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emjayewrites · 3 months

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Private Landing (Lewis Hamilton Fanfic)(1/?)

SUMMARY: In the high-speed world of Formula One, Lewis Hamilton subtly introduces a mysterious partner via Instagram after a slight mishap during an interview. Sparking media intrigue, everyone wants to know: who is the enigmatic figure that calls herself Mrs. Hamilton?

INSPO: this post

PAIRINGS: Sir Lewis Hamilton x Aurora "Rorie" Phillips-Hamilton (faceclaim is Justine Skye)

WARNINGS: drama, angst, sexual content, formula one b.s., pre-established relationship (with flashbacks). RATED M (18+)

TAGLIST: @queenshikongo3 @cocobutterqwueen @httpsserene @mauvecherie-writes @galatially @pausmoon @a-moment-captured @nikki01234 @yeea-nah @sirlew44 @melodichaeuxx-lacritquexx @weetjy @lewisroscoelove @hxneyclouds @questionable-behaviour @marzzrambles @lovebittenbyevans @tian-monique @alika-4466 @saintslewis

A/N: Please let me know if you want to be added/removed from the taglist. The headers/dividers are by @inklore

CHAPTER 1: Loose Lips, Sink Ships

Rorie was surrounded by the familiar hustle and bustle of her morning routine. Her 10-month-old son sat contently in his highchair as she carefully prepared his breakfast. The scent of freshly chopped fruit mixed with the soft hum of bubbling porridge on the stove, creating a cozy and comforting atmosphere. She turned off the heat with a smooth flick of her wrist and poured the thick mixture into a small bowl for her baby, gently blowing on it to cool it down.

At the sight of this, her son began to fuss and was on the verge of throwing a tantrum. His whimpers turned into soft cries and from his corner of the room, Roscoe trotted over to investigate the commotion.

"Just a minute, peanut," she cooed while stirring the cooling porridge, but like his father, her son was always impatient. Deciding that the porridge was ready, she spooned some freshly cut fruit into the bowl before sprinkling cinnamon on top and placing it in front of the fussy infant. "You and your Daddy need to work on that," she chuckled, speaking in a low, baby-like voice. "You're just like him, aren't you?"

Rorie's son, with his chubby cheeks and bright brown eyes, looked nearly identical to his father. The resemblance was uncanny, from his curly hair plaited in baby braids to the mischievous glimmer in his eyes when he was up to something. Yet, there was one striking difference that set him apart – his skin color matched Rorie's, which was a deep sable.

She couldn't help but marvel at how the little one inherited both her nurturing determination and Lewis' unwavering impatience. It was as if their contrasting qualities were interwoven seamlessly in their child's very being. She watched as tiny hands reached out for the bowl of porridge, smearing it across his chubby cheeks and button nose. Roscoe edged closer with his wagging short tail, hoping for a taste of the gooey treat.

"Don't even think about it, Roscoe," Rorie warned with a playful scowl. "This is for baby boy only."

Roscoe gave her a sly look, tilting his head to the side as if considering whether or not to listen. But ultimately, he let out a soft whine and plopped down on his haunches.

Glancing up at the television mounted in their cozy kitchen nook, Rorie spotted her husband, Lewis. Her stomach tightened with a familiar mix of excitement and nerves as she watched him being interviewed. With practiced skill, he deflected questions about their personal life and redirected the focus to his upcoming race.

One reporter called out to Lewis, "Can you address the rumors about your family?"

Another chimed in, "You've mentioned having a wife and kids before. Can you tell us more about them?"

Lewis' smile faltered for a moment, but he quickly regained his composure. "My priority right now is winning this race," he stated confidently, his voice cutting through the clamor of voices. "That's all I'm focused on."

As a public figure, Lewis was well aware that every aspect of his life was under intense scrutiny from the media. Despite this, he always held on to the importance of keeping certain aspects private - especially when it came to his family. He had never mentioned them in interviews, until one slip-up after the Miami Grand Prix.

The public was taken aback when they discovered he was married, and even more so when he posted an anniversary message for his wife on Instagram. His media and talent manager, Penni Thow, felt it was necessary to give the public a glimpse into his personal life before things escalated further. Though it went against his principles, the plan proved successful - yet now it seemed like everyone was invested in him and his family, leaving Lewis and Rorie unsure of how to handle it all.

As luck would have it, their home was only a few miles away from Lewis and the drive to the main street where the Monaco Grand Prix took place was less than five minutes. As she gathered their son's belongings for their visit to the paddock, Rorie couldn't shake off a feeling of unease. It wasn't that she didn't enjoy spending time with Lewis, quite the opposite in fact, yet with all the media attention on their family now, she did not enjoy the feeling of being under a microscope.

Rorie finished feeding their son and cleaned up his messy face then she got herself ready before walking to her car. She strapped their son into his car seat and loaded up the stroller and diaper bag before heading out to meet Lewis. As she drove through the winding roads of Monaco, Rorie marveled at how different her life was now compared to just a few short years ago.

Growing up in a small town in Pennsylvania, Rorie never imagined herself marrying an F1 driver and living a jet-setting lifestyle. But after meeting Lewis at a bar in New York City, things changed quickly for her. She had been enjoying a drink after a stressful business meeting when they crossed paths. They hit it off immediately and before long, she found herself whisked away to Monaco where Lewis was based.

As she pulled into the paddock entrance, Rorie tried to push aside her anxiety and focus on enjoying the day with her husband and son. After parking her car, she unloaded everything and headed towards Lewis' team's hospitality area.

His dark hair, styled in his usual signature braids, caught her attention immediately as she scanned the group. His piercings and tattoos were on full display, and he seemed relaxed and confident surrounded by his team, discussing cars and racing strategies. Her smile widened as their eyes met, causing him to pause briefly in conversation with George and Toto. The other two men turned to look at her as well, but Rorie couldn't make out Toto's words from the distance.

With about an hour before the race, she knew Lewis needed a break to calm his nerves. This was nothing new for her; discreetly slipping away, Rorie headed towards Lewis' motorhome. To anyone else, she would have appeared like any other attendee, dressed casually in jeans and a knit bodysuit top. She never wanted to draw attention to herself when attending Lewis' races, but secretly she longed to be front and center in the pit area cheering him on like any other WAG. However, until she felt ready for that kind of exposure, this was how she preferred things.

Lewis respected their decision to keep their son out of the public eye, but when it came to Rorie? He wanted to shout his love for her from the rooftops. Yet he could never be upset with her desire for a quiet life, and he respected her decision. But when the time came and Rorie was ready for more, his fans would be inundated with posts about her day and night - that much was certain.

Minutes after Rorie, Lewis entered the motorhome. "Hey gorgeous," Lewis greeted with a warm smile. "You made it just in time."

Rorie smiled back at her husband, enjoying this brief moment of tranquility before the race began. "Hey yourself," she responded, leaning in for a kiss.

"How was the drive?" Lewis asked as he pulled her into a hug.

"Not too bad," Rorie shrugged as they settled on the couch. "Traffic wasn't too terrible."

"Good," Lewis nodded as Rorie handed him their son, who cooed happily at seeing his father after being away due to his busy racing schedule. "Hey, little man," he cooed at his mini-me. "How's my boy? How're you, Lyric?"

Lyric giggled and reached for Lewis' braided hair, causing both parents to laugh. Lyric Apollo was the apple of his parents' eye and he knew it. Despite their busy lives, they always made time for their son and he was always surrounded by love.

Rorie couldn't help but admire the sight in front of her. Her two boys, both with their matching dimpled smiles and hair, looked content and happy together. It was a scene she never thought she'd have the privilege of witnessing, but here they were.

"Can you believe how big he's getting?" Lewis said proudly as he bounced Lyric on his lap.

Rorie smiled fondly at them. "I know, right? It feels like just yesterday we were bringing him home from the hospital."

Lewis kissed Lyric's forehead before turning to Rorie with a mischievous grin. "Remember how scared we were? We had no idea what we were doing."

Rorie rolled her eyes playfully. "Speak for yourself; I had it all under control."

"Oh really?" Lewis raised an eyebrow in jest.

"Yeah," Rorie replied assuredly. "I mean, I did read every parenting book out there."

Lewis chuckled at her response before leaning in to kiss her cheek. "You're amazing," he whispered. "I wish I could spend more time with you guys, but the race season is just so hectic."

"I know," Rorie replied with a hint of sadness in her voice. She understood that racing was Lewis' passion and career, but she couldn't help feeling a bit lonely when he was away.

Lewis sighed and looked into Rorie's eyes. "Hey, don't worry about it too much," he reassured her. "After this race, we have a few days off before the next one. We can plan something fun for our little family then."

Rorie smiled at his words and leaned in for another kiss.

The sound of an alarm suddenly broke the peaceful moment as Lewis' timer informed him that it was almost time to head out for the grid.

"It happens all the time," he joked, taking out his phone to turn off the annoying shrill. Lewis handed Lyric back to Rorie before getting up from the couch where they had been sitting.

"Good luck out there today," Rorie said with a loving smile as she stood up as well.

"Thanks, babe," Lewis replied. "I'll see you after the race."

"Go kick some ass," Rorie said with a playful smirk.

"I will," he responded confidently. "Oh, Miles is here with Spinz if you want to head up to the paddock club."

"Do you really think I should go, Lewis?" asked a worried Rorie. "You know how chaotic it's been lately."

"There are no reporters up there and you know all the back entrances to be discreet," he reassured her. He took a step closer to her and let out a sigh. "I just want you to have some fun and enjoy yourself for a little while, okay? And Nina is coming, right?"

Nina was their nanny. Rorie nodded. "Yeah, she should be here any minute."

"Great, so just relax, have some drinks, and do whatever you want," he encouraged her. "Let your hair down. You've been taking excellent care of Lyric, Roscoe, and me, but mummy needs some time for herself too."

Rorie smiled at Lewis' words, knowing she needed to take some time for herself and have a little fun. It had been a while since she had the chance to let loose.

He kissed her on the lips before bidding her farewell.

Soon after, Nina arrived and Rorie smiled warmly as she handed over Lyric to her. As the Hamilton family's trusted nanny since Lyric was just a few months old, Nina was an older woman with wiry gray hair neatly tied up in a bun. Her olive skin was flawless and her bright blue eyes exuded warmth and compassion. She spoke with a soothing French accent, her words gentle and affectionate towards Lyric, like a sweet lullaby.

"Has he taken his nap?" asked Nina eagerly.

"No, but I've changed and fed him, so he's definitely tired," Rorie informed her. "I'm heading out now, please call if—"

"We'll manage just fine, Aurora," Nina interrupted.

"Merci." Rorie smiled gratefully at Nina before heading out to the paddock club. As she entered, the noise and energy of the crowd hit her. She felt a little overwhelmed, but also excited to be in this exclusive area where only sponsors and VIP guests were allowed. She made her way upstairs to the terrace, keeping an eye out for Miles and Spinz. It didn't take long for her to spot them at a table near the bar.

"Hey Rorie!" Miles called out as he noticed her approaching.

"Hi guys," Rorie said with a smile as she joined them at the table. "Thanks for inviting me to join y'all."

"You know we always got your back," Spinz said with a grin before taking a sip of his drink.

Rorie thanked him as she took a seat next to Miles. "When did you get here, Miles?"

"I got here yesterday afternoon," Miles answered in his British lilt, his brown eyes sparkling with excitement. He was dressed in a crisp white shirt and a tailored pink suit. "I would've swung by, but I figured you guys were sleeping by the time I was free. I had to handle some things before spending some time with Lew."

Rorie shook her head with a chuckle. "Yeah, we were probably in bed by then."

"Right, because taking care of a toddler is so easy," Spinz joked, earning a playful punch from her.

"I'm just glad you guys are here," she said sincerely. "It's nice to have some familiar faces in this sea of strangers."

"We wouldn't miss this for the world," Miles said with a grin. "You know we got to support our bro."

Rorie found herself having a great time with Miles and Spinz. She sipped on a glass of champagne, enjoying the cool breeze and the stunning views of the racetrack below.

"How's our nephew doing?" Miles suddenly asked, breaking the comfortable silence between them. "I saw some pictures of him and I swear to God he looks more and more like Lew every single day. That baby stole his whole face."

Rorie couldn't help but smile at Miles' words. "He's doing great," she said proudly. "Growing so fast, just like you said he would."

"I can't wait to see him again," Spinz chimed in. "Is he going to be 'round later?"

"Yes," Rorie replied, "if he's not asleep by then, of course."

"How is Lew handling being away from him?" Miles asked with concern.

"It's been tough for both of us," Rorie confessed, taking another sip of her drink. "But we make it work with video calls every night before bedtime."

Rorie couldn't help but feel grateful for their friends, who had always been there and supported her and Lewis through thick and thin.

Rorie politely excused herself to take a call from Nina, regarding Lyric. It was nothing serious, just a minor issue that needed immediate attention. Lost in her thoughts, Rorie was unaware of the figure approaching her until a deep, melodious voice broke through her reverie. Startled, she turned to find herself face-to-face with a captivating stranger. He had tall, broad shoulders that spoke of strength and confidence, and his deep brown eyes sparkled like pools of melted chocolate below a mess of messy curls.

The stranger approached Rorie with a charming smile, his voice smooth and polished like silk. "Excuse me, miss," he said, his eyes fixed on her from across the terrace. "I couldn't help but notice you. What's a gorgeous woman like yourself doing all alone?"

Rorie offered him a polite smile, but inside she was already feeling uncomfortable. "Thank you for the compliment, but I'm not available for conversation right now."

Undeterred, the stranger leaned against the railing and continued to gaze at Rorie. "Ah, I see. Well, I must say, I usually don't take 'no' for an answer."

She thought it was weird and creepy for him to say that. Rorie's smile faltered, her façade starting to wear thin as she looked around for someone to save her from this persistent stranger.

Just when she was about to make a quick exit, Miles arrived, bringing a sense of relief with him. Rorie felt a wave of gratitude wash over her as he approached.

"Hey man," Miles greeted the stranger with a friendly tone, but also a hint of suspicion. "Do we know you?"

The stranger straightened up and maintained his confident smile. "I don't believe we've met," he replied smoothly before extending his hand towards Miles. "My name is Alexander."

Miles shook his hand cautiously before turning to Rorie with questioning eyes. She shook her head slightly, indicating that she also did not know this man.

"Well, it's nice to meet you, Alexander," Miles said politely. "But as you can see, the lady wants to be left alone."

Alexander's smile faltered at Miles' firm tone, but he quickly recovered. "My apologies," he said smoothly. "I simply couldn't resist."

Rorie rolled her eyes at Alexander's persistence and had no interest in entertaining him any longer.

"Excuse us." She looped her arm with Miles' and he led her away.

Once they were out of earshot, Miles turned to Rorie with a concerned expression. "Are you okay?" he asked quietly.

Rorie let out a sigh of relief and leaned against the railing next to him. "Yeah, I'm fine," she replied with a small smile. "Thanks for coming when you did."

Miles nodded understandingly and gave her an apologetic look. "Sorry I couldn't get here sooner," he said regretfully.

"No worries," she assured him. "You were here when it mattered most. Besides, I can handle myself. But seriously, who was that guy?"

Miles shook his head. "No clue. Never seen him before. But he gave off a weird vibe, didn't he?"

Rorie nodded, her mind still reeling from the encounter. "Definitely. It's like he appeared out of nowhere and just wouldn't take no for an answer."

Despite his disappointment after losing the race, Lewis was determined to let go of his frustration and attend Justin and Hailey Bieber's yacht afterparty. Rorie sent a text to Nina, asking her to take Lyric home, and joined Lewis at the party. Though he couldn't shake off the thought of finishing in fourth place, Lewis stayed positive when he was with his wife.

The afterparty was in full swing when Rorie and Lewis arrived. The music was blaring and the yacht was packed with people dancing, drinking, and mingling.

She followed Lewis as he made his way through the crowd, greeting familiar faces and introducing his wife to new ones.

They made their way to the bar, where Lewis ordered her a drink while Rorie took in their surroundings. The party was filled with models, actors, and other high-profile individuals. It was clear that Justin and Hailey Bieber's connections ran deep.

She sipped on her martini as she noticed Justin making his way towards them with Hailey by his side. Justin and his wife Hailey, close friends of the couple, greeted Lewis and Rorie with warm embraces. "Hey man, sorry 'bout the race," Justin said sympathetically before turning to Rorie. "Hey Rorie, how's it going?"

Rorie smiled back at him. "I'm doing well, thanks for asking."

"Good to hear," Justin replied eagerly. "We should definitely catch up tonight, it's been too long since we've seen you guys."

Hailey chimed in from beside her husband, her eyes lighting up. "Yes, let's celebrate! How about coming back to our place for an after-after party?"

Rorie glanced at Lewis uncertainly, but he shrugged nonchalantly. "Sounds like a plan," he said with a grin.

"Lyric's with the nanny anyways, so we're good," she added.

Hailey's smile widened at the mention of their son. "I can't believe he's almost one already!"

"Time flies," laughed Rorie. "He's doing great, trying to walk and getting into everything at home."

Both Lewis and Rorie had a good time hanging out with their friends, which was a rarity since becoming parents. Whilst Lewis stayed sober, Rorie had the time of her life and was feeling the effects of consuming too much alcohol. They made their way home at around three in the morning and Lewis slowly lead his beautiful intoxicated wife inside their home.

She managed to not bump into anything until she tripped over her own two feet as she took a step down into the sunken living room, exploding into fits of giggles as she landed onto the rug-covered floor with a thud.

"Fuck, are you okay, love?" Lewis questioned, suppressing his laughs. He instantly made his way to her to help her stand. "C'mon, let's get you some water and into bed."

"Are you trying to seduce me?" chortled Rorie as Lewis walked her into the kitchen. "That's how we became pregnant last time, 'member? You got me drunk one night and then...poof...pregnant."

He settled her at the kitchen nook as he filled a glass with water. Rolling his eyes in mock annoyance, he let out a scoff. "It didn't happen like that, baby."

"Mmmhmm," she added with a small hiccup.

"Come on, come on, let's hydrate you," said Lewis as he held a glass of water to her lips.

Lewis helped Rorie drink the water and then led her into their bedroom. He helped her change into her pajamas and tucked her into bed. She let out a content sigh as she snuggled under the covers.

"You know, I think I might still be a little tipsy," she slurred with a sleepy smile.

"I have no doubt about that," Lewis chuckled as he stripped down to his boxer briefs and slid into bed next to her. "But it's okay, you had a good time tonight."

Rorie snuggled closer to him, feeling warm and happy. "I did. I miss hanging out with our friends like this."

"We'll have to do it more often," promised Lewis, kissing her forehead.

"I love you," murmured Rorie, already starting to drift off to sleep.

"I love you too," whispered Lewis, wrapping his arms around her and pulling her closer as they both fell asleep.

The next morning, Rorie woke up with a slight headache but overall feeling okay. She smiled as she remembered the fun night they had with their friends. She turned over in bed and was greeted by Lewis' sleeping face.

He looked so peaceful and handsome, even in his sleep. She traced his jawline lightly with her fingers before planting a soft kiss on his lips.

"Mmm, good morning," he mumbled against her lips before opening his eyes.

"Good morning indeed," giggled Rorie.

"How are you feeling?" asked Lewis, sitting up slightly and rubbing his eyes.

"Surprisingly not too bad," replied Rorie. "I guess drinking lots of water last night helped."

"Well, that's good to hear." Lewis leaned in for another kiss before getting out of bed to start the day.

As they went about their morning routine of getting dressed and making breakfast together as a family, they chatted about their plans for the day. Rorie suggested taking their son to the park for some quality family time, and Lewis eagerly agreed.

They sat down at the breakfast table, ready to enjoy a delicious homemade meal of fluffy vegan pancakes, fresh fruit, and freshly squeezed orange juice. Lyric sat in his mother's lap, chewing happily as Rorie fed him.

Just as they were about to dig into their mouthwatering breakfast, a familiar ringtone broke the tranquility of the morning. Penni's name flashed on Lewis' phone screen. With a sigh, he picked up the call and put it on speaker.

"Hey, Penni," Lewis greeted, trying to sound nonchalant. "What's up?"

"Morning, lovebirds," Penni sang. "I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but a tabloid got hold of a picture from last night at the Bieber yacht party, and they're planning to post it online by early afternoon."

Rorie's fork clattered onto her plate, her eyes widening in surprise. Lewis felt his heart sink.

"Are you fucking serious?" Rorie exclaimed, frustration evident in her voice.

"I wish I was kidding," replied Penni. "But the paparazzi are ruthless, and they're always on the lookout for anything that would make them money."

"The picture showed up on their radar and now they're going to exploit it," added Lewis, feeling a mix of anger and helplessness.

"What are we going to do?" asked Rorie, her mind racing with possible solutions.

"We could try to get ahead of the story and release a picture ourselves," suggested Penni. "But we have to act fast before it goes viral. I hate to ask this again but—"

"Penni, we can't keep playing this tit-for-tat game with them," Lewis argued. "I'm tired of putting my family in this bullshit."

"It's just me, right?" piped Rorie.

"Yes," answered Penni. "We've been scrubbing the Internet and there's no pictures of Lyric. There are actually laws in place that protect his privacy against the media. Unfortunately, it's a different story for adults. I suggest maybe a recent photo and a cute caption."

"Until how long though?" grumbled Lewis. "This is a never-ending situation unless we...goodness I can't believe I'm even thinking of this."

"What's going on, Lewis?" Penni couldn't help but wonder what was happening.

Rorie, on the other hand, immediately understood the situation. She and her husband had always been in sync, and this time was no different. It could be seen as a blessing or a curse, but they had a certain synergy about them.

"You can't keep me hidden forever, honey," she said in a soft voice. "We knew this would happen sooner rather than later. I have to go public now, unfortunately."

After five years of avoiding the limelight and the constant intrusion of paparazzi, Rorie finally had to make her debut into the world of celebrity. Hopefully, everyone would calm down soon, but she couldn't trust the media too much. While she did have an Instagram presence, it was small compared to her husband's and was set to private, but all of that had to change now. It was a sacrifice she was willing to make for her family. Rorie wasn't exactly shy - if anything, she exuded cool confidence - but that didn't mean she enjoyed being in the spotlight. But it was something she had to come to accept.

"Fine," Lewis reluctantly agreed. "Just give us ten minutes, Penni, and we'll post it."

Even though he wanted to show off his beautiful wife all over social media, he didn't want it to happen like this - he wanted Rorie to decide on her own terms without any pressure.

"Are you sure, baby?"

"Yes," Rorie affirmed. "I mean, what else are we going to do?"

TO BE CONTINUED...

#sir lewis hamilton #lewis hamilton #lewis hamilton fanfic #lewis hamilton x black!reader #sir lewis hamilton x black!reader #lewis hamilton fanfiction #lewis hamilton x black! oc #formula one fanfiction #f1 fanfic #formula 1 fanfic #private landing

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violettduchess · 9 months

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A/N: This fic fulfills one anon request from my 1k First Kiss Event as well as the request for a fic with one of the new princes! 💜

This was written in July 2023 before ANYTHING was known about the princes other than the name of their country and the climate.

Achroite Prince x f! reader

This is also for my Snow, Sand and Sakura event with the talented @dear-mrs-otome ❄

WC: ~2100

Barbaric, you think as you march through the gray stone halls of the castle, pulling your fur cloak tighter around your body. It's as white as the snow that caps the Achroite mountain peaks and so soft it pains you just a little whenever you remove it.

You burst out from the wooden door that leads to the battlements, the sunshine near blinding and the cold air stinging your flushed face. Blinking against the shock, you welcome it, hoping it will temper some of the hot anger that churns through your veins. Before you, a sight that still takes your breath away: the jagged beauty of the Achroite mountains stretching out in either direction, endless as the sea. You flatten your palms against the icy stone ramparts, cooling the wind-blown embers of anger that are tunneling their way through you.

The sound of heavy boots approaching breaks the quiet.

You don’t even wait for him to speak. Instead you spin around, meeting his silvery gaze head-on.

“That is horrific.”

He comes to a stop in front of you, as tall and broad as the mountains in the background. His hair, pale as bone, is braided away from his face, the rest spilling over his powerful shoulders and broad back, both of which are emphasized by the fall of his dark sable fur cloak. His handsome face, with its hard lines and chiseled cheekbones, is dusted with dark stubble which does nothing to hide the tense set of his jaw.

“It is our way. The woman stole. She loses a finger. The punishment fits the crime.” His voice is as hard and unyielding as the stone of his impressive mountain castle. And just as cold.

You shake your head angrily at his words.

“Her child was going hungry. Surely there is room for empathy.”

His sword-hardened, calloused fingers curl inward for a moment, the only sign your words upset him.

“Would you prefer we separate her from her child by throwing her in a jail cell as is custom in your country, Rosebud?”

That nickname sends a river of aggravated sparks rushing down your spin. You stand your ground.

“It is cruel and it is barbaric.”

He holds your gaze, silent as the cold daylight that falls upon you both. The moment stretches out slowly as your heart beats a rapid tempo in your chest, but neither of you look away. You are holding him as captive as he is you, gazes locked like antlered beasts in combat.

He finally speaks, breaking the thick silence.

“You are very opinionated and speak your mind whenever you like. These are not good qualities for an ambassador.”

The truth of his words feels like an anchor sinking through the churning sea of your stomach and you have to swallow at the sudden lump in your throat. Chevalier claimed he had sent you of all people here because of your honesty and intelligence. But maybe….he has finally made a mistake.

The snow prince continues, his words measured. “But they are the qualities of a strong heart.” He assesses you with those cool storm-colored eyes and you are reminded of the ancient myth of the God who judges the weight of a person’s soul against a feather.

He nods once, a decision made.

“You will tell your king we are open to negotiations.”

And then he is gone, turning on the heel of his black boot and heading back inside, leaving you alone and speechless.

Never would you have imagined the great hall, a place that had first struck you as cold and impersonal, could seem so warm. The glow of the massive wrought-iron chandelier changes the stern stone of the walls and floor into something welcoming, something almost comforting. The candles bathe the room in a softness you have never seen before.

Enjoy this, you tell yourself. Because morning is coming. Morning always comes, no matter what story the night has written. And tomorrow's morning will bring you home, back to the soft, lush gardens and elegant spires of Rhodolite.

Drawing a breath, you run your hands over the soft white velvet of your gown. The tailor in Rhodolite had truly created a wonder. A dress as pure as freshly-fallen snow, embroidered with deep red roses along the bodice and trimmed with fine gray fur. A perfect blend of both countries. You’ve even styled your hair in the Achroite custom: loose and falling freely behind you. It almost feels scandalous. Back home, in public, hair is controlled by pins and plaits, buns and braids. But here? It brushes the back of your neck and grazes your cheeks with the intimacy of a caress.

“Does this meet your standards?”

You turn at the sound of his voice, a low bass below the music of the partygoers’ chattering, the metallic clinking of bronze mugs holding sweet mead, the incidental laughter that shoots up above the din like a cymbal crash.

“It’s…..amazing.”

You mean it. He sees the sincerity in your expression as you take in the hall, the open smile you wear without even a thought of concealing it. The warmth of the candlelight is reflected back to him in the gloss of your hair, the brightness of your eyes. He finds he must look away, unnerved by the odd tightening sensation in his neck, like a hand grabbing him by the throat and forcing him to admit that the sight of you, draped in his country’s colors, enchanted by his castle’s celebration, moves him.

He is saved from his own distracting thoughts by the sounds of the stringed instruments warming up. As if on cue, the crowd begins arranging themselves into two lines, facing each other. The Prince nods once, offering you his arm. You accept, placing a hand on his raised forearm and you’re struck by the thought that this is the first time you have ever touched him. Upon arrival his greeting had been a stiff bow and a scowl. Now, the feel of his supple leather tunic, embossed with striking silver filigree, embeds itself into your mind. Something that is usually so rough imbued with such surprising softness....

You take your place at the end of one line and he stands across from you. The first few notes ring out across an excited crowd. The two lines bow to each other and the dance begins. It starts as slow as the Rhodolite rondels you are familiar with. You weave your way from partner to partner, palms touching briefly before you spin and move on to the next. Joy bubbles up inside you, sunshine spilling across your face as if you were standing on a hill on the brightest of summer days. Your gown twirls along with you and for a moment, you are nothing but pure light, flickering from here to there, shining on each dance partner for a moment and then blinking to the next.

Then you are suddenly facing him, his cool gaze meeting yours. Your breath catches in your lungs, your heart fluttering like a hummingbird’s wings as you slowly raise your hand and press your palm to his. His skin is warmer than you would have ever expected. Your gazes lock once again, a similar version of your earlier combative stand-off. Except now instead of feeling the hard edges of anger and injustice, there is a different heat that burns through you. This is softer. Warmer. And perhaps, even more alarming.

The dance shifts and the dance partners draw closer to one another. One large hand settles on your waist, brushing against the crimson roses embroidered there. Will they catch fire at his touch? He pulls you in, the moon whispering to the tide. His arms feel like an unspoken promise, his eyes flicker like light in a gray fog. There is something there, something just beyond the haze. You step closer involuntarily as the room slowly spins, wanting to see what lies just beyond the unknown.

But the music ends, the final notes drifting to the rafters like smoke, and the dancers break into applause and laughter, scattering the moment. He steps away from you, shaking his head as if forcing himself awake from a dream. You feel the need for air yourself.

Words tumble from your lips, a jumbled apology and you don’t wait for his response. You turn, gathering your velvet skirts and you head for the sanctuary of the battlements once again, your slippered feet whispering over the stone steps as you make your way to the familiar wooden door.

Tonight there is a guard outside who nods to you when you burst through. You manage a nod in return before you begin walking briskly to the left. The walls are lined with sconces that throw warm, wavering firelight along the walkway so you are able to see, despite the deep obsidian of the night sky. You stop after you feel there is enough distance between you and the hall, breathing in the cold air, once again bracing yourself on the icy stone of the wall. The mountains are dark, jagged outlines that cut their way across the diamond-studded heavens.

Achroite makes you feel so very small in the face of such enormity. Who are you to these mountains, these giants of time? A speck, a brief fizzle of light that burns and fades like the embers of a dying fire.

This time when you hear his footfall, you don’t turn to look at him. Your gaze remains fixed on the enormity of the starry sky, the snow-capped peaks of the mountains.

“It’s so beautiful.” Your voice is hushed in the still of the night. The castle’s thick walls keep the sounds of the celebration entirely to itself.

“It is.”

Something in his voice draws your attention away from the dark peaks and argent starlight. He isn’t taking in the view. He’s staring straight at you. You feel like you are teetering on the edge of the very battlement you are leaning on, like the stone under your hands may simply vanish and send you free-falling into the darkness below.

Safety. You need to return to safety. Pushing away from the wall, you begin to walk. He falls into step beside you where you continue in silence for several seconds until he clears his throat.

“Will you miss this place when you return home?”

You grasp the question like a lifeline. It is secure. It will give you respite from the dizzying feelings of your clamorous heart.

“I won’t miss the yak milk.”

And then, unexpectedly, he laughs. A short sound but a laugh all the same. It's warm as midday, as rich as dark chocolate, and it pierces you as surely as a fire-tipped arrow. Your heart staggers in your chest, your lungs falter in their ability to breathe.

“Come on, Rosebud, it’s not that bad.” This time the nickname sends sparks of a different kind bubbling through you.

Somehow you find words to reply, despite the echo of his alluring laughter in your ears.

“Oh it is that bad. But….” You stop walking and he stops too, standing before you. “But….there are…..some things…that I’ll miss.”

Your voice is quiet but in the calm of the late hour it reaches him loudly as an echo from the mountain themselves.

He reaches out, placing one finger under your chin and tilts your face upwards so he can see you, your face illuminated by the wan firelight of a nearby sconce. It is enough for him to see the glint of hope in the brightness of your eyes, the slight tremble of your lower lip as he brushes his thumb over it, unable to resist the petal-like softness they promise.

This is dangerous business. He should turn, right now. Temper his desire, wrap his heart in cold steel and leave you, you with your bewitching eyes and sharp mind and skin warm as summer’s kiss. He should be the Snow Prince, the man with ice in his veins that all know him to be.

He should.

And yet…….the blood that flows through his veins is not ice. It is roiling with heat, an avalanche of want tumbling through him in a way he has never felt before. Never has anyone had this effect on him. Ice and steel are no match for the blazing light of your gaze. His name escapes those lips, the place his thumb still lingers, your breath heated against his skin.

Control shatters like ice against stone and for the second time that night he pulls you to him. The moment he kisses you, your heart loses its balance and spirals into a wild freefall, plunging down into the gray unknown. All you can do is wrap your arms around him, clinging to his strong frame to keep yourself from buckling under the weight of the longing that floods you. You now know what you saw flickering in the soft fog of his gaze: a wildfire of desire that you and only you sparked.

And you welcome it. With the mountains and night sky as witnesses, you welcome all of it with the press of your fingers, the parting of your lips, the gasp of your breath.

You may only be a speck, a brief fizzle of light. But tonight, you are going to burn as brightly, as furiously, as fiercely as you can.

Morning be damned.

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