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dreamcubed · 2 years

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king of my heart | mattheo riddle x reader

song; king of my heart [taylor swift] pairing; duke!mattheo riddle x baron's daughter!fem!bookworm!reader genre; arranged marriage, fluff, angst, hurt comfort, s2l word count; 11,2k timeline; bridgerton au warnings; minor character death, talk of death, minor character terminal illness, minor character severe injury (involving blood), abusive parents (verbal, neglect, vaguely implied physical), patriarchal gender roles, misogyny, implied ptsd, trauma-related nightmares (nothing graphic), verbal conflict summary; your refusal of marriage led your father to relinquish permission for you to choose your own husband, allowing him to make the decision himself and ensure the most status and wealth possible. the problem? the man he chose for you was closed off and arrogant

this is my longest oneshot yet so buckle yourself up!

masterlist

"i made up my mind, i'm better off being alone."

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Your father hadn't been pleased with you the last couple of years, as you had refused to attend the many balls of the engagement season. Marriage was not within your interests, no, your interests were with the shelves upon shelves of books in your family estate's library.

Of course, that did not matter to Baron D/N, as in his mind a daughter should only be at home until she is of marrying age, at which point she moves to her husband's estate. You despised the patriarchal traditions of your society, but because of those very same traditions, you could do little to change the matter.

"Y/N," he spoke to you at dinner one night, sat far away from you on the industrial-sized table, "Due to your refusal to find a husband, I have had no choice but to find one for you."

Your eyes snapped up to him in shock, and you felt the anger in your fingers as they clutched your cutlery tightly.

"Do not develop an attitude with me," he said, "I have been more than generous the last few years in allowing you to find your own match. You have no one but yourself to blame for refusing attendance at the balls of betrothal season."

"Why should I have to marry?"

"You are twenty years old. It is time you moved on from the L/N estate and last name."

"But why?"

"Because it is expected of you as a baron's daughter," he breathed a deep and angry sigh, "You will not bring shame on to this family."

"What about what I want?"

That is when your mother, the baroness, spoke up, "This is not a negotiation. A husband has been found for you, and- thanking the Lord above us- he is of a higher status than our family."

While your family held title as barons, it was still the second lowest aristocratic title - only two pegs above commoner. It allowed you luxuries such as a large home, servants, and respect, but the chances of you marrying into a higher status were often low. Your mother had come from a titleless family, but one that held a lot of wealth. It had been a blessing to her family to be invited to the prestigious engagement balls, where she met your father.

"He will be dining here tomorrow with his mother. A gown has been prepared for you for the occasion."

You knew there was no hope for protest, so instead asked, through gritted teeth, "What is his name?"

"Mattheo Riddle," your father replied, "The only son of Duke Thomas of Slytherin."

Surprise rippled within you: how had your parents persuaded someone of such high status to marry you? You wouldn't even inherit the title of baroness, as although you had no brothers, you were not the eldest child. Your oldest sister was the only daughter who would continue to live at home, with her husband who would become the baron.

"It was both fortunate and unfortunate timing," your father answered your question without you even speaking it out loud, "Much like yourself, Mattheo Riddle refuses to attend the betrothal balls, but he has finally been persuaded into marriage under his father's wishes."

"Duke Thomas is to pass soon," your mother continued for him, "His final wish before he parts is to see his only son married. It just so happened that your father wrote to him just after Mattheo had agreed to wed, and Duke Thomas jumped at the opportunity, despite our lower status."

"I did not expect anything to come of writing to him, of course," Baron D/N said, "I was merely trying my luck. Since he agreed so quickly, one can only assume that he does not have long left - not long enough to see his son through a betrothal season, at the very least."

You nodded, staring down at your plate.

Your worst fear had come to fruition.

***

"Stand straight, Y/N," your mother spoke harshly to you, as you stood in the entrance lobby of your house in a navy blue gown and a much-too-tight corset. Beside her stood your father, matching the sage green colour scheme your mother was adorning.

The grandfather clock at the foot of the stairs informed you that Mattheo and Duchess Isabella's arrival was imminent. On cue, the knocker of the front door echoed twice throughout the walls and ceilings of the estate, and a servant of yours rushed forward to let the guests in.

You immediately fell into a curtsy alongside your mother, while your father took a bow. A handful of what appeared to be bodyguards of some kind stood either side of the mother and her son, of whom were dressed grandly in dark green. You took the moment to take in Mattheo's appearance as, after all, he was to be your husband. He was taller than you (and looked somewhat older as well), with brown hair and a strong jaw, paired with dazzling yet cold eyes.

"Your graces," your father spoke, "It is an honour to host you in our humble home."

Duchess Isabella gave the slightest of curtsies, before she said, "The honour is all ours, Lord Bombast."

"May I introduce you to my wife, Baroness M/N, and my daughter, Y/N."

You curtsied again as the woman smiled gently at you.

"Then may I introduce you to my son, Mattheo, soon to be Duke of Slytherin."

The man stepped towards you first, and bowed as he took your hand in his and kissed the back of it, rising as he said his first words to you, "It is an honour to make your acquaintance, my Lady."

"Likewise, your grace."

Your party soon progressed into the dining hall, where you sat opposite Mattheo. You remained silent as your parents engaged in conversation.

"Yes, it is simply awful," Isabella said, "He was so worried that he would not live to see Mattheo wed, which is why he was simply ecstatic to receive your offer. He sends his utmost apologies for not being able to attend, of course."

"We completely understand," your mother replied, "Trust me, we place no blame on him for his absence."

"In an ideal world, he would have liked to see Mattheo through betrothal season - he has always believed in the course of natural love - but that is a tedious process and one he likely would not live til the end of. So few people follow the route of arranged marriages these days, so he really was rather glum. Your letter lifted his spirits immensely."

"I am glad for that," your father said, "I hope that his worries can rest now."

"They surely can," Isabella sighed, "Although I am saddened that it took Thomas being on his deathbed for Mattheo to finally agree to marriage."

You observed as Mattheo remained unreactive to the situation, and couldn't help but ponder what married life would be like with him. Would he allow you to indulge in your book obsession? Or would he expect you to fill the traditional role expected of a woman? It was terrifying to you, that this man held the power to take away your one true passion.

"Our daughter has been reluctant to marry also," your father said, "In the end, I had to make an overriding decision."

"How come?" Isabella looked in your direction, expecting you to answer.

Your mother quickly cut in before you could speak, "She has been pre-occupied with her love of literature, which we can hopefully leave to rest now."

"So you are an educated woman, Miss Y/N?"

You nodded, "I never wish to leave it to rest," you side-eyed your mother, much to her frustration.

Isabella hummed, "I do enjoy a good piece of literature from time to time, I think it is vital to have a passion for something in life."

"Where do your passions lie?" you couldn't help but ask.

"I adore art," she beamed at you, "You shall see how grand my collection is once you move to the estate- you needn't worry, of course, I shan't be there often. I plan to spend most of my time in the country house once Thomas passes."

"A painless passing I hope it is."

She smiled sincerely at you.

***

Once the meal concluded, your mother elected to give the Riddles a tour of the house, which caused you to fall to the back of the group alongside Mattheo.

"I don't know what you expect out of this union," he said to you suddenly, his tone harsh, "But I am not here for a relationship with you. I am here to allow my father to rest in peace, nothing more, nothing less."

"If you shall leave me to my literature, then I shall be more than content," you said in response, assuming a cold tone as well.

Evidently, you took him a bit by surprise, but he nodded nonetheless. "Very well then."

Perhaps the marriage would not be such a bad one, if Mattheo was to leave you to your own devices and allow you to continue your life of a bookworm. In fact, it may be an upgrade, as you would no longer have to deal with your parents' nagging about it being an unwomanly hobby.

It was then that your parents turned around to engage in conversation with Mattheo, leaving Isabella to take your side as she gave you a warm smile.

"My son may seem cold, but I promise you that he has a kind heart," she said quietly, so as not to be overheard, "I am somewhat worried about how he would treat his wife, though you seem very capable of standing your ground."

"I would like to think I am, your grace."

"You are to be my daughter-in-law, don't worry yourself with such formalities. Refer to me as Isabella."

"If- if you're sure."

"I certainly am," she sighed, "I think my son needs a wife who isn't afraid to argue with him, as controversial as that may be."

You looked forward to the back of Mattheo's head. "Is that so?"

She hummed, "He's too arrogant for his own good, though I love him so."

"I will do my best to be the wife he needs, Isabella."

"I have no doubt you will, Y/N."

***

The wedding was the following week: it also served as another betrothal event for the masses, as it was currently betrothal season. That element was under Duke Thomas' request, as he wished to see the magic of young love flourish once more before he died - his words.

Despite never wanting to get married, you had thought far enough along the idea to know that you would have preferred a smaller ceremony. You hadn't attended a ball since you were very young, and to be the centre of attention at such a glamorous event was very overwhelming. All eyes were on you as your father led you down the aisle, past the rows upon rows of people you hardly recognised. Your dress was suffocating, but gorgeous, being a mellow cream colour with baby blue embroideries decorating the extravagant skirt.

You felt shy with all the attention, and flicked between staring at the lilies in your hands and Mattheo who was stood at the altar. You hadn't seen him since you first met, but his expression was as cold as ever.

When you reached the step, your father guided your hand to Mattheo's extended one, and said something to him about trust and protection: you weren't really paying attention, as you were alarmingly aware of the nerves within you. Your body's auto-pilot was the only thing getting you to move to face Mattheo after handing the bouquet to your maid of honour - one of your sisters.

As the priest began the introductions, you reluctantly looked up at Mattheo to see that while his eyes were on your complexion, his mind was not. That all too familiar glaze of being zoned out was settled on him, and you couldn't help realise you must have looked the same. His hands felt cold in yours, but perhaps that was only because you were so hot from the anxiety. Even with all the sensations swirling inside of you, you couldn't help but appreciate how gorgeous your husband was; perhaps under different circumstances, you wouldn't have minded being courted by him.

No, those were silly thoughts. You held no desire for marriage.

"Miss Y/N L/N, do you take his grace Mattheo Riddle to be your lawfully wedded husband, and promise to care for him, in sickness and in health, until death do you part?"

"I do," you said as unwaveringly as you could, watching as Mattheo took the smaller gold ring from the velvet cushion presented by the ring bearer, and pushed it on to your left ring finger.

"And your grace Mattheo Riddle, do you take Miss Y/N L/N to be your lawfully wedded wife, and promise to care for her, in sickness and in health, until death do you part?"

"I do," he said monotonously, and with a shaking hand you then picked up the larger gold ring, and put it on his finger - praying to God that he didn't notice your nerves.

"I now pronounce you husband and wife. You may kiss the bride!"

You chewed on your lip, looking up at Mattheo who appeared to be unmoving. For a moment, you thought he wouldn't bother with the final touch of a wedding ceremony, but then his lips were on yours. It was chaste, and only lasted a few seconds, but it was enough for you to get butterflies, and then hate yourself for that.

Cheers then erupted from the audience, and you both turned to face them hand-in-hand, providing a curtsy on your end and a bow on his for them all to see. In the corner of your eye, you saw your mother and father smiling- for once- proudly at you from their seats. Next to them sat the Duke, looking as ghastly pale as ever, with the Duchess sat by his side. In spite of his illness, Duke Thomas looked incredibly happy, and that was the one upside to all of this, you supposed: you had fulfilled someone's dying wish, and surely that was a good deed.

As the progression from the church to the Slytherin estate began, you were faced with many rushing to you to offer their congratulations. You thanked them politely, finding yourself fiddling with your new gold wedding ring as a nervous habit. It appeared appropriate to attach yourself to Mattheo's arm as you walked, and so you did just that. Even if he wanted to, he made no objections, and remained appallingly aloof to everyone that spoke to him.

You at least had the decency to be kind to people, despite the fact you did not want to be there just as much as him.

When you reached the Riddle estate, you were shocked to see how large it was. You had never taken for granted the considerable size of your own home, but in comparison to the Duke's it was nothing but a shed in the back garden.

In the dining hall, the meal began after Duke Thomas provided a toast, one that Duchess Isabella had to help him out with due to his poor health. They were both still in good spirits, even after your father provided a somewhat backhanded toast about you a few moments later. Still, his words reminded you that you would no longer have to live with him and his distaste for your interests.

The library in this estate must be enormous.

After the food was finished, guests began to be ushered to the ballroom where a live band was playing elegant music on their violins and flutes. As per tradition, you engaged in a dance with your new husband, unsure of where to rest your eyes. You landed on his own eyes, as that would be where the audience would expect you to be looking. He returned your gaze with a ferocity that you didn't expect, and it was only then you realised how firmly his hand gripped the small of your back.

Soon other couples joined the dance floor, allowing the two of you to segue off. The peace didn't last long, of course, as everyone was interested in speaking with you both. By this point, your social battery was drained, so you let Mattheo do the talking even though his demeanour was cold and unwelcoming. It was evident how highly he thought of himself just in the way he spoke.

You remained attached to his side, feeling exhaustion all over your body, as he worked his way through the number of eager guests. You had forgotten how shy you got when you were socially tired, and subconsciously found yourself leaning into Mattheo for comfort.

Eventually, you were able to disappear from Mattheo's side and from the ball to sit outside in the gardens, where the night breeze gently tickled your cheeks. The corset was as tight as ever, but you finally felt as if you could breathe somewhat as you admired the starry night sky.

"May I join you?" a feminine voice spoke from your side.

You were a little startled, but looked in the voice's direction to see a woman who appeared to be almost a female version of Mattheo.

"I am Countess Delphini of Oslashire," she curtsied at you, "Mattheo's sister."

You stood up to curtsy back, and went to introduce yourself despite her evidently knowing who you were, but then realised you didn't know what to say for yourself anymore.

Sensing your confusion, she smiled, "It'll only be a short time before you're Duchess Y/N of Slytherin, but for now I suppose you should just say future duchess."

You nodded at her, sitting back down on the bench and gesturing for her to do the same. "Has he always been cold to everyone?" you asked.

She chuckled, "Yes, I suppose he has. He never much liked what was expected of him and grew resentful because of that."

"I can't say I'm all that different in that sense."

"No? Well, then, one can hope that makes you a good match."

You hummed.

"I heard from Mother that you have a love for literature. Is that so?"

"It is. I surely hope Mattheo shan't make me give it up."

"I doubt it. He never was one to care for tradition."

You had obviously already discussed this with Mattheo himself, but you didn't know what else to talk about with Delphini.

"You have your consummation shortly, though," she said, "And while I doubt Mattheo cares for it, everybody else does."

You nodded, "I am aware. The bedding ceremony is just for tonight, though."

"I wish you all the best in your marriage, of course," she gave you a genuine smile yet again, "Write to me if he causes you any trouble - as his big sister I'm sure I can talk some sense into him."

"Thank you, Lady Courtesy."

"Delphini," she corrected, "You're my sister now."

You smiled, "Thank you, Delphini."

***

Delphini had been correct about Mattheo's stance on the bedding ceremony, but he still made the effort to keep up appearances...

...by providing a vial of animal blood to make it look as if you successfully consummated.

You did indeed share the bed that night, but it was in complete silence and as far away from each other as you could manage. When you arose the next day, the servants rushed in and were satisfied to see the blood stain left directly on the centre of the bed, and hurried off to share the news.

Shortly after you were dressed, Isabella knocked on the door with a face wrinkled with worry, and you and Mattheo could instantly recognise the problem. Mattheo rushed out of the door, while you stayed idly behind with the duchess.

"Come," she said, "He will want to see you, you're his daughter-in-law."

You nodded, and followed her to the master bed chamber. When you reached the grand double-door, Mattheo was just exiting, and looked up at his mother solemnly, yet ignored you. Delphini sat on a red velvet bench along the hallway, her eyes cast down.

"He requested Y/N's presence," he said, his voice sounding hollow.

Dumbstruck, you approached the door and tapped twice on the wood. The faintest of "you may enter"s came in response, allowing you to enter the room.

Duke Thomas was sat in bed, in his nightwear, visibly much paler and more exhausted than he was the day prior. Cushions behind him propped up his weak form and a table for in-bed eating was set to the side with half-eaten soup in a fine china bowl. Despite his grave illness, he gave you a small smile.

"I am relieved to hear that your consummation was a blessed one," he said in a gravelly voice, followed by an awful coughing fit, to which you hurried to his side to hand him the glass of water from his bedside table.

"Please, drink, your grace."

He accepted the water, and struggled to swallow some of it. "You are a kind soul," he eventually spoke again, "It is comforting to know my son is in capable hands."

"I will do my best to care for him... and our future children, your grace."

"I have no doubt," he sighed, "I wish that I did not have to leave my dear Isabella and children so soon, but it is the Lord's decision. He knows what he is doing."

"May your journey to heaven be a peaceful one."

He hummed ever so faintly, just as another coughing fit began. This time, he refused the water. "My death is almost upon me. Please, I am entrusting you with Mattheo. As the next duchess, you must keep him in line as Isabella has done so for me."

"Of course, your grace."

"That is all I had to say... I would like to spend my last moments with my wife, so if you could please fetch her for me, I would be eternally grateful."

"Right away, your grace, it has been a pleasure to speak with you."

"You as well."

You quickly exited the chamber, and looked towards Isabella who was sat next to Mattheo and Delphini on the bench. They were all holding hands with one another, and while the duchess and her daughter showed signs of tears, Mattheo did not.

"He requested his wife in his final moments," you bowed your head, as Isabella sniffed and stood up hurriedly.

"Thank you, my darling," she touched your cheek softly, which made you freeze. Her touch was gone as quickly as it came, but you remained glued to your spot, relishing in the brief feeling of being genuinely cared for.

Delphini graced you with a precious smile when you finally looked in the siblings' direction, and shifted away from Mattheo to gesture for you to sit in between them.

Out of politeness, you obliged, unsure of how to act. You couldn't help but be consumed with sadness also, as that was the closest you had ever gotten to witnessing death, and it pained you. However, you did not want to make the situation about you, and so simply allowed Delphini to take your hand when she sought comfort.

As for Mattheo, you did not know what to do, or what to say. He was not looking at you: his gaze was trained ahead of him as if he were boring holes into a particular spot on the wallpaper opposite.

You don't know how long it was before Isabella rejoined the three of you, composed, yet evidently heartbroken - but it simultaneously felt as if it had been a while, and mere seconds. Delphini rushed to bring her mother into her arms, while Mattheo stood up with a deep breath. You stood beside him, not touching him in anyway, but still close.

"My condolences, my Lord," you said softly.

He did not reply. His eyes remained trained on to the same spot as before.

You knew better than to say anything more to him, and as you turned your gaze back to the sobbing mother and daughter, a thought settled in you: you were now the Duchess of Slytherin.

***

After the funeral, Delphini returned to Oslashire with her husband, and - true to her word - Isabella retreated to the countryside. Mattheo then moved into the master bed chamber, leaving you behind in his old room as neither of you held the desire to share with the other. The several nights that you had been forced to share a bed were awkward, silent, and socially distanced.

You soon found solace in the depths of the substantial Slytherin estate library, where you were only ever bothered by maids dusting the shelves. The large room - much bigger than the one back home - was kitted with plush sofas and armchairs, along with darkened oak desks. You felt at home in the space, and often didn't bother to wear more than a simple plain frock there, with no corset. It was certainly unbecoming of a duchess, but who was there to see you?

Mattheo had a very busy schedule after his father's passing, likely due to having to re-establish allyships and connections. You didn't know for sure, however, as the two of you seldom talked. To keep appearances up for the servants who liked to gossip, you would eat your supper together in the evenings and engage in emotionless small talk, but that was it. The subject matter never ventured further than a brief synopsis of your day's activities, and comments on the quality of the food.

It was obvious he wasn't paying attention when you told him of the new books that you had begun reading, but it wasn't like you were listening either when he spoke about the titleholders he had met with. You would be a hypocrite to be offended by it.

Though, you soon found yourself standing outside of Mattheo's work study, as you had a request itching at the back of your mind. You wanted to begin writing your own novel: to do that you would prefer a typewriter over a quill. Perhaps he would grant you what you wished, after all, it was the first thing you were asking of him.

You nervously tapped on the door three times, praying that your maid had been correct about his whereabouts and you weren't standing outside of an empty office like a fool.

"Who is it?"

"Your wife, my Lord."

You could hear the surprise in his tone when he said, "You may enter."

You complied, and upon entering felt embarrassed about the warmth his appearance left in you. He had removed his blazer, and was simply in a white shirt with the sleeves rolled up. You would be a fool to say he was unattractive.

"What is it you want?" he looked up from the layers of parchment on his desk, his eyes locking with yours. You noticed the black typewriter sat on the edge of the desk and allowed your gaze to linger on it, which he noticed.

"I have a request."

"And what would that be?" his eyes were back on his work.

"I would like a typewriter."

He stilled the movement of his quill, looking at you again with curiosity in his eyes. It was the most emotion you had ever witnessed on him. "What for?"

"I wish to write my own novel, my Lord."

The next few seconds of silence felt suffocating to you as you couldn't at all read Mattheo's expression.

"I understand it is not very womanly of me, however nothing in our marriage is traditional so I concluded that it wouldn't be an outrageous request."

"Very well," he said eventually, "I will arrange a typewriter for you."

"Thank you," you curtsied out of gratitude, "I will not make waste of it."

He watched curiously as you then excused yourself from the office, as he found you a rather peculiar woman. Truth is, you were not what he had expected out of an arranged marriage: he had expected your family to only care for status and wealth, which may be true of your parents, but not you. No, you didn't care for the fact you were the duchess of a large area, or for the hundreds of expensive clothing you could afford: you only cared for literature, which didn't cost him a penny thanks to the size of his library. The typewriter would be the first charge put to your name since you wed.

Yes, you were peculiar, and you fascinated him.

***

There was a typewriter sat on one of the desks in the library the following afternoon, which you saw upon returning from lunch. You hadn't expected your request to be filled so efficiently, but you were far from disappointed: only excitement consumed you as you hurried to take a seat in front of it.

An envelope was laid across the keyboard, with the official Riddle family wax seal keeping it shut. With a frown, you opened it, to see it was a short note from what appeared to be your husband.

I wish to be the first to read your novel once it is completed. - M.R.

You couldn't help the smile that tugged at your lips as you felt that familiar warmth inside you yet again. Your parents would have laughed at you if you had even hinted at the idea of wanting to be an author, but Mattheo - of whom lovelessly married you to please his father - seemed genuinely supportive of your goals.

Perhaps it was arrogance that made him think he had the right to read it first, but that was a thought you quickly pushed aside. You didn't care if it was.

It took you awhile to get used to the feel of typing on a typewriter, and many times did you have to remove the paper and white-out your mistakes, but you couldn't be more thrilled. The ideas swirling in your head were taking life on the pages before you, and you found yourself almost halfway through the outline of the plot you had created by the time a week had passed.

Friday afternoon was when Mattheo entered the library with somebody by his side, someone of whom you didn't recognise. You looked up from your work curiously, as your husband never ventured to this part of the estate.

"This is my library," he said to the man, who had platinum blond hair and a lean figure, "My copy of Dawns Before Dusks should be in here somewhere."

"What purpose is that maid serving?" the man jabbed his thumb in your direction.

You were mildly offended, but then again, you were dressed in relatively casual clothing, and (like usual) you lacked a corset.

Mattheo looked at you, and then looked back at the man, "That is my wife, Duchess Y/N of Slytherin."

One would have thought that the man would be taken aback and started muttering apologies, but all he said was, "She is not dressed like a duchess."

"My Lady," Mattheo said to you, ignoring the man. Your attention was caught in further surprise: he rarely addressed you in such a manner. "This is Earl Draco of Ranibury, an old friend of mine. He spends a lot of time abroad, so he was unable to attend the wedding."

"Pleasure," Draco looked you up and down, which made you feel small.

Mattheo took his inner cheek between his tongue. He didn't know why he felt so defensive of you, but how dare someone of a lesser rank not bow to you, his wife?

In order to ease the tension, you stood up and asked, "What was it you were looking for? I know the library quite well, I am sure I can be of service."

"Dawns Before Dusks by Andrew Philips," your husband replied.

You nodded, vaguely remembering running your fingers over it as you searched the shelves not too long ago.

"What is a woman doing behind a typewriter?" you heard Draco ask as you moved to the part of the library you remembered seeing the book in.

"She is writing a novel," Mattheo replied, as if it were the most normal thing in the world, which in your society, it was not.

"She should be birthing children, not writing silly little romances."

Your fist tightened. You weren't writing a romance.

"What my wife does is none of your concern, Lord Courtesy."

You watched as Draco's eyes narrowed through the bookshelves.

"My apologies, your grace."

Your fingers skimmed over the requested book, and you pulled it off the shelf before finding your way to where they stood.

"Here it is, my Lord," you handed it to your husband, purposefully ignoring Draco.

"Thank you, my Lady," he gave you the sincerest smile you had ever received from him, and the way you looked as a result must have been obviously flustered. "Please return this when you have finished reading it," he then said to Draco, "I hope you enjoy it."

"I hope so too."

You were glad to see Earl Draco of Ranibury depart.

***

At dinner that evening, you were more than shocked to hear words of apologies exit your cold-hearted husband's mouth.

"I must apologise for Draco's behaviour earlier. He had no right to disrespect you in such a manner."

"It's- it's alright."

"It most certainly is not, no wife of mine should be-" he stopped himself as his tone became angrier and harsh, which caught you off guard.

Was he defensive over you? How come?

"Nonetheless," he cleared his throat, his voice calmer, "I will not be having him visit anytime soon."

You nodded, "Thank you, my Lord." Admittedly, Earl Draco had put you on edge.

"But on the subject of visits, we are visiting your parents' estate for dinner tomorrow evening. They invited us."

You felt your breath hitch. You had been so utterly relaxed without your parents breathing down the back of your neck whenever you dared to open a book, to the point you had somewhat forgotten of their existence.

Mattheo observed your reaction carefully, but he didn't say anything, instead choosing to continue with the meal in silence.

***

"Welcome back to our humble estate, Mattheo," your mother said to your husband in the entrance hall, completely disregarding your presence. You hadn't missed the cold and unloving walls that once again surrounded you.

"Your grace," your husband passive aggressively corrected, "That is your grace to you, Lady Bombast."

Your mother's face contorted into an expression of mild horror, but she quickly composed herself and said, "I was assuming that as your mother-in-law such formalities would be wavered."

"Well, you assumed wrong," Mattheo held his arm out for you to take, to which you obliged.

"I trust my daughter isn't giving you too much trouble," she continued, sparing a harsh glance in your direction.

Subconsciously, your grip tightened on Mattheo's bicep, and the action did not go unnoticed by him.

"Not in the slightest, Lady Bombast," he said, taking you by surprise with the hint of softness in his tone, "She is a pleasure to have in the house."

"Really?" had you not known your mother like you did, you wouldn't have noticed that the joking tone was feigned. However, the slither of sharpness to her voice as she said the simple word stood out to you like a glaring red warning sign: she was both shocked and horrified that your husband spoke nicely of you.

"Please, come through to the dining hall," your father interceded, having the slightest of word fumbles before adding, "Your grace."

Once all four of you were sat down for the meal, you could only chew on your goose as you listened to your parents talk about themselves for Lord knows how long. Eventually, however, the conversation was somehow steered over to you, despite how little relevance you actually had in their lives.

"One can hope that the literature habit has been put to rest," your father said, looking at Mattheo in a way that suggested it was a question.

"Why would it have been put to rest?" your husband asked in response.

"It's unbecoming of a lady, of course," your mother interjected, "This has been discussed already."

"It's hardly unbecoming to be intelligent and educated, Lady Bombast."

"For a woman it is," your father said, the touch of anger to his tone evident.

You remained silent as Mattheo straightened his back and looked towards you.

"In my family, it is seen as a virtue to have a wife or daughter of whom is intellectually capable. In fact, it is vital. What if something were to happen to me while our children were still young? My Lady Y/N would have to be in charge until the eldest is an adult. It would not do for her to be incapable of such a task."

Your parents, for once, were completely silent. Meanwhile, you couldn't stop a smile from itching to form on your face.

"Y/N has recently started writing her own novel, in fact. That is something the average man even struggles with, so perhaps it would do for you to stop speaking down to my wife, especially when she is your superior?"

"Of course, your grace, my apologies," your father eventually spoke.

Mattheo scoffed, and your eyes widened further.

"Classically stupid of a man such as yourself to apologise not to the woman you have offended, but to her husband."

You observed as your father gulped discreetly and made eye contact with you. "My apologies, Y/N."

For the first time, you decided to speak up, still feeling spiteful towards them. "Your grace," you corrected, pleased to see your father's shocked reaction, "It's your grace to you, Lord Bombast."

"Surely you don't mean that," your mother said, "We are your parents, Y/N-"

"Once you have earned the right to address me by my first name, I will allow you to do so."

You flicked your eyes to Mattheo, of whom had the vague ghost of a smirk gracing his lips as he looked at you.

***

Due to the journey between the Riddle estate and your childhood home being a long one, you and Mattheo were to stay the night at your parents'. This, of course, meant that you would be sharing a bed chamber as well as a bed, as your parents were not aware of your unusual sleeping arrangement at home.

Once you exited the large wardrobe in your night robes, you couldn't help but smile at Mattheo sat at the foot of the bed in await for his turn to change. This moment wasn't like the short period after you had just wed when the two of you shared, no, back then you wouldn't dare to look in his direction at all. In fact, you would be long asleep by the time he retired from his office, and he would be long gone by the time you awoke. You would've believed he didn't sleep in the same bed at all if it weren't for the couple of occasions you woke up in the middle of the night needing to use the toilet, to see him asleep on his side of the bed.

Now that you thought about it, you hadn't gone to bed at both the same time and place as him since the day of your wedding.

"Thank you, my Lord," you said gently, giving him a pathetically subtle curtsy, "I appreciate you defending my honour."

"You may call me Mattheo, darling."

Your stomach flipped at the nickname, and you nodded your head a little too excitedly, "Thank you, Mattheo."

"Of course," he stood up, facing you proudly, "No wife of mine should be disrespected in such a manner."

You smiled, and for a second he looked like he was going to return it, but then he disappeared into the wardrobe to get changed himself. Despite that, you didn't feel defeated in the slightest - no, you felt hopeful that this marriage might not be a loveless one, even if it took a while.

It was that night that you had a nightmare.

It was strange, really, that you had never once had a nightmare when growing up within those walls, despite your parents disregarding you every step of the way, leaving you to be raised by the servants. You had never even been a child who frequented nightmares unrelated to home life: consisting of ghouls and monsters, as was normal at a young age. No, you weren't someone to have night terrors.

Perhaps it was the fact you had lived in peace for a short while, away from the suffocation of your parents, which allowed your body to relax and leave its default defensive mode. Yes, that was it - you were off your guard when you arrived for the dinner, and no longer had an effective tolerance for everything bothersome in this estate. Suddenly, your mother's words were no longer something you were used to, and the eery cold draught that followed you around the hallways was no longer something you could ignore.

You were weakened by having experienced a peaceful life, and thus everything in your alleged home was affecting you negatively, like it had tried to do so for years.

You didn't know whether you were frustrated or relieved that you had subconsciously put down your shield.

But, right now, as you watched walls around you close in, with torn book pages flying around, you just felt scared.

"Y/N, Y/N," you heard a panicked voice say, and just like that you were pulled back into a reality where you no longer were being suffocated.

You took in a large gulp of air - ever grateful to feel the oxygen fill your lungs - and forced your eyes open. There, in your line of vision, was Mattheo's head hanging over yours, his hands gripping each of your arms.

His worried expression relaxed once he realised that you were awake, but it formed again when he saw the hot tears flooding your cheeks.

"Are you okay?" he hurriedly asked, moving his hands from your arms to the mattress either side so he could support himself better without hurting you.

That was when a sob escaped your mouth, and as your vision blurred, you lifted your arms up and wrapped them around his neck, pulling him down so he fell on top of you. You began crying into his shoulder, only mildly aware that he wasn't trying to pull away at all, instead letting you hold him. He slowly returned the embrace by dropping one hand into your hair and the other on your waist.

When your sobs eventually died down, he moved from on top of you to a seated position against the headboard, and wordlessly pulled you up with him and into his side.

"Darling, it was just a nightmare," he finally spoke.

You shook your head, "It was too real."

"No matter how real it felt, you are safe now. Safe with me."

Subconsciously, you nuzzled your head into his shoulder and felt the warmth radiating off him.

You remained in silence for a while, but eventually, you parted your lips again to make a statement that caused a switch to flip inside of Mattheo.

"I want to go home."

***

When you returned back to the Slytherin estate, it quickly became apparent that something had changed between you and Mattheo. You started spending breakfast with him as well as dinner, and occasionally he would visit you in the library.

Deep down, you wanted to share a bed with him again and feel the comfort of his presence while you slept, but never would you ask such a question. Instead, you opted to build the courage up to visit him in his work study during the day, with a book clutched in your hand.

"Your grace, his grace is very busy and does not want interruptions at this moment," one of the servants dedicated to your husband said to you, just as you reached the corridor where the work study was.

You don't know what it was inside of you that made you feel so highly of yourself, but you then said, "I am his wife, my husband's rules do not apply to me."

"Of course, your grace," the servant bowed his head, "My apologies."

You nodded at him, and proceeded to where the door you were after was.

You knocked twice.

"What is it?" a harsh tone replied - similar to that of the one he used when you first met.

Instead of replying, you slowly pushed open the door and peeked into his work space.

"Reuben, I told you not to bother-" he stopped speaking when he saw you, and his irritated expression dropped, "-oh."

You bowed your head as you fully entered the room, "My apologies for the interruption, my Lo- Mattheo."

"That's quite alright," he said, "Did you need something?"

You opened your mouth so speak, but then realised that you had no answer to his question.

Mattheo saw the book in your hand, and asked, "Is that a book recommendation for me?"

"No- yes- I-" you steadied yourself, so as to stop the slur of words, "It is a marvellous book that you should read, though I have not finished it myself yet."

He raised an eyebrow at you, wordlessly questioning your presence in his office further.

Your eyes flitted to the armchair tucked in the corner of the room and facing the desk that your husband sat at. "I was- I was..." you took a deep breath, "I was hoping I could join you in here and read while you worked."

"Oh-"

"It was a stupid idea of me, though, my utmost apologies for bothering you, my Lord," you said hurriedly, "Please don't blame Reuben - he did say no interruptions but I used my higher status to force him to let me proceed."

"Darling, if you would allow me to speak, I would like to say that you are welcome to join me in here," he gave you a smile.

And you froze. Mattheo had never truly smiled at you before. Not like that: full and genuine. Not even back in the library when Draco had been present had his smile been so warm.

"I see you had your eyes on the armchair. Feel free to take it."

You forced yourself to nod, despite your composure remaining rigid. He gave you an encouraging look, which allowed your body to slowly unfreeze and move over to the green velvet armchair. Your usual lack of a corset meant that getting comfortable on the chair was easy, and you were soon curled up with the book as if you were a cat.

Mattheo continued with his work, but allowed himself the luxury of glancing at you every now and then, admiring you caught up in your own world.

***

Of course, things were going too perfectly for too long, and you should have realised that a loving marriage with Mattheo wouldn't be an easy feat to achieve. But, to be fair, the obstacle you were faced with was neither of yours fault.

"Your grace," Reuben had said worriedly to your husband, on another day that you had elected to join him in his work study. It was getting rather late, and the sky was already darkening. "Unfortunate news from the former duchess."

Mattheo's face had immediately paled, "What is it?"

"Your mother has taken a rather substantial fall while exploring the woods surrounding your countryside estate," the servant said as quickly as he could, "She is alive - but the injury was severe and she has lost a lot of blood."

"Reuben, prepare the carriage," your husband instructed.

"Yes, your grace," Reuben bowed, and scurried out of the room.

"Mattheo-" you said gently.

"I need to be alone at this moment," he cut you off, much more harshly than he had spoken to you in a long while.

You were hurt, but stood up nonetheless, "Of course, I understand." And then you left the room.

One thing was for sure, however: you weren't letting him go to the countryside estate alone.

It became apparent that he had expected it to be a solitary journey when he was surprised to see you waiting in the entrance hall dressed in appropriate travel wear.

"My Lady, this is a journey I must make alone," he said, his tone cold.

You disguised your furthered hurt well, and shook your head. "It would be disrespectful of me not to visit my mother-in-law when she is so severely injured."

"I do not want you with me." That statement cut deep, but along with the pain came another emotion: anger.

"I will not be treated in such a way," you snapped, "I am your wife, and I am here for you no matter what."

"You hardly know me."

"Because all you do is shut me out," your anger was fizzling into upset, and he could hear that you were suppressing a sob when you said, "So, stop it. Stop it."

Mattheo stood staring at you in silence: with only the candle lamps providing light, his eyes looked darkened. You could just make out that he had his inner cheek pulled between his teeth, judging by the dent in his smooth skin that you could see through your somewhat blurry vision. Finally, he reacted to what you said, and started taking powerful strides in your direction.

Instinctively, you began backing up, but you could only move backwards so far as you soon hit the wall.

Mattheo stilled a few inches in front of you, and appeared to be glaring into your eyes with a ferocity he had only ever briefly shown you before. Sure, he had been cold and arrogant for a while, but he had never been vicious.

You were, admittedly, convinced that he was about to slap you- punch you- hit you in some way or other.

But he didn't.

Instead, his lips crashed on to yours, which caught you so off guard you let out a "hmmph" while his hands cupped your face. The kiss was chaste until you recovered from your shock and took the step to deepen it, allowing Mattheo to begin moving his lips against yours in reciprocation.

"Your grace, the carriage is rea-" Reuben's voice came to a halt as you and Mattheo quickly separated from one another, although he didn't move away from you. The servant bowed deeply, his face paled, "My apologies, your grace, I did not mean to interrupt. I simply came to inform you that the carriage is ready for departure."

"Thank you, Reuben," your husband said, although he wasn't looking at the poor servant - no, he was holding intense eye contact with you, his hand having moved to rest on the wall beside your head.

Reuben looked shocked at having been thanked, but a small grin soon settled on his face as he disappeared back outside to where the carriage presumably was. Of course, Mattheo didn't see that, as his back faced the entrance.

"You told me at the beginning of this marriage that if I left you to your literature you would be more than content, and I have done exactly that. You lied to me," his words seemed harsh, but the teasing tone woven into his voice told you otherwise.

You shrugged, letting a cheeky smile grace your features, "I blame you for making me fall in love."

Mattheo stilled entirely, and you were about to apologise for the impromptu confession, but he spoke again before you could.

"Come, we must get moving," he said, pulling away from you entirely.

You regretted dropping the L word, but at least he wasn't stopping you from going with him.

***

The journey was long: so long that you slept a significant amount of it. Mattheo was too sick with worry to drift off, but he let you lay your head in his lap as you stretched across the velvet seat.

When you woke up, the sky was a golden-orange and the sun was peeking over the horizon, glistening through the open carriage window. You pushed yourself up from Mattheo's lap as you yawned, rubbing your eyes and settling against the backrest.

"How much longer?"

"About another hour."

"Have you slept at all, my Lord?"

He shook his head, and changed the subject, "I have told you already, you don't always have to call me my Lord. Mattheo is fine."

"Right, sorry," you said, suddenly remembering what had happened not long before you left the estate, "I'm sorry for- I'm sorry for saying that back then."

"Saying what?"

"That I... that I - you know - love you."

You watched carefully as he pursed his lips. "It's fine, I- I am not angry with you. I just do not believe I am ready to say it yet."

"Don't feel obliged to say it," you added, "I wasn't expecting a return, but I want to be honest with you. That's how a healthy marriage works, right?"

"Yes, I appreciate it," he gave you a smile, but it didn't quite reach his eyes. You knew that the sadness swimming in his irises had very little to do with you, of course.

***

The countryside estate was much smaller than the main one, but it was still larger than your childhood home. Despite its smaller size, you found it to be more appealing than any previous house you had seen, with the surrounding trees accentuating the controlled yet chaotic flower gardens surrounding the main building. There were a couple gardeners tending to the area, and they clearly had instructions to keep things homely and natural - as opposed to symmetrical and neat, like your usual place of residence.

The very second you stepped over the threshold, Mattheo hurried off in the direction of his mother's bed chamber; you decided he would want some time alone with her at first, and so took control of ordering the servants to bring your belongings inside. The only worker who came with you on the journey was the carriage driver, who was in much need of some rest.

"The master chamber is prepared for you and the duke, your grace," what appeared to be the head servant of this estate spoke.

"Oh- okay," you didn't know how to tell the servant that you slept separately, as Mattheo had taken care of those arrangements when they were first put in place. Instead, you opted to leave the subject alone for now. "What is your name?"

"Diane Higgs, your grace," she curtsied, "At your service."

"Could you prepare breakfast, Diane? We're awfully hungry after such a long journey."

Diane didn't hesitate to pass the message to the kitchens as you felt another rumble in your stomach. You also felt the desire to freshen up, but decided that you should see Isabella before then, so asked the nearest servant where her chamber was.

You knocked on the door when you reached it, and a familiar feminine voice called out, "Who is it?"

"Y/N."

"Oh, darling, come in," the kind woman replied, giving you the green light to turn the door handle and enter, "You needn't knock, Lord knows that Mattheo didn't."

You smiled abashedly, pleased to see her so chipper despite her shallowed complexion. Mattheo was sat on a chair beside the large king-size bed, holding his mother's hand in his own.

Closing the door behind you, you stepped further into the room and cautiously sat at the end of the bed, facing them both.

"How are you feeling?"

"The doctor says I am gradually improving," she sighed, "But it's still early days. The wound has been stitched up-" she gestured to her leg, which was covered by the duvet, "-so it's simply a matter of whether or not it becomes infected."

"The doctor said it was a miracle you didn't die after such blood loss," Mattheo added, "And that your weakened state could mean your body will not be able to fight even the mildest of infections."

"Ever the pessimist," Isabella dismissed him with a wave of her hand, making you crack a small smile, "You take after your father in so many ways, Mattheo."

The man in question rolled his eyes.

"Ah," the former duchess exclaimed, "I am rather hungry, perhaps we should tell the kitchens to prepare breakfast."

"I already did," you said, "I am famished myself."

"Perfect! That means it shan't be long. Normally it's ready when I wake up, but somebody here woke me up earlier than normal." She gave a teasing side-glare to her son.

"I have been worried sick about you, Mother. I couldn't wait any longer for confirmation you are alive."

Isabella chuckled, "Delphini should be here soon. She is a tad further away so it takes her longer." The last sentence was clearly said in your direction.

"Is her husband coming?" you asked.

"I doubt it, the two seldom travel long distances together. Plus, I don't believe the man particularly cares for me."

"I find that hard to believe," you said, genuinely shocked.

"Not everyone is as sweet as you, darling, my son is very lucky."

You looked at Mattheo to see his eyes were already cast on you, the faintest ghost of a smile playing on his lips.

"I shall instruct the servants to deliver everybody's breakfast here," he announced, as if to distract from the subject.

Neither you nor Isabella objected to him leaving the room: part of you wanted some time alone with the woman of whom had been more of a mother figure to you than your own flesh and blood anyway.

"I hear you're writing a novel."

You looked up in surprise, "He told you?"

"Yes, very enthusiastically, too. He certainly adores you."

Your cheeks warmed at the notion. "I have actually finished it now. There are probably still many mistakes, but I have the original copy bound and ready to send to a publisher's."

"Oh, really?"

You suddenly stood up, "I brought it with me - I did promise Mattheo that he could have the first read, but I am sure he would want me to let you instead considering you are bed-bound."

"Are you sure?"

"Of course," you nodded, "I shall fetch it."

Isabella watched as you left with a full smile on her face, meeting her eyes and all.

***

Delphini arrived around lunchtime, without her husband, just as Isabella had predicted. By that point, you had spent some more time with both the former duchess and her son, before the former requested some alone time to which you obliged. That was when Mattheo gave you a tour of the grounds, occasionally giving a brief childhood story that took place in the various locations. You felt ever so slightly closer to him after each one.

It wasn't until dinner did you speak with Isabella again, and it was at the main dining table, with her having had a significant amount of aide to get down there.

"The novel is quite marvellous, Y/N," she said, "I couldn't put it down! I'm not finished yet, though, so no spoilers."

"What are you reading?" Delphini asked.

"Y/N's novel."

Mattheo looked up at you with widened eyes from across the table, and you couldn't help but smile when you said, "I know I promised you the first read, Mattheo, but I figured your mother was more deserving at this time."

"I better at least be the second," he said with a roll of his eyes, but it was clear his anger wasn't genuine.

Delphini and Isabella looked between the both of you with a glint of something in their eyes that you couldn't quite place.

***

When you awoke the next morning, the sunbeams of dawn were peeking through the cracks in the curtain, and placing a golden-pink glow on to the pillows. You stretched, and turned to your side to see one sunbeam landing perfectly across Mattheo's unconscious and worry-free face. In a moment of self-indulgence, you allowed yourself to admire your husband's features: his soft brown curls, his strong jaw, and his plump pink lips. He was such a handsome man that you couldn't help but feel childish butterflies swimming in your stomach.

Because he was yours.

It was then that you felt the need to touch him, to hold him close, to be in his arms - a craving that ran as deep as your bones. Your mind was too sleepy to have regained your usual second-guessing thought process, and the moment felt surreal, so you began shifting closer to Mattheo's half of the bed. The first body parts of yours to touch were your arms - gentle, at first, so as not to wake him. Then your leg touched his, but it wasn't as gentle as the arm, as you hadn't been looking at where his leg was. Thus, it was more of a knock; far from a painful one, of course, but enough to stir him in his slumber.

He felt your presence before he opened his eyes, but when he did he was greeted by your widened eyes staring up at him in fear of being caught red-handed. Fazed wasn't how you would describe him, no, he looked as if he had expected you to be so close to him, at least to some extent.

You hadn't realised he had moved his hand until it was softly caressing your cheek, and you snapped out of your nervous daze when he mumbled the word, "Cute."

You stilled once you had deciphered his mumbles, which Mattheo felt thanks to your body contact.

"Darling," he murmured, "Don't be so shy."

"Sorry," you eventually forced out.

At that, he opened his eyes wider, in contrast to the mere slits of vision from before, and pulled you properly into his arms. "You have nothing to apologise for."

You hummed into his chest.

"When we return home, I would like it if you were to move into my chamber."

Your heart swelled.

***

Isabella, thank the heavens, recovered fully from her injury without infection, and was back on her feet after a few weeks. You and Mattheo returned home after three weeks in the countryside, when you were sure that she was in good health once more. The former duchess had complimented your novel tremendously, and passed it on to her son for him to read, who then passed it on to his sister. By the time you all left, every family member staying with Isabella had read the book, and they had all graced you with praise.

You sent it to a publisher, avoiding the use of your full first name by dropping it to just its initial, so as to not be rejected for being a woman. It was accepted, and while you never met the publisher in person, by the time the day of a month after its first release arrived, many of the higher class of society had read it. You suspected that both your husband and sister-in-law's influence had something to do with its popularity.

It was on that same month milestone that you were hosting your first ever reading, with much more guests in attendance than you had anticipated. It would be your first time revealing that you - a woman - were the author of the book. People had most likely assumed it was your husband, or perhaps a secretive brother of his, that had wrote it, due to the last name Riddle having been the one that you used. While you had always been annoyed that women were expected to change their last names, you were actually rather pleased with the change of your own. You now held the last name of a family that actually cared for you.

That thought alone made whatever consequences of revealing your identity you would have to deal with less daunting to think about. You would have a support system to help you through them.

"Ladies and gentlemen," Mattheo announced from the podium set up in the ballroom specifically for the occasion. The alarming number of titleholders in the room went quiet and looked in his direction. "Thank you all for coming on this momentous day for our family name."

You were stood in between Isabella and Delphini by the edge of the room, both of whom were only visiting for the event, in order to support you. Their presence almost had you completely forgetting that your parents were nowhere in sight, despite having received an exclusive invitation. Although, you could spot a couple of your sisters within the crowds of people.

"I am sure that many of you will be wondering which member of my family it is that wrote such a beautiful piece," your husband continued, smiling with pride as he spoke - a contrast from his usually arrogant stance, "And I truly wish that I could take credit for it - but it makes me just as happy to be able to say that the author is the love of my life. So, without further ado, may I introduce to the podium my dear wife, her grace, Duchess Y/N Riddle of Slytherin."

Gasps rippled throughout the audience, and you gripped Delphini's hand tightly as you prepared yourself for the attention.

"Go on," Isabella whispered in your ear, "They will love you, I'm sure."

You nodded, and let go of your sister-in-law's hand, before beginning the walk to where your husband stood proudly. When you reached him, he placed a kiss on your lips, and then said loud enough only for you to hear, "I love you, my darling."

He hadn't said it before, and you hadn't said it since you let it slip the first time. It was only now you registered that he had described you as the love of his life only moments earlier - to an entire room of people, no less. You bit your lip as you felt your nerves reduce, and replied, "I love you too. Thank you, for all of this."

He smiled, "Of course." And then moved away from the podium, allowing you to gaze upon the audience of aghast faces alone.

"Well," you began, "This is evidently a surprise to you all..."

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masterlist

written; 11/08/2022 —> 20/08/2022 published; 22/08/2022 edited; 25/08/2023