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separatist-apologist · 2 months

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Something In The Orange

Summary: Someone is trying to murder Eris Vanserra's soon-to-be wife.

And no one can rule him out as a suspect

Note: Big thanks to @octobers-veryown for the mood board and the unknown anon for the song inspiration.

For @sjmromanceweek

Read On AO3 | Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3

Arina decided it was better to do as Eris asked and meet him outside her bedroom door after she and Elain had a private lunch in Elain’s bedroom. Eris turned the corner mere seconds later, eyes sliding down her body so intimately it made her shiver. He could do something with his eyes that made her nervous, turning that look on and off like igniting a candle. This time, though, Arina knew he disapproved of the yellow dress.

“Change—”

“No.”

Eris looked upward as if he was asking the gods to grant him patience. “Your clothes are impractical—”

“I don’t walk around prepared for battle. If you’re going to teach me to defend myself, teach me as I am, tangled skirts, long hair, and all.”

Eris paused, cocking his head to the side like a predator. “You’re taking your hair down?”

Oh, did he want her to? She was tempted to tell him no, though she’d put very few pins in her hair today to make it easy to let her hair down once they were alone so she could simulate being alone in her bedroom like she’d been when someone tried to strangle her.

“Does that offend you?”

His cheeks darkened for just a moment as he cleared his throat. “I don’t care about your hair.”

Liar.

“This is probably pointless to say to you, but I would prefer it if you didn’t go easy on me.”

“I didn’t intend to,” Eris promised, falling into step beside her. She expected him to take her outside—somewhere public. Somewhere people could see. It hadn’t occurred to her that Eris would take her to his lavish apartments across the palace, nor that he would close the door behind him.

“Eris—”

“Oh who cares?” he said with a roll of his eyes. “There is no escape for either of us, so what does it matter if they think I’ve had you now or in two months?”

“I care.”

He shrugged. “Where would you prefer we go? To the common hall? The courtyard? Somewhere anyone with eyes can watch? The point of teaching you this is to catch your attacker off guard so you can escape, not help them hone their skills so they don’t make another mistake.”

“I care,” Arina admitted. Her reputation was all she had left—and she knew her father would be furious when the rumors reached him. Eris could still change his mind, but Arina would be unmarriageable if anyone believed Eris had her first.

Eris’s look of frustration wasn’t enough to cow her. “I told you, this marriage is happening—”

“Until it doesn’t,” she countered quietly, stepping closer to a long sofa she could imagine him lounged on, book in hand. “Are you telling me that you’d still honor this contract if your father freed you?”

Eris ground his teeth together. He couldn’t lie to her, so he wouldn’t. Instead, he said, “He’s not going to—”

“He might—”

“He won’t!” Eris snapped, some of his anger getting the better of him. “If only to piss your father off. He is taking that shitty piece of land one way or the other and you are the most convenient way to do it, and unless you think your father is willing to trade it for less than his daughter sitting on a throne, you will be my godsdamned wife.”

Arina hated him a little bit right then. His anger was palpable, a flame burning hot in his gaze. She wanted to hit him, wanted to make him feel every ounce of her own fury and fear until he stopped talking to her like she was a simple, stupid child.

“I don’t want to be your wife,” she whispered, which was the wrong thing to say. Eris advanced on her until he was inches from her face.

“I don’t care what you want,” he whispered, gaze not on her eyes but her mouth.

“I’ll make you miserable,” she threatened. Eris only shrugged, the spell broken. He looked around the room as if trying to find something. It gave Arina a moment to appreciate the shelves of books, the rich rugs of red and cream, the high ceilings and open windows—all of it tastefully appointed and betraying someone with taste far more refined than her own. She couldn’t help herself, gravitating toward one of the shelves to see what he liked to read.

A lot of philosophy, she found. History, too, and more than a few books on poetry. She was particularly fascinated by a cracked blue spine that read Romantic Poetry, the silver letters peeling and worn.

Arina reached for it just as a pair of arms wrapped around her body, holding her tight against a torso. It was Eris, she reminded herself—Eris’s forearm pressed to her throat, Eris’s torso she was pinned against. He wouldn’t kill her.

He’d promised he wouldn’t.

“Are you scared?” Eris whispered, lips brushing gently against the shell of her ear.

Arina couldn’t speak, could only nod her head.

“Relax,” he ordered, pressing his arm harder against her throat. “Go limp.”

Arina tried, but every inch of her demanded she fight him, that she twist and thrash until he let her go. Eris sighed when he felt her rigidity, holding her so tight her ribs groaned.

“Make me work for it, Arina. Go limp.”

Something about the way he said it—with such authority—made her listen. The part of her brain that wasn’t panicking recognized help. Her whole body flopped toward the ground, causing Eris to groan beneath her weight.

“Good girl,” he murmured, the praise warming that same alert part of her mind. “See how I have to drag you, now? Do you feel how my hold has to shift?”

“Yes,” she rasped. He’d loosened his grip on her neck just enough for her to take a deep breath.

“If you had a knife, this would be the time to use it. Let’s pretend you have one hidden in your skirt. Reach for it.”

Arina did as he told her to, fumbling for her pretend knife. Eris tightened his hold with a disapproving click of his teeth. “Too slow.”

And then, without warning, he drew his fingers across her neck like he was slashing her throat. Releasing her, Arina collapsed to the ground, heart racing.

“You need to be quicker,” he said dispassionately.

“You surprised me,” she accused, rubbing the skin of her throat.

“Do you expect your killer to send an invitation beforehand? You need to be prepared, your instincts razor sharp.”

“My governesses must have missed the lesson on not being murdered,” she snapped, though there was no real ire to her words.

“I’m not surprised to learn your father is inadequate,” was all Eris had to say in response. “Get up. We’ll do it again.”

Arina almost wished Eris had wanted to have sex with her. It would have been easier, would have been over faster. They spent hours going through the same scenario over and over. Sometimes he walked her through what she needed to do step by step and other times he promised her a break, let her drop her guard, and then attacked her all over again.

She left his room wrung out and exhausted. Arina didn’t dare let Eris see it—he wasn’t exactly warm—but the moment she was safe in her own bedroom she fell face first on the mattress and cried her eyes out. Nothing was going the way she’d thought it would and every time Arina tried to make the best of her circumstances, it was like fate decided to add another complication as a little test.

Oh, you thought you could connect with this man? Well, he hates you.

At least he didn’t want her dead. She could mark Eris off her list of the people trying to kill her, which made it a list of four—maybe five if she took Eris at his word regarding his fathers priorities.

Beron Vanserra needed her alive in order to make good on the contract. Her father needed her alive in order to secure position and wealth, as well as continue ruling as a vassal lord. Eris didn’t want to marry her, but he didn’t want her dead either. And Elain and Lucien were outsiders entirely.

But the palace was massive and teeming with people. Was it someone angry she was the one marrying the prince? An angry courtier? A political rival? Just having a direction would have been helpful.

Arina fell asleep turning the question over in her mind, forgetting to go down for dinner or changing out of her clothes. Perhaps she ought to have known Eris wouldn’t give her peace. In retrospect, Arina figured Eris had noticed her absence at dinner and decided it wasn’t enough to torment her during her waking hours.

She felt the weight of the mattress dip moments before he swung his legs over her body and pressed his blade to her throat. Apollo didn’t intervene, raising his head only to look before laying back down in his spot at the edge of the bed. Useless animal.

“Eris,” she whispered, fingers curling around his wrist.

“What happened to your dresser by the door?” he replied, his voice low. She knew what he wanted—or, she thought she did. She didn’t have a real weapon to stab him in the thigh with so she used her pretend one, slamming her fist against his leg before shoving him off her. Eris grunted but didn’t fight her when she straddled his hips, his knife now in her possession.

“If you ever wake me up like that again,” she whispered, her hair falling between them like a curtain, “it’ll be me who kills you.”

Eris’s chest rose and fell rapidly, palms raised upward in defense as she held his knife to this throat. She could have killed him—it would have been so easy to end him right then and there. Eris held her gaze, his eyes cat-like in the dark.

“Eris?” she whispered.

He blinked. “I…shouldn’t have come here.”

“Why did you?”

Slowly, Eris reached for a strand of her unbound hair and pressed it against his nose. “I’m a fool.”

And with that, she was on her back, knife flopping harmlessly to the bed. Eris stood, adjusting his pants before turning back to look at her sprawled over the mattress. “Keep the dagger.”

“Eris—” He left before she could finish her thought, which was just as well. Arina had no idea what she would have said if he’d stayed. It was strange, though, sitting in the dark wishing he’d come back to do the gods only knew what.

Stranger, still, to realize that the man she was about to marry wanted her.

And that she wanted him, too.

ERIS:

Eris couldn’t focus. Standing in a packed ballroom, all he could think about was Arina’s legs wrapped around his waist and how close he’d come to dragging her back to the mattress and doing every wicked thing he could imagine to her. That was made worse by the woman herself, standing beside Elain and his brother in a golden gown that tapered to a dusky rose the further down the beading went. The neckline was low enough he could see the swell of her breasts beneath the soft slope of her collar bone and when she walked, a slit revealed a tantalizing peek of her legs.

He sighed, half relieved when his father approached. “Have you seen your mother?”

Eris scanned the crowd again. “She’s probably fretting over wine again.”

“I’ll handle it. You handle her,” his father ordered, glancing toward Arina.

“Problems?” “With the girl? Not one. With her father? It never ends,” Beron muttered with a scowl. “All he does is complain.”

“Maybe you should kill him,” Eris suggested dispassionately.

“After the wedding,” Beron said with a roll of his eyes. “Finish things with Novak’s daughter.”

“She doesn’t want to be alone,” Eris informed his father, not betraying his own regret. Oh, how he wished Arina acted more like the ladies at court. Their propriety was just for show, their skirts easily lifted. Even now, Eris knew if he made eye contact with any number of the ladies he’d grown up with, they’d be staring right back.

Unlike his betrothed, who hadn’t spared him a glance once.

“You’re charming. I trust you can engineer some scenario that silences her obnoxious father.”

Eris resisted the urge to snap at his father. It wasn’t worth the inevitable pain that would follow. Maybe not right then, maybe not for weeks—but down the road, Beron would make Eris pay. There was only one right answer, and that was whatever his father wanted to hear.

“I’m sure I can manage it.”

His father reached for two goblets of wine off a servant's passing tray. Thrusting them into Eris’s hands, he ordered, “Now.”

Great.

Eris knew his father was watching just as he knew Arina’s father was watching, too. How far would he go to keep Eris from defiling his daughter? Not far enough, given Eris had successfully gotten into her bed chamber unimpeded twice. All he really needed was to get her alone long enough that it suggested something happened. Though it made his stomach churn, he figured he could get her just drunk enough that she’d let him bring her to his room. After that, all Eris had to do was close the door and let her sleep off the wine on his sofa or the floor or anywhere but next to him.

“You win,” Elain said glumly to Lucien as Eris offered Arina the wine his father had given him.

“Pay up, princess,” Lucien replied with a grin.

“Do I want to know?” Eris demanded, his temper getting the better of him. Did Elain always need to be hovering over Arina? Couldn’t he have ten minutes alone with his future wife without a million people staring him down?

“We made a bet—”

“I don’t care,” Eris interrupted flatly, catching the way Arina smothered a smile before taking a drink. “Dance with me before I go out of my mind.”

Arina gulped down the rest of her drink, setting the empty gold cup on a nearby table. Eris followed suit, wondering if she needed alcohol to tolerate him. The thought bothered him even as she turned, flushed and beautiful, and said, “Just one dance?”

Her hand was in his before Eris knew what was happening. He abandoned his drink beside Arina’s, catching sight of a quick-fingered servant whisking them away.

“For now,” he agreed, distracted by the way the lights gilded off her golden hair and how bright her eyes seemed to be. Had her mouth always been so pink? Her skin so smooth? Eris wanted to run his hands up her arms but settled for putting one on the curve of her waist and pulling her just a little too close.

Suggestively so. Arina didn’t seem to notice, staring down at her feet before looking up to meet his gaze. “Can you dance?” he asked.

Arina’s pretty smile shifted and he swore it was disappointment that flashed over her features. “Of course I can.”

He supposed he had been a little mocking when he asked. Eris couldn’t help that. When he was nervous his words came out in a sneer. There was no apologizing, which left him only with a challenge. “Prove it.”

“I hate you. Do you know that?” she asked, stepping with him as the music began. She was fluid like water, eyes on his face, grip pleasant on his shoulder. Eris nudged her a little closer, inhaling the scent of vanilla and lime.

“I like a passionate woman,” he heard himself saying.

Arina narrowed her eyes. “What else do you like in a woman?”

Eris knew better than to answer that question honestly. “I like you. Isn’t that enough?”

“I would hate to see how you treat women you don’t like.”

Eris couldn’t help himself. “There’s very little difference.”

“Now that I believe,” she said, the softness returning to her expression. Arina gripped his shoulder just a little tighter as the pair lapsed into silence, focused on their combined steps through the music. They weren’t alone—couples twirled alongside them, talking just loud enough to be heard over the band. There were things Eris wanted to tell her inexplicably—things he’d never told anyone, secrets he’d been keeping his entire life.

It was nothing dark, nothing deep. There were things Eris never wanted to say out loud, circumstances he intended to keep alive only in his mind. His throat burned as he lowered his head and murmured, “My favorite color is orange.”

Arina’s brows shot skyward, eyes widening with obvious and open delight. “Really?” she asked him.

Eris felt immediately stupid. He pulled back, heart pounding. That was a stupid thing to tell her, the regret instantaneous. Arina, though, was never going to let it go. She was grinning, her fingers digging pleasantly into his shoulders.

“Mine is green,” she confided as though admitting some terrible truth. Eris exhaled the breath he’d been holding. It sounded like a laugh, maybe because it half was.

“I’m starting to see the merits,” he murmured, taking in the mossy green of her eyes. Arina’s cheeks flushed and when she rubbed her palm over his shoulder, sliding down his back, Eris thought he was going insane. He needed to get out of the ballroom before he did something unbearably stupid.

Like kissing her in front of everyone. There was no doubt in Eris’s mind that the wine had made Arina sweeter just as he knew for certain that if he tried to touch her like she was touching him, he’d earn little more than a slap to the face.

“Have you ever been to the garden?” Arina asked him, pulling Eris from his thoughts. It was tempting to ask why she wanted to know that. Surely she must be aware that Eris had been in that garden hundreds of times for a myriad of different reasons.

He wasn’t stupid, though. When a lady was asking a gentleman if he’d ever been to the garden, what she was really asking for was to be alone. Well. Maybe he was a little stupid, because Eris’s response was, “Not with you.”

“Would you like to see it? With me, I mean?” she asked, her voice sweet and breathless.

“Yes.”

Somewhere in the back of his head, Eris remembered this was what he was supposed to be doing. Getting her alone, creating just enough doubt as to what they’d been doing when no one had eyes on them. It didn’t matter if it was true—he’d have her one way or the other—only that people believed it. Eris wished he could say everything was going according to plan but when Arina slid her hand into the crook of his elbow, once again gripping his limb just a little too tightly, all Eris could think about was being alone with her.

Stupid, given he’d been alone with her before. Not like this—not when she was touching him, smiling at him. Arina kept close, following as Eris led them from the ballroom with murmured excuses of getting some air. They certainly weren’t the only ones trying to slip away—it was practically a right of passage for couples to find some private place before their chaperones caught up with them. The only difference was Eris himself, who was a prince and therefore could do whatever he liked.

Well. Not anything. If Eris truly had that kind of power he could have simply pressed Arina against a wall and kissed her like he wanted to and no one—including Arina—would have stopped him. Still, it was a pleasant little fantasy that might have carried him outdoors had Arina not pulled him toward a hall that led the entirely opposite direction.

“Don’t move,” she whispered, yanking him close as footsteps approached. Eris was too distracted by her nearness, unable to look at anything but her palms laid flat against his chest. Obscured by shadows and half hidden behind a rather large pillar, a gaggle of older men filed past, arguing about the latest book written by a poet Eris thought was rather overrated. He might have told Arina so, too, had he not gone to look her in the eyes only to find she was staring back at him.

Oh.

He should have asked. Eris knew it and he didn’t care. If he asked her permission she might have said no and right then every inch of her seemed like an invitation. It was the sweetest she’d ever been, the most inviting and he wanted her. Deciding it was worth the risk, Eris lowered his face and kissed her amid the fading echoes of the crowd, still close enough to the party he could hear the music echoing around them.

Bracing himself for the inevitable outrage, Eris decided to press his advantage and reach for her face. It felt good to press his mouth against hers, to feel her soft skin beneath him. Eris was so distracted that it took him a minute to realize she was kissing him back. His eyes flew open at the realization. Eris needed confirmation that what he was feeling was, in fact, his reality.

Her eyes were closed, fingers curled in the cobalt blue of his jacket to keep him close. It was right there that ruined Eris—that look on her face, the way she was holding him, kissing him, breathing him in.

“Open,” he breathed and the hells help him, Arina did exactly as she was told. The kiss was a mess at first, betraying her inexperience though she was a quick study. Eris had her pinned against the wall, her wrists in his hands as he held them over her head and knee wedged between her legs before he could think about his next move.

All he wanted was to take down her hair and watch it tumble over her shoulders. Well—and then to watch her dress pool at her feet while he slid to his knees and— “Eris,” she breathed, pulling him back to reality. There was something sweet about her mouth.

A familiar sweetness mingled among the wine. Eris kissed her again, taking another taste as he tried to place it. Some part of him didn’t care so long as she kept kissing him…but the other…the other reminded him that she didn’t like him. And now she was half desperate, rubbing herself against his leg as her fingers fumbled with the buttons on his jacket and—

“Fuck,” Eris snarled, turning his head in a desperate attempt to catch his breath. The syrupy sweetness betrayed itself—he should have recognized it the moment his tongue first slid into his mouth but Eris was too excited to notice. Myrrah—from the root of a regular berry plant—was a powerful aphrodisiac a lot of people took recreationally at court. Husbands sometimes slipped it in their new brides drinks after a wedding to make things easier, though Eris had never liked that practice.

For one wild minute he considered turning back to the ball and drinking some himself so he could finish what they’d started. He might have, too—the idea was powerfully tempting—had he not felt Arina’s fingers slide into his hands. Catching her wrist without thinking, Eris knew he needed to stop her before she took things too far.

“With me,” he panted, cock twitching desperately.

“Anywhere,” she said, opening her eyes to look at them. Eris swore softly at the sight of her blown out pupils and flushed cheeks. She tried to take a step, but Myrrah made everyone a little disoriented, made the room seemed to swirl in a way that was more pleasant than it wasn’t. Eris scooped her up before she could fall flat on her face, took a deep breath, and began walking her toward her bedroom as quickly as he could.

“I want you,” she said, the pretty little liar.

“Tell me again in the morning,” Eris replied. “Tell me when you wake up and I’ll give you anything you like.” “Anything?”

Yes, anything. Gold, jewels, land—whatever she wanted. Maybe that was his own arousal talking, but Eris would have made her an untold number of promises if it meant she’d willingly put her hands back between his legs.

“Where are you—Eris!” Arina shrieked, but Eris had dumped her onto the floor in her bathing chamber and slammed the door before she could stop him. “Open this door right now!” she demanded, pounding the palm of her hand against the door.

“I can’t,” he told her, sliding down the wood to keep it closed.

“Please—”

“Don’t,” he managed, closing his eyes. “Don’t beg.”

“You don’t want me?”

“Fuck—yes, I want you,” he admitted, forcing the words from behind his teeth. “And if I take you this way, you’ll hate me in the morning.”

“I won’t.”

“You will,” he replied, saying the words as a reminder to himself. She wouldn’t forgive him, would be furious he hadn’t stopped her. “You’re out of your mind right now and don’t know what you want.”

There was blessed silence for a moment. Eris knew better than to think Arina had fallen asleep—he’d been in her position before, though he’d, at least, been able to relieve himself with a partner. Eris had no intention of freeing her so she could roam the halls like a cat in heat, nor did he intend to help her. She’d simply have to handle things herself.

And like an utter degenerate, he was going to stay exactly where he was and listen.

“I like you,” Arina said softly, still too breathless for his liking.

“Liar.”

“You have nice hair,” she protested, voice rising with irritation. “And I like your eyes…your hands…”

“Stop,” he breathed, heart thudding painfully in his chest.

“Open the door, Eris. Let me show you—”

“In the morning,” he groaned, his willpower shredding with each sultry word that poured from her throat. “Ask me in the morning.”

“Do you not like me?”

Eris groaned again. “Too much,” he admitted, spreading his legs apart. It did little to alleviate his need. “But not like this.”

“Then how?”

Fuck it, he decided, reaching for his belt. If he couldn’t touch her, he could at least touch himself. He could still talk to her, could make it a little bearable at least on his end. “In your right mind, to start with.”

“Maybe it’s better this way. Get it over with—”

“Trust me,” he half panted, gripping his cock in one hand. Eris stroked himself to the sound of Arina’s little gasps behind the wood and the image of what she must be doing to elicit such noise.

“Will it hurt?” she asked him breathlessly.

“No,” he swore, closing his eyes so he could imagine it. “Trust me.”

“You’ve done it before?”

“Will you be angry if I have?”

He’d never considered that prospect before, maybe because he’d never expected his wife to be untouched. He’d assumed he’d end up with one of the ladies at court and while virginity was the official expectation, it was a rule too often skirted around in favor of hedonistic fun.

“It seems unfair. Maybe I should be allowed—”

“No.”

“No?”

Eris stroked himself again, exhaling a soft, shuddering breath. “No,” he agreed. “It’s too late now. I want your first time.”

“You’re selfish.”

“Jealous, too,” he agreed. “I don’t want to share you anymore.”

“Maybe you won’t be such a bad husband.”

Eris’s hand stilled for a moment, cheek pressed against the wood. There were a million things he wanted to say, all of them choked by emotion. He couldn’t accept the compliment nor could he find the words to assure he would do his best. What if he failed? What if he was no better than his father?

“Where are your hands?” he asked instead, retreating to comfortable, familiar territory.

“Under my dress,” she replied. Eris groaned loudly for her benefit, knowing damn well he shouldn’t.

“Next time it’ll be my mouth,” he told her with more conviction than he’d ever felt. So he couldn’t tell her the truth about himself—maybe he could show her, then. His actions could be enough, he decided, and if not his actions than the way his body touched her own.

“Your mouth?” Arina asked breathlessly. It wasn’t really a question and still Eris gripped his cock tighter, pumping faster.

“Yes,” he agreed, eyes closed as he imagined her legs spread for him. What did he want more? His cock in her throat or the taste of her cunt smeared across her lips? Both, he decided. He wanted it at the same time, wanted her thighs straddling his face as she took him, unable to move while Eris spent half an evening eating her.

And then he’d flip her over, breasts pressed to the blankets, and fuck her until she couldn’t walk the next morning. He could practically feel it, was lost to the fantasy and the sound of Arina’s own soft, desperate moans.

“That’s it,” he rasped, unsure if he was talking to her or himself. “Come for me.”

Arina did—or, he thought she did. He was so used to loud screams that her breathless gasps of air seemed like a revelation. Was this what it was like when the woman he wanted didn’t care if he was a prince or not? Eris came, too, hips jerking off the ground as come splattered against his hand.

The timing was terrible. Arina turned the door handle, tumbling on top of him just as a servant burst into the room, eyes wide with horror.

“I—”

“Well, fuck,” Eris snarled, trying to shove himself back into his pants without making a mess of the woman tangled up in his lap. “It’s not…”

What it looks like. He never managed to get the words out—the servant scurried away, leaving Eris alone

“You feel better now, don’t you?” he dared to ask, buttoning his pants as Arina stood, cheeks burning red.

“I—”

He reached for her chin, squishing her cheeks gently beneath her fingers. Eris kissed her, ignoring how wide her eyes were.

“When you wake up, don’t regret this.”

Though, if he was honest with himself, Eris regretted leaving her in a heap on the floor.

Still.

That was for the best.

#eris vanserra #chapter 4!#halfway done yay!

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