#the day of the LORD is a day where two opposites meet: darkness and light

[mondoreb]

The Day of the LORD is a Day Where Two Opposites Meet: Darkness and Light

The Day of the LORD is a Day Where Two Opposites Meet: Darkness and Light

“The great day of the LORD is near, it is near, and hasteth greatly, even the voice of the day of the LORD: the mighty man shall cry there bitterly. That day is a day of wrath, a day of trouble and distress, a day of wasteness and desolation, a day of darkness and gloominess, a day of clouds and thick darkness” –Zephaniah 1:14-15 “Shall not the day of the LORD be darkness, and not light? even…

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#the day of the LORD is a day where two opposites meet: darkness and light

[shapard]

hihii! I was wondering if I could request a Lucifer x fem!reader, where the reader was a nun in her life and still is kinda one in hell but dedicates herself to lucifer yk what I mean? :3 I’m sorry if this isn’t really in detail!

Demons

Lucifer x Sinner!Nun!femreader

A/n: Heyy! I hope this meets your expectations!

Soft Lucifer, Social awkward Lucifer, Nun reader

Part 1 < Part 2

You hate it here. 

Hell was full of sinners and Demons. The ground is covered in crimson blood. The blood bleeds into your clothes, leaving the white in pure red.

Violence was the only way Sinners communicate. 

You were mad at the Lord themself. You prayed each day and night. Always followed the rules and gave up every rich thing in your life. All to serve the father.

Many people thought you were too young to pursue this path but to you it was a blessing itself. 

One day, the worst and best thing that ever happened to you. You saved a life and you died instead. 

You waited and waited for the light of Jesus and God. So that they can take you in their hands and lift you to paradise. Yet after all you've done, you were falling.

The void of pure darkness ate you and threw you down to the most feared place. Hell.

The compact on thee ground hurt as if you died again. The force knocked you completely out. Luck was on your side and gifted you a home. At home two demons were leaving and let you stay in their old house.

You'll never forget them.

One day you took a walk in a different area, trying to find a loophole anywhere. Just one sign to get to those purely gates. To your dismay, nothing.

Instead of worrying too much you went to a hell’s Library. Reading through every book to get Information about this place. 

The Lore of Lucifer is very Interesting.

The father’s Favorite banished from heaven because of the Forbidden Apple. As you kept reading the more it Fascinated you. 

Why did Lucifer give Eve the Apple? 

How is Heaven? 

The more you found out about the king of hell the more obsessed you got.

Who exactly is Lucifer Morningstar? The Lord you served so long for let you down so easily, but would Lucifer? Too many questions spiraled in your head, it started to pound in pain.

The library was closing soon, so you stuffed the books into your rucksack and left the place in a fast pace. 

The book may not give you the answers you need but Lucifer could. Without wasting any seconds, you wander around the so-called pride ring in Hell. 

It seems there are 7 rings like the 7 sins. One of them being Lucifer. The fun part you learned is that the appearance in hell has something to do with the way you die.

Your appearance resembled a black cat hybrid, you mainly looked humane just with some extras. A pair of cat ears, claws and a tail that swayed behind you.

Finally, after headaches, Mental Breakdowns, and research you got an idea how to get Lucifers attention.

Praying. A very simple yet tiring process. After weeks of preparation you got everything that you needed. Your body shook under fear as you lit up the candles.

You don't feel that confident anymore. Praying to God is something different. They were pure and was the creator of everything. But Lucifer was the pure evil. The complete opposite.

You were in the center of a pentagram that was drawn with your and a goat’s blood. The flames around you were so hot you thought you were in the middle of a fire. 

With a shaky breath you closed your eyes and sat down on your calves. Another deep breath and you began your prayer. 

When you were finished the candles were burned out but nothing besides the wax that coated the floor.

With a sigh you rubbed your hands on your face. The whole procedure was for nothing.

Exhausted you took the candles and threw it in the dustbin. “Was worth a shot.” You said disappointed as you sat on a very old bed. A loud crash sends you out of your little sweet daydream about kittens. You jumped up and grabbed the next object, a Fan.

Curse words echoed through your Livingroom. “Who’s there?” You shouted as you switched the lights on. A short figure with a huge hat came in the view.

“Fuck! eh... Sorry for the mess.” Confused at his words you looked around seeing your Livingroom really a complete mess. Nothing was at its usual place.

The guy watched as your jaw dropped a bit. “What in the name of Jesus did you do?!” He smirked up to you and you raised the fan above your head. “Why do you have a fan in your hand?” He asked pointing with his clawed finger at your fan. “Because of people that break into private homes, like you!” With a snap of his fingers the fan in your hand vanished into small sparkles. 

“Technically I didn’t break into your house.” The stranger said as he swung his cane around. You raised your eyebrow at him, “You obviously did.” What the hell is with those sinners.

He sighs in frustration and leans onto his cane, “Let me re-introduce myself. I’m Lucifer Morningstar. The devil you summoned.” His sharp red eyes focused on your e/c ones and his Pupils dilated a bit. The more you two looked in the eyes the hotter and thicker the tension got. 

“You’re Lucifer.” You fast to break the thick ice. You don’t want to focus about the growing desire for the Archangel in front of you. Lucifer smirk grew only more. You didn’t think this was even possible. “Yes, the one and only.” He winked and a shiver went down your spine.

“of course.” As the sin of pride, he’s doing a great job so far. 

“For what do you need me, darling?” Lucifer asked and you immediately asked him the question that is burning your mind. “I have Question my Lord.” Pink hue glazed Lucifer's face as you said my lord. “Ehm,” He grabbed his collar and pulled it with his claw, “Of course darling… We- I mean I have too much… No, fuck- I have a lot of time reserved for you! Hehehe.” Lucifers sudden overtalking caught you surprised. 

The King of hell, Lucifer Morningstar gets nervous when you call him My Lord. 

“Okay first my most Important question. How do I get in heaven? I don’t know what I have done in my life to end up here.” Lucifer raised sassy his eyebrow giving you a side eye. “Darling. You’re in hell and there is no ticket up. Believe me.” He tapped with his cane on the floor, “There’s no way.” He pressed again. 

But you don’t give up. 

“Then give me a meeting. I can prove that I’m innocent. I was a nun almost my whole life and I died saving someone’s life.” Lucifer’s laugh was ego scratching and you glared at him. “I could get you the meeting sweetheart, yet it wouldn’t change anything. But in exchange you have to do something for me."

“What?” You asked as Lucifer stepped in front of you, his face so close that it’s brushing your face. He breathed in and you smelled so divine. “only time will tell.” And just like that he disappeared. Confused you looked around. 

“That was weird…” 

A/n: I'm ALIVE!! Anyways Part 2 will be out soon<3

💫

@i-have-no-life-charlie @sirenetheblogger @concentratedconcrete @ylovei @cimadreamer @ayanazoldyck @froggybich

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#lucifer morningstar #lucifer #y/n #lucifer hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel lucifer x reader #lucifer morningstar x reader #hazbin hotel #shapard #hazbin hotel lucifer #hazbin lucifer #awkward Lucifer #I love letting Y/n throwing stuff at him #hes so cute #and silly

[humanpurposes]

Come So Close That I Might See, part ii, Aemond

Desperate to secure her position, Aegon's wife turns to Aemond for help // Series Masterlist // Main Masterlist

Aemond Targaryen x OFC

Warnings: 18+, smut, infidelity, mentions of past non-con, fluff, (cameo from dad!Aemond at the end).

Words: 3300

A/n: pwp but went heavy on the plot. Also available to read on AO3.

Tags: @padfooteyes @darkenchantress @blackdreamspeaks @kezibear143

The dull light of dawn dragged her from a dreamless sleep. The sun hadn’t yet risen, the fire was long dead and Lucia’s bedchamber was cold.

She kept her eyes closed, vaguely aware of a distant birdsong and the noises of the city beyond the walls of the Red Keep. She breathed into her back and felt where it met the mattress beneath her, and as the haze of sleep began to fade she winced at the slight stiffness in her neck and the tenderness between her legs.

Her fingers crawled to the other side of the bed where the sheets were neat, seemingly undisturbed. She was alone then. She opened her eyes, part of her hoping it might not be true. The pieces of her gown were still laid over the chaise, the smell of sweat and sex lingered on her sheets, but any other traces of Aemond were gone.

One night, she told herself. One night and she would allow herself this indulgence for the sake of duty. Duty to her family. Duty to the realm. Duty to her husband. Duty to herself.

She never could have imagined how it might have felt to finally be so close to him, to hold him and feel every part of him. She felt herself fading from the world around her, consumed by the memory of his skin, his sapphire gleaming in the gentle candlelight, the smell of smoke and leather–

“The Queen mentioned your outburst.”

She looked up slowly from her plate of salted pork and eggs, at the three faces looking at her.

The Lord of Casterly Rock sat directly opposite her, his dull golden hair falling limply around a furious expression. Nothing good ever came of her meetings with the Lannisters, not for her anyhow.

Aunt Johanna– Lady Lannister, suited the colours of her husband’s house, red and gold against her Westerling features. Often she was quick to defend her niece, but in the last year her rebuttals of Lord Jason’s usual lectures had become few and far between. Her expression now was soft and unsure as she took small sips of her tea in silence.

“Before this morning’s meeting of the Small Council,” Lord Tyland added. He was a little more put together than his twin, more stately, his hair neatly combed, his scowl more stern than irritated. “She said there was some kind of disagreement with your husband that was only resolved at the intervention of Prince Aemond.”

Lucia held her tongue between her teeth. Aegon’s insults were hardly a disagreement. There was no conflict, it was just… him. She had sat passively for so many years and now rage boiled through her blood.

But she knew her duty.

She took a deep and gentle breath. “As it happens my husband and I have resolved our differences.”

The Lannister twins exchanged a brief look of disbelief. 

“To some extent,” she added.

“How so-”

“I will not be elaborating,” she said, “the state of my marriage may be of concern to you but the details are certainly not.”

She spent the day in her chambers, reading, embroidering dragons into scrap pieces of cloth, picking holes in her bed clothes only to stitch them back together, anything to keep her busy so that she wouldn’t have to think.

But all she thought of was Aemond. 

The invitation to take dinner with Helaena and Martyn Hightower came as a surprise. 

Little Rhaella was thankfully starting to recover from her ailment and was a bright presence. The girl had her father’s brown eyes, but everything else was Helaena’s, the delicate silver hair and dreamy look on her face. Less than two years old and she was running frantically around the room, presenting Lucia with her collection of small wooden animals before she came toddling from the nursery with a dark blue dragon egg.

Martyn started to panic that she might break it but Helaena simply said in a soft and melodic voice, “hold it tight, my love,” and the girl did just that. 

When the hour grew late for the little dragon, Lucia followed Helaena, Rhaella in one arm and the egg in the other, into the nursery. Helaena dressed her daughter herself, fed her a spoonful of honey and a few sips of tea for her throat, and sent her to sleep with Valyrian lullabies.

“It can feel like such a burden,” Helaena said, as they walked back to the dining room, “I was terrified of the whole ordeal, and at the end of my suffering came Rhaella.”

“She’s an angel,” Lucia said as they reached the dining room. A sliver of warm light shone through the door into the otherwise darkened corridor, bathing Helaena’s silver hair and pale blue gown in gold.

Helaena reached for Lucia’s hand and traced her finger over her palms, studying her skin as a scholar studies a book, or a healer studies a wound. “I do not envy your position,” she said. “It is easier with someone you love.”

Lucia tried to swallow but her throat was suddenly dry.

She tried to love Aegon. She still remembered their first meeting, in the throne room, before the court. She might have found him handsome if it weren’t for the distant look in his eyes, and the fact he wouldn’t even look at her.

Despite his initial indifference, he had showered her with affections on the day of their wedding. As they stood before the eyes of Gods and men to recite their vows, she saw only him, violet eyes bearing into hers, and when he kissed her, her fear faded. She allowed herself to hope that the Prince she had married was a man who embraced his duty, who would be kind, gentle and cherishing. He even did away with the bedding ceremony. The marriage would be consummated when she was ready, he said, a promise sealed with a chaste kiss to her cheek.

The first time he visited her chambers was a year into their marriage. He stumbled in as she was readying herself for bed, dragging with him the smell of stale wine and the streets of Fleabottom. She had never seen him in such a state. She had heard whispers, of course, of his exploits and his affections for serving girls, but never had he presented this part of himself to her.

At least he had been gentle when he guided her to her knees and entered her mouth. “A mercy to us both,” he slurred when it was over. He didn’t even seem to find much pleasure from it, just a motion to reach a release, and then he was gone.

“I love my husband,” Lucia whispered.

Helaena hummed to herself. “That’s rather not what I meant, dear sister.”

She frowned, but before she could press her further, Helaena swept into the dining room, singing a lullaby under her breath.

She didn’t care to eat much, save for a few cuts of beef and half an apple cake.

When she returned to her chambers, her eyes fell to a book upon the desk that had no place on her shelves. It was large, an old philosophy text with delicate pages and fraying binding, from Prince Aemond’s personal collection. He had leant it to her some weeks ago, but even after finishing it she had found herself reluctant to part with it. She couldn’t say why, if her interest was in the rhetoric of the Maester long since dead, or the fine calligraphy and illustrations drawn in colourful ink and plated with gold leaf. Perhaps it was the simple act of tracing her hands over the pages Aemond had studied so devotedly, having a part of him with her. 

True, she had found his scar and constant intensity rather intimidating at first, and warmer friendships with Helaena and Daeron, but with Aemond she had found something more innate.

It began with comfortable silence. The library was a wonderful place to seclude herself, escape her husband and the prying eyes of the court, losing herself in tales of history. She had a particular fascination for the Conquest at the time and devoured chronicles of Aegon and his Queens, and their dragons, of course.

She was rather surprised one morning to see Aemond walking towards her reading table. They exchanged few words but mostly she was happy to simply sit beside him. The next day she returned the favour and, eventually, they managed a few formal conversations. 

She lit up the first time he mentioned Vaghar.

“It is remarkable that such a beast of war should remain among us,” she said one gloomy afternoon as rain pelted against the window, so heavy they could not see Blackwater Bay beyond the gardens. “A living piece of history.”

Aemond smiled a little stiffly. “Indeed.”

“How did you first come to claim her?”

But her face fell with regret the moment she asked. By the way Aemond thinned his lips and clenched his fist, she had overstepped a line.

“It was simple really,” he said before she could utter an apology, “I offered myself to Vhagar and she accepted me.”

Her eyes flashed to his eyepatch, no longer fearful, but curious. “Were you scared?” 

“Yes, and I overcame my fear.”

She did not question him further. 

As years went by, Aegon slipped into his cups and the onslaught from the Queen, the Lannisters and every other Lord and Lady of the court began. 

When she retreated to her usual hiding places, the library or the bench in the rose garden, Aemond was always the one to find her, to sit with her in settled silence with that soft expression she dared to think he reserved only for her. 

So it was out of duty she found herself walking through the Holdfast with Aemond’s book under her arm.

There was no guard stood outside his door. She took a shallow breath and gave three gentle knocks.

He understood the moment he opened his door to her. 

They concerned themselves little with the preamble. The book was forgotten on his desk as their lips met. She loved the desperation of it, the way he pawed at her dress and whimpered when she tugged on his hair. 

“I’ve thought of nothing but you,” he uttered between their kisses, “I thought I might come to you tonight… I did not wish to presume.”

Always courtly and composed, it thrilled her to hear Aemond’s voice so breathless and raw. A warmth swelled in her chest, pride and lust, feeding off each other and intertwining until she could hardly form any thought other than him.

He wanted her as much as she wanted him.

She pulled back just a little, resting her thumb over the pillowy pink of his lips. “I cannot stay long,” she whispered, “someone will notice my absence.”

His hands settled on her waist, holding her gently, as though she were something precious, but with a firmness that fuelled her desire. “Let me take care of you, Princess.”

It was quicker than before. He turned her around and brought her to lean against a table, making quick work of hitching up her skirt and pulling down her small clothes.

He groaned to see her desire already dripping onto her thighs, tracing featherlight patterns over her skin and teasing her needy centre. 

And then his hand came around her throat, a delicate hold, but it made her head spin as he inched his cock into her entrance and started to fuck her.

She gripped the edge of the table, unsure of what else to do with herself but moan and make breathy attempts at saying his name. The stretch of his cock inside her, his fingers working over her pearl and his light grunts in her ear, it all felt so perfect.

“Good girl,” he uttered, hot breath sending shivers over her skin “you take it so well for me, Princess.”

“This excites you, doesn’t it? That I’m his and not yours,” she teased.

“I think you like it,” he rasped, driving his hips faster against her rear, pushing himself deeper and deeper until he met that spot that left her body weak. “You need me, to fulfil your duty… your desire.”

If he was intending to tease her it was working. She could feel herself clenching around him, as her pleasure began to rise in her.

She nodded, hardly aware she was doing it. “I want you, Aemond, I need you.”

“Beg me for it. Beg me to paint this perfect little cunt.”

“Please… I want it… I want it…”

She fell against his chest as they came together. She could feel him draining inside her, fucking every last drop of his seed into her as his hand pressed against her stomach to keep her close against him. She gripped his hand and he didn’t seem to mind the crescent marks she left behind.

She savoured the stillness for a moment, the closeness, the fullness of his cock inside of her and the afterglow of her release.

“I meant it,” she said, “I find so little to be happy about. I do not love my husband. I resent my position. I allow myself so little hope.”

Aemond pressed an achingly light kiss to her temple. She leaned into his touch and held his hand a little tighter.

“I just want you,” she whispered.

“You may have me whenever you wish, Princess,” he said, trailing his lips down her cheek before he tilted her head back to meet him in a slow, contented kiss. 

Once she had fixed her small clothes she headed to the door.

“Will you take me riding tomorrow?” She asked.

He raised his good eyebrow. “Riding?”

“To the Kingswood.”

The brow dropped. “Oh.”

“You didn’t think I meant…”

Aemond smirked at his own assumption. “Well, who am I to deny the wishes of my Princess?”

She passed one other person as she walked from Aemond’s chambers, a young maid with a timid face and a bundle of laundry in her arms. She kept her eyes fixed on the floor as she passed the Princess. 

“Where are those from?”

The girl froze, like a squirrel catching sight of a dog. “Pardon, your Grace?”

“These–” Lucia gestured to the white lines, “where did they come from?”

“They are Prince Aegon’s, your Grace.”

“An unusual hour to be changing his bedclothes.”

“They… needed to be changed.”

Lucia sighed. “Has he overindulged himself in his cups tonight?”

“Quite so, your Grace.”

She thought for a moment. She could still feel Aemond’s seed spilling from her. 

After briefly thanking the maid she walked on, past the corridor that led to her own chambers and towards her husband’s.

Aegon’s room smelled sour, of spilled wine and vomit. She could taste it on her tongue as she breathed. A loud snore sounded from the bed. Aegon was sprawled on his front, his clothes discarded on the floor around the bed. 

The heels of her shoes clicked against the floor as she approached the bed, and he did not stir. She pulled back the covers on one side, and still, nothing.

She chewed on a piece of flesh in her mouth. Part of her thought she might regret this, but if it worked, she might never need to find herself in such a position again.

She undid her gown and removed her corset and shift, leaving them atop a chest by the window. The air was surprisingly warm against her bare skin.

With Aemond’s seed still spilling from her, she slipped into the bed, as far away from Aegon’s unconscious body as she could, though with his arm laying out it was difficult to avoid him. 

She lay there, eyes closed and limbs stiff, and waited for the morning to come.

By the time it did her eyes were sore and she felt as though she had not slept, but she must have fallen asleep at some point because the early light took her by surprise.

Someone needed to see her in order for this to work, either a maid, come to leave the Prince his breakfast, or Aegon himself.

By some miracle of the Gods, the snoring stopped, and his fingers drifted over the skin of her arm.

“Wife,” Aegon muttered into his pillow, “I don’t recall summoning you.”

“Have you considered your memory may be improved if you drank less?”

“I drink just the right amount,” he grumbled, falling onto his back and stretching his arms out in front of him. He rubbed at his eyes, then he stared at her. “Did I fuck you?”

She rolled her eyes and hauled herself from the bed, fully revealing her bare body and the stain in his sheets. That seemed to be enough, and he muttered a crude curse as she started to dress herself.

“Congratulations husband, it only took us five years.”

He would only need to be fooled once. 

As for Aemond she felt no need to deny her desires.

Their encounters in the library became stolen kisses hidden amongst the shelves. Rides into the Kingswood left her with swollen lips, tangled hair and bruises against her back. In every other aspect, their lives became a game, a hand on the small of her back as they walked through the gardens, whispers of sweet nothings as helped her practise her marksmanship, all to tease each other, to see how far they could push each other until one gave in.

They knew to avoid being seen alone after dark. Sometimes he visited her before breakfast, or else she would meet him in the training yard and walk back to his chambers with him. They often found themselves in more formal company, receptions, feasts, tourneys, and there was always a corner to stow away into, a brief moment for them to claim as their own.

Their familiarity did not raise any suspicion, as far as she could tell. Of the King’s children she had always cared less for Aegon than his siblings. Sometimes she thought the faces around her seemed to look at her a little curiously, but she and Aemond had already been friends for years and faced no scrutiny for it.

When she realised their efforts had become fruitful, Aemond was the first person she went to, breaking their usual rule of avoiding each other after dark. They sat together on a settee before the fire in his chambers, his arms around her as she leaned into his shoulder. 

“I’ll protect you,” he whispered, “both of you, until my last breath, whatever may come.”

The labour lasted days, but at the end of it came Jaehaerys.

The whispers of the court were quelled, the Hightowers at last seemed to view her as something more than an inconvenience, and the realm celebrated the birth of a new Prince. A Prince with silver hair and violet eyes, just like his father.

Aemond visited the nursery every day, sitting by the cradle, stroking his finger over the babe’s delicate skin, or simply looking over his face. He read to him too. Lucia laughed at the ridiculousness of Aemond bringing volumes of his philosophy books and reciting arguments of ethics and existence to an infant. But it had some kind of effect, Jaehaerys’ eyes would always go wide at the sound of his uncle’s voice.

Lucia entered the nursery one evening. Aemond was leaning back in an armchair, with Jaehaerys cradled into his chest, their lips both parted and their breaths, fluttering as they slept, in perfect unison. They looked so content and peaceful, her boys. 

Her fingers came to the Valyrian steel band around her ring finger and her heart sank. She had everything she wanted, her son, her Aemond, her position, and it all rested on a lie. 

Even with Aemond’s love and promise of protection, she had never felt so unsure of herself.

#aemond targaryen #aemond x original female character #aemond smut #aemond fanfiction #aemond x y/n #aemond x reader #aemond targaryen fanfic #aemond “pussy eater” targaryen #hotd fanfic #hotd fan fiction #hotd fanfiction #my fics

[azsazz]

Bloody Knuckles and the Songs of Death

Azriel x Reader

Summary: This lovely piece stemmed from me thinking about how SJM describes Azriel’s voice in the High Lord meeting as “cold death.” It got me thinking that if he’s cold death what if reader is warm death? She is the last hug someone receives before their soul is entrapped in death’s icy snare. She’s the last breath exiting someone’s lungs, the heat of the final exhale passing through their parted lips. She’s the heat of their blood as it spills through split skin and that warm hand cradling their hands as they bleed out.

Reader is everything that Azriel is not. Opposite feelings but equal death in the end.

AKA: Half a rewrite of chapters 43-47 of ACOWAR where reader is now there as part of the Autumn Court, excited to meet Azriel. The other half are my own ideas.

Warnings: Major themes of death, ACOWAR spoilers, blood, gore, mentions of abuse, smut.

Word Count: 1,987

Notes: Sorry about the long summary, but I felt it was necessary to help understand where this came from before reading it. Yes, this will be multiple parts :)

_________________________________________

The Vanserras are late. Undoubtedly and uncaringly late.

You don’t see why it matters, anyway. You certainly aren’t one to concern yourself with matters involved in other courts unless you’re asked. But when Eris had come to you with a request on behalf of the High Lord of the Autumn Court, to tag along to some High Lord’s meeting – the first in nearly three centuries – you could hardly contain the feral grin threatening to carve your face in two.

For you it is a chance to play.

The Vanserra family is silent as you’re escorted through the lavish halls of the Dawn Court.

It’s incredible, what you’ve seen so far, glimpses from the windows of the High Lord’s palace. Your first time to the solar court, and you drink in everything that you can. The cobalt sky tinged by the rosy pinks and creamy oranges, the remnants of sunrise long into the day, the edges of the low hanging clouds gilded with golden light. Dewey freshness lingers in the air, lush with the evocative scents of rain in the countryside, the weight of the summer nearly upon it.

Inhaling deeply, your eyelashes flutter as you listen to the clatter in the meeting room as you approach, your senses nearly overwhelmed by all of the different scents winding together. There’s the one you’re most familiar with, the crisp wind and singed spices of Autumn, but as you part your lips to taste the other aromas in the air, you pick out the subtle tinges of the rival courts: sandalwood and coconut oil from the Summer Court, seawater and clean clothes billowing in the breeze from Day. The overpowering perfume of vanilla that coats your throat thickly followed by the melancholic neutral cold breath that stings your lungs is most definitely the Winter Court.

And of course, the intoxicating night-chilled mist wafting from the Night Court fae, who sit up straighter in their chairs when you enter the room following Beron, his wife, and his sons.

But even sweeter than that, underneath all of the niche and savory odors, is the scent of life.

You see they’ve brought a whole committee, the Night Court. Unsurprising for their High Lord, who always has one of his pets do his bidding for him, not a wrinkle to be had to be put into his pressed suit if he had to help it. Why get all messy when he could have someone do it for him?

You. That is who you are to the Vanserras. Someone to torture and kill for information, just like his spymaster, minus the protective shadows hovering over his shoulders like warped darkness that follows you around at night, always watching and always listening.

The difference is…is that you love death.

You are death…in a way.

Just like him, who sits next to the cocksure commander of armies, behind his Lord and–Lady, you now realize as you catch sight of their clasped hands, the gleaming ring settled snugly around Feyre’s left ring finger, a matching one on Rhysand’s. 

Your gaze travels across them in an instant, and theirs over you. There’s a shift as they assess you, in line with Eris, following closely behind Beron and Amaretto. Perhaps they think you’re Eris’ mate. That would surely be something, you think. You can practically see the gears grinding in their minds as they scramble to figure out who you are, and you know it’s because no one has ever seen you before, Beron wouldn’t ever let someone close enough to recognize you. 

You recognize the familiar glazed look they get over their eyes when they speak into each other’s minds, and then there’s a caress of claws inside of your head, gentle at first, but a slash when it’s met with nothing but resistance, your walls reinforced over years of practice. It’s a warning, a scare tactic, but you are anything but intimidated by the Night Court High Lord and his comrades. 

You commit everything to memory in the quick once over you give, eyes eager to settle back upon the shadowisnger. The jeweled crown upon Feyre’s head, the female behind her with the near-matching facial structure. Lovely Mor is here, too, going stock still as her chocolatey gaze locks on Eris before she’s looking anywhere but.

Your mouth twitches into a wry smirk that the spymaster immediately zeroes in on, clenching his hands where they’re settled on his knees, his gaze fiery and his siphons flickering.

Azriel, the male who separates souls from bodies without so much as a grimace, a blink, a quiver to his perfectly straight lips.

He is breathtaking in more ways than one. The sharpness of his golden gaze as he glares at you from his seat, like he’s ready to wreak death upon you with those large, icy, massacred hands just itching to wrap around your warm throat, watch the light drain from your pretty eyes, the color empty from your lips, face, your body going slack in his grasp.

His wings. They look how you’d imagine an angel’s would, if they had betrayed the Mother and had been touched by flame, the delicate and purely white feathers singed and burnt from the skin and bones beneath, much like the pink and puckered scars adorning his fingers to his wrists.

The Reaper.

The Taker of Death.

But you are the Bringer of Death. The warmth of it all. The last hug one receives before the Reaper swoops their soul into his icy snare. You are the last breath exiting one’s lungs, the heat of that final exhale plating their parted lips. You’re the swelter of their blood as it spills through split skin and the burning one feels in their heart when they realize they’re in love and that searing in their stomachs when they feel sick.

You are everything that he is not. Opposites in feeling but equals in the end.

To you, death is a beautiful thing. Intriguing, evoking, fascinating. 

To Azriel, death is anything but. A finite solution to seek information. Routine and cold and inevitable and lonely.

The violence simmering off of the Night Court party as you enter through the archway is not new, their harsh stares a reminder that you need to be alert, on your game, not itching with intrigue about the male you’d heard so much about.

Autumn Court’s presence alone is enough to make the Peregryns feathers ruffle, the remaining sons sneering at the Court with the most strained ties. The Vanserra offspring are a rowdy bunch, you’ve known that for centuries, have often been on the other side of the leer Pyrolas sends to Cresseida, earning a flash of teeth in warning from Varian.

Beron doesn’t bother to check them. Perhaps he likes having most of the other courts dislike him, letting his kin do as they please like half-wild beasts.

But Eris cares, a sweet soul trapped in a tainted family, of that you know. He is the one you prefer, the most emotionally intelligent, even if only in private. Your best friend, the one you’d run to after a long day of working for his father, someone who understands and you trust with any secret, with your life.

“Enough,” Eris murmurs and his younger brothers finally fall into line. All three of them; Pyrolas, Oakland, and Foxe.

Beron stops halfway across the room, hands folded before him. Even from where you’re positioned behind you know that he’s scowling at the Night Court attendees like they’re a pack of mongrels.

He is the oldest here, and the most awful, something that you and all of the other Courts can agree on.

Rhysand greets the Vanserras smoothly, eyes drifting over you as if you aren’t even there, though you know that he’s seen a lot with that fluttering glance. His power is heavy in the air, a silent rumble that serves as a reminder of the magic coursing through his veins.

As if he’d ever let anyone forget it.

“It’s no surprise that you’re tardy, given that your own sons were too slow to catch my mate. I suppose it runs in the family.”

Beron’s lips curl slightly as he looks her over, at the onyx clad crown settled upon her head.

“Mate–and High Lady.”

You had to give it to Feyre. You’ve seen many balk from Beron’s hot stare more times than you can count, but she looks everything that Rhysand has just said, High Lady, as she sits in her chair as if she’s the one running all of the overinflated egos in the room, spine straight, chin high, and face neutral in the same way that Azriel’s is.

She turns her gaze to each of Beron’s sons. Eris smiles, amused and aloof before Feyre’s sharp gray eyes flicker to you.

If Eris is smiling, you’re practically glowing, eager to see where this meeting will go, if you’ll get to play or not. Your power thrums beneath your skin, a fervent buzz begging to be unleashed.

The red siphon-clad warrior watches Eris like a hawk studying its next meal. Eris deigns a glance at the Illyrian general and inclines his head in invitation, subtly patting his stomach. Ready for round two.

You stifle the urge to roll your eyes at your friend. He’d told you all about what had happened on that ice when he and his brothers were chasing the female they hadn’t known was the High Lady of the Night Court, animatedly telling you of the battle you wished you’d been there to witness, and grumbling through the parts of the story when the Illyrian had landed a hit on him as you dabbed at his wounds with a healing salve.

You’d even been there to hold him when he whispered so softly about his youngest brother that you were half sure he was delusional from blood loss or that you hadn’t even heard.

You cringe when Eris’ attention shifts to Mor, knowing all about what transpired between the two centuries ago. His caramel gaze sweeps over her with a disdain that makes Feyre’s eyes narrow in anger.

The blonde only stares blankly at him. Bored.

You bite back the twitch of your lips and notice Viviane doing the same.

So more than just a few of you know what had been done.

Azriel sits so still in his chair you aren’t sure the stone-faced male is even breathing as you sit in your chair to Eris’ left, settling into the plush cushion that faces the Night Court members.

Thesean, your Dawn Court host, begins. “Rhysand, you have called this meeting. Pushed us to gather sooner than we intended. Now would be the time to explain what is so urgent.”

Rhysand takes his time, blinking slowly before he responds, “Surely the invading armies landing on our shores explain enough.”

“So you have called us to do what, exactly?” Helion challenges, bracing his forearms on his muscled, gleaming thighs. “Raise a unified army?”

“Among other things,” Rhys says mildly, in a way that irks you. If he has such pressing matters then why isn’t he getting to the point? “We–”

His words falter as power crackles through the chamber. Everyone falls silent and the scent of spring prickles your nostrils, evading your senses as it sweeps through the room on a pollen-filled gust. Something about it is too sweet, too flowery, too potent, nearly choking you as the beast himself prowls in through the doors, later than your court had been.

Tamlin.

He enters the room alone, like a crack of lightning, winnowing into the chamber, gaze directed at Feyre, smiling like a wolf.

You and Eris share a glance, his face impassive, cool, but you catch the amusement glittering in his copper gaze, the slight curve of his mouth as the air drains from the room and the shields surrounding every High Lord and their courtiers locks into place.

#azriel x reader #azriel/reader #acowar #acotar #acomaf #acosf #azriel #azsazz

[empressofthesunwriter]

Yin and Yang

Balance is a key aspect in the world, so why shouldn’t the Avatar have an opposite?

In a world where Raava and Vaatu merge with humans, the Avatar and the Daimon try to keep the peace between the four nations.

Aang and Hua are the current incarnations, but wake up 100 years in the future.

How will these two learn all four elements in one year and defeat the Fire Lord?

Prologue

In the beginning, they were two spirits.

One of light and order.

The other of darkness and chaos.

Raava and Vaatu.

Looked into eternal combat.

Never a winner, only a short victory over the other.

No one, not even themselves, could imagine to exist in harmony together.

Then one day two humans touched the spirit's very essence.

A young man named Wan earned Raava's trust and loyalty, while a young woman named Qi saw more than evil in Vaatu, showing him kindness and compassion.

The Spirits fused with their chosen human, creating the first Avatar and Daimon.

Wan and Qi worked all their life to restore balance in the world.

They were Yin and Yang personified. 

When one pulled, the other pushed.

When one walked, the other followed.

When one lost their way, the other found them.

It was so simple to fall in love with each other.

The love born between Wan and Qi changed also the ancient spirits in them.

Something which seemed so impossible had come true.

No longer enemies, but allies, even friends.

In every lifetime after Wan and Qi, the Avatar and the Daimon were always the opposite of each other and often also lovers.

Each Avatar and Daimon together tried to bring balance between the Four Nations and the Spirit World.

It was their eternal quest, but they didn’t have to walk this way alone.

Because their other half would always be with them…

Frowning Aang looked at his mentor and guardian Monk Gyatso.

“What is it Aang?”, the elder man asked his young charge. “I know you aren’t happy with being the Avatar, but I hoped that you would feel better to know that there is another one like you. Someone who will understand you.”

Aang just frowned deeper, crossing his arms.

“I don’t like that I already have a supposed Soul Mate…It seems like I don’t have any control anymore over my life…It sucks being the Avatar.”

Gyatso tutted him gently, rubbing affectionately his bald head with the blue arrow.

“Oh my young pupil, it may be true that nearly all Avatars and Daimons were a couple, but there were a few who were just friends and completely happy with other people. You can decide if you like young Daimon Hua this way. Meet her and become her friend, more the Elders doesn’t want from you.”

The young Avatar nearly snorted at this. 

Yeah, right.

If it would go after the Elders he and the Daimon would be wed now.

At twelve years!

His childhood couldn’t end sooner for the Air Nomad elders.

He felt like crying.

He just wanted to play with his friends and goof off with Gyatso.

Was that too much?

Why did he have to be the Avatar?

“So her name is Hua, huh?”, he mumbled loudly enough, so his mentor could hear him. “Flower for an Earth Kingdom girl seems fitting. She is an Earthbender right?”

“Right, the Daimon Cyle is the opposite of the Avatar’s. Together you two will learn the four elements to become a fully realized Avatar and Daimon.”

The boy signed loudly and slouched down in his seat.

“I don’t think I will like someone who is my opposite, I mean, she probably doesn’t like to make jokes or play pranks.”

“Don’t be so sure Aang.”, said Gyatso amused. “You know opposites attract, but having things in common is good too. Just give her a chance, alright?”

***

In the Lower Ring of Ba Sing Se, the newly informed Daimon Hua hugs her mother, father and little brother tightly.

She wants to cry, to scream, to beg.

She wants to stay home.

She doesn’t want to be the Daimon.

All her life she and her family had struggled to make a living in Ba Sing Se.

Hua had used her Earthbending from a young age in any way to earn money for her family.

And now she would be stripped from them, brought before the Avatar of this era, and expected to work with him (even to fall in love with him!) and also to learn all the elements and somehow bring balance and peace to this world.

No, she doesn’t want to, but she knows it’s good for her family.

If in Ba Sing Se the Daimon or Avatar is born and comes from the Lower Rings their family then gets raised into the Upper Rings and becomes a noble family.

Something an Earth King some hundred years ago decided to make the city look good in the eyes of the other nations.

No peasant from Ba Sing Se should be a Daimon or Avatar. 

Yes, her family wouldn’t be anymore, hungry, cold or sick. They would be getting taken care of.

Only Hua had to pay with her freedom, with the power to decide her own faith.

It was unfair.

Why her?

She only ever wished for a simple good life.

She wasn’t greedy.

So why her?

Why her?

She kisses her brother's forehead, promising him to write as much as she can.

Somehow deep down Hua feels like this is the last time she will be with her family…

Water. 

Earth. 

Fire. 

Air. 

My grandmother used to tell me stories about the old days: a time of peace when the Avatar and the Daimon kept the balance between the Water Tribes, Earth Kingdom, Fire Nation and Air Nomads. 

But that all changed when the Fire Nation attacked. 

Only the Avatar and the Daimon mastered all four elements; only they could stop the ruthless firebenders. 

But when the world needed them most, they vanished. 

A hundred years have passed, and the Fire Nation is nearing victory in the war. 

Two years ago, my father and the men of my tribe journeyed to the Earth Kingdom to help fight against the Fire Nation, leaving me and my brother to look after our tribe. 

Some people believe that the Avatar was never reborn into the Air Nomads and that the Daimon was never reborn into the Earth Kingdom and the cycles are broken, but I haven't lost hope.

I still believe that, somehow, the Avatar and the Daimon will return to save the world.

Next

#own character #ocs #ao3 writer #fanfic writing #avatar the last airbender #aang #sokka #katara #toph beifong #zuko #suki #zutara #sukki #aang x oc

[saintmurd0ck]

congrats on reaching 500 followers 💕😄 i’m so happy for you babes ! i absolutely love the way you write these characters you never fail to fill them with life :D so for your 500 party, how about some tremendously tooth rotting fluff with frank castle......maybe winning you something at a local fair 🏃‍♀️this rotates through my brain daily LORD ssjkssjsj - 🌖 anon

hello to you my sweet, very first emoji anon!!! i feel incredibly honoured to have reached this point in my tumblr journey lmao. thank you so much for your kind words, i really needed them today &lt;3

i hope you enjoy my love!

check out my 500 sleepover!

fluff headcanons | going to the local fair with frank

a date at the local fair is an annual tradition for you and frank. it started off before you two had started dating, when had just begun to start seeing each other. it was your idea; to take the tall, broody, dark-gazed man to the carnival, to see a different side of him, to see him finally let loose.

to your surprise (and relief!) he said yes, and well, the rest is history!

as our resident marksman, frank castle demolishes any type of shooting game. it gets to the point where the carnival attendants have to tell him to move on, because he's won you so many stuffed animals of all shapes and sizes you look like a walking petting zoo.

frank jumps at any opportunity to win you anything, but he especially loves it when you touch his arm gently, a gesture for him to step back, while you take over and return the favour. you struggle in your stance a little, aiming for those little ducks way in the back, so frank comes up behind you, hands gliding over yours to adjust your grip. he brushes your hair, tucking it behind your ear, before whispering. "you ready, darlin'?"

the flurry of butterflies deep within you are already in motion, but the way his voice is low and husky in your ear... mentally, you've fallen to your knees.

frank looks so proud of you as you win him something little. it's a keychain, a dastardly piece of plastic, but it's one of those where you can slot in a tiny picture, so you have some sort of memento with you at all times. frank chuckles as he pulls out his wallet and his keys, effortlessly sliding the keychain on, digging through the bills to find his favourite picture of you; one he carries with him always. it's a cropped picture of the two of you at your first carnival, smiling in the photobooth, cotton candy in hand.

the next thing you want to try is the face painting. frank grumbles a little, knowing you're dragging him by the hand because you want him to get something with you, but he sits in the chair, reluctantly, letting you pick whatever you want. he rolls his eyes at the pink butterfly on the side of his face, loud and brazen on his cheek, little viney tendrils of face-framing paint curling up his cheekbones. he smiles anyway; he would do anything for you.

.

seeing frank go through a haunted house is something you'd like to cherish for the rest of your days. frank 'the punisher' castle, who's over six feet tall, muscly as all hell, being absolutely fucking terrified. he doesn't hold back on the curses flying from his mouth, but he reels in every single instinct he has not to hit at whatever the fuck jumps out at him. he holds you close to him after, looking you in the eyes.

"i'm never fuckin' doin' that again."

.

last but not least, as you're getting ready to leave the fair, something catches your eye, and you begin to steer frank in the opposite direction, trying to distract him with whatever lies ahead. he knows something is up, so tenses his body, trying to figure out what's up.

in his defiance, his eyes meet something in the background, ears getting a hold of that obnoxiously cheery music, the flashing lights pulsating much too strongly.

it's a merry-go-round.

for as long as you've been together, and for as long as you've gone to the local fair, you've tried your hardest to avoid that attraction, knowing full well of its significance in frank's life.

you watch intently as his nostrils flare and jaw tenses, suddenly gripped by a stark reminder of his past.

but he doesn't say anything. just grabs a hold of you, bringing your face into his shirt, hand stroking the back of your head. you feel his lips press into the crown of your head, the whirl of emotions he's experiencing conveyed in one simple gesture.

he pulls away, the expression on his face forlorn, but you see the ghost of a smile dance across his lips. his fingers interlace in yours, and his grip on your hand tightens as you see him reminiscing... reflecting on that fateful day.

he begins to walk, but in the direction of the merry-go-round.

you're a little confused, and you jerk his arm, stopping him in his tracks. "frank, we don't have to go there. we can go anywhere but there."

he shakes his head, letting out the tiniest of laughs. "i wanna go, sweetheart. s'that okay with you?"

"okay with me? of course frank, i'm just worried about you."

"nah baby," he chuckles, "don't worry about me, okay? this'll be good. for me, for us." he kisses your cheek. "s'time to make some new memories, alright?"

he looks up at the sky, vast expanse of twinkling stars beautiful as they reflect in his irises.

then, he looks at you, and then a little past your shoulder, as if to stare at his family, at maria, lisa and frank jr. with misty eyes, his gaze meets yours again. "new memories, with you."

#frank castle #the punisher #frank castle imagine #frank castle x reader #frank castle fluff #the punisher fluff #frank castle headcanon #the punisher imagine #saintmurd0ck 500 milestone celebration #x reader #🌖 anon #rhi writes 💻 #light side of the moon anon

[outofangband]

(Updated) Captivity of Maedhros Extended Musings, Part Two

Part two of this!

Angband World Building and Aftermath of Captivity Masterlist

I tried not to ramble too much about my world building especially where I already have done that, I did link a few posts, but as always please feel free to ask questions it’s one of my favorite topics

Nelyafinwë Maitimo is brought to a smaller chamber with a low stone table set into the ground itself. The two orcs who position him in a smooth seat with his arms bound delicately upon each side act as a mockery of attendants to the high king, their movements exaggerated.  The elf is frazzled, exhausted and starved but not nearly so much that his eyes do not narrow at this, that he does not stiffen at this little joke at his expense.

Maitimo is not trusted to behave. He has been beaten, whipped, and denied water over the course of several days but he is still defiant to the point of a nearbsuicidal recklessness.

The Vala sits opposite to him, long fingers poised together in a mocking contemplation.

“Should we parlay as planned, my little failed king?”

A comment is made on the skills of Fëanor with his words and is Melkor going to be blessed with some of this legendary talent? Has his eldest son has inherited much of the great orator’s abilities?

Deprived of proper sleep and nutrients, the voice of Maitimo is hoarse, his replies are curt and cold and he cannot stop the tremble in his hands as he is fixed with the terrible, almost hypnotic gaze of the Dark Lord, made worse of course by the crown he is wearing.

(In the first set of extended musings I talk about how Maedhros feels seeing the Silmarils, being so horrifically close yet at the same time farther than ever from fulfilling the Oath. So I won’t ramble on it too much here other than to say that Melkor finds this little predicament incredibly amusing.)

The first time the burnt hand of Morgoth grips Maitimo’s throat and shoves him against the wall, the sound of chains rattling around the room and the light causing Maedhros’s eyes to water after only twelve or so hours in the darkness. The momentary victory Maedhros had felt from getting a rise out of the Dark Vala fades away to terror when he sees glittering eyes and sharp teeth and feels the primordial power he’s trapped in. Moringotto’s touch lingers on his skin long after he is released and slumps to the ground, gasping for breath. Melkor observes him coolly before ordering him to be taken back to his cell until he is called for again. The order is of course given in a language that Maedhros has little to no knowledge of and it’s quite frightening to not know what’s being said of your fate.

He’s alone in his cell again, wearing rags, if anything, dark bruises forming on his neck and unable to forget the feeling of that hand.

(Then of course he will learn that Morgoth’s true cruelty often came when he could momentarily act in ways not immediately destructive or violent but that comes later.)

The first meeting with the Lieutenant is brief. The Maia has not been given particular orders as to the prized Noldo’s treatment other than that he is important to Melkor’s…plans. Mairon too has projects he intends to use an elf of such a rich bloodline and heritage in. He’s a scientist and sorcerer and business will come before pleasure. Curiosity gets the better of him however. He stalks through the more isolated stretch of the dungeons where Maedhros is being held. Spends several minutes simply lurking in the shadows. Perhaps Maedhros glimpses a spark in the gloom beyond the barred doors. Perhaps he was left in a cell with barred doors for this purpose And so other dark creatures could taunt and harass him.

Which of course they do. The high king of the Noldor is quite a spectacle and though there are strict orders regarding his treatment (not, you understand, out of kindness or mercy but because Melkor is quite possessive of what he sees as his trophy, stolen from Fëanáro like he did the Silmarils)

Orcs and balrogs come by to throw taunts at him. Even Gothmog himself is not above gloating or worse. Laughing as Maedhros makes a move towards the barred door as though an animal provoked into violence.

Humiliating the captured king is a favorite hobby of several of the guards and servants of the fortress and it takes some time before Maedhros, stubborn like his father, gets a hold of his temper and his pride and stops rising to the bait. Which he is pleased to learn often infuriates his tormentors more when they get no reaction.

The pride and will of the Noldor is quite amusing to poke at and their High King is a particularly delightful example.

The Maia approaches, fair formed and glowing, one of the brightest points in this dark place and Maedhros is filled with profound dread.  He has perhaps heard stories of the former prodigy of Aulë who is now the lieutenant of Angband and mastermind behind some of the most horrific of projects cooked up in the fortress. Perhaps he has only heard whispers and rumors. He does not know what to expect.

Mairon’s initial meeting with Maedhros is almost like a viewing of a particularly useful material before it is bought. He is not harmed, perhaps not even touched beyond light manipulations of his limbs so the Maia can see from all angles. Scrutinized. Perhaps dark hints are made of the uses that the sorcerer has for such a specimen. How would a Noldo of noble birth survive the conditions and procedures that the Lieutenant has in mind. So many horrific experiments I, the writer, have.

Perhaps he is held still by whispered words of a spell, perhaps it is merely the terror that holds him there.

It is relatively early on he is given his first symbol of imprisonment. The first brand is not the one all captives receive, rather some archaic symbol of evil that Melkor has claimed for himself, as well as the one that Sauron inflicts upon all captive elves for organizational purposes. . Then there is an iron collar that will mark his skin long after it is removed for the last time, as do the manacles so often on his wrists and ankles. The collar is not worn by all captive elves, for those who slave in the mines and caves there is of course the risk they will use it in suicide attempts.

For Maedhros it is primarily to make the process of dragging him from place to place, torment to torment easier and of course it is also for humiliation, the proud king of the Noldor, collared like an unruly hound.

The branding of such an important prisoner is entertainment for some of the crueler servants.

Later he will receive more; the star of his father’s house, the word kinslayer in more than one tongue (author’s note: two fics about this are posted!), the crown of Stolen jewels and more, all etched, carved or burned into his skin.

But this will come later. For now, he is marked as all thralls are with an additional marking to indicate that his fate and treatment is under the direct control of Melkor.

#the silmarillion #maedhros #morgoth #melkor #Sauron #Mairon #short writings #musing and meta #in the iron hell

[riverxsong-ao3]

Vitae Redux / Book 1: Horcruxes

Chapter 2 Snippet

Lord Voldemort floated, insensate, for what seemed like hours, years, seconds, fleeting moments, decades. There was nothing here, just fear and dark and cold. This was death. His Horcruxes had failed, and he was dead. He had been right – all those fanciful stories about moving to a new plane of existence and understanding, meeting your loved ones again, being reborn to start anew, they were nothing more than fairy tales. Death was endless, indescribable loneliness. And yet… there was something – a light, perhaps, or a warmth. He reached toward it, craving something, anything other than this bleak existence.

And then he opened his eyes. 

The moment before his death and the moment of his rebirth came crashing together, like two walls that should have forever remained upright and apart being pulled against one another in a terrible, ground-rending earthquake. The void was gone – it had never even been, even if he could still feel the tendrils of memory surrounding him. He wasn’t dead, he was alive, on his back, staring up at an endless sky through the broken beams of the house he had entered with the intent of killing his prophesied nemesis.

The next several hours were a blur – the giant oaf, Rubeus, came inexplicably to scoop him from where he lay and fly him off into the night to the Leaky Cauldron, where several dozen people oohed and aahed over him. It made no sense, these were his enemies – they should be cursing him into the ground, but instead they cooed at him as if he were some great victor. He struggled against Rubeus’ grip, but could barely move in his massive arms. He wasn’t sure he could move at all, if he were honest with himself.

Then, after a day of sitting up with Rubeus in a spare room at the Cauldron, intermittently having strange, mushy foods popped into his mouth (which opened against his wishes, he began to notice), the man scooped him up again and before he knew it, they were flying off into the night once more. They landed at last on a street of row houses – almost certainly Muggle, as there was not even a tingle of magic in the air. This was just as confusing as all of the day's events, he pondered, looking out across the identical units under heavily lidded eyes – why bring him here, of all places, to a Muggle-infested suburb where he would almost certainly rain down death and destruction?

But as Rubeus carried him, he realised suddenly just how very small he was. Of course the half-giant dwarfed him, but this was different. And hadn’t he seen his own hands, reaching out eagerly and unbidden as the man spoon-fed him? Those weren’t his hands, those were the hands of a child – of a baby. Had he been wrong about death? Had he been reborn, a new life in a new world, with new purpose? Why then couldn’t he seem to move of his own volition? Why was he, apparently, a passenger within his own body?

The answer came tantalisingly close as he saw Albus Dumbledore and a vaguely familiar woman – another professor at Hogwarts, he thought, maybe a member of the Order – bending over him, looking rather sad and worried. Whoever he had become, he was someone important to them – to his opposition. But they fretted over a scar on his forehead, not who he was, not who he had been. 

And then, Rubeus, in what was not his finest hour (if he had ever had one) nearly smothered him with what Voldemort supposed was meant to be a kiss goodbye, and broke into a wordless howl. It was rather annoying to see that the boy who had wailed over the loss of his pet Acromantula felt the same way, apparently, about him. Voldemort did not want to be cared about by the half-giant, he wanted the man to revile him, as he did him. But then Rubeus said something that revealed the horrible truth.

“...And poor little Harry, off ter live with Muggles!”

This was not his body. He was not reborn. He was not Lord Voldemort. He was a mere fragment of soul, the one he had intended to syphon off into a Horcrux after Harry’s murder, somehow rent asunder and attaching himself to the child’s own soul after something had gone terribly wrong. Hadn’t he heard those at the Leaky Cauldron giddily discuss something about “defeat” and “freedom” and “an end to He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named?” Yes, Harry was his Horcrux, he was his prisoner, and Voldemort was… gone.

Not-Voldemort dove back into the void, fleeing from his captor, seeking that strange beacon of warmth and light.

To be updated later today

#tomarry #tom riddle #voldemort #harrymort #harry potter #fanfiction

[yhwhrulz]

Worthy Brief - August 8, 2022

Stand in faith, receive your inheritance!

Numbers 14:6-11 But Joshua the son of Nun and Caleb the son of Jephunneh, who were among those who had spied out the land, tore their clothes; and they spoke to all the congregation of the children of Israel, saying: "The land we passed through to spy out is an exceedingly good land. If the Lord delights in us, then He will bring us into this land and give it to us, 'a land which flows with milk and honey.' Only do not rebel against the Lord, nor fear the people of the land, for they are our bread; their protection has departed from them, and the Lord is with us. Do not fear them." And all the congregation said to stone them with stones. Now the glory of the Lord appeared in the tabernacle of meeting before all the children of Israel. Then the Lord said to Moses: "How long will these people reject Me? And how long will they not believe Me, with all the signs which I have performed among them?

26-30 And the Lord spoke to Moses and to Aaron, saying, "How long shall this wicked congregation grumble against me? I have heard the grumblings of the people of Israel, which they grumble against me. 28 Say to them, 'As I live, declares the Lord, what you have said in my hearing I will do to you: your dead bodies shall fall in this wilderness, and of all your number, listed in the census from twenty years old and upwards, who have grumbled against me, not one shall come into the land where I swore that I would make you dwell, except Caleb the son of Jephunneh and Joshua the son of Nun.

As hundreds of rockets were launched from Gaza this past Saturday night, Jews worldwide observed Tisha B'Av. Many ominous events mark this particular day in Jewish history. On this day, the first and the second Temple were destroyed. Jews were expelled out of England, France, and Spain in different years on this very day. But this day of infamy was initially marked when 10 of the 12 spies came back and gave a bad report of the land. When the twelve spies returned from spying out the promised land, only Joshua and Caleb gave a good report, saying the land was full of milk and honey. They believed the promise of God so emphatically that they tore their clothes and implored the children of Israel, saying, "the Lord is with us, do not fear them!" Israel's reaction was unbelievably severe. They were ready to STONE the faithful spies!

It is unquestionable that the report of the other 10 spies was terrifying, and that it had spread fear throughout the camp. But let's consider a lesson from this event! Would the faith of two witnesses stand against the overwhelming majority? How often has the voice of the majority, with all of its "common sense" stood as a consensus against your "crazy" faith? What kinds of attacks and threats have you received for standing on the Lord's word or promise or simply for believing in His salvation? In these days as the darkness deepens, our light will shine more brightly, but it may also seem that our stand of faith makes less common sense than ever, and will bring severe opposition against us!

Joshua and Caleb stood firm, and it's wonderful to see how even the most vicious threats could not affect their position of trust. And we know how the Lord rewarded them. These two men became the only ones from their generation to enter the promised land.

Test the word that God has given you; be as sure as you can that He has spoken it, just as Joshua and Caleb were concerning the Lord's promise of Canaan. When the opposition arises, and it will; when the threats are severe, and they may be, remember that the majority against you with all its fear and "common sense" will not receive the reward of faith, but will lose its inheritance… while you will please the Lord and receive yours in full.

Your family in the Lord with much agape love,

George, Baht Rivka, Elianna & Obadiah Dallas, Texas

We are planning our Fall Tour so if you would like us to minister at your congregation, home fellowship, or Israel focused event, be sure to let us know ASAP. You can send an email to george [ @ ] worthyministries.com for more information.

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[kpopfanfictrash]

Ember Burning (M)

Author: kpopfanfictrash

Creative Contributor: @baebae-goodnight​ for this MOODBOARD WOO!

Pairing: Jungkook / Reader

Rating: 18+

Genre: Fantasy / Dragon / Enemies to Lovers

Synopsis:  The dragon riders of Duret Ghal are known across the continent; fierce warriors who take to the skies on their leashed, winged beasts. You are the last Dragon Queen of Ashya, ruler of a dying species who can transform from human to Dragon at will. When a new foe emerges which threatens both Dragon and rider alike, you find yourself forced to broker peace with your former enemy. The King of Duret Ghal, and a dragon rider himself: Jeon Jungkook.

NSFW Warnings: oral (male and female), nipple play, fingering, multiple orgasms, big cock, dirty talk, hair pulling (her to him).... tattooed, man-bun jungkook who has a big sword

Trigger Warnings: somewhat graphic depiction of a shoulder injury  

Word Count: 36,079

Soaring through azure-colored sky, golden wheat fields spread out below, you could almost convince yourself duty did not exist. It was easy to pretend while disconnected from the ground – flight broke the strings which bound you to all mortal beings. You ceased to be of flesh and bone and instead became one with the air, the wind, and the wildness of flame in your throat.

The Thadal mountain range loomed ahead, its jagged peaks piercing the sky. Idly, you wondered if they truly did. Legends said Natal, who had created the world and everything in it, formed the Thadal range last of all. Exhausted by the sheer effort of creation, her hand had slipped, causing the tallest of peaks to rise higher than planned. This ripped a hole in the veil which guarded this world from the next and before Natal could fix it, magic slipped through.

It had been the dragons who slumbered in the mountains’ highest peaks who received this blessing.

Dipping a wing, you wheeled about in the air. With the sun at your back, you surveyed the splendor of your realm laid beneath you.

Ashya, land of the Dragons – of which you were Queen.

Stifling the sigh which rose at the thought, you turned from the furthest rim of the world and began the flight home. A return to duty, to obligation and to your human form, as well as the conflict which loomed on the horizon. Not to mention the sleeping King within your castle walls.

Each of these weighed upon your shoulders, replacing the freedom you’d felt in the air. As you shifted to human, donned a gown, and entered the castle, the sun had barely risen above the lip of the world.

And your true day was only beginning.

From the thunderous expression on Park Jimin’s face, it was clear you needed to do something, and quickly.

Your choices were either to interject and stop a second war from breaking out at your table or sit back and watch while King Jungkook was pummeled into the ground by the esteemed commander of your armed forces.

Admittedly, the second option was tempting. You would so dearly love to watch the crown knocked from King Jungkook’s perfect tresses, but pettiness was unbecoming when far greater evil lurked on the horizon.

With a wave of your hand, you signaled Jimin to sit back.

The remark which had so enflamed your commander came from one of Jungkook’s advisors, a Lord Kim Seokjin you’d only met once prior. He had insinuated, in so many words, the power of your kind was nothing more than a parlor trick. Something to be taken out at parties, but incapable of truly defending your realm.

Jimin’s steely gaze remained fixed on the Lord, a thin line of steam rising from the seat where he sat. It was never wise to anger a Dragon, especially not a renowned fighter like Jimin. There was a reason he’d been named the youngest commander in over a century, and it was only partly because your people had dwindled in size since the last Dragon War.

The Dragon Wars were the reason it was truly remarkable for you to sit in the same room as King Jeon Jungkook at all. Only a hundred years had passed – barely a blink, in the grand scheme of things – since your nations had been labeled bitter enemies.

Duret Ghal, Jeon Jungkook’s nation, was home to the fierce dragon riders. Warriors who tamed the dull, vicious beasts of the mountains and rode them into battle. Their riders were human, although they fancied themselves important because they dared to treat dragons – albeit a less intelligent kind than your own – as glorified steeds.

You, on the other hand, were a Dragon.

Not one like what King Jungkook rode into battle. Duret Ghal bonded with dragons, mere animals ungifted by magic and unable to transform into humans. You were a Dragon, descended from the first magical beings blessed by the veil. Those who had shifted to the flesh of their enemy to defeat humans on their own terms.

At will, you could shift from human to Dragon with barely a thought. Beneath your smooth, human exterior lurked the scales of a dragon, and Lord Seokjin would do well to remember this while he sat at your table.

Tilting your head, you looked his way. “Would you care to repeat yourself, Lord Seokjin? The way you phrased your objection just now made it sound as though you were doubting my people.”

Although Lord Seokjin hesitated, he met your gaze. This surprised you. Few humans had the courage to look a grown Dragon in the eyes. You were well-aware of the rumors which plagued your people.

Some insisted Dragons held power beyond that of humans. This was untrue, of course. Aside from their shifting, Dragons could not use magic. It was only the offspring of a Dragon and human who could wield magic, often called gifts.

Then there was the rumor Dragons retained scales in places best left unmentioned when they transformed into humans – also untrue. Once you became human, you were nearly indistinguishable from your more stagnant counterparts. The main differences were your skin, which ran hotter, the occasional steam from your lips and hidden embers which flickered in the depths of your gaze.

Your unusual eyes were likely the source of the third rumor. Looking a grown Dragon in the eyes would result in paralysis, or worse. This was also untrue, although you liked to encourage it all the same.

It made meeting human dignitaries much more amusing.

“I am not saying Dragons are not fierce,” Seokjin said, backtracking a little. “Merely observing your numbers have diminished since the last Dragon War. Without Duret Ghal’s riders, you would be at a disadvantage against the Mor Empire.”

To this, you had no response because Lord Seokjin was right. He had easily identified your current problem – Mor continued to press upon your southern border, and there were not enough Dragons left in Ashya to defend it much longer.

To your right, Jimin scowled, knowing the truth to this as well.

It was the main reason you’d decided to meet with King Jungkook at all. The reason you considered entering an alliance with a country who’d once been considered your enemy. The Empire of Mor, a nation of humans, had recently decided to rid themselves of all dragons.

This declaration placed both your nation, Ashya, and Jungkook’s at risk.

Ashya, since you were Dragons and Duret Ghal because they rode them. The Mor Empire was led by Emperor Cyan, whose quest for dominance had consumed him since he was a child. His Empire had already gobbled up the quiet Kingdom of Mica to the west and Kindare, to the south. Now he’d set his eyes on the northern wilds.

His largest obstacle to this was the dragons. Few human soldiers could keep from shitting their pants when a great, winged beast breathing fire rose above their ranks. Ironically enough, the sole reason the Mor Empire stood a chance was because the number of Dragons had greatly diminished over the centuries.

There were two main reasons for this.

The first were the Dragon Wars – centuries of bloody conflict between Ashya and Duret Ghal. During this period, dragon riders had fought Dragons for control of the northern border. The wars had caused untold damage on both sides until a truce had been called to save you from destruction.

The second reason for your diminishing numbers were the humans themselves. In order for a true Dragon to be born, two Dragons needed to mate and continue to bloodline. When a Dragon mated with a human, the resulting child was human. Occasionally, this child was blessed with a magical gift, but not always – and they could not shift into Dragon form. Over the years, your kind had mingled with humans until there were few Dragons left.

Hence the need to align yourself with your greatest foe to protect both your people and his. You needed numbers, which Jungkook had. Emperor Cyan had declared war against all northern realms. Only the might of riders and Dragons together stood a chance against him.

It was a mission of fools though, made even more evident by the blatant ill-will around the table. Releasing a sigh, you glanced to where your most trusted advisor, Min Yoongi, was seated on your right.

Min Yoongi was not a Dragon, but a human born with a gift. He could read the emotions of those in the room and determine whether they told the truth. It was magic he’d inherited from his Dragon mother and had come in handy many times during the negotiations.

Subtle, Yoongi nodded.

You managed to stop a second sigh from escaping. It seemed Lord Seokjin was telling the truth. He truly did respect the Dragons, which made his second statement all the more troubling. It would have been easier had he hated you.

“We may be at a disadvantage without Duret Ghal,” you admitted. “But you are equally disadvantaged without Ashya. If our realm were to fall, Mor would come for you next.”

“We could have this same argument for hours, Your Majesty,” Jungkook drawled, speaking up for the first time. “And we have. I grow tired of this stalemate. What are the terms you require to sign the treaty?”

Jaw tight, your gaze shifted to the King seated opposite. Jungkook stared back at you, his gaze dark and lidded in the flickering light of the fire.

Jeon Jungkook was a young ruler, like yourself, but while your transition of power had been relatively peaceful, his had been anything but.

The former King and Queen of Duret Ghal had been slain by his Uncle, Lord Vonner, when Jungkook was only eighteen. Duret Ghal had been close to signing a treaty with Ashya at the time. In said treaty, your hand in marriage had been promised to Jungkook in exchange for unified lands.

Obviously, opposition had existed on both sides of the treaty, but things had not turned violent until Lord Vonner. He’d risen against his sister and brother-in-law, killing them both in their sleep and claiming the throne. At the same time, he had sent assassins to your land and attempted to kill your parents.

He’d only succeeded in killing your mother.

The blood of Lord Vonner’s actions had ended your betrothal, throwing your lands into chaos while your father roared his revenge. It was only once Jungkook had usurped and executed his Uncle that your land had tentatively agreed not to retaliate in force.

This had taken place nearly ten years ago, and still Jungkook was not yet thirty years of age. His youthfulness was apparent everywhere but his eyes. These had been hardened, darkened by all he had seen and done.

Looking at him now, it was difficult to place the boy you had once known.

“Use of your ports,” you answered. “Free travel for Ashyan merchants along the roads to said ports, and then usage without the current fees.”

Lord Seokjin chuckled. “You must be mad.”

A low growl left Jimin’s throat – a warning. “How ironic to hear you speak of sanity, Lord Seokjin,” he said. “When you dare to insult the Queen of Ashya within her castle walls.”

Holding up at hand, you bade Jimin to cease.

Jimin was even younger than you were, and twice as hot-headed. Admittedly, he had good reason to despise Duret Ghal. His father had been killed in a skirmish on the northern border when he was barely twelve. There was a subset of Ghalians who despised the humans who dared to love Dragons. When a Ghalian woman had fled, seeking the protection of Ashya at the northern border, a mob had fought your soldiers and Jimin’s father had died.

Still, Jimin needed to remember you had a job to do. As your commander, he was well-aware of the weakened state of your armed forces. The treaty between Ashya and Duret Ghal needed to happen in whatever way possible.

Ignoring the interaction, Jungkook merely raised a brow. “No fees?”

Although his voice remained calm, a hint of steel lay beneath the silken words. You could hear it plainly, as did Yoongi based on the way he stiffened.

“No fees,” you repeated.

Jungkook exchanged a glance with Seokjin.

“It is not possible,” he said at last. “Our nation’s ports remain the primary source of income for many Ghalians. Now that Mor has conquered Kindare, they have free access to their ports and fail to use ours. It is only the revenue from Ashya which keeps up afloat.”

“I do not ask you to forsake all payments. Merely those from Ashya.”

Jungkook’s teeth flashed in what might have been a smile but came off as a grimace.

“Ashya provides half the sales at my docks,” he informed you. “By granting your nation free trade, you cut my people’s livelihood in half.”

Somewhat chastised by this, you sat back in your seat. You had not realized Duret Ghal’s economic outlook was so dire.

When Ashya had been a land of only Dragons, the fact you were landlocked had not been a problem. You could simply fly where you wanted and take whatever with. Now though, Ashya had more humans than Dragons and you were forced to find more accommodating solutions.

Ashyan craftspeople were famed for their metalwork, in addition to textiles, but such trade would be useless without people to buy and places to sell. For years, Duret Ghal had steadily increased their tariffs, which in turn had steadily crippled your people.

Returning to Jungkook, you clenched your jaw. “And what would we need to give Duret Ghal in order for our demand to be met?”

The corner of his lip curled.

In this singular motion, you were reminded of Jungkook’s somewhat brutal reputation. After the coup of his Uncle, rumor had it Jungkook had been bloodthirsty in his quest for revenge. Lord Vonner had been put to death in the main square of their capital city, roasted alive by Jungkook’s dragon, Nemrys.

You had not faulted him for this at the time, having also lost people at the hands of Lord Vonner. It was hard to imagine the type of pain Jungkook had gone through, losing both his parents and his throne in a single blow. Despite your understanding, you knew some had disapproved. They’d whispered amongst themselves the King had lost a better part of himself on that day.

“Shares in your mines,” Jungkook said in answer to your question. “Given the current situation with Mor, we’ve had difficulty collecting on some of our foreign loans. A fifty percent share in Ashya’s mines would ease our cash flow problems.”

Your lips tightened in response.

Jungkook had managed to touch upon Ashya’s main source of riches, and a large reason for the previous century’s Dragon Wars. Much of the Thadal range fell within your borders, meaning you owned the majority of gemstones on the continent. It meant little without Duret Ghal’s port cities, however. Mor had ceased trading with Ashyan merchants long ago.

Still, it pained you to grant Jungkook access to your most coveted resource. Everything in your nature – Dragon and otherwise – went against it, but sacrifices must be made for the greater good. You’d entered these negotiations aware this might happen. Another advisor, Lord Kim Namjoon, had warned you of it beforehand and yet, you had hoped.

If you did not find a compromise soon though, Mor would overtake you and the point would be moot.

“Ten percent,” you said at last, lifting your chin.

Jungkook’s eyes gleamed. “Forty.”

“Fifteen.”

“Twenty-five.”

“Twenty.”

Jungkook paused, then glanced at Seokjin for counsel. Bending close to the table, Seokjin scribbled something on a piece of paper and sighed. Looking at Jungkook, he nodded.

“Twenty,” Jungkook said, facing you.

You nodded, but before Jungkook could get too cocky, you held up a hand.

“In return,” you said. “All fees will be waived on Ashyan merchants.”

Jungkook stilled, a lone muscle ticking in his jaw. “I can lower the tariff to a flat rate of two and a half percent, but no more.”

The current tariffs on Ashyan merchants ranged from three to eight percent. Two and a half would benefit all Ashyan merchants, but you were uncertain if Jungkook had more to give. Possibly he was low-balling you, unwilling to show all his cards at once.

Glancing at Yoongi, you watched him slowly shake his head. No, the King was not lying.

Blinking, you returned to Jungkook. You had not expected him to show his hand so quickly. Perhaps he also tired of these negotiations. Gaze narrowed, you attempted to read the young King at the other end of the table.

His face remained blank, as inscrutable as your own. A shiver of something traveled down your spine, although you quickly pushed this away.

“We can accept this,” you said.

Jungkook nodded. “Then we are in agreement.”

Pushing your chair back, you stood from the table. “I think we have made enough progress for today. Lord Namjoon will draw up revisions for the treaty.”

Lord Namjoon nodded, near the center of the table. He was also a Dragon, although he rarely saw battle. Namjoon’s talents lay elsewhere, mainly in crafting legislation which aimed to avoid war in the first place. You could not afford to lose a mind like his to some border skirmish.

As you turned around, the skirts of your gown swept the floor. You’d nearly made it to the door when a firm hand caught your arm.

“A moment, Your Majesty,” Jungkook said, his voice low.

Going utterly still, your gaze shifted to his hand on your sleeve. Glancing up, you wished you truly had the power to turn humans to stone. It would have made these proceedings much easier.

Jungkook had dressed casually for the meeting. He seemed to have come straight from his dragon, since he wore riding leathers. He had no crown, unlike you. Amara, your lady in waiting, had insisted you add the thin, silver diadem before leaving. It lent you an air of authority, she’d said.

It seemed Jungkook could command his authority without such trinkets. The realization made you straighten, meeting his gaze several inches above yours.

“Yes?” you said, your voice frosty.

Jungkook released his grip.

A move you thought wise, all things considered. Behind him, you saw your advisors gathering their reams of paper. They chatted amongst themselves, purposefully ignoring the Ghalian retinue. All except for Lord Namjoon, who spoke politely to Lord Seokjin about a provision of the treaty.

To Lord Seokjin’s right sat Kim Taehyung, a dragon rider whose reputation preceded him. The general of Duret Ghal’s army, he had remained silent throughout the entirety of the negotiations. Based on how often he looked out the window, you got the feeling he preferred to spend his time in the sky and not amongst stuffy people.

Honestly, you could not blame him. Even if his kind of flying were a poor imitation of yours – seated astride a dragon, rather than becoming one himself.

Clearing his throat, Jungkook returned your attention to him.

“Is there something you want, Your Majesty?” you said, growing impatient. “I have a nation to run outside of these meetings, you know.”

A smile curled his lips. “I am aware.”

“So long as you are aware, then.”

You moved to walk past, but Jungkook stopped you again. Teeth gritted, you exhaled steam past your lips.

“What?” you snapped, turning to face him.

Something unreadable stole through his gaze. “We need not have these conversations at all,” he said, dropping his voice. “If you would agree to my original proposal.”

Immediately, your expression shuttered.

“Good day, Your Majesty,” you said and walked past.

This time he did not follow, falling silent as you swept from the room. Yoongi and Jimin joined your exit, the latter tossing a haughty look towards the Ghalians. Namjoon remained in the room, likely to continue his conversation with Seokjin.

As you walked away, you tried and failed to push Jungkook from mind. The offer he alluded to was completely ridiculous.

Marriage.

Seven months prior, Jungkook had sent a message to you after nearly a decade. He’d proposed several items, amongst which was a request to resume your failed betrothal. A list of reasons had been provided. Your nations were on the verge of war, the merger would benefit you both financially and would go a long way towards healing the realms.

Equally politely, you had declined.

It had been a long time since you’d sworn not to marry – or mate, as it were. The mating bond was a possibility for both Dragons and humans. Dragons only mated once in their lifetime, which tended to be longer than ordinary humans. Your parents had been mated to each other, meaning you’d witnessed firsthand the tragedy of their ending.

You would choose an heir when necessary, of course. You weren’t so selfish as to plunge Ashya into civil war when you died because you did not wish to mate. You’d even considered a marriage of practical alliance, one with no chance of mating, but the appropriate circumstances had yet to present themselves.

For this reason, amongst others, you had declined Jungkook’s offer.

Coming to a stop in the hall, you bade Jimin and Yoongi goodnight before continuing on your way. The sun had long since sunk below the horizon. Negotiations with Duret Ghal had taken up most of your time since their arrival in Valor, Ashya’s capital city, nearly ten days ago.

Outside your chambers, you nodded to the guards before entering. Once the door fell shut behind you, you released a sigh.

Straightening, you strode to your dresser and seated yourself at the mirror. As you removed your crown to set on its pedestal, you stared at the silver.

It was not as though you wished to be alone forever. Truthfully, you found yourself exhausted at the end of each day. It would have been nice to fall asleep beside someone and wake with them by your side. Each time you imagined the prospect though, you recalled your father’s death and thought better.

Both Yoongi and Namjoon knew the King had proposed.

Not Jimin, which was for the best. If you had accepted Jungkook’s offer, it would have taken a lot to convince Jimin to remain at his post. He had barely accepted the necessity of a treaty between Ashya and Duret Ghal.

Namjoon had been practical when he heard of the proposal, which you had expected. Lord Namjoon could be practical to a fault, known to ‘factor in’ emotional responses when making decisions. Privately, you thought him a nice foil to Jimin.

When you’d told Namjoon about the King’s offer, he had simply nodded and said it made sense. He acknowledged, of course, the difficulties such a match would present, but did not seem to think it would be a bad idea.

Yoongi had been the one who surprised you. As someone with decisive opinions, you’d imagined Yoongi wouldn’t approve of the match. Instead, he had merely suggested you consider the offer. When you had declined, Yoongi had seemed almost disappointed. It could be hard to tell though, since the Lord usually kept his emotions close to the chest.

Undoing the laces of your gown, you let it drop as you entered your bathing chambers. Amara had left heated water and oils, flickering candles set around the edge of your sunken tub. Lowering yourself to the water, you tipped your head back to rest on the edge.

Today ended only the first week of negotiations between you and Jungkook. Another week remained – you could survive this much, you reasoned. One week from now, you’d have much needed relief for your merchants, along with an ally against the looming threat of Mor to the south.

Only one more week, and Jungkook would be gone.

Ignoring the strange tingle which spread down your spine at the thought, you held your breath and lowered yourself underwater.

Lips pursed, you stared at yourself in the mirror.

Amara hovered, pins in her mouth while tightening your corset. Your dress for the evening was a mix of old and new – although you despised corsets, this one cinched your waist tight enough for the armor-like bodice. Skirts flowed like water to the ground, brushing the floor with emerald chiffon.

Tonight, you had decided to throw a feast honoring the upcoming treaty with Duret Ghal. The event had not been your idea, but Namjoon’s. He believed it would increase the goodwill between you.

You had protested this until Namjoon pointed out there’d been little to celebrate recently. Realizing the truth to this statement, you’d reluctantly acquiesced to two events. Tonight’s feast and a ball, to be hosted their final night before Duret Ghal left.

Inhaling, your eyes watered as Amara cinched the last hook.

“My apologies,” she said, casting a sympathetic glance in the mirror.

Mutely, you shook your head, not blaming her in the slightest. It was not her fault women's fashion tended to be barbaric, more often than not. It was why you preferred to wear looser gowns, ones you didn’t need your lady in waiting’s help to undo.

Amara had been your companion ever since you were little, although you could not exactly call her a friend. You were her Queen, first and foremost. There was no one else in Ashya for you to call an equal.

“Amara,” you said curiously, glancing up. “What do you think of the Ghalian King?”

Startled by your question, Amara nearly dropped the pins she held. Her wide brown eyes stared back at you in the mirror and briefly, you wondered if she thought this a trap. Possibly you needed to work on your resting facial expressions. Yoongi said you were too harsh, but then again, hearing this from Yoongi was the pot calling the kettle black.

“You can answer me honestly,” you said, a bit gentler. “It has been a long week of negotiations and I find myself wondering what people think of the treaty.”

“Well.” Amara looked thoughtful. “I rather think those are two different questions, Your Majesty. Do you wish to know what people think of the King, or the treaty?”

She was correct, you realized. The two were different, even if they were one and the same in your mind.

“Both,” you responded.

Turning towards the mirror, Amara began to fit the bodice over your bust. It was elaborate, with swirls of silver and emerald stitched into the hard lining.

“Well,” she said, hesitant. “Of course, people think the young King is handsome.”

“He is a rider,” you said sharply.

“It is not as important to humans,” Amara reminded gently. “It does not offend so much as it does the Dragons. And objectively speaking, the King is handsome. He could smile more,” she admitted. “But this does not seem to deter from his handsomeness.”

“I suppose not.”

Seeing your expression, she laughed. “You did ask me to speak honestly, Your Majesty. The people find the King handsome, but they do not trust outsiders. Especially Ghalians. Most have a family member who perished in the Dragon Wars.”

None of this was new information, although it did irk you to hear Jungkook’s looks were a topic of conversation in Valor. It was always like this with men versus women. The moment a male monarch had a somewhat pleasing expression, people were willing to forget all manner of atrocities committed in the past.

“And what of the treaty?” you pressed.

Amara bit down on her lip. “Well…”

“Yes?”

“It depends. Some oppose it, much as they did the treaty all those years ago. Others look forward to the potential trade gains. And still others,” Amara said, a knowing edge to her voice, “think you should accept the King’s proposal of marriage.”

Jerking upright, you prompted Amara to nearly stab you with a pin.

“Amara!” you gasped, looking down.

She blinked in surprise. “Yes, Your Majesty?”

“How… did you hear that?” you said, utterly flummoxed.

“It was only a guess.” Amara shrugged, a ghost of a smile at her lips. “Many villagers wondered if there were other reasons for His Majesty traveling all this way. They imagined you must have declined his offer, since nothing official has been announced.”

You stared at her in shock, a bit thrown by the assessment. Perhaps it had been naïve of you to assume no one would guess based on Jungkook’s elongated presence.

“I see,” you said at last. “The skirts, if you please, Amara?”

Sensing you were done with the conversation, Amara nodded and hastened to fasten the fabric. You stared at the dress in the mirror, willing your racing pulse to slow.

Your gown for the evening was emerald green; one of the colors of Ashya, along with the color of your scales as a Dragon. It had always been a source of pride for your parents, as though Natal herself had proclaimed your destiny.

As Amara arranged your train on the ground, you stared at your reflection. Most of what she said you had already known. Ashya had been divided for a long time now on how to proceed with Duret Ghal. You knew whatever choice you made, there would always be those who opposed you.

And yet, it was strange to hear some rooted for a union.

Glancing at Amara, you found yourself curious. “And what do you think?” you asked. “What is your opinion of the Ghalian King?”

Amara’s fingers hesitated on your hem.

“Me?” she said as she straightened. “I am sure I do not know, Your Majesty. I do not know the King personally, so it is hard to say.”

You nodded, having assumed as much.

“Although…” Amara hesitated, drawing your gaze back to her. “How a person treats their servants is usually indicative of their personality. Take Lord Larkin, for example,” she said, naming a wealthy noble at your court.

“What about him?”

Amara looked down. “His servants are skittish. They mostly keep to themselves at the request of their Lord. It is rumored he keeps a strict household, and his wife is inscrutable.”

Knowing what you did about Lord Larkin, these facts did not surprise you. He had an archaic mentality of most things – dutifully, you filed this information away for later use.

“What of His Majesty, then?” you said. “How do his servants treat him?”

“They seem to admire him.” Amara stood straighter. “From what I have seen, they seem to genuinely enjoy working for him and respect him. I know he has a fearsome reputation, but… perhaps it is only towards his enemies.”

“Whom we used to be,” you noted drily. “Until now.”

Her head bobbed in a nod. “This is also true.”

Despite this, Amara’s words lingered as you finished dressing. It was quite possible your feelings for Jungkook personally had clouded your judgement of him as a ruler.

There was not time to linger on this, since Yoongi arrived soon after to escort you to the great hall. You would be the last to arrive for tonight’s feast, which was customary.

Noise from the hall grew as you approached the doors. Tonight’s event would be more casual than the ball a week from now, but casual was relative since you’d been forced to wear a corset and the meal would feature no less than twelve courses.

As the doors swung open and you began to walk in, all noise within the hall ceased. Ashya’s great hall had seen centuries of celebration, along with conflict and conquest. At one point during the Dragon Wars, Valor had been briefly occupied by Duret Ghal. During this time, the banners hung on your walls had been blue and gold, instead of emerald and silver.

Entering the room with Yoongi at your side, you sensed the gaze of every inhabitant upon you. Focusing straight ahead, you did your best to ignore this. It had never felt natural to you, being the center of attention. You did so for the sake of appearances but had never enjoyed the sensation.

At least you had Yoongi, who looked handsome as usual in his formal attire. With his dark, sweeping hair and keen gaze, Yoongi would have made an excellent King consort. Unfortunately, your relationship had never progressed in this direction and frankly, Yoongi was not important enough to consider marriage without love.

Glancing your way, Yoongi caught your eye. “Is there something in my teeth?” he muttered.

Stifling a laugh, you faced forward.

“No,” you said. “I was only thinking about choices.”

Although Yoongi arched a brow, he said nothing in response. Now was not the time for an in-depth conversation. People bowed as you passed, a veritable rainbow of fabrics and colors. At the front of the hall, a table had been placed atop the raised dais. Behind it, the banners of Ashya and Duret Ghal had been strung.

High above, evergreen boughs entwined with the chandeliers, carefully spaced so they would not catch fire. Evergreens were considered sacred, symbols of Natal’s everlasting power. Although the winter solstice had not yet arrived, the air in Ashya was cold enough for them to thrive.

Your visiting guests had already arrived you saw as you approached the dais. To your surprise, you saw women traveled in Jungkook’s party. On the other side of Taehyung stood a lady with dark hair, right hand resting on the pommel of her sword.

Although both genders fought in the armed forces, it was still considered an unusual path for a woman. It was a pleasant surprise to see both men and women amongst the soldiers Jungkook had brought to greet you.

Seokjin wore robes of deep purple tonight, eschewing the colors of either nation. It was nearly as bold a statement as Taehyung, draped in the royal blue of Duret Ghal beside him. As you neared the table, both of them stood, and your gaze finally fell upon the man at the center.

Jungkook was already on his feet, a golden crown on his head in contrast to your silver.

Your gaze traveled lower, realizing he’d worn robes of midnight blue as well. His waist had been bound in a golden sash, robes flowing to accentuate his trim thighs. At his side, his sword remained hidden, a decorative golden tassel placed before the hilt. It was not the broadsword you’d seen him wear on his dragon, but a more formal rapier made for ceremonies and balls.

His gaze lingered on you as you approached, sweeping your body in similar fashion. Your skin burned each place he lingered, flames consuming you from the inside.

At the bottom of the steps you paused, and Jungkook inclined his head. His gaze remained fixed on yours the entire time.

After ascending the dais, you stood before your chair and surveyed the room. Long rows of tables and benches stared back, along with the faces of your many subjects. Taking a deep breath, you raised your chin.

“Citizens of Ashya and Duret Ghal,” you said, your voice ringing out. “We gather this evening in uncertain times. Much as Natal crafted the first light from darkness, so are better things forged in the fire of adversity. Although dark days lie ahead, I know they will only strengthen our bonds to each other.”

At your side, Jungkook listened with rapt attention. The rest of your speech was conciliatory, bland words about coming together for the betterment of both nations. Namjoon had written most of it and, in the corner of your eye, you saw him mouthing the words.

You only went off-book once, near the end.

“It is important now, more than ever, to remain united in the face of such a foe. Mor seeks to wipe us from the map – and why? It is because we are strong.” The entire great hall had gone silent, focused on your words. “We have what they will never obtain and so, they seek to destroy it. To destroy us, but I will not let them. We will not let them,” you corrected, glancing a Jungkook.

He looked at you and nodded.

“And when they do come to face us,” you said, turning forward. “We will show them exactly why they were right to fear our teeth and claws.”

A roar echoed through the hall, several shooting to their feet to vocalize approval. Turning around, you sat in your seat as gracefully as you could and arranged your gown.

Jungkook was next and once he began speaking, Yoongi leaned over.

“Nothing like a little bloodlust to get the party started,” he murmured.

You winced. “How bad was it?”

Yoongi chuckled. “They seemed to enjoy it. Lord Namjoon might not forgive you so easily.”

Glancing down the table, you saw Namjoon rubbing wearily at his temples. You nearly laughed at the sight, schooling your features to neutrality when you remembered Jungkook still spoke.

His speech was brief, which did not surprise you. During the time you’d spent in his presence, Jungkook struck you as a man with little bullshit, or patience.

Once he was finished and seated beside you, you waved a hand for the meal to start.

In the corner of the room, a string quartet began to play. Doors opened on both sides, allowing servers inside holding trays of food. As the first course was set before you – a medley of greens with spiced, mashed nuts – you reached instead for your cup of wine.

Even this strained your bodice, but you managed. One of the many perils of being a woman in power was navigating foreign dinners while wearing a corset.

“The ballroom is beautiful,” Jungkook said by your side.

Surprised, you turned. “Small talk, Your Majesty?”

He shrugged and took a bite of his greens. “You do not seem inclined to discuss important topics outside of our negotiations.”

“And what important topics would you care to discuss?”

Jungkook paused, setting down his fork to face you fully. Eyes gleaming, his lips parted, and you felt your heart start to race.

Yoongi cleared his throat at your side.

Both of you turned to stare at your advisor.

Eyebrows arched, Yoongi motioned towards the front. “The greeting line has begun,” he said.

Realizing he was correct, you sat back in your seat. Already, the line of subjects stretched down the main aisle. Lords and ladies, merchants and townsfolk, all attempting to curry favor with their monarchs. Reaching out, you gripped your wine glass to drink again. Yet another reason you disliked feasts, balls, and the like.

The politicking side of ruling had never come naturally to you, although you did practice. It meant endless hours of hobnobbing, spending time with people fawning for your favor. Still, it was important to meet with your citizens and hear their concerns. If only most of your court weren’t completely unbearable.

Inclining your head, you allowed the first two to come forward.

When they came into view, your expression softened. You had expected nobility, and instead found yourself faced with two tradespeople, by the looks of them. The man and woman had worn their best attire, immaculately neat under the scrutiny of court.

“Merchant Calum and his wife, Natalia,” said the announcer at the front.

You smiled in response to their curtsy and bow.

“Thank you for coming,” you said, and gestured for them to rise. “We are so glad you could join us tonight.”

“It is our honor, Your Majesty,” Natalia said, looking up.

“Is there something particular you came to discuss?”

Her gaze slid to Jungkook and you tried not to stiffen. Likely, they had come to see the King of Duret Ghal. It had been more than ten years since Jungkook had last entered Valor. 

“No, Your Majesty,” she said, her gaze sliding to you. “No favor to ask. We simply wished to see you in person. I apologize for my husband’s lack of speech in your presence,” she said, reaching for his hand. “He lost the ability during a fire in the mines years ago.”

“I see,” you said gently.

Looking at him, you signed your thanks for his attendance tonight. The man brightened, signing back gratitude for the invitation. His wife beamed, thanking you once more as the announcer stepped forward to hurry them on. It seemed their allotted time in your presence was up.

As they left, Jungkook glanced at you curiously. “Where did you learn how to sign?”

“Occasionally, one wishes to communicate without being overheard.”

Jungkook allowed the matter to drop but continued to look your way.

The true story was longer.

A year before your father had passed, you’d decided to join the Ashyan forces. You had called it a part of your training, but the reality had been the castle was empty and cold after your mother died.

No one had known who you were when you enlisted. You’d entered a regiment far enough away for few people to have ever walked the streets of Valor. It was where you’d met Jimin, whose parents had been Dragons of relative unknown. Under your parents’ regime, Jimin would never have been named commander.

This had been one of the first laws you overturned after your coronation – the blood laws, which had decreed only noble lines could serve in certain positions. Jimin was more Dragon than most of the realm. He fully deserved the title of commander.

While you served in the army, you’d also fallen in love for the first time. Leo had been human, from a western province so far away, it nearly fell off the edge of the map. An encounter with riders had left him without speech, so everyone in your regiment had learned to sign to communicate.

Unsurprisingly, your love had not lasted. As soon as Leo discovered who you were, things had come crashing down. When your father’s condition had worsened and you returned to the castle, your title and demands were placed on display.

Leo was ultimately forced to make a choice – a life of duty with you, or relative freedom in the western wastes. He chose the latter.

None of this was pertinent to your conversation with Jungkook though, and so you kept quiet and welcomed the next guest. A wealthier Ashyan merchant, to whom you made veiled references about lower tariffs which seemed to please him.

Once he had gone, you realized Jungkook continued to glance your way. Ignoring him, you motioned for the next group to be brought forward, but when they came into view, you stiffened. Following your gaze, Jungkook took in the two men who’d made you go still.

Lord Larkin and his son, Lord Declan – the very same nobility Amara had spoken of earlier. While you’d never liked the pair of them, your opinion had obstinately worsened based on what she’d said.

Lord Larkin bowed, silver hair shining in the candlelight above. His son, Declan, lowered his head as well. You waited a moment longer than necessary before asking them to rise.

“Lord Larkin,” you said flatly. “And Lord Declan. What a pleasure to have you both attend tonight.”

“The pleasure is ours, Your Majesty,” Larkin said with a nod. Casually, he glanced at Jungkook. “We wished to extend our welcome to the rider King, as well. It is certainly unusual to see a human seated beside an Ashyan Queen.”

Jungkook merely smiled.

Admittedly, the gesture didn’t do much to brighten his countenance. The warmth of his smile failed to reach his gaze. On the table, Jungkook tapped his long, agile fingers. You realized with some surprise they had been inked.

Tattoos were not uncommon amongst soldiers, but it was rare to see them amongst members of nobility. You found yourself curious what other marks the King bore.

“I imagine it would be unusual for any man to side beside your Queen,” Jungkook said calmly. “Dragon, rider, or any variation within.”

The implication to Lord Larkin was clear – you are not seated beside her, either. Seeming to understand, Larkin’s eyes flashed while he inclined his head.

You fought not to smile.

Lord Larkin owned two of the largest mines in the Thadal range and was integral to the Ashyan economy. It would be unwise to anger him or his family, a line you’d tiptoed around since your coronation. Especially once it became clear Lord Larkin wished to align his son, Lord Declan, to you in marriage.

For a while, you had considered the idea. Their family was powerful, in possession of both lands and titles which would enrich the crown. Lord Declan was also a Dragon, ensuring the royal Ashyan line would continue unhindered.

It had been Yoongi who advised caution. You were still young, new to the throne and with plenty of time to make an heir. Better to first gain control of your nation and consider the offers of a political marriage after. You had known even then Lord Declan was not your mate, no matter how much his father wished for him to be.

Mates were a mysterious thing in your world. They could be either Dragon or human and did not always present themselves in an obvious manner. A person could stand before their mate several times before realizing the bond.

People spoke of the signs, though. Some likened the beginnings of the bond to slow trickles of energy. Others described it as sparks caressing their skin. Still more mentioned an invisible thread which tied them to one another.

None of this you’d felt with Lord Declan, so you felt fairly comfortable saying he was not the one. And yet, you knew Lord Larkin would continue to bide his time.

“It is unusual for a male to sit by my side, you say?” you mused, sipping your wine. “Whatever do you imagine Lord Yoongi to be, Your Majesty?”

Lord Declan laughed, which prompted a glare from his father.

Jungkook tore his gaze away from the Lord. He glanced instead at Yoongi, who seemed determined to ignore your conversation while he finished his greens.

“A very pretty piece of décor,” Jungkook said at last.

At this, even Yoongi smiled. Stifling a laugh, you returned to the Lords who remained standing before you.

“He is most horrified to hear it, I am certain,” you said. “Although if His Majesty considers Yoongi’s looks to be his best asset, perhaps he is the foolish one at this table.”

Jungkook smiled at this, reaching out for a sip of his wine. He seemed more relaxed, less formal and you marveled at the change in his features.

“Is there anything else you wish to discuss?” you said, returning to the Lords.

Their time with you had been longer than the townspeople but then again, this was oftentimes the way of things. Lord Declan nodded, but Lord Larkin simply looked thoughtful, glancing between you and Jungkook. At last, he bowed his head.

“That is all,” he said. “Thank you both for your hospitality.”

Once they had left, you sagged in your seat.

“Pretty.” Yoongi snorted. “I shall have to write home and tell mother immediately.”

Jungkook laughed in response – a real, honest sound which made your heart flip in your chest. It was your first time hearing such a noise from his lips during this visit. It fractured your thoughts into a million pieces.

Rather than confront any of these pieces directly, you looked at Yoongi. “Now, there is food in your teeth,” you said.

Yoongi shrugged, lifting his spoon to fix his reflection. Returning to the waiting line, you gestured the next guests forward.

The rest of the evening passed smoothly. Most of your conversations were kept short, allowing only enough time to greet and move on. By the end of the line, your head was beginning to ache.

Collapsing into your chair, you released a sigh. The line, consumption of wine and lack of food had begun to create the perfect storm. At the next lull of music, your stomach growled in a most unbecoming fashion.

Closing your eyes, you prayed to Natal no one had heard.

“Have you eaten at all?” Jungkook asked from your side.

Opening your eyes, you wondered if perhaps the goddess was busy. Or maybe she simply didn’t care about mortal whims and petty Queens. Looking to your side, you found Jungkook frowning at your full plate.

“I have eaten some,” you said, and cut into the meat.

Before you could stop him, Jungkook had raised a palm to signal the server. “Was there a problem with your plate?” he asked, returning to you. “Or do you simply prefer to eat alone?”

Startled by how earnest Jungkook sounded, you were silent while waving the server away. The poor man fumbled a little, taking a few steps backwards before he turned around.

“Nothing of the sort,” you said, glancing at Jungkook. “The food is fine, and I do not care about eating before others.”

He seemed baffled. “Then, what is it?”

“It is my corset,” you hissed, lowering your voice. “Or have you never sat beside a woman at dinner before?”

Jungkook’s eyes widened, drifting below your neckline. Amara had done an exceedingly good job at making certain you filled out the bodice. A lone muscle ticked in Jungkook’s jaw before he looked up.

“I have sat beside women before,” he said.

“What a delight.” Reaching out, you plucked wine from the table. “I am glad to hear it is not my responsibility to teach you about the fairer sex.”

His gaze narrowed. “Corsets are not as fashionable in Duret Ghal as they are here, Your Majesty,” Jungkook said lowly. “I have never had the pleasure of removing one before.”

Gaze snapping to his, you met his darkened stare. A flicker of heat curled in your belly, making you feel even more light-headed.

Before you could respond, Seokjin asked a question and Jungkook was forced to turn away. Hastily, you sat back and faced forward again. Reaching again for your glass, you took a large sip of wine.

Amara was not wrong. Jungkook was handsome and you were no better than the many people who’d come here tonight to look at the attractive, young King. Inwardly, you cursed your weak morals.

“He is not wrong, you know.” Yoongi continued to chew on your other side. “You should eat before coming to these events, Your Majesty.”

You shot him a look. “And when I desire your opinion, I shall ask it, Lord Yoongi.”

“I thought you paid me to advise you?”

“Only under specific circumstances.”

“And what circumstances would those be?”

“When I ask.”

Yoongi laughed, setting down his fork to reach for his glass. “Will you at least send up food to eat afterwards?’

“Of course,” you said, pushing your meat aimlessly away. “This is not my first gathering, you know.”

Yoongi nodded and the two of you fell into comfortable silence. The conversation had lessened some of the tension between you and the King. And yet, you continued to be aware of his presence beside you.

On the table, his hand rested close enough for you to see. Tanned fingers entwined with black ink, his palms roughened by callouses, proof of the leather he gripped when he rode.

Jaw taut, you continued to drink from your glass of wine. Long before it was considered polite, you yearned to stand and retire for the evening. People danced after the final courses, but it was a paltry thing compared to a real ball.

Once most of your guests had begun to leave, Namjoon agreed it was acceptable for you to go. With great relief, you stood and said your goodbyes. Yoongi went with you, following you towards a separate hallway to avoid foot traffic in the castle. Halfway down the hall, you heard someone say your name from behind.

Turning around, you found King Jungkook striding towards you. His robes swished about his ankles, head held high despite the wine and the hour. As he came to a stop, you turned towards your advisor.

“You may go, Yoongi,” you said, dismissing him. “I will return to my rooms after speaking with His Majesty.”

Yoongi hesitated, then took his leave. You watched him disappear down the hall, waiting until he turned the corner before you spoke again.

“It will seem suspicious for us to leave at the same time, Your Majesty.”

Jungkook made a dismissive noise. “I am not concerned by the thoughts of people in there.”

“An odd way to think of your subjects.”

He considered you standing before him. “You have a very low opinion of who I am and how I run my Kingdom.”

“No,” you said. “Merely of the idea of you running mine.”

Jungkook blinked, taken aback by your statement, but his confusion did not last long. After a moment, he stepped forward to close the space between you.

“Is this what you think of me?” he asked, voice low. “You think I asked for your hand in marriage – why? To become King of Ashya without the difficulties of waging war?”

“It would be a practical way to go about it.”

Jungkook’s gaze scanned your features. “I do not desire to rule Ashya in your stead. Merely to provide the best solution for both our peoples.”

Standing this close, you could feel the heat from his body. His scent was a living thing, wrapping your limbs, coaxing you closer – teeth gritted, you fought the need to take a step backwards.

“That is what you say, Your Majesty.”

He stiffened. “Are you calling me a liar?”

“I believe there are things you do not tell me.”

“And what about you, Your Majesty?” Jungkook tilted his head. “You have declined my offer of marriage and have yet to give a reason.”

“Do I need to give you one?”

“I would like one.”

“I should think you used to disappointment by now,” you said. “Such is the lot of Kings and Queens.”

He stared at you for a moment, his features softened by candlelight. A feeling almost like regret stole through you, gone before you could fully embrace it.

“Do you remember the last time you visited Duret Ghal?” Jungkook asked, which surprised you.

You stared at him a moment. The suddenness of the question pushed all retorts from mind. Thus far, you had held firm to your vow not to marry by convincing yourself the man standing before you was your enemy.

Now though, he asked if you remembered.

In truth, you did.

It had been your seventeenth birthday when you last traveled to Duret Ghal. The occasion had been to finalize your parents’ treaty, as well as formally meet Jungkook as your betrothed. You had met a few times before then, as children, but it had been a long time since those days.

Duret Ghal was a land of icy wilderness, except during the summer, when harsh winter snows melted to expose greenery and cliffs. Rumors said the dragons kept their bays clear of ice, but you had gone at the wrong time of year to see this in person.

To the north of Duret Ghal lay the Irik Sea, a fathomless expanse of foamed troughs of water. Its only mountains to speak of were the famed Cliffs of Oria, which circled the capital city of Ebril. It was within these cliffs the famed dragons nested.

Ebril was situated along the coast, known equally for seamen as much as their riders. The people of Ebril were known to be craggy and sharp, much like the topography. Despite their reputation, Ebril was a city of learning. Built from the white limestone which lined its cliffs, it was occasionally referred to as the jewel by the sea.

Ebril had not been the only thing which fascinated you on that trip. You had found Jungkook equally intriguing.

He had been different then. Still quiet, but in a studious way. His hair had been shorter, as though he could not be bothered with the time it took to comb it.

Upon your arrival, you had thought Jungkook hated you. He could not seem to stand being in the same room as you for very long. Still, he had not seemed antagonistic and so, you had resigned yourself to a loveless marriage and spent time exploring the city.

One morning, you’d woke to find the day warm enough for a trip to the cliffs. Your parents had been busy from sunup to sundown, negotiating the treaty you now found yourself crafting. Back then though, you’d been blissfully free of obligation and duty.

Having never seen the Cliffs of Oria, you’d gone to the stables to secure a mount. Strictly speaking, you did not need one as a Dragon. Ideally, you preferred to fly by yourself, but your parents had warned you against shifting in Duret Ghal.

Although some things had changed since the Dragon Wars, many Ghalians still did not trust your kind. It was never a good idea to push boundaries, especially not when the treaty depended upon it.

You had even borrowed Amara’s clothes in an attempt to blend in. It had been a practical move on your part, since you’d been packed only dresses.

When you’d arrived and requested a horse from the palace stable hand, he had looked you up and down before sneering.

“You’re Ashyan,” he’d said upon hearing your accent. The word Ashyan sounded like a curse. “I heard some of your kind had come to the castle. Thought you could fly without horses, huh? What need do you have with a Ghalian mount?”

You’d been so taken aback, you blurted out the first thing which came to mind.

"If you know so much about Ashya,” you’d told him, gaze hard, “then surely you know more humans live within its borders than Dragons. Humans cannot sprout wings any more than a man like you can see reason.”

The man’s eyes had bugged, taking a threatening step forward – as a soft laugh echoed through the courtyard. Surprised, both of you had turned towards the sound.

In the archway of the stables, Jungkook had shut his book in one hand. “That was funny,” he said, looking at you.

Upon seeing the Prince, the stable hand had paled.

“Your Highness,” he said, hastening to bow.

Jungkook’s gaze slid towards him, any trace of humor disappearing. He stared at him coldly and for a moment, you’d seen a hint of the King he would become.

“I believe the lady asked for a horse.” Jungkook had spoken calmly. “Were you about to deny the request of a royal guest to the crown?”

He did not call you the princess and for a moment, you had wondered if he knew.

“Of course not, Prince Jungkook,” the stable hand had stammered and for a moment, you’d felt a modicum of pity for him.

Then the man had cast you a dark look entering the stables and you'd quickly forgotten your mercy. Instead, you’d found yourself wondering how loud he’d scream if you shifted.

Jungkook cleared his throat.

Looking at him, you’d found him lingering in the entrance to the courtyard. Curiosity washed through you, wondering if he intended for you to thank him. The idea was vaguely insulting. You could have handled one measly human.

“I did not need your help, you know,” you had said.

Jungkook had merely arched a brow. “Oh, I am aware.”

“Good.”

Turning around, you had considered the conversation to be over. While you stood and waited for your horse though, you realized Jungkook did not leave. After another moment, you’d turned towards him.

“Then, why did you interject?” you’d asked, suddenly curious.

Rather than answer immediately, Jungkook had crossed the courtyard. He came to a stop before you, forcing you to tilt your head back to see him. For a human, you remembered him being quite tall.

That close, you’d seen Jungkook’s eyes for the first time. They were not all brown, as you’d imagined. Instead, you saw many colors within – auburn, hazel, and a deep, burnished gold. 

Meeting his gaze frankly stole your breath away.

“You are my guest,” Jungkook had said. “And my betrothed. It is my duty to protect you.”

Looking away, you’d tried not to smile. Despite the fact you were trying not to laugh, it felt oddly wrong to be free of his gaze.

“Why are you smiling?” Jungkook had asked, confused.

“I am sorry,” you had said, biting back a smile. “It is only… well. Is that how women are raised in Duret Ghal?”

“I beg your pardon?”

Before you could answer, the stable hand had emerged with a horse in tow. Accepting the reins he gave, you’d placed a foot in the stirrup and swung into the saddle. Settling your weight, you’d leaned forward and pet the horse’s long mane.

Glancing up, you’d locked eyes with Jungkook. “You speak of women as though they need protection. I must say, it has never been something I needed or wanted,” you’d said quietly, then clicked your heels and steered the horse away.

You had not looked back as you rode from the castle, but felt the weight of his gaze between your shoulder blades the entire way. It had sent the strangest energy across your skin but once you reached the trail, you managed to push both this and Jungkook from mind.

The sea had always been a subject of endless fascination for you. Crossing the grassy plains which topped the Cliffs of Oria, you’d found satisfaction in the salty taste of the air.

After nearly an hour of riding, you’d slowed to a stop. Before you, the Irik Sea had stretched in an endless display of blue. It reminded you of the sky with its limitless potential. As soon as you thought this, you had the dearest wish to fly.

Glancing away, you realized you’d seen no other humans for miles. Quietly, you slipped from your horse and tied him to a tree.

Entering a nearby thicket, you’d changed from your clothes and placed them under a rock. When you transformed to a Dragon, it tended to shred whatever clothing you wore.

Naked as the day you’d been born, you stood under the sky and tipped your head back. Allowing the transformation to take hold, warmth had spread through your veins until – opening your eyes, you were a Dragon.

Humans referred to this as the change, but you’d never found it to be an accurate descriptor. It was not as though you changed from one thing to the other; merely shifted to a different part of yourself. You were always a dragon and always a human. To be a Dragon was to be both.

Wings unfurled, you’d bent and leapt into the sky. It always took you a moment to reorient after shifting. Your senses of sight, smell and hearing were sharper as a dragon, although some things were different.

Beating your wings against the sea breeze, you’d risen and fallen while surveying the cliffs. From this height, you’d been able to see the smaller cities which dotted the fields of the capital. Ebril shone like a star on the distant shore. Instead of flying towards this, you turned in the opposite direction. You had no desire to be seen and send their women into hysterics.

Remembering Jungkook’s words, a jet of flame left your nostrils in a wicked snort. The idea of protecting a Dragon was laughable. Wheeling sideways, you’d traveled further out over the ocean. It had been silver-green at the time, bright as the clearest Ashyan jewel.

Growing bolder, you’d flown lower and skimmed the waves with your toes. Swooping higher, you’d circled again before diving straight down. When you plunged beneath the surface, the coldness of the Irik snatched fire from your lungs. Sputtering, you’d breached the surface and shot into the air to hang there, gasping.

Then you grinned and dove again.

For the first time in months, you’d allowed yourself to have fun. Ever since you’d turned sixteen, you’d become infinitely aware of your title and duty. Your duty to marry, to someday become Queen and leave your childhood behind. You’d wondered why you needed to give up fun and freedom, all for someone else’s hand.

In truth, the idea of marriage had scared you. Riders enjoyed taming dragons, or so the legends had said. They’d taken your ancestral creatures and turned them into beasts who willingly did their bidding. You had no desire to do anyone’s bidding but your own.

After a long day of flying, you’d tucked in your wings and returned to the cliffside. Although you had told your parents where you were going, they would worry if you were not back in time for dinner. Approaching the spot where you’d left your things, you realized a second horse had been tethered beside yours.

Searching the plains, you’d immediately spotted Jungkook. He lazed in the sun at the edge of the cliff, book open on his stomach and one arm behind his head.

He did not so much as look up when you landed, although the noise from your wings must have been deafening. Dropping into the thicket, you’d quickly returned to human form. With trembling hands, you’d pulled back on Amara’s clothes.

As you exited, Jungkook remained in his same position. Upon seeing him there, you’d stopped and looked away. Perhaps he had not seen you after all.

“How was your swim?” Jungkook had asked, eyes still shut.

Your stomach had dropped.

“I can explain,” you’d said, stepping forward.

One eye opening, Jungkook had frowned. Pushing himself to his elbows, he’d surveyed you and it had struck you suddenly how beautiful he was. Brown curls and soft gaze, above a lean body.

“What do you have to explain?” he’d asked, sounding curious.

“I – well.” For the first time, you’d found yourself flummoxed. “I did not mean to take advantage of Duret Ghal’s hospitality.”

This seemed to amuse him. “Are you… apologizing for using the sky, Your Highness?”

“No. Well, yes.”

Something in your expression made Jungkook soften. Closing his book and setting it aside, he’d stood from the ground and began to walk closer. He came to a stop near enough to see the tiny mole beneath his lip.

“Some Ghalians fear Dragons, it is true,” he’d said quietly. “But you need not ever fear this from me, Your Highness. If someone asked you not to fly in my Kingdom, please consider this to be a formal revocation.”

You had stared at him a moment before arching a brow. “It could be dangerous to fly, though. I might be in need of protection.”

Jungkook had paused for a moment before laughing, his head thrown back and smile wide. It was the same laugh he’d made tonight at the banquet.

“Forgive me for earlier,” he’d said, lowering his head to meet your gaze. “It was foolish of me to imagine I might protect a mighty Dragon.”

Although he’d adopted a teasing tone, seriousness lit his gaze. You found you rather enjoyed it. Enjoyed him, against all better reason. The slightest of thrills went down your spine.

“Foolish, indeed,” you’d murmured.

In your mind though, you’d wondered if perhaps you were the foolish one.

Although the day had been nearly ten years ago, you had never forgotten it. Never forgotten the boy who’d wanted to protect a Dragon.

The answer to Jungkook’s question was a resounding yes.

Yes, you remembered. Perhaps too much.

“I remember some,” you said, fighting to keep your voice steady. “Not all.”

Jungkook paused. “I see.”

“If that is all, I shall –”

“We were to be married before,” he said, expression inscrutable. “Is the idea of marrying me now so repulsive?”

“I do not find you repulsive,” you said on instinct.

Too late, you realized you’d eliminated an answer. You did not find Jungkook repulsive, so your reason for declining was something else.

He considered this. “No?”

“I do not,” you admitted. “But I also don’t know you, Your Majesty. Our former betrothal ended nearly ten years ago. The intention was to mend a rift between two nations. The situation is different now. Now, we have a common enemy to unite us.”

“And once Mor is defeated?”

“The defeat of a mutual enemy will be enough.”

Jungkook gave you a look which plainly said, will it?

Growing increasingly frustrated, you stepped forward until you stood nose to nose. Tilting your chin higher, you fought the overwhelming tide of his cedar and sunshine.

“You asked if I remember our last meeting and I do,” you said hotly. “I also remember the carnage which followed. Do not ask from me more than I can give, Your Majesty.”

A shadow crossed Jungkook’s expression, quickly followed by anger.

“If you remember so well,” he said, eyes narrowed. “Then surely you remember it was my Kingdom, not yours which paid for the coup in blood. It took me many years to rebuild what my Uncle destroyed.”

“I did not mean –”

“I think you did,” he interrupted. Taking a step back, he allowed cool air to pass between you. Stiffly, he bowed. “Thank you for the evening, Your Majesty. Enjoy the remainder of your night.”

Turning around, Jungkook strode down the hall until he disappeared.

You remained still for a moment, staring after him and wondering what you had done. All you’d wanted to do was to steer the conversation away from your vow not to marry. Instead, you’d insulted a man who had done nothing to harm you – at one point, he’d even wanted to protect you.

Gathering your skirts, you turned and walked away. Yoongi had not waited for you, for which you were grateful. You had no doubt he’d side with King Jungkook regarding your display this evening. Anyone with half a brain would, you supposed.

Still, it was too much for Jungkook to expect you to marry him simply because you had once been engaged. You’d been right about one thing – the situation was different now. You were different now and could not afford to let Jungkook get any closer.

You’d witnessed firsthand the kind of disaster such unions wrought.

Climbing the steps to your chamber, the crown on your head felt heavier tonight than ever before.

The sun had not yet risen when you left your bed the next morning. Donning a gown, you hastily braided your hair and slipped outside. Nodding hello to your guards, you hurried down the corridors and out a side door.

As the land of Dragons, Ashya had developed unique features attuned to their needs. One such accommodation were the sheds – tiny, low buildings with large yards beyond them. They rested on the opposite side of the stables, since horses tended to be spooked by dragons and the main purpose of the sheds was for Dragons to shift.

Entering the one closest, you shut the door and began to undress. Hanging your clothes on the wall, you strolled into the enclosed yard. Its walls were high enough to ensure no passersby saw, yet large enough to encompass an adult Dragon.

Inhaling a breath, you tipped your head back and let the shift come. Wings unfurling, you opened your eyes and set your forelegs upon the ground. Bending low to the dirt, you pushed yourself upwards and into the sky.

Soaring over the castle, you began to fly southeast of the city. Valor sprawled out beneath you, a haphazard city of cobblestone and flint. Smoke curled from the chimneys, the earliest households waking for the day.

To the east, the foothills of the Thadal mountains were covered in pasture. Sheep and goats grazed there; their wool favored by Ashyan merchants. Circling overhead to ensure all was well, you found yourself satisfied and began to climb higher.

This was one of your favorite pastimes. Flying high enough that even your Dragon’s breath froze in your lungs, crystallizing in bursts until you could no longer bear it. Then you dove, tucking your wings in to hurtle towards the ground.

At the last moment, you snapped your wings open and rode the wind.

Snorting a thin stream of smoke, you slowed as you approached the mountains. The first rays of dawn broke over the horizon, spilling their light between the rocky crags. Inhaling fresh morning air, you flew further south.

The Thadal range was truly one of the wonders of the continent. Flying between towering peaks, you did not question why the Dragon Wars had been fought for its riches. The mountains went on for miles in the east, a flight you’d only made once. It had taken you nearly a week to cross the entire range and at its end you’d found a desert similar in size to the Irik Sea.

When you had returned, your father had berated you. Your mother had died only a year prior and he had only recently managed to pull himself together. If you had died, he’d shouted, the entire future of Ashya was lost.

It was a heavy burden to bear, but one you’d shouldered after his passing. Everything you did was for your nation and people. You would be enough for Ashya and would guard against the kind of attachments which might put this at risk.

As the sun slowly rose, the tightness in your stomach increased. With the rising sun came the responsibilities of being Queen. You had a schedule to keep, meetings to attend with Duret Ghal, your advisors and a large group of nobles.

Tucking in your wing, you began to turn – only for bright, searing pain to hit you in the shoulder.

Crying out, you fought to keep stable while twisting around. Wings beating the air, you frantically searched for your attacker. Vision blurred, you scanned the tree lines below and found nothing.

A second bolt shot towards you. With great effort, you managed to dodge the strike, rolling in midair. Mid-twist, you realized a large iron bolt remained lodged in your shoulder.

Stomach curdling, you realized what danger you were in. Only Mor had crossbows strong enough to kill a Dragon. Somewhere beneath you lay a Mor patrol.

Searching the woods, you felt hot drops of blood dripping from your scales. Before you could retaliate, before you could so much as inhale, an arrow of darkness shot into your vision.

Jungkook, astride his dragon, Nemrys, laid waste to the mountain.

A great wave of fire engulfed where the Mor patrol had been. Faint screams rose from below, a final shot fired but its aim was way off, as though whomever had done so, did so out of panic.

Wings flapping, you tried to stay aloft, but to no avail. It was hard to bring down a Dragon with a single bolt, but Mor had perfected their technology over the past century and you’d been caught unawares.

Nemrys continued to torch the forest even as you dropped, struggling to stay alight. Vision turning black, you thought you heard Jungkook yell – or maybe it was your own subconscious – before you spiraled down, wings cutting through branches before you hit the ground.

Everything went dark after that.

Groggily, you woke to the sound of your name being called.

Fabric had been draped over your torso, softer than the dirt beneath your back. As you opened an eye, you realized you’d shifted to human. This happened occasionally when you went through a great shock.

As soon as you thought this, you remembered the attack. When you attempted to sit upright, a gentle hand gripped your shoulder. Re-focusing through the haze, you realized it was Jungkook who knelt beside you.

His expression remained on your arm. A shudder of pain wracked your body, which had been covered by his cloak, you realized.

Except for your shoulder, that was.

Catching a glimpse of it on the ground, you winced and forced yourself to look away. The lower part of your arm remained unscathed, but the upper portion was in bad shape. All you could see was blood, shredded muscle, and bone peeking through.

“The arrow,” you breathed, head spinning. “Where is it?”

“Knocked loose when you landed,” Jungkook said, tight-lipped. “Which was lucky, given how large the bolt was. Had you shifted while it was still in your shoulder… I do not know what might have happened. Still…” He paused. “You have lost a lot of blood.”

Turning aside, Jungkook began rummaging through a pack on the ground. Dizzily, you glanced around the forest clearing.

“W-where is Nemrys?” you asked, your teeth chattering.

Jungkook looked back with alarm. “I left him in the clearing,” he said. “There was not enough room for him to land.”

“And this is… your cloak?”

Jungkook nodded but said nothing more. He was dressed in all leather, a broadsword strapped to his back in a pragmatic sheath. When he turned your wrist over, you let out a hiss and his gaze snapped to yours.

A war seemed to wage within him as Jungkook sat back on his heels. “You have lost a lot of blood,” he repeated.

“There are healers in Valor,” you said, struggling to sit up. “You must bring me to them.”

Jungkook gripped your good shoulder again. “You cannot shift in this state, and I fear moving you would aggravate the wound ever further.”

You glared at him from the ground. “What do you propose, then?”

Even as you spoke, it occurred to you the situation might be bad. Right now, shock and adrenaline kept the pain at bay, but it would soon wear off.

“I stopped the blood flow as best I could,” Jungkook said. “But it continues to bleed. I fear you may lose consciousness before we reach the capital.”

Panic rose, choking whatever retort you had to say. If you lost consciousness now, it would only be a matter of time before your organs began to fail. You could not die here. You would not; not on an unknown forest floor, miles away from your home.

You would not be brought down by a single Mor patrol before you even got the chance to face them on the battlefield.

“What are the options,” you said, returning to Jungkook. “Do you have a tourniquet with you? Can Nemrys cauterize my wound? I can survive the loss of a limb, Your Majesty, but I will not leave Ashya so poorly defended.”

Jungkook stared at you a moment before he slowly exhaled.

“There is another option,” he said at last.

“Whatever it is, you best do it quickly. Before I pass out and leave you to wrestle with your conscience alone.”

Suppressing a grimace, Jungkook finally nodded and rolled up his sleeves. It exposed sinuous forearms and ink which, in any other circumstance, you might have found appealing. As it was, you merely found them distracting.

Jungkook hesitated before laying his hands on your arm.

“You must…” He paused, then swallowed. “You must trust me, Y/N.”

The use of your first name was shocking enough for you to fall silent. Nodding, you stared at the sky and laid as still as you could. The pain had begun to set in; you could feel phantom tingles from your injured limb. Dull, shooting pain which throbbed in your shoulder.

At first, nothing happened.

Jungkook’s hands remained on your arm and for a moment, nothing changed. Then – a flurry of sparks skittered down his hands. They sank into your skin so quickly, you thought you’d imagined it.

In response to this, the pain flared, and you arched your back.

“Steady,” said Jungkook, calloused hands on your body. It could have been your imagination, but his dark eyes seemed to glow. “The pain will be gone soon.”

As he spoke, more and more sparks traveled down his forearms. They increased until a golden stream of light poured from his fingertips, fracturing into pieces and – healing you, you realized.

Each place the golden light touched, your muscles reknit. Blood flowed back to the wound as your skin stitched itself together. Shocked, you stared at the evidence of your wound being erased. A bead of sweat rolled down Jungkook’s brow, his color turning sallow while you stared in alarm.

“Jungkook,” you rasped, chest rising and falling. The steady stream of light continued to brighten. “Jungkook – enough.”

He inhaled and jerked back, severing the connection.

Still breathing heavily, you stared at him in shock. The forest around you seemed darker, as though it, too, missed the light. Missed the golden magic which had poured forth from his fingers.

Shakily, you pushed yourself to a seated position, one hand on his cloak to hold it in place. Glancing down, you saw your shoulder and went still. He had healed you. Somehow, Jungkook had healed you.

Experimentally, you flexed the muscles and watched the skin ripple, undeterred.

You’d heard of healing magic but never experienced it in person. Magic was rare enough for not all gifts to be born in the same lifetime. There was also the small matter of neither of Jungkook’s parents being Dragons. Only a human with a Dragon parent could inherit magical gifts.

“Explain,” you said, gaze lifting to him.

Jungkook blinked. “Excuse me?”

“Explain,” you repeated, not looking away. “How did you heal me?”

Finally understanding, Jungkook sat back on his heels. Twisting around, he rummaged in his pack for a canteen and unscrewed the cap. As he took a long sip, Jungkook stared at the forest.

His exhaustion was clear, and you felt a glimmer of regret at your words. Regret – and something else. Something warmer, which wrapped you in golden tendrils as easily as his magic.

Clutching the cloak, you stared and realized you were being unfair. First and foremost, he had saved your life. Everything else could wait.

“Thank you,” you said quietly.

Jungkook stilled.

“I do not know how, nor why you healed me,” you continued. “But… thank you for doing so.”

Setting down his canteen, Jungkook waited a moment before turning to face you. He seemed to wrestle with some inner emotion.

“You are welcome.” After another beat, he reached into his sack. “Here,” he said, pulling out a ball of clothes. “If you wish to change into my spare clothing, you may. I can wait over there.”

Once you accepted the bundle, Jungkook stood from the ground. Dusting his palms on his pants, he swayed a little before he steadied himself. Before you could comment on this he was gone, trekking across the clearing.

Silently, you unfolded the clothes in your lap.

They included a tunic and trousers, along with a leather belt to hold them in place. Scuffed boots made up the last item of the pile. Running a thumb up their side, you attempted to determine their make.

“Why do you have all this?” you asked, looking up.

Even from here, you could see Jungkook’s cheeks redden. “Nemrys and I were once trapped by a snowstorm. We were forced to camp for the night in the mountains. Ever since then, I’ve always carried supplies. Get dressed,” he said, turning around. “I promise not to look.”

Tough you bristled, you watched and true to his word, he did not turn around. Once you were certain of this, you stood from the ground and began to dress yourself. His tunic was much too large, as were the trousers, forcing you to tighten the belt to its final notch. The fabric was soft and warm though, smelling of him.

Again, you marveled at your ease of motion. You’d seen your shoulder before Jungkook had done his healing and knew the situation could have been worse. If you hadn’t bled out in the woods, you might have lost the limb. Even in older accounts of magical healing, you knew it could be dangerous work. Healing required knowledge of muscles, veins, ligaments, and nerve endings. It was simple to patch up skin – harder to make everything beneath it work again.

Whatever magic Jungkook had, it was powerful.

Once you were fully dressed, you approached him on the other side of the clearing. Jungkook continued to stare pointedly at the woods, only turning around when you tapped his shoulder. He swiftly took in your outfit, gaze darkening at the sight of his clothes on your frame.

Ignoring the possible meanings his look could contain, you cleared your throat.

Jungkook’s gaze jumped to yours. “Are you ready to go?” he said, a bit brusque. “Nemrys is willing to fly us both back.”

Your jaw fell a little. “You wish for me to ride a dragon?”

“I expect you not to undo the gift I gave. Although I fixed your shoulder the best I could, I’d prefer a healer examined you back in Valor. It would be bad,” Jungkook added, seeing your expression, “if the Queen of Ashya were to plummet from the sky after my attempted healing.”

Much as you hated to admit it, he had a point. Magic was tenuous – even you knew how complicated healing magic was.

“Fine,” you muttered. “I will ride back with you.”

When you moved to walk past him, Jungkook grabbed your arm. Bristling somewhat, you stared at his hand on your sleeve.

“What?” you huffed, looking upwards.

Jungkook met your gaze. “Before we go,” he said slowly. “There are things you should know. Things we need to discuss.”

“Such as?”

“Such as my magic,” he said, releasing your arm. “My magic, where it comes from, and what it means for Ashya.”

You stared at him, not understanding.

Jungkook exhaled and ran a hand through his hair. Dark strands fell around his face, partially concealing the worry in his gaze. Of what, or for whom, you did not know.

“Do you know the origin story of magic?”

His voice had deepened, softened a little. Something about this and his expression convinced you not to snap back. Every child on the continent knew the origin story.

“Of course,” you said curiously. “Natal ripped a hole in the veil and before she could close it, magic seeped through.”

“True.” Jungkook nodded. “In your version of the story though, only your kind were gifted with magic. This is not the case. All dragons have magic.”

The world around you seemed to tilt. What Jungkook said was impossible and yet, he seemed utterly serious. For a moment, you wondered if he’d also been hurt in the attack. Perhaps he’d hit his head in his haste to heal you.

“You are the only kind of dragon who can shapeshift,” he continued. “Other kinds of magic exist, though. There are other types of power the dragons can wield.”

“Impossible,” you whispered, finally finding your voice.

“It is true.” Jungkook’s gaze remained level. “Riders can use the magic of the dragon they’re bonded to. It is why I can heal. Nemrys comes from a long line of dragons with healing magic.”

“It cannot be,” you said, reeling from the implications. “Only the descendants of Dragons and humans are born with magic.”

“And riders, once they bond.”

You stared at him a moment, then shook your head. “We would have known. We would… we would have known if someone else could use magic. How could we not?” you demanded.

A shadow of something bitter crossed Jungkook’s expression. “I am sure you are aware there are parts of Duret Ghal which disapprove of magic.”

You did not know how this could relate to the dragons and their riders but allowed the detour to continue. It could not be worse than the sudden revelation magic was different from what you’d always imagined.

“I am aware,” you said flatly. “A ridiculous notion. Magic wins wars.”

“True.” Jungkook seemed to weigh his words. “But those born with gifts are viewed as a necessary evil by some within Duret Ghal. A tool for battle and nothing more. If these people had discovered their leaders had magic?” Jungkook shook his head. “A century ago, Ghalians would have revolted.”

Your eyes narrowed. “They would accept you ride dragons, but not that you have magic?”

A ghost of a smile crossed Jungkook’s lips.

“Humans are gifted magic when a Dragon and human mate,” he explained. “For many years, Duret Ghal considered Ashya and Dragons to be our enemy. You can understand why the idea of magic was an inherent threat.”

“…I suppose.”

“They only accepted the riders because Ghalians imagined the same thing you did – that the dragons we ride are a tame, subservient species compared to your own. It is not so.”

“No?”

“No.”

Unable to fathom this, you looked away at the forest. If everything Jungkook said was true, then the history of your nation – of your continent – was a lie. The Dragons of Ashya were only different in that they could shapeshift. The rhetoric you’d believed your whole life, that you were somehow more than the rest, was untrue.

The dragon riders had magic and, realizing this, you turned back.

“Why did you heal me, then?” you asked. “If the Ghalians feel so strongly about magic, surely you would wish to keep this a secret?”

Jungkook hesitated.

“We were… aware of the risk coming here. For many years, I have been trying to convince the other riders to reveal themselves,” he explained. “It was the coming war against Mor which convinced them, in the end.”

“What does Mor have to do with it?”

“Everything,” Jungkook said. “Mor has declared a war on all dragons, including those of Duret Ghal. Their technology is beyond ours. When they do come, it will be a bloody battle. If we do not fight with our full capabilities, we might fail. I will not allow this to happen.”

“And so,” you said slowly. “You healed me because… you had already decided to reveal your magic?”

An amused gleam entered his gaze. “Amongst other reasons,” Jungkook allowed. “Though you may not believe it, I rather enjoy having you around, Your Majesty. It would be a pity to waste a life such as yours.”

There seemed to be deeper meaning to his words, but you had no time to dissect it. Stepping closer, Jungkook looked down.

“We had planned to reveal our magic once the treaty was signed,” he explained. “Your injury simply moved up the timeline.”

“I see,” you said, somewhat dazed by his presence so close to your own.

Jungkook nodded, then turned to continue, but something within you kept you from moving. Staring at the back of his head, you realized the words you truly wanted to say.

“And the other dragons,” you said slowly, then stopped. “What about them?”

Paused at the edge of the clearing, Jungkook turned around. Wariness had entered his gaze.

“I do not know this is my story to tell,” he admitted. “But since you cannot speak directly to Nemrys, I can tell you what he told me.”

Jungkook glanced overhead and you wondered if he searched for the time. Or, you realized, he could be communicating with Nemrys.

You had known rider and dragon had a bond. This had been well-documented throughout history, but not much else was known beyond their ritualistic ceremony. Whether dragon and rider could converse was a controversial topic amongst historians, but based on what Jungkook said, it seemed they could.

Based on what he did now, it seemed they did.

“Thousands of years ago,” Jungkook finally said, looking down. “Natal broke the sky and magic flowed in. It entered all dragons who slept in the mountains below. The magic manifested in different forms. A line of dragons known for compassion became healers. Another line, known for passion and wildness, became stormmakers. And another, always curious, became the shapeshifters.

“Human beings were originally from the south, but as they moved north, they encountered the dragons. Wars were fought between them, bloodier than any of our recent conflicts. Many were killed on both sides, until the head of the shifter dragons decided to become human.

“There was dissent amongst the dragons as to whether this was wise. Many did not like the idea of stooping to the humans’ level, but the shifter line proceeded despite their caution. Your kind founded Ashya and lived in peace for a while.

“Over time, changes took place. Small, at first – and then larger. Some of the shifters chose not to shift, even though they could. Some decided they preferred human form over dragon. In an important conflict, the shifters sided with humans. Certain lines of dragons deemed this to be unacceptable.

“The most feared magic amongst dragons was – and still is – that of the memory dragons. These dragons, though rare, can manipulate thought, memory and perception. As punishment for siding with the humans, they took away your memory of all dragons. Stole your ability to communicate while in dragon form. Over time, your kind have forgotten what you once were.

“It was a terrible punishment. One which has not been given since. That is the whole truth,” he finished quietly. “That is the knowledge which has been kept from your kind.”

Falling silent, Jungkook allowed time for his story to sink in. The forest around you was silent as well, as though it, too, were holding its breath.

You could only stare while struggling to comprehend. If what Jungkook said was true, then you were not different from other dragons – or, you were, but not in the ways you’d once thought. They were as intelligent, as cohesive, and knowledgeable as you were. More, perhaps, if they had hidden this from you for so long.

“And so, rider magic,” you said, a bit hoarse. “How…?”

“Ah.” Jungkook gave a wry smile. “The riders did not come until later. Call it Natal’s judgement, if you will. As time went on, some of the dragon lines grew more curious about humans. One of them somehow bonded with a human. This continued to occur until finally, the King of Duret Ghal himself became a dragon rider.”

“And the riders,” you said, trying to piece it together. “They can use their dragon’s magic?”

Jungkook nodded.

“And you speak to them?” The barest hint of wonder entered your voice. “Can you speak to all dragons?”

“Only the one we are bonded to,” Jungkook said, a bit softer.

“I see.”

He gave you a look. “I know this is a lot to take in.”

“No. Well, yes,” you said as you shook your head. “You have given me much to think on, Your Majesty.”

Jungkook’s expression shuttered a bit at the formality, but he inclined his head. “Indeed, Your Majesty,” he responded.

You stared at him for a moment, taking in the dried sweat on his forehead from the energy spent healing you. Something had changed between you, and you did not know how you could turn back.

“Thank you,” you said softly.

Jungkook glanced up. “For what?”

“For many things, I suppose. For healing me. For trusting me with the truth. I owe you a life debt, Your Majesty.”

An unreadable look passed over his face. “I imagine there will be many life debts between us before this war comes to pass.”

He was not wrong and for a moment, you allowed yourself the luxury of imagining you might face this war together.

“A fair point,” you allowed.

Glancing past him, you surveyed the clearing. Nemrys must be nearby, or Jungkook would not have gotten to you so quickly. Suddenly, the prospect of meeting another dragon held an entirely different meaning. All this time, you had assumed them to be less intelligent than your own and had treated them as such. You could only imagine how little they thought of you.

Nemrys would likely be less thrilled to have you riding him, than you would be in the saddle.

“There is another reason I healed you,” Jungkook admitted.

You glanced his way in surprise. “And what reason was that?”

Jungkook walked closer, step by step until he was barely a foot away. Reaching out a hand, he adjusted his tunic where it fell on your frame. His thumb brushed your bare collarbone and in response to this, you barely suppressed a shiver.

“You said you did not know me.” Jungkook swallowed. “It seemed a shame for our time to be cut short before I could remedy this fact.”

With that, he dropped his hand and walked away.

You stared as he left, feeling utterly thrown until he spoke again.

“Follow me,” Jungkook called. “Nemrys is impatient. Not unusual for a dragon, but he does make a good point. People will be looking for us – I was expected back nearly an hour ago.”

Glancing overhead, you realized Jungkook was right based on the sun's position. It had risen nearly above the treetops, meaning Jimin would have people looking for you soon.

Jungkook kept going as you followed, striding from the clearing you’d made when you fell. It took only a few minutes before the trees had thinned enough for you to come face to face with Nemrys on the ground.

His scales were ebony in color, dark as the night sky above during the witching hour. Only one golden eye could focus on you at a time, but the one which did remained steady as you entered.

Nemrys did not seem happy to see you, and you did not blame him. Dragons were a territorial bunch, whether shifter or otherwise. If Nemrys considered you a threat to Jungkook, he would stop at nothing to protect his rider.

As you exited the forest, Jungkook looked up. “No,” he said sharply, walking around Nemrys’ side.

Curious, you turned and realized he wasn’t speaking to you.

“What did Nemrys say?” 

A growl left Nemrys’ throat, clawing at the ground with a single, curved talon.

Jungkook sighed in response, looking skyward. He seemed thoroughly exasperated, and it was one of the most natural expressions you’d seen on him thus far.

“Nemrys asked if you wished to ride in the saddle, or have him carry you,” Jungkook said at last, looking down.

Gaze narrowed, you turned your head to Nemrys. If you did not know any better, you could have sworn his upper lip curled. To be carried by a dragon meant to dangle upside down from their claw while they flew through the air.

“No, thank you,” you said, walking closer. “Although, I do have something I wish to say to Nemrys.”

Coming to a stop before him, you looked Nemrys in the eye. Nemrys slowly blinked, as though he were extremely uninterested in whatever you had to say.

“Thank you,” you said, your voice softening. “Thank you… for telling me, through him.”

Nemrys stilled.

“And for healing me,” you added, bowing your head. It was a sign of great trust to expose your neck to a dragon. “I cannot find the words to express my gratitude.”

After a moment, Nemrys exhaled and lowered his head as well. Glancing up, you met his gaze and felt something unspoken pass between you.

“He thinks you might find the saddle more comfortable,” Jungkook said, sounding a bit amused at the side.

Lips twitching, you took a step backwards and looked now at Jungkook. Nemrys snorted again, steam exhaled past his lips. In response to whatever he’d said, Jungkook’s cheeks turned a bit pink.

“What was that?” you asked, curious.

“Nothing.” Jungkook glared at the dragon. “Nemrys said we should go.”

Nemrys snorted once more, steam rising as he hauled himself to his feet. It did not seem Jungkook was telling you the entire truth, but the importance of this faded when you saw the saddle. It had not seemed as high when you were also a dragon.

“You sit up… there?” you asked, coming to a stop.

Jungkook hid his smile. “It isn’t as dangerous as it seems,” he insisted, placing a hand on the ladder. “You just climb all the rungs until you reach the top.”

Nodding, you placed one foot in the stirrup and firmly gripped the ladder. As you began to climb, hand over foot, you found yourself holding your breath. Eventually, you reached the top and swung a leg over.

“Careful,” Jungkook called from the ground. “I still want my healer to take a look at your shoulder.”

“I have healers, too,” you grumbled, settling onto the leather.

Jungkook climbed after you, swinging his leg over to land firmly behind you. His right hand found your waist, tugging you back until your spine met his chest. None other would dare touch the Queen in such a manner but then again, Jungkook was also a King.

“I know,” he said, his breath warm on your ear. “But mine are accustomed to dealing with magical healing.”

Unable to argue, you gripped the front of the saddle. Unconvincingly, you tried to make yourself believe it would be like riding a horse. Jungkook’s hand gripped your hip, distracting enough that you nearly forgot what you were doing.

As Nemrys bent and spread his wings, you forced your eyes shut. It was a silly thing, but you’d never flown through the skies when you were not the one in control.

You felt, rather than saw, when the ground fell away beneath you. Wind whistled past your ears, the force of gravity pressing you against Jungkook’s chest. He said nothing in response, merely curled his fingers into the hem of your tunic.

One you felt comfortable, you opened your eyes against the rushing wind.

For a moment, vertigo overtook you and you felt a bit nauseous. It felt wrong to fly in your human body, with nothing protecting you if you were to fall. The feeling only lasted a moment though, before you began to marvel at the landscape beneath you.

It looked different with your human vision – as a dragon, you could see UV as well as blue, red and green. Vision as a human was softer, the mountains before you a muted grey-green. Even the air felt colder without your dragon skin.

Unbidden, you shivered, and Jungkook’s hand tightened.

“It is different,” you breathed, staring hard at the ground.

Jungkook chuckled, low in your ear. “Different for me, too,” he admitted. “I have never flown with another person before.”

Startled, you turned and found his face close to yours. You had not thought about this when you moved, but now found yourself inches away from his lips.

“Never?” you murmured, your words caught by the wind.

“Never.”

Again, the same shiver swept your spine, so you forced yourself to face forward. The wind continued to blow, ferocious and cold, but Jungkook managed to stay warm behind you. Eyes drifting shut, you allowed yourself a moment to bask in his presence.

Only a moment before you pulled yourself together.

All too soon, you arrived at the castle courtyard. Landing in the open space by the gates, you realized a search party had already gathered. Sliding down from Nemrys, you barely paused to give thanks before hurrying on.

Midway to the castle, you saw Jimin break ranks as he jogged to see you. Scanning your frame, his silver-blonde hair blew haphazardly in the wind. Coming to a sudden stop, Jimin glanced past you, his eyes widening when he realized you’d come from Nemrys.

Before he could speak, Namjoon skidded to a stop beside him.

“Y/N,” he gasped, lowering both hands to his knees. “By the veil, you scared us.”

Guiltily, you turned. “I am sorry,” you told him. “I am fine, though. I promise. I apologize for making you worry.”

Jimin continued to stare at Nemrys. “Your Majesty. What –”

“It was my fault,” Jungkook interrupted, striding into the circle. He came to a stop alongside you, as though he belonged there. “I saw Her Majesty injure herself while out flying and insisted on escorting her back to the castle.”

Namjoon looked at you in alarm. “Is this true? Are you hurt?”

“Only a dislocation,” you assured him. “Nothing to worry about.”

Although Namjoon nodded, Jimin continued to frown.

“A dislocation,” he said slowly, his gaze flicking to yours. “While flying?”

“Momentarily blinded by the sun,” you explained. “Hit a cliff and was forced to shift back to human.”

“And… Jungkook saw?”

Both Jimin and Namjoon glanced at Jungkook, who jumped into the story without missing a beat.

“Nemrys has excellent vision,” he said with a shrug. “Better than I, that is for certain.”

Jimin still seemed suspicious, but he eventually nodded. “We are glad to see you safe, Your Majesty,” he said. “I will go and tell the search party to stand down.”

“Thank you,” you said quietly.

Jimin began crossing the courtyard, leaving you alone with Namjoon and Jungkook. You fully intended to tell Namjoon and Jimin the truth, but now was not the right moment. Too many ears were listening.

“Is Yoongi furious?” you asked lowly. “How many meetings have I missed?”

Namjoon gave a rueful smile. “He will get over it. Your meetings for the morning have been postponed. The afternoon remains.”

“Good,” you said, stepping forward. “I will just –”

“Your Majesty,” Jungkook said, and you paused. “I did hope you would see the healer on my staff before returning to duty.”

He stood to your side, looking at you earnestly. Namjoon glanced between you; his surprise further increasing when you eventually nodded.

“His Majesty is correct,” you admitted. “I do feel fine, Namjoon, but it is better to be safe than sorry. I will have things to discuss with you after.”

Namjoon slowly nodded, seeming to understand. “Anything I need to know now?”

Glancing around, you ensured no one could hear. “A Mor patrol,” you said quietly. “Barely fifteen miles south. They were the true cause of my injury, but they are no longer a worry.”

Namjoon’s brow creased even further. “Are you certain you are alright? If it was a Mor patrol, you may have–”

“I am fine,” you cut in, quiet.

Namjoon hesitated before he nodded again. “Alright. I will have Jimin send soldiers to search the surrounding mountains.”

“Thank you. Tell Yoongi I will be up as soon as I can. And have Amara send me new clothes,” you added as you walked past. “I believe it sends the wrong message to wander around in His Majesty’s leathers.”

Namjoon nearly choked on his response while turning to leave.

“Well?” You glanced sideways, at Jungkook. “What are we waiting for?”

Turning his laugh into a cough, Jungkook began to walk forward. “Nothing,” he said.

Following his footsteps, you realized he went towards the guest entrance of the castle. Jungkook had not landed near the sheds, which made sense. Dragons and riders did not take kindly to one another. You supposed you and Nemrys now made the exception.

As you entered the halls of the castle, a draft brushed your exposed skin and you shivered. Pulling Jungkook’s clothes tighter, you considered the excuse he’d fed to Jimin.

“You said Nemrys saw me from the sky,” you said, breaking the silence.

Jungkook looked your way in surprise. “Should I have said something different? You did not seem inclined to discuss your injury out there.”

“No, you are correct. However, I now find myself wondering how did you see me this morning? Did you follow me from the castle, Your Majesty?”

Coming to a halt at the next corner, Jungkook turned sideways to face you.

His gaze flickered in torchlight. “Are you accusing me of following you?”

"Merely asking.”

Jungkook’s eyes narrowed. “If you must know, I was also out for my morning ride. I saw a Mor scout and had tracked them back to that mountain when I saw you get shot.”

“How very convenient,” you said, lifting your chin.

A muscle in his jaw ticked, stepping closer. “Is it?” he murmured. “I find it tiresome to have my honor continually called into question, Your Majesty.”

“Can you blame me?” you said. “You have kept many secrets from me, it would seem. Some are more substantial than others.”

“I also saved your life.”

“A debt I am well-aware of.”

A door creaked open down the hall.

“Oh – I am sorry,” a chestnut-haired man said, peeking out. “I heard arguing and wanted to make sure no one needed my help. Carry on!”

The man was about to duck back inside, when Jungkook held up a hand.

“Wait, Hoseok,” he said, not looking away from your gaze. “I need you to do something for me.”

The man – Hoseok, it seemed – paused halfway across the threshold. His gaze slid to yours, clearly recognizing you for who you were.

“Are you sure?” he asked slowly.

Jungkook nodded, turning on his heel as he strode down the hall. You were left with no choice but to follow, glaring daggers at his retreating backside. Something about the King made your blood boil, making you see red as you traveled in his footsteps.

“This is my healer, Jung Hoseok,” Jungkook said, coming to a stop. “Hoseok, this is the Queen of Ashya. I would appreciate it if you looked at her shoulder.”

Hoseok hesitated, glancing past Jungkook to you. After a moment, he nodded and stepped inside. 

“Of course,” he said with a bow. “Please, come in.”

Inclining your head, you walked past Jungkook to enter. The space past him was tidy, though there was not much light to see by, aside from the fireplace. Possibly the room had belonged to an Ashyan healer, although you could not be certain. You rarely traveled into the guest wing.

Once Jungkook had joined you, Hoseok crossed the room to pull open a cabinet. Rummaging around, he set several jars on the counter.

Jungkook lingered by the door, leaning a shoulder to the wall to stare at the healer.

Deciding the best thing to do was ignore him, you glanced away. One minute the King was tender, binding your wounds with the utmost of care and the next, he seemed ready to bite your head off. It was maddening.

Glancing around, you took in herbs, linen, and jars of salve. On the hearth was a fire, crackling merrily beneath a large, copper pot. The scents of witch hazel and thyme filled the room, a natural antiseptic.

“Hoseok is the best healer in Duret Ghal,” Jungkook said, by way of introduction.

Hoseok snorted. “I do not know about that,” he said as he turned around.

“Careful.” Jungkook arched a brow. “Her Majesty may take you at your word and see an Ashyan healer instead.”

Hoseok made an unbecoming sound before he looked up, stricken. “I did not mean insult, Your Majesty,” he said, a bit panicked. “It is only –”

“It is alright,” you interrupted. “None of my healers are accustomed to wounds healed by magic. I would prefer you look at my wound, regardless of what you have to say about Ashya.”

Hoseok shot Jungkook a surprised glance, who nodded.

“The Queen’s wounds were severe,” Jungkook said quietly. “An iron bolt to the shoulder while in dragon form. She crashed through the forest and shifted on impact. Had lost a lot of blood when I arrived.”

“I see.” Hoseok glanced your way, sympathetic. “I am so sorry to hear it, Your Majesty.”

With anyone else, you might have thought the words sounded patronizing, but not with Hoseok. He had an earnest way about him; you imagined he couldn’t tell a lie to save his soul.

“I would not care to repeat the experience,” you admitted.

Briskly, Hoseok scanned your body. “Left shoulder?”

Surprised, you said, “Yes.”

He nodded, rolling up his sleeves to walk around the table. An empty jar stayed behind on the counter, the flames from the hearth casting flickering light on the floor.

Hoseok stopped. “In order to evaluate your arm, I will need you to remove the tunic, Your Majesty. Is this alright?”

You nodded, then glanced at Jungkook.

Cheeks a bit pink, he seemed to take the hint. “I will take my leave,” Jungkook said, his hand fumbling for the door. “Should you have further need of me, Your Majesty, you may send Hoseok to find me.”

“Which might be rather difficult,” Hoseok observed. “Given Hoseok is currently tending to Her Majesty’s injury.”

Jungkook rolled his eyes but hid a smile as he left. The door fell shut behind him, leaving you and Hoseok in total silence. With a rueful smile, he glanced your way.

“Apologies,” he said with a shrug. “Jungkook and I grew up together, so we tend to forget our formalities when others are present.”

“We?” you said, arching a brow. “It seemed you were the only one forgetting your manners, healer Jung.”

Hoseok’s eyes widened, unsure how to respond until you laughed.

“I am sorry,” you said with a smile. “It is cruel to tease when you do not know my nature.”

Hoseok paused before throwing his head back to laugh. Eyes shining, he wagged a finger in your direction as he walked away. “You are funny,” he said, pulling out a bowl. “It is no wonder the King seems to enjoy your company.”

“Is that so?”

Hoseok seemed not to hear your question, selecting some linen to lay on the counter. “There is a partition in the corner,” he said, nodding towards it. “Fabric is laid on the stool, so you can wrap it around your midsection for modesty.”

The partition was barely more than a folding screen, but it did the trick. Stripping free from Jungkook’s tunic, you folded it neatly and placed it on the stool. Winding the fabric around your breasts, you covered them tightly and stepped outside.

Glancing up as you exited, Hoseok set down his work. “You may sit on the stool,” he instructed. “That will do for the examination.”

Taking a seat, you waited for Hoseok to come around the counter. Gently, he took your wrist and turned it this way and that. Raising your arm, he examined its mobility until he seemed satisfied. Deft fingers moved up your arm, applying gentle pressure to several key points. When you failed to react, he prodded deeper.

Aside from the occasional twinge, you felt nothing unusual. After a while, Hoseok took a step back and nodded approval.

“Jungkook did a good job,” he said as he turned away.

“Is that all?”

“Not quite.” Hoseok stepped behind his table. “I will make you a salve, Your Majesty. This will ease any stiffness you may feel from the magical healing. Magic requires a great deal of energy, some of it yours. You may feel more tired than usual.”

“Oh,” you said, a bit thrown.

You had never questioned the toll of magic before. Yoongi had never complained about using his gift to help your council.

Pulling things from his cabinets, Hoseok began to mix and measure in a bowl. He was quiet for a while, content to do his work while you watched. After a while, he cleared his throat.

“I imagine it was a shock,” he said. “To be healed in such a manner.”

You stared at him a moment, unsure how to respond.

“It was… unexpected.”

Hoseok laughed as he looked up. “That is one way to put it,” he agreed. “The first time Jungkook healed me, I screamed like the veil was being torn apart. Thought he was trying to hex me.”

“Is such a thing even possible?” you said, smiling despite yourself.

Hoseok shrugged. “It seemed as likely as a rider having magic. I am sure Jungkook told you, but most in Duret Ghal are unaware of that particular secret.”

Silent, you nodded. Jungkook had, indeed, explained to you the image of magic in his homeland.

After a moment, Hoseok sighed. “The perceptions of Ghalians have changed greatly since the end of the Dragon Wars, but some of the fear remains. There are some who, no matter what we say, will believe magic and all Dragons are evil.”

“Not those His Majesty rides, though?”

Hoseok gave you a wry smile. “They do not view those dragons as the intelligent creatures you and I know them to be. Jungkook wishes to change that,” he said. “But it will be a difficult path. One he is determined to set upon.”

“I see.” You paused. “Forgive me for being blunt, but why are you telling me this?”

Hoseok resumed making the salve. “When Jungkook first revealed his magic to me, I was upset. He had lied. Kept something important from me for such a long time. It took me a while to understand that he, himself, did not always view his magic to be a gift.”

You stared at Hoseok a moment. 

Jungkook had seemed so confident when he healed you, and had always seemed different from the Ghalians who despised magic and Dragons. It had not occurred to you his reasons for keeping his magic a secret may have also been personal.

Hoseok was right. Changing perception within Duret Ghal would be difficult. Jungkook had taken a great risk by revealing his magic to you. A risk you did not wish to examine too closely for the moment.

“Is the examination finished?” you asked, rising from the stool.

Hoseok looked up in surprise. “Oh, yes. Feel free to get dressed, Your Majesty. I will finish this salve and send you on your way.”

You nodded and retreated behind the partition. Once you were no longer visible, you allowed yourself to fully breathe. Hoseok’s words painted a different picture of the Ghalian King. Magic had always been viewed as a gift in Ashya; you should have recognized the stigma elsewhere.

Unwinding the fabric from your torso, you returned to Jungkook’s clothing. His scent was everywhere, enveloping you fully.

It made you remember the ride with him on Nemrys, his body warm and solid behind you. Closing your eyes, you pushed this memory from mind. More and more, you found yourself considering Jungkook as a man instead of your enemy, and such thoughts were dangerous.

Fastening the belt, you stepped outside and found Hoseok waiting.

“Here,” he said, handing over a jar of salve. “If you need more, please send word and I shall bring it immediately.”

“You are too kind,” you said, accepting the bottle. “I appreciate your help, healer Jung.”

“Hoseok.”

“Hoseok,” you agreed with a nod.

Not wishing to overstay the welcome, you gave him a last smile and walked towards the door. One hand on the knob, you paused.

Hoseok looked up at your silence. “Yes?”

A thousand questions sprang to mind – silly, inane ones of no use to anyone. What Jungkook had been like as a child, why he’d once needed to heal Hoseok and reveal his magic. You found yourself wanting to know more, wanting to know him and again, this was dangerous.

“Nothing,” you said, pulling open the door. “Thank you again for your services.”

Hoseok nodded and smiled as you left the room. Amara was waiting for you in the hall, a fresh bundle of clothes in her arms.

“Thank Natal,” you sighed, taking the dress. “It would have caused a lot of talk had I worn the King’s clothing upstairs.”

Hiding her grin, Amara followed you inside the empty room across the corridor. Once the door was shut, she began to help you dress.

“Did you fall in a pond?” she asked innocently, tugging on your laces.

You winced while lifted your arms. “Nothing so exciting. I was caught unawares during my flight and needed to shift. My morning dress is still in the sheds, unfortunately.”

Amara nodded, finishing the final button as you turned around. “I will get it,” she said, gathering Jungkook’s clothes and the salve to exit the room.

Left alone with your thoughts, you hesitated a moment before following suit.

Jungkook had not waited for you.

You were not sure why this mattered. It didn’t – it should not and yet, you couldn’t stop the sinking feeling it somehow did. Shoving the feeling aside, you managed to seem unruffled by the time you reached your first meeting.

The day only grew longer from there.

When people imagined the duties of the crown, they typically thought of the more extraordinary parts. Being coronated, going to war, grand marshalling parades and the like.

The reality of ruling was far less glamorous. It was one tedious decision after another, with the most minute turn of phrase sparking ire or admiration. It was sitting through meeting after meeting while you listened to weather reports, updates from mines and concerns about a two and a half percent tariff still being too high.

By the time your meetings ended, the sun had long since sunk below the horizon. Wearily, you returned to your rooms and tried to forget the day. It did not seem possible only this morning, you’d feared for your life while bleeding out in the forest.

The only thing which drove you on was the thought of shutting yourself in your chambers, sinking into a bath and closing your eyes. A wish which seemed destined to be thwarted, you saw when you entered.

Min Yoongi had seated himself in an armchair by the fire, his expression steeled like a weapon of war.

“We need to talk,” he said simply.

Coming to a stop at the table, you inspected the salve Hoseok had made. He had not given any instructions on how to apply it, and you wondered if you should have Amara find out.

“Do we?” you said, lifting your gaze to his. “Need I remind you who amongst us wears the crown, Lord Yoongi?”

“And need I remind you which of us pays the other for their counsel?”

Hiding a smile, you pulled out a chair. As much as Ashya’s stability depended on your authority, you were not above thinking yourself impervious to counsel. If Yoongi had something he wished to speak to you about, it was likely important.

“Shall I guess what this is about?” you asked. “Or, are you going to eventually tell me?”

Yoongi did not waste your time. “What happened this morning?”

“I was injured during a flight.”

He made a noise of dismissal. “Are you truly telling me the Queen of Ashya was injured on a routine flight? That you spotted a Mor patrol and became so distracted, you crashed into a mountainside and dislocated your shoulder? Again,” he said, gaze hardening. “What happened?”

Slowly, you exhaled. “The truth is far less believable.”

“Try me.”

And so, you explained. Everything. Your flight this morning, the Mor patrol which had shot you down from the sky. The way you shifted to human before Jungkook arrived to heal you. You told Yoongi about Jungkook having magic, as did all riders. You explained about the different dragon lines, how they all had magic and were not unintelligent, as you had previously assumed.

Once you had finished, Yoongi stared at you and blinked. “That…” He shook his head. “Is equally insane, but at least you are now telling me the truth.”

He had questions then – many of them, and you soon settled into a familiar rhythm. Planning for different eventualities, laying out who to tell and when. Yoongi, along with Namjoon, were your sounding boards for strategy. When you’d given all the answers you could possibly provide, Yoongi fell silent, staring into the fire.

At last, he stood and walked towards the window. Pouring whiskey from a crystal decanter, he swirled this in one hand before he returned.

“This will change things,” Yoongi said, taking a sip of his drink.

“It will.”

“If what you say is true,” he said slowly. “We have acquired an entire new arsenal against Mor. Who knows what kinds of magic lie within their rider ranks? There has not been a healer born for many decades in Ashya.”

“Some of them will be passive powers,” you warned.

Yoongi waved a hand. “It is still a gift. Still magic. In all Jimin’s plans, he has only accounted for the gifts of humans between us. That number will now double! Triple, even.”

“His Majesty only revealed his magic to me because he was forced,” you countered. “We cannot count on them in upcoming battles with Mor. He could still decide otherwise.”

Yoongi gave you a look. “He said he was planning to reveal it after the treaty was signed, yes?”

“Yes, but –”

“But what, Your Majesty?” Yoongi’s eyes narrowed. “What reason do you have now not to trust the King? What lie could you possibly have prepared for me this evening?”

Freezing in place, you could only stare. Yoongi seldom spoke to you like this. For one, you were his Queen and for another, he usually understood you better than to yell.

After a moment, Yoongi sighed and shoved a hand through his hair. He looked tired, you realized. Hoseok’s words from earlier came to mind, about how magic required new energy. You wondered how much Yoongi had used his gift these past few weeks.

“I am sorry,” Yoongi said, and looked as though he meant it. “I did not mean to sound so harsh.”

Choosing not to respond, you waited instead for him to elaborate. Yoongi rarely said things without meaning them.

Closing his eyes, the dark of his lashes dusted paler cheekbones. The veins in his eyelids were prominent, stark against the rest of his skin.

“It can be exhausting to have a gift like mine,” Yoongi said quietly. “All day, I can sense other people’s emotions, yet cannot shut them out. It can be useful, but it is also tiresome. Oftentimes, I am not sure which emotions are mine. It is especially trying,” he said, eyes opening, “when someone continuously lies in my presence.”

“Me?” you said, taken aback. “When have I lied to you, Yoongi?”

Yoongi stared into his glass for a moment, seemingly weighing the consequences of whatever it was he had to say.

“Each time you say you do not wish to marry the King.”

You went still, staring at him from across the table. Within the confines of your chest, your heart began to beat faster.

“I do not mean you are lying on purpose,” Yoongi said, then paused. “Or maybe you are. It can be hard for me to tell. All I know is your emotions are murky each time you speak, as though you are battling something inside.”

“You think… I desire to marry His Majesty?”

Yoongi considered for a minute. “I do not know,” he admitted.

“And yet, you presume to know a great deal,” you said, drumming your fingers on the table. “Why would I turn the King down if I wished to marry him?”

“I am sure I could not say.”

“Hazard a guess.”

Yoongi’s eyes narrowed. “Fine.” He took a long sip of his drink. “When you are around Jungkook, your emotions get lighter. Happier. And yet, there is sorrow as well. I do not know if this is because of His Majesty, or the idea of marriage itself.”

Staring at Yoongi, you refused to move. He was dangerously close to hitting upon something important. Something you’d worked tirelessly to hide, even from yourself.

“Is it Leo?” Yoongi asked, a bit gentler. “Do you still love him?”

Yoongi had not served with you in the army, but he knew about your former love. Early on in your reign, you’d asked Yoongi to go about certain steps to protect Leo from harm.

“No,” you exhaled. “It has been a long time since I chose my path, and he chose his.”

“Pride, then. Perhaps you do not like the idea of ruling beside someone else.”

“It is not that,” you muttered.

“Hm.” Yoongi tilted his head. “That is the truth.”

“Stop doing that,” you said with a roll of your eyes.

“Perhaps it is the idea of losing your independence, then. Or possibly…” Yoongi paused as something seemed to occur to him. “Ah.”

“What? What is it?”

“It is the mating bond, is it not?”

Going utterly still, you stared at him from across the table.

“Y/N,” Yoongi said softly. “Not all marriages occur with a mating bond. Not all loves do, either. And it is still possible Jungkook could be your mate. Humans have mated with Dragons before. It is not impossible for him to–”

Realizing what he meant then, a laugh left your lips. It sounded bitter, even to you. Yoongi thought you didn’t want to marry Jungkook because he wasn’t your mate. He thought you wanted to marry for love, when the truth was the exact opposite.

“I know it is possible,” you gasped, interrupting. “I know it is possible because Jungkook is my mate, Yoongi. I have known this fact since I was seventeen and visited him for the treaty.”

Yoongi’s eyes widened as you pressed on.

“I felt it even then,” you whispered, the words pouring out. “It was hardly anything at that age, barely more than a brush of energy against my skin, but… I knew. I knew the mating bond lay between us.”

Silence fell between you, the weight of what you’d said settling over the table. Eventually, Yoongi managed to shake himself free from his stupor.

“Then what is the problem?” he demanded. “If you two are mates, surely this is even more reason for you to accept his proposal. It must be a sign from Natal.”

Jaw clenched, you looked away. The mere thought of accepting the bond brought a dull roar to your ears, twisting your insides into knots. You could never forget what occurred after your trip to Duret Ghal, nor the solemn vow you had made at your coronation.

“I cannot marry him,” you said stiffly.

Incredulity entered Yoongi’s gaze. “But Y/N –”

“I cannot,” you said, turning your head. “Yoongi, you know as well as I do how bonds like this end. How it looks, how it feels for someone to lose their mate. I vowed when I accepted the crown it would be the only constant in my life.”

Pity filled Yoongi’s gaze as realization dawned.

“Y/N,” he said after a long moment. “You are not your father.”

The silence in the room drew as taut as a bowstring.

“It killed him,” you whispered. “The loss of my mother killed my father. You know this to be true. It may have taken him five years, but from the moment she died, he began to die as well. I cannot – I will not – do that to myself, or to Ashya.”

Yoongi stared at you a moment before he looked away.

It was a silent truth acknowledged throughout the Kingdom. Dragons had a long lifespan, but the mating bond was something other and strange. It only occurred once in a lifetime and was a love so deep, so true that to lose one’s mate was to lose oneself.

Your father had tried, at least. He’d stayed alive for you, for his Kingdom, but it had not been enough in the end. After five years of trying, he’d finally given in.

It was why you’d enlisted after your mother’s death. You had seen how her loss was killing your father and could not bear to be around for the process.

When you finally returned to accept the crown, you’d made your vow. The same fate would not befall you. You would not become your father and leave Ashya at risk. You would not accept the mating bond – which meant you would not accept Jungkook.

Even if every fiber of your being wished to do so.

Jungkook was not yet fully your mate. He needed to be aware of the bond, for one and you needed to accept it, for another. Tendrils already existed, but it was not the same thing as the full bond in place. Once you accepted, there would be no return.

“Not everyone views their mate as a bad thing,” Yoongi said quietly.

Startled, you looked up. “They are fools, then.”

He frowned at his glass. “Are we not all fools in love, though?”

“Precisely the reason I do not care to accept it.”

Smiling sadly, Yoongi lifted his drink and drained the rest. His expression shifted from resignation to thoughtfulness while he set down his glass.

“They say the loss of a mate is akin to ripping one’s heart from their chest,” he mused. “They say it is an unbearable pain, one which cannot be endured.”

“Are you trying to help me?”

He paused. “I only wonder… for such unimaginable pain, there must be unimaginable beauty before it. What could be so wonderful that to be without it would be close to death?” Yoongi shook his head. “Maybe the loss of a mate has no parallel because its happiness has no parallel, either.”

Struck by this statement, you looked into the fire.

“It is not a bad thing to want happiness, Your Majesty.”

Brow furrowed, you continued to stare at the leaping flames. It was not a bad thing to want happiness, but the mating bond had never meant such a thing to you.

Not until Jungkook. When he had arrived a week prior, you’d kept him at arm’s length for two reasons. One had been his title and Duret Ghal’s legacy, but the other had been self-preservation.

You could not miss what you did not know. Unfortunately, each passing day brought you closer together and you feared when he left, it would tear your heart from your chest.

Still, it was better than accepting him as your mate.

Yoongi stood from the table and stretched his arms overhead. Looking up, you appreciated the silence he gave you. The truth of the bond was something you hadn’t told anyone. To share it with him felt like a weight lifted.

“There are more negotiations tomorrow,” Yoongi said, returning to business. “With the secret of the riders’ magic revealed, we will need to factor this into our military discussions.”

“Agreed,” you said quietly.

Yoongi considered you a moment longer before he turned around. As he reached the door, Yoongi paused on the threshold.

“I understand your hesitance, Your Majesty,” he said quietly. “I would not blame you if you decided not to accept him. It is only for your happiness I urge you to reconsider. Not all of us are gifted with a mate,” he said simply, and walked out the door.

As the door shut behind him, you stared at the wood.

You remained seated for some time, listening to your heartbeat, and imagining it entwined with someone else’s. This was the second secret of yours only Yoongi knew.

The other was you hadn’t wanted to accept the throne at all.

When your father had died, you’d been content to stay in the armed forces, living a life of anonymity while you served Ashya. You had planned on relinquishing the crown, but Yoongi had known and convinced you to return. He’d been the one to talk some sense into you, saying if you truly wished to serve Ashya, you’d do so best in the role you’d been born into – as its Queen.

Duty had been thrust upon you sooner than it should have; yet another reason why you resented the bond. You should not have become Queen when you did. You should not have had to accept the burden so soon and yet, you had. It had been the right course and you deeply loved this nation.

It was why you refused to put Ashya through such a thing again.

And yet, you could not help but think upon Yoongi’s words. It was not a bad thing to want happiness for yourself.

After a long time, you roused yourself from the table and went to bed.

The first time you’d felt the bond had been at the cliffs, although you had not realized what it was at the time.

It had only been later, in the middle of Duret Ghal’s gardens, you understood the gravity of what you felt for Jungkook. Or rather, what you one day might feel.

After the day you spent riding, you’d began to notice Jungkook’s presence more and more. He could usually be found in one of two places – in the palace library or out on his dragon, Nemrys. You had found yourself watching for him, somehow attuned to his presence.

Even with all this, the magnitude had not stricken you until the night of the ball. On the last night of your trip, Duret Ghal decided to celebrate both your betrothal and the anticipated treaty. No expense had been spared for the evening. Even now, you remembered the sounds of the orchestra playing, chandeliers bright above as the people laughed and danced.

At some point, you’d searched for the Prince and found him no longer inside. Curious, your search had led you out the northern doors, onto a patio which overlooked the gardens below.

Duret Ghal had been colder than Ashya, but during the summer the evening air had been pleasantly cool. Wandering away from the castle, you’d drifted amongst the flowers until you came upon him.

Jungkook had faced away from you, his hands clasped behind his back while he watched the tree above with its delicate, orange blossoms. His eyes had been closed; wayward, dark strands of hair blown over his face.

Realizing you’d intruded upon a personal moment, you turned to take your leave, and stepped on a twig. 

Jungkook’s eyes had flown open and when he saw you, he smiled.

The sight sent such simmering warmth through your chest, you’d nearly stopped breathing. White-hot energy blazed across your skin, brightening the world while you basked in his gaze.

That had been the moment you realized. Jungkook was your mate.

“I – I am sorry,” you’d stammered, turning to leave. “I am intruding–”

“Not at all.” Jungkook’s gaze sought yours in darkness. “Please. Stay.”

After a moment of consideration, you had acquiesced. The closer you moved, the more aware you’d become of his energy. Suddenly, all the wives’ tales and legends about mating made sense. The bond had been real, and you felt it for Jungkook.

Jungkook had smiled at you, then returned to the flowers. “Were you also tired of the people gathered inside?” 

“Yes,” you’d murmured.

None of the people inside had been him.

Forcing yourself to look up, you had focused on the tree. It was not a species native to Ashya; its delicate, floral scent was unfamiliar. Between its boughs, the night stars had peered down. Legends said stars were where Natal’s veil was thinnest and otherworldly magic seeped through the cracks. You liked to imagine stars held some kinship to dragons.

Jungkook had cleared his throat. “I must admit,” he’d said. “You are not at all what I imagined you to be.”

“No?”

You had turned sideways to face him in the moonlight.

“Not that it is a bad thing, mind you.”

Heart racing, you you’d smiled. Jungkook had looked your way, his expression gentle in the light from above.

“It is not?” you had whispered.

Turning fully to face you, Jungkook had stepped closer. His right hand flexed at his side, as though he had yearned to reach out and touch you.

“No,” he’d admitted.

His gaze had dropped to your lips.

Your throat had gone dry. “What were you expecting?”

“I do not know,” he’d said. “I thought I might resent you. For taking away my choice to marry. For forcing me to become King before I was ready. For reminding me duty will always be greater than our happiness.”

Each word he said had sunk your heart like a stone. It had been how you’d felt at the start of your journey, but perhaps not then.

“Now though,” he’d said, and you lifted your gaze.

“Now?”

Without quite meaning to, you’d drifted closer. The space between you had lessened to several inches, the heat from his body near-tangible.

“Now,” Jungkook had said, barely audible. “I find myself intrigued by what the future will hold.”

Before you could respond to this, before you could say you felt the same, a shout had echoed throughout the gardens.

“Prince Jungkook!” someone had called.

Springing apart, your heart had protested the movement. You had known then exactly who Jungkook was. He was your mate, your betrothed and for a fleeting moment, the world seemed a magical place.

One month following, his Uncle had staged his rebellion.

Soon after, you’d learned what the mating bond truly meant.

The world had not seemed quite so wondrous after that.

“So.” Jimin arched a brow. “I assume you have brought us out at this unseemly hour to do more than stare at one another through the mist, Your Majesty.”

Giving Jimin a withering look, you chose not to respond.

Yesterday had been full of meetings with little importance to the Ghalian treaty. After telling Yoongi of your vow and bond, you’d found yourself more aware of Jungkook’s presence than ever before.

Everything which had taken place over the past forty-eight hours resulted in three facts. The first being, you could not afford to spend more time in the King’s presence. Already, your façade of indifference was crumbling and would only worsen as time went on.

Second, Mor had become bolder in their travels north. It would only be a matter of time before war arrived on your borders. You needed to be prepared.

Which led you to your third point. Jungkook’s reveal of magic could turn the tide of the war; it needed to be factored into your discussions as soon as possible. Which was why you’d asked Jungkook to bring whomever he deemed appropriate to the field this morning.

Glancing around, you found Jungkook looking back. He was dressed in his flying leathers again, simple armor reinforced at the joints with lighter metal. No breastplate, his hair unadorned and a broadsword strapped firmly across his back.

He’d brought Taehyung with him, along with the woman rider you’d seen at the feast and Lord Seokjin. The last one had surprised you, since you hadn’t thought Seokjin a rider. From Ashya, you’d brought Jimin, Namjoon and Yoongi.

“We are not here to stare,” you explained to Jimin. “But to fly.”

Jimin hesitated. “With each other,” he clarified.

It was not a question but a statement, and the woman rider across the circle seemed to share in his sentiment. She stared distrustfully at the group gathered on your side.

Yoongi squinted up at the sky. “Why am I here, then?” he wondered aloud.

“To observe,” you informed.

“Scintillating,” he said, looking down.

Namjoon laughed as several other people attempted to hide their smiles. Ignoring all this, you focused instead on Jungkook’s delegation.

“I believe I have met everyone except you,” you said, looking at the woman.

“Maia,” she said, boldly meeting your gaze. “I am a rider in His Majesty’s forces.”

“One of our best,” Jungkook added, as Taehyung nodded.

Maia had large, dark eyes and short hair bound in a plait down her neck. Her features were pretty, delicate in contrast to her hardened exterior. You respected her for being in the delegation but found yourself appreciating her even more for her no-nonsense response.

Nodding once, you looked away. The pride in Jungkook’s voice when he spoke had not escaped you; nor had the way Maia glanced in his direction, as though pleased by the mention.

Jungkook was not yours to want, you reminded yourself. You’d made sure of this with the vow you continued to uphold. Still, you felt your jaw clench as you refocused on your surroundings.

“Is this a serious request?” Jimin asked in disbelief. “You truly wish for us to fly alongside the riders.”

Pointedly, Seokjin cleared his throat. “I believe it is not considered polite to question the Queen’s sanity in her presence?”

Jimin glanced at him, stunned as Yoongi started to laugh. His smile widened, eyes nearly disappearing when Jimin turned to face him, incensed.

“What?” Yoongi snorted. “That was funny.”

“Regardless,” you said, a bit louder. “There is much to discuss. His Majesty has shared information about the riders, their dragons and what they can do which may change the battle against Mor.”

Maia’s glanced at Jungkook in disbelief, and she was not the only one. Taehyung also turned his head sharply, which surprised you. You had thought Jungkook would tell his general he’d revealed his magic in the woods.

It appeared not. Seokjin was the only one who did not look surprised, examining the nails on the back of his hand.

“What the riders can do,” Namjoon said, picking up on the key phrase. “I assume you refer to something other than flying, Your Majesty?”

“I do, yes.”

When you looked at Jungkook, he nodded.

“She is referring to our ability to use magic,” he explained. “The bond which links rider to dragon allows us to do more than just ride them. It grants us access to their magic, similar to humans who are born with a gift.”

Namjoon’s eyes widened, as did Jimin’s.

Both listened as Jungkook went on to explain the history of dragons and magic on the continent. When Jungkook healed a paper cut Namjoon had on his thumb, your advisor gasped and looked on in wonder.

“A healer.” He shook his head. “Truly amazing. How large of an injury can you heal?” Namjoon asked, and you knew he was already thinking ahead to battle.

Someone like Jungkook behind the front lines, healing soldiers as they were injured, could provide an untold advantage.

“He healed me in the woods the other day,” you informed them. “A Mor patrol shot me down with a crossbow, and His Majesty saved my life.”

Jimin’s eyes widened. “It would seem we are in your debt then, Your Majesty,” he told Jungkook, seeming displeased by the thought.

Jungkook merely shook his head.

“Let us not speak of debt, Jimin,” you said before Jungkook could speak. “If we are to work together, we must stop thinking of our relationship as a ledger. Instead, we must learn to work as a unit.”

Yoongi arched a brow, clearly amused by your shifted stance.

“Hence our flying this morning,” Jungkook agreed.

Looking his way, you nodded.

This was what you’d decided after your conversation with Yoongi. Although you had not changed your mind about accepting Jungkook’s proposal, the least you could do was set aside your own differences. If you chose not to accept him as your mate, that was your decision – but first and foremost, you were Ashya’s Queen.

You had made a vow to do whatever you could for your country, and this meant working closely with the Ghalians.

“Is it only healing magic?” Namjoon asked, sounding curious. “Or are there other kinds?”

Rather than answer, Jungkook looked at Taehyung, who rolled up his sleeves. Walking out of the circle, he came to a stop several paces away.

“There are other kinds of magic,” Taehyung said, and it was one of the first times you’d ever heard him speak.

Taehyung’s voice had a deep, earthen quality. It was soothing, rhythmic and you stared at him with interest as he spread his hands.

For a moment, nothing happened.

Then Taehyung closed his eyes and storm clouds began to gather. You stared at the sky as it darkened, russet-tipped thunderheads swirling overhead. As the wind whipped his hair, Taehyung opened his eyes and you saw they’d turned silver.

A bolt of lightning shot from his palms, lighting the sky above a deep purple. He let the tempest continue until his point had been made. Then, teeth gritted, Taehyung lowered his arms and allowed the clouds to disperse. As quickly as they’d come, the clouds disappeared, leaving only mist and the rising sun.

Everyone from Ashya stared.

“His dragon is a stormmaker,” Jungkook explained. “It is rare for one of their kind to bond with a human. It has not happened within living memory.”

Yoongi was the first to regain himself. “Do all riders have magic?”

“No,” answered Maia. “It is similar to when a Dragon and human have a child. The child does not always have a gift. It is the same with riders and dragons. I, for example, have no magic.”

“Yes, but you have a dragon,” Yoongi pointed out, which made her smile.

“I do have that,” she acknowledged.

Almost sheepish, Taehyung rejoined the circle with his hands in his pockets. His gaze had returned to dark brown, but you could not seem to shake the memory of silver. It was a tremendous power you could use on the battlefield.

Abruptly, you turned to Jungkook. “How were you planning to keep that a secret?” you demanded, waving a hand. “I should think it would have been obvious once your rider started throwing lightning around.”

“Hence why we planned on explaining after the treaty,” Jungkook said mildly.

“All this time.” Namjoon finally found his voice. “Magic in Duret Ghal has been passed down by the riders, not Dragons?”

“Both,” Seokjin corrected. “Riders cannot pass on their magic to their children. It is only the offspring of Dragon and human who can be born with gifts. Like your advisor,” he said, nodding to Yoongi.

Yoongi arched a brow. You had not spoken openly about his magical abilities, but you supposed word got around.

Namjoon continued to frown. “Most peculiar,” he said slowly. “When a shapeshifting Dragon mates with a human, their offspring can inherit one of many magical gifts. Not just shapeshifting.”

“Uzza, my dragon, has a theory about that,” Taehyung offered. “He believes dragons have a more fixed nature than humans. When magic is passed down through dragons, it remains the same, but with humans… we are more fluid.” He paused, then shrugged. “Magic becomes whatever form the human is closest to.”

“Fascinating,” Namjoon breathed.

“Which is why I asked the King and his riders to join us this morning,” you announced. “Once the treaty is finalized, we will fight together against Mor. It is time we learned how to use everything in our arsenal.”

Jimin, who had remained silent throughout the demonstration, finally nodded.

Despite his personal feelings towards Duret Ghal, he would always place Ashya above all else. If the magic of the riders was something you could use to your advantage, Jimin would be the one who figured out how to do it.

Still, you knew this must hurt. You were not the only one who noticed Jimin’s reticence. Taehyung had been watching your commander from across the circle, and he now cocked his head as he took a step forward.

“You are Park Jimin, are you not?” he asked.

Jimin met Taehyung’s gaze. “I am.”

Taehyung nodded. “I have heard stories of you, both on and off the battlefield. Neither of us led our respective armies when your father was killed,” he said, a bit quieter. “But all the same, I am sorry for your loss.”

Jimin’s eyes glinted. “Sorrow does not bring back the dead.”

“No, it does not.”

Jimin stared at him a moment, until some of the anger faded from his gaze. Finally, he looked at the castle and exhaled.

“Are we to fly this morning?” he asked, returning to you. “If we are, we should probably go before the sun gets too high.”

You nodded, uncertain what had just transpired.

“We should leave, then.” Jimin turned away. “I will need to know the full capabilities of your riders. General Kim,” he called out as he walked. “Can you control the lightning, or merely call it?”

Taehyung fell into step alongside him, discussing strategy as they left the field. You watched them go, amazed Jimin had released his past so easily.

Namjoon sighed. “Must I fly as well, Your Majesty?”

You hid a smile. “If you truly wish to stay on the ground…”

Grumbling beneath his breath, Namjoon turned to follow Jimin across the field. You knew you should go as well, but something within seemed to hold you back.

“And what about you?” you asked, glancing at Seokjin. “Are you a rider?”

Seokjin grimaced. “No, Your Majesty. My mother sent me to the bonding ceremony, but all I succeeded in was falling off several dragons.”

“It is where we met though,” Jungkook said, jumping in. “I admired his honesty and wit. Enough that, when I became King, I requested Lord Seokjin be appointed to my closest court.”

“His honesty has been well-noted,” Yoongi said drily.

Maia laughed, her features losing some of their earlier tension. Yoongi glanced her way in surprise, a pleased flush spreading across his cheeks.

In the background, the steady beat of wings filled the air. When you turned, you saw Jimin in Dragon form rising above the sheds. His scales were a dazzling gold, sparkling as he flew across the morning sun.

Taehyung had joined atop his dragon, Uzza. Uzza had scales of slate grey, faded to blue along his spine and his shoulders.

As you watched them both fly, a bout of longing swept through you. Seeing a rider and Dragon fly alongside one another had not been something deemed possible before.

Their wings were swiftly drowned out by Nemrys’ arrival, who circled once overhead before landing beside Jungkook. Bowing, you kept your gaze fixed on his. Nemrys inclined his head in turn, then released a snort.

Jungkook grinned. “He wishes to know if you plan on being shot again.”

Rolling your eyes, you turned to walk away. Jungkook laughed at the sight, the sound of it echoing as you crossed the field.

Once inside a shed, you stripped quickly from your gown and laid this on the bench. Only a few days ago, you’d assumed dragons mostly unintelligent and now, one of them was insulting you. The realization made you smile.

It made the world seem wider, somehow. As though more things were possible than you’d previously thought.

Shifting quickly to Dragon form, you lifted from the ground and hovered above the sheds. In the distance, you could see Taehyung alongside Jimin on his dragon. Glancing west, you spotted Namjoon and Maia rising to join them.

Namjoon’s scales were a deep purple, a jewel-tone Ashyan miners would envy. Maia’s dragon, whom you did not know the name of, was a grey pale enough to be confused with blue. As you flew towards their group, Taehyung pointed from his dragon, Uzza.

Craning your neck, you saw Jungkook on the ground. He watched from below, wind whipping his hair as Nemrys beat his wings. Leaning down, he murmured something to Nemrys, who bent his legs and took off. Far below, you heard Seokjin whoop.

With a roar, Jimin dove towards the ground. Taehyung followed suit, along with Namjoon and Maia. Once Jungkook had reached you atop Nemrys, you joined in the show.

It was strange to fly as a group. Dragons were solitary creatures, only banding together when necessary for survival. When you did fly with others, you communicated through a combination of flame and roars, signaling what direction you were about to take.

Soaring higher, you turned your head and saw Jungkook beside you. From the back of Nemrys, he grinned and something warm bloomed in your chest. You recalled what it felt like to fly with him, against him. Something within you ached to feel this again.

This was not the time to reminisce though, so you attempted to focus on the moment at hand. That first flight didn’t last long – you were still monarchs, after all, and the day remained before you. Still, your heart felt lighter when you landed on the ground.

For a first foray between nations, things had gone relatively smoothly. Even Yoongi seemed pleased by the progress, speaking with Taehyung and Jimin as they returned to the castle. The success of today made the impossible seem possible.

Including some things you’d never let yourself imagine.

Jungkook’s face while he flew, his eyes bright and smile wide, played like a loop again and again in your mind.

After another full day of negotiations, the treaty between you and Duret Ghal began to come together. It was a good thing, since Jungkook and his delegation would leave in the next couple of days.

Preparing for sleep that night, you reached for the jar of salve Hoseok had given you and found it empty. You’d applied it every morning and night, whenever the muscle ached, or you found yourself tired. It had helped a great deal, so now you hesitated. Flying this morning had been strenuous on your muscles.

Amara had left, gone to visit her family in the city for the evening. In her absence, you strode across your room and opened the door to the hall. You instructed one of your guards to bring the empty jar to Hoseok and ask for a refill.

While you waited for them to return, you changed into a nightgown and robe. You had just finished washing your face when a knock came from the hall. Expecting the guard returned with your salve, you strode from your chambers and pulled open the door.

You found yourself face to face not with a guard, but with Jungkook.

“Your Majesty,” you said, freezing in place. “I – to what do I owe this pleasure?”

Jungkook stared at you for a moment, then pulled a jar from behind his back. “I brought the salve from Hoseok,” he said. “I heard you were in need of more.”

“I am.” You blinked. “But you did not need to do that.”

His gaze searched yours, lingering when he dropped to your parted robe. Although you wore a nightgown beneath, you were suddenly aware of the sheer material.

Hastily, you closed the robe tighter.

Cheeks reddening, Jungkook looked up. “It was no trouble,” he said, only to pause. “May I come in, Your Majesty? I do have something I wish to discuss.”

“Ah, so there is an ulterior motive.”

Despite the humor in your voice, you hesitated. Glancing past him, you saw your guards and decided whatever Jungkook had to say, it was best to hear it in private.

“Alright,” you said, stepping aside. “You may come in.”

Surprise crossed his face, though it quickly disappeared. Nodding his thanks, Jungkook entered the room as you shut the door. You stared at it for a moment, gathering your courage before you turned around.

You’d brought many men to your chambers over the years. Yoongi had been in here only the other night, but something about Jungkook’s presence felt different. He was too big, taking up a space no one else could.

Perhaps it was this bond you felt for him, this tingling down your spine at having him so near. Your very soul ached for him, even as you denied him.

Jungkook wandered inside, taking in the décor. A fireplace took up much of the north wall, light flickering over the rug at your feet.

Coming to a stop at the table, Jungkook set down the jar.

“Why did you come?” you asked quietly.

Turning around, Jungkook found your gaze.

You realized the very real danger you were in. Not because Jungkook was your mate. He was, yes, but it was so much more than that. You genuinely enjoyed his company. You found yourself listening for his remarks when you sat by his side, trying not to laugh whenever he made a joke.

It was hard to separate the supernatural from the natural when it came to Jungkook. In a world where mates did not exist and souls were cast adrift, you thought you might have loved him even then. 

Perhaps this was the true magic of the mating bond, after all. Rather than let you wonder, Natal brought you an equal, someone who’d uplift your spirit rather than drag you under.

“You asked for additional salve,” Jungkook said again.

“I did.” You cocked your head. “A servant could have brought that, though – or Hoseok, if he chose.”

“Indeed, he could have.”

A shadow crossed Jungkook’s expression at this, gone before it could be fully realized. He took a step closer, skirting the table to come to a stop. With his height what it was, you were forced to look upwards to see him.

“The soldiers Jimin sent to search the mountains returned this afternoon,” Jungkook informed you. “They found no other Mor patrols so close to Ashya.”

“That is good to know,” you said with a nod. “We will need all the time we can to formulate a plan of attack.”

Thus far, Mor had made no overt advances against you. There had been skirmishes on the southern border, a few miles gained or lost with occasional pushes, but nothing serious. Mor’s full army remained within their own land, biding their days until they chose to strike.

It was only a matter of time before things boiled over. It made sense for Jungkook to discuss Mor’s movements with you, but he’d never visited your chambers to do so before.

“Is there something else you came here to say?” 

Jungkook arched a brow. “Is it possible I might have come simply to enjoy your presence?”

“You could have.”

“Then, what is the problem?”

“The problem,” you said, narrowing your gaze, “is you seem to be the kind of person who says one thing and means another.”

His gaze darkened. “I suppose you would know, Your Majesty.”

“What is that supposed to mean?”

Rather than answer this, Jungkook turned away. Staring out the window, he seemed to consider his words before he turned back.

“You are a conundrum, Your Majesty,” he said at last.

You sniffed. “That sounds like something a man might say when he does not understand a woman.”

“You are right,” Jungkook said lowly. “For I do not understand you at all.”

This made you blink. It was your own words from the night of the feast, thrown back in your face.

“In what way?” you demanded.

“We knew each other before, and yet you pretend to be strangers. You fight so valiantly for your own kind and yet, keep them at arm’s length. You decline my proposal of marriage,” he said, taking a step closer, “and yet, you consider a political union with another.”

You stared at him for a moment, utterly thrown. “A union with whom?”

“Lord Declan.”

A laugh escaped before you could help it. “Lord Declan is not my betrothed.”

“He tells people he is.”

“Then he is a liar,” you ground out.

Jungkook paused. “Did you consider his offer?”

“I considered your offer, as well.”

“Which you declined.”

“I shall decline him as well, should he ever gather the courage to actually ask me.”

Jungkook hesitated at this, curiosity entering his gaze.

“Why, though?” he asked, a tad softer. “Why decline everyone who asks for your hand? Is there someone else? The man who taught you to sign in the army, perhaps.”

At this, your eyes widened. “How did you know?”

“Merely a guess,” Jungkook said quietly.

Looking abruptly away, he rubbed his thumb to his forefinger in an anxious gesture. You wished he would stop. The gesture made him seem far too human, far too genuine, and tempting and true.

Before you could consider the ramifications, you said, “I do not love someone else.”

You were not sure why you said it. Certainly, it would have been easier for Jungkook to think your heart belonged to another and yet, you could not bear to watch the light fade from his eyes.

Jungkook turned his head to see you. “So, it is me, then,” he said quietly.

“No. And also, yes.”

He frowned. “Clear as mud, Your Majesty.”

You laughed, although there was no humor to it. “What do you expect me to say? That you have convinced me after a week of interactions? That I am awed by your presence, Your Majesty? Is this what you seek in return for healing me in the forest? My hand in marriage?”

Jungkook looked stricken. “No,” he breathed. “Not that. Never that. I would never demand such a thing.”

Something in you softened at his sincerity.

“Then, what?” you asked quietly. “What is it?”

“I just… I wish you would tell me why.”

Unable to meet his gaze, you glanced away. It was a fair question. Jungkook had been nothing but good in the time he’d been here. It occurred to you suddenly that by choosing not to mate, you were taking away his one chance at the bond, as well.

Slowly, you turned back to face him. “I made a vow,” you said, so soft you could hardly hear. “When I became Queen, I vowed I would never marry. It is not something I can turn my back on.”

It was a half-truth, but enough for now.

Jungkook’s brow furrowed. “Why would you make such a vow?”

“Many reasons,” you said. “The main being I wish to belong only to myself and my country. Anything else, and I would do my people a disservice. When I accepted the crown, I said Ashya would always come first.”

The way Jungkook was staring at you made you feel on display, as though he saw through to your very soul and knew what you were made of.

“It is a tricky slope, is it not?” he said at last, stepping closer.

This step brought him within touching distance, the heat of his body seeming to reach out to yours. Something golden and strong brightened between you.

“What do you mean?” 

Jungkook did not look away. “Is the best version of yourself the one without help? Without support? You say you do not wish to do your people a disservice, but is it a disservice to lead while you are unhappy?”

“And you think... marrying you would make me happy?”

“Maybe not,” he admitted, his gaze soft. “All I know is the life you speak of does not sound like a life at all.”

Having no response to this, you could only stare when Jungkook took your hand in his. Lifting your hand, he kept his gaze on yours. As he lowered his gaze, his lips slowly brushed the back of your fingers.

When he released you, you found you could not move, could hardly breathe. It seemed impossible to hide your reaction when Jungkook looked up.

You wanted him. You wanted him so badly it hurt and yet, something continued to hold you back. All you could see when you looked at Jungkook was the pain in your father’s eyes when he learned your mother had died.

���I will take my leave,” Jungkook said when you did not respond. “It has been a long day, and you must be tired.”

You nodded, unable to do more than that when he turned to go.

Halfway to the door, you had the sudden urge to do something. To call out, to ask him to come back, to reveal the bond you felt strengthening between you.

In the end you did none of it. The fear of being broken was greater than your want to be whole.

Jungkook turned at the door. “My offer will stay until I go,” he said before he went.

The door shut behind him, leaving you in silence. Exhaling, you walked to the table and uncapped a decanter. Pouring yourself a glass of wine, you sat before the fire and drank every drop.

It was a long time before you managed to fall asleep that night.

During your flight the next morning, you went north instead of south. Although Jimin had not found additional Mor patrols, your run-in with them had increased your caution. Soaring above the tree line, the sun brightening the horizon, your heart felt heavier than it had in a while.

When you finally landed and hurried inside, you were entirely alone.

For the first time, this did not strike you as such a good thing.

Independence had always been one of your most prized possessions. Your crown had stripped you of so much – your youth, freedom, and the first man you’d loved. Now though, you wondered what you’d given up by clinging to your ideals so tightly.

You did not have much time to consider it. The ball for Duret Ghal was tonight, and the day after tomorrow, their delegation would leave. You would sign the treaty in the morning and then they would be off.

Jungkook’s offer of marriage would disappear with it.

Amara had outdone herself with your dress for the evening. It was crimson in color, falling in gauzy pleats from a golden, metal bodice. Amara had dusted gold powder across your shoulders, resulting in a shimmering aura.

Red was neither the color of Ashya, nor of Duret Ghal. It was the color of fire, of passion – and of love, you realized with a twisting stomach.

Again, Yoongi was your escort and even his eyes widened as you stepped out the door.

“You are going to give someone a heart attack,” he chuckled, extending his arm.

You merely shook your head as you walked down the hall. The crown you wore tonight was gold, as well. A relic from an ancient Queen of Ashya before the colors had changed to silver and green.

“I am sure they will be fine,” you responded. “It is not as though I plan on shifting in the middle of a waltz.”

“It would certainly liven things up if you did.”

Although you gave Yoongi a look, you quickly fell silent as you approached the ball. Beyond the shut doors, you could hear muffled noises of music and laughter.

“Did Namjoon tell you about the dancing?”

Sharply, you turned your head. “No, he did not. What dancing?”

“Apparently, it is the custom in Duret Ghal for their monarch to lead the first dance.”

“I wish His Majesty the best of luck, then.”

Yoongi hid a smile. “You will need to dance also, Your Majesty.”

“Why is that?”

“Perhaps you are unfamiliar with the concept of balls,” Yoongi mused. “Typically, there is food, dancing, general merriment…”

“I know what a ball is, Yoongi.”

“You seemed confused by the prospect of dancing, though.”

“By the prospect of dancing with His Majesty, yes.”

“Now I am the one who is confused, because –”

“Fine,” you ground out as the doors began to open. “I will dance the first song with His Majesty. Nothing more.”

Yoongi grinned, patting your arm as you entered the room.

The ballroom had been lavishly decorated for tonight’s event. Taking it in, you passed over iced draperies, flowers and foliage spilling from every surface. People were gathered throughout, leaving room in the center of the ballroom for you to dance. An orchestra sat poised in the corner, awaiting your entrance to start the first song.

As you and Yoongi descended the spiral staircase, you only had eyes for the opposite side, where the delegation from Duret Ghal already stood. To where Jungkook was standing, watching your entrance.

His robes were similar to those he’d worn at the feast, although the colors tonight were black and gold. Long robes cut to mid-calf, tied in the middle by a black sash. Sigils of gold had been stitched into the fabric, with a thin chain of gold curved across his chest.

Lifting your gaze, your breath caught in your throat. Jungkook’s hair had been bound in a half-bun, the dark tresses broken only by his golden crown.

Walking closer to him under the lights, everything else seemed to fade. Despite your best efforts, something between you had shifted and now that it had, you couldn’t turn back.

You started imagining what the future would look like beside him. Not a future where you were lesser, but rather where you had support. Strength, like he had offered. Oddly enough, the image did not scare you as it once did.

Stepping onto the dais to turn around, you looked at the crowd. In your peripheral, you could see Jungkook looking at you. Ignoring him, you focused instead on your racing heart. You could almost feel it beat in tandem to his, yearning to run at the same pace.

It was not necessary to greet your guests, nor give a speech of pretty words. Instead you simply turned to face him as the music began. Jungkook held out his hand, waiting until you placed your palm over his.

Jungkook’s fingers curled about yours, leading you on the dance floor. People parted as you walked, leaving a space at the center. Jungkook pulled you to face him, placing a hand on your waist as you settled yours on his shoulder.

You looked up. Meeting your gaze, Jungkook took a step backwards to lead you in the first move.

His grip on you tightened as he led you in a spin. Jungkook was a good dancer, although this did not surprise you. By this point he could have announced he was the goddess Natal, herself, and you would have taken it in stride.

This image made you smile, unable to stop it as he swept you around.

“Why are you smiling?” Jungkook asked, his voice low.

Startled, you glanced up and wished you had not. This close, you could see everything, and it made your heart ache.

“I was imagining something funny,” you murmured.

Jungkook’s hand slid to the small of your back. Heat scalded your spine, making your head spin.

“Not about me, I hope,” Jungkook said, his lips dangerously close to your ear.

“And if it were?”

His grip on you tightened. “I would like to know the joke.”

Looking up, you met his gaze. “Does it ever tire you?”

Jungkook blinked.

Others had joined the dance at this point, entering the floor in a promenade. Multicolored skirts and robes swept circles around you, leaving you floating at the center of it all.

“Does what ever tire me?” Jungkook asked.

“This,” you said, glancing at your surroundings. “The pressure. The weight. The constant duties, expectations and never-ending loneliness of wearing our crowns.”

For a moment, Jungkook was silent, and you feared you’d overstepped. Then he exhaled, pulling you closer. His thumb brushed against the bare curve of your back.

“Every day,” he admitted.

Before you could respond, the song came to an end.

Couples stepped apart, talking, and laughing in the lull between songs. You and Jungkook stared at one another, the only two in the room as far as you were concerned. For so long, you had convinced yourself having a mate would be a bad thing.

Perhaps it was for some. For your parents, their bond had ended tragically, this was for certain. But for the first time, you wondered if keeping yourself from happiness because you didn’t want to be hurt might simply be a different kind of hurt itself.

When a hand tapped you on the shoulder, you nearly jumped.

Whirling around, you found Lord Declan before you. You stared at him for a few moments, wondering why he was here.

“Your Majesty.” Lord Declan bowed low at the waist. “Would you do me the honor of having the next dance?”

Of course – this was a ball. You would be expected to dance with others, not only Jungkook. Feet faltering, you glanced sideways but before you could decline, Jungkook took a step back.

“She is all yours,” he said, turning around.

Jungkook disappeared, his midnight-colored robes swishing about his ankles. Lord Declan closed in, forcing your attention away as the orchestra began the next song.

“Yes,” you said, trying to focus. “You may, Lord.”

Lord Declan entered where Jungkook had left off, his right hand slipping beneath yours as his other found your waist. His touch felt wrong, as though you’d put the opposite glove on your hand.

“How fortunate the first dance of the night was a short one,” Lord Declan said with a chuckle.

Startled, you glanced up. “I beg your pardon?”

“I envy your patience, Your Majesty,” he continued, oblivious to your tone. “Had I been forced to spend so long these past weeks in the presence of riders…” Breaking off, he shuddered. “Your control is exemplary.”

Had Lord Declan been a wise man, he might have noticed the heat simmering in your gaze. Or the way your spine stiffened, a lone muscle ticking in your jaw. As it were though, Lord Declan was not a smart man, and so he continued to throw caution to the wind.

You were not certain when you’d become so defensive of Jungkook, but the fact remained the Lord’s comments made you see red.

“I do not know that I would call my control exemplary,” you said, your tone deceptively light. “Indeed, my Lord, I find my courtiers often say things I find infuriating.”

Lord Declan paused, clued in by your choice of words.

“If I have said something to offend Your Majesty…”

His steps were not as graceful as Jungkook’s, nearly stepping on your toes as you turned around. Dodging the gesture, you glanced aside and realized Jungkook had not left the dance floor. Instead, he danced with Maia at the edge of the room. While you were watching, Jungkook threw his head back and laughed.

Unpleasantness curdled your stomach despite your insistence he was not yours to want.

“You have said something to offend me, Lord,” you said, returning to Declan. “Either you are ignorant or stupid, and I pray to Natal you are not both.”

Lord Declan stared, his jaw sagging a little.

“We face an enemy,” you said, voice lowering. “Our enemy is not Duret Ghal, nor is it their riders. I suggest you cease speaking such heresy before I wonder if the mines your family owns would do better in the hands of someone else.”

His eyes widened. “Your Majesty, I do not think –”

“Then we are in agreement,” you said, dropping your arms to take a step back.

Turning around, you stalked towards the edge of the dance floor, barely managing to keep your steam in check. When you glanced again at the offending corner, Jungkook and Maia had disappeared.

Driven by a mix of emotions you dared not name, you slipped beyond the courtiers and out a side door. Eyes closed, you allowed the night air to wash over you. Coming to a stop at the edge of the gardens, you opened your eyes to take in the Thadal mountains.

It was colder than it had been a few weeks ago. The winter solstice was coming, and your human skin could only protect you from so much. Still, you could not stomach returning to the party and so, you kept walking, entering the dark hedges.

You let yourself wander, following the twists and turns with nothing but your heart as its guide. When you turned a corner and found Jungkook before you, it almost was not a surprise.

The moment was overlaid with another memory, from ten years prior. The night you’d realized Jungkook was your mate and looked to the future with wonder.

He was alone again, facing away as he stared into an empty, cracked basin. The fountain had been turned off for the winter and before you could speak, Jungkook sighed.

“Were you not enjoying the party?” he asked.

Walking forward, you came to a stop beside him. “I might ask you the same thing,” you said, staring into the basin. “I saw you enjoying yourself during the last dance.”

Jungkook turned his head.

“Are you jealous, Your Majesty?” he murmured, his gaze flinty.

“Merely noting the obvious,” you said, refusing to face him. “You call me a conundrum and yet, you dance with another woman while proposing marriage to me.”

“One dance.”

“So, there has never been anything between you?”

Jungkook paused. “I will not pretend to have been celibate these past ten years. Neither should you, Your Majesty.”

Looking at him, you attempted to calm the roiling feelings within you. It was not right to feel like this. Not right to be jealous, to berate him when you continued to decline his offer.

“Am I correct,” he said, his voice low, “in thinking you do not want me for yourself, yet you do not want anyone else to have me either?”

“That… that is not fair.”

“Perhaps you know how I feel, then,” Jungkook said, his gaze hardening.

Startled, your eyes widened as he took a step closer. Coming to a stop right before you, Jungkook looked down.

“Watching you entertain other men,” he said hotly. “Watching you dance with other men, consider other men while you continue to deny what lies between us. What we are to one another. My former betrothed. And my mate,” he added, his gaze like dark fire.

Speechless, you could only stare in response.

Jungkook knew.

He knew and had said nothing this entire time. You wondered when he’d realized but lost your head entirely when he lifted a hand. Pressing his thumb beneath your chin, Jungkook tipped your head up.

Bending, he brushed your lips against his. The kiss was chaste, sweet – and wildfire erupted in response. Before you could stop yourself, your hand had fisted in his robes to drag him down. You kissed him back hungrily, fiercely as the heat consumed you.

Jungkook seemed to burn just as bright, crushing you close. His arms wrapped around you, tongue eagerly flicking against your lower lip. When you parted beneath him, he licked into your mouth. Inhaling his scent, you wanted him closer.

It was not at all how you’d imagined it to be.

You had thought once you gave in, it would feel like erasing yourself. Removing the old to make way for the new, but it was not like that at all. Letting him in only made you feel stronger.

Thumbs skimming your cheeks, Jungkook angled you upward and kissed you again. He drew a shuddering breath before he forced himself to stop.

Slowly, his eyes opened and he stared at you, his chest rising and falling.

“If you do not want this, though.” Hoarse, his thumbs caressed your skin. “I do not wish to force it upon you. You should not marry me because of a bond, Your Majesty. Nor should you because you think it’s what’s best for Ashya. I want you to marry me because you want to. Nothing more.”

When you did not respond, Jungkook’s expression began to shutter and he took a step backwards. His hands fell to his sides, the air between you turning cold.

All too late, you realized you’d waited too long. You should have said something immediately, should have done something other than kiss him like a maniac.

“Thank you,” Jungkook said. “For the hospitality you’ve shown Duret Ghal these past weeks. Whatever your feelings are for me, I look forward to signing the treaty tomorrow.”

Before you could say anything more, Jungkook walked past you and left the gardens. You were left alone beside an empty basin.

You stayed there for a while, staring at the looming Thadal mountains, and wondering how in the world you had gotten things so wrong.

When you returned to the proceedings of the ball, Yoongi was smart enough not to ask where you had been. He seemed to know anyways, based on the look on your face.

Stiffly you stood and surveyed the dancing couples. Whenever you cared to look, you caught glimpses of Jungkook on the opposite side.

You tried not to, but this proved to be difficult now that you knew. Jungkook knew you were his mate. You knew what his lips tasted like. All of this you knew and could not forget.

It was his last words which ran again and again through your mind. Jungkook knew you were his mate and yet, he’d said nothing because he wanted you to choose him for him. It was such a foolhardy, romantic notion it made your heart ache.

Even with Leo, you had not felt this way. If you had been honest, you had known your relationship would be doomed from the start. Leo had never challenged you in ways which made you grow. You’d kept him at arm’s length, never giving him the opportunity to know your true self. 

After the death of your parents, you’d been in a dark place. You had made the vow not to marry out of an attempt to protect yourself. Perhaps you’d grown beyond needing such things.

The next time you looked, Jungkook was looking back.

He glanced away quickly, but he’d looked. The realization made you take a step forward but before you could go to him, Yoongi leaned in.

“What did you say to him when you danced?”

Surprised, you glanced in his direction. You thought Yoongi meant Jungkook but then realized he looked at Lord Declan. Declan seemed flustered, pointedly looking anywhere but at you while Lord Larkin glared from across the room.

You stifled a snort. “Only the truth.”

“Which was?”

“That like it or not, Duret Ghal are our allies, so they better start acting like it.”

Quietly, Yoongi laughed as he straightened. “No wonder his father looks as though he swallowed something sour.”

Guiltily, you looked away. “I am sorry if I caused you trouble,” you said, knowing Yoongi would be the one to clean it up. “It is only –”

“You were right.” Yoongi nodded. “The world is changing, and they can either change with the times or be left behind. I am glad you said something.”

Shooting him a grateful look, you glanced again across the room and realized Jungkook had disappeared. Scanning the rest of the ball, you spotted some of his delegation but not their King. Maia was dancing with Namjoon and to your surprise, you realized Taehyung had asked Amara to dance.

Jungkook was nowhere to be seen. Despite his absence, you forced yourself to stay until Yoongi deemed it socially acceptable for you to leave. The last thing you wanted was to put the treaty in jeopardy because you’d overlooked proper etiquette.

As the evening went on, candles guttered low in the chandeliers and guests began to thin out the dance floor. People started disappearing, traveling home in groups of two and three. Sometime around midnight, you finally bade Yoongi goodnight.

Forgoing his offer of escort, you took a side hall and exited the ball. It was a quiet walk to your chambers, a silence which did not lessen once you were inside.

Removing your crown, you set this on your dresser and stared out the window. You wondered if this was your future. A cold, lonely existence where you always ended up in your room alone.

Jungkook was right.

You kept everyone at a distance because you were afraid of being hurt. You were afraid if you let them in, you’d grant them the power to tear your heart in two. The problem was you weren’t sure how much longer you’d have a heart to give.

It already felt like a feeble, weakened thing within your chest. You didn’t know how to make it work like it should. So accustomed to your own company, you were unable to respond to true acts of friendship. This struck you as a poor kind of ruler for any nation. 

It made you wonder if the vow you’d once made held no further weight.

Now was time to decide what kind of ruler you wanted to be, what kind of person you wanted to be moving forward. Your life could still be wondrous if you so wished.

Abruptly, you turned and strode for the door.

Your guards seemed surprised to see you leave, but let you pass by with a nod. Once in the hallways, your feet seemed to know the way. Down one hall, then the next, you found yourself entering the guest wing before your mind could catch up.

Depending on stature, guests of the crown stayed with varying proximity to your personal quarters. It was not far to the rooms Jungkook occupied, the most lavish guest suite in the castle.

Outside his room, your steps slowed before coming to a stop. Jungkook did not have guards posted outside his doors. Some might have seen this as a sign of naiveté, but you saw it for what it was. A symbol of trust.

Lifting a hand, you knocked on his door.

It took him a few seconds to answer, rustling noises telling you he was within. When he swung open the door, your mouth immediately went dry.

Jungkook had changed from his formal attire to a more casual tunic and trousers. It took a great deal of effort to keep your eyes on his face, and not wander towards the ink you saw peering out from his sleeves.

Surprise flickered in the depths of his gaze, although he quickly concealed it. Leaning a shoulder to the frame, Jungkook arched a brow.

“To what do I owe the pleasure of your visit, Your Majesty?”

Any words you wished to say dried up like a stream in the desert. Finally, you managed to rouse yourself.

“May I come in?” you asked.

Jungkook paused. For a moment, you were afraid he might tell you to go. You had turned him down so many times; surely it was time for him to return the favor.

Then he dipped his head and stepped aside, allowing you entrance. Heart pounding, you slipped past him and stood at the center of the room.

His rooms were your guest chambers, so you had obviously seen them before. Occasionally you met with foreign dignitaries or visitors. Jungkook had stayed long enough though, that portions of the room had begun to seem like his own.

The black and gold robes he’d worn to the ball were draped over a partition. A trunk remained half-open beside a table, full of stacks of books. It reminded you of your visit to Duret Ghal so long ago, where he could often be found in the library.

“Would you like wine?” Jungkook interrupted your thoughts.

Mutely, you nodded and reached for the crystal decanter. Midway there, Jungkook’s hand caught your wrist.

“Allow me,” he said, moving past.

You stopped and watched him pour two glasses of wine. One after the other, Jungkook set them down on the table.

“You knew,” you said quietly. “You knew you were my mate.”

Jungkook hesitated, continuing to stare at the wine.

After a moment, he lifted a glass and took a long sip. “Yes,” he admitted. “I knew.”

“When?” you demanded.

His eyes narrowed, looking up. “When did you know, Your Majesty?”

“At the end of my last visit to Duret Ghal.”

“I knew the moment I saw you,” he said quietly.

“You – what?”

Jungkook set his wine down. “Your arrival was scheduled for shortly before sundown,” he said. “My parents had dressed me in my best clothes, and I remember being angry about it. I remember standing there fuming, waiting for you to arrive. And then you did.”

His eyes shone. “I had never seen someone so beautiful.”

Hearing him speak, your breath caught in your chest. Jungkook began to walk closer, his expression inscrutable.

“I avoided you for a few days,” he continued. “Mates are rarer in Duret Ghal and for a while, I didn’t know what I was feeling. Even once I realized, I resented the bond. It was difficult enough to accept my own magic back then.”

“What changed your mind?”

“You.” His lips curled in a smile. “You surprised me. I found myself liking you despite myself. I started to realize the bond might not be such a bad thing.”

“So… this entire time, you have known,” you said in disbelief.

“I have.” His expression darkened. “As have you, it would seem.”

Guilty, you looked away. You had and it had not occurred to you to tell him.

That was a lie. It had occurred to you and you’d decided against it, because you did not think you could stomach denying the bond to his face.

Reaching out, Jungkook took your hand. The gesture was so simple, it nearly broke you in two. Glancing down, you marveled when he brushed his thumb over your skin. Jungkook gave you space to think until you found the courage to speak.

“You know my mother was killed ten years ago,” you said quietly. “My father survived the attack, but they were mated and when she passed… he could not bear it.” After a pause, you looked up. “He died five years later, and those five years were as torturous for everyone else as they were for him.”

“I am sorry to hear that,” Jungkook murmured.

“He tried,” you said, forcing yourself to remember.

To remember the days when your father had tried to go on. He’d tried for you and for Ashya, but it had not been enough. There had been no light in his gaze, no meaning behind his odd smiles. Although only your mother had died in the attack, you’d lost both your parents.

“I know he did,” you continued. “But the pain of losing his mate was too much. Everything which had been important simply faded away. I swore after he passed the same fate would not befall me. It is why I said no to you,” you said, your grip tightening. “It is not because I feel nothing. I said no to you because you are my mate.”

His thumb continued to soothe over your skin. “And now?” he asked, wondering. “Did you come here simply to say this?”

“No. Now I find myself wondering if in an attempt to spare myself pain, I created agony of a different kind.”

Jungkook’s gaze softened. “I meant what I said earlier, Y/N. I don’t wish for you to agree out of some sense of duty, or an unearthly bond.”

A shiver went down your spine at hearing your name on his lips.

“That is not why I am saying yes,” you said, lifting your chin.

Surprise flared in his gaze. “No?”

“No.”

Deciding you needed the wine after all, you tugged your hand from his and turned towards the table. Lifting the glass to your lips, you let the sweet burn fill your throat.

In the corner of your eyes, you could see Jungkook watching. Waiting.

“I am saying yes because I want this,” you breathed, turning around. “I want you. I have wanted you since the day you followed me to the cliffs. I’m scared,” you admitted, barely more than a whisper. “I’m terrified of what you might do to me. Of what I might do to you. But I don’t want fear to hold me back anymore.”

Jungkook continued to stare at you, jaw working while he thought through what to say. His fingers began to tremble, fighting the rising tide of emotion.

“We face a difficult path,” he said at last.

You nodded. “I know.”

“The history between our people. Revealing the magic of the riders. War on the horizon,” he said, taking a step forward with each reason he listed.

“Do you not want me to say yes, Your Majesty?”

Jungkook came to a stop before you.

“I want you to say yes so badly it hurts,” he said hoarsely. “But I don’t want you to accept not knowing what it means.”

“The bond scared me for a long time,” you told him. “The idea of belonging to someone. Of no longer depending solely upon myself.”

“And why is that?”

“Loss of control.” Your smile was fleeting. “The idea has always terrified me more than any enemy. I feared the bond would mean losing myself… that it would mean…”

“Giving a part of yourself away.”

Quiet, you nodded.

“Did you not think, though,” he said, reaching out. “Giving a piece of yourself away might mean gaining something in return?”

Taking your hand in his, Jungkook laid them both on his heart.

You stared at your hand, splayed beneath his on his chest. The idea had not occurred to you, and yet – perhaps it should have.

“I have no doubt you will remain independent,” Jungkook insisted. “Accepting this bond would not change that. I would not want that to change.”

“But if I were to die –”

“Love is always a liability,” Jungkook quietly said. “It is. And yet, where would we be without it? My love for Nemrys, for Duret Ghal and the riders saved me when my parents died. A world without love is not one worth fighting for.”

Ever so gentle, you brushed the curve of his hand with your thumb.

Jungkook’s grip on yours tightened.

“Yes,” you breathed. Chest practically touching, you looked up to see him. “I know all this, and I’m saying yes.”

For the first time, you let yourself look at him fully.

You had known he was beautiful, but the truth was he was nearly unbearable. Strong jaw, soft lips and eyes which burned as fierce as any Dragon. You did not look at them though, wanting to take in the rest of him first. Lifting a hand, you cupped the side of his face.

Jungkook shivered at your touch. Startled, you glanced up and met his gaze. The need you found within nearly undid you.

For so long, this had been building inside. Suddenly the idea of you tolerating, let alone enjoying another man’s company seemed a strange concept. Jungkook was your mate, someone who had never once cowered from who and what you were.

Turning his head, Jungkook’s lips brushed your palm.

“What are you thinking?” he murmured.

“I am remembering earlier. Your kiss in the garden.”

His gaze darkened. “What do you want from me, my Queen?”

The addition of the word my sent a thrill down your spine.

“You,” you said, knowing how true it was.

You wanted every part of the man before you. Wanted to know him, breathe him in, drink from his cup and bask in his light. The man who’d known you were his mate and hadn’t claimed you, but rather waited. Waited you to come to him.

Rising on your tiptoes, your hands slid to his neck and you kissed him again.

You kept your pressure light, the opposite of the searing kiss you’d previously shared. Pulling away, you savored the press of his chest, the warmth of his body and the weight of his hands. When you opened your eyes, you found Jungkook smiling.

Pressing your lips to his again, you moved a bit closer. Jungkook seemed content just to kiss, trading gentle pressure – until you pulled back, teeth catching on his lower lip.

A growl loosened from his chest, low and primal.

Sliding a hand behind your neck, Jungkook tilted your head upward and waited for you to nod. When you did, he crushed your lips to his in a kiss equally fierce as it was possessive. Breath stolen, you gave him your desire and what was left of your heart.

Warmth flooded your veins, heating you from the inside out. With limbs of molten fire, you kissed him back until his tongue swiped at your lip, demanding entrance. You parted easily for him, a whimper leaving your throat as you melded together.

Jungkook groaned, pulling close to kiss you again. His fingers traced the skin at your nape, trailing your spine to firmly cup your ass. Nestled between his legs, Jungkook allowed you to feel every inch of his hardness.

Your skin was aflame, as though lightning had zipped across it. Reduced to only sensations, you shivered at each one you felt. His thumb, fondling the dip of your waist. Your nipples, turgid against the fabric of your gown. The sharp, aching pulse which steadily grew between your thighs.

“Oh,” you gasped, head tipping back.

Jungkook kissed each inch of exposed skin you gave him.

“Is this what you want?” he murmured.

“What I want, my King,” you panted, regaining some of yourself. “Is for you not to stop.”

Lips curved in a smile, he lifted his head. “I rather think your King is more appropriate, no?”

You arced a brow. “What is the difference?”

“One implies you are my subject and the other implies I belong to you.”

“And which do you prefer?”

His gaze glinted in firelight. “Allow me to show you, my Queen.”

Barely pausing, you breathed, “And which usage was that?”

With a soft sort of chuckle, Jungkook walked you both backwards until your spine hit the wall. Bending his head, he brushed his lips against yours until you were aching. Until your need for him became fire, racing through your veins in a silent demand.

Sliding his thigh between your legs, Jungkook paused when you gasped. Swiftly giving in, he covered your lips in a kiss which seared to your soul.

Slipping your hands higher, you marveled at the breadth of his torso. Years of riding had hardened his body, making you wonder what he looked like beneath the tunic.

One hand on the wall, Jungkook’s other fisted in your skirts as he tugged you closer. Sharply, you inhaled when he yanked up the fabric, exposing your knee to the gentle press of his thumb. A moan left your lips as your head hit the wall, eyes fluttering open.

Jungkook stopped. “Is it too much?” he asked, releasing your skirts.

“No.” You shook your head. “I want more. I want you”

His gaze darkened. “Then you shall have me,” he promised, covering your mouth with his.

His kiss was rough, lips bruising as your hands found his hair. Arching against him, you reveled in the hard panes of his body. It seemed wherever you had space, Jungkook had been made to fill it.

Hand in your skirts once again, Jungkook pulled them higher to press his thigh in between. You inhaled at the contact, his muscles rigid and hard in all the right places.

Before you could do anything else, Jungkook bent and grasped the back of your thighs. Wrapping you around his waist, he kept your body close as he walked towards the bed. Lowering you to the floor, his hands remained on your waist.

“Turn around,” Jungkook rasped, and you obeyed.

Facing the bed, you felt his fingers trace over the bodice of your gown.

“May I?” he asked, his voice shaky.

“Please,” you whispered.

Carefully, Jungkook began undoing the laces and hooks. As the fabric was loosened, exposing your skin to his gaze, you closed your eyes. His fingers skimmed your shoulders, sliding the fabric lower until it hit the floor.

Bared to his gaze, you felt your breath hitch. Cool air played over your skin, perking your breasts, and drifting between your thighs. The gown was sheer enough to necessitate you wore no undergarments beneath it, leaving you naked before him.

“Y/N.” Jungkook sounded hoarse. “Please… please face me.”

Slowly, you did so as you opened your eyes.

Jungkook stared, his eyes dark as night. Jaw tense, his gaze slowly dragged down your body. You felt the intimacy of it as he trailed your throat, lingered at your breasts, your ass, and between your thighs.

When he finally returned to your face, the heat between you was scorching. Throat parched, your body felt one with the fire.

“Now, you,” you murmured.

Without looking away, Jungkook lifted a hand to begin undoing his tunic. Once it was loose, he pulled this overhead in a single motion. As it hit the floor, his hands went to his trousers. With bated breath, you watched him remove the laces.

Swallowing once, you stared at his chest bathed in soft firelight. Swirling dark lines stretched across his shoulder, encircling his bicep, and traveling to his wrist. You saw words and symbols but had no time to peruse. Later, you promised yourself. Later, you’d worship the ink with your lips and tongue.

A dark smattering of hair trailed from his abs, disappearing into trousers he undid with deft fingers. Once these had been pushed to the floor, you found another reason to swallow.

You were not what anyone would call shy, but something about this felt more intimate than it ever had. Baring yourself to Jungkook meant more than just sex. You’d accepted the bond, accepted what lay between you and acknowledged him as your mate.

Seeming to understand, Jungkook took a step closer as he bent his head. His hands slid to your waist and he kissed you gently.

When he pulled away, you saw vulnerability in his gaze.

“Y/N,” he said.

You marveled at the sound of his name on your lips. “Jungkook,” you returned, and watched him smile.

Bending again, his lips found yours as his hands skimmed your body. You settled between his legs, feeling slightly light-headed from the press of so much skin. Jungkook’s hand slid lower, gripping one of your thighs to wrap around him. He gave the same treatment to the other, twisting you around to lay on the bed.

Pressing a knee to the mattress, Jungkook crawled forward and bent his head. Lips soft, he began to kiss down your body. Your hands gripped his back, trailing to find the twin dimples nestled at the base of his spine.

When Jungkook’s mouth brushed your breasts, he paused. Instead of giving in and devouring you whole, he slid a hand between your thighs and found how wet you were. Gaze lidded, he looked up as he cupped your sex. A single finger slid over your silken entrance.

Lifting the same finger to his lips, Jungkook leisurely tasted you. When he pulled his finger out, you saw it had been licked clean.

Growling in approval, Jungkook bent and closed his lips over your breast.

“Oh,” you gasped, arching beneath him.

Your nipple was already hard, peaked with desire. Jungkook sucked on it eagerly, pulling your breast taut before he raised his head. Moving on to the next, his thumb remained behind to skim over your nipple.

He continued with this sweet torture until you’d had enough.

“No more,” you gasped, curving a hand beneath his jaw.

Releasing your breast, he lifted his head. “I want to taste you,” Jungkook breathed. “I want to know what it’s like to have you fall apart on my tongue.”

Easing yourself onto your elbows, you slowly spread your legs.

“Do your worst, Your Majesty,” you said, gaze glinting.

Jungkook grinned, lowering himself to the sheets. His mouth was hot, open as he kissed your waist, your belly and lower. You did not know where to look – his entirely naked ass, or his dark head of hair before your dripping sex.

Dragging his nose up your thigh, Jungkook deeply inhaled as he centered himself. Lowering his head to your sex, he gave a tentative kiss. Even this sent a sweeping shudder through you. It took nearly everything you had not to moan like a maiden in heat.

Opening his mouth, his tongue swirled once and you nearly dissolved. Liquid heat pulsed through you, cumulating between your thighs in a sinful wave. Worshipping you with his tongue, Jungkook tore moans from your lips, one after the other.

Swiping his tongue in another slow circle, he coaxed your body to arc from the bed. With a throaty chuckle, Jungkook looked up. Hair mussed and lips wet, he looked like something divine.

“Do you want more, my Queen?” he asked lowly.

“Yes,” you exhaled, unable to look away.

A devious smile spread across his lips. Lowering his mouth, Jungkook resumed his ministrations until you were gasping his name.

“Oh,” you groaned, broken as he continued to eat you out.

Gripping your thighs, he pushed them further apart to better get at your sex. Legs splayed on the bed, you framed his broad shoulders as you reached for his hair. Another growl left him as you fisted your hand in the strands. Hips rising and falling with the motion of his mouth, your head fell limply back on the bed.

“Yes – yes,” you said, chasing the sweet pleasure with your hips.

You hardly knew what you were doing as you moved, never having felt this way before. Jungkook seemed equally entranced, his eyes snapping open to meet yours above. The bottom half of his face was wet with your juices and while you should have felt modest, instead you felt righteousness. Intoxication. Possession.

This was your body which made him look like this, half-feral with need as he ground into the mattress. “Yes,” you gasped, gripping harder as your legs started to shake. “Yes, Jungkook.”

Pleasure built from within, threatening to drown out everything but the man between your thighs. Slipping a finger to your entrance, Jungkook drew lazy circles over your sex. His tongue moved in quick, agile motions against your swollen clit.

“Come for me,” he panted, lifting his head.

Your lips parted when his finger slipped in. Gripping his hair, your hips bucked against him as he added another and curled. Crying out his name, you came hard and fast around his hand. You think you said Jungkook, amongst other things, as you went limp on the mattress, your hands falling to the sheets.

Jungkook slowly relented, gently kissing your hip, your chest and all the way up your throat. Smiling softly, he settled beside you to drape an arm over your waist. Chest rising and falling, you stared at him in wonder.

You’d often wondered what the mating bond felt like. If something would snap into place and all of a sudden, your mind would belong to someone else. Whatever you’d imagined, it had not been this. This felt as natural, as right as when you flew.

Tracing a circle on your inner thigh, Jungkook looked up. “Do you want more?”

His other hand parted your legs, cupping your heat to show you what he meant. Inhaling softly, you reached down and encircled his wrist with your hand. Jungkook went still.

“Yes,” you murmured. “But not like that.”

His eyes lightened. “How, then?”

“I want all of you. Inside me,” you said. “I take the potions monthly.”

The potions were a trio of liquids sold by most apothecaries throughout the continent. They did everything from preventing pregnancy to protecting against diseases and easing your monthly flow. Arching a brow, you glanced pointedly at the headboard.

Smiling softly, Jungkook retracted his hand. Pushing himself upwards, he shifted to seat himself against the same headboard.

You could not have imagined a more beautiful sight. With mussed hair, his skin dark with ink and flushed with arousal, Jungkook was artwork himself. Lifting yourself to your knees, you positioned yourself over his thighs and lowered your gaze.

His cock was impressive, although you had already known this. He would be the largest you’d ever taken, that was for certain.

Reaching down, you wrapped your hand gently around him. Gaze half-lidded, Jungkook stared as you dragged your hand upwards. A hiss left his lips, though he held himself back.

“Careful,” he warned, shifting his hips.

Brushing your thumb across his head, you spread already-leaking fluids down his hardened shaft. Lowering your body, your mouth slid over the reddening tip. With a flick of your tongue, you relished his soft moan of approval. Next, was a swirl, before you slid off with a pop and began to move your fist.

“This is not your first time,” Jungkook observed, breathing heavily.

“Neither is it yours, Your Majesty.”

Bending again, you took him all at once in your mouth. Gasping his chuckle, Jungkook’s hands skimmed your torso to land on your rear. For a while, the only sounds which filled the room were the sloppy sounds of you sucking.

“It is not,” he panted, fingers digging into your ass. “And yet, I cannot help but be envious of all who came before me. Of all who’ve known the sweet pleasure of your lips on their cock.”

Removing him from your mouth, you looked up.

“There is no need to be jealous,” you said, rising onto your knees. Not looking away, you swung a leg over his hips. “You are the one who has me now.”

Something proud, almost territorial entered his gaze.

Gripping you by the waist, Jungkook pulled you even closer. “Do I?” he murmured, lips brushing your throat. “My Queen. My betrothed. My mate,” he breathed, nipping the skin.

A not unpleasant shiver ran down your spine. Reaching beneath you, you gripped his cock to position at your dripping entrance. Still, you did not take him inside.

Realizing Jungkook awaited an answer, you nodded. He had you.

“Then tell me,” Jungkook demanded, looking into your eyes.

Lowering yourself, you felt his tip brush your entrance. “You have me,” you whispered. “My King. My betrothed. My mate.”

With each word, you took him in deeper. Jungkook sat upright, right hand cupping the back of your neck to bring you closer. Clasped to his warm, damp skin, you sank down on his cock.

“That’s it,” he murmured, hot in your ear. Other hand gripping your ass, he lowered you even further. “You can take more of me, can you not?”

You could and you did, not wanting to wait any longer. Hands digging into his back, you kept your chests pressed together as you sank even further. No matter how much you took, there always seemed to be more to give. Jungkook’s cock stretched you open, making you work to fit all of him inside.

“Oh,” you whimpered, gripping him tighter.

Jungkook grunted and stroked the side of your neck with his thumb. “There you go. Take all of it. All of me,” he exhaled.

A now-familiar shiver swept your spine as you moved. The last inch pushed you past your limits, but finally you felt him bottom out. For a moment, you could not breathe from the feeling of fullness. Of rightness. Of completeness.

Him sheathed inside you felt indescribable, only improved when Jungkook shifted his hips and finally moved.

“Oh,” you gasped, eyes flying wide.

“Y/N,” he groaned.

Lifting yourself higher, your nipples brushed his chest as you eased yourself down. Jungkook’s hand remained on your spine, rolling your hips as he thrust from below. Kissing him slowly, you bit down on his lip and took him in deeper.

Jungkook began to move, spearing you with his cock as you spread your legs. His kisses became harder, more desperate as a steady thrum of power built in between you. Soon it was your hips chasing his, not the other way around.

Lowering his head, Jungkook caught your breast with his mouth. Lips parting, you began to fuck him harder as you slammed your hips down. His tongue teased one rounded breast, switching to the other while his thumb flicked the first.

Dropping onto his length over and over, you marveled at the feel of him moving inside you.

“Jungkook,” you moaned, head thrown back in ecstasy.

His hands seemed to be everywhere. Clasping you to him, skimming your torso, flicking your pebbled nipples as the wave of pleasure built. Toes curling beneath you, you panted from the effort of trying not to come.

As though he could sense this, Jungkook began speeding up. Clasping you to him, he thrust into you harder, filling you with each languid roll of his hips. As your lips found each other, the strange tide of longing crested into a wave.

Winding your fingers into his hair, you tipped your head back and bared your neck to his teeth. Jungkook scraped them up your throat, whining his approval as you rode his cock. Hands gripping your ass hard enough to bruise, his hips moved even faster as he sought completion.

With his dampened skin pressed to yours, his scent began to envelop. Each moan he gave you was freely taken. Each sound you made, he swallowed whole. You were not sure how long you existed in this state, simply reveling in the pleasure from each other’s bodies.

On the edge of release, you felt the bond between you tighten. It was difficult to tell where one of you ended and the other began. Slamming your hips down to his, Jungkook was equally fierce, plunging inside you.

“I cannot hold on much longer,” he gasped.

You nodded, stroking his temple with a sweat-slicked thumb. “Together.”

Jungkook nodded, lips seeking yours in a question you answered. Hips quickening, limbs tightening, you let yourself fall into the release he offered. As you came undone, it was Jungkook you held onto. Somewhere within the bright haze of your pleasure, you felt Jungkook release as well. Thick, hot spurts of cum painted your insides white. 

You reveled in it, trembling at the idea of a future where he’d do this again. Where he’d whet you with his seed, stuffing you full in the hopes you might bear his child. The notion made you whimper, squeezing with your walls as you felt him begin to leak out. 

Although your breathing slowed, the haze of joy lingered. The mating bond became almost visible, shining crystal-clear in what had previously been darkness. It stayed with you; humming and golden, and fearfully strong.

Lifting your head, you met Jungkook’s gaze.

He had not become someone different. Neither had you and yet, something between you had changed. It was still Jungkook beneath you, inside you and with his arms wrapped around you. Now though, you knew what he was to you. Your mate. You had chosen him, and he had chosen you.

Based on his expression, you knew he felt something similar.

One of your hands slid down his chest and settled over his heart. Beneath your palm and warm skin, you felt his heart keeping pace with yours.

“Oh,” you murmured, eyes shining.

Leaning forward, Jungkook brushed your lips with his. Clasping your hand in between you, he rested his forehead to yours.

You knew obstacles lay ahead. You knew but somehow, they all seemed more possible with him by your side. With him as your partner, your mate, your betrothed.

Opening your eyes, you met his gaze and smiled.

© kpopfanfictrash, 2021. Do not copy or repost without permission.

Author’s Note: Thank you so much to everyone read this long! I hope you enjoyed :)

Character Ask Game found here

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[mondoreb]

End Times Prophecy Headlines: December 6, 2022

End Times Prophecy Headlines: December 6, 2022

End Times Prophecy Report.com HEADLINES TUESDAY December 6, 2022 And OPINION “And Jesus answered and said unto them, Take heed that no man deceive you.” —Matthew 24:4 “The best way to keep a prisoner from escaping is to make sure he never knows he’s in prison.” —Fyodor Dostoevsky ===INTERNATIONAL UKRAINE: Ukraine rejects U.S. claim that fighting could slow for months UKRAINE:   Zelensky Seeks…

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#America: less important? #C.S. Lewis: antichrist infiltrator #more tales of super women #the day of the LORD is a day where two opposites meet: darkness and light #the media and Russia #the more things stay the same...

[dokoni-mo]

She Truly Was || Muzan Kibustsuji x F!Reader

Summary: Enmu helps Muzan remember you.

SFW // Fluff with small amounts of Angst

Word Count: 4626

WARNINGS: *slight Mugen Train spoilers*, slight mentions of implied sexual activity, obsessive(?) behavior, Muzan is soft for one person only, some angst, mentions of injury, mentions of blood, I also barely proofread this lol

A/N: I've had this in my head for a while and decided to write it down. This is largely just a compilation of scenarios I made in my head to fall asleep at night when I was stressing over exams and stuff, all loosely thrown together with a plot. This is my first time writing for demon slayer, so please be patient! I also am basing a lot of my info about the characters on s1 of the anime, some of the manga, and the wiki. I apologize if something isn't accurate. tldr; I just think he's neat.

~~

Despite having lived through thousands of years with hundreds of stormy nights in the midst, Muzan Kibutsuji never learned to appreciate them.

Something about nights like those in Japan just never sat right with the demon. It wasn't that they were too dreary, not at all. Life as a demon was plenty dreary. On the other hand, it wasn't that they were to lively either. No one ever went out on stormy nights; demon or not. Perhaps it was just because the rain was another reminder of the singularity that was being a demon. The poignant pitter patter just seemed to have a way of whispering to whoever heard it, telling them the most unpleasant yet quiet truths of their lives.

After Muzan's bloody meeting with the lower moons, he had told Enmu his task Muzan had planned for the pitiful, weaker demon. Although he had doubts that Enmu could hear him over the sound of the weaker demon's screams of pain from the blood he gave, Muzan was pleasantly surprised when Enmu understood the orders the first time around. Seeing as though it would cause trouble if the lower moon started to go around bragging about his newfound power and job, Muzan decided it would be best to keep a crimson eye on the demon.

This is what led to the scene before Muzan now.

Muzan had taken Enmu back to one of his many properties scattered across Japan, this one being tucked away in a lush, quiet forest in the middle of seemingly nowhere. The lower moon had not said a word throughout the entire journey there, and still refused to say anything now. Most likely out of fear.

Although it had been a long day of wrangling the lesser worms he called pawns (or "moons" if he was generous), Muzan did not want to show any weakness towards Enmu by resting. To busy himself, Muzan decided to do the tedious work the humans have him do in the job he took to please his human wife.

That insufferable woman.

With his bowler hat placed on his desk, Muzan had taken a seat in his large, leather chair, ordering Enmu to stand at the edge of the desk and face the opposite way. And, for extra edge, he was not to say or do anything.

It had been about two hours since then. The room was filled with only the sounds of Muzan's writing and the ticking of the grandfather clock in the corner.

Although he ordered it to be that way, Muzan was already sick of it.

Peering his red eyes up from the papers scrawled below him, Muzan fixated his bone-chilling gaze upon the back of Enmu's head. Muzan could see the corners of the lower moon's mouth turned upwards as he faced the wall, presenting himself with an expression of dumb content.

Freak.

Enmu was definately a curious specimen. So eager to die, yet so eager to please Muzan. The demon lord would have been confused if he were not who he was.

Perhaps it was his own boredom setting in, perhaps it was because he wanted to feed his already gargantuan ego, or perhaps it was just because he was tired, Muzan decided to speak up.

"Tell me," Muzan said, his deep, smooth voice making Enmu perk up slightly, "Why is it that are you so loyal to me?"

Enmu took this as an opportunity to finally move, but not without some caution. The lower demon only turned his neck towards Muzan, along with a tilt of his shoulder. Muzan noted the disobedience of orders, but decided to let it slide this time.

The rain must have told him to be generous that night.

"Why, Master Kibustsuji," Enmu said, a faint blush adorning his cheeks, "It is because I am so delighted to be in your presence, and have my power be of service to you."

The demon lord felt his jaw clench at this, his red eyes peering up at the lower moon from under his abyssal lashes. Although Enmu had an... odd, way of putting things, Muzan always did like it when someone stroked his ego, even if all they ever said was the same banter over and over again. He was nearly perfection, afterall.

Muzan sat quietly and pondered Enmu's response for a second, before formulating his own.

"Your power, as you put it," Muzan said, his voice firm, "What is it?"

Enmu's grin widened, "Dream Manipulation, Master. I can enter, manipulate, or control anyone's dreams however I want to. I can use it to kill from the inside, eating a person spirit first and body second. I can also put people to sleep."

Muzan wasn't necessarily impressed by this, but he wasn't disappointed either. An ordinary power, really. Nothing that could ever rival his own.

However...

Muzan's gaze flickered down to the surface of his desk. A flicker of a long lost yet not forgotten feeling bubbled deep inside of his being. A mere spark of light, really, a piece of warmth he felt from long ago, lost to the wayside by the vestiges of time.

It was something Muzan thought he would never experience again.

Dream manipulation, huh?

It might be worth a try.

Muzan looked back up to Enmu, sharpening his gaze, "Tell me, are you able to give... pleasant dreams?"

Enmu was surprised to hear this come from Muzan to say the absolute least. He took this as another opportunity to disobey orders and turn to Muzan again, this time fully and whole-heartedly. The lower moon looked right into those blood red eyes, looking for any sign of a rare flicker of humor or joking.

Muzan's gaze was serious, poised as ever.

Muzan was being for real.

Taking a pause to swallow, Enmu allowed his soft smirk to return to his gray, pale face.

"Why," the lower moon retorted, "I can, Master, yes."

Muzan eyed the lesser demon for a good second at his response.

This move was risky. It could damage his image. Yet, if he was to do this with any of his pawns, he would do it with Enmu. Enmu seemed to have no intent on harming Muzan or his image in any way; he was far too loyal for that.

Besides, if someone were to question the might of Muzan, he could just prove them wrong.

Muzan leaned back in his chair, crossing one leg over the other and lacing his fingers together, wrapping them around his knee. His icy gaze still on Enmu, he spoke again.

"I wish to see a pleasant dream."

Muzan nearly rolled his eyes when he saw just how wide Enmu's grin had gotten and just how flushed his face got.

It was repulsive.

But, if it meant what Muzan thought it would mean...

It was worth stomaching.

After a breif moment used to compose himself, Enmu's smile faded to normal again. He pulled up the sleeves to his coat.

"I will give you a dream where you will experience the happiest days of your life over again, Master Kibutsuji," the lower moon stated, "Is this to your liking or would you prefer something else?"

"No," Muzan stated flatly, "That is fine."

Perfect, even.

Enmu smiled widely one last time, holding out his arm and pointing it at the demon lord.

"Sweet dreams, my lord." Was the last thing Muzan heard before falling into a deep, deep sleep.

~~

"Muzan..."

Despite his blood demon art being so much weaker than his, Muzan wasn't quite ready for just how Enmu put him into a dream like that. Muzan's headache had grown ten-fold now, and he could feel that his face was scrunched.

"Muzan..."

Slowly but surely regaining his full consciousness, Muzan could first feel that he was in different clothes than what he had been wearing before. These ones were lighter, softer, and much more airy than his normal suit. Squinting open his crimson eyes, he saw that he was in what appeared to be a long, dark, flowing kimono.

The second thing Muzan could feel was that it was rather cool where he was, and that he appeared to be lying on the ground. Sifting his weight slowly, he could then feel that his head was lain upon what felt like two soft, plush pillows firmly squished together.

The third thing, however, took him a little longer to discern quite that it was. At first, he thought it was a pair of chopsticks running across his scalp over and over again. Upon, further thought, however, Muzan was further snapped back into awareness.

Those were not chopsticks.

Those were fingers.

All too familiar fingers.

"Muzan..!"

Muzan felt a stir deep down inside of him. He recognized this feeling, this touch, this warmth. It had been so, so long since he had felt like this. How long was it again? It had to be an eternity ago. An eternity wrapped within all time time in the world.

Muzan was speechless. Muzan couldn't move. Muzan was struck from deep within, and nothing in the world could ever compare to its blow.

"Muzan!"

Although the calling of the demon's lord name had been going on for some time now, he was just now able to respond.

Tilting his chin upwards towards the voice's source, Muzan nearly fell to bits right then and there. If he was someone else, he would have wept deep, earnest tears at the very sight of the being above him. For everything and nothing surrounded him as he studied the bright, radiant face above him, and nothing else seemed to exist other than that smile.

Other than her.

Her.

Oh, her, her, her.

His beloved. His sun, moon and stars. The ground beneath his feet and the air around him. His joy and love, his woes and sorrow. His fears and excitement. His warmth and his cold.

You.

You were really here.

"I was wondering if you were ever gonna wake up," you said, a faint laugh behind your voice, "You were out for so long!"

This scene was all too familiar to Muzan. He had replayed it in his head countless times, as if it were the only record left in the world.

He knew what this day was, and he knew all of your lines.

How could he ever forget?

Every moment he had ever spent with you had been a blessing.

Right now, his head was cradled in your lap, your soft, delicate fingers combing through his hair oh so gently as he had slept. It was deep into the night, and ordinarily Muzan would not be sleeping at this time. However, your touch was just so relaxing to him.

Everything about you was.

Today, you and him had spent the night wandering through the garden of your home together, chatting about anything and everything. It was only about two months into your relationship with Muzan. Muzan had first come to your home with the intention of eating everyone within the residence, but once he saw your face, watched you, saw your heart, your spirit, your you, he just couldn't.

He just...

couldn't.

You were human, yes.

But Muzan didn't care.

He was in love with you.

Muzan had yet to tell you the truth about him, however.

But that could come later.

"Muzan, are you alright?" He heard your voice echo again, snapping him out of his trance. He saw your face painted with worry, making his own features soften.

His darling angel. If only you knew just how much it pained him to see you with anything other than a smile.

Muzan reached his hand upwards, steadily maneuvering his fingers to brush your hair behind your ear and cup your warm cheek. He was shocked at how real you felt, shocked at just how similar it felt to all those years ago.

Perhaps Muzan had to give Enmu a reward.

The demon lord caressed your cheek gingerly with his cold, calloused thumb, savoring in just how warm your flesh was compared to his. For the first time in what felt like eons, Muzan felt a smile adorn his handsome features. Not one put on just to appease the humans around him, but genuine. The type of smile only you got to see.

Only you.

"I'm more than alright, my darling." He responded, his voice soft and warm, without the normal venom he gives to his subordinates. A voice reserved restrictively for you.

Finally, you let a soft grin come over your heavenly face again, making all seven of Muzan's hearts swell.

"I'm sorry if I woke you up," you said, "But it's about to be dawn soon. I don't want you to get a burn, so let's go in the house again, okay?"

Ah yes, the lie Muzan told you. He, of course, couldn't be with you in the sunlight (as much as he wanted to). So he had told you that he had a rare disorder that made him extra prone to sunburns and heatstroke.

Just something to keep you safe from the truth.

His soft smile still adorning his features, Muzan gave you a nod as he slid his head off of your lap. Since you were on your knees, you were quicker to stand than him. Brushing off your kimono quickly, you offered one of your hands to Muzan to help him stand, of which he gladly took. He had long since forgotted just how perfectly your hand fit into his, along with how radiant your kimono made you look.

Once he was back on his feet, Muzan couldn't help but to hold your arms, holding you a few feet away from him to simply admire you for a moment, his crimson eyes doing laps around your face and body.

You were perfect to him.

Every single thing about you was without flaw in his eyes. Not one curve of your body was too shallow or too wide. Not one strand of your hair was misplaced or without poise. Not one feature on your face took away from your radiant beauty. And you had not one bad bone inside of your body.

Muzan was never one to believe in angels.

However, if anyone in any part of the world were to tell him that you were one of them, straight from the heavens themselves,

He would believe them.

~~

As soon as Muzan stepped through the door, his hand in your own, the scene before him changed in one giant, peaceful flash of white light.

Before him now was no longer the house that he had shared with you all those years ago. Now, in its place, was a beautiful, lush springtime garden, all dredged under the cover of the night. It was not devoid of light, however. There were a few lanterns afloat in the water of the stream, as well as some within the structure of the small bridge that went over top of it. Flowers adorned every nook and cranny of the space, and the occasional insect or bird would make a brief appearance.

A small slice of paradise, just for you and Muzan Kibutsuji.

Fearing that you were no longer by his side, Muzan turned his head. His fears were quickly subsided when he saw you there next to him. Your delicate hands were placed on the railing of the bridge, and your eyes were fixated on the calm water below, almost as if it were a window into the heavens above. There was a small smile plastered on your face, and the delicate lights illuminated each of your features so perfectly.

Muzan knew this night.

This was the night he told you the truth.

The truth about him, about his "condition", about where he went for days on end, about why he couldn't walk with you in the sun, about everything.

This was the one night Muzan had ever felt fear.

"Is it really true, Muzan?" You asked, your gaze still fixated on the water below, "Are you really a demon?"

Muzan felt his lips part in small surprise. Even though he had replayed this night time and time again in his mind, it felt as if this were all happening for the first time over again.

Enmu really was good at this.

Muzan wet his lips before responding, setting his gaze on your precious, beautiful face and refusing to move it, "Yes, my love. It is true. I would not lie to you about this, I..."

A pause to collect this thoughts, before he could continue, "I kept it from you to protect you, (Y/N). I did not want any harm to come to you. My darling, I... I love you. My love for you knows no bounds. You are the stars that shine at night, and you are the shining moon above. Each time I look upon you, all I can stand to think of is how deep my love for you runs. I... I need you, (Y/N). I do not wish for you to be frightened of me, my angel. I would never, not ever harm you, nor let any harm come to you."

You still weren't looking at Muzan, yet your smile had yet to falter. Muzan felt a bubble of nervousness in his gut. Although he knew your response to his words already, even thinking of this moment never failed to make his stomach churn. He hoped his words to you were enough. He doubted that he had ever said anything more truthful in his entire life.

After a long pause of silence between the two of you, you closed your eyes and widened your smile. Then, you opened your eyes again, finally turning to face your lover. You looked Muzan right in the eyes, seemingly unfazed that you were standing so dangerously close to the most powerful being alive.

You were so brave.

Your heart was so big.

Muzan felt so overwhelmed.

"Muzan," you said, your cheeks dusting a light pink.

What you said next to him, Muzan could never get out of his head, never forget. No matter how much he tried, he would never not ever forget your words in that moment.

Within that one short, simple phrase, the king of demons fell in love all over again.

"I've always known."

~~

Another flash within his crimson eyes, and the scene had changed again. Nighttime again, of course, but this time within the confines of the bedroom you and Muzan shared. Both you and Muzan were nude, sans the blanket that covered the lower half of your forms. Muzan was on his back, one strong arm wrapped around you, the other cradling the back of his head. Your legs were intertwined with his, and your hair and hands were sprawled out on top of his lean, muscular chest.

Muzan knew this night as well.

It was his most loved night with you, but also his most dreaded.

How cruel fate was.

Stroking your back with the tips of his fingers, Muzan stared up at the ceiling above the two of you. Your body was flush against his, and as warm as ever. He wondered to himself if he was making you cold. If he was, you didn't seem to mind.

After a long period of savoring the silence between you and him, you softly snorted out a cute, soft giggle. This made Muzan angle his chin downward to look at the top of your head.

"What is it?" He questioned.

You giggled again, tilting your head up to look at him. Smiling, you turned your body to lay on top of the demon king, your breasts smushing against his own. Instinctively, Muzan laid his hands on your hips, rubbing small circles into them as he held you in place.

"I just find it funny that even though you profess to have so much stamina, you get tired after only two rounds." You explained to him, a playful mischievousness in your tone and eyes.

Muzan breathed out a smile, reaching up a clawed hand to brush your hair out of your face.

"As I recall it, you were the one complaining it was too much." He quipped back.

You snorted, "As if that ever stopped you before."

The demon let out a soft chuckle, leaning forward to give you a kiss on the forehead. Muzan couldn't remember ever laughing so genuinely before you came along. You truly were the light of his life. You filled his days with the sunlight he had long since forgotten, as well with the warmth no other demon could ever have.

He loved you.

He loved you he loved you he loved you.

And he still did.

He watched as you dropped your gaze to his chest, running your fingers along the flesh.

"Muzan..." you said, your voice more serious than before, "I've been thinking a lot lately..."

The demon king hummed, brushing more hair from your face.

"What has been on your mind, my love?" He asked.

You paused for a second before continuing on. Muzan could practically see the gears turning in your head.

"Well, I... I'm not getting any younger, you know, and I've been thinking. I... I really love you, Muzan. You're the only person I can imagine myself being with for the rest of my life. The other day, I was in town, and I saw the cutest family ever with a husband and a wife and two adorable little children, and it made me think..."

You looked up at him again, giving him a soft smile.

"What if we were to have a family of our own?"

Muzan could feel the same sense of joy, love, and pride in his chest as he did this same moment all those years ago. In this moment, he had never felt closer to you before, nor could you recall ever looking more beautiful.

He wanted nothing more than to be a family with you for the rest of eternity.

"Darling, you know what that would mean, correct?" He questioned you. He had told you long before that demons could only have offspring with other demons, for a demon baby would eat its human mother from the inside and kill her. It was gruesome, and had originally made you cringe at the thought. Muzan had thought your reaction was quite cute.

"Yes, yes, I know," you answered, "and I'd be ready for it. Even if I'm a demon, and even if I can never go out in the sun again or live normally ever again, I'd be happy knowing I got to be with you and our baby for the rest of time."

Muzan gave you a smile in return, his long, white fangs flashing in the light of the night. Leaning forward, he kissed you upon your soft, warms lips, gently pulling you closer to him.

This was one of the thousands of reasons why he loved you.

You were always so sweet, so kind and optimistic. He would admit, he did have a soft spot for you and you alone. But he didn't care. You were worth it. You were worth every single piece of money on planet earth. You were worth the sun the moon and the stars, and all the planets here and beyond. You were worth any injury, any heartache, and any trial or tribulation in the world.

The king of the demons unquestionably, unfathomably, undeniably, adored you.

Pulling gently away from the kiss, Muzan looked deep into your eyes, right past your pupils and looked right into your soul, your very being.

"I would want nothing more, my sunlight."

If Muzan could turn back the hands of time, he would have kept you here with him for the rest of everything and beyond.

For he did not know then that was the last kiss you and him would share.

~~

Another flash, and Muzan was no longer greeted with a visage of the past. Much to his dismay, the demon was now greeted with the sight of his office, with a smiling Enmu creepily watching him from across his desk.

What a fucking freakshow.

Taking in a breath of air through his nose, Muzan sat up tall in his chair again, rubbing the bridge of his nose with this thumb and pointer finger.

You were gone again. You were again nothing up a memory, a whisper of a time from the past.

Muzan could hardly bare it.

He had felt you, held you near him.

And just as fast as you came back, you were gone again.

This was a pain almost too hard to bear.

How long was he asleep for? Muzan really didn't care how long it was.

No amount of time with you was enough.

"Did you have the pleasant dream you wished for, Master?" Enmu asked the demon king. The lesser moon was lucky Muzan was in a somewhat good mood that day.

"Yes." Muzan replied simply, closing his eyes to rub them with his thumb, "Excellent work."

Enmu's smile widened at this, his cheeks turning pink again.

"Why, thank you, Master." He responded, his excitement prevalent in his voice.

Enmu really was a special one.

After composing himself again, Muzan scooted his chair forward up to his desk, fixing his gaze back onto his work sprawled out below.

Muzan just wanted to be alone again after that. He had been alone for years now, but he wanted Enmu out of the room. Although he could have easily ordered it to be so, he again did not want to show any weakness to the lower moon.

Christ on a bike. Muzan was so fucking stubborn.

He remembered all the times you nagged him for it.

Oh, what he would give to have you nag him one last time.

After a long bout of silence, the lesser demon decided to speak up again. He turned his head over his shoulder again to Muzan, trying to sound as naieve and innocent as possible.

"Master," Enmu said, "Where is she now?"

Muzan stopped his movements and glared up at Enmu with a venomous glare. How dare he even refer to you. You were so far above him, how dare Enmu even think to invoke your name.

Though Muzan wanted to kill the other demon right on the spot, he decided against it. He still wanted to see how Enmu would do on his mission. Also, Muzan had to admit that he did feel lighter and more generous after his dream with you. And he supposed it was fair that Enmu had his questions.

Feeling nice, Muzan decided to entertain Enmu's question.

Shifting his gaze back to the papers below, Muzan replied.

"Gone." he said, "The night she asked about a family was the last night I saw her alive. The next day, a group of slayers found her and our house. They knew who she was and that she was human, but killed her anyway. All in attempt to get to me. I found her in a pool of her own blood, limp and cold. The slayers died that same night."

Enmu's smile faded at this, his face taking on a look of shock. Closing his lips into a tight line, Enmu looked away, out of a quiet unconscious respect. Everything made so much more sense to Enmu now. Why the demon king was the way he was, his hatred for slayers, his cold-hearted, murderous nature.

It all clicked into place.

"I... I am sorry for your loss, Master." He said, his voice quieter than normal, "She seemed like a lovely woman."

Muzan peered up at the back of Enmu's head. Through his thick, black lashes.

"Yes..." Muzan said.

"She truly was."

#demon slayer #kny fanfic #kny x reader #kimetsu no yaiba muzan #kimestsu no yaiba #demon slayer x y/n #demon slayer x you #demon slayer x reader #muzan kibutsuji #muzan kibutsuji x reader

[bloobeary]

comparing hand sizes + preserum/postserum/CW

"We could just..." Steve starts, and Bucky sighs under him. "Not go."

"I bought tickets," Bucky says, and Steve grabs his hand off his chest, holding it up to the light. If he turns it a little, his skin glows red and Steve can see all the tendons in it. Makes him want to reach for his sketch book and draw it, add it to the ever growing collection of doodles of Bucky. "And it'll be fun." He says.

Steve sighs. He holds his hand up to Bucky's, palm to palm. There's calluses under his fingers from working, like there are smooth patches at the tips of Steve's fingers from drawing.

There's a whole extra joint left to Bucky's fingers over Steve's. He flexes them so they press against the tops of Steve's fingertips, and then he turns his hand and slots their fingers together. Bucky pulls their hands back to Steve's chest. "We should go. It'll be fun." He repeats.

Steve props himself up on an elbow and looks over at Bucky. "You tell the girls already?"

Bucky makes a face. "You know I did."

Steve presses his lips together, and then pulls his hand free before sitting up all the way. Bucky wants to go to the science fair, he can tell that much, but he also wants to go with Steve. So he has to go, even if its not how he'd like to spend Bucky's last night in New York. He'll go even if it means watching Bucky hold some dame's hand, even if it means having to make awkward small talk and remember a name he doesn't care about just to watch Bucky light up every time a new gadget or whatnot is announced. He might be a little sprung-- that's not the point.

"Steve," Bucky says, quiet. He puts a hand on his back. "You don't have to go, if you don't want to." He can hear it in his voice even if he doesn't say it, but I want you to.

Bucky won't press, not now, not like this. Steve takes a steadying breath. "I didn't say that. Quit putting words in my mouth, Barnes." He says, and Bucky laughs, surprised. "I'm goin'."

He gets up off the bed and goes to find his suspenders and makes the mistake of looking over his shoulder to see Bucky with his hands propped up under his head, smiling at him like he's just hung the moon.

-

They barely get a second to themselves after everything's done. Between medical checks and debriefs and god damned photo ops-- Steve doesn't see Bucky again until what feels like days later.

He finds him in the little pub they've overrun, music loud even from the outside. His brain tells him that its dangerous, but Bucky's smiled at him more times in the last ten minutes than he has since he left Brooklyn so, Steve can't complain.

Its not until later, much later, as Steve's walking Bucky back to their quarters, arm around his shoulders, that Bucky stops dead in his tracks. He looks at him (looks up at him, Jesus Christ), and then-- "You're huge." He says, and Steve laughs at him.

"Don't laugh at me. You're -- what the hell they do to you, huh? You're huge, Steve." Bucky says, grabbing the front of Steve's shirt with urgency. "Good lord." He says, serious like he's going to confession, like he's sitting opposite a screen and is about to tell all, and then laughs, putting his head on Steve's chest.

"Bucky," Steve says, a little amused. He looks around just to make sure no one else is on the street, and then manhandles Bucky into an alley. Well, its not an alley, really, more of a dark dip in the wall where two corners don't quite meet all the way. This way at least someone will have to really look in order to see them.

"Buck,"

"Shut up." Bucky says, untucks and undoes three buttons, and then shoves his hands up under Steve's shirt. They're cold against his flushed skin, he can feel the goosebumps raise. "God damn. You do this on purpose?" Bucky asks, and Steve just looks at him. He's so beautiful he could cry. He should tell him-- God knows Steve doesn't say it enough.

"Huh? You trying to kill me?" Bucky says, Steve swallows. "I leave you alone for five seconds and you-- fuck," He says reverently, and Steve tips his head back, almost involuntarily. "You trying to get back at me for leaving?" He's talking shit, and they both know it. God does it make Steve blush, though.

"Yeah, I bet that's it. Well newsflash, Rogers. You ain't getting rid of me, not ever again." He grips Steve's waist tight and pulls him in for a kiss. The angle is-- well, its new, but its fine still. Better than fine. "Weren't before, aren't now. You don't even have to-- you've got me--" He starts, and then gets a little choked up.

Steve kisses him-- its stupid and dangerous and anyone could see them, but Steve kisses him anyways.

"Buck," Steve says, a little breathless. "We-- we gotta go." He says, finally. Bucky looks at him thoughtfully for a second, and then kisses him one last time before nodding. Steve fixes his shirt and Bucky looks so smug about it that it makes Steve's ears ring.

Bucky catches his wrist. Steve stops, and wordlessly, Bucky flips over his palm, and lays his against it. They're the same size now, but Bucky still flexes the tips of his fingers against Steve's. He pushes right back before sliding their fingers together.

They walk back hand in hand. Steve doesn't even care if anyone sees.

They slip into Steve's tent unnoticed just as it starts to rain. "Why the hell's your cot so big?" Bucky says, checking the give with his finger.

"I'm america's sweetheart." Steve says, flashing him a grin. Bucky rolls his eyes at him.

"You sure are something, baby." Bucky says, and Steve just looks at him helpessly. The rain hits the canvas quietly, and suddenly Steve can feel his bottom lip tremble.

"I missed --" He starts, and then bites his lip and looks away, blinking a few times so he doesnt cry. "I thought-- they told me you were dead and I--" He sniffles and looks at his hands, too big for his bones.

He doesn't even hear Bucky's footsteps as he crosses the tent. He doesn't notice he's standing right in front of him until familiar calloused hands are in his own. Steve looks up.

"What'd I say, Rogers?" Bucky asks, quiet, like he's afraid if he says it too loud it'll break the spell. "I'm not goin' anywhere."

Steve looks at him for a few second and then back down at their hands. He squeezes. Bucky squeezes back.

-

The engines hum as they break through cloud coverage and into clear sky. They haven't said much to each other since they got on.

Its killing him.

Bucky's sitting in the back, staring at the wall, with his hand palm up on his knee. Steve keeps looking over his shoulder at him, trying to gather enough courage to just go over there. Its ridiculous really; he just went against the Avengers and United Nations and probably God just to keep Bucky by his side and now he's too nervous to even talk to him alone. Get it together, Rogers.

He takes a breath, finally, and switches on autopilot before doing just that. His steps are loud, too loud, and Bucky looks up at him. He looks a little scared, a little wild, still, and Steve wants to cry.

He sits right next to him, and doesn't bother with saying anything as he touches an index finger to the middle of Bucky's metal palm.

He flinches, pulling his hand away with a whir. "What are you doing--"

"Buck," Steve says, quiet, pleading. "Just... do you trust me?"

"Yes." Bucky answers immediately, and then looks a little confused, like he didn't know what the answer was going to be before he said it.

Steve smiles at him, albeit a little forced. "So just... just trust me." He says, and Bucky eyes him warily before putting his hand back where it was. Steve pulls his glove off.

Steve moves slowly, but eventually presses his palm flat against Bucky's metal one. It's cold, real. This hand is bigger, but just barely, metal fingertips peeking up over Steve's. Steve presses his fingers against Bucky's and feels a gentle push back before metal plating clicks against each other, and Bucky interlocks their fingers.

Steve feels like he's about to cry.

"I don't know if I'm worth all this, Steve." Bucky admits, finally.

"Don't say shit like that." Steve snaps, and Bucky looks up at him. "You're-- you are everything, Bucky. Everything." He says, and squeezes his hand as if to make a point. "Understand?"

Bucky swallows, and then nods before looking away. He squeezes back.

#hands (gay subtext) #anyways #its my canon rewrite and ill cry if i want to #prewar stucky #pre serum stucky #stucky #modern stucky #ca: tfa #ca: cw #fic #you guys sure do this post huh

[azsazz]

Bloody Knuckles and the Songs of Death (Part 4)

Azriel x Reader

Summary: Reader is everything that Azriel is not. Opposite feelings but equal death in the end.

AKA: Half a rewrite of chapters 43-47 of ACOWAR where reader is now there as part of the Autumn Court, excited to meet Azriel. The other half are my own ideas.

Warnings: Major themes of death, ACOWAR spoilers, blood, gore, mentions of abuse, smut.

Word Count: 1,621

(Part One) (Part Two) (Part 3)

_________________________________________

Beron shields barely fast enough to block Feyre, but the wake singes Eris’ arm–right through the thick, emerald cloth. And the pale, lovely arm of Amaretto.

The others shout, shooting to their feet, but Feyre isn’t stopping yet. Her point hasn’t been made, and her wild gray eyes are consumed by the inferno she’s wielding at the flame master himself.

She stands, instead sending a wave of water from the reflection pool to encircle Beron and his chair. A bubble without air.

Flame pounds against it, turning water to steam, but she pushes harder.

She looks like she might kill him, and although you’re slightly disappointed it’s not the shadowsinger to take his life, you’re very happy at the sight before you.

Beron’s flame barrier slams into her water one, hard enough that ripples begin to form, steam hissing amongst them.

She bares her teeth and sends a fist of white light punching into that fiery shield–the white light of Day. Spell-breaker. Ward-cleaver.

Beron’s eyes widen as his shields begin to fray. As that water pushes in.

You shift onto the edge of your seat, eager eyes unable to look away. The taste of his panic is sweet on your tongue.

Rhysand stands before her, capturing her face in his soft hands. “You’ve proved your point, my love,” he says to her. “Kill him, and horrible Eris will take his place.”

She doesn’t say anything aloud but he answers her as if she had. 

“As interesting an experiment as that might be,” Rhys croons, “It would only complicate the matters at hand.”

It’s silent for a long few heartbeats. 

And then she lets go of her magic.

Beron’s flames explode like an unfurling flower–and bounce harmlessly off of the shield Rhys had thrown around them.

Not to shield against Beron.

The other High Lords are now on their feet.

“That was how you got through my wards,” Tarquin murmurs.

Beron’s panting so hard he looks like he might spew lava. His heated gaze turns on you in a silent command to kill them all, right here and now, but you’re too busy watching what the others are saying.

Helion rubs his jaw as he sits down once more. “I wondered where it went–that little bit. So small–like a fish missing a single scale. But I still felt whenever something brushed against that empty spot.” A smirk at Rhys. “No wonder you made her High Lady.”

“I made her High Lady,” Rhys says simply, lowering his hands from Feyre’s face but not leaving her side, “Because I love her. Her power was the last thing I considered.”

Helion asks Tamlin, “You knew of her powers?”

Tamlin only watches Feyre and Rhys, his declaration hanging between them. “It was none of your business,” is all Tamlin says to Helion. To everyone.

“The power belongs to us. I think it is,” Beron seethes.

Mor levels a look at Beron that would send lesser males running.

The Lady of Autumn is clutching her arm, angry red splattered along her moon-white skin. No glimmer of pain on that face, though. Feyre says as she reclaims her seat, “I’m sorry.”

Amarettos eyes lift towards her gray ones, round as saucers.

Beron spits, “Don’t talk to her, you human filth.”

Rhys shatters through Beron’s shield, his fire, his defenses.

Shatters through them like a stone hurled into a window, and slams his dark power into Beron so hard he rocks back in his seat. Then that seat disintegrates into black, sparkling dust beneath him.

Leaving Beron to fall on his ass.

You truly do like the Night Court.

Glittering ebony dust drifts away on a phantom wind, staining Beron’s crimson jacket, clinging like clumps of ash to his brown hair.

“Don’t ever,” Rhys says, hands sliding into his pockets, “speak to my mate like that again.”

Beron shoots to his feet, not bothering to brush off the dust, and declares to no one in particular, “This meeting is over. I hope Hybern butchers you all.”

But Nesta rises from her chair. “This meeting is not over.”

Even Beron pauses at her tone. Eris sizes up the space between Nesta Archeron and his father.

She stands tall, a pillar of steel. “You are all there is,” she says to Beron, to all of us. “You are all that there is between Hybern and the end of everything that is good and decent.” She settles her stare on the High Lord of Autumn, unflinching and fierce. “You fought against Hybern in the last war. Why do you refuse to do so now?”

Beron does not deign to answer. But he does not leave. Eris subtly motions his brothers to sit.

Nesta marks his gesture–hesitating. As if realizing she indeed holds their complete attention. That every word matters. “You may hate us. I don’t care if you do. But I do care if you let innocents suffer and die. At least stand for them. Your people. For Hybern will make an example of them. Of all of us.”

“And you know this how?” Beron sneers.

“I went into the Cauldron,” Nesta says flatly. “It showed me his heart. He will bring down the wall, and butcher those on either side of it.”

Truth or lie, you can’t tell. Nesta’s face reveals nothing. And no one dares to contradict her.

She looks to Kallias and Viviane. “I am sorry for the loss of those children. The loss of one is abhorrent.” She shakes her head. “But beneath the wall, I witness children–entire families–starve to death.” She jerks her chin at her sister. “Were it not for my sister…I would be among them.”

“Too long,” she continues. “For too long have humans beneath the wall suffered and died while you in Prythian thrived. Not during that–queen’s reign.” She recoils, as if hating to even speak Amarantha’s name. “But long before. If you fight for anything–fight now, to protect those you forgot. Let them know they’re not forgotten. Just this once.”

Thesean clears his throat. “While a noble statement, the details of the Treaty did not demand we provide for our human neighbors. They were to be left alone. So we obeyed.”

Nesta remains standing. “The past is the past. What I care about is the road ahead. What I care about is making sure no children–Fae or human–are harmed. You have been entrusted with protecting this land.” She scans the faces around her. “How can you not fight for it?”

She looks to Beron and his family as she finishes. Only the Lady and Eris seem to be considering–impressed, even, by the strange, simmering woman before them.

Beron only says, “I shall consider it.” A look at his wife and sons, and they vanish, leaving you and Eris in their wake. 

Eris is the last to winnow, something conflicting dancing over his face, as if this was not the outcome he’d planned for. Expected.

The look he gives you is an order. One that has your stomach twisting with both excitement and nerves. He knows that he himself cannot stay here, not while Beron is beyond himself with anger, so he’s telling you to stay, to talk to the Night Court for him.

You nod, and he disappears.

Kallias asks Feyre quietly, “Did you master the ice?” 

She gives him a shallow nod in return. “All of it.”

Kallias scrubs at his face as Viviane sets a hand on his arm. “Does it make a difference, Kal?”

“I don’t know,” he admits.

But Tarquin says, “You saved us Under the Mountain. Losing a kernel of power seems a worthy payment.”

“It seems she took far more than that,” Helion argues, “If she could be within seconds of drowning Beron despite the wards.” 

Helion’s power, warm and clear, brushes against their shield, trawling through the air between everyone. As if testing for a tether.

Thesean declares, “What’s done is done. Short of killing her,”–Rhys’s power roils through the room at the words–“There is nothing we can do.”

Feyre stands, staring Thesean in the eye. Then Helion. Tarquin. Kallias. Even you, the representative for Autumn, exactly as Nesta had done. “I did not take your power. You gave it to me, along with the gift of my immortal life. I am grateful for both. But they are mine now. And I will do with them what I will.”

Her courtiers have risen behind her, now in rank, Nesta at her left. Rhys steps up to her right, but doesn’t touch her. He lets her stand on her own like Eris is letting you, to stare everyone down.

She says quietly, but not weakly, “I will use these powers–my powers–to smash Hybern to bits. I will burn them, drown them, and freeze them. I will use these powers to heal the injured. To shatter through Hybern’s wards. I have done so already, and I will do so again. And if you think that my possession of a kernel of your magic is your biggest problem, then your priorities are severely out of order.”

The High Lords and their retinues say nothing.

But Viviane nods, chin high, and rises. “I will fight with you.”

Cressida stands a heartbeat later. “As will I.”

Both of them look to the males in their court.

Tarquin and Kallias rise.

Then Helion, smirking at Feyre and Rhys.

And finally Thesean–Thesean and Tamlin, who did not so much a breathe in her direction, had barely moved or spoken these past few moments.

All eyes turn toward you. You cannot speak for the High Lord that you serve, but you can for yourself. For yourself and for Eris, you stand, and nod, pledging your allegiance.

“I will also fight with you.”

#azriel x reader #azriel/reader #acotar rewrite #acotar #acowar #acomaf #shadowsinger #azriel x you #azsazz

[empressofthesunwriter]

Yin and Yang

Balance is a key aspect in the world, so why shouldn’t the Avatar have an opposite?

In a world where Raava and Vaatu merge with humans, the Avatar and the Daimon try to keep the peace between the four nations.

Aang and Hua are the current incarnations, but wake up 100 years in the future.

How will these two learn all four elements in one year and defeat the Fire Lord?

Book 1.03: The Southern Air Temple

Water. 

Earth. 

Fire. 

Air. 

Long ago, the four nations lived together in harmony. 

Then, everything changed when the Fire Nation attacked. Only the Avatar and Daimon, masters of all four elements, could stop them, but when the world needed them most, they vanished. 

A hundred years passed, and my brother and I discovered the new Avatar and Daimon, an airbender named Aang and an earthbender named Hua. 

And although his airbending and her earthbending skills are great they have a lot to learn before they’re ready to save anyone. 

But I believe Aang and Hua can save the world.

A few days had passed since Aang and Hua were broken free from the iceberg, which had been their prison for 100 of years.

Together with the water tribe siblings Katara and Sokka the Avatar and Daimon had begun their journey to master all four elements to end the long war the Fire Nation had started.

The first main goal was to reach the North Pole to find a waterbend master.

However, it didn’t mean they couldn’t make some stops.

Aang and Hua had been gone from the world for so long, anything had changed, they needed to see and learn how to move in this new world.

Also, they had important things to check.

So their first stop was the Southern Air Temple, Aang's birthplace, to look for other airbenders and maybe find out what had happened.

The quartetett one flying bison and a Kyuubi had camped yesterday on this tiny piece of island and were making anything ready for their journey to their destination for today.

Hua had a bad feeling in her stomach, as she helped Katara put their luggage in Appa's saddle.

She remembered with clarity how Gran-Gran, Katara and Sokka's grandma, had told them how no one had seen airbenders for 100 years.

She knew it was nearly impossible to meet up again with old friends and mentors, like Monk Gyatso, they were for sure dead, but Kanna's information and its implication, worried Hua.

Deep down she had a feeling if airbenders were still around, they wouldn’t be open about it and the other possibility…how Aang and her (even if she was only a quarter airbender) were the only airbenders left gave her a bitter taste in her mouth.

Other than Aang who was so sure to find his old home full of living airbenders, Hua had a strong feeling they would only find one thing there.

Death.

The black-haired girl shuddered.

It felt like yesterday as Monk Gyatso explained to her some only Daimon-related quirks.

Her Daimon spirit was born out of chaos and darkness, it meant she had a kind of radar for darker things more than Aang as Avatar, who flourished in order and light.

Destruction, pain, and even death gave her a thrill but also made her feel sick.

When she heard how no airbender had been seen for 100 years, a voice inside her said: they are dead.

Call it instinct or her weird Daimon Darkness-Radar, she knew it was true.

Hua had tried to warn Aang, to not get his hopes up, but sadly he didn’t listen to her.

He was too optimistic.

Typical Avatar.

“Wait 'til you see it, Katara!”, Hua heard Aang talk, returning her from her dark thoughts. “The Air Temple is one of the most beautiful places in the world!”

“Aang, I know you're excited, but it's been a hundred years since you've been home.”, reminds him Katara cautiously.

The waterbender looked at Hua, who gave her a tiny nod. 

Other than her counterpart, Hua didn't get her hopes up.

"That's why I'm so excited!", told Aang giddy.

"It's just that ... a lot can change in all that time."

"Katara is right Aang.", agreed Hua. "I have a really bad feeling about this. You shouldn't get your hopes up."

This made Aang roll his eyes and jump down from Appa's head.

"You and your bad feelings. You need to be more optimistic.", tutted Aang, which angered the Daimon.

She was not a little child!

"It would help you to be more realistic, Mr. Avatar. You can't live with your head in the clouds all the time!"

"I'm an airbender, it's in my nature."

"Yeah, that's your excuse for anything!"

"Children!", got Katara between them. 

She had a tired and annoyed look on her face. 

No wonder, since she and Sokka joined them, she had to stop the Avatar and Daimon regular from arguing.

"Not this early in the morning, please."

"Sorry, Katara.", they chorused together.

How synchronic they could be, when they didn't want to smash heads with each other, would astonish Katara forever.

Since neither Aang nor Hua wanted to give Katara any grief, they decided to drop the matter, for now.

Hua called for Jaiyi, who had been playing with the waves.

While her Kyuubi joined her and Katara on the saddle, Aang got Sokka out of his sleeping back, pretending there was a prickle snake in it.

They were ready now!

***

Serenly Appa was flying through the Patola Mountain range.

It's a great day for flying, musses Hua, as she sits beside Sokka and Katara on Appa's saddle, having Jaiyi in her lap.

Her nine-tails currently getting pats from her and Katara, as Sokka's stomach growls loudly.

The three females look at him in a deadpan.

Really?

He was hungry again?

They had breakfast about an hour and a half ago.

How was this possible?

"Hey, stomach? Be quiet, all right? I'm trying to find us some food.", grips Sokka with one hand his growling stomach and with the other reaches for their food bag.

His tongue out of his mouth full of anticipation, as he starts to go through it. 

He looks surprised for a moment, but quickly turns the bag upside down to pour the contents into his hand. 

Only a few crumbs land on his glove.

"Hey!", the water tribe warrior shouts, pointing an accusing finger in the direction of his companions. " Who ate all of my blubbered seal jerky?!"

"Oh. That was food? I used it to start the campfire last night. Sorry.", tells him Aang happily.

Hua makes a facepalm, Jaiyi just deadpans more and Katara can only shake her head.

Meanwhile Sokka nearly cries and whines about why the flames smelled so good last night.

"The Patola Mountain range! We're almost there!", announces Aang with excitement.

Katara and Hua look at each other, silently agreeing and they crawl towards Aang.

"Aang, we need to talk.", begins Hua.

"About what?"

"About the airbenders."

"What about 'em?"

"Well, we just want you to be prepared for what you might see. The Fire Nation is ruthless.", tells him Katara. Sadly her hand goes to her chocker. "They killed my mother, and they could have done the same to your people."

In compassion the earthbender wraps an arm around Katara's shoulder, giving her a squeeze.

The older girl had told her this a few days ago, when they had bathed in a hot spring together, enjoying some time away from the males. Both had cried together for their dead family and comforted the other.

Still, Hua would always comfort Katara when she needed to, like Katara did with her.

However, this does not have the wished effect on Aang, because he just cheerfully says how the airbender probably escaped and how you can reach only one of the temples with a flying bison and he doubts the Fire Nation had.

So no worries.

For that Hua flicks the back of his head.

"Hey! What was that for?!"

"You are an unsensible brat, you know that?", hisses Hua. "Katara tells you her mother was killed and not even some condolences from you! What a great friend you are."

This makes Aang blush in embarrassment.

"Katara I-"

"Aang, Hua, it's okay, don't start to argue again, alright?"

"But-?"

Suddenly Jaiyi lets out a warning yip, as Appa starts to climb higher and higher the mountain. The only one who isn't screaming in surprise and tightly holding onto the saddle is Aang since he sits on Appa's head and holds the reins tightly.

After a few seconds, they break the cloud and there is it...the Southern Air Temple in its glory.

"Aang, it's amazing!", shouts Katara.

"Ha, I forgot the bumpy ride, but for this visual it's all worth it!", musses Hua, still holding Jaiyi tightly to her chest, as the nine-tails make an agreening sound.

"We're home, buddy! We're home.", says Aang with happy tears in his eyes to Appa.

A while later Appa lands them on one of the landing platforms of the temple and the humans with Jaiyi make their way towards it.

Of course, Aang was in the lead, Hua and Jaiyi behind him, making Katara and Sokka take up the rear.

With only a half ear Hua hears how Sokka wants food and Katara scolds him for it, reminding him how they are the first outsiders at the temple.

Since they touched down, the Daimon feels sick to the stomach. 

It's like she can taste the decay in the air.

Hearing screams of pain and plaids of mercy.

This is a graveyard and nothing more.

How she feels bad to think this about the temple.

Her point is only proven when Aang tells the others where he played airball with his friends, where the bison slept and trails off to admit how everything changed and only weed is remaining.

They quickly approach Aang. 

To lift his spirits Sokka plays with him airball and gets absulty demolished.

At least the Avatar is again in a good mood.

But poor Sokka who landed hard in the snow.

Hua has Jaiyi in her arms, looking at how Aang lets the airball twirl in his hands, wondering when she will be apply to do this, as Katara calls for them.

The younger ones walk towards them, only to see how Katara buries Sokka with snow.

"What's up?", ask Hua confused.

"Uh ... Just a new waterbending move I learned."

"Nice one! But enough practising.", exclaims Aang. "We have a whole temple to see!"

The airbender walks away and Hua follows after a second.

She has a feeling about what Katara and Sokka found and wants them to see, Hua tastes and feels it in the air, but maybe, just for a few minutes more, she can lie to herself.

Even if it was for a short time, the Southern Air Temple had been her home, it's already breaking her heart to see it so empty.

Hah, she is such a hypocrite!

Telling Aang he needs to face the truth when she is here trying to ignore it.

Jaiyi licks her cheek, trying to lift her spirits. In thanks, she gives her a kiss on the head.

For a few more minutes she will be just a girl, who returns home, then she will face the truth, she promises herself.

They reach the courtyard where Monk  Gyatso statue stands. 

"Hey guys!", Aang calls back to the water tribe siblings. "I want you to meet somebody!"

"Who's that?", asked Sokka.

"Monk Gyatso.", answers Hua, a tear slipping down her eye. "When I was brought to the Southern Air Temple he became my guardian. He was already Aang teacher and mentor, so I was his charge also."

"He was also the greatest airbender in the world and taught me anything I know.", adds Aang.

Together Aang and Hua bow before the monk both loved like a father/grandfather, remembering times long ago…

***

Hua is swinging all alone on a swing in a beautiful courtyard of the Southern Air Temple. She can see some bison calves eating grass and a few flying lemurs are sitting on the tree, where the swing is tied.

Her heart is heavy, but she refuses to cry.

“Of course, you are here.”, she hears the gentle voice of Monk Gyatso behind. “You want to tell what happened, Hua?”

She turns her head to the monk, stopping her swinging.

“Aang is an idiot and nothing more. I can’t believe he is supposed to be my other half.”, she grumbles.

Monk Gyatso frowns, stepping beside her. 

He pats her gently on the head.

It helps a little to feel better.

“Talk with me Hua, what happened?”

“I don't even remember anymore, we always are at each other throats for stupid things.", she admits quietly. "The Avatar and the Daimon are supposed to be a team, but Aang and I hate each other guts. It makes me feel like a failure. I'm more and more sure that the monks and the earth priests were wrong about us."

"Now, Hua, the only thing that they did wrong was telling you both your destiny and making you meet now and not at sixteen. But we can't concern ourselves with what was. We must act on what is.", Gyatso tells her calmy.

"I try, but I'm not really good at this. Will I be ever ready? Can Aang and I become friends or are we doomed to hate each other?"

"Your questions will be answered when you're old enough to enter the air temple sanctuary. Inside, you will meet someone who will guide you on your journey. Normally you would be brought to an Earth Temple Sanctuary, but the elders and our priests had to mix up anything.", was the last thing the monk huffed irritated.

A little smile forms on Hua's lips.

"I hope you are right because if not, I will bury Aang alive."

This makes both of them laugh.

"Give it time, little flower.", reassured her Gyatso. "You both were always friends in any of your lifetimes. You will find a common ground."

"Well, if you say so."

"Now, how about a hug? I can see that you need one.", smiles Gyatso grandfatherly at her.

The young girl grins and falls in the comforting embrace of the monk, who was more like a grandfather, than a teacher to her.

***

Aang and Hua are still bowing before the statue of their shared guardian, as Katara puts a hand on each of their shoulder. On the floor between them is Jaiyi, who snuggles the Avatar and Daimon to her best abilities.

"You must miss him.", says Katara in understanding to her two friends.

They confirm and start walking.

"Where are you going?"

"The air temple sanctuary.", begins Aang and Hua ends the sentence with:  "There's someone we are ready to meet."

Aang and Hua enter the hallway, Jaiyi following after them. 

Katara looks questioningly at Sokka, who just shrugs. 

They both start walking after the Avatar and Diamon.

The round symbol of intertwined air currents, the national symbol of the Air Nomads is largely embedded in the floor, surrounded by two square shapes that form some sort of sun together.

The quartet and nine-tailed fox have reached the entrance of the air temple sanctuary. 

The door supports a combination of metal-coloured pipes and three, blue, rolled-up, pipes that are similar looking and arranged like the symbol for airbending. 

The large wooden door is framed by the branches of an old tree standing on the left of it and the hallway is illuminated by sunlight that falls through little, round windows.

"But Aang, Hua no one could have survived in there for a hundred years.", protested Katara sceptically.

"It's not impossible. We survived in the iceberg for that long.", reminds Aang.

"Good point."

"Whoever is in there, will help us to become a fully realized Daimon and Avatar.", explains Hua.

Eagerly Sokka steps forward, with a hungry look in his eyes.

"And whoever's in there might have a medley of delicious cured meats!"

Full of anticipation and longing, Sokka charges at the door, but it will not budge and he simply smacks into it, head first. 

Hua, Katara and Jaiyi try not to laugh, but tiny giggles escape them.

The water tribe warrior quickly turns around and puts his back on it, trying to push the giant door open. 

When the door does not move, he sighs, slides down to the floor, disappointed, and rests against it.

"I don't suppose you have a key?", he ask towards Aang and Hua.

"The key, Sokka, is airbending.", simply states Aang.

Aang gets in position as he takes a deep breath. 

He spreads his arms and thrusts them forward, sending an air current into both of the tubes on the door. 

The air follows the path of the right air current as it travels through the pipe. The wind makes one of the blue curled tubes turn around. 

When it does, the tube changes colors to purple and the wind blows out like a horn. 

The process is repeated for the other two blue tubes as well. 

When the three blue tubes have turned and become purple, the door unlocks and it slowly starts to open.

Light penetrates the dark room. 

The doors sway open.

"Hello?", calls Aang into the room. Slowly stepping in. "Anyone home?"

The others follow behind him.

Inside the room there are a large amount of statues of people, lined up in a circular pattern.

It's always two statues beside each other, nearly every one of them holds hands, but there are a few who just stand beside each other.

"Statues? That's it? Where's the meat?", groans Sokka in disappointment.

"Who are all these people?", wonders Katara.

Aang and Hua look pensive at the statues around them.

"I'm not sure. But it feels like I know them somehow. ", states Aang.

The Dsimon nods.

"I have the same feeling, hey look!", she points at a female statue. "This one is an earthbender."

"That one's beside the earthbender is an airbender.", says Aang.

"And this one's a waterbender, who holds hands with a firebender. Never thought I would see that.", musses Katara before she realizes. "They're lined up in a pattern: air and earth, water and fire, earth and air, and fire and water!"

"These are the Avatar and Daimon Cycles!", shout Aang and Hua together.

"Of course. They're Avatars and Daimons. All these people are your past lives, Aang and Hua."

"Wow! There are so many!", exclaims Aang.

"They go till the highest point of the room!", notes Hua. "I wonder why some hold hands and others not."

Katara lets out a hum, then snaps her fingers.

"I bet the ones who are holding hands were couples and the ones who don't were friends."

"Huh...makes sense.", mumbled Aang, looking like he bite into a lemon. 

He feels deep down that Katara is right.

He so does not like this!

Hua is right behind him making a yucky sound, stating: "I can't believe we were that often a couple! I can see maybe ten or so who were only friends."

However, both start to follow along the circle, looking at the statues.

Meanwhile Sokka of course doesn't believe this reincarnation bullshit and Katara has to make clear how every Avatar and Daimon after they die gets reincarnation in the next nation in their cycle.

Transfixed the Avatar and Diamon stand before the last two statues in the room.

A male Fire Nation Avatar holding hands with a female Water Tribe Daimon.

It's strange, but Hua has a feeling the beautiful aged elderly lady statue is calling for her.

Like she had met an old, dear friend, the presence is calm and comforting.

She hears the whisper of crashing waves, the soft and cold touch of snow ...

"Aang! Hua! Snap out of it!"

Abruptly Hua and Aang get shaken from their daze by a worried Katara.

"Huh?", both chorused intelligently.

"Who are they?", wants Katara to know.

"That's Avatar Roku, the Avatar before me."

"And she is Daimon Lixue, my predecessor."

Sokka joins them jokily stating: "Aang was a firebender? No wonder I didn't trust you when we first met."

"I think I heard about Lixue.", mubles Katara. "Just I can't remember all about her."

"She was from the Southern Water Tribe, no wonder you heard about her.", explains Hua.

"You were one of our tribesmen? Really?", say Sokka in disbelief. "Way to return back home and lead firebenders to us."

"Sokka!"

"What Katara?!"

"You know what I mean! Don't play dumb!"

Her brother just gave Katara a big grin. 

The waterbender huffs, before she notices something.

"There's no writing. How do you know their names?"

Automatically the current Avatar and Daimon look at each other and shrug their shoulders.

"We just know.", they chorus.

"You two just couldn't get any weirder.", bemoans Sokka with crossed arms.

All this Avatar/Daimon mumbo-jumbo was so not his thing. 

He liked a scientific explanation for the world.

The quartet and Jaiyi startle and stare with big eyes in front of them when they hear something. 

They turn around. 

A blue light on the floor comes in through the door. A long-eared shadow of another being that is approaching moves over it. 

Hua hides with Jaiyi behind the statue of Lixue, as the others scatter to a hiding place.

She sees Sokka, who is holding his club ready for everything

The shadow is creeping closer. 

"Firebender.", whisper Sokka. "Nobody makes a sound."

"You're making a sound!", grumbles Katara irritated.

For that, all shush her, even Jaiyi!

The shadow has reached the bases of the statues and reveals a small figure standing in the doorway; it chitters.

Eh, what?

Confused Hua and Jaiyi look around their statue, like Aang and Katara, while Sokka has still his club raised, but doesn't use it.

Before them sits a flying lemur.

The animal moves his large ear and blinks at them.

"Lemur!", shouts Aang excitedly.

"Dinner!", shouts Sokka hungrily.

"Don't listen to him. You're going to be my new pet."

"Not if I get him first!"

Sokka stretches his hand while he excitedly lunges himself at the animal from behind the statue. 

Aang runs up at the lemur as well. 

The lemur arcs his back in fright, his ears, hair and tail standing upright as the snatching hands of the boys draw closer. It startles, quickly turns around and makes a break for it. 

The water tribe boy misses the animal and falls down, while Aang nimbly avoids tripping as well by using Sokka's head as a stepping stone. Quickly Sokka gets up and runs behind Aang and the lemur as they exit the sanctuary.

Now only the girls and the kyuubi remain.

Katara and Hua find each other eyes.

"Boys.", they both exclaim tired, as Jaiyi makes an agreeing sound.

"I'm not running after them.", makes Katara clear and steps to Hua and Jaiyi.

"Me neither. Shall we look around more, maybe we find something interesting."

"Sure."

So the girls and Jaiyi look around the room and the statues. 

Only a few minutes pass, and as the girls and Jaiyi stand again before Avatar Roku and Daimon Lixue Roku's eyes begin to shine!

"What the?!", shouts Hua surprised.

They look around the room and see how all Avatar statues light up.

"Spirits, this isn't good!"

"Hua, we need to find Aang!"

Immediately Hua lets Jaiyi down and the floor and commands: "Girl, find Aang, fast!"

The kyuubi doesn't need to be told and follow Aang's smell.

Behind her Hua and Katara follow her through the whole temple, as they see a large tornado.

"That must be Aang!", yells the Daimon.

Soon they reach the tornado that Aang has become and Sokka who is holding on to a rock.

"What happened?", yells Katra over the wind, trying to not get blown away.

"He found out firebenders killed Gyatso!", explains Sokka.

"Oh no! It's his Avatar Spirit. He must have triggered it! I'm going to try and calm him down!"

However, she can't even make a step forward as Hua's hand stops her.

"Hua, what?!"

Whatever Katara wants to say, she forgets it the moment she looks back at Hua.

The Daimon's eyes are shining in a burning orange as she speaks with a thousand voices: "Stay down. It's too dangerous. I will calm my other half."

So Hua has entered Daimon State, it was maybe better if she talked to Aang. 

Sokka thinks the same and grips his sister and Jaiyi, holding them protective to his side.

"Well, do it! Before he blows us off the mountain!"

From the Daimon comes only a nod, as she makes her way over to the enraged Avatar.

With ease, she bends away the currents and flying debris.

When she reaches finally Aang she takes his hands in hers.

The Avatar looks full of anger and pain to the Daimon.

"My Yin, don't lose yourself in the pain. I know how you feel. I loved Gyatso and the other airbenders too. They became my family far from home. Your pain is mine. You are not alone. You have me, I will always be by your side!"

"Always, my Yang?", asks the Avatar also with a thousand voices in one.

"Till the last star in the universe dies out. This is our eternal promise."

"I remember."

"We have a family. Katara and Sokka are our family. The loved ones we lost, get reborn in new loved ones."

Finally, the winds calm down and the Avatar descends back to Earth. The two half embrace each other tight and kneel down on the ground.

Slowly their eyes return back to normal, however, they don't let go of each other.

Right now, only their other half can understand their pain and anguish.

The water tribe siblings and Jaiyi join them.

Katara embraces the two young children like a loving mother, while Jaiyi licks their cheeks and Sokka puts each a hand on their shoulder.

"You both are not alone, me and Sokka are your family now.", reassured Katara.

"Katara and I aren't going to let anything happen to you two. Promise.", swerves Sokka.

"I'm sorry.", sniffles Aang.

"It's okay. Don't worry.", mumbles Hua back, rubbing his back in comfort.

"It wasn't your fault.", adds Katara.

"But you girls were right. And if the firebenders found this temple, that means they found the other ones, too. I really am the last airbender."

"Don't forget me.", reminds him Hua gently. "I'm just a quarter airbender, but it still counts."

A little wet laugh escapes Aang and he buries his head deeper into the Daimon shoulder.

For now, the storm was over.

***

They, Aang and Hua, are back again in the sanctuary, looking one last time at Avatar Roku and Daimon Lixue.

Katara joins them, saying: "Everything's packed. Are you two ready to go?"

"How are Roku and Lixue supposed to help us if we can't talk to them?", wonders Aang.

"No idea.", admins Hua, picking up Jaiyi, and cuddling her to her chest.

"Maybe you'll find a way.", stays Katara optimistic.

They glance at each other when they hear something behind them. 

Turning around they see the flying lemur standing on its back legs in the middle of the doorway. 

The animal reaches Sokka's feet and drops the load he is carrying: a variety of fruits. 

The lemur quickly dashes away as Sokka sits down and starts to stuff his face with the fruit, taking large bites of two different pieces of fruit. 

Amused Hua, Jaiyi, Aang and Katara smile at Sokka.

"Looks like you made a new friend Sokka!", tell him Aang smiling.

"Can't talk! Must eat!"

The flying lemur climbs onto Aang and hides behind his head, his tail curled around Aang's neck. 

Seems like someone wants to go with them.

The group makes their way back to Appa, with their new lemur friend.

Aang has a hand on Appa, while the lemur is sitting on his arm, as they look back at the Southern Air Temple in the distance.

"You, me and Appa; we're all that's left of this place. We have to stick together.", tells them Aang, before he turns to the others. "Katara, Sokka, Hua and Jaiyi say hello to the newest member of our family."

"What are you going to name him?", asked Katara curious.

Sokka is about to take another bite of the peach he is eating when the lemur jumps to him, stealing the fruit and returning to Aang.

He starts to nibble it with gusto.

Well, this gives Aang an idea for a name.

"Momo!"

Sokka still stands there, mouth open and hand in front of his mouth, ready to take a bite, however, he has no peach anymore. 

The others start to laugh upon seeing Sokka's expression.

After that, they mount Appa and fly away from the Southern Air Temple.

Dusk is settling as Aang looks with Momo at how his old home become tinier and tinier.

In silence, Hua with Jaiyi joins them.

The girl pats his shoulder, giving him a little smile, which he returns.

And so the Avatar and Daimon look together at how the Southern Air Temple vanishes behind clouds.

A silent sentinel of a chapter in their lives.

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#own character #ocs #ao3 writer #fanfic writing #avatar the last airbender #aang #sokka #katara #toph beifong #zuko #suki #zutara #sukki #aang x oc

[viperbarnes]

Longer Than Forever – One of Four

[B. Barnes]

Medieval/Fantasy AU

Summary: You’d heard rumours of him. Terrible stories of horror and brutality, of merciless bloodshed. The Winter Knight was a demon in every way imaginable, and you expect your arranged marriage to him to be no different. However, the truth is far more complicated, and the man you anticipate fearing the most may just be your only solace.

Warnings: Major warnings for a scene with dubious consent, smut, talk of depression, attempted suicide, and attempted assault.

Note: This story was previously posted on another platform!

You keep your eyes down and your head lowered as you’re guided through the Imperial Palace. You’re led by a severe-looking man who tips his nose high as he moves, as if despite his role as a steward, he thought this task beneath him. At your side, your father’s hand is curled gently around your arm, and you’re thankful for the small amount of comfort it lends. In a castle as large and cold as Palais de la Hiver, you would need every comfort you could find.

You already know it would be a hard task, the stoney walls, large echoing rooms and passages, finely furnished, but not enough to hide the sheer level of discomfort the Palace was built to offer. It was entirely different from your family’s cozy manor. Entirely different from anything you’d ever known.

Your family was wealthy, your father owned great stretches of land near the border of the kingdom, but you’d earnt that wealth and land through generations of hard work. Your ancestor’s had been allies with the former ruling empire, they had worked the lands they’d been gifted to sell crops, and their children had made it into a business.

But the former royals had been deposed of many years ago, when you were still a child. Your kingdom had been conquered and now the lands your father owned were the reason you were in your current situation.

Lord Pierce may have extended the offer of an allying marriage between you and one of his loyal knights, but it was never really an offer at all. Lord Pierce was not a man known for his leniency or tolerance of discord. Outwardly, he may never lift a hand himself, but he had spies and agents everywhere and it would only take one misspoken word and entire families would disappear, their land ceased.

Any pretence of choice or power your father held in this situation was just that; pretence.

You’re led into a drawing room of sorts, though it lacked any real amount of recreation, discounting the small chess set in the corner and the bookshelves lining the walls. A fireplace crackles away on the far side, and in the centre of the room two chaise lounges sit opposite one another, a small table between them.

The servant waits for you to be seated before he bows low.

“Lord Pierce shall be with you soon.” He tells you, though you hardly listen. You sit numbly with your hands in your lap, staring across the room at the fire. Your father paces, occasionally stopping to stand behind you with his hand resting on your shoulder briefly, before nerves take him again and he paces once more.

Under any other circumstances you might’ve been at least a little excited to meet your future husband. You wouldn’t have picked him yourself, but you were hardly expected to anyway. Any excitement was quelled by rumour. Lord Pierce’s most loyal and trusted men, those knighted were all ruthless soldiers.

Although natives to your lands had lived with your conquerors for many years now, there was still an air of mystery, a divide between the two cultures. The Hydran’s kept to themselves in the castle, dishing out edicts and enforcing the law where necessary, but never fully integrating themselves into society.

It didn’t help that the knights were all universally feared. It didn’t matter that you were no longer at war, Pierce ruled with an iron fist and his men had total authority when they deigned to visit the towns or villages. They acted with complete impunity, and their known violence and unforgiving nature only served to further the peoples’ fear.

And you were to marry one of these men.

You had done your best over the past days to remain positive, but the reality of your situation was setting in. You could only hope now that your future husband’s reputation was reserved for the battlefield.

The door opens suddenly and both you and your father jump in your places, standing immediately as Lord Pierce comes sweeping into the room. Perhaps in his heyday he might’ve been a handsome man, but his features had since shrivelled, giving away his age, though he still looked spry, still moved with ease.

His warm smile is almost convincing as he approaches, holding his hand out for your father to shake in greeting.

“Sir, how good to see you well.” Pierce firmly shakes your father’s hand, before his eyes turn on you. You curtsy, just in time for his time-ripened fingers to take your hand, and he tuts at your formality. You pause, uncertain of what to do when he does a slight bow of his own, bringing your hand to his lips.

“As lovely as you described.” He compliments, standing straight once more and you duck your head in gratitude. He releases your hand and holds his arms wide for a moment.

“Well, let us not stand around, please, sit!”

You do as asked, eyes traveling to where Pierce now gestures to a man who had entered behind him, though you’d been far too involved with the feared ruler to pay him mind previously.

The man steps around the couches, not to sit, simply to stand at the end between both, his gloved hands clasped before him. It takes you a moment to see beyond the dark mass of clothing he wears and make out the individual parts of his pitch black armour, the cape that is swung around his neck and over his shoulders, billowing out behind him. Details of silver stand out to you as you look closer, spying several belt buckles and—

You swallow at the sight of the large sword hung on his hip, and your gaze flickers up to take in the man again, this time as a whole.

Tall, broad, and dark. Despite his pale skin, dark is the only word that comes to mind to describe him. His hair was long and hangs about his face, perhaps neat at some point prior to now, but had since been windswept. His eyes are directed to the floor, so you can’t see them, but dark shadows linger underneath, making his complexion rather sallow in the dim lighting of the sitting room.

His face is rather handsome, you can’t help but think, a thick but shortly trimmed beard covering the lower portion of it. It’s then however, your eyes catch upon something shiny at his shoulder, a pin that holds his cloak in place and you freeze, blood running cold.

A skull, six curling tentacles reaching out from underneath it.

You look away from the knight and lace your shaking fingers together in your lap. Your father and Lord Pierce had been speaking all this time about your marriage, and your dowry of at least half your family’s land. That was Lord Pierce’s ploy all along, there had been no denying it.

He could care less about forming alliances with local families, it was the border land he wanted most. You don’t doubt that your husband would only act as a proxy for Pierce’s control, carrying out whatever the warlord wished for it, no questions asked.

You swallow thickly as at last Lord Pierce and your father stand, stepping toward the Knight, but you find yourself frozen to the spot. They don’t immediately notice, Pierce holding a hand out to gesture at his knight.

“This is my Winter Knight, Sir James. I’m sure you’ll have heard of him,” He speaks to your father, still ignoring how you haven't moved yet. You had heard of him. You weren’t sure of anybody who hadn’t.

Among Lord Pierce’s Knights, The Winter Knight was perhaps one of the most storied. The man had never lost a fight, and was obedient to Lord Pierce as if he were a hound. When talk of Lord Pierce’s Knights came about, the whispered deeds of The Winter Knight were among the most feared.

All of them awful.

All of them horrific.

You feel your stomach drop to your knees, but you have no more time to dwell as suddenly all eyes are on you, and you blink up at the men, Lord Pierce giving you an unsettlingly encouraging look, and you follow to where his hand is still held out in gesture to his knight.

You stand, like you’re supposed to, and step closer to the knight, like you’re supposed to. Your shaky hands gather your skirts and you curtsy like you’re supposed to, offering out your hand, like you’re supposed to.

You nearly gasp when black-gloved fingers take your own, far lighter than you might have thought, his fingers certainly holding yours, however the touch feels as soft as a feather.

The knight bows deep, bringing your hand to his lips gently. You keep your eyes firmly on the floor, afraid you might begin shaking worse than you already were, afraid that your future husband may feel the tremble in your fingers. The brief glance you do steal does nothing to settle your growing anxiety or nerves, his features seemingly devoid of any emotion at all, and the dark, imposing man only becoming darker, more imposing in your mind with his complete lack of reaction.

His movements were swift and smooth enough to appear natural, but something tells you diplomacy was not his calling. No, in your mind's eye you conjure wicked images of the man in the midst of a heated battle, blood marring his still emotionless features.

You’re thankful when he drops your hand at last and you take an involuntary step backwards, toward your father. The knight’s eyes remain downturned. Lord Pierce claps his hands.

“A handsome couple I should say!”

Your father hums along feebly, agreeing.

“The wedding shall be tomorrow. A servant will escort the Lady to her temporary rooms for tonight, and I will act as her guardian at tomorrow's nuptials.” Lord Pierce informs you both, making your heart begin to thump wildly in your chest, and your head snaps to your father with wide eyes.

“B-but Sire, I—” Your father begins, stepping forward, but he’s swiftly cut off.

“—I understand your people have your wedding traditions, but we are in the midst of important siege planning, it would be unwise for me to allow you to stay. As it is, nobody enters the Palais and nobody leaves it until we are finished. Your arrival and departure are the only exceptions, of course.” Lord Pierce tells him with a wave of his hand. There was no room for argument, a sternness now to his words.

Your father sputters, but turns to look at you, eyes brimming with unshed tears and apologies. You silently beg him not to leave, but somewhat reluctantly, his gaze hardens, and he looks away, bowing to Lord Pierce.

“Very well, My Lord. I shall depart with haste…”

You force fight the urge to throw yourself at him, beg him to stay, but instead curl your fists tightly into your palms, remaining rooted to the spot as your father leans in to kiss your forehead.

“I… I love you. I’m so—” Before he can finish his apology, he shuts his mouth, lips forming into a thin line. He nods at you firmly, finally.

You watch as the same man who had escorted you inside the palace leads your father from the room, the door shutting loudly behind them. A few tears escape your eyes and trail down your cheeks.

You jump when a hand lands on your shoulder.

“I know it is unfortunate, but you will be just fine. Before you know it, Palais de la Hiver will be home.” Lord Pierce tells you, and if you hadn’t heard all the stories about his cruelty, his sympathetic smile and warm eyes might have fooled you.

You swallow and let your eyes fall to the stone floor.

Home?

This would never be your home.

—-

You feel numb.

Everything about your wedding was already planned and organised, and you float through the day like a fog in a valley. The ladies that were clearly assigned to help you prepare hardly speak to you, and while they aren’t outright unkind, the room is filled with tension. You can tell they wished to be elsewhere.

They don’t know you. They don’t trust you. You aren’t one of them.

You see nothing of Lord Pierce or the man you’re set to marry right up until the ruler appears and takes your arm to lead you to the altar. The whole ceremony plays out unfamiliar to you, Hydran traditions and weddings vastly different from your own native ones, but that hardly seemed to matter.

The ceremonial room isn’t large or particularly grand. A few other knights, ladies and officials seem to have gathered to pay witness, and in the few moments you lift your eyes from the floor as you’re led forward, it seems as though all watch on with fascinated boredom.

When you finally reach the officiant, Lord Pierce releases your arm, taking your hand and transferring it into the clutches of a dark glove. For a moment you peek up at your soon-to-be husband, only to find him once more with that blank expression. You cast your eyes back to the ground and try to keep your lip from wobbling.

You must disassociate, your mind travelling elsewhere, because the ceremony is over before you know it, the Hydran officiant untying your wrists from where you and Sir James’ hands had been symbolically bound together. There is a polite clapping as you both turn, presented to the bored audience as man and wife and Lord Pierce announces a feast.

The feast has far more guests than your wedding did, and although you and Sir James sit at a long table joined by other apparently important figures, you feel as though the celebration has more to do with the acquisition of your father’s lands than your union.

You sit quietly and watch the festivities, the whole room loud and laughing, music playing raucously as couples drink and dance. Nobody approaches either you or your new husband. Nobody seems to care at all. You can’t even bring yourself to cry, as numb as you are now.

Throughout the meal, you briefly steal glances at your husband, and part of you feels almost angry for his impassiveness, the way his eyes flick slowly around the room. You can’t help but wonder what he’s thinking.

You do think it odd that for a knight he seemed to have no colleagues willing to come congratulate him. In fact, it’s odd to you that nobody seems to address him at all. The only person who does is Lord Pierce, and even then he only ever seems to command him. Did the tales of your husband’s brutality isolate him from those within his own circles as well?

Were you truly now married to a man feared even by his own people?

You swallow, and smooth your hands over your lap for the hundredth time since the meal had begun. At any moment now you would retire to your new rooms, the chambers you will share with your new husband, and you will find out how much of a monster he really is. The thought should have made you scared, at the very least nervous, but you felt too numb for that, one small blessing.

It only takes another twenty minutes, and you notice Lord Pierce lean into Sir James, speaking quietly into the man’s ear. Predictably, the knight’s face doesn’t change, he only nods shortly. You feel your heartbeat jump when Sir James stands, and he doesn’t even speak, simply holds his hand out for you expectantly.

For the first time ever his eyes fall upon you and you realise with some amount of surprise, that they’re a stunning bright blue.

You take the hand offered, and keep your head low as you’re led from the table. You might’ve thought the feasting crowd would have noticed the bride and groom leaving, dreaded the whistles and cheering on from the men, but there’s nothing, not a soul seems moved by your exit from the evening.

The hallways are cold and empty as you move through them, doubly so with your company, and you attempt to distract yourself by keeping track of which hall led where and what staircases you climbed and which you didn’t, but the palace is a maze.

You do stop eventually, at a large wooden door Sir James pushes open with one hand. Unfortunately, your numbness takes leave of you then, your heart thumping and you feel as if you’ve been dropped in frozen water.

Your blood pumps loudly in your ears as you are guided inside, and you distract yourself once more by taking an inventory of the chambers before you.

They were large enough, though not particularly lavish, and the furnishings that were present seemed like they might have been put there by someone else. A fireplace with a seat and table by it, a tall bookcase nearby. On the other side of the room, opposite the fireplace was an armoured figure, and it takes you a moment to realise that it is only a mannequin, with your husband’s armour placed upon it.

The back of the room holds the bed, and directly to the left of it, curtained doors that you suppose lead to a balcony. On the right side of the bed is another door, a washroom you suppose.

There are few cupboards and trunks for things, and you wonder how suddenly this marriage was thrust upon Sir James if he had not yet found time to acquire more furniture for your own possessions. It matters not, you spy your own trunk by the wall, a maid clearly having collected it from the room you’d occupied last night.

Your husband closes the door and immediately moves to the fire, stoking it. You take several deep breaths before moving toward the table, where you spy a bottle of something and two glasses, clearly placed there in anticipation of your return to the chamber. You wonder by who, though. You hardly think your husband the sort.

You don’t speak or offer him a drink, you simply pour a good amount into each glass and take a hefty swig of your own before you look up again, nearly jumping when you find Sir James stood, just watching you. He doesn’t move, he just stares at you and for a moment you think perhaps you should have waited, but then he does something that catches you completely by surprise;

His head cocks the tiniest amount, and his eyes narrow in interest.

It’s the first sort-of expression you’ve ever seen cross his face, the first acknowledgement of you being in the same room as him at all, and you wonder what on earth it meant. You see his eyes flick down to your glass, and then back to your face.

You swallow thickly before taking a final drink, finishing the remaining wine and placing the glass back down on the table.

This was it, whether you liked it or not. You look down at yourself, not even really sure of what your gown looked like, or how it came undone. You knew what was required of you, you wouldn’t struggle or fight. Perhaps if he knew this, he’d be kinder. You decide to voice as much, but spare yourself the embarrassment by turning away, moving toward the bed.

“I know what is expected from me. I will yield.” Your hands shake almost violently when you begin pulling apart the fastenings of your dress, but you push down the fear and the worry, focusing instead on undressing. If you could be quick, perhaps he would be too, and you would be left to sleep sooner.

You don’t look back at your husband as you do this, but you know he watches, the prickle of skin on the back of your neck alerting you to his attention. It feels wrong, and yet, this man was your husband. This was the only right way for a man to see you like this.

By the time you’re fully nude, and you’ve gathered the courage to look back at him, you find him exactly where he was the last time you’d looked at him, but now, his eyes seem to be averted, cast downwards.

A moment of panic fills you. What if he did not like what he saw?! You had no desire to be married to this man, but you were now, and his approval of you was important!

You lie down quickly, unwilling to entertain the crazed, panicked thoughts rushing through your mind. No man could be truly displeased with a woman lying ready for them, yes? All you had to do was be a good wife and perhaps your life would not become completely miserable. You could take joy in that, at the very least.

Hours seem to pass in the time it takes his footsteps to near, and you steal a look to where your husband appears in the corner of your vision. You watch him pull his coat and doublet off, each being placed neatly back into a drawer, and the sight almost makes you laugh.

This strange, fearsome man would prioritise cleanliness on his wedding night?

You stay silent however, and turn your eyes away as he continues to undress. He nears at one point, and you tense up, readying yourself, only to stop when he bends low, takes your own clothes from the floor, and sets them tidily inside the same drawer. Your mind spins and whirs and you can’t decide if it's an act of kindness or of his own desire to have his chambers clean.

He approaches you for good then, to the side of the bed and you shift slightly to make more room if he needs it. A tiny peek at his body tells you the man had survived more injuries than you can count with the number of scars that cover his muscled body.

You hold your breath when he gracefully climbs atop you, and you stare up at the ceiling of the four-poster bed, begging your nerves to calm down. You jump when a warm hand grasps your ankle, you gaze snapping to the touch. Sir James seems to pause with your movement, his eyes locked onto yours and your heartbeat quadruples. He dips his chin just slightly, still looking at you, and then continues to move your leg, slowly, perhaps even gently.

You can’t help but watch him as he settles between your legs. You swallow, and with his eyes now moving elsewhere, you look back to the ceiling, your jaw beginning to shake some as you feel him shuffle forwards. He doesn’t lie atop you, instead he places his hands on your hips and carefully tugs you down the bed.

You talk yourself down through each movement he makes, staring upwards even when your vision becomes blurry and you’re forced to close your eyes. One of his hands keeps your body against his while you guess the other guides his length to your entrance. You force yourself to swallow the gasp that climbs up your throat when a hand, a finger prods there instead.

Confusion fills you, and you gasp when the finger pushes into you, dragging and a little painful, but it’s pulled away again in a few seconds, and you keep your eyes closed, too embarrassed now to open them, too scared to move as more fingers glide up your core, settling at the place just above. You wonder what he’s doing, but as he slowly moves his fingers in small circles, you feel the muscles in your core twitch.

It takes you a moment to realise that the ministrations aren’t unpleasant. It’s an odd sensation, warmth crawling over your skin like you were sinking into a hot bath. It doesn’t calm your nerves, but you do feel your body begin to relax.

After a few minutes, the movement stops, and you feel his fingers travel down again, back to your entrance where, just like before, one digit presses in. It doesn’t drag or hurt this time, aided by a wetness you had not realised had spread there. A second finger joins a moment later, and this time he pumps them slowly, sending a slight thrill though you involuntarily.

The fingers stop then, and the hand seems to be pulled away completely. For a moment you debate opening your eyes, but then you feel something warm and hard press against your entrance, and before you can even think a second more, you’re gasping sharply as he sinks inside.

He doesn’t stop or pause like he had with your ankle, but his press forward slows some, both his hands moving back to your hips. You take shallow, hurried breaths as you feel his cock stretch you out, your muscles screaming in discomfort, but you force yourself to be quiet, even when your eyes begin leaking again, and you shake uncontrollably as the tears drip down your cheeks and onto the bed below.

He’s sheathed all the way inside you when a hand leaves your hip. You yelp softly, not expecting the fingers that clutch gently at your chin, holding it still from your shaking. His hold is so soft and gentle, you can’t help but open your eyes, half expecting to find another man.

Sir James leans forward slightly, his expression almost entirely the same as it always is, except for a tiny furrow in his brow. Looking at him almost distracts you some, and you can only stare in mild surprise as he then lifts his hand from your chin, and uses the rough, calloused pad of his thumb to wipe at the wetness on your cheeks, one, and then the other.

Your breathing stutters at the tenderness of it, and even though he speaks no words, the message is clear: He did not intend on hurting you, on making this more painful than it had to be.

Shock only makes you shake more, but the pit of anxiety in your chest seems to dissipate.

He pulls his hand away, and back to your hip.

His first thrust hurts, and you wince. The second does too, but less so and soon he seems to have carved out a place in you that feels somewhat comfortable, and you manage to relax. You keep your eyes fixated on the ceiling, your tears drying.

At last his hips stutter and his breathing gets heavier, and finally with a deep exhale and juddering last thrust forward, you feel the fruits of his labour pool inside you, the feeling of which surprises you for. You swallow thick at the thought of bearing a child to this man, but decide to consider such subjects later.

He pulls out of you quickly, and in seconds is on his feet, moving away from the bed. You watch him as he goes for a new drawer, and he pulls several items from it. He dresses himself in breeches made for sleeping, but steps back toward the bed with a rag and a plain tunic held out.

You blink in surprise, and gingerly take the items from him, using the rag to wipe at the mess between your legs, and then slipping the shirt over your head, taking comfort in the warmth of no longer lying nude. Your husband takes back the rag, disappearing into the washroom before stalking out of it once more. You watch him as he moves about the room, putting out any candles until the chamber is cast in only the small light from the fireplace.

When he returns to the bed, he keeps to the opposite side, but pulls back the blankets and furs and allows you to climb beneath them before he himself follows. He does not touch you further, or bid you goodnight, and you are left with your own dizzying thoughts.

You were confused, and grateful, and in slight disbelief, but you fall asleep with more hope for your future than you had woken up with.

—-

Life in Palais de la Hiver is different in every way than what you knew.

You were a Lady now, and as such had no chores to do, no work, no schedule to keep you busy. In fact, as long as you stayed out of the way of any private business, nobody seemed to notice you at all. Every morning your husband was gone before you awoke, returning only near midday to wash and change from his training, before he left again to do who knows what.

In the evenings he would return and quietly eat whatever meal had been delivered to you by the servants, before climbing into bed and the cycle would repeat. Day after day. Week after week. Month after month.

You had begun imposing your own schedule. When you rose in the morning, you would dress and eat, before taking a stroll in the castle grounds. You’d given yourself the task of memorising the layout of the areas you were allowed, and in the process, you’d discovered the training ring where the knights would spar.

The ring was overlooked by a balcony that was often occupied by many ladies of the court, clearly vying for the attention of various men. Eventually you make a habit out of watching the knights too, though you keep to yourself, all too aware that you were unwelcome.

You observe your husband more than any of the others, seeing his skill and prowess for yourself. Unlike the other knights, who appeared to take pleasure in violence even within a training scenario, there was never any rage behind your husband’s movements. Much as he was outside of the ring, he always appeared to be indifferent, his actions almost effortless.

If any one thing had become clear to you over the past several months, however, it was the fact that your husband was… different. Aside from the fact he never spoke a word to you, and appeared to hold zero capacity for emotion, the other knights treated him as though he were a dog.

Snide comments and barked orders, your husband obeyed every one of them, even if they, the orders or the man, were below him. The other knights didn’t treat each other the same way, they seemed to have camaraderie, if not friendship.

It makes you confused, and almost angry, but it’s not your place to address.

So you continue on.

After you watch the training for a while, you return to your chambers. You had taken up embroidery and knitting, but you weren’t particularly good at either, so you usually end up reading. When your husband returns at noon to clean up, you always stand to greet him, though he never gives you more than a polite nod as he passes to the washroom, eyes downturned.

You’d begun a ritual of cleaning off his boots and armour when he hung it up. You’d seen him do it every so often, when it was well and truly caked on, and so once he’d left again to oversee his other duties, you’d take a cloth and water and wipe down each piece, before placing it back on it's mantle.

You don’t know if he’d noticed or not, as usual, he never said anything.

You observe one morning while watching the men train, the winter chill in the air requiring you to wrap yourself in a thick shawl, that your husband’s long hair appears to bother him. You’d seen him flick it out of his eyes on many occasions, but for some reason this morning with the wind whipping around the ring non-stop, he appears to be truly frustrated.

Well, as frustrated as he could manage. Nobody else would have noticed, and if you weren’t so used to him by now, you wouldn’t have either, but his hand clenches by his side before he tucks the hair behind his ear, his brow furrowing deeper, and slightly more telling, his nostrils flare. You briefly wonder about offering to cut his hair, before you realise that you had no talent for the art.

It isn’t until you’ve returned to the warmth of your chambers, your embroidery in your hands, that you get an idea.

You make him a ribbon.

It takes you two whole months, and even though your design was fairly simple, your talent was truly non-existent. You also had to contend with the cold that makes your fingers and hands ache after short periods of time, but eventually you sit with a completed ribbon.

It’s black, like the rest of the clothes he wore, but with a dark blue thread you’d created a row of flowers along it, connected by thin white diamonds. You aren’t quite sure what he might think, but you were rather proud.

You’re inspecting it one last time, sitting in the chair by the fireplace when the door swings swiftly open. You jump slightly, ribbon falling to your lap as your husband stalks inside, closing the door gently behind him.

You stand quickly, as you always do, clutching your gift tightly in your hand now as you step toward where he already moves toward the washroom.

“Wait! Please… if you might…?” You realise rather suddenly, that you have no idea how you should address him, but you see him stop anyway. He turns to look at you slowly, brow creased barely noticeably, and you quickly take several more steps toward him.

“I noticed that your hair keeps bothering you while you train… I made this for you, to keep it back…” You hold out the ribbon, trying to keep your hand from shaking too much. Your husband’s eyes drop from your face to your hand.

You see his brow furrow deeper, and hesitantly he takes the gift from you, holding it’s length with both hands as he inspects it closely. You think your heart might burst from your chest in anticipation. When his eyes meet yours once more, and he bows his head deep and low, you have to suppress the urge to jump up and down.

You let out your held air and watch as he stands straight again, turning on his heel and continuing on toward the washroom. It was more of a reaction than you had expected, and even with his silence, his mostly-blank expression, the acknowledgement makes you feel as though you float through clouds.

The next morning when you come to watch the knights train, you hardly recognise Sir James, his face on full display for perhaps the first time you’ve ever seen, his dark hair pulled back from his face, held together by a dark blue and black ribbon.

In a moment between spars, when he rights himself and rolls his shoulders, his eyes cast upwards toward the balcony. Your breath catches in your throat when his eyes lock with yours, staring for just a moment longer than necessary.

—-

Despite the steps forward you make in turning Palais de la Hiver into your home, you’re possessed continually by a pervasive loneliness and depression that refuses to leave you. Some days you were alright, you’d read and walk and find things to fill your time. On other days, you’d stand on your balcony and stare at the massive drop below, wondering if it would be enough to send you away for good, to release you.

As the winter joins you in full force you spend more time out there, standing, staring down below you.

If you were to die, nobody aside from your family would care. Your husband would likely hardly notice your absence, and anybody else at the castle would probably be unsure of your name, let alone if you disappeared or not. However, heights scare you, and any time you attempt to climb up onto the bannister, you scramble back again, afraid.

You would have to try something else.

Your husband has many weapons, he keeps them, his swords and daggers, on his person always, but there was one item he owned that he did not bring with him. A small knife that you’d seen him occasionally clean and place under his pillow. Perhaps once it might’ve scared you to know your husband slept with a weapon so near, but at some point you had either stopped caring or realised he wouldn’t use it on you.

So you take it, one cold and drizzly afternoon, after your husband has returned and left once more for the day, and you know you’ll be alone for hours. You think about perhaps leaving a note, but decide against it. Your life intersecting with his would be nothing more than a passing breeze, you imagine. He would find you, alert Lord Pierce, you would be buried, and life would go on.

Still, you don’t want to make a mess on the carpets, or on the chair you’d spend most of your days in. You think you’d like to be in the open air, so that perhaps your soul can fly freely, return home, and escape the castle walls.

You stand on the balcony once again, eyes dipping down briefly before you shakily lift the knife. It’s cold and heavy in your hands, but you weren’t scared of the pain. You’d thought about this for a long time, one whole year in fact, and it would be the easiest conclusion to your tale.

Despite this, your eyes leak warm tears against your cheeks as you finally place the sharp, gleaming tip of the knife against your chest, directly over your heart. You wouldn’t risk a wound you could survive. You swallow and just hold it there for a moment, calming yourself and evening out your breathing.

This is what you wanted.

You don’t hear the door to your chambers open, the wind and your heart too loud in your ears, but you do see the flicker of movement at the corner of your eyes. Your head snaps quickly to the left in fright, and you find your husband standing by the door to the balcony, his hand on the handle as if he were about to close it when he’d seen you.

For the first time in the whole year you’d been married, his expression is no longer blank, his eyes wide and mouth parted in surprise. For a split second you can only stare at one another, before his eyes drop to the knife held to your chest. A frenzy seems to overcome you both then and you cry out as he lunges for you.

You try to escape him, lifting the knife high and attempting to bring it to your chest before he can reach you, but your hands are grabbed tightly. You thrash against his hold, even manage to drive an elbow into his chest, forcing him back. As you try to clamber away from him, you’re grabbed roughly around the middle with one arm, another hand shooting out and wrapping around your wrist tightly, forcing it, and the knife, away from you.

“Let— Let me go! Let me go!” You gasp, struggling and squirming against him, but he doesn’t listen, only forcing your arm back even more, until it almost hurts, before his thumb suddenly presses down against the inside of your wrist, the force and pain of which shocks you. You cry out again, even as your hand is involuntarily forced open at the move, the knife tumbling from your grasp and over the edge of the balcony.

A sob is torn from your throat as you see it fall, and your husband’s hold on you slackens enough for you to shoot forward, hands clutching the ledge as you lean to watch. He doesn’t release you entirely, his arm around your middle still tight, as if he thinks you may try to jump. You don’t however, instead collapsing in a heap against him, allowing him to hold you up as you begin to sob.

Why did he have to try and stop you?! You want to scream and shout and strike him, but you can do nothing but weep pathetically. Your husband makes no move, not until the rain begins again. You’d have been happy to stay right where you are, but the arm around your middle shifts, and your legs are swept out from under you. You droop even more as he carries you out of the wet, deflating completely as you cry.

In the warmth of the room, you realise how cold you are, your body shaking involuntarily now. Your husband sets you on the chair by the fire and walks away, making you wipe at your eyes, sniffling softly. You jump when he steps in front of you again.

His serious and intent expression as he wraps the blanket from your bed around your shoulders might’ve been funny had the circumstances been different. He seems to fuss for several moments, pulling the blanket securely and tucking it up. When he stops, he pauses, before crouching down in front of you.

You blink tearfully at him, unsure of what to say or do. You watch him as he hesitantly raises a hand, and then lays it on your lap, palm up. You’re too upset and shaken to think clearly, and you react instinctively, unfurling your own hand and placing it in his. He’s warm, and even though his hands are rough and calloused, there’s a comfort in the simple touch that makes your cry again.

You realise that it has been a whole year since someone touched you.

Your mouth seems to work unbound then, and you find yourself sobbing once more as you begin to tell him of your unhappiness. His face remains still, though for once you’re thankful that he appears emotionless. You needed that, for just a moment as you bared all.

“And— and I—” You stutter, lip trembling as you finally stop to catch your breath, eyes falling to your lap as your shoulders lose all tension, and you feel yourself all but slump down in the chair.

“I miss my mother… I want to go home,” You whimper, quietly, lip trembling.

Your husband doesn’t speak, but he does squeeze your hand gently, making you look up at him. When you do, he releases his hold on you, and reaches out to wipe your eyes, like he’d done that very first night, first one, and then the other. He nods softly, frowning slightly.

He doesn’t leave again that afternoon, as you might’ve expected him too, like he probably had planned to when he’d first come back for whatever reason in the first place. Instead helps you into bed, and then sits himself in the chair by the fireplace. You drift in and out of sleep as the rain pours outside, exhausted from your outburst.

When you wake briefly after the night has fallen, you find that he has joined you in bed, though he does not sleep. His eyes open when you shift, and he watches you for several moments as you settle again. He moves slowly then, extending his arm to the vast space between you, his hand once again offered, palm up. You breath in shakily as you place your hand in his again, closing your eyes as he takes proper hold.

When you wake the next morning your hand is still outstretched, but your husband is gone.

A sudden knocking on your chamber door startles you, making you jump up in bed. When it continues, you stumble to your feet, wrapping yourself in a gown before meekly pulling the wooden door open. You almost never had visitors, and you always woke after your husband had taken his breakfast, your plates left for you on the table.

A young man in the armour of the castle guards greets you, his bow half-hearted at most.

“Sir James has asked for you to dress and meet him in the stables, my Lady.”

“My husband?” You ask, confused.

“Yes, my Lady. He urges you to hurry, due to the weather.” He bows again before you can reply, and you’re left standing there blinking into the corridor.

You really felt no desire to leave your rooms at all today, not after the stress of yesterday, and you’d rather been hoping to be alone, but you find yourself hurrying to dress anyway. When you’re ready, you step out of your rooms and find your way to the stables.

You arrive to find your husband standing by a large, stocky horse that was tacked up and even lightly armoured in traditional Hyrdan fashion. He appeared to be fiddling with part of a strap when he notices you.

“Good morning,” You greet nervously, his own head nodding slowly before he lifts his hand, holding it out towards you. It was strange how suddenly you had both taken to the touch.

You give your own nod, heart jumping to your throat when he releases your hand, and leans down, taking your waist in his hands and lifting you to the horse's back as though you weighed nothing.

You have to shuffle to sit properly, your skirts quite in the way, but you sit side saddle, holding tightly onto the saddlehorn when Sir James’ hands leave you, and he climbs up easily, situating himself behind you, much closer than you are expecting.

It isn’t that you’re embarrassed for your husband to be so close, but the fact that the two of you had hardly interacted before yesterday, let alone physically, makes you feel as though it’s something taboo. Moreso when his arms come around you on either side, taking the reins in his hands.

You briefly cast a look up at him as he gently nudges the horse into motion, your hand shooting out to grip his arm when you jerk a little off balance, and he glances down at you. Releasing the reins to hold them with only one hand, he wraps his arm around your middle, holding you more secure as he guides the horse from the stable.

You want to ask where exactly he’s taking you, but you keep quiet, knowing you won’t get a reply. Once you’ve ridden out of the Palais gates, you feel his hold on you tighten even more and quickly the horse is galloping fast down the road, mud and dirt flicking up behind you as you go.

You were never one for horseback riding, apparent as it is, and your nerves jitter anxiously at the edges of your vision, held back only by the strong arm around your middle, and the trust you’ve decided to place in the owner.

You ride for two hours, stopping briefly under a tree when the rain passes through, taking the chance to stretch your legs some, before you mount once more and go on your way. You begin to wonder what exactly you’re doing when the land starts becoming more familiar, and when you pass a signpost that leads you toward your hometown, your hand squeezes at your husband’s arm, just as your heart squeezes in your chest.

You’re swallowing thickly, and trying to blink the tears from welling up in your eyes when he slows his horse, bringing her into a light trot as you approach a large manor house. Servants and maids mill about, collecting water, and doing their chores, and when you’ve finally come to a stop, you all but slip from the staddle, your husband’s arm around your middle preventing you from outright falling, but he does lower you gently, only letting go once your feet have found the ground.

You don’t watch him dismount, too focused on running as fast as you can toward your mother, who must have seen you approaching from the window. She comes stumbling down the front steps, skirts held in her hands, her face pulled into a wide, desperate smile as you throw your arms around her.

“Mama!”

“My baby! My baby! You’re home!” She cries into your neck, and you feel the flow of warm tears down your own cheeks as well. You pull back a little, enough for her to kiss your face, and you coo, excitedly giving your father a hug too when he appears, almost dumbfounded behind her.

“You— You’re— You came home?!” he stutters, holding you tightly, a hand stroking down the back of your head and you nod, pulling away to wipe your face.

“F-for the day, I suspect…” You smile, and look over your shoulder, searching for your husband who stands rigid by his horse, face impassive as ever, but he watches you closely.

You look back to your parents, who have both followed your gaze, their faces suddenly nervous by the knight’s presence. They knew the rumours too, but at this point, you had no idea what to believe. Your husband had been kind to you, for the most part, it didn’t make any sense. It wasn’t as if you hadn’t seen him train, it wasn’t as though he wasn’t a seasoned warrior

Letting go of your mother to step back toward your husband, you hold out a hand for him. His shoulders seem to straighten, and you get the feeling he had intended to keep away while you reunited with your family. He steps toward you quickly, his eyes flicking to your parents, then back to you before he places his hand in yours.

“My husband, Sir James.” You introduce him properly.

“Well…!” You mother blinks in surprise as she takes him in fully, his height and size intimidating without all his armour, let alone with him currently in it.

“I… I will set the tea on…!” She announces, turning away and ushering you all inside.

For a moment before you step through the door, you turn back, unable to keep the grateful smile from your face. Your husband blinks down at you, perhaps startled by your sudden spin. Your sheer happiness spurs on your next movements, and you quickly lean forward and press a kiss to his stubbly cheek.

“Thank you,” You say softly, pulling back and watching his eyes dart around your features for a moment. You see his lips part, and he swallows before closing them again, and nodding.

With his hand still in yours, you lead him into your family home.

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes/reader #bucky barnes/you