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charged-wanderlust · 3 years

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a beautiful hurricane, pt. 2 | jett slater x mc x remy chevalier

OK THIS IS NOT TURNING OUT HOW I ORIGINALLY PLANNED BUT I LIKE IT TOO MUCH TO CHANGE IT SO BARE WITH ME.... these fics literally write themselves i have no say in it i just start writing and black out and boom its done. anyway here's the next part of the piece commissioned by @mcira it's very jett-centric but remy will have his turn in the last part ok. it'll go out with a bang. literally. ALSO SIDE NOTE ik the s1 heists were like. quick. in the canon. but i took some creative liberties and said its taking months bc its more realistic for them to fall in love this Deep in that time ok? ok good lesgo

“You can’t do that.”

“You can’t tell me what to do!”

Heat flares up beneath your skin, which wasn’t uncommon around these particular handsome scoundrels, but this time it was more akin to an angry boil than a pleasant simmer. How dare they? You may be new to the Poppy, but you’re competent on your own and definitely capable for the task at hand.

“You don’t get it, MC,” Remy sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose - you try not to deflate at the lack of his usual pretty nicknames. When has hearing my own name from his lips make me distraught rather than elated? “You can’t let your guard down just because you’re getting closer to him. He’s a conman too, and a good one- besides, would you really leave Jett to handle the break-in alone?”

“Yes I would, actually!” You flash back, hands clenched into fists. “Because unlike you, I realise that Jett is fully capable of doing things on his own, and I don’t tell him what he can and can’t do! You said it yourself - I’ve exceeded your expectations repeatedly since arriving here. So why can’t you trust my judgement and let me do what I set out here to do in the first place?!”

Remy rolls his eyes so hard he probably got a glimpse of his brain, while Jett bangs his fists on the table. “It’s not even a matter about helping me get the painting or not, MC- it’s the fact that you’ll be alone with a notorious conman on a yacht, isolated from any witnesses, who need I mention - is definitely into you and likely will try something?!”

“Oh I’m sorry, I thought you said you weren’t the jealous type!” You hold your ground, arms crossed with frustration. “We already know the Lumiere film is on that yacht. How do you suppose we get it, if I’m not even allowed on the damn boat?!”

“Through a plan,” Remy says decisively, giving you a look that has no room for argument. “We can get him to invite both of us on board, I’m sure. Plant a camera on him to figure out where it is and any security codes… there’s ways, MC. Ways that don’t involve throwing yourself head-first into danger. You know it’s a bad idea when even Jett Slater is saying it’s a bad idea! He literally only ever comes up with bad ideas!”

“Yeah, throwing myself into danger is my job!”

“Says who?! This is just a straight up double-standard; it’s okay if Jett does it, but not me? Cause what, he’s experienced? How am I meant to get experience if you don’t let me?”

“Cause I’d rather get hurt than see you hurt, MC!”

…

“...what?”

“Fuck!” Jett flings his hands up in defeat, then stalks off to his room and slams the door shut, reverberating throughout the penthouse. Remy seems at a loss for words, too, his guard up and expression unreadable.

“You haven’t seen how dangerous this line of work gets, ma cherie,” Remy sighs, plopping himself down on the couch and running a hand through his hair to calm himself down a little. “We don’t want you to find out. You didn’t sign up for that.”

“Didn’t I, though?” You settle yourself next to him, tentatively placing a hand on his shoulder, hoping it’ll ground him just a little. “I knew you were criminals, I knew we were doing dirty work. If I hadn’t expected things to get dangerous, I’d have been even more naive than you thought I was. I’ve spent months preparing, Remy - I’ll get the location of the film and I won’t let him lay a hand on me.”

He shivers. “The thought of that… that bastard anywhere near you is enough to make me want to punch a wall,” he growls, “He doesn’t deserve you. He doesn’t even deserve to think he does-”

“Remy.” You squeeze his shoulder gently, snapping him back into reality. “I personally think it’s more satisfying to feed into his delusion of deserving me, then pry that out of his hands and leave him aching. Besides - this is for the heist, right? I think getting that film is more important than anything relating to Parker. I mean, the first ever kiss recorded on film-”

He cuts you off with a laugh that kisses your ears like a finely tuned guitar, wrapping an arm around your waist and pulling you to his side abruptly.

He’s trying to hide his face…?

“You go from beautifully cruel to brilliantly passionate so quickly, cherie. That’s what I like about you.”

Oh. Oh. Okay. My heart better calm the heck down before he hears it-

Before you could even formulate a coherent thought, let alone a reply, he pulls away, getting up and making for the door. “You’re right. You’re not something - not someone I can control. You’re… something else.”

Shrugging on his coat, he’s halfway out the door before he adds, “Talk it out with Jett. He’ll come around now that he’s had a moment to cool down.”

It’s jarring - he was so angry just moments before, but once the heat faded, it became clear; he cares. He cares far, far more than he lets on - than he wants to, even - and Jett does too. Nodding to Remy, you go for Jett’s room, noiselessly slipping in under the cover of his loud punk music.

Jett’s language is physical touch, that much you know. So instead of calling out to him, you approach him carefully from behind while he’s fixated on an explosive painting full of hot, blazing colours, and lay a hand on his shoulder.

Much like Remy, he instantly softens, turning to look at you with wide eyes that if you squint, were flecked with remorse. You withhold a smile - had you just cracked the code to these men? Just touch them gently and they’re all good again.

“MC, I-”

“Jett.”

He stills, letting you talk. He’s done yelling at you, done fighting; so he listens. And just like before, he’s a surprisingly good listener.

“Look. I know you’re worried for me, and… honestly I’m touched. You’ve been encouraging me to break out of my shell this whole time, and I’m really starting to embrace it. This life, too. I know I can do this because I know myself now, and… all I ask is for your to trust me. Trust that I won’t let Parker even so much as breathe in my direction without me wanting him to, trust that I can secure the location of the film at least-”

“Are you kidding? I’ve always trusted you.”

His reply catches you off guard, his face genuine, body language open. You’re silent for a moment in your surprise, so he takes that as a sign to continue.

“We wouldn’t have picked you for this if we didn’t trust you, MC. You’ve proven yourself over and over again. Just because you can do this doesn’t mean we want you to.” He sighs, collecting himself. “Maybe Remy and I were being a bit of a wet blanket. But you see where we’re coming from, right? This is your first con, and this is practically throwing you into the deep end.”

“Being thrown into the deep end is the quickest way to learn,” you explain calmly, dipping a finger in his paints and dabbing his nose with it. He snorts, but a smile is creeping across his lips and it makes something dance in your chest.

“What if something goes wrong?”

“What do you usually do when something goes wrong?”

He grins, going back to his painting and making a few quick strokes of gold across the horizon line. “I blow shit up, usually.”

“Then give me some of your bombs.”

Jett’s eyes nearly pop out of his damn hand, twisting in his stool to gape at your incredulously. “Are you serious? On a yacht? You’d sink the ship- unless it was a controlled explosion, just enough to cave in a door… or a flashbang, to stun him… or a smoke bomb…”

You can almost see all the ideas popping up in his head, his knee bouncing up and down with slowly increasing excitement. It’s contagious - you find yourself grinning right back at him, mischievous.

“I’ve always wanted to blow something up.”

“It’s settled, then!” He sets down his paintbrush and stalks over to his workbench, grabbing some things and getting to work. “You’re really full of surprises, aren’t you, love? I can’t say I don’t love it, though.”

There it is again, you think, gnawing at your lower lip. All these heartfelt compliments said so casually. How the hell am I meant to know where I stand?!

It’s almost as if the universe answers - or maybe your subconscious knew all along.

Ask.

...Deep breaths, MC.

“You sure throw around the word love a lot, Jett,” you point out, trying your best to sound casual about it. His back is facing you, and you immediately notice his body freeze over at the sudden cold shower of your words.

After a moment, it passes, and he gets back to work. “Yeah. And?”

“And?” You scoff, not believing he’d be oblivious enough as to not get the hint. “I knew you were bad at communicating, but wow-”

He shrugs it off, still not turning around to look at you. “What do you want me to say, MC? You’re Remy’s wife.”

“Fake wife.”

“Might as well be his real one at this point,” he scoffs. “Do you see the way he looks at you? Like you put all the stars in the sky?”

“We’ve literally been practicing the way we look at each other for the con, Jett-”

“I was his husband for a con, once, and I’m telling you he never looked at me the same way he looks at you.”

His voice lowers, and you’re slowly starting to piece everything together. How even his stubborn ass would agree with everything Remy said, how he’d teased you and Remy for being a good couple even more than the rest of the Poppy combined, his joking comments about joining in-

“You’re in love with Remy, aren’t you?”

His silence answers you louder than any words could, and he knows it, too. He chokes out a distraught laugh, finally casting a look over his shoulder to meet your gaze. His is glossy, and you gasp, just as a tear rolls down his sun-kissed cheeks.

“Shit. How could you tell?”

Your instinct is to go over to hug him, and he doesn’t protest, instead going back to tinker with his smoke grenade.

“I mean it when I said I’m not the jealous type, really. It makes me so happy to see you two together. So happy - even if you aren’t really together, I haven’t seen Remy smile like that in a long time. You deserve each other - and I’m glad I can see the two people I care about most-”

“-both of us?”

His voice cracks mid sentence, and he twists around in your embrace to place a gentle kiss to your forehead. “You were a more recent development. But this doesn’t have to make things weird between us - I’ll just need some space.”

You shake your head slowly, cupping his face. “Why are you so convinced that we don’t like you back? You haven’t seen the way he looks at you when your back is turned.”

Just like that, his entire world got flipped on an axis, with you at the center. Struggling to rationalize this new perspective, new information, he starts to ramble. “B-Because you haven’t- I mean he hasn’t- I wasn’t meant to share this, but he’s been in love with you since you first met. Before you even knew you met. He disguised himself so he could talk to you at a coffee shop while you were painting and-”

“Jett,” you laugh, looping your arms around his neck. “Stop talking.”

He puts a finger to your lips before they meet his, the single digit the only thing keeping you apart.

“We should talk to Remy first,” he breathes out. “And- and promise me. If you’re wrong, and he doesn’t feel like that about me - don’t let me get in the way of you two. Please.”

You nod, kissing his cheek instead. This time, he doesn’t flinch, and he doesn’t pull you in for more.

“Let’s go talk to our favourite Frenchman, then.”

He smiles, wild, wide and breathtaking.

“Let’s.”

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aworldoffandoms · 5 years

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Runaway - Chapter 7

Chapter 7 – Long Awaited Answers

Authors Note: Hey everyone. Sorry for the long wait! I’ve had a lot of personal things happen lately (also uni ugh lol) that took precedence than writing but it’s here! I hope you enjoy it. Thank you to my beta reader who looked over this for me. You're the best! :)

Pairing: Liam x MC [Ariel]

Word Count: 5, 188 (+/-)

Rating: PG-13

Warnings: Minor swearing

Summary: Liam gets his answers while Ariel processes Leo’s appearance. A new face appears that spells danger for both Liam and Ariel.

You can find the first few chapters of this fic on my masterlist that's in my bio :)

Tags: @hopefulmoonobject @annekebbphotography @am-i-invisible777 @blznbaby @khakie4 @lauradowning29 @blackcoffee85 @captain-kingliamsqueen @moneyfordiamonds @super-secret-fandom-blog @jovialyouthmusic @zaffrenotes @ao719 @umccall71 @carabeth @furiousherringoperatortoad @pixieferry @pixelpenny @jlouise88 @dcbbw

Please let me know if you would like to be tagged!

Today was the day.

Liam bounces on his feet in an unfamiliar show of anxiousness. His face pinched in anticipation as his fists clench and unclench, waiting for Bastien to bring around the car. Plumes of chilled air waft in front of him as he adjusts the heavy woollen collar.

He was fidgeting. That was unheard of. A near constant experience with diplomacy and serving as a good host to any self-impressed general or chancellor visiting the palace showed any sign of restlessness could spell dissatisfaction. How far the calm and collected king had come.

This, however, he determined, was an exemption to that specific rule.

Maxwell shoots a glimpse at Liam’s form, regarding the tense way he carried himself, his posture posed at the ready. Prepared for anything.

Maxwell exchanges a glance with Drake and Olivia, their eyes meeting in shared concern.

“You think he’ll get the answers he wants?” Maxwell asks.

Drake shrugs as his eyes cut to his best friend who had started tapping his foot on the snow-covered pavement impatiently.

“I don’t know, Maxwell. All we know is where we are going and . . . never mind, that sums it up.”

Drake pauses, sending another worried glance at the young man next to him, eyes now downcast and fixated on a few ruts of Moscow pavement.

“Drake. Will you stop?” Olivia huffs as she adjusts the silken collar at her throat. “Liam’s an adult. He doesn’t need you hovering over him. Just leave him be.”

Olivia glances over herself and seems to struggle to extinguish the worry bubbling up from her chest. Maybe her words had a sense of hypocrisy to them. She hadn’t seen Liam like this since the day of the royal wedding when Olivia had spotted him inside the cathedral, casting glances to the large ornate doors almost willing them to open to by sheer force of will alone.

And even that now that seemed like a distant dream. Her heart clenched for her oldest friend, not having seen him smile since that penultimate night. That had to be a record she noted. How many days had it been, a hundred? Two? She’d figure it out later.

She shook her head in disbelief. Olivia, the fearless and headstrong Duchess of Lythikos wished for the sweet, adorable interactions between the King and Queen just to see them both shine with joy.

Ugh. She’s turning soft. What an appalling prospect.

Bastien pulls in front of the hotel and Liam immediately turns to the car slips in silently.

The car ride to the location is silent. A not so subtle undercurrent of tension rides through the car. Most of the occupants in the vehicle decide to overlook it. It assuredly wouldn’t change anything if one were to start a conversation.

With the snow steadily falling, and their surroundings melding into non-descript houses and run down shops, the silence was too much to ignore.

“Are we going to talk about what to expect when we arrive?” Olivia says, irritatedly. Her foot was stuck in between the seat and the door and the way Drake was pushed next to her, it’d be impossible to get it out. Well, not entirely impossible. There were a few ways she could think about, but they involved pain and fury. Not worth it, she decided.

The car falls silent again, yet it was only a moment before there is a long exhale of breath and Liam turns.

“Well...I’m expecting answers at the very least. That’s all we’re telling ourselves today. I want to know why the queen decided to leave. I fear this is my last resort before I just...”

Give up.

It was two simple words. Two short syllables.

He did not wish to give up the pursuit for Ariel but he was on his last tether. There was no softening this conclusion. It was predominantly true. He didn’t want to admit it but...that was to be the culmination if this didn’t end well.

Liam prepares himself as they continue their journey, hand instinctively reaching up to the message securely tucked into the breast pocket of his coat before lowering it. Surely there was no need for it anymore. The words burned into his mind anyway. Why confirm what he already knew?

The words on the page repeat in his mind like a mantra.

Kolomna

25715 Priroz Street…

Knock three times, rap three, wait...

Knock three times, rap three, wait…

“Your Majesty? Sir?”

Liam tore himself away from the chant and meets Bastien’s gaze the best he could.

“We have arrived at our destination.”

Liam glances out the window and as in the photo that was sent to him, he finds a nondescript, run-down apartment complex with an elaborate arrangement of graffiti on the wall next to two sets of doors, the cruelty of Russia’s weather wearing down the material of the large metal doors. Both had further complicated designs of graffiti on them and words in Russian that read something along the lines of this area being some sort of hellhole.

Liam’s fluency in Russian was good, though more than a little rusty after years of non-use. Of course, the language seemed to vex everyone except for Kiara. Little did.

Liam gives an uneasy smile to his bodyguard, stepping out of the car. The snow falling around him in gentle, elegant waves contrasted with the warring of emotions inside Liam’s gut.

Anticipation. Fear. Nervousness. Curiosity. Anger.

That last one wasn’t a surprise. Behind the carefully shot photos and stoic face, the anger had simmered. It would be a lie to say he didn’t remember his cotillion classes and Constantine’s stern warnings. Anger was not something to be shown in the face of others. His father would be proud to see his teachings had survived, even if he had not.

Liam squares his shoulders as he strides to the door, almost wincing at the soft crunching sound from the few layers of snow that had fallen since the early hours of the morning.

“You ready, Liam?” Drake says eyes fixed on the doors rather than his friend for once. Despite the cold air stinging at the skin, he reached for Olivia’s hand before sending an apologetic smile, at the sight of her famous fiery glare.

Liam is oblivious to anything taking place, only staring at the door for a few moments, his entourage waiting patiently for him until he’s ready.

Three knocks, three raps. Wait. The wind whistling through the trees and dancing with the snow is the only sound to settle in the air encircling them. The little puffs of breath swirling through the air stop as the group holds their breath.

There’s the whisper of footsteps behind the door and the unmistakable sound of locks being turned screeches the door open.

His eyes widen as he catches the sight of the individual standing in front of him. No, it couldn’t be. The last time Liam had seen Princess Marguerite of Monaco, it had been at an engagement dinner party to that obnoxious American billionaire. How far both of them had come since then.

The person on the other side of the door gives him a small, timid smile, her amber locks still pinned up in a dignified bun, her posture set with quiet grace, bracing for what was to occur.

Despite the situation and the precariousness of what was happening, she’s polite as she gives Liam a slight curtsy.

“Hello, Your Majesty.”

Liam cannot believe his eyes as he stares at the woman in front of him as she continues to speak, her voice carrying over to them in the elegant and sophisticated drawl of her native accent.

“I believe you will have some questions for me. Please come in, out of the cold. I will answer the questions you are longing for.”

Liam doesn’t hesitate as he steps through the doors, following the woman in. With a cursory scan around the apartment, Liam notices small, dignified touches of her royal upbringing. The table neatly set with a bright, but fading bouquet despite the icy chill blowing in through padded windows. A tapestry hanging down beside the entryway to the kitchen, the familial crest on full display proudly. A single porcelain teacup quivering precariously on the cracked stone countertop, painted with a delicate flower, though the petals were worse for wear now.

“So…” Drake starts, wanting to diffuse the tension that had settled into the room ever since they discovered who was behind the door.

How could she be here? Wasn’t it dangerous?

The lounge room is cramped with a small, worn divan which they all take their places, finding places to sit where allowed. The woman smiles, dutifully crossing her legs at the knees, leaning them slightly just as any noblewoman would do when in public. Marguerite meets the gazes of all those that reside in her lounge room and when her eyes finally land on Liam, she gives him a short encouraging smile.

“Please. Go ahead, Your Majesty. I’ve been expecting you.”

Liam’s smile falters as those emotions bubble up, but he manages to keep down the rage wanting to erupt from him. “Well... where do I start?”

Marguerite offers some sensible words. “How about from the beginning?”

Liam lets out a shaky chuckle. “Well...I suppose that is a good place to start as any.”

Liam fights to pull his thoughts to string together coherently. All the questions he anticipated asking her about were already jumbling inside his brain, crashing into each other and breaking into tiny little off thoughts.

“Why are you in Russia, Your Highness?”

Marguerite makes a slow exhale, her shoulders slumping with the action, her earlier tenacity slowly ebbing away to be replaced by a deep sadness. Her teal eyes dull as she answers him.

“I am here because it is the only place where both my family and I can be protected.”

Liam’s face contorts in confusion as she talks. His ears pick up on the tone, the words sounding practiced like she was reciting off a teleprompter or at least a practiced speech of some sort. It was more like she was trying to convince herself of the fact more so to herself than to him.

“Safe? What could warrant you leaving your family, worrying them, and your country...to be holed up here? And alone, no less?”

Marguerite exhales again, the sound dejected.

“It is because of my family that I had to leave. They would be harmed if I did not leave.”

“Harmed? By who?”

Marguerite freezes, her eyes growing in panic. Liam reads her expression and he can tell that she has disclosed too much too early. She sucks in a sharp breath through her teeth.

In the few moments that pass, Marguerite must come to a conclusion because her face contorts into a firm mask of calculated divination, chin lifting up in a dignified show of her lineage, her jaw clenched in purpose.

“I am here because the Sons of Earth made me. Anton Severus more specifically.”

The floor drops. It’s happened once or twice in his life, Liam admits. There was the moment when the alarms had been raised for the queen’s disappearance at their wedding, at the sound of his father’s exultant voice as he proclaimed the new king. This was perhaps the third or so. If he was counting.

Nazario had been right. Liam had suspected it all along, but the now that it was confirmed, it seemed like a whole new level of hell.

“What would the Sons of Earth have to do with you going missing? This was Cordonia’s failing, not Monaco’s. I see no reasons why you would be . . . implicated.

The Princess of Monaco doesn’t explain but only answers his question with a small nod and Liam bites back a snappish retort. What more could this man want? The crown had spent the last two years trying to find common ground with the neighboring countries after the fear Anton spread through Cordonia and beyond the borders. And now, this organisation was bringing Europe to its knees. Was all his work wasted for no real goal in the end?

But now that it was said to his face, it all made sense. All the puzzle pieces coming together.

“Can you tell me what Anton Severus has to do with any of this?”

As soon as Anton’s name leaves Liam’s lips, the petite princess’ face contorts into utter disgust as she spits out expletives in French, all former hints of glory and royal upbringing gone within an instant.

Gaining her composure, she offers them a self-practiced smile.

“Anton has claimed the figurative ‘throne’ of the Sons of Earth. He took over from his father who died a few months after your marriage to Queen Ariel, though I suspect you already know this. He still believes in the teachings of the Nevrakis’ lineage but he has resorted to executing that on a much . . . larger scale.”

Liam slumps backward in his chair, calming his shaking hand as to not betray a hint of weakness. So, because Anton couldn’t obtain the throne of Cordonia he’d try his hand at the European monarchies.

Could Anton be so arrogant to assume he could get away with trying to usurp the sovereignties of Europe? How could he have that much power? Ludicrous.

Bastien stood straight from his place by the entryway to the lounge room, his brow pinched in concentration. His hands crossed in the center, a silent signal he wished to speak. Liam would know. He and the bodyguard had perfected it years ago for dinner parties and boorish meetings with foreign leaders. How he wished it was that situation now and not this.

“What is it, Bastien?” Liam asks, himself fixing his posture to match that of Bastien. Alert. Weary.

Bastien raises his eyes to Liam and rests his arms behind his back. “From what Princess Marguerite has given us I believe I can connect some of the dots from the interrogation we conducted in Cordonia.”

He moves closer to the group of nobles huddled together in the apartment as his eyes rest on Marguerite. “Your Highness, King Liam had me conduct some investigations on some prisoners from the multiple assassination attempts on him and the queen. We got some mediocre information, however, there was one name that kept resurfacing.”

“Does the name Gregory Williams mean anything to you?”

Marguerite shakes her head. “No. Do you have a photo of him?”

A little slip of paper holds the spotlight as Marguerite plucks it delicately from Bastien’s hands, the royal mask of serenity passing back on her face before snapping back to one of anger. Behind her, the clock chimes a tiny song.

“I suppose I’ve had the misfortune to come across him. He was the one that threatened my life by knifepoint. Even though he‘s one man — he has connections.”

“Well...that is unsettling to hear. Tell me, Marguerite...over the past few years I have been trying to find her but I have come up with nothing. Do you know where my wife is?”

There is a long pause before Marguerite sighs, standing up, her shoulders slumping as she runs her hands along her arms. In the moment, the born and raised princess disappears, a timid child fearing the wrath of others surfacing. She stares outside the window for a moment, feasting her eyes on the soft snow falling to the ground and blanketing the streets in white, before she turns.

“Marguerite? Is there something you’d like to tell me?”

“Yes, there is. I know she won’t like it but I feel that you have to know…”

Liam’s brow furrows at her words, leaning closer to gauge her expression. She was definitely in a fight for logic right now.

“And what may that be, Your Highness?”

Marguerite sighs, running a hand down her face in a rare show of normalcy without the need for decorum.

“I know where Ariel is.”

If he was floored before it was nothing compared to what he felt next. Now it was as if he’d been hit by the royal train then hit with all the weapons in Olivia’s estate. Knowing Olivia, it would have been quite a lot.

“Excuse me? What did you just say?”

Blue eyes lock onto deadly serious green ones, one frantic, the other painfully calm.

“I know where your wife is and I will tell you but you have to promise that you will not immediately go to her. There are lives at stake here.”

The rest of the room seems to disappear for a hot moment, a sharp contrast to the biting swirls of winter knocking at the windows.

“Hang on...this is insane. How do we know you aren’t stringing us along like some piece of wolf bait?”

Olivia Nevrakis stares at the princess with a trademark burning gaze. Marguerite stares right back, unflinching.

“I am not, and to prove it to you I will give you her location.”

Liam leans forward, his stomach twists in anxious anticipation. He needed to know as the desperation of it crawling up his throat and lodging there.

The room stares at the princess in silence and she opens her mouth to tell them before a forceful knock hammered at the door, sharp and undulating.

Marguerite's eyes flutter closed and she heaves a sigh. Reluctantly mumbling something incoherent, she nevertheless heads over to it, her posture that of someone who had been stuck in place for too long and had almost lost hope.

The door opens and the princess gasps as her head turns to the group in horror before snapping back to the shrouded figure standing in the doorway.

“What--what are you doing here?”

The figure steps through, pushing the princess to the side and slows to a stop in front of them, his lips pulled up in a smile which made Liam’s skin crawl. He knew what he was capable of. If he wasn’t dangerous four years ago -- he was now.

“Well, if it isn’t the King of Cordonia and his posse. I’ll have to say . . . it is quite a pleasure to see you again.”

“I wish I could say the same for you.”

Anton laughs and the sound is hollow, full of arrogance.

“Ha! Well . . . I’m sure you’ll be able to appreciate what I have in store for you.”

“And what may that be, Anton?” Liam scoffed, stepping out from behind one Bastien furiously trying to tug him back.

Anton raises his eyebrow as if Liam should know what he’s talking about. He steps closer.

“Oh, Liam. After all these years I would have thought you’d be more smarter.”

“What do you want?” Liam spits out the words, the venom behind them clear.

“It’s better if you offer me no resistance. There is someone I think you should meet.”

“And who could I possibly want to see from you?”

Anton’s gaze flicks over to Olivia who was standing behind Drake before his gaze rested on Liam again.

“Come along now. It’s rude to keep the queen waiting.”

***

Ariel lets out a shuddering breath as she peers at the man before her. The low din of conversation in the tavern all but a dull echo in her ears.

Leo gives her a grin, still set in that easy relaxation that she’s grown to love and hate at the same time.

“So . . . are you going to tell me why you’re in Alaska and not by Liam’s side? Don’t get me wrong, it’s beautiful,” he gushes, raising his hands in mock defensiveness. “But I don’t think you’re the Queen of Alaska.”

Humour, mischievousness and a free-spirit come to mind when describing Leo, being blunt was not one of them.

Ariel’s haunches rise and she narrows her eyes in defense, her voice falling to a low hiss. “I could ask you the same thing too. Alaska? Really?”

Leo’s mouth quirks in an amused smirk. “I’ve always wished to visit Quebec. Katherine however, wanted to be here. And of course, like the good man I am, I most politely acquiesced.”

The woman beside Leo gives Ariel a slight, timid smile and matches that with a faint attempt at a royal wave. “Hello, Your Majesty. Please, call me Katie.”

Ariel shushes her, well aware Tiana was more than likely eyeing her from her spot behind the bar. People were more than fair to gossip in this tiny town than to come across a grizzly bear, which Ariel had just come across the other day.

“Serena!”

Leo and Ariel stare each other down, Ariel not registering her alias until a cold hand clamps down on her shoulder, letting go immediately when she jumped in shock.

“Are you alright, honey?” Tania says, worry creasing her forehead as she glances from Leo to Ariel in quick succession.

Ariel gives her co-worker the well-practiced smile she learned while surviving under the hawk-like gaze of Cordonia’s press.

“I am fine, Tania. Can you be able to take my tabs two, six and eight? They have orders waiting. Please?”

Tania stalls for a minute, her eyes staring Ariel down, yet she relents and gives a nod.

“Sure. I’ll tell Herman that you’re taking your break, but I can’t guarantee anything.”

“Thanks, sweetie. I owe you.”

Tania gives Ariel a wink as she tucks her notepad in the pocket of her apron, the sharp ding of the bell signaling a new order splits the air.

“Definitely. I’ll hold you to it.”

Ariel gives one last quick glance around the tavern before she sighs heavily and slides down in the booth with Leo and Katie.

The air’s quiet despite the din of clinking glasses and scraping forks nearby until Leo clears his throat, pushing a tiny cup of weak coffee towards the waitress.

“Ariel…” Leo starts, his voice gentle.

Ariel flicks her eyes to his face and finds his expression somber. Gone was the mischievous prince who loved to have a laugh. Now, all she could see was a man who was concerned for those he loved.

“Leo. You can’t tell anyone you saw me.”

“And why not?”

“Because you can’t. It’ll put me in danger and Liam. You can’t.”

Leo sighs heavily, running a hand through his blonde hair as he glances over to his companion, giving her a warm smile.

“Katie, babe, would you be able to give Ariel and I some privacy? Family stuff, you know.”

Katie gives an understanding smile to Leo, leaning over to kiss his cheek before getting out of the booth and perusing the selection of music on the jukebox.

Ariel glances at Katie and around the tavern, just about anything to avoid the oncoming conversation. Why did she decide on Alaska? Why didn’t she go to Siberia or Antarctica? Those were places that people couldn’t find her, probably because she would have frozen to death within a week. Now, sitting here with a man she newly feared, that seemed all the more reasonable.

“Now that my wife is gone...would you care to explain what the hell is going on?”

Leo’s hands squeeze hers and she doesn’t realise she’s crying until he slips her a handkerchief from the pocket of his winter jacket. It’s a little crumpled maybe, but clean. The latter surprises her.

Ariel gives Leo a smile and dabs the piece of cotton underneath her eyes to catch the tears running down her face.

“Okay, I’ll tell you . . . but again, you have to promise me that you will not tell Liam or Drake or any of them. I cannot have them coming after me. It’s even more dangerous for you to be here. They have eyes everywhere. It’s a miracle that I’ve lasted this long…”

Ariel glances at Leo and finds his expression blank, as usual, the massive question mark in his eyes evident in the way his eyebrows furrowed and his mouth turns down in confusion.

Ariel sighs again, shifting in her seat as she leans closer to him, dropping her voice to a low murmur.

“Anton is after Liam’s throne again but this time, he won’t just take Cordonia’s throne. He’s going to take the whole of Europe if he can. That’s why royals have been going missing.”

Leo holds up his hands as a gesture for her to stop. “Wait . . . how is Anton making these royals go missing?”

“He’s using their families against them. Choosing which ones go missing. It’s not going to be long before the entirety of the European crowns fall.”

Ariel leans forward, grasping Leo’s hands in hers tightly, her eyes wide as she stares at him.

“Leo, you must understand that Anton is holding us all hostage in the manner of threatening of removing those we love from our lives permanently. He’s reigning us in, and I can’t get out,” Ariel pleaded. “None of us can. If we get out, then the others lose their lives. There’s no way any of us can win here. My guess is that Anton is doing this on purpose to make each monarchy falter so he can easily swoop in and take control.”

Leo stares off in contemplation. “Hmm...I wonder…”

She leans closer to him, her palms flat on the table as the tavern’s jukebox switches to an upbeat Dolly Parton song. A few patrons whoop with boisterous joy at the song choice and Katie smiles from far away, so blinding she could feel it at the back of her head.

“What is it, Leo?” Ariel’s tone is almost forceful, her heartbeat echoing in her ears.

Leo swallows, his voice calm and neutral, not at all revealing any of the dread that Ariel was feeling as her pulse quickened in her veins.

“European Crown Summit.”

“The Crown Summit?”

Ariel blinked. Liam had talked about it once or twice before, sharing the stories of the Spanish queen and her fumbles, how a certain minor Greek nobleman had attempted to carry off a French marchioness, how an eccentric Norwegian duchess had claimed her pearls to have been stolen.

“The Crown Summit,” Leo shrugged. “It’s all Anton could ever want. A bunch of crowns, kings, and queens in one place. Take them out, and it’s all over. Don’t stress though.”

Shit. This was the kind of knowledge her contacts needed to know. It was unlikely they’d hear the news on the shores of Indonesia or the edges of Laos without her.

It gave them an in to ending this with Anton, once and for all.

She had the means to. Why not flaunt them for once.

“How do you know about this, Leo?”

Leo gives Ariel a smirk, shrugging his shoulders as he leans back against the booth, his earlier shock dissolving into the relaxed free-spirited man Ariel knew all too well.

“I visited my brother a few months back and he mentioned it. But it didn’t last long. Never does these days now that I think about it.”

Leo glances at Ariel and for the first time since he showed up, she saw the spark of that anger. If she was any other person, she would have shrunk back against the heat of the glare but she had gone through too much in the past to crumble under one gaze.

“Liam’s risking his reign to find you. Cordonia is failing in his neglect and he doesn’t see it because he is trying to get the queen back. If he knew you were only a stone's throw away….”

Ariel's head snaps up at his last words, the panic residing in her chest expanding to full-on terror.

“No! Please, Leo. He can’t. I know that I have hurt him but this is for the best.”

Leo growls as his hand comes down on the table with a sharp slap in his anger. How could she be so callous?

“For the best? How can you ripping my brother’s heart out be for the best?”

“It has to be, Leo. I’ve done too much to fail already.”

“Well...you’ve already succeeded in that,” Leo scoffed.

Ariel’s heart drops to her stomach like a stone, her throat suddenly thick with tears. She clears her throat as she crossing her arms along her chest.

Ariel’s next words were weak, defeated. It was like all the hope had abandoned her and all was left was just a shell of emotions, nothing of substance.

“I’m sorry, Leo. I know I fucked up...but I did it for him.”

“Ariel...I know that what you did was for the sake of him...but don’t you think three years is enough? I know that I couldn’t be away from my wife for that long. We’ve been married a year and even I miss her after only a few hours.”

Ariel sniffles, the tears that she had been trying to avoid now freely flowing down her cheeks.

“Liam’s going to hate me. He’s going to be so angry with me when he finds out all this. I’m not even there and I’ve hurt him.”

“He won’t hate you, Ariel. He’d be overjoyed. He loves you more than anything.”

Leo gives Ariel a wink as Katie returns to the table, slinking in beside Leo as both of them lean forward and give each other a kiss.

Ariel pushes down the pang growing in her chest with a waitress smile, gathering up her stack of menus and reclipping the tiny pager at her waist.

“Well….my break is over. While I’m here would you guys like anything?”

Leo and Katie grin at her, nodding their heads as they quickly glance over the menu and recite their orders to her. She jots them down and steps away to send them to the kitchen but she backtracks to table twelve.

“Leo...before you go. Promise me that you won’t tell them. Please.”

Leo stares at Ariel for a while before he gives her a reassuring smile, nodding his head. “I won’t, Ariel.”

Ariel nods, stepping away from the table and walks to the kitchen to hand the ticket to the cook, who groans at the sight of a complicated order, the low din of conversation now a loud roaring in her ears as she opens herself up to the sounds around her.

Boisterous conversations. Clinking glasses. Joyous, drunken laughter. Classic country music.

Perhaps she could forget for just a little.

***

Meanwhile...

The phone rings in his pocket and the hooded man sighs.

“What could be so important that you had to disturb me from my important meeting?”

“Sir, we have secured the last of the royals. It is time to implement our plans.”

#liam x mc #the royal romance #the royal romance fanfiction #royal romance fanfiction #trr fanfiction #trr fanfic #trr #king liam x mc #mc x liam #choices #choices fanfiction #choices fanfic #choices fandom #the royal romance fanfic #choices trr #aworldoffandoms

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cyberneticlagomorph · 6 years

Text

It was morning when she came, swept in under cover of darkness and picked the lock on your front door as easy as a 5th grader saying their ABC's. She waited for you in the tavern, ass planted on the smooth surface of your bar like she owned the place, her eyes were an unnaturally bright green that glowed dimly in the darkness of the still closed establishment. A sword and shield badge was clipped to her lapel, the sign of the Knights of Malta. You'd had run-ins with her kind before, puffed up "magic cops" that do more harm than good. You were distinctly reminded of the other evening, when Magnolia sent two of this stranger's brethren squealing into to the night, half changed into slobbering pigs. You wondered if that was why this new Knight was there, to make Magnolia pay. Your hackles raised at the thought, as the Knight chuckled,

"Simmer down there, kiddo, I'm not here to bring you in," she hopped off the bar, boots thudding hollowly on your pristine floor. An unspoken 'yet' hung in the empty air between you as the Knight sauntered closer. You saw movement back by the kitchens and remembered Magnolia, a silent prayer was sent to any god listening in hopes that Maggie had enough sense not to do anything stupid. Something was different with this Knight, something the earlier two lacked, it made your skin itch and your stomach writhe.

"I need your help, there's been a murder." those six words sent your stomach hurtling to the floor, metaphorically shattering along with any sense of bravado you'd cultivated in the brief moments you thought this was about Magnolia. Your brain seemed to function in slow motion, sluggishly trying to arrange the facts presented into something coherent.

"...Murder? ...Who?" you managed to stutter out, assuming that it was someone you'd known and they were calling you in to ID the body. Here your mind went off on a tangent, trying to identify those most likely to be newly deceased, for some reason you felt like crying, like this was all your fault. The Knight hesitantly and awkwardly pet your shoulder, muttering a half assed apology as the feeling of fear and dread started to slowly lift from you.

"Aura of Intimidation, I can't turn it off." she explained as she gave you a nudge towards the door and you numbly marched out without a second thought. Maggie watched from the kitchen windows, even as you were leaving you could see her trembling in fear, maybe even anger as she watched you go. The tavern would be fine without you, Tammy knew what to do when you weren't there, it'd be ok. The Knight, who's name you were afraid to ask for, led you to her car. You sat in the passenger seat and stayed painfully quiet as the woman got in and drove off. Silence blanketed the car from the moment the doors closed and your seatbelts clicked into place, this seemed to make the woman uneasy, way more than it made you so she fought to break the tension.

"My name is Detective Addison, and I require your assistance interrogating a victim."

She didn't offer any further explanations, and her so called 'Aura of Intimidation' thoroughly discouraged you from any further prodding. The ride to the morgue was short and dreary, punctuated by a miserable soaking spray that was too light to be rain, but too heavy to be fog. Umbrellas did little against cloying moisture, so anything unfortunate enough to get caught in it had to just suffer with being damp. Detective Addison led you inside the plain gray building that housed whatever special morgue the Knights used, the place smelled astringent, cold, and clean. The clocks on the walls there didn't seem to move, time seemed syrupy and tentative like a hundred people holding their breaths, not knowing they'd never breathe again. Restless ghosts brushed against you as the detective half dragged you to where the corpse was, the ghosts watched you with eyeless faces and mouths open at impossible angles. You pretended not to see them, not to feel them, it'd only upset them.

The room the corpse was in was fridgid and sterile, everything looked disgustingly clean despite the faint odor of death that hung over that sad sad place. You found yourself fixating on everything except the task at hand, you weren't entirely sure why you were so afraid, you handled dead things on an almost hourly basis. You'd cleaned corpses to the bone, seen what decomp and putrefaction could really do to something, dealt with smells so vile that they clung to you for days, so why did this freak you out? Somehow, none of that prepared you for what you were about to see. When the body bag was unzipped, something left you almost as easy as your stomach contents did the moment you laid eyes on what was left of the victim.

Part of you felt humiliated at vomiting, you couldn't remember the last time you'd gotten sick because of a dead thing. It seemed ironic and childish, especially now that you were doing something so important. By the time you'd cleaned up, the corpse was still waiting for you. Desiccated and curled in on itself, arms held defensively, face contorted in horror, mouth agape in an eternal scream. It had no tongue. Someone didn't want whoever this was snitching from beyond the grave, and yet you were expected to ring some sort of testimony out of them regardless. You could do that, but first things first.

Your magic crackled along your spine filling the air around you with the same dusty static that clung to the screens of old fat-back TV's when they were switched off. Your biolume danced in fitful patterns, your freckles seemed to swim across your skin, forming into ancient symbols carved in places where the dead lay sleeping. This corpse was but a touchstone, a thread tethered to a soul sent flying to whatever afterlife would take it, you plucked the thread like a guitar string, calling back the soul. If Addison was to be believed, this person hadn't been dead long so it shouldn't take much to call them back. You hoped. In the end you had to drag the poor bastard back from whatever realm of rest by the scruff of their metaphysical neck. They crashed into their old body with little fanfare, producing a rattling wheeze from the birdcage of a chest. They moved stiffly, joints creaking and cracking as it struggled to uncurl and sit up. You strained to hold the spell, this person refused to stay here and whatever afterlife you tore them from was desperately calling them back.

"Ask..." you hissed at Addison, mouth going dry, "can't... hold... for... long."

The detective is staring at you in awe or maybe even horror, she opens her mouth to speak but only stammers. The corpse reaches for you, rasping, creaking, groaning. You can't move or else risk losing control of the spell or worse, the victim grabs you by the throat with astonishing strength, their life flashing before your eyes at a blinding pace.

Small, helpless, new

Growing, growing, growing

Endless schooling, magic lessons with mom after class

Getting their-- HER Witch's tattoos at fourteen

Honing her craft for years and years

Moving away from the coven

It hurts, so sad, so much regret. But she had to, for work.

The job is hard and unfulfilling but pays well

A dark alley, its raining, cold, after work and her feet are hurting

She missed the last bus home and has to walk, her umbrella is back at the office

The smell of sweets, the promise of somewhere dry

A smile in the dark, a flash of teeth turned snarl

Pain, weakness, exhaustion, fear

Fear fear fear fear fear fear fear fear

Can't run, can't hide

The smell of sweets, burning sugar, baking things, barely hiding the scent of vicera

A scream, the taste of blood, growing blackness.

You are torn from the vision as Detective Addison pulls the victim's hand from your throat. Your hold on the spell slips, the dead dying for the last time as your vision swims and you are sick again, but not even the taste of bile can shake the ghost of blood from your tongue.

#emetophobia #action post #ic #ask to tag #death #body horror

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