#its finished.

[usagiarchive]

marriage of (in)convenience — mydei x reader

V. DEVOTION. / masterlist

sypnosis. [ 12.5k words ] arranged marriage au. — stuck in an arranged marriage with the crown prince of castrum kremnos, you both try to find a way to make the arrangement a lot more hell for the people who forced the two of you into this, and maybe you end up working together better than you thought.

usagi's note: and so this ends :(( i have a lot of things to say (as always) but i first thank you guys for reading my little fic ^^ i cannot explain the joy i get when u guys tell me that my work made u guys happy, and im shocked that it even made some of you cry LIKE GUYS TwT thanku all so much!! u all get warm hugs, enjoy mydei lvrs!!

OH ALSO THERE'S SMUT IN THIS, IM WARNING U GUYS!!!

The Oracle had told the truth, but not the whole of it.

That day when the Crown Prince of Castrum Kremnos hunted down the entire kingdom for an oracle that could give him an answer, said oracle omitted parts of the prophecy.

They said something along the lines of ‘they would stand side by side, though not always facing the same direction. Two souls, bound by prophecy, fated to walk together—yet still, their hearts beat out of rhythm. One hid beneath silence. The other cracked beneath longing. Both bled beneath duty.’

But even in pain, they drew nearer. Even when they faltered, they found each other again. And in their breaking, they discovered that fate had never meant to mock them. It had only been waiting for them to choose on their own. 

For it was never a curse. It was never confusion. It was never a contradiction. It was a chance to choose on their own.

So yes, while the Oracle had omitted a few words for reasons Titans knows what, only he and the stars would know that the complete prophecy was “That they would stand side by side, not always facing the same direction, not as strangers bound by prophecy — but as hearts that finally chose each other.”

…

The boat ride back to Rhodes had been quiet, a silence more comforting than stifling. When the gates of the palace came into view, you didn’t even realize that your fingers were still intertwined with Mydei’s. 

He hadn’t let go and you hadn’t asked him to.

The court noticed first. Whispers rippled through the assembly like a sudden breeze, the princess and the prince, hand in hand, a gesture they haven't seen even before you left for Castrum Kremnos.

Your father stood at the front of the welcome party, robes lined in blue, eyes sharp as ever. For a moment he said nothing, only looked—at Mydei, at you, at your joined hands. His mouth curved ever so slightly.

“So,” he said at last, voice warm but steady, “it seems my daughter has finally come around. To honor and duty before her heart.”

You swallowed. 

Once, those words had bound you like iron chains. 

Once, they had carved themselves so deep into your bones that you believed you’d never escape them. 

But not now. 

Not anymore.

You lifted your chin, “No, Father,” you said softly, but firmly enough that the wind itself seemed to pause to listen. 

“This is not honor and duty before my heart,” you turned your hand, lacing your fingers tighter with Mydei’s, grounding yourself in his presence. 

“This is my heart… before my honor and duty.”

Gasps and murmurs broke through the crowd. Mydei’s grip on you tightened—protective, steady, unflinching—as if daring anyone to challenge you.

Your father’s brows rose. 

For a beat, he seemed taken aback, the words striking him like an arrow from nowhere. But then, slowly, a smile broke across his face—not the polished mask of a ruler, but the raw, unguarded smile of a father.

“Oh,” he said, almost to himself, before his smile widened. His eyes softened with a pride so fierce it nearly undid you. “Oh, my daughter.”

He stepped forward and placed a hand over yours, over both of yours, squeezing gently, “Then I could not be more glad. For this is all I have ever wished for you—to grow into a ruler who can see the whole picture, but never forget to place herself inside it.”

Tears threatened to sting your eyes, but you held his gaze. For the first time, you realized you weren’t just his daughter anymore. 

You were his equal.

And from the way Mydei stood beside you, steady as the tide, you knew you weren’t alone in that.

…

The council chamber had never been this silent.

Not even when oracles spoke. Not even when war was declared.

Every head turned as the doors opened and you entered with Mydei at your side. His stride was as unhurried as ever, but you could feel the weight of his presence in the way your palm fit into his. 

He didn’t let go, not even when you stepped into the sea of elders who watched like owls perched on high beams.

The sound of your sandals brushed against marble. Mydei’s fingers pressed lightly at the small of your back. Not demanding, not steering, just there.

And the council noticed.

“Are they—?”

“By the gods above, are they holding hands?”

“Is he smiling at her?”

“It’s a miracle.”

“No, it’s a trick. A curse.”

“Poliko, shut your mouth before the Titans hear and strike you down next.”

You nearly bit your lip to keep from laughing. Mydei, curse him, didn’t bother to hide his amusement. His thumb drew the smallest circles against your knuckles, a private gesture that felt louder than the mutters filling the chamber.

The session began. Predictably, it turned to the one subject that had plagued the elders for weeks even before you left for Castrum Kremnos—

Where the wedding would be held.

“My lords,” one began, “tradition dictates Rhodes must—”

“No, no, Kremnos is the elder kingdom, we should—”

“This cannot become a war of pettiness!”

Usually, these debates dragged into the night, but Mydei’s voice cut through with quiet finality, wanting to get it over with and rest after meeting after meeting had occurred.

“The ceremony will be on neutral ground. An island between the two kingdoms.”

You did not miss a beat, “We will spend ten days in Rhodes, then ten in Kremnos, where we will stay after the celebrations. Both kingdoms will be honored and neither will be left out.”

The council froze.

Then—

“Oh merciful Titan’s backside—they agree!”

“Do you hear that? They actually— they agree!”

“By the titans, it’s over. We’re saved!”

One elder slammed the table so hard his quill flew, “DO YOU SEE?! THE TITANS HAVE RELENTED. THE UNION IS BLESSED!!”

Another leaned across the bench, “Still doesn’t excuse Poliko’s whining about divine spite last week—”

“OH, CURSE YOU, POLIKO!” someone bellowed, “YOU HOPELESS HKS!”

Poliko nearly toppled from his seat, sputtering. The chamber dissolved into scandalized laughter, relieved mutters, and more than one elder wiping their eyes.

And you, who sat at Mydei’s side, felt his gaze settle on you like a tether. He didn’t laugh with the others. He only leaned closer, thumb brushing your palm, and murmured low enough for only you.

“See? They’ve stopped fearing the curse.”

Your lips parted—whether to answer or breathe, you weren’t sure—but you felt the words unspoken between you.

We did it. :)

…

Meals, which were once strained affairs, something he had to search high and low for you to join, were now shared. The crown prince sat beside you again, too close for propriety but too natural to question. When you pushed food around your plate, he nudged slices of fruit onto it.

“Eat,” he said simply.

“I was going to.”

He raised a brow, “Before or after you faint in the middle of another council session?”

You shot him a look. He only smirked, victorious, and continued placing morsels on your dish until you gave in with a sigh.

You could feel the burning gazes of your family as they watched the whole spectacle, your face flushing and giving your feelings away.

Mydei is unbothered, as always. 

(Yes! We love our unbothered king! Don't mind the fact how stupid he looked when he thought you were into Phainon… yeah, like… don't mention that to him actually. Ever.)

…

Later, as you gathered scrolls Aglaea didn't send because they were too risky to do so, you tried to retreat into your study, thinking you'd get it done while your fiancé slept, so you'd have more free time tomorrow. But no.

Mydei followed. He sat across from you at first, silent, folding his long frame into the chair like a man staking a claim. When you bent to your parchment, he watched the ink trail, his gaze unreadable.

It was… unsettling at first, weird for you to have someone in the room with you so late at night. But you'd learned to just tune him out and pretend he wasn't there.

After an hour of silence, he rose and came to stand behind you. The air shifted. His hand brushed your shoulder—light, grounding.

“You’re tense,” he said softly.

“I’m working.”

“You’re overworking.”

“Do you plan to hover like a cat until I stop?”

“Yes.”

You turned just enough to catch the corner of his mouth tug upward. He meant it. He truly would stand there all night if you didn’t relent.

And perhaps… you didn’t mind.

The study had grown quiet but for the scratch of your quill. Candles burned low, the wax dripping like melted gold down their holders. Mydei had insisted on keeping you company, though you offered to let him sleep first.

He refused instantly.

At first, he sat across from you, long legs folded with an elegance that should not have fit into such an ordinary chair. But after some time, he rose to pour you tea without a word. He set it by your hand, his fingers brushing yours briefly, as if to remind you to drink. You thanked him softly, eyes still on your parchment, though the heat blooming in your chest had little to do with the cup.

When you looked up again, he had drifted back to his seat—only to doze off not long after. His head leaned against his fist, lashes casting faint shadows over his cheeks. You stilled, quill hovering, just watching. The crown prince of Kremnos, undone by sleep in your study, as if he belonged nowhere else but here.

Your heart tightened.

With a sigh, you rose, stepping lightly across the room. His hair had fallen across his face. You hesitated, then brushed it back with a careful hand. He stirred but didn’t wake, only leaned unconsciously into the touch, like a child seeking warmth.

“Honestly,” you whispered, smiling despite yourself.

You shook his shoulder gently, “‘Dei, go to bed.”

He blinked groggily, eyes hazy with sleep, “M’fine here.”

“You’re really not.”

He grumbled, the sound low and reluctant, but didn’t move. You softened, bending closer to land a kiss on his temple, “Go on. I promise I’ll join you soon.”

His gaze flicked to yours, still heavy-lidded, but sharp enough to pin you. “…You’d better,” he muttered, voice thick with drowsiness, like an unguarded vow.

Then he stood, slower than usual, and left the room with the quiet dignity of a man who’d been dismissed by no one but you.

You watched him go, warmth curling in your chest, quill forgotten.

…

You stepped into your chambers expecting Mydei to be asleep— actually scratch that, with how well you knew your prince, you know he's still awake waiting for you.

Probably with a scowl since you said you'll join him soon, but took half a candle’s wick to return.

You wince when you opened the door and Mydei was already there, hair loose around his shoulders, mantle and crown set aside. He looked like the man behind the prince, stripped down to something unbearably human.

“You’re late,” he said without looking up from his book.

“Sorry, I was working, there were a lot of scrolls to catch up on.”

He glanced up, eyes catching yours, “Then stop.”

The bluntness stole your breath, “Pardon me?”

He patted the bed beside him, “Come, rest.”

It wasn’t a command. It was care wrapped in steel. Slowly, as if caught in a tide, you obeyed.

When you dressed down into your nightgown and laid beside him, he didn’t crowd you. He simply shifted close enough for your shoulders to touch, warmth radiating steady as a hearth. His hand brushed yours beneath the covers until your fingers threaded together without thought.

“Sleep,” he murmured.

And you did.

…

News had travelled even into the deepest corners of Amphoreus that the Princess of Rhodes, their excellent war strategist, and their prized commerce senator, was to be married to the Crown Prince of Castrum Kremnos—who would be King soon.

And hear this, it's a marriage of love.

Nobles from all the kingdoms were intrigued, just a few years ago, they thought the Kremnoan bloodline would end after they heard that Queen Gorgo and her son were killed, one thrown into the Sea of Souls and the other killed by poison.

Truly a tragic tale that was all caused by the madness of their ruler, husband, and father, King Eurypon. No one thought that anyone would be sane enough to agree to marriage of love with that man.

In the marble halls of Dolos, nobles scoffed into their wine goblets. “Rhodes is throwing away their sharpest blade,” one said. “To send their strategist into the arms of a kingdom already drenched in blood? What a waste. Kremnos doesn't need more war minds.”

In the sandy fortresses of Lethe, generals sneered over dice games, “A strategist as fine as she is—Rhodes should’ve kept her close. Without her, they’ll soften. The sea is no shield without a hand to guide it.”

In Rhodes itself, whispers spread across the agora. Merchants fretted, “Will she abandon us? Who will guard the harbors, the fleets? Who will untangle tariffs and routes if she is gone?”

Letters crisscrossed the kingdoms, speculation thick as summer heat. Amphoreus loved a scandal, and what greater scandal than a love match between war and sea, between two bloodlines nearly shattered?

What none of them knew—what none of them could ever fathom—was that Rhodes had not surrendered their jewel at all.

For Kremnos did not flaunt commerce. To them, trade was a weakness, a soft leash on hard people. They paraded spears, not ships. They glorified armies, not merchants. And so the world believed the princess was leaving to strengthen their legions, that her mind for war was her only dowry.

But in the shadowed council halls of Castrum Kremnos, she was not asked of formations or ambushes. She was asked about harbors, currency, and of routes that curved like veins across the sea.

Her battlefield was commerce, her victories invisible but decisive.

And in truth, Rhodes had not lost her. Rhodes never would, never could. But Rhodes had rooted itself deeper into Kremnos than any sword or spear could manage.

So while the kingdoms of Amphoreus clinked cups and speculated, while they mourned Rhodes’ “loss” and Kremnos’ “gain,” they were blind to what was truly being forged: not just a marriage of kingdoms, but a union of strategies.

War and sea. Steel and coin. Prophecy and choice.

And at its center, not duty, not honor—but love.

…

It was perfect.

The island was a speck of land nestled between Rhodes and Kremnos, it was neither large enough for fortresses nor fertile enough for trade. But the sea lapped gentle against its stones, and the air here was touched by stillness, the kind of quiet that demanded reverence.

This was where kingdoms came to end wars in whispers rather than blood. And now—where a war-born prince and a sea-born princess would begin a life not bound by prophecy alone, but by choice.

The ceremony was small, intimate, almost startling in its simplicity. No great armies, no swelling crowds of nobles jostling for favor. Just family, friends, and those who had fought closest to the bride and groom in the battlefield of politics and fate.

Your father stood tall, his Rhoden cloak catching the sea breeze, three younger siblings at his side, your mother on the other. 

Aglaea watched from the second row, expression soft but bright, hands folded in quiet pride. 

On the other side, the KD5 were lined like shadows. Phainon wore his usual smug grin, but the edges softened in genuine joy. Krateros stood straighter than he ever had, pride nearly palpable. And Hephaestion was already blotting his face with a handkerchief before the ceremony had even begun.

The altar was simple, but breathtaking, an archway entwined with flowers chosen by both kingdoms. The flowers you had both “argued” over littering the venue, white chrysanthemums for Kremnos—loyalty, devotion, honesty and yellow spartium—resilience, prosperity, renewal. 

Beside them, Rhodes’ blooms, white and yellow plumerias for love and devotion, and oleander, beautiful but sharp, a reminder that love demanded caution as well as courage. Together, they framed the union in a cascade of petals, fierce and tender both.

Pinned over Mydei’s chest was the lion crest, the one you had once argued over in council. Now, it gleamed as if to say, “I am yours, and you are mine.”

You wore no crown, no overtly gaudy ornaments. Just a dress light as the sea foam itself, and a veil that stirred in the breeze like a tide about to turn. But still looking as ethereal in the light of the morning.

The ceremony began with the priest invoking Mnestia, the Titan of Romance. 

“Bless this union, born not only of prophecy but of love freely chosen,” he intoned, voice deep as the waves, “Let devotion be your shield, honesty as your anchor, and renewal as your flame.”

And then it was Mydei’s turn.

He stepped forward, every inch the prince turned king, but when he looked at you—his voice softened.

“I once thought marriage was only chains,” he began, and the air stilled, “A duty meant to bind, to smother, to take choice from me. I fought it, resisted it. And then came… you. You, who never asked for a throne, never begged for my affection, never demanded my obedience. You simply… were. And in that, I found not chains, but freedom.”

Your throat burned.

“You are the sea that has tested me, the storm I could not control. You are also the calm that steadies me. And so I vow to love you—not as duty, not as burden, but as my choice. Every day. In every way. Even when you drive me mad with your stubbornness. Even when you stab me in the ribs with your words.” 

His smile curved, small but boyish, “Even then, I will love you. Always.”

You tried to blink back tears, but failed. Your parents laughed as you took a moment to pause and look away, wiping your tears. Thankfully, Aglaea came to the rescue and wiped your tears away with a handkerchief so as not to ruin your makeup, Mydei tracing reassuring circles on your hand the whole time.

Then, it was your turn.

“I once thought marrying you would be my undoing,” you began, voice already thick with emotion, “that I would be just another pawn traded in council. That I would lose myself.” 

You glanced up at him—saw his lips press together, eyes glassy. He wasn’t as unreadable as he wanted to be. Not today.

“But instead, I found myself. I found the part of me that still laughs when you brood too much. The part of me that trusts someone else enough to share burdens. And so I vow this… to be the migraine in your skull, yes.”

The KD5 laughed and Aglaea rolled her eyes with fondness, “To stab anyone who dares wrong you, to never let you drown in silence, and to remind you that a king who forgets how to laugh has already lost his crown.”

The guests laughed softly, your siblings covering their mouths, even your father allowing the smallest smile.

But Hephaestion—he wailed. Loud, unashamed, snot dripping down his chin. Krateros jabbed an elbow into his ribs, but he only sobbed harder, clutching his chest. 

And for the first time in a long time, Mydei laughed freely in public. A sound deep and rich, shaking his shoulders.

When the laughter faded, his eyes lingered on you, softer now, dangerously full. If he was glassy-eyed before, now the dam had broken. His hand trembled slightly as he reached for yours.

The priest raised his voice, “By vows spoken, and hearts chosen, I bind you in the name of Mnestia. Fire and Sea, Prince and Princess, King and Queen. Two hearts made one.”

The world seemed to still as Mydei leaned forward, pressing his lips to yours. A kiss that was not fevered, not desperate, but sure.

And as the guests cheered, as Hephaestion collapsed into Phainon’s shoulder in a puddle of tears, looking at the two of you with pride and that blinding smile of his, as your father clapped with sharp, proud finality, one thought echoed in your head.

I'm happy.

…

If the wedding on the island had been intimate and reverent, the week that followed in Rhodes was anything but quiet.

The city became a festival. Lanterns strung from marble pillars glowed with warm firelight. Musicians played along the docks, flutes and drums blending with the crash of waves. Stalls overflowed with food and wine, gifts from merchants who owed their prosperity to your tireless work in trade. Nobles dined in the palace, but the true heart of the celebration thrummed in the streets—among the people.

It was tradition. A Rhoden wedding was never fully blessed until the bride danced before her people, unshackled from duty, joy spilling unrestrained.

Mydei knew this, and had heard whispers of it from Krateros and Phainon. But knowing was one thing. Witnessing it? Entirely another.

He stood at the edge of the crowd as the music rose to a fever pitch. The drums rattled, quick and playful, urging motion from every body packed in the square.

And then you stepped forward—veil gone, hair loose and shimmering in the lamplight.

The people erupted in cheers.

You smiled—radiant, unburdened—and for the first time Mydei realized he had never truly seen you like this. Not in the council chambers with your sharp words, not in the library with your quiet grief, not even in your most tender moments together.

Here, you were not princess, not strategist, not even queen. You were simply you.

Your bare feet struck the stone rhythmically, skirts swaying as you spun, arms raised to the music. Children darted into the circle, mimicking your movements, laughter spilling into the night. Merchants clapped along, soldiers stomped their boots. And you laughed—full-bodied, carefree, with no hesitation.

It hit him then, with the weight of a sword blow, I have yet to discover so many sides of her.

The thought knocked the air from his lungs. The world saw you as already fully-formed—the war strategist, the brilliant senator, the dutiful daughter, the bride. But here you were, showing another piece of yourself, one he hadn’t earned yet, hadn’t uncovered.

And oh Nikador, he wanted to.

He wanted to learn every shade of you—the laughter that rose like a tide, the grace in your step, the mischievous spark in your eye as you twirled to the beat. He wanted to know what other sides of you lay waiting, hidden in shadows, ready to bloom.

And then it struck him harder still, a realization that nearly staggered him where he stood.

She is my wife.

Not “the princess of Rhodes.” Not “the strategist of the council.” Not “the bride bound by prophecy.”

My wife.

The words sank deep into his chest, settling there with a strange, dizzying warmth. He had never thought himself capable of such a simple, devastating truth.

Across the circle, you caught his gaze. Breathless, cheeks flushed, hair damp with exertion—you smiled at him, wide and unguarded. A smile meant just for him, even in the sea of thousands.

Mydei’s breath hitched. His hand curled into a fist against his chest as though to steady the erratic beat beneath.

Phainon leaned lazily against a post nearby, catching the look on his prince’s face, and smirked. 

“Careful, Your Majesty,” he drawled, low enough for only Mydei to hear, “If you keep staring at her like that, people will start thinking you actually like your wife.”

Mydei’s jaw tightened, “Shut up, Deliverer.”

But his lips betrayed him, twitching upward, just slightly.

The music swelled, faster now, and the crowd shouted encouragement. You beckoned the circle wider, pulling women, men, even Ptolemy and Peucesta into the rhythm. 

Hephaestion went stumbling in, already crying again, attempting to mimic your graceful spins only to nearly collide with a fruit stand. The people roared with laughter.

And still, you danced.

By the time the song ended, your chest heaved, but your eyes glowed brighter than the lanterns overhead. You dipped into a bow before your people, who erupted into thunderous applause. Children scattered flower petals at your feet.

You rose, cheeks flushed, and met Mydei’s eyes once more across the sea of faces. He had never seen anything so beautiful—not the gold-plated halls of Kremnos, not the daybreak when he emerged from the Sea of Souls, not even the moment you had walked down the aisle toward him—scratch that, they're too close to compare.

This was joy.

This was you.

This was his wife.

When you returned to him, still catching your breath, you whispered, amused, “You’re staring~”

“I’m memorizing,” he said softly, voice hoarse.

Your brow arched, teasing, “What, so you can use it against me later?”

“No,” His fingers brushed the back of your hand, barely restrained, “so I never forget the first time I see you like this.”

And though your smile was playful, your heart tripped, because the weight in his voice promised he meant every word.

…

The celebration carried on long after the musicians should have collapsed from exhaustion. Rhodes pulsed with laughter, music, clinking cups. Lanterns swayed in the salty breeze, their light gilding the sea of happy faces that cheered for you both.

But you needed air.

When you leaned toward Mydei and murmured, “Come with me,” you hadn’t expected him to hesitate. 

His gaze flicked toward the nobles still vying for his attention, to the KD5 still drinking themselves into oblivion, to your father mid-toast. 

He was Crown Prince of Kremnos, soon King, newly wed, bound by duty to endure every congratulatory cheer.

Yet at the faint tug of your hand, he followed you without a word. (Whipped.)

The two of you slipped through the winding alleys away from the square, the noise of revelry fading until all that remained was the hush of waves. The path opened onto the shore, the moon hanging enormous over the water, the tide catching silver light.

For a while you said nothing. You only walked together, barefoot in the cool sand, fingers brushing but not fully entwined. The sea stretched endless and unbroken. Out here, away from the crowd, the weight of eyes and duty fell away.

Mydei finally broke the silence, “You looked… different tonight.”

You tilted your head at him, “Different?”

“On the square,” he said slowly, “dancing and laughing. As if nothing else existed but the music and your people. I’ve never seen you like that,” his lips curved faintly, but there was reverence in his voice. 

“You were radiant.”

Heat crept up your neck, but you masked it with a laugh, “Careful… Flattery will get you very far with me, husband.”

His eyes softened at the word—husband. He still wasn’t used to hearing it on your tongue. “Not flattery, dear wife,” he murmured, “just the truth.”

You paused, the sand cool beneath your toes, and turned fully toward him. He stood so close now, the tide brushing both your ankles. Moonlight carved sharp lines along his jaw, softened by the gentleness in his gaze.

Something inside you fluttered wildly.

“Just the truth?” you whispered.

He nodded once.

And you kissed him.

It began soft, a brush of lips testing, tasting. Then deeper, urgent, the kind of kiss born from a night of too much joy to contain. His hands slid to your waist, pulling you flush against him as if the ocean itself might steal you away. You melted into him, your fingers tangling in his hair, the salt-sweet air filling your lungs only when you broke for breath.

“Mydei,” you breathed against his mouth, your voice trembling between a laugh and a sigh.

He swallowed the sound with another kiss, one that stole your knees from beneath you. The world shrank to just his warmth, the sea at your backs, and the sand giving beneath your heels.

It was ridiculous—two rulers, married less than a day, kissing by the ocean like love-struck youths hiding from their chaperones. And yet you couldn’t stop. You didn’t want to.

Then a voice broke the spell.

“Well,” drawled Phainon from somewhere behind you, far too smug, “isn’t this precious.”

You froze. Mydei stiffened, pulling back with a murderous look.

Phainon leaned casually against a rock, arms folded, a grin stretching ear to ear, “Sorry to interrupt—”

“No, you’re not,” Mydei bit out.

“—but Aglaea’s looking for you,” Phainon finished, ignoring the venom entirely. “Something about your siblings wanting their sister before they throw a fit?”

His grin widened as his gaze flicked between your flushed face and Mydei’s scowl, raising both his hands up in surrender. 

“Don’t let me stop you, though. Truly. I’ll just… treasure the mental image forever. Our mighty king and queen making out like teenagers on the shore.”

You clapped a hand over your mouth to stifle a laugh, but it burst free anyway. Mydei groaned, dragging a hand over his face.

“Nikador curse you, Phainon,” he muttered.

“Too late,” Phainon replied cheerfully, “Already blessed, I think. This story’s going to keep me warm for years to come.”

You laughed harder, the sound carrying over the waves. Mydei glared at you half-heartedly, then sighed when he saw the joy in your expression. His hand slipped back into yours, squeezing lightly.

“Come,” you said between giggles, tugging him toward the path, “We should return before the kids really storm the docks.”

Mydei grumbled under his breath, but he let you lead.

And though Phainon followed a few paces behind, whistling far too innocently, Mydei’s thumb brushed over your knuckles, grounding you in the quiet promise that, even in interruptions and laughter, this night—your first night as husband and wife—was yours.

…

The dawn of the seventh day came too quickly.

Rhodes was still awake from the celebrations, though the lanterns that had burned bright through the night now guttered against the sea breeze. The square had emptied into the harbor, where the royal ships waited with sails already unfurled. The people pressed forward in clusters, their eyes rimmed red from drink or from grief—it was hard to tell which.

You stood at the docks, hand still laced with Mydei’s, though you were barely aware of it. The ache in your chest was too heavy, too consuming. The salt in the air mingled with the sting in your eyes.

“Princess,” a woman called from the crowd, her voice cracking, “Don’t forget us!”

“We’ll miss you!” another shouted.

Your throat closed, but you forced yourself to smile, lifting your free hand in a wave, “I will never forget Rhodes,” you said, loud enough to carry across the docks. 

“This is my home—always. And I promise, I will return. To my people, to my siblings, to you all. You are my heart.”

The cheers that rose in answer were wet and fractured.

Your younger brother was the first to reach you, trying so hard to look composed though he was trembling. He clasped your forearms, not daring to embrace you too tightly. “Don’t let them do anything bad to you,” he said fiercely, eyes darting toward the Kremnoan soldiers lined on the deck.

You laughed wetly, “I’ll let them do nothing but what we decide,” you leaned down to press your forehead against his, “Grow into the man Rhodes needs, little brother. And keep our sisters safe.”

Your sisters hurled themselves into your skirts before you could finish speaking, sobbing so hard you thought your own chest might split. Mydei quietly released your hand, letting you gather both girls up in both arms.

“Hush, little one,” you whispered, rocking them, “I’m not gone forever. I’ll write to you every month. I’ll tell you about every flower in Kremnos, every star I see from its mountains.”

“And when I marry,” your other sister hiccuped, “you’ll come back?”

Tears pricked sharp behind your eyes. You brushed her hair away and kissed her damp cheek. “I will come back. I swear it.”

Your father stood behind them, silent until now. His eyes held no tears, but pride, and a grief older than stone, “Daughter.”

You turned, bracing for reproach, but instead he pulled you in, an embrace strong and grounding. Your mother watching with fondness from beside you both.

“I thought you would choose duty before your heart,” he murmured against your temple, “But you chose both. You chose well. I am proud of you.”

Your breath caught. You had wanted to hear those words all your life. You clung to him until Mydei’s shadow fell close again.

The shift in your father’s gaze was almost imperceptible, but he inclined his head toward Mydei, “See that you take care of her.”

“I swear it,” Mydei said simply. His voice carried the kind of weight that needed no embellishment.

And then there was Aglaea.

She waited until the others stepped aside, her arms crossed, her jaw set. For a heartbeat, it was as if you were children again, plotting mischief under temple steps. Then her face crumpled.

“Don’t you dare forget us, Princess,” she said, her voice breaking, “I expect letters every fortnight, every detail. And if you even think of forgetting, I will sail to Kremnos myself and wring your neck in front of your husband.”

You laughed, then sobbed all in one breath, flinging yourself into her arms, “You’d do it too,” you whispered against her shoulder.

“Of course I would,” Aglaea sniffed. “I adore you too much not to.”

When at last you boarded the ship, the people’s voices rose in one wave of sound—cheers, cries, farewells shouted across the water. You stood at the stern beside Mydei, your siblings clutching each other on the dock, Aglaea raising her fist in stubborn pride, your father and mother with their chins high.

You lifted your hand again, the wind whipping your hair into your face, waving goodbye as the oars dipped and the ship slid away from the dock.

The harbor blurred, first by distance, then by your tears, and your husband held you as you did.

…

The KD5 were sprawled across the deck, still recovering from too much wine the night before. Hephaestion was asleep against a barrel, muttering in his dreams. Perdikkas and Phainon leaned against the railing, bickering over whose head hurt worse.

You sat with Mydei near the stern, the sea foaming behind you. For once, there was quiet.

He watched you for a long moment before speaking. “You love them more fiercely than I realized.”

“They are all I’ve ever known,” you murmured.

You looked at him then, truly looked, and felt the sea rush louder in your ears, “I didn’t leave them. I never can, so I carried them with me.”

Something flickered in his expression—something that broke and mended all at once. He leaned in, his voice low, “Then I vow again, here on this sea, before gods and men, I will carry you. Always.”

The words lodged deep in your chest, an anchor and a promise both.

…

The first sound you heard was the drums.

Long before the cliffs of Castrum Kremnos appeared, their rhythm carried over the waves, deep and resonant, rattling through the wood of the ship. Boom. Boom. Boom. The call of the people welcoming their king and queen.

When at last the mountains broke the horizon, you saw banners whipping in the wind—deep crimson and gold, the lion crest blazing. The harbor was overflowing with citizens, the drums thundered from the ramparts, and the air itself seemed to quake with it.

Beside you, Mydei stood taller, his hand still in yours, his gaze fixed forward.

A new beginning.

And you? You clutched his hand tighter, your heart split between what you had left behind and what waited ahead.

…

The celebrations in Castrum Kremnos could not have been more different from those in Rhodes. 

Where Rhodes had been warmth, laughter, and the easy closeness of family, Kremnos was grandeur—designed to impress both the people and the gods. For ten days, the kingdom thrummed with life.

Each morning began with processions, lines of soldiers in crimson and gold marching through the streets, shields flashing in the sun as horns blared and drums beat like thunder. 

Citizens threw laurel and wildflowers from their balconies, chanting the names of their new king and queen until the mountain air rang with it.

Feasts followed at dusk, the great halls of the palace overflowing with roasted lamb, olives, figs, and amphorae of wine. Long tables spilled with nobles and warriors alike, while dancers and singers performed songs of old Kremnos—tales of lion-hearted kings and battles won. 

Mydei, seated at your side, often leaned close to translate the words, his voice curling warm in your ear, while elders nodded approvingly at the sight of their king and queen so joined.

And on the third night, the sacred games were held in your honor. Athletes wrestled, raced, and threw javelins before crowds who roared as though the gods themselves were watching. 

Phainon, of course, competed and earned no small amount of teasing from Mydei when he was defeated in the semifinals.

…

The hall of Kremnos blazed with celebration—lyres strummed, goblets clinked, and courtiers toasted the long-awaited union between war and sea. Flowers garlanded the stone pillars, golden wine poured like rivers, and laughter roared from every corner.

You sat beside Mydei at the head table, your hand resting lightly in his, both of you wearing the practiced ease of two people who had stopped pretending and simply… were. He hadn’t left your side once, his presence at your elbow steady as breath.

But in the tide of merriment, venom always found a way to seep in.

At the far end of the table, a Kremnoan noble leaned too close to his companions, voice lowered but not enough to escape Mydei’s ear.

“Rhodes is weak in arms. No wonder they bound their daughter to us, they had no choice but to crawl into Kremnos’ shadow.”

Mydei’s grip on your hand tightened fractionally. He glanced at you, searching, but you only raised your brows in cool amusement and sipped your wine as though you hadn’t heard a thing. Not a flicker of hurt touched your face.

The insult didn’t wound you, didn't even nick you—but it seared him.

Mydei rose without hurry, the scrape of his chair cutting through the noise like a blade. The noble froze as the crown prince—no, the king now—fixed him with a stare cold enough to peel skin from bone (get it? cuz he's a lion? no? okay bye).

“Careful,” Mydei said, his voice low but carrying over the hall, silencing the nearest tables, “insulting her is insulting me, and I would choose my words wisely on a night the gods themselves witness.”

The noble swallowed hard, but Mydei stepped closer, gaze burning.

“And let me remind you, while you sat fat on your estates, it was Rhodes that saved our economy. She,” his gaze flicked to you with a spark of pride, “is the reason Kremnos prospers.”

“Kremnos stands strong because of Rhodes. Because of her. It was her hand that pulled our coffers back from ruin, her mind that safeguarded your children’s future. The bread you eat tonight, the wine you drown yourself in—you have her to thank for it.”

The court went still, the music faltering mid-note.

You tilted your head with a dangerous smile, eyes narrowing faintly, “Your name, my lord?”

The noble stammered it out, trembling as you only regarded him like a puzzle piece you had already decided didn’t fit. You nodded once, the gesture quiet, decisive.

The feast moved on, laughter and music returning in cautious waves. But in the days that followed, it was whispered that the noble had been stripped of title and land, his silks replaced with roughspun linen, his days spent toiling under the Kremnoan sun.

The message was clear.

Rhodes was no shadow. Rhodes was his queen.

And in Kremnos, none would ever dare forget it.

…

The sacred bath house of Castrum Kremnos had always felt unbearably heavy to you. The air seemed to cling to the skin, steam rising from the great stone basins carved with the sun and lions, walls echoing with faint hymns sung ages ago. 

You remembered the last time you stood here—how you’d nearly collapsed from heat and shame, unable to reconcile the intimacy of Mydei’s presence in such a holy place.

But now… now you walked in as his wife.

The wedding celebrations had been packed with endless feasts, dances, and rituals. Every hour, someone wanted to look upon the newly wedded King and Queen, to toast to your union, to marvel at a prophecy fulfilled. 

And though your smile never faltered, you had longed for quiet. 

For a moment where you weren’t a bride or queen, only yourself.

This time, the sacred baths were meant for purification after the wedding rites, a cleansing of the body and soul together before stepping into the life of marriage. At least, that’s what the priests had said with solemn faces.

But as you let the sheer robe slip from your shoulders—leaving you in a translucent bathing gown, and as you step into the warm pool with a hiss of breath, you felt anything but pure, memories of the last time you were haunting you.

The hot water lapped gently at your waist. You let your head fall back against the edge, closing your eyes, trying to breathe in the steam and let it ease the ache in your bones.

That peace shattered with the sound of a low chuckle.

“You prayed like that last time too.” Mydei’s voice cut through the mist, smooth and warm, almost mocking. “Did it help then?”

Your eyes snapped open, and there he was—already in getting into the water, steam rising off his bare shoulders, golden hair damp, droplets trailing down the sharp line of his throat. He looked less like a king and more like some untouchable god carved into marble, stepping down from the sky to ruin you.

“Mydei!” You hissed and splashed water at him instinctively, flustered beyond belief and sank deeper into the water, submerging your shoulders.

“This is a sacred place. Will you never behave?”

His grin widened as he waded closer, the water swirling around him, “Sacred? Perhaps… but nothing is more sacred to me than you.”

Your breath caught. He said it so simply, as if it were truth carved into stone, not some wicked line meant to undo you.

“You—” You stammered, floundering back a step into the water, “You can’t say things like that here.”

“And why not?” His tone dipped lower, huskier, carrying that dangerous warmth that always made your stomach twist. He was close now, too close, the steam blurring everything but him. 

“The gods bore witness to our vows. Why should they be shocked to see me keeping them?”

Your pulse stuttered, “This… isn’t— this isn’t what they meant!”

“No?” His hand slid through the water, fingers brushing against your wrist before catching it, tugging you toward him. You stumbled, colliding against the solid heat of his chest.

“Mydei—” You whispered, voice breaking, “We shouldn’t—”

“But you want to.” He bent, his lips grazing your ear, every word sinking into your skin like fire. “Don’t you?”

You squeezed your eyes shut. The worst part was that he was right. Every nerve screamed for him, every inch of you ached with the need to stop running. And still—you whispered, trembling, “This is madness. Someone will probably come in—”

“Let them.” He tilted your chin up with infuriating gentleness, golden eyes molten with something that burned far deeper than lust. 

You hated him. You hated the way he made the air feel heavier than the steam itself, how your body betrayed you every time his voice softened into reverence. You hated that no matter how tightly you gripped your composure, it slipped through your fingers the moment he touched you.

And gods help you, you hated that you wanted it.

“Mydei,” you whispered again, the word breaking on your lips like a prayer you weren’t sure you should speak.

He grinned as if he’d won a war, “Say it again.”

“No.”

“Yes.” He leaned closer, his nose brushing yours, his hand cupping your jaw with infuriating tenderness. “Say my name the way you just did. Like it’s not your king you’re speaking to, but your husband. Your heart.”

You swallowed hard, pulse thrumming in your ears, pushing his face away with your palm, both to get him away and to shield your burning face, “You’re insufferable.”

“And you’re trembling,” He caught your hand and his thumb traced along your palm, “And I know it's not from the heat.”

Your retort died in your throat when he bent and pressed his lips to your cheek, a whisper of a kiss, reverent and fleeting. Then another, lower, at the corner of your mouth. Another, ghosting across your jaw. His restraint made it unbearable—like he was savoring the wait, drawing you out until you broke first.

“You’re so cruel,” you gasped, clutching the edge of his shoulders like a lifeline as your eyes shut close.

He laughed, low and rich, vibrating against your skin. “Cruel? Sweetheart, I am merciful. You have no idea how long I’ve wanted this. Do you think I don’t remember the way you looked at me that night here? How you burned, and tried to hide it behind duty and honor?” His words dripped against your skin like molten honey, searing and sweet. 

“Tell me you haven't thought of me since then. Tell me you didn’t want this as well.”

Your breath hitched. The truth hovered at the edge of your tongue—dangerous, damning. But his gaze held you captive, and suddenly you couldn’t lie. 

Not to him, never to him.

“I did,” you whispered, trembling. “I wanted it.”

He exhaled sharply, as if your admission had undone him. Then, with a grin that was half-relief, half-victory, he murmured, “Then shame be damned.”

And then he kissed you.

The world dissolved into steam and heat and water lapping around your waist. His mouth was hot and unyielding against yours, yet softened by the way his hands cradled you, one at your back, one at the nape of your neck. 

He kissed like a man who had waited too long, like someone both terrified and grateful that this moment was real.

You broke first, gasping against his lips, “Mydei—this is the sacred bath—”

He pulled back just enough to look at you, eyes dark, lips swollen. “Why should a king feel shame in wanting his wife?” His smirk turned razor-sharp, cocky, but his thumb brushed your cheek with devastating gentleness. “In wanting you?”

Your knees weakened beneath the weight of his words.

He didn’t give you time to answer. Instead, he backed you up gently, pressing you toward the carved stone edge of the pool, your palms braced against the cool surface behind you. His chest pressed to yours, solid, burning, his breath hot against your ear.

“Mydei,” you said again, though this time it came out softer, needier, betraying you.

“Mm.” He hummed, lips tracing the line of your neck. “That’s better. That’s the way I like hearing it.”

Your heart stuttered violently as his hand slid around your waist, holding you against him. The steam curled around you like a curtain, like the gods themselves were shielding their eyes.

Still, some last thread of composure made you whisper, trembling, “Have you no shame?”

He chuckled, low and dark, the sound rumbling into your spine as he kissed just beneath your ear. “Not when it comes to you. Never.”

His words sank into your skin hotter than the water ever could, lodging deep, clawing at the last of your composure.

You wanted to tell him to stop. You wanted to tell him to go on.

The worst part? You didn’t know which one you meant more.

“Mydei…” Your whisper broke like glass as his lips brushed lower down your neck, as if every syllable of his name was a tether you had no strength to pull taut.

“Do you hear yourself?” His voice was velvet, low and coaxing, a whisper meant for you alone. “You say my name like it belongs to you. And it does.” His mouth pressed against the fluttering pulse at your throat, sealing the claim with heat and a mark. “It always has.”

Your grip on the stone edge trembled. “Stop saying things like that—”

“Why?” His teeth grazed lightly at your neck, not biting, just teasing. “Because it makes your heart race? Because it makes you want me more?”

A strangled sound escaped your lips before you could stop it, equal parts protest and need.

He smirked against your skin, victorious, “That’s it. That’s what I wanted to hear.”

The water lapped as he shifted closer, molding to your back. His hand traced a slow path from your waist up your ribs, featherlight but devastating, until his palm rested just below your racing heart. The pressure was steady, grounding, as if to remind you he could feel everything you were trying to hide.

“Do you think I don’t know?” His words burned against the shell of your ear. “Do you think I haven’t noticed the way you look at me when you think I’m not watching? The way you bite your lip when I’m too close?”

You bit your tongue, hard, to keep yourself from crying out, from confirming what you swore you’d never confess. But silence only seemed to feed him.

“Your silence is an answer too, sweetheart,” his laugh was soft, smug, maddeningly assured.

And then his hand left your chest only to press down against your hips, gently pushing you back against the stone ledge, flush and unyielding. The steam thickened, your knees buckling under the combined weight of heat and desire.

“Mydei—”

“I’ll stop,” he murmured, breath hot and ragged as if the restraint cost him everything, “if you want me to stop, I will.”

The worst part? You believed him. You knew he would stop. You knew he would let go, step back, and let you breathe again.

But you didn’t want him to.

Your lips trembled, your body taut between surrender and defiance. And though your voice was quiet, it came out cracked with truth.

“…Don’t.”

That was all it took.

The man in front of you stilled for half a breath, as if anchoring himself to your word, memorizing it, branding it into his chest. Then he exhaled, slow and dangerous, like a predator who had finally been freed from his cage.

“Say it again.”

“Don’t stop,” you pleaded, this time stronger, shakier, yet certain.

He groaned—half relief, half hunger—and kissed the side of your neck, firm and claiming, “Titans, you’ll ruin me.”

Slowly, Mydei peppered kisses from your jaw, trailing down to your shoulders until it reached your chest, reaching the hem of your bathing dress.

He tugged the knot loose at your back, unspooling the ties of your dress. The fabric slipped against your skin, heavy and wet, baring your shoulders inch by inch until you were completely bared before him. 

You shuddered, not from the coolness but from the sheer intimacy of it—every inch revealed beneath his gaze felt less like exposure and more like worship.

He kissed along the path of your collarbone, deliberately slow, lips searing and wet against the coolness of water, “Do you know how long I’ve thought of this?”

You swallowed hard, “Stop talking.”

“Can’t.” His teeth nipped at your shoulder, “Not when it’s you.”

Your eyes fluttered shut. His words, his touch, his certainty—everything was undoing you all at once.

“You twist everything I say,” you managed through clenched teeth, though your body betrayed you, arching toward him.

“You make it too easy,” he whispered, before catching your bottom lip between his teeth in a kiss that drowned you.

The water sloshed gently against your bodies, the sound mingling with your stuttered breaths. His mouth was hot, demanding but careful, his tongue coaxing yours into surrender. You moaned before you could stop yourself, the sound echoing off the marble.

Mydei pulled back, smirk faint, eyes dark, “Beautiful.”

You shook your head quickly, cheeks burning, “You’re insufferable.”

“You’ve said that already,” His hand slid lower under the water, parting your thighs with an ease that left your pulse stuttering, “say something new.”

“I’m—”

“I heard ‘don’t’ earlier,” he murmured, lips brushing down, down, scattering kisses and marks across your sternum, “But never ‘stop.’”

You bit your lip so hard it almost hurt, clutching the stone behind you until your knuckles whitened. The steam wrapped you both in a cocoon, muffling the outside world. The feeling was heady, dizzying even.

It was only him. Only the heat of his mouth against your neck, the insistent press of his hands, and the wild hammering of your heart. 

And somehow that made your head spin worse, the feeling of being consumed through kisses, the feeling of his touch on your skin, the feeling of him.

Your now-king sank lower in the water, lips trailing beneath the surface, licking down your chest, nosing your abdomen until you gasped, arching.

“Mydei!”

“Hmm?” His voice was muffled, amused, vibrating against your skin.

“This is—this is sacred—”

He paused to flit his eyes up at you, then, “So am I,” he whispers as his shoulders disappear beneath the water.

And then—

Titans above.

You choked on a gasp, your body jolting as his mouth pressed between your thighs. His tongue teased, slow at first, reverent, as though he was memorizing the taste of you. His hands gripped your hips, keeping you steady, keeping you from floating away from the sheer shock of it.

“‘Dei—”

“Shhh…” his lips moved against you, tongue sliding with devastating precision, “Let me.”

You couldn’t breathe properly again. The steam. His mouth. The coil tightening in your stomach. The water felt cool in contrast to his tongue swiping against your slit.

Your nails scraped against the marble as if you could anchor yourself to the earth while he dismantled you piece by piece.

Each flick of his tongue, each slow drag, each hum sent sparks through your body. You whimpered, the sound echoing embarrassingly loud, and you covered your mouth with a shaking hand.

He looked up at you then, eyes blazing through the water, the sight of his golden hair slicking back and his mouth pressed to you making you clench harder around nothing. His smirk was wicked even here. He pulled away just enough to murmur, “Breathe. Don’t hide from me.”

And then he slid a finger inside you.

The intrusion made you cry out, your hand slamming against the stone edge as your body arched violently. The stretch burned, sweet and sharp, with him adding another finger, curling expertly until you saw stars behind your closed lids.

“Titans—Mydei—mmh…”

“That’s it,” His lips returned to you, tongue circling, sucking that bundle of nerves, matching the rhythm of his fingers curling deep inside you, “Say my name.”

You tried to stifle it, you really did, but the sounds tore out of you helplessly—his name, your moans, pleas you couldn’t shape into words.

“Mydei, please—mmh… I can't…”

“Too much?” he whispered against you, there was concern in his tone as he slowed for a moment, though his smirk betrayed the answer he already knew.

“Don’t—ah! Don’t stop,” you gasped, your voice breaking into a sob.

“Good girl,” he praised softly, mouth still on you, the hum of his words adding to the sensation of his fingers working faster now, his mouth equally as merciless, “that’s it. Let go.”

The knot in your stomach snapped, pleasure crashing over you in blinding waves. You cried out his name, body trembling, thighs clenching around his head as the orgasm ripped through you.

He didn’t stop until you were gasping again, shoving weakly at his shoulders. Only then did he pull back, kissing your inner thigh reverently before rising to meet you.

You collapsed against him, trembling violently. He caught you with ease, his arms wrapping around you, pulling you against his chest.

“Bastard,” you whispered, voice broken and hoarse, forehead pressed to his damp skin.

He chuckled low, kissing the crown of your head. “I think that’s sacred enough, like you said. And I meant it. You are.”

You whimpered again, burying your face into his neck. He stroked your hair with uncharacteristic gentleness, rocking you slightly in the water as if to soothe you through the aftershocks.

“I’ll worship you again and again,” he murmured. “Here, in this sacred place, and anywhere else you’ll let me.”

You let out a shaky laugh, though your cheeks burned. “You’re insatiable.”

“And you’re mine,” he said softly, with a certainty that left no room for argument.

You didn’t try to argue. Not this time.

Wrapped in his arms, trembling but safe, you closed your eyes and let yourself believe him.

You didn’t realize when your grip slipped from the edge of the tub, only that Mydei caught your wrists before you fell forward. He lifted you then, and braced you against the slick stone wall of the sacred bath, his chest pressed flush against yours.

Steam clung to your lashes. You could hardly breathe again.

“Mydei—” you gasped, twisting as if you could escape—though your trembling legs betrayed you, holding you in place, “Wait— Dei… we really shouldn't do any more, we're—”

His laugh was dark and low, the sound rumbling against your back, “Again with the sacred labels,” his hands slid down your arms, caging you against the stone, pinning you without force. 

“Haven’t I already told you that I have no care if they hear us or not? That you're much more sacred than this old bath?”

His hands trail from your breast down to your hips, flexing his palms as he squeezes the skin that spills between his fingers.

“Won't you let your husband worship his wife?”

“I—ngh…” The word fractured, caught on a sob of pleasure when his hips slotted in between yours, spreading you open and guiding you into the water’s current with the slowest, laziest grind.

“You tremble every time I touch you,” he whispered against your ear, lips brushing damp strands of hair, “You beg me with your silence and yet you keep pretending you don’t crave this.”

Your nails scraped against the stone wall, then shifted to his arms. The words clawed out of your throat, broken, desperate, “Please…”

“Please what, sweetheart?” his voice was velvet and iron, coaxing and commanding all at once, “Say it.”

“Tell me what you want from me.”

Every nerve in your body screamed with denial and yearning. But when he trailed soft kisses down your shoulder, when his hands settled on your hips to steady you as though you were the most fragile thing in existence, when you could feel the evidence of his want against your thighs, you shattered.

“…Please, don’t stop.”

And that was all he needed.

With a groan muffled into your skin, he aligned himself against you, slipping in inch by inch with ease, his chest hot and broad against yours, with the both of you sighing out in relief as finally he bottomed out, as if this was something you both waited your whole lives for.

His mouth left open and wet kisses against the side of your neck, giving you time to adjust to his size. When he saw the slight nudge of your hips against his, he began to move.

His movements were measured at first, rocking your hips forward into the stone edge, the water sloshing softly around you both.

You bit your lip to keep from crying out. He noticed. Of course he noticed.

“Don’t hold back,” he murmured, voice ragged now, unraveling with each shallow thrust, “Not from me. Never from me. Never again.”

Your nails scraped at the slick stone beneath you, seeking something solid as if you might be swept away by him, by the water, by the sheer intensity of his presence. His words clung to you like heat, each thrust punctuated with his voice echoing in the chamber, ragged and near breaking.

It didn't take long for the pressure to coil so tight you could hardly breathe, and then— it snapped.

“Ah—! Mydei—!” The cry burst from you, raw and high, your body shuddering violently as waves of release rolled through you. Your legs trembled, every muscle tightening, your lips parting in moans you could no longer bite back.

He groaned, the sound torn from deep in his chest. His face scrunched up in pleasure as he feels you pulse against him through your orgasm. His name left your lips again and again, broken, reverent, as though it was all you knew.

“You feel so good,” he rasped, forehead falling against yours, breath hot and uneven. His mouth caught yours in a kiss that was more teeth than grace, desperate, unrestrained, swallowing every whimper, every gasp that escaped you.

You pulled back only when air forced you to, lips swollen, breaths mingling between you. He looked undone—hair damp and plastered to his temples, his eyes burning so fiercely that you couldn’t hold his gaze without feeling like you were being consumed whole.

“Don’t stop,” you whispered, still trembling, still riding the aftershocks. Your voice cracked on the plea.

He gave a breathless, humorless laugh, “Wasn’t planning to.”

And then he shifted.

The loss of him inside you made you whine softly in protest, only to be startled when he lifted you with careful strength, turning your body forward until your chest pressed against the slick, cool stone lip of the pool. The shift made water splash lightly around you, steam curling higher in the sacred air.

“Mydei—?” you gasped, arms bracing against the stone. Your heart raced, anticipation twisting low in your stomach.

He leaned in, lips brushing your ear as he pressed himself against your back, his hips guiding forward until you felt him poised at your entrance again, “Trust me,” he murmured, voice deep, hungry.

And then he pushed in, slow at first, filling you so completely that your cry echoed against the bath’s marble walls.

“Mmh—ahh—!”

Your arms buckled, forehead falling against the stone. The angle was sharper, deeper, every movement rocking you against the pool’s edge. Water lapped wildly around you both, the rhythm of his hips sending waves against your trembling thighs.

One hand gripped your hip, firm and unyielding. The other slid low across your belly, circling possessively, pulling you back to meet every thrust. 

You felt… claimed, grounded, as if without his grip you’d float away, lost in the tide of pleasure he was dragging you under. His teeth grazing your shoulder, biting down just enough to make you gasp. His groans were strained but steady, each sound driven deep. 

You shivered, lips parting helplessly, “Ah—ahh! Mydei… please—!”

“Please what?” His thrusts grew harder, his control fraying, “Tell me.”

“I—ngh—I can’t—!” Your nails dug into the stone, your body unraveling again under him, tears stinging the corners of your eyes from the intensity, “It’s too much—mmh—!”

His laugh was low, breathless, vibrating against your skin as his lips dragged down your spine, “Then let it be too much.”

You cried out again, higher this time, unable to hold it back. Your voice rang out in the mist-filled chamber, moans breaking into gasps as he drove you closer to that edge again.

The water rocked with you, the rhythm relentless, unstoppable, the sacred bath itself echoing the sounds of your union—splashes, ragged breaths, your whimpers, his groans, blending into a symphony only the two of you could create.

His hand trailed up from your belly to your chest, pulling you back against him, arching you into his thrusts. His mouth found the damp curve of your throat, kissing, biting, claiming.

“Say my name,” he demanded, his voice frayed and desperate.

“Dei—ahh—Mydei!” You whimpered it without shame, surrendering, every sound ripped from your chest echoing through the holy space that had once felt untouchable. Now it belongs to you both.

“Good,” he breathed, almost broken in his praise, “Every sound… every shiver… it’s mine.”

One hand left your hip to circle low across your belly, pulling you back into him, holding you steady as if you might drown in the water without his grip. 

“You feel that?” he rasped, teeth grazing your shoulder. “The way you melt for me? That’s not duty. That’s not honor. That’s us. That's me.”

“‘Dei—close! Hnn…” His name came out of your mouth, strangled, broken, but laced with a sweetness that made him groan into your skin. The steam of the bath clouded your head, bringing you closer and closer to the edge as Mydei pounded into you.

His lips peppered frantic kisses against your damp shoulder, the back of your neck, anywhere he could reach, “I’ve got you. Titans, I’ve got you. Let go, dove, let me hear you.”

You shattered then, your body seizing in his arms, your cry tearing through the steam-thick air. Your walls clenched around him, dragging a groan from his lips so raw it almost broke you all over again.

Burying his face against your neck as he gasped your name like a prayer, clinging to you as if you were the only anchor in his storm.

“Titans—ngh—” His hips stuttered, his rhythm faltering as he thrusted deeper into you, every muscle trembling with the effort to hold on just a little longer.

He didn’t let go. Not yet. His arms circled you tighter, anchoring you as your trembling form collapsed back against his chest, water lapping around your spent body.

“You’re mine,” he whispered against your ear, lips trembling, “in this bath, in this life, in every one after. Mine.”

Your chest heaved, tears slipping down your cheeks—not from sadness, not from fear, but from the unbearable weight of being loved like this, of being claimed like this. You turn your head, lips brushing his cheek, your voice breaking as you whispered back—

“Yours.”

He came with a sound you think will forever brand itself into your brain, a needy groan that pitches higher as he buries himself in you for the last time, his breaths hot against your neck as you give him a moan of your own.

The world steadied only when he smiled and whispered praises against your ear, soft and unguarded.

“You did so well for me. I love you, going to take good care of you now. Don't worry about a thing, dearest.”

His voice fades towards the end as you let sleep claim you, too exhausted to even give him a response.

Only Nikador knows how he explained getting out of the bath with you passed out in his arms to the priests outside the building.

…

The palace of Kremnos had not felt this alive in years. The wedding celebrations had stretched on in a haze of music and feasts, but it wasn’t the festivals that caught people’s attention. 

It was the two of you.

In the study, where Mydei had once worked alone, your presence had now become a fixture. While he sat at his desk with scrolls and correspondence, you curled up on the chaise with a book, silk skirts spilling around you. 

When something catches your interest, you read it aloud. His quill would still, his head tilting, and before long he’d cross the room to take the book from your hands, finishing the passage in his deep voice.

Krateros, delivering reports, stopped in the doorway more than once, heart tugging as if he were intruding on something sacred. 

The way they exist in the same space, he thinks, like two flames feeding the same fire.

At meals, the gestures were so fluid you both barely seemed aware of them. Mydei slid a cut of roasted meat onto your plate without breaking conversation, while you absentmindedly set peeled fruit by the side of his plate. 

Phainon nearly spat his drink the first time he caught it and the KD5 muttered amongst themselves like gamblers at a race, betting and exchanging money.

“They’ve been married a week and it looks like decades,” Hephaestion whispered, earning muffled laughter.

The court whispered too, watching you walk the halls. Somehow your strides matched, always, shoulders brushing, and when your hands brushed as well, neither of you flinched.

Guards noticed, servants noticed, everyone noticed.

And when an elder at council droned about whether Rhodes’s supply was strong enough to “properly complement” Kremnos, Mydei only arched a brow. 

You smirked, and that was enough. 

No words passed between you, but the silence cut sharper than a sword as the council shifted uncomfortably, aware they had just been roasted in complete silence by their king and queen. Again.

But perhaps most telling were the unconscious protections, the small touches. 

If a courtier moved too quickly toward you, Mydei stepped half a pace ahead, his presence shadowing yours without thought. 

Or when, before a banquet, you reached to smooth his cloak across his shoulder, fingers brushing the line of his hair. The sight made the KD5 howl with glee. 

That’s not just a queen, Phainon thought, That’s his anchor.

By the time the first week of festivities waned, the palace had reached its conclusion: Rhodes and Kremnos were no longer two kingdoms bound by necessity. They were bound by something far sturdier, far more terrifying.

…

The private training grounds were alive with the ring of steel and the bark of orders with dust rising under boots. 

It was always a spectacle when the KD5 trained with each other, but today there was a hum in the air—a sharper focus, a tighter edge—because their king had stripped down to spar with Prince Phainon of Okhema.

You walked in at Krateros’s side, the sun catching the rich red folds of your dress. The moment the soldiers saw you, spines snapped straighter. A ripple of bows followed, but your attention was on the sparring circle where Mydei and Phainon clashed, wooden blades striking so hard that sparks might as well have flown.

Krateros was already muttering numbers beside you, pressing a scroll into your hand, “Three garrisons are overfed, one is under-supplied, and the outpost at Thalassia—”

“Drains more than it feeds,” you finished for him, eyes narrowing in thought, still watching the two spar, “pull from its trade routes. Rhodes merchants can reroute the grain north, and that alone funds two more legions.”

Krateros blinked, scratching his beard, “In a single adjustment?”

You tilted your head to look at him as you smirked faintly, “Why else do you keep me around, Lord Krateros?”

A roar snapped your attention back to the field. Mydei had twisted Phainon’s blade out of his hand, spun behind him, and sent him sprawling hard onto the packed dirt. Dust billowed around them as the king planted his wooden sword firmly at Phainon’s neck.

The soldiers cheered, but you only tilted your head, sharp eyes following the movements, “He left his left side open, Phainon,” you called out.

“Next time, if you strike low, you’ll force him to turn his shoulder and lose momentum. His stance is all power, not speed.”

Phainon wheezed from the ground, laughter caught in his chest, “Kephale save me, you’re even worse than him.”

But Mydei was already moving, crossing the field toward you with long strides. His face was flushed from the fight, strands of hair sticking to his temple, but his grin was wolfish.

“You,” he said, stopping close enough that the dust still clung to his skin between you, “are not supposed to be giving away my weaknesses.”

You blinked up at him, feigning innocence with a smirk, “What, afraid your men might actually beat you one day?”

He put a finger under your chin and titled it up before leaning in, stealing a kiss that silenced you before you could retort. It wasn’t long, just a press of lips that sent a ripple of shock through the training grounds, but it was enough to make every soldier in the vicinity tease their king like elementary students.

He pulled back, still smiling like the cat who caught the bird, “Don’t tell him how to beat me,” he murmured in a low voice just for you, “He’ll only get cockier.”

“Or what?” you teased, eyes dancing as you tilted your chin up, “You’ll call me a HKS?”

Mydei froze, brows knitted together, “…Who taught you that?”

In all the time he's been with you, Mydei had been careful not to curse, never saying anything that could teach you any profanities from Kremnos. 

It seems as though someone had taught you, he thinks as he squints at the KD5.

Before you could answer, Hephaestion let out the loudest laugh you’d ever heard, practically doubling over as he slapped his knee, “By the gods—look at his face! She got you, Mydei!”

Phainon laughed too, from where he was sitting on the dirt, “Oh, he's gonna hate that.” 

The KD5 roared with laughter around him, the entire spar devolving into chaos.

And through it all, Mydei’s gaze didn’t leave you—bright, fond, like you’d just declared yourself his equal in front of the entire army.

Then, he hooks a hand under your knees and hauls you into his arms, making you squeal in surprise.

“Mydei! You're dusty and sweaty! Put me down!”

“Nope, you're coming with me,” he says as he starts to walk away from the training arena.

Hastily, you use his shoulder and prop yourself to wave goodbye at your friends, with them waving back with amused faces.

“Lord Krateros, send me the approved scroll after!” You yell and he simply nods, shaking his head.

When you finish your farewells (you'll literally see them at dinner later), you sink back into your husband's arms with a satisfied sigh.

You look up at him, strands of hair still sticking to his neck, which you pick away at, “Soo, Dear King, where are we going?” 

“A bath, Dear Queen.”

“Uh-huh, you need it, stinky.”

He raises an eyebrow at this, “Oh yeah? Well, you're coming, as well, stinky #2.”

You scrunch your nose at that, “You're the one who made me stinky! I'm sticky from your sweat as well, ew…”

Mydei forms a knowing smirk on his face. 

“I can make you a different type of sticky, if you'd like?”

Your face burns in hot embarrassment and shame as you hit his chest, the mere mortification of someone being able to hear what he was saying fizzing you up.

“Shameless, insufferable, stupid,” you mutter as you keep hitting his chest.

The king's laughter echoes throughout the halls.

“So?” he asks after your fists stop assaulting his body, “What about it?

You, still red in the face, look away when his eyes meet yours expectantly, staying silent for a few moments as you wait for your voice to be trusted once again.

“You better clean me up after…” you murmur and he noses your cheek with a kiss.

“Always.”

masterlist.

usagi's note: and so this ends. at first i was really nervous to publish this, cuz one, it was long as hell, and two, i was just shy abt my writing and my yearning for this Kremnoan man. i hope u guys notice my efforts to spin this into a more detailed fic, cuz i was surprised it got to more than 10k words as well hehe. i experimented a lot with this fic and found out more abt my writing voice, and i just wanna point out a detail, specifically that when u describe things, its always something of the ocean, and when mydei or krateros describes smth, its related to the fire or mountains, just a little detail i learned that shows their upbringing :D ngl i had a lot of fun writing this, solely because i took a different writing approach with it and of course because its mydei !! i loved it and i hope you guys did, too! until next time!! (literally tomorrow cuz i have a new idea for a mydei fic)

@usagiarchive 2025. do not repost, translate, or use for AI. reblogs, likes, and comments are very appreciated!!

[jfkisonthemoon]

An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Umineko no Naku Koro ni | When the Seagulls Cry Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: Major Character Death Relationships: Beatrice the Golden Witch/Ushiromiya Battler, Ushiromiya Battler/Yasuda Sayo, Shannon/Ushiromiya Battler Characters: Yasuda Sayo, Ushiromiya Battler Additional Tags: there's other characters obv but only really brief appearances so it doesnt feel right to tag all of them, plus thatd be annoying lol, its an umineko fic so all the umineko warnings apply, namely: canon typical incest and canon typical noncon, extremely one-sided george/shannon, george is full incel mode here i wont lie, there is fluff and comfort but it very much will end with major character death Summary:

In the year 1980, Ushiromiya Asumu was honored with a funeral on the island of Rokkenjima. This changes some things.

Other things stay the same.

[weathertheraine]

keep me intact - chapter 19 (final chapter)

Chapter summary:

It’s a cold, bright morning.

Fic tags:

Tsukkiyama / Slow Burn / Childhood friends / Canon compliant (mostly) / t4t (trans boy Tsukishima and trans boy Yamaguchi) / Kei POV

Read chapter 19

Read the whole fic - complete - 74k

[previouslyon-honeybeeprofes-blog]

Throws self off a building

[hot-gal-settings]

I don't think I ever want to see you again.