RiversForgeArt

Your betrothed, King Kaius, had been crowned not even a year ago but as far as royals go, you could confidently say that he’s one of the most infamous Kings in history. The Kingdoms are divided after the war between him and the late King Galen— some thought he did what was needed to be done as his brother was too weak of a King while the other deemed him dishonorable for even thinking of doing such thing. But truth be told, although public opinion does matter to you, at this moment you find yourself caring about something else.

Everyone knows about the war between the two brothers and how it ended, but what remains a mystery is the motives behind your betrothed’s decision to start his rebellion. That’s what truly interests you as it might tell you what kind of man Kaius truly is.

As far as your research went, there are a lot of conflicting accounts regarding his motives. However, most people believe that he did what he did simply because he wanted the throne as he is the eldest son. All of your friends believe that was the case as well; even now, each of them is giving you this sympathetic look as you are seated next to your future husband. But if they are right, then why does he not look as though he enjoys his current position?

You let out a soft, faint sigh before you take a sip of the wine in your glass, trying your best to ignore that gnawing feeling on your stomach. You don’t like this. As much as you like the fact that you’d be the Queen of one of the most powerful King in history, you’d also wished to be married off to someone that’s easy to figure out, not a man full of mystery like him. How can you be sure that you’d be able to work well with him when you don’t even know the first thing about him? A marriage where the couple ignored each other’s presence after producing an heir is not unheard of, but you’d hoped that although your marriage wouldn’t be one built from love, but at least it’d be a strong partnership and you can’t have that if you can’t even begin to understand him.

“Are you displeased, my Lady?”

You nearly choked, not expecting your future husband to speak to you at all. As you turned your head to him, you realized that he’s looking at you intently. How long has he been staring? You offered him a small smile in attempt to be polite, but his face remains neutral, his haunting, serpent-like icy blue eyes offer you no insight to what he might be thinking or feeling.

“Of course not. Why should I be displeased?” you asked, feigning ignorance in hope he would just nod and move on. Unfortunately to you, he doesn’t seem to be interested to do any of that.

“Because you’d be married to me.”

The contrast between the two of you is hard to miss as soon as those words left his mouth. You’re absolutely flustered, the bluntness of his words had caught you off guard as you’re not used to such honesty, especially from a nobleman you barely even know while he just looks indifferent, seemingly thinking that he’s only stating facts and thus there’s no reason to make a big deal out of it. If anything, his eyebrows furrowed slightly in confusion when he sees how you silently scrambled to find a proper response to what he said.

“Am I mistaken?” he questioned, his head tilted slightly like a confused puppy. “You were sighing, so I assumed—”

“No, no,” you said quickly to stop him from jumping to any conclusions. He’s not entirely wrong, of course, but you were taught not to express dismay openly, especially when it comes to situation like this. So, instead of telling him what you’re truly thinking, honeyed words left your mouth in hope that it’d appease him. “I am merely tired, my King. It’s been a long day, but I do enjoy spending time with you,” you lied smoothly, adding a sweet smile by the end of your sentence to make it seem truthful.

He said nothing else, but he still stares at you and the confusion in his eyes is slowly replaced by this cold, displeased look that chilled you to your bone. Only after that did he look away, leaving you wondering if you had said something wrong. Is he displeased by this arrangement? Perhaps the reason why he’d asked you that question was because he was trying to see if you feel the same, but how can you be sure? He’s so hard to read for you. It’d honestly be better if he’d boasted about his many exploits because then at least you’d figure out a thing or two about him but he’s so quiet and curt with his words that it doesn’t offer you much insight about him as a person and so you have no clue how to handle this properly. You know one thing for sure, though; your father would definitely kill you if this betrothal falls through so you need to do something about this.

“Do you not enjoy parties, Your Majesty?” you decided to start another conversation with him, hoping to salvage your betrothal before he decided to cancel it. You don’t know if he actually would, but you’d be a fool if you don’t consider that as a possibility, especially after he’d looked at you with such disdain.

“No,” he replied without even looking at you. In fact, he’s not even looking anywhere, he just stares off to the distance while he rests his chin on his knuckles as if bored by this entire celebration. Perhaps small talk isn’t the way, then, you noted in your mind.

“Do you not wish to be married to me?” you decided to ask a bolder question, ignoring how your own heart sank to the deepest pit of your stomach as the question left your mouth. It’s against what you’ve been taught— you were always taught to figure out and charm others, not ask questions that could possibly jeopardize your betrothal. If he said no, what then? But you’re at your wits’ end and he clearly doesn’t respond well to flattery or small talks so you figured that perhaps he’d respond better to bold questions like these.

Luckily for you, it seems that you were right.

Although his expression is still hard to read, he gives you his full attention as he turns his head to you. He didn’t answer the question right away, instead he stares at you for a moment, his fingers tapped against the table in a certain rhythm while he observes you. “What do you think? Do you think I disagree with this betrothal?” he questioned calmly and yet it still caught you off guard as you don’t expect him to respond with another question.

“I think…” you hesitated, feeling conflicted whether you should answer bluntly or not. You’ve gone this far and judging from how your question seems to really intrigue him, perhaps being straightforward is the best way to go when talking to him. “Yes, I think you’re displeased by this arrangement.”

“Hmm,” he hummed thoughtfully, nodding slowly as he contemplates you answer.

“Are you?”

“I am neither pleased nor displeased by the arrangement,” he tells you honestly to answer your initial question. “But it is our duty so what I think or feel doesn’t matter, does it?”

You stare at him in disbelief, taken aback by his words. When you heard about him from the rumors, you’d think he’s the power hungry, self-serving type of man and yet here he is, showing you that he’s someone that puts duty first before even his own happiness. Why did he take the throne from his own brother, then? Was he made to do it? His answer somehow left you with more questions than before and you’re not sure how to feel about that.

However, despite the fact that he’s still an enigma to you, you also can’t deny that his answer really resonated with you. You think the same way, as you were raised to put duty before all else, even at the cost of your own happiness. Perhaps the two of you have more in common than you had previously thought and even if your marriage would not be a loving one, there might be a chance to at least have an understanding between the two of you. That thought alone comforts you more than all else and for the first time since your betrothal was decided, you feel at ease.

“My answer seems to really please you,” he noted, the way you seemed to be more relaxed didn’t miss his attention.

“You are a mystery to me, my King—” you paused, noticing how the corner of his mouth twitched slightly as he tries to stifle a smile. Huh. Perhaps he does like it better when you speak plainly to him rather than attempting to flatter him. “But” you continued, “I have hopes that perhaps we could understand each other. So perhaps even if our marriage will not be a loving one, we could still be partners?”

“That sounds lovely. I’d like nothing more,” he said with nothing but sincerity in his voice.

A delighted smile formed on your face when he gently clinked his glass to yours, signifying the beginning of your partnership with him. You still have a lot of questions about him, but for now, you couldn’t be more pleased by how things turn out.

My girlfriend (23F) thinks I’m cheating on her with an Eldritch abomination, but that’s my (3,098Demimale) true form??

The Slayer, they called me then. The Monster of Sentan. I’d killed nineteen people… I remember that number because I was so furious that they stopped me so close to my goal of twenty-one. And I didn’t just kill ordinary people, no, but the Chosen of the Gods. The Great and Good. They were terrified of me. So they locked me away, to die forgotten.

It had been a little less than a hundred years when the king died without heir, and a civil war tore the country apart. When the fighting was all over, the losers were dragged down to the deepest cells under the castle, and the new king and his soldiers stopped and stared at me. “Who… who is this?” he asked, frowning. “Some victim of the usurper?”

People like cooks and jailers and scrubbers don’t change as easily as kings. The same man who’d been bringing me my meals since there was still brown in his hair and beard shuffled forward, hunched and grey now. “No, yer majesty,” he said humbly. “That be a special prisoner, from before the old king died.”

“Special? Special how?” He frowned, moving closer to my cell. “The old king died more than ten years ago. This woman must have been a child then. What could she have done to - “

“Don’t get too close, yer majesty,” the old man said sharply. “That’s the Monster of Sentan… an’ she bites.”

That was true. I do bite.

They made a deal with that witch. They wanted a son, and they got one. A son, one made out of clay and wood, flexible enough to grow but sturdy enough to withstand its destined path, enchanted to look like a human child. The witch asked for only one thing, and that was for their daughter.

They left the girl readily.

The witch raised her as her own, and called her Thyme. The princess grew up unknowing of her heritage, grew up calling the witch Mama, and the witch did her very best to earn that title.

She was taught magic, and how to forage in the woods, how to build sturdy wooden structures and how to make the most delicious stews. The girl had a good life, and the witch was pleased.

The girl grew into a woman, and learned more and more powerful magics, grew stronger from hauling wood and stones and animals to cook, grew smarter as the witch taught her more.

She learned to deal with the people in the villages nearby, learned how to brew remedies and medicines and how to treat illness and injury, and learned how to tell when someone was lying. 

Every time the pair went into town, the people would remark at just how similar Thyme was to her mother. 

(Thyme does not know who and what she is. She does not know that she was born a princess, that she was sold. She only knows that one night after her mother read her a story about princesses and dragons, her mother had asked her if she ever wanted to be a princess.)

((Thyme only knows that she very quickly answered no. She likes being a witch, thank you very much, she likes the power that comes with it and the way that she can look at things and know their true nature.))

The witch starts preparing the ritual early, starts collecting the necessities in the winter so they can be ready by the fall equinox. Her daughter helps, and does not ask what this is for, just knows that it is important.

The witch looks at Thyme, both their hands raised into the air over a complicated array of plants, tended carefully to grow into a circle, and says, sorry.

it’s a little late but happy valentines day y’all. enjoy some dwarven pin-ups with Cashmere. she doesn’t really date because she’s always busy, especially during holidays, but she tries to make time for a dinner and dungeon crawl with friends a few times a year. she’s got a pal who ‘owns’ (can’t get rid of) an awesome cursed castle with a  booby-trapped catacomb and it’s a great place to test out protection enchantments or new adventuring gear designs.

at least, that’s what they’re officially doing so Cashmere can consider it work-adjacent and not feel like she’s slacking. what really happens is she grabs a group of friends, sticks ‘em in chainmail (or scalemail in this case) bikinis, and they spend the evening annoying the malevolent architect that haunts anyone who dares enter his shittily designed goth mcmansion.

they get a little beat up sometimes and a scuffed comfort rune can turn easy breezy sexy armor into nip-slip wedgie hell but that’s part of the fun. like, they bring snacks and have a special party playlist just for this. ghost architect dude hates them.

Or when people rec songs/shows/fics and you suddenly know everything you need to know about who they are as a person?