True Love
Pairing: Zayne x Non-MC
Warnings: Angst, second person, mentions of pregnancy, mentions of dying in childbirth, character death, death of children, spousal neglect, no use of Y/N.
Love and Deepspace Masterlist can be found here.
You entered a court sick and tired of mourning and ready to return to its glittery splendor, save for one man, your husband to be. You knew what you were stepping into long before you had found yourself here, on the marriage altar across Crown Prince Zayne. You were expected to produce heirs for the throne, to carry on the line, to gain the love of the court and the common folk, but the one love you should never expect is from your husband.
At twenty two, Crown Prince Zayne is already a widow once over, having buried his late crown princess only two years past, after the birth of their only daughter. To many of noble and royal blood, perhaps, a mourning period of two years is excessive, but Crown Prince Zayne had grown up with his late crown princess, and had married her for love. If the child she had given her life for had been a prince, you doubt that he would have married again at all. Alas, his only child is a princess, and princesses are made to marry to foreign land, not inherit their father’s kingdom. It is for that very reason that you stand on this altar yourself, to marry a man still deep in mourning, because you are a daughter and not a son.
You steadfastly ignored the way your husband’s voice trembled as he muttered his vows after being prompted by the priest twice. You knew what you signed up for, or rather, what your father had signed you up for. And then, it’s over, you are husband and wife, joined before the eyes of the gods.
Your new husband lifted your veil over your head, and your breath caught. Crown Prince Zayne was a handsome man, even in his current state. His hair was pushed back neatly, although some strands stray from his styling, like he had run his hand through his hair one too many times. Yet, that neat hairstyle only served to highlight the hollows of his cheekbones and the emptiness of his eyes. You wondered, if he was not his father’s only living son, would he have followed the late crown princess to the grave. Despite all of that, your traitorous heart fluttered, because you have never seen a man wear grief so beautifully. He sealed his vows with a kiss, if the brief brush of his cool dry lips could even be called that at all. And then, he turned away from you, his duty done for now.
♡♡♡
Your new husband was not a cruel man, but he was a cold and distant one. He was a man still deep in mourning, forced to take a bride out of duty alone, and the door to his heart was barred to you in the same way the crown princess chambers were barred to you. Both of those doors were closed to everyone but your predecessor, you think, forever a shrine to his true love.
You understood, perhaps quicker than you should, why you, out of all of the eligible princesses, were chosen, when you were neither the most beautiful nor the one with the largest dowry when you saw a portrait of your predecessor. Her beauty, the clear love in her eyes as she gazed at your husband in their wedding portrait, was clear to the world, but even more than that, how much she looked like you, or perhaps, how much you look like her. You doubt that your shared name would have hurt either when you were chosen among your peers.
You learnt that your predecessor was well loved by the court, having grown alongside Crown Prince Zayne, his betrothed from a young age until they became of age and were wed. A crown princess in all but named until she was named so, beloved by the man who became her husband. And yet, their fairy tale had come to an end, and you are the unwelcomed reminder of that.
Still, you tried to warm his heart by being the ideal crown princess, by being the ideal wife, by being the ideal stepmother to the daughter left behind by your predecessor. You threw yourself into learning the manners of your new court, the dances, the organisation, the parties, the way the household you would one day inherit was run.
The court was easy enough to endear yourself to, not because they wanted to love you, but because the court, though they had loved your predecessor, was tired of mourning. And you were the perfect excuse to throw themselves back to merriment. They threw themselves into celebrating your arrival, and yet, nothing felt like it was for you as you scrambled to keep up.
♡♡♡
In your first official event with your husband, he turned to you, finally looking at you after avoiding you for so long and said, “You don’t have to wear so much makeup.” And your traitorous heart soared, because after weeks of being wed, your husband is finally looking at you in the light.
Only to crash when he continued his words, “She preferred to let her natural beauty shine after all.” Everything in your marriage seemed to lead back to her, you learnt. She preferred lighter dishes over heavier ones, she favoured silk over velvet, lilies over roses, fruit teas over flower teas, pearls over diamonds, silver over gold, sweet desserts over tart ones, quick cheerful dances over solemn slow ones until you felt as if you knew her better than you knew yourself. Your marriage felt eternally haunted by this dead woman who your husband was determined to turn you into.
And yet, all you could reply with was, “Yes, Crown Prince Zayne,” trying your best to keep your voice steady and your eyes dry, lest you ruin the work your ladies have put in. And that was all you remembered from your first event at court, not the splendour, not the dances, not the music, not even the warmth of your husband’s arm under your hand but those cold words of his, reminding you that you were nothing but a replacement for a dead woman.
♡♡♡
Grief, you learnt, was the cornerstone of your marriage. Grief brought the two of you together in marriage, and grief brought you closer when the young princess, named in honour of her mother, followed her mother to the grave mere months into your marriage. Your husband seemed to descend even deeper into his grief than you would have thought possible, until you feared that he would follow his wife and child into the grave.
Desperate to rouse him, even a little from his overwhelming grief, you commissioned a portrait of your step-daughter to be hung over her now empty cradle. And that would be the one and only time you would see him wept so despairingly in your arms, despite the losses that would mar your shared life.
♡♡♡
Though you were a darling of the court, and adored by the king and queen, your father and mother through marriage, you desperately wish for the love of your husband. All the glitter and splendour of the court could not fill the hole that you believe only true love could fill.
You paid rapt attention to your husband as he compared you to your predecessor, though each felt like a stab to your heart, and you learnt to embody her. You learnt her mannerism from her tutors, her habits from her servants, her diet and her schedule, the way she dressed and styled her hair, the cadence and lilt of her voice, turning yourself into a living monument of a dead woman, to take her place in your husband’s heart.
You hoped that by becoming her, you too could melt the ice cold statue of a man she had left behind in the wake of her death. The crown prince and crown princess had spent every possible moment they could together and their every moment was filled with love and warmth, said the servants, and you wished oh so desperately for that as well.
♡♡♡
The first crack showed when you shared supper together, as decreed by his father, the king. You had long grown used to the way he ignored you, choosing to focus on his meals, and his one word answers, whenever he would choose to answer at all, but something changed today.
For once, Zayne had looked straight at you, beautiful green eyes reflecting your image back at you as he spoke. “Wife, they are serving your favourite trout today,” he said with the first smile you have seen directed at you, breaking the silence.
And though your smile felt as frozen as his heart, you had answered with a smile. “I’m so excited for it,” you replied. You had never cared for trout, nor any other fish for that matter, preferring fowl, but trout had been your predecessor’s favourite. However, you would choke on fish for the rest of your life for another one of Zayne’s smiles.
♡♡♡
When you stepped into the waiting room, Zayne smiled broadly, though only by his standards as he stood. “You look lovely, darling,” he praised, his eyes roving over your form. Though it was not your taste, you had dressed yourself in the fashion of your predecessor, not with her actual dresses, those remain in the crown princess chambers, but a look-alike. Everything you had adorned yourself with was something she would have picked, down to your very rouge.
“Thank you, husband,” you replied, lilting your words just as she would have, delighted at his praise.
Zayne barely left your side that day, his large hand resting over yours on his arm as you made your rounds. And it did not go without notice by the court, as both lords and ladies looked upon you with newfound interest.
Though the night was not without hiccup, when you tripped at a dance she had favoured, Zayne frowned as he caught you. “Are you alright, my love? It is not like you to trip.” He queried with a questioning frown and sharp eyes, as if he could not phantom how his new wife would trip at the pace he had set with your predecessor.
You had practiced the dance over and over again with your tutor, but Zayne did not dance the same as your tutor had, but instead in a manner you think he had fashioned with your predecessor. “I’m well, husband,” you replied, stretching your lips in the same comforting smile your ladies had taught you, and Zayne’s frown softened marginally.
It did not stop there, for when you took a break from dancing, Zayne had handed you a glass of wine, and you had only sipped at it, trying not to gag. And once again, Zayne frowned and you remembered, your predecessor had loved the taste of wine. Before he could even open his mouth, you took a gulp of wine, large enough to be indelicate, swallowing quickly before looking up at Zayne, asking for more.
You had ended up sick in your privy that night, the wine not agreeing with you as you knew that it wouldn't.
♡♡♡
But the worst of all was not the mask you wore in the light, but the one you wore in the dark. No one could teach you what had happened in the dark between Zayne and your predecessor after all. Many a times Zayne had stopped, his green eyes icy enough to freeze a man in his tracks as he left your bedchambers when you unknowingly sounded or acted unlike her.
But slowly but surely, you learnt the habits of your predecessor in the bedchambers as much as you learnt them in the day. And two years into your marriage, you were finally with child, a reward for all of your troubles. The nobles who whispered that the crown prince could not bear to bed his new wife were silenced once and for all, to your great relief.
♡♡♡
Pregnancy, you found, was freeing in a way that nothing in your marriage ever was. Zayne was attentive in a way you did not even dare dream of, hovering to the point of being suffocating. Your every whim, no matter how outlandish, was fulfilled.
And most of all, you could live as yourself, citing pregnancy for the changes in your behaviour. You could avoid the wine you so hated, eat fowl until you were sick of it, rid yourself of the overly sweet perfume your predecessor had favoured and Zayne indulged you through it all. The cold husband you had grown used to was gone, leaving a man who researched every symptom, consulted doctors and held your hand through every change.
And yet, grief remained the cornerstone in your marriage, for your first two sons were stillborns. Still, Zayne remained ever attentive, your sole defender against the whispers of the court. And he alone celebrated when you were with child once more, growing ever more attentive with each loss.
His attentiveness rewarded him with a daughter, named after yourself, and in turn, after your late step-daughter and predecessor. Though it was not the prince and heir the nation had hoped for, you were delighted in your daughter, your little miniature and secretly relieved, as you feared that Zayne would follow the late crown princess and their daughter to the grave if you had borne a son.
♡♡♡
Motherhood suited you, you realised with glee as you threw yourself headfirst into it. You delighted in it in ways that you have never felt, and as cruel as it sounded, you knew that part of it was due to the fact that it was the one thing that the spectre who had haunted your marriage from the beginning could not touch. The late crown princess had never had a chance to be a mother to her daughter, and hence, your actions were yours and yours alone.
And yet, even then, Zayne found a way to mar it for you, for her ghost lives in your marriage through him. One night when he thought that you were asleep after playing with your daughter, he pressed a kiss to your hairline only to whisper, “Thank you for surviving, I could not bear to lose you again.”
Your heart shattered in your chest like a glass of wine, your blood spilling on the marble floor yet you remained still, for it would not do for Zayne to realise that you were awake. And so still and silent you remained, like a corpse as tears dampened your pillow and your cheeks, choking back your sobs like all of the words you have swallowed through the course of your marriage as Zayne climbed into bed next to you, holding you as if he feared that you would leave him, and yet, you know it is not you he fears to lose.
♡♡♡
Slowly but surely, you slowly shed the mask of your predecessor you had worn at the beginning of your marriage as motherhood took hold of you, though you could never fully shed it for fear that Zayne would cast you aside, free in a life she could not live. And Zayne remained as attentive as ever as you bore him child after child, princes and princesses both. And contrary to your fears, the birth of a prince did not drive him to the grave to join his late crown princess and their shared daughter.
Though grief haunted your marriage as if something that had started in grief should forevermore be haunted by it, you could not help but realise that despite grieving the death of your eldest princess and your two eldest princes, Zayne did not mourn as deeply as he had your step-daughter. You swore to grief them all the more for it, for surely they deserved a parent who grieved their loss as much as their half-sister did.
♡♡♡
In the end, despite the love and care in your marriage, when your husband of eighteen years was on his deathbed, he pleaded with you to bury his heart in the grave of your predecessor. After eighteen years and eight children, you are faced with an undeniable fact, you may be able to soften Zayne’s heart by masquerading as your predecessor, his true love remained the crown princess he had lost over twenty years ago.
And yet, you cannot find yourself to hate him for it, for when he passed, you were thrown into the depths of mourning that you had never known before. You have lost children before, your precious eldest sons, and all those nameless children who never took a single breath at all, and yet, you have never felt such a deep sense of loss before. You had to be dragged from his bedside, lest you die alongside him, though you felt as if you had.
Your bedchambers, where you had spent countless nights with him, once out of duty, then, you believed, out of love, were darkened and covered with mourning cloth, for you could not bear the light when he could not share it with you. And you could not leave your bed, not at the urging of your children nor the king, for your bed was the closest you could get to those nights you felt closest to him without crawling into his grave to join him. You could not bear to eat, for the food tasted like ash in your mouth, and swallowing was an effort you could not bear. The only thing that could rouse you from your bed were the portraits of your husband you had ordered placed in your bedchambers, hoping to feel closer to him, and yet, all they did was remind you of your great loss. So when death came for you in the same form it had taken your husband, it felt like a balm to your grieving soul.
You are buried next to him, his body yours for eternity, and yet, his heart alone remains out of your reach.
A/N: Loosely based on a dauphin and dauphine of France. I would be delighted if someone could guess which one it is!
