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Chapter 5 (PT 1): Turning Page || Royalty!S.S. x Royalty!Reader x Royalty!T.H.

Words: 12.2K (HEHE) Genre: Period Drama, Love Triangle, Royalty AU, Jealousy. Pairings: Stephen Strange x Reader, Tom Hiddleston x Reader. Warning: Sugguestive scenes A/N: Story has no set/final plot, just going with the flow. Thank you to all the read my stories. I love reading your thoughts so let me know what you want to see next. This is Part 1 of Chapter Five :D I just hit 1K followers a day ago but I was travelling! vhbjlkdfb Thank you guys so for reading the fanfics on here! I would just like to say that I value each and everyone of you eventhough I forget to reply to all of the comments. I love you guys. Thank You!

Darkness, dense and oppressive—that was the captivity in which the Daevas had been imprisoned for such a long time. Nothing but darkness, which should be enough to lull them into an everlasting slumber, should be their fate. Nothing should ever wake them, and their Dark God, Chthon, who was placed to sleep along with them and is bound in a single location, which is Mount Wundagore.

While Baron swept his palm around in a circular motion, he flashed a sly grin that just reached the corner of his mouth. Foolish people. He thought by himself with a chuckle escaping from his mouth. In the pitch blackness, crimson eyes that were only dimly lit watched Baron's every move. They served as the Daevas' eyes and senses. Hisses of an eerie intensity reverberated, and then another. They appeared from everywhere and out of nowhere at the same time. When Baron heard the hissing coming from the shadowy beings who dwelt in the darkness, he pounded his staff on the ground to get their attention.

Baron spoke in a calm voice, "Great things, take time—do not be impatient," and the red eyes moved all at once to gaze at him, even though they couldn't actually see anything and depended on the vibrations of movements, “Do you agree that we should begin this path to salvation slowly?”

He inspected his surroundings as he made his way towards the throne that had been vacant for thousands of years. These demons of the night are more than capable of tearing him to pieces if they so choose—however, he was the chosen one. The time for exacting vengeance on those who were responsible for what had been done to his God would arrive at the appropriate moment in due time. Never would he forget the pain and dishonour of driving away magic. As for those who came against him, he would make certain that each and every one of them pay at his mercy.

▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎

After being introduced to you and Stephen, Tom and Andrew returned to their barracks before being taken for a quick orientation around the palace. Andrew made sure no one was within earshot before addressing his older brother.

"Would you be so kind as to tell me about what that was?" Andrew blocked his brother’s path and narrowed his eyes. He was referring to the way Tom looked at you the moment his eyes landed on you.

"What are you talking about?" Tom scrunched his brows and stepped aside to keep moving forward towards their allocated barracks. Andrew pivoted and blocked his path again. Tom halted again, his lips thinning.

"Oh I don't know—I can start with the starry-eyed looking glazed zombie you were when you laid eyes on the Princess?" Andrew tapped his chin while sarcastically reminding his brother about it, "I don't know if you noticed—probably not—but the Prince looked like he wanted to devour you ALIVE." Andrew whisper-shouted.

Tom sighed in defeat and looked around before making his reply, "It was her—" Andrew gave him a confused look and Tom clicked his tongue, "you know? The beautiful woman I came across in the forest that one time."

Andrew closed his eyes and groaned. Great, just great. He thought. Tom hasn't shut up about that beautiful woman he met at the forest, the only time he probably stopped mentioning it was probably during his sleep or when he's too focused on his tasks—heck, Andrew wouldn't even be surprised if Tom even spoke about you in his dreams. You've got him hooked like a fish out of water.

"I told you she was beautiful," Tom shrugged.

"Yes. She very much is—I could feel my eyes dilated when I saw her as well. . . but she isn’t the reason why we're here." Andrew was so passionate about reminding his brother to get his head back in the game that he placed his balled fist in front of his own lips, "You're going to be spending a lot of time with her so please, brother, please, keep it professional. She's betrothed, she's off limits."

Tom studied the desperate look on Andrew's face. Ah, that's right, you were betrothed—he forgot about that though it was the first thing that they mentioned. However, Tom couldn't just shrug off what you said to him in the forest.

'They treat me as well as they're able.'

He remembers the solemn look on your face and in the way your voice spoke when you said those words. You didn't specifically mention who you referred to but he could guess that you referred to Stephen. The indifference between you as you both sat in front of the King was something that was so obvious. Stephen seems like a man who doesn’t know what he wants and the problem is Tom now wants what he has.

“You’re jumping into conclusions, brother—I’m nothing but an admirer, is it wrong to admire the Princess?” Tom asked in his defence.

“I’ve seen that look of yours before, Tom. You might be a tough warrior, a great leader—but I know one thing for sure. When it comes to love, you’re easy to fall and easy to break.”

Tom squinted as he peered over Andrew’s shoulder’s, “Hey look over there.” he pointed.

Andrew furrowed his brow and looked over his shoulder and that’s when Tom made a run for it to go to his barracks without his brother. Andrew turns back around and finds Tom missing. He sighed and looked up into the sky, “Hecate help us.”

▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎

Stephen sat in the infirmary while the scratches and wounds he received from the hands of your brother were treated by you. The frown that he'd been wearing ever since the Lieutenants had been introduced didn't disappear from his face at any point. When you delicately wiped on his lower lip with a white towel, he hissed, the skin that was around it felt tender.

"Oh, don’t be such a baby. You wouldn't be sitting in front of me right now if you hadn't gotten into a fight with my brother." After he wrenched his head back away from you, you responded harshly and sighed at him. You could see that he was thinking about something else, almost as if he was drowning in something that he couldn't easily put to rest. "What are you thinking about?"

Stephen assumed an upright posture and shrugged,"Nothing," he said after an extended pause before continuing, "You appear to be familiar with your Lieutenant."

Stephen looked at you intently, as if waiting for you to make a mistake; nevertheless, you kept your composure and shook your head while saying, "I'm not familiar with him." Whichever way the truth, the fact remains that he was a stranger to you.

Stephen's eyes remained narrowed as he continued to stare at you, and he eventually said, "Well, if he's going to be stuck with you the majority of the time. Now you will. He was smiling at you like you were something special.” He scoffed.

"Was he? I didn't notice," You aren't sure what he's trying to prove, but the way he was behaving got you a little bit irritated, and you accidently pressed the towel down rather firmly on his lips. If he was trying to make you feel less offended by his behaviour towards you by using some kind of reverse psychology tactic, it wasn't working.

“Ow!”

“Sorry,” You removed the towel from the wound and cleansed it in a basin filled with warm water while saying, "Never pick a fight with my brother again unless you want to be a cripple for the rest of your life." You circled back around to the topic of him and your brother.

“I did not start that fight.” He spoke out in his own defence.

"No, but you made a contribution," you say, removing the water from the cloth by squeezing it and then folding it twice before going back to Stephen and moving his hair away from his forehead in order to wipe the dried blood from that area.

He maintained his silence and gave you permission to carry on attending to his wounds. The void that had been in his heart was slowly being filled. However, he was unaware of it, or his subconscious refuses to acknowledge that it is true. He couldn't help but fixate his gaze on the young beauty standing in front of him. His first thought—what felt like his first thought about you in a while, formed so slowly in his brain—was that you looked like a goddess. Your eyes were big and piercing and feline; your hair was jet black, combed to a glossy sheen, parted sharply, and flowing all the way down to your thighs; your lips were cupid's-bow charming; and your head was leaned to one side. You had skin that had gently seen sunlight, and wore no expression at all. You had no boundaries, all you knew was to shine, and live without any walls around you on every page.

You noticed the deceiving lustre in his eyes that you had to look away, and when you looked back at him, his gaze hadn’t moved and was still focused on your face, as if to say: So you looked away and you’ve come back, will you be looking away again soon?—which was why you had to look away once more.

Everytime he looked at you, you felt brighter inside, and you yearned to keep his attention, to hold his gaze. You sensed his gaze falling upon you time and time again. Though your heart still breaks at the knowledge that he can’t reciprocate your love for him, your heart pounded more than it should and your cheeks picked up a seemingly perennial red tint. You wondered whether he thought of you as a mere wife to produce his heirs or there was something special to that look he shackled you with.

“Don’t you know it’s rude to stare, Prince Stephen?” You finally called him out before your nervousness began to eat you up.

“I was not staring at you,” Stephen denied in a hard tone and averted his gaze elsewhere, “Where else am I supposed to look?”

“I’m almost done, just hold still,” You held his shoulders and brought him closer to you, your pregnant stomach brushing the side of his arm. You felt his hand press against the lower part of your abdomen that stuck out. The gentle touch of his palm on your stomach caught you off guard and you lightly jumped back.

Stephen took his hands away and lowered his head, “I’m sorry.”

“Please don’t think that all is well between us just because I am tending to your wounds, Your Highness. I’m only doing this as a gesture of penitence on behalf of my brother.” You informed Stephen who only clenched his jaw.

“Is it not enough?” Stephen asked, “I sent you the finest flowers, presents, gave you the space you needed to get away from me, everything and everyone—including my father seems to be against me—It is for certain that me and Christine aren’t meant to be. And now you won’t allow me to feel my child who sleeps in the comfort of you? What more could you possibly take away from me?! What do you want?!”

“I want it to stop hurting!” You snapped, “No amount of flowers or objects will ever take away the sorrow you’ve given me. You told me no more secrets, no more lies! You said you wanted this to work but you came running back to her? You want to know where it hurts? Right here,” You seethed, harshly pointing towards your heart.

“Right there is where it hurts. All the time, day in, day out, every night. Even in my dreams. There’s no escaping it. It hurts because I gave my heart to you and you successfully deceived me into thinking I finally had yours, but no, you’ve left me hollow.”

"If you really think I had no ounce of love for you then that child wouldn't exist."

"Please—as much as I love this child, it wasn't conceived out of love. It's because their father can't live another day without fucking." You threw the towel on the table beside you and shot him a furious glare before storming out of the healer’s room, slamming the door behind you. Your fingernails dug into your palms but didn’t notice as you marched through the empty halls to go to the courtyard from some fresh air. You felt glad that your anxiousness wore off now that you’re out of his sight.

▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎

Engagement Ball – 1 year ago

You took a look around, searching for a stealthy way to enter the hall. You and your Fiance were being honoured at a ball, but you had no clue how you could possibly maintain your discretion, particularly in a Xarean style dress as outrageously revealing as the one you were wearing. You silently muttered an expletive as you saw that every eye was focused on you as you passed. Your sinful figure didn’t help matters. The antechamber was just as dark and gloomy as the façade of the building, and it was filled with opulently dressed aristocracy milling around. Like a prison. A jail that has wreaths of evergreen and holly hanging over the entrances and candles burning in gold candelabras throughout the institution. You are quite sure that you saw some mistletoe as well.

Peter craned his neck to find the herald. “There he is.” He pointed to a short, squat man with a wig and scroll who stood beside a large archway. Music and laughter poured from the room beyond. Another servant appeared to take your cloaks. Though you held on to yours for a second too long, the servant succeeded in tugging it from your hands. Feeling naked, you watched it disappear with a sense of helplessness.

When Peter pulled you toward the herald, however, you dug in your heels. “I’m not being announced.”

“But the footman said—”

You jerked out of his grasp. “I don’t care what the footman said!”

“Princess, the King insisted—”

“Darlings.” Lady Lazarescu spotted you and smiled wide, looping her arms through yours and Peter’s, “Let’s not make a scene, hmm?” Taking a deep breath, you forced yourself to smile and nod at the eavesdropping aristocrats.

You tried to get away but the herald had already spotted you as well and urged you, along with Lady Lazarescu, to come forward and be announced. The trumpets played and the herald stomped his staff twice on the marbled flooring, “Ladies and Lords, with great privilege, I announce the arrival of Princess (Y/N) of the Xarean Empire, future Queen to our Crown Prince Stephen of Eltham.”

Before the curtains were drawn, Lady Lazarescu stepped aside and gestured for you to put on a smile. You sighed out of frustration and pulled a small smile as they drew the curtains open, revealing you beside Peter who assisted you in going down the stairs. The sea of people bowed before you, your eyes searching for Stephen.

The white marbled floor shone brightly in the candlelight, and iron chandeliers were suspended from the ceiling that had beams in it. A merry melody was being performed by musicians in the corner of the room close to a very tall pine tree. There was already dancing going on, but the majority of the visitors chose to socialise with the royal family while sipping champagne and milling around the room's periphery. You can tell that the aristocrats who are standing next to you have been drinking for quite some time since their speech is slurred and quite loud.

Scoffing, you marched past them through the room. You scanned the sea of black coats and sparkling gowns for Stephen, spotting his black hair at the far end of the ballroom. A group of admirers surrounded him, though the young woman clinging to his arm drew your particular attention. Your heart plummeted. Anxiously awaiting my ass. Even from a distance, you could tell the woman was beautiful: delicate and feminine; her porcelain skin and brown hair shone in the candlelight. She shook with genuine laughter at something Stpehen had just said. Uneasiness flitted through you.

This could only be one person. One boring, docile, wretchedly inconvenient pipe dream. Peter followed your gaze, wrinkling his nose in distaste when he too spotted Stpehen and the chestnut-haired beauty.

“Please tell me that’s not who I think it is.”

“I’ll come find you later.” Your eyes never left Stephen’s face. Peter knew better than to follow this time. You’d just descended into the ballroom when another man stepped in your path. Though you’d never encountered him this close, you recognized his flawless complexion and hooded eyes at once. White silver hair styled to perfection, he wore more diamonds on his crown than were in looked like your entire vault. King Pietro Maximoff. Damn it. You didn’t have time for this shit.

Even now, that stupid cow was probably sinking her claws deeper into your fiance—reminding him of her beautiful lips, and smile, and eyes, and laugh—

“That is quite the dress.” His gaze swept up your body lazily, and he smirked, arching a brow. His thick accent surprisingly adding to his appeal.

“Your Highness.” You dropped into a curtsy, clamping down on a slew of more appropriate honorifics. He eyed your breasts appreciatively as you leaned down, and you straightened at once. Bloody pervert.

“Your name.” It wasn’t a question. Was he not paying attention?

“Princess (Y/N) of the Xarean Empire, Your Highness.”

His grin widened in delight. “You're The Xarean Princess? My apologies, I didn’t expect our barbaric King to have such a stunning daughter.” He actually threw his head back and laughed. The aristocrats nearest you paused, eyeing you with renewed interest.

“Oh, I’ve heard all about you.” His golden eyes sparkled with glee. “Tell me, how exactly did you trick our little Eltham Prince into marrying you? I’ve heard the rumours, of course, but everyone has their own theories.”

You would’ve gladly broken a finger to break one of his other appendages. “No tricks, Your Highness,” You said sweetly. “We’re in love.”

His grin faded, and his lip curled slightly. “How wretched.” At that moment, the crowd shifted, revealing Stephen and his many admirers. The chestnut-haired cow reached up to brush something from Stephen’s hair. Your blood boiled.

The King’s brows rose as he followed your gaze. “Love, huh?” He leaned closer, his breath warm against your ear. “Should we make him jealous?”

“No, thank you,” you snapped. “Your Highness.”

“Call me Pietro.” As he moved aside, his smile changed into a vicious one. You raced right past him, but at the very last second, he grabbed your wrist and planted a quick kiss on the back of your hand. You were fighting off the impulse to crack his fingers, “Come find me if you change your mind. We would have fun together, you and I.”

With one last, lingering look, he sauntered off, winking at one of the women who hovered nearby. You scowled after him for a moment before turning back to Stephen. But he and Christine were gone.

Because Stephen was so much taller than everyone else in the crowd, it didn't take you long to find them at all. Christine, being the Leetch that she was, continued to grip tightly onto his arm as they approached a door that was partly obscured by two evergreens. You followed in their footsteps as best you could. To your dismay, and maybe to your trepidation, they continued to be entirely absorbed in one other as they walked out the door without looking back. You made to slip through after them, but a hand caught your arm. You whirled around to face the Duke, Christine’s father.

You stood motionless, rooted to the spot like the evergreens beside you, as he began to pace. “Where do you think you’re going? Let our Prince enjoy this small pleasure away from your corruption.”

At the words, your confusion morphed into something sparkling and icy, and became more intense. As though you were the one who was responsible for setting up this premarital arrangement. As if you were the one who ought to feel embarrassed about yourself. You protruded your chin and moved forwards until you were in an inappropriately close proximity to his gaunt face. "I have no idea what the hell you're talking about, but you need to take a good look at yourself in the mirror. When you go to Hell, Lord Palmer, you'll find that liars and hypocrites have their own designated area. Perhaps I’ll see you there.”

He stared at you with wide eyes, but as you moved away from him, he didn't make any attempt to follow you. As soon as you entered what could only be a kitchen, the savage delight that had been pulsing through your veins abruptly disappeared. It was empty. However, you soon found that a cold air was biting at your flesh, and you realised that the door on the other side had been left ajar. The thin space allowed the wind to whistle through it. You inched it open a little farther, seeing Stephen and Christine standing in a barren herb garden. The dark fragments of sage and rosemary were covered with snow. You moved in closer, but the wind was so loud that it was difficult to make out their words.

“I’m sorry, Christine.” Stephen cradled the woman’s hands on his own. She held her shoulders stiff—angry.

You shouldn’t be here, the small, disapproving voice at the back of your head warned. This is wrong. Private. You’re breaking trust. He’s the one breaking trust.

“There has to be something we can do,” Christine said bitterly. “It isn’t right. Maybe we can make a petition,ask your father for an annulment after. Surely the King wouldn’t keep you trapped in a loveless marriage.”

Your stomach dropped to somewhere below your ankles.

Stpehen stroked her fingers with his thumb. “Once my father’s decision is set it’s hard to change it.”

“No. . .I’m sure I could arrange a meeting—”

“Christine,” he said softly.

She sniffled, and you knew instinctively it wasn’t because of the cold. “I hate her.”

“Christine, you . . . you didn’t want me.” Your chest constricted to the emotion in his voice. At the pain.

“I always wanted you,” she said fiercely. “This wasn’t supposed to happen. I was angry, heartbroken, and I just—I needed time.” She wrapped her arms around his neck, and you saw her face clearly for the first time. She had gorgeous high cheekbones, big eyes that resembled doe's eyes, and luscious lips, “But I don’t care anymore, Stephen. I don’t care if it’s selfish. I want to be with you.”

You watched her press those lips to Stephen’s cheek and felt sick. Suddenly, you didn’t find their love letters funny anymore. He pulled away before she could move to his mouth.

“Christine, don’t. Please. Don’t make this any harder.” She paused, lower lip trembling. Her next words were a direct blow to your chest.

“I love you, Stephen.” She clung to him, pleading. “I’m so sorry I pushed you away, but we can still be together. We can fix this. You’re just engaged. Speak to your father again. He’ll send that whore to her Kingdom where she belongs, and—”

“She isn’t a whore.”

You leaned forward as Christine pulled back, frowning at something she saw in his face. “She’s a delinquent of a Princess, Stephen, she framed you. She—she doesn’t deserve you.”

Stephen gently disentangled himself from her arms. “Christine, this can’t continue.” His voice was low, resigned. “Whether or not you like her, you told me that my duty was for this Kingdom. I will honour it.”

“Do you like her?” Christine changed the subject, eyes narrowing.

“It doesn’t matter.”

“It matters to me!”

“What do you want me to say, Christine? She’s my future bride. Of course I like her.” Christine rocked back as if he’d slapped her.

“What’s happened to you, Stephen?”

“Nothing—”

“The Stephen I know would abhor that woman. She embodies everything you oppose—”

“You don’t know her.”

“I obviously don’t know you either!”

“Christine, please—”

“Do you love her?” You held your breath, fingers biting into the doorjamb. There was a heavy pause. Then—

“No, I don’t love her.” He exhaled heavily, looking down. “But I think—I think maybe I could—”

“But you said you loved me.” She withdrew her distance from him gently, her eyes widened in shock and pain. Tears streamed down her cheeks, “You asked to marry me! Me—not her!”

“I— Christine, I do love you. But (Y/N) . . .” He sighed and shook his head. “I don’t want to hurt her.”

“You won’t hurt her?” At this point, her sobs were more heartfelt, and streaks of colour began to appear on her formerly white cheeks, “What about me, Stephen? We’ve known each other since we were children!” Her tears soaked her bodice, ruining the black silk.

Stephen’s hands hung limp at his sides. “I’m sorry. I never meant for this to happen.”

“I’m sorry too, Stephen,” she sobbed. “I’m sorry I ever met you.”

You slowly backed away from the door as numbness spread over your body. You have no right to be in this place. This moment hadn’t been meant for your eyes. Back in the ballroom, you stood apart from the crowd, your mind still reeling. Stephen loves her. Disgusted with your own behaviour, you shook your head. Of course he had. He’d said as much in his stupid journal—which you never should’ve read—and even if he hadn’t, he was a young, attractive man. He would’ve had his choice amongst any number of women. The thought rankled more than it should’ve. The image of Christine's lips, or any lips, pushed to his face, performed the same thing.

Christine reappeared a few seconds later, cleaning her face in the most stealthy manner imaginable. Before anybody could question her, she quickly bowed her head and made her way to the antechamber of the hall. When Stephen emerged again, you forced the knot in your throat back down and swallowed. As you watched him look everywhere for you, you considered going after Christine.

After hearing what you had, how could you possibly face him? After discovering what it was that he'd given up? Do you love her? No, I don’t love her. But I think—I think maybe I could— Could what? Love me? As soon as you heard the phrase, panic began to grip your throat. Stephen was able to pick you out of the crowd just as you were raising your skirts in an effort to depart the ballroom and go towards the exit.

As his blue eyes met yours and expanded, you fumbled through an uncomfortable wave while regretting your newfound insecurity. He began moving on while simultaneously avoiding the numerous nobles who sought to stop him and congratulate him along the route. He did this by gently excusing himself from the situation. When he finally got close enough to you, you adjusted your feet while being vividly and cruelly aware of your heart's pounding rhythm, your tingling limbs, and your heated skin. His hands clamped securely around your wrist.

“You look beautiful.” Your blush deepened as he looked at you. Stephen's admiration was almost, in contrast to King Pietro's haughty appreciation. . . respectful. A person has never looked at you like that before.

“Thank you.” you breath caught, and he tilted his head, eyes searching yours in silent question. You looked away, embarrassed, but then Princess Wanda, King Pietro’s twin, chose that moment to swoop down on both of you. She didn’t bother with pleasantries. You’d met her a couple of times during special events, she was a bit reserved at first, but after she warmed up to you, she was a bit more chatty and open. She knows you and Stephen’s brief history since that’s usually the subject during your high-teas.

“Tell me, who was that lovely woman you were with earlier? Your sister, perhaps?” You glared at her pointedly, but she ignored you. Subtlety had never been Wanda’s forte.

“Oh—er, no,” Stephen said. “That was the Duke’s daughter, Lady Palmer.”

“Close personal friend?” Wanda pressed, narrowing her eyes.

“You could say that,” Stephen answered woodenly. But Wanda didn’t bat an eye.

“Hm.”

“Wanda.” you forced a smile and reached for her hand, squeezing it mercilessly. “I think I’d like a little time alone with the Prince. Have you seen Lieutenant Isaac?”

She waved her other hand behind you dispassionately. “Probably beating his chest and challenging that other soldier to a duel.”

You looked back to where she waved. “What other soldier?”

“The pompous one.” She pursed her lips in concentration, but she needn’t have bothered. You knew exactly to whom she referred.

“What happened?”

“Oh, the usual male condition. Lieutenant didn’t want the other playing with his new toy.” She rolled her eyes. “I swear, my female lovers never get into such a jam.”

Your grin was genuine now, “Perhaps you should go referee.”

Wanda studied your hand clasped around Stephen’s, and the feverish complexion of your cheeks. The way he stood close. Much too close. Her eyes narrowed. “Perhaps I should.”

She stepped forward to embrace you, but Stephen wouldn’t let go of your hand. Shooting him a glare, she hugged you regardless—awkward, but fierce. “I’ll see you later,” she murmured in your ear, “Let me know if I need to castrate him.”

Stephen watched her leave with an inscrutable expression. “We need to talk,” he said finally, “Somewhere private.”

You followed him silently and fearfully to the same herb garden where Christine had her heart broken. You made certain to lock the kitchen door behind you this time. You didn't need an audience for whatever it was that he wanted to say, even if you had a sneaking suspicion that it would hurt like a bitch. He dragged a hand through his raven hair in agitation. “(Y/N), the woman you and Princess Wanda saw me with, that was—”

“Don’t.” As a precaution against shivers, you coiled your arms about your waist. Your tolerance has reached an all-time low. You would never have to go through that horrible conversation again. Only once hearing it was sufficient, “You don’t have to explain anything. I understand.”

“I do need to explain,” he disagreed. “Look, I know we were engaged under less than ideal circumstances. But, (Y/N), I—I want this to work. I want to be your husband. I know I can’t force you to want the same, but—”

“I do want the same,” you whispered.

His eyes widened, and he took a tentative step closer. “You do?”

“Yes.” He smiled at your answer, then—truly smiled—before faltering slightly.

“Then there can’t be any secrets between us.” He hesitated, as if searching for the right words. “The woman you saw was Christine. You read my letters, so you know I love her. But—but nothing happened. I promise. When I came with my father, she immediately found me and. . . She insisted on being right by my side the whole time. Just now, I took her out here to discuss the shift in our relationship's limits. I told her I didn’t—”

“I know.” You inhaled deeply as you braced yourself for the coming conflict.

He frowned. “How can you know that?” Because I’m a shit person. Because I didn’t trust you. Because she is everything you deserve, and I am your enemy.

“I followed the two of you out here,” you admitted quietly. “I . . . I heard everything.”

“You spied on us?” Disbelief colored this voice. Feelings of fear ran through you. Whether you were shaking from the cold or your own shame, you had no idea.

“Old habits die hard.”

His brows pinched together, and he drew back slightly. “That’s not how I would’ve chosen for you to find out.”

You shrugged, attempting a bit of your old swagger, but it fell flat, “Easier this way though.”

He looked at you for what seemed like an eternity; you began to wonder whether he would ever break his silence. You shrank back from his scrutiny, “No more secrets, (Y/N),” he said finally, “No more lies.”

“I . . . I’ll try,” You whispered. It was the best you could give him.

He nodded, slow and understanding. “Let’s go back inside. You’re shivering.”

“Wait.” You grabbed his hand before he could turn, your heart lodged firmly in your throat. “I—I want to—” Make a complete and total fool of myself, “I want to say sorry—for everything.” You squeezed his fingers, your own stiff and aching from the cold.

“Christine was right. I don’t deserve you. I made a real mess of your life when I came into it.” His other hand came down on top of yours. Warm and steady. You were probably taken aback when he cracked a grin.

“I’m glad you did.” Your blood warmed your freezing cheeks and you found it difficult to look at him.

“Right," you cleared your throat, "well, then . . . let’s go back inside before I pass out from hypothermia.”

When you went back into the ballroom, the party was in full swing. You snatched a champagne glass from a passing servant and chugged it down in one go.

Stephen eyed you incredulously. “You drink like a man.”

“Maybe men can learn a thing or two from women.” you waved the servant back and grabbed two more flutes, passing one to Stephen. He didn’t take it. “Relax, Prince. Enjoy yourself. This is the best champagne money can buy. It’s an insult to your father not to drink it.” you scanned the crowd with feigned boredom.

After a few periods of time, a scrumptious warmth crept over your whole body. The music, which had been a dull and uninteresting waltz before, was sounding much better now. Livelier. You just drank the third glass in one go.

“Dance with me,” Stephen said abruptly.

You looked at him in bewilderment, “What?”

“Dance with me.” He stood on his feet and threw your arms around his neck. You tensed, glancing around, but he tugged you down determinedly. You complied. Stephen stooped slightly, and wrapped his arms around your waist. You laughed. You both looked foolish as you bent and strained to fit together, but he would not let either of you go even though it was obvious you were uncomfortable.

“This—this isn’t the proper way to dance.” You said and lifted your chin to look him directly in the eyes.

“Of course it is. This is our party. We can dance anyway we want.” Stephen shrugs. You chuckle inwardly.

“I—I don’t usually do this—”

“(Y/N), if you don’t dance with me, I’ll go and find someone who will.” His grip tightened on your hips.

“No, you won’t.”

“Then the way forward is clear. We dance.”

You blew out a breath and closed your eyes. “Fine.”

As nervous as you’d been to dance, you proved yourself capable within moments, moving with unnatural grace for someone who hasn’t gotten much dancing lessons her entire life. Stephen had a few missteps of his own. He would have said it was because of your dress, but it was just him being clumsy. Focusing was impossible for him. His hands were strong on your waist, and he couldn’t help but imagine them . . . elsewhere. His blood heated at the thought.

▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎

That night, the tension in our room was so intense that it was physically painful. In preparation for your upcoming wedding, which would take place in one year, the King had ordered the two of you to spend more time alone together at Autumn shore. You were lying in his bed, and Stephen could hear you shifting about in the darkness. Your breathing was first loud, but gradually it became more quiet. You made another change. Effortlessly rolled over onto your side then your back. Then to the other side, then your back, and finally your side again. Attempting to maintain silence at the moment. But you were none of those things, and Stephen was listening to you. In a never-ending loop of repetitions. You were starting to send him over the edge. You had finally made up your mind to bend over the edge of the bed, your blue-green eyes finding him in the shadows. Your tresses are now scraping all over the floor.

When Stephen tried to sit up on his elbows too soon, your eyes immediately went to the spot on his chest where his nightshirt was hanging open. The fire erupted in his gut as he questioned, “What is it?”

“This is stupid.” You scowled, but Stephen was at a loss for why you were so irritated, “You know you don’t have to sleep on the floor?”

Stephen eyed you suspiciously, “Are you sure?”

“First things first, I need you to quit staring at me like that. Yes I am sure, its not a huge thing, really.” You rolled your eyes before scooting to make room for him, “Besides, it’s freezing in here. I need your big-ass body heat to keep warm.”

When Stephen was still unwilling to move, you coaxed him by patting the place next you, “Oh, c’mon, Stephen. I don’t bite . . . much.”

Stephen swallowed hard, violently blocking out the image of your mouth on his skin. He got onto the bed in a careful and unhurried manner, giving you plenty of opportunities to change your mind along the way. There was an unpleasant pause of quiet that lasted for many seconds.

“Relax,” you finally whispered, though you too, laid stiff as a board, “Quit being so awkward.”

Stephen almost laughed. Almost. As if he could’ve possibly relaxed with you so . . . so close to him. The bed, which usually was King sized, has been replaced to a smaller one. Half of Stephen’s body jutted out into empty space. The other half pressed into you but he didn’t complain. After suffering through yet another agonising minute of silence, you eventually turned towards Stephen with your breasts brushing against his arm. His heart rate soared, and he clenched his teeth in an effort to bring his intrusive thoughts under control.

“Tell me about your parents.” You asked, and just like that, all his thoughts of intimacy fled.

“There’s nothing to tell.”

“There’s always something to tell.” Stephen maintained his firm fixation on the ceiling. Even though there was once again complete silence, you never stopped watching him. He couldn't help but cast a glance in your direction—at the enthusiastic, wide-eyed look you have on your eyes. Stephen groaned and shook his head in frustration.

“My Father and I don’t get along well, ever since I was a child. He’s always been too hard on me, probably because that’s how his father was to him. Mother wanted to have more children but Father said one son to inherit the throne is enough—if I had been a daughter, then my father would keep trying for a son but that wasn’t the case.”

You stared at him, horrified. “Marshall Wong was more of a father to me, he taught me plenty of things, first magic—as you already found out—but then I hit a growth spurt.” The side of his mouth quirked up of its own volition. “He began training me as a Sorcerer knight not long after. I claimed my spot when I was fifteen. It’s all I’ve ever known.”

You rested your head on Stephen’s shoulder, “Claimed your spot?”

Closing his eyes, he rested his chin on top of your head and inhaled. Deeply. “There are only two hundred mythical Eltham rings. It limits the positions available. Most serve for life. When a Sorcerer Knight retires or dies, an underground tournament is held. Only the winner may join our secret ranks.”

“Wait.” When you stood up, Stephen's eyes immediately blinked awake. You looked down at him with a smile, your hair playing lightly across his torso, “Are you telling me Peter beat out all the other contenders?”

“Peter isn’t a Sorcerer Knight.” Your grin faltered at Stephen’s reply.

“He’s not?”

“No. He’s training to be, though. He’ll compete in the next tournament, along with the other initiates.”

“Oh.” You frowned now, twirling a lock of hair around your finger. “Well, that explains a lot.”

“It does?” You nestled back into him with a sigh.

“Peter is different from everyone else here. He’s . . . easy-going. Open-minded.”

Stephen bristled at the insinuation, “It’s not a crime to have principles.”

You ignored him. You made a path down the collar of his shirt with your fingertips. Stephen coughed and cleared his throat, doing his best to ignore the little movement. However, your fingertips had a really warm feeling to them. In addition to this, his shirt was paper thin.

You didn’t speak again for several moments. When you finally did, he wished you hadn’t.

“And . . . and Christine? Do you continue seeing her up until now?” All remnants of humour withered and died on his tongue. Stephen continued to fix his attention on the ceiling. In spite of the fact that you said nothing, your fingers continued to trace his collar. Coaxing. Waiting. He let out another sigh.

“You saw the letters. We . . . tried maintaining our courtship.”

“Why?” You asked and felt Stephen stiffened, immediately wary.

“What do you mean why?”

“Nothing. . .” You murmured. Stephen would’ve given up his Sorcerer’s ring to end this conversation.

You sat up, fixing Stephen with those unnerving eyes. “You were going to marry Christine.”

“Yes.” Stephen tore his gaze away from you and back toward the ceiling. A snowflake drifted in from the window, “Growing up . . . Christine and I were sweethearts. Her kindness appealed to me. I was an angry child. She tempered me. Begged me not to throw rocks at the constabulary. Forced me to confess when I stole the communion wine.” A grin tugged at his lips at the memory. Your eyes narrowed at his words, but you wisely said nothing. You sank down until you were pressing against his chest, and as you did, you lightly touched his exposed collarbone with your finger. In its aftermath, heat exploded all over his flesh in addition to everywhere else. Stephen repositioned his hips such that he was facing away from you while muttering a profanity.

You burrowed deeper in the blankets as the wind picked up outside.

“Are you cold?” Stephen asked.

“A little.” You reply and Stephen inched closer, lifting his arm.

“Will you accept an olive branch?” He asked and you swallowed hard, nodding. He pressed you up against his chest and clamped his hands around the small of your back. You were transformed back into a piece of wood in an instant. Small. Tense. Unyielding. Stripped of your prying questions, it was almost as if you were . . . nervous.

“Relax,” Stephen murmured in his low baritone voice against your hair, “I don’t bite . . . much.”

Quiet laughter rumbled through his chest. You hardened your body as much as was humanly feasible. You have no reason to be concerned. You undoubtedly heard the tumultuous beating of his heart, and you quickly realised your advantage.

“Was that a joke?” You teased and Stephen’s arms tightened around you.

“Maybe.” When you said nothing in return, Stephen pulled back to look at you. Another smile tugged at his lips. And, suddenly, he recalled your first night together.

“You don’t have to be nervous, (Y/N),” Stephen stroked your back, forcing yourself to remain still as you wriggled against him, “I’m not going to try anything.”

A noise of protest escaped you, “Why not?”

“I seem to remember you threatening to cut me open if I touched you without permission.” When your eyelids began to close, Stephen cocked your head forwards, cursing inwardly while simultaneously praising himself. When he felt a little catch in your breath, Stephen leaned in closer, his lips coming dangerously close to yours. "If you don't ask me to touch you, I won't."

Your eyes flew open, and you pushed him away with a snarl, “You can’t be serious.”

“Oh, I am.” Stephen smirked again and settled back against the pillow, “It’s late. We should sleep.”

You looked at him with a fiery glare in your eyes. With understanding. With a degree of resentful adoration. Stephen, feeling victorious, watched you sort through your thoughts and saw how each feeling manifested itself on your beautiful face.

You scowled at Stephen and smiled sarcastically, “It appears I underestimated you.”

Stephen raised his brows, “Just say the magic words. Ask me.”

“You’re an ass.”

Stephen shrugged and sat up, “Have it your way.” In one fluid motion, Stephen lifted the hem of his shirt up and over his head.

Your eyes flew open incredulously, trying not to lower your gaze, “What are you doing?” You grabbed his shirt and threw it back at him—which he caught and tossed it all the way across the room.

“I’m feeling hot, aren’t you?”

“You—you— Get out of my bed! Get out!” You shoved Stephen, probably with all your strength, but he didn’t budge. He only grinned teasingly.

“This is our bed.”

“No, this is where I sleep. You sleep on the—”

“Bed.” Stephen brought his hands up to his head and clasped them together. You stared at him in disbelief, your gaze darting between his arms and his chest. Stephen's smile became wider as he fought the impulse to flex his muscles. He also recalled the day he saw you watching him through your telescope and said, "I've got a knot in my back from training for the last two weeks. I've had enough of lying on the ground. This is our bed, and from now on I'm going to sleep in it. If you'd want to join me, you're more than welcome to do so; if not, the bathtub is still available.”

You opened your mouth angrily and closed it again. “I— This is— I am not sleeping in the—”

Your eyes darted around the bed, clearly searching for something to impale him with but your eyes only landed on a pillow. Whack. You raised your hand for another one but Stephen caught it before you could hit him again, trapping it against his chest. Clamping his lips together to keep from laughing, “(Y/N)—lie down. Go to sleep. Nothing has changed. Unless you want to ask me something?”

“You better sleep with one eye open.” You yanked the pillow from him.

Stephen chuckled before turning away. “Good night, (Y/N).”

“Shut up.” You fell asleep long before Stephen did.

▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎

"There you are," Tom's smooth silky voice interrupted your thoughts, "May I? Princess?" He looked pointedly at the space beside you on the marbled bench.

"Mister Tom," you referred to what you called him when you first met him, "You may."

"I was expecting I'd see you again but I didn't expect to meet you again in this way," He chuckles softly and takes the seat beside you.

"So did I," you lightly nodded, "I thought you were being taught your father's trade? Why is it that you're now a soldier?"

"Well," Tom clasps his hands together, "The Kingdom I lived in has been invaded and I've come here to seek refuge."

As you were informed of the devastating information, you let out a muffled gasp, and the emotions on your face became more serious. Since you haven't received any information of an invasion, you are now curious about the location of his previous home. If the Kings were aware, then they have done an excellent job of keeping the population in the dark about it.

"I-I'm so sorry to hear that," You paused, "May I ask which Kingdom?"

"Eivengard."

Your eyes widen. Eivengard? The mysterious land, a place where the trees come to life and magical animals lurk, is home to people who are said to use magic even today, despite the fact that no one has ever provided definitive evidence to support this claim.

"Eivengard? The mysterious Kingdom? You lived there?" You asked Tom fascinated, "Can you tell me more about your home? What was it like?"

Tom smiles at the way your eyes sparkled with curiosity as you turned your body to face him, "I don't mean to brag but It’s going to take more than words to describe its beauty, I would have to take you there."

A small smile stayed on your face, "Really? Is it true that the trees there are alive? Can you describe the Enchanted forest to me?"

Tom nodded, "The age of the magical woodland is incalculable. It reeked of age.Its earthy scent was caused by the centuries-long process of branches breaking off in the forest, falling to the ground, and decaying in silence. The composting, organic smell rose up in waves like a mist. Every towering tree that I had walked underneath brought to mind a vigilant watchman or a stoic guardian watching over the groves. If you decided to venture deeper into the tangled heart of this primaeval forest, you'd hoped that it would reveal its dark secrets.

The more you ventured into it, the more mysterious and bewitching it came out to be. Huge roots sprawled out over the ground and twisted in a manner reminiscent of the broad backs of aquatic monsters. The vegetation grew dense and lush, creating an arch of enchanted-looking greenery over your heads as it spread out. The arthritic and twisted branches of the tree were dropping its abundance of nuts onto the walkway below. Briars, brambles and berry trees flanked the trail, making it impenetrable on either side.

There is a wide glade, where the trees fell away, revealing the bespeckled sky. During the evening the last of the morning’s stars glinted like silver pin pricks, luminous and bright. The ore gold moon would hang quietly in the distance, casting a honeyed sheen over the trees.When I was younger, I used to sit with my back against the trunk of a tree that had been struck by lightning and watched it fade away. And as if on cue, an avian aria would erupt from the knot of trees. The solitary songbird was soon joined by his beaked companions, creating a symphony of song.The song has a wistful quality to it, as if it were an elixir for the spirit. The woods' honeyed aroma would wash over me, and I'd let myself be lulled to sleep by the reassuring warmth of it."

You sat there with your mouth gaping as Tom's words painted vivid pictures in your mind of the amazing things he saw in the enchanted forest, "Wow. I, too, want to experience that.”

"Well you're going to have to come to Eivengard with me—when it's safe, of course." Tom's grin grew wider as he saw the expression of amazement on your face; it was unlike anything he'd seen before, "I forgot to say this when we met; You are breathtakingly beautiful, Princess."

You elicit a shy laugh and look away slightly, "How many girls have had the privilege to hear that come out of your mouth?"

"Only yours."

Stephen, who was in the corridor on the upper level, discovered you and Tom engaging in a conversation in the courtyard. The man's jaw clenched and his blood began to boil as he heard the sound of your gentle laughter rebounding from what Tom was saying to you,"Unfamiliar, my ass. Is this how one acts when you're unfamiliar with someone?"

"There you are Sire!" Luke, Stephen’s appointed stylist for the wedding, ran to him and bowed, "You are to be fitted with a uniform for your wedding next week, please come with me."

Stephen switched his attention back to the courtyard, which is where he had last seen you and Tom before you disappeared. His chest tightened up at the idea that the other man had whisked you away to a place where you would be alone yourselves. He couldn't shake the notion that he should go seek for you, but he knew that coming with Luke was his only option at this point.

"Your Highness?" Luke glanced at the direction Stephen was facing.

"Yes, yes. Lead the way."

▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎

Stephen stands at a platform with his arms stretched wide as the tailor measures his body. Andrew and Ben sat on the sofa in his room while Stephen complains about how it was stupid for you to have a male ward when, clearly, they now decided to also train women, “I know that look from a mile away, he’s definitely have feelings for her.”

“I don’t understand why you’re getting upset, your highness. Isn’t she getting married to you?” Andrew asked politely, causing Ben to chuckle at his question.

“They’re engaged and that didn’t stop him from running back to his ex-girlfriend when he realised the weight of his responsibility,” Ben answered and received a death stare from his cousin, “What? I’m just stating the truth. You don’t know what you want—You should’ve just been honest with her and told her you were confused instead of telling her what you told her.”

“Wait. . . can we just rewind because I am confused. So he told her that he felt the same and then he changed his mind and chased after someone else?” Andrew furrowed his brows while trying to understand the whole ordeal between you and the Prince.

“Correct.” Ben replied.

“Wow, that's cold.”

“Both of you do know that I am right in front of you?”

“Yes, we do.” Ben smiled, “And we don’t care—Now I’m actually curious on how you’re going to write your vows for her.”

Andrew’s gaze flicked towards Stephen who was thinking rather deeply, he needed to make it sound convincing not only for you but to all the people who will be invited. Stephen sighed heavily and caught Andrew’s gaze.

“I honestly don’t know, I can give it a try after this, but I can’t guarantee how convincing it’ll be.”

“Just write something from the bottom of your heart,” Andrew shrugs.

“Why don’t you grab a servant nearby to scribe, let’s get this over and done with.” Stephen adjusted his posture, trying to stay still to not get pricked by the needle. Andrew went out to find a servant and called in the first one he saw.

“Your highness,” The servant girl lowered herself to a curtsy.

“Yes, yes—grab a pen and paper and write down the things that I’m about to say.”

“Yes, Your highness,” She immediately grabbed a pen and paper on one of the desks and anticipated for the Prince to open his mouth and say something.

A few minutes pass by and Stephen still hasn’t said a word, “That’s a real tear jerker, cousin.” Ben slowly clapped his hands and shook his head. Andrew on the other hand pressed his lips together to prevent a laugh from escaping his lips.

“I’m thinking alright?” Stephen snapped at Ben, “Okay. . . (Y/N), of all the people you've met and places you've visited you ended up here—with me. It is a very powerful and humbling fact.”

“Are you serious? That sounds like a eulogy,” Ben grimaced as he interrupted Stephen’s train of thought.

“You will be the clouds and I will be the sky. You will be the ocean and I will be the shore. You will be the trees and I will be the wind.”

“For the love of God, I almost threw up—Are you writing her a song or what?”

“Why don’t you write it then!?”

“It is kind of hard to write a vow when your heart isn’t fully set on her.” Andrew shrugs.

“And is yours set on someone?” Stephen asked the younger man, who nodded without hesitation, “Good, write one for me then.”

“You can’t be serious right?” Andrew chuckles. His smile faded when Stephen only gave him an expectant look, “With all due respect, Your Highness, that is your vows to her, it has to mean something to you.”

“I’m sure whatever you write will be the exact same as how I feel.”

“No it's not.” Ben opposed.

“Well it’s either write me something or both of you will have to listen to the pathetic lines I could think of.”

Andrew and Ben looked at each other, “How long does it have to be?” Andrew asks.

“Make it straightforward and concise. I don’t want anything long.”

▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎

The last time you saw Stephen was during your argument—both of you have been preoccupied with preparing for your wedding and the only time you’d see each other was during breakfast, but even then, you didn’t speak with one another.

Today was the day that Alcina arranged for you to try on wedding dresses, shoes and jewellery—of course, Tom was there with you. Each time you came out from the dividers wearing a white dress, he always had this wide-eyed, slack jawed expression. Air whooshed from your lungs, and the entire Hall seemed to fade away, going silent as you stared at one another. Your heart thumped heavily as your hands spasmed open and then closed. He was staring at you, but so were the Ladies-in-waiting. Asha, particularly, noticed how Tom looked at you with heavy admiration.

As you turned around to face the mirror and admire the dress, Tom came closer after noticing the healing scar on your arm, his eyes lingering on the corner of your mouth, “You were hurt,” It wasn’t a question but a statement uttered in a hard-as-granite tone. “You can be assured that will never happen again.”

You became rigid as Tom's gaze collided with yours through the mirror and remained fixed on you. Even though you knew that he couldn't see your eyes through your veil, it still seemed like he could since his gaze was penetrating, as if he could see not only through you but also into you.

You made an effort to shrug off the emotion, but the more he maintained your sight, the stronger the sensation became. You attempted to ignore it. It had to be his eyes, specifically the colour of them. Indigo has such an unusual and beautiful shade. While gazing into their eyes, one's mind may wander to many other places and times.

“Alright, Lieutenant, allow our bride to admire her beauty not her scars,” Alcina gently pushed between you and Tom and he broke eye contact and pivoted toward the entryway. Your breath left you in a ragged exhale, your heart hammering as if you were running across the hills.

“That was…intense,” Asha murmured.

You blinked, giving a shake of your head as you turned to her. “What?”

“That.” Her brows were lifted, “You and Sir Thomas staring one another down. You two were engaged in a rather heated one on one just now.”

You could feel warmth creep into your cheeks. “He’s just doing his job. . .”

Asha lifted her brow, “Oh really?”

“Yeah, of course.” You smoothed your hands over the lap of your dress.

“So, he was just making sure you’re still alive and—”

“Breathing?” Both of you were surprised by Tom's suggestion. He had moved with the stealth of a trained guard and the silence of a ghost, and now he was standing a scant foot from from where you were standing, “Since I am responsible for keeping her alive, making sure she’s breathing would be a priority.” Your shoulders stiffened. How much had he overheard?

Asha made a poor attempt to smother her giggle with the back of her hand. “I’m relieved to hear that.”

“If not, I’d be remiss in my duty, would I not?”

“Ah, yes, your duty.” Asha nodded in scepticism, “I’m sure you can accomplish your duty over at the couch there Lieutenant, let us help the Princess choose a wedding dress. . . you know, for her wedding?”

Tom chuckled at the lady emphasising the word ‘wedding’ twice, “Of course.”

▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎

“I would like to spend the rest of my afternoon in the garden, call for my mother also, please.” You told Asha, “Prepare some tea for me at the gazebo—I’m craving scones and jam, so please give me a fair amount.” You kindly requested from Asha who nodded.

“Right away, Princess. I’ll tell the chef.”

“Care to join me, Lieutenant Hiddleston?” you asked, even though he would be joining you regardless.

You left the room to head over the garden to have some tea. You glanced over at him as the marble staircase curved. He had one hand rested on the hilt of the sword at his waist.

He looked over at you then—more like he looked down at you, even though you were a step higher than he was. He was still taller, which seemed unfair. One dark brow rose, his gaze questioning.

“What?” You asked, heart seizing as you lifted your foot but not high enough. You tripped. Tom reacted fast, curving his hand above your elbow, steadying you. Embarrassment flooded your system as you muttered, “Thank you.”

“No insincere thanks are required or needed. It is my duty to keep you safe.” He paused, “Even from treacherous staircases.”

You took a deep, even breath. “My gratitude are never insincere.”

“My apologies then.” It wasn't necessary to see his face to know he was grinning, and you could guarantee the world was better for his smile. Silence reigned after you reached the second-floor landing, and he had become silent. You went downstairs, through the hall, and out the stairs to the gardens by turning to the left. Tom walked all the way to the end of the hall and opened the large oak doors, touching your shoulder with his arm. Before proceeding up the tight spiral staircase, he waited for you to arrive. The space was drenched in natural light thanks to the ovular windows.

“Watch your step. You trip and fall here, you’re likely to take me out on your way down.”

You huffed, “I won’t trip.”

“But you just did.”

“That was a rarity.”

“Well, then, I feel honoured that I bore witness to it.” He retorted back and a giggle elicited from your lips. He was speaking to you in a way no other person did— besides Asha. Not even Stephen had been so…familiar. It was as if you had known each other for years instead of hours…or days. The comfortable way he was talking to you was disconcerting.

You take your time admiring the newly watered plants under the sun that often shines warmly. You wander down the perfectly laid cobblestone paths that lead between the brightly colored plants with Tom patiently following behind you.

“What’s your favourite flower?” Tom asks, noticing how you’d stop from time to time to admire each time as you walk by.

“Snowdrops.” You answered easily.

“Why’s that?”

You slowed your pace so that you’d walk side by side with your Lieutenant, “Because it’s the first flower to bloom at the end of winter—it also symbolises hope.”

“Do you want to know a story about the Snowdrop then?” Tom asks and you look up to him with the same curiosity, “Legends has it that the snowdrop flower was born out of an angel who fell in love with a human girl, seeing her heart broken and shedding tears—he wanted something to comfort her in her despair, the angel picked up a snowflake, throwing it up on the Earth to cheer her up. As the snowflake shattered, it became a symbol of new beginnings and of hope. And everywhere the snow landed, snowdrops grew.”

“Wow, he must’ve loved her so much. That’s quite a short love story.”

“Thank you, I just made it up.” He said proudly.

“Well aren’t you quite a story teller? Have you ever thought about becoming a writer?” You tilted your head and he offered his hand for you to hold as you approached the small staircase of the gazebo.

“No but now that you’ve suggested it, I just might.” He chuckled while pulling the chair out for you, “Are you aware that you will be heading to Autumn shores tomorrow?”

“Yes, I am aware—I also heard that there won’t be any carriages?”

“Unfortunately, no. The King doesn’t want to catch any unwanted attention, therefore you will be riding with me. But rest assured that I will be riding gently, so as to not hurt the child you're carrying.” Tom left a fleeting glance on the stomach you didn’t bother to hide.

“Who else will be travelling with us?”

▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎

The fact that you were expecting meant that travelling would take at least one day longer than usual. You embarked on your journey surrounded by Stephen, Andrew, Ben, Oscar, James, and Asha, in addition to eight other Royal Knights.

After travelling for a few hours to Autumn shore, you no longer need to depend on your imagination to understand what Tom had meant when he stated that you would be riding with him.

There wasn't much room to move between the two of you. Although you sat up straight and tried your best to ignore the sensation of Tom's arm being wrapped around your waist, the pace was challenging. Even though it wasn't a full gallop, the rigid stance rapidly became difficult and painful since you weren't accustomed to the way a horse moved this slow. With each passing hour, you inched closer to Tom until eventually, your back was plastered against his chest, and your hips were cradled by his thighs. At some point, the hood of your cloak had slipped off your head, and you chose to go about without it, in part because you were curious to feel the breeze on your face.

And in part due to the fact that each time Tom bent down to talk to you, you were able to feel the warmth of his breath on your cheek. You'd be correct. This was completely unsuitable for a woman who was engaged to be married. Or, at least the way it felt to be held by him felt inappropriate for you.

Stephen, in the meanwhile, was overcome with an overwhelming sense of wrath, which he characterised as a burning sensation in his gut and a sensation that he swore made him feel his temperature increasing. Despite the fact that it seemed like a living, breathing entity was attempting to claw its way out of him, he became entirely indifferent to the experience. He merely galloped out on his horse, glaring viciously at the man who was behind you while simultaneously observing how at ease you seemed to be in his arms.

Stephen squeezed so hard on the reins of his horse that his knuckles became white, yet he was oblivious to the fact that he was doing it. It disturbed him that you were so familiar, and he felt a wave of envy coming on that threatened to sweep him away. Growling possessively, he was already having a hard time restraining himself from acting on the notion of shoving the guy back and stealing you away from him.

Ben's eyes darted between you and Stephen, and he took the executive decision to block his cousin's vision in order to prevent himself from becoming more agitated. "Stare much harder and you could just wind up murdering someone," Ben warned his cousin.

Stephen overcame his reluctance to turn away and once again resisted the desire to declare out that you were his and to voice his ownership of you. He was well aware that Tom's clear sentiments for you would not be altered in the least by this fact.

An ugly, insidious feeling crept into him and he couldn’t stop himself from saying, “If I do, I order you not to stop me.”

Tom should hear the conversation and discreetly chuckled to himself. It was not hard to notice the way Stephen looked at him, he'd been at it for hours—he was just acting as if he didn't see anything.

When Ben found a suitable spot to spend the night to rest, he made a gesture with his fist for everyone to stop “We camp here, the sun is setting.” The commander dismounted his horse and the rest followed. Before Tom could have the chance to carry you down, Stephen made his way towards you and pushed himself in front of the other without being discreet about it.

Stephen assisted you off the horse with so much care before turning towards Tom who simply backed away, looking unbothered. You felt worn off and Asha came to your assistance, leading you to a tree stump to sit down on.

“She’s carrying my child, I hope you understand.” Stephen addressed Tom quite arrogantly.

“I understand fully my Prince,” Tom replied but shakes his head, “I’m just a bit wary that you might hurt her, and I can’t allow that.” Tom uttered without thought and by hurt, he meant emotionally.

“Hurt her? I'm not going to harm her. You, on the other hand, I'm going to destroy—if you don’t back off.” Stephen seethed closed in on Tom who stood his ground unfazed, both men sizing each other up, faces inches away from each other.

James who smirked at what was unfolding blocked your line of sight. You were already stressed enough, he thought that you didn’t need to see that.

“How are you feeling?” James asked, fixing away your stray hair that fell on the side of your face and removed his jacket, draping it over your shoulders.

“I’m just tired.” You weakly sighed and smiled at your brother. Your back was slightly hurting but you didn’t want him to worry. James glanced and noticed that Andrew and Ben had pulled Tom and Stephen away from each other. He then squatted down in front of you.

“Can I?” He asked to touch your stomach.

You nodded with a tired smile, “Of course.”

“Have you decided on any names yet?” James asked and gently placed his palms on your lower abdomen.

“Stefan for a boy and Sersei for a girl.”

“Does it have to start with an S?” James creased his brows, “Stefan sounds awfully like Stephen—I like Sersei though, it’s a beautiful name.”

“Stefan means victorious and that’s what I want him to be.” You told James as-a-matter-of-factly.

“And what about Sersei?”

“Sersei means bird, I want her to have as much freedom and have high ambitions.”

James casts you a proud gaze, “Well then, I can’t wait to meet my future niece or nephew,” James leaned closer to your stomach and whispered, “Make sure you take after your mother okay?”

▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎

Deep in the night, Stephen struggled to sleep—mainly because of the little ordeal he had with Tom. During dinner, they didn’t stop glaring at each other, their negative energy and tension so strong that it became awkward every time someone made conversation. He tossed and turned in his make-shift tent. Unlike everyone else, you got to sleep in a proper tent with your brother keeoing an eye on you.

The fact that he could hear Ben and Asha, probably making out, thinking that everyone was asleep was beginning to drive him insane. Tom who was trying hard to ignore them as well, placed his satchel over his ears in an attempt to block out the noise.

Behind Ben and Asha, Stephen sighed softly in his pretend sleep.

“We can’t do this here.” Ben’s strained whisper echoed too loud in the silence. Despite his words, Asha grinned and pressed closer—everywhere—until his own hips rolled in response, grinding her against him. Slowly at first, then faster. Ben lay back on the icy ground, his head drooping as his eyes remained tightly closed and his breath came in short gasps. His throat started to groan, “Someone might see us.”

Asha responded by tugging at his belt. Ben's eyes widened in anticipation as he stretched into her touch and savoured it. “Let them,” she said, each breathing a pant. Stephen wanted to throw up having no choice but to listen to this so he sounded another loud cough.

“Ashana—”

“Do you want me to stop?”

“No.” Ben's fingers curled tighter around her hips as he sat quickly forwards, pressing her lips to his.

Stephen coughed again, much, much louder this time. Ben didn’t register it. With Asha’s hand slipping into his undone trousers—her tongue hot against his—he couldn’t have stopped if he tried.

With an aggrieved sigh, Stephen pitched upright and interrupted loudly, “Hello?! Yes, pardon! As it seems to have escaped your notice, there are other people here, trying to SLEEP!” In a low grumble, he added, “Though clearly those other people will soon shrivel up and die from abstinence.”

Tom, who had his back turned toward the other three, had to make himself laugh silently as his shoulders jerked up and down and his stomach ached, tears leaving his eyes; the fact that he had to keep himself quiet made the scenario much funnier than it already was.

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