#and i'd love for it to be 10k words longer but im lazy

[liviusofpella]

ONE SHOT: Princeling

Pairing: Tyril x (MC) Selene AU

Word count: 2800

Warnings: It's a smut, ok? Minors pls dni

A/n: Kinda enemies to lovers to enemies, kinda the result of a kinky thought at 2am. Fantasy politics. Don't read too much into it. Embrace the horny.

Tag list: @cashweasel @brycesgirl @watatsumi-island @sophie-summer @lilyoffandoms (if I forgot about someone I'm really sorry, keeping my taglist up-to-date proved to be impossible with my goldfish memory and the belief that "I'LL REMEMBER I DON'T HAVE TO WRITE IT DOWN) @choicesficwriterscreations

He tapped his fingers on the desk nervously, glancing at the clock every few seconds. She was running late. She was never late. His heart pounded at the very thought that the guards caught her, but he immediately reassured himself, thinking that she was a master charmer and a family member of the King's advisor—nobody should question her presence in the palace. Selene knew how to manipulate like nobody else.

Unable to stay in one place, Tyril opened the balcony door, trying to get as much fresh air into the room as possible despite the high humidity. The palace was located in the Valley of the Rhine, overgrown with ever blooming greenery, which only added to the feeble air circulation caused by the tropical climate of the kingdom. He ran a hand through his long hair, wet at the base, and took a deep breath. No use, the air outside was just as still as inside. 

Tyril, with his back against the balcony’s pillar, rubbed his tired eyes. He was being ridiculous. 

"Long day, Prince?"

His head perked up at the sound of her voice.

"Yes. However, we finally got to the pleasurable part," he responded, trying his best to contain the smile that tried to bloom on his face at her sight. “You’re late.”

Selene locked the door, taking her time with the answer, trying to determine the prince’s mood. Having grown up learning his behaviour, two words were enough to decipher what was happening in his mind. He was tired and perhaps still sore after the morning's sword fighting training which, according to a rumour, ended rather badly for the prince. 

She made her way towards him, slowly, gracefully, never breaking eye contact. It was a game, a contest with no particular goal, one that originated almost a decade earlier when she was first officially introduced at the palace as the daughter of Lord Vinsant, a respected and esteemed royal advisor who has been performing his duty for over thirty years. Selene vividly remembered the young prince, standing next to the King, as stiff as a board but smiling impudently, holding her gaze as if looking away equalled death. 

She wrapped her arms around his stomach, veiled by a silk robe. "Mal held me back."

Tyril nodded imperceptibly. 

"Did he ask you to hurry up and give him an answer already?"

"Don't spoil the mood."

The corner of his lips raised slightly, against his will and to hide his discomfort, his palm cupped Selene's face. "You look decent tonight."

She raised her eyebrows, surprised. "Decent? Decent is all I get for standing in the fitting room for three hours?"

"You know no humility."

"I know I deserve more than what you give me."

Tyril swallowed, his gaze slipping to her lips in a futile attempt to end the conversation. Although she meant it in a different context, she was right. She deserved more from him. 

Selene shook her head, changing the subject. 

"Let me take care of you, prince Tyril," she whispered, her lips brushing against his as she spoke. A barely audible "please" left his lips, just seconds before her tongue slid across his lower lip. 

Tyril would never admit what Selene's been aware of for years, the fact that she had him wrapped around her finger. She knew how to press his buttons, how to please him, how to make him believe her wishes and intentions were his own. The day he realised how she's played him, he gave her the best sex of her life. For the next week he was insufferable, bitter and twisted, making everyone's life unbearable, but it was worth it. 

"That must've been painful," mumbling into his lips, she outlined the black bruise on his hip when his pants fell to the ground. Tyril ignored the remark, focusing on undoing the most intricate clasp he'd ever seen. 

"You did that on purpose," he mumbled.

"I like to watch you struggle."

Exasperated, Tyril wasted no time once the dress pooled at their feet—holding her firmly, he lifted her up and slid inside her when her back touched the cold wall. She bit back a moan, and Tyril cursed under his breath. He's waited almost a month to hear a moan coming out of her mouth.

"I'm glad there's still a way to make you stop talking," he panted into her mouth, and his grip on her thighs tightened, making sure to leave a mark. "But that's the wrong moment."

"Let me be the judge of that."

"I won't move until those pretty lips make the sound I want to hear."

"Can you last that long?"

"Can you?"

His hand wandered around her stomach to finally land in the place she wanted him the most, pressing and stroking the swollen nub. Having lost her resolve within seconds, Selene moaned, ready to beg and promise sweet nothings just to make him move.

He smiled defiantly. "That wasn't so hard, was it?" 

His hand, the one that rested between her legs, moved to cup her chin, but she intercepted it, guiding it back there. "It's staying there."

Being a frequent presence at the royal court, Selene knew all the gossip and news, which was made her a dangerous enemy. There was one rumour going around, though, that she could confirm—the royal dick was exquisite, and she found herself lucky to be the only one to have tasted it. 

She felt him leaving a love mark on hear collarbone but at that moment she could not care less, not when his hips did its wonders. The worrying could come later.

"Imagine the scandal if we were spotted," he gasped into her mouth, holding her tight against the wall, buried deep inside her warm core. Despite her best efforts to snap back, tease, anything really, all that left her throat were quiet whimpers. "You're trouble, my darling."

"Even if the news of our affair had spread, you wouldn't have suffered any consequences, Princeling."

"It's a bad fame all the same," he rasped before a particularly deep thrust. "The monarchy cannot be perceived as weak," another thrust. A quiet moan escaped his lips, and his left hand clasped around the base of Selene's throat, applying some pressure. "Do you understand?"

In a pathetic act of desperation, she tightened the grip of her legs around the Prince's waist, forcing him to step even closer, get even deeper. Mewling and squirming, writhing in his embrace, she would agree to anything. He allowed her to try and regain control, with parted, swollen lips and a flush on his cheeks, graciously allowed her to think she had him in her grasp. Feeling the familiar clenching of her muscles around him, Tyril tightened the grasp on her throat, lifting her head with his index finger, forcing her to look him in the eye. 

"I said, do you understand?" 

She nodded profusely, wrapping a hand around his.

"You will not be the fall of me."

"What makes you think I'd do that?"

"I know you, Lady Vinsant, you and your vindictive nature. Don't you dare try to destroy my legacy," he snapped. He felt her nails dig so deep into the skin of his back to draw blood. 

"Your entire legacy is the foundation of an elite whorehouse, Prince Starfury. I'd be afraid to catch the clap by touching the door handle," she stuttered out, panting. "Rest assured, I won't come close."

"You're forgetting your place."

"You're talking too much."

Seizing the opportunity, Selene guided his hand from her throat to her chest, to the part of her that always made his anger evaporate, his favourite toys, or rather stress balls. Having spent so much time with them, he learned to treat them with expert care and what to do to make it the most pleasurable experience for the owner. 

She allowed herself to rest, to let him do all the work, as her head rested against the wall and her embrace weakened slightly. For Tyril it was a sign that she was close, and thank heavens, because he's been trying his best to get her to finish first which was a massive fucking undertaking after a three-week-long abstinence. 

He relished those sinful sounds she made. At that moment, he'd swear those were the best piece of music to have ever been produced. Sober, he'd admitted to himself that the best thing he's ever heard was "You make me feel funny things." She was drunk, and that sentence was the culmination of a long speech about her growing up thinking he was the enemy, in which she implied over and over that she had feelings for him. They never discussed it as she didn't remember, and he wouldn't dare bring it up, but it's been often on his mind.

He did love to make her look like utter mess. A panting, sweaty, flushed mess, begging him to do things no lady should ever say out loud. That he did admit to her. And she took his words to heart.

"That's new," Selene hummed, softly dragging her finger across a long, red scar on his abdomen. Tyril watched her with his head resting against the headboard, calmly taking in the sight of her pink cheeks and the slightly turned-up nose. Having reached over to the night stand, he handed her a glass jar with salve, which she took wordlessly. As she busied herself with applying the cold, sticky mixture on the angry looking skin, Tyril wrapped a streak of her blonde hair around his finger, the only curled one due to high humidity in the valley. 

"A close encounter with a harpy."

"Why do you do that? Why go out into the unknown when you have an army ready to grub up the entire greenery surrounding the castle?"

"For the thrill, I suppose. The castle becomes dull after a while, let alone after almost thirty years," he responded with a shrug, letting go of her hair and taking a look around the spacious chamber. 

Selene raised an eyebrow. "Is that why you let Círdan defeat you this morning?"

"Why do you find it so hard to believe I simply lost this time? Círdan is the teacher, after all—he is supposed to be better than me. Otherwise, he would have nothing to teach me."

Selene snorted. She leaned over him, placing the jar on the night stand, her knee accidentally touching his crotch. 

An innocent smiled stretched on her lips as she saw him clench his jaw. "A harpy wasn't able to defeat you, but Círdan was?"

"Stop talking," he growled. 

She knew. Perhaps she'd known for a long time, and it was him who was oblivious to the obvious. He put himself in dangerous positions just to get a boost of adrenaline, a dangerous tactic, especially practised by an overconfident and stuck up prince. 

"Make me."

There was no foreplay in their case ever. They kept teasing each other, yes, but simply because that's how they preferred to get the deed done. That's why Tyril pushed her legs apart and placed himself between them, almost without a word. "I can go all night, love, but by midnight you'd lose your voice."

"I'm glad you still know your place, prince."

The way this man knew exactly how to please her made question his truthfulness—he swore she was his first, but his skills made him seem to be very much experienced, thus, he was either lying or just that talented. Whichever option it was, Selene was just glad she got to experience that before she died—she doubted anyone would ever make her feel that good again. 

When his hands reached over towards her chest, she knew it was over for her, it always went down the exact same way. His tongue worked relentlessly and excellently, the affirmation of that could probably be heard even by the guards passing by that side of the palace. Infuriatingly enough, he made it a point of honour not to use his fingers, so Selene instructed him to at least be a bit rougher with her breasts. She held a spark of hope when suddenly her legs began to tremble and his hands went back to keep them from strangling him—yet the prince remained ignorant of her shameless pleas. 

The climax was much more intense than they'd both expected, but as Selene lied spent in utter bliss, Tyril couldn't help but feel proud of himself. He left several wet kisses on the inside of her thighs and lazily rolled out of the embrace of her warmest part to lie next to her.

"The match has been made," Tyril spoke up once his breath evened out. Selene hummed against his neck, encouraging him to elaborate, as she took deep breaths, trying to calm down her pounding heart. 

"It's your friend, Lady Ade—"

"Who made that call?"

He swallowed, rapidly thinking of all the possible outcomes of this conversation. Perhaps he made a mistake by bringing up that subject.

"The King."

She nodded. The most important task now was to convince herself it was better that way.

"What about you? Have you made the decision yet? You can't keep them waiting, Selene, unless your plan is for them to give you up," he murmured, tenderly stroking her back. "You have to accept a suitor."

"I'm good."

He sighed. Tyril knew she waited for him to take matters into his own hands and choose her, to stand up to his father, to rule the land in a way that would bring prosperity and calmness. Meanwhile, she was right, his only achievement was founding a high quality house of ill repute. 

"I can't give you what you desire, my darling."

She propped her head on one hand, the other she rested on his cheek, stroking it tenderly. A smile stretched on her lips at the similarity of his eyes to the ocean she's seen recently. Calm, peaceful, yet hiding unbounded amounts of power, rage, and destruction. Instead of saying, "I know," she licked her lower lip and kissed him, slowly and tenderly, relishing in the feeling of his tongue against hers. "Be good to her, Tyril," she whispered instead, and untangled herself from his embrace. 

Tyril suddenly felt overwhelmed by the spreading panic as he watched her dress herself and approach the door. 

"It pains me to think of you with someone else, but it has to be done. You were never mine, I don't have the right to ask you to stay."

"I was yours over and over again," she mumbled. "All you had to do was speak up–"

"It wouldn't have changed anything, Selene. Your knowledge of the power relations in the palace is faulty. As long as the King reigns, no one in his family has the right to decide for themselves."

"And Adeline, of all people," she continued, fighting with the zip of her dress. Murmuring to herself, she collected her belongings, careful not to forget anything since she was probably never coming back there. She halted her actions when she'd realised Tyril became quiet a while ago. Suspiciously quiet. She came closer to him, searching for an answer in his profile. For the first time, he didn't dare look her in the eye, and that very fact made her feel a pit in her stomach. Thinking of all their encounters, of her audiences with the Royal Family, balls and trainings, she couldn't come up with the reason for his behaviour. 

"Her father is a very influential man–"

"No," she snapped. "Don't you dare lie to me now. Look at me."

It was unusual to see the prince so uncomfortable. In a different situation, she'd gloat. Now she had to stop herself from clenching her hand on his jaw and crushing that spoilt pretty face. 

"It was a decade ago. It was her mother who spread the rumours about you," he said low, his gaze dropping to her clenched jaw. "You've been out of the competition since then. That was the cost of your father retaining his position. A marriage with you would weaken us."

His hand itched to wipe the tear that rolled down her rosy cheek. 

"You used me," she hissed through gritted teeth. "I've come here every week for a year. We've known each other since we were children," she blinked, trying to get rid of the tears gathering in her eyes. She felt her body shaking with rage and desperation. He betrayed her. "You've known and didn't think of telling me. Instead, you watched me abase myself before you and–"

"Don't pretend that you didn't come here out of your own volition to get properly fucked–”

Slap. Tyril snorted.

"I've never regretted not having a knife in my hand as much as I do right now."

"If you want to make me the villain, go ahead. You're in no position to actually hurt me."

Selene shook his head in disbelief. Was it a game for game since the very beginning? It certainly didn't feel so at the moment, but perhaps he was just that good of a manipulator. More than at him, she was angry with herself for actually believing he was different from what everyone around her said.

"Watch your back, Princeling."

#on the one hand there's no plot #on the other there is #for sure there's a lot of lore in my head #and i'd love for it to be 10k words longer but im lazy #it was very filthy #in my head apparent;y #the end product? something i had to get out of my head #i take no responsibility for this #i was possessed #that being said ill probably see you in 6 months #tyril starfury #tyril x mc #blades au #blades of light and shadow #choices blades #nsft #cfwc #choices fic writers creations