#(sophia.)

Chaos---he couldn’t think of a better word to describe the scene before him now. What had started off as an elegantly dramatic wedding fitting of the Night Court had devolved into an all out landscape of war, Yadriel knew the Resistance’s work when he saw it and there was no doubting their hand in this. He’d never protest an attack on the Fair Folk---he’d dedicated his entire life to their downfall---but a single glimpse of a glimmering head of silken blonde hair and sateen skin etched in gold had stopped him in his tracks. No longer was he looking for Santiago, or any of the other rebels that had managed to sneak in undetected to tonight’s events. No ... right now, there was just Sophia Wren, now Beaumont, and she was kneeling in the remnants of her wedding gown, the palms of her hands glowing with faint magic as she tended to a fallen Fae.

Amidst all the rubble, among the crumbling relics of the once-beautiful ballroom, she was especially radiant, Yadriel had always been drawn to the perverse combination of darkness and beauty, but the first thought on his mind as he spotted her was one of fear. For god’s sake---where were the dozens of guards and knights who should have been assigned to her security detail the moment she was crowned High Lady? Where the fuck was her husband?

With a low growl, and a muttered curse, Yadriel lunged forward, and grabbed roughly for one of Sophia’s henna painted arms, there was no room for her to protest or fight him as he yanked her up onto her feet. Around them, the numerous fires that had been set in the ballroom blazed on wildly, and Yadriel’s sharp, cunning dark eyes scanned above, beside, and beneath them. He needed to get her out of here---the sooner the better. “This is how you’re spending your first evening as Queen? Risking your life for a stranger who wouldn’t give a fuck about you if not for your new title?” His voice was as hard and unrelenting as his grip on her bare arm, he dug his calloused fingers into her soft, pretty skin with enough force to bruise, but there was a waver in the timbre of his words that went above and beyond petty human anger. 

She could have died. Did she even care? Was she that eager to become a martyr? To sacrifice that golden heart of hers for another? “I thought I taught you a lesson about self-preservation all those months ago, Soph,” Yadriel continued with a low scoff, and once again he didn’t give her an opportunity to argue, instead he made the calculated decision to lift her up into his strong, muscular arms---and the fact that he was now carrying her bridal style was not lost on him---and with a gruff grunt, he began to lead them both away from the engulfed ballroom. Even with the haze of smoke surrounding them, even to his supposedly pitiful human nose, she was still somehow the sweetest thing he’d ever smelled. “Come on. I’m taking you to the woods until the fires die down---until your new husband decides to give a damn about whether you live or die.”

Christmas Gifts for Celeste @mdmecelesteromano and Sophia @sophiasubmissive

‘Buon Natale, Mother and Tata. I hope you’ll enjoy a day to just pamper yourselves. 

Love, Georgie’