I was out all day yesterday, so I couldn't upload it then, so here it is now. Day seven, extended version. I do have plans to make this a series, and once I have all three series planned out, I'll be sure to ask who's you want to see first. Be sure to look out for more Euphemia content until then too. On a side note, did anyone see Kerri's stories, where she was scrolling through the first few pages of Throne of Secrets. We got a glimpse at the first couple of pages and honestly, ever teaser just makes me more impatient to read it.
This is probably my favourite piece, and the longest that I've written. Even though it's extended, there's so much more that I wanted to add, that I'll probably put into the series. I really loved writing Lust, and trying to balance gentle, romantic side with his lustful, jovial one. Although, I don't think there was much room for the latter here but I'll be sure to give it ago in the series. What are some of your favourite Lust moments from the trilogy? Let me know! @princeofsinweek
TW: Almost forced marriage, abuse (father striking his daughter, plus forced fiancé hurting bride), mentioned death of a parent, mentioned canon typical violence.
Amara was stone faced as her ladies maids tittered around her, tugging, tucking and tidying up her hair in preparation. They had tried to make smalltalk at first, but when she didn’t respond, they quickly gave up.
She wanted to grimace at her reflection. She wanted to tear the pins and veil from her hair. She wanted to smear the makeup from her face, even if she had to break a few nails and tear her skin to do it. She wanted to rip the silk and lace from her body, and throw it to the pigs.
All because she had nowhere to go. Noone to turn to.
The gown itself was classic. An a-line gown made of silk, with a sweetheart neckline, and thick lace sleeves. The ivy patterned lace reached right to where her neck met her head, and somehow managed to irritate her skin. Yet, despite her growing discomfort, she remained like a statue, even as the maids began wondering if she even lived or not.
“You will wed the Prince, and you will finally make yourself useful to me,”
Even as it echoed in her own mind, her father’s voice remained harsh, arguably colder than even the northernmost flaming tombs. It became his usual attitude after her mother had been killed by who Amara now knew was the Goddess of Death in an act of vengeance. The father she knew and loved lasted until the funeral, but once people began moving on with their lives, things began to change. Gone was the gentle, doting father she knew, and in his place was a shell of a man who only sought power and fame.
Even at the expense of his own daughter.
Part of her, thinking back to that night, when she felt as though things had turned around for her.
Growing sick of the scent of alcohol and sex in her home, she’d wandered to one of the many cliff sides in Palermo.
She wasn’t sure how long she’d sat there, eyes locked on the crashing waves below, but not really looking at them.
It would be so easy to just… Push herself forward, and let herself fall. So, so easy.
But, before she could properly contemplate the idea, he was pulled from her thoughts by the distant sound of music. As if in a trance, she made her way down the side of the cliff wondering if it was the cold, or anticipation that had her limbs trembling. What she hadn’t expected was to find a bonfire, and a single male dancing on the beach.
The sculptures that nobles commissioned from renowned artisans to line their overly elaborate halls must’ve been inspired by the man. His skin was gold, and hair dark. His charcoal eyes seemed to glow under the light of a flaming circlet that wrapped around his head. Yet, somehow, she got the impression that if she met his gaze, she’d feel like she was trapped in a darkened abys
“If you like what you see, then why not join?” The male’s voice jolted her from her thoughts.
He had been across the beach a moment ago, but now he stood right in front of her. Too close. His face was too close, as he bent at the waist to examine her. It was only then, when she felt that flaming circlet flicker against her forehead that she realized how… Wrong- no. Not wrong. How… Strange it was.
“Doesn’t your head get hot during the summer?” she had blurted out, before slapping a hand over her mouth.
The man’s eyes widened, and he had jerked back, clearly surprised by the question. He observed her, eyes narrowing somewhat, before leaning back, letting his lips spread into a grin.
“There are no summers where I’m from,” he shrugged. She blinked up at him, hands still pressed to her mouth, but eyes wide and curious. He seemed so jovial when she first saw him, then he looked like he could see all of her secrets laid bare, before going back to seeming like he was having fun. “Should you not be more concerned by this?” he cocked his head to the side.
Amara dropped her hands from her mouth, and blinked up at him again. After a few moments under his expectant gaze, she raised a brow, and rocked on the soles of her feet, answering with a shrug. “No. My mother was a witch,”
“You seem remarkably comfortable sharing that, when all it would take is the wrong person overhearing for you to be condemned,”
“You aren’t exactly human either, in case you hadn’t noticed,” she pointed out, “I know enough about malvagi to know that if you wanted me dead, I’d be dead. Clearly, you don’t. Not as of yet, anyway,”
Lust’s brows shot up again, as he circled her.
Amara held her chin high, eyes tracking the male.
Silence stretched on for what felt like hours, though was likely only minutes.
“Do you know who I am, Stella Stregah?” he finally asked.
“A Malvagi,” she stated, matter of factly, before looking behind him, “Why are you having a bonfire all alone?”
“Would you care to join me?” was the only response he gave.
“Will you attempt to use your powers on me?” she asked.
“Dance with me, and perhaps you’ll find out,” the demon bowed at the waist, offering his hand to her.
Amara eyed him skeptically, but shrugged and accepted.
Music filled her ear again, though there was no discernible source, as the demon guided her through the steps. Amara let him. She followed his lead, though never once made eye contact with the demon.
“I am the Prince of Lust,”
She narrowed her eyes on him. Taking a moment to examine herself, and thinking over their interactions thus far. It didn’t seem like he used his powers on her.
“Why haven’t you tried to influence me with your sin, yet?”
“Believe me, I’ve been trying,” Lust huffs.
“Our powers can only inflate emotions that are already present. When I reached out to inflate yours, I sensed no emotion to inflate. Either you truly feel nothing, or they’re so deeply buried that even I can’t find them,”
“Is that why you considered jumping from the cliff, Stella Stregah?”
Lust raised a brow, examining the way her face scrunched.
“That’s not your concern, Malvagi.” Amara snapped, moving to pull away.
He chuckled, yanking her into a spin, before she could, then caught her, and pushed her into a dip, hand cupping the thigh of her raised leg. His face was mear inches from hers.
“No need to be so wrathful, little witch. Let go of your troubles for a night. Release those pent up feelings and give in to your desires,”
“I’m not sleeping with you,” she told him, point blank.
“I never said you should. Not unless those are your desires,” Lust shrugged, not rising from the dip, letting his hand trail down her leg, “Dance. Drink,” she glanced behind him to see a table of drinks and food she hadn’t noticed before, and on the other side, comfortable looking chairs were laid out around the bonfire, “Rest. Talk. Sing. Give into whatever brings your pleasure,”
“You mean to feed your sin,”
“Perhaps. But can you deny that giving in to pleasure, forgetting what ails you, even for a single night, would be bad?”
It wouldn’t. She knew it wouldn’t.
“Surely you have plenty of people available to feed your sin,”
“If I give into pleasure, you won’t use your sin on me?”
“Not unless you ask, little witch,”
“Then it’s a deal. Just for tonight.”
It hadn’t been just for a night.
She had returned two nights later, and made the same deal again, swearing it was the last time. Then again. And again. And again. And again.
Eventually, she gave into more and more of her desires, spending more than a couple of those nights with him making love on the beach, or in a cave. One time, he’d even appeared in her bedroom while her father was out drinking. Lust had wrinkled his nose when he appeared, be it at the sorry state of the place she lived in, or the clear evidence of her father’s vices, despite his own position, she couldn’t tell.
Eventually, she’d found herself coming to enjoy the jovial prince’s company. Perhaps it was unwise to do so, given what she knew of the malvagi, yet, she couldn’t bring herself to regret it. Even as she began to desire more than just his body. Instead, she longed for tender nights where he held her by the fire after a particularly vigorous session of love making in a cave.
Foolishly, she longed for the scowl he gave at her proposal to roast marshmallows over his flaming crown, before reluctantly agreeing if only she never shared it with her brothers, only to watch her oh, so tenderly as she made s’mores for them. Above all, she longed for the high she felt in his presence, which she recently learned wasn’t due to his sin, but rather her own feelings, and delusions.
That was all it was. Delusions.
Princes of Hell are content to rule alone, with no desire to share their power with anyone.
Now, at least she had her memories to hold onto as she got married. Then, when Prince Zarus would transform her into one of his own at the reception, right before injecting her with his venom, she’d likely lose all senses, or memories of her Prince. Perhaps that would be the mercy. To forget all of it, and be lost in the oblivion for the rest of eternity.
A sharp knock snaps her from her thoughts. In the mirror, she watched the lady’s maids quickly shuffle out, but glanced away at her father’s entry. She refused to even look at him.
He, obviously, noticed this too, but for once, did not strike her. Instead, he examined her.
“You don’t look like a whore, for once,” he comments. Amara said nothing. “Don’t look so sullen when you walk down the aisle. You are to wed royalty, and if you wish for comfort in your new life, do not let the prince tire of you.”
“Don’t pretend this is for me,” she whispers, “All this is so you can gain wealth, power and immortality. You care nothing for how I feel about the matter.” Tears well in her eyes as she gazes at her reflection, feeling like an imposter.
Her father approached, ignoring her flinch as he placed his hands on her shoulders, leaning beside her head to watch her in the mirror.
She refused to meet his gaze.
“Nonsense. You’re the precious,” his hands squeezed uncomfortably tight, voice strained, “daughter that my wife left behind before she died. I am merely doing what is best, so that you might live a life of comfort,”
Amara wanted to retort. To hurl insults and decor at him, but knew the guards would happily inject her before the wedding started, upon their Prince’s orders, and drag her down the aisle in that state of euphoria if that’s what it took. She didn’t want that. She wanted to put it off as long as she could. Yet, she also wanted to be rid of her father.
Mercifully, another knock at the door dragged her father away with one, final, painful squeeze of her shoulders.
She barely noticed the newcomer enter after her father, the woman draped in silver, emanating a familiar sensuality. Amara’s eyes snapped to hers as she pressed a finger to her lips. A slip of paper drops in front of her, before she uses transvenio to make her escape.
Eyes wide, Amara reaches for the paper, slowly unfolding it.
My dearest Amara,
You don’t have to say yes. Meet at the back door and I can take you away from here, somewhere you’d be happy. I’d give absolutely anything for that, so I ask that if you wish to escape this, then come find me. I’ll be there until the reception ends.
Forever yours,
Prince Lust.
The message burst into flames, leaving behind a slip of paper with a map drawn on it. It appeared to lead from her room to the place he was waiting. The only issue were the guards outside her room. With furrowed brows, she shoved the paper into her pocket, hoping she’d have a chance on the way to the altar.
Finally, when her father came to collect her, she walked to the end of the hall.
“Father. I- I forgot my necklace! Could you go back and get it?”
“Just leave it, before we’re late,” he assures, with thinly veiled irritation and faux kindness.
“But it was a gift from the Prince. He’d be terribly angry if I don’t,” she tried.
Her father raised a brow, but nodded to the guards, who turned back. She and her father had watched them head back up the hall, to her room, before she turned on her heel, reaching for the paper. She’d made it halfway up the hall before a firm grip pulled her back.
“Where do you think you’re-” he noticed the paper. His eyes slid over the map, narrowing on it. Before she knew what was happening, a sharp sting was felt across her face, strong enough to send her to the ground, “You whore! You think you can escape this? You think you can embarrass me?!”
She shrank under his ire, more tears welling in his eyes.
He yanked her up by the arm.
“No. But you will be. Just you wait until the reception is over,” he hissed, “Now compose yourself,”
She did her best as they stood in the hallway, certain that the guards heard everything. A put of dread opened up in her stomach and minutes ticked by far too slowly, yet far too quickly at the same time. Each second was like a step towards the gallows.
She barely processed the guard’s return or her father clasping the necklace around her. She didn’t bother to hide her stiffness, or heartbreak, even as her father snapped at her to smile. As far as she was concerned, this was as good as walking to the executioner’s block.
The doors to the throne room opened, revealing the altar, where the immortal throne, where Zarus, sat at the end of an aisle laid with red and black petals.
Amara didn’t care much what plant they were from, only that it felt like a mocking reminder that the path to her future was scattered with more and more burdens to laden her shoulders.
She didn’t notice when she got to the altar.
She didn’t acknowledge the priest, or her fiance.
She stood in stony silence, with the eyes of bloodsucking monsters pinned to her.
The lines she dreaded most were coming.
She hardly felt like she could breath, much less speak.
“Do you, Amara Willows, take Prince Zarus to be your Prince and your husband, and to serve him and his court, for the rest of eternity?”
“Amara?” a distant voice called.
She couldn't discern who.
She could feel her father’s harsh glare on her, and the Prince’s hand tightening on hers.
“Amare Willows, do you take-”
She couldn’t take it. She ran. Amara practically jumped off the altar, gown bunched in her hands, as she raced for the doors. There was yelling, and she felt pain in her foot as she stumbled, shoe falling off in the process, but she refused to acknowledge the pain as she made for the doors. It only really sunk in as two guards caught her arms in a bruising grip.
“Aren’t you supposed to ask those with objections to ‘speak now’ or some bullshit?”
Amara’s head snapped towards the door at the familiar voice. Charcoal eyes met her own, and the flames that circled his head flickered somewhat brighter. As per usual, he wore an embroidered suit jacket and pants, foregoing the shirt.
“There is none in this court who would dare object to their Prince’s union,” scowled Zarus.
“Luckily I’m not part of this court then,” Lust grins, ever the jovial one, “So allow me to say with all sincerity in my non-existent heart,” he mocked, only, there was something different. His eyes had an intensity about them that she’d never seen before, “that I object,”
“Lu-” she tried to reach out, only for Zarus to appear in front of her.
The guards back off when Zarus grabs her wrist.
“On what grounds? You have no right to interfere in our affairs,”
“I do when you take a member of my court,”
“My daughter has never been a member of your vile court!” Her father interrupted, his face going red, from embarrassment or rage, she couldn’t tell.
“You see, that’s where you're wrong,” Lust starts, as he begins his way up the aisle, “She and I had made a deal, that involved her allowing me to fuel my sin through her several times a week. Marrying you would prevent her from holding up her end of the bargain,”
Her eyes widened as she recalled the deal she made, time and time again.
“Each corner of The Underworld has its own set of laws. Human law, the law of the Shifting Isles, dictates that a woman may not enter such agreements without her father or husband’s consent, deferring only to their female line in the absence of a male relative,” her father snapped.
“Yes, however, each law can be overturned by The King,”
“Not without valid reason to-”
“And there is,” a new voice called.
The man who just entered is burly, with dark hair, tied back with leather, and upswept, dark eyes. A scar is carved through his right cheek, a silver gleam against his darker features, and fine black suite. Despite how bored the man seems, the way his hand remains in reach of what appears to be a dagger’s sheath makes it clear that he’s been assessing everything with a warrior’s eye. He came prepared for violence.
Lust told her about him before. Anir. The King’s second.
“Consent is the most important aspect of courtship and marriage. Yet your bride doesn’t appear to want to be here at all,” Lust muses.
“What nonsense-” her father snapped, but was cut off by a withering glare from Anir.
“The King has asked me to confirm this. If it is true, then he’s willing to recognise House Lust’s claim of the woman, and has ordered me to leave behind a declaration of war as a result,” Anir holds an envelope between two fingers.
“This is ridiculous-” her father attempted again, only to be cut off again.
“Of course my bride wishes to be here,” Zarus turns from Anir to Amara, grip tightening painfully on her wrist, “don’t you?”
Amara winces, unable to speak from the strength with which he was holding her. Anir examined her, waiting, but the pain in her wrist became too much. She was sure he was crushing the bone, even before she heard a snapping sound coming from there. She wanted to cry out, only for the pressure on her wrist to vanish in a moment.
That was the moment the petals scattered on the aisle started coming closer. It was as if she was falling.
It wasn’t until warm arms wrapped around her waist, pulling her to a warm chest, that she saw Lust kneeling beside her. Through her gaze, though blurred with unshed tears, she noticed a female demon, the one from before, gripping the Prince’s hand almost as tightly as he did her’s. Tighter perhaps.
A warm hand gently guided her face away from the sight, so that she might meet the gaze of her prince instead.
“I’m sorry. I couldn’t make it,” she whispered, thinking to her failed attempt at escape,”
“It’s okay, little witch. I’m here now,” Lust whispers, cradling your body.
You turn to see the man, Anir, approaching too. His gaze is calculating as he observes you, likely trying to figure out what to report to his prince.
“What’s important now is that you’re honest,” he tells you sternly, though not unkindly, “If you don’t wish to marry Zarus, speak now, Miss Willows,”
Her heart races at his words, at the opportunity to escape. She wants to reach for it, to grasp it but-
“But where will I go?” she asks weakly.
Lust, who was cradling her wounded wrist in his hand, smiled gently at her. Like he had many times before.
“You’ll come with me,” he whispered.
“But why? You have so many demons to feed your sin, so why-”
“Because I want you,” he reminds her, “I’ll tell you as many times as you need. I want you. Not anybody else,” he leans down to your ear, “Come back with me, to House Lust. Join my court officially. Be mine. Let me make you my princess, and then be mine. Mine for eternity,”
“Hush. Let me finish,” he waits for you to nod before speaking, “In return, I’ll give you all the comfort and pleasure you want. I won’t have dalliances with anyone else. I won’t look at anyone else. Nobody but you. I’ll give you whatever your heart desires, if you just say ‘yes’”
He’s practically begging, in front of the entire vampire court, and his brother’s second, no less.
You don’t bother to contain your tears as you lean up, wrapping your good arm around him.
“Miss Willows-” Anir begins.
“Yes,” she manages to get out through her sobs, not breaking your gaze from Lust’s, “I want to go to House Lust. I want to leave this place,”
Anir nods, beginning to address the room again, but you pay it no mind. Instead, she wrapped her arms around Lust’s shoulders, mindful of the injured wrist, and buried your face there. The demon from earlier tried to console her, only for Lust to wave her away. He could feel her emotions. The fear, and heartache for her situation, all overshadowed by relife, joy, and desire for her freedom, for Lust. He felt no need to inflate it, instead, he gently encouraged her to let it out however she needed.
It was only when Lust deposited her on a bed covered in deep plum silks, and overly stuffed pillows.
“Care for a bath?” he asked.
“As long as it stays one. I’m far too tired to do anything right now,” she murmured to him.
Lust chuckled, but agreed, as he helped her from, what he called, an inordinate amount of fabric, as she giggled and reminded him that it was only two layers.
“Two layers too many,” he huffed, before tearing the dress from her body and depositing her in the bat.
While she soaked, Lust gently wiped the makeup from her face, before pressing a kiss to her temple. He brought some ointment and bandages for her wrist, silently wrapping it, before carrying her back to bed.
“If you don’t wish to sleep bare, I could have some night clothes brought,” he gently offered, as he helped her dry off.
“I’ve slept beside you, naked, in caves, and on sand. I think I’ll be fine to do so while wrapped in the most comfortable silks I’ve ever seen,” she assured.
Lust smiled, nodding, before reaching for something from the bedside.
“I only wish for your comfort, little witch, before I make good on one of my promises,”
Amara blushed at the reminder.
He ignored her as he took a ring in one hand, hew good wrist in the other.
“I want to. Let me make you my princess. My fiance. My only lover,”
She stared at him, noting sincerity in his dark eyes. Amara nodded.
“Then, from now until eternity, be mine, Lust,”
Lust slid the ring to her finger, then pressed a kiss to her lips.
“Mine,” he nipped at her.
She giggled, and nipped back.
