𝓝𝓪𝓷𝓪

divider by @anitalenia

Ch. 1

“What will you give me as a collateral?”

The clinking sound of mugs filled the room. There was intense scent of black tea in his private office, though, the lingering smell of cigarettes was much stronger and obvious than the hot drink.

Two men were sharing somewhat a tea ceremony, one that was taller and rather emaciated had his clothes indicate he’s not at all poor. He held his cup of tea in a relaxed but dry manner, his expression didn't really express anything but contempt and his overall look screamed big ego. The other man, shorter and less sophisticatedly dressed who was sitting in front of him, held his cup with a trembling hand. As soon as the first man noticed the hint of anxiety in his motions, he placed his other hand on top to provide support.

“My lord—”, his voice was no less trembling than his hands.

“My lord!” The richer man parodied him. “Seriously, get a grip of yourself”, he took a sip of his tea, sighed, pleased with the taste, and put the mug back on the small plate. There was no behaviour more rude and cold than his current. As if the person were not sensible at all, he could only sadistically smile, addicted to the sense of power in his grasp. “I shall ask once again—what will you provide me with as a collateral?”

The man abandoned his tea and leaned forward hastily to grasp the richer man’s blazer in his calloused old hands. 

“I used to be wealthy—just like you sir—please have mercy on me! We are very much alike! Don’t swallow me and my family—oh, I beg of you!”

It took a few seconds for the magnate to process the unwanted physical contact that he used to receive from his customers or debtors frequently, especially when they were borderline begging him. “Get your hands off me!” 

Magnate’s aura was extremely condescending, if not disgusting, but the debtor knew he had to be obedient and less repulsive in order to get what he wanted. 

“You’re not easy to please, Mr. Pantalone”, he stepped back and ruffled his hair, clueless what he should do. 

“That I am.”

The audacity he had should have been quite natural for the man of rich fortune however from the customer’s perspective it looked like the problem was not entirely in his wealth but rather something inside this man, something he was made of that made you feel shivers run down your spine. He had such aura that could be described not only frightening but exhausting too. The poor, defensless man had become so desperate that he started pitying himself, although he knew that the banker evidently felt the same for him. It was horrible! He never felt so looked down on in his life ever. But that man did not leave him a chance, he was relentless and cruel. Oh, how cruel he was - to drive a poor father to such despicable crimes!

“I might have something—someone—as a collateral.”

Pantalone’s lips from had shifted from the sullen thin line into an eerie smirk. The poor man had already made his choice, alas, he couldn't avoid the contract now! But was it right? Was it all right to give his eldest daughter… to this man?

“This man! What is he like—I hope he doesn't beat ladies?”

You roll your eyes at the back of your head and let out a groan.

“I don’t know, little one, guess we’ll have to learn that won’t we?” You touch the cold marble of your bed table, the two of you sitting on your big, king-sized bed in the room for guests. The room looks not less than one assorted for a princess. You continue with a softer tone, sharing your sister’s worries.

“I only met him once. I couldn't even see his face properly - he gave me a short, rather dissatisfied stare and ran out of the room, the heels of his court shoes were louder than the words he uttered.”

“He doesn't sound like he’s interested at all in his marriage, Y/N…” 

“Well, he better not be—as I’m never going to fall for him! I hate rich people!”

“But we are rich people, Y/N. Are we not?”

You comb your sister’s hair, putting some of the flowers, dead flowers, into the braids of her hair.

“We were. Now we’re just like everyone else—average if not less—and we’re going to be looked down upon. You have to remember that.”

There is a sigh that escapes from your lips as you run your hands through the ‘gifts to the bride’: various jewellery items and other marvellous accessories which have not yet grabbed your attention for some reason, as the bigger underlying problem is occupying your mind.

“This man won't go easy on us, we’re just ants for him.”

The dress sits tightly but rather conveniently on you. At least they got something right - your body measurements. Your check yourself, the feeling of fabrics convinces you of their high quality, though it does not make you feel any less anxious. Your sister shouldn't know of your worries and how your heart shrinks at the thought your wedding in a half an hour. And the thought of the wedding night, which is more dreadful than anything else. But you can't let her know it, it’s still a child, she must not lose hope, otherwise there will be two depressed daughters in the family which is not exactly your dream plan.

“His mansion is rather big, isn't it?” you ask unexpectedly, staring at the window. So many people have gathered already, as if the whole city wants to watch your wedding, or, rather, your embarrassment. You think back: you could escape this outcome and run from your house as soon as you heard what your father did, but you did not. Perhaps you didn't want? You feel confused with yourself. It must be the natural desire to help your family that has made you stay and witness yourself being scooped by the unexpected wedding circumstances.

“Big…and cold”, she adds. 

“Well that’s because you’re not wearing a scarf, my darling. We’re in Snezhnaya, it never has warmth in it. Will you wear a scarf when we’re outside? Promise me.”

The stubborn child wastes a few moments thinking before she rolls her eyes (just like you did before) and utters not eagerly:

“I promise, I will put on a scarf.”

You boop her nose gently and turn around to see your cousin enter the room. He is not the most sociable person, in fact he’s rather shy, that’s why upon seeing you in your wedding dress he only whispers:

“Nice.”

“Why, thank you. I didn't expect you to visit me—I mean, not that I am unhappy.”

“I just thought…” he stands there not making an attempt to step closer. He is always like this - and he never gives out hugs. “That you might need some support.” 

“Thank you, really, I appreciate it, especially from you who is not exactly extraverted.”

Your cousin clenches and unclenches his hand a couple of times apart from biting his lips with obvious nervousness. It seems he’s not sure at all what to say as he has never before express his affection, hardly to his mother, by the way.

“I just wanted you to know, if that man—I mean, your future husband—hurts you in some way—you can rely on me. I..I will protect you.”

His voice appears to be slightly trembling but he finishes his sentence, filled with sincerity, successfully. You and your sister are both stunned for a couple of seconds before you finally manage to thank him once again.

“Well, if he does, I will not hesitate to grab a frying pan and smack him properly.”

Your little sister encourages you with a burst of giggle. The cousin gives out a soft smile and shares a few moments united with family. Not long after he nods to you briefly and leaves you to prepare for a few last minutes.

“Y/N, are we going to live together? All in this big mansion?”

“I don’t know, honey. That is if he decides so.”

The wedding ceremony starts and the day remains unapologetically cold. You mentally thank the tailors for providing you with a fur outerwear on top of your wedding dress, otherwise you would simply turn into an icicle yourself. When you start walking towards the altar you pray to the archons that you won’t twist your feet. You are not wearing the highest of heels, but if there was one person who’d argue that it was not a hassle to walk over the ice in the heeled shoes… well, they’d be a fool. 

You pictured him in your head many times, especially given the slight knowledge of his features that you memorised from your first meeting. But they are not enough, of course. What could you possibly comprehend about a man you saw only poor thirty seconds of your life? What was his core, his dreams? Does he beat women? - as your sister inquired. There was nothing. And your parents did not seem to be eager sharing a bunch of words on him. There was no praise, but no criticism whatsoever. What was he? What does he hide from the world? And why, by the name of Tsaritsa did he evn agree to this arranged marriage at all? Is he even worthy of—

He.

Is extremely handsome and radiates pure self righteous aura. Wavy blue-black locks neatly combed and styled into a middle parting, a bow on his little ponytail swung languidly on his shoulder. One streak of hair grey, either for style purposes or age - you couldn't know. He wears eyeglasses, the occassional sun light gleams on the glass, hiding his eyes. 

You step closer and closer to the altar before the both of you are just as supposed to be. Your eyes meet and you ought to judge him for his acceptance of such hideous collateral, but his whole appearance prevents you from being aggressive, at least right now.

“We’ve never been acquainted properly”, you say, but the words appear slightly softer than expected, almost as if you are being polite with him. No, that sucks, that’s not what you wanted.

“It was for the good of our further relationship. I would dislike unnecessary drama”, he responds, his lips periodically moving from your face to your wedding dress before he turns to the crows and listens to the priest’s speech.

His answer confuses you. “Some things are better left unsaid”, you think. Given the closeness you two share right now, you get a proper understanding of his appearance - the man looks not younger than five-and-thirty, yet there is hardly a single wrinkle on his face. There are, however, dark circles under his eyes, signalling that his sleeping schedule might not be the best. It’s also not difficult to guess that he is an office worker and, to your opinion, a very polished one. His looks are refined, distinguished and so far he seems very well-mannered, knowing the process of wedding all too well. It’s a good sign, after all, it feels much easier to go through this process with someone experienced and not shaking unlike yourself.

“Are you prepared, as you follow the path of Marriage, to love and honour each other for as long as you both shall live?" The priest asks.

You get the familiar feeling of your heart shrinking and you cannot stop yourself from being overwhelmed with thoughts rushing into your head, begging you to say ‘no’, but you do not really have a choice anymore. You could have escaped, earlier, but now? No, you should proceed to this path. There is nothing you won’t handle, even if it is an arranged marriage to the richest man in the world.

“Okay—I mean—yes, of course. I do. I am.”

“And so do I”, the rich man responds.

His cologne is subtle and not irritating which cannot help but revoke some of your stress. But once you get a grasp of yourself, pulling out of your thoughts, you realise that the lot is staring at you.

The man beside you clears his throat.

“Put the ring onto my finger”, he says gently, and he does not need to repeat that as you take the ring in your sweaty hands, feeling so lightheaded that you fear you might collapse just here and now. Your groom senses your anxiety, it is evident in his eyes, but for some reason he only stares at you, not rushing you into the action, instead carefully waiting for you to do as supposed.

You take his hand in yours and start slowly pushing the ring. Finally you manage, but upon letting his hand loose you notice how, despite of him escaping the age signs on his face, he has incredibly dry hands. You take a notice of it even firmer when he puts the ring on your finger after. Though, you are not given much time to comtemplate your observation when the most important question is raised:

“Exchange the kiss that will confirm your bond.”

You feel like fainting, but before you do, he raises your chin and delivers a kiss to your lips. The touch so brief, it was but a peck — nothing more, nothing less. And so, the bond becomes official.

You’re led by his staff to wait in the bedroom. Strangely, there is no maids here, but a butler - a considerable old, but wise-looking man from whom you get no ill vibes at all. He politely asks you to wait in your husband’s bedroom, apologising from on behalf of his master that he has some finishing business to attend. You walk to the bed and caress the silky sheets with your hand. And there you are, in his bedroom, waiting for your wedding night, but Pantalone is still not here. You try to reassure yourself, a weak attempt to negotiate it all inside you, to convince you that nothing bad will happen. It’s just marital activities - all newlyweds have to perform it. But the fact that you’re just given to him as a part of the contract stings somewhere deep in your soul.

It’s not really a long wait when the man finally enters the room, the doors swung wide open and he shuts them gently. He turns his head to look at you, you exchange glances before he removes his thin, frail-looking hands from the door and walks up to the bed very, very slowly. You immediately rise and rush to him, though your feet feel like they’re glued to the carpets. You stop in front of him, the white wine stain still on his shirt. Luckily it is not as visible as if it would be, were it for the red wine, you think.

“I’m once again sorry. My hand slipped, I didn't mean to embarrass you in front of everyone. Let me—” you do what an obedient wife should do, gripping the edges of his shirt and attempting to relieve him of it. But once your finger touches the first button, he catches your hand and slowly but assertively pushes it back.

“I’d rather you not.”

“Excuse me?”

“Not touch me.”

“Oh—I though we—”

“You don't say.”

Your hand is frozen in place and you wait until Pantalone says something. What is the meaning of this? Is this some sort of his mind game? This damn businessman, for archon’s sake, he’s perfectly shady and possibly one hell of a manipulator.

“They are not going to live here”, he suddenly says, breaking the tense silence.

“What?”

“The question you asked before.” 

“Ah, right…” It’s the question you discussed with your little sister. How did he evem learn about it? 

Your expression falters. You would rather prefer you all together in one place, but perhaps… perhaps it was for the best. Pantalone turns away, he starts rummaging in his wardrobe in search of something but still conscious of your questions.

“But they will be welcomed guests, right?”

He stops in his tracks, pulling something from the wardrobe and closing it tightly. 

“Any time.”

Pantalone places a wrapped gift onto the bed, seems to be neatly wrapped clothes. Right, your wedding night…

“So we won’t…” you lower your voice, and then your eyebrows raise in confusion but it was for a good reason. What a relief. 

“Spend the night? No, there won’t be anything like that. It’s just that we’re going to share this bed for one night until your family is perfectly convinced that we consummated.”

“But—what are we going to do then?”

“Sleep. Change (into your silk night robe I gave you) and don't ask me questions”, he walks to the further part of the room, his hand clenching around the handle. “I’ll be changing in the bathroom. Let me know when you’re finished dressing and I may come out.” He disappears in the bathroom with the soft click.

Really?!

You look at the wrapped gift: it’s not a lace lingerie, not even a seductive set of nightwear - it’s a dark burgundy night robe, perfectly covered and silky. You start easing yourself of the wedding dress - thank Archons yours was not of complicated designs, it was rather simply-looking, but obviously made of luxurious fabric, tailored privately for your body only.

Strange, but he has no maids in the mansion. Otherwise you’d be already served and helped.

After some suffering you manage to escape the wedding dress and put it neatly onto the chair. The gems sewn onto the dress were still shimmering with cold, moonlight-like twinkles.

“May I come out?”

“Yes, I’m ready.”

The man slowly opens the door, he himself wearing a tightly wrapped black night robe and a pair of trousers, his clothes showing not at inch of his skin except for the small area down his neck. But even witnessing him covered so properly, you cannot deny that his physique is rather bony.

“You have been sweating”, he walks up to the windowsill where a tall glass bottle is stood, and fills a cup with it.

“Sorry?” He offers you the cup before you can get even more confused.

“At the altar. I suspect you might be dehydrated.”

“Oh, I was nervous.”

“It’s a natural response to stress. Drink this.” You waver, and seeing your reluctant self Pantalone sighs with clear dissatisfaction. “It’s just water, not poison.”

You nod to him and gulp it all in one go. Yes, you were clearly dehydrated…

“Are you afraid?”

“Not of you, but of the consequence”, trying to make the conversation up you switch to another topic artlessly. “Why don’t you have female staff?”

Pantalone seems a bit sensitive to your question at first but he covers it pretty well, putting on a solemn smile.

“I have a cook who is a woman.”

“Thank God”, you say and immediately mentally scold yourself. Perhaps it’s the alcohol talking in you, loosing up you tongue and… senses. “I didn’t mean—”

“You seem relieved, or reassured, so I don't mind.”

The empty glass is soon rejected and you face the bed, contemplating. He did say he wants your family to believe the two of you had performed marital duties, which gives you an itchy feeling.

“There were so many people during our ceremony. I thought it was supposed to be humble.”

“They were fangirls. I wish it were humble, though, I am lacking the blessing of such desirable peacefulness.” 

“Do women… often act like this in front of you?”

He responds subtly, but his answer is enough to make you an understanding.

“I wouldn't say it’s not uncommon.”

“I don't know if I should feel sorry or happy for you.”

“Oh yes, women throwing themselves at me, it must be such a terrible life”, the corner of his lip twitches in a strange way.

At last the both of you sit on the bed. Pantalone takes his place on the edge of the bed, almost at its tail, as if making a futile attempt to not be a source of your distress. 

“When you said ‘until your family is perfectly convinced we consummated’, could you enlighten me what you meant by that phrase?”

His response to you is brief and dry.

“Your mother was most worried about me producing children with you. Her, and your father have two children, so she expressed to me her earnest concern for you to have heir with me. She is a smart woman and knowing that I do not come from an elite background myself she had not a single qualm to ask of me such audacious thing.”

“And… what did you say?”

Isn’t it laughable? Her daughter has just been given to an unknown man (well, actually a very famous man of high standing, but you do not know anything about him!) and instead of worrying wildly over your wellbeing in relationship with this man, she pushes him into consummation? At that moment you did not know if you harbour more disrespect and disappointment to your dad or mom. 

“I said that she does not have a single reason to worry.”

“But how will anyone know that me and you slept together if technically we did not? Did not you say you wish me not to touch you?”

“I have a few tricks up my sleeve. Your mother shall be convinced for now, and then… Well, I cannot speak for the future”, Pantalone leans closer, but not in a predatory way, in fact you feel like he eyes everything around you, except for you. 

“Grab the headboard.”

“What?”

“Grip. The. Headboard.” 

You submit to his harsh demand and do as he says. What the hell is he trying to make you do?

“Now shake it like you mean it.”

You shake it, and the wood makes a… suggestive sound.

Pantalone nods, his voice gets quieter, much quieter.

“Good. That will do it. Now, let me try something…”

The man grips the tail of the bed and with a sudden tug the bed moves in place, making the same creaking noise that you just pulled out from it. Your eyes widen. Oh my god, so that’s what he’s trying to do. He wants your parents, who are staying the night, to be aware of—

“Your mother expects me to properly court you, and the marital activities are of course a part of it. Now, please shake it a few times more.”

You do that, but mentally you lack the focus on the wood shaking in your arms. You think about something else. The mysteries take a toll on you.

“You’re not going to actually make children with me, I presume?”

Pantalone stops his act, his hand clenching the wooden tails. There is something about his look that speaks of innocence, though it’s not exactly on the nose.

“No… I’m not interested”, he stops your hand, with unknown tenderness in his touch. “Oh dear, don’t shake it so violently - they might think I’m being rough with you.”

“Right, sorry.” You shake the headboard, lightweightly. Wait, do people even talk during such activities? You doubt it. But Pantalone speaks quietly, almost whispering to you things, so you pray the two of you won’t be heard blabbering.

“I think they’ve heard enough. We should stop.”

“Hm. That should suffice.”

The performance turns out to be full of fun and upon finishing it you realise how your worries have gone away. You almost feel at ease, and to think that the two of you did not partake in consummation but instead played a little game is almost endearing… almost…

“Fine”, you pull yourself away from dreaming. Your voice a bit firmer than usual, and Pantalone’s attention is grabbed instantly. “Honestly, I’m tired. And I assume, we can't leave our bedroom tonight? Even for a cup of tea?”

“Can’t risk being spotted. Do you have any problem?”

“No… May I use the toilet?”

“To your left.”

“Thank you.”

Just when you leave the bed you feel a soft yawn and request following:

“But please, make it quick. I want to sleep too.”

You return soon, just as he kindly asked you to, and find yourself reluctant to join him in the bed. You don't even know him well, how could you just slip under the same blanket with him?

Pantalone senses your worries almost immediately, and you become even more flustered upon realisation how evident your fear is. But keeping in mind that the man has not touched you except for the ceremony, you let out a long pent up breath and pull the cover to tuck yourself in. The bed part was quite fun from your perspective.

“I’m a very light sleeper. Please, try to not kick me with those long legs.”

“I will behave.”

Pantalone sighs too, he pulls a cover a bit to his side and faces you with his back. Rude or just cautious?

“You don’t seem to be a very sociable person.”

“I find social interaction rather tedious.”

That said a person who was so effortlessly easy-going in public! Or maybe it was simply just a façade that you failed to wrap your head around.

“I thought differently. The way you carried yourself in public… I thought you were wholeheartedly enjoying those interactions.”

“They are but a part of my job. I am a businessman, I have to be able to, basically, talk.”

“I wouldn't dare to doubt you in this aspect.”

“Thank you.”

“May I ask you something?”

“Make it quick.”

“If you do not use me for… heir…. then what do you need me for, I wonder?”

After this tingling question is raised, Pantalone takes a long moment to think. You even suspect he considers you too audacious and unworthy to ask that, but instead he just responds in his usual dry manner:

“I might have my reasons, but that’s enough information for you today. I don't wish to overwhelm you. Sleep tight.”

“Good night, Pantalone.”

“Good night.”