please, ploobertus was my father, call me ploobert schnoobert

The morning sound of the bell never failed to send a shiver down Abbot’s spine. It’s nothing, he insisted when you once caught how his shoulders twitch at the overwhelming clatter of metal. He wasn’t a man who growled or snapped out of mere annoyance at unwanted care, but it was clear he didn’t want to touch that subject.

He wanted – tried – to believe that. That it was really nothing. Just a brush of a grim memory that was pushed to the back of his mind a long time ago. A memory that redirected his whole life to where he was now… It was not fear that caused his distress. It was shame. Sometimes he felt out of place, like he stole his positions from someone more worthy. But what he was truly ashamed of was how much he enjoyed it.

Comforts of a real bed, good food, sharing a table with nobles – it was his existence now. And your presence. There was nothing in the world that he enjoyed more, and refused to admit that in front of himself for a long time.

But he never forgot the bell on the day when he was supposed to be hanged.

“I don’t even know why I cried back then,” you explained one day, when you shared whispered conversations and struggled to stay awake during a particularly boring feast.

Your cheeks were warmed by wine, and you kept raising the cup to your lips. It made Jack smile in that restrained careful way; he could enjoy you and remain careful at the same time. Or so he told himself…

“I don’t know,” you repeated with a giggle, “but I cried so hard that I made my father worry. You know him. He’s not merciful when it comes to crimes, but I suppose he worried I might pass out from all that hysteria.”

“It saved my life,” he said as a matter of fact, which only made you smile brighter.

“If I knew it back then I would gladly make an even bigger scene. Throw myself to the crowd or–”

“Gods, be quiet now.” He rolled his eyes, but it was impossible to fully hide the amusement. “Silly girl,” he muttered under his breath.

He rarely allowed himself to be so blunt, on the edge of being improper, but your laugh made the remorse worth it.

Till this day he thought about his crime as a right thing to do and didn’t imagine that would ever change. There were better solutions than murder, yes, but in the heat of a moment he considered it fair. What was done, was done. Call it pure justice. Even if it came from a man drunk on rage, loath and grief.

He grew up amongst people from lower state and was never free from small frauds. Stolen chicken here, ‘borrowed’ shovel there… He always said it was war that made a man out of him. He was called into the army and spent many years fighting for the kingdom. He was loyal, smart and stubborn as hell.

It was enough to make his position memorable. He had the honor of reporting a battle right to the king once or twice, but he didn’t imagine the man knew his name. Funny – today he was considered not only one of his most trusted advisors but also a friend.

Back then he was a nobody. A warrior like many, known from his braveness but with no title, no wealth. A mute hero. There was something worse than that, though. When the wars ended, he was the only one from his regiment to come home.

It made the people in his town hate him.

Every house in the area lost either sons, fathers or brothers, but he lived. Jack Abbot came back with scars on his whole body, memories that tempted him to end his miserable existence and without a leg – but he lived.

And he didn’t live quietly, no. After a few weeks the solitude of his cottage at the outskirts of the town turned out to not be enough. During his chosen isolation from the world his life resolved around drinking. Then he decided he couldn’t do that anymore and a chance to do something good threw itself to his feet. Almost literally. He found human skin in the forest on his walk. An enormous amount of human skin. It made him investigate and go back to real living again.

He was a stranger in his own home area. A stranger who discovered that a respected person was selling dead bodies to bandits to use as bait. A man who robbed every piece of silver he could find and feed his sick needs on blood and gore.

 He destroyed the peace that was built on uncertain reinforcers. People needed that balance during uncertain, dark times, but truth and justice were more important to him. Perhaps he didn’t think about others at all. He just did it because otherwise he knew he would kill himself.

When he showed up at the doorstep of a herbalist’s cottage he was drunk again. He should be more careful, but he couldn’t stand the view of a young child’s body, its belly cut open and insides ripped out. It was a nasty but clean job. Too clean for a common murderer. Jack uncovered the whole scheme. The herbalist was responsible for many deaths; poisoning, stabbing, starving people. He chose those who wouldn’t be looked for. Orphans, beggars, whores.

He killed the man with an amount of violence he never offered to enemies on the battlefield. They were just other warriors. He – he was a true monster.

And a monster whose memory placed Jack on a high platform in company of an executioner with a rope around his throat. The hooded man who made sure it was tight enough joked that he should be grateful. “Not everyone has the honor of dying in front of the royals,” he snarled.

That’s when he looked up, at the balcony of a building on the other side of the yard. A place resolved for the king’s family. He didn’t care for honors, but if it was the only thing that distinguished him from a common criminal… then fine.

And for you, it was shattering to watch him carry the death sentence with such grace. He didn’t regret what he had done – it was clear. You didn’t shed tears for a murderer. You knew him as someone else. Your servants told you stories, battle tales and legends. His name repeated in them like a stubborn reminder of the law’s injustice.

Your closest maid told you about the murder from her perspective. She was good at listening to different people and coming close to the truth. You heard a story of a brave man who stood up to dishonesty, and for that man you grieved.

Your mercy led to your father, the king, ordering to revise the investigation about the herbalist’s death. You remembered that the things he found out made him stop in his tracks like someone just spit on his leather boots. Such awful crimes right under his nose! And he was about to execute a warrior who fought evil…

Jack’s dignity and good name were returned to him, but he could not go back. People hated him. He destroyed the naive bubble of safety for good.

It was that and the fact that something drew him to you. You carried the effortless and wise grace he always sought for in his leaders in the army. It was strange to compare a princess, a young girl, to an army general, but apparently he looked for figures to serve, people to follow. He heard whispers amongst the folk – some were afraid, some disgusted by the idea of a woman being an heir. He felt the need to ensure it. To be loyal to you from now on till the day you would sit on the throne.

He asked for a place at the court, using his rightfully earned merits as advocacy. He made his way up in the soldiers' hierarchy, so he could face a castle of lords and ladies now. He turned to true chivalry and made a name for himself before he earned a place by your side. He never asked for it, but the King made an order with visible relief.

The Captain of the guard and a loyal protector of the Princess. As long as there were no wars on the horizon he meant to serve you as a thanks for saving his life. Even if back then he didn’t really appreciate another chance.

“Good morrow, Princess.”

Abbot’s voice was firm but collected. He was good at pretending he felt at home around the castle. It seemed like his quarters and your chamber were the only places where he didn’t have to put on a mask. He would refuse to admit it if you asked, of course, but you saw his face change whenever he crossed the doorstep of your little kingdom.

You opened the door with laziness that could be mistaken for hesitation. Not for Abbot, though. He could recognize the half-asleep look on your face, the laces tied in rush and hair still let down. It made him crack an internal smile and shake his head, knowing he will have to listen to complaining. You were a cunning thing, he realized that rather quickly. After you understood how to get under his skin, how to lead him to certain decisions, you never backed away.

If you wanted something, you were getting it from him with a kiss on the palm of your hand, and it was usually taking him a long time to realize he was being played. It was so subtle, though, so well-planned and prepared, that he couldn’t be mad for long.

“Captain,” you greeted softly and took your time to wipe the sleep from your eyes. “You’re here already.”

There you were. The lightly surprised voice was an act, he could say. It made his task of keeping his composure harder. There was only a question of what you wanted today. Stay in your chambers? Probably not, you rarely skipped chances to follow him around. Annoy someone in the court? If so, he would gladly indulge you in it, but only after a significant forced scolding.

He could use some fun as well.

“Shouldn’t I be?” He questioned with a dare in his words.

“You probably should… But it’s so early…” you started to feign trying to come up with good words. Untrue. You always knew the right words. It amused Jack, really.

“Exactly.” He nodded, remaining the serious knight he was. “I’ll wait here till you’re–”

“No, no,” you cut in with a wave of your hand, and moved back, leaving the door open. Completely unbothered that he was still standing there, you walked to your vanity table to take care of your hair. “It is alright, Captain, come on in. It won’t take long.”

Well… He did step in. What else was he supposed to do? Wait till someone was passing and saw him standing there like a fool, looking at you who’s dressing still wasn’t properly tied? He wouldn’t mind offering to fix the material on your shoulders while you styled your hair to save some time, but it was too improper even for a lenient mind like him.

What were you doing to him? When he first came to the castle he was a man of unbreakable morals… He still was, in a way, but he had to grow more tolerant of some of his own flaws that never discovered before and now couldn’t resist.

“You stare,” you mumbled under your breath in a singing tone. Your cautious gaze was fixed on his reflection in the mirror as he stood behind you. “Trying to rush me with a murderous look?”

“Yes,” he agreed and rolled his eyes, stepping closer to a window, “since words don’t have much effect on you, I’m trying to influence you with the power of muteness.”

“Power of muteness,” you repeated with a laugh. Mean, he had to throw you another displeased stare. “I will never understand the people complaining about you being too serious, Captain.”

“Me being—People complain about me being too serious?”

He saw you biting your lip like you just sold a well protected secret offered by the dearest of friends.

“You didn’t hear it from me,” you marked, and he nodded his head. You had a silent agreement, more than friendly terms, since the first day. You shared whispers of the court to each other, even despite the both of you claiming you weren’t fond of rumors. “If you ask me–”

“I don’t.”

“But hear me out,” you plead, throwing your tied hair over your shoulder and standing up to face him. “You’re a knight, a warrior. It’s not your job to please people with smiles and jokes. Well, most people. You can please me, of course.”

Your teachers would scold you for impertinence, but Jack knew the cocky smile was more innocent than it seemed. Gods, he wished that you held something more for him than pure sympathy, but he knew it was your way of showing simple liking.

“Of course,” he agreed with irony, fully knowing that he bid his own existence to keep you safe… and happy.

“What I mean to say is that you shouldn’t worry about what others say.”

He dragged his eyes from your feet to your head, and you stood under the judgment firmly. You knew he was already marking if you were dressed properly for the tasks he prepared for today.

“I don’t plan to,” he assured. You could say there was something arrogant in it, but you knew Jack well enough to hear gratitude he didn’t hide but didn’t show on purpose either. “Thank you. Shall we go now, Princess?”

“If you are ready,” you said and shrugged.

“Me?”

“Well… You’re a busy man. You might want to stay inside and rest for a while–”

“Oh, don’t you think it will work on me,” he warned and opened the door, waiting to walk after you.

It was a silent show of respect. You asked him to walk by your side many times, saying it was only an old custom, and you didn’t wish to turn around all the time to speak to him. He was impossible to convince, though.

Over the weeks you spend together he grew to be much more than just your shadow with a sword and a task to kill everyone who could harm you. He resembled a tutor, if not simply a companion. You could no longer imagine the order of days without his help and advice.

He was sometimes annoying, yes, and made you embarrass yourself more than once, but he was a very wanted company.

He liked it too. He couldn’t hide it from you.

Even now as he strolled a few steps behind you to the training grounds (you didn’t even have to ask what he planned to do today) he carried a gentle smile on his face. A smile only you could recognize. Others would say he’s just deep in thoughts.

You asked what he would do if he wasn’t asked to be your protector and he had to fairly say he couldn’t imagine it.

“As the Captain of the guard you would be assigned to my father if he wasn’t so full of himself,” you noticed.

It wasn’t uncommon to assign a captain to an heir instead of a ruler, but you were aware your position wasn’t as strong as it was to male heirs.

“Your father is an excellent warrior. He has the right to be full of himself,” Abbot explained, implying that the man had no need for a knight by his side all the time. “You wish it was different?”

“No. I didn’t say that,” you argued immediately.

“You didn’t have to. I see the look on your face.”

“Well… Yes, sometimes I don't like playing in dirt, sweat and mud with you,” you said loud enough to make two servant girls turn their heads to you, which made Jack look at his feet for a moment. You really weren’t passing any chances to embarrass him a bit too. “Just sometimes though. Usually you make it fun.”

“You’re not training for the purpose of entertainment.”

“I know, but you just… You make it entertaining.”

You were stopped by his grip on your forearm. Soft, but not enough to not catch you by surprise. You turned to the knight, staying hidden from the view on the courtyard.

He didn’t know why he did that… He just wanted a moment longer, even if it was seconds, before he had to get into a role of professionalism. He wanted to keep you here, with him.

“Do I?” He leaned in to look you in the eye, while his broad figure blocked your face from the sharp morning sun.

“Yes.” The answer was firm and with no hesitation.

He wanted to look mad, to act like his position of a skilled warrior was mocked, but he was helpless in the face of your pleased expression.

He probably deserved it anyway. The training he forced you to take was unusual for a princess. You knew it and he knew, just like the king. Your father, the old knight himself, saw no cons to it, and you weren’t in position to complain. You didn’t wish to, actually. It was not only nice to stretch your weary bones after sitting buried in maps and books for so long, but it also gave you a sense of power amongst other young nobles.

You didn’t have to fight for respect, of course, but you never failed to see when men teased and questioned your skills. Even though they never had the balls to do it directly. It was nice to know you had a better education in wars, battles and duels than a simple lord’s firstborn son.

“It’s necessary,” Jack said when you asked about his unpopular choice for the first time.

You didn’t hear the conversation between him and the Queen who was very unhappy about the training, but you knew it was a heated one. She rarely questioned your father’s decision when it came to you, but she was also always listened to. Now they clashed, and the King ordered Abbot to solve it himself. ‘Talk some reason into the woman,’ he said.

“Why?”

Back then he still had some issues on how to speak to you. He knew he had to respect you, but he was also supposed to teach you something…

“So I don’t feel that my watch over you ends the moment I close my eyes. It’s not only my job to protect you, but to ensure you can handle yourself,” he explained plainly.

“And you doubt that I can?”

“At this moment?” He thought for a second. You remembered that the indulgent smile he had on his face angered you back then. “I do, but I also believe you will learn quickly.”

And you did.  

Captain Abbot quickly taught you the pride and stubbornness of a warrior. He made you cautious about things you didn’t pay attention to before. And with every new achievement he nodded his head and wore that fond face. He praised you when you did good and never failed to scold you after a mistake, but he was just.

Teaching an obedient soldier was easier than ordering around a princess. What Jack didn’t expect was that you would develop preferences.

“Quit moaning,” he grunted quite bluntly, tired of your never ending requests to use a dagger.

He insisted on taking a longsword.

“But it’s too heavy,” you argued, and he knew he had to change his approach.

“That so, princess?” He teased. “Only a moment ago you were so sure about your entertainment. You’re not strong enough suddenly?”

You straightened your back and stood your ground.

“It is a sword made for a knight. I am no knight, sir.”

He wasn’t a sir. Both you and him knew that. Jack wasn’t sure if that could count as flatter or as a well thought manipulative method, but hell if it didn’t work on him….

“So you do admit–” he pried, making you roll your eyes.

“I don't have the strength of a grown man, yes.”

Saying something like that to Jack Abbot was like betraying the grand rule of swordsmanship and uncovering your guts to the enemy. He knew what you could and could not do – you trusted him to the bone, but giving him the satisfaction…

He wasn’t meek nor coy. You saw him holding back a smile the moment you spoke. You pretty much handed him a weapon to force you to obey.

“Perhaps you should go back to your books then–” he suggested with a mocking tone.

“No.”

He nodded at the firm voice, rather pleased with how sure you sounded. It didn’t make him any more merciful though.

“Then pick up the sword and fight. I don’t want to hear any complaints.”

“I will fight, but with a dagger.”

“No–”

“Short sword then,” you tried to bargain, and you did it reasonably.

He stopped in his tracks to think about it. Picking up the blade from a stand he handed it to you without looking your way.

“… Fine. And not another word for the next hours,” he warned.

You send him a satisfied smile that he refused to acknowledge.

“Yes, Captain.”

“Good girl.”

Abbot’s back hit the ground, and he had no idea how the hell it happened. One moment he was keeping you at a responsible distance, letting you tire yourself out while he dodged all strikes, and the next thing he felt was the back of his head thump on training soil.

It wasn’t enough to make his vision blacken, but he was so stunned that he needed a second to properly see his surroundings again. Dust and dry dirt raised up in the air from the force.

You were on him, one hand on his throat and the other holding a blade – the dagger he forbade you from taking – almost breaking the skin on his cheek. He didn’t even notice when he let go of his sword. You stayed quiet, just like ordered, but the meaningful grin was more than he could take.

“Speak,” he ordered in an angry snap, remembering his last words.

How come you listened to one of his requests while gravely breaking another?

 “I told you I wanted to use a dagger–” you said like it was nothing, just a justified turn.

A yelp broke out of your lips when he skillfully turned you around and off of him with a kick to your ribs. He busied himself with brushing the dust off his clothes, giving you some time to lay flat on your back.

Eventually he sent you a judgmental look and waved his hand.

“Stand up, keep going.”

You did, with a heavy groan and irritation building in the back of your head. If he could at least scream at you, call you a brat… But he was restrained in his words as ever.

If he was furious, he only showed it in how harsh he made the sparring. He made it a challenge both to you and himself as if he wanted to let his annoyance out as well.

By the time he disarmed you, making your sword fly to the other side of the yard, he was panting too. It only took him to wipe the sweat from his forehead and one steady breath to calm himself. He watched as you bent and rested your hands on your knees.

Then he spoke up suddenly, making you look up despite the lack of strength.

“It will never happen again. I promise.”

“I don’t understand,” you spat, almost choking on air.

He walked to pick up your weapon.

“You’re here to learn from me. You deserve only the best of warriors as teachers and I got distracted today. I won’t allow it ever again.”

You scoffed under your breath.

“Better apologize for bullying me now just because I angered you.”

He offered you his hand, so you could hold onto something while stretching your back and arms. In his other hand he held the sword that he soon offered you again.

“I’m not bullying you and certainly not for that reason,” he said, shaking his head. “Princess or not you have to know your place with a sword in your hand. What we’re doing now is you paying for stepping out of line.”

“Wha–”

“Think,” he ordered, really wanting to sound harsh, but he couldn’t. “Imagine that you run forward on a battlefield without a direct order because you want to earn some glory. That’s the quickest way to death. You need to learn your habits from the small things.”

You nodded, too tired to argue about tactics. “Fine. I understand.”

“Good,” he muttered and gave you the weapon. “Again, attack.

You held onto the handle, staring at it like it offended you.

“I can’t…”

He gave you no choice but to manage a few more strikes. Your weary bones and muscles gave out anyway, not much later.

“I can’t, Captain,” you said again, “my hands are bleeding.”

Something in his careful eyes changed when he saw the abused skin stained with blood and red, thickened marks. Silently he nodded for you to put back the weapons and hide from the sun under the wall’s shadow.

“Come. I want to take a look at it,” he rushed you.

Abbot was not only a great warrior, but he could also handle wounds. Bandages and stitches were no strangers to him, and you always preferred him taking care of you rather than the castle’s medics. They were cold, always indifferent, while Jack offered true care, while always doing what he had to, even if it pained you.

“I’m fine, Captain.”

“I don’t doubt,” he mumbled but didn’t change his mind.

He broke his rule of following you when he noticed you stumbled over your feet. Looking around, he carefully wrapped his arm over your shoulders and slowly walked with you to some secluded place on the meadow nearby. “You did well today. Soon enough you will be a better warrior than any knight in your father’s army.”

“Now this is just cheap flattery,” you joked.

“It is not.”

“Alright then… It’s good, if I ever have to lead men to war.”

It made him clench his jaw against his wish. The mere idea was… at least unnerving.

“I hope not, but surely you will face it with bravery and wisdom,” he said chivalrously.

It made you let out a genuine laugh. Not the careful one, reserved for court and nobles.

“You chose your words too cautiously, sir. Just say you don’t want to see me ordering your men,” you dared him playfully.

You knew it well, being a woman. Even your father avoided the topic of your succession to the throne… But Abbot wasn’t like others.

“That’s not true,” he said without a thought. “I just don’t want to see you in danger.”

It was honest, almost painfully. He truly cared. “Oh.”

Now it made him smile.

“Oh?”

You brushed him off nonetheless. “But it might be necessary one day.”

“It might be,” he agreed lazily.

Not wanting to continue the topic he showed you a place under a huge tree. “Sit here, rest.”

You obeyed, but it wasn’t enough to stop your curiosity. You waited till he took a seat next to you and reached out to take your injured hands in his.

“And if it comes…” you tried again and saw his eyes twitch up to you just for a moment. “Will you be by my side, Captain Abbot?”

He refused to meet your face again, too occupied with wetting a piece of cloth with water from his flask.

“Always. For as long as you want me I will be by your side. Now hold still.”

..honey, you're familiar like my mirror years ago

idealism sits in prison, chivalry fell on its sword

innocence died screaming, honey, ask me i should know

i slithered here from eden just to sit outside your door..

blood, so much blood. dick was unable to fathom how it was leaking from the sturdy metal of jason’s armor, but it seemed to seep from every crevice. 

a brutal berserker, wielding a mace, kept jason’s attention from the front, taking shots at his torso, his arms, his legs. another attacker came along, hitting jason in the head with the butt of his sword while he was distracted. 

a cheap, dishonorable trick. one only used by cowards, those unable to truly hold their own on the field of battle. 

dick had watched jason’s legs crumple underneath him, shoving his way through the battlefield to land on his knees next to his fallen brother. the enemy knights ran off to find their opponent, he was too late. too late to save jason, too late to repay the pain tenfold to those responsible. 

a strained smile stretched his boyishly handsome features as he realized it was dick kneeling over him. his helmet was dented, twisting dick’s stomach further. he had been there when jason had first tried on the same helmet. gleaming, shiny, freshly smithed. it had been a proud moment for dick, to see his younger friend, nay, brother, try on his first suit of battle armor. his last suit of battle armor. 

jason coughed, spit and blood painting his lips an enchantingly terrifying shade of red, one dick’s sure he’ll not soon forget. 

it faded around him, the battle, as he zeroed in on every labored breath jason took, every pulse of the vein in his neck. dick couldn’t breathe himself, the air thick with smoke and the harsh sound of metal hitting metal. he’s never felt anything but clear headed in battle, easing through them the same way he would a game of chess. critically, his face a mask of cold emotion as he fell enemy after enemy. this was different. 

“dick,” jason croaked, his brows knit as his lips struggled to form words. dick nodded, his attention solely on jason, solely on the last moments of his brother’s life. “thank you.” 

dick nodded again, choking on a response he didn’t have. 

“tell the king..” he coughed again, and dick felt like his heart had stopped. was this it? 

“..i tried my best.”

he fell silent after that, very silent. 

dick swallowed down his heart from where it was sitting at the opening of his throat. his hands shaky as struggled to take off jason’s gauntlet. he pulled off his ring signifying rank, slipping it into jason’s middle finger, putting the gauntlet back into place. 

“grayson, to me!” 

at the cry of his name, dick tore his gaze from jason’s body, still warm in the cold, metal coffin he wore. a fellow knight was in trouble, and dick was sworn to help.

his heartbeat grew louder and louder in his ears until it pounded through his whole body. a reminder: you-are-still-alive stay-alive you-are-still-alive stay-alive 

dick blinked back the burning sensation in his eyes, squinting through the haze of ongoing battle. he couldn’t see anything, truly, except for the way life had faded from jason’s eyes. 

you-are-still-alive stay-alive you-are-still-alive stay-alive 

and that was all he would see, all he would be haunted by, for the rest of his life. 

at least, that’s what it felt like. nightmares plagued him, waking and asleep. 

you-are-still-alive stay-alive you-are-still-alive stay-alive 

the deep blue of jason’s eyes, his laugh when he first ever disarmed dick in practice, his eagerness to join the fight.

you-are-still-alive stay-alive you-are-still-alive stay-alive 

a cup dropped in the kitchen, the dining hall, might sound too akin to the clanging of swords, metal on metal ringing in his ears as his knees gave. 

it’s not very becoming of a knight to faint. 

he grit his teeth and bore it when his superior lit his favorite pipe, his eyes blurring like he was still kneeling in the smoking ruins of battle, eyes locked on jason’s. 

you-are-still-alive stay-alive you-are-still-alive stay-alive 

knights often partake in illicit substances, often with each other, and often without nausea roaring through their body until one is unchivalrously emptying the contents of their stomach in front of all of their peers. 

you-are-still-alive stay-alive you-are-still-alive stay-alive 

wiping his mouth, he unfolded from where he was bent at the waist to see the varying reactions of his colleagues. harper looked concerned, west was cringing, gardner’s mouth twisted into a sneer. 

you-are-still-alive stay-alive you-are-still-alive stay-alive 

alcohol did nothing but make him see jason’s face contorted in pain from across the battlefield. 

his body rejects it, sees it as the poison it is. the blue of jason’s eyes tinging his vision, blurring it until he could feel metal weighing his body down like he still had armor on. 

nothing made it better. alcohol, tobacco, food. nothing helped. 

sleep barely took him and when it did he was usually just unlucky enough to be plagued by nightmares. 

he never got to stay asleep for very long. 

the dark circles under his eyes grew as his appetite shrank, as his will to live withered. 

his sword hand shook around the familiar leather hilt, struggling to hold up the weight of it. 

dick grew slower, sluggish. unable to keep up, unable to pass his peers like he once could. 

he lost the alertness that came with the position he held; didn’t catch when his supervisor quietly spoke to a squire about an audience with the king. 

“i’ll admit, i’m troubled by my youngest daughter,” the king starts, leaning closer to dick from the throne. “she’s a slippery one, richard.” 

dick chuckles, immediately stopping when he sees the lack of mirth in his king’s eyes. 

“i understand, sir.” 

the king sighs, rubbing his hands over his face. his crown tilts at the movement, the position of his body more casual than normal.  

“richard, i hate to do this to you, to your honor, son, but..” he trails off, spreading his palms. the king winces at the next words he has to deliver.  

“my hands are tied.” he sighs. “you’re full of fight, but it seems like you’re unable to perform at the level we’re all used to from you.”

dick nods silently, his face hardened into a mask. a toothless, old dog. that’s what he is, in the eyes of his king. something harmless, lacking bite. lacking the energy and fervor he once had. sluggish. slow. 

“i need to move you, son. from fighting for the kingdom, yes, but to protecting one of the most precious things in the world to me.” 

dick nods again, fighting to keep his face expressionless as he accepts his fate. 

“if you need to be upset about it, son, be upset with me. not my daughter.” 

like dick could ever really be mad at his king. 

used to the heavy padding, constant clank, of his armor, dick felt lighter, his presence no longer announced from across the castle. 

the uniform for his new position now included a thick padded vest, worn over a standard tunic and pants. 

some leather shoulder and forearm guards, sword at his hip. his everyday boots were polished and resoled, his hair trimmed, his scruff shaved. 

it was unspoken, the expectation, but he was being pulled into a different sort of ranking, now. 

one directly under the king’s daughter. 

he needed to look somewhat professional, somewhat presentable. he’d no longer be facing the brutality of battle, would he? just another painted pawn on the chessboard, one guarding the breathtaking beauty that was the youngest princess. 

you’d always been beautiful, curious, funny. something that piqued his interest. an interest that lied deep within the darkest depths of his soul, sure, but an interest nonetheless. 

dick remembered many a time he’d tuned in on you and your sister’s conversations, chuckling low at your dry responses. 

when he’d glanced up to the castle windows during training, noting your watchful expression as your eyes followed their rote drills. a thrill running up his spine when your eyes would connect with his—silly, but he couldn’t help it. there was just something about you. 

seeing the feisty way you’d greet haughty princes, possible suitors. like you couldn’t be bothered, and so you’d make your own fun out of it. 

he’d never expected to get to see you so consistently, so up close. 

dick shouldn’t really—an old dog doesn’t learn new tricks. controlling himself, taking orders from a little thing like you.. well. 

it’s not his fault if it goes wrong. no one thought to muzzle him. 

he’s let in by your maid just as you’re poking your head out of the castle window for a quick smoke. you note the creak of hinges, the heavy thud of his boots. 

you sigh out, into the night air, trying to push out all of your emotions with it, where no one can see it. 

you’re being given a knight. 

why?

are you too hard to handle? are they trying to forget about you, to give you a babysitter? 

you haven’t been married off yet—is your dad planning something, trying to keep you out of his study? 

thoughts twirl through your head like falling leaves, pushed this way and that by gusts of wind. 

one keeps being blown to the forefront, persistent. 

your command..not your father’s. 

the thought is comforting. 

you set the roll alight with a match, puffing on the end. you can feel his presence in the room, behind you. sturdy, male. under your command.. the heady, relaxing feeling, one of a standard buzz, seeps into your system. 

smoke floats into the room as you turn to face your knight. 

he stands tall. back straight, wearing a simple but sturdy outfit, his eyes narrowed as he zeroes in on your hand. 

“your highness,” livia warns, her eyes wide in borderline terror. 

you shrug in response, rolling your eyes. 

“‘s my castle, liv,” you say, watching the way her eyebrows touch her hairline as she glances to the knight. without looking at him, you continue. “gonna bow?” 

livia squeaks. 

he raises an eyebrow at you, crossing his arms. “don’t plan on it.” 

you’re not really all that worried about formalities, but his eschewing of etiquette still shocks you. 

he’s walking over to you, coming closer, his eyes never leaving yours. his steps are slow and deliberate, a march towards you. you fight the urge to gulp, taking another drag of the roll, blowing the smoke out of your nose. 

looking away once, just once, to make sure you ash out of the window and not onto the carpet like last time (much to liv’s chagrin) and ever the soldier, he strikes.

he hits your elbow up with the back of his hand, causing  your wrist to flail, and effectively making you drop the cigarette out of the castle window. 

blinking, you sputter, absolutely appalled. all you can manage is a comically angry face as you look up at him. a small smile cracks his mask open, and you almost shiver at the night and day difference. he leans in, and you stop breathing. 

“the princess, rendered speechless. what a sight,” he growls, a hot flush growing up your neck, to hit your cheeks, the tips of your ears. 

you’ve just realized you forgot how to breathe. 

livia waves her goodbyes as she unties her apron, heading off to her neighboring chamber. you nod, your eyes never torn away from the knight’s towering frame. you feel possessed. 

livia shakes her head, smiling as she closes the connecting door. finally a matched playmate for the princess. 

“you always at attention, knight?” you say, tapping the hilt of his sword. 

dick stands as still as a statue, tall over you, an unimpressed look sewn into his features. 

“just around you,” he mutters, his expression dropping when he realizes what he’s said. 

you cackle, the glint in your eye shining something fierce as you preen in front of him. 

“i knew it!” you declare. “i’m irresistible!” 

dick snorts at that, his shoulders dropping from where they’d risen to his ears. 

“whatever you say, your highness.” he jokingly concedes, and you hum in satisfaction. 

“exactly, knight. i think you’ve got it down pat.” 

he shakes his head, exiting your chambers to stand guard at the door. 

it’s almost hard to sleep, knowing there’s someone outside your door all night. 

not that you’re not used to being protected, but it’s never been someone like sir richard grayson. 

deep blue eyes plague your dreams, a low, roughened voice is all you can hear as you fall into sleep.

“you sure your father wants you showing up to breakfast like that, princess?” his gruff voice, still thick with sleep, sends satisfaction rooting into your bones. 

“who cares?” you reply, a smile spreading across your sleepy features. wrapping your silken robe tighter around your form, you tie the sash in a dainty bow. his eyes track every single one of your movements. 

the iridescent blue of his irises is deeply contrasted with the dark under eyes he’s sporting. 

you bat your eyelashes at him, and his stomach drops to his knees. 

his expression doesn’t change. 

damn. you’d thought that would get him. you start down the hallway, towards the stairs. 

the silk of your robe hugs the curve of your hips, the shape of your thighs. it has dick’s throat running dry, his body reacting eagerly at the sight. it’s unconscious—he hasn’t worried about carnal pleasures since before jason. 

the thought of his little brother sobers dick up quickly. 

“you cannot go to the great hall like that.” he growls. that gets your attention. you turn, walking back the way you came. his voice has chills tickling their way up your spine, your body misbehaving. 

“fine.” you say, tone lofty, royal. dick decides then that he might hate you. 

turning again, you head back into your chambers. the door’s pulled shut behind you, wood scraping on stone. he hears you call for your maid, sounding frustrated. 

dick can’t help the triumphant smile dancing on his lips. first battle, won.

🌞🌞🌞🌞🌞🌞🌞🌞🌞🌞

you’ve never been in such constant proximity to a male unrelated to you before. 

you’re not sure if the thoughts you’ve been having are because of that.. 

or just because of sir richard grayson. 

and you’re not sure how to act around him either. 

so you act in the only way you know how—like a brat.

“how in the hell did you—,” dick hisses, his eyes wide. his hands scrub through his hair, gripping. eyebrows practically touching his hairline. “where have you been?”

you exhale, smoke fluttering out of your mouth. ashing your lit cig, you smirk. 

“here, obviously. do try to keep up.” 

dick looks like might scream, or try to run and jump off of the roof’s edge just in front of you. 

“i’ll be in the hallway, princess.” he turns, going back through the window he’d so unceremoniously entered through. 

you nod, stifling a giggle once he’s gone, thinking of the look on his face when he found you. 

night sits below you, hearths in the village sending streams of smoke into the sky, no doubt countless families in front of them. 

you stare at the jewels on your heeled slippers, lip curling. taking them off, you set them away from you, tucking your feet underneath the hem of your dress. 

so much wealth. wealth you have no control of. wealth that’s not really yours. wealth that your loyal subjects will never get to see. 

you squeeze your eyes shut, tilting your head up. you reopen them, staring at the stars above you. 

there’s a bang from behind you, and you startle, nearly dropping your cig down the side of the castle. 

you sputter, turning to see your knight coming back through the window. 

“yes?” you squeak out, eyebrows furrowed. your heart’s beating fast as anything. 

“figured i should watch you if you’re out here. if you jump i’m responsible.” 

you snort, rolling your eyes. 

“sure are, knight.” 

you stub out the flame, setting it by your slippers. you’re not going to let him knock it from your hands a second time. 

your eyes are set on the roofs of the village as you listen to the beat of his boots towards you.

he tries to hide a groan as he sits next to you, his knees popping as he settles down onto the stone. 

you don’t return the favor, letting out a snort as you look over at him. “old man.” 

dick looks over at you, incredulous. “you try laying siege, and then we’ll talk, princess.” 

you raise your eyebrows, your lips quirking into a smile. 

“not even ten years older,” he mutters, huffing out a breath. 

“you should teach me how,” you start, smirking. “so i can protect myself.” 

“if you can protect yourself than i’d really be out of a job.” dick replies, his voice like gravel. it rasps through your ears, making a home in your long term memory. “y’sure the king would want you around a sword?” 

“you’re always around me and you have a sword,” you reply, smug. 

the haughty look on your face falters as dick starts to laugh, his face crinkling with mirth as he chuckles like he hasn’t in years, like he forgot how. 

like it’s surprising his body remembers how to make the sound. he gasps for air as his hand clutches at his stomach, the muscles tensing as he laughs. 

you cross your arms, raising an eyebrow as you watch him fall apart over nothing. 

“what’s so funny, knight?” you ask, voice flat. void of amusement.

“you’d never be able to get to my sword,” dick says, coughing. his cheeks are pink, his body much more relaxed than you’ve ever seen it. you feel exhilarated, despite not joining in. 

you must say stupid shit more often. 

“says who?” you respond, leaning back on your hands. “i’m sure i could take you in a duel.” 

dick sputters, unable to get the words out as another fit of laughter bursts from him. satisfaction pounds into your veins as you watch him unravel again, hoping to make a habit of it. 

“sure couldn’t.” he gasps out, barely able to form the words. you roll your eyes, making to stand up. 

“shall we wager?” 

you move forward, grabbing for his sword—but before you know it, he’s got you to the ground. he’s won, but you aren’t sure how.

“nice try,” he mutters. trying to play it cool, you roll your eyes, barely able to concentrate on anything but the heat, the weight of his huge form. 

“point taken, knight.” 

“what about that wager, highness?” dick sneers, his face mere inches from yours. you can feel the rise and fall of his chest against yours, the length of his body against yours. 

dick’s hands encircle your wrists, pinning them over your head as he adjusts to straddle you, pressing you to the stone of the castle. 

“what about it?” 

“i’m here to claim my prize.” he says, the deep timbre of his voice so close to your ears causing a dull throb to start between your legs. his being on top of you was not helping, either. 

there was never a prize, at least in your mind. your only goal in this endeavor was to make him laugh again. you weren’t in it to win. 

“close your eyes,” you sigh, mentally bracing yourself. your knight complies, and you’re given the sight of his lengthy eyelashes brushing the tops of his cheeks. 

your lips press to his cheek, the skin stubbled from his daily need to shave. 

his eyes fly open in surprise as you lean away, your skin heating at initiating such a familiar gesture. 

dick pushes himself away, his face unreadable as he stands, helping you up. you brush off your dress, trying not to die from the embarrassment. 

“thank you, princess,” dick says, his tone somewhere between teasing and reverent, appreciative. “i’m deeply honored.” 

you swat his chest, grabbing your slippers as you make your way towards the window. 

“oh, stuff it.”

🌞🌞🌞🌞🌞🌞🌞🌞🌞🌞

“hey, grayson,” west greets, patting dick’s back as they briefly hug. “missin’ you.” 

dick returns the sentiment, distracted as his eyes follow where you round the corner, talking to one of the maids. 

“look, we’re understaffed today…,” west starts, grimacing. “and there’s no one of rank available to teach grappling to the new round of squires. are you able?” 

dick makes a face in return, eyes slotting back towards his princess. he has no problem doing his duty, but it’s entirely up to you. 

“i know this is rather last minute and you have a full schedule today, but any chance you’re willing to give up some free time?” 

you look up from your needlepoint, eyebrow cocked as dick watches you, waiting for an answer. 

“whatever you have to do will probably be infinitely more entertaining than this,” you reply, standing. 

your skirts swish around your legs as you swiftly exit the room, looking expectantly towards dick as he still stands on  your rug. “you coming?” 

“you’ll need to get over that, if you plan to join the royal guard,” dick smirks, his eyes tracking the gaze of his student to you. “can’t have you distracted, now can we?”

the young knight gives you a sheepish smile, darting forward at his teacher who swiftly takes him down onto the mat. “use momentum, squires! use someone’s trajectory against them, if you can.” 

you smile at the kid pinned beneath your knight, his smile back wide despite losing. 

“no princesses for you, logan,” dick chides him, getting up and extending a hand.

“stay alert, stay alive. can you all repeat that to me?” dick says, the students watching the demonstration echoing his words. “great. now split up into partners—your goal is to get your opponent to hit the mat before you do.” 

“are you entertained?” he asks, running his hands through his sweaty hair as you uncross and cross your legs. his clothes cling to his body, bare feet exposed. dick uses his tunic to wipe the sweat from his brow, and the sight of his stomach makes you forget his question entirely. 

“princess?” 

oh, yeah. 

“sufficiently.” 

dick takes a gulp from your cup before sputtering, coughing as he hastily wipes his mouth. 

“is that wine?” he asks, laughing in surprise. you nod, shrugging. 

“i was going to get mead and a turkey leg from the vendor stand, but apparently the only sporting event with one is jousting. how disappointing.” 

dick chuckles, patting your knee as he moves to stand, get back to teaching. 

the familiar gesture sends you reeling, lightheaded at how pleased it makes you. 

“was it torturous? just as bad as needlepoint?” he asks, eyebrows raised as he walks you back towards the castle. 

wind brushes through the trees, flirting with the leaves as it dances around you. birds chirp to each other from across the sky, chasing past the highest turrets of the castle. 

“only slightly less. i’m really lamenting the lack of turkey legs.” you reply, brushing a stray hair from your eyes. 

“you love this stuff, highness.” dick says. “i remember learning these same lessons and seeing you up in your window, watching us.” he chuckles at your stunned face. “can’t act aloof if you can’t even properly hide your interest.” 

you blink, sticking your nose up to avoid the validity of his words. 

“you have no proof,” you say, mouth desperately pouty as you look at dick. he wants to sink his teeth into your bottom lip. 

instead, he points to himself, a stupid grin on his face. “eyewitness.” 

“not if my father throws you into the dungeons.” you retort, trying to stop the smile that’s threatening to ruin your act. 

“you wouldn’t dare.” 

“would too.” 

🌞🌞🌞🌞🌞🌞🌞🌞🌞🌞

"knight!" you shout, joy threaded through the exclamation. the shuffle of his boots through the tall grass is the most reassuring sound you've ever heard, his tall form coming towards you. 

"yes, princess?" he hums, his eyes scanning you, the area. always confirming your safety. 

"look!" you shout, again, your arm outstretched, finger pointing towards the tree. dick's gaze travels up, noticing the fuzzy, orange and pink piece of fruit you're pointing out. 

there's a few on the lower branches, but they look measly, unripe. 

"alright," he starts, sighing. dick tries to ignore his knees cracking as he lowers himself to kneel in the grass of the meadow. you look at him confused, but he grabs your hand, pulling you over. 

"mount my shoulders." he says, looking at you like you're deranged.

"was that a command?" your mouth says, words teasing, as your thoughts refuse to let go of his use of the word mount. is it too vulgar to wish that this won't be the last time you proceed to mount him? 

"would you like the fruit, or not, highness?" he replies, eyebrow raised. he continues when you don't answer. "it's not like you can climb the tree in your dress. it would be nearly impossible, and livia would have my hide for how dirty you'd get." 

stuck, you make a face, causing him to chuckle. with his sturdy hands guiding you, you carefully place one leg over his shoulder and then the other, squeaking when he starts to stand. 

"i've got you, princess," your knight says from under you, his hands spanning the tops of your thighs as he steadies himself. 

"i'm..so tall," you whisper when he straightens, tone gleeful. dick chuckles. you have him smiling so much his cheeks are starting to feel strained. 

"you gonna pick the fruit, or shall we be here 'til sundown?" 

sheepish, you reach forwards, your crotch pressing into the back of dick's head. he tries to not think about it too hard, lest he grow to be exactly that. 

with a stifled grunt (not ladylike) you pick the peach, your fingers tightly closed around the perfectly ripened fruit. "down we go," you tell dick, bracing yourself as he lowers, bending at the waist so you can touch your feet to the ground and move off of him. 

eagerly, you sink your teeth into the peach, incisors slicing through the lush fruit, juice dripping down your chin. sweetness hits your tongue as you chew, swallowing with a smile on your face. 

when you look up at dick, his eyes are affixed to your mouth, the slick on your chin. the tips of his ears that poke from under his hair are pink, the expression on his face rather odd. 

"good?" he bites out, voice slightly hoarse. you nod, smiling widely, uninhibited. his fingers brush yours as you pass the dripping fruit to him, nodding as he raises an eyebrow at you. 

"wow," dick starts, dry as a bone. "a princess who shares." 

you smile at him, rolling your eyes, and he continues, just before biting into the peach himself: 

"how novel." 

sunset-colored juices gushes down his chin, his hand, as he tries it, eyes lighting up at the taste. 

"that's amazing, good find, princess." 

you barely register his words as he glances over at you, affixed on the way he looks when he's eating something so vigorously. hands wet, lips covered in peach juice. something about the sight was so deeply erotic to you, even if you couldn't quite place why. 

"..thank you for your help, dick." 

he nods, digging in once more before he replies. 

"anytime, princess." 

a heat ignites, burning between your legs as you stand next to him. the heavy layers of your dress are stifling, your throat dry as you try to swallow. "would you like some more?"

you're not too worried about it either way, but his words have you nodding, your hand outstretched. 

"what's the magic word," he says, tone taunting, grin teasing. 

"please," you reply, the word rasping from behind your lips in a laid-bare whisper that has dick's heart pounding in his ears. 

"mm-hmm," dick replies, barely able to form a word, never mind a sentence.

you walk out from the attached room, dick’s eyes glued onto your scantily clad form. 

you’re glowing, your skin shimmering with silvery gold powder, a pair of equally incandescent wings sprouting from your exposed back. 

your hair cascades past your shoulders, the strands curled and wavy, braids and woven thread hidden within the tresses. 

artfully draped cloth covers your breasts and the junction of your thighs, but the expanse of your midriff is exposed, dick’s mouth dry as it gapes open. 

“close your mouth, knight.” you trill, humor lacing the command. 

he nods, swallowing so hard you can see his adam’s apple bobbing. but he’s silent. dreadfully silent, the muscle in his jaw feathering as he drags his gaze down the length of your body.

your maid smiles, bursting with pride as she finishes tying the bow that secures your costume sandals, the lace crisscrossing up your legs. he would’ve done that, for you. if you’d asked. 

“there you are, your highness.” 

“thank you, livia. it looks wonderful.” she grins at you as you turn, admiring yourself in the mirror. the whole outfit is pinned into place, and you doubt anything’ll move until she pulls the pins she so carefully placed herself. 

you turn to dick. 

“where’s your costume, knight?” you ask, and dick bursts out laughing. 

“c-costume,” he says, gasping for air between guffaws. “funny, princess.” 

“ha-ha.” 

you knock on the wall, and a male valet enters. 

“sir.” 

dick gapes, but quickly recovers. 

“no.” 

“not a suggestion, knight.” you reply around a tight-lipped smile. 

he groans, following the valet into the room you exited. the door closes, and you and livia dissolve into giggles. 

“good one, your highness!” you high five, wearing matching beaming smiles. 

“thanks, liv. i meant to ask, what outfit did you end up pulling for him?” 

livia smiles, a hint of mystery in her tone. 

“you’ll see, your highness. you’ll see.”

it feels like all the air’s been sucked out of the room. 

your knight’s in..well, not much. 

creamy white cloth drapes around his waist, dipping lower to cover his crotch and backside. two harsh lines of muscle point in a v-shape beneath the fabric. a trail of hair drags your eyes from his navel down to the bulge between his legs. 

a brown leather studded belt sits on his hips, a gleaming sword hanging off of it. a matching harness crosses over his bare chest, straining over his large pectoral muscles. 

there’s a slight shimmer to his skin, like a type of body oil was used, and his hair is tousled, pushed back from his face. 

he looks strong, fierce, yet vulnerable. you see so much of him, but he still holds that guarded look in his eyes. 

your mouth is dry, your eyes hungrily looking him over. 

“satisfactory, your highness?” dick says, dryly. laughter dances in his blue eyes. 

you sniff, mentally slapping yourself across the face. pull it together! 

“yes.” you bite out as livia stifles a giggle. 

he walks you to the great hall, flanking you like he’s expecting an attack. 

“fake sword,” dick grumbles, fiddling with it. “can’t believe this shit.” 

he trails off to himself, waxing about the absurdity of giving a knight a wooden weapon like he couldn’t handle the real one. 

noise pours from the great hall, the thick oaken doors only slightly muting it. 

as usual, you get a double-door entrance, the attendants at each pulling them wide as you walk in. 

the music lilts around you, the sound mingling with voices as it swirls through the air. 

lanterns are covered in multicolored scarves, painting the room into a kaleidoscope. the room is filled with costumed subjects, in hats, layers of clothing, barely any clothing, etc. you fit in perfectly. 

various costumed guests greet you: a satyr, who bows low. a cupid, miming a hit with his bow and arrow. a nymph, who kisses your cheek. a gnome, shaking your hand heartily. a mermaid, who hugs you. 

you continue deeper into the revelry, looking around, hoping for a drink. you know the wine cellar’s been cracked open for this. 

dick trails you, alert. you look to the other side of the room, missing dick’s signal to a roaming waiter for a goblet of wine. 

they quickly bring it to you, handing it over with a curtsy. you’re cheered, thanking them profusely. 

you sip at it, the dark, fruity liquid cold as it goes down your throat. dick watches you, watches the way your throat bobs as you swallow. 

you offer it to him, but he declines. you finish off the rest of it yourself, the sourness hitting the back of your throat. 

someone that rather reminds you of an imp twirls through, stopping to hand you a brightly colored pellet. you smile, nodding in thanks. they’re off into the crowd, guests folding them into the crush until they disappear. 

you look to dick, and his expression is hardened into stone, eyebrows angry slashes on his forehead. 

“none of that shit, princess.” he growls, and you look to him, surprised. you usually indulge. 

you’re not the sort who wants it every day, but in a scene like this, it makes the lights twinkle and the music enchanting. everything is much happier. you don’t mind it. he has you thinking twice.

“you don’t even know what’s in it. that’s how someone like you ends up poisoned.”

his face is curled with disgust, and you drop the pill, crushing it under the heel of your sandal. the moment feels dramatized, probably due to the wine coursing your veins. 

the look of surprised pride on his face sends satisfaction slipping off the shelf of your ribs and clattering down to your stomach. 

he stands by you, watching as you sway to the music. you poke him, trying to get him to move, loosen up, but he shakes his head, smirking as he looks away. you can’t get enough of the way his body looks under the low light, skin shimmering in a way that highlights every hard-work formed muscle. 

you grab his hands, placing them on your hips. his eyes are bright, burning in the low light. 

you slide your hands up his wrists, forearms, biceps. you loop them around his neck, pulling him closer. his skin is radiating heat. you guide him through the steps, moving your hips to the music.

“princess,” he says, his tone a warning. he looks concerned. like he shouldn’t be doing this. but he’s not doing it. you are. 

his warm hands on your bare hips is like a brand. like if he removed them you’d have the glowing shape of his handprint on your waist. you couldn’t wish for anything more. 

you dance through the rest of the song, through the chorus, the bridge. the tune is haunting, almost melancholic. 

the song ends, and your knight immediately drops his hands. the loss is profound. 

you drag your hands from his neck down his chest, down the fluttering muscles of his stomach. 

suddenly, a rousing country tune fills the hall. revelers go up in cheers as they recognize it, joining in the middle to start the accompanying dance. you grab dick's hand pulling him into it before he can refuse. 

luckily enough for him, knights are plenty familiar with these types of dances. they flood the dance halls in the surrounding village, all the local girls ready to claim dance partners as they giggle to each other over the size of their choice's biceps. 

dick grasps your hand, falling into the muscle memory he has of the steps. he's light on his feet, no doubt a perk of the job, swinging you around with ease. 

if the song and dance gave you even a second to stop and think, to breathe, you'd be standing stock-still in amazement that he knows it, that he's participating with a huge smile on his face. laughing as he switches partners, winking at the girl you're passed to. 

it's riotously fun, your giggling permeating through the bustle, causing dick to turn and look. 

your hair swings as you're spun by your partner, laughter bubbling from your lips as you sparkle under the lamplight. dick wishes he could freeze the moment so he could see it forever, but it's gone before he knows it, the beat slowing down to a halt as the music changes. 

the dancers disperse, and you're dragged over to the serving counter, placing a small vial in your right hand and a trail of sugar onto the back of your left. 

it’s tossed down, the harsh liquor blazing a path down your tongue, your throat. 

“another!” you cheer, and you’re quickly obliged. 

you hastily throw back the second shot, chasing it with more sugar. 

maybe it’ll be easier to forget something so you won’t miss it. 

if you think you never had it, you won’t mourn it like you did. 

hand raised, you signal for another shot. 

you sigh, rolling your shoulders. 

wound up into a little ball of stress, weren’t you? he can't wrap his mind around why you might want to become so intoxicated, how anything in your life could be so difficult that you're itching for release. 

dick clenches his jaw. why do you even need to go this hard? precious little princess that knows nothing of the real world. his teeth grind, the dull ache in his forehead growing stronger. 

the acrid smell of smoke starts to fill his nostrils. his hands start to tingle, sweat. he blinks, hearing the clashing of battle in the cheers of a nearby group. the music’s gotten louder, the crowd rowdier. 

you watch the heightened rise and fall of dick’s chest, your pulse turning frantic. this shouldn’t be happening to him anymore. it’s why he’s with you. you flounder, your hands flapping a little at your sides as dick falls farther into his own little world. 

a world where he’s on the battlefield, his body burdened by the weight of armor. 

metal clangs around him in the toasting of goblets, wine sloshing over their rims like blood pouring from a stab wound. 

his heart pounds in his ears. 

“dick.” 

nothing. you’re trying not to shout at him, but he’s not hearing you. 

“dick, please. dick.” 

he zeroes in on the hand lightly resting on his shoulder. he practically jumps out of his skin, knocking the hand off, stepping away. he blinks. the image flickers between a scarred berserker and his dear princess, his pulse slowing as he comes back to himself. 

“dickie, i’d like to leave. please, escort me out of the party, into the hallway.” 

he can hear you now, hear your order. almost there. you rack your brain, trying to recall the way knights are talked to. you’ve listened in on many a drill, out in the courtyard. 

“grayson, to me.” your words are slurred, but they have the intended effect. 

dick’s alert, his hand grabbing yours, the other pulling his sword like it’s not made of mahogany. he wields it, cutting a way through the crowd as people shy away from the metallic gleam of paint. 

you make it to the hallway, and he drops his stance. it’s quieter, there’s a noticeable lack of fumes. the stone walls are painted in the familiar flickering candlelight. his breathing slows, steadies. you rub your thumb in circles on the back of his hand, and he lets you.

dick looks around, eyes scanning your figure, his own. obviously noting the sights and sounds of his surroundings.

his face crumples, realization dawning. he drops your hand, scrubbing his over his face.

“happened again, didn’t it.” 

his voice is low, deep and dark. he’s not really asking you. he knows the answer. 

“no matter, knight. escort me to my chambers?” you ask, feeling silly for the charade. you know it helps him. you’re a little weak in the knees from the fading adrenaline, the wine you drank. 

the panic seeps out of your system, seamlessly replaced by a buzz. you’re tipsy.

“babe,” you giggle, hooking your hand into the crook of his elbow—a princess's reflex. “there’s something so magic about you..” 

dick sighs, shaking his head. 

“you’re drunk, princess.” 

“am not,” you reply, a smile betraying your words. 

he sighs again, your heart crumpling a little at the sound. 

“what? can’t have a little fun?” you ask. 

he looks down at you in muted surprise at the way you lean in, a little smirk forming on his lips. 

it’s addicting, knowing his mouth can form the shape, knowing you might’ve had a part to play in it. 

“don’t you ever let loose, dick? like really, really just let loose?” 

the mask slots back into place like it never left, and you’re locked out, like a dog, dutifully waiting for its owner in the rain.

“used to.” he says, indulging you nonetheless. even as you slip your hand from where it was resting, he feels the residual warmth from your skin on his. 

you walk in front of him down the hallway, doing a twirl. his eyes snap to yours from where they were watching your hips move. 

“why haven’t you told me how pretty i look yet?” you ask, insecurity swimming beneath artificial vanity. 

“pretty, princess?” he asks, his face incredulous. his tone stops you in your tracks. 

he doesn’t think you’re pretty? shouldn’t be as earth shattering of a revelation as it is, but there you were. you feel stupid, but maybe that was the drink talking. 

who cares what he thinks anyways? he’s just some knight, right? 

dick sweeps his gaze across the corridor, ensuring that you two were alone. his hand snakes out, pulling you to his chest. you attach like magnets, your hands resting on his chest, fingertips brushing his collarbones. the weight of his strong arms anchors you, pulls you back to earth. 

“you look stunning, princess. ravishing.”

you blink, caught off guard. 

“..why didn’t you say anything before?”

“couldn’t tell you earlier ‘cos my head wasn’t cooperating.” dick says, sniffing casually. 

“which one?” you ask, faux innocently. 

dick coughs, trying to cover up a laugh as his cheeks turn a delicious shade of pink. 

“none of your business, princess.” he shoots back, still recovering. he catches a glimpse of your expression: the shit-eating grin on your lips. dick snorts, shaking his head. 

livia’s long gone, either at the party or taking the night off for herself. you hate being in charge of her. her free time is hers and hers alone. 

while that usually results in you attempting to unlace yourself from gowns and costumes—often drunk—you weren’t too worried about it. 

tonight was something else entirely, however. no matter what, you could not get the wings off of your back. the rest of your outfit was attached to said wings, and so: 

“dick?” you call, voice almost pleading. 

he’s there before you can blink, his big body at your back. 

dick nods, wordless. 

“can you help me get undressed?” you ask, heat rising up your neck and to your cheeks, ears. 

“course, princess. anytime.” he says, the familiar sentiment rolling off of his tongue. 

your eyes widen in unison as the combination of question and answer sets in. his cheeks set aflame as he fumbles to correct himself. 

“i—not that, that’s not what i meant. you know what i meant. not that i won’t help you, but—,” he cuts himself off, turning away. 

he slides a hand down his face with a heavy sigh. you watch him, amused. mortified. he shakes his head, steeling himself.

“never mind. c’mere.” 

dick tugs at the laces tying your wings to your clothes, undoing the clasps. the pressure of his hands at your back has a rather curious feeling growing between your thighs. 

his breath sends shivers down your neck. he’s so close. you hold the fabric to your breasts, so it doesn’t fall and expose you to him. not that you’d really mind it. it’d make things a lot easier. 

the sight is extremely erotic, sensual—dick’s trousers are starting to feel tight. 

he finishes, dropping his hands and stepping away. 

“m’eyes are closed, princess.” dick says, his voice thick. you’re naked. his hand clamped firmly over his eyes like a mask. not like he won’t still be seeing the smooth skin of your bare back as he stands guard tonight.   

you step behind an ornate screen, your bared ankles and feet the only thing visible. he hears the rustle of fabric as you slip the sheath over your head, put your arms through your robe. 

staring at yourself in your vanity mirror, you brush out your hair.

dick watches you, his eyes following your repetitive movements. you’re both deep in thought, and it’s an easy guess for what the other might be thinking about. 

you’d smelled it, too. the smoke. someone nearby was lighting their pipe. it couldn’t be a coincidence, could it?

you force yourself to look away from the drawer holding your secret supply of tobacco. 

right now, you want it—but not badly enough. 

not so much that it’s worth losing dick again, however briefly. it’s just a hunch, though. 

you don’t know what caused it. and you’re not sure he’d tell you. but you’re not taking any chances. 

you shuffle over to bed, getting under the covers. dick starts to retreat from the room. 

“wait!” the outburst surprises you. you said that?

he turns to look at you, expectant. 

“please, stay with me.” 

“princess..” he says, his voice almost pleading. like he’s the one asking you to come to bed. 

“i need you here, please.” you hardly recognize the begging tone underlying your words. 

a princess wouldn’t be caught dead negotiating with an inferior to sleep in her bed. but there you were.

a knight couldn’t argue with such a request. a knight wouldn’t argue. 

“i’m not getting underneath the blankets.” 

“that’s okay,” you concede, your voice small. you feel overwhelmingly triumphant.

dick blows out the candle, your eyes on his lips as they form an O.

the bed creaks as he lays next to you, his big body taking up space previously untouched. 

it’s only ever been your bed. you’re not sure you’d mind if that changed. 

“well? go to sleep.” he mutters. the darkness of the room hides the blush caressing his cheeks. 

you listen to the rhythm of his breathing, unawares of him doing the same to you. it lulls you to sleep, your hand mere centimeters from his. 

anguished blue eyes. it’s all he sees, half the time. the pain shooting through jason’s body as he takes his last breath. the relief of death, the transfer of pain from heart to heart, holder to viewer. it’s like a knife to the ribs.

it gets hard to breathe, sleep, eat, knowing his little brother can’t. 

the knife twists once more, and his body tenses like it’s really happening, his hand clenching at your bedsheets. 

he’s in your bed. he’s indebted to you.

you got him out of there. out to where he could finally breathe, finally think. 

your eyes replace jason’s, sometimes. the kaleidoscope of color, your blooming pupils as you look up at him. 

he doesn’t see them for long before the guilt sets in. 

he’s losing focus on his duties. like he didn’t already—it’s what got him reassigned in the first place. 

thoughts of honor, duty, do nothing to quell the rush of blood downward. his body aches being so close to you. he's reminded of the night he had you pressed to the castle floor, your lips on his cheeks. it doesn't help the situation he's in.

he’s lost in his thoughts, trying to tell his cock that he’s not even inside of you, and won’t be any time soon. 

it’s not listening. the steady in and out of your breath soundtracks the heartbeat throbbing in between his thighs. lot more intimate, than most realize, to be allowed to sleep next to someone. 

especially after a night like tonight, when he was allowed to see so much of you. 

dick can’t get the feeling of your smooth skin against his palms out of his head. he could scrub them until they bleed, and it wouldn’t go away. 

the way your skin shimmered in the light, your hair shining as you danced. 

dick shouldn’t have given in, danced with you. he knows his place. but he couldn’t resist. didn’t want to see a look of disappointment muddle your hopeful features. 

he knows he’ll be thinking about it for a long time: the way your hips moved under his hands, your breasts bouncing under the loose fabric. your arms wrapped around his neck.

sleep seeps out of your pores as you reach for the empty space next to you, surprise registering at a big, warm body instead. 

hair rustles against the pillow as he glances at you, your sleep-mushed features. 

“..you’re still awake?” your whisper cuts through the night, your eyes tracing over the silhouette of dick’s profile. 

“yes.” 

you watch his lips move, shape the word. you wish it wasn’t so dark. you wish you could see the color of them right now: a light mauve, a dusty, deep pink. 

“can’t you sleep? am i keeping you up?” you ask, concern lacing your questions. 

“you helped me, princess. saved me. i’m attempting to figure out how i might ever repay you.” 

your eyes widened, surprised. your thoughts thrum to life, your body waking up. 

“no need, dick. you’re absolved of the task.” you say, the words unfamiliar on your tongue. royal. 

dick chuckles, shaking his head. he won’t look at you, his eyes glued to a spot on the ceiling. like he’s seeing something that’s not really there. his arms are crossed, his ankles. closed off in every way possible. 

“can’t absolve me of a self-assigned task, your highness.” 

you lay still under the blankets, your mind catapulting through many things at once. 

“won’t you let me?” you breathe out, hopeful. 

he laughs, a disgusting, bitter sound, and doesn’t say anything else. 

before your eyes are even open at daybreak, you know dick’s not next to you anymore. 

there’s a chance that no one ever was, especially not your knight. that after the party you fell asleep in your bed alone, your dreams full of dick’s bottom lip, his harsh laughter. 

livia helps you dress, letting her facial expressions do the talking as you try to step into the corset with sore legs. 

freshly primped and pulled at, you exit your bed chambers to see dick, leaning against the wall as he waits for you. 

he looks rumpled. his cheeks pink as he takes you in with fresh eyes. 

there's something intensely intimate about having spent the night together, asleep, even having never touched. he walks you to breakfast like it's any other morning. 

you try not to cry when your mother reminds you of the day's events, trudging back to your room. it's hard to resist the urge to walk the castle floors barefoot, like when you were a child. 

"would you like your darkened glasses for the joust, m'lady?" 

you look to livia, noting the tiny smirk on her lips. 

"yes, but only if you quit looking so smug about it," you reply, groaning as she leaves to grab them from your closet. 

"i was wondering, your highness, how were you able to disrobe last night?" livia asks, the portrait of innocence. bully. "my deepest apologies that i wasn't there to help." 

you give her your most deadpan look, taking the glasses from her hands. 

"i..helped myself." you say, sniffing. 

she levels you with a look, an eyebrow raised. 

"you don't have to believe me, liv." checking your reflection one last time—pale, dark circles—you turn towards the door. 

"and i don't just want these because of my bottle ache!" you call, heading out the door. 

"sure, highness," she replies, laughter in her voice. 

you’re infinitely glad he can’t see you right now, even if you can feel his eyes on the back of your throne. 

it's so extremely unfortunate that you're now privy to what his unclothed torso looks like: because it's all you can think about. all you see when you look at him. 

it ailed you, during the silent walk to the stables, the even more silent (and borderline nauseated) carriage ride to the fairgrounds. hung over you like a sickness, your thoughts with the little line of hair trailing from his stomach to..? 

you wish to follow the path with your tongue, laving the skin until he's writing beneath you. you wish you had a very strong cup of tea, a lot of peace and quiet. the jousters bow to you and your parents, the knight participating under the green pennant throwing you a wink and a jaunty wave. 

you swear you hear dick growling from behind you. like a proper royal, you return the gesture, putting on a serene smile to wave back. the knight preens at your attention, the crowd cheering at the princess's acknowledgement. 

now there's muttering, and it makes you want to giggle. your poor knight, probably so tired from the night before. you'd noticed the bags that ring his eyes when he walked you over, heaven knows how much sleep he really got!

you've never much liked jousting anyways—it always looked like such a chore for those poor horses. 

and there's no way it was fun for the knights, either! riding a horse with all that armor on, holding a big poky stick. who was benefitting from this? the crowd roars as the green knight knocks over the blue knight, drumming up the cheering with a movement of his arms. you roll your eyes at the gesture, putting your chin in your hand on the armrest. 

the next contender gallops into the arena, his color a deep red. the jousters bow again, the green knight really hamming it up now, especially towards you. he waves, before faltering, quickly dropping his hand and turning back to his horse. his eyes were on something behind you, and somehow you just know your knight was glowering down at him. 

the match begins, the horses and their riders picking up speed as they race towards each other. but you've had to watch enough jousting in your life that something about the angle looks off. there's a horrible cacophony of sounds, horses whinnying loudly, the crowd gasping, wood splintering: and that's the last thought you have before you're moving, arms flailing. 

dick grabs the back of your throne, tipping it to the ground as smoothly as possible as he also ducks. a surprised screech leaves your throat as a jagged piece of wood flies over your head, past dick. you hear your mother's matching scream as your father jumps in front of her, arms outstretched. 

dick rises, leaving you and your chair tipped back on the wooden viewing deck. you remembered last minute the fact of your dress, your hands clenched in the fabric to keep it from flying over your head. there was not a soul in the crowd that needed to see the princess's knickers today. 

you watch his head swivel, assessing the surroundings, the groaning knights in the dirt, before looking down at you and your parents. 

"up? please? now?" you hiss at your knight, eyes pleading. he nods, quickly pulling you back up. adrenaline shoots through his veins, screaming at the sudden call to action. it’s jarring, but it’s a good reminder: he’s alive. he’s successfully keeping you alive. 

various ladies-in-waiting have surrounded you and your mother, re-powdering your faces lest you look alive. you bat their hands away, coughing at the way they're vigorously attempting to powder pouf you. 

"everyone alright?" your father calls, to the cheers of the crowd, the guilty looking knights, but more obviously, his family. you and your mother reply affirmative, and he stands, waving his hand to call the event off. 

dick still looks slightly murderous. you think you can see the knights wilting in real time under his gaze. with a nod from the king, he stalks off, no doubt to investigate the situation.

"i think this calls for a strong cup of tea and some peace and quiet." he declares, except only to your cheers this time.

🌞🌞🌞🌞🌞🌞🌞🌞🌞🌞

spring's drifting through the air, proud as ever as it blooms under the bright sun shining. you're switching back to dresses with shortened sleeves, less layers of fabric, all in silky pastels. 

you stroll through the castle gardens, dick trailing behind you. fat bees float in and out of the freshly bloomed flowers, the air thick with sunshine and a warmed floral scent. the grass is thick beneath your slippered feet, the hem of your dress whispering through the green sprouts. 

it feels like the only place in the world, filled just with the two of you and the sounds of nature. no one else exists, and a weird little feeling nestles into your rib cage at the thought. odd, but, you’re not sure you’d want it any other way. 

you hold out a hand, and dick hands you the intricately gilded stem cutters he’d put into his pocket for you. 

you snip a white chrysanthemum from its sisters, carefully pull white clover from the ground beneath your feet. gardenia is next, heliotrope soon following. an iris stands out from the rest of the bunch, and you cut it off of the stem, turning around to your knight. 

“hold this.” you hand him your bouquet, and he dutifully grabs it from you, holding it carefully in both hands. a strand of hair falls into his eyes, and he blows it out of his face with a puff of air. you step closer to him, his scent strong even in the castle’s edenic garden at the height of spring. you’re hit with the smell of leather, a soft hint of lemon leaf and something deeper, something you can’t place, but it’s mesmerizing all the while.

you carefully tuck the flower into one of the loops in his shirt, adjusting it carefully. the slow, almost deliberate rise and fall of his chest sets the rhythm to your heart, a feedback loop of feeling, breathing. 

“thank you, princess.” 

“course, dick,” you say, trying to brush it off, hide the look on your face you’re unable to stop. “anything.”

dick scoffs to himself when you turn around, shaking his head with a smile. 

if only anything could accurately describe the lengths he’d go for you. 

greeting the guards at the castle door with a smile, you enter the entrance hall. a pink camellia falls from your makeshift bouquet, onto the intricately woven carpet that covers the stone floor. 

folding at the waist, you bend down, picking up the flower before an attendant can. dick, however, hadn’t realized you’d stopped, and runs into you. his hips connect with your ass, the force sending you forward. 

his hand swoops in, catching you before you can fall, but effectively pressing you back into his crotch.

ever the royal, you carefully place the flower back into the bunch, standing up. grinding against him in your movement.

“thank you, knight.” 

he growls in reply, a pulse running from his body into yours. you feel him growing harder, and you arch your back, still pressed up against him. 

“princess,” he says, half groan, half plead. you grin to yourself, wiggling your hips against him as you look back at him. 

your eyes are wide, the picture of innocence. whatever could you possibly be doing to bother him?

“knight,” you reply, the tone of your voice pitched into something deeper, something more sultry. 

that ends it for dick, and he makes you do a weird sort of spin as he grabs your hand, darting down a corridor.

he pulls you behind him, his hand tightly clasped onto yours, through the castle. you hear him muttering underneath his breath angrily, a thrill running through your body when you note the clench of his jaw. 

“in here.” 

he unceremoniously yanks you into an empty guest room, quickly pulling down the bar on the door. you carefully set down the bouquet on an empty dresser, looking at dick expectantly. 

“bed.” 

you start towards it, before stuttering in your steps. 

why? 

you turn to him. his eyes are on yours, dangerous and dark. you open your mouth to question him, his eyebrow raising as he speaks before you can. 

“now, princess.” 

you comply, sitting down onto the bed. you cross your ankles demurely, tossing your hair over one shoulder before folding your hands in your lap. 

he stalks over, your heartbeat pounding in your ears. he stops as he reaches you, knocking his knees against yours. 

“open.” 

you look up at him in surprise, your eyes widened. 

“no?” you reply, incredulously.

he chuckles, shaking his head. “such a tease, aren’t you?” 

he drags the rough pad of his thumb over your bottom lip, pulling your mouth open. 

he places his thumb onto your tongue, and your lips close over it like it’s natural, like you’ve done it a thousand times before. 

“just like that, princess.” he growls out, your thighs squeezing together at the praise. “open?” 

you do it without a second thought, parting your legs as he steps closer between them. 

he pulls his thumb free, mourning the loss of the view of your hollowed cheeks, your big eyes looking up at him. 

“lay back onto the pillows for me.” dick says, and you swiftly comply, the rules of the game quickly burning their way into your mind. 

he gets onto the bed after you’re settled, watching him with anticipation. he kneels between your already open legs, running a hand up the outside of your leg. it feels like all the oxygen’s been sucked out of the room, a heady feeling that you doubt will be going away anytime soon. 

he lowers himself over you, his hands braced against the mattress by your shoulders. you gulp, hearing the way the bed creaks under his weight. 

“alright there?” he asks, concern laced in his words. 

“y-yes.” you say, putting on a brave face as you try to will your heartbeat to slow down in case he hears it. 

he grabs your wrists with one hand, pressing them into the pillow, over your head. he nuzzles your cheek, brushing a stray hair from your eyes. 

“got beautiful hair, princess. a shame you always tie it up.”

your face heats. you’ve heard countless suitors wax poetic about the nature of your follicles. 

but your knight's not a suitor, not by a long shot. 

nonetheless, you’ll hear his words every time you look into the mirror. 

you squirm against his grip, and he eases up, letting you free a hand. you tug at his shirt, trying to pull him closer, what was the point anyways, if he’s not going to kiss you?

you slam your mouth shut as you realize you said the last part out loud. 

he laughs, hearty and full, sending feel-good fluttering around in your chest. 

“mmn-mmn, highness,” he says, a devilish grin playing on his lips. “you do what i say.” 

how much lower can he go, anyways? he felt an odd sort of freedom, knowing you’d never tell, knowing this position alone was supposed to incapacitate his inner warrior. 

you nod, meek, the glint in dick’s eye making you shiver underneath him. he’s so warm, so heavy. you can’t feel, see, smell anything but him. you’re not sure you’d want it any other way. 

this context is a lot different from that night on the roof. you’re in bed with your knight, for heaven’s sake!

you reach out, hesitant to touch him, but before you can blink, your hand is slammed back into the soft mattress by your wrist. 

“princess,” he warns. noting the look on your face, the open need to feel him, run your hands through his hair, however, he relents. “if you’re good, i’ll let you touch me.” 

you nod again, but he shakes his head. 

“let me hear you.” 

“yes, dick.”

“that's right. grab the bars.” 

you reach up, grabbing the wrought iron bars of the headboard. he nods in satisfaction, his eyes traveling down the length of your body. 

he leans in again, the ghost of his breath whispering along your neck, making you shiver. he nips at your collarbone, harshly tugging at the fabric of your bodice until the globe of your breast pops free. dick hums in approval, the pulse between your thighs drumming up into something unbearable. 

“so needy, aren’t you, princess?” he whispers, your eyes huge as you watch his tongue flick over the tightened bud of your nipple. 

“yes.” you admit, his other hand greeting your still-clothed breast in response. he squeezes as he lightly bites down on your nipple, the sensation making you gasp. 

“that’s right.” he replies, his voice strained as he fights the urge to rock his hips into yours. 

you move your legs, going to hook your ankles around his back. he groans, pressing his lips tightly together to muffle the sound. 

“don’t, beautiful, don’t tempt me like that,” he asks, his eyes bearing into yours as he implores you otherwise. 

you shift, nestling him further between your thighs. 

“can’t just do what you’re told,” he growls, roughly grinding his crotch into yours. the movement feels good, so good, even with all of the ridiculously unnecessary layers of fabric between you. 

you’re moaning out, the friction he’s creating sending you to the edge, an edge you’ve never gone over before. 

you’re panting, toes curling, dick watching you carefully as he starts and stops, pushes and pulls. sparks shoot off behind your eyes, the sensation heightening, heightening, heightening—

he stops abruptly, lifting his head from where he’s been harshly sucking at the spot underneath your jaw.

“talk a big game, don’t you, princess? but once i’m in control..” dick says, trailing off. he’s amused at how speechless you are, a shit-eating grin plastered onto his face. 

“please, dick.”

“so sweet when you wanna be.” he teases, his hands kneading at your breasts. 

his hips rock again, and you gasp, hopeful. but he stops again, your face immediately falling back into a pleading pout. 

“what, princess?” he taunts, as you whine. “what’s it feel like to not get everything you want, hm?”

“like shit, knight.” you cross your arms, turning your head. 

your response sends his shoulders shaking, and you sense the movement, looking back over curiously. he’s laughing at you. 

“you’re so unfair, dick.” you say, shoving at his chest as you pout. 

“how’s that, gorgeous?” he says, his eyes glittering. he catches your hand, pressing it into his sternum. you blush, and he lets go, not before having the harsh realization that having your hands on him is grounding. 

you’re breathing heavily still, trying to quiet it in order to quickly feign nonchalance. the effort to stop it is just making it worse, and it’s not being helped by the way dick’s carefully tucking you back into your dress, straightening the layers of fabric that make up your skirts. 

he sets you to rights, getting up from the bed. he turns away, adjusting himself. you get up, following him out of the room.

“but—,” you start, whispering loudly. “we didn’t—you didn’t—..”

“doesn’t feel good, getting teased, does it?” dick asks, his smirk like a secret in the dark hallway. he walks off, leaving you rooted in place, your mouth agape. 

“you coming?” he calls over his shoulder, and you huff, stomping off after him.

🌞🌞🌞🌞🌞🌞🌞🌞🌞🌞

the sun beats down above you as you sit with the queen on one of the many balconies, nibbling on a piece of dried fruit. "now, dearest," your mother continues, pouring more cream into her cup. it's starting to look more like milk than tea. you try to ignore the sweat forming on your upper lip. maybe if you pretend like you're not warm, you won't be. dick stands by the open doors, head tilted towards the balcony. he stopped trying to look he wasn't listening twenty minutes ago. 

"you know you'll need to actually entertain a suitor one of these days." 

at your loud sigh, she shakes her head. "no more of that, darling. i'm serious. you're reaching an age where it's time to start taking these things seriously, responsibly. like your sister." 

you open your mouth to argue, instead taking a sip of your tea cup (filled with mead, thanks to your knight.)

"maybe if we could bring around someone who was actually," you pause. "oh, i don't know, right for me?" 

at your mother's deadpan look in response, you roll your eyes. 

"maybe then, i would start to consider some of these men. but only then." 

"do tell, princess," dick starts, voice tight. "if you end up finding a suitor that's right for you, where does that leave me?" 

he paces the length of your room as you watch from your bed. at his words, you look to your knight, blatantly confused. 

"your father sent me to guard you. i'm no longer fit to work as a knight, to participate in battle, what i was trained to do. where do i belong, if not at your side? the king has ordered me there, no matter what. i'm at a loss here, princess."

you let him rant, listening intently before offering:

"i've wanted to tell you, you're rather talented when it comes to teaching. you just have this way about you. it would make anyone want to listen." 

dick turns, unsure whether to let the way your words make him feel or the platform he was arguing on take charge. he conveys that with a scoff, crossing his arms. 

"thank you, princess." he says, voice low, bitter. "but if your father has assigned me to you, shall i follow you to your next kingdom? i doubt your husband would appreciate our closeness very much. i especially doubt he'd want me in the bedroom the way you would." 

the absurdity of his words make you snort, but the root of it pains you, ties your hands further than the fact of arranged marriage already does. the dismissal of your compliment, your attest to his abilities, doesn't help either. 

if you did have to get married off, if they choose for you, you'd want your knight with you. you'd need him with you, someone on your side in a foreign domain. 

but it'd be up to him, ultimately. if you had your way, you'd never have to choose again. you chose the day he walked into your bedroom like he owned the place. 

"there's no reason you can't choose for yourself. my father is not so unreasonable." you bite out, face openly full of hurt. it's like a sword through dick's heart. "is your duty to me? or the kingdom?"

"i don't—," he tries to reply, cutting himself off and looking away instead. you step closer. 

"i'm not sure anymore, princess." he whispers, pained. 

"that's alright, handsome," you reply against his lips as you pull him closer with his swordbelt. 

dick groans into your mouth, kissing you hungrily as you sigh into it, lashes brushing your cheeks. his hand reaches to your back, arm banding you to him as his other hand cups your head, running through your hair. 

"either way, dick," you murmur, his lips on your neck. "either way, i'm yours." 

🌞🌞🌞🌞🌞🌞🌞🌞🌞🌞

something about autumn makes you want to spend all of your time in the castle's library. 

and, being a princess, you get to do exactly that. 

dick accompanies you every time, always making the fire for you. he never has to ask or bother a valet to do so. it's undeniably arousing to you, the way he continues to meet your needs without question, without hesitation. he’ll never relax, sit down and get comfortable until the hearth’s positively roaring, fire warming the room. 

the library is one of the least traveled rooms in the castle, all of your parents' favorite books on a shelf in their bedroom. audrey never had much interest in reading, and you were the only one without many responsibilities growing up, as the youngest. 

the privacy of it is greatly freeing, leaving you plenty of space to flirt with the man sitting with you, long legs stretched out before him as he rests his hands on his stomach. looking ten years older than his actual age, the fire casting shadows in the lines on his face as he occasionally dozed off. 

you let him, happy just to see him resting. sometimes he'd jerk in his sleep, twitching like his heart was beating one thousand times too fast. 

in those cases, you'd sit on his thigh, gently trailing your hands over his shoulders, cupping your palm to his cheek until he either fell deeper into sleep, his breathing slowing, or woke up. when he would, panting, his eyes wild, you'd press a kiss to his temple, holding his hands and squeezing as you instructed him to breathe at the rhythm you were. 

it seemed to always help, and so he'd wrap his arms around your waist and pull you to sit fully onto his lap as he rested his head on your chest. the soft rustling of pages and the calm lilt of your voice as you read to him would lull him back to sleep, only rising again once you had to get back to your chambers. 

dick felt forever yours, forever in your debt because of it, because of how softly you treated a man who had only ever known grit, aggression.

"i have something to ask you, princess." your knight starts, one evening. stars are starting to twinkle out the castle window, the fire crackling in the hearth. 

you've toed off your slippers, skirts swishing around your legs as you move about the room. dick follows you through the aisles, hands behind his back as he takes note of which books you look at for especially long. "and pardon me if it's out of line. but seriously, it's burning a hole through my head, i'm so curious." 

his admission has piqued your own curiosity, and you turn, looking up at him with furrowed eyebrows. 

"what, dick? spit it out." 

he smirks, opening his mouth like he's going to ask before closing it, exhaling, visibly thinking. 

"how come," dick starts, bracing himself. "you're able to use so much innuendo in conversation. it's akin to sailors i've met—where did you learn to speak in such a way?" 

heat climbs up your throat, blooming on your cheeks as you start to fidget with the embroidery on your dress. 

"well, i—," you say, shaking your head and turning away. "just come with me." 

dick trails behind you as you find the right aisle, a dusty, older section in the back. you slide a book off the shelf, handing it to your knight with a sheepish glance. he blows dust off of the top, smirking as he reads the title. “human anatomy and copulation?” 

at your silence, he begins to flip through it, landing on the chapter you assume he was looking for. 

"i've never quite been able to figure out what that drawing is supposed to be." you half-mumble, pointing to the page dick's open to. 

a woman sits with her legs open, the man's head drawn to be between them, face-deep in the spot between her thighs. 

"i mean, with the opposite," you say, gesturing at the drawing depicting fellatio. "it makes sense. there's something to well, put your mouth on. it's the most similar to penetration." 

dick's listening intently to the way you start to ramble, his cock already half-hard from the subject matter alone. the thought of his princess thinking deeply on her own pleasure was sending all of his blood to straight between his legs. 

"but obviously, i've never had the opportunity to try it, with anyone—," you cut yourself off, realizing what exactly you're discussing with the man standing next to you, over you. 

you're not sure where the sheer honesty is coming from, but it's all-consuming, forcing the words out of you because you've never really had the chance to share them before. the feeling is intoxicating, to say the least. 

"i found it when i was probably sixteen years of age and devoured it, hiding it behind other books like anyone else ever came in here." 

the more you speak of it, the harder dick grows. 

his thoughts zeroing in on the one outstanding fact: he could be the first one to taste the spot between your legs. 

it practically has him swaying on his feet. 

unnoticing, you continue. "so that's how i have such a grasp on the concept as a whole, really." 

dick doesn't reply. 

"i can stop, if you'd like. i probably should stop, it's not exactly very ladylike. i jest with you because, well, you're a knight. you are used to jokes like that. aren't you?" 

you look up at your knight to see him glaring down at you, his expression that of a lion presented with his next meal. 

you try not to squeak in surprise as he drops to his knees in front of you, hands on the hem of your dress. 

"princess, may i?" he rasps, eyes hungry as he looks you over. "may i show you, what happens in that drawing?" 

dick's no longer bothering trying to mask his arousal, the length between his legs is hard and throbbing, his voice is thick with need. he's well past the point of no return. 

you nod, before remembering how he likes it. "y-yes, dick, you can." 

one hand presses you back into the sturdy wooden bookshelf, the other grabbing your bare foot to kiss the instep, the ankle, before he slings it over his shoulder. 

the sheer largeness of him has your legs spread wide, and a growl sounds from under the many layers of fabric separating you two as he kisses up your inner thigh. 

he moves his rough palms up your legs, nipping at the bare, so soft skin. you whimper at the feeling, your stomach muscles tensing as his hands reach the junction of your thighs. thick fingers rip open the fabric covering your cunt, causing you to jump. 

"dick," you mewl, putting a hand down to grip at your skirts. he nods beneath them, spitting at the already glistening folds. the wet on wet feeling causes you to moan again, slapping your other hand over your mouth when you remember where you are. 

his fingers are first, and while you're not quite sure where this part was in the book, you're not complaining. one rubs at your clitoris, the other teasing around your cleft, gathering slick. it feels much better than anything you've ever tried on your own, the sensation tightening deep in your belly as it threatens to shatter, coat your muscles in pleasure. 

his finger breaches your entrance, and you forget everything you were just thinking. slowly, it enters you, dick rocking his other finger on your clit with a pressure that's making your legs start to shake. you moan into your hand, eyes shut tight as you sit back and feel, his finger knuckle deep inside of you. his finger on your clit is replaced with his lips, his tongue, and you whine, barely able to still hold yourself up. 

dick notices, moving his free hand up to brace your waist as he tries to get you towards finishing, his tongue moving rapidly in tandem with his finger. 

another digit is added inside of you, slipping in easily as he works at you, wetness producing itself in the process. you can barely breathe, taking one last deep, shuddering breath as it echoes through your whole body, your legs shaking beneath you as the tension crests into a crashing wave, pleasure coursing through your veins. 

dick continues his pace, letting you ride out the feeling as you fall apart for him. it's not long before the sensation starts to become too much for where you are, who you are, who's..under you. 

you pat his head, trying to move away. your knight gets the idea, coming up for air. "i can't—gimme jus' a moment," you breathe out, blinking.

your juices on his shiny lips, his chin, the pink tip of his nose, his ruffled hair—all of these things make you want to tackle him to the library floor and ride him until the favor's returned. 

dick smiles at the look on your face, his face equally blissed out as he looks at you with such an open expression it feels like your heart's melting out of your pussy. 

your eyes fall to his crotch, at the dark, wet spot blooming on his pants. it knocks any breath you had left in your lungs out, heart sputtering in your chest. 

"w-would you want to do that again, sometime?" you ask, slightly delirious as you stumble towards dick. the sight causes him to laugh, the feeling bubbling through his chest and out of his mouth as he catches you in his arms, pressing a tender kiss to the crown of your head. 

"whenever you would like, princess." he whispers into your hair, rubbing your back as you sigh into his chest.

by the time you're usually heading back to your bed chambers, the castle is deserted. 

tonight you're not so lucky.

“dickie,” you moan, barely able to keep it to a whisper as his hands pin you to the freezing stone wall. 

you could spend hours like this, dancing your way around the castle with your knight, his body pressed to yours. 

he starts to kiss his way down your neck, but a noise down the hallway makes him freeze. 

“..dickie?” gardner repeats in surprise, his eyes full of delight. dick’s eyes widen, and he curses to himself. he should’ve fucking known. he’s in the east side of the castle, and it’s past the late tenth hour. gardner’s on duty. 

he quickly shifts, and blocks you from view. you carefully set yourself to rights behind the shield of his massive back. dick's just glad it's dark enough that the cum staining his pants should go unnoticed. 

“gardner.”

the knight spots the intricately woven hem of your gown, a gleam in his eye.

“that can’t be..” he trails off, somehow looking even more gleeful than before. the candlelight sets off his features, dramatizing them. turning them into a flickering mask that fills dick with dread.

 but gardner shakes his head, obviously working something out for himself.

 “no, no..” he continues, smirking. “that’d never happen.”

dick must make a face or something, because gardner clarifies. 

“the princess, grayson. no way you’re tuppin’ her under the king’s nose like that.” 

you feel yourself holding back a snarl, but it would’ve been hidden behind dick’s, a rumble you can feel from how you’re pressed up against his back.

“do not talk about a member of the royal family like that, gardner. have you no respect for the king? for what we serve?” 

“..what i serve, dickie. you, not so much anymore.” 

you can’t breathe, your body stuck between dick and the wall, your skin turning colder and colder as you press into the stone at your back. you’ve no doubt you could turn into stone yourself, standing so still. 

“you don’t know what you’re talking about, gardner.” 

“yeah, but i do know this: you’re one lucky fucker if you are getting to swive the princess.” 

dick tenses, and you rub his back gently, your heart pained. how horrible for an old comrade to talk to him like this. wasn’t dick a head officer, anyways? this little asshole, talking down to his superior like dick can’t do anything about it. 

you’re used to people discussing you like this. being a princess..you get promised away to some guy basically as soon as you’re born. you know that many see you as nothing more than a title, a pretty face, an object. 

“she’s got one hell of a body, i know that too. bet she’s good in bed, she’s got the most wanton look to her. don’t you think, grayson?” he says, like he just now remembered he was talking to someone, not living in some kind of fantasy.

“nope,” dick says, his body moving swiftly as his fist cracks against gardner’s jaw. the man hits the wall hard, sliding to the floor. 

one punch, knock-out!

dick spits, and it lands right in the center of gardner’s chestplate. he’s out cold. 

“princess,” he says, like he’s discussing the weather. you take his hand, and he quickly leads you away. it's unspoken between the two of you, but the incident is not brought up ever again. 

🌞🌞🌞🌞🌞🌞🌞🌞🌞🌞

you don’t think your sister and her husband deserve a parade just to entire the castle.

but it’s not like anyone was going to check with you about it first. 

it’s that time of year anyways: the harvest festival. 

the festivities can be heard from your window, the music and raucous cheering twirling through the air. village children hand over coins for warm pastries, candied fruits. mothers chastise, stealing bites when their offspring grow full. girls giggle, running through the streets hand in hand, new dresses on. village boys watch, snickering to each other as they share cigs stolen from their fathers. 

your harvest festival memories are grown from a different plot entirely. watered by different rain, shown down on by a distorted sun. this time of year brings a cocktail of bitterness and feigned indifference rises from the depth of your psyche, brewed in childhood memories. 

you and your sister have a strained relationship. 

you weren’t sad, when she was married off to the prince of a kingdom sixty miles away. you weren’t sad, realizing she wouldn’t be around to criticize you anymore. weren’t sad she couldn’t push you around when she didn’t get her way. the monarch and his wife never felt the need to say much either, barely able to discipline her lest they turn their eldest daughter's anger onto themselves. 

you dreaded this time of year, with its promises of family, and togetherness. such ridiculous words, to describe your kin with. 

dick’s been instructed to stay as close as possible to you for the next week,  the amount of fanfare across town positively staggering. too easy for something to happen, for someone to get hurt. 

he did not take the order lightly, especially not this time of year. 

his thoughts were with jason, the little boy who used to have to beg during this time of year, holding onto the false hope of humanity’s generosity. his eyes would light up when dick gave him money for sweets, surprised him with a new pair of boots. 

knighthood was a promise, to jason. for a better life. a secured future. what a sick joke. the only security in jason’s life now was the clasps on his coffin. 

so no, dick wasn’t going to leave your side during any point of the season. 

he was lucky you’d been too preoccupied in your own thoughts to notice any change in his behavior: dick didn’t have the courage to explain it to you. 

you’re lost in the murky waters of remembrance, dick’s warm hand leading you by the small of your back through the bustling castle to an open balcony. you’re meant to stand with your parents and welcome the parade into the castle, the kingdom, with a smile on your face. 

“princess,” he mutters, bringing you to the present. you paste a warm smile onto your lips, his eyes flickering as he notes the abrupt change, the artificiality of it all. “good luck.” 

you nod. dick pats your hip, eyes on the surrounding hallway. 

his familiar touch in an overfamiliar spot knocks you back into place, reality reconnecting. the crowd erupts into cheers as you appear, your hand going up in muscle memory to acknowledge them.

the drawbridge clatters as it touches down, your sister’s horse-drawn carriage trundling into the courtyard. 

“dearest family!” audrey shouts, waving at you like you’re a child. fingers tapping her palm, a squinty smile on her face. 

she clambers down from the open carriage, pushing off of a footman to land precariously on the cobblestone of the courtyard. your face already hurts from the fake smile you're pulling, no doubt starting an ache that'll sink in and stay until she leaves. 

during dinner, dick sits opposite you. you’d insisted he gets a seat at the table. your father had cheerfully relented. (there was never going to be any pushback.)

“how come i never got assigned my own knight, daddy?” your sister asks. 

your father looks at her with amusement, eyeing her husband seated next to you. 

“because.” the king says, simply. conversation over. 

the potato you’re chewing turns to ash in your mouth. you could kill her. you eye the gilded fork in your hand, turning it this way and that. you wonder which way would be best to seat it into her eyeballs. 

can’t stare at knights all day when you’re blind, can you?

“she jests,” her husband says, a simpering smile on his lips, his eyes void of emotion. 

“i jest!” audrey agrees, smug. 

dick jumps, his fork clattering against his plate. you watch as he widens his eyes an infinitesimal amount, his breath quickening. 

“m’lady,” he mutters, so quietly you could’ve imagined it. he continues looking deathly uncomfortable. his cheeks are just aflame as he stares at the roast chicken on his plate. 

you aim, kicking your sister’s ankle. she starts, her hands flailing. you smile down at your plate: goal achieved. 

“oops! forgive me.” you giggle, the sound high-pitched. artificial. 

plates are cleared, napkins dirtied. wine drank. 

your mother suggests a turn about the garden, and the rest of the party agrees like they have a choice. 

you shuffle through the entrance hall, dragging your feet in your heeled slippers. 

dick shoots you an odd look, slyly grabbing your hand to loop through his arm. just doing his duty. 

“d’your feet hurt or somethin’, princess?” he asks, his voice low like it’s a secret. 

“no.” you sigh, looking away. you trudge after your parents, not bothering to continue the conversation. 

you can’t get the look on his face out of your mind. 

like he’s just giving himself over to the situation. to the will of your sister. you can’t stand it. the feeling makes you itchy. seeing him act like he doesn’t care. like he’s immune. numb. 

that’s fine. you can feel enough for the both of you. 

dusk blooms overhead, fireflies flying a lazy route through the shrubbery. 

the king beckons to dick, his son-in-law, and they start to walk ahead, listening intently as he points out various renovation projects in progress. 

“come back soon!” your sister purrs, patting dick on the butt. like her husband’s not right there. like she’s not surrounded by her family. like she has any right to touch him like that. you can’t breathe.

you look at your knight, and the look in his eyes is pleading. 

don’t do anything, they say. leave it alone. let it happen to me. 

you can’t promise anything. 

“audrey!” you hiss, anger flooding your system. 

“i like what you have him wearing, sister. i think all knights should dress this way.” 

you feel your eye twitching. your mom pats your arm, and you try to relax your shoulders. 

it doesn’t work. she passes the pair of you, meeting your father where the men stand around a broken fountain. 

you watch as dick crosses his arms, retreating back into himself. he can’t decide where to put his hands. they go in his pockets, ran through his hair. resting on his sword, crossed again. 

“i find your sentiments bizarre.” you reply, your upper lip curling into a sneer. 

should’ve pocketed the damned fork. 

“i suppose we’re equal, since i find it rather bizarre you haven’t bed him yet.” she says, smirking. 

“audrey, i do wish you would shut up.” 

she scoffs, brushing you off. 

“you can continue to act blind, sister. just means i'll have him all to myself.” 

the gardeners were through here recently. that means watering is done, but the supplies for it aren’t put away yet. 

your group should pass another irrigation set up soon, if you’re where you think you are. you pass a rose bush, and you’re sure if someone saw you there’d be a twinkle in your eye. 

you pull at a watering cord, watching as your sister trips in her bejeweled slippers and crashes into a shrub with a shriek. 

the leaves shake in time with your shoulders as you stifle silent laughter. the party exclaims, her husband rushing towards her. you’re closest, getting there first. 

“touch him again and i’ll do a lot worse.” 

you harshly tug her to her feet, leaves and twigs sticking out of her hair. 

you’d laugh if you weren’t practically vibrating with anger. 

dick’s wearing concern on his face, but he drops it when you look at him. 

you’re met with a small smile, just for you. it disappears as it arrives: swiftly, with no fanfare. too quick for you to notice that it doesn’t really reach his eyes. 

you pat his cheek, and there’s a faint hint of tobacco on your hands. he hasn’t seen you smoke it in awhile. did you stop?

why do your hands smell like it if you’ve stopped? why doesn’t the sickly sweet smell bother him?

“you alright, dick?” 

concern laces your words, and he kind of despises it. despises that you see him as an object of pity. he’s been stabbed before. an entitled princess groping him isn’t the end of the world. 

but you care. you would care, if it was. that’s gotta mean something, right?

it means too much, to dick. he doesn’t fight the resentment that builds—it quickly grows into a boiling point, fueled by his festering thoughts, his rotting mind. 

“i’m further indebted to you, your highness.” his voice thins like it’ll break, the next words spoken through clenched teeth. “thank you, for your action on behalf of me.”

“quit it with the indebted shit, knight.” you snap, shutting the door to your chambers harshly. “her behavior was, is, inexcusable.” 

dick leans against the wall, watching you. silent. his arms are crossed, his expression closed off. 

“it looked like an accident. no one’s going to suddenly accuse me two hours later.” 

you’re not sure who you’re trying to convince.

his fingers are gripping into the fabric of his bicep like it’s tethering him to this plane. 

he grunts, looking away. something inside of you snaps. 

“you’re not allowed to properly retaliate! i am!” 

he scoffs. it just boils your blood further. 

“what did you want me to do, dickie? she’s my sister, she’s a royal! i care about you! her disgusting behavior towards you should not go unchecked!”

“what did i want you to do? what did i want you to do?”

you nod, your stomach dropping straight through the stone floor and into the dungeon.

his voice is deathly quiet, you strain to hear him over the pounding in your ears. 

“nothing, princess. i want you to do nothing!” dick laughs, something hollow, sad. “i’ve already had my teeth pulled, i need a princess to fight my battles for me now, too? how ridiculous! she overstepped, but can you understand that you might have, too?”

you swallow, hard. his gaze bears into yours, burrowing behind your eyes and into your thoughts. shame burns your cheeks, embarrassment unfurling through your limbs, making your toes, fingers tingle.

“i bid you good night. i need to get away.” 

the unspoken “from you,” is devastating, earth-shattering. 

“who’s going to guard me, knight?”

he doesn’t reply, his back to you as he opens the door with a scrape. the next sentence is tossed over his shoulder like it won’t echo in your ears for the next fortnight. 

“i’ll get it covered, your highness. good night.”

you’d say it back if your words wouldn’t get lost in the sound of his boots down the dark hallway. 

the dagger he'd bought you for the harvest festival sits heavy in his pocket. 

an ornate little thing, beautiful but deadly. he'd looked over hundreds in the past month, obsessed with finding you the perfect weapon. 

a secret self-defense tool he'd been planning to buy you since you'd joked about stealing his sword. why should you ever have to be at the mercy of those around you, just because of your birthright?

it reminded him of you: that was why he'd chosen it. the small blade sickeningly sharp, a well made leather grip around the handle, delicate carvings on every part of exposed metal. small stones were pressed into engraved flowers, twinkling in the light. dick never intends to tell you how much it cost him. 

now he doubts he'll ever have to worry about that. 

you have the power to effectively never see him again, if you so wished. he wouldn't blame you. he's not sure he feels any differently. 

being a knight, you become used to being nothing but a body. the battle takes away what little humanity you think you have left after being trained into a moving, metal-clad machine. 

your sister was not, and will not be the worst thing that's ever happened to him, but it'll be added to the score nonetheless. 

dick pulls the dagger from his pocket, dropping it onto his nightstand. he rubs his hand over his face, his second palm joining the first as they scrub at his skin, hoping to remove the layer that had to argue with his princess. 

tonight was just another addition to the burden on dick's shoulders. 

the death of his parents, the death of his younger brother. 

growing up without enough food, just to turn to the castle's open arms, open kitchens, for the opportunity. 

contracted murder, honorable defense, whatever label was put on it—he was a hired sword. 

raised by wrestling, disciplined by the whip. right hand stuck in a permanent fist, knuckles white as he faces the world he was taught to help conquer. 

it all added up into something, someone, but what that was.. he wasn't all too sure about. 

knowing that, feeling that, somehow made tonight all the worse. 

but it was for the better. you needed to get away from the distraction of a washed up old knight. focus on your duties as princess. 

you roll over in bed, your head landing on the pillow closer to the edge of the bed. in your sleepless daze, it takes you too long to realize that the comfort you find is that it smells like your knight. angry at yourself, you yank it off of the bed, throwing it across the room with a very unladylike grunt-scream. 

no one, not a soul, shares the knowledge that you fall asleep with tears in your eyes, throat heavy with all of the things you never said to dick in the hallway. 

"squires, up here!" dick calls from the hill he's standing on. "look alive, it's only the fifth hour!" 

the crowd before him responds in groans and chuckling, warming up to the morning. 

"today, we'll get into combat on uneven terrain." he continues. "i hope everyone's wearing a trusty pair of shoes."

the lesson ends as easily as it began for dick, age-old techniques rolling off of his tongue like he's taught them a million times. it's oddly exhilarating, satisfying. disappointingly enough, it's not nearly as fun when you're not watching. 

dick doesn't let himself dwell on that. 

jason used to light up on combat-training days. he would make dick work with him for hours, taking him out into the fields so they could better practice improvisations. 

all that training, and jason still could've never saved himself from the blow that killed him. 

all that training, and all it did was make dick overconfident in the young knight's abilities. 

all that training, and dick couldn't save him either. 

"i can go into my own gardens by myself, knight. leave me be." 

the frustration in your tone is palpable, biting. you've never sounded quite like that with him. leaves crunch as you stomp off into the wilting maze holding your precious flowers. 

dick's bare feet shuffle through the grass as he walks past, his boots swinging in his hand. (lot less propriety expected when you're not next to the princess every one of your waking moments.) he'll never admit how close he's listening to the conversation carrying on nearby. 

"whatever most pleases you, princess. as is my duty." the slimy purr of wilson's voice makes dick's neck heat in fury. how dare he talk to you in that way: his suggestion so open, so clear. 

at least you're only barely putting up with it. 

dick tries not to let himself dwell on it.

time moves on, autumn falling into a slow drag, and somehow winter sneaks up on the realm. the new year draws nearer, another year closer to you becoming queen. it’s a little suffocating, your surroundings unfeeling as leaves depart from the trees, leaving them and their branches like dry, twisted hands reaching for the sky. it gets colder and colder, snow no doubt coming soon. livia’s pulled your warm dresses, long sleeves and many layers, all lined with down, fur, to keep you nice and insulated.

it’s a little frightening, how long it’s been since you and your knight have spoken. you’ll watch as he teaches sword fighting, watch the muscles in his arm ripple in tight long-sleeved shirts. ignore the body-aching throb between your legs as he takes it off, dripping in sweat even as his breath fogs in the chilled air. his cheeks pink, hair slicked away from his forehead with sweat. you’d take him right then and there, if he’d have you. 

"oh, wilson! that is too funny! the goat was her grandmother? however do you come up with these things!?" 

it feels like you lose brain power as you say it, as you pretend like you could possibly be interested in anything he has to say. but it’s alright: you’re not doing it for you. 

you follow your new knight into the castle, your eyes wide, expression naive as you listen to his stupid story, the fifth of the day. 

dick's eyes snap up from his soup bowl as soon as he hears the clack of your slippers on the stone floor. you're giggling at something wilson's said, twirling a lock of hair between your fingers. 

his jaw drops, his nose wrinkling. who are you? where did the princess from months ago, yesterday, go, with her unforgiving tone and inability to laugh at humor deemed unworthy? 

you steal a glance towards him, chest blooming with triumph when you see the gobsmacked look on his face. 

it shouldn't feel this good, making your knight jealous. a dirty sort of satisfaction dances through your veins as you walk towards the head table, joining your parents. too bad you'll have to deal with moony eyes from wilson the whole meal. it physically pains you, to be nice to someone who’s so obviously putting it on, preening, but it’s having the desired effect. 

"i thought you were in charge of her, sir?" logan says, mouth full of roast beef. west snorts into his mead, coughing as dick's eyebrows do a frantic jig in response. 

"aren't i your teacher, squire? am i supposed to have two jobs at once?" dick replies, elbowing west to get him to quit wheezing. 

"no, sir." logan replies, looking confused as he shovels another bite of stew into his mouth. 

dick doesn't finish his stew after that, muttering some excuse about setting up for tomorrow’s morning classes. 

you trudge into the library, wilson hot on your heels. vanishing into the shelves, wilson grabs the hallway attendant to start the fire. you roll your eyes. dick would’ve just done it himself. 

“well, i truly enjoy philosophy.” wilson says, and you’re not sure to who, because you’re barely listening. “there’s many wise men from ancient worlds who have much to say about all facets of life. it’s utterly fascinating.” he ponders, before shrugging. “there’s not many women, who have books. but i’m not very surprised about that. they don’t think nearly as much as men do.”

he continues to proselytize, and you continue to tune him out. you want to vomit at his faux-intellectualism, his opinions on your sex. it’s mind-numbingly droll, and you welcome the distraction at the door when your ears perk up at noise in the hallway. your eyes widen when you realize who it is. 

“don’t linger, when you visit, logan, because the princess likes to spend time in here.” you can barely breathe as you listen in on dick’s words to his student, trying to hear as wilson keeps talking. “so don’t ever disturb her peace, if she’s using the room.”

“understood, sir. do they have that book on fighting techniques you were talking about?”

“yes, it should be back in aisle seven, under sword arts.” 

“which one’s seven?” logan asks, sounding positively lost. you hear dick snort, and footsteps start towards you. you look at the sign.

aisle the seventh 

your heart leaps into your throat, but before you know it, they’re at the end you were just about to escape from. wilson’s monologue stutters to a stop, and he looks over at the teacher and his student staring at him. dick’s got a smirk on his face, and logan looks a little incredulous, both stood still in front of you. 

dick recovers quickly, bowing low as he puts a hand on logan’s back to do the same. 

“your highness,” he greets, words low, voice a little rough, like he’s remembering what you are. how he’d slung your leg over his shoulder and eaten you like he was starving. 

“sirs,” you reply, nodding to allow them to rise. 

“i hope we weren’t, uh, disrupting your peace,” logan stammers out, half-grimacing, half-smiling. 

you watch dick glance to wilson, who’s using a knife to pick at his teeth. paying no attention to you, or the situation at hand. you watch as his gaze steels into something hard, unyielding. 

“no, never. i’m glad your teacher here is having you use castle resources. it’s exactly what they’re here for.” your tone’s smooth, well-practiced. something you slip into like it’s second nature, an old pair of shoes long molded to your feet. 

“i myself was taught well,” your former knight says, smile warm as he replies to you, even as his cold eyes stay glued to your new knight’s indifferent stance. 

his words, his smile, make you feel sheepish, ears heating as you glance away. logan notices, eyes darting between you and dick. 

“a-alright, well.” you say, clapping your hands. you’re so uncomfortable, even if talking to dick like you’re actors in a play is making you feel better than you have in months. “you boys take as many books as you’d like. i need to make an appointment.” 

at that, you whirl from the room, wilson following quickly behind. dick takes little pleasure in the fact that you left without any books, his blood still boiling at the lack of professionalism from his colleague. 

"livia, won't you tell him to go do something else?" you whine, plopping onto the seat under the window. your usual spot, in the morning. you're still in your robe, your hair messily braided back from the night before, wisping into your face from a night of tossing and turning. 

"i can, of course, but there's a chance he won't go farther than the hallway. it is his job, you know." 

you groan, rubbing your hands over your face. "i know." 

setting your arms onto the windowsill, you lean your head down on them, eyes glued to the class of squires beneath you. 

the morning air is chilled, dew clinging to the grass, the treetops, the trainees shivering in front of dick as he tries to rouse them awake. it's not working, and he sends them for a lap around the castle grounds. 

he can almost swear he feels eyes on him from a certain window, but it would hurt too much to look and see it empty. it would just confirm how delusional he's being, anyways. 

the first squire returns from the run, panting, hands on his knees as he tries to catch his breath. 

"message," he starts, gasping for air. "from the," more gasping. "king." 

"meet the king in his study!" west shouts, leaning out of the open doors to the castle

"oh, come on!" the first squire shouts, still struggling to breathe. 

dick smiles, patting him on the back. "thanks, kid." 

"here we are again, richard!" the king exclaims, pulling his knight into a hug once he enters the study.

"hello, your highness," dick says, laughing. returning the hug. he takes a seat when the king does, across the expanse of his huge oak slab of a desk. 

"i'd love a report on the assignment i gave you." the king says, face serious as carved stone. 

when dick flounders for a second, looking befuddled, he cracks into laughter. 

"i jest, i jest!" he says, dick's nervous laughter following soon behind. "i know that you're in love with her." 

dick silences immediately, eyes practically bulging from his sockets. 

"and i know, she you." 

"she..me, sir?" dick replies, a dark eyebrow raised. 

"you know what i mean." the king waves a hand, dismissing it. "my daughter can't get enough of you. it's clear to anyone with eyes in their head." 

dick nods, cheeks flushing. his head suddenly void of any possible thing to say. 

"but i've noticed that you're in a different position, now."

dick nods again, grimacing. "my apologies for that, sir. your daughter and i had a bit of a disagreement and i thought it was better if we took a break from each other. she gets sort of..stifled if she's frustrated with someone and has to be around them all the time." 

"that she does," the king agrees, chuckling. "i think you've got a good read on her. she has a wonderful read on you as well, my boy." 

"how do you mean?" dick asks, a little more breathlessly than he meant it. 

"she's mentioned before, your natural ability to teach. i'll admit, i'm jealous. it's not something that comes easily to me. but it sounds like quite the opposite, for you.

"richard," the king continues, sitting forward, hands folded on top of the desk. "if you're willing, the current supervisor of security and royal safety is looking to step down." 

"are you—if i'm..," dick says, utterly astonished. "you're offering me the position?" 

"i am," the king replies, calmly. "i can see you using it in a few ways; honoring your younger brother, for one. jason was a shining light to all that knew him, especially here in the castle. we felt his loss greatly, but definitely nowhere near as profoundly as you did, son." 

dick nods, crinkling his nose to try and fight off the tears threatening to fall. 

"i believe that you'll pick future knights cut from the same cloth. i know that you and your brother were found as orphans, even if not at the same time—i think that we could teach young boys other skills, not that their only option is knighthood, which my father seemed partial to." 

dick nods, a set in his brow that hadn't been there twenty minutes prior. 

"i completely agree, sir. if i may, i would be honored to continue teaching, as well?" 

"well, son," the king replied, a smile quirking his lips. "is that a question?" 

"..no. i will continue to teach, when my schedule allows it." 

"good. you can see sir maxwell about payment twice a month. i'm eager for your experience here, in the castle. in fact, i think you'll be seeing much of it, considering you have my blessing to marry my daughter." 

your maid re-enters from the hallway, where she was attempting to send wilson away. 

"no dice, princess. he's ranting about the chivalric code, now." 

"sorry, liv. thanks for trying." 

several emotions flit over your face over the course of an hour as you sit, thinking. watching the redheaded knight, west, teach the rest of the squire class, your thoughts on the last year. your brows furrowed as you search the area below you for your—for dick. he's nowhere to be seen. 

when you're finally dressed, all you wanna do is walk through the castle without wilson following you like a puppy dog. but apparently that's too much to ask, even being next in line for the throne. 

nothing’s working, nothing’ll get him to let up. it’s not even like he’s just attempting to do his job: he’s acting like you’re a child who needs constant supervision. you’re a little afraid he’s going to try and follow you into the bathroom, or something. it’s becoming unbearable.  

"dunno how grayson handled you, honestly." wilson sneers. "had you on a gemstone-studded leash, or what? is that what you liked best?" 

blood roars in your ears as you turn towards him, barely clocking livia's squeak behind you as she runs off down the hallway. 

"i could get your head on a fucking golden platter if i wanted, you piece of shit knight." you bite out, looking him up and down. "i am not your peer, i am especially not someone you treat inferior to you. in fact, i'm not even sure there's a position lower than yours after today, since you'll have to answer to the king for this." 

before you even see him, you know dick's walked up behind you based on his footsteps alone. he gets in front of you, putting himself between you and wilson. classic dick: just in case. 

"i'm just doing my job, grayson. no need to get involved." wilson says, crossing his arms.

"your job is definitely not to disgust the princess," dick snaps, shoving wilson away from you. "but it seems like you've got that down, don't you?" 

"who died and put you in charge, grayson?" 

"whoever's about to put you in the dungeons, you absolute chamber pot of a person," he says, motioning for the other knights stationed nearby to grab wilson by the elbows. 

they frogmarch him towards the great hall, no doubt for an immediate audience with the king. your father is not going to be happy with him, interrupting the queen’s chess game a mark not in his favor. 

 dick leaves you standing in the entrance hall, watching him walk away. he looks happy, happier than he's been in weeks, but you don't want to keep him from getting back to class. 

it’d be a lie to say you didn’t relive the moment over and over again in your head that night, in bed. and it’d be a lie to say you weren’t thinking about him with an ache in your heart and tears in your eyes. 

the next day, the queen grabs you after lunch. 

"where are we going?" you squeak, surprised when she whirls you from the great hall, barely able to put your goblet down before you're off. 

"on a walk, daughter!" she replies, scampering you down the hallway before you know what's hit you. 

you’re a little slower today, body heavy with the weight that you’re the reason dick decided to leave. your actions pushed him away, there was no true scapegoat for the root of the argument except for you. it was a sobering thought, your eyes still puffy from the way you fell asleep the night before: sobbing into your pillow. 

once you've slowed to a reasonable place, walking the circle of the castle's hallways she used to always have you and your sister do in winter, she starts. 

"i think, darling, that sometimes even royals need to admit when they're wrong." your mother says, voice sheepish. 

"what did i do?" you ask, incredulous. "i don't think i've been wrong since last week!"

the queen chuckles, her real laugh bringing forth memories you forgot you had. it automatically puts a smile on your face, before you can even really realize it. 

"it was i," she says. "i was wrong, dearest." 

you raise an eyebrow, looping your arm through hers as you walk down the hallway. "do tell." 

she shakes her head, smiling. "you get all this wit from your father. it's ridiculous. half the time i can barely catch onto the tail end of it before i can make a joke of my own." 

you giggle, eyebrows furrowing. "i didn't know you felt that way, mama. i can slow it down a little for you, if you'd like." 

she shakes her head again, giving you a look that can only be described as indulgent. "it's alright, one of these days.. one of these days, i'll catch up."

the pair of you walk the rest of the hallway in comfortable silence, and it's after you turn the corner that you recall how this conversation started. 

"what were you wrong about?"

the queen sighs, patting your hand. "well, those blasted suitors. i was so blind! all along, you had one with you everywhere you went. a man better than we could've ever found for you elsewhere." 

you're positively speechless, half-nodding, as she leads you outside, to the bench in the courtyard across from the big entrance doors. the look on her face is so confusing to you: mischievous, like she’s about to sneak you a sticky bun from the kitchens before dinner without telling your father. 

"just wait here, darling. everything will make sense in just a second." 

she’s off, heading back into the castle. leaving you in the courtyard by yourself. you sit, confusion burrowing into your bones as you fidget with your dress. is something going to happen to you? to dick? it’s cold, but not cold enough to complain, and you watch your breath fog out in front of you, watching it disperse in the crisp winter air. 

it's not five minutes that your mother's gone before your knight comes bounding out, pure joy lacing his features. you stand to meet him, and he races towards you, picking you up and spinning you around. it feels so lovely, so unreal, to see him up close again. you can barely fathom that you’re getting the chance again, your heart frantic in your chest.

"he, the king—," he starts, utterly triumphant. "we have your father's blessing. i had to get some things sorted, but we can marry. you and i, princess!" it's all you can do not to burst into tears and also possibly faint from the shock. 

but first: 

"aren't you forgetting something, knight?" 

at your words, he drops to a knee. 

obviously, you said yes. 

“i..owe you an apology, dick.” you sigh out, grabbing his hands. he’s standing with you in your room, soon to be his, too. 

you gave livia the next week off for privacy alone, full pay promised in return. she’d left with a kiss on your cheek and a tight hug, giggling about getting to be the one to dress you on the wedding day. it was adorable. 

“what do you mean, gorgeous?” he replies, dark eyebrows sewn together in the middle of his forehead. you look over his face, heart full with love for your knight. eventually your future king, although you haven’t exactly breached that subject with him yet. you’ve got a few years. he’ll figure it out. 

“i mean over the way i was treating you, your situation. i’m sorry. it was a little ridiculous, and i intend to always put your feelings over what i think i need to do, in the future.” 

dick smiles, a warm, sunny smile, and hope fills your chest. “you’re selfless, princess. honestly. you only ever did it for me, and throughout my time working with you, you’ve only ever shown me that you constantly think about others, about how to make things better. i accept your apology, love. it’s in the past.” 

you sigh again, relieved. this conversation’s been all you were able to think about, just hoping, dreaming, that you could fix things. and you did. it was a massive weight off of your shoulders, to have your knight back in your corner again. (though if you asked him, he’d never truly left.)

“put your arms around me.”

“as you wish, princess.”

you smirk to yourself as he wraps you in a tight embrace, his biceps bracketing your head. 

"take me to bed, handsome." 

his next words are muffled into your hair as he kisses your head, sniffing you like he's trying to make sure he's not dreaming. you feel him grow hard against your hip, exhaling heavily. 

"you don't want to wait until our wedding night?" 

"even just the month we didn't speak was too much of a wait for me." 

"you wanted to—," dick's opening and closing his mouth like a fish, his pupils blown wide as he looks down at you. looking up at him, you can't help but giggle. with great effort, he recovers: 

"as you wish."

"this might sting, love. please forgive me." dick says, his voice oh-so-saccharine as he looks down at you. 

dinner was long forgotten, the night stretching long and languid before you like a black cat. you finally know what that little trail of hair underneath his navel lead to. you're four and a half orgasms in, barely any feeling left in your legs. dick promised that tomorrow he'd show you how to blow him, but that if you wanted the wedding night early, it was gonna be all about you. 

you roll your eyes, swatting his shoulder. "i'm a big girl, i can handle it."

the way you look right now alone could make dick come, your hair all mussed, thighs shaking from where they're clenched around his torso. your nipples are peaked, flushed from how much attention he's been giving them. the sheets should probably be thrown out, already soaked from sweat and your still-flowing slick. he wouldn't have it any other way. 

"but please, tell me at any time if you need to stop. for any reason at all." 

"i will," you reply, nodding. dick carefully lines up with your entrance, his glistening pink tip the biggest stretch you've ever felt. the warmth of him combined with the heat, the fact that it's him, has your arousal heightened to new levels, and you're begging for more. 

dick nods, always happy, ready, to oblige, sinks in further, and you purse your lips, trying to relax. he goes slow, so slow, trying to let you completely adjust before he moves even an inch. 

he’s pierced you to the hilt, and you let out the breath you didn't know you were holding, relief at the forefront of your mind until he starts to move. you whimper, looking up at dick, and he bites out a moan in response, the sight of his length moving in and out of you more than enough for him. 

the slight pain of the stretch is nothing compared to the complete and overwhelming pleasure you feel. your nails scratch into the skin of his back, the smooth expanse of muscle rippling as he moves over you. he hisses out a groan as you do so, hips snapping into yours. 

“make me yours, beautiful,” he growls, pinching your nipple as he grinds against you. 

"you feel so good, princess," he groans, leaning forward. his lips brush across your collarbone, your neck, up your jaw, until he finds your lips, his hips moving all the while. it’s all you could’ve dreamed of and more, every fiber of your being deeply connected with his in a way you’ve never previously known. 

it feels amazing, and you whine into his mouth as he slips you his tongue. bodies moving in tandem as you hook your ankles together behind his back, just driving him deeper still. 

"'m gonna come," he groans, eyes on your face, on the way your tits bounce as he rocks the bed. moving faster, his hips piston into yours as he fights through the haze of pleasure to get you both to the edge. 

"oh, inside, dick, please," you moan, eyes rolling back as he rolls his finger over your clit. you clench around his cock, and that does it for him. he shudders, finishing with a moan inside of you, his tip brushing your womb as he thrusts his come further still. 

"can't wait to do this every night," you whisper, and your fiance growls in response, snapping his hips as his pace quickens on your clit. 

“takin’ me so good,” he coos. you want to sob, you’re so oversaturated with stimulation, body screaming out in protest, for more, as he works you, hard. 

"come for me, gorgeous. lemme treat m'wife right," dick says, smiling as you fall apart under him, pleasure overtaking your senses as you snap like a bowstring, muscles spasming, toes curling. 

"i've just remembered, i have a gift for you." dick says, surprise stirring in your stomach. it's a wonder you register any emotions at all right now. 

he gets up, digging through his pants until he finds it. quickly sinking back down onto the mattress, he shows it to you. "you bed me and then pull a knife on me?! what sort of present is this?" you exclaim, scrambling back but almost falling off of the bed. dick obviously catches you, but puts the blade back into its tiny scabbard. waits until you're settled in his lap to hand it to you. 

"it was my harvest festival present for you." he says, his words barely a whisper. 

your eyes widen, your jaw drops. "you—you spent money on me? you got me a present? like went into town and gave them money, and they gave you this? did you picked it out?" 

dick shrugs sheepishly, looking away. "yeah, but when you put it like that, it sounds crazy."

"it does not." you sigh dreamily, chin starting to tremble a little if you think about it too hard. "this is the best thing i've ever received." 

dick pales, then flushes hard. "really?" 

“really,” you reply, deadly serious. 

he grabs your left hand, planting a kiss on your ring finger. "just wait, gorgeous. i'll do you one better." 

you kiss him, and just the simple action of your hands running through his raven locks has him aroused again. you shake your head when he raises an eyebrow at you, moving to get on top of you again. 

"i won't be able to walk tomorrow, dick." you whine, and he pokes your side. 

"i'll carry you everywhere, honey. promise." 

you raise an eyebrow, considering it. 

"well in that case," you start, tapping your chin in fake thought. dick starts tickling you again, and you swat at his hands. 

"you better be careful, or i'm gonna make you help plan our wedding." 

"you won't have to make me do anything, sweetheart." 

divider: @strangergraphics

🌞🌞🌞🌞🌞🌞🌞🌞🌞🌞

SOME THANKS ARE IN ORDER!!

⚔️ to my wonderful friend caleb, who i refuse to let read this out of sheer embarrassment, for his help with all questions medieval: thank you SO much for being such a nerd. this is for you and your sword. yes, it’s smut.

🏹 to @cottage-worm , for beta reading and slugging through an unedited pile of scraps to help me create it into the fic before you today. i owe you everything, seriously. thank you so, so, so, so, much.

🏰 to @pink-panda-pancakes .. when mimi likes it.. i know it’s good. thank you SO much for reading it early!!

👑 @arkhamsgirl. lovely bria gave it her stamp of approval.. so that means the rest of you get to read it now!

and to my dear readers!! this is the longest fic i’ve ever written, edited, and now published! thank you so much for reading until the end. let me know your thoughts in the comments, and as always, please reblog if you liked it! thank you, thank you, thank you!!

Your head jerked up at the sound. Your maids never knocked usually. They entered silently, fed you and left again, sliding through the room like shadows, not daring to make a single sound in case it would startle you too much.

Reluctantly you slid out of bed, the ave of coldness embracing you whole, leaving goosebumps all over the wake of your skin.

The wooden door felt heavier than you had remembered. You pushed it with all your force and suddenly it just opened.

Your eyes widened as you stumbled forward, the sudden force of your door opening making you lose your balance, yet a pair of big hands caught you before you could seriously trip.

"Whoa, easy there, your highness"

Your eyes flicked up to see the carrier of the deep voice that had just adressed you.

A downright huge man stood in front of you, crooked grin on his face as he steadied you up. Raven black strands of hair fell across his face, dark emerald eyes locked onto yours.

Your eyes slowly moved down his face, lingering on a scar in the corner of his mouth for a split second. He seemed familiar. Almost too familiar.

He released you as you took a step back, composing yourself.

"Toji Fushiguro, your royal highness. I am your new personal guard" as he bowed deep to you, your eyes fell to his katana.

So this was his replacement. It made your stomach churn, just how fast they found someone new.

You swallowed hard, throat dry from the lack of voice usage those past days.

"Fushiguro", you simply repeated as the mountain of a man got up from his deep bow, his eyes meeting yours with a scary intensity, like he was staring right into the depths of your soul.

You didn´t like that at all, a shiver running down your spine.

"Do you need anything, your highness? Or shall I just watch over from here now?" he asked as he stood in the exact spot he used to stand. It agitated you, seeing him just taking that place like he owned it.

"No. Good night" You snapped, turning away to get back into your bed.

Working for the royal family had sounded nicer than it turned out to be. For once Toji didn´t expect to become the princesse´s personal guard within three days of getting out of training.

But also nothing could´ve prepared him for the coldness he was met with. During his time in trainig people had talked about how kind hearted the princess was.

Yet in the two months of working for you, you had barely even looked his way, let alone even talked to him. At first he had tried getting to know you, but after a week or two it all just fell into a rhythm.

He greeted you when you woke up, left for his meetings at noon, escorted the princess to the bathingquarters and eventually left once you were asleep.

Yet not even in your mourinng state you could outrun your responsibilities and so you found yourself in th town, wearing one of the lighter gowns you owned, hair put up in an artful updo your maid, Utahime, had made you.

This was your first public appearance after the incident.The streets seemed unfamiliar, the people different and the atmosphere thicker.

Toji followed you in silence, throwing glares at everyone who dared to look at you weird, his hand always at the hilt of his sword, black mask covering the lower half of his face, strands of his coal black hair hanging into his eyes.

His mission was clear. Escort the princess through town, make sure she´s safe and if you see a cursed spirit- kill it.

Easier said than done. In the last couple years the number of cursed spirits had trippled in the kingdome, ever since the peace between the royal family and the Zenin clan was broken and they had pulled back their support to the army.

The royal guards could rarely keep up with the monstrosities tormenting their land and so casualties happened way more often than they used to.

You walked through the alleys like it was routine. You forced smiles, nodding and waving as the folks of the town greeted you, yet you couldn´t focus. Not really.

Your chest felt tighter again, like the air was slowly being taken right from your lungs.

You had reached the outskirts of town. Your final stop before you could finally head back into the safety of your chamber. Just a few more people to greet, a few more smiles to-

You froze. Your stomach churned as you stared ahead.

"Fushiguro", you managed to choke out. "They´re dead"

Toji´s emerald eyes were wide as he slowly drew his sword. A pile of corpses lay on the grand square of this part in town, all torn open. Guts everywhere, limbs missing.

This was not a human´s work.

An inhumane screech filled the silence. Without even thinking Toji pushed you into the nearest open house, slamming the door shut.

A curse was staring at him. A human like creature with four arms, two faces and a mouth on his stomach which he was currently stuffing with someone´s corpse, ruby eyes locked onto Toji.

*If you see a cursed spirit, kill it* Toji took a deep breath before charging at the curse.

It was brutal, the way this creature fought. Long claws tore the fabric of his haori, slicing into his flesh. Toji jerked back before any serious damage could be done.

Four arms were just too many. So instead of trying to land critical hits he started aiming for the curse´s shoulders. Sweat dripped down his skin, his movements blurring into a frantic flow in which he couldn´t tell if he was even still alive.

The house he had pushed you into smelled like death. You hadn´t dared to move or even breathe. You could hear the curse´s screeching from outside.

Had he killed Fushiguro? You knew you had to help him. You couldn´t live through this again. No, this time you´d stop it.

After looking around in the room you found an old sword. Your fingers wrapped around it securely before you opened the door.

Your eyes took a second to adjust to the brightness outside. A figure stood on the square, bending down to pick something up. It was Fushiguro.

Relief flooded you as you dropped the sword, running over to your guard. He turned around at the sound of steps, his reserved gaze softening as he recognized you.

In his hand he held an arm, a muscular tattooed one- it was the curse´s.

Your eyes suddenly fell to his white haori. A deep scarlet red had spread across the material around his chest, the stain slowly spreading. You froze. No.

"You´re bleeding", you gasped, staring straight at his chest.

Toji followed your gaze, grimacing: "It´s just a scratch, don´t- ah, fuckk" a low groan left his throat as he accidentaly grazed the wound with the curse´s chopped off arm.

Your eyes widened as you watched him slumping down, clutching his stomach as he dropped the detatched limp.

"Toji", his first name left your lips before you could process what was happening. Nononono not again. You hurried over to him, the slick sound of blood sticking to your shoes making you want to just vomit.

When you reached him you didn´t hesitate to undo the haori, pushing the fabric back so you could fist the shirt he wore beneath, pulling it up. His hands helped you weakly, tossing the fabric over his head.

In another situation he would´ve looked beautiful, chisled muscles covered in a thin layer of sweat, scars sattered all across his torso.

And then there was the deep gash in the middle of his chest leaking blood everywhere. The fractured skin seemed to be pulsing. It was a deep cut. Fataly deep.

You inhaled shakily, your fingers finding his hand without really thinking. He couldn´t die. No, you couldn´t let this happen again.

"Toji, it´s bad", you whispered, feeling his fingers weakly squeeze yours as he gave you that shit eating grin once more.

"I´m gonna die, won´t I?", he finall asked quietly, looking up at you, his eyes uncharacteristically soft. You shook your head, fealing the tears pricking in your eyes. Fuck it, you had to do *something*.

Your fingers found the gash shakily, carefully grazing the angry red skin as you closed your eyes.

You didn´t understand how your cursed technique worked or what cursed energy really was. But the palace´s doctor, Ieri Shoko had told you, you could save lives if you really tried.

And so there you were, desperately trying to save Toji. You didn´t dare to open your eyes. What if he was dead?

You couldn´t lose another life. Finally you carefully peaked through your lashes. The world was blurry, or was it just your eyes?

Toji felt his consciousness slowly slipping through his hand, his life seeping through his fingers like sand. With a deep exhale he closed his eyes. At least he´d die serving his princess.

The warmth that spread through his chest was unlike anything he´s ever felt before. Did dying feel like this?

He welcomed it more than expected. Suddenly a cold hand came in contact with his face, the slap ringing in his ears. Toji´s eyes opened, looking around disoriented.

This wasn´t death. He was laying on that same square, blood all around him- his chest didn´t hurt anymore.

You were staring at him, breathless. You did it. You actually saved his life. A smile touched your lips before you could stop it, your arms wrapping around his neck in a crushing hug.

His breath was knocked out of his chest for a second as he sat there startled and still very much shirtless, not sure how to responf to the royal heir hugging him.

But your body felt so.. warm against his. Like it fit. Like it belonged.

His arms wrapped around your waist, tugging you closer so he could rest his head on top of yours, stealing a whiff of the way you smelled like peaches and sweet vanilla, strands of your hair tickling his nose softly.

Your face was pressed against into the crook of his neck, his hand running up and down the small of your back in a soothing motion while you both tried processing what had just happened.

Eventually he shifted, looking down at you. His eyes looked even more beautiful closer up.

No, you shouldn´t be thinking this. Not about him.

"How´d you do it?" he asked quietly and suddenly you were hyper aware of how close his lips were to his. You could make out the lines of the scar on his mouth clearer than ever, the cut in his flesh moving as he spoke.

"I´m not sure. I think I might´ve used a reverse cursed technique on you. You know, like the ones Shoko uses?"

A weak chuckle escaped Toji as he shook his head, his lips forming a crooked grin.

"Well that´s something, your highness. Never knew healing was one of the Gojo familie´s techniques. You must be the first Gojo heir to do.. this"

His downright *huge* hand suddenly moved to yours, calloused fingers wrapping around your wrist, holding your palm up like a trophy.

In the light of a slowly setting sun the marks covering the skin became visible, brandings that you had since your birth, indicators of strong cursed energy that coursed through your family.

Your gaze flicked up to his eyes, your breath catching halfway through your throat.

His gaze was filled with wonder, green eyes big as he glanced over at you.

You could feel his breath hit your lips and suddenly he wasn´t just your knight anymore. He was.. Toji.

"Your highness!" the voice of the royal officier, Suguru Geto, called as he rushed over from the fields where the rest of his men were positioned.

Toji straightened up, saluting to his commander, ignoring that his shirt was still discarded to the floor, forcing a small smile onto your face as you got up as well.

"Fushiguro, report", Geto commanded as he wrapped an arm around your shoulder, escorting you back to some of his men, Nanami, Higuruma and Shiu.

"Special grade curse spotted, sir. He slaughtered the citizens of this district, sir. I was able to secure one of its limbs and it ran off into the forest. Her highness is safe"

You just nodded while Nanami carefully offered you his hand, leading you to the royal chariet.

"Higuruma, arrange troups to cover the region. Search every square inch for that thing. Shiu, contact the Zenins, ask if they knew something about this. Don´t mention the casualties yet. I just bet Naobito would love to hear about this" Geto ordered around while reaching a jacket to Toji, helping him cover up.

Toji´s eyes followed your movements until you dissapeared with Nanami.

"You think this is the Zenin´s work?", he asked, looking over at Suguru.

The man with the long, black hair shrugged, brushing a strand of hair from his face.

"It could be. You know how the situation´s been recently. Their heir seems to be even worse than his father. It´s only a matter of time before they decide to do something reckless."

The news came faster than anyone could´ve expected. The royal family of the Zenin´s had officially declared war upon the Gojo royalties. You sat in your room, holding the declaration in your shaky palms.

There it was written, they´d unleash a bunch of curses if your family even as much as tried doing something with your cursed enery.

Your older brother, Satoru, had been busy negotiating with the messenger for days now, still with no success.

Your eyes flicked up as the heavy door to your room opened once again. Toji came in, shutting the heavy wood behind himself before getting in position.

"Your highness" he bowed, one hand at his katana while his other brushed a strand of hair from his eyes.

"You´ve heard the news already, haven´t you?", you asked finally, voice quieter than what he was used to. Toji´s head jerked up, his gaze softening as it met yours.

"Yes, indeed, your highness. I am just hoping that his royal highness will be able to talk some sense into them"

You just nodded, fiddling with the hem of your nightgown.

"Yeah, Toru´s got a way with words. I just hope they don´t send some old guys in there. He absolutely hates the elders." a small chuckle escaped you as you finally put the declaration away onto your nightstand.

"How´s your chest, Fushiguro?", you looked up at Toji, pretending not to notice the way his eyes fell to the deep cut of your nightgown for a split second.

The man swallowed hard, quickly averting his gaze to your eyes.

"It´s healing. Thanks to you, your highness" a soft smile grazed his mouth, scarred lips turning upwards.

You could feel relief washing through you. Toji had spent the past few days in the hospice wing, meaning Geto himself had to watch over your chambers, something both of you weren´t used to at all.

Geto was made to rule and command, not to watch over some princesse´s sleep.

With Toji it was easier. You weren´t scared of snoring or falling off your bed when he was there. At the same time Geto would laugh about it with your brother.

So seeing him in your room again.. it felt comfortable. Ever since you had been to the town with him things had changed.

You actually stopped being so cold towards him, letting him in sometimes. His past was still a mystery to you.

Suddenly the door flew open, Takuma Ino, one of the guards still being educated, stood there, heavily panting.

"Your royal highness, his majesty wants to speak you. There are news concerning the Zenin´s"

Toji would never get used to how huge the throne room was in comparison to where he came from.

Silver elements snaked over the marbel pillars until reaching the Gojo familie´s crest above the actual throne´s, a very upset Satoru arguing with his parents between the stools when you came in.

"I can´t believe you´re actually considering this. It´s insane. Just let me use my technique on them, seriously!", your brother complained, stopping once he saw you.

"What´s going on?", you demanded to kow. Your father sighed heavily, rubbing the bridge of his nose.

"My dearest daughter, there has been a breakthrough in the negotiation with the Zenin´s. You see-"

"They want you to marry their son, Naoya."

The silence that followed was louder than Utahime´s gasp, who just happened to be walking by. Toji had tensed up, taking a step towards the king.

"Your majesty, with all due respect, you can´t be honestly considering to agree to those terms. It´s just inhumane"

To your surprise Satoru nodded along, glancing up at your father.

"You can´t just force her into this. It´s wrong"

Yet the king wasn´t having it. He simply shook his head, sighing heavily, like this was burdening him.

"You know we don´t have a choice, besides, you should find a suitable husband anyway. With the Zenin´s son you could birth a powerful heir to both kingdoms and maybe finally establish the peace. Besides, your mother and I also got married for political benefits and it worked out just fine"

You could only listen to half of what he was saying. You felt like the air was knocked from your chest, this had to be some sort of cruel joke.

Your eyes flicked over to Toji helplessy just to be met with his gaze, mirroring your despair.

You swallowed hard, adjusting your hair slightly before stepping forward.

"If this is what it takes to prevent the war from happening, then I shall meet him in person and discuss further terms. Satoru, tell Haibara to arrange a meeting by next week", you finally concluded, trying your best not to look in Toji's direction.

You were signing away your freedom if you went through with this, but what choice did you really have?

"Very well. Satoru, I'll join you in the rest of the negotiation. Fushiguro, escort her back to her room" the king threw you a weak smile before turning to your fuming brother.

Toji's had brushed your waist as he started walking back out of the hall, leading you with him through seemingly endless stone halls, every single one of your steps dragging.

The reality of the situation was only starting to sink in. You would have to marry Naoya Zenin and that probably soon.

You still had your whole life to live, it was far too early to give up your freedom for a man you´d never met before.

All your life you had known you'd have to marry someone wealthy and of status. You just never expected for it to happen this soon.

Toji was silent, the only sound in the hallway coming from your shoes clicking against the stone floor. His hand hadn't left your waist yet, his touch both grounding, yet it also reminded you that you'd be trapped soon.

No more of whatever this was. No more lingering glances with your guard. God, it was so wrong to even think this. But part of you had wanted Toji Fushiguro ever since he had walked into your room for the first time.

Everything about him was forbidden, dangerous even.

The way his eyes would linger for too long, the way his hand would brush yours in an almost tentalizing manner.

The little twitch of his scarred lip whenever he saw you, the softness of his gaze whenever you spoke to him.

Toji Fushiguro was doomed.

Throughly.

His eyes kept avoiding yours, not wanting to see the hurt between those wide blown pupils. He fucking hated this. You had just started getting along and now you were supposed to get married to some bum?

Sure, he knew he never stood a chance. You were royality after all. But when you reached the door to your room and those hurting eyes met his- all resolve crumbled like sand.

"You shouldn´t have to do this.", he huffed quietly, looking down at you, his deep green eyes so, so soft.

"But I do. I can´t just let a war happen, all because I didn´t marry him. It´s a sacrifice worth making." You sounded like you were trying to convince yourself, which really, you were.

Toji clearly wasn´t buying it as he whispered your name, two calloused fingers suddenly tilting up your chin, making your breathing hitch.

"Bullshit. You should be able to live without all of this. Without all that burden. You don´t owe these people shit, alright? It´s not your fault they fucked up their relation with the Zenins."

You felt your heart clenching as he spoke, finding yourself leaning into his touch almost involuntarily, sad eyes finding his through your lashes.

"Why do you care, Fushiguro?"

"Fuck, I don´t know, okay? But I do care, way more than I should" the desperation in his eyes was heavily evident as he looked down, his fingers flexing against your skin.

A soft huff of laugter left your lips as your fingers wrapped around his wrist. It was almost cute, seeing him all clueless for the first time.

"Careful, Fushiguro. I might think you´re falling for me"

"I´d be doomed if I was, wouldn´t I?"

"Oh, absolutely"

You didn´t know who initiated it, but his mouth was on yours now, hands on the back of your neck pulling you against his body.

You felt like you were melting into him. Your fingers ran up into his hair, wrapping around the raven strands while his lips devoured you in the most gentle way you could´ve imagined.

The way his tongue brushed your bottom lip drew a gasp while you stumbled back to your room, keeping him as close as you could.

You´d face the consequences later. Right now all you needed was your guard´s body against yours, lips meeting in a worshipping manner.

He pulled back just enough to let his forehead rest against yours, swallowing hard while he glanced down at you.

"God, your highness. You´re so beautiful", he choked out before grabbing your hips, pulling you flush against him while his mouth dove right onto yours again.

A strangled moan escsped your throat as you tugged at his hair, getting on your tiptoes to grant yourself better access to him.

"Toji-" a knock at the door made your heart skip a beat as Toji quickly let go of you, straightening up as the wooden pannel opened, Utahime coming in with a small bow.

"Your highness, it´s time for your nightly routine" she looked up through her bangs, yet you couldn´t even say something right now. Did she hear you straight up moaning out your guard´s name?

Toji cleared his throat, leaving like he always did when Utahime came in, shutting the heavy door behind himself.

It had been three days since you kissed your guard.

Three days since you had felt that scarred lip move against yours, since you felt your name leave his lips as a whisper against your mouth.

It had been all you could think about, his body against yours consuming your thoughts every second of the day.

And Toji?

Toji was just gone. Missing, he left without a trail. Commander Geto was now assigned to watch over you for good. He had just walked into your room one night, without any big announcements or explanaitions.

And you knew better than to ask about a guard you´ve known for a few months.

Days passed in a blur and you could feel yourself missing him more and more. He had probably run off in fear of someone finding out about what had happened.

His head would be on a stake if the king knew. A few days after the incident you got word back from the Zenins, arranging a meeting between you and your (unfortunately) future husband, Naoya.

You only had two days left until you´d have to meet him, until you would finally sign away your freedom for good.

You were strolling through the gardens aimlessly, kicking pebbles with your far too expesive shoes. Why did he have to leave when you needed him most? Maybe it had been a mistake after all, yet the lingering taste of him on your mouth had been worth every troule faced on the way.

You had already considered sending a troup out to look for him, but what would that bring you other than drawing unneccesary attention to Toji? Nothing. Absolutely nothing.

The gardens of the palace stretched all around the buildings, a peaceful haven compared to what was happening in the outskirts of town.

No curses had managed to enter these sacred rounds, ever. You heard it had something to do with your brother. The only reason Satoru wasn't the one being forced into marriage, was that he was promised to be more than a king.

He would be the kingdom's greatest weapon one day, the six eyes.

Growing up you and him would always play in these very gardens until your parents decided it was too dangerous for him to play fight with someone and he was taken away to some sort of school for three years.

You stopped at your favorite flowers, taking a second to really admire them. The world around you changed constantly, but they never did.

A muffled groan caught your attention as you quickly lifted your head, looking around. Were you already imagining things?

No, there was clearly someone here. Another sound came from- the garden shed.

You carefully made your way over to the wooden construction, trying not to make a single sound before opening the door with all your force.

You froze.

Between old gardening equipment and empty shelves there was commander Geto, making out with- your brother.

Both Satoru and you let out a shocked gasp as you locked eyes. You covered your mouth with your hand. What was happening?

Geto quickly took a step back, adjusting his half unbuttoned tunic and cleared his throat.

"Your highness" he casually bowed, like he hadn´t been on your brother just seconds ago.

You nodded slowly. "So this is a thing now?"

"Yes, your highness."

Satoru finally took a step forward, azure eyes wide. "Promise you won´t tell anyone. Please, sis" he whispered, desperate look plastered across his face.

You just nodded again. "I won't tell anyone, I promise", you finally managed to get out before taking a step back and taking a deep breath. Now that was definetly unexpected.

Ever since you caught Suguru and Satoru in the gardening shed the atmosphere had shifted.

Geto was suddenly way nicer to you, always asking about your day and offering to take you to town. And with only one day remaining until you'd have to meet Naoya, you finally agreed.

Geto had escorted you to the market on the big town square.

Countless traders had arrived from all over Japan, offering baked goods, coats made from fur, talismans that were supposed to scare curses away and so much more.

You strolled around, talking to some of the vendors. At one of th stalls your bought some fresh fruit, another woman talked you into buying a silver hairpin with dark red gems that she gladly put into your hair herself, very much not to Geto's liking.

You had just finished trying on a coat made from wolf's pelt when suddenly you spotted a kid sitting on the stone floor all alone.

Without really hesitating you walked over, crouching down besides the little boy.

He had black spiky hair and dark blue eyes that looked over at you, neutral expression all over his pale face.

"Hey buddy. Where are your parents?", you asked softly. The kid let out a cough before shrugging.

"My Mommy is dead. And Papa is at home"

Oh. Poor kid.

"What's your name? Do you want me to help you get home?", you offered, carefully brushing the black spikes back. God, the kid's skin was burning. He was definitely sick.

The boy nodded, getting up, his knees wobbling slightly.

"Yeah, please. I´m Megumi"

You nodded, quickly waving Geto over. He picked up the boy while you quickly fetched some medicine from a vendor's stall.

Megumi was able to tell Geto where he lived and with the help of an older lady, who just happened to be his neighbour, you quickly found the small house he lived in.

You ordered Suguru to wait by the fence while you carried Megumi to the front door, knocking firmly. You could hear something shuffling inside and when the door flew open your jaw dropped.

You were face to face with Toji.

The same Toji that was your guard, the same Toji that had kissed you just a few days ago. He didn't seem any less shocked, green eyes wide.

"Your highness" he quickly bowed deep, his eyes falling onto Megumi as he straightened back up.

"You never told me you have a son", you simply said, carefully handing Megumi to him.

"Do you really think it's okay to leave your sick kid all alone in the middle of town?", you scolded angrily.

"I didn't, I swear. He snuck out. I've been searching for him everywhere. I'm sorry, your highness"

Maybe it was something about the dark circles beneath his eyes that you hadn't seen before, maybe it was the way his tone softened, but you chose to believe him.

You handed him the herbs you had bought at the market, clearing your throat.

"This should help him."

You had to be an angel, he didn't doubt that even the slightest bit. His hand closed around the small bundle you had handed him as he nodded, his eyes gradually softening.

"Do you want to come in? I know, it's not fancy or anything, but I could offer you some tea", he offered as he cradled Megumi's head carefully. You nodded, glancing back at Geto. Nah, he'd be fine.

Toji's home was indeed nothing fancy, but it felt comfortable either way.

The broad man took up most of the space in the tiny living room, Megumi seeming even smaller against his arms. "Make yourself comfortable. I'll just quickly put him to bed", Toji said with a small nod towards the brownish couch, some comforters scattered over the pillows.

You watched as he carried his son upstairs before you finally sat down. His house smelled like leather and something citrusy, some toys scattered on the floor.

Toji's katana was hung on the wall next to a clothingrack carrying his haori.

You were so invested in looking around his living room that you didn't even notice him coming back, only when you felt his weight besides you making the couch dip did you look over at him.

He was wearing grey Tobi pants and some black shirt, his black hair messy.

"Thanks for everything. I mean it. I was worried sick where the little brat was once again", he sighed, rubbing a hand over his face. "Also, sorry for just disappearing. Especially after what- you know, what happened in the palace."

You swallowed hard as he put his calloused hand on your shoulder softly, you could feel his warmth seeping through the layers of clothes you were wearing.

"Why'd you just go? The kiss doesn't have to mean anything if you don't want it to, Toji. But still-"

"No, it's not like that. I swear it isn't. I was going nuts after what happened. God, I couldn't think of anything else. Still can't. But when I came home that night I found Gumi all sick. I told Shiu that I'm calling in sick, but I guess that asshole just conveniently forgot to mention"

So he hadn't been avoiding you after all. You could feel the relief spreading through your body like a warm wave of comfort.

"And the kiss did mean something to me. God, you got me hooked on that single memory ever since I had to walk out of that room. But part of me was scared you'd act like when I just started working for you.", a weak chuckle escaped him as he looked up at you.

God, you looked so beautiful. But still, you'd be married to another man soon. Far too soon.

You took a deep breath before meeting his eyes.

"My previous guard, Masamichi Yaga died protecting me. He was attacked by a special grade curse and he was killed. Right in front of my eyes. When you first came to me I was still grieving heavily.

To my parents he had just been another knight, you know? But to me, he was a friend. A good one to that. And seeing my family just.. replace him after such a short time?

I couldn't let myself get attatched again. But I obviously failed", you added with a small smile, looking up at him.

His grip on your shoulder tightened for a short moment, his green eyes on your face, taking in every feature.

"It wasn't your fault", he finally said, his hand shifting to the back of your neck, warm fingers grazing the roots of your hair. "Gumi's mother died due to a cursed spirit as well, I know exactly how you felt. You know I'm here for you, right?", his voice was so soft, you felt like you could just melt right there.

You nodded hesitantly, leaning more into his touch.

"I won't leave you again, I promise", he finally breathed, his gaze dropping to your lips. "Can I kiss you, your highness?"

When he did his mouth was hot and hungry. His hands wrapped around your hair to tug you closer to his body.

This time felt different. He was still being as gentle as he could, but having you all to himself in his home- it made something inside him snap as he suddenly pinned you back against the old couch, his heavy body covering yours.

A breathless chuckle escaped you as you let your arms wrap around his neck while his mouth brushed your jaw, tasting your skin.

"'m never leaving", he repeated, lifting his head to look down at you with that hazed look in his eyes.

"Just be there tomorrow. Please. I really don't want to be alone when meeting him"

He nodded urgently, pressing his lips to the column of your throat.

"Promise. I'll be there", he whispered against your skin, glancing up through his lashes as he left a trail of butterfly kisses to your neck.

Shivers ran down your back as you let your fingers wrapped around the silky strands of his raven hair, your head tilting back to grant him wider access to every inch of you. God, his mouth felt like heaven.

Every brush of his lips, everytime his teeth grazed your pulse point in a way that made your breathing hitch, every murmur of your name that left his mouth, it all ignited something you'd never felt before in all your life.

"Wait. Commander Geto is still outside", you suddenly remembered, a sigh escaping him as he dropped his forehead to your shoulder.

"Right, fuck. Sorry, I probably shouldn't have even-"

You shut him up with another kiss, feeling him basically melt into your touch.

"My window will be open tonight", you finally breathed against his lips as you got up from the couch. and my legs, you thought to yourself, watching the man sit up, watching you leave with yearning eyes.

The second Utahime had finally left your bedroom, after talking about some brunette knight she was falling for, you bolted towards your closet.

In the deepest corner, surrounded by royal gowns and festive attire lay the one set of lingerie a friend of yours had brought from her travels. A lacy cami top with a deep v-cut and matching burgundy panties fell from the little satin bag you kept them in, still unworn after all these years.

You wanted to do this, with him and tonight before you'd sell your youth to some stuckup rich guy. So when you finally heard the rustling sound coming from the vines by your window your heart immediately jumped.

Toji's black hair was the first thing you saw, followed by his face, eyes widening the second he caught a glimpse of the vision in front of him.

He swung his legs over the windowstill and then he was right in front of you, heavy hands grazing your waist.

"Your highness, you look.. unreal" his eyes met yours and only a heartbeat later so did your lips.

His hands were everywhere, hot and heavy against your skin, cold air flooding the room from your open window, creeping up your body the same way his touch did.

You were consuming him in ways he couldn't word even if he tried. Toji couldn't get enough of the way you felt against him, the way you tasted on his tongue while it roamed your mouth. A small groan escaped his throat once your fingers slid beneath his shirt, mapping out the scarred skin of his chissled abs, savoring every single touch.

He knew he shouldn't be doing this. You were the princess after all. People were willing to die for just a simple glance from her.

And him? He had you here, all dolled up, looking so astonishingly beautiful it robbed his breath. He shouldn't be having this, not with you.

But Toji Fushiguro was a greedy man. A greedy bastard who was too far gone to care.

His strong arms wrapped around the back of your thighs, lifting you up until your legs wrapped around his waist.

You could feel his growing erection pressed against your rear, an unfamiliar feeling rushing up straight to your core, pulling a faint moan from you.

"God, princess-" Toji pulled back vaguely, casting an adoring look down at you, his halflidded eyes sweeping over your barely dressed figure. "Are you sure you want to do this?", he finally questioned, even though part of him wanted to just toss you onto that royal bed of yours and ruin you over and over until you couldn't even think of anything other than him.

You opened your mouth to confirm when suddenly the memory of what the next day would mean dawned in your mind.

Your grip on his hair tightened for a second before you looked up at him hesitantly.

You swallowed hard, shrugging. The adrenaline from earlier was slowly wearing off, replaced by that sudden clarity.

You only had a night of freedom left before you'd meet the man you'd basically be sold to. The prize for peace turned out to be your freedom. A higher stake than you were really willing to take.

Before you could fully comprehend what was happening a salty tear had already rolled down your cheek, followed by another.

His brows furrowed in concern as he immediately set you down on the edge of your bed, kneeling down right beside you, calloused palm wrapping around you delicate fingers, his thumb stroking over the soft skin.

A shaky sob errputed from you, your fingers tightening around his.

"I don't want to marry someone I don't know, Toji", you whispered, your voice faintly muffled as you wiped your tears away with your free hand. "I- I just don't feel ready for that. I can't just marry someone I don't know. But I can't risk this war either. People will die if I don't do this"

Toji's heart clenched at the sight of you crying. It was the first time he witnessed it.

Even in all the time you had been grieving your old guard- you'd never broken down like this. The pads of his fingers found your cheek, brushing an escaping tear away so gently that it made your heart ache even more.

"Baby", he finally whispered, his hand cupping your jaw carefully, like he was scared you'd break beneath his touch.

His earlier desires were gone, replaced by the primal urge to shield you from the world. To keep you safe. "Maybe he won't be that bad. Who knows, maybe you can work out an agreement with him that doesn't involve marriage?", Toji weakly suggested.

He was horrible at comforting people, always had been. Even when his own son would trip and start crying he got overwhelmed.

But this? This was different. His words had actually managed to stop the panic seeping in your gut for now. You swallowed hard, taking a deep breath to ground yourself.

"I'm sorry", you finally whispered, glancing down through your wet lashes. "I wanted to do this tonight, I swear"

Toji shook his head so fast it startled you.

"No, ma. Don't you dare feel sorry for anything right now, understood?" his big hands slid to the back of your neck as he pressed his lips to your cheek softly, then your nose and finally the corner of your mouth.

You exhaled shakily, nodding before looking back up at him. He was looking at you with soft eyes, his touch a warm contrast to the far too cold room.

You felt stupid in the lingerie all of a sudden. Too bare, too vulnerable.

"Toji. I'm cold", you whispered. The tall man didn't even hesitate to lift his grey longsleeve over his head, carefully helping you slip into the material.

It was far from the expensive silks and cashmere you were used to, yet it felt better on your skin than any of the overpriced textiles.

"Better?", he asked carefully, watching you adjust his sweater. Seeing you in his clothes made a foreign feeling spread trough his chest, some sort of warmth enveloping him from within.

You nodded, scooting over on your canopy bed, hesitantly padding the empty space on the mattress next to you.

Toji seemed to just take you in for a second before carefully laying down next to you, the mattress dipping beneath his weight.

A muscular arm draped across your waist, pulling you flush against his bare chest, his body feeling like a furnace compared to yours.

"Sweet dreams, princess", he whispered, his scarred lips brushing your temple. You closed your eyes, leaning further into his touch.

"Goodnight, Toji"

To put it in simple words: Naoya Zenin was a prick. The second the blonde man had set foot into the palace he had started complaining about the weather, the air humidity, the color pallette of the throne and the chandelier he had spotted while passing the dining hall.

Satoru was fuming, your father looking like he was ready to physically restrain your older brother any second.

You were seated at the long conferrence table right across from the heir of the Zenin's.

In the past ten minutes he had managed to say five sexist things, insult three of your maids, make clear you were only good to bear his children and then announce he wasn't prone to putting women in their place.

You didn't even know who hated this guy more. You, Satoru or Toji who just happened to be assigned to the conferrence hall for tonight. His jaw was rigid.

One more word from this guy and he was no longer responsible for his own actions.

Meanwhile your father was nodding along to everything and anything Naoya would say, laughing too loud at the misogynist jokes, pouring "his son", as he already called him, another glass of your finest wine while you fantasized about putting just a small dosis of lethal poison into his drink.

"Furthermore, I think you should make the engagement public this week! We can host the wedding in 10 days if you wish. What do you think, son?", your father finally dropped the bomb.

You froze mid sip, staring over at Naoya. The man just shrugged as he glanced over at you.

"Fine by me. Announce it now", he finally drawled. You almost choked on your wine.

Was he ordering your father, the litteral king around? Yet the older man looked like he'd never been happier, eagerly nodding along.

"Do I get a say in this?", you interrupted as they reached out to shake hands.

Naoya glanced over at you, both surprise and disgust on his face, like he couldn't believe you had the audacity to speak his way.

"My daughter, I thought we already agreed on this", your father pushed through clenched teeth, throwing you a warning glance.

For a second you wanted to just tell them no and storm out, with Toji preferably, but the war clawed into your thoughts like a harsh reminder of reality. So instead you bit your tongue just nodding stiffly.

"Of course, father", you gritted out, feeling both Naoya's and the king's disapproving glances exchange.

By the time this godawful meeting finally concluded you felt like at least half your braincells had just vanished into thin air.

Every word coming from Naoya was like a direct punch directed at every woman ever lived. The thought of you having to actually marry that made your toes curl in disgust.

Naoya was being escorted back towards his cariett when he suddenly stopped in his tracks, turning around to look right at you.

"One more thing. Wife, make sure you're ready to bear my heir once we wed. I shall not wait because of your incompetence", he flashed you a disgusting smile before finally disappearing into the transporter.

Your blood was boiling with rage. You had never, never in your entire life encountered someone you hated this much.

And hate was a strong word, you knew that. But next to Naoya Zenin you needed something even stronger than that.

Fuck getting along with him. You were already plotting on how to run away as soon as you possibly could.

A frustrated groan left you as you turned towards commander geto who just gave you that sympathetic glance, or maybe he was just once again praying you wouldn't snitch on him banging your brother.

Without even as much as glancing back you headed back inside the palace, yearning to forget all about this godawful interaction.

And that's the guy you were supposed to marry? The second you reached your chambers you ripped off that suffocating corset, stripping until you were in just your undergarments before flopping down onto the bed with a heavy groan.

Your door opened almost silently, Toji sliding in like a shadow. His eyes widened the second he saw you, swallowing hard in order to suppress all those urges he was suddenly getting.

"Your highness?", he asked. You lifted your head, catching his eyes roam your half naked body.

"Toji, I hate him. He's so much worse than I could've ever envisioned. Literally every word that pig said was a direct jab at me. How can a person even be this unlikeable? I swear to god, I'm not lasting a single day in this marriage", you complained as you sat up, looking over at your guard with a slight pout.

Toji sighed, nodding as he rid himself from the haori he was wearing, sitting down next to you in only the black skintight longsleeve and his beloved Tobi pants.

"I get it. I was so close to just tossing him into a pit with cursed spirits.", he sighed heavily, glancing over at you.

He hated this. He depised the thought of this being the man that would get to have you in every way he could only ever dream of.

"Why did those bastards even declare war after all? I can't believe they're still convinced that we stole the late king's son. I mean, that's just absurd!", with that you buried your face in Toji's chest, immediately feeling a soothing hand on the back of your head.

After a few moments of just sitting in silence you lifted your head, catching him looking at you again. "Actually, how's Megumi doing?", you asked, your fingers running up his chest over his neck until you could brush his raven hair from his forehead.

Toji's eyes gradually softened as he shrugged, leaning into your touch. "He's doing better, thanks to the medicine you got him. But it'll still take some time until he fully recovers"

"He should go see doctor Shoko sometime. I think she'd take excellent care of him", you suggested. You had already considered trying to heal him by yourself, yet you weren't secure enough with your cursed technique just yet. Not enough to try it on children at least.

The knight next to you just nodded, pulling you into his lap, strong arms wrapping around the small of your back.

"That would be great. Really, I mean it", his scarred lips brushed against your throat as his eyes met yours, the usually so vibrant green darkened gradually.

Your fingers slid into his hair while you dipped your head down so he could kiss you.

His mouth claimed yours like it had never before. This time felt hungrier, more desperate.

You kissed him back with that same intensity, pulling him closer. You wanted to forget Naoya, to forget everything about this arrangement.

You let your hands glide down over his broad shoulders, pulling at the material of the black longsleeve.

Toji groaned against your mouth as you brushed an only half healed scar on his hip, shifting briefly to assist you in hoisting the black fabric over his head.

You pulled back momentarily, casting an appreciative look over his muscular chest before his finger wrapped around the back of your neck, yanking you back into the kiss.

He was drowning in the sensation of your body so close, so soft against his. Toji's palms slid beneath the bra you were wearing, thumb brushing your nipples until they hardened, drawing a delicious moan against his outh from you.

His left hand left the soft mounds to undo the flimsy lace, his mouth latching onto your breast as soon as it was bared.

"God.. Toji- feels so good", you gasped as he flipped you around on the bed, pinning you to the mattress.

He hummed against your sensitive skin, peering up at you through his lashes while he lavished your breast, his fingers pinching your other nipple, aching to hear more of those sounds you were making.

"You taste so good, ma. Can't fucking wait to taste that royal cunt next", he growled over your tit before lifting his head, admiring the wet skin for a second before fisting the lace of your panties.

His filthy words made you gasp, fingers running through his hair before gripping the strands softly.

"Can I?", he asked, tightening his grip on the flimsy lace. You nodded quickly, earning a small grin from him.

"Atta, girl"

Your damp panties got yanked down your thighs that very second, cold air hitting the sensitive skin of your pussy.

Toji gulped at the heavenly sight in front of him, an almost animalistic glare in his orbs.

Slowly he leaned down, running one calloused finger through your slit, moaning at the display of your slick dripping down his digit.

"Fucks sake, ma. You're drenched"

You whimpered needily as the view of him sucking your wetness off his finger unfolded in front of you. You clenched your thighs at the downright pornographic moan that left his throat.

Before you could fully comprehend what was happening he was clawing at your plush thighs, spreading them apart before latching his mouth onto your pussy with a low growl.

You yelped in surprise, fisting his hair, your other hand raking down his muscular back.

Toji ate you like a man starved, his broad shoulders opening you up so the lengthy muscle of his tongue could plunge deep into you, licking you feverishly. His nose bumped against your sensitive clit with every thrust of his tongue.

"Ngh- Toji.. too much" you didn't want him to stop. How could you when he was hitting all those spots inside you so deliciously that it made your toes curl?

"Taste so good, ma. Fuck, I'm addicted", he rasped out, starting to suck on your clit like it was the most delicious sweet treat he had ever tried. Two thick fingers pushed into you, stretching you so good.

You moaned his name as he curled his digits, hitting your g-spot with the deadly precision only a knight could have.

"You like this, princess? You like getting your pussy eaten by some common knight?", he spat onto your pussylips, watching his saliva drip over your folds before greedily licking it up, thrusting his fingers even deeper into you, drawing a sob from you.

"Yes- ahh.. yes, Toji", you cried, tugging him even closer by his hair.

"God, the things you do to me", he groaned, sucking at your clit harder, yearning to feel you falling apart on his tonuge.

He was full on humping your mattress, rubbin his still clothed cock against the expensive textiles.

"Yer all mine, princess. Say it." His fingers rammed into your g-spot again, your back arching off the bed at the waves of overwhelming pleasure suddenly flooding you.

"Fuck, yes! M' all yours, Toji- please", you begged while he went back to eating your cunt like a madman, his fingers playing with your clit while he licked up every single drop of slick your dripping pussy gave him.

"Cum for me, princess. Wanna feel it all", he grumbled against your cunt, voice muffled from the way your velvety walls were swallowing him.

Your orgasm crashed into you faster than you could've expected, intense waves of pleasure rolling off your body as you cried out his name.

Your thighs were quivering as his tongue fucked you through it, greedily licking up every single drop of cum your pussy offered him, his hands holding your thighs strong enough to leave marks.

"Fuckin' hell, you taste so good. She's so beautiful", he drawled against your cunt, slurping up your remaining juices before giving it a final kiss and lifting his head to look at you.

You looked angelic, skin flushed, some sweat glistening on your flawless skin. He on the other hand resembled a pussydrunk maniac. His skin was covered in your wetness, pupils blown wide, a stain visible on the material of his pants.

A weak chuckle escaped you as you pulled him in by the back of his neck, pressing a lingering kiss to his lips, tasting yourself on his mouth.

"Did you cum in your pants?", you whispered, casting an amused look at him. Toji scowled, pressing his lips harder against yours.

"Maybe", he murmured. "Couldn't help it with you looking so beautiful and all mine"

He let his hands run over your bare stomach, up to your heavy mounds, palming them.

All of a sudden there was a loud knock at your door. Your eyes widened as your gaze darted to Toji, your fingers immediately letting go of his neck.

"Hide", you whispered as you grabbed your flimsy, half-torn underwear, putting it on in record speed while Toji rolled under your bed.

"Comming", you called, throwing on a robe before you pushed open the heavy wooden gate.

Satoru was standing in the doorway with a rather unhappy expression on his face.

"Naoya's carriett broke down on the way back to the Zenin's territorry", he announced simply. Hope flooded you as you let your older brother into your room.

"Did he die?"

"Worse. He'll be staying here until the wedding"

Oh no.

"Here as in the town?", you asked hopefully, part of you praying that the fourarmed curse was still somewhere out there, hunting down your soon to be husband.

"Here as in the palace", Satoru clarified with a groan, flopping down onto the bed, a groan being heard all of a sudden. Your eyes widened and your brother raised his eyebrow.

"Alright, who's under the bed?", he demanded. Of course he knew. He was Satoru Gojo after all.

You ran a hand over your face, contemplating all your life's decisions.

"Toji", you finally said quietly.

Satoru's eyes widened as he leaned back, peeking under the bed.

"Toji", he then confirmed, a disbelieving chuckle leaving the white haired man.

"Jesus christ, sis. This arranged marriage must suck even more than I already imagined. Yo Fushiguro, you good down there?", he teased.

Toji just grumbled quietly as he got up, stretching, his tanned muscles flexing in the dim candlelight.

"Your highness", he simply greeted Satoru, crossing his arms over his bare chest.

"Toru, I really don't wanna marry that Naoya guy", you begged, catching your brother's azure eyes. "Is there really no other way?"

Satoru ran a hand over his face, as if deep in thought before he got up from your bed, deciding not to adress the weird mess on your sheets.

"There might be.", he finally said, taking in Toji for a second. "But for now you're gonna have to go along with what they're saying. I hate this too, trust me. But you two can't keep doing *this*"- he pointed at your bed and at the two of you-"for now, at least. I promise I'll come up with something."

You wanted to believe him, part of you really did. But more than anything else you wanted to be with Toji right now.

"That's not fair", you protested. Toru sighed, nodding.

"I know, sis. I know. But right now it's the only way. If anyone finds out you're sleeping with a guard-"

"You're hooking up with the commander. How's that any different? You out of all people should understand"

"I do, I swear I do. But the thing is, the peace between two kingdoms doesn't depend on my love life right now. I wouldn't be asking you two to do this if it wasn't absolutely necessary", he snapped, glaring down at you.

Toji, who had kept quiet the whole conversation suddenly cleared his throat.

"We'll do it", he said quietly. "But if you don't come up with something to get her out of that prick's filthy grip-", he let the threat hang in the air and even Satoru knew better than to underestimate him right now.

You didn't recognize yourself. You were standing in front of a huge mirror, giving your maids another twirl while they measured the white gown you were in.

Your wedding dress. You had four days left before the wedding, four more days for Satoru to come up with a solution other than running away with Toji and hiding in some cabin in the woods.

Naoya had spent the past few days running around the palace, criticizing everything and everyone. He had gotten into a fight with one of the messengers, a young man named Choso.

You had no idea what it had been about but you fully sided with Choso.

"Your highness, this dress looks wonderful on you", Utahime said with a shy smile. You had been seeing less of her these past days.

She started dating a young knight and lucky her could even do it publicly. Without being forced to marry some stuck up prick.

You forced a small smile, casting another look at yourself in the mirror. It did look good.

But not for him. You shouldn't be wearing such a pretty dress for such an ugly man. It just felt wrong.

"Thank you, Iorie", you said quietly. The heavy doors opened suddenly. It was noon, which meant exchange of the guards. Sir Nanami and Sir Higuruma left their positions by the door as Toji and Shiu came in.

Toji's eyes widened the second he saw you. God, you were unreal. He had done his best to avoid seeing you these past few days.

He had spent a lot of time with Satoru, getting Ierie Shoko to take care of Megumi who was now housing in the hospice wing of the palace with Haibara taking care of him.

Satoru was buys most of the time, either spending time with commander Geto or busying himself in the library, trying to figure out a way to hold onto his promise and stop that wedding.

Seeing you in a wedding dress, right in front of him felt like a full on wet dream. White fabric hugged your curves elegantly, tracing the shape of your body with lace and silk.

This dress alone was probably worth more than his house in town. Your gaze met his and he already knew he'd be jerking off to the memory of you again that night.

Your eyes softened for the fraction of a second as they aligned with his heavy look on your figure. There was an unspoken understanding between the two of you, something no one else could understand. Something only you knew.

The doors slammed open, a fuming Naoya Zenin storming in. He didn't even look at you, not properly at least.

The thought of Naoya having you all to himself and not even appreciating it made Toji sick in the stomach, his grip around the katana strapped to his side tightening.

"Woman", Naoya demanded. "Where is your father? I need to speak to him immediately"

You groaned quietly at the aggitating sound of his voice, turning around so you'd face him.

"I don't know, Naoya. Matter of fact, don't you see that I'm busy right know? Ask a maid if you're that desperate to know", you shot back. Naoya's scowl deepened as he stepped towards you, crowding your personal space a lot more than you were comfortable with.

"Careful, woman", he spat, like the word was an insult, "I will be your king very soon. And then we'll see if you still have the guts to talk to me like that."

A muscular arm slid between the two of you, pushing Naoya back. Toji's eyes were locked onto the Zenin's heir who suddenly looked really short next to the huge knight.

"I'm only gonna say this once, Zenin. Right now, you are a no one here. A mere hostage at best. So if I see you talk to the heir of this throne like this again you might not live long enough to witness the wedding"

His tone was surprisingly calm for someone who was threatening to kill somebody, especially someone as powerful as Naoya Zenin. His voice came out slightly muffled against the material of the black mask all guards wore over their mouth, his eyes were hard as stone.

Naoya just scoffed, mumbling something along the lines of "no respect" to himself, yet he backed off, throwing you one last venomous glance and then heading out.

Everyone in the room seemed to sigh in relief, the maids resuming their work while Toji returned to his position by Shiu's side but not without letting his dark green orbs linger on yours for a seconds longer than necessary.

You averted your attention back to the mirrors in front of you. You hated knowing that you wouldn't be wearing this weddingdress for him. He was supposed to be waiting at the end of the aisle, not Naoya. Never ever that sexist blonde bastard.

"I think we're going to have and shorten the veil a little", you murmured, turning to Utahime who was eagerly taking notes, nodding along "I don't want it all up on the floor"

Utahime finally unlaced the satin gown, letting it slip off your shoulders until it pooled on the floor around your legs. You took a step back, waiting for your servants to bring you your normal clothes.

Through the mirror you could clearly see Toji's hungry gaze all over your barely clothed body, jade eyes dwelling on the swell of your ass just a second too long.

Shiu's voice snapped him back to reality as he quickly redirected his gaze back to the mahogany flooring of the room.

"Dude, you shouldn't be staring. That's an engaged woman. And the heir to the throne", Shiu hissed quietly, shaking his head while also keeping his eyes locked onto the floor like stealing a glance was going to burn him alive.

Toji just scoffed to himself yet despite wanting to protest he kept silent. Once your maids had gotten you into the midnight blue gown again you stepped away from the mirrors.

The guards lifted their heads once you approached, bowing down for a second.

You gave a small nod back, purposely stumbling slightly so you had an excuse to grab onto Toji's muscular shoulder, squeezing his skin reassuringly as he steadied you with a hand on your waist, having Shiu open the big door for you.

Those fleeting touches were all you could have with him these past days and it was eating you alive.

Sure, Satoru had promised to stop the wedding, but even then you probably wouldn't be able to be with Toji. Because there were certain expectations you had to meet, one of them was marrying into wealth and power.

You should be sleeping right now.

Huddled up in warm sheets, hair braided to avoid tangles and a little candle burning in the corner of your room.

Instead you're clinging to the branches of the large plant covering the walls on the palace, slowly making your descent to the grand yard. Usually it was buzzing with servants, knights and other people but in the dark of night only Toji stood there, taunting grin plastered across his face as he waited for you.

"Take your time, ma. 's not like we're in a hurry or something", he teased from all the way down. Of course it had been his idea to have you climb out of your window in the middle of the night.

You just scoffed, carefully stepping onto the next vine. Eventually you felt solid ground beneath your feet, sighing in relief as two strong hands came up to steady you by the waist, spinning you around.

Toji had a small smile on his lips as his eyes finally met your up close after days of pining.

"Hey, ma", he whispered, his hand coming up to the back of your neck, letting his fingers run through your hair.

"Hey, 'ji", you mumbled, stepping closer to the knight in front of you.

Tomorrow was your wedding and you were already mourning the freedom you'd be leaving behind. Satoru had just disappeared two days ago and ever since one thing had been clear. You would have to marry Naoya.

The moonlight broke through the thin layer of clouds covering the tenebrous airspace, a thin ray of the illumination just barely emblazing his scarred skin.

"Run away with me", Toji suddenly whispered, glancing over the yard to make sure there was no one around.

"Once we're out of here", Toji started, his calloused fingers brushing your cheek. "I'll return once to get Gumi. And then I'll take such good care of you. I promise, ma"

You melted into his touch, yet your mind was reeling. Should you really risk a war just so you could be happy with him?

Yet against your better judgement you got on your tiptoes, pressing your lips to his briefly.

"I know. And I'll-"

"I KNEW IT"

The shrill sound of Naoya Zenin's voice made both of you turn to the direction of the sound.

Your arranged fiancee himself was standing at the small gate to the stables, pointing a singular finger at the two of you.

"Fucking knew it. You're a slut- a slut that's about to run off with her secret lover I suppose?", a humorless laugh left him as he stepped towards Toji.

"I should have you executed on the spot. Tell me, did you fuck her? Did you take what's supposed to be mine?" he didn't wait for Toji to answer, the dark look in his green eyes said enough.

"Naoya, it's not what-", you tried, feeling your palms getting sweatier the more he spoke, your stomach churning at the mere thought of Toji getting executed because of what Naoya had just witnessed.

"Silence, woman!", he shrieked, eyes wide with fury, "You will go back to your room right this instant. And you-", he pointed a finger at Toji, "you will come with me."

You wanted to protest, to grab Toji's arm and run away, to just leave Naoya somewhere- anywhere. But Toji only nodded, letting go of your arm where his touch had lingered groundingly.

"Toji, don't", you whispered yet you didn't get more than one last lingering glance. You knew in a battle of pure strenght Toji would easily win.

But Naoya Zenin was dangerous. He had inherited the Zenin's cursed technique, something that even the strongest curses couldn't overpower. No one but-

"Whoa whoa. What's going on here?"

-Satoru Gojo.

Relief flooded through your body like a warm embrace as your brother stepped out of the dark, commander Geto following behind.

He looked quite funny like this, black hair all messy, some bitemarks that you chose to ignore on his neck.

"This guard", Naoya sneered, glaring up at Toji, "is involved with the princess. I just wanted to take care of him before the wedding"

The way he said it, like it was some casual matter made your face twist in disgust, yet Satoru only sighed, throwing you a short look which you successfully dodged by looking down.

"I'm sure this is all a big misunderstanding. Look, Zenin.

How about we approach this like adults? We'll hand the guard over to commander Geto here while you and I go for some drinks and discuss how this could possibly affect our politics, alright? No need to take such drastic measures immediately."

You could just run up and hug him right now. Satoru had always have a way with words and now all those years of losing every fight as kids finally paid off as you witnessed the tension in Naoya's shoulders easing.

The blonde stepped away from Toji with a scoff before averting his attention to Satoru.

"Of course, your highness", he then said with a nod. Satoru seemed both relieved as equally disgusted.

With a quiet "you owe me big time", dirrected at you, he stepped to the Zenin's heir, walking towards the big kitchen with him.

Once the two men were out of sight Toji, Geto and you exhaled a breath you hadn't realized you had been holding.

"You two couldn't have waited one more day, huh?", Suguru asked with a sigh, running a hand through his tousseled hair.

"Fushiguro, go back to the quarters. Your highness, let me escort you back to your room"

His tone left no room for arguments. You stole one last look of Toji's face before walking off. Because all of you knew, the next time you'd see him would be the royal wedding.

A soft, melancholic tune rang through the halls of the palace as the orchestra started playing.

Weddingguests were spilling in through the wooden gates, the most powerful people in all of Japan gathering within those four walls to witness the joining of the Zenin's and the Gojo's- two families that had been at war long before time had a name.

Women in ivory dresses were lined up at the end of the long aisle, bouquets of dark red lillies in their hands.

The heavy gate swung open as Naoya Zenin was walked to the altar, his father escorting him with a hand on his shoulder.

Naobito Zenin's grey hair was neatly combed and for once he looked more like a nobleman than an alcoholic warrior.

He didn't spare his son a second glance as he dropped him off by the priest before slumping down not far from where a bunch of royal guards were positioned, Toji amongst them.

All of the knight's mouths were covered by the traditional black mask, their white haories freshly cleaned to rid them of any stains they could've possibly had.

Satoru Gojo, eldest son of the Gojo family, was in his fanciest white robe, blue intricate details covering the long sleeves that rested on his folded arms.

Red and white petals were cascading from the ceiling, painting the floor to look like bloodstained snow- one of the most notorious battlefields the war had ever seen in all its approaches over the centuries.

The soft clicks of heels on stone floor reveberated through the palace.

The first officials and their wives had started stepping in, powerful men like Hakari Kinji and Hajime Kashimo.

Different clanleaders were sitting down in their assigned seats, happily chatting about the importance of this day for further politics and negotiations.

It could seem like a perfect wedding. If it wasn't for Naoya Zenin.

Suddenly the orchestra chimed in a slower tune. The guests quieted down, turning their attention to the great gate that was now being opened by commander Geto and his right hand man sir Nanami.

Toji couldn't break his eyes from you even for a milisecond as soon as you entered his line of sight.

To say you were beautiful would be an understatement.

For a second he let himself dream that you were walking up to him. That that small pout on your lips would be his to kiss away. And as your father walked you up the aisle you could see something you'd not once imagined.

Toji Fushiguro was tearing up.

He hadn't even noticed himself. His vision had blurred slightly, yet only as something wet rolled down his cheek he fully registered it.

It should be Naoya tearing up. He got to stand there and know you'd be his and he wasn't even properly looking.

The blonde man's eyes were anywhere but on your breathtaking face. He had stared at the floor, then your cleavage and now he was whispering with a nobleman by his side.

Your heart clenched. This felt even worse than you could've ever imagined.

You reached the altar and your father put your hands into Naoya's. You closed your eyes for a second, images of Toji flashing through your mind. Maybe in another universe you two could actually be.

The priest started the wedding ceremony but you weren't really there. Your mind was reeling. Satoru's plan had failed because of your foolishness the other night.

Naoya knew and he wouldn't be afraid to use this knowledge to get Toji executed, he had made that clear.

The vows were skipped, since you didn't know each other well enough to promise anything other than eternal hatred. Finally the priest turned to the crowd with the sacred words:

"Speak now or forever hold your peace"

There was a short silence. Just as the priest was about to say the words that were to steal your youth a loud voice rang through the sea of people.

"I object"

Toji Fushiguro stood by the altar, arms crossed, his eyes not wavering from you for a second.

"Guards, arrest this man!", Naoya screamed.

And then all hell broke loose. People were yelling, the Zenin's guards had pinned Toji to the floor, Satoru was trying to say something, your father was crying and Naobito Zenin just laughed.

Two guards made Toji sit on his knees, keeping his arms pinned behind his back as Naoya pulled the katana from his hip.

"Tell them all, Fushiguro", he sneered, glaring over at you. "Tell them all how you fucked the princess."

Gasps were coming from everywhere, people were cursing at him- and you? You were frozen in shock. You wanted to move, to run, but what use would that have?

"Naoya, I'm begging you-", Satoru started yet Naoya didn't hesitate to point the sword at your brother's throat.

"Quiet! You said you'd take care of this.. situation. But you only wanted to protect your whore of a sister, didn't you?"

Satoru's gaze darkened, the blue in his eyes flaring up as the chandeliers started to rattle slowly, a wind coming up in the room.

"Don't you dare speak of my sister like that, you insolent bastard. I swear, I will-"

"Whoa everyone, chill out", Naobito Zenin had gotten up from his seat with a sigh, walking to the front. He took the katana from his son unceremoniously and pointed it at Toji.

"Unmask him" Then he yawned. You couldn't believe what was happening. Toji couldn't just die. No.

"Please spare him", you choked out. To your surprise Naobito gave you a sympathetic glance, just nodding.

"Relax, your highness. I ain't killin anyone right now."

The Zenin's guard had pulled down Fushiguro's mask just as Naobito turned back at him. And then he froze.

"..Toji?"

Because looking up at him, with the same eyes that had haunted him all his life was his brother's son. The kid with the scar that used to run around the palace. The vanished prince.

The rest of the day had passed by in a hazy blur.

After Naobito had acknowledged Toji as the righteous heir of the Zenin clan Naoya had a meltdown and had to be escorted to the medical wing where Shoko accidentally slipped some laxatives into his medicine.

A wedding did take place as Utahime's brunette knight decided to propose to her right then and there and you happily gave her the spotlight your favorite maid deserved.

The engagement with Naoya had been called off that very same evening, very much to your father's disdain. Turns out this had been part of Satoru's plan all along.

With commander Geto's help he had found a connection between Toji and the Zenin's months ago. Toji objecting at the wedding had been his idea, for a little more drama as he later on clarified.

The second that Naoya had been dragged away Toji had picked you up and kissed you for everyone to see.

Gasps had filled the room, some older lady even fainted when his rough hand wrapped around the small of your back.

He had pulled away with that shiteating grin of his, not wanting to think about the fact that his whole life had been a lie right now and Satoru had cheered louder than anyone else (though that might still be because of the whole gardenshed incident)

Toji was buried balls deep inside your dripping cunt, pounding into it with those sinfully deep thrusts, a heavy hand resting right next to your head as leverage.

He had your legs folded so your knees were pressed to your chest as his thick cock bullied itself up until his dark tip kissed your cervix.

"God.. had been dreaming about fucking this sweet pussy for so long, ma. 'm gonna fill you up soo nice."

All you could do was let out an incomprehensible whine, clawing deeper into his deep shoulders, your manicured nails leaving crescent moon imprints in the scarred skin.

You tried lifting your hips to meet his sloppy pace but after only two deep thrusts your legs fully gave out, your attempts to as much as move faltering as his hand came in contact with your waist, pushing you down.

"Stop movin'. 'm not gonna last long", he growled, biting the sensitive spot where your neck met your shoulder, leaving a deep mark that you knew your new maid, Yuki would frown at.

"Toji", you cried out as he grazed your cervix once again, a loud sob escaping you. "Please"

"Please what, princess?", he teased though his composure was slowly crumbling, his movements growing more erratic and uncontrolled as he thrust into you again.

You wanted to answer but then the sharp vein on the lenth of his girthy cock grazed your g-spot so deliciously that your orgasm crashed into you all at once.

Your pussy squeezed around him while you buried your face in the crook of his neck, muffling a scream while your walls convulsed around him.

"ah- fuck", he groaned, the pressure of you around him making him cum harder than ever before, his cum spilling deep into you.

For a moment he just stayed like that, watching a white ring form around the base of his cock before he slowly pulled out, leaving you whimpering from the sudden emptiness.

Toji pressed a kiss to your temple and got up on slightly wobbly legs, grabbing a clean towel and wiping away the mess you two had left behind.

"I love you", he whispered as he slid into bed next to you, wrapping a veiny arm around your waist.

And for the first time in your life you believed those words.

Megumi was running around the yard, chasing after his two dogs, laughter filling the air all the way up to the balcony of your room. Your daughter, Tsumiki was in your arms, sound asleep when the door opened quietly.

"Your majesty", Toji whispered teasingly, picking up your kid and putting her into the small wooden crib.

His calloused finger lingered at the baby's cheek before he pressed a loving kiss to his daughter's nose.

"She has your eyes", he whispered, straightening up, his arms wrapping around your waist. You smiled up at him, nodding.

"But your nose", you gave back, running a finger over his face. A gentle smile touched his lips as he pulled you closer.

The confines of your room felt like home. Paintings of your family hung high on the walls, smiles on the familiar faces.

And next to you was Toji- the man that made you believe that maybe happy endings did exist after all.

a/n

He loves seeing you wear heels. Despite your already big height difference and you being taller than the average woman, he encourages you to wear all the heeled footwear your heart desires. Platform boots, stilettos, you name it, he wants to see you in it. Bonus points if you pair it with thigh-high stockings. Man pops a boner at the sight so quick he feels lightheaded.

Dennis loves seeing your long legs splayed across his during your weekly movie nights. His steady hands massage your calves, fingers ghosting along your sensitive thighs, eyes focused on the size difference between you. Your beautifully feminine legs against his toned farm-trained ones.

Dennis leaning up for a kiss. His previous partners were never taller than him, so this change is exciting. He loves the feeling of your fingers tipping his chin up as you lovingly lock eyes with his sky blues. Your arms wrapping around his neck or waist bring so much comfort to both of you.

Burying his face in your chest is Dennis’s favourite stress relief. Doesn’t matter the size of your chest he LOVES it. And he loves the easy access. All he has to do is pout and sag his head a bit and you immediately coddle him by bringing him into your arms. Just as I planned, smirking as your warm embrace envelops him, your heartbeat firm under his cheek.

Never worry about feeling too big or heavy with Dennis Whitaker. He grew up as a farm boy and he’s getting good meals and a place to live. Dude is buff. He can and will carry you. If he notices you hunching in on yourself or making yourself smaller on purpose, he will carry you to show you he’s not one of those insecure boyfriends. He loves you. No matter what you look like or your size. He will squash every insecurity that’s brewing in your head.

In fact, Dennis takes great pride in holding you up as he fucks you against a wall.

Dennis never pays any mind to any teasing he may get. Some are gentle, friendly teasing from Santos or the Pittlings, but…some are more malicious. He always tells you never to pay attention to those miserable people. Dennis only cares about ensuring you’re happy.

During the rough Pittsburgh winters, Dennis loves wearing your hoodies and coats. It fits him well, and as a bonus, he can smell whatever perfume you use on the way to work through the warm fabric. You like to wear his clothes too, although not oversized, they feel comforting to wear.

The first time The Pitt staff saw you walk into work (because Dennis works too hard and forgot his lunch) just about everyone turned their heads towards you. Your sleek outfit and confident stride into the ED drew everyone in. When Dennis sees you, he grabs your hand and leans up on his tiptoes to kiss your cheek. He’s proud of his girl.  

When Dennis invites you out with his co-workers, he always makes sure you feel comfortable and shows you off to everyone. A few drinks in and Dennis is swooning, limbs flopping and leaning his head on your shoulder. Babbling about how pretty his girlfriend is, how beautiful and perfect you are.  You aren’t faring better as you sleepily rest your head against his, openly cuddling him like a small teddy bear. You like pressing kisses onto his mullet and trailing them down to his forehead.

Dennis Whitaker is a secure man and he loves his tall, sexy girlfriend!!!!

🪷🍎 Thank you for reading! Likes, comments and reblogs are always appreciated!

After picking this outfit with König at the store, you rembered how many compliments it bought.

In heels, that is.

Now looking into the mirror, it felt uncertain. The outfit made sense with the heels.

So why at the last minute, flats? Why not heels?

Y’know, they say words will never hurt. Well rather, they shouldn't hurt.

Kind of like throwing a stone into the sea.

Not realizing how deep it'll go.

-

Grabbing the phone and moving it to the vanity to continue the FaceTime call, you were able to continue putting on some jewelry.

“Hm, silver or gold?” The pieces were laid out on the vanity, almost like a display. Your parent said nothing for a minute, until they eventually decided.

“I think the gold looks nice.”

The pieces were clasped on and a step was taken back, looking at the mirror.

“Alright. What do we think?”

“Beautiful! I really like the dress!”

Smiled and satisfied, the outfit was all put together.

“But…”

“...what?” Maybe they'd say a different bracelet would look better or something-

“Nothing.” Your parent said, well now that wouldn't do?

“What's wrong? You can say it.”

Sighing, they gave in, “It's just…you saying this boy is taller than you?”

A laugh was held back, “Yes.”

“But if you're already tall, dear…those shoes?”

Looking down at the 6 inches adoring your feet.

What’s wrong with them?

“I like them.”

“Why not some nice flats? I can tell you it'd look beautiful!”

“...um…”

They didn't seem to notice the shift in tone and nonetheless, continued, “Yeah! It would look nice, plus you won't be taller than that boy! It'll look nicer! He might even like it!”

Oh.

“It wouldn’t be so bad, to tone it down a bit, no? No need to show up so much.”

Oh.

Unsure how to even respond, a simple nod was all you gave. Before bidding goodbye, they quickly added, “Oh! But who cares what I think! You'll look good either way! Don't listen to me, I'm just…”

They moved their hand in a ‘shoo’ing motion towards the screen.

They obviously don't mean any harsh critic. And yet…

Before anything, a knock was heard near the front door. Must be König.

“Ok, I have to go now. He's here now.” Waving goodbye to the phone screen, your parent copied back, “Goodbye dear! Enjoy your night, tell that boy I can't wait to meet them! Love you!”

Smiling, you ended the call, “Love you too, bye.”

As the knocking got louder, you hung up and headed to the door, shouting at the person outside, “Herein!”

König let himself in, asking if you were ready.

After, he pointed out the shoes.

“I thought you wanted to wear heels?” he asked.

Looking down and ignoring the imaginary jab in your chest by the little insecurity (that was bought back by some measly words), “Ich hab’s mir anders überlegt.”

König smiled, responding back, “Wirklich?”

Staring blankly, nothing was said whilst trying to remember just what that meant.

Letting out a chuckle, he pointed at the flats, “Es gerfällt mir.”

A silence fell after, before giving in.

“I…I don’t understand what you said.” You sighed, defeated. König let out a laugh before putting his hands up in a ‘surrender’ motion.

“I still appreciate you for trying.” He finally spoke in English.

“Thanks.”

-

Dinner passed by pretty quick if you were being honest. It was peaceful, König was a gentleman. Everything turned out good.

So why did it still feel kind of off?

Walking beside König, he spoke about how one of his colleagues (Horangi) was almost shot in the head until he came to the rescue.

Smiling, you looked down at the flats again, voices and other noises slowly fading away. It’s such a stupid reason, it was silly really.

After realizing you weren’t really listening anymore, König stopped, grabbing ahold.

“Hey.”

He then followed your eyes, which were looking down at the flats.

“What’s wrong? Do they hurt?”

But no answer. Just a blank, focused stare.

A look of melancholy.

Calling out your name softly, he reached out with both hands in order to face him. He was confused and worried, more so confused.

He contemplated, before placing a finger beneath your chin. Eyes meeting, he asked again.

Eyes shined, you moved away—unbeknownst the look of disappointment coming from König.

Laughing, followed by a head shake, confused him even more. “It’s really stupid. I promise.”

“It’s not if you're this upset.” König followed your line of sight, “Please tell me.”

Giving in, and a hugging of both arms, helped sooth you from the feeling of embarrassment and somewhat shame.

“...My parent called today.”

König nodded, listening.

“—and uh…remember the heels I talked about?”

He nodded, “Ja. Und?”

Scratching an ear, you hesitated before explaining, “My parent saw…and they thought, y'know..”

Letting a breathy laugh before continuing, “Since I'm already tall enough, I should…tone it down a bit.”

Both hands squeezed together, you continued, “...and I’d figure you might like it. For a change. I don’t want to—”

König quickly interrupted, “Wait, wait, wait!”

Grabbing hands, he put a stop to your fiddling.

“When…when did I ever say—”

“You didn’t—”

“So when did I—”

“It wasn’t you, König!”

He shut up. He wouldn't dare interrupt right now. The last thing he wanted was to upset you further.

A moment passed, before he asked more carefully, “Do you think I mind?”

Laughing, you shrugged, “I know you don’t, but…I do know that people stare at us whenever we're out together sometimes..."

Taking a breath before contiuing, "More or so especially when I wear heels. I see their looks, and after what my parent said, it’s just sometimes in the back of my mind, y’know…”

Don’t say it.

“That maybe you might get embarrassed sometimes…” König looked back, baffled.

“—of me.” Biting the lip hard enough to almost bleed, you awaited for his eye roll. It never came.

Instead, he sighed and picked you up.

Shocked, and lost for words, an awkward silence rested. He began walking, your weight mainly on top of his shoulder. Attempting to lift off of him, you were jostled up as a silent means to stay put.

“What are you doing?!”

He ignored and tightened his grip on you. As onlookers stared, you couldn't help but fuss more, face covered and shoving at his arms.

“People are staring..! Put me down..!” You whisper-yelled. He walked for another 10 minutes before finally listening.

Reeling back to yell at him, the shop upfront caught your attention. Confused, not a word was uttered.

König simply grabbed your hand and headed inside.

It was a shoe boutique. A high-end one at that.

Just before you could question him further, a salesperson greeted, “Is there anything in particular you’re looking for?”

König interrupted before you could even speak.

“Heels. Tall.”

Pulling you in by the waist, he made it clear who it was for.

The salesperson nodded and the search began.

As they walked off to find the right size, you faced König, awaiting a response.

He pulled in closer, “I need you to know for certain. I won’t ever need you to dim your light for me."

"König—"

"The tallest in the room, and I love every bit of it."

"Ok—"

"Nein. I need you to know, I adore every part of you."

"Ok but—"

"Every part. I mean it, schatz. No one tells you different.”

That validation alone fell deeper than the first stone did.

It actually destroyed the previous one that told you he'd like it if you toned it down—

And that was the purpose of him even coming here.

To solidify.

No words were exchanged except for a glowing smile followed with a kiss on the cheek.

"Thank you, König."

Just then, the salesperson came back with 4 different pairs of shoes, talking about some exclusive deals.

He looked into your eyes, “If that means buying all the shoes in the stores, then so be it.”

That earned a laugh.

After an hour, you walked out with a brand new, albeit gorgeous, pair of heels now adorning your feet.

König had the flats in the shopping bag the new shoes were supposed to be, one hand holding onto it and the other intertwined with your own.

Dunk is mid-lecture, voice earnest and hands gesturing as he warns you about wandering off alone or doing something reckless.

He’s sure he’s making a point, full of righteous indignation, and slightly red from how much he cares.

Then you start loosening your dress slowly, his words faltering the moment your bodice unlaces, silk slipping softly to the floor. His eyes go wide, color rushing from his face straight down his neck as he stammers.

“By the gods…y-you can’t just—that’s not fair—”

He tries to look away like the honorable oaf he is, but his gaze keeps dragging back to your bare tits and the slick already glistening between your thighs, the sight making his breeches tent painfully fast.

Honour holds for about five heartbeats before it gives. 

Moments later he has his big, rough hands under your thighs hoisting you up and pinning you against the wall with his body crowding yours as he pounds into you, already lost and rutting like a bull in heat. 

Every brutal thrust drives so deep you feel the thick head of his cock kiss your cervix, the force of it creating a faint, obscene bulge low in your belly that he can see every time he pulls back and slams home again.

He groans loud and broken each time your cunt clenches tight around him, the sound raw and desperate.

“Shouldn’t—fuck—do this when I’m mad at ya,” he pants against your throat, voice wrecked and ragged but his hips never slow.

He keeps going until he feels you clench around him and you’re gasping his name then he pulls out at the last second with a strangled curse, spilling hot and thick across your stomach in heavy, shuddering pulses.

After a moment, he’ll ease you down onto unsteady legs before dropping to his knees, hands spreading your thighs wider as his mouth finds your heat without hesitation.

Apologies spill from him between filthy sucks on your clit until you’re shaking, fingers tangled in his hair until neither of you can remember what the argument was even about.

Baelor is calm and measured, laying out his point with logic and quiet authority—every word annoyingly irrefutable, especially as he explains with infuriating patience why you shouldn’t have challenged the council on your own.

The more he speaks, the more you know he’s right… and the more it grates.

It doesn’t stop you from testing him anyway.

If anything, it’s what prompts you to let your gown whisper to the floor.

He pauses, eyes darkening, but he doesn’t falter outwardly. Instead he steps closer, voice dropping to velvet command. 

“You would wield your beauty itself as a blade, my love, to tempt your prince’s mercy?”

He towers over you, pinning you gently against the bedpost with his body alone. His hands come to rest at your hips, firm yet careful as they hold you in place.

His gaze lingers, roaming over you with a flicker of both admonishment and need in his eyes.

“You think to test me so boldly… and yet…” His voice dips, rougher now. “I find I cannot resist.”

With that, his hands shift, tightening on your waist as he turns you around. In one smooth motion, he guides you forward over the edge of the bed, following close behind until his body presses to yours.

He starts with his fingers, working you until your body convulses around him, sobs spilling from your lips.

Every reaction only seems to draw him in further, his restraint wearing thinner with each passing moment and pushing him on until he has you squirting over his wrist. 

When you’ve come undone he doesn’t pause, quickly replacing his fingers with his cock, entering you slowly allowing you to feel the stretch inch by punishing inch.

Each thrust is deep, pressing against your cervix while your voice breaks into ragged, babbled apologies, begging even as your body screams for more.

He spends the night proving his point with relentless attention, drawing out every gasp and shiver until your soft sounds turn to breathless pleas. 

“Please… I can’t, not again,” you manage, but he only presses on, guiding you through it again and again and keeping you exquisitely overstimulated, your body trembling as each wave crashes into the next, until at last you’re spent and utterly broken beneath him.

When you finally collapse, he leans close, his voice low and smooth against your ear.

“Perhaps… we might revisit the matter on the morrow.”

Justice served, in his way.

Maekar is already scowling, his voice sharp as Valyrian steel as he lectures you about your recklessness—or your defiance.

He’s certain he’s winning this argument, every word dripping with that prickly judgment you know so well.

So, of course… you start loosening your dress. Just enough that his sharp words falter. His eyes go wide, his scowl faltering into something very close to disbelief. 

“What—what are you—” he stammers, voice cracking where it never should.

He’s a stubborn man, but even Maekar cannot argue with this kind of… persuasion.

You let the gown fall.

He doesn’t move for a full five seconds—just stares with those violet eyes like he’s trying to decide whether he’s angrier or harder.

“You little viper,” he growls and then in two strides he’s on you. Big hands seize your waist, and he hauls you over his shoulder like you weigh nothing, carrying you straight to the bed with purposeful, angry steps.

No more lectures. No more words.

He throws you down onto the mattress and pins your wrists above your head with one iron grip before his mouth descends on your throat, biting hard enough to leave dark marks that will linger for days.

After that, he’ll fuck you like punishment—hard and relentless, hips snapping so brutally the bedframe groans beneath you. One hand cracks across your ass again and again until the skin glows bright red and stings with every thrust.

“This what you wanted?” he snarls, already pounding deep, voice rough with lust and lingering anger. “My cock splitting your disobedient cunt?”

You can only moan and nod, too wrecked to form words. He drives into you even harder, the wet slap of skin echoing with every brutal thrust until his rhythm starts to falter.

With a deep, guttural groan he’ll bury himself to the hilt and cum hard inside you—thick, hot pulses flooding your cunt as he grinds deep, making sure every drop stays buried where it belongs.

For a long moment the only sound is your ragged breathing and the creak of the bed as he collapses beside you. Then Maekar drags you against his chest, one large hand possessively cupping your marked ass while the other strokes through your hair.

When he finally speaks again it’s only to rasp against your ear: “Next time you pull that, I won’t stop until you’re crying my name instead of arguing.”

Aerion's voice drips with disdain, each word sharp with superiority. There’s no reasoning with him when he’s like this—only surrendering to the storm he has already decided to unleash.

So you do the one thing you know will stop his tirade. In one slow movement, you slip your gown from your shoulders, letting the it fall to the floor.

The sight robs him of every ounce of arrogance. He opens his mouth… then closes it, caught completely off guard.

Your slow, deliberate smile only sharpens the effect and his gaze darkens, hungry and dangerous as they trace your curves before lingering on your slick thighs.

Then he laughs, sharp and unhinged, sending shivers down your spine. His hand grips your throat enough to hold but not to steal your breath, thumb pressing just beneath your jaw so you’re forced to meet those wild violet eyes.

“You offer yourself like tribute? How quaint,” he purrs, voice dripping with mocking sweetness. “As if a dragon needs permission to take what already belongs to him.”

In the next breath he yanks you forward and crashes his mouth against yours—all teeth and fire, the kiss is less affection and more conquest. When he pulls back, his lips are wet and curled in a cruel smile.

“You think this will silence me, little lamb?”

He spins you around and shoves you face down onto the bed with startling strength, one knee pinning your thighs apart. His hand stays locked around the back of your neck, holding you down as he rips his own breeches open.

“Dragons do not bargain,” he growls against your ear, hot and vicious. “They burn. They claim. They breed.”

He spits once before he lines himself up and drives into you in one savage thrust—so deep you feel the blunt head of his cock kiss your cervix.

A broken sound escapes your throat, but Aerion only laughs again, low and delighted, as he starts fucking you with brutal, punishing strokes.

The bed slams against the wall with every snap of his hips. One hand yanks your hair back, forcing your back to arch sharply while the other cracks across your ass, leaving bright red prints that bloom on your skin. 

“Sing for me,” he demands, voice wild with lust and lingering fury. “Let the whole Red Keep hear how sweetly a dragon’s whore moans.”

He rides you harder, faster, until his rhythm turns erratic and his breathing turns into snarls. With a final, feral groan he buries himself to the hilt and cums deep inside you—thick, scalding pulses flooding your cunt as he grinds against your cervix like he wants his seed to take root.

Only when he’s spent does he loosen his grip on your neck. He stays buried inside you, chest pressed to your back, lips brushing the shell of your ear.

“Next time you dare interrupt a dragon…” he whispers, voice soft but trembling with dangerous amusement, “…you’d best be prepared to burn, my sweet.”

Valarr was coolly dismantling your argument as he lays out his point, certain that logic is on his side.

You watch him for a moment before you slowly begin to slip out of your dress, letting it fall from your shoulders with deliberate grace.

His words falter mid-sentence, a sharp intake of breath catching where confidence had been. He swallows, eyes darkening as they trace your curves, lingering on the swell of your breasts.

For a heartbeat he simply stares, the prince’s usual composure cracking. Then a slow, heated smile curves his lips.

He rises from his chair and crosses the room in two quick strides, trying to look composed even as his hands betray a slight tremble when he pulls you flush against him.

One arm wraps around your waist, firm and possessive, while the other cups your jaw, tilting your face up so you meet his two-toned eyes.

“You think you can win every argument by making me forget my own name?” he asks, thumb brushing your lower lip. There’s a hint of boyish amusement in his tone, but the grip on your waist is unmistakably dominant. “Clever girl.”

He leans down and kisses you—deep and hungry. When he pulls back, his breathing is already uneven.

“Since you’ve decided to distract me so shamelessly…” He lifts you with surprising ease, carrying you to the bed and laying you down with careful gentleness, though his eyes burn with clear want. “…then I’ll have to remind you who’s in charge here.”

He settles over you, caging you in while his mouth trails hot, open mouthed kisses down your throat, then lower, sucking lightly at the curve of your breast before drawing a nipple into his mouth with a low, appreciative groan.

One hand pins your wrists above your head while the other strokes slowly between your thighs, teasing, learning what makes you gasp.

“Look at me,” he commands quietly, voice still young but threaded with authority. When you obey, his expression softens just a fraction, warm affection shining through the dominance. 

He keeps you on edge like that, kissing and touching until you’re trembling and whispering his name. Only then does he push his breeches down and slide inside you—slow and deep, a soft hiss escaping him as he feels how wet you are.

“That’s it… take all of me,” he breathes against your neck, hips rolling in a steady, powerful rhythm. “You’re mine to argue with… mine to fuck… mine to love.”

He builds the pace gradually until your legs are shaking around his waist. When you start to clench around him, he presses his forehead to yours, eyes locked on yours.

“Come for me, sweet girl,” he whispers, voice rough with restraint. “Let me feel you.”

The moment you shatter around him, he follows with a broken groan, burying himself to the hilt and spilling deep inside you—filling you as he holds you close, hips jerking with each wave.

Afterwards he doesn’t pull away. He stays buried inside you, rolling you both onto your sides so he can tuck you against his chest. His hand strokes slow circles over your back while the other brushes damp strands of hair from your face with tenderness.

“Should you wish to end an argument again,” he murmurs, pressing a gentle kiss to your temple, a shy smile tugging at his lips, “you may simply ask, my love. Though I must admit… your method is far more enjoyable.”

Daeron tries to reason with you, convinced that careful words will eventually sway you, when you start sliding your dress off your shoulders, before letting it pool at the ground.

He stops mid-word, the goblet of wine in his hand stopping halfway to his lips. A crooked, thoroughly amused grin tugs at his mouth as his eyes rake over every newly revealed inch of skin.

“Seven hells, love—warn a man,” he laughs, low and warm.

He sets the wine down (a small miracle) and reaches for you instead, pulling you straight into his lap with strong, eager hands.

The moment your bare chest presses against him, his mouth is on you—kissing every bit of newly exposed skin with wet, open-mouthed affection.

His hands greedily cup and squeeze your tits, thumbs brushing over your nipples before pinching just hard enough to make you whine and arch into him.

He doesn’t stop there. His lips travel lower, sucking marks into the valley between your breasts, then down your stomach, until he’s sliding you off his lap and onto the edge of the table. With a wicked grin he drops to his knees, pushing your thighs wide apart before burying his face between them without hesitation.

“Fuck… you taste so sweet,” he groans against your cunt, voice already thick and messy. “Better than any wine I’ve ever had.”

His tongue laps at you eagerly, almost sloppy in his hunger, while two thick fingers curl deep inside you stroking that perfect spot with practiced ease.

He hums and praises you the whole time—soft, filthy words vibrating against your clit until your thighs start to tremble.

“Come on my face, love,” he murmurs, sucking harder. “Drown me. Let me feel it.”

You shatter with a broken cry, hips jerking against his mouth. He doesn’t let up, only growling in satisfaction as he continues until you come a second time, flooding his tongue while he drinks every drop like a man dying of thirst.

Only then does he rise, lips shiny and swollen and eyes dark with lust and affection. He leans over you, hands bracing on either side, letting his weight press you gently against the surface.

Then he slides into you slowly and deeply, savoring every inch, every shiver, and every gasp that escapes you as he sets the rhythm with lazy but unrelenting thrusts.

“Gods… this cunt,” he mutters against your shoulder, voice rough and reverent. “So fucking perfect… made for me. I don’t deserve you, sweet girl.”

He keeps the pace unhurried, grinding deep on every stroke, murmuring praise and little endearments until your legs are shaking again. When you clench around him, he groans long and low, burying himself to the hilt as he comes hard.

He stays buried deep, draped over your face nuzzled into the crook of your neck, arms wrapped around you, holding you close while he catches his breath.

“Fight me again tomorrow,” he whispers against your skin, pressing a lazy kiss just below your ear, a smile clear in his voice. “I like losing when it feels this fucking good.”

Lyonel's laughter booms across the room, full of fire and pride. “By the gods, woman! You argue like a bloody gale!” 

His words falter as your dress hits the floor, and for a long moment he simply stares, wide-eyed and raucous. Then a grin spreads across his face wickedly.

“Oh, you fight dirty.”

He strides forward, big hands seizing your hips and tugging you flush against him. His body is all heat and solid strength, chest rumbling as he growls low against your ear. “And I bloody love it.”

Before you can respond, he scoops you up effortlessly and tosses you over the thick arm of the chair, leaving your ass up and your chest pressed into the cushions. He gives one playful, resounding smack to your backside, the sound echoing sharply.

“Thought you could end an argument with this pretty cunt? Hmm?”

He drops to his knees behind you before spreading you wide with both large hands, and devours you. His tongue dives straight to your entrance first—hot, broad, and greedy—licking through your soaked folds before pushing inside, tasting you deep.

His beard is already glistening, soaked with your arousal as he growls against your cunt, voice rough and filthy.

Only when you start whimpering and pushing back against his face does he drag his tongue upward, circling your swollen clit with slow strokes. Then he slides two thick fingers inside you, curling them hard against that perfect spot while his mouth sucks greedily on your clit.

He doesn’t stop until your thighs are shaking violently and you’re squirting hard down his chin and beard, soaking his face as he groans in pure satisfaction and keeps licking you through every pulsing wave.

When the last tremor finally fades, Lyonel rises behind you, breathing heavy. He gives your ass another firm smack, then grips your hips and lines himself up. In one smooth, powerful thrust he buries his thick cock inside your still-spasming cunt, stretching you open with a deep, satisfied groan.

“Fuck… still fluttering around me,” he rasps, voice rough with pleasure. “That’s my girl.”

He starts slow, deep rolls of his hips that quickly turn harder, more demanding. One hand fists in your hair, the other braces on the small of your back, keeping you arched and pinned exactly how he wants you.

The wet slap of skin on skin fills the room as he fucks you with the same fiery energy he argues with—joyful and entirely unapologetic.

When you clench down hard around him again, he lets out a loud, rumbling groan and slams into the hilt. You feel the hot flood of his release as he spills deep inside you, pulse after thick pulse, filling you until it starts to leak out around his cock.

He stays buried deep, draped over your back, pressing lazy kisses along your spine while he catches his breath. A low, satisfied chuckle vibrates through his chest.

“Next time you want to win an argument, love…” he murmurs against your shoulder, nipping lightly, “just do that again. I’ll gladly lose every damn time.”

He gives your ass one last affectionate squeeze before gently pulling out, then scoops you up into his arms like you weigh nothing.

“Valarr, I—” you would choke on your own tears each time you carried a child to term only to lose them before you could ever hold them in your arms.

And every time, he would pull you into his arms.

“I’m sorry… I’m sorry,” he would murmur softly, shushing your sobs as he held you close, mourning the loss just as deeply even as he tried to be your comfort.

A loss that the maesters called misfortune. Another that the septas named the will of the Seven. Each time, the court offered condolences, and each time you and Valarr stood side by side, composed and dignified as a royal couple ought to be.

But grief, no matter how carefully hidden, has a way of changing things.

Behind closed doors, the silences between you began to grow longer. The smiles you once shared became sparser, weighed down by sorrow neither of you quite knew how to speak aloud. Yet before the court, you both still played your roles flawlessly.

Because in King’s Landing, the prince and his princess were meant to be perfect.

“Your Grace, do you feel well?”

Your maid’s gentle voice broke through your reverie. You had been staring at the skies above Summerhall for far too long, your gaze distant and unfocused.

You turned to her with a placating smile. “I’m fine, Rose. Come, let’s go.”

Summoned to Summerhall by Prince Baelor, the moment you arrived, Valarr was swept away into discussions with his father and the other men of the court, leaving you with little to do but free time for yourself.

The castle grounds had grown quiet by the late afternoon, most servants busy with their duties. Your steps eventually carried you beyond the courtyards, towards a humble district where smallfolk lived and worked beneath the protection of the castle.

However, your walk was cut short.

An old woman stood near the edge of the road, her back bent with age, her thin hands clutching a bundle of herbs. Yet it was not her frailty that caught your attention.

It was the way unsettling way she stared at you.

Her eyes were too sharp for someone so old—watching you with an unsettling intensity. You slowed, uncertainty prickling along your spine, and then the woman spoke:

“The princess of love and beauty,” she murmured, her voice thin and rasping. “Yet cursed with the misfortune of having shadows strangling the brave prince’s sons in her womb.”

A cold shiver crawled down your spine. The words struck like a blade and it felt as though your darkest nightmares had been dragged into the open for the world to see.

You did not stay to hear more.

Your breath came quicker as you fled— the woman’s voice still echoing, stirring those bleak memories of the silent chambers, the hushed voices of maesters, Valarr’s arms around you while you wept until your body ached.

You only wanted distance—from that witch, from her terrible eyes, from the shame. And in your haste—

You collided with someone.

A solid figure stood in your path, and the sudden impact forced a startled breath from your lungs. Strong hands caught your waist before you could fall.

“Well now...” a smooth, velvety voice drawled above you, low with unmistakable amusement. “Where is the princess rushing off to in such distress?”

You wouldn’t mistake that voice for anyone else’s.

Prince Aerion Targaryen stood before you, tall and imposing as ever, silver hair gleaming in the afternoon light. His grip on your waist was firm enough to keep you from retreating so easily.

“Unhand me, my prince,” you proceeded to say afterwards, and he did. For a three good seconds, he observed the lacy black dress you were wearing, and let out a snort.

“You are not in mourning. Why do you always wear this unseemly dress?”

His words offended you really. It hadn’t even been three moons since you lost your babe, and he dared to ask this?

“I am, in fact, in mourning. Please let me be.”

Aerion snorted again.

“Do not mourn too hard, sweet cousin. A fine fruit can only grow from a good seed. One cannot expect much from… defects.”

Your eyes hardened. “What are you insinuating?”

“I’m merely suggesting that the fault may not lie with you at all, my princess,” Aerion replied, a thin, cruel smile curving his lips.

Valarr’s face rose unbidden in your mind—his gentle patience, the way he would tighten his arms around you on the nights he mourned your lost babes. Never once had he spoken a word of blame. Never once had he let you feel alone in it.

The insult burned hotter than if it had been aimed at you.

“You will hold your tongue, Aerion,” you spat, your voice suddenly sharper, eyes flashing with apparent rage as you didn’t bother to address him properly. “You speak of a prince of the realm. And a far better man than you will ever be.”

Aerion’s smile faltered for the briefest fraction of a second before it returned, colder than before.

“How fiercely you defend him,” he scoffed. “How touching.”

He leaned closer, his voice dropping to a quiet murmur meant only for you.

“Think about it. If it were me, I surely will not fail you. The blood of the dragon runs stronger in my veins than it ever will in his.”

Talking with Aerion always felt like talking to the wall. You didn’t deign him with more response, simply turning on your heel to head back towards the castle.

However, you failed to realize that watchful eyes had taken note of the closeness between you and your cousin-by-law. Only later would you learn that this encounter with Aerion would bring consequences you had never anticipated.

The tale that soon spread was a wild one: you, the princess consort, is having an affair with the Bright Prince himself.

“T-that— that is bloody outrageous!”

You paced restlessly in your marital chambers, righteous anger coursed in your veins— it wasn’t enough that they had insulted you, but to pair your name with that mad prince?

Your husband, calm as ever, only stared at you quietly from his desk.

“You must not believe that treason—” you turned to Valarr in a flurry. “There’s no truth in it! I just stumbled into him while we were at Summerhall, that’s all!”

Valarr remained silent, studying you as he twirled the quill in his hand. He hadn’t voiced any accusation or anything, and it made your heart twist.

“I swear to you—” you pressed on quickly as you approached him, almost breathless now. “I barely spoke to him, and whatever he implied, I shut it down immediately—”

Valarr finally set the quill down. The soft tap of it against the desk sounded far too loud as he rose from his chair. His gaze never left yours as he crossed to where you were, and your heart thudded painfully under the weight of that unreadable stare.

He stopped before you, seemingly disregarding whatever it was you were saying, and it was without any warning when—

“I would never dishonor you like that, dear husband, you must believe me— Mmph!”

He pulled you into a sudden, searing kiss.

His hand came up to cradle the back of your neck as though the gesture alone could silence the storm of words tumbling from your sweet lips. You almost gasped, instinctively curling your fingers around his doublet.

It was nothing like the tender kisses you were used to. The kiss was rough, intense—almost hungry. His grip tightened slightly at your nape as his mouth claimed yours again and again. The force of it made you stumble a few steps back before he steadied you against him.

When Valarr finally pulled away, he sighed, a haze settling into his gaze.

“I do not wish to speak of my vile cousin, love.”

“But those rumors— I swear it, I—”

“Shush,” Valarr smiled then, pressing a finger on your lips. It was soft at first glance, reassuring even—yet it did not quite reach his mismatched eyes, which remained dark and distant. “I know.”

Your prince had always been gentle. He had never let anger rule over him, but sometimes you just wished he would. You looked at him sadly as his dashing blue and brown eyes focused solely on you, thinking of everything he had achieved until now.

The realm might think that the heir of Dragonstone had everything handed to him in silver platter, but they had never seen all the effort he put to remain worthy of it. He was the perfect prince to everyone, yet behind closed doors, only you saw the exhaustion he tried to hide, the endless trainings he would endure, the weight of expectations that followed him like a shadow.

And that only made the guilt inside you feel worse, because he had done everything right, except for one flaw. You.

His wife who had not even managed to give him an heir. Worse still, now these boundless whispers of your supposed infidelity threatened to besmirch his name.

You opened your mouth again, still trying to explain, but Valarr didn’t let you.

He captured your lips once again.

This time there was no restraint at all. His hands slid to your waist, fingers squeezing your flesh as he pulled you firmly against him, the kiss deepening with a fervor that stole the breath from your lungs. There was urgency in the way he held you now—something restless beneath the calm he had worn only moments ago surfacing unbidden.

“H-husband—”

“Quiet,” he commanded, lust taking over him, “—ah, my princess...”

Before you quite realized what he intended, he guided you backwards... and the edge of his desk pressed suddenly against the backs of your thighs.

With a swift motion he lifted you and bent you forward over its polished surface, the scrolls scattering beneath you. Valarr stepped between your knees, devouring your lips with renewed intensity and forced his tongue inside, even rougher this time.

Where he was usually careful and soft, his hands now held you with a more possessive grip. When he pulled you closer, the tug was harsher. When his lips wandered across your skin, the kisses he left behind were hotter and harder.

He was the only Targaryen prince who knew your body best. He knew where to touch, where to caress, where to lick and suck—

And what to do to get you nicely warm and ready for him.

“Look at me— will you?”

He tipped your chin towards him before he entered you in one swift go. The sudden stretch tore a broken cry from your lips as you threw your head back, moaning his name in broken syllables as tears fell from your lashes.

And before long, the chamber fell quiet save for the sounds of your mingled breaths and flesh tangled together, the lamplight flickering softly against the walls as the night became a blur around you.

There would be a grand celebration for King Daeron’s nameday in King’s Landing.

The festivities were to last ten days and nights to remind the realm of the strength and prosperity of House Targaryen. Lords and ladies from across the Seven Kingdoms had already begun to arrive, and there would be feasts and a grand tourney held in the king’s honor.

The first day, however, was reserved for the feast.

The great hall blazed with candlelight, the long tables heavy with roasted meats, fruits, and sweet wines. Music drifted through the hall as servants moved tirelessly between the guests. You sat quietly in your seat, hands folded neatly in your lap as you forced yourself to maintain the composure expected of a princess.

“Greetings to you, my princess...”

And it was impossible not to feel the stares.

Whispers had already traveled faster than ravens through the court, and though everyone only spoke to you in pleasantries and riddles, you could feel the weight of their judgment.

“Pay them no mind.”

You looked up when Prince Baelor spoke gently beside you. Your father-in-law regarded you with a kindness—with those very same mismatched gaze your husband had—that made your throat tighten.

“The court feeds on foolish gossip,” he continued. “It will pass soon enough.”

You managed a small, grateful smile. “Thank you, Your Grace.”

His reassurance was sincere, and you knew he meant it kindly, but it did little to quiet the shame that lingered in your chest.

As the evening wore on, the musicians eventually struck up a livelier tune. The feast slowly shifted into dancing, couples rising from their seats as the center of the hall cleared.

You watched absently as the first pairs took the floor... but then your breath caught.

Valarr had stepped down from his seat and extended his hand—not to you. Kiera of Tyrosh accepted it with a bright smile.

Your fingers curled in your lap as you watched them join the dancers.

Kiera moved gracefully beside him, her gown sweeping across the floor as they turned together. They made a handsome pair—your composed prince and the elegant daughter of a powerful lord. The lords and ladies in the hall had noticed as well.

“She suits him…”

“A fitting match…”

Each word sank into your chest like a needle and the longer you sit here, the more you couldn’t bear to watch the dance floor any longer.

Rising quietly from your seat, you began to make your way toward the edge of the hall, hoping to slip away before the sting in your eyes betrayed you, however...

“My princess.”

You froze. Prince Aerion suddenly appeared before you, his silver hair gleaming beneath the candlelight. He bowed slightly and offered his hand, though the smile that followed was anything but respectful.

“Would you grant me this dance?”

Your first instinct was to refuse, but then you realized too many eyes were already on you. Refusing him openly would only feed the whispers further. Biting back your anger, reluctantly, you placed your hand in his.

Aerion led you to the dance floor, and he drew you into the proper steps with unsettling ease.

“You look miserable tonight,” he murmured, his voice low enough that only you could hear.

“I am merely tired, my prince,” you replied stiffly and Aerion chuckled, almost tauntingly.

“Such loyalty to a man who leaves you sitting alone while he dances with another.”

“Prince Valarr is my husband,” you hissed.

“Yes,” Aerion’s violet eyes lit with a manic glint, “and yet I cannot help but think you would fare far better with me instead.”

“Do me a favor and cease this nonsense.”

“But it is true.” His grip tightening slightly at your waist as the dance carried you through another turn. “I would never leave you sitting alone while the court talks about you.”

You said nothing. You simply endured the remainder of the dance in tense silence.

The moment the music ended, you pulled away hurriedly. Without waiting for his reply, you turned and left the hall.

The air in the corridors felt cooler, quieter. You exhaled slowly, hoping the distance from the feast would steady your thoughts. Footsteps sounded behind you to disrupt your newfound peace, however.

“Running away so quickly?”

You sighed. “Aerion, please—”

He followed you down the corridor regardless, his long strides quickly closing the distance. Before you could move again, he stepped in front of you, blocking your path in the empty hall.

“You avoid me as though I were a monster,” he said with a faint laugh.

“Because you behave like one,” you snapped.

His smile sharpened. You tried to step past him, but his hand shot out, catching your wrists. “Aerion— let go!”

But he did not move. Instead, he pushed you back a step until your shoulders brushed the cold stone wall behind you.

“You deserve better than that dull, careful cousin of mine.” Aerion leaned closer, his face only a mere inch from yours. “A princess should not waste herself on a dragon who barely burns.”

“I will hear no more of this—!”

For a moment, his grip tightened hard enough to bruise, his gaze dark, and the deserted hall suddenly felt far too small.

His hand slid from your wrist to your arm, pressing you firmly against the wall. He leaned down, attempting to seize your lips in a rough kiss—

You turned your head sharply, the contact landing against your neck instead. Panic surged through you as you shoved against his chest.

“Aerion, stop!”

Your voice broke into something close to a shriek as you struggled against him. His hold only tightened as he tried again, heedless of your resistance.

. . .

The banquet hall had become suffocating for Valarr too.

While he had asked Kiera of Tyrosh for his first dance, it was out of courtesy since he had been talking to her. What he had not expected was to see you take the floor with Aerion out of all people.

It made him restless, because even though everything was false, the fact that it had become such a rumor in the first place meant he wasn’t able to protect you. And lately there had been a strained distance between you he had been meaning to mend too.

His gaze moved across the tables, searching instinctively for you. He was thinking maybe he could excuse both himself and you from the feast and retire to your chambers. When he didn’t find you, he stepped out to the corridors.

And that was when he heard it. A muffled cry.

Valarr turned the corner— and the sight that greeted him was one he would never have imagined could happen even in his nightmares.

You pinned against the wall, your dress disheveled, tears in your eyes as you struggled against the man holding you in a very compromising position.

Aerion.

For a heartbeat Valarr did not think. Could not think. That was also when the world seemed to narrow into something blindingly red—

He lunged. His hand seized the back of Aerion’s collar and tore him away from you with brutal force. The sudden motion sent his wretched cousin stumbling back a step before his fist followed like a punishment.

Bam!

The punch landed squarely on his jaw and the Bright Prince staggered under the blow. Valarr’s chest heaved, every muscle in his body coiled tight with rage. For a moment it took everything he had not to strike again.

“Valarr!” you gasped, immediately pulling him back. He turned to you only to find your shaking hands and tear-streaked face— and the sight made his heart lurch in his chest.

Your husband forced himself to step back towards you as he glared at his kin. His voice, when it came, was tight with restrained fury.

“I will regain my honor tomorrow. At the joust.”

Valarr did not wait for Aerion to answer as he took your hand firmly, and pulled you away from the corridor, leading you back towards your marital chambers.

Behind you, Aerion remained where he stood. His cheek throbbed where the punch had landed, but he barely felt it as much as the sting that burned incessantly in his chest.

Because in his own twisted way—

Aerion had already given his heart to you too.

The door to your marital chambers barely closed when Valarr turned to face you and placed both hands on your shoulders, checking you over.

“Did he—” His voice faltered slightly before he forced the words out. “Did Aerion do anything to you?”

You shook your head like a limp puppet, still trying to process what had just happened. The tension in his shoulders loosened only slightly, but it was still there, still burning.

“You cannot challenge him tomorrow.” You started trembling, realizing the gravity of what he said earlier. “Valarr… please...”

He clenched his jaw. “He will answer for what he did.”

“You cannot do this over me!” Your voice rose despite yourself. “The entire court will be watching. If something goes wrong—”

“Something has already gone wrong,” Valarr cut in sharply. “Aerion has insulted me. He laid his hands on you— and you expect me to simply stand by and do nothing?”

“But you will be in danger—”

“I will be fine.”

“You will not!”

Your words echoed in the chamber, and for the first time, you saw how composure slipped from the Young Prince’s face.

“Is your faith in me truly so little?” he questioned, hurt. “Do you truly believe I cannot defeat him in a fair duel?”

“That’s not what I mean— he is a monster!” you said quickly, the words tumbling out in distress. The memory of Aerion’s grip on your arm flashed through your mind, followed immediately by the terrible image of Valarr lying bloodied in the arena. Your stomach twisted.

“You’ve seen how he fights. He has never cared for honor in a tourney. He plays foul whenever it suits him. I don’t want anything to happen to you—”

“But I would do anything for you!”

The words burst from him so suddenly, louder than you had ever him yell before, and you fell silent, wide-eyed.

“I cannot stand idly when my cousin dishonors the woman I love and pretend it means nothing!” Valarr continued, his voice sharp. “I cannot watch you be treated like that and remain silent!”

His knuckles curled into tight fists at his sides, the restraint he had always carried now visibly fraying.

“You think I care about the court’s whispers?” he went on, quieter now, his gaze on you almost painful. “No. Let them whisper.”

You shook your head weakly, tears falling. “Valarr…”

“I hate how they questioned your honor because of what we have been through, but even that is still better than seeing you in childbed again.”

Valarr looked away briefly, as though gathering the strength to continue. His eyes then returned to yours, heavy with something you had rarely seen from him—raw grief, as he shook his head.

“I will not put you through that again if I could help it. I cannot subject you to that ordeal again. Even if we are to remain childless— then so be it.”

His words struck you deep.

“I cannot watch you mourn our lost children again and again.” His blue and brown eyes gleamed with unshed tears. “The pain you feel… I feel it as well. And for all I know, it may be because of me.”

Your heart clenched painfully. This was not what you wanted to hear, and the sight of your composed husband broke down in tears was not something you wanted to see.

“I’m sorry I cannot give you healthy children,” he choked out, voice hoarse. “I’m sorry for taking away the joy that should have been yours. I’m so, so sorry that our marriage has brought you more grief than happiness. I’m sorry...”

So this was why he always apologized to you. You couldn’t bear it any longer.

Before he could say another word, you stepped forward and wrapped your arms tightly around him.

“Don’t say that...” you managed amidst your own tears. “I’m the happiest with you. I could only endure all this with you by my side...”

His arms slowly came around you in return, holding you just as tightly—as though the two of you were the only things keeping the other from falling apart.

Because after all, before the throne, before the realm and its endless expectations— you and Valarr had always been, first and foremost, just two people who loved each other.

“May the luck of the Seven shine upon all the combatants!”

The tourney started at the crack of dawn. Knights in gilded armor lined the field while the stands overflowed with nobles and commonfolk alike, all eager to witness the spectacle.

You sat stiffly in the royal box beside Prince Baelor. Jousts had never excited you, the thunder of hooves and splintering wood only made your heart pound with dread rather than thrill.

The first round belonged to the lords of the realm. Knights from every corner of Westeros rode proudly into the lists as they tilted against one another. The crowd cheered loudly each time a lance shattered or a poor soul was thrown from his saddle.

Yet you barely watched— until a roar suddenly erupted from the crowd.

You looked up just in time to see Aerion lowering his lance after his last winning tilt. Across the field, Ser Leo Tyrell lay sprawled and bloodied in the dust beside his fallen horse.

The crowd cheered wildly as he removed his skull-like helm. Even from afar you could see the cruel curve of his smile. Not long after, he rode toward the royal box, stopping below the platform and looked up at you, making your insides churn uneasily.

“My princess,” he called smoothly, his eyes catching the morning sun. “Please grant me your favor.”

You truly hesitated, because you had wished to grant yours for your husband in the first place. But at Baelor’s urging and the knowledge that the house of the dragon must be seen united in front of these people, you relented.

You silently dropped the wreath to his lance, and he grinned in response.

“I shall wear it proudly,” he told you with a smirk.

You forced yourself not to respond. He rode away soon after, leaving murmurs of the audience who wondered why the prince royal was asking the favor of the princess consort of his own cousin in his wake.

The second round of the joust began not long after.

Many combatants gathered at the center of the field, their armor gleaming beneath the growing sunlight, and the herald raised his staff, announcing:

“Prince Valarr of House Targaryen, Heir of Dragonstone, will choose his opponent of the day!”

Valarr came riding into the arena atop his black destrier, his armor dark and polished like obsidian. He looked calm—almost impossibly so—as he surveyed the line of waiting knights.

Your heart pounded painfully in your chest as you watched your husband rode slowly past the gathered challengers. Then, almost immediately, he lowered his lance and pointed it directly at—

“Prince Valarr chooses Prince Aerion Brightflame, second son of Prince Maekar of Summerhall!”

Gasps rippled through the stands before they broke into cheers. Prince Baelor beside you exhaled slowly, and you clutched your heart.

Your felt sick to your stomach. He really made good on his promise to Aerion. “No...” your voice came out in a croak.

Noticing your distress for a while now, Prince Baelor reached over and gently took your hand.

“He will be fine,” he assured you as you squeezed his palm. You looked at him helplessly, tears already shining in your eyes.

Baelor watched his son ride into position with a thoughtful expression. “My late wife used to worry like you whenever Valarr entered the lists too,” he said then, a nostalgic smile on his face. “She would clutch my arm just as tightly.”

His gaze softened when your first tear fell and you hurried to wipe it. As a father, he was glad that his precious son had you to worry about him. He is in good hands, he thought.

Baelor too had taken measures to keep Valarr safe all this time, but he also knew that for better or worse, his son had inherited certain stubbornness from him, especially when he was after something he wanted.

The two royal princes of House Targaryen lowered their visors... and the first tilt began.

Your heart was in your throat as you knew the truth others didn’t. Valarr was not the most naturally gifted fighter. While Aerion thrived in the field as though born for it, Valarr had to earn his skills through relentless training and work harder than most to simply match what Aerion could.

And it showed. Each pass forced him to fight to remain upright in his saddle.

For the first three tilts, Valarr and Aerion broke their lances evenly. It was during the fourth tilt that disaster began.

Aerion angled his lance downward toward Valarr’s horse and the impact sent the animal crashing sideways. Your husband fell hard into the dust.

A cry escaped your lips, but before you could even breathe, he was already rising, demanding his right for contest of arms.

The clash of their blades echoed across the arena as they struck again and again. The fight was fierce, relentless, the princes accumulating wounds from each other.

Then Valarr knocked the morningstar from Aerion’s grip— the crowd roared as the two abandoned their weapons entirely—

And they fought with their bare hands.

. . .

Valarr’s head was still ringing from the earlier fall. The world swayed with each breath and he could taste his own blood, but he forced himself to remain standing as he lunged at his vile cousin.

Each time he remembered how he had forced himself on you the night before, his blood boiled, and it was what fueled him upright. However, Aerion was always the better fighter— his blows came hard and fast, and Valarr had to take several strikes to the face.

They were clearly wearing each other out. Every strike grew heavier, every breath harsher as the fight dragged on beneath the blazing sun.

Then suddenly—whether by chance or by the Seven’s judgment—Aerion stumbled.

And Valarr seized the moment. He surged forward and struck him again and again, every punch driven by the fury he had kept buried from the night before.

Aerion lost his footing and fell into the dirt. Valarr staggered forward, chest heaving, driving his boot sharply into his cousin’s chest.

“Yield,” he demanded through ragged breaths. “Yield, cousin!”

Aerion glared up at him, his silver hair matted with dust and his own blood, his face badly bruised. For a long moment it seemed he might refuse out of sheer spite as he spat on his boots.

“I yield.”

Done. It is done.

“Prince Valarr is victorious!”

The crowd thundered in cheers, but he barely heard it. His gaze lifted instead towards the royal box.

Towards you, who looked breathtakingly beautiful in the colors of Targaryen crimson and black. Even from the arena floor, he could see the track of tears on your cheeks. His heart warmed so much at the sight of you.

And seeing that, he vowed he would crown you his Queen of Love and Beauty by the time this tourney ended.

“I told you… I bloody told you!”

Your voice rang through the chamber as you hovered anxiously beside him.

Valarr sat at the edge of the bed after a maester finished binding another bruise along his ribs and left. Dark blotches were already blooming across his arms and shoulders, and a shallow cut near his mouth had been carefully stitched. Yet he boyishly grinned at your irked face.

“I only wished to win the victor’s laurel,” he said almost innocently, though the faint wince he tried to hide betrayed how sore he truly was.

“For what?” you demanded, looking pale after enduring days of anxiety that it made your gut not sit well with you, arms crossing over your chest. “So you could come back marred with bruises from head to toe?”

Valarr merely smiled. Because despite the aches in every limb, the memory of this morning still lingered warmly in his mind.

“I name you, my beloved princess... the Queen of Love and Beauty.”

The gasp had swept through the stands and everyone was stunned in silence before the cheers and well wishes roared the moment he dipped his lance towards you.

He had fought for eight days just for that, pushing his aching body to the edge so the realm could see exactly what he wanted them to see. A prince utterly devoted to his wife.

To Valarr, that alone had been worth every bruise.

But you were still glaring at him.

“And what if something worse had happened?” you continued, clearly not ready to forgive him so easily, a hand above your heart. “What if—”

But your words faltered as a sudden wave of nausea rose in your throat, the color draining from your face as your stomach lurched unpleasantly. You placed a hand over your mouth.

“What is it?” he started, concern sharpening his voice.

However, you were unable to answer him as the urge to throw up overwhelmed your senses. You turned abruptly, and hurried towards the chamber pot.

Valarr was on his feet instantly despite the protests of his battered body. “My love—”

He reached you just as you finished retching, both arms coming to steady you. “Are you unwell?” he asked, alarmed. “How long have you been feeling ill?”

You wiped your mouth with a trembling hand. The room seemed to sway slightly as you leaned against his bare chest for support. For a moment neither of you spoke as you evened your breath.

It was then that realization dawned on the two of you.

A thought—one both of you had not dared to voice—hung heavily in the air. You remembered that night on his desk, and you almost let out a gasp.

You had gone through this before, and Valarr felt the same fragile spark of hope stir in his chest, but he forced himself to calm down.

Your eyes slowly lifted to meet his, your hands shook slightly as Valarr took them in his own. He held you carefully, his thumbs brushing over your knuckles in quiet reassurance. His mismatched eyes held yours steadily.

“No matter what happens this time,” he declared, “I would stay beside you. I would take good care of you.”

You had heard his vows before—spoken before the gods, before the High Septon, before the realm itself. And never once had Valarr failed to keep his word.

If the Seven chose to bless you this time, then you would welcome the miracle with hope.

And if they did not… You would still have him. And he would still have you.

INSERTS HIMSELF WHERE?

Around that time when you moved to King’s Landing to marry Prince Valarr, one of Lady Jena’s ladies-in-waiting – Aemma – left the court to come back to her castle. Apparently, she turned out to be pregnant after her husband’s visit.

You were very happy for the woman because she seemed to be kind and understanding but also funny. You knew she would be an amazing mother and the sight of her glowing face reminded you that soon you would become a mother yourself.

It was a scary thought – to become pregnant with a man you only just met. But you knew it was inevitable. Perhaps other marriages could wait a year or two before starting the journey of parenthood but you were marrying the heir to the throne. You knew your position and your place. You would become the Queen one day but in return you had to offer your body and womb to the battles of nearly constant pregnancy and childbirth.

Prince Valarr himself was not scaring you, though. You couldn’t believe that an arranged union with an heir to the throne could turn out to be so harmonic. He was charming, handsome, chivalrous and smart. Not much older than you, not a brute, not a drunkard, not a man-whore. It felt as if you won a lottery.

Not a man-whore at all. In fact, he was as pure for you as you were for him. 

That was one of the reasons why he demanded that no bedding ceremony was to be held. He didn’t have to convince his father for long, though. Prince Baelor would be surprised if his son requested this tradition to take place.

“You must not worry, my Lady,” Valarr held your hands after leaving his father’s chambers. You were waiting for him in the corridor, pacing nervously. “My father agreed to ignore the bedding ceremony tradition. I explained to him it would be disrespectful to my wife and the future Queen of the Realm. It is not proper for anyone to see you like this. Anyone but me, that is,” he added with a blush.

“Oh, my Prince, thank you so much!” You squeezed his hands tight. “I am so grateful.”

“You should not be. It is my duty as your betrothed to be your protector whether it means shielding your body from injury or your honour and pride.”

After a beautiful and elegant wedding feast, without any prying eyes, the wedding night was rather heavenly. You were over the moon for the whole morning and still giggling slightly while having supper, squeezing Valarr’s hand under the table. His cheeks were crimson red while his parents were exchanging looks. King Daeron seemed to be pleased that your union was so happy and Prince Matarys was furrowing his brows, not understanding why you were acting like that.

After the supper you were supposed to take a walk in the gardens with Lady Jena. She spotted your impatience during the walk as you couldn’t wait to join your newlywed husband in your chambers and do all the things from the night before once more.

“(Y/N), my dear… There is something I must inquire about,” Lady Jena began carefully.

“What is it, my Lady?” You asked her.

“It is… awkward to talk about but…the maid has informed me that your bedsheet this morning was… clean,” she swallowed thickly, struggling to find the right words. “I hope you understand it is important for people to see the… the blood,” she finally muttered and you widened your eyes at her words.

What did she mean that the people needed to see blood?!

Lady Jena noticed your scared facial expression.

“I don’t mean to accuse you! My son is pleased with you and I have no reason not to be either. But you did not have a bedding ceremony and people need proof that…” Lady Jena hesitated once again. “You did consummate the marriage, right?”

“O-of course!” You gasped.

“Perhaps my son’s lack of experience is to be blamed for the inconvenience…” Lady Jena kept speaking in unfinished or mysterious sentences, which was frustrating you greatly. “Just please, do so again tonight.”

“Oh, we will!” You fervently assured with a head nod and she cracked a smile at that.

When you finally went back to your chambers, your excited and blushing husband was already waiting for you. He opened his arms for you to hug him but you sighed and frowned instead.

“What is it, my sweet?” He asked, worryingly. He approached you and rubbed your arms. “Do you not feel well? Do you need anything?”

“No, it’s just… Your mother told me…” You huffed and he furrowed his brows. “That the maid was complaining about our bedsheets being too… clean,” you explained, hoping he would know what that meant but he seemed to be as puzzled as you were.

“Too clean?” Valarr blinked a few times.

“Apparently it should be stained with blood as a sign of consummation,” you whispered shyly and his cheeks turned even more pinkish than before.

“Oh,” he took a step back from you. “Well, that is the most curious and odd custom. I do wonder why my father has never told me about it.”

“I wasn’t told either. But I got an impression that your mother rather insisted,” you said, looking down.

“Do not worry, my Lady, I will not let any harm come to you,” Valarr took his dagger from the desk as he approached your bed. “I assume the custom is for the woman to bleed but I am a gentleman,” he assured you and cut the inside of his arm right below the elbow slightly. You hissed and looked away.

He made sure the blood dropped onto the sheets and then he walked away to clean the fresh wound and bandage it quickly. It was a shallow cut and did not require much attention. He could easily hide it beneath his tunic during the day and it would heal in no time.

“Thank you so much, my Prince,” you approached him to kiss him on the lips.

“At your service, my Lady,” Valarr smiled sweetly and leaned in to kiss you back.

Lady Jena was pleased in the morning as she nodded at you by the breakfast table. You nodded back, feeling so mature now.

Months passed and you were not blessed with a babe of your own. At first everyone was understanding and kind about it, telling you that it took time sometimes. But when Lady Aemma already had her own and you still were not pregnant, people started worrying.

You were worrying the most, terrified they would consider you useless and send you away. You were aware of the fact that you were failing at the only task you had been sent to King’s Landing for – to give Prince Valarr heirs.

“Please, my Lady, we still have time. Besides, I will not allow anyone to send you away. I swore to protect you for the rest of my life,” Valarr assured you as he held you tight when you were crying on the edge of the bed. He put his arm around you and placed a kiss upon your temple.

“My Prince, you say that now but soon they will manage to convince you to get rid of me! I am good for nothing if my womb is barren!” You sobbed, hiding your face in the crook of his neck.

Valarr awkwardly patted your back and shushed you, caressing the back of your head.

“My darling, you are to be my Queen. That means much more than carrying my heirs,” he whispered.

“If I don’t give you sons, your bloodline and legacy end with you,” you sniffled and squeezed him even tighter.

“I have a brother, I have cousins. My family’s bloodline is safe,” Valarr tried to convince you.

But he also tried to convince himself. He loved you – of course. He loved you as much as he could love someone. He had been waiting his whole life to meet his future wife and finally be happy and devoted like his parents were. But he knew that if you were truly infertile then your future would be a difficult one and full of whispers in the court. 

And he truly wanted to have children with you. More than anything.

“Perhaps the problem lies in me, not you,” he added and you moved away to look into his wet mismatched eyes. “We do not know who is to be blamed.”

“They always blame the woman,” you reminded him.

“We will make them blame me. If it comes to cruel gossip and accusations, I will make sure they all believe the fault is in me,” Valarr promised, his lower lip trembling slightly.

He would do anything to protect you.

You sobbed even more now, this time out of the amount of love that you felt for this man. You cupped his cheeks and pressed your forehead to his, your tears mixing.

“I love you,” you breathed out.

“I love you,” he replied. “And nothing will change that.”

Lady Aemma visited with her babe when her husband was in King’s Landing for business. The boy was six moons old already and the cutest baby you had ever seen. His name was Steffon.

You frowned at the sight of him, though, as you sipped on your tea in Lady Jena’s chambers. Your mother-in-law was cooing to the boy, beaming with happiness and you couldn’t help but feel jealous. Your heart was stinging at the sight because you knew how much she had to wish to be a grandmother finally.

“What an adorable little boy he is,” she smiled at Lady Aemma. “You are so lucky, my dear. I am so happy for you.”

“Thank you, my Lady,” Aemma bowed her head. “Does Lady (Y/N) wish to hold the babe?” She glanced at you.

“I am not sure,” you admitted, putting the cup of tea down with a forced smile. “I lack experience with babies.”

“Nonsense, it comes naturally,” Lady Aemma insisted as she put the boy into your arms.

You held him awkwardly. He was staring at you with big eyes and you began to rock him softly as you imagined it should be done.

“See? A natural,” Lady Aemma smiled at you.

“If it was natural for me, I’d be blessed with a babe by now,” you muttered.

“Hm?” Lady Aemma asked but you were not looking at her anymore, focused on Steffon. So she laid her eyes on Lady Jena.

Your mother-in-law sighed and took Aemma by her elbow to walk her to the corner of the room.

“Lady (Y/N) and Prince Valarr struggle to conceive,” she whispered but you still could hear. You gritted your teeth but said nothing, pretending that you were too busy with the babe that you were not aware of the conversation taking place.

“Really? I thought they simply wanted to enjoy their marriage and wait,” Lady Aemma confessed.

“No,” Jena shook her head. “They have been trying since their wedding night.”

Long silence occurred.

“Oh!” Lady Aemma exclaimed and turned around to look at you. “But what can possibly be so difficult about conceiving a babe?”

Lady Jena’s eyes widened. She extended her hands as if she begged her former lady-in-waiting to drop the subject but Aemma was already approaching you.

You were looking at her with a terrified expression. You were surprised at her insolence but also the way she seemed to be so confident was quite intimidating.

“I am already expecting my second,” she caressed her small bump that was now visible under her hand. You blinked a few times in disbelief.

“Congratulations,” you whispered, handing Steffon to Lady Jena who sat next to you.

Lady Aemma took a seat in the armchair in front of the sofa you and your mother-in-law were occupying.

“I am an expert now, I guess,” Aemma chuckled. “I can give… tips,” she laid her eyes on Lady Jena as if she was waiting for her approval.

Lady Jena sighed and nodded. She knew her son and you were desperate and she hadn’t been bold enough to speak so openly with you herself. Nothing Lady Aemma would say could possibly make your situation worse anyway.

“My Lady?” Lady Aemma looked at you now and you nodded, hesitantly. You fidgeted your fingers with the hem of your sleeve nervously.

“How often do you lay with your husband, may I ask?” Lady Aemma asked. “Frequency is important with these things.”

Lady Jena blushed and you could feel your cheeks burning, too.

“N-nearly every night,” you answered.

“Good, that’s good,” Lady Aemma smiled warmly. “Well, now, many people fail to realise that what helps women to conceive is … the pinnacle.”

Lady Jena looked away immediately and you furrowed your brows.

“Pinnacle?” You asked.

“Do you experience it?” Lady Aemma asked, excitedly waiting for your answer.

“I do not know that that is,” you admitted, openly.

“It is a feeling of… Of intense pleasure,” Aemma explained patiently. “When you lay with your husband, that is.”

“Oh!” Your eyes sparkled as you nodded. “Oh, yes, I do. It feels very nice to lay with Valarr.”

Lady Aemma smiled politely.

“Hm, I’m not sure if we understand each other correctly. It is no ordinary pleasure…” She scratched the back of her head and your smile dropped. You were lost again. “A woman’s pleasure is somewhat more subtle than a man’s…” Lady Aemma was trying to look for the right words.

You were so confused. Each time you were talked to about those things, people seemed to struggle. Your mother, your septa, Lady Jena, the maester and now even Lady Aemma. You had a feeling this whole baby-making thing had to be extremely difficult after all. Perhaps that was why you were failing constantly.

“You see…” Lady Aemma took a deep breath in. “When he… inserts himself…”

“Inserts himself?” You interrupted her. “Insters himself where?”

Lady Aemma did not finish her sentence nor answer but her mouth stayed open slightly. She looked at Lady Jena and your mother-in-law looked back at her with equal astonishment. Meanwhile, you couldn’t understand those reactions and still wondered what the insertion was supposed to be about.

“My darling… When you lay with my son… What do you do, exactly?” Lady Jena asked.

“Oh!” Your cheeks burnt as you looked down to avoid her gaze. “We… We kiss a lot! We kiss like we couldn’t kiss when we were only betrothed. And we… We touch… We touch each other and it feels so nice,” you couldn’t help a loving smile even though you were embarrassed. “I enjoy being close to him. That’s more than I could ever ask for.”

Lady Jena smiled sweetly. Even though she found the situation both shocking and funny, she did not laugh. She handed the fussy babe to Lady Aemma and moved closer to you as she put her arm around your shy form to hold you closer. You looked up at her with a scared gaze and she kept on smiling.

“It warms my heart to witness how much you love my son. Truly,” she assured you and fixed your hair gently. “But darling… It is no wonder any longer why you cannot conceive a child.”

“What do you mean?” You asked, swallowing thickly. You laid your eyes on her, then on Lady Aemma.

“To conceive a babe you have to… become one,” Lady Jena explained. “The act of consummation requires Valarr to… insert himself inside of you and spill his seed,” she added, her face red as tomato now. 

“H-his what?” You asked.

Goodness, that was all so odd and scary.

Lady Jena cracked a smile and put her hand on your abdomen to rub it gently.

“When a man spills himself inside of a woman, the babe grows in her womb from the seed he planted there,” she explained.

“But what does he insert and where?” You shook your head, still confused.

“The intimate parts,” Lady Aemma answered quickly. “His… you-know-what must go into your… you-know-what.”

You winced at the thought, which made the women laugh.

“It is painful for a woman but only at first,” Lady Aemma added. “Do not get discouraged. After that, you will find pleasure you never thought would be possible to experience.”

“Speaking of,” Lady Jena furrowed her brows as she laid her eyes on your face. “What was the blood on your bedsheets after the wedding night?”

“We thought it was a tradition to cut the bride… Valarr cut his arm instead… I guess we thought wrong?” You bit your lower lips and the women chuckled once more.

“What a gentleman our Prince is,” Lady Aemma commented.

“Oh, darling, no… No one cuts brides on their wedding nights. The blood should come out of your… you-know-what,” Jena used Aemma’s phrasing, “after the first… insertion. That is why it’s so important. It is proof that the marriage was consummated.”

You blinked slowly a few times. You finally understood as it clicked inside your brain.

Your marriage remained unconsummated even though you had been married for over a year now.

Now you had to figure out how to announce it to your husband.

“Wh-what?” Valarr asked, his pretty mismatched eyes widening and his hands sweating already.

“Our marriage is not consummated properly,” you repeated quietly and looked down. He was sitting by his desk after answering the letters and you were standing above him, nervously playing with the sleeves of your dress between your fingers. “That is why we can’t conceive.”

“Who told you that?” He asked, swallowing the lump forming in his throat.

“Lady Aemma and your mother agreed with her after she learnt that there was no… insertion,” you whispered.

“Insertion?” Valarr raised his brow at you.

He felt extremely stupid. As your husband, he should have been the one to show and teach you. If he had failed at that… It meant he was a pathetic excuse of a Lord Husband. Perhaps staying pure and never visiting brothels before his marriage hadn’t been that good of an idea.

Just like your septa had told you once to just lay down and take it, his father had only told him that he would know what to do. Obviously, both of you remained oblivious.

“They mentioned seed. That it must be spilled inside a woman for the child to grow,” you looked into his eyes nervously and his mouth opened slightly.

“A-ha…” He gasped. “I… I think I might know what that part means.”

“I was thinking of that, too. Is it that wet thing that…?”

“Yes,” Valarr interrupted you as he nodded, his face becoming red in an instant. 

“Apparently this… fluid should go inside of me,” you sighed.

“How? Through that… insertion?” Valarr looked up and you nodded.

“You should put your… Into my…”

“I think I know now,” Valarr shushed you as he stood up, wiping his sweaty hands into his breeches. After that, he put his hands on your arms and looked deep into your eyes. “Do you want to try it?”

“I mean… We have to… to have a baby,” you explained. “But… But I am scared. They mentioned it will hurt me at first. And the blood… There will be blood,” you bit on your lower lip.

Valarr hesitated.

“How am I supposed to be doing this when I made an oath to protect you from harm? How can I be the one to bring you pain?” He wondered out loud.

“I do not know!” You nearly sobbed. It was all so scary and confusing but you also felt like a complete idiot that you two had failed at something that seemed to be simple for others.

“There must be a way around it… There must…!” Valarr leaned in to peck you on the lips as he took a step back. “I shall speak to my father. He will tell me everything. And we will try tonight. Only if you wish to,” he added, looking carefully at your facial expression and looking for any sign of disapproval.

“No, no, please do. We must,” you insisted, lifting your chin up. “We must,” you repeated.

One moon later your monthly blood did not come. Another moon later you fainted while walking up the stairs, which caused the maester to confirm the happy news.

Three moons after finding out about the insertion, your abdomen was already slightly swollen with the growing babe.

Valarr was exceptionally proud, his hand constantly rubbing your bump, his face beaming with joy and pride. You were equally happy but you felt awkward each time Lady Jena and Prince Baelor were smirking at the sight of the growing life inside your womb.

The fact that you were finally expecting and the rumours had stopped meant more than anything, though.

You were sitting in the garden and embroidering by Lady Jena’s side. You were making a blanket for the babe and she was making a tiny hat for her first grandchild.

“Can I ask something?” You inquired after biting on your bottom lip for quite a while now, waiting for the right moment.

“Darling, always. Please, always inquire. No matter what the question is about,” Lady Jena looked at you intensely.

“I was thinking… How long after the babe is born do we have to wait until we can… lay together again?” You asked, less shyly than before because over the past few weeks you had learnt how educational such conversations could be.

Lady Jena chuckled.

“Usually the maesters ask for at least six weeks of abstinence after the labour. That is if everything goes well. Why?” She answered.

“Oh… So six moons and six weeks more?” You looked displeased. “Goodness, it is a torture.”

“Wait… You… You have stopped now?” Lady Jena raised her eyebrow.

“Well, of course! We do not want to harm the babe!” You gasped, looking at her funny.

“But the maester said the babe is alright and the pregnancy is going well,” Lady Jena explained. “There is no need for abstinence,” she added.

“I see…” You hummed to yourself. “Well, I will tell Valarr to inquire from the maester about it. Just to make sure.”

“Very well then,” Lady Jena nodded with a chuckle.

“Lady Mother?” You went back to your embroidery so you weren’t looking at her anymore but you wanted to keep the conversation going.

“Yes, dear?”

“Lady Aemma was right. There is truly nothing difficult about conceiving a babe,” you admitted with a shrug of your arms.

Your mother-in-law laughed but it was a laughter filled with affection and joy.

“I’m glad, my dear. Hopefully it means I will become a grandmother to many children.”