#aesarys

𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐘: 𝖶𝗁𝖾𝗇 𝖺 𝖿𝗂𝗋𝗌𝗍-𝗒𝖾𝖺𝗋 𝗆𝖾𝖽𝗂𝖼𝖺𝗅 𝗌𝗍𝗎𝖽𝖾𝗇𝗍 𝗂𝗌 𝗍𝗁𝗋𝗈𝗐𝗇 𝗂𝗇𝗍𝗈 𝖶𝖾𝗌𝗍𝖾𝗋𝗈𝗌, 𝖾𝗌𝖼𝖺𝗉𝖾 𝖻𝖾𝖼𝗈𝗆𝖾𝗌 𝗁𝖾𝗋 𝗈𝗇𝗅𝗒 𝗀𝗈𝖺𝗅, 𝗎𝗇𝗍𝗂𝗅 𝗌𝗁𝖾 𝖼𝖺𝗍𝖼𝗁𝖾𝗌 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝖺𝗍𝗍𝖾𝗇𝗍𝗂𝗈𝗇 𝗈𝖿 𝖠𝖾𝗋𝗂𝗈𝗇 𝖳𝖺𝗋𝗀𝖺𝗋𝗒𝖾𝗇, 𝖺 𝗉𝗋𝗂𝗇𝖼𝖾 𝖿𝖺𝗋 𝗆𝗈𝗋𝖾 𝖽𝖺𝗇𝗀𝖾𝗋𝗈𝗎𝗌 𝗍𝗁𝖺𝗇 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗐𝗈𝗋𝗅𝖽 𝗌𝗁𝖾'𝗌 𝗍𝗋𝗒𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗍𝗈 𝖾𝗌𝖼𝖺𝗉𝖾.

📖: Wattpad, Masterlist, AO3

ﮩ status ــــــــــﮩ٨ـ ongoing ﮩ

𝖈𝖍𝖆𝖕𝖙𝖊𝖗 𝖙𝖜𝖊𝖑𝖛𝖊 ── 𝖆 𝖈𝖍𝖎𝖑𝖉 𝖔𝖋 𝖒𝖎𝖓𝖊

The man didn't stop walking. He offered no greeting, much less an explanation. Just a swift, calculating look over his shoulder before he plunged down the narrow street, taking our compliance entirely for granted.

So we followed. 

He whistled softly, some idle tune that didn't quite belong in a place like this. As the path twisted through jagged stone and coiling shadows, the air hung thick with the scent of damp wood and something faintly sour. My eyes stayed on his back, on the way he moved—easy, unthinking, driven by an absolute, reckless certainty. He knew this place. But that didn't mean I trusted him. "If this turns out to be a waste of time," I muttered, pulling off the hat Aerion had given me and loosening my hair, "I'm blaming you."

Aerion walked beside me, utterly detached from the danger around us, hands tucked loosely into his pockets, posture relaxed in a way that made me want to throw a rock at him. "You're the one with the mission," he said. "I'm just helping you."

"I insisted on finding answers," I corrected, quicker than I meant to say. "Not following strangers through streets I don't know."

"You really should learn to be more grateful," he murmured, gaze drifting elsewhere.

My head turned toward him immediately, eyes narrowing. "And how many times do I have to tell you that you should learn how to mind your own business?" I said, each word placed carefully.

A faint smirk touched his lips. "As I said, my betrothed," he replied, the sarcasm woven cleanly through his tone, "you are my business now."

Before I could respond, his hand caught my arm, pulling me slightly toward him—quick—his fingers, digging slightly. 

I frowned and pulled back, ready to shove him off—but the movement died in my throat. There, half-buried right where my boot was about to land, was a jagged stone. I would’ve tripped. Swallowing my sudden irritation, I brushed his hand away.

The man ahead of us let out a low chuckle, full and unrestrained. "Mi wife also nags like that," he said, glancing back at us with a grin. "Strong woman. Very strong."

I blinked at him, caught off guard. "We're not— I mean, he's not—"

"It's alright, m'lady," he cut in cheerfully. "I understand women like you. Sometimes, she throws bread at me when I don't wake on time."

Aerion scoffed softly under his breath, the sound edged with quiet amusement.

I shot him a look.

He met it. 

"What?" he asked, folding his arms.

"Remind me," I said after a moment, quieter now but no less pointed, "why you're still here."

"Because you would've failed without me?" The smirk returned.

I let out a short, humorless breath. "That's bold."

"It's accurate."

"No," I said flatly, "it's arrogant."

"It can be both."

A brittle silence settled over us, suspended in the air like a taut wire.

I shook my head slightly. "You're impossible."

"And yet," he said, glancing at me briefly, "you're still walking beside me."

That—I had nothing for that. So I said nothing. 

A loud, pointed throat-clearing from the man ahead snapped both of our eyes toward him. He met our us with an overly wide, knowing smile. "Mi wife and I argue often," he continued, as if the moment hadn't shifted. "It only means she cares deeply for me."

Aerion let out a quiet laugh. "That's unfortunate."

The man faltered.

I turned sharply toward Aerion. "Don't."

"What did I say?"

"More than you should've."

"That's hardly my fault." 

The man laughed again, though it came out low this time, slightly uncertain. "Yes, well... love is—"

"Stop." The word cut through him clean, and he fell silent immediately. I exhaled slowly, dragging a hand through my hair. 

Enough. Enough about love. Enough about anything that tried to force meaning into something that wasn't even real. I didn't ask for this. I didn't ask for any of it. I was supposed to be studying. To be building something real. Something that made sense. Not this. Not him. Not a life I couldn't even call my own.

The man didn't speak again. Neither did we. We kept walking, our footsteps echoing faintly against the stone. No one spoke… and none of us were willing to be the first to touch it.

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆

The air had warmed before she saw it. The further they walked, the more it settled into something not even her mood could ignore. Humidity in the breeze, faint traces of perfume clinging to it, something sweet beneath the usual rot of the streets. Home.

Aesarys' steps slowed as the house came to view.

Red, draped along the outer walls like it always had been, silks flowing lazily with the wind, catching what little light the evening offered. Nothing about it had changed. It stood just as it always did—quietly indulgent, quietly dangerous. Always... untouched by the world beyond it. 

Madam sat on the balcony, one leg crossed over the other, arms folded neatly against herself. The light barely touched her face, but it didn't need to. It caught just enough to reveal the blade in her eyes. Watching. Waiting. For us. Madam didn't show surprise, but a sudden flicker of recognition passed through her face. Deep beneath it lay a quiet hint of relief, though it vanished the moment it appeared.

Aerion didn't slow. "Hm." He glanced around, unimpressed, as though the place failed to meet some private standard of his. Then a small pouch left his hand without ceremony, and coins clinked.

The man caught it with ease, grinning. "Much obliged, m'lord."

Aerion didn't answer. He had already moved past him. No use of talking to a man of service. The man disappeared just as easily, and as they reached the steps, the door opened.

Madam. She stood there as if she had always been meant to open that door at that exact moment, her presence filling the space without effort. Her gaze drifted to Aesarys first, bypassing her face entirely to lock onto her hair. 

"I see you've forgotten to dye your hair this week."

Aesarys' hand rose instinctively, fingers brushing against the strands—darker at the ends, lighter at the roots where the color had begun to give way.

"No worries. I'm sure you still have salvia officinalis in your room," Madam added lightly. "Unless you intend to keep it that way."

She noticed. Of course. She always did. Her gaze left then, to Aerion. Taking in his lazy posture, the condescending raise of his head as though everyone around him was below him in his field of view. "Ah. You've brought a man home." Her head tilted slightly as her eyes narrowed with a look of quiet disapproval. "Don't tell me you've decided to elope."

Aerion huffed out something close to a laugh, a smirk already forming. He found the situation more entertaining than he should have.

Aesarys stepped forward before he could speak. "Eloping with him would leave us both hungry and shelterless," she said flatly, brushing past Madam and into the house.

A smothered laugh echoed from behind her, carrying an implicit approval. Words were entirely beneath Madam, but that low chuckle sufficed. She didn't need to turn around to visualize the smile; she could feel it vibrating right through the quiet.

"Well?" Madam's voice came, light but edged, directed behind her. "Are you stepping in, or shall you remain outside like an ornament?" Her grip on the door loosened, stepping aside to invite the prince. 

Footsteps then followed as Aerion entered. The door closed. And just like that, the warmth returned immediately, heavier now, wrapping around them, alive. Laughter echoed faintly from deeper within the house, as though time had never moved past this place. Madam walked ahead of them, unhurried. She had been expecting this moment all along.

"I was wondering when you'd come," she said. 

Not if, but when.

Aesarys stopped. "So you knew."

Madam turned just enough for her gaze to meet hers. "I knew you would begin asking questions," she said. "But when I saw you walking with that boy... the small prince—" She paused. "I knew then that I had to let you go."

Something in Aesarys' chest tightened.

Madam guided them toward the quieter room without looking back.

Aesarys followed. Aerion didn't. Not at first. The moment he stepped forward, Madam stopped at the doorway and turned—just slightly. Just enough. Her eyes met his, unmoved.

"No."

That was all she said. She wasn’t loud. She wasn’t forceful. But her word was final.

Aerion's brow lifted, faint amusement flickering across his face, like he thought this was something to push against. "Careful," he said lightly. "You might be unbeknownst to who I am."

Madam didn't react. "If I were," she replied, just as calmly, "you would already be inside." She looked at him. Then she stepped in, and shut the door directly in his face, the latch sliding into place with a quiet, deliberate click.

Aesarys stood still for a moment, staring at the door. The space was dim, intimate. With Lace curtains filtering the light, carved wood lining the walls, a mounted deer watching silently from above. Then she turned back towards Madam. 

Madam had already moved further into the room, as if nothing had happened. As if shutting out a prince was no more significant than closing a window. "What did you mean by what you said earlier?" Aesarys echoed, the words catching slightly as she followed.

Madam didn't answer immediately. She walked to the window, her fingers brushing lightly against the frame. "I did not expect you to understand so soon," she said. Then, she muttered quietly. "But I expected it eventually."

Aesarys frowned slightly. "That's not an answer."

"No," Madam agreed. 

A quiet expectation settled into the room's silence. Aesarys waited, entirely unsurprised when Madam refused to offer anything more. Her jaw clutched, just barely. Reluctance shown across her face like any information she could allow herself to slip would cut off her tongue. Her mouth parted for a split second before she snapped it shut, visibly fighting her own urge to speak. "It was not always like this," she said at last. 

Aesarys didn't move, not interrupting. So Madam continued, begrudgingly. "I left my home," she said. "For a man." She paused, her eyes drifting towards the deer on the wall. "I believed it was love," she said. "And perhaps... it was." Her gaze then flickered briefly around the room. "He built this place for me. Not this—" she gestured lightly around them, "—something smaller, and something meant for a life." The word lingered in between them. Her fingers brushed the edge of the table, absent, distant. "He died before we could have one."

Aesarys swallowed. "And after?"

Madam's expression tightened, almost imperceptibly. "I stayed." Her hands shifted softly. "Trusting a man ruined me. You should heed carefully."

Aesarys' brows drew together. "That's not enough."

Madam's eyes flicked to her, with cutting precision. She exhaled. "...Dear—"

Aesarys held her gaze. "...You said you had to let me go."

Madam looked away first. "You were never meant to remain here," she said.

Aesarys' chest tightened. "Why?"

This time, Madam didn't answer right away. Her fingers curled slightly against the edge of the table. “...Because of your mother." Madam breathed out a quiet, defeated sigh. "She was one of mine." She stilled. "She should not have been. She wasn’t meant for this line of work."

"What does that mean?"

Madam caught herself, but spoke anyway. "A prince came," Aerys. Aesarys assumed. "He had no business here. He, too, was strange." She looked at Aesarys. "But he returned anyway," she said. "Not for the girls. For her." The warmth drained from her voice as she spoke. "She read fortunes. Told stories. He returned for those… until he stopped leaving."

Aesarys didn't speak.

"She bore his child soon after."

A sudden chill bled through the space as Aesarys' pulse stuttered, the walls of the room seeming to press inward around her. "And the child?" she asked, the words barely holding together.

Madam held her gaze for a split second.

"You."

The word landed with a crushing permanence. Aesarys paused before answering, lowering her eyes for a mere breath before lifting them to deliver a hardened glare. She felt zero shock. The cruelty of the moment lived entirely in its absolute certainty, as hearing the truth out loud dismantled any lingering hope of evasion. 

"I never allowed you to follow the others," Madam continued. "Not because you were better..." Her eyes flickered. "But because you were never meant to be here in the first place."

Aesarys' fingers curled slightly at her sides.

"This house… was never yours to inherit. It was never yours to live out." Madam said, quieter now, "It was always something you were meant to leave." Her hand rested against the door handle. 

Aesarys didn't answer.

“And now is that time, my child.”