Request For Your Broken Heartstrings:

Request for your Broken Heartstrings:

Sariel + injury + nightmare? If possible? Please?

Thank you

A/N: The prompt "nightmare" was requested several times so each request will get a shorter fic. The Nightmare shorts will share the same beginning and then change with each suitor.

This short features Sariel x reader

CW: blood, death

Word Count: 913

Sleep found you easily that night, rocking you in its arms until you fell into a deep and peaceful slumber. What dreams found you were pleasant, drifting in and out of your mind like iridescent bubbles following a light breeze. At the moment, your mind has taken you to a far-away beach. White sand is warm under your bare feet. The salty air tickles your nose. The gentle lapping of the waves soothes your body as you sink slowly into the deeper, darker parts of slumber...….except there, off in the distance, something is pulling at the threads of your peaceful dreaming. You try to ignore it but it is insistent. A tugging at your sleeve. A knocking at a door. A chime that won’t stop ringing. The beach fades away, despite your desperate desire to stay in that warm, safe place. The tugging grows more urgent. The knocking grows louder. The chiming fills your mind until you are jerked completely out of sleep’s embrace......to the fitful sounds of your lover in crisis.

Sariel Noir

Being the minister to the royals of Rhodolite is not without its dangers. His closeness to the throne is well known. His influence undeniable. It grants him respect but it also paints a target on his back. He is always careful, has never worried much for himself. But now he sees the error of his ways, too late.

They came for him in the dead of night. That late hour when the moon holds its breath and the stars retreat from shadows that rule the land. The assassins’ blades found their mark, sinking into the form huddled beneath the blankets of Sariel’s bed. Over and over they drank. Sloppily. Greedily. Until the bedsheets ran red. Like wraiths in the night, they vanished, a job well done. Only it wasn’t the palace devil they brought an end to that night.

He returns to his room, rubbing at the knot in his neck as he pushes open the familiar door. The paperwork could not wait and he told you to go to bed without him, not to wait up despite your pleading that you could read in the same room and not be a bother. A tender caress of your cheek, a quick kiss to your forehead and then he had insisted you get some rest. Even disappointment looked beautiful when it was on your face. But you had given in, warning him you planned on holding him close to you, a prisoner to your embrace with no hope of escape when he finally joined you for the night. Those words brought a smile to his lips. He was looking forward to it all throughout his work.

His body knows before he does. He freezes in place the moment he steps through the doorway. His room is too still. Too quiet.

The smell is what hits him first. Iron. Copper. The bedsheets look too dark. His feet move of their own accord, each step taking him closer to the gruesome truth. A sliver of moonlight is enough. He sees the blood, the torn bed sheets, your wide-open eyes.

His limbs suddenly weigh as much as boulders. His knees buckle as he sinks to the carpet, also wet with your blood. They were after him. They wanted him. They stole your life instead and now he is left, speechless, breathless, motionless at the bedside of your destruction. Air sputters from his cracked lips. He tries to say your name. Nothing comes out but strangled gasps.

“Sariel!” His gasping noises were what did it, the thing that tore through your sleep like a shot and exploded you into wakefulness. You say his name calmly but firmly, hands gripping his shoulders. Your voice is a lifebuoy amid treacherous waters, pulling him away from the wet, clinging hands of despair and with one final, soul-shaking gasp, he surfaces into the night, into the pale moonlight of his own bedroom.

His heart pounds inside his chest like breakers upon black rocks, but his gaze finds you, your hands still on his shoulders, your eyes swimming with concern. Your name is a whisper carried away by the wind, lost in the howl of his mind as it tries to reconcile the image of your lifeless body with the real you, the you of right now, your beloved face pale with worry. You’re in his bed, but you’re not…..you’re not….

Suddenly he reaches out, his hands scuttling across your body, anxious and seeking. You’re ok. You’re not hurt. There are no gaping wounds on you anywhere. You’re startled at his hurried touching, at the way his hands fly over you. Normally his touch is like air to fire, spreading warmth and want throughout. But this is leagues away from that kind of touch. It’s only your hands finding his, catching them like lost birds and then holding them against your heart that stops his frantic searching.

“It’s ok.” You repeat the words, gently, your fingers wrapped around his hands, keeping them still and warm. “Sariel….it’s ok.” He blinks his violet eyes, so dark in the wan light of the bedroom. You hold his gaze. You stroke the back of his hands. You nod as his breathing slows. 

He swallows and then reaches for you, falling back into the bed with you in his arms, his embrace a mix of something protective and something afraid. He breathes your name into your hair, turning his cheek to rest it against your head. You wrap an arm around him, placing a kiss above his heart. You don’t ask him what happened. He will tell you when he is ready. For now, you are satisfied that he is breathing evenly, that his heartbeat drums steadily under your ear.

Tagging: @aquagirl1978 @alixennial @alexxavicry @queengiuliettafirstlady @rhodolitesrose @ikemen-writer @bellerose-arcana @thewitchofbooks @redheadkittys @dear-mrs-otome @firestar-otomeobsessed @curious-skybunny @kpop-and-otome @writingwhimsey @mxrmaid-poet @silver-dahlia @wendolrea @otomefoxystar @nightfoxqueen @myonlyjknight @queen-dahlia @aceuuuuu @scorchieart @bubblexly

Hi there I hope not to bother I wanted to request something like that, how Leon, Luke, Chevalier, Clavis, hope they are not too much, would react with a MC that know and use more than one language, easily sliding from one to the other, Please take your time and take care Have a wonderful day :D

A/N: Here you are lovely Julie 💜

Word Count: 1361

Leon

You’ve snuck into town to enjoy a day away from the scrutiny of the palace. Now you and Leon stroll through the town hand-in-hand under a cloudy sky, the hoods of your cloaks obscuring your faces. He’s talking, his voice bright with laughter as he recalls a story from one of his first times sneaking out. You adjust your grip on his hand, grinning back at him as you round a corner and then you both stop, surprised by the brightly colored poster plastered on the side of the flower shop. A traveling circus judging by the illustrations but the words on the poster are not the language of Rhodolite.

Leon pauses, his handsome face drawn in a frown as he rubs his chin with his free hand. “I wonder what-”

You begin reading the words out loud, the sentences flowing effortlessly from your lips. None of the odd vowels trip you up because you fell in love with the musical sound of this language when you were small and decided determinedly you would decipher its secrets. You devoured music and books until you could speak it as well as your own native tongue. 

And now Leon stares, his eyes the sunshine the sky is missing as he listens to you. You pause, then begin translating what you just read. When you’re finished, there is silence and you pull your gaze away from the bright poster to look at him and what you see makes your heart stumble: wonder and respect twined together in expression of absolute love. He laughs softly, a short huff of air and slight shake of the head, before leaning down.

“God, I love you,” he whispers roughly before winding an arm around your waist and kissing you with a tenderness born of his admiration for you.

Luke

You find him in the palace kitchen after hours, when the shadows of dusk are creeping into corners and the light through the windows has faded from warm yellow to pale lavender-blue. Luke is sitting at a wooden table in the corner by the still-warm stove, flipping through a recipe book with an expression of dismay.

Pilfering a vanilla cookie from the ceramic jar on the counter, you slide into the chair next to him. You snap the crunchy treat in half, offering him one and he sighs, taking it and biting despondently.

“What’s wrong?”

“Cook was gifted this recipe book from a merchant travelling from Iolite, but no one here can read it. And look.” He points with a long finger at the pictures on the pages he’s been mooning over: They are clearly from some kind of honey cake recipe but all the text is written in Iolitian. 

You glance at him, then back to the book and then begin reading. “Hmm….you need brown sugar, cold, unsalted butter, and….hmm…vanilla bean paste and–” 

“You can read this?!” He cuts you off, his moss green eyes wide with surprise. You nod, a slow smile spreading across your lips. “I taught myself Iolitian when the bookstore was having a slow day. I never thought it might come in handy but-”

You’re cut off again but this time it’s because you are being wrapped in the biggest, warmest bear hug you've ever experienced. Your smile softens as you hug him back. It takes so little to make him so happy….and you’re grateful you have the chance to see the bright light of joy illuminate those soft springtime eyes. 

“So what do you say? Up for a little evening baking?”

Chevalier

You scan the library shelves, your fingers walking their way lightly along the leather-embossed spines of the books, wandering over the soft ridges, hoping to find the one that just screams “Read me tonight!” So engrossed are you in all the titles that you miss when the door opens and Chevalier enters.

He already has a book in his hand which he returns to exactly the right spot on the shelf. You feel the way he is ignoring you, the force of his disregard for you rolling through the room like waves in an ocean. You grit your teeth and ignore him right back, dropping down to read the titles of the books further down the bookshelf. 

Blue eyes, annoyed by your sudden movement, narrow and he turns his head. He watches the way you are intently reading the titles and one royal brow lifts. “Those are all foreign language books. I doubt you have need of them.”

Oh, his tone does things to you. The words roll across your skin, catching like little burrs. You reach for the first book in front of you, an epic poem written in the native language of Benitoite. Pointedly you rise, march over to a nearby table and sit, opening the book. Perhaps a tad dramatically.

He turns and then addresses you in perfect Benitoitian. Clearly he believes you've just grabbed any book at random and are pretending to read it in order to prove him wrong. But he knows nothing of your education. And of your passion for language. You straighten your spine, turn, and answer him in the same language. Your accent flawless, your pronunciation perfect. 

And you are rewarded by something as rare as the moon eclipsing the sun: surprise flashes for a moment in the depths of Chevalier’s sky-colored eyes. And suddenly your heart begins beating harder. And you want to see it again. So you switch, asking him "Would you prefer to speak in this tongue?" this time in the native tongue of Obsidian. And you ask him the same question again in Iolitian. And Tanzanitian. And Tourmaline.

You could go on but he raises his hand, stopping you. His gaze holds yours and now your heart is practically thundering in your chest because what you see those blue depths now isn’t surprise….but interest.

Clavis

A hand settles on your shoulder and a handsome, curious face is suddenly next to yours. “What has captured your attention so thoroughly when I am in the room?” You laugh, reaching up with one hand to affectionately cup his cheek. “I’m reading about the linguistic history of this area.” You point at the page you are on which has a list of all the different languages historically spoken throughout the kingdom as well as its neighbors and examples of how to say “hello” in all of them. He begins reading them out loud and finds himself stumbling when he gets to the language spoken in many parts of Obsidian.

You helpfully correct him and he blinks, brows raised in surprise as he stares at you. “Wait….you speak Obsidian?”

Nodding, you see delight suddenly sparking within the depths of his golden eyes. “Can you say…..’Clavis is amazing’.” Now you laugh, and repeat it back to him in Obsidian. His grin grows as he reaches for both your hands, pulling you up and away from your desk.

“And now can you say…..’Clavis is the most wonderful man in the entire kingdom’?” Your fingers interlock with his as you look up into the face you love so much and repeat it back to him, slowly, speaking ever so slightly below your normal register. A faint pink colors his cheeks as he listens to your voice, the one he is so familiar with, the one he dreams about, suddenly producing new sounds, sounds that twist and turn in ways he doesn’t know, can’t expect. His heart begins a heavier, excited beat in his chest.

“Can you…..” He gently pulls your locked hands closer, escaping your grip in order to slide his arms around your waist and pressing you close to him. “Say…..’Clavis….’ His head dips, his forehead touching yours, eyes glowing like golden stars. “....’I love you….’?” 

Your heartbeat echoes his, drumming loudly in your ears. Your gazes lock and you feel a cascade of sparks tumble down your spine, igniting something warm and exciting inside. When you speak, it’s in a soft, almost breathless voice. “Ich liebe dich, Clavis Lelouch. Ich brauche dich. Ich will dich…..”

His kiss stops the flow of Obsidian and as he lifts you into his arms, striding towards your bed, you understand that while spoken language is important, there are some things that require no words at all.

Tagging: @aquagirl1978 @alixennial @alexxavicry @queengiuliettafirstlady @rhodolitesrose @ikemen-prince-writers-posts @bellerose-arcana @thewitchofbooks @redheadkittys @dear-mrs-otome @firestar-otomeobsessed @curious-skybunny @kpop-and-otome @writingwhimsey @mxrmaid-poet @silver-dahlia @wendolrea @otomefoxystar @nightfoxqueen @myonlyjknight @queen-dahlia @aceuuuuu @scorchieart

Right Here | AO3

Characters: Clavis Lelouch x F!Reader

Genre: Romance, Fluff

Summary: A snowy night full of schemes and surprises. If you can stay awake, that is.

Word Count: 1.3k

A/N: My belated entry for @xxsycamore & @voltage-vixen's 'Tis the Season for Love CCC. My excuse for being late? I slept more hours the previous night than I did the past 4 combined. I still wanted to write something for this, even if it won't be counted ^^

Prompt: Sipping hot chocolate and then stealing a kiss

“Up… up… get up…”

The misty voice flitted in and out of consciousness, light and airy, as you battled between obeying or ignoring. While it called to action, it was also mellow and comforting, filled with solace alluring that lulled you back to dreamland no matter the words it formed, as you were more than willing to oblige.

It is most unfortunate that the voice was corporeal.

“Hey, I said get up!”

The downy comforter ripped away in an instant, ridding away with it the cocoon of heat you’d engulfed yourself in all night. Now gone, you feebly wrapped your arms around your form and brought your knees to your chest, squeezing your eyes even tighter as though it would banish the brittle cold.

For a moment, it actually seemed to be working. A gentle warmth sprouted from your arms through your chest and up to your face. You could see flutters of movement from behind your eyelids, and you opened them one at a time, blinking heavily to parse through the darkness. 

The first thing you noticed was that you were now sitting up. The second was the thick woolen sweater hanging over your neck and still-entangled arms, as though it had been forcibly thrust over your head. The third thing you saw, somehow after the other two, was Clavis’s beaming face inches away from your nose.

“Aha, at last! Hurry now, it’s just started!” he said. Leaping off the bed, he tossed you a pair of matching wooly socks and crossed to the door at the other end of the room. Curiosity powered through the grogginess, and you managed to wrestle the sweater correctly through your arms and slip on the socks before following him. 

Still unadjusted to the darkness, the short bursts of midnight blue seeping in through the high windows and Clavis’s repeated chirps of “Hurry, hurry!” played your guides down the hall. More than once you walked straight into a wall column or snagged your sock on the rug, but the increasing giddiness in Clavis’s voice kept you advancing. 

“Not your best time,” he said when you finally caught up with him. He stood atop a staircase, tapping his foot as you shuffled up the last few steps.

“If you’d told me where we’re going, I’d have made it faster,” you panted, clutching the stitch in your side. The midnight excursion took you to the opposite wing of the palace. The fact that you even made it all the way here without a torch and just out of bed surprised yourself, at least. “What time is it?”

“The time when the stodgy dream and visionaries scheme.”

“Did you just call me stodgy?”

“I have said nothing of the sort. I am only guilty of opening your eyes.” His face broke out in a conniving grin as he extended his arm. “Feel free to pass judgment after I’ve shown you.”

Even though you both knew you would accept in a heartbeat, you still allowed a few moments to pass before resting your hand over his. Your own version of a punishment, you thought, and the sight of his handsome features resting contentedly as he squeezed your fingers told you he understood.

“Right here, now,” he whispered, leading to a grand doorway and pushing through with his free arm. The ancient door scraped heavily across the uneven floor, but Clavis never lifted his eyes from yours as he heaved it open, gliding you both through when it was at last wide enough. The room itself was unremarkable, with thick sheets of dust coating heaps of forgotten furniture, peeling wallpaper and dust bunnies the size of actual bunnies limply trotting along as you passed, and a broken antique chandelier swaying ominously from above. But what immediately caught your attention was the enormous window that took up the entirety of the far wall and the glittering snowfall peering through, casting dancing shadows through the dusty air.

“Oh, Clavis…” you began, but were immediately cut off as he pulled you farther into the room. Arranged in a small section at the foot of the window, which you noticed had been methodically scrubbed clean, were two puffy chintz cushions and a large tea tray laden with various overflowing bowls and two large mugs covered with saucers. He quickly sat you down on one of the cushions, pressed a mug into your hands, and offered a bowl of what looked like tiny brown marbles.

“Chocolate-covered cherries?” he said, popping one in his mouth. “Sweet and sour, like my schemes. Or perhaps a chocolate almond — those have a nice crunch. And chocolate-filled dates just melt in your mouth…”

He was speaking in fast succession, lining bowls from the tray in neat rows in front of you. You wondered how he got the idea of covering things in chocolate, and soon felt a sinking sensation in your stomach.

“Clavis, you didn’t accidentally flood the kitchen in chocolate, did you?” 

Clavis blew a small raspberry, sat back in his cushion, and uncovered his own mug. “Preposterous. As if my genius creations could be the result of mere accident.” But you noticed how his gaze trailed out the window as he took a swig. “Try one, won’t you? Or at least warm up with the hot chocolate. Your hands are freezing.”

You kept your eyes on him as you plucked a treat from one of the bowls and bit into it. A gush of sweetness spread across your lips and you found yourself smiling unconsciously at the strawberry that peeked through the chocolate border. The same sweetness you felt as you continued to stare at him and how the snow reflected in his golden eyes. 

The room was still very cold, but your heart swelled at the sight. The cup was warm in your fingers. The hot chocolate scalding on your tongue.

“It’s cold,” you said.

Clavis’s brow furrowed in confusion. “Impossible, I just poured it. Here, switch with me.”

You giggled, inching your cushion until your elbows were touching. “Not the drink.” 

You could feel his arm tense even through the thick fabric of the sweater, but he had turned back to look out the window. “Sneaky girl,” he muttered as he raised his mug again. You set your own mug down and wrapped your hands around his left arm, gently prodding it into your lap as you too stared outside.

The snow descended in massive clumps, swirling and swerving in a hypnotic trance as a howling wind whipped across your view. Sometimes the movements were uniform, like watching paint dribble down a navy canvas, only for the scene to  jumble and shake as though the entire paint can splattered onto the window. You figured you must be up in one of the highest turrets as the misty fog was so dense you could not make out the palace grounds. Your only guess to how much had accumulated were the ever-growing lumps of pure-white piling softly on the windowsill. You threaded your fingers through Clavis’s, twiddling the silver band on his finger. He rested his cheek atop your head. Would this be how the years together would pile up in turn, you wondered.

Visionaries scheming echoed through your mind. Every day that passed by at his side, the term felt less like a threat and more a promise.

“Elysian,” you said, running your thumb across his freezing knuckles. Even after that previous sip, your mouth felt just as cold.

“I agree,” he breathed into your scalp. “A sight like this only happens once a decade, I’d wager.”

“No, you’re not seeing what I can.”

He lifted his head and leaned forward. “What, where? How can you see anythi—”

It was like kissing a block of ice. A blotch of chocolate lingered on his cheek as you slowly pulled back, and Clavis’s face morphed from frosty pink to ghost white before finally blooming into the most brilliant red as he blankly stared back. A sight, you wagered, once in a lifetime.

“Right here,” you said with a smile.

With this, I think I've reached my romance quota for the year.

Tagging:@atelieredux @queengiuliettafirstlady @violettduchess @venulus @thewitchofbooks @leonscape @rhodolitesrose @venti-tangents

If you would like to be added or removed from my tag list, please send me an ask or a message.

OMG OMG OMG I JUST THAT THIS IS THE LAST DAY TO REQUEST TvT. I hope I'm not too late. I wanted to ask for Sariel, Litch, Chevalier and Clavis. Secret lovers. Pairing with MC ofc. Again I hope I'm not too late. Lots of love from me. I love you. AAAAAAH I LOVE YOU😩 YOU'RE AMAZING

Ok tq sorry for the sudden love declaration but I still love you💅

A/N: Here you are, @ludivineikewolf 💜 Thank you for the kind words and for the request!

Word Count: 1706

Licht Klein

There is something fearful in Licht that still has its claws sunk deep in his heart. Something that still breathes hot worry through its chamber like Dust Bowl wind across a faded prairie. He knows he is not a faction leader, but his prowess on the field of battle is known. He is renowned for his military mind, for his expertly trained soldiers. Licht Klein is a name that would make most men think twice. And it is because of this, he says, that he wants to keep your relationship secret. He has enemies and they must not know how close you are to him.

Night has fallen over Rhodolite and deep within the heart of the palace, you lay in his arms. Though his skin is warm against yours, though you are safe within the circle of his embrace, though your limbs are heavy with the exhaustion of your lovemaking, you can’t help but tilt your head up to look at him in profile, wakefulness buzzing in your mind like a swarm of insects. Thankfully, Licht is asleep. His rubine eyes are closed, his breathing is slow and even. His face holds a peace in it that almost breaks your heart at how rare the sight is. 

You love him with the strength of your whole heart, with the force of every breath you take, with a ferocity that could bring a mountain to its knees. And all of that is held tight, locked inside yourself, but threatening to burst free at any moment. Because how can you keep your gaze from finding him across a room? How can his voice, the one you know can be soft and cloying and whisper its desperate need and gentlest love for you, how can it not turn your head? A boot presses down on your heart every time you force those feelings down and away, back into the shadows. 

He is uneasy, afraid of what loving him may cost you. But you ask yourself, as your gaze wanders his sleeping visage, could the cost of hiding it be even greater?

Sariel Noir

You know it’s wrong. He knows it’s wrong. There are so many reasons why it is simply wrong. He is your tutor. He is an important member of the administrative arm of the palace, if not the most important person aside from the princes themselves. You are his student, learning all you can about your role as Belle. You are a commoner, unfamiliar with the palace aside from it being some distant entity that has always loomed over your life like a star in the night sky. Far away, untouchable, yet ever-present. All this and more should be enough to keep each other at arm’s length, to maintain those boundaries between you as solidly as a stone wall of propriety. 

And yet....even now....your feet are carrying you down darkened hallways, up winding steps within narrow tower walls, dusty with disuse. At the top your hand finds the dull, worn brass door handle and pulls, the wood creaking a testament to age and dereliction. You shouldn’t be here, sneaking around like a thief in the night...but there. There is his figure silhouetted by moonlight. He stands at the small window, looking down on the distant, empty courtyard. Your breath catches in your throat. The moon is a loving artist, painting his pale skin with radiant silver, his dark hair in glistening argent light. For once, he is not moving, not writing, not reading, not hurrying from one meeting to the next. He is perfectly still, his dark violet gaze never leaving the glass. Maybe you should leave. Some part of you, some tiny thorn that has dug its way into your mind, is telling you that would be the right thing to do.

You step backwards and the floorboards creak underfoot. He turns and you are lost. One look at his face, at the way his breath caught at the sight of you, at the sudden flash of light in those amethyst eyes, and you know that backwards was never an option. It will always be forwards, always towards him.

You meet in the middle, mouths finding one another, bodies pressed tightly together, held that way by strong arms and blazing hearts. As you drink him in, as you stumble together over the wooden floor toward the bed of this long-forgotten guest suite, the one whose sheets have been unobtrusively replaced with clean, soft linens, you know in the deepest part of your heart and quietest part of your soul that for him, for this, the risk is worth everything.

Clavis Lelouch

You and Clavis have been through many obstacles during your time as Belle. And while that time has come to end, the challenges haven’t. Because of all the things Clavis may be, he is still a prince. And you are still a commoner. And in the eyes of the nobility, your worlds are as incompatible as oil and water. But you love him, this one-of-a-kind man of yours, this golden-eyed song your heart can’t stop singing. And he loves you. Of all the people in all of Rhodolite, you have captured his affection and devotion and passion and there is no way you are ever going to let it go.

And so your love for one another has become good at sliding through shadows. A visit for tea with the princes that ends in a dark alcove, exchanging kisses sweeter than any baked treat. A stroll through the palace gardens in palest moonlight, arm in arm, whispered laughter drifting across roses as dark as pomegranate seeds. Nights in your small bedroom, in your cozy cottage, listening to the pitter-patter of raindrops on your roof while nestled together safe and warm under your patched bed quilt. 

Now the sun is just readying itself for its daily climb, the first rosy-fingers of dawn testing their grip on the dusky, pre-dawn sky. Clavis groans, his hands clasped tightly over yours, whispered curses at the sunrise already falling from his lips. You burrow closer against him, your body wrapped around his from behind. As much as you love feeling sheltered in his arms, you can’t deny there is a satisfaction in being the one to hold him like this, to press your forehead against the bare skin between his shoulder blades, as if willing all your thoughts of love and lust to sink into his skin, to become a part of him. 

“I have to go, my love.” If ever a man sounded like he disliked the feel of words in his mouth, it is Clavis right now. With a groan to emphasize how much he hates what he said, he rolls over, turning to face you. “Oh no,” he murmurs as his gaze locks with yours. “This is so much worse. Now I won’t be able to leave at all.” He reaches out, his fingers pushing your loose hair away from your bare shoulder, then drops his hand to the soft skin there, his touch lingering. A sigh is torn from your chest and he shakes his head. “I know that sound. You’re going to be cruel.”

“It isn’t Chevalier you’re meeting with today. And you were late last time.” If it were Chevalier, Clavis may very well stay in your arms for another few hours. The King never once said a word about his brother’s more frequent absences or tardiness. You know Clavis has been pushing himself even harder, getting all his work done and then some so Chevalier would have no reason to complain. But you also suspect the king already knows and does not care. Maybe some part of that cool heart is even happy for Clavis. But the men he is meeting with this morning would not be happy if they knew. Not at all. They are nobility of the old guard, the kind who look down their noses at anyone without a title and would certainly file official complaints if they even suspected a prince of Rhodolite was acting so callously as to have an affair with a commoner. Even if it was one who had been chosen as Belle. 

He knows you are right and it hurts to see the way his eyes dim. His hand slides across your shoulder to the back of your neck. Leaning forward, he pulls you close for one last kiss. He tastes like the sweetness of adoration tinged with the bitterness of necessary departure.

There is a knock at your front door. Two short raps, then one final, stronger one. Cyran’s code for “Get moving.” The kiss breaks as another soft curse leaves his lips before he summons all the willpower he has to pull away from you. You slide out of bed, not one to linger there when he has spent the night. His absence only makes it feel empty and cold. You dress, neither one looking at the other. The lightening sky brings misery along with it. Not wanting him to see the pain in your eyes, you keep your back to him, a hand pressed over your mouth to stifle any soft cry that escapes the tight back of your throat.

He knows anyway. He feels the same noose tightening around his heart. There are no jokes, no quips. He slides one arm around you from behind, pressing a kiss just behind your ear. “Just a few days. Then you’re coming to the palace to deliver those books for Chev.” You squeeze your eyes shut, trying to stop the flow of tears that threaten to spill over. “That’s the weekend of the Diplomat’s Ball. I can’t stay.” Too many nobles, too many unfamiliar servants, too many eyes and ears. His moment of silence speaks louder than any words. A heartbeat. Two. Then he speaks. “We’ll find a way, little bunny. We always do.”

Cyran knocks again, irritation practically traveling along the soundwaves. Clavis kisses your cheek, the tenderness almost rendering your heart in two. He whispers against your soft skin: “Remember who loves you.” And then he is nothing but the sound of boots as they leave your bedroom, hurry down the short hallway and turn into the slamming of the door. Closing your eyes tightly is a failure. The tears streaming down your cheeks have triumphed, once again.

Chevalier Michel

He does not see the point in hiding your relationship. Anyone who does not like it, be damned. Or meet the end of his sword. 

(They are very likely the same thing.)

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☆ put this star into the inbox of your favourite blogs. it’s time to spread positivity.

Violet, you are so sweet😭💖 Thank you very much for this🥺 It literally takes away all the tiredness of the day 😭💞