deeper within the house, soft and familiar, as though time had never moved past this place.
Madam walked ahead of them, unhurried, as if she had been expecting this moment all along.
"I was wondering when you'd come," she said. Not if. But when.
Aesarys stopped.
"So you knew."
Madam turned just enough for her gaze to meet hers.
"I knew you would begin asking questions," she said. "But when I saw you walking with that boy... the small prince—"
A soft pause.
"I knew then that I had to let you go."
Something in Aesarys' chest tightened.
Madam guided them toward the quieter room without looking back.
Aesarys followed. Aerion didn't. Not at first. The moment he stepped forward, Madam stopped at the doorway and turned—just slightly. Just enough. Her gaze met his. Unmoved.
"No."
That was all she said. She wasn't loud. She wasn't forceful. But her word was final.
Aerion's brow lifted, faint amusement flickering across his face, like he thought this was something to push against.
"Careful," he said lightly. "You might be unbeknownst to who I am."
Madam didn't react. Didn't bow. Didn't soften.
"If I were," she replied, just as calmly, "you would already be inside."
She looked at him. Thin. Tense. Then she stepped in. And shut the door in his face. The latch slid into place with a quiet, deliberate click.
Aesarys stood still for a moment, staring at the door. The space was dim, intimate—lace curtains filtering the light, carved wood lining the walls, a mounted deer watching silently from above. Then slowly—she turned back.
Madam had already moved further into the room, as if nothing had happened. As if shutting out a prince was no more significant than closing a window.
"What did you mean by what you said earlier?" Aesarys echoed, the words catching slightly as she followed.
Madam didn't answer immediately. She walked to the window, her fingers brushing lightly against the frame, gaze fixed somewhere beyond it.
"I did not expect you to understand so soon," she said.
Then, she muttered quietly.
"But I expected it eventually."
Aesarys frowned slightly. "That's not an answer."
"No," Madam agreed.
Silence filled the room like a quiet expectation. Aesarys waited. But Madam didn't continue...Of course she wouldn't.
Aesarys exhaled slowly. "Give me one."
Madam's jaw shifted, just barely. Reluctance. Shown across her face like any information she could allow herself to slip would cut off her tongue. Her mouth parted. Then she closed it. Hesitant. Resistant.
"It was not always like this," she said at last. That was all. She didn't elaborate. Didn't explain. Just stood there, as if deciding how much she was willing to give.
Aesarys didn't move. Didn't interrupt.
So Madam continued—begrudgingly.
"I left my home," she said. "For a man."
She paused. Her eyes drifted towards the deer on the wall.
"I believed it was love," she said. "And perhaps... it was."
Her gaze then flickered briefly around the room.
"He built this place for me. Not this—" she gestured lightly around them, "—something smaller. Something meant for a life."
The word lingered in the quiet between them. Her fingers brushed the edge of the table, absent, distant.
"He died before we could have one."
Aesarys swallowed.
"And after?"
Madam's expression tightened, almost imperceptibly.
"I stayed."
Her hands shifted softly.
"The rest... followed."
Aesarys' brows drew together. "That's not enough."
Madam's eyes flicked to her. Sharp.
She exhaled.
"...Dear—"
Aesarys held her gaze.
"...You said you had to let me go."
Madam looked away first.
"You were never meant to remain here," she said.
Aesarys' chest tightened.
"Why?"
This time, Madam didn't answer right away. Her fingers curled slightly against the edge of the table.
"...Because of your mother."
Aesarys stilled.
Madam exhaled quietly.
"She was one of mine."
She stilled.
"She should not have been. She wasn't meant for this line of work."
Aesarys' voice came quieter now. "What does that mean?"
Madam hesitated, but spoke anyway.
"A prince came," she said.
Aesarys didn't interrupt.
Madam's jaw tightened, just slightly.
"He had no business here. He too, was strange."
She looked at Aesarys.
"But he returned anyway," she said. "Not for the girls. For her."
Something in her tone shifted.
"She read fortunes. Told stories. He returned for those... until he stopped leaving."
Aesarys didn't speak.
"She bore his child soon after."
Aesarys' pulse stuttered. The room felt smaller. Colder.
"And the child?" she asked, the words barely holding together.
Madam held her gaze. Not long enough to hesitate, but long enough to make it impossible to look away.
"You."
The word settled heavier this time. Aesarys didn't answer. Not immediately. Her gaze dropped—just for a moment—before lifting again, sharper this time. Not surprised. That wasn't the problem. It was the certainty of it. The way hearing it out loud left no room to ignore it anymore.
"I never allowed you to follow the others," Madam continued. "Not because you were better..."
Her eyes flickered.
"But because you were never meant to be here in the first place."
Aesarys' fingers curled slightly at her sides.
"This house..." Madam said, quieter now, "was never yours to inherit."
"It was always something you were meant to leave."
Her hand rested against the door handle, but she didn't open it. Not yet.
Aesarys didn't answer.
"And now is that time, my child."
Taglist: @oh-miniso, @snorklingfae, @mckaylarkendra5608