˚.⋆☾ Threads of Light𖤓⋆.˚
pairing: Harry Hook x Reader!Fitzherbert
category: fluff; one shot; just a bit of angst; only one scene of violence (nothing explicit); mommy issues; outcasts;
word count: 6k
dividers: sweetmelodygraphics & cafekitsune
a/n: i had finals all this past few weeks (still have one to go :‹) but i wanted to at least push out something this week so im posting a draft that was gathering dust in my notes app. i have not proof read, im not even sure this is really good but i tried guys. i even added original side characters, so i hope yall at least like it a bit lol i had the idea of a part two but we'll see how well this post does and mybe ill write it later. okay, enough blabering, enjoy reading! <3
The sun is bright, almost obnoxiously so, when you find yourself perched in your usual spot: halfway up a tree on Auradon University’s quad. From up here, you’ve got the best view — the castle towers glittering in the distance, the fresh banners fluttering with Auradon’s golden crest, and below you, the world’s most awkward royal welcoming committee.
Ben shifts from foot to foot, trying his best to look princely but still flashing that dorky grin you’ve known since childhood. Mal stands at his side, arms crossed, her expression balancing between queenly poise and can we just get this over with already?
And then there’s Fairy Godmother, wringing her hands like she’s about to faint into her wand.
It’s not every day, after all, that Auradon opens its gates to the Isle’s most infamous kids.
You watch as Uma, Harry Hook, and Gil step onto campus. Their presence is like a ripple through the crowd — students whispering, craning their necks, shifting uneasily.
Uma looks ready for battle, chin high, braid swinging with each step. Gil’s wide-eyed, gawking at the shiny stone buildings like he’s never seen anything so clean. And Harry… well, Harry drinks in the attention like it’s rum in a tankard. Swagger in every stride, grin sharp as his hook.
“Welcome,” Ben starts, a little too enthusiastically, “to Auradon University.”
You stifle a laugh. He sounds exactly like he did back in high school, awkwardly introducing the first VKs. History repeating itself.
Fairy Godmother clears her throat. “Now, ah—where’s our student guide? She should be here any moment to show you to your dorms.”
You drop from the tree with a thud, landing lightly on your boots right in front of them. Fairy Godmother squeaks, clutching her wand like a weapon. Ben and Mal don’t even flinch. They’re used to you by now.
“Sorry, sorry,” you say, brushing bark dust off your hands. “I was enjoying the view.”
Gil’s jaw drops. Uma arches a brow. And Harry Hook—oh, he smirks like he’s just been handed treasure.
“Well, well,” he drawls, leaning casually on his hook. “Didn’t think Auradon royalty made a habit o’ fallin’ outta trees. Must be my lucky day.”
There it is. The famous Harry Hook charm offensive. Overdone, dramatic, designed to make hearts stutter or roll eyes.
You just smile. “Careful, pirate. Keep talking like that and I might start to think you actually believe your own lines.”
For a second, his grin falters. Just a flicker — like he hadn’t expected you to volley back. Then it returns, sharper, intrigued.
Oh, this is going to be fun.
You fall into step easily, leading the trio through the buzzing campus. Uma keeps her chin lifted, eyes darting at every turret and tower like she’s waiting for someone to pounce. Gil lags a little behind, gawking at every flower bed and fountain with wide-eyed wonder. And Harry… Harry strolls like he owns the place, his hook glinting in the sun as he watches you with that infuriating grin.
“Alright,” you begin, adjusting the strap of your bag against your hip. The leather messenger satchel is heavy with your paints, notebooks, and who-knows-what trinkets, but you wear it proudly. A small sunburst you carved into the flap catches the light, your own little homage to your father’s old bag. “So here’s how this works.”
Your voice is bright, a little fast-paced, the same way your mom’s gets when she’s excited.
“This isn’t exactly Auradon Prep anymore. Well, it is, but… not really. After the barrier came down, Ben realized the Isle kids deserved a shot at higher education, even if it’s later than usual. So… ta-da.” You gesture broadly to the courtyard around you, where students crisscross with books and bags. “Auradon University. Still fresh, still messy, but—hey—it’s a start.”
“Yeah, it takes some getting used to.” You grin at him, then continue, “Fairy Godmother also added some extra courses just for the VKs—catch-up classes, basically. Stuff like Auradon history, economics, even basic etiquette—so you’re not thrown straight into advanced kingdom theory next to someone who’s been memorizing royal lineages since they were five. It’s… a middle ground.”
Uma narrows her eyes, though you catch the faintest flicker of relief. “And you’re the one in charge of all that?”
You laugh, rubbing the back of your neck. “Oh, stars, no. Fairy Godmother runs the curriculum. I just… help. Let’s say Ben needed heavy assistance getting this whole place organized. He had the big idea, but execution? Not his strong suit.” You shoot a fond look toward the distant castle. “So I stepped in. My job is… student integration. Making sure everyone feels like they belong here. Smoothing over rough patches. That kind of thing.”
As if on cue, you pass a pair of younger students in the walkway, arguing loudly over a schedule conflict. Without missing a beat, you pause, glance at their crumpled paper, and say, “Switch your math section with Professor Dale. He’s more lenient with late work, and you,” you point at one of them, “get distracted easily. Trust me. Fixed.”
They blink, surprised, then thank you before heading off. You shrug like it’s nothing, though Harry’s watching with a spark of amusement, head tilted.
“Good wit’ people,” he mutters under his breath, just loud enough for you to hear.
You ignore the flutter that stirs in your chest and keep walking.
Finally, you stop in front of a tall stone building, ivy crawling up its sides, sunlight glinting off the dorm windows. You throw the door open with a flourish.
“Home sweet home—well, at least for the semester.”
The room smells faintly of fresh paint. Three beds line the walls, and above each headboard… murals. Vibrant, sweeping strokes of color.
One wall bursts with ocean blues and seafoam, waves curling wild and fierce around a trident. Uma’s steps falter, her eyes widening before she masks it with a sharp smile.
The next mural is painted in deep emeralds and earthen browns: a lush forest with beams of sunlight spearing through the canopy. Gil lets out a low whistle. “That’s… mine?”
You nod, suddenly sheepish. “I, um… I got a little carried away.”
And finally, above the last bed: a ship in full sail, the Jolly Roger charging across a navy sky, its bow pointed toward a single glowing North Star. The strokes are bold, daring, alive.
Harry goes very still. His grin doesn’t return right away. He just stares at the wall like you’ve peeled back a part of him he didn’t expect anyone else to see.
You clear your throat, tugging at the strap of your bag. “It was just an idea. Y’know, something to make it feel less… sterile. If you’d rather me paint over it, I—”
Uma cuts in, voice softer than you’ve heard it yet. “No. Don’t. It’s… perfect.”
Gil nods vigorously. “Yeah, it’s amazing.”
You duck your head, cheeks warming. “I just thought… everyone deserves to see a piece of themselves when they walk into their room. Makes it easier to belong.”
Finally, Harry turns to you. His eyes are still on the mural, but the smirk is back—slower this time, more genuine.
“Careful, princess,” he says, voice low, “ye keep spoilin’ me like this, and I’ll ne’er leave.”
You laugh, flustered but unable to stop smiling.
Maybe, just maybe, you don’t want him to.
The first week of classes leaves the VKs drained. By the time they claim a corner table in the cafeteria, their trays piled high, they look ready to drop.
“Too many books,” Gil mutters around a bread roll. “My head hurts.”
Uma gives him a sharp look but doesn’t disagree. Even she looks a little worn, though she masks it under that usual commanding presence. Harry just spins a fork between his fingers, a stormy look in his eyes. “I’d rather be scrubbing decks than sittin’ through another lecture about the ‘proper etiquette of a royal banquet.’”
Gil nods emphatically. “At least the food’s good.”
And right on cue, the doors swing open.
Sigrid of Weselton and Laleh of Agrabah enter like they own the place, hands linked, eyes scanning for a target. The buzz of the room softens as students watch them pass, their perfect stride in sync, their smiles all icy teeth. It doesn’t take long for their gazes to land on the VKs.
“Well,” Laleh says smoothly, her voice carrying across the room. “If it isn’t the charity project.”
Sigrid’s mouth curls. “No wonder the professors look so tired. Imagine trying to drag that lot up to Auradon standards.”
Uma bristles, ready to snap back. Harry grips his fork tighter, the metal clinking against his plate. Gil’s brow furrows, halfway between confusion and indignation.
But before any of them can speak, a voice cuts through the tension.
“Wow,” you say, sliding into the empty space at the end of their table with your tray. “You two rehearsed that, didn’t you? Hand-holding, synchronized sneering, dramatic pause… I give it an eight out of ten.”
Both girls blink at you in surprise. You lean back casually, balancing your fork between your fingers the same way Harry does his apple.
“Must be exhausting,” you add lightly. “Keeping up an act like that all day.”
Gil snorts into his drink. Uma hides her smirk behind her cup. Harry just stares, caught between shock and delight.
Laleh recovers first, narrowing her eyes. “And who exactly are you supposed to be? Another charity case tagging along with the riffraff?”
The jab stings — it always does — but you don’t let it show. Instead, you smile like it’s the funniest thing you’ve ever heard.
“Me?” you tilt your head. “Oh, I’m the one who makes sure everyone gets along here. Which, fun fact, includes stopping royals from embarrassing themselves in public.”
Sigrid scoffs. “Our families’ reputations speak for themselves.”
“Mm, right.” You tap your fork against your plate, pretending to think. “Weselton, famous for… losing a trade deal to a kingdom half its size. And Agrabah’s proudest son, best remembered for being chased out of town by a boy who didn’t even own shoes. Such stellar reputations.”
The cafeteria goes still. A laugh bursts out of Gil before Uma kicks him under the table. Even Harry, who lives for trouble, has gone very still beside you — then grins, slow and dangerous, like he’s never seen anything so entertaining.
Laleh’s cheeks flush. Sigrid’s jaw tightens. But for once, neither has a comeback. With matching huffs, they whirl on their heels and stalk off, fingers still laced together, their exit a little less graceful than their entrance.
You turn back to the VKs and shrug, spearing a piece of fruit with your fork. “What? They had it coming.”
Uma eyes you curiously. “Why are you sitting here? Don’t you usually eat with your… royal friends?”
You smirk. “This table’s way more interesting. Case in point—” you jerk your thumb at the door where the power couple vanished “—that just happened.”
Harry leans forward, his grin still sharp as a hook. “Lass, remind me never to get on yer bad side.”
The cafeteria slowly stirs back to life after Sigrid and Laleh’s dramatic exit, whispers rippling from table to table. A few students glance over at you with wide eyes, like they can’t believe someone actually talked back to the royal power couple — and won.
You pop a grape into your mouth like nothing happened.
Harry shakes his head with a laugh, still grinning. “I mean it, lass. That was… impressive.” His green eyes flick over you, bright and mischievous. “Didn’t know you had claws under all that sunshine.”
Uma raises a brow, more appraising than teasing. “You handled them better than most professors would’ve.”
Gil leans in, eager. “Do you always talk like that? Like—bam!” He throws his hands out, almost knocking over his drink. “You just roasted them!”
You snicker and set your fork down. “Trust me, it’s not as glamorous as it looks. I’ve spent years listening to royals brag about their family trees like they invented fire. After a while, you pick up some fun little facts.” You pause, then grin. “And some very sharp ways to use them.”
Harry whistles low. “Remind me t’never underestimate ya.”
Uma, still studying you, asks again, “But really — why sit here? You’ve got a dozen other tables waiting to kiss your ring.”
You shrug, pushing a crumb around your plate with the edge of your fork. “Because you’re real. You’re not pretending to be perfect all the time. You complain, you argue, you laugh at stupid things. It’s… refreshing.” You flash a cheeky grin. “Besides, free entertainment. Did you see Laleh’s face when I mentioned the shoes?”
Gil bursts out laughing again, nearly choking on his bread. Uma’s lips twitch, betraying a smile. Even Harry tips his head back and lets out a bark of laughter, sharp and genuine.
For a moment, the tension at the table dissolves. The food tastes better, the air feels lighter, and the four of you share something no one else in the room does — a kind of camaraderie forged in that single spark of defiance.
Harry leans closer, voice low so only you hear. “Careful, sunshine. Keep sittin’ with us, and folk might start thinkin’ yer one of us.”
His grin is teasing, but there’s something behind it too — something that makes your heart skip just a little.
You grin back, just as reckless. “Maybe I don’t mind that.”
By the end of the week, the VKs look half-dead. Books, notes, lectures — all the things they never had to deal with on the Isle — have drained them dry. Harry has his boots kicked up on a bench, head tilted back dramatically. Gil sprawls across the floor, muttering about how he’d rather be lifting anchors than lifting pencils. Uma sits with her arms crossed, clearly plotting mutiny against the stack of assignments at her side.
You grin at the sight. “You all look like prisoners.”
Harry cracks one eye open. “We are prisoners, lass. Locked in a tower of boredom.”
“Trust me,” you shoot back, “I know towers. This isn’t one.” You tug on his boot until it drops with a thud. “What you need is something fun. Something not written on paper.”
Gil perks up immediately. “Like what?”
“Like…” You scan the hallway, then light up when you spot the open door to the fencing room. “Like stabbing things.”
That gets Uma’s attention. Her eyes flick to the swords lined neatly against the wall. “Now we’re talking.”
Moments later, Gil is waving a rapier dangerously close to Harry’s face. “Look! I’m a knight!”
Harry bats it away with the flat of his hook. “More like a clown.”
You can’t help laughing as you grab a sword yourself, holding it out with a little flourish. “Careful. I’m a professional. Comes from a long family line of fighters.” You pause dramatically, then add: “Mostly involving frying pans.”
Harry nearly chokes on his own laughter, doubling over. “A frying pan?!”
“Don’t knock it till you try it,” you tease, spinning the sword in your hand.
Uma smirks, stepping forward to pluck a blade from the rack. “Alright, princess. Let’s see if you fight as well as you talk.”
The room quiets, all eyes on the two of you as you square off. Gil bounces in place, chanting “fight, fight, fight!” while Harry leans casually on the wall, clearly enjoying the show.
Steel meets steel, sparks flying as Uma lunges. You parry with a laugh, the clash ringing through the room.
“You’re fast,” you admit, grinning, twisting to block again.
“And you’re distracted,” Uma fires back, shoving you back with her shoulder.
Harry hollers from the sidelines, “Careful, Captain! She might pan ye in the face!”
That only makes Uma swing harder, and soon you’re both moving across the floor in a blur of blades and laughter. It ends when Uma presses the flat of her sword against your chest, smirk triumphant.
Breathless, you drop your sword. “Fine, you win. But don’t think this is over.”
Uma rolls her shoulders, her braid shifting heavily down her back. And just as you’re catching your breath, you notice the way her hand brushes at the roots where the braids are thickest.
“They look heavy,” you say lightly. “Ever think about redoing them completely? Instead of just adding to the roots?”
Uma blinks, clearly thrown. “What?”
“I could help you out,” you offer simply. “Wouldn’t take me long.”
Her mouth opens, then closes again. She scoffs, sheathing her blade. “You talk too much.”
But she doesn’t look annoyed. She looks… thoughtful.
Uma lowers her blade with a smirk, chest rising and falling as the last clang of metal fades. “Not bad,” she admits, like she’s surprised you kept up.
You roll your shoulders, dropping your own blade onto the rack. “Not bad? Please. I had you sweating.”
Harry barks a laugh from the sidelines, spinning his sword lazily. “Keep dreamin’, princess.”
You wipe at your brow, heat prickling at the back of your neck—not all from the spar. “Alright, fine. But I am starving after that. Anyone want snacks before I collapse dramatically on this floor?”
“Pass,” Uma says, flopping onto the couch.
Harry smirks without even opening his eyes. “Auradon food’s bland. I’ll wait ‘til someone brings me somethin’ worth eatin’.”
But Gil, sitting cross-legged on the floor with his sword still across his lap, perks right up. “Wait, really? Like… right now?”
“Right now,” you confirm, hand outstretched like you’re offering him an adventure. “Come on, let’s make it interesting.”
He doesn’t hesitate. “I’m in.”
The kitchens are quiet, glowing with late-afternoon light. You slip through the door with Gil close behind, both of you stifling laughter like kids sneaking out past curfew.
There’s so much food. Pies cooling on the counter, baskets of fruit, trays of bread. Gil’s eyes go wide, his whole face lighting up. “No way. They just… leave this out?”
“Crazy, right?” You grin, already piling apples and rolls into your bag. “If my dad saw this, he’d have staged a whole heist by now. Probably with smoke bombs. And a very dramatic escape plan.”
Gil laughs, grabbing two handfuls of grapes and stuffing one in his mouth before handing you the other. But then his voice drops, quieter. “People usually… tell me to slow down when I get excited. Or that I’m weird.”
You look over at him, surprised by the hesitance in his tone.
Gil shrugs, staring down at the grapes in his hand. “You don’t. You don’t make me feel dumb.”
The words are soft, but they hit heavier than any blade from earlier.
“Gil,” you say gently, nudging him with your shoulder. “You’re not dumb. You’re just enthusiastic. Big difference. Honestly? It’s one of the best things about you.”
He blinks at you, cheeks redder than the apples in your bag. Then he beams, wide and unguarded
When you finally sneak back into the dorms, your arms are overflowing with snacks. Gil’s grinning ear to ear, balancing a stack of bread rolls like treasure.
Uma looks up from the couch, one brow arched, and Harry smirks from his sprawl on the floor. Neither says anything outright, but there’s something in their eyes — a flicker of quiet recognition. Like they’re seeing you fit into the picture, as natural as if you’d always been there.
The dorm door slams open with Harry’s trademark groan.
“Ye would not believe the pompous prat I just ran into. Prince bloody—” He waves a hand dramatically, stomping inside. “—parading through the hall like his crown was glued on too tight. If I have to hear one more royal complain about the dessert menu—”
His words die when he looks up.
Uma sits on your bed, legs crossed and arms folded, while you kneel behind her, fingers deftly weaving through her braids. A comb gleams in your hand, and the faint scent of coconut oil lingers in the air.
Harry blinks. “…What in the seven seas is this?”
You grin over Uma’s shoulder. “It’s called friendship maintenance, sailor boy. Look it up.”
Uma smacks him lightly on the arm without moving her head. “Don’t you dare say a word.”
Harry holds up both hands. “Mum’s the word.” His smirk betrays him anyway.
You focus on the section you’re braiding, then, almost casually, you murmur, “Y’know, your curls are gorgeous. Why don’t you wear them natural more often?”
The room stills. Uma’s shoulders tense, like she’s bracing for the joke that usually comes next. But when she risks a glance at your face, all she sees is the easy smile you always wear when you mean what you say.
Uma hesitates, then scoffs under her breath. “Not exactly captain material, lettin’ your hair do what it wants. And the Isle wasn’t big on… supplies. Oils. Conditioners. Took what I could get. Rope, scraps, addin’ new hair in when the old fell out.”
Your chest pinches at her nonchalance. You loop the braid off neatly, fingers brushing lightly against her shoulder. “Well, curls or braids, you wear both like a crown. Just the way a captain should.”
Uma goes quiet. The silence isn’t heavy — it’s thoughtful, almost new.
You brighten the moment by hopping off the bed and rummaging in your bag. “Hold still. I think I’ve got something.” You pull out a small wooden box, the one covered in doodles and little carvings your dad helped you etch when you were a kid. Trinkets spill across your palm — charms, little beads, a few old rings you’ve collected on adventures.
Uma raises a brow. “What’s all this?”
“My treasure chest,” you tease. “Every explorer needs one. Here—” You pluck out a thin brass ring and slide it onto one of her finished braids. The metal glints against the dark strands. “Tell me that doesn’t look sick.”
Uma catches her reflection in the windowpane and smirks despite herself. “…Not bad.”
Harry groans from the chair he’s flopped into. “First she steals me crew, now she’s addin’ jewels to your hair. What’s next, lass, you plannin’ to redecorate my hook?”
You shoot him a wicked grin. “Don’t tempt me. I’ve got ribbons.”
Uma laughs — full and real this time — and for a moment, the dorm feels less like school housing and more like home.
The dorm door slammed open with a dramatic flair, and you stepped inside like you were announcing the end of the world.
“Pack it up, pirates. We’ve got a party to crash.”
Gil perked up instantly, nearly dropping the deck of cards he’d been holding. “A party? With food?!”
Uma glanced up from where she was sprawled across her bed, unimpressed. “Pass.”
Harry, sitting backward on a chair, twirled his hook idly. “What’s the catch, love? Sounds like somethin’ Auradon-y.”
“It is Auradon-y,” you said, already tugging open your wardrobe. “The first official student party of the semester. Everyone’s going. And so are we.”
Uma sat up a little, suspicion flickering. “Why would we walk straight into a room full of people just waiting to judge us?”
“Because,” you replied, tossing her a sharp grin, “that’s exactly why you should. Show them you belong there as much as anyone else. Besides—” you gestured at Gil, who was practically vibrating in his seat “—our boy is already halfway out the door.”
“I heard snacks,” Gil said, grinning sheepishly.
Harry huffed out a laugh but still looked reluctant. “Don’t see the appeal of gettin’ sneered at by a bunch of prissy royals.”
“You won’t be sneered at,” you promised, softer now, sincerity slipping past your bravado. “Not while I’m there.”
That earned you a flicker of something in Harry’s eyes—gone as fast as it appeared. With a dramatic sigh, he dragged himself up. “Fine. But I’m not wearin’ ruffles.”
“Deal,” you said, victorious.
The room was soon a flurry of chaos—Gil trying on three different vests at once, Harry stubbornly refusing help with his cravat, Uma carefully kohl-lining her eyes with a precision that could rival swordplay. You were laughing under your breath when your phone buzzed.
You hesitated, saw the name glowing on the screen, and mumbled, “I’ll be right back.”
Slipping into the hallway, you pressed accept.
“Sweetheart!” Rapunzel’s voice rang too bright, too warm, like sunlight cutting into your eyes. “How are you settling in? Have you been keeping up with your studies? Making friends?”
“Fine, Mom,” you said, clipped but polite.
There was a pause, and then the inevitable shift. “You know, I’ve been thinking. It’s not too late to reconsider the crown. These experiences you’re having—they’re good preparation for leadership. Don’t you think?”
You closed your eyes. Counted to three. “We’ve talked about this. I don’t want it.”
Rapunzel’s sigh was soft but heavy with disappointment. “You’re the heir. The kingdom needs stability. And your sisters—”
“Don’t,” you snapped, sharper than you meant. “Don’t bring them into this.”
The silence after stretched long. Finally, Rapunzel’s voice returned, quieter. “I only want what’s best for you.”
“Then maybe try listening to what I want.”
Before she could reply, you hung up. The screen went black in your hand.
You stayed there for a beat, pressing your knuckles against your forehead, swallowing the lump rising in your throat. Then—deep breath. Straighten your shoulders. Paste the smile back on.
When you walked back into the dorm, no one would know anything had happened.
Further down the hall, just around the corner, Sigrid and Laleh exchanged a look, their eyes gleaming with cruel delight.
“Did you hear that?” Laleh whispered.
Sigrid smirked. “Oh, I heard every word.”
The ballroom was glowing with golden lanterns and soft music spilling from the band at the far end. The doors had barely swung open before Gil darted forward, wide-eyed, craning his neck at the sheer mountains of food lining the tables.
“Gil,” Uma hissed, grabbing his sleeve before he could bolt. “Try not to look like you’ve never seen a pastry before.”
“But I haven’t seen that pastry before,” he whispered, pointing at a tower of glazed confections stacked like treasure.
You chuckled, nudging him toward the group. “Behave and you’ll get all the pastries you want.”
Harry hung back, arms crossed, his eyes sweeping the room like he was preparing for a fight. “Still feels like a trap,” he muttered.
“You’re fine,” you reassured, tugging him gently forward. “Come on, I want you to meet some people.”
Your friends were already gathered near the edge of the dance floor, an odd assortment of heirs and legacies chattering away. Bonnie DunBroch waved first, her thick Scottish accent cutting clear over the music.
“Oi, finally! Thought ye’d abandoned us!”
Harry blinked at her, then smirked. “Finally, someone who talks proper.”
The two slipped easily into a back-and-forth of slang so thick even you had trouble keeping up. At one point you sighed, exasperated. “I’ve given up trying to understand her half of the time,” you admitted, which only made both Bonnie and Harry laugh harder.
Meanwhile, Edvin and Ellinor Idunasdatter—your cousins, dressed in matching icy silks—were welcoming Uma and Gil. Edvin in particular looked caught off guard when Gil shuffled forward, smiling sheepishly.
“Hi. I’m Gil. You, uh… have really nice hair.”
Edvin flushed pink, stammered out a thank-you, and from there the two gravitated toward one another like magnets, Gil lighting up with every small laugh he managed to coax out of him. Ellinor, on the other hand, took Uma by the hand with casual grace.
“You must be Uma. You look incredible. If anyone gives you trouble tonight, I’m on your side.”
Uma tilted her head, caught off guard, but a small smile tugged at her lips. “Noted.”
For a fleeting moment, it almost felt like everyone fit. Warmth spread in your chest as you watched them blend, a rare kind of calm amidst the chaos.
Then the music shifted, and so did the mood.
Sigrid appeared first, draped in icy blue velvet that shimmered with every step. Laleh was right at her side, jewels glinting in her hair. The two of them moved like a tide parting the crowd, every head turning as they sauntered closer. You could feel the chill even from where you stood; their presence sucked the warmth out of the room.
“Well, well,” Sigrid drawled, her voice cutting sharper than the violins. “If it isn’t the little flower of Corona. Surprised to see you here without your mother holding your hand.”
A murmur ran through the crowd, eyes darting between you and the two girls. You felt your chest tighten. The laughter in your ears dulled into a harsh hum, the golden light above you suddenly too bright, reflecting off polished floors like a spotlight you never wanted. Every heartbeat thudded against your ribcage, sharp and demanding attention.
“Or maybe she’s too busy preparing your sisters. You know—the ones who actually look like royals.” Laleh’s words were calm, calculated, but every syllable sliced through you like ice.
Your stomach sank. The floor felt slippery, your footing unsure. You could feel the heat rushing to your face as the whispers in the room swelled in your ears, amplifying the sting. You gritted your teeth, trying to keep your voice flat, to make your hands stop shaking. But inside, your chest felt as if it were pressed under a heavy lid.
Before you could answer, Bonnie’s voice broke through the fog, firm and protective. “Watch yer tongue.”
Edvin stiffened, his jaw tight. “That’s uncalled for.”
Even Angelika, half a head shorter than everyone else, crossed her arms and muttered, “Big words for people compensating with borrowed crowns.”
Sigrid’s smirk widened, and Laleh leaned in with mock sympathy, her voice soft but venomous. “Don’t worry. Some of us are just destined to shine brighter. It’s not your fault.”
Your hands curled into fists at your sides, nails biting into palms. Every eye in the room felt like it was trying to pull something out of you, to weigh and measure you—and you hated that you felt small. For a moment, a bubble of panic rose in your throat, threatening to choke your words before they even formed.
You forced yourself to breathe, taking in the sweet scent of roses from the centerpieces, the warm notes of music, the faint laugh of someone enjoying the party just beyond the edge of this storm. You straightened your shoulders, lifting your chin, letting the smile you’d practiced for so long slide back into place.
“Excuse me,” you said, voice steady though your hands trembled at your sides. And with that, you turned sharply, weaving through the crowd before anyone could stop you. The air around you felt thick, almost tangible, as if the room itself had pressed against you, and you moved through it like you were pushing past a tide.
Behind you, you heard movement—Harry. Already upright, fists curling tight. You didn’t look back.
“And where do you think you’re going?” Henry Westergaard’s voice sliced through the hum of conversation, cold and patronizing. “Don’t you get it? She’s a princess. She’d never waste her time on a slimy sea urchin like you. She needs a great man at her side—a man with a throne. Maybe she’ll be smarter than her mother’s cousin and learn from Anna’s mistakes… accept the son of Hans as her future husband.”
Before you could process, Harry’s fist connected with Henry’s jaw. The crack of impact echoed like a bell through the ballroom, drawing gasps and whispers. And for the first time since Sigrid and Laleh appeared, you felt the weight lift slightly—not because the threat was gone, but because someone had stepped into the chaos with you.
The gardens are quiet in a way the party never could be. Lanterns swing gently from wrought-iron poles, their golden light spilling over hedges cut into spirals and roses trained into arches. You’re pacing without even realizing it, fists clenched at your sides, throat tight from the sharp sting of Sigrid and Laleh’s words. The air is crisp, cool enough to bite your lungs, but it’s not enough to clear the heat prickling at the back of your eyes.
You’re mid-turn when you hear it—footsteps, uneven, heavy, quick. Harry stumbles into view, shirt collar askew, knuckles raw and swelling, a bruise already blooming dark along his jaw. He’s trying to grin, the same cocky twist of his mouth he’s worn since the moment you met him, but it falters under the lamplight.
“Blimey, yer fast,” he huffs, leaning on the garden gate for a moment. “Thought I’d lost ye in this maze of flowers.”
Your heart drops. The sting of your own humiliation vanishes beneath the shock of him standing there so battered. “Harry—” You rush forward before you can think, reaching for his arm, his shoulder, anywhere to steady him. Up close the damage is worse—split lip, the shallow scrape across his temple, blood crusted along his knuckles. “What happened? Who—”
He laughs, but it’s hoarse, the sound cracking in his throat. “Nothing I couldn’t handle. Prince Han’s spawn’s got a nastier right hook than I gave him credit for, but I returned the favor.” He tries to brush it off, but you can see the stiffness in his posture, the slight wince when he shifts.
Without another word, you place your hands gently over the worst of his bruises. The warmth begins low in your chest, curling up your arms until your fingertips glow faintly. Light spreads into him, soft as dawn breaking, knitting skin, easing pain. You feel it immediately—the tug, the drain, like threads being pulled from your own body. By the time his split lip fades to pink and the swelling in his knuckles softens, your vision blurs at the edges.
“Oi, love—” Harry’s arms are around you in an instant when your knees nearly buckle. He guides you down to sit on the stone bench beneath an arch of roses, crouching in front of you with rare panic flashing in his sea-blue eyes. “What was that? You—you’re shakin’.”
“I’m fine,” you murmur, though your voice wavers. “Just… it takes a little out of me, that’s all.”
His brow furrows, hands hovering near your knees like he wants to grab on but isn’t sure if he should. “Ye healed me. Why’d ye do that, if it hurts ye?”
“Because you were hurt,” you whisper simply.
For once, Harry Hook is speechless. He looks at you like he’s never really seen you before, his usual smirk stripped away. The night hums with crickets and far-off music from the party, but here it’s just the two of you, suspended in this fragile silence.
You draw in a shaky breath. “It’s always like this. I can fix people, but only by… trading pieces of myself for them. And I don’t mind, most of the time. But—” Your throat closes, and you force the words out. “But sometimes it feels like that’s all anyone wants from me. To be useful. To be the perfect daughter, the perfect princess, the perfect heir. And I’m not. I don’t want to be.”
Harry sinks onto the bench beside you, close enough that his knee bumps yours. “Yer mam?” he guesses softly.
You nod, staring down at your hands. “She doesn’t mean to. She just wants me prepared, so I don’t stumble like she did. But she doesn’t understand—she’s turning the castle into another tower, and I don’t want that. I want more.”
There’s a long pause before he speaks again, voice lower than you’ve ever heard it. “Ye ken what I think? I think ye’ve got more guts than half these royals put together. Standin’ up in front of a hall full o’ nobles, takin’ the piss out of ’em with a smile? Healing me even when it knocks ye flat? That’s not weakness, lass. That’s strength.”
Your chest tightens. The sincerity in his tone, the way his eyes won’t leave yours, it’s overwhelming. “And what about you? Why fight for me? You barely know me.”
Harry chuckles, softer this time, not a taunt but something almost shy. He leans back, tipping his head against the roses overhead. “Because fer once, all me flirtin’ wasn’t just an act. Fer once, I wasn’t invisible. Ye saw me.”
The words hang between you, fragile and bright as starlight. You don’t answer—not with words, anyway. Instead, you let your head rest against his shoulder, your body still trembling faintly from the magic. He exhales slowly, like he’s been holding his breath all night, and his arm comes up to wrap carefully around you.
For the first time that evening, the tightness in your chest eases. The party, the whispers, your mother’s voice—they all fade. Here in the quiet of the gardens, with Harry warm at your side, the weight lifts just enough to let you breathe again.
And maybe, just maybe, that’s enough.
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