I planned to upload this earlier today (UK time) but I’ve been busy with uni work, mostly my first time writing a report and a group project making me wanna slam my head into a wall, but I managed to do my final revisions and upload it before the end of the day, yay! Tomorrow’s probably also gonna be late. I may not even be able to post it until the the third day, since I do have school then, but after tomorrow, but Monday is the last day before I have over a week off for assignments, and fics, after that, I’ll be off from early(ish) December to late January. I’m also focusing on writing an original story. I’m just in the plotting phases but lmk if you wanna hear about it. Until then, please enjoy this fic, and I can’t wait to see all of the amazing content this week! Thank you @princeofsinweek for creating this event!
Day 1: Dancing at a bonfire
Favourite melody - Father!Wrath X Daughter!Euphemia X Mother!Emilia
WC: 1698
TW: Nothing but fluff. And mentions of canon typical violence. None of it is carried out, just talked about.
With the final stroke of the bow, strum of the cello, demons halt in their steps. Faces are flushed, and eyes twinkle as they bow once more to their partners. Some remain reluctant to step away, while the sound of clicking heels amongst the chatter hint that others can’t get away fast enough. Amongst them, the King of Hell stood, eyes glued on his wife, who‘s nails trailed from his shoulder, up to his jaw. Wrath’s eyes flickered from her to her perfectly manicured nails, and a sinful smile spreads across his face. His lips had barely parted before a high pitched scream rang out across the ball room, gathering many eyes.
“Daddy! Mama! Help! I’m being kidnapped!”
Ebony wings snapped free, casting a shadow across ornate ballroom. His house dagger is drawn before he makes it three steps away. Frightened murmurs are sent to the back of his mind. The frenzied footsteps of demons rushing out of his way go in one ear and out the other. For the first time in perhaps centuries, Wrath was aware of every vein in his body. Every breath, every step, felt like another century.
At the other end of obscenely decorated ballroom, demons had clustered together. Wrath didn’t stop to consider the murmurs rippling through the crowd, or even turn to see if Emilia had followed. No. The crowd barely parted fast enough for him to make his way too where his daughter continued to shriek. His eyes zeroed in on large hand loosely holding onto her wrist as she stomped screamed and stomped.
“It’s your fault she’s like this you know.” It wasn’t until he felt his wife’s hand on his arm that Wrath fully processed the words he’d heard. Lust, meanwhile, didn’t even bother to glance at his brother. Nor did he seem particularly phased by the ice coating half of Envy’s throne room. Instead, he raised an unimpressed brow as Euphemia stomped her little pink dolly shoes against polished dress shoes with all the might her little body could muster. Of all the things she had to inherit, did your dramatics have to be one of them?”
Wrath stiffly cocked his head, eyeing his brother, who pretended not to notice the tick in his jaw as he stared down at his niece. The temperature dropped, and any remaining sounds, be they from gossiping courtiers or lords and ladies whispering of sneaking to a more private space nearby, ceased. Ice creeped up the wall, over ornate frames and even began spreading across the ceiling. Perhaps Envy and Camilla disappearing from their own party wasn’t such a bad thing after all. Every eye in the court had turned to them, and nearby nobles dared not even inch backwards in the face of their king’s fury, least of all when it was directed at another princes.
But, it seemed those of divine ordainment had yet to abandon them entirely.
Before Wrath could gut his brother, a warm hand pressed against his forearm. His eyes slid to his wife, but she payed him no mid as she stepped forward.
“Lust.” Her voice rang out in the silence of the party, the warmth masking all but a spark of the fire that longed to reduce her brother in law to cinders at this moment. “What *exactly* do you think you’re doing?”
Lust shot her an amused grin.
“I was just offering my precious niece the chance to share a dance with her *favourite* uncle, but she seems to have inherited her father’s dramatics and just started attacking me!”
Wrath’s brow twitched. Emilia’s gaze shifted to her fussy daughter. She hadn’t shrieked or squirmed like this since she was a toddler throwing tantrums.
“Mama! Uncle Lust is kidnapping me!”
She let out a breath, before gliding forward and gently removing Lust’s grip, despite his protests. Euphemia immediately clutched at her mother’s skirts, glaring daggers at her uncle, who shot her an equally unimpressed stare right back.
“Lust, I’m sure you have a surplus of willing dance partners waiting,” she sighed, fighting the urge to pinch the bridge of her nose. “If none of them are to your liking,” she continued, upon seeing him open his mouth to protest, “then go find Sloth and have him dance with you instead.”
Wrath snorted that, while Lust brought a hand to his chin, seemingly thinking it over. Emilia swore she felt the temperature just around her drop another degrees or two, and new set of eyes, far less reluctant than any lord or lady, land on her the very moment the suggestion came out of her mouth. She’d be sure to watch her back, perhaps cast a few more protection spells, at the next party Sloth was attending. Just in case.
Before she could contemplate it any further, Lust had already slunk off, likely to find his bibliophile brother, and the room began to return to a normal temperature. Demons reluctantly returned to their conversation.
Gentle tugging at her skirt drew her attention, and her gown splayed out like a flower as she knelt before her princess. With warm hands, she cupped Euphemia’s cheek, thumb gently tracing over the coal hue that had been dusted over her olive complexion. Her makeup was very minimum, but the blush, neutral eyeshadow, and clear lipgloss was the extent of which makeup she was allowed at her age.
“I know you love your family, my lovely. And I know you love to tease Uncle Lust, but that was going a tad far, don’t you think?” Emilia asked, her free hand moving to stroke her daughter’s long, silvery hair. “You had your father and me very worried when you began screaming.”
“‘M sorry, Mama. Sorry daddy.” Her voice was a Low murmur in the room of demonic nobles.
Wrath settled at her side, pressing a soft kiss to her brow.
“Just, consider yelling something else the next time your uncle is doing something that warrants punishment, Filia,” Wrath offers. “Or just stab him your-“
Emilia’s jabs at his ribs with her elbow, a scowl on her face. Wrath merely shoots her a mischievous grin. She sighs, turning her attention back Euphemia, ready to put this entire thing to rest.
“Is there a reason you didn’t want to dance with your Uncle? You had so much fun with him at the last ball. I think the only reason you regretted it was because you and Uncle Gluttony gorged yourselves on sweets *before* stepping onto the dance floor,” Wrath interjected, before Emilia could end the discussion.
Euphemia glanced around the crowded room, fidgeting under their gaze.
“Last time, I danced with mama first. This time, I wanted to dance with daddy first.” she shrugged, and Emilia felt her heart ache at her shyness. “But you both looked so happy dancing together. I didn’t want to interrupt.”
Wrath frowned, but Emilia immediately pulled her daughter close.
“Oh, you don’t have to hold back what you want Euphy,” she coos, then pulls back. “If you wanna dance with either of us, then just ask.”
Wrath hums in agreement, gently stroking the top of her head. They smile at the delighted giggle that escapes her, even as several eyes turn their way. Curious, but not foolish enough to intrude on the moment.
“This applies to all matters, Euphy. If you want something, ask. Especially since you’ll be attending more balls once you’re older. At some point, other nobles will start coming to you with offers to dace. You’ll learn how to respond in your lessons, so remember them.”
Euphemia nods, and her chest lightens at the thought of covering something so fun in her etiquette lessons. Fantasies of dance practicies with her parents, and showing off to her uncles float through her mind.
“But, outside of what your tutors will no doubt tell you,” Wrath draws her attention back to the present, a scowl on his face. “Remember that if they get persistent, either gut them, or find one of us. Your mama, me, your uncles and aunties, it does’t matter. We’ll always protect you. Especially from foolish young demons who’s pride grow too large for their heads.”
Emilia sighs.
“What your father means to say, is if someone you don’t want to dance with bothers you, feel free to take punitive measures. Or, come find us, and we’ll take them for you.”
Another flurry of giggles escape their daughter, leaving the King and Queen delighted.
Wrath rises to his feet, and moves just to her side before bending at the waist.
“Care for a dance, my lady?” He offers his daughter.
Emilia can see the delighted squeal building in her throat, but Euphemia clears her throat and steps back before it escapes.
“I would be honoured, you majesty.” She responded, giving a somewhat awkward curtsy before following him to the ballroom.
As the next song began, Emilia watched in delight as Wrath guided their daughter through the steps, grinning broadly at the excited giggles she couldn’t seem to suppress. At some point, he began deviating from all standard dances all together, choosing to lift their princess towards the ceiling and spins her amongst the crowd. Some demons gawk from the sidelines, watching their King indulge his daughter’s free spirts, while others shot disapproving glares. Some mothers hid scowls behind pretty fans or dainty palms, murmuring what she can only assume are shrewd warnings and observations to their daughters.
She made a note to ask Fauna about it later. As of now, she slid her gaze back to her squealing daughter. Her gold eyes were bright with mischief and joy as Wrath spun her across the checkered dance floor. Her hair trailed behind her, gleaming under the lights like silver flames, and her pink gown billows out like shimmering rose with each turn.
Thinking back, Emilia can’t recall a celebration that had ever felt as upbeat or lively as this, no matter how much joy she attributes, or fondly she looks back on each memory. Though, she supposed that none of the music at those other parties were accompanied by the delighted squeals and laughter of her daughter. That, she finds, That, she finds, is her most favourite melody.
