"You get too close, Vanserra, and I might put you out." She gave him a raised brow, the corners of her mouth lifting in light amusement.
He merely caught her fingers in his, bringing them up to brush his mouth over her knuckles in a gesture too intimate for an arranged alliance. Cresseida didn't blush. She was a princess, not a simpering maid. But he could see her stiffen slightly, her eyes widening just a fraction, the only indication that he'd had any affect on her at all.
Eris smiled, his thumb stroking over her skin. "A chance I am more than willing to take, princess."
created and written for day 6: arranged marriage of @erisweek2023. 🌊🔥
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You're Tarquin´s bride
You stride confidently down the aisle, your head high to allow the gazes of the reunited guests. The Summer sun crowns you with the reflexes of the gold you wear all over yourself, displaying the wealth of your court.
Lords, ladies, princes, and High Lords look upon you, and you know what they see, the unlikely bride, the water nymphs dancing before you, scattering heather before your bare feet, the high fae holding the hem of your dress, dryads and urisks accompanying you in procession, singing beautifully enough to evoke a few sobs from the attendants. A united court.
The court you're building together. You see Tarquin waiting for you at the altar, the sun turning his braids to a platinum that complimented the gold of his crown, eyes the color of the ocean beckoning you. If it wasn't for the dancing nymphs blocking your path, you're not sure you'd be able to keep from running to him, your High Lord, friend and lover.
How long had it taken the two of you to get here? How many dusks when you'd find him on the deck of his private ship, brooding at the sunset, and the two of you would just talk for hours on end?
Some nights he'd share the burden of ruling, the politics he wanted to implement, the maneuvering around a prejudiced noble class unwilling to compromise, and after a while you started chiming in with ideas of your own.
Some nights you'd just make him laugh, and that would be enough. Either way, you'd be gone when the sun rose.
The night you didn't show up, he came looking for you. It had been a shock, you remembered your folk gathering around, astounded to see a High Lord in their domains for the first time in so long. There had been a complication with your nephew´s birth, and, before you knew, Tarquin was swimming back and forth, fetching healers and remedies.
He scolded you later for not telling him how much your people were in need of. He had shared his troubles with you, hadn't he? Why didn't you do the same? Didn't you trust him? What if the other High Lords had never cared about the Merfolk, he wasn't the other High Lords, he thought you knew him better than that.
He accepted your apologies, and from that day on you were appointed Secretary for Merfolk Matters.
The high priestess behind Tarquin is also one of you, your kin watches from the water that surrounds the platform built specially for your wedding, a literal and symbolic bridge between land and sea.
"Welcome, all children of land and of the waters." She starts, but you can't pry your eyes off of Tarquin.
He stands tall, and, for once, his title doesn't seem to weight on him, despite the imposing crown. His broad shoulders are squared back in a relaxed way, like when it's just the two of you on the deck and you sing for him, or when it´s just the two of you in his cabin, and he sits sprawled on the chair and you go on your knees to make him sing for you.
He´s such a musical lover.
"Daughter of the waters, do you willingly tie the currents of your life to those of this son of Land?"
"I do."
His smile widens enough that it forms dimples in his cheeks, the perfect white teeth stark against the full dark lips that have learned every inch of your body in both water and land forms.
Tarquin likes to kiss. Especially, he likes to kiss you. Everywhere.
He tips his head slightly to the side, a mischievous gleam in the clear waters of his eyes, as if he knows exactly what you're thinking of.
"Son of the dry land, do you willingly surrender your fate to that of this daughter of waters?"
"I do." His voice booms, carried by the ocean wind, and the priestess hands you the knife.
One prick to the finger and the blood forms a shiny red drop on the tip. It feels almost too erotic to do in public, but you offer your blood to the High Lord, swallowing to keep back from shuddering at the flicker of his hot tongue.
He drew his finger so lightly over your lower lip it could have been an accident, but you knew that look in his eyes too well to believe that.
"By the power bestowed upon me by the Mother, I now declare you married."
Cheers explode as the two of you kiss for perhaps a bit too long, and Princess Cresseida steps forward, the crown atop a silk pillow in a shell, smiling even as she reprimands the two of you with a look of her beautiful brown eyes.
Tarquin takes the cresting waves of gold in his hand. It's a perfect copy of his own crown, another message for all courts of Prythian.
"I, Tarquin, High Lord of Summer, take this mermaid to be my High Lady, my equal in every way, to rule our court by my side, or in my stead, if the day should come." You bow your head for him to place the crown, as rehearsed, and feel the weight and the hot metal on your brow. The thought makes you smile, that no one had considered shielding the crown from the sun all this time "You'll sit on the throne, wear the crown, sign the laws." Tarquin places a finger under your chin, lifting your head in a gesture that felt more intimate than even the blood sharing "And you will bow to no one."
You turn to face the gathered crowd, all of them bowing their heads to you, except for the High Lords themselves. High Lady Feyre, who has clearly been overserved, is cheering, and from the waters the blowing of a shell drowns the smaller sound.
"You may rise." You hear your voice echoing in the afternotes of the shell, gentle, yet commanding.
The bowed heads lift to glance at you. Your hand finds Tarquin´s without you needing to look down, and you know he sees the same as you see, a colourful court of all races of fae, where all voices are heard and love is greater than the old divisions. The court you are building together.
You've made it, the two of you. You're Tarquin´s wife.
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