#Barricate! | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

empresskylo · 1 year

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would you do headcanons if price was readers boyfriend?! 🫶🫶😮‍💨

↳ yuuhhh i gotchuu 🫶

⋆｡°✩ CONTENT WARNINGS | afab!reader, she/her pronouns used, feminine pet names used, smutty content at the end

cod masterlist | main masterlist

♡ such the gentleman. he asked you out on a proper date when he realized you both were feeling something for one another. even tho it’s really hard to do/find the time whilst working, he managed to do something cute for you.

♡ possessiveeeee! even before you were dating, when he knew he liked you, he’d act all possessive over you. all the other men knew to stay away from you or they’d get on price's bad side (they’re so dramatic). so even now, he likes to have his claim over you and makes sure everyone knows you’re his.

♡ that doesn't mean the men didn't tease him a lil bit--and by men, i mean gaz. he would team up with you a lot, or be a lil extra touchy with you in front of price, just to see him get pissed. but price couldn't really do much about it because you two weren't dating and you didn't even know he was into you like that. ♡ gaz looked at you, smirking, and you felt one of your eyebrows raise. he walked closer to you and decided to help you get situated for your upcoming mission. he was giving you a hand in securing your tactical gear, making the process go faster, when price approached. "I think she's got it." gaz looked up at him and gave him a knowing smile. "just trying to speed things up, cap." price's jaw tightened, having no choice but to keep moving unless he wanted to explain just why he was annoyed at gaz doing something so innocent as helping you.

♡ speaking of being possessive, he is also very proud to be with you. he doesn’t find the need to keep your relationship a secret even if he knows people will judge you both for it (you’re so much younger, he’s your superior, etc). he wants everyone to know.

♡ and he’s not afraid of some pda. he’ll give you little kisses randomly that catch you off guard (especially if you’re a soldier under his rank). there have been times when the others teased you about it. obviously, price didn’t care, but you always got flustered. “i’ll be back at the barrics,” price directed to you and soap who both gave him a curt nod. price leaned down towards you and before you could question him, he placed a kiss on your lips. he smirked when he pulled away, your eyes wide, your face warming. price turned to leave and soap burst into a fit of giggles. “ugh, how old are you?” you asked soap irritated, but your cheeks were inflamed and your heart was racing with something similar to embarrassment. ♡ he’s possessive, but not in an over-the-top way. like he’s not gonna freak out if he sees you talking to another guy, or if you’re wearing something skimpy. my guy is secure in himself (maybe even a little too much sometimes) and he knows no one is quite as good as him. he doesn’t worry about you leaving him.

♡ uses all the pet names for you. you were honestly impressed he managed to find so many to call you. love, doll, baby, sweet girl, baby girl, princess, lass, honey, babe, little one, brat, pet, kitten (you may have threw a shoe at him when he called you that), queen, lovely, sweetness, sweetheart, sunshine. the list goes on.

♡ he also began to call you such random shit that makes you laugh. munchkin, cutest lil lady, little foot, shorty, pipsqueak. (basically anything silly that gave off dad energy)

♡ keeps polaroids of you in his wallet <3

♡ had your name engraved in his favorite knife. also has your name engraved on a simple silver bracelet that he always wears.

♡ speaking of jewelry, he got you a locket with a picture of the two of you in it. you gave it to him to wear once when he was gonna be away from you for quite a while. he never took it off.

♡ he likes to get you flowers all the fucking time. roses, peonies, tulips, the whole lot. you’ve run out of places to put them.

♡ has been known to squat when he sees you getting tired and refusing to move until you get on his back so he can carry you.

♡ whenever he wraps his arms around you--usually when he’s spacing out--he pulls you into his chest and rests his chin on your head. his fingers will fiddle with the hem of your shirt and give you goosebumps at the tiny tickles on your skin.

♡ really likes to cuddle. he’s always reaching for you when you sit or lie down together. he wants to pull you into him. he likes to be the big spoon. you always wake up tangled in each others arms.

♡ he always lets you wear his clothes. he actually prefers it when you do. you sleep in his t-shirt. you’ll wear his hoodies. if it’s cold out he’ll take his coat off and wrap you in it. or sometimes he’ll let you wrap your arms around him and then he’ll wrap his coat around the both of you.

♡ he always falls asleep first. he'll have you pulled into his chest as you both watch tv and honestly, like 10 minutes will go by and you'll say something and he wont respond. when you tilt your head up you notice he's already out cold.

♡ and even tho he's asleep, like a superpower he can sense when you move away from him. so if you try to get up, his grip on you tightens and he'll pull you into him, rolling over with you trapped in his arms.

♡ he is always up first too. and he will often times bring you breakfast or coffee in bed. if he has to leave before you, you'll wake to find a hot coffee or tea sitting on your nightstand waiting for you.

♡ he is obsessed with your hair. he's always stroking it, or tucking it behind your ear. he likes to run his fingers through it when you're cuddling or when you're hugging him tightly. he loves when you let him wash it too.

♡ you asked him to brush it for you once while you were getting ready one day and he was just standing there watching you. he did so and was very gentle and took his time. ever since then, he loves when you let him brush your hair. it's such a random but intimate act for him.

NSFW CONTENT BELOW

♡ pleasure dom! he is super dominant in bed but is also really in tune with your body and making sure you're always enjoying yourself. he gets off by getting you off.

♡ he’s really good at making you come. like, you'd think he made it his life's mission to make you feel good. and seeing you in pleasure is what always gets him going. he cant finish unless he watches you finish first.

♡ he’s so good at what he does that he’s been known to get you off over your clothes. it takes him no time at all to make you come if he wants. usually he likes to drag it out tho. and he likes to overstimulate you.

♡ nights will oftentimes consist of you fully naked while he fingers you, having already orgasmed once, and him still fully clothed. something about that power dynamic drives him crazy.

♡ he softly degrades you. “look how fuckin’ desperate you are for me, love” “this what you’ve been thinkin’ bout all day? my fingers thrusting inside you, hm? nothing else going on in that pretty little head of yours.” “oh, com’on princess, you know you have to come at least twice before i’ll give you my cock. so are you gonna be a good girl and come on my tongue one more time? yeah, i know you can handle it.”

♡ likes to hold your hand during sex. he’s eating you out? his hand is laced with one of yours. you’re sucking his dick? he grabs your hand and traces patterns aimlessly, trying not to come too fast. he’s fucking you missionary? either one or both of his hands are locked with yours. he’s fucking you from behind? he’s pulled you up against his chest, covering your hand resting against your stomach with his own.

♡ he likes when you give him blow jobs. and he enjoys praising you during it, watching as you clench your thighs from his panting words.

♡ you’ll have his cock in your mouth and he’s muttering how good you feel. he hunches over, his arms lazily resting over your shoulders, his forehead resting against the top of yours. he’ll groan and grunt, “fuck, baby, that feels so good.” “god, don’t stop, love.” “look what you do to me.” “i’m gonna fuck you so hard after this, baby.”

#cod #cod headcanons #ghost cod #fluff #angst #cod mw2 #john price x reader #john price cod #john price smut #smut #captain price smut #captain price #john price headcanons #john price #captain price headcanons #captain price x reader #price x reader #john price x you

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acourtofwhatthefuck · 2 years

Text

Fireleaf (Part One)

Lucien Vanserra x Reader

Summary: An enemies-to-lovers series. You’re the second-eldest daughter of a wealthy, noble Autumn Court family, and when your father strikes an agreement with Beron Vanserra, you find yourself arranged to marry the second-eldest Vanserra brother. But it’s the youngest Vanserra, Lucien, who really catches your eye.

author's note: this story is set while Lucien was still in the Autumn Court, and as if the Jesminda scenario never happened.

Warnings: None.

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------

The first day of the end of your life.

That was what you’d coined this day as. That was how it felt.

No amount of time could prepare you for it. Even though you’d had a year leading up to this point, you may as well have had seconds, given how faint you felt. How you thought you may just keel over and scream before you could stop yourself.

Exactly one year to the day that your parents had sealed your fate with a few strained words.

You’d breezed home to your family’s estate in a good mood after a morning of training. You were the strongest you’d ever been, your friend and swordsman had told you, your techniques far slicker, far more precise, than any of the males he’d ever taught. You’d been doing your homework, the two of you had joked.

That pleasant mood had dissipated the second you’d strolled into your large receiving room to find both your parents sitting at the table – with a guest you’d never seen before. The symbol of your court stitched into the breast of his deep green brocade jacket. The Autumn Court.

All three of the faces staring at you were tight, pinched. Your father had told – not asked – you to sit down.

“What’s going on?” You’d questioned, the pit of your stomach already coiling with unease.

“Y/N, this is Barric – the High Lord’s advisor.” Your father had gestured to the male opposite him.

It’d made sense – just from the look of him. Though your father had grown up with High Lord Beron Vanserra, had become close friends with him, your family’s territory was far enough away from the Vanserra estate that you hadn’t seen any of their family in years – but you knew of Beron’s meticulous nature. That he was famed to have a court of unflinching perfection behind him.

Barric certainly lived up to that reputation, with none of his fine brown hair out of place. His green eyes clear and confident.

You’d nodded to the advisor in greeting, merely offering a vague hello, before turning another inquisitive gaze on your parents.

“Barric is here with word from the High Lord,” Your father had explained. “He is…aware…that our financial situation hasn’t been what it was for a while now. And he thinks he can help – that we can come to an agreement.”

Times had, indeed, been changing – and those changes had meant nothing good for your family business that had thrived for centuries and centuries. Every one of you knew that your fortune – that comfortable life you’d lived for one-hundred-and-thirty-one years, now – was failing and slipping before your very eyes. That everything you’d ever known was hanging in the balance.

Your father’s affinity for gambling had been the real downfall.

You’d shifted in your chair uncomfortably; you’d been raised not to discuss such matters in front of strangers. Your eyes had flitted to Barric as you’d asked, “How can the High Lord help us?”

“He knows that I have…sway…in the other courts.” Your father had said. “And he’s interested in smoothing over centuries-old tensions with my help. He has offered to clear our debts…to wipe the slate clean and help us pick ourselves back up…in exchange for my influence, and…and for your hand.”

You’d gawked at him. “My hand?”

Your mother had nodded. “You’ll remember his second-eldest son, Dion.”

No, no you didn’t remember – all the Vanserras were the same to you. Always had been. Your memories of visiting the Vanserra Estate as a young, clueless girl had been flashes of silken, ruby-red hair and golden, freckled skin. You couldn’t discern one male from the next.

“Dion looks for a wife to lead his territory with.” Barric spoke, sitting up. “A wife who hails from a noble family – who is well-acquainted with the upper echelons of our society. One who he would be proud to have on his arm.”

Your mind had begun to tick on overdrive. You ground your jaw as you asked, “And what does that have to do with me?”

“Well, given that your father is a friend to the High Lord…that you are the second-eldest of your parents’ offspring…and that you are the only one of your four sisters who remains unmarried…you’re considered a perfect match. Dion actually volunteered your name himself.”

“What?” You choked out an incredulous laugh. “I haven’t seen any of the Vanserra males since I was a girl. I don’t even remember which one Dion is.”

Barric had merely shrugged. “You’ll have plenty of time to get to know him before the nuptials themselves.”

“No.” You’d shoved away from the table, pushed out of your chair. “Absolutely not–”

“Y/N.” Your father’s voice was stern – probably the most stern you’d ever heard it. He focused a steely gaze on you. “This isn’t up for discussion. All four of your sisters have wedded good, noble males who are trying to make a living. They’re doing their bit to help us. Now it’s your turn. You can’t just flounce around the lands, swinging swords and pretending that you don’t have responsibilities.”

“How many times do I have to tell you?” You’d snapped. “I train with Linden because I wish to be a Guard–”

“There are no female Guards. Have you ever seen one in the entirety of this court? You haven’t – because there aren’t any. And you’re not going to be the first. That brute with the sword has filled your head with nonsense for too long–”

“He is my friend–”

“You are a lady, Y/N. That is your job – to be a lady, and a wife, and a mother. And as long as you’re running through the forest and playing with swords, you are letting our family down. Do your bit. Play your role. Or we will lose everything.”

You’d stared back at your father, your chest heaving. Where was the kind, soft man you’d once known? Your decimated fortune had changed him. Changed how he saw you.

You were too angry to cry, as much as you wanted to. You clenched your fist at your sides, turning pleading eyes on your mother. “Mama–”

“Y/N.” She cut you off – didn’t even bother to look at you as she stared at the table. “Your father is right. Everything we have is balancing on this – on you making the right decision. You must marry Dion Vanserra. You must be good to him, and accept the help their family offers us.”

“So I’m just supposed to leave?” The tears were coming, now, welling in your eyes. “To turn my back on everything I’ve ever known and go to the Vanserra Estate?”

You couldn’t bear the thought. Leaving the huge house you’d grown up in, the surrounding lands you’d played in…your friendship with Linden that was so, so important to you–

“Not exactly.” Barric had said, shaking his head. “You have some time to get used to the idea. Dion is still completing his territorial training, and he isn’t home often. But a year from now is the Harvest Festival – the first our court has had in over two centuries.”

Right. You’d forgotten about that – the intricately detailed invitations that had arrived a few months ago, sent personally by Beron himself. Deciding to restart old tradition, the Harvest Festival was to be held in the autumn of the next year – a two-week event of the court’s most prestigious, upstanding families coming together to celebrate the autumn’s harvest with feasts and games and a masquerade ball. Your sisters had just about died with excitement.

To you, it sounded like a fortnight of hell. Unbearable court posturing. The richest people in the land trying to one-up each other. Smiling at one another and then stabbing each other in the back as soon as they’d turned. You’d grown up around that behaviour – the idea of being drowned in two weeks worth of it made your stomach churn.

“Your engagement to Dion will be announced at the Harvest Festival.” Barric had said. “And you will accompany him throughout the festivities as his fiancee. And when your family leave at the end of the two weeks, you will stay at the Vanserra Estate with Dion, where the planning for your wedding will begin immediately.”

No. No, no, no. This couldn’t be happening. Your free, easy life could not be ripped away from you. You couldn’t be the tight-lipped, blushing bride that all four of your sisters had become.

“Papa.” You turned to your father, your tears spilling down your cheeks. “Please don’t make me do this. There must be another way.”

His jaw ticked. He swallowed, shaking his head. “There is no other way, Y/N. Unless you want your entire family to become destitute…for us to lose everything we’ve worked so hard for…you will marry Dion Vanserra, and you will be a good wife to him. As Barric said, you have an entire year to get used to the idea.”

As if that would soften the blow. You almost laughed.

But you couldn’t. Not as it became clear that there was no way out of this. That the fate of your family lay entirely on your shoulders – entirely on you keeping your mouth shut and doing as you were told.

You’d darted from that room to hurl your guts up. To scream and cry and shove a pillow over your head so that you didn’t hear the arrangements being discussed downstairs.

One year. You had one year of freedom left.

And that was how you found yourself here, a flash of a year later – trying not to throw up for the third time that day as your carriage ambled up the huge, winding drive that led to the Vanserra Estate. Your parents sat on the bench opposite you, studying you closely. You could only imagine how pale you were, how drawn you looked, after a sleepless night. You’d been yanked up at the crack of dawn and bathed by two servants as though you were unable to do so yourself. Plucked and preened. Shoved into a corset that was far, far too tight. Skirts that were far too heavy. Painted with makeup that felt suffocating on your skin.

The carriage jerked to a stop outside the gargantuan manor that the Vanserras favoured the most of their many estates. This was the one you’d visited for a weekend when you were younger.

You never would have guessed that you’d be returning here to become a bride to one of the males that had teased and taunted you.

Your family’s footman opened the carriage door. Your parents were the first to step out – and then you.

The sunlight was…blinding. Different, somehow, to how it shone on your family’s territory. The sprawling lands that stretched around the house were the lushest shade of green you’d ever seen – and the forestry that bordered it was a swaying blanket of reds and oranges, yellows and browns.

An autumnal paradise.

And yet you may as well have been walking to your death.

The place was in utter chaos, ahead of the Harvest celebrations that would begin tomorrow. Servants passed you, barely sparing you or your parents a glance as they carried decorations and potted plants and furniture. Gardeners were preening the hedges, and the grounds were being swept and cleaned to perfection. Just as Beron Vanserra had no doubt ordered.

As if a single thought had summoned him, the huge, carved doors to the manor opened – and Beron emerged.

You remembered your older sister once saying he was handsome…and you supposed he was, in a simple sort of way. Classically attractive, maybe. He didn’t have the glinting red hair of his sons – they’d inherited it from their mother.

His face was cold, harsh, and even when a smile spread across his lips as he took you and your parents in, it seemed an effort for him not to succumb to a sneer instead.

“Jesper.” He descended the steps, clasping your father’s arm. “It has been far too long, my friend. Welcome.”

Your father dipped his chin. “You’re looking well, High Lord. You remember my wife, Lillian?”

“How could I forget?” That was definitely a smirk as he appraised your pretty, delicate mother. And it widened as he turned to you. “And this must be Y/N. Far different from when I last saw you.”

You stared at him. You knew you were supposed to bow, or curtsey, or…something. But all you could do was meet his eyes. Swallow.

“Well.” You said tightly. “I’d be worried if I still appeared as an adolescent girl.”

The sting of sudden silence that lingered between the four of you was taut – tense. Your mother not-so-subtly elbowed your side as your father forced a laugh. Slowly, Beron joined in.

“You’ll forgive my daughter’s insolence.” Your father said. “I assure you it’s nothing personal. The journey here was long.”

Beron inclined his chin. “Of course. Please, come in. My wife and sons have been awaiting your arrival.”

You wanted to swear under your breath. Multiple of the Vanserra brothers were there? There were seven in total, from what you knew, though two of them seemed to lead territories at the other ends of the court and didn’t venture back to the Vanserra Estate often. But facing one Vanserra brother was enough to have your hands shaking…let alone five of them.

Maybe you’d grab one of the potted plants the servants were carrying and hurl into it.

“This way.” Beron smiled, his eyes sliding to you again. That stern, assessing gaze…it made you uneasy.

Inside was just as haywire as outside – something that seemed to put Beron on-edge as he straightened his back and strode through the various rooms and halls of the manor. You couldn’t help ringing your hands, chanting the breathing exercises Linden had taught you inside your head–

Gods, you wished he was here. His wicked grin, his soft brown eyes…Linden would have said something to make you laugh, to put you at ease.

If your father hadn’t had him dismissed to the damn continent.

“Stop slouching,” Your mother hissed in your ear, her skirts whispering against the floor as she strolled beside you. Your father spoke quietly to Beron a few steps ahead.

You didn’t deign to reply – there was no point. Swallowing, you merely straightened your shoulders, lifted your chin. Your heart seemed to pick up even more as Beron led you to a pair of wooden double doors.

“The servants are preparing lunch,” He announced, grabbing the handle. “We can reacquaint ourselves whilst we wait.”

You’d much rather reacquaint yourself with the inside of your carriage – or anywhere you could hide. You contemplated turning on your feet, running and running as far as you could in this ridiculous dress.

But then Beron opened the doors, and five red heads turned in yours and your parents’ direction.

Four handsome young males, all with the glowing skin, the dusting of freckles. The russet-coloured eyes and that hungry Autumn Court smirk that seemed to live permanently on their lips. And a beautiful woman with similar features – you remembered her as Beron’s wife. She studied you, her eyes raking over your body. Her expression was unreadable.

They each zeroed in on you and smiled – smirked.

And you kept your chin lifted. Stared back at them. One of them…you were sure one of them was missing. You just didn’t know any of them well enough to know which one. As your gaze bounced over them, you couldn’t, for the life of you, discern which one might be your future husband.

“Let me present my family.” Beron said. “My wife.” He gestured vaguely in the female’s direction, barely sparing her a glance before he turned to the males. “And my sons. Eris, Dion, Jareth, Rian — where is Lucien?” In seconds, the High Lord’s tone had become clipped.

It was Dion – the second in the row of males, your future husband – who stepped forward. His eyes were firmly on you, something akin to a smile toying with his lips as he flicked his gaze over you. His long, red hair was tied into a knot at the nape of his neck, his strong jaw flexing as he turned to his father.

“Cauldron knows.” He said. “Most likely talking to a tree, or something.”

His brothers sniggered in response, and he fastened a triumphant grin as he met your eyes again. You quickly looked down.

“You may remember my old friend, Lord Jesper.” Beron addressed his family. “And his wife, Lady Lillian.” He turned to you. “And their daughter, Lady Y/N – who will soon be joining our family.”

The words hit you like thrown knives, an icy cold settling through you. This was really happening – you were really here. You’d wasted the last year completely – utterly failed at trying to find any alternative to this gods-awful arrangement.

And now you were right in the lion’s den. Watching your future husband appraise you intensely like you were a fucking first-prize peach.

Dion stepped forward, bowing at the waist as he took your hand into his own. His lips were rough as he brushed them over the back of your palm. “A pleasure to finally have you here, Lady Y/N.”

You swallowed. Fought the urge to rip your hand away. Ground out the words you’d been taught to speak. “The pleasure is all mine.”

His eyes glinted as his mouth kicked up into a half-smile. “And may I say how wonderful you look?”

A snort came from behind him. You looked past him to find Eris not bothering to hide a laugh. Jareth and Rian echoed it, even with their mother quietly scolding them.

“Excuse my brothers’ poor manners.” Dion finally released your hand. “They go a couple of hours without being fed and completely forget themselves.”

“Then perhaps we should sit and eat.” Beron said, a slight sternness in his tone. “Lest we leave them to become any more feral. Barric–” He turned to the door, and there was his advisor – the male who had been in your house a year ago. “Kindly hunt down Lucien and have him join us.”

Eris was already striding to the long table, hands shoved casually into his pockets, as he called over his shoulder. “You’ll find him rutting with the horses in the stables, Barric.”

“Eris.” His mother hissed, her eyes swivelling to her husband. Her gaze was strangely…tentative, worried…as she studied his reaction.

But Beron, fortunately, was talking to your father once more. He took a seat at the head of the table, and only then did everyone else begin to sit.

“Allow me,” Dion appeared beside you as you reached for your chair. He pulled it out for you, his hand brushing your arm as you lowered yourself into it.

“Thank you.” You murmured, trying not to grit your teeth.

You hadn’t even been here an hour, and you already felt like screaming. Like your independence was floating away on a phantom wind, never to be seen again.

And yet all you could do was sit there, and look pretty.

⤲

“Your father told me you’re a keen reader.” Beron’s eyes focused on you an hour later, the vegetables on his plate billowing steam.

Beside you, Dion hummed in approval. “A very educated female, I hear.”

“I do like to read.” You nodded, taking a swig of wine from your glass. “When I have the time.”

Beron’s gaze was cold, assessing, as he gave an incredulous snort. “What would a noblewoman such as yourself be so busy with? I imagine you’ve plenty of time to devour romance novels and look beautiful while doing so.”

You levelled your eyes on him, a tight smile pulling at your lips. It was by no means the first comment he’d made that was an insult cloaked as a compliment – thus far, the table had been humming with purely male conversation whilst you, your mother and Beron’s wife ate your lunch in silence. From the way the High Lord looked at the three of you – and any passing female servants – with a curl of his lip, you knew precisely what low opinions he may have of you.

His strong distaste for the opposite sex seemed to make him forget that his youngest son hadn’t show up for the meal.

“I have many things that keep me busy, High Lord.” You said. “I’ve had much to do with the family business over the years – particularly running it by proxy to my absent male relatives.”

While my father gambled away our wealth, you didn’t add.

On your other side, your mother squeezed your knee beneath the table – a sign that you were dancing along the lines of a forbidden subject. There were things you’d been warned not to talk about. Ways you’d been warned not to behave.

Anything that would shatter the image of you being a pretty, simpering female without two brain cells to rub together.

You cleared your throat, tamping down on your irritation. Reminding yourself to breathe.

Reminding yourself why you were here, doing this.

Because there would be no more family business if you didn’t.

“My father is a very busy man.” You amended with another clearing of your throat. “So…it was my pleasure to carry some of that load for him.”

Beside you, Dion nodded in approval. “A sign of good virtue – don’t you think, father? To push societal expectations aside in the name of helping your kin.”

You almost snorted. You may have been used to the archaic ways of your court, but you were far from content with them. You’d never travelled to other courts, seen their ways and customs, but you’d heard of places in Prythian where males and females were treated equally. Where women weren’t just present to fuck and bear children.

“Quite.” Was all Beron responded, his tone dripping with distaste. “I’m sure Y/N can tell you all about how she keeps herself busy whilst you show her around the manor.”

Opposite you, Eris Vanserra snorted. You met his fiery stare – not for the first time over the past hour. The way he looked at you reminded you of a mischievous young boy…like he was sizing you up. Seeing you as an opponent in a game.

With a snap of the High Lord’s fingers, your half-eaten food – and all the other plates – disappeared from the table. Beron threaded his fingers together, turning to your father.

“How about a drink while the ladies take tea and my son shows your daughter around?” He suggested.

Your father dipped his chin like the High Lord had paid his debts then and there. “I’d be delighted.”

Beron’s steely gaze roved over Eris, Jareth and Rian. “Find something to keep you busy. And don’t bother them.” His eyes shot between you and Dion. “And if any of you happen to stumble upon Lucien, tell him I’d like a word.”

A clear dismissal. The scrape of chairs against the wooden floor echoed through the room as all four males stood up. You reluctantly followed.

Dion held an arm out to you, a winning smile on his lips. “Shall we?”

No, you wanted to say, we shan’t.

But you linked your arm through his like you were supposed to.

⤲

There couldn’t be a single part of the manor you hadn’t seen.

Besides the individual bedrooms of each household member, anyway.

But by the time Dion showed you to your bed suite, the sun was lowering in the sky and painting the entire estate in an ethereal glow of pinks and oranges.

You were…done-in. Exhausted. Your head pounding with a threatening headache. The history lesson that Dion had given you of the building hadn’t helped.

His company wasn’t so bad. He talked perhaps a bit too much, but he was easy enough to tune out. And that would have been fine, if you were merely visiting for a couple of days – even if you’d only come for the two weeks of Harvest celebrations.

But the knowledge lingered over your head like a knife to your throat.

This was your life now. Not just a fleeting visit.

Dion Vanserra was to be your husband.

After he’d showed you the ins and outs of the ridiculously large suite, you’d managed to get him to leave you alone under the ruse of freshening up – told him you’d meet back up with him downstairs, where the mood seemed decidedly more relaxed, thanks to the drinks your father and Beron had been knocking back for the past two hours. And with the other three – Eris, Jareth and Rian – joining them, you saw your opportunity for a bit of peace.

You’d waited until you were sure Dion had left you alone before you’d snuck out of your suite. You just…needed some time. Some fresh air. You tried to retrace the steps you’d taken as you strode down hallways, narrowly avoiding servants and staff.

Finally, the glass doors you’d entered through from the garden appeared. You exhaled a breath of relief, practically launching yourself into the cool, early-evening air. Even though Dion had taken you on a lap around the grounds, you wanted a chance to see it by yourself. To appreciate the plants and colours and smells without feeling like you had to make mindless conversation.

You breathed it in – that air of woodsmoke and earth – and allowed your feet to wander aimlessly. The staff still working in the grounds paid you no mind – and that felt glorious. Being…nobody. Unnoticed.

Because today was nothing, compared with what was to come. Tomorrow, the real hell would start. Tomorrow, families from all over the court would arrive for the festivities – your own sisters and their husbands included – and you would have to truly play the part that was expected of you. The blushing, blissful fiancee hanging off Dion Vanserra’s arm.

No – today had just been a formality. A chance to become awkwardly reintroduced before the true chaos swept in.

Your chest was tight and heavy as you stopped, finding that you’d wandered into the thick brush of trees that lined the estate. Their trunks were the largest you’d ever seen; great, towering bodies of redwood bark that must have been ancient, must have seen their fair share of things over the centuries. You imagined it was probably easy to get lost in here…to lose yourself for a while amongst the flawless nature. Imagined it would most definitely become a place of solace when you needed it.

You kicked through fallen leaves and pine needles, not caring how far you were wandering from the manor. Maybe you would go and go and not stop — keep pushing your tired body until you’d emerged on the other side of the forest where you could then run for freedom.

It was only the weight of responsibility that kept you from making that fantasy a reality.

But why did it have to be your responsibility? Why was it on you to barter your life, your freedom, away — to clear the messes your father had made?

The life of a quiet, blushing bride was never one you’d planned for yourself. It was no accidental thing that you were the only one of your sisters who hadn’t married. You’d certainly had offers, males showing interest over the years, but seeing all four of your sisters vow to obey their husbands — most pressingly your youngest sister — it had…it had made you cling to your freedom harder than ever. You wanted adventure, wanted to work. You wanted your thoughts and feelings to yourself without having to spare some of that emotion with a significant other.

Linden — your good, kind friend — was the only real connection you’d made with anybody. A world as brutal as the aristocracy had made you all too aware of how people behaved when they had money to cover up their mistakes. The husbands to the simpering wives rarely remained faithful — often taking as many lovers as they pleased while their wives at home bred children and behaved as they were expected. The people around you were ruthless, self-serving — and you didn’t want that for yourself. You didn’t want to waste your education and training on just being a wife, a mother.

Did that make you an inherently selfish person? You didn’t know. All you did know was that the free, single life you’d enjoyed for so long was gone. You had a role to play now.

And no choice in the matter — unless you were willing to watch your family fall.

The anger that had been rising in you grew so fast, you had no chance to fight it as you whipped a hand out, pummelling your fist into a tree. It didn’t do much to quell the emotion — didn’t do much beside making your hand sore, your knuckles bruising and splitting. But still, you punched and punched, allowing your anger to come full-throttle, biting down on the urge to scream—

“Has that tree personally affronted you?”

You did scream then, your entire body jerking around in the direction the voice had come from.

Leaning against the huge trunk of a tree, one leg tucked against his chest whilst the other was sprawled out before him — you could only assume it was the absent Vanserra brother. Lucien.

That much was obvious in the stark red of his hair, left unbound and flowing around his shoulders. His golden skin was a few shades darker than his brothers’ — perhaps touched by the sun — his russet eyes deeper, wilder.

He was the picture of grace and serenity as he perched there, bathed in the rays of evening sunlight. The white, billowing shirt he wore was rolled up at the sleeves, revealing golden arms of corded muscle. It had been untucked from his dark breeches and unbuttoned at the collar, teasing a flash of a sculpted chest beneath.

In one hand, he held a bent and battered book, clearly worn from having been read and reread multiple times. In the other, he twirled the stem of a fallen leaf between his fingers, the colour of it almost as bright as his hair.

Lucien Vanserra pressed his lips together, his eyes darting to your now-bloodied hand. “The lady has a temper, it would seem.”

Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck. You’d not even been here a full twenty-four hours, and you’d already let your mask slip, already shown a glimpse of the fiery thing that loomed beneath your pretty, pretty exterior.

You swallowed, tucking both hands behind your back. Had you failed already? You didn’t know what to say, how to explain—

Lucien seemed to read those thoughts. He snorted, his gaze flickering over you. “One afternoon of being my brother’s new plaything and you’re already losing it.”

Plaything? You gawked at him, all worry dissipating — making room for ire. “…Excuse me?”

The gorgeous male merely tilted his head. “You’re getting blood on that ridiculous dress.”

You could only blink — blink, and try not to turn your bloodied fist on him. Was he this rude to everyone? You moved your hand away from your skirts, your cheeks, for some reason, heating.

“Does Dion know his shiny new toy is out here picking fights with trees?”

“I came for some fresh air.” You finally snapped. “And I’ll thank you not to refer to me like that. I’m to be Dion’s wife.”

“Well.” Lucien’s answering smile was tight-lipped…mocking. “I’m not sure who I feel more sorry for – you or my brother.”

Never – never – in your one-hundred-and-thirty-one years of life had you ever come across somebody so unnecessarily rude. You couldn’t do a thing but gawk at the youngest Vanserra brother, completely lost for words.

Lucien straightened his legs out, closing his book. You quickly glimpsed the title – Poems and Sonnets Volume II. Not exactly what you’d been expecting.

“Is this where you’ve been hiding all afternoon?” You folded your arms over your chest. Didn’t even know why you were asking. “Your father sent his advisor to look for you”

“I know how to stay hidden.”

“You didn’t join us for lunch.” Why are you still talking to him, your mind asked. “Aren’t you…hungry?”

Lucien cocked an eyebrow. “The company tends to spoil my appetite.”

Your mouth fell open. Surely…surely he wasn’t talking about you? You’d not seen him for years. He was known to be the most absent of the Vanserras – the one that didn’t fit the mould. Which explained the flash of something dark in Beron’s eyes, his voice, when he’d briefly spoken of him.

“Sitting and gushing about my wealth and social standing with other wealthy, elite people isn’t really my bag.” He commented with a shrug. “More my brothers’ kind of thing – which is why I’m sure you and Dion will make a fine couple, lady.”

You almost snorted. If only he knew — knew how dwindling your family’s wealth truly was. Knew that you hated such a scene just as fiercely. It probably didn’t seem that way as you stood before him, dressed and made-up to look as expensive and perfect as possible. Like a doll. A prize.

You swallowed down your anger. “You know nothing about me.”

“And let’s keep it that way.” He picked his book back up, not even sparing you a glance as he said, “Can I return to reading now? Or do you plan to attack another tree?”

A harsh, rude dismissal. Lucien didn’t seem concerned by his cutting tone as his eyes began to scan the pages again. Like you weren’t even there.

You half wanted to chew him out, or kick a plume of pine needles in his face – but utterly stunned by his blatant hostility, and knowing Dion would come looking for you soon enough, you stared at him only a moment longer before turning back the way you came.

The last thing you’d needed, today of all days, was unkindness. Lucien Vanserra was an asshole.

So you couldn’t exactly explain why you glanced back over your shoulder – just to get another glimpse of him reading poems and sonnets under that tree.

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