#dick grayson#bruce wayne#tim drake#batfam#batman#batfamily#dc fanart
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Making a post under the Choices tags in 2026:
"You are exhausted, my love. And in pain — though I know you are trying to hide it. Now close your eyes. Let me take care of you a little longer. Just rest my love. I'm here."
📖 Ella & Kieran | The Cursed Heart Book 2 💜 Artwork commissioned from the lovely: @ meolkyy
One thing that annoys me about most choices books is that the MC has to be everyones free therapist and cannot crash out even a tiny bit or they will not have friends.
Maybe I don't want to be anyone's free therapist in order for people to behave like adults. Maybe they should proactively get therapy before getting into a situation where acting like a fool is life threatening.
She was so real for that actually fuck Duke Richards
How the mighty have fallen--but will something better come out of it?
I stopped playing "Choices" a few months ago and it's WILD to realize I haven't played "Fictif" since it stopped 3 years ago as well as "The Arcana" when it finished around the early days of "Fictif" (I think), but I feel like I'm experiencing the first nostalgic era of the digital age when it comes to mobile games; the mid to late 2010s was the best era of mobile games, it seems. Of course, after doing some digging, it's WILD to hear about the downfall of the companies that made these games. Nix Hydra (maker of "The Arcana" and "Fictif") is a rabbit hole that I can't even begin to explain, and it's content quickly became second priority when acquired by Dorian, despite Dorian saying it would still prioritize NH's content, instead taking the back seat to Dorian's own app--the app of which I liked in concept, but not execution. In any case, some members of the team from "The Arcana" and "The Last Legacy" from Fictif, as well as other games, made the indie Red Spring Studio company, with their first game "Touchstarved" (which had a Kickstarter that FAR EXCEEDED it's OG goals by 8x; one of the goals included a Nintendo Switch port). I think the game comes out at the end of this year, so I'll be excited to see how it goes. Unfortunately, their Kickstarter page has their updates limited to backers (people who helped fund the project) only, which IMO limits the exposure the game gets, but let's hope for the best.
As for Pixelberry, apparently they've had issues for years, and last year they had massive layoffs and were acquired by an AI company, so...there's that. Plus it seems they're still smut-focused and even the early 2024 art was victim of AI usage, maybe before that. To recooperate their costs, PB closed out two of it's other apps, and while still generating content, is losing the trust of fans, especially since, from what I've seen on their newsletters, they're focused on more "content" for established franchises--which doesn't mean sequels or spinoffs, but often a short book. Anyway, three of their creatives have went on to found Candlelight Games: the Head of Design was once the ex-creative director at PB and helped write "Bloodbound," "Blades of Light and Shadow," "Most Wanted," and "Endless Summer"; the Head of Narrative was an ex-head of Choices and helped write "America's Most Eligible," "The Nanny Affair" (man, the switchup is CRAZY), "With Every Heartbeat," "Distant Shores," and "Ride or Die"; and the CEO was the former VP of new games, an ex-head of Choices, and ex-head of Hollywood U. As someone who became disappointed with many Choices books when the decade hit, this feels promising. The company's first project, "Project Spellstruck" (codename), is expected to start releasing this year.
Seems like the mid-2020s may have me more engaged in interactive mobile games that haven't been exciting for half a decade. Check out these stories and spread the word!
As a VIP member, In honor of the Crown and Flame Remake
I decided to completely ignore it and binge played the entire The Crown and The Flame series in one go.
I’ve restarted this series so many times without completing it, now after 8 years I finally know how it ends all thanks to my spiteful hatred for watered down, white washed, straight washed remakes
The Crown and the Flame REBIRTH?
Oh, so Choice is like dying dying. Got it.
Alliances
Chapter 22
Marabelle Series
Choices – The Royal Romance, Book 3, AU – (cross-over with Rules of Engagement)
Series Premise – An American teenager from New York City is introduced to the world of a small European country and its society of royalty, nobility, and commoners. How will her life story be transformed? Will this new adventure bring her happiness...or regret?
Marabelle Series Masterlist
Main Pairing – King Liam Rys x F! OC Lady Sophia (Sophie) Taylor
Other Pairings – Maxwell Beaumont x M! OC Daniel (NYC), Drake Walker x F! OC Riley Brooks, Leo Rys x Katie Rys
Series Rating – M*🔞Warnings: this series will have NSFW material, drinking, crude language & innuendo, gun violence, minor character death
Category – Alternate universe/on-going series/angst/fluff/cross-over with Choices Rules of Engagement with sprinkles of Canon
Chapter Summary –As the Coronation Ball continues late in the evening, Drake continues his pursuit of Riley Brooks, a newcomer from America, which was a breath of fresh air in his world. Leo arrives with his wife, Katie, to celebrate his brother. Madeleine takes the opportunity to confront her former betrothed. Hana recognizes a connection with Madeleine.
Words: 10k
A/N1: Bethany Beaumont, Maxwell’s mother, is originally from the U.S. and is Barthelemy Beaumont’s second wife. Annabelle Beaumont (deceased) is Bertrand’s mother.
A/N2: ‘Social Season’ in this AU series refers to a traditional period in the spring/summer for royalty and members of the court to take part in Balls, dinner parties and charity events.
A/N3: Heartfelt thanks to @Selina012 for joining me in writing ideas and with dialogue/content for this chapter and series.
A/N4: Thank you @selina012 for pre-reading
The splendor of the Cordonian Royal Palace was on full display tonight, reaching its zenith on the night of King Liam Rys's coronation ball.
The very air itself seemed thick and sweet from the grand celebration, filled with a heady fragrance woven from high-end perfumes, century-old antique wood wax, and the thousands of white roses air-shipped from the royal greenhouses. Massive crystal chandeliers hung like a frozen, falling river of stars from the vaulted ceiling, which was painted with myths of creation. They cast millions of soft, brilliant rays of light onto the gleaming white marble floor below, illuminating the magnificent attire and glittering jewels of every guest.
This evening, Cordonia’s elite—those with influence, riches, and noble heritage—assembled together. As the orchestra performed, guests exchanged hushed conversations about politics, commerce, and upcoming ambitions before heading to the dance floor.
In the centre of the ballroom, Liam stood tall and confident, but his composure softened instantly when he glanced at the woman beside him.
Sophia Taylor, his newly betrothed fiancée and the future Queen of Cordonia, stood charmingly at his side. Her auburn hair was swept up into an elegant yet slightly informal chignon, with a few wisps framing her face and accentuating the swan-like grace of her neck. She wore no overly extravagant jewels with her exquisite scarlet ball gown ... only the diamond engagement ring Liam had given her. It glittered on her finger, quiet yet resolute, as if announcing her new status to the world.
Sophie listened to the opening strands of the next waltz, her hand warmly enveloped in his. She could feel his fingers give her a gentle, reassuring squeeze whenever a guest's gaze lingered on her for too long. It was his silent way of telling her, "Don't be nervous. I'm here." She would return a soft smile, and in that silent exchange lay a bond of love and understanding more eloquent than any grand declaration. One possessed a dignified and composed nature, whereas the other embodied grace and resolve; together, they made an ideal match when the king chose his queen.
Sophie had to admit, as she glanced up at her handsome fiancé, that she felt a sense of pride as the center of attention ... but her heart still fluttered in her chest. Her reality forever changed from this day forward.
How could anyone live up to these expectations? She knew everyone was looking to her to make the right impression, but what if she couldn’t?
She took a deep breath and let it out slowly.
‘You can do this and know what needs to be done.’ Sophie chided to herself silently.
"If I may say, your majesty," a voice said, drawing Liam's attention. A distinguished-looking older man bowed his head to Liam. "We all look forward to your, and the future queen's rule."
"Thank you," Liam smiled, nodding graciously.
"If I may, your Majesty..." A young, attractive woman spoke up. "It would be my honor if you saved a dance for me tonight." She batted her eyes, smiling sweetly at him.
Sophie's heart skipped a beat, but she stayed calm. She could tell that the woman's intentions were nothing but professional and was not a threat to her relationship. She knew how to read people, and the woman was simply a politician with aspirations for the crown, and that was nothing new.
Liam glanced at Sophie. "I would, but I've promised all of my dances tonight to Lady Sophia," he said, giving Sophie's hand another squeeze. "I'm sure you'll find many other eligible suitors, though."
"Ah, of course, your majesty. Congratulations on your engagement." She turned to Sophie, giving her a polite smile and bow.
Sophie returned with a polite nod and responded, "Thank you."
As soon as the woman had left, Liam leaned closer and whispered into Sophie's ear, "She's married, by the way."
"I had a feeling," Sophie replied dryly.
Liam gave her a wry grin. "She's also a member of the royal family in a neighboring kingdom, which might cause an incident. Not to mention, her husband is the prime minister. It would be political suicide."
Sophie couldn't help but laugh. "Then, it's a good thing you're a one-woman man," she replied, and leaned up to kiss his cheek.
Liam grinned. "Always."
"Your Majesty," another man spoke up. "I hope you don't mind my asking, but do you plan on taking an official engagement portrait together soon? I'd love to get a copy for my own collection."
"I do, yes. We've got a photographer coming to the palace soon. I'm sure we could get you a copy."
"Thank you. That would be wonderful. You two make such a fine couple."
"You're too kind," Sophie said, giving him a smile.
On the other side of the ballroom, near the long tables laden with exquisite desserts, Maxwell Beaumont, a camera in one hand and a bubbling cocktail in the other, weaved through his circle of friends.
"...So, I told him, if you have a problem with my taste in party music, you are more than welcome to go listen to classical symphonies in Bertrand's study all night. I guarantee the atmosphere there is sufficiently 'solemn'!" he recounted with dramatic flair, making everyone around him roar with laughter.
Daniel stood beside him, shaking his head in mock exasperation, though his lips were curved in an affectionate smile. He wore a chic black suit, an interesting contrast to Maxwell's slightly ostentatious suit with its silver embroidery. "Max, I'm willing to bet Duke Bertrand's study does not contain a weeping violinist who's sad because he can't comprehend your 'avant-garde' electronic music."
"Hey! That's art!" Maxwell protested, before leaning closer to Daniel and lowering his voice. "But seriously, when the old-fashioned band takes a break, would you care to try a real dance with me?"
Daniel looked into his sparkling, hopeful eyes and laughingly stuffed a macaron into his mouth. "Talk to me again when you've convinced His Majesty to turn the royal ball into a disco."
Their playful banter and laughter were the most genuine and vibrant notes in the grand symphony of the evening.
Meanwhile, near the entrance to the terrace, Drake Walker and Riley leaned against a massive Roman column, watching the glittering world before them with the detached air of outsiders. The orchestra's music rose and fell, its graceful melody filling the air around them, but their thoughts were elsewhere.
"Do you ever wonder what your life would have been like if you'd never come to the palace?" Riley asked softly, glancing up at Drake. "I try not to."
"Why not?"
"Because I might have spent my life thinking the grass is greener somewhere else. Only to come back and realize the grass was green where I left it all along."
"Is that the truth?"
Drake turned his gaze away, "I only care about what's real," Drake said, taking a sip of his whiskey. The pungent liquid slid down his throat, leaving a bitter aftertaste. This coronation of King Liam, as his best friend, he should have been joyous, but his straightforward temper and candid nature made him feel out of place. Watching Liam and Sophie's tender affection, Maxwell and Daniel's flirtatious banter, he thought of Melanie and that extremely undignified breakup. He had once believed he had found someone to stand by his side, only to find out it was all a carefully calculated ruse. Only with Riley did he feel a sliver of ease. This woman from America, like him, had eyes that saw through pretense.
Riley sighed and looked down at her heels, the same pair she'd worn to the last event at the palace. She could feel Drake’s dark gaze lingering on her and felt the warmth creep up her neck.
"You should care, Drake," she said quietly. "Because no matter what, you're real. You're here, and I don't know what I'd do without you."
He paused, the words catching in his throat, then nodded. "And I don't know what I'd do without a certain smart, snarky, stubborn New Yorker."
Riley smirked. "Careful, Drake. Your heart's starting to show."
"Not much," he shrugged. "Just the part that's grateful."
"Yeah, yeah," she said, nudging his shoulder.
"Come on, Brooks. Let's grab another drink and a bite to eat."
"Lead the way."
A waiter walked past with a tray of champagne glasses, and they each took one, clinking their glasses together.
"To the new king," Drake said, raising his glass.
"To Liam. Long may he reign," Riley replied, and they both drank.
Riley watched Liam together with Sophie, who appeared comfortable in his presence.
"I was afraid it was going to end badly. But here they are, together. It's like she was born for this life." Drake responded.
"Maybe she was," Riley shrugged.
"Maybe."
"Are you alright, Drake?"
Drake shook his head and looked away. "No," he replied honestly.
"Well, I'm here for you, Drake," Riley said.
"You don't know what it means for me to hear that."
"Oh, please," she laughed.
"Brooks," Drake began, turning to her. "I think it's time we-"
Suddenly, a hush fell over the room, and they both turned their attention to the entrance.
...Except for one person.
"His Highness, Prince Leo Rys, and Lady Katie Rys."
Countess Madeleine Amaranth stood in the shadows of a grand column in the least conspicuous corner of the ballroom, nursing a glass of red wine she had barely touched. The light here was dim, the crowd sparse. It allowed her to keep a presence while avoiding, as much as possible, the probing eyes of certain members of the court.
She felt like a phantom, an anachronistic ghost from a bygone era, forced to attend the grand celebration of her own burial.
The expensive, custom-made hunter-green velvet gown she wore felt like a heavy shroud. The emeralds dotting the fabric glittered coldly in the dim light, mirroring the state of her heart.
All of this should have been hers.
This ball, this celebration, the coveted spot beside the King. She should have been the heroine of the evening, accepting congratulations and envy, planning her magnificent life as the future queen. But now, she was nothing. She was merely the "former" fiancée of the "former" Crown Prince. A joke. A discarded, obsolete symbol.
Her gaze then shot like a poisoned arrow across the crowd, landing on the scarlet figure. Sophia Taylor. The orphan from America, the girl who, with a bit of luck and a pretty face, had stolen the spotlight from her. Madeleine watched the happy smile on her face, saw the undisguised love in Liam's eyes as he looked at her, and felt a fire ignite in her stomach.
She didn't love Leo, not ever. Their engagement had been a transaction from the start, an alliance for family glory and political gain. What she craved was everything the title "Queen" entailed—power, status, and supreme honor. Leo had merely been the ladder to that throne. But now, Leo had kicked the ladder out from under her and pushed her off the cliff for good measure.
What she couldn't bear was how those who once flocked to her now avoided her like the plague. She could feel the stares of the other noble ladies. They would glance over nonchalantly; their eyes filled with a pity that reeked of schadenfreude. Their whispers, even from across the vast ballroom, seemed to reach her ears with perfect clarity.
"Look, it's Countess Madeliene...poor thing."
"Yes, I heard Prince Leo found some commoner girlfriend abroad and gave up the throne for her."
"Tsk, tsk, and she was so magnificent then, and now..."
These words were sharper than any blade.
Her eyes fell on Penelope and Kiara. Her former "friends," her most loyal "ladies-in-waiting." They were now laughing merrily with another, as if they had never known her. Madeleine remembered the month she'd locked herself away in her estate in Krona, refusing all visitors. She had thought they would worry, that they would persist. But they hadn't. After a few rebuffed attempts, they had given up completely. Their friendship, it turned out, was as fragile as her engagement.
Madeleine gripped her wine glass, the cool liquid doing nothing to quell the fire in her heart. She downed the crimson liquid in one go. The harsh alcohol burned her throat and ignited the last, desperate fuse of her sanity.
Just then, the orchestra's music shifted, and a slow, emotional waltz began to play. The herald announced in his magnetic voice, "And now, let us welcome with the warmest applause our esteemed King Liam, and his beautiful fiancée, Duchess Sophia Taylor, for their first dance of the evening!"
The chandeliers dimmed, and a single spotlight found Liam and Sophie in the center of the dancefloor. Liam gave Sophie an elegant bow, and she responded with a perfect curtsy. Then, they danced.
Their steps were flawless, every spin, every glance filled with love and a seamless connection. Sophie's red gown bloomed in the air like a vibrant, blossoming rose, and Liam's eyes never left her. The world seemed to stop just for them. They were the prince and princess from a fairy tale, the very embodiment of perfect love in everyone's eyes.
The crowd erupted into thunderous applause and murmurs of admiration.
But for Madeleine, that applause was the death knell of her own tragedy.
She watched the perfect couple in the center of the dance floor, blessed by all, admired by all. That piercing spotlight illuminated not only their happiness but also her own inescapable, monumental failure and humiliation.
Leo Rys.
The name was like a rusty key, shoved brutally into her heart and twisted. Why was he here? Hadn't he abandoned the throne, abandoned all of this, for his ridiculous pursuit of freedom? By what right, what audacity did he show his face at his brother's coronation ball?
Madeleine instinctively turned her head toward the dancefloor. And then, saw him. And the clothes he was wearing.
In that instant, her breath caught in her throat.
That uniform. She knew it to her bones. It was the very deep blue, gold-trimmed formal attire standing for the highest authority of the Cordonian Armed Forces. The golden sash was slung across his broad chest, the tasseled epaulets glittered with authority under the chandeliers, and the medals of honor pinned to his breast—she had straightened every single one of them for him herself in the past.
For the last five years, every time they had attended a major court event together, every time they had stood side-by-side as the future King and Queen consort to receive the fealty of their subjects, Leo had worn a uniform exactly like this. That uniform was the symbol of their status, the very embodiment of their shared future, the vessel for all of Madeleine's ambitions and dreams.
But now, he was wearing that uniform, which symbolized duty and tradition, and the woman beside him was not her.
His companion, this Katie, was a stark contrast to Cordonian court fashion, dressed in a deep yellow ballgown. Her face was lit with a brilliant, guileless smile, one hand linked naturally through Leo’s arm. And Leo himself wore a genuine, unprecedentedly relaxed smile.
It was a bitter, classic proverb come to life: the setting was the same, but the players had changed. He was wearing their uniform, but for another woman. He had already abdicated, he was no longer the Crown Prince, yet he chose to wear this specific attire, turning it into a grand, personal farce directed solely at her. Was he mocking her? Was this his way of showing everyone that even without the throne, even with a new woman at his side, he could still command this world, and that she, Madeleine, was nothing more than a disposable accessory?
In Madeleine's eyes, that uniform was no longer a symbol of honor. It was a costume, the most vicious costume, worn for the sole purpose of her humiliation.
She watched Leo lean down to whisper something to Katie, and Katie threw her head back and laughed, even playfully swatting his chest—her hand landing directly on the Star of the Holy Cross medal, the one she had once believed would forever signify her status as his consort.
That happiness, that casual intimacy, was a red-hot poker pressed against Madeleine’s heart. She felt the blood freeze in her veins.
How dare he? How dare he wear that uniform, with that woman, and come here, to this stage that should have been hers, to attend his brother’s coronation.
It was a complete repudiation of the last five years of her life, a cruel trampling of all her pride.
Madeleine’s rationality was being devoured, bit by bit. She watched them walk casually into the hall, heading not for the main table, but straight toward Drake and Riley, as if drawn by a magnet. She saw Drake’s eyebrows shoot up in surprise before he greeted Leo with a brotherly slap on the back. She saw Riley embrace Katie warmly, as if they were old friends.
So, everyone knew.
Everyone accepted it.
Only she, Madeleine, was kept in the dark, cast out. She had become a complete and utter outsider.
Her breathing grew ragged, her chest heaving. Something inside her snapped. The string of reason and pride, stretched taut for so long, had finally broken. The storm was about to break.
To Madeleine, the spotlight on Liam and Sophie felt like public judgment. Each illuminated moment was a reminder of her defeat. Watching them dance, Sophie’s red dress stung her pride, and the applause echoed her loss.
Madeleine’s body stood rigid in the shadows of the column. The cold marble was the only thing that felt real. She forced her gaze away from the nauseatingly perfect couple, searching for an escape. She saw, in the distance, Penelope and Kiara chatting and laughing with several other ladies of the court. Kiara even gracefully covered her mouth with her hand as she laughed at some joke. They didn't look at her, not even once. It was as if she, Madeleine Amaranth, the woman who had been their inseparable companion, the one who had co-reigned over the core of the court's social circle, had simply become invisible air.
A familiar, acidic taste of betrayal rose in her throat. She remembered the month she had locked herself away in her manor, refusing to see anyone. Their visits had ceased after the third refusal. So, this was the shelf life of their friendship, its end date engraved on the back of the title "The Queen-to-be."
She took a deep breath, ordering herself to remain calm. She was still the countess of her duchy, she told herself, her bloodline still noble. She could not be defeated so easily. She needed to re-engage, to prove to everyone that even without Leo, without the title of Queen, she was still Countess Madeleine Amaranth of Fydelia, a woman not to be trifled with.
She straightened the non-existent creases on her hunter-green velvet gown, squared her shoulders, and plastered a well-rehearsed smile of detached elegance onto her face. She took a step, intending to join a circle of barons and viscounts discussing the safe and tedious topic of horses and hunting.
"Good evening, Lord Arnault," she began, her voice steady, trying to merge with their conversation.
The young baron she addressed started, as if spooked by a sudden phantom. "Oh—oh, good evening, Lady...Countess Madeleine," he stammered. The others in his circle shot her awkward, fleeting glances, and their conversation died. A suffocating silence descended upon the small group.
They were pitying her. Or rather, they were savoring her predicament.
Madeleine felt her cheeks burn. She tried to think of something to say to break the dreadful impasse, but her mind was a blank. Just then, a slight commotion at the grand entrance, followed by the herald's voice, rescued her from this invisible pillory.
She could bear it no longer.
She felt like a volcano about to erupt, the magma of her rage churning within. She set her wine glass down, the heavy crystal making a dull thud against the marble tabletop. Gathering her gown, she pushed through the crowd, step by step, making her way towards Leo.
Her gait was steady, each step landing on a shard of her own dignity. The surrounding guests sensed the unusual atmosphere, parting for her as she passed. The music seemed to fade, and all eyes focused on her, filled with curiosity, surprise, and anticipation.
She reached Leo. He had his back to her, laughing about something with Drake.
"Leo."
Madeleine spoke in a quiet, cold voice that immediately silenced the conversation.
Leo’s laughter died. He turned around slowly. When he saw Madeleine's face, twisted with fury, the smile vanished from his own, replaced by an expression of weary annoyance, as if he had been expecting this.
He said nothing.
He glanced at her briefly, his expression uninterested, then resumed talking to Drake as if Madeleine wasn’t even there.
This utter dismissal was more lethal than any vicious words could ever be. It was like an invisible hand, closing around Madeleine's throat, choking off the accusations and condemnations she had prepared.
"How dare you!" After a moment of suffocation, she finally found her voice, but it was made shriller by the humiliation of being ignored. "How dare you show up here dressed like that! At his—at your brother's coronation ball, wearing that uniform, with… her!"
Leo still did not look at her. He even turned his body slightly, shielding Katie more completely by his side, and continued his hushed conversation with his friends as if Madeleine's shriek were just an irritating bit of feedback in the background music.
"Countess Madeleine," he said simply, his tone implying, "what are you doing here?"
"How dare you," Madeleine's voice began to tremble, but she fought to control it, her eyes fixed on the medals on his chest. "How dare you show up here dressed like that. At his—at your brother's coronation ball, wearing that uniform, with… her." She used all her strength not to lose her composure on the last word.
Katie's smile faded, and she looked with confusion at this hostile woman, instinctively moving closer to Leo.
"I thought you would have at least a shred of shame, Leo," Madeleine’s voice grew louder, drawing more attention. "You abandoned your duty, your kingdom, your family… and your betrothal! You've turned the uniform that stands for Cordonia's highest honor into a costume to entertain your new lover! You've made a mockery of everyone, and then you stroll in here as if nothing happened, to celebrate your despicable 'freedom'?"
Leo's brow furrowed tightly. Not from guilt, but from sheer annoyance. "I suggest you lower your voice, Madeleine. This is Liam's coronation ball. Don't make a scene."
"A scene?" Madeleine laughed, a hysterical sound that was sharp and mournful. "I'm making a scene? Isn't my very existence right now a scene of your making?! You have turned me into the biggest joke in all of Cordonia! You have reduced me from the future queen to a cast-off woman whispered about behind cupped hands! And now you have the gall to tell me not to 'make a scene'? What right do you have?!"
Her voice echoed in the grand ballroom. Even the distant orchestra had stopped playing. The entire hall fell silent, and everyone held their breath, watching the epicenter of the royal storm.
Sophie and Liam had approached, Liam’s face grim. He started to step forward, but Sophie gently held him back. She shook her head, signaling him not to interfere. This was a reckoning between Leo and Madeleine, one that had to be seen through.
Madeleine’s chest heaved. She stared at Leo with bloodshot eyes as if she wanted to tear him apart. "You ruined everything! You never even gave me a formal apology, not a single explanation! You just vanished, and then you show up with her! Tell me, is watching me suffer, watching me be pitied and ridiculed by everyone, the most thrilling part of your 'grand adventure'?!"
Faced with her desperate accusations, Leo's expression remained utterly blank. He watched her without anger, without guilt, only with a deep, profound weariness and detachment, the way one might watch a stranger having a tantrum.
He finally spoke, his voice so calm it was cruel.
"This was never about you, Countess Madeleine."
"It was never about you. It was about me. About the person I refused to become, and the life I refused to live. You were simply a part of that life. A symbol I had to shed. And now, I have."
He paused, then delivered the final blow.
"Now, if you are finished, please step aside. We have friends to greet."
With that, he didn't spare her another glance. He put a gentle, firm hand on Katie's shoulder and guided her around Madeleine, as if she were nothing more than a pillar in his way, an inconvenient piece of furniture.
In that instant, Madeleine felt her entire world shatter.
Leo's indifference was more wounding than any vicious words could ever be. It was a complete and utter dismissal from the very core of his being. He couldn't even be bothered to argue with her, because wasting emotion on her was, to him, a superfluous effort.
She was left standing there, all alone, under the collective gaze of the entire court. Those stares were like a thousand needles, piercing her from every direction. She heard the stifled gasps, the snickers of schadenfreude, the silent looks of pity.
All her pride, all her pretense, was annihilated in that moment.
The wine glass in her hand, which she hadn't realized was empty, trembled. She tried to set it down on a passing waiter's tray, but her hand slipped.
The wine glass in her hand, which she hadn't realized was empty, trembled. She tried to set it down on a passing waiter's tray, but her hand slipped.
A choked, guttural sob, like that of a wounded animal, escaped from the depths of her throat.
She couldn't take it anymore.
She clapped her hands over her face and turned. Gathering her heavy, hunter-green skirt, she ran, heedless of her grace, bolting for the ballroom's grand doors, leaving all the glamour, all the stares, and all the humiliation behind her.
----------------
The sharp, crystalline sound of the shattering glass seemed to hang in the air, a final, jarring note that had abruptly silenced the magnificent symphony of the celebration. The entire grand hall plunged into an eerie, suffocating silence. The lilting waltz had stopped mid-bar; the musicians looked at one another, instruments in hand, then glanced helplessly at their conductor. The sounds of a successful party—the chatter, the laughter, the clinking of glasses—had all been vacuumed out of the room in an instant.
All that remained was silence. An awkward, heavy silence, thick with shock and curiosity.
Every eye was instinctively drawn to the small scene of devastation. On the mirror-like white marble floor, the scarlet wine spread like a startling pool of blood amidst the countless glittering fragments of crystal. It wasn't just a broken glass; it was Madeleine's dignity, shattered on the floor.
A quick-witted palace attendant, his steps nearly soundless, glided over. With a silver dustpan and brush in his gloved hands, he swiftly and professionally cleared away the debris. Another attendant knelt on the floor with a soft white cloth, carefully wiping away the red stain, trying to erase this unseemly drama from the very floorboards that symbolized royal glory.
King Constantine's face was an unreadable mask, but his narrowed eyes and tightly pressed lips betrayed his deep displeasure. Queen Regina sighed softly, a complex, almost pitying emotion flickering in her eyes. In the end, it was Liam, the new King, who gave the conductor a calm, reassuring nod.
As if granted a pardon, the conductor at once raised his baton. A new piece of music, more subdued and cautious than before, tentatively began to fill the hall.
The tension in the room eased, and the guests resumed their conversations in hushed tones. Their attention shifted away from the future of the new King and turned instead to the recent developments involving the former crown prince’s fiancée.
The scandal had now replaced Liam and Sophie's perfect dance as the evening's most talked-about 'entertainment.'
"Oh, my goodness..." Penelope whispered, her voice trembling. "That... that was just dreadful! I've never seen Madeleine like that. She looked... she looked as if she was going mad."
Beside her, Lady Kiara Theron, the diplomat's daughter, was far more composed. She simply raised her champagne flute and took a delicate sip, her gaze indifferent as she watched the spot where Madeleine had disappeared, as if seeing the predictable conclusion of a play she had seen many times before.
"I can't say I'm surprised," Kiara said, her voice as placid as still water. "When one's entire world is built upon the status and promises of others, a collapse is inevitable once the foundation is removed."
"But... but she was our friend!" Penelope's tone was full of a naive urgency. She tugged at Kiara's sleeve. "Shouldn't we... go and see if she's alright? She ran out all alone. What if... what if she does something foolish?"
At this, Kiara finally turned her head, fixing Penelope with a look that was almost clinical in its appraisal. "A friend?" she repeated the word, a sarcastic curve to her lips. "Penelope, have you forgotten? Who was it last month who shut herself away in her manor like an oyster, refusing even our visits? Who was it, just a few days ago in the royal gardens, who informed us in that haughty tone that she didn't need our 'pity and compassion'?"
Penelope was left speechless by the questions, stammering, "But... but she was in a bad mood then..."
"When she was in a foul mood, she pushed us away. Now that she needs comforting, are we supposed to run back to her with our tails wagging like loyal pets?" Kiara's voice remained calm, but it was edged with an undeniable sharpness. "With all due respect, Penelope, she closed that door herself. We are under no obligation to knock on it for her again."
Penelope looked into Kiara's rational, almost cold eyes, then at the crowds in the ballroom who were, indeed, resuming their chatter and laughter. The small spark of kindness and hesitation in her heart was finally extinguished by the tide of reality. She let her shoulders slump in defeat and nodded. "You... you're right."
"My word!" exclaimed Maxwell as he fiddled with his camera. "I've organised parties that caused less commotion than what's happening now. I wish I'd gotten a better shot—this is sure to be front-page news in Cordonia's society columns."*
"Max!" Daniel nudged him with his elbow, exasperated. "Can you not be so gleeful? I know that Madeleine woman isn't exactly pleasant, but she looked genuinely miserable."
"Miserable? That's called reaping what you sow," came Drake's voice from the side. He was leaning against a column, arms crossed over his chest, his expression as grim as ever. "She treated marriage like a business deal and Leo like a tool to become queen. The tool is no longer hers, so the business has gone bankrupt. There's nothing to pity."
Their analysis was cool and objective, but Sophie couldn't bring herself to be so detached. She looked at the spot on the floor, now clean but still seeming to hold an invisible stain, and said softly, "But it's just... something wrong. To want a title so badly that you lose yourself completely. To lose all your friends, and yourself..."
Her words cast a brief silence over the group.
It was then that Hana, who had been quiet all this time, suddenly spoke. Her voice was soft, yet startlingly clear.
"I think I'll go find her."
Everyone turned to look at her in surprise.
"What?" Maxwell was the first to react. "Hana, are you kidding? Why would you do that? She's like a grumpy lioness right now; she'll bite the head off anyone who gets close."
"He's right," Drake added with a frown. "This isn't your problem. You don't need to get involved."
But Hana shook her head. Her eyes, which usually held a timid light, were now shining with an unprecedented, determined glow. She turned to Sophie, as if seeking her understanding.
"Sophie," she said softly, "I have to go."
Sophie looked at her, her expression filled with concern. "Why, Hana? She's in a very unstable state of mind. I don't want you to get hurt."
Hana took a deep breath, as if summoning all the courage she possessed. She looked at Sophie, and at the other friends gathered around her, and said, word by word, "Because when she was standing there, shouting... I saw something more than just her."
Her voice trembled slightly but was incredibly sincere.
"I saw myself. A possible version of myself."
"I saw my parents, far away in Shanghai, planning my future like a precise map, telling me I must become part of the court, telling me I must pursue a wealthy man I don't even know. A business transaction. They call it the family's glory, my duty. They never once asked me what I wanted."
"I look at Madeleine, and everything she did—wasn't it also to meet her father's expectations, for the glory of the Amaranth family? She turned herself into a tool, a beautiful, polished tool for acquiring power. And now that the tool has been discarded, she is in so much pain, so desperate."
"I'm afraid," Hana's voice dropped lower, tinged with a real, undisguised vulnerability. "I'm afraid that if I keep obeying, one day, I will become just like her. So," Hana's gaze grew incredibly firm, "I want to go find her. Maybe... maybe she just needs someone to talk to who understands. Not someone who understands her failure as a 'former fiancée,' but someone who understands her pain as a 'daughter,' as a 'tool.'"
After Hana finished speaking, everyone fell silent. For the first time, they saw in this quiet, introverted girl such profound insight and such immense courage.
Sophie was touched; she didnt know Hana's background, but hadn't expected Madeleine's crisis to reflect Hana's own fate. Feeling sympathy for Hana, Sophie was also proud of her courage.
"Alright," Sophie finally said, her voice full of support and trust. "Then you should go. But promise me you'll be careful. If she's still very emotional, or if she makes you feel uncomfortable, you come right back, okay? Call me. I'll come find you immediately."
Hana nodded emphatically, a grateful, relieved smile spreading across her face. "Thank you, Sophie, and everyone. all of you. I will."
She gave her new friends one last look, then gathered her gown, turned, and walked without hesitation toward the golden doors through which Madeleine had vanished. Her figure was small, but her steps were uncommonly firm.
In the ballroom, the soothing music continued to play, and the guests had resumed their elegant chatter, as if the storm had never happened. But Sophie and her friends knew that tonight, something had quietly, irrevocably changed.
Hana slipped a shawl over her shoulders, raised her gown, and slipped out of the ballroom through the ornate doors, choosing the quiet nighttime palace gardens over the lively music and lights indoors.
Silvery moonlight streamed through the windows, casting light across the gallery and onto the gardens outside. Hana hurried past, adrenaline and resolve coursing through her, while the serious expressions of royal portraits watched her every move.
She feared confronting Madeleine, whose pride intimidated her. Yet, staying silent meant remaining trapped by her own timidity. Inspired by Sophie's courage and seeing Madeleine break down, she realised what she could become if she didn't change. This fear finally pushed her to face conflict.
She descended the marble steps. The night air, carrying the damp scent of roses and night-blooming jasmine, brushed against her face, cooling the nervous heat on her skin. The garden was much darker than the ballroom. Massive hedges, trimmed into geometric shapes, cast vast, deep shadows like silent beasts. In the distance, a three-tiered fountain tirelessly tossed jets of water into the air. The droplets shattered into a million glittering diamonds in the moonlight before falling back into the basin with a crisp, monotonous sound, like the echo of weeping.
Hana's gaze searched the winding paths paved with white gravel. Finally, behind the fountain, in the shadows of a row of Grecian statues depicting mythological figures, she found her.
Madeleine was huddled on a cold stone bench. She had kicked off one of her high heels, which lay abandoned at her feet. The magnificent hunter-green velvet gown was now wrinkled and crumpled in her lap, its hem stained with dirt and bits of grass from her desperate flight. She was no longer the lofty Countess, no longer the radiant queen-to-be. At this moment, she was just a helpless woman, abandoned by the world. Her arms were wrapped tightly around herself, her shoulders shaking violently with silent, suppressed sobs that were somehow more heart-wrenching than any loud wail.
Hana stopped a few paces away. She looked at Madeleine's back, at the spine that was once held so straight but was now bent in sorrow, and a powerful, aching sympathy rose in her heart. She took a deep breath. The cool garden air filled her lungs and solidified her final resolve.
She took a step forward. The gravel crunched under her foot, a sound that was faint, yet startlingly clear in the stillness.
Madeleine’s body went rigid. The sobbing stopped instantly. She was like a startled, wounded animal, whipping her head around.
Her face was pale in the moonlight, her makeup smeared by tears into dark streaks. Her eyes were red and swollen, yet full of stubborn hostility and alertness.
"Who's there?" her voice was hoarse, as if scraped raw by sand.
Hana's heart leaped into her throat. She took a few more steps forward, out of the shadow of the hedge, letting the moonlight illuminate her own face.
"Madeleine... Countess Madeliene?" Hana ventured, her voice lighter, more tremulous than she’d intended.
Madeleine squinted, taking several seconds to focus on the newcomer. A flicker of confusion crossed her features, as she clearly didn't recognize this Asian face, but it was at once replaced by a sharper, more piercing anger of being intruded upon.
"Who are you?" she demanded, as if Hana's very presence was a crime. "No matter who you are, get out!"
"I..." Hana was pricked by the thorns in her tone and instinctively took half a step back, but she didn't leave.
"Didn't you hear me?!" Madeleine's voice rose sharply. She struggled to sit up straight on the bench, trying to reassemble the shattered pieces of her pride. "Were you sent to laugh at me? Was it Sophia Taylor? Or that fool, Penelope? Go back and tell them that even in my ruin, I, Madeleine Amaranth, am not a spectacle for commoners and traitors to pity! Get out!"
The word "commoner" stung Hana for a moment, but strangely, she felt no anger. Because in Madeleine's furious, defensive roar, she heard a desperate whimper.
"My name is Hana Lee," Hana said, not leaving. She simply stood there, her tone so calm it was almost stubborn. "I wasn't sent by anyone. I'm not here to pity you, or to laugh at you."
Madeleine let out a cold, shrill laugh that sounded jarring in the quiet garden. "Oh? Then what are you here for? To admire a discarded antique as it decays in the moonlight?"
"No," Hana shook her head. Her gaze drifted past Madeleine to the fountain, endlessly repeating its cycle of rising and falling. "I'm here because... when you were in the ballroom tonight... doing what you did, I think... I understood how you felt."
"You understood me?" Madeleine sounded as if she had just heard the world's most absurd joke. "You? A girl whose name I don't even know, who appeared from God knows where, you say you understand me? What do you know of five years? Do you know what it's like to be groomed from birth for a single purpose, for your life to be a single path leading to the throne of a queen? Do you know what it feels like when that path suddenly crumbles beneath your feet? You know nothing!"
Her emotions flared again, her voice turning sharp. But Hana didn't argue. She just listened quietly, waiting for her to finish.
Only when Madeleine paused, panting from the outburst, did Hana speak again. Her voice was still soft, but it carried an undeniable force.
"Perhaps I don't know what five years is like, or what it feels like to be a queen in waiting," she said slowly. "But I do know what it feels like when your parents look at you, and see not you, but their own unfulfilled ambitions and the glory of their family name. I know what it feels like to have a price tag put on your life, to be told that your worth is measured only by the benefit you can bring to your family."
Madeleine's ragged breathing stopped abruptly.
Hana did not look at her. Her gaze remained on the distant fountain, as if she were telling someone else's story.
"My parents sent me to Cordonia not because I love its history or its art, but because they felt this was the best market where I could realize my 'value.' They told me to study court etiquette, to befriend the powerful, to… to catch the eye of Prince Liam."
She gave a self-deprecating smile. "They believe that if I could become the king's consort, the Lee family name would shine in Cordonia, even across all of Europe. They planned everything for me, just as your parents planned everything for you. They told me it was my 'opportunity,' my 'destiny.'"
Madeleine was completely silent now. She sat rigidly, the hostility and anger draining from her face, replaced by a deeper, dazed sorrow. She looked at Hana as if into a mirror—a mirror that reflected the most pathetic, unacknowledged truth of her own soul.
"I'm afraid," Hana's voice dropped even lower, filled with a real, raw vulnerability. "I'm afraid that if I fail to meet their expectations, they will be disappointed in me. I'm afraid that if I mess up, I will become worthless. And I'm even more afraid that... even if I succeed, that life is not the one I want at all."
She finally turned her head and looked directly into Madeleine's eyes. Her own dark eyes, usually so timid, were startlingly clear.
"So, when you were standing there tonight," Hana said, enunciating each word, "shouting those things at Prince Leo, what I heard wasn't the anger of a jilted fiancée. I heard the cry of a soul that had been imprisoned for too long, using all its strength to condemn the shackles of 'expectation' and 'glory' that had pushed it into the abyss."
"You weren't grieving a lost love. You were mourning a life that was manipulated, planned, and ultimately, turned to dust."
The garden fell into a long silence once more. Only the sound of the fountain continued its tireless splashing.
Madeleine slowly lowered her head, burying her face in her hands. Her shoulders no longer shook violently, but began to tremble with a silent, more hopeless kind of shudder. Hana's words, like a precise scalpel, had cut through the layers of pride and fury she had wrapped around her wound, exposing the deepest, most painful source of her agony.
She had always believed she was unique, that her suffering was singular. That she was a tragic victim chosen by fate. But now, this insignificant commoner girl, whom she had never even deigned to notice, had used the plainest language to voice the most secret, unacknowledged truth of her heart.
It turned out they were the same. Both just pawns on a board, moved by forces beyond their control.
It was unknown how long had passed before Madeleine's sobs gradually subsided. She neither raised her head nor spoke, but just sat there quietly, like a soulless statue, exuding an overwhelming sadness that seemed impossible to dispel.
Hana knew that she had said all she should. Any more words would be superfluous. She made no attempt to comfort her or get closer. She just stood there motionless, quietly watching her.
She knew she had done all she could. At this moment, Madeleine needed not more words but a space where she could face the ruins of her own heart alone. She silently gave her a barely perceptible curtsy, then prepared to turn and leave quietly.
Just then, a night breeze blew through the garden.
The wind was colder than before, carrying the damp chill of the late night, howling from the depths of the garden. It whistled through the hedges, ruffling Hana's gown and sending the mist from the fountain, like a thin, icy veil, lashing against Madeleine's bare shoulders and back.
Her expensive dark green velvet dress, though sumptuous, was not warm. After a long period of sitting still and emotional exhaustion, her body had turned cold. This sudden chill made her shiver involuntarily. She instinctively hugged her arms, trying to draw a little warmth.
And then, a sound so utterly common and undignified, shattered the night's quiet.
"Achoo!"
It was a loud, unguarded, even slightly pathetic sneeze.
Madeleine herself froze. She lifted her head abruptly, her face a mask of astonishment. It was as if the sneeze had come from a stranger inhabiting her body, a stranger who was mortal, vulnerable, and susceptible to the cold. It instantly shattered the last vestiges of her tragic, self-important pose.
Hana, who had been about to leave, stopped. She turned back and saw Madeleine’s face, a mess of tear-streaks, shock, and utter mortification. In that moment, Hana no longer saw the lofty Duke’s daughter, nor the humiliated former fiancée of the Crown Prince. She just saw a miserable lady who had been crying for too long in the cold and was about to fall ill.
Hana said nothing. She simply, silently, slipped the beige shawl from her own shoulders. It was woven from soft wool, a gift from her nanny before she left for Cordonia. It still carried the faint, warm scent of home.
She walked to the bench and gently held out the shawl, its warmth a tangible presence in the cool air.
"Put this on," she said softly, her voice full of an undeniable concern. "It's cold out. You'll get sick."
Her tone was so plain, so matter-of-fact. There was not a trace of pity or charity in it. It was the simple, primal kindness of one person seeing another in need and offering a piece of warmth.
Madeleine's eyes were fixed on the shawl.
Her first instinct was to refuse. To lash out with the sharp, proud cruelty that was her last line of defense.
"I don't need your pity!" — the words were already on the tip of her tongue. Her pride, the fractured, shard-like remnants of her pride, were screaming at her to slap away this common girl's offering. She, Madeleine Amaranth, even at her lowest, did not need charity from a nobody.
But somehow, the words wouldn't come out.
Because another gust of wind blew past, and her body, beyond her control, shivered again. She was truly cold. A cold that seeped into her bones, mixed with sorrow and dampness. It was a truth so real that her pride could no longer deceive her.
She looked at Hana. The girl's eyes were so clean in the moonlight. There was no curiosity in them, no calculation, no sympathy. Only a calm, clear concern.
Madeleine's lips parted, but the scathing refusal she had intended to utter was swallowed back down. Her hand, after a fierce internal battle, finally, slowly, hesitantly, reached out.
Her fingertips touched the shawl. The soft, warm texture was a stark contrast to the cold, smooth silk of her own gown. That warmth felt like a strange magic, traveling up from her fingertips, bit by bit, toward her frozen heart.
She took the shawl, her fingers so stiff they were clumsy.
"...Fine..."
The words were forced from her throat, so quiet they were nearly inaudible, raspy with a reluctance she couldn't hide. But she had said them.
Seeing that she had taken it, Hana lingered no longer. In that brief moment, she had keenly noticed the change in her: a barely perceptible softening at the corners of Madeleine's tightly drawn mouth. She knew that for someone like Madeleine, acceptance was already the most difficult concession. She realized that a tiny crack had appeared in the icy fortress of Madeleine's heart.
"You'd better go back inside and rest soon." She simply gave a small nod and said softly, then, she turned and left. Her light footsteps receded down the gravel path, until they vanished completely into the garden's darkness.
The entire world was silent again, and Madeleine was alone.
She sat on the cold bench, clutching the shawl that still held the warmth of another person's body. The warmth felt so foreign, so... bewildering.
Slowly, she draped the shawl over her own shoulders, which were trembling from the cold and from her weeping.
The moment that simple, rustic warmth enveloped her, Madeleine's tears, without any warning, began to stream down her face once more.
But these tears were completely different from before.
They were not tears of anger, of bitterness, of hatred. They were not tears of self-pity for her lost title or for being abandoned by Leo.
This was a new feeling, something she had never experienced.
It was... a flood of tears born from immense confusion and a faint, flickering warmth.
___________
The fire in the king’s study crackled low, the scent of smoke mingling with the sharp bite of aged scotch. Liam and Leo were each sprawled in the oversized high back chairs like two boys who had raided their father’s liquor cabinet.
Leo tipped the bottle dramatically, filling their glasses to the brim. “To the shiny new king,” he said, raising his glass.
Liam lifted his in reply. “To you, and the fact that someone actually agreed to marry you. Miracles do happen.”
Leo barked out a laugh. “Careful, little brother. I’ve still got years of embarrassing stories I could share at your wedding. Don’t tempt me.”
They drank, and for a while the room was filled only with the clink of crystal and the easy stretch of silence that belonged only to brothers.
“You ever think about how different things could’ve turned out?” Leo asked, swirling his drink lazily.
Liam shot him a dry look. “Different, how? You as king and me burning down the palace by accident?”
“Exactly,” Leo said with mock seriousness. “History’s greatest missed opportunity.”
Liam chuckled, shaking his head. “The world doesn’t run on what-ifs. Only on what comes next.”
Leo leaned back, grinning. “Then promise me one thing—we don’t let the crown turn us into grumpy old men with no sense of humor.”
“Fine,” Liam said, smirking. “As long as you promise not to make my advisors cry at every council session.”
“No guarantees,” Leo shot back, raising his glass again. “Making them cry is half the fun.”
Liam laughed, finishing the last of his scotch before setting the glass aside. He pushed up from his chair, stretching.
“Leaving already?” Leo asked, raising a brow. “The night’s still young.”
Liam’s smile turned sly. “Not for me. Sophie’s waiting.”
Leo groaned, tossing a cushion at him. “Of course she is. Go on then, Your Majesty. Don’t keep the future queen waiting.”
Liam caught the cushion, grinning as he headed for the door. Behind him, Leo’s laughter chased him into the hall, warm and familiar.
The halls of the palace were quiet at this hour, the echoes of laughter and clinking glasses from the evening’s banquet fading into memory. Liam moved with purpose, his steps light despite the weight of the crown.
He paused outside the chamber door, the golden handle warm beneath his palm. For a moment, he let the tension of the day roll off him—the speeches, the endless congratulations, the heavy scotch with Leo. Then he pushed the door open.
Sophie was already there, curled up on the edge of the bed in a silk gown the color of moonlight, her hair tumbling loose around her shoulders. She looked up as he entered, and the tired lines of responsibility melted from his face.
“You’re late,” she teased, though her smile gave her away.
“Leo kept me hostage with scotch,” Liam said with a laugh, closing the door behind him. “You should be grateful I made it out alive.”
Sophie arched a brow. “Hostage, hmm? Judging by your grin, you didn’t fight too hard.”
He crossed the room in a few strides, sinking onto the bed beside her. “Maybe not. But I had a better reason to escape.”
Her smile softened, her hand finding his. “And what reason is that, Your Majesty?”
Liam leaned closer, his forehead brushing hers, his voice dropping to a whisper. “You.”
Meeting her lips, Liam’s kiss deepened, no longer careful but hungry, as though he’d spent the entire night waiting for this one moment. Sophie melted into him, her fingers sliding up into his hair, pulling him closer. The silk of her gown whispered against his skin as he drew her into his arms, holding her as though he’d never let go.
“You don’t know what it does to me,” he murmured against her lips, “coming back from a day like this… and finding you here.”
Sophie smiled breathlessly, her hands smoothing over his chest, feeling the steady beat of his heart. “Maybe I do,” she teased softly, before kissing him again—fierce this time, claiming him as much as he claimed her.
The fire cast a warm, flickering glow over the room, but it was nothing compared to the heat rising between them. Liam’s hands traced the curve of Sophie’s waist, pulling her closer, feeling her heart pound against his chest. Every brush of her skin ignited a fire he hadn’t realized had been simmering all day.
“Liam…” Sophie’s breath caught as his lips traveled from hers to her jaw, lingering, teasing, claiming.
He looked at her, his eyes dark with desire and tenderness. “I need you,” he whispered, voice low and raw. “I’ve waited all night for this.”
She smiled, hands tangling in his hair as she pressed her body into his. “Then don’t wait any longer.”
Their lips met again in a kiss that stole their breath, deep and insistent. Liam’s hands roamed over her back and shoulders, pulling her silk gown aside, revealing the warmth of her skin. Sophie’s fingers traced the line of his jaw, down his chest, feeling the strength beneath the kingly exterior, the steady heat that belonged only to her.
Every touch, every whispered word, made the world outside disappear. The crown, the court, the palace—all of it faded until there was nothing but Liam and Sophie, tangled in the sheets, in the firelight, in the sweet, desperate need of each other.
Liam’s lips trailed down her neck, across her collarbone, eliciting gasps and soft moans that made his own pulse race. “You’re everything,” he murmured against her skin. “Everything I’ve ever wanted… everything I’ve ever needed.”
Sophie pulled him back up, pressing herself against him, her mouth claiming his in a kiss that was fierce, tender, and unrelenting all at once. “And you’re mine,” she breathed, “completely.”
@choicesficwriterscreations
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