lacy🎀

You were also easily provoked, although not quite in the same way that your brother was. Being told no was your least favorite thing to hear. Aerion viewed such a statement as a challenge, one that he responded to with threats and violence. When you were told no, you viewed it only as a temporary setback. There had not been a single time where you had failed to turn a no into a yes, whether that be through batting your eyes, pleading sweetly, or even occasionally enlisting your twin for help. 

When your father broke the news of his plans for your betrothal to your cousin Valarr, he treaded rather carefully, knowing that he would be unable to bear the weight of your refusal. But to his shock, you told him that you would marry Valarr without protest. It was a fine marriage; as Valarr’s wife you would one day be Queen, you could remain close to your family, and your future husband was already known to you. 

You were relieved that your father did not plan to marry you to Aerion. Your brother was beloved to you, but even you could admit that he had some serious flaws. He was quick to anger, violent, and often seemed bored around you. Aerion was devoted to you of course, but he made a much better brother than he would a husband. On the other hand, your cousin Valarr was gallant, patient, kind, and busy enough as second in line to the throne that you presumed he would have no time to worry about anything that you did. The two of you were wed within the fortnight, with a week of tourneys and jousting and feasts to celebrate, all at your request.

The impressions of Valarr that you held before your marriage had slowly started to crumble away as you spent more time with the man. He was indeed loving and charming, gentle to you on your wedding night and protective in every sense of the word. But perhaps because he had no sisters, he was not accustomed to the wants and needs of women in the way that your father and brothers were. When you requested to have a dozen new dresses made, he told you that three would suit your needs just fine. He moved the flagon out of your reach every night when he decided that you already had consumed enough wine. He did not allow you to roam the markets of King’s Landing in pursuit of new jewels, saying that you already had plenty and that buying anymore was simply frivolous. 

To your even greater shock, he seemed to be immune to all of your tricks. Your pouting was met with dismissal, your pleas with distraction, and your threats to complain to your father with laughter. And you had complained to your father, who told you that it was out of his hands now that you were married. The only person who seemed to have any sympathy was Aerion, who snuck you more wine whenever you wished and would begrudgingly visit the stalls of your favorite jewelers on your behalf. Your husband was beginning to catch on, noticing that you were often more drunk at dinner than two glasses of wine could explain, that new necklaces and earrings seemed to appear everyday despite his limitation of your spending money, and that you no longer argued with him after being told no.

The breaking point happened one evening as you returned to your shared chambers, something Valarr had insisted upon when you were wed. You had spent the afternoon with your twin, drinking and laughing and reminiscing on the trip that you had taken to Pentos a few summers ago. The two of you had come up with a wonderful idea, another trip, this time to Lys. You would bring your three closest ladies along for your travels, a whole moon’s worth of shopping and shows and feasts and drinking in the Free City. Your brother had already written letters to a handful of nobles in Lys, offering them the honor of hosting a Targaryen Prince and Princess. The trip would be decadent, lavish, and certainly expensive. It would be best to frame the journey, to your husband, as one of diplomacy and education. You could run up his accounts once you were in Lys, blaming it all on Aerion and your ladies. 

When you entered the chambers, giddy and giggling, you did not expect to see that Valarr was already there. He sat at his desk, brows furrowed as he flipped through a stack of parchment. You expected his expression to change once he noticed you, but he remained steadfast in his scowl.

“Good evening, wife. It appears that we must have a rather serious conversation.” 

“Hmm. It is too warm and wonderful outside for anything serious. Have you been to the gardens as of late? There is a beautiful new orange tree, just planted this very day.” You flitted over to your dressing table, fluffing up your hair and reaching for a pot of rouge. 

“No, I have not. I was too busy speaking with your father. He pulled me aside after supper, saying that I must meet with him in his study rather urgently. Would you like to guess why?” 

“Important business, I am sure. You dipped your finger into the rouge pot, patting the color on your lips and cheeks. Valarr holds up one of the sheets of parchment so that you can see. It is written in your brother’s hand, and in his signature red ink. 

“Your brother has requested a large amount of funds from Maekar. An excursion to Lys, detailed here. Apparently, the two of you have schemed to bankrupt your father in order to enjoy such an extravagant vacation that it would put the entire kingdom to shame!” You falter in your movements as Valarr waves the parchment wildly. Fuck, this was not the way that he was supposed to find out about the trip. “So of course, your father has requested that I cover half of the expenses, seeing as you are my wife. When were you planning on telling me about this ridiculous plan?” 

“Well, it would not be that expensive. We only wish to strengthen the alliance between Lys and the Crown.” You smile at Valarr softly, widening your eyes in a way that has never failed you before. 

“Not that expensive you say?” He is standing now, walking towards you with the stack of parchment in his hands. He shuffles through,stopping to point at a page where you see Aerion has begun to list your requests. “Fifty gold dragons for ship passage, a hundred for a stay at the Mermaid’s Daughter, thirty for wine alone, and an additional two hundred for various luxury goods! What does that even mean?” 

“Shopping,” you tell him without missing a beat. You might have been better off to refrain from responding, seeing as he throws the parchment onto your dressing table and begins to shake his head. 

“No. Absolutely not. You will not be going on this ridiculous trip, and I am astounded that you would even have the gall to request such a thing.” Your turn toward him, pouting as you stack your hands on your hips.

“But Valarr, try to understand! I have not yet been to Lys, and everyone says that you have not lived if you have not traveled there! Why don’t you speak to my father again, remind him that I am his only daughter and that I love him so. He might be willing to pay more if we offer to take Daeron along with us as well,” you suggest. These are both promising ideas, but Valarr will not even consider them. 

“I have told you no, and that is final. Money aside, it is not proper for you to go gallivanting across the Free Cities, especially not in the way that Aerion has described here. Staying at brothels, visiting pleasure gardens; do you wish to shame me by acting with so little virtue? And how do you plan to avoid robbers and looters and all sorts of other criminals? There is nothing in here that mentions any sort of safety precautions.” The papers shuffle back and forth in his hands, and you swear that he grows angrier every time he glances across them.

“Well, all of the brothel stuff is Aerion’s doing. I will speak to him, convince him to cut back on some of those expenses.” Your husband is shaking his head as you speak, still looking quite bewildered. “And we will be safe! My brother is trained in combat, and we were considering inviting Lady Clasrissa’s cousin as well, the one who is a knight. But, that would of course be more costly, so you must decide how important safety is for you.”

“Gods, woman! Have you any idea how ridiculous you sound?” Valarr does not shout at you, but his tone is stern and accusatory. “If your father wishes to fund Aerion’s ludicrous lifestyle, then that is his business. But as your husband, I will not grant you my coin or my permission to do such a thing.” You approach him swiftly, grabbing at his hands gently in hopes of melting his heart.

“Please, husband. Do you not wish to please me?” You run your thumb along the inside of his wrist as you speak. “Is it not your duty to make me happy?”

“Not at the cost of emptying the Crown’s coffers. My decision is final. Forget this entire idea, and you will be all the happier for it.”

Your initial reaction is a desire to shout at him, bang your fists against his chest, and wail until he gives in. Such a strategy would work on your brother, but you know that Valarr will not be so easily convinced. 

“Fine. Let us talk about something else.” Valarr raises a brow, not quite believing that you would give up so easily. 

“What do you wish to discuss?” He is sincere yet cautious, probably assuming that there is another thing you wish to ask him for. You run a hand along his bicep, gazing into his eyes longingly. If you know anything about men, it is that they are much more pliable when you are naked. Your other hand reaches around the back of his neck, fingers tangling through his tresses. 

“Talk may have been the wrong descriptor. I think I meant to say fuck.” And with that, you close the distance between you and meet his lips in a passionate kiss. He embraces you quickly, his hands finding your waist as he accepts your kiss. You are certain that he can taste the wine on your lips, as you can taste the smoke on his. It has been several days since he last had you, which is most definitely to your advantage. He allows you to guide him backwards to the desk, straddling him and directing his fingers to the laces of your dress. 

Valarr begins to kiss your neck, lips softly trailing from your ear to your collarbone. He stops when he reaches the necklace of gold and rubies, bought for you by Aerion earlier that very day.

“I do not believe I recognize this one,” he remarks. Your breath catches, and you guide his mouth back towards your neck in hopes that he will not linger on that thought. Instead, he nips at your ear, more specifically your new diamond earring. “Or these. Tell me, wherever did they come from?” His eyes pierce into yours, not quite accusatory but also not playful. 

“I have had them for many years. Of course you do not recognize them; you are a man and men do not notice such things,” you snap at him. He studies your expression carefully for a moment, and you attempt to distract him by reaching behind your own back and attempting to undo your laces. 

“Are you going to help me, or am I meant to undress myself?” Valarr responds by brushing away your hands and beginning to unlace you. Once you are free enough to do so, you quickly shimmy out of your dress and kick it to the floor, kissing Valarr wildly as you reach for the laces of his breeches. Breaking away from the kiss, you sink down to your knees in front of him, tossing your hair over your shoulder as you bat your eyes and protrude your lower lip. Your hands run up his thigh, and you wait until you feel him twitch to begin speaking.

“You know, if I were to go to Lys, I am sure that I would miss you greatly. When I return, I would be so filled with lust and longing that I would be rather insatiable. You could have me every hour of every day, in whichever way that you like.” Valarr is not a stupid man, and he realizes what you are doing. You pray that he is enough of a man to allow desire to overcome his reason.

“Hmm. I suppose that would be the case.” You nod your head, hooking your fingers into his waistband and pulling the fabric down past his knees. 

“I find that I am rather insatiable whenever I return home after a long time away. Perhaps I might even buy a gift for you on my travels, something lacy that I could wear underneath my gown.” You rest your head against his bare thigh, gazing up at him longingly. He closes his eyes as he reaches down to grasp your hair, guiding your head toward his cock. You smile as you open part your lips, believing that you have won as you begin to take him in your mouth.

“But, it is a shame that we will never know, seeing as you will not be going to Lys.” You pull away from him immediately, frowning and pouting. Valarr laughs at you as he runs his fingers through your hair. “Nice try, my darling, but you mistake me for a weaker man.” You groan and slap his hand away from you. “Oh, come on Valarr! There must be something I can do that will convince you to allow me this trip!” 

“No, there is not. I have given you my decision, and it is final. You must learn to live with it.” You look at him with utter disgust as you quickly clamber off the ground, striding off angrily. You march over to the door, intent on leaving before you are stopped by Valarr, who has made quick work of pulling his pants back on. He blocks your way, placing a firm hand on the door. 

“What do you think you’re doing?” He appears rather amused by all of this, as his eyes gleam and a smirk dances across his face. 

“I am going to fetch my brother. Aerion will talk some sense into you.” The smirk disappears, quickly transforming into a frown.

“You wish to go crying to your brother, be my guest. But you will not bring him here into the privacy of our chambers. I may be duty-bound to suffer your whining, but you will not subject me to his. I will not indulge your every whim, and you would do well to stop behaving like a child.” You are angry now, furious that he has insulted both you and your brother.

“If you dare to cross me, then you cross Aerion as well. He will not be happy when he learns of how horribly you have treated me.” Your threat might scare an ordinary man, but Valarr is also a Targaryen Prince, and unfortunately for you he does not fear your brother in the way that so many do. 

“Aerion, is not your husband. It is not up to him to decide how I choose to conduct our marriage. I have grown tired of discussing another man in my own bedchambers.” 

“Well perhaps I should have married Aerion instead! He would not dare to deny me like you do! And he would be a much better husband, he is more fun and more clever and more daring than you will ever be!” You are shouting at him now, and you appear to have sparked anger in your husband as well. But he does not shout, and instead speaks to you coldly. 

“You mistake my patience for weakness if you would dare to disrespect me by threatening me with your brother. Aerion may indulge you, but only because he will never face the consequences of doing so.” His hand has curled around your wrist, assertive but not yet punishing. “Do not go to him now. If you do, he will do nothing but stoke the flames of your anger. Nothing that you can convince him to say or do will change my mind.” You tear away from his grasp and duck underneath the arm that guards the door, yanking it away abruptly. 

“I will do as I please. And you have enraged me so that perhaps I may truly let Aerion take your place as my husband. If not forever, then at least for tonight. At the very least, I know that he will fuck me better than you do.” The door has been pushed open and you already have one foot outside of it when Valarr’s strong arms grab you by the waist and pull you back in. He kicks the door closed as he pushes you up against the wall, all while you kick at his legs and shout at him to let you go. He covers your mouth with his hand, silencing you rather effectively. 

“You dare to speak to your husband in such a way? If you wish to provoke me into jealousy, it will not work.” Valarr still does not appear to be angry with you; he is more so shocked by what you have done. He removes his hand slowly, allowing you to respond.

“Release me at once. I want to see my brother.” Valarr shakes his head, although his grip on you loosens slightly. And then, he does something that completely shocks you. He pins your hands above your head and begins to press kisses to your neck.

“No. You will learn to respect me, by one means or another.” His tongue darts out and traces your skin, hot and wet and sending shivers down your spine. “Tell me, do you think about Aerion whilst I am fucking you?” The question is not a rhetorical one, and he pauses his kisses as he waits for a response. 

“Yes. All the time,” you snap at him. His lips find your collarbone and he begins to suck at it. 

“Really? When my cock is inside of you and you are moaning and whining and begging me for more?” You nod your head, Valarr’s free hand working into the space between your back and the wall, tugging at the laces of your corset. “And when I have my fingers inside of you, making you shake and clench around them, do you think of your brother then too?” 

“Yes.” Your voice is barely a whisper but he hears it nonetheless.

“What about when I am on my knees for you, licking your cunt until you cry. Aerion is the one on your mind?” He pulls your corset off, letting it drop to the ground. 

“Yes,” you tell him for the third time. Valarr lifts his head slightly, pressing his lips to your ear as he reaches under your chemise to trace your bare thigh. 

“I think that you are lying to me.” His other hand releases your arms, coming down to your neck to tug at your necklace. “Just like you lied to me about this.” His eyes meet yours, and you know that in this moment he sees you quite clearly. Your cheeks are flushed and you are trying your very hardest not to break eye contact, not wanting to reveal your guilt. “I will give you one more chance to tell me the truth.” 

He is playing a game with you, something that is so unlike him. Truthfully, it excites you. Valarr is revealing a new side of him and you are curious to see how far he is willing to go. 

“I haven’t lied about anything.” You dare to say. Valarr lifts you by your thighs, placing you on his desk in one swift movement. He drops to his knees, fire burning in his eyes as he lifts what little fabric remains on your body to rest above your waist. His strong hands spread your legs to him as he positions his head in between them. 

“We’ll see about that.”

His tongue flattens against your clit with strong licks that begin to trace your folds. He devoured you in a way that quickly had you biting back moans. When he had done this before, he was always soft and slow and gentle. But this time, he held nothing back as he lapped at you aggressively. His lips find your clit and he begins to suckle at it, causing you to whine as the pleasure starts to build within you. Right as it is about to burst, Valarr pulls back.

“Still thinking about Aerion?” 

“Yes,” you snap, angry at him for denying you. His hands squeeze your legs as he traces your thigh with kisses.

“That is a shame. I won’t let you peak if your thoughts are of another man.” 

So, this is the route he means to take, bringing you close to the edge and denying you in hopes that you will become more pliable. You accept his challenge, pushing his head back toward your center. He continues his ministrations with his tongue, and you are very careful as to not moan his name the way that you usually would. His licks are firm and strong, making you quiver desperately. Once again, he stops as soon as the pleasure threatens to ignite. 

This time you cry out at the loss of contact, desperately trying to push his head back down. You can see your wetness coating his lips as he looks up at you.

“Are you ready to tell me the truth now?” 

“Fuck you.” You shake your head and he laughs, a deep sound that echoes through the room.  He returns to your cunt, this time adding his fingers into the mix. They thrust in and out of your heat, making a sinful noise as his tongue rubs against your clit. Quickly, you approach your peak for a third time. You shift your hips desperately, grinding against him in an attempt to chase your please. But he denies you yet again, causing tears of frustration to prick at your eyes. 

“Admit that you were lying and I will let you finish.” His offer is sincere, but you force yourself to shake your head. Valarr uses his fingers to stroke the outside of your folds, causing you to shiver and twitch. “Come on darling, give in. I will do this all night if I must, but I would much rather watch you peak.” His fingers dip inside of you, pumping you slowly as they drag against your walls. Any restraint that you have left vanishes as he begins to stroke the spongy spot within you, causing heat to course through your veins.

“I was lying, Valarr. I was lying about Aerion; I only think of you, not him. Never him,” you admit desperately. Valarr has finally tamed you, and he smiles. 

“A good start. What else?” You groan, tired of the questions and frustrated by his teasing. But when his movements inside of you stop, you speak once again.

“Aerion bought the necklace for me. Today. I told him to do it, to buy me something that would match my new red shoes.” Valarr appears to be satisfied with this last bit of candor, as he lowers his mouth to you once again. When you finally explode with pleasure, it is hot and fiery and overwhelming. His name is on your lips, a desperate plea that you repeat over and over as he coaxes you through your peak. Your hands pull roughly at his hair as your legs shake wildly. 

“Good girl. That wasn’t so hard, was it?” He rises off his knees, stripping off his tunic as he finds your lips. You taste yourself on his tongue as he pulls your chemise up and over your head.  “Get on the bed,” he tells you as he pulls away, making quick work of his last remaining article of clothing. You obey but your legs threaten to give out as you do so. 

You sit at the edge of the bed when he approaches you, his cock hard and leaking. His fingers graze your neck softly before grasping at your necklace. You expect him to rip it from you, but instead he adjusts it slightly.

“You can keep this, I suppose. If only to serve as a reminder of my generosity,” he tells you. Valarr pushes you onto the bed so that you are lying, climbing on top of you and lining his cock up with your entrance. He kisses you once again as his tip brushes against your center. 

“You are mine. Not Aerion’s, mine. My wife.” He speaks softly, although you know that his words hold a serious weight. When he finally enters you, your body immediately bends to his will. He lifts one of your legs, allowing him to go deeper as he kisses your neck. 

“Valarr,” you moan as he fucks you, slowly but in a way meant to savor rather than tease. You thread your hands into his hair, tugging at the silver strands nestles behind his ear. He lets out a low groan when you do so, and the noise causes you to clench around him. The sound of skin slapping against skin echoes through the room. He presses a hand against your stomach, feeling where his cock is nestled inside of you. You whine and whimper as his thrusts become faster; the feeling is too much and you try to squirm away from him.

“It’s too much,” you tell him earnestly.

“Always complaints with you, never an expression of gratitude.” His strong hand presses your face away from his and into the pillow, silencing you as his lips graze your neck. “Take what I give you and be grateful for it.” 

Valarr’s pace quickens once again, his hands holding your hips steady as he fucks you relentlessly. You cannot think of anything but the feeling of him inside of you, overwhelming your senses. When you begin to clench around him, Valarr groans deeply.

“Gods! My beautiful wife, my spoiled little princess,” he mumbles in your ear as he ruts into you rapidly. You feel his cock twitch inside of you as he stifles what sounds very much like a whimper by burying his face into your neck. Spurts of his thick, hot seed fill you as your husband guides your chin up towards his as to kiss your cheeks and lips once again. 

Valarr slowly pulls out of you, his spend dripping from your cunt as he does so. He gently positions you on your back before pulling you to his chest, allowing you to rest on his knees as he caresses your hair. It takes a few minutes for coherent thoughts to return to you, but the first one that does cross your mind is that your husband is still naked. His sudden shift in demeanor had occurred over Aerion, not Lys. You turn your head slowly, pouting your lips and widening your eyes.

“What if you accompanied me to Lys? And, I cut the shopping expenses in half?” Valarr studies you silently for a moment, before the brow above his dark eye raises and a smile teases his lips. Perhaps the trip is not fully out of the question.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You say the words quickly.

You kneel because you are meant to kneel. You answer when prompted because you have practised this since you were old enough to stand straight without swaying. Your voice does not shake.

You learned early that composure is a kind of armour.

Still, the words land strangely.

Husband. Wife.

They echo, hollow and final, like a door closing somewhere behind you.

You do not look at him when they bind your hands together. You can feel the heat of him without needing to see; too close, too solid, it's like standing near a forge. When you finally do lift your gaze, it is because you are expected to, because this part has been explained to you too.

Prince Aerion Targaryen stands beside you in red and black, hair pale as bone in torchlight, mouth set in something that is not quite a smile. His eyes flick down to where your hands are joined, then back to your face, sharp and assessing.

Not hungry. Not yet. He looks curious.

That unsettles you more than hunger would have.

The ceremony ends without flourish. No songs linger in the air. No laughter swells to carry you forward into whatever comes next. There is no bedding, no drunken crowd to shove you toward a marriage bed while women shout advice and men cheer.

Instead, someone says his name.

Quiet, urgent. Aerion turns at once, hearing what the man has to say.

“I ride within the hour,” he says, already stepping away from you. The words are not meant for you, but you hear them all the same. “Tell my father the banners will hold.”

You blink.

Within the hour?

This was not part of what you were told. You were prepared for pain, for humiliation, for the sharp loss of self that comes with becoming someone’s wife in truth rather than in name. You were prepared for blood on sheets and the heavy, suffocating closeness of a stranger who would own you by dawn.

You were not prepared for this, or the way he pauses, just barely, as if remembering you exist.

Aerion looks back at you then. Really looks. His gaze skims your face, the line of your throat, the dark fabric of your house colours swallowed beneath Targaryen red.

Something unreadable passes through his expression, irritation, perhaps? Or calculation.

“We will speak when I return,” he says.

Not I will come to you. Not I will send for you.

Then he is gone, swallowed by motion and command, cloak snapping behind him like a banner.

You are left standing where he put you, hands empty now, heart beating far too loud for a room that has gone very still.

That night, you are escorted to chambers that are unmistakably his.

Everything smells like him, smoke and oil and something sharper beneath, metallic and clean. His things are everywhere, armour set carefully on its stand, sword laid out as if he might reach for it at any moment, books half-open and abandoned. Then there is the bed, vast and untouched, its linens smooth and cold beneath your fingertips once you dare brush them.

You sit on the edge, because you do not know what else to do, and tell yourself this is a mercy.

A delay. A gift of time to steady yourself, to remember how to breathe when fear coils too tightly in your chest. You have endured storms that rattled the walls of Storm’s End and laughed through thunder that sent other children running; you can endure this.

But the nights stretch.

One becomes three. Three becomes seven. A week becomes a month, and the bed remains empty beside you.

You learn the rhythms of his absence.

Each evening you prepare as if he might come. You keep your hair brushed, hands clean, spine straight. Each night you lie awake listening for boots that never sound. You do not ask questions.

You do not seek reassurance. You have not been raised to beg for comfort, and besides, comfort is not what waits for you when he returns.

What waits is consummation.

The word sits heavy in your mind, formal and ominous. It is not desire you fear, not truly. It is the uncertainty. You know his reputation, as everyone does. He's supposed to be cruel and volatile, too enamoured with his own blood and birthright. You have heard how he laughs when others flinch, how his temper burns fast and bright.

You imagine his hands, impatient and unyielding. You imagine pain as a thing to be endured quietly, teeth clenched, but pride intact.

You tell yourself this will be a duty.

Still, sometimes in the dark, your fingers curl into the sheets and do not loosen for a long while.

When the summons finally comes, it is unceremonious.

“He has returned,” a servant says, eyes fixed carefully on the floor. “The prince requests your presence at supper.”

Requests.

You almost laugh at that.

You dress slowly, deliberately. Your hands do not shake, but your stomach tightens all the same. When you leave the chambers, you do not look back at the bed. You have learned better than to tempt fate.

The hall where he waits is smaller than you expect. Intimate. The table is set for two.

Aerion stands when you enter.

He looks intact. Unharmed.

Sharper, if anything, as if battle has honed him rather than dulled his edges. His eyes catch on you immediately, tracking your approach with unnerving focus.

“So,” he says, once you are close enough to hear the quiet amusement in his voice. “My wife.”

The word feels different when he says it.

He gestures for you to sit.

Up close you can see the faint marks battle has left behind. The scratches along his knuckles, a small healing cut at his jaw. He notices your gaze and smiles thinly, as if daring you to ask.

You do not.

“Did you sleep well in my absence?” he asks lightly, as servants begin to pour wine.

You hesitate just long enough to be honest without being foolish. “I slept,” you say.

His smile deepens, just a fraction. “Good. You will need your strength.”

Your breath catches despite yourself. Aerion watches this reaction with open interest, fingers tapping once against the table.

“Hmm,” he murmurs softly, almost to himself. “You will.”

The implications of his word send a shiver down your spine, and slowly, the servants start to withdraw from the room.

One moment there is the soft scrape of plates, the low murmur of movement, and the next, the door closes and the silence is absolute.

The candles burn steadily, the light catching on dark wine in your cup.

Aerion does not reach for his food right away.

He watches you instead.

It is not the obvious kind of staring, not the leering, impatient sort you were taught to expect. His gaze drifts, unhurried, as if he has all the time in the world and intends to use every moment of it.

“You are tense,” he says mildly.

You swallow. “Not particularly, my prince.”

He lifts a brow. “It was not a question.”

Your fingers tighten around the stem of your cup. You force them to loosen, one by one. You are not a girl anymore. You are a married woman, seated across from a Targaryen prince with a reputation sharpened to a blade.

“I am not accustomed to being summoned so suddenly,” you say, choosing your words with care.

Aerion hums, amused. “Liar.”

The word lands harshly.

He finally reaches for his wine, swirling it once before taking a measured sip. His eyes never leave your face.

“You have been expecting this since the moment I left,” he continues. “Since the words were said and the door closed behind me. Every night. Every hour.”

Your throat tightens. You do not deny it. There is no point.

“I imagine you have built quite the story in your head,” he says. “Was I cruel?”

You hesitate. That, too, amuses him.

“Go on,” he urges. “I will not punish you for honesty, I asked, didn't I?”

“I… imagined you would not be gentle,” you say at last.

Aerion laughs.

It is a soft sound, almost pleasant, and it made your blood run cold.

“Gentleness,” he repeats, as if tasting the word. “Is that what you value?”

“No,” you say quickly. “But-”

“But you hoped for it anyway,” he finishes. “How very human of you.”

He leans back in his chair, studying you as though you are something newly discovered, something he has not yet decided whether to break apart or keep intact.

“You fear pain,” he says. “That is expected. What surprises me is that you fear humiliation more.”

Your breath stutters. You had not realised how transparent you were.

“I would not shame you,” Aerion says, almost absently. “Not in private.”

That should comfort you.

It doesn’t.

He reaches for his knife then, slicing into the meat on his plate with precise, unhurried movements. The sound is quiet but intimate, the scrape of blade against porcelain loud in the silence between you.

“Eat,” he says. “You've barely touched your food.”

You obey, though you can barely taste it. Each bite feels deliberate, watched. You are acutely aware of your mouth, of the way your lips close around the fork, of how you swallow.

The awareness is maddening.

“You were raised at Storm’s End,” Aerion says after a moment. “Tell me, did the storms frighten you?”

“No,” you answer. This, at least, is easy. “They were constant. You do not fear what you grow up with.”

“Mm.” His gaze sharpens. “And me?”

The question is posed lightly, conversationally, but it is a trap all the same.

You meet his eyes. They are pale, almost bright in the candlelight, and entirely unreadable.

“I am learning,” you say carefully, “what it means to be your wife.”

Aerion’s smile is slow. Dangerous.

“You learn quickly.”

He rises from his seat without warning.

You stiffen at once, every nerve lighting up as he comes around the table. You do not turn to track him; you do not dare. His presence shifts the air behind you, close enough now that you can feel warmth at your back.

He stops just there. Not touching. Not yet.

“You sit as if you expect a blow,” he observes. “Shoulders tight. Breath shallow.”

You hate that he knows.

“Look at me,” he says.

It is not loud. It does not need to be.

You turn.

Up close he is overwhelming, taller than you remembered, broader, his pale hair catching the light like fire turned cold. His expression is thoughtful now, not mocking, not cruel.

“If I wished to frighten you,” Aerion says quietly, “I would have done so already.”

His hand lifts, slow, and his fingers hover near your jaw, not quite touching, as if gauging how much space you need to breathe.

“I am not interested in breaking what is mine,” he continues. “That would be wasteful.”

There it is, that possession you were warned of, stated plainly and without apology.

Your heart hammers. “And if I disappoint you?”

His thumb brushes your chin, just barely, tilting your face up. The touch is controlled, almost careful, and somehow that makes it worse.

“Then I will teach you,” he says. “Disappointment is a correctable flaw.”

He withdraws his hand as suddenly as he offered it, stepping back as though nothing intimate has just passed between you.

“Come,” Aerion says, turning toward the door. “Supper is finished.”

Your pulse roars in your ears as you rise. Your legs feel unsteady, but you force them to move, following him from the room and down the quiet corridor beyond.

Each step feels like a countdown.

When he stops before the doors to his chambers, he turns to face you once more. His gaze flicks over you, your face, your hands, the tension still coiled too tightly in your frame.

Then he pushes the doors open.

The chambers are dim, lit only by the low glow of the hearth and a handful of candles set too far apart to fully chase the shadows from the corners. The bed dominates the room; wide, imposing, draped in pale fabric that looks untouched despite the weeks you’ve spent sleeping alone in it.

Aerion closes the door.

The sound of the latch clicking echoes through the room.

You stand where you are, hands folded too neatly before you, heart thudding hard enough you’re certain he must hear it. He doesn’t rush you. Of course he doesn’t. He takes his time removing his gloves, setting them aside with deliberate care.

“Come here,” he says.

Not unkindly. Not gently either. Simply stated, like a truth.

You cross the room on unsteady legs. He watches the whole way, eyes sharp and intent, tracking every hesitation. When you stop in front of him, close enough now to feel his warmth, he tilts his head slightly.

“You look as though you expect me to tear at you,” he observes. “Does that disappoint you?”

Your breath stutters. “No, my prince.”

A smile flickers across his mouth. “Good. Because I do not rush what is owed to me.”

He cups your face, thumbs pressing lightly beneath your jaw, forcing you to meet his gaze. There is no heat in his expression, no hunger, no embarrassment, no urgency.

Just possession.

“This is duty,” he says, as if reading your thoughts. “For both of us."

He guides you back toward the bed, one steady step at a time, until the backs of your knees meet the mattress. Only then does he release you.

“Sit.”

You do.

The bed dips beneath your weight. The sheets whisper softly as you brace your hands at your sides, spine straight, chin lifted.

You refuse to cower.

Aerion seems pleased by that.

He steps closer again, standing between your knees, and reaches for the clasp at your collar. His fingers are steady as he undoes it, then the next, and the next after that. He takes his time, watching your face rather than his hands, noting every sharp inhale you fail to hide.

“You have never been with a man,” he says suddenly.

It is not phrased as a question.

“No,” you answer, heat rising to your cheeks despite yourself. “I have not.”

“Of course not,” he murmurs. There is something almost amused in his tone now. “Baratheons guard their daughters well.”

He slides the fabric from your shoulders, letting it fall away slowly. There is no shame in his gaze as he looks at you. You are simply there, and he is looking, as if this is the most natural thing in the world.

“You tremble,” he notes. “But you do not pull away.”

“I was taught not to,” you say quietly.

That earns you a sharp look. “Unlearn that,” he replies. “I will know if you are afraid. I will know if you lie.”

He presses you back onto the bed then, not roughly, but decisively, guiding you down until the pillows cradle your head and the mattress supports your spine. You stare up at him, pulse racing, as he straightens and begins to undress himself with the same unhurried precision.

There is no modesty in him. He does not look away, does not rush, does not pretend this is anything other than what it is meant to be.

When he leans over you again, bracing one arm beside your head, his presence is overwhelming, close and inescapable.

His free hand smooths over your hair.

When he positions himself between your legs, his hands roam your body, tracing the curves of your hips and waist.

His fingers delve lower, parting your folds to circle your entrance with a tantalising pressure. The sensation is overwhelming, a rush of heat and wetness building you cannot control, and then he brushes against your most sensitive spot. A whimper escapes before you can stop it.

In that moment beneath him, the weight of his gaze, you feel the last of your resistance crumbling.

A dark thrill courses through you, corrupted by the whispers of the court that have haunted your every waking moment, the tales of Aerion's cruelty, his unyielding temper, how he crushes anyone he even slightly dislikes without mercy.

His fingers, still circling you, suddenly press harder. Not enough to hurt, but enough to remind you of his power, his breath hot against your neck as he murmurs,

"You'll learn to crave this, wife, just as the dragons crave the sky."

The words slice through you, stirring the ever-existing nervousness that makes your body tense beneath him. You feel his cock nudge your entrance, slick with your own uncontrollable wetness.

You hear the low, predatory growl in his throat, feel the scars on his chest press against your breasts like brands of ownership. He is finally making you his, body and soul, with a possessiveness that borders on ruthlessness, his violet eyes now gleaming with hunger for the first time.

He shifts his weight, muscular thighs pinning yours apart; you will almost certainly bruise.

It's as if he's trying to quell any last flicker of resistance, and you gasp at the raw intrusion as he pushes forward, his hard cock breaching you with a slow, relentless thrust that stretches you to your limits.

The pain is immediate, your walls gripping him desperately, every inch of him filling you until you're certain you can't take any more. But still, he doesn't stop, driving deeper into you in a way that's both careful and harsh, his hands clamping down on your hips to hold you in place.

Your mind races with the rumours of his past conquests, how he's broken others with this same intensity. Tears prick at your eyes, born of fear and the sensation of being utterly claimed. But beneath it all there's a heat building, your body betrays you and arches to meet his movements, your moans escaping unbidden as his cock hits a sensitive spot deep inside.

In the dim torchlight, his face hovers above yours, a mask of arrogant triumph laced with something primal, his silver hair catching the torchlight.

"Mine at last."

He rolls his hips with calculated force, each thrust claiming not just your body, but pushes you towards surrender.

You cling to him, nails digging into his shoulders, torn between the dread of his cruelty and the fire he's awakening in you.

His hips drive forward with a relentless rhythm, each thrust sending shockwaves through your core, your pussy clenching tightly around him as if trying to hold him captive.

You arch beneath him again, nails biting deeper into the scarred flesh of his shoulders, a mix of pain and pleasure blurring the lines of your resistance.

Aerion's breath comes in hot, ragged bursts against your neck, his silver hair brushing your skin like silken whips. You can feel the sweat-slicked slide of his body over yours, the hard planes of his muscles flexing with every powerful stroke.

"That's it, little wife," he growls, his voice rough, "give in to me. Feel how perfectly you take me."

His words ignite a fresh wave of heat, your body betraying you once more as your hips rise to meet his, the friction against your clit sending sparks of ecstasy that make your toes curl and your moans spill unchecked into the dim chamber.

He shifts slightly, angling his thrusts to find that sensitive spot deep inside you. His hands slide up to cup your breasts, thumbs rolling over your hardened nipples with a possessive squeeze, drawing a sharp gasp from your lips.

"You're mine now, in every way," he murmurs, his eyes locking onto yours with an intensity that strips away your defences, his cock plunging deeper as if to seal the claim.

Before you can think it through, your hands slide to his face, fingers tracing the sharp lines of his jaw.

“I thought it would hurt. I didn’t think I’d feel anything good at all.” The words slip out before you can regret them, drawing a wicked smile from his lips.

Aerion's pace quickens, his thrusts growing more urgent, the sound of skin slapping against skin echoing off the stone walls, mingling with your gasps and the distant roar of the sea outside.

He leans down, capturing your mouth in a bruising kiss, his tongue invading with the same dominance as his body.

You can taste the salt of your own tears.

Your legs wrap around his waist instinctively, pulling him closer, deeper, the pressure building in your core until it threatens to shatter you, your pussy throbbing with an ache that demands release.

Aerion's rhythm grows more primal, his thrusts deepening as if he seeks to etch himself into the very core of your being. With a sudden, commanding growl, he pulls back just enough to grasp your hips, his strong fingers digging into your flesh. In one fluid motion, he flips you onto your stomach, the cool silk sheets pressing against your heated skin as he manoeuvres you onto all fours. Your knees sink into the mattress as your back arches instinctively under his hands.

The new position exposes you fully to him, you clench around the emptiness he'd left, slick and aching, while his thick cock nudges against your entrance again, the head teasing your folds with a deliberate grind that makes your breath catch.

Behind you now, Aerion's hands roam your curves, one sliding up to tangle in your hair and tilt your head back, forcing you to meet his intense violet gaze over your shoulder.

"That's it, my love," he murmurs, tone mocking, "I'm going to fill you so completely, plant my seed deep inside you until you're swollen with my child." He groans, and when he speaks again his voice is a husky whisper.

"Imagine it, your belly rounded with a Targaryen heir, your body marked as mine forever."

You can't deny the way his promise ignites something within you, like a forbidden kind of thrill. His cock plunges back into your depths with a forceful thrust that stretches you anew, each stroke hitting newer, deeper angles that send jolts through your limbs.

The air grows thick with the scent of sweat and arousal. You feel the weight of his body covering yours, his chest pressing into your back as his hands grip your waist to hold you steady.

Aerion's hand slips lower, his fingers delving between your slick folds with expert precision. He circles your swollen clit with an unrelenting pressure as he whispers, "Let go for me, hmm? Your first true surrender, a gift only for your husband."

The words wrap around you, fueling the storm building inside, and you feel the tension coil tighter in your core. The friction of his movements ignite sparks that race through your veins, your moans growing frantic and unrestrained, until finally, the barrier is shattered.

Your body convulses around him, a rush of warmth flooding through you as your inner walls clench rhythmically around him, the whole thing overwhelming in its novelty.

Confusion swirls in your mind, this unfamiliar bliss and disorientation taking over your body. You've never known such a feeling. A raw, shattering peak that left you gasping and pliant beneath him, every nerve alight with a pleasure that bordered on pain.

Aerion slows his thrusts, his eyes gleaming with hunger as he eases himself out just enough to flip you onto your back once more, your legs falling open, boneless under him.

He positions himself above you, his frame blocking out the torchlight, thick cock sliding back into your overstimulated pussy with a single, deep thrust that makes you cry out.

The sensitivity heightens every sensation.

"Look at me," he commands, his voice a low rumble, as he begins to move again, his hips driving forward with controlled force. Each stroke is deliberate and deep, allowing him to watch the play of emotions across your face; your wide eyes, flushed cheeks, parted lips.

Your body responds despite the overload, hips bucking to meet his, the slick heat of your arousal once again easing his path.

The overstimulation leaves you trembling, tears slipping down your cheeks from the perfect torment. As his pace quickens his breaths turn to ragged growls.

Suddenly, you feel him swell inside you, his cock pulsing with impending release, and the weight of his gaze pins you in place.

"Take all of me," he whispers against your hair, hands framing your face with surprising tenderness amid the intensity. With a final, powerful thrust, he buries himself to the hilt, hot seed spilling deep into you.

The sensation pushes you towards another edge as you clench around him in aftershocks, leaving you utterly spent and adrift in the haze.

He stays there, sprawled over you for a minute before rolling away from you slowly.

Not far, but enough space to breathe again, even though your lungs feel too small for the air they’re meant to hold. The bed shifts beneath his weight, the sheets warm and tangled.

For a moment, you stare at the ceiling.

Your body feels strange; heavy and pliant, aware of itself in a way it never has been before. There is a dull ache, not sharp enough to frighten you, but present enough to remind you of what has been done. What has been completed.

You do not cry.

That, you think, would disappoint him.

Aerion props himself on one elbow, looking down at you with an expression you cannot name. There is no regret there. No softness born of guilt. But neither is there cruelty. His gaze is steady and satisfied, as if he has crossed something off a list and found the result pleasing.

“Breathe,” he says, calm as ever. “You’re holding your breath.”

You obey before you realise you are doing so. Good, he thinks. You can almost feel the approval settle over you like a weight.

He reaches for a cloth from the table beside the bed, movements unhurried, precise. When he touches you again, it is deliberate, careful in a way that feels almost intimate now that the act itself is over.

Not tender, he'd never be tender. But attentive, maybe?

You flinch once despite yourself.

Aerion pauses immediately. His eyes flick to your face, sharp. “Does it hurt?” he asks.

You hesitate, “A little.”

“Hm.” The corner of his mouth flicks upwards. “Of course it does. It should fade, though. Eventually.”

He finishes what he’s doing, then sets the cloth aside. His hand lingers on your thigh, just resting there.

“You did well,” he says.

Not brave. Not obedient. Well, like this was a task you were meant to complete, and you have done it to standard.

Your chest tightens.

“You were afraid,” Aerion continues, voice low. “And you did not fight me. You did not beg. You did not close yourself off.” His thumb presses once, firm, against your skin.

“That is submission,” he says. “Not weakness.”

He shifts again, settling closer, a constant heat at your side. You are acutely aware of how easily you could curl into him now if you allowed yourself to. How natural it would feel.

He notices that too.

A slow, knowing smile curves his mouth. “Careful,” he mutters. “If you start clinging already, I’ll think you enjoyed it.”

Heat floods your face. You turn your head slightly, mortified, and it earns you a quiet laugh. There it is, the teasing.

“You are my wife now,” Aerion says, sobering just as quickly. “In truth, not just in name.”

His hand slides to your jaw, tilting your face back toward him until you have no choice but to meet his eyes. “No one else will touch you,” he continues. “No one else will claim you."

"What you give,” his gaze drops briefly, then returns, “you give to me.”

Your pulse stutters.

“And what do I receive?” you ask, the question slipping out before you can stop it.

He studies you for a long moment.

“Protection,” Aerion says at last. “Position. My name.”

He releases you and leans back, stretching out beside you like a dragon settling atop its hoard. One arm drapes across your middle, heavy and unmistakably possessive, pinning you in place without effort.

You realise that he has positioned you deliberately; turned slightly toward him, caught beneath his arm, your back pressed to his chest.

It is where you belong now.

“Sleep,” he says.

You hesitate. “My prince-”

“Aerion,” he corrects. “In this room.”

You close your eyes.

Your body relaxes before your mind does, surrendering to the warmth, the weight, the certainty of his presence behind you. Whatever you were before this night you feel slipping away, replaced by something quieter and far more dangerous.

You are Aerion Targaryen's wife.

His chin dips to your hair, breath steady. “Good,” he murmurs, feeling you settle. “You learn quickly.”

And for the first time since the words were spoken a month ago, you understand what it means to belong to a dragon and survive it.

The snow crunches softly under your feet as you proceed through the rose garden, full of vibrant red winter roses. The garden had been planted especially for you, courtesy of your father, as a birthday gift, so many years ago. It brought a fond smile to your face to remember that day, the joy you had felt as you rushed to go see it up close after catching a glimpse from your window.

From a distance, you see your mother with your two younger siblings, who were playing in the snow with your governess, not far from where your mother was having tea under the gazebo. She truly looked splendid with all her marvellous furs and jewels. You always admired her sense of style.

As your mother glanced over at you, she smiled as well and beckoned you over. She seemed like she had something she wanted to talk to you about.

"You wanted to see me, mother?" You asked as you walked up to her, your hands neatly folded in front of you. You truly were the image of elegance, of a perfect princess. You had always been everything your parents told you to be, and it paid off. You always got everything you wanted. They told you that you were their 'special girl'.

"Yes my dear, please sit. This conversation is of the utmost importance. It's regarding your future." Your mother patted the chair beside her. Her expression shifted into something slightly more serious.

You brushed some of the fallen snow off of your chair and sat down. Your mother's words made you nervous, what did she mean it regarded your future?

"What is this about, mother? You're making me nervous, here..." You asked, anxiously fiddling with the hem of your fur coat.

Your mother took a deep breath before speaking again, as if mentally preparing herself for the conversation that was about to unfold.

"...Your father and I have made the hard decision of arranging a marriage for you. We know this is not what you wanted, but it will do much good for the kingdom. We have found you a good man, he's the king of a decently sized kingdom in northern Germany. He is kind, smart, and well-tempered. You two shall be a good match." She explained calmly, although it looked like she herself was hiding her nerves. You had expressed your wish to marry for love since you were small, so she knew there was surely going to be an argument.

You immediately went into a rage, forgetting the need to respect your elders. Of course you were angry, this was your future! How dare she just decide that for you?! Your goddamn parents could have at least spoken to you prior to the arrangement, but now it was too late. Your life of freedom and independence was over.

"WHAT?! And you just decided this without asking me?! How dare you, how dare you decide my future without my consent or even knowledge!" You yelled. You screamed in frustration, standing up and pacing around a bit, your hands clenched at your side tight enough that your fingernails drew a small amount of blood.

Your mother glared at you, standing up as well. "Do not speak to me that way! I am your mother, learn some respect. You will marry him and that's final. I know this is not your desire, but you will accept it one day. My marriage to your father was arranged as well, I know how angry and helpless you feel. But I promise, you will learn to be happy with him in your new life. You will find joy."

Your mother took your hands in hers, a pleading expression on her face, as if begging you to calm down and accept your fate. But you weren't that gullible. You yanked your hands away from her.

"I will never be happy again thanks to you and father. Not everyone gets lucky and just finds love in an arranged fucking marriage." You spat out. Your mother gasped in horror at your use of language, she did not think cursing very befitting of a princess. You couldn't care less, you stormed off back into your room. The servants sent worried glances at each other, as if everyone knew your fate before you did. It was infuriating.

As soon as you got to your bedchambers, you slammed the door, taking off your coat and throwing it, not caring where it landed. You collapsed on your bed and began to wail. How you would have loved to be a man in this moment, you would have all the power in the world, but you had the misfortune of being born a woman in this cruel world. Eventually you fell asleep, your silk pillowcase stained with your fountain of tears.

You bolt awake at the sound of a banging at your door and the harsh wind rattling the window of your bedchambers. You were only in your chemise, a servant must have removed your outer layers. The winter in the eastern France could be incredibly cold at this time of year. The smell of smoke was strong in the air as you quickly rose from your bed, making your way to the door and immediately opened it to find your maid, Sophie, holding a candle in one hand and a terrified look on her face. She was a pale as a ghost.

"Sophie? What's the matter? You're as white as a sheet. And why is there a smell of smoke?" You asked worriedly.

"It's the Vikings my lady, they've come for us. More than two-thirds of the kingdom is already dead or injured. They're making their way to the castle, we must make haste. Your family is being evacuated along with a few servants. Come with me, I know a shortcut to the dock." Sophie replied. She waved her hand frantically, gesturing for you to follow her as she began to make her way down the spiral staircase down from your bedchambers.

You had heard takes of Vikings since you were young, and it never ceased to be frightening. How they were brutes, savages, madmen who killed anyone or anything in their path to victory. You immediately thought of your family, wondering, praying that they were safe.

She was as scared about all of this as you were, by the looks of it. Sophie had cared for you since you were a baby, and you were especially close with her. She felt like a second mother to you and you had always held her close to your heart. She lost her family about two decades ago, and you always saw the sadness in her eyes whenever she looked at a child, as if Sophie was constantly being reminded by the universe of what she lost.

You quickly grabbed one of your furs that was draped over a chair before following Sophie. The two of you made your way into the woods behind the castle, the snow freezing under your bare feet as you walked quickly. You looked over your little kingdom, fire, everywhere. Gods, more than half of your kingdom was ablaze. You shook your head and looked away. You had to focus on getting out of there, alive and preferably unharmed.

The dock was in view, you could see the ship that you were supposed to board, there were people in the distance but it was too hard to see what they looked like. Before you could think another thought, an axe had been thrown at Sophie's head, blood splashing onto the white snow. You let out a scream of terror, tears immediately forming in your eyes. Sophie was dead, the woman who had practically raised you, was dead. But before you could move or run away from the assailant; let alone begin to process the horror that had just occurred before your eyes, you were grabbed from behind and tossed over someone's shoulder. The figure was big and strong, definitely a man, a long braid cascading down his back. The Vikings, they had caught up to you.

You kicked, fought and screamed, but it was no use. This viking man was way stronger than you were, and all the soldiers were battling the vikings down in the village.

"Oh, shut up, you little shit! Nobody is coming to save you." The Viking barked harshly at you. You stopped screaming but didn't stop struggling, in fear he would kill you if you persisted.

The big brute of a man picked up his axe from Sophie's bludgeoned head, bits of brain and blood still stuck to it. He began with big strides across the blood-covered snow, with now one of their viking longboats pulling into the dock.

'Be brave,' you thought to yourself 'focus on staying alive. Your family needs you. You can't die now, calm down and try to think of a way out of here. You need to find your family.'

"Oi, lads! I found the older princess! Prepare the boat, some rope and a pair of shackles! This one's pretty, we can make good use of her!" The Viking man called out to the other Vikings on the dock.

Your heart dropped into your stomach, what did he mean he could make good use out of you? What would they do? No, focus, think. Look around, how can you get out of here...You found no solution, but you had to keep an eye out for an opening.

As you reached the boat, the man took you off of his shoulder but made sure to keep you contained. Your hands were immediately tied together with rope, and your feet were shackled. The vikings began to board you onto the longboat, but you took a glance in the boat that belonged to your family, and you immediately wished you hadn't.

There was blood everywhere on the deck of the ship, not to mention the intestines scattered around the bodies, bits of flesh spread across the wood. The bodies of your family. Of your mother, father, older brother, little brother and sister; who were only five. Your brain immediately began to spiral, not only had you lost Sophie, but your whole family.

Your knees immediately gave way as you went crashing to the ground. You began to wail violently as you tore your gaze away from the gruesome sight. It felt like a dagger had been plunged into your heart, and for a moment you felt like maybe it had. As your hands gripped your chemise with an iron grip, you began to hyperventilate. Was this what dying felt like? Maybe. Your last conversation with your mother came to mind, how you had screamed at her. You felt sick to your stomach. You didn't even get to apologise; let alone tell her you love her, or even say goodbye.

You couldn't really remember what happened next, but it felt as if you were forcefully shoved onto the boat by one of the Vikings, but you would never forget the look of the faces of your family, especially your mother. The next thing you knew, you were awake on a rocking boat, salty sea water spraying onto your face and the harsh winds chilling you to the bone. You tried to adjust yourself but realised that you had been tied to the mast.

The panic began to set in deep in your stomach as the realisation hit that you were all alone. If you died today, who would remember you? It was highly unlikely that were any survivors from the raid on your kingdom, so nobody probably realised you had even been taken. Your heart was racing, your pulse pounding and you could hardly think straight. You believed it to be a panic attack.

"Hey lass, ya alright? Ya breathin' really quickly. Here, I managed to convince them to keep ya fur. This'll keep ya a bit warmer. It ain't much but it's all I can do."

You looked up to see a man crouched down in front of you. The first thing you noticed was his eyes. They were a bright blue, and...so kind. My, you'd never seen such gentle eyes before. His hair was strange though; it was in a style you had never seen before. It was like a mohawk but the part in the middle was long and in the same type of braid you had seen on the other Vikings. And his accent was strange, and exotic. It didn't sound like the other Vikings. You had never heard it before. His eyes were almost too kind, like he was trying to get you to trust him. It was unnerving. He draped the fur around your shoulders, making sure it wouldn't fall off if they hit a rough patch of water. He tilted head slightly to one side, smiling a little, as if he realised that you were suspicious of him.

"Ya don't trust me do ya? That's fine, I don't expect ya to trust me right away. But you will one day sweetheart, I'll make sure a' that." He carefully took your cheek in his large hand. "When we get back, I'm gonna make sure you come home with me, sweet girl. They call me Soap, but you can call me Johnny."

Your eyes widened in surprise at his words, but you couldn't get you own words to leave your throat. Who did he think he was? There was no way you would go anywhere near his home, god knows what he would do to you. You tried to move your head, but his grip was far too strong.

To your relief, and this ‘Johnny’s’ disappointment, the leader of the raid was calling him over, saying to: “stop slacking off” and to: “get his arse over here and stop flirting with the cargo”. You believed they called them chieftains. The chieftain had short brown hair, unlike Johnny, and a mutton-chop beard. Johnny sighed and got up, making his way back to his place on the boat, not before stealing one last glance at you with that lady-killer smile of his. You wouldn’t let his charm work on you. You couldn’t.

Three sleepless nights passed of the sea tossing your body around above its depths, keeping you from sleep and from staying dry from its spray. You felt like a miracle occurred when you finally reached the land and you were untied from the mast, but unfortunately for you those ruthless bastards of Vikings left your hands and feet restrained. You supposed they couldn’t risk you running away from them, you were supposedly ‘useful’ to them after all.

You looked around after you were practically shoved off of the plank onto the snow-covered land. It was much different from home. You found yourself in a village surrounded by mountains covered with pine trees in its own little valley. It looked like something straight out of one of the fairy tales you read as a child, gorgeous. But it would become your prison, unable to even return to your homeland after everything you had lost; everything they had stripped away from you that was part of who you were. You were an orphan now, practically homeless. It was hard to wrap your head around, so you stopped thinking about it.

You watched in seething jealousy as you watched the Vikings that had kidnapped you reunite with their families, as you mourned yours, whom they stole from you. They didn’t deserve it, you thought. You hadn't even thought if Vikings had families at all, you just thought of them as ruthless barbarians that raided peaceful settlements.

“Take this one to the town hall, the slave auction will be starting soon. Arne will get the money for her, he captured her. She’ll fetch a good price, that one.” The chieftain said gruffly to one of the Vikings walking off of the boat.

The other Viking groaned in response. He didn’t seem too keen on walking you over. Wait…a slave auction?! No, no, no, this could not be happening. A princess reduced to a slave, it was almost laughable. You simply stared at your bloody and bruised feet in your shackles on the freezing cold snow, struggling to process what was happening. You were going to be sold off as a slave…You thought about who your new master would be, most likely a man. You hoped he would be kind, although it was unlikely for a Viking, you thought.

A rough shove interrupted your train of thought from the man that was supposed to bring you to this ‘auction’. You shot him a sharp glare as you reluctantly began to walk in the direction of what they called the town hall.

Eventually, you made your way into the town hall and you were ushered behind a big curtain on what looked like a stage with others shackled and miserable, just like you. It made you feel less alone in a way. Except they were definitely more worse for wear, most of them had been beaten and bruised, covered in dirt and filth. It gave you an insight into people who didn't have the upbringing that you had, and you felt bad for them. But now you were the same as them, shackled, bruised, and about to be sold off as a slave.

You heard people filling up the large room, lots of chatter and laughing, as if they were just here for a gathering. It was sickening. The curtain was lifted and you felt hundreds of eyes on you as they observed you, as if you and the others were nothing but objects for purchase, not human beings. You tried to make yourself look smaller, weaker, so that maybe, just maybe, nobody would choose you and they would let you go. But you looked the healthiest and strongest out of all of the others, and it wasn't long before bids were placed.

After a lot of back and forth, a winner was finally declared, the auction was over and you were about to be handed off to him. You stared at the floor, trying not to cry again as you shuffled off of the stage. The rope leading your tied hands was handed to your new owner and you still didn't want to look at him.

"So this is her, aye? Don't worry sweetheart, I'll make sure your properly cared for. Ready to go home?"

Watching his bride dance cheerfully, arm in arm with other members of the camp Finn couldn't help being mesmerized by your lively spirit. Everyone wanted to be near you. He found himself drawn to you as well, feeling entranced by your inner light. In that moment, he began to think perhaps this wouldn’t be such a hardship after all.

When you caught him staring at you in a lovesick way, you bit your lip and returned his gaze with a sweet smile. Reaching your hand out for him, he pulled you from the tight inner circle of revelers. 

You giggled as he took you somewhere more secluded. Looping a strong arm around your waist, he guided you between the vardos and whispered how beautiful you looked. Just as you were feeling relaxed and happy, you passed several members of the Lee family who were too drunk to stand. Apart from the other guests, two men sat at a table oblivious to your presence. Finn strained to hear them over the sounds of celebratory gunshots and fireworks going off in the sky.

“Johnny finally married her off. Never thought I’d see the day,” the first man babbled.

His companion replied, “Stupid diddicoy doesn’t know his sweet little bride is a slag.” Both men roared with laughter.

Finn’s ears burned and he clenched his fists tightly at the insult. On instinct he barreled toward the man and pulled him from his chair, shoving him against the side of the vardo with enough force to knock the air from his lungs. He held him there by the collar as he asked, “What the fuck did you just say about my wife?” 

The man coughed, wheezing for breath under Finn’s tight grasp. The whisky had clearly impaired his judgement because he continued, “Ask her what she’s been up to in them mountains, lad. Nothing good, I’m sure,” he said as though he were doing Finn a favor. Finn pulled back, delivering a punch that caused a sickening cracking sound. The man lurched forward holding his nose as blood gushed forth. 

His companion backed away slowly. “We was only trying to tell you the truth, boy,” he said clutching his whisky bottle in his hands. Finn snatched it from him and smashed it against the side of the vardo, holding the bottle neck toward him.

“If you speak about her that way again, I’ll kill you. Do you understand?” 

Tommy said you were wild, but Finn didn’t care. And no matter what you’d done, you didn’t deserve to be talked about so viciously he thought.

As the men stumbled away, you backed yourself into the shadows of another vardo scared by Finn’s show of temper. You hated it when the men fought at the fair and you’d never been able to stomach the sight of blood. As a sick feeling came over you, you slumped onto the steps, pulling your arms into your body tightly. 

Finn looked around trying to find where you had gone and when he spotted you, he let out a defeated sigh. He could tell by your posture you were scared which had not been his intention. Approaching you slowly, Finn held up his hands to show he meant you no harm. “Y/n, I’m sorry if I frightened you, but I couldn’t let them talk about you that way,” he said speaking so softly and gently you began to uncurl from your position to look up at him.

Thinking of something to take your mind off what you’d just witnessed, he asked, “Do you want to go for a drive in me new car?” You nodded slowly. He wiped the blood from his hand and extended it to you carefully, searching your face to see if you would trust him.

 You found that his eyes held nothing but kindness and you were no longer afraid. As you stood to face him your heart nearly beat out of your chest smelling the scent of his aftershave and feeling the heat of his body radiating over you. Finn reached down to lace his fingers with yours and you let out a sharp cry. He had grabbed the hand Johnny Dogs had cut open during your wedding for the mingling of the two bloods. When Finn realized how the fresh cut still burned, he brought your upturned palm to his lips to offer a gentle kiss over the wound. “I’d never hurt you, you know,” he whispered. 

“I know,” you replied letting your gaze linger on his lips for a moment before allowing him to kiss you gently. 

————————————————

As you drove away from camp, you nestled into Finn’s side. He draped one arm over you while he navigated the bumpy road. When you were several miles away with nothing around but fields, Finn pulled over and said, “Let’s get out and have a look, ey?” He helped you gather your dress as you exited so it wouldn’t get caught in the door and hoisted you up to sit on the car. Standing between your legs, he ran a hand through your hair, loosening a few of the flowers that remained from the delicate updo your mother and sister had woven this morning. Plucking one flower free, he handed it to you as he asked, “Will you tell me about your travels?”

You twirled the blossom in your fingers as you thought for a moment. Turning serious, you looked at your lap before answering, “Finn, if you’re wondering about my running off…”

Finn jumped in before you could finish, trying to convey that he would love you regardless of your past. “You don’t have to explain, love. I don’t care what you’ve done,” he said. 

You shook your head gently and gave him a small smile at his misunderstanding. “No,” you said clutching onto his wrist to make him listen. "What the men at camp said isn’t true. I’ve never slept with anyone. In fact, I ran away to be alone because I was scared about getting married,” you admitted.

Finn returned your smile. He would have accepted anything you had to tell him, but he couldn’t help feeling relieved. He cupped your cheek in his hand as he assured you, “We don’t have to do anything until you’re ready, love. I’m your husband and that means I’m here to protect you.” 

You inhaled deeply, finally feeling heard and valued. Your nerves about being with Finn were melting away and to show him how much you adored him already, you leaned forward for a kiss. He cradled you to him, one hand curled around your hip to keep you from falling and the other resting at the nape of your neck. As his tongue massaged yours, his thumb stroked the delicate skin beneath your ear. You laced your arms around his neck, feeling his quickening pulse thrumming in his veins before he pulled away. 

As much as he wanted you, he would respect your boundaries until you were completely comfortable. Knowing you needed more time to get to know one another, Finn spent the rest of the evening peppering you with questions about your family and your life on the road. You told him about everyone and everything, including your love of flowers, books and dogs.

In return he told you about his business and his brothers. His eyes sparkled most when he talked about his Aunt Polly though. He claimed she was gypsy royalty. He promised you would get to meet her when you moved into your new home in Small Heath and you felt excited at the prospect. 

—————————————————

You’d settled into your house on Watery Lane quickly, making it a real home in no time with your hand stitched blankets and the smell of your delicious bread and stews wafting through the kitchen. Finn doted on you constantly. He even surprised you with a puppy as soon as you arrived.

Early on he had admitted that he couldn’t read and you had spent your evenings by the fire ever since with a book in your hand and Finn’s head in your lap as you worked your way through some of your favorite novels. When you would begin to doze, Finn would carry you to bed, despite your playful protestations that you didn’t need help up the stairs. 

Finn had told you you didn’t have to work, but you still accompanied him to the betting shop to help take bets. You enjoyed gossiping with Polly and Ada in any case. They had already told you many hilarious stories about Finn’s unusual upbringing. You realized his caring nature had come from these remarkable women and you took their advice to heart as much as Finn did. 

One day when you mentioned how much you and Finn wanted a child, Polly took you to the kitchen and slipped a bundle of herbs into your pocket. She told you how to prepare a special tea that would increase your chances of pregnancy. You didn’t actually think it would work at first, but you still made the tea, having faith in Aunt Polly.

---------------------------------------

The next day, you had just made yourself a cup of tea when you heard Finn’s footsteps on the stairs. You rushed to hide the small package in your apron pocket. 

Finn entered the kitchen just then wanting breakfast. He leaned in to give you a good morning kiss, but when you pulled back from him, he was suspicious. “Can’t give us a kiss, love?” He began to joke, pulling you by the waist. Your body crashed into his suddenly and he felt the lump in your pocket. A puzzled expression came over his face and he looked down at you. “Are you hiding a present for me? Let’s see, what could this be?” 

You hid your face quickly as Finn’s large hand dove into your apron pocket. You were slightly embarrassed to admit what the herbs were.

He retrieved the small bundle and brought it to his nose to sniff. “Hmmm…right,” he pronounced, wheels turning in his head. Finn had seen other women come to Polly for such things. A smile spread across his face as he looked down at you. “Are you pregnant?” he asked hopefully. 

You shook your head sadly. “No, love. I do want to be though. We’ve been trying with no luck so I asked Polly what to do and she gave me these,” you explained. You gestured toward your tea cup. “I was just about to drink it.” 

Finn caressed your cheek with his thumb and said, “Well, I’ve got a better idea and one that’s got to be more effective. Come on,” he said hoisting you over his shoulder. You laughed as he jogged through the house to your bedroom with you in the same precarious position. Setting you down gently by the bed he said, “You’ve made me so happy, y/n. I love you.”

“I love you, Finn,” you replied as you both collapsed onto your bed, forgetting all your cares as you gave into your passion for each other. It had only begun as a spark, but your love was burning brightly now.

---------------------------------------

Tag list:

@peakyswritings

@evita-shelby

@tommydoesntpayforsuits

@shelbydelrey

@alanadetigy

@wandawiccan60   

@easilyobessedbutflighty

@severewobblerlightdragon

@lovemissyhoneybee

@theshelbyslimited

@kittycatcait219

@peakyrogers

@christinasyellowflowers

@retromafia

@notyour-valentine

@peaky-cillian

@kpopgirlbtssvt

@celticmelody

Watching his bride dance cheerfully, arm in arm with other members of the camp Finn couldn't help being mesmerized by your lively spirit. Everyone wanted to be near you. His eyes scanned the crowd and found several young men staring at you. He wondered if any of them had wanted you for themselves and he smiled smugly to himself knowing they could never have you now.

Finn wandered through the crowd to find Tommy, passing by several members of the Lee family who were too drunk to stand. Apart from the other guests, two men sat at a table discussing you. Finn strained to hear them over the sounds of celebratory gunshots and fireworks going off in the sky.

“Johnny finally married her off. Never thought I’d see the day,” the first man babbled.

His companion replied, “Stupid diddicoy doesn’t know his sweet little bride is a slag.” Both men roared with laughter.

Finn’s ears burned and his pulse raced at the thought of being tricked into marrying the girl everyone said was the camp whore. He clenched his fists wanting to punch something, but stopped himself. Tommy said you were wild, but he didn’t mention that you were used property. Feeling foolish and angry, Finn made his way back to the crowd to find his wife. 

Taking your elbow harshly, he pulled you to the side whispering, “Let’s go for a drive in me new car.” He wasn’t actually asking if you wanted to test the car your father had given him as your dowry. His command came out as an order you were expected to obey. You looked surprised at his sudden rough treatment, but nodded slowly in agreement. 

You wanted Finn to take you away from the crowd so you could find out what kind of man you had married. He was too handsome to deny and you felt excited at the thought of kissing him. Your thoughts were interrupted when Finn let go of your arm and grabbed your hand to pull you along. You let out a whine. Finn had grabbed the hand Johnny Dogs had cut open during your wedding for the mingling of the two bloods. The fresh cut burned with new pain as Finn squeezed with his good hand. 

“Finn that hurts,” you protested, but he wasn’t listening. He was thinking of all the questions he wanted you to answer. 

————————————————

When you arrived at the car, Finn opened the passenger door and flung you onto the seat. Your eyes widened as you asked, “Is everything alright?”

He didn’t answer as he started the car or as you drove away from camp. When you were several miles away with nothing around but fields, Finn pulled over and said, “You’re me wife now and that means I’m in charge.”

You thrilled at the low timbre of his voice and his authoritative tone. However, your adoring gaze did not last for long. Finn slid across the seat quickly and grabbed the back of your neck harshly. Eye to eye you could tell by his dilated pupils he was angry. “Y/n, I’m only going to ask you once and I demand an answer. What the fuck were you up to when you ran away? Have you had other men?” 

“No, I haven’t…I swear,” you said searching his eyes for compassion. Your scalp was burning from his rough grasp on your hair. You were telling the truth, you’d run away, but only to be alone with your thoughts before being married off. 

“I don’t believe you, Mrs. Shelby,” Finn said eyebrows raised. “The things I overheard in your camp tonight and the way you were dancing would suggest otherwise.” He was not going to let you get away with a simple denial, but you refused to say any more. Fear had gripped you once you realized you were alone with a dangerous man.

“Well, I think you’re lyin’ to me, love. And I won’t have that. So I’ll have to put you to a test,” Finn smirked at you. He pushed you out of the car and watched your shivering form.

You looked at him with growing fear, waiting to hear what your husband would ask of you. 

“Since you’re supposed to be so good at it, take my cock out,” he demanded.  You looked at him with surprise at his boldness. You felt your heart beat wildly in your chest, as he pushed you to your knees in the mud. “Go on,” he urged you impatiently and your tears began to gather in your eyes as you thought of a way to make him stop. Your hands shook as you felt for his belt buckle in the dark and unbuttoned his trousers. Finn groaned in anticipation, pulling at your hair harshly and forcing you to continue.

You held him in your hand looking up at him crying, “Finn, please, I’ve never done anything like this." He looked down at you for a moment, moonlight illuminating one side of his face eerily. His brows knitted together in a moment of thought before he jerked you up harshly to face him. You breathed a sigh of relief before allowing a few hiccuped sobs to escape. He pulled you to him whispering against the shell of your ear, “I can see you’re telling me the truth, love. We’re getting somewhere now, you and I.” 

He was pleased to learn you weren’t the harlot everyone said, but he would still have to deal with your reputation regardless and that angered him. The only way he could distance himself from the conjecture was to claim you as his. From now on, he would demand complete devotion. He held your face in his hands as he spoke to you. “Are you going to be good and obedient?” You nodded slowly remembering the vows you’d made hours earlier. 

“Good, now turn around,” he said, voice lowering once more in the dark tone that made shivers run down your spine. You stood frozen in place unable to move until he placed a hand to your throat. “I’m your husband now and you will do as I say,” he said firmly.

He turned you and pushed you against the warm bonnet of the car, hiking up your wedding dress. On instinct you fought him, but he forced your hands behind your back in a painful hold. You closed your eyes and eventually submitted, letting your tears fall knowing he wouldn’t show you any mercy even if you begged. 

—————————————————

Life with Finn continued to worsen after the humiliation he inflicted upon you on your wedding night. His need to possess you took the form of his obsession with starting a family. Your thoughts were quite different. All you could think of was escape. It was difficult considering you were only allowed to leave when you were buying food or going to the betting shop. Finn had blinders watching the house regularly to enforce this rule. The only visitors you were allowed were women in his family. However, you were determined to outsmart your husband. 

One afternoon after Finn had gone to work, you managed to get a message to your sister-in-law, Esme. You needed more tea to avoid a pregnancy, but you were running out. You and Esme shared some of the same kin and were close friends. She was the only one who understood some of what you going through with your husband and she took pity on you. Luckily the next day, a parcel arrived with the herbs. Just as you brought it inside from the doorstep, you heard Finn’s footsteps. You rushed to hide the small package in your apron pocket. 

Finn entered the kitchen just then wanting breakfast. He leaned in to give you a good morning kiss, but when you pulled back from him, he was suspicious. “Can’t give us a kiss, love?” He began to joke, pulling you by the waist. Your body crashed into his suddenly and he felt the lump in your pocket. A puzzled expression came over his face and he looked down at you. “Are you hiding a present for me? Let’s see, what could this be?” 

You flinched as Finn’s large hand dove into your apron pocket. You hoped he wouldn’t know what the herbs were.

He retrieved the small bundle and brought it to his nose to sniff. “Hmmm…right,” he pronounced, wheels turning in his head. Finn had seen other girls take these herbs in tea and he knew why. Squeezing the parcel in his fist, he looked at you with contempt. “What the fuck is this? Are you taking these?”

You saw the anger building in him and knew you couldn’t answer truthfully. You couldn’t come up with an excuse quickly enough though. 

Finn took a step back to study you and asked for the truth once more. “Is this why you haven’t fallen pregnant?”

You stood as still as possible hoping Finn would calm down so you could talk to him, explain that you didn’t want to have a child so soon. But Finn was only growing more agitated by your silence. 

He stalked out of the kitchen and you followed not sure where he was going. Making his way to the living room, Finn threw the parcel into the fireplace. Your eyes filled with tears knowing that he would give you a child no matter what you wanted.

Finn turned to see you crying and laughed. “You thought you would go behind my back, did you? You aren't clever enough to pull this off, y/n,” he said viciously. “Where’s the rest?” You knew it wouldn’t do any good to deny it. Finn was determined and he would have ripped every cabinet apart to find it so you gave in and fetched the rest of what you had stashed. “Throw it on the fire,” Finn instructed. You threw the last of the herbs into the fireplace, wishing you could burn with them. Finn bed you every night, you knew it was only a matter of time now. While your compliance seemed to make him more docile in the moment, you knew his temper wouldn’t stay dormant for long. 

----------------------------------------------------

When Finn had finally gone to work, you dried your tears and picked up a basket. You told the blinder at the door you were going to the market for vegetables, but quickly lost him in the crowded streets. Heading for Esme's home, you burst through the door in tears. "Esme, Finn's taken all the herbs. What will I do?" you asked.

She looked at you with her big brown eyes, clearly frightened for you. You could tell she was hesitating, but you begged her to tell you what she was thinking. "Do you have courage to do as I say?" she asked. You gulped and nodded slowly.

She took your hands in hers and gave you a reassuring squeeze. "There's a place in France where they still let you get lost. If you go south where the black Madonna is, Finn will never find you there," she said and it sounded like heaven already.

-------------------------------------------------

Tag list:

@peakyswritings

@evita-shelby

@tommydoesntpayforsuits

@shelbydelrey

@alanadetigy

@wandawiccan60   

@easilyobessedbutflighty

@severewobblerlightdragon

@lovemissyhoneybee

@theshelbyslimited

@kittycatcait219

@peakyrogers

@christinasyellowflowers

@retromafia

@notyour-valentine

@peaky-cillian

@kpopgirlbtssvt

@celticmelody

"I actually agree with that. Why are we here? Isn't it suppose to be neutral ground or what not?" John chimed in and even Tommy tilted his head in concession. Even he wasn't sure why you choose to meet Luca in Alfie's territory. He would have rather met in Charlie's yard, but you'd insisted on being here, in the small boat yard on the edge of Alfie's territory. 

"Simple. If he hates both of you he can't favor either of you. Thus neutral land is formed."

"That's some wise fucking words if I've ever heard them, poppet." 

Turning around you smiled at the approaching gangster, his loyal dog strolling a few steps ahead. Reaching out you began to coo at the large dog who was eager to receive his belly rubs. Playing with Cyril always improved your mood. You ignored the groans of your brothers and John grabbing on to Arthur's coat to he decided to lunge.

"Hello Arthur!"

"Fuck off!"

"Oi! No fighting," you interrupted getting between the two men, "Now he may hate you all, but he can still hate one more than the other so let's not push it."

Alfie nodded his head mockingly behind you as you gently shoved your eldest brother away. Sending him back to his seat, you gave Tommy a short glare for not stepping in, to which he just shrugged, and then turned towards Alfie again.

"But really why are you here?"

"Can't a man walk his own property?"

"Sure, but you said everything would be ready for when Mr. Changretta arrived. You're not suppose to be here. It's to be a private affair."

"And it is. Just making one last check to see if you lot are all ready and make one last proposal of my own. Also I wanna remind ya not to get any blood on my dock. Just had it redone all nice and such. I wouldn't want your ugly guts staining the finish. I saw their ugly fucking cars pulling up down the street on my way in. Should be here any minute. It's a shame thou init? Pretty thing like you is too good for any of these cunts. If you'd like I can kill them all now and you can run with me, eh poppet? You can play with my dog any day you want." 

You laughed as both Arthur and John stood up this time with indignant protests. Even Tommy tensed up and turned to glare at the man who had spoken.

"Alright then Mr. Solomons," you drawled, patting the man's chest, "While that is just a lovelyoffer, unfortunately I am already taken for," a quick glare at Tommy, "though you're welcome to leave the dog anytime. He's such a lovely boy." Cyril wagged his tail at the attention shoving his head into your leg like an over grown cat looking for head scratches. Ones you were more than happy to oblige.

"Well then, I best be off now haven't I mates? Unlike you lot I know to appease a pretty woman with her desires. Y/N." Alfie nodded his head as he stared to head off, Cyril waiting until his master had called thrice before leaving your side. It wasn't until they'd both rounded the corner when the company you'd finally be waiting for arrived. Three black cars pulled up smoothly before coming to a halt. From your place in the shipping yard you watched nine men exit the cars. A few more than you had expected but still not any issue.

Your brothers walked up first, and you saw Tommy moving to shake someone's hand. The man was tall with dark slicked back hair and he wore his hat slightly tilted on his head. He looked stupid. In his mouth sat a toothpick that he seemed to enjoy munching on as he listened to your brother speak. He looked like a cow when he did that you'd stubborn decided. A stupid cow. A handsome cow. But a handsome stupid cow. Stupid. handsome. cow man. asshole.....ok so obviously still you weren't happy to be there. After all, this was the man who threatened to kill your entire family. Even the children, and you made a habit of disliking anyone willing to harm children. They didn't have to want any of their own or even like them in general, but to be willing to harm something so innocent to the crimes being punished seemed wrong to you. So even without meeting the man you knew you despised him. What kinda lowlife monster would be willing to hurt innocent kids to get his revenge? ....Evidently one you're brothers we're willing to marry you too. But was there really no other deal he'd make for peace? Well....If things went to plan you were about to find out. 

"I'm glad you were able to consider my proposal Mr.Shelby, I think it's much nicer this way isn't it?"

You didn't even try to hide your disbelieving laugh as the New York Gangster's words reached your ears. Immediately the attention went you, and since he was closer now, you could see the faint outline of a permanent  stubble outlining his lower face. Stupid veryhandsome cow man. As he looked towards you for the first time Luca raised and eyebrow.

"Do you find something amusing?"

Tilting your head slightly, you smiled with a false sweetness. Out of the side of your eye, you noticed your brothers tensing up slightly. Be it from the fact Luca was so close or that you interrupted their conversion. Either way, they began to notice the glint in your eye. And slowly they were regretting allowing you to meet Luca before the wedding. As if an introduction at the alter would have been any better.

"Yes. Very amusing in fact. See, I came here thinking it was ME being proposed to," clasping a hand mockingly to your chest you continued, "But here we are and the only one being romanced is my beloved brother. ...Well, romanced isn't the word, that's got to be the shittiest proposal I've ever heard. 'I'm glad you've considered my proposal'.... poppycock! Aren't you Italians suppose to be good at this romance shit?"

Arthur choked on his tongue besides you as Tommy spoke your name in warning, which you ignored. Luca moved his toothpick around his mouth and he gave you a once over. If you hadn't already been set on hating this man, his stare would have sent a pleasant shiver down your back in a way few could these days. Finally, letting out a small but still amused hum, Luca reached out to shake your hand. 

"Y/N, I presume?"

"Shelby. Y/N Shelby....Miss Y/N Shelby is my name. And you are too close, back up," you stated firmly. The special emphasis on both 'Shelby' and 'Miss' was more than enough to let anyone know your feelings on the current situation. Luca only raised his eyebrow again and rescinded his unaccepted hand. 

"I'm Lu...."

"I know who you are," you interrupted.

"Really," Luca queried. Surely you didn't know enough about him then if you were treating him so flippantly, he thought. He was the man determined to end you entire bloodline only a few weeks ago. You should be terrified of what would happen if he decided he didn't want to marry you!! But no, he thought, instead you were....

"You're the man who thinks finger paintings are scary."

Luca's toothpick fell from his mouth, while John could be heard covering his laugh. Then his eyes narrowed and his voice became slightly darker.

"What did you say?"

Tommy put a hand on your shoulder as he stepped forward to put himself between you two. But before he could open his mouth to take control of the situation again, yours opened first. You waved your hands around in sarcastic  excitement as you spoke, imitating the man's voice.

"What were you helping 'mama' with her lesson plan one day, making hand turkeys and decide, 'ohhh THUMBS! Terrifying?! That'll be a great way to show people not to mess with me!'"

Luca's eye twitched and if he hadn't already lost it, you were sure he would have snapped the toothpick between his teeth, his jaw was clenched so tightly.

"Watch your tone with me woma..."

"OR WHAT? You'll send me a finger painting?"

Arthur wrapped an arm around your waist and began to pull your back. No, he didn't like how Luca was speaking to you, but he also didn't want you to start a war of your own today. Even if he had a good idea you'd win. And yet still you weren't deterred. 

"Can it be pink and have confetti? OOHH or maybe it can be red like the blood that's gonna run down your throat when imaamuahhh," Arthur hissed as you bit the hand covering your mouth, but it was enough time for Tommy to finally step in again. Briefly...

"She doesn't mean that. It's the fa..."

"He's right! I don't!" You interjected again, freeing yourself of your eldest brother, "I'm not actually a fan of blood, so I won't slit your throat, but I'd be carefully of the champagne at the after party. Never know what slips in the cups these days..."

This time it was John who grabbed you, though not as roughly as Arthur, but luckily for everyone you had finished.... for now. The entire yard was silent and even Tommy was at a small loss for what to say. Truth be told he didn't know if there was anything to say. It was a long enough shot to convince Luca that marriage would be a way to end the vendetta and now here you were, possibly ruining that chance within half an hour. While he could understand your anger, there was still a part of him that was annoyed at the fact you could be so tactless. Another part though, the part that was still your big brother, was incredibly proud and resisting the urge to laugh at your comments. Luca however, remained unimpressed.

"My apologies, Miss Shelby," Luca restated, started to become more than annoyed with your antics. Surely, you knew that he was the one holding the power here? If your family had it, there was no way they'd have even considered the marriage. He was the one holding all the cards and you were instead choosing to act as though this entire plan was your idea. In a quieter, and deceitfully threatening voice, Luca ignored your demand for space and leaned closer to your ear. "Though, one would think for a woman in your situation, you'd be a little more welcoming to your fiancé. After all, I've been so generous to reconsider my previous message of vendetta, haven't I Bella?"

John could be heard whispering to Tommy, probably demanding to be allowed to hit the taller man, but he was held back. Again, you ignored your brothers instead focusing on the man before you, who's just said one of the worst things he could have.

"Generous? You think you're generous to try and force a woman into marriage and take her away from her family? Is it generous to not to kill children in exchange for someone else's freedom? Do you expect me to be happy, fucking happy, to have to spend the rest of my life with you when I don't even know you? I don't who you are or what you might do to me. You expect me to just follow your every whim and play housewife, knowing that one day you may kill me to go after my brothers? Is that what you define fucking generosity as," you fumed, just as angry as you were when you first learned about the new deal. "Well, if that's generous then damn all of the generosity in the world to hell! I agreed to come here today to meet you for my family. I am agreeing to consider giving up some of my freedom for their safety, when I'm not even the one who started this whole mess. I could have said no. I could have left them to fend for themselves and likely die over a needless feud, but I didn't. Because I was the one who decided to be generous. I am the one willing to give up something good that I have, to keep spending bad from happening to someone else. That is generous. My drawback for their benefit. I didn't have to do it but I did. Because I love them. So unless you're more incompetent than you've come off so far, I'd try thinking of a better word than generous for that little statement if I was you," speaking tersely you dared Luca to question your speech. Then taking a deep breath you closed your eyes off a moment.

His last comment had thrown you off, setting you off in a way you hadn't meant to go. And while your words were true, this isn't where you wanted the conversation to go. Not if your plan was going to work. It couldn't work if you'd pushed Luca too far too fast. He needed to be in just the right spot for the biggest blow to make the most efficient impact. Sighing, you straightened your shirt and looked down at your shoes. Your glare dropped and an almost desperate look appeared in your eyes briefly. 

"Besides.... is it too much to ask for a proper proposal? Like the one from a story that makes you dream of true love," Tilting your head in an almost wistfully sad way, you'd met Luca's gaze again, noticing that by some miracle he's eyes had softened just slightly. "Even if it's not true it would be nice to pretend wouldn't it? To actually be asked to be one's forever even if it seems there's only one answer? Can't I at least be granted that?"

Luca thought for a moment, taking the time to pull a new toothpick from his pocket. Shooting a brief glance over your shoulder, he saw your brothers staring at him intensely from a few steps behind. It crossed his mind that if he truly did want to, he could kill you here and now. Because he really did have the power in this fight. You stood within half an arms reach and the eight men he'd brought with him far outnumbered your three brothers. It could be an easy fight, over in mere seconds, damned how neutral this ground was suppose to be. He could kill you all now and the vendetta would be settled, AND he wouldn't ever have to deal with your infuriating brothers or your even more infuriating comments ever again. You had showed him no respect up to this point and if it were anyone else they'd have been dead after the first interruption. But you weren't dead, and for some reason, some unknown feeling brewing in the pit of his stomach, Luca wanted do keep it that way. So he unwittingly did exactly what you wanted him to do. 

"You want a proper proposal," Luca drawled, his eyes falling to your lips once and his voice was calmer now, almost softly curious, like he sympathized with your plea, "Is that it? Me asking you, and that's all it'll take for this to be done? You'll be good and stop fighting?"

Smiling sweetly again, a more genuine smile this time you nodded, clasping you hands together and placing them behind you almost shyly as you rocked your feet. It was a complete change from your attitude moments ago. Like all it took was to believe someone was listening to you, for you to become this sweet little demure creature from the fairytales his mother taught in her class. 

And somehow, naively Luca didn't realize the fairytale of your own act now. Giving a pleased smile, at what he assumed was your acceptance of the deal, he nodded, silently agreeing to your desires. Despite your beliefs Luca didn't think of himself as a monster, nor did he want an unhappy marriage either. He didn't necessarily care if you loved him, but it would be nice if he knew you wouldn't betray him. And if he could please his wife, he figured life would be so much easier for him in that matter. So he supposed he could give you this one thing you seemed to so closely desire. Besides, there was, again, this almost funny feeling that had settled in Luca's stomach. He couldn't say what it was but there was apart of him that was almost.... excited to be able to actually propose to you instead of just meeting you at the alter. It was something he couldn't explain and wouldn't admit yet but it was there. And so the next words from his mouth would seal both your fates.... or so he thought as he took the toothpick out of his mouth to fulfil your wish. 

"Y/N Shelby? Would you like to..."

"Wait, not like that!"

Luca froze, his head tilting in confusion at the light frown that has formed on your face. Your brothers, as well as Luca's own men could be here whispering in the background. None of them were really sure what was going on now, but none of them moved, all equally curious to see where this was going. 

"Not like that? Didn't you just say you wanted me to propose?"

"Yes, but I also said propose properly," you insisted, "if you don't do it the right way it may as well mean nothing." 

"And what exactly does 'proper' mean by your standards? What do you want me to do?" There was a small amount of sarcasm in his words due to a voice in his mind that was starting to get annoyed again, but Luca ignored it. It didn't even take you a second of thought before your smile returned. As had the look that worried your brothers in the first place.

"It means get on your knees Mr. Changretta."

Silence echoed across the entire shipyard. Almost all the men present stood in shock, eyes wide, even Tommy at what you'd just said. Luca however just tilted his head to the side, his hat looked straight now, processing. The deceptively sweet smile still lingered on your face as you waited for a response.

"You said to get on my knees.... to propose to you?" he repeated slowly, wanting to confirm you'd actually just demanded that of him. He wanted to be sure you had the audacity to order such from him. 

"I want you on your knees Luca....now."

....

Luca listened. 

For some reason, one nobody would ever be able to explain, he did as you said. The toothpick was clenched tightly between his lips as he slowly lowered himself to one knee, eyes locked with yours the entire time. His men could be heard whispering to each other behind him, and Luca knew he'd have to have a talk with them later about what they saw. Luca took a deep breath in, contemplating if this was actually going to happen, if he was actually doing this....Evidently he was. 

"Y/N Shelby..." he paused a moment as you stuck out your hand indicating he should take it... He did. You couldn't see it, but Tommy was looking up at sky, lips tightly together trying to hide his smirk. John and Arthur did have to turn around to hide their grins now too. Luca started again. The words were spoken with a slight hint of sarcasm as he repeated by the title you'd reminded him of earlier. Luca tilted his head in question, and if he did it any more his hat probably would have fallen off. 

"Y/N Shelby, Miss Y/N Shelby.... would you do me the honor of marrying me, Luca Changretta, and become my wife?"

"No."

Luca almost choked on his toothpick, he inhaled so quickly, his cheeks darkening a slight tint of red. You hadn't even paused for a moment to think, bluntly rejecting the man on his knees before you. Squeezing his hand lightly, you smiled again, though now Luca could see the true meaning of the look and realised that you never had any intentions of accepting his proposal at al. You just wanted to make a fool out of him down on his knees. Quickly, that embarrassment turned to anger as Luca shot to his feet, pulling you closer by the hand and seething in your face. Behind you, your brothers shot into action as well, all tensing up and reaching for their guns. But they knew that even if necessary, they'd have no shot as you were practically shielding Luca with you body because if where they stood. 

"That's is enough! Who the fuck do you think you are to fucking make me kneel..."

"Step back Luca," you interrupted, undetected by his ranting, but he ignored you.

"Don't tell me to fucking step back woman. If you think you can treat me...."

"Step back Luca," you repeated again calmly, but it only served to anger him more.

"STEP BACK! Step fucking back!! I will stand wherever I fucking want to stand," and with that he stepped even closer, to where the tip of his nose was touching yours. "You don't seem to understand anything going on."

"Actually I..."

"NO! Your precious brothers are going to have a bullet coming out of every fixing hole they have in ten seconds in you don't fucking listen," His hands were on your shoulders know gripping you roughly. The toothpick in his mouth almost stabbing you in the face as he spoke. "You are not the one in power here, I am. You do not make the calls, I do. I am the one who can tear apart everything you hold dear." Luca leaned his head back arrogantly, looking down at you over nose. He was still less than an arm's length part. "I have nine men and you have three. So who's to fucking stop me from killing your brothers and having my way with you right now?"

A shot rang though the air.

Luca's toothpick was still in his mouth, but now half of it had been blown to sawdust by the bullet passingly cleanly before his face. 

You just smiled...

"I told you to step back Luca..."

Every man in the ship yard ignored you, reaching for their guns, trying to find the shooter. Even your brothers looked around, slightly panicked, not knowing who fired the gun.... Or whose side they were on. The surprise of the shot, had loosened Luca's grip on you as you freed yourself and took a few steps back. Two more shots rang out from somewhere, landing close to Luca's feet, creating more space between the pair of you as he stumbled back. Then the shipyard went quiet again. Not a single man moved, for fear the next shots wouldn't be so harmless. Still searching for the ambusher Luca turned towards Tommy.

"I thought you said this was neutral ground! It's suppose to be private," He demanded, completely ignoring the fact he, himself had just threatened you on the very same neutral ground.

"It is. Or it's fucking suppose to be. I have no clue what's going on," Tommy replied, just as concerned. He should have known Alfie would play dirty. He hadn't counted on you doing it either though.

"But it's just that Mr. Changretta," clasping your hands together, you started towards the Italian man again, having no fear of getting shot. "As I told my brothers earlier, 'If he hates both of you he can't favor either of you. Thus neutral land is formed.' And I promise, Alfred Solomons hates both of you."

Luca huffed and narrowed his eyes. "I suppose this was your doing too?"

"Of course. See that 'you' is spelled without an 'me'.....and me, well I, have a very good relationship with a certain man's dog. And it is just amazing what a man will do when his dog likes you."

No one spoke so you continued. Though your face remained composed in an accomplished grin, you were almost bouncing on the balls of your feet due to your excitement. Your plan was going very nicely. Laughing, you carelessly spun around once, observing the mass of boxes and boats and building around you.

"They're amazing are they? Snipers? Could shoot your hat off from half a mile away  and you'd have never even heard the shot. Do you know how many snipers during the war were Jews? I don't, but I understand that Mr. Solomons employee a decent number of them. And when my dear friend heard of this whole marriage ploy?.....Well he righteously shared my outrage and offered to help me." Now you had taken to walking circles around your target. Now Luca realised that it was in fact you who had all the power, since the moment his tires hit the yard's ground. "And luckily for you, I did manage to curve his "help" from something a little bit less...murdery? Perhaps. After all, I do prefer to avoid violence if I can. There are so many more civilised methods than that...And finally we settled on this. The 'official engagement' taking place in this very yard, where I politely ask you to rethink your offer. And if you don't, we try to renegotiate.... and if you don't agree to that.... well. Luca you were wrong earlier..... I have far more than three men. All of who are very inclined to keep me safe. Now they've been instructed not to injury unless necessary, but that doesn't mean they can't give a warning shot. It doesn't mean they have to either. They were being very very nice just now. And you can't see them, but I promise they've had their sights on you for a while now. Why not give them a smile and then I'll tell you how this is gonna go." You opened your arms wide as if showing off everything. Luca just watched chewing on the half of his toothpick that remained. 

"How what's gonna go?" It actually wasn't Luca who spoke up. Nor was it your brothers. One of Luca's men, had asked the question. You turned and smiled at the man nodding you head once as if pleased that someone was participating. Luca made a mental note to beat the man later for encouraging you.

"See I really don't want to marry you. I don't love you. I don't even know you. There's also the fact you threatened everyone I love. But I also understand you and my brothers' small minds are incapable of imagining deals involving anything other than fighting or fucking and I don't particularly want to do either of those things with it right now. So I've come up with a new plan and who knows, maybe it'll work out in everyone's favour. Are you ready to hear it?" You paused waiting for a response. When none came you raised and eyebrow and made a point of glancing towards a rooftop over Luca's shoulder. "Do you want to know how this will work Luca?"

"Fine."

"Perfect! So you WILL take back your little finger paintings, but I will NOT be marrying you anytime soon. However, for the good of our families I am presenting another option. Luca Changtetta, I will NOT marry you on a whim, but," You paused for a moment for dramatic effect, waiting until Luca tilted his head. "Should you agree... I will let you take my hand in courtship for one year. And I promise it will not be easy for you. If you manage to whoo me, the you can have your marriage. If not.... Well then I should hope by that day we are close enough friends to put the past behind us and everyone can go their separate ways."

Luca tilted his head in confusion, "What?"

Bloody hell, this man needed to pick up a romance novel. Huffing slightly your reworded your demands. 

"Luca, you have a year to date me and make me fall in love with you. If you do I'll marry you. If not the you have a whole year to give up or come up with a better plan than killing everyone. Got it?"

"Why the fuck didn't you just say that in the first place? And what if I don't want to court you?"

"Because I didn't wanted to. And if you don't want to play then you can give up now or let the snipers play target practice."

Luca nodded his head and thought for a moment. The right choice was obvious as the fact that you were crazier than Alfred Solomons. After all, first you were threatening to kill him for trying to marry you, and now he had a year to change your mind. Luca's hand was still wrapped around his gun and he had half a mind to use it. The only thing keeping him from shooting you was the fact he knew, he'd have at least five bullets in him before he pulled the trigger. The obvious choice was to walk away now and give up the vendetta. You had just told him he could stop and you all could go your separate ways. No one else would have to die. All he had to do was give up, admitting you'd outsmarted him. He'd have to admit that you did hold all the power. 

"Well, Mr. Changretta? What do you think of my proposal?"

Luca didn't like admitting anyone else had the power... Even if looked very good on you. And so his choice was made.

"I suppose I better learn your favorite type of flower amore."

"Whatever kind you're most allergic to Romeo"

.....