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rainbowfic2023-04-30 11:17 pm
shadowsong26) wrote in rainbowfic2023-04-30 11:17 pm
Halloween Orange #6, Color of the Day
Name: shadowsong26
Story: Stakes
'Verse: Untitled Intrigues Story
Colors: Halloween Orange #6. By the time you see the patterns, it's a hundred times too late., Color of the Day (Reboant)
Supplies and Materials: eraser (Royal Bastards AU), calendar (honesty day), pastels (Year of the OTP Event: April prompt, canon divergence), glue ("Fears may be dramatized. Catastrophizing any action that you take is a pitfall for you now, with you coming up with dreary future consequences that might happen, branching off of small mistakes made in the present. It's easier to see the potential negative outcomes from your actions than the positive ones, but taking no action isn't going to bring you the future you want either.")
Word Count: 661
Rating: PG-13
Characters: Larien, Metanrye
Warnings: Adultery/cheating; discussion of the use of sex as currency
Notes: Constructive criticism welcome, as always. This is an AU where Larien was already married (to seal a treaty) when he and Metanrye met.
He kissed her, in the gallery, and in that moment, she knew he was as lost as she was.
She had felt--things, felt him drawing her in, like a moth to a flame, from the moment she’d been presented to him and Princess Tsimany weeks ago. But Prince Larien was careful, and until their paths had crossed, tonight, alone, here in the gallery, she hadn’t been sure…
She hadn’t been sure if it was only her.
It might have been easier if it was.
It might have felt less like a betrayal.
He pulled away after either a second that felt eternal, or an eternity that was far too brief, one gloved hand raising to his mouth.
“…do you want me to go?” she asked. And she meant--do you want me to leave.
Part of her wanted him to say yes. It would be the smart thing to do. And she could do it, even if it hurt terribly in the short run. Put some distance between them, and she could come back in a few years, build a proper Court career for herself, perhaps even be a normal mistress for him someday; and whatever this…this thing between them was…
But, gods damn it all, she could still taste him on her lips, and the last thing she wanted was to give that up. To give him up.
It would hardly be unusual. Even if Tsimany might not expect it the same way someone born and raised here--there was only so far a transplanted flower could adapt--she had to know by now that whispers across a pillow were a part of how things were done in Elanhe. That, while Larien would never ask his wife to do anything she was uncomfortable with, he would never--could never--be entirely physically faithful. Not if he was to be King someday.
And if she didn’t learn to at least accept the way the game was played, Tsimany would never survive here as Queen.
But this…
Gods.
This was so much more than a game. Or the stakes were so much higher than simply politics.
And--damn it, she liked Tsimany. The Princess was beautiful, and clever, and brilliantly educated, and above all she was kind. Perhaps too kind for a place like this, but Metanrye thought she could adapt enough. Neither lose herself nor drown in it.
Larien still hadn’t answered. He was half-turned away from her, hand still resting on his lips, face half in shadow.
He can’t say it. Gods, he can’t…
Metanrye knew, as much as she knew she was alive, and that the sun rose in the east, and that the gods existed somewhere on their Pillars, that she would do absolutely anything he asked.
Even if he couldn’t find the words to ask it.
She bowed her head, and swept him a very correct curtsy, and turned to go.
Something caught her skirt.
She turned.
Larien pulled his hand back.
“No,” he said, softly; but his eyes were clear as they rested on her face. He hesitated a moment, and took a step towards her.
“No?”
“No.” He was close enough to touch, and he reached out again, resting his hands lightly, so lightly, on her chin.
She could smell the leather of his gloves, and she closed her eyes.
She felt him lean in, tilt her head just a hair, and then the feather-light touch of his lips on hers.
“Don’t leave,” he whispered into her mouth.
She nodded; he drew back; she heard his footsteps moving quickly away.
She stayed there for a moment, eyes closed, willing it to last a little longer. The joy in knowing she wasn’t--and, gods, the exquisite pain of it.
It was worth the stakes she would have to play for now.
It was worth…everything.
When she finally opened her eyes, steadied herself, continued on her way, the taste of him still lingered in her mouth.
Story: Stakes
'Verse: Untitled Intrigues Story
Colors: Halloween Orange #6. By the time you see the patterns, it's a hundred times too late., Color of the Day (Reboant)
Supplies and Materials: eraser (Royal Bastards AU), calendar (honesty day), pastels (Year of the OTP Event: April prompt, canon divergence), glue ("Fears may be dramatized. Catastrophizing any action that you take is a pitfall for you now, with you coming up with dreary future consequences that might happen, branching off of small mistakes made in the present. It's easier to see the potential negative outcomes from your actions than the positive ones, but taking no action isn't going to bring you the future you want either.")
Word Count: 661
Rating: PG-13
Characters: Larien, Metanrye
Warnings: Adultery/cheating; discussion of the use of sex as currency
Notes: Constructive criticism welcome, as always. This is an AU where Larien was already married (to seal a treaty) when he and Metanrye met.
He kissed her, in the gallery, and in that moment, she knew he was as lost as she was.
She had felt--things, felt him drawing her in, like a moth to a flame, from the moment she’d been presented to him and Princess Tsimany weeks ago. But Prince Larien was careful, and until their paths had crossed, tonight, alone, here in the gallery, she hadn’t been sure…
She hadn’t been sure if it was only her.
It might have been easier if it was.
It might have felt less like a betrayal.
He pulled away after either a second that felt eternal, or an eternity that was far too brief, one gloved hand raising to his mouth.
“…do you want me to go?” she asked. And she meant--do you want me to leave.
Part of her wanted him to say yes. It would be the smart thing to do. And she could do it, even if it hurt terribly in the short run. Put some distance between them, and she could come back in a few years, build a proper Court career for herself, perhaps even be a normal mistress for him someday; and whatever this…this thing between them was…
But, gods damn it all, she could still taste him on her lips, and the last thing she wanted was to give that up. To give him up.
It would hardly be unusual. Even if Tsimany might not expect it the same way someone born and raised here--there was only so far a transplanted flower could adapt--she had to know by now that whispers across a pillow were a part of how things were done in Elanhe. That, while Larien would never ask his wife to do anything she was uncomfortable with, he would never--could never--be entirely physically faithful. Not if he was to be King someday.
And if she didn’t learn to at least accept the way the game was played, Tsimany would never survive here as Queen.
But this…
Gods.
This was so much more than a game. Or the stakes were so much higher than simply politics.
And--damn it, she liked Tsimany. The Princess was beautiful, and clever, and brilliantly educated, and above all she was kind. Perhaps too kind for a place like this, but Metanrye thought she could adapt enough. Neither lose herself nor drown in it.
Larien still hadn’t answered. He was half-turned away from her, hand still resting on his lips, face half in shadow.
He can’t say it. Gods, he can’t…
Metanrye knew, as much as she knew she was alive, and that the sun rose in the east, and that the gods existed somewhere on their Pillars, that she would do absolutely anything he asked.
Even if he couldn’t find the words to ask it.
She bowed her head, and swept him a very correct curtsy, and turned to go.
Something caught her skirt.
She turned.
Larien pulled his hand back.
“No,” he said, softly; but his eyes were clear as they rested on her face. He hesitated a moment, and took a step towards her.
“No?”
“No.” He was close enough to touch, and he reached out again, resting his hands lightly, so lightly, on her chin.
She could smell the leather of his gloves, and she closed her eyes.
She felt him lean in, tilt her head just a hair, and then the feather-light touch of his lips on hers.
“Don’t leave,” he whispered into her mouth.
She nodded; he drew back; she heard his footsteps moving quickly away.
She stayed there for a moment, eyes closed, willing it to last a little longer. The joy in knowing she wasn’t--and, gods, the exquisite pain of it.
It was worth the stakes she would have to play for now.
It was worth…everything.
When she finally opened her eyes, steadied herself, continued on her way, the taste of him still lingered in her mouth.
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Yeah, it definitely makes their lives Complicated.
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Yeah, I'll find out where Tsimany lands if/when I get back to this AU...several different options there, but We'll See.