I had an idea for this one almost as soon as you sent in the ask, but it took me this long to get it off the ground. Whoops.

Anyway, here's Claude and Kade, at the very end of week 6. Spoilers, obviously. Prompt 21: A Promise.

38. Running fingers through hair while kissing [post]

I hope you enjoy some Nathalie/Clarmont now, ever so many eons after you requested it. I failed entirely to do the 'while kissing' thing and focused much more on the hair. ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

The Matchmaker may have announced them, they may consider themselves engaged, this might be exactly what they should be doing as these connections are exactly what the Summit claims to be for... but Nathalie's a 'known' seductress and suspected murderer, but Clarmont's only 'allowed' here for the Royal Family to keep an eye on him, to make sure he knows how generous they are being with their mercy.

Every day of this supposed peace conference is dangerous. Too many eyes, too many secrets, too many ways to fail.

She's terrified, in fact, of this, of him, of a quiet night and a clear sky and no one around and he's warm along her side and they're alone and it's beautiful and if she thinks about it, about what this is and what it might be and what the rest of her life will be with more of this, of him, the devastation if she never gets it again, she might break.

She closes her eyes and leans her head against his shoulder and grips his jacket too tightly between her fingers, and even so it's barely tight enough to hold her there, to hold her in one piece.

He keeps one arm around her shoulders, his thumb rubbing slowly up and down against her arm. He shifts, slowly, carefully enough she never has to lift her head, never has to let go.

She feels his free hand move, fingers finding the edges of her hair, her pins, and she knows what he's going to do and she lets him, lets him tug her hair free, one pin, one curl, one twist at a time.

She can't remember the last time she let her hair loose. She braided it loosely when she was sleeping, kept it fashionable and impeccable and impressive when out.

But now it tumbles free, catching on his sleeve and her neckline and his fingers and her jewelry and she's laughing, softly, her grip easing as she turns her head enough to press her face against him.

He strokes her hair, smoothing the top, then letting his fingers find their way through it, layer by layer, until she realizes she's half-asleep, curled up against a man in the middle of the night with no one around and not afraid at all, not of him, not of the Summit, not of the future.

She hums, too drowsy and comfortable to manage words, and she feels him kiss the top her head. She shivers, and they both know it's not from the way the breeze has picked up.

He keeps soothing her, though she doesn't think it would be possible to be more comfortable. He occasionally lets himself linger, fingertips against her forehead or temple or neck for just a moment before they find their way back into her hair, always moving, slow and gentle.

I love you, she thinks, and hopes he knows, for all she can't risk saying it aloud.

Not yet.

But soon.

They're almost there. They'll make it. They have to.

I really love the Ambitious Widow background, especially when I make it so that she didn’t kill her previous husband and she just lets the rumors get out of hand so people fear her. 

Okay so finishing the day 6 stuff before days 4 and 5 was a bad decision on my part I admit. I might not sleep much this weekend. But hey at least everyone gets a nice chronological view of my slow descent into insanity :)

Day 3: Dreams - When i saw the prompt I instantly thought about @altereden’s ambitious widow Anita and how i should make this about her dreams being broken into teeny tiny pieces over and over again until you couldn’t ever put them back together... I blame @altereden. She just loves making me suffer, like any true friend does. 

Anita would do literally anything for her siblings, even though most of her relationships with them are a little strained... By a little strained I mean most of her sisters really hate her! Anyway her canon match is the wonderful crown prince Lisle who has an equally wonderful sister Penelope and they have a much nicer sibling relationship. And I couldn’t help but wonder how weird it must have been for Anita when she got to frolick happily with Penny in the fields and make flower crowns on Lisles first date. Probably felt like a freaky dream she couldn’t trust. Did it remind her of her sisters? What did she do with the flower crown? Who does her hair? I think about these things at night when I can’t sleep.

Listen I know she looks like she’s trying to hide the flower crown she’s just embarrassed and she’s doing her best to play it cool ok. She has an amazing poker face, I don’t know if I did it justice. Speaking of, you can read about her and cry with me in this awesome fic here! Written by @altereden​. Writing is another thing she’s really good at besides making me suffer <3

I think I might change the background up a bit. I’m not liking that bedpost canopy thing. Distracting. Also the hand is touching the table in a weird way and it’s bothering me so much.

This one’s also transparent.

That night, she dreams of the man in the dark again; one nightmare, or perhaps not a nightmare at all, among many. He seizes her by the throat, with a hand of shadows and mists, of flesh and steel. Too weak to resist, too strong, always too damnably strong, to give in, she would plead, if she could, for release - death, or another kind.

With a hoarse whisper on her lips, the baroness of Namaire awakens. Ria makes no mention of this irregularity. The lady's servants, all three of them, have long since learned not to comment on her often strange ways. She finishes her breakfast early, and ventures out into the grounds.

'Lady Eloise.'

'Your Grace.'

Greetings and curtsies; polite conversation and false smiles. She can manage that, always. Her life has been an excercise in managing that. And if that stroll in the gardens she promised herself, a blissful hour of much-needed solitude, is to be interrupted by a chaperone - she would manage that development, and do it well. When the grand duke offers his arm, she takes it - without hestitation, never letting even a trace of displeasure manifest upon her features, or in her manner.

'I have read a... most interesting thing, the other day', the man speaks, his tone as neutral as her expression, 'apparently, according to a certain scholar of Old Revaire, the entirety of human action, any deed at all, is governed by two reasons: the true one, which we most skillfully hide from ourselves, and the acceptable one, which we tell ourselves must be true.'

'Surely, no one invited to such a noble affair as this Summit is proving to be would ever consider doing aught for an unhonourable reason. We are each of us, after all, utterly dedicated to the protection of Katiya’s peace.’

One furtive look at his face is all she needs to tell that she has failed. She is tired, and preoccupied, not her best at all, yet somehow doubts that this platitude would work against an opponent of his skill, no matter how stellar the delivery.

'A sentiment as wise as it is true', the grand duke replies, leading her towards the hedge maze: an act of whimsy, a subtle metaphor, or merely a way to ensure privacy, 'As a chaperone, I approve of your noble ideals. In that spirit, I shall offer a word of advice... if you would have it.'

'Always. A chaperone, after all, would never think to lead me astray.'

He stops, abruptly, and turns to face his companion, smiling ever so slightly as she takes a controlled step back. Amused, mayhap, with her caution, or impressed with her self-possession.

'As... well-rehearsed as your bland courtesy is, this is not a time for games. Not ones of this paltry sort, in any case. I have seen you with the Crown Prince. As advantageous and prudent a match as it might seem to you, if not to those of us who believe the purpose of the Summit is to further relationships between different nations... reconsider. You believe that you can steer him to do your bidding. That to be crowned queen of Revaire would be the only fitting fulfillment to your ambition. All... acceptable reasons, no doubt. So acceptable, indeed, that I came to wonder about the true ones.'

There are dozens of tricks at her disposal: a cutting remark, an allusion, perhaps, to Princess Jaslen, a veiled mention of Lady Avalie. The pretense of puzzlement. Some way to deflect the question back upon it's giver. And yet, she remains silent, caught between fear and desire - a combination even more dangerous to her than than it is to others.

'You guard yourself well, lady Eloise. Too well, perhaps, to find hapiness', the grand duke spoke, as if to reassure her, 'But not well enough to deceive a man of experience. There are... ways to get what you need, my dear. Ways that, appearances to the contrary, would leave you in complete control of your fate. Ways that... do not involve marriage.'

He reaches out, as if to touch her face, to cup her cheek. Too strong, always too damnably strong to yield, she stops the caress midway, seizing the man's wrist - and smiles to see the look upon his face: an expression of unguarded surprise. She imagines that few, very few perhaps, have ever managed to see him like this.

'Ah, sir. You truly hold me in high esteem', she replies, finding the right words without effort, 'And you truly have high expectations for my future. Why else, after all, would a man of your stature endavour to discover a scandalous secret of a mere baroness? A secret of which you could gain sufficient proof, and then expose it, or merely threaten to do so, whenever it suited your purpose?'

She lets go of his hand; lets go of might have been. Of the words that might have been spoken. Of the deeds that might have followed.

Nathalie of Revaire for @fyeah7kpp fictober day 4 (yes, it’s a day late, shhhhhh) Widow feels!

Nathalie breathed in, and out. She clenched her fists as tight as she could, then let them go, and reached forward to open her jewelry box again.

She couldn’t panic.

Vera, the maid who’d helped with her hair, was still in the room, while Mari, her regular lady’s maid, was due back any moment with her veil, and she had to have her jewelry done first.

She couldn’t panic.

It didn’t matter what everyone thought of her, it didn’t matter what anyone thought of her she just...

She just had to make it through the day.

She just had to...

She had to breathe.

She exhaled, hard enough she could hear the whistle of her breath, and closed her eyes.

She hated red.

It made her look even paler than usual, and she didn’t need the help, and it brought out the highlights in her hair, which ought to have been good but instead always made her hair look a sickly faded pink rather than a healthy blush, and even with her veil it would make it painfully obvious to those that judged such things that her eyes weren’t red-rimmed from crying.

Composure was necessary, but as the widow she was supposed to make it look hard.

Never mind she’d run out of tears years ago, no one cared about that.

She hated Revaire, every inch, every soul in it.

Especially herself.

“Milady?”

Nathalie flinched, and opened her eyes to see that Mari was back already, standing next to her, one hand out as if she’d been about to touch Nathalie’s shoulder, but hadn’t quite dared.

“Are you...” Mari swallowed. “Do you need help?”

Nathalie bit her lip to hold in the urge to swear.

She nodded.

“With your jewelry?” Mari asked, her voice slightly steadier.

Nathalie nodded again. “I can’t find the garnet rings.”

She couldn’t wear plain gold today, not for this, she was wearing the necklace, the bracelet was waiting on the vanity counter in front of her, Vera had set the tiara in her hair, but she couldn’t find the final pieces and she couldn’t go out without the set, she couldn’t, they’d see she’d missed it, they’d see...

“We decided on the gloves today, milady, remember?” Mari’s voice was soft in a way Nathalie had never heard before, soft in a way no one was ever soft for her, never had been, and Nathalie closed her eyes again to soothe the dry heat building in them.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered, and she felt Mari’s touch brush against the back of her hand.

“It’s all right, you’re almost done.”

Nathalie swallowed, something hard in her throat, half scream, half hopeless laugh.

She’d barely even started.

But Mari meant well, and it was nice, just this once, to pretend. She nodded, breathed, thought about her hands, her head, and how to keep them steady.

“There you are, milady.” There was the barest pause before Mari continued, her voice brisk and focused again. “Now let’s get this veil on, shall we?”

Mari hummed as she got to work. Nathalie sighed, and pulled her nerves back into line, settled her composure over herself to accompany the soft whisper of the veil as it brushed against her cheeks and shoulders, the tug of the gloves going up over her forearms.

She opened her eyes, at last, as the weight of the bracelet settled around her wrist, as she felt the soft shift in the air that meant Mari had stood up and stepped back.

“All set,” Mari said, and managed not to let a hint of doubt linger in her expression or her voice.

Snowfall, which is Allegra’s backstory, as she tells it to Clarmont, as they’re traveling from Vail Isle to Dawnview (and beyond). 

Living in the Red, an Allegra/Clarmont AU that’s so tragic y’all are gonna excommunicate me for even thinking about writing it.