hearts bound (part one)
levi ackerman x reader
synopsis: a civil war is brewing, and your hearts are in the middle of it. aka sorcerer hange messes up a spell, and binds your heart to levi's...
tags: royal au, princess! reader, slow burn, enemies to friends to lovers, kidnapping (reader, soz!), commander erwin vs the king, war themes, politics, i'll add more when they come to me. ⠀
“Get him away from here.” Your father’s shrill voice startles you awake from the halls. “He’s not to come within a mile of the castle.” His words echo down the hall, loud and demanding, yet not as panic-stricken as his initial outburst. Quieter now, just shy of your door, you hear only the intonations of his hushed voice. Pushing yourself from the mattress, you stand, sheets draping around your shoulders as you take a few steps toward the noise. It’s cold, midwinter, but the dying fire’s warmth still emanates from the remaining embers.
“-and, the witch?” You catch the end of his sentence, tangling your fingers with the sheet and pressing your ear against the wood. “We’re yet to find her, my lord.” Your father’s Kingsman replies in a drab tone. “When you do, have it burned.” His words are sharp, and you know his face despite being blind to it; a lip downturned imitating a beast’s snarl. “You needn’t wait for my command, just do it.”
Your eyes widen, a gasp dying in your throat as you hear a forceful knock over the wood, obnoxiously loud within your ear. You look to the foot of the door, peering to the glow that bellows beneath. A shadow dances in the flames outside, a presence awaiting your response. Quickly, you dash to your bed, throwing yourself over the feather down and clearing your throat. “Enter.”
The bolt lifts, and your entrant straightens himself; your father’s first in command. “Yaeger.” You announce. “My lady.” He echoes, bowing his head before continuing. “We are to move you from your quarters at once, to the West Wing.” “What?” Your reply is hasty, and you lose composure for a second, but pick yourself back up, straightening your posture before you take the time calculate a digestible response. “I am in my nightgown, and the night is almost over. Can this not wait until sunrise?” There’s a frown set over his features, illuminated in the moonlight cascading through the stone window. He raises a hand, pushing his glasses to the bridge of his nose, lenses reflecting the light of Luna.
“It cannot.” He offers no explanation, only returning to your door to open it wide enough to accommodate you as a pair. For a few moments, you wonder if he will continue, but he does not. Wordlessly, you stand, mindfully grabbing a shawl before you follow, hugging the thick fabric across your shoulders. It is the only warmth you confide yourself within as the colder air hits your cheeks, bare stone beneath your feet.
“M’lady.” A few stray knights bow as you pass them, and you pay little mind. With your chin raised, you follow Yaeger’s steps, turning into the West Wing. You’ve been here a handful of times, with guest suites and storage rooms, though not often, and not ever at night.
“Here.” He stops before a door, back touching the stone wall. You glance at the wooden door - the same as every other within the castle, dark oak boards with black iron embellishments and a ring pull that controls the bolt on the other side. “What’s going on, Yaeger?” Trying your luck, you lean toward him, but he doesn’t meet your gaze. His neck straightens as he looks beyond you, to the other side of the hall. His eyes appear hollow, pupils wide in the torch’s dim flames.
Your hand ghosts the door handle, but something twists in your stomach. Through the corner of your eye, you watch Yaeger, his straightened form stiff, yet unsteady. He sways ever so slightly on his legs, as though nervous. Looking to his face, there isn’t much unusuality about him; it’s more an inkling that leads you astray.
You bolt. Running straight past the blonde and down the corridors you’d just found yourself within, you rush past the knights and to the stairs.
The castle is oddly quiet. Now you think about it, you’re able to hear your own movements extremely clearly, feet slapping over the stone, and as you reach the bottom of the staircase, you realise the latter torches adorning the walls are no longer lit. It is for this reason that darkness enshrouds you, and you continue your escape at a slower pace, using a hand against a wall to guide yourself. It juts right, and you turn.
In the distance, a room is illuminated, rays of light flooding into the surrounding corridor. The dining hall. You push yourself to your toes and walk with more stealth, nearing the room’s safety.
“We’ll make our attack in the morn.” Your father speaks. His voice has a way about it, a commanding pull that leaves everyone within his vicinity listening to his every word. “They may be strong, but we will have nine hours of sunlight. Ackerman’s tactics rely on stealth, so the light will put us at an advantage.”
“My lord, they lay siege at the gate. How will we stall for another few hours?” A knight questions, and you hear your father sigh. “We shall move forces to the wall and continue with volleying, for now. Bring me Zeke, and Reiner.” Movement follows his command, the knights' reticence feeding your father’s ego.
“Fa-” You begin to speak as you almost turn into the room, only to have your words cut short, a hand enveloping your mouth. “Move and you die.” A low voice whispers to your ear, and just in case you’d doubted your attacker’s words, a blade presses into your side. It’s sharp, and you suck a breath through your nose in anticipation for pain, though none is felt. “Walk.”
You do as he says, walking forward with haste. He pushes you until you meet the glow of the room. With eyes squinting at the sudden blast of light, you’re forced against the front of his body, and what you assume to be his men join him, cloaked individuals with a symbol you know all too well. Scouts. They’re the Parliamentarians’ men.
“Set upon them!” Your father stands with haste, yet his expression drops as he meets your eye. Just as quickly, he gives the deafening order- “Halt!”
Silence follows his command, and you are only able to watch as your knights fall back, straightening themselves with the illusion of detachment and indifference, only to await their next order. “What do you want, Commander Erwin?”
You try to turn your head, but you cannot. Only through the corner of your eye can you watch as their commander steps forward to face your father, lips downturned. “I wanted to settle this verbally, Sir.” You try and wriggle, but the blade digs into your hip, hard enough to draw blood. Tears prick your eyes and threaten to fall, as you breathe rapidly through your nose. “But you’ve left me without a choice.”
Your father’s eyebrow raises. He stifles a laugh. “That’s war, isn’t it?” Fearless eyes narrow as he scans his men, before flickering to you. He’s a man of intelligence but acts far too brashly, and without Zeke to mediate his interaction, you worry of what he will do.
“I believe you have something of mine.” Erwin speaks, and you swallow. He takes a step forward, green eyes locking with your own before he looks back to your father. “I would like to make a trade.”
“We don’t have your witch.” Your father spits, closing the gap between himself and the commander. They look an equal match, but Commander Erwin seems more settled in his demeanour, assertive, yet calm. This may give him the upper hand, as unlike your father, his tactics will be based on more than combat alone.
You’ve met the Commander before, several weeks ago. Despite the circumstances around their disagreement, he remained eloquent, taking your hand in his and laying a kiss over your knuckles prior to his departure. The maids still speak of him, of his charm, and although it is undeniable, you do question why a man such as himself would be interested in civil war. There is an air of darkness that appears to surround him, a crease beneath his kind eyes, a curve at the edge of his smile that feels to be disingenuous. But again, this is simple intuition.
“Where is my sorcerer, King Reader?” Commander Erwin’s tone is courageous, and despite your status as his enemy, you feel yourself captivated by his mere presence with such a naturally compelling allure.
“We held it in the dungeons,” The king begins. “But as my men did their nightly rounds, the cell was empty.” “You speak the truth?” Erwin’s brows furrow, but not in anger. After a breath, he turns to you and your captor. “We have no use for the princess if Hange has been freed.” Erwin steps toward you, your eyes widening, and your captor’s grip is released. His hand lingers for a moment before your face and his blade is withdrawn. You take a step forward slowly, before turning to look your captor in the eye.
He’s beautiful. Black hair parted at the middle, a handful of strands falling over his forehead. He wore the same skin-tight black uniform the rest of their people were in, with a green hooded cape sitting between his shoulder blades. But, by far the most captivating feature is grey-blue eyes, narrowed in caution.
“Now.” The King’s words ring loud as he commands his men, with the clattering of swords being drawn from both sides. Erwin stands tall, and you hope beneath his clothing he’s smart enough to wear chainmail.
You’re grabbed again, this time by your arm, and pulled back with haste. The distraction of combat rings loud and your men are too enthralled by the beginnings of a fight to notice your sudden disappearance. Your father’s unyielding adoration for the blade seems to triumph his love for his own daughter.
“Apologies, darling.” Once pulled from the room, their grip releases, and you’re able to catch a glimpse of the Scout that has drawn your attention. “It must be hard to get caught up in man’s love of war.” They speak quietly beneath the clashing of iron, hunched forward to meet your ear. As your eyes trail over their hooded face, you contemplate making a run for it, though you’re not all that certain you’d be any safer at the hands of bloodthirsty men.
“You’re a Scout.” It’s obvious, yet you find yourself saying it anyway, squinting to see the face beneath the hood. The figure only laughs, their fingers trailing the fabric concealing their face. They tug, and the covering falls to reveal a face you didn’t recognise: glasses, brown hair, a wide grin. “I am.” They reply, placing a hand to your shoulder. “Look me in the eye.”
Swallowing, you raise your gaze to meet theirs, immediately entranced. They’ve lifted their glasses, and your eyes are locked into theirs, a strong pull as though you’ve been magnetised.
“By this spell, I bind thee.” They tilt their head and your lips part, yet no more than shaking breath can pass over your tongue. “Hearts entwine to beat as one, the lives in balance soon be spun. Body, soul, mind and flesh, braided and bound at my behest.”
Your chest tightens, a lump forming in your throat as a weight begins to tug at your lungs. A cough escapes your lips followed by spluttered breaths, and eyes wide open you find yourself unable to pull yourself from this nightmarish plague. “I’m sorry, my darling.”
Through your weakness, you’re returned to the food hall, still unable to catch your breath. “King Reader!” The sorcerer demands the room’s attention, and that, it receives. “A spell has been cast upon your child. I suggest your surrender, should her life mean anything to you.”
Your brow furrows, lungs finally regulated enough as to catch your own breath.
“What have you done?” Your father travels to your side within a mere few angered strides, though does not sheath his blade.
“Father,” Until now, you had not had a chance to respire, nonetheless speak. Your voice is haggard and hoarse, your mouth dry. It’s pathetic, really, to demand attention in a room so shrouded in confidence and poise, and to sound so weak. “They have bound me to one of their men; I believe his end would likely be mine, too.”
Silence hangs heavy in the air, his face contorting through shock, and then into a more familiar fury. “Who?” He spits, and you glance around the room. All eyes manifest to you, from both sides. The Scouts appear to be kinder, and on the most part, more agile. Your father’s men are brawly and unforgiving in their iron stares, even if you’d grown used to it over the years.
One pair of eyes fails to meet your own, a pale blue pointed stare you remember from only minutes prior. As you look him over, you notice a slight hunch to one side, as though a hit had been landed at his ribs. Your fingers glide up beneath your shawl, to the dull ache you feel in your left side. It seems you are bound to your assailant, though as you think to admit this to your father, the words die on your tongue.
“I do not know.” You speak much clearer now, and the man quickly meets your gaze. Much like earlier, he narrows his eyes, studying your expression. “I feel as though we ought to co-operate, father.” These words are spoken under your breath as you rip your attention from the glare of what now appears to be your counterpart, returning the concern to the King.
“Your daughter heeds intelligence and control that you do not possess.” The sorcerer begins, and the fire in your father’s eye burns bright. “We shall retreat, in hopes you will accept our offer.”
“What’s to stop me imprisoning all of your men?” He asks, voice reverberating through the stone walls. The sorcerer laughs. “You could try, if you wish.”
Something gleams in their hand, and your eyes widen. “Father! Stand down!” It’s all too late, as they toss the makeshift grenade into the air. For a few brief moments, you can only watch as the realisation seeps across your father’s features, jaw tightening. His last thoughts sit with you as your scared expression meets his own, before smoke that fills the room grows too thick.
Scrambling on your feet, you hold your breath and aim for the door, thrown between unknown bodies. You’re knocked, and you cough, sucking in dense air before your body can stop itself. Dizziness causes your mind to freeze, and a white light flashes across your vision, consuming your conscious mind.
thank you for reading! i am hoping to update with part 2 next weekend :)
