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Chapter Text

Something felt… off.

That niggling feeling had started when she was told that she would be traveling back to Carsodonia after yet another one of her personal guards had been killed in the line of duty. The Queen had requested her presence, the Crown no longer confident in the Maiden’s safety at Castle Teerman.

If the Queen only knew.

And yet she couldn’t understand why neither of her personal guards were to accompany her on this journey. Perhaps she could see why Hawke Flynn - the tall, indecently handsome guard who had been appointed in Rylan’s absence - would not be tapped for the trip. But not even Vikter, who she had considered something of a father figure, had been permitted.

No, she was to spend multiple days alone in a carriage with Dorian Teerman, the Duke of Masadonia and the man who had apparently appointed himself her chief tormentor and ‘educator’. As if the jagged scars across her face, arms and legs weren’t enough, he had seen to it that fine stripes decorated her back - each stripe a crucial ‘lesson’ to strengthen her dedication to her role in the world. A role she could not choose to take, and a life where even the most basic of emotional needs were privileges instead of rights.

No friends. No close relationships of any kind. Closed-off emotions - no smiles or tears. No literature or reading for pleasure. No conversations or lingering where others may be present. Long sleeves, long gowns, always white. And the ever-present veil that covered her emerald green eyes and waves of wine-colored hair.

As she had gotten older she had begun to wonder, more and more, what the point of it all was. The Maiden was to be the salvation of the Ascended, but nobody could tell her how or why or what she would do. And for all the talk of how precious she was and how important her propriety was to the world, it didn’t keep Duke Teerman and Lord Brandole Mazeen from leering at her exposed flesh as he brought the cane down upon her back. It had felt wrong, all her life, but nobody had ever lifted a hand in her defense or spoken any sort of encouraging word or explanation for how it all would be worth it.

Her few days - and one scandalous evening - with Hawke Flynn had left her with even more questions.

Hawke, with the amber eyes that turned to molten gold when he was angry and the dimple that only made an appearance if his half-grin was genuine. Who had prevented the Priestess from striking her and blanched at the implication that the Duke would beat her. Who had found her fighting Craven on the Rise, called her a goddess given mortal form, and had not reported her. Who had asked her how it feels to wear the veil, and asked if she would run away if she could.

Hawke, who had called her beautiful the first time he saw the pink, dimpled skin of the scars that crossed the left side of her face.

Hawke, who had kissed her, and had wanted to do more.

Yes, he had awakened far more questions within her - about her life, her responsibilities, her future. 

She was glad the veil hid her eyes - even more relieved that the Duke had not spun some half-baked objection to her wearing it. Typically she would prefer to tear the gauzy fabric from her head and rip it to shreds, but Duke Teerman would only take the opportunity to express what a shame it was that her face had been marred with those hideous scars when she was a child. And he would not be able to see the lingering sadness and regret that likely stirred in her eyes with the understanding that she would undoubtedly never see Hawke Flynn again.

It didn’t make any sense, her trust of a guard that she had truly only known for days. But she couldn’t deny the pull that she felt. There was something about him that called to her, a connection that both confused her and exhilarated her. She felt a strange pain in her heart when she told herself not to think about it anymore. It was probably silly - the ideations of an inexperienced and naive little girl. Hawke could have any woman in the world, so why would he fall for her? She was, at the very least, woefully ignorant in any matter of intimacy. And, at most, she was off-limits. Untouchable. It would have been far more trouble than she was likely worth.

It didn’t matter, anyway.

Not now, when the carriage wheels creaked to a stop outside the windowless door, the Duke eyeing her as if he were anxiously awaiting some sort of reaction. Her nerves ticked higher into her throat. The door was opened, swathing the red interior in pale moonlight, and revealing a veritable legion of royal guards, each bearing the white stole that identified them as such. She could not fathom why so many were necessary - couldn’t imagine that there would be any kidnapping attempts in the heart of the capital. The Duke’s gaze was heavy on her as her shoulders ticked up.

“For your safety, Penellaphe,” he assured her, voice tight, and she wondered for a moment if he was unhappy to be losing his whipping girl. “We do not want to keep the Queen waiting.”

Her back stiffened at the mention of Queen Ileana. Why wasn’t she here, greeting her with open arms and a gentle smile? She had often thought of the Queen as something of a second mother after her parents had been killed, and she had envisioned her return to Carsodonia with happy tears and hugs and smiles. And Ian…gods, where was Ian?

But she stepped from the carriage and into the chilly night air, not wanting to keep the guards and the Queen waiting. Her skin prickled, and she wasn’t sure it was entirely a result of the weather. There was something reminiscent of dread coating her insides as the guards surrounded her and began walking, that oil coiling into a heavy ball in the pit of her stomach. She had assumed they would be led to the great hall, where Ileana and Jalara sat upon their thrones. Or perhaps the private study, or even the garden - where she had first fallen in love with night-blooming roses. But they seemed to walk forever, winding and winding, up stairs and then down others. She was dizzy from the twists and turns, and she could not say for certain if she would be able to find her way out again.

The realization was… alarming.

Her heart thudded behind her ribs as she tried to control her breaths. There was no need for her to panic. Surely not. This was practically her home. The Queen had tended to her wounds after the Craven attack, comforting her when all she had begged for was her mother. She was safe here, and she would no longer have to fear the cane from the blood forest tree or the leering, lusting, bottomless eyes of Lord Mazeen.

Finally, the cadre stopped before a dark wood and wrought iron door that was pushed open into what appeared to be a sitting room. The leather- and steel-clad guard with his grip on the handle beckoned her forward, guiding her by the small of the back through the opening. In two finely upholstered chairs sat Queen Ileana and a man she had never seen before, and yet looked vaguely familiar. Her shoulders relaxed for a moment, until she heard the clicking of the latch on the door.

Bending at the waist, she greeted the Queen, who didn’t look like she had aged a day.

“Penellaphe.” Even though the voice was sweet as honey, the Maiden had to fight a scowl at the formality of it. Her friends - the people in her life that had proven to care for her more than her title - called her Poppy. Like her parents and her brother had. They were few and far between, but she hadn’t been addressed as Poppy since they departed Castle Teerman.

A stark reminder that she was not among friends. Not anymore.

“Your Majesty,” Poppy answered from behind the veil.

“I trust your journey was without incident?” The words of concern were hollow as they tumbled from lips red as blood, echoing harshly in the dimly lit space. Poppy’s gaze slid to the man in the other chair and found an amber stare fixed upon her. It was intense and hungry, and altogether disturbing. She returned her focus to the Queen, trying desperately to ignore the scalding heat of his attention.

“Yes, your Majesty,” she dipped her chin. “I am very happy to be back in Carsodonia.” And not just for the safety from the threat of the Dark One, but for her escape from the Duke, as well. But that was a conversation for another time.

“Of course. The threat upon your life must have been truly terrifying,” Ileana crooned, her head tilting to study the white-clad woman standing before her. “As well as the Duke’s heavy hand. I wish it hadn’t come to that, but ensuring your dedication to your role has been of utmost importance in your upbringing.”

Poppy’s breathing faltered, and she had to step back to keep herself from falling to the side. She knew? The Queen knew what the Duke had been doing to her. Had condoned it. Her eyes stung, and she was relieved for the veil and the shelter it provided.

“Come now, Penellaphe. You were always a headstrong, curious child. But that will not do for your future. You must be dedicated. Disciplined.” The Queen paused, her dark eyes hard as stone as she chose her next word. “Compliant.”

The Maiden took another step back, fisting her hands at her sides to control their trembling. Air hissed in and out of her through clenched teeth. Queen Ileana continued, as if her words weren’t the harbinger of Poppy’s destruction.

“Your husband will expect a dutiful wife. Your Ascendants will expect a generous donor. The gods and your Queen will expect your unwavering loyalty.” Why did the room feel like it was growing smaller? Poppy felt suffocated, but she knew she couldn’t remember the way out into the fresh air of the city. Maybe it had been intentional, knowing that she had a penchant for misbehaving. What was the queen saying? A generous donor? Her husband? She was to be given to the gods, wasn’t she? “And, should the need arise, any additional lessons will be handled by your betrothed.” The queen lifted a pale hand and gestured toward the dark-haired man in the other chair. 

“My… betrothed?”

“Yes, my dear. You are going to usher in a new age of prosperity and might. You are so special, Penellaphe, and you don’t even know yet. But you will.” The Queen smiled, but it was not gentle or encouraging. “Now. Remove your veil, Penellaphe, and meet your fiance. Prince Malik Da’Neer.”

Chapter Text

As the carriage jostled along the road, all Poppy could find the energy to think about was how she longed for a window. She’d barely seen the sun in months, her complexion becoming even more colorless and pallid than it had ever been in Masadonia. And it wasn’t a surprise, necessarily, when she occupied the palace which housed dozens of Ascended on a given day - people who, she had come to learn, did not avoid the daylight in deference to the gods, but rather because they would face excruciating pain and death if they walked into the light of the sun. It was something the Queen had cruelly demonstrated to her, the servant having done nothing to warrant such treatment except for being present when Poppy had asked the impertinent question.

She’d had no idea that Queen Ileana was such a cold, ruthless creature. It had been a rude awakening, proof that Poppy’s sheltered life had not truly been to her own benefit, but to the advantage of those around her.

The Queen had only scolded her coolly as the servant was reduced to nothing but ash, reminding her that it was not her place to question. That more people would be hurt if Poppy couldn’t learn to keep her smart mouth shut. That she was to accept her plight with the grace and dignity of the queen that she would soon be - the queen to a land she’d not even believed still existed until she was wed to the lost Atlantian prince.

It had been hell since that day.

Malik. The Prince. His Highness . Where Ileana was quiet, hidden cruelty and vicious words coated in honey, Malik was untamed and unabashed malice. The ‘lessons’ and punishments he delivered made her long for the days she was summoned to the Duke’s study. After her Ascension, she healed more quickly than ever, and her body could endure more and more torment - much to her husband’s delight. It was all she could do to keep from brushing her fingers over the left side of her face where she knew a bruise still lingered, though any trace would likely be gone by the time they reached their destination. It wasn’t the only reminder of how her body had disappointed him, yet again, but it was the only one that wasn’t covered by the long sleeves and long skirts he demanded she wear. She recalled the scene as she leaned against the wall of the carriage.

“Penellaphe.”

She knew, just by how his voice seemed to rumble like thunder, that this interaction would not be pleasant. But she had been expecting it, her cycle having ended two days before. He’d avoided her for the week, and while she should be irritated that something natural would be considered so revolting, that week’s respite was something she was endlessly thankful for. The pain and discomfort that accompanied her cycle was nothing compared to Malik’s attention, and looming at the end of that week was the inevitable punishment for once again not providing him an heir. She had to take advantage of the few days she was given - to piece herself back together. To try to come to terms with what had become of her life.

Poppy turned to her husband, but did not meet his gaze. She had learned that lesson early in the marriage. “Your Highness?” She could practically feel the smugness coming from him. He knew how much she hated calling him by his title, but it was yet another lesson that he had taught with a heavy hand and little mercy.

“Once again you have not conceived.” Her whole body tensed at his accusation. “I’m not sure I understand. You know as well as I that I have made it a point to cum inside you nearly every day.”

She abhorred the way he spoke so crassly about his use of her, and hated even more that it still colored her face with the heat of embarrassment and shame. She knew very well what he’d done - what he’d been doing since their wedding night. She’d fought at first, unable to accept the turn her life had taken, but the prince was far stronger than she was. He’d been surprised, of course, to find that she was not helpless when it came time to defend herself. She’d landed a few blows and managed to find the chamber door through the blur of tears, but he’d been on her quickly, dragging her back to their bed and stealing her innocence. He’d made no attempt to make it anything less than excruciating, and he’d punished her after for daring to deny him.

“I apologize, Highness. I do not understand either.” Her voice had grown timid and quiet in the past months - nothing like her usual fearless, cutting wit. He was on her in an instant, the hand at her throat pushing her back against the cool, unforgiving stone.

“If I didn’t know better, I might think you were finding a way to take a contraceptive,” Malik whispered menacingly against her ear, his hand sliding up her hip. Poppy swallowed her fear, knowing she would be expected to answer.

“Of course not. I swear it.” Even though she spoke the truth, her voice still trembled. She had contemplated it, would have found a way if she weren’t so terrified of being caught. And she knew she would be. She had no allies here. No Tawny to cover for her at her chamber door. No Vikter to be a buffer between her and someone’s wandering hands. The amber-eyed prince pulled her away from the wall, hand still around her neck, and started pushing her toward the bedchamber.

“I shall have to double my efforts then.” His voice was heavy with suggestion and satisfaction, and Poppy’s stomach twisted with panic.

“Please.” Her voice cracked around the dread pooling on her lashes, and she knew it was a mistake as soon as she uttered the small plea. Pain exploded on the left side of her face as his fist sent her crashing to the floor. Gods, he was so strong.

“You would deny me?” Malik seethed, standing over her crumpled form. From that angle he looked like a giant, unearthly large and powerful, eyes nearly glowing with ire. He jabbed a booted toe into her ribs - not a full kick, but still enough to leave a sizeable bruise - and demanded, “Get. Up.” The redhead scrambled to her feet enough for the Prince to grab her elbow and practically drag her to their bed, flinging her onto the mattress as if she weighed nothing at all. The next moment he was on top of her, caging her with his arms and legs. With one hand he reached down, pulling her skirt up and up until he could get to what he wanted. Then he deftly unbuttoned his breeches, freeing his hard length before pushing her panties to the side and immediately plunging into her, as deep as he could go.

Poppy couldn’t stifle the scream that it ripped from her. How could it still hurt so much, even after all he’d done? She felt his large hand encircle her throat again as he cruelly thrust into her. “You are mine, Penellaphe. You are my wife, and you will serve me as such. Do you understand me?” When she couldn’t manage a response he slapped her already bruised cheek and roared, “You will answer me when I speak to you, you worthless bitch.”

Somehow, between her desperate whimpers, she was able to answer, “Yes.” Malik ripped the bodice of her dress, the blue silk shredding down the middle, before hitting her again. His powerful hips were relentless.

“Yes, what, Penellaphe?” 

“Yes, your Highness.” she whispered between sobs. With an arrogant, satisfied grin he bared his fangs and sank his teeth into her breast.

Poppy stared silently at the faint golden swirl on her palm as she came to the end of her memory. The pain had been excruciating, and her throat had hurt when she came to, as if she’d shrieked loud and hard enough to shred it. She didn’t remember anything beyond that, but she puncture marks on both breasts remained tender - proof that his devious attention had not ended simply because she’d passed out from the pain. He’d told her, once, that his bite could be pleasurable. She wasn’t sure she believed him, and he’d never shown any desire to make it anything less than searing agony.

The shimmering brand in her hand taunted her - a constant tether to the monster who sat opposite her. A prison sentence, to share a life with the one who beat her, to share a bed with the one who raped her. A tattoo of her shame and hopelessness, one that she would wear until the union was ended - by death or decree .

“Are you listening, Penellaphe?” Her head jerked up, emerald eyes meeting a hard amber stare, and that all-too-familiar dread coiled in her belly. He gave an admonishing tsk at her surprise and shook his head. “It is not becoming for a woman to be inattentive to her husband, the future king. How long is it going to take for you to learn?” And there it was, as good as a confirmation that she would face his wrath as soon as the time and place allowed.

“I apologize, Highness,” she whispered, gaze focusing on the leather boots he wore as his scoff reached her ears.

“I was simply reiterating that I expect for you to be on your best behavior while we are in Atlantia. I’m sure you understand what that entails?” Malik’s tone was deceptively light and educational, like when the Priestess used to tell her she knew better. Of course Poppy knew what her best behavior meant - the phrase “women are meant to be seen and not heard” was a little too on the nose. As the future queen, Atlantians would likely expect her to have a say, but she was not to chime in or share any opinions. The future king would have the first and final say. She was to defer to him if she was asked questions directly and play the part of doting wife, though not the brightest when it came to politics or strategy. And outside of those meetings where her presence was required? She was to stay sequestered in their chambers and speak to no one. And she knew the punishment that awaited her if she rebelled.

“Yes, your Highness. I understand,” she answered, looking back down at her hands. At the glittering marriage imprint and the ring on her finger that looked like polished bone.

“Since you seem so captivated by the imprint, darling wife,” he sneered, “let me remind you what it means.” She had only enough time to blink before he was standing before her, her chin in the vise-like grip of his fingers, forcing her gaze to him. His eyes were narrow, pupils drawn to slits. “When you look at that mark, you remember that you are mine . I could fuck you on the table in the middle of the council meeting, for all the Atlantian dignitaries to see, and that would be my right.” Poppy’s eyes widened, and she gasped when his other hand squeezed one of her tender breasts.

“You are mine to do with what I please, until my last breath. The only way you will be free of me is by my death or your own,” he snarled, his fingers clenching tighter around her jaw. There would definitely be marks. “So don’t get any bright ideas that anyone there will be able to help you. I have plans for you, Penellaphe. You will secure our future, by power and by progeny.” Her eyes watered at the gravity of his words, but she bit back the sob in her throat and blinked back her tears. Malik leaned in, his breath burning the shell of her ear.

“So you’d better learn to enjoy my cock, wife . Because you’re going to be getting it for a long, long time.”

~~~

The last time Poppy had ever been so nervous was when she’d been unveiled to Hawke, when he was tapped to replace Rylan as one of her private guards. The stakes were so much different now, but at least she had known the consequences back then. The Duke would have beaten her - likely badly, worse than ever before - and she would be warned not to misbehave. But this was a terrifying and unknown space, walking two steps behind the prodigal Prince of Atlantia down the center of a great, pillared hall. She was not to look from the floor, nor speak, nor even breathe too loudly.

Who knew the Duke’s lessons would have been such strangely specific preparation for her tragic future.

“It cannot be.” It was a rich, weathered female voice, breathy with disbelief. The queen that she was to replace, awed by her son’s miraculous return. A son they thought subjected to torture and pain, and most likely dead. Poppy’s lips thinned, doing her best to hide the anger she felt at the pain his poor family had felt for decades, not knowing that the lost prince had allied himself with the Blood Crown.

She tuned out the conversation as best she could, her blood pounding in her ears. Her fingernails dug into her palms as she clenched her fists at her sides to try to control her trembling. This wasn’t right. None of it. Not Malik, not her farce of a marriage, not the abuse she’d suffered at the hands of people who were supposed to take care of her. But what could she do now? She was nothing more than a pet and plaything.

“There is someone I would like you to meet.” Malik’s voice pierced her spiraling thoughts, and her entire body froze. She knew what she had to do. Just smile, curtsy, tell them that it’s lovely to meet them if they extend similar pleasantries. She could do that. She had to do that. The amber eyes were hard as he turned back to her, offering a hand with such grace and ease that she could almost forget that it was the same hand that assaulted her and hit her. Taking a step forward, she lifted her hand and placed her palm in his, his calloused fingers wrapping around her just a touch too tightly. “This is my wife, Penellaphe.” The gasps could not be stifled, and Poppy nearly laughed out loud. “Penellaphe, darling. Meet my father, King Valyn, my mother, Queen Eloana, and my brother, Prince Casteel.”

She finally lifted her eyes, allowing herself to smile gently as she dipped her head reverently to the King and Queen. It was obvious where the prince got his looks from. She could never deny that he was handsome, but his deviant personality and sadistic streak would often twist his beautiful features into the stuff of nightmares.

When she turned to his brother, however, her heart stopped.

Her eyes met liquid gold, his own wide-eyed gaze roaming over her face and her form as if confirming that she was real. Poppy couldn’t breathe, couldn’t move, couldn’t make herself understand what she was seeing. The wavy black hair, a stray curl falling over his forehead. Those beautiful eyes that she had only seen on one other person. Those full lips and high, sharp cheekbones, and the way his throat bobbed when he swallowed. Vaguely she recalled the night she’d arrived in Carsodonia, how Malik had seemed familiar to her, even though she had never seen him before. And now she understood. She couldn’t decipher the feelings crashing through her, waves breaking upon the rocks of her shattered heart. Horror, panic, hope, longing, fear, uncertainty.

Pain in her hand - her husband squeezing painfully - jolted her back to her body, to the present. To the realization she tried to swallow as she dipped her chin to the other prince, her brother-in-law. It was no small wonder that Malik had looked so familiar. She had met his brother before. Much more than that. He had kissed her and offered more. He had seen her fight. Called her a goddess. Said she was beautiful, scars and all. He had seen her and protected her when nobody else would. And her eyes prickled at the stark contrast between that man and the man to whom she’d been sold.

Malik’s brother was Hawke Flynn.

And, gods, if that didn’t tear what remained of her soul to pieces.

Chapter Text

Everything was royally fucked.

Casteel hadn’t been able to think straight for two days. Not since he’d looked into those emerald eyes that he’d never thought he’d see again, green as an Atlantian spring. Not since she had followed his brother, her head bowed, into the great hall where his parents sat upon their thrones. Not since she had finally lifted her gaze and he’d spied the yellow-gray remnants of a bruise across her cheek and the far newer stipples upon her jaw, as if the purple marks had been put there only hours before.

It had been all he could do to stay in control in that moment. If that was, in fact, his brother’s handiwork, then losing his head would not help either of them. Malik was supposed to take the throne, had been raised for it. Casteel could not very well accuse him of abusing his wife the moment he’d stepped back into their lives. He combed his fingers through his dark waves absently as he stalked through the halls of the palace, pondering all the developments and realizations that had come to light over the last two days.

Malik was alive, and seemingly well, and Casteel didn’t know how that was possible. Not after the fifty years he’d spend as the Blood Crown’s whipping boy.

And Poppy - the Maiden - was his wife. And, to add to that mind fuck, she was merely a ghost of the young woman he’d known in Masadonia. She hadn’t spoken a word that first day, though he saw the recognition in her eyes.

Gods, her eyes. 

That empty, hopeless gaze haunted his every waking moment and the nightmares had returned with a vengeance, as if having her so near had triggered something buried deep within him.

His terrible dreams had started nearly two weeks after the Maiden had left for the capital. Nearly every night he would close his eyes, only to find himself drowning in agonizing terror, shame, and pain. But when he screamed and begged in the throes of his nightmare, it hadn’t been his voice that he heard.

It had been hers.

At first he thought - he feared, really - that he had some connection to her, and that what he was experiencing in the darkest hours of the night was actually a vision of her own suffering. Casteel had always been drawn to the spitfire with her beautiful, fiery hair and a mouth to match, though he could never quite understand why. Regardless, he’d shaken off the idea when the dreams abruptly stopped a month after they’d started. Not a trace of red hair or full lips or expressive green eyes.

Not until she’d stepped timidly back into his sights.

What did it all mean?

“ Fuck ,” he shouted. If it startled the two gold-armored guardians at the end of the hall, they didn’t show it. 

Perhaps it was their connection, her endless pull, that brought his mindless footsteps to the courtyard outside Malik’s old rooms and the small redhead perched upon a stone bench. She was beautiful, even now, though her skin was so pale and circles bruised under her eyes.

“Poppy,” he breathed, and he thought he saw confusion in her eyes when her head snapped up to him. Confusion, but the tiniest spark of the girl he knew. He swallowed the emotion building in his throat. “I… I don’t understand what’s happening.” She heaved a sigh, her attention returning to the flowers before her.

“I wish I did, your Highness”

Casteel scoffed, taking a step closer. “Oh, please. My name is Casteel. Or Cas, if you’d like.” Poppy nodded silently, her relentless focus boring into tiny pink petals. And he felt the overwhelming need to explain himself to her, even though none of her glances or words had yet been accusatory. “I was kept a prisoner in Carsodonia for fifty years, forced to give my blood for the Ascension. Malik rescued me, but was taken captive in the process. From that point on, saving him from my fate was the one thing that drove my life forward.” The prince took another step, afraid she would bolt from him. She didn’t acknowledge his words or his movement, so he just stumbled on.

“The commander in Masadonia - Jansen - is sympathetic to Atlantia’s plight. He got me into the guard at Castle Teerman. The plan was that, eventually, I would be tapped for your guard. And I was, though you gave Jericho far more than he bargained for that night in the garden. He was so angry, so put out that the Maiden had bested him. I just laughed at him.” Casteel’s lips thinned as he continued to recall his time in the castle. “I saw the bruise on your cheek the next day. I cut off his hand for that.”

“What?” Poppy balked, and it was the most Poppy-like thing he’d seen from her, green eyes wide with surprise. It broke his heart a bit, that she was still so surprised that someone would protect her.

“You were not to be harmed,” he answered with a shrug, as if it were obvious. But then his voice became quiet as he dared to speak his next words. “It would seem there is another hand that warrants removing, if the marks coloring your face the other day are any indication.” To her credit, her gaze didn’t falter, though her whole body went rigid. And he refused to shy away from that look, from the reaction that ignited fury so blazing it glowed white and boiled his blood. The prince could feel the way his nostrils flared as he sucked in air, desperate to remain calm until he could safely release his rage without causing her more fear.

It could have been seconds or years, the two of them in a battle of wills and stares and broken hearts. But it was the wine-haired princess who relented, blinking two, three times before lowering her lashes and dipping her chin. Casteel spied the faint golden swirl glimmering in her palm, and he had a feeling her attention had turned to it, as well.

After another pregnant silence, he was almost startled by her voice. “And after you became my guard?” He hated the taste of his deception coating his tongue. How could he tell her the truth, and still assure her that there was still more than that? The conversations, the trust, the banter, the revelations… it had all been real. Casteel’s shoulders slumped as the air left him in a heavy exhale. He would just have to do his best.

“Eventually I would steal you away, with the intention of ransoming you for my brother’s freedom. I thought…” His voice cracked with emotion he didn’t expect, as he had apparently also been deceived. “I thought that he was being tortured. That he was experiencing all the agony and torment that I had experienced in those decades. And… I would have done anything to save him from that. It was because of me that he was there, and I would have given my life to get him out.” Poppy’s delicate fingertips twisted the ring on her finger - an odd, ivory thing.

“I understand,” she whispered. It was such a small sound, but it seemed to settle over the courtyard like a shroud. His chest constricted, as if there was a hole in his heart and all of him was being sucked into the emptiness. And he felt, for some strange reason, that the sensation was coming from her. That somehow, like in those nightmares, he was in her soul and experiencing her pain.

“Poppy, please. You must understand. Everything changed the moment I met you in the Red Pearl. I knew who you were then, but you were so different than what I ever could have expected. You were so clever and strong, and when I saw you on the Rise? Gods, I’ll never forget it.” Without a thought, the Atlantian prince closed the final distance and sat next to her on the bench. “When I saw the Priestess try to strike you, and when I found out about the Duke’s lessons -” he spat the word “- I truly realized that you were a prisoner, just as I had been. You probably won’t believe me when I say it, but it killed me to think about the pain you were forced to endure. It still does.”

It still does .

Those last words were a quiet plea, to tell him what she was feeling. To tell him what she was going through. To let him help her, however he could. He wasn't sure how he could save her from Malik, but if his nightmares and those bruises were real he would stop at nothing. But she refused to respond, a curtain of red falling over her shoulder and hiding her face from him. Casteel’s gaze landed upon her palm and the pale ring she continued to twist against her skin.

“Your ring. It’s… strange.” He said it more to himself, to fill the silence. Something that he needed to work through aloud. “Atlantia is known for its riches, particularly in diamonds. And I’m sure the Queen has plenty of gold and jewels to spare.”

“The ring from our ceremony was gold,” she said softly. “But a month later, after my Ascension, he replaced it with this. I never understood why.” The prince jerked back.

“You’ve Ascended?” Was she one of them? Feeding on the children given to the temple? Would she have taken his blood while he was chained to the wall? But when she looked up at him, he saw the same green eyes that he’d seen two days before. The same emerald that had ensnared him in Masadonia. “Your eyes…”

“I don’t really know how it worked,” she admitted.

“Do you feed?” Casteel asked, coming right out with it. And the fire-haired princess just  shook her head and looked back down to her fidgeting fingers.

“I needed to when I first awoke,” she said, “but never again. I… I had no idea. About any of it. The third and fourth sons and daughters…” she trailed off, letting the knowledge linger. The prince recalled that evening in the courtyard, when the descenter had demanded to know where the children were before throwing a severed Craven hand at the Duke and Duchess. He could see her wheels turning even then, even behind the veil, as he tried to casually explain that perhaps it shouldn’t be so hard to prove that the children were well. He felt relief, he realized, knowing that Poppy had learned the truth and was suitably horrified by it.

“And Malik,” he continued. “He feeds from you?” The air seemed to ripple around her as her body tensed again.

“He does.” Her answer was tight and curt. She didn’t want to talk about it, and Casteel gritted his teeth with the implication of how her body responded. The garden around them was heavy with it as the silence stretched between them. So he returned to the ring.

“He never explained? About the ring?” His brow furrowed as he tried to fathom what the importance was.

“Oh, no,” she nearly huffed a laugh. Almost. As if it were a ridiculous notion that her husband would explain why she was suddenly presented with a new wedding band.

“May I see it?” He held out his hand, and she seemed to lean away.

“I… I shouldn’t,” she murmured.

“It’s just a ring,” he argued softly, “What could it hurt?” He could have slapped himself for saying such a thing, the memory of her bruised jaw fresh in his mind. But to his surprise, the former Maiden slipped it off and dropped it into his palm.

And gasped, her head snapping up to him with wide eyes. Those plump, pink lips were parted, her chest heaving, and it was all Casteel could do to keep from kissing her then and there.

“Everything alright?” He studied her surprised expression, looking for clarity. Poppy’s eyes darted to the ring in his hand.

“Yes,” she murmured, looking back up at him for a moment before dropping her eyes again. “Of course. I’m fine.”

“You were always a terrible liar, Princess.” The prince turned the ring over between his fingers, trying to understand what it was and why it had replaced a traditional golden band. It was nothing of great beauty - far less than any woman deserved. But it was especially heinous that the lovely, clever woman next to him was not spoiled and cherished. The band was… utterly ordinary and plain. It looked like polished bone, but there was nothing noteworthy about it. His lips turned down, considering what it meant. Her reaction when she removed it, though… that definitely warranted additional thought. Casteel held it out to her, observing her as she took it from him, and he swore that he saw her hesitate before sliding the ivory ring down her finger.

“Penellaphe.”

It was Casteel’s turn to be surprised, his neck snapping up over Poppy’s head and finding his brother in the doorway to his rooms. Shooting to his feet, he took a step back.

“I expected you to be in our chambers, Penellaphe,” Malik said in a voice Casteel felt he no longer recognized. Then he nodded to the younger prince. “Casteel.”

“Malik,” he answered. “I was just catching up. I actually met your wife when I spent some time in Masadonia. I was… I was trying to find a way to rescue you. But here you are. Apparently unharmed.” Casteel tried to keep the accusation out of his voice, but he couldn’t help but feel somewhat duped. The scars upon his body, the brand upon his hip. He was covered with the memories of the pain he’d experienced at the hands of the Blood Crown. So how had Malik come out unscathed?

He didn’t trust it. Couldn’t trust his brother anymore. Especially not with how Poppy Balfour had been transformed from a curious, vivacious, brave (to the point of being reckless) woman into a meek, timid shadow.

“Penellaphe.” Malik spoke her name like a command and she reacted, standing swiftly and hurriedly pacing beyond the doorway and into the bedchamber. Casteel’s gaze remained rooted on his brother, amber eyes staring back. It was all so wrong and he hardly knew where to start, how to keep her safe.

‘Remember what the Council said today,” he reminded his older brother, noting the way his eyes narrowed. There had been many meetings over the past two days, and the future queen’s absence had become a hotly debated topic of conversation. Atlantia had always deeply respected the power and potential of women, and it was unlike any of the rulers that had come before for her to be excluded from the kingdom’s affairs. It had been made abundantly clear by particularly vocal and influential members of the Council - most notably Jasper and Wilhelmina - that Poppy’s presence was a necessity, and Malik had tried to play it off as if she were some simple-minded housewife. “Penellaphe is far more curious and clever and thoughtful than you seem to think. I’m sure you and the Council will benefit from her insight.” Casteel hoped his brother could hear the meaning behind his words.

I know who she is. I see what you’ve done. I won’t let it stand .

And - if Malik’s scowl and swift about-face was any indication - Casteel figured he’d gotten the message, loud and clear.

Chapter Text

To say that she was surprised that she was to attend the council meeting that morning would be the most incredible of understatements. Though it would explain Malik’s apparent care when he’d taken out his rage on her body the evening before - he hadn’t touched her face. And he’d only growled at her, a low, menacing rumble full of warning, as he tossed a gown at her feet.

“I should not have to remind you to hold your tongue today, wife. I trust that - after last night - my expectations are clear, as are the consequences of failing to meet them.” It was not a question, but a demand. A reminder of the power he held over her and of the torment he could inflict. Poppy nodded silently, only vaguely aware of the pain in her ribs and the tightness of the skin of her back as she pulled on a dress the shade of a pine forest at midnight, the green velvet so dark and luxurious it seemed to soothe her aches. She had been distracted all night, even through all of her husband’s ministrations, and through the morning. All of her thoughts centered on the moment she’d slid the ring from her finger.

The moment it was off sent her senses reeling, her mind caught in a sudden deluge of feeling. She hadn’t felt the smallest twinge of her gift in some time, and after feeling what she had with Casteel, Poppy had started to wonder if the ring played some part in it, though she couldn’t understand how. As if her husband had forced her to wear it as another way to keep her subdued and powerless.

It had sparked something in her, the realization that Malik might have something to fear from her and that Casteel - Hawke - seemed to be on her side. He had made it very clear that he could see the change in her, without even speaking the words. He had been so close she could still feel the heat of him, still smell the warm spice that had become nothing but a daydream to her.

And that spark festered in the pit of her stomach, something roiling and retching quietly inside her, as the meeting began. As Malik answered every question that had been aimed toward her - aside from the morning pleasantries - and selected a few pieces of fruit, from the platters piled high with all things delicious, that he had concluded she should be allowed to eat. Poppy realized, in that moment, that he had never had anything derogatory to say about her body, though she had lost a considerable amount of weight. That this was just another exercise of control.

It infuriated her. That she had allowed herself to become so hollow and afraid, a shell of the woman who had thrived as much as she could under the constant threat of her overseers’ attentions.

And for the first time in months, she dared to hope that she might be able to escape this. She wasn’t sure how. Could you divorce a prince? A king ? What did it mean, by death or decree ? Would it matter that she had fought? Would it matter that the only thing that ensured her participation in the ceremony at all was the threat to her brother?

“Penellaphe.” The sound of her name broke her reverie, her head swiveling to find the voice. It sounded vaguely familiar, and her heart squeezed as her eyes fell upon the sandy blonde hair of it’s owner.

Vikter .

He reminded her of Vikter, and the impact of his absence from her life prickled at her eyes and threatened to clog her throat.

“Alistir.” Malik’s voice was a low rumble, and Poppy couldn’t miss the undercurrent of warning - likely meant for her above anyone else. This question was directed at her, and if he couldn’t provide an answer on her behalf she would have to take care how she chose her words.

Or perhaps… she wouldn’t.

“Forgive my impertinence, but I would ask about the scars upon your face. Would you tell us the story?” She felt warmth in her cheeks. Her husband had never spoken about the raised pink stripes that marred her head and cheek, but she had been raised to loathe them. She had been raised to believe that it was a tragedy for them to exist, that half of her face was a nightmare. The younger prince, who was seated between Alistir and his mother, had been the first to ever utter a kind word about the slashes across her face. But Alistir’s voice was so warm and comforting, eyes shining with a gentle encouragement and curiosity, as he lifted a hand to gesture to his own forehead. “I happened to have an unfortunate experience with a hatchet.” Poppy’s eyes widened as she took in what appeared to be a great dent in his brow, as if someone had tried to cleave him in two.

“You don’t have to answer that,” Malik grumbled, but she knew it was not a kindness he was extending to her. He didn’t know the answer, couldn’t control the narrative.

And Poppy was feeling brave.

“It’s alright.” She smiled gently before raising her eyes to Alistir. “My family was caught in a Craven attack when I was very young. My brother and I survived, miraculously. But our parents were killed.” Something darkened the blonde man’s features, his eyes clouding. But it disappeared as soon as it had come, his expression softening.

“I am very sorry to hear that.” Alistir dipped his chin, but the redhead’s gaze drifted past him to meet liquid gold. Casteel regarded her intently, as if he was hearing the story for the first time, even though she knew it wasn’t. It was support, she realized, and encouragement. This was the first time she’d truly had a voice in what seemed like an eternity. “And what about after? Who took care of you?” Alistir drew her attention again, but she was cut off when she opened her mouth to answer. Clearly the elder prince was not fond of her newly emerging presence.

“Queen Ileana cared for her and her brother, until the two of them were placed under the care of another noble family away from the capital.”

Poppy’s neck jerked, looking up into the Atlantian prince’s cruel, cold stare. She would likely pay later for the disrespect - the impertinence of daring to look him in the eye - but all that she could think about were the words he’d just said. Nausea churned in her stomach, and she was suddenly relieved that Malik had allowed her to eat so little. The realization curdled within her, twisting her insides and paralyzing her lungs.

Casteel had been a prisoner of the Blood Crown for five decades. Malik had come to Carsodonia to free him, and had been taken himself. And that had been… long before she was even born. With a frantic, pounding heart she looked down at the table, willing herself not to hyperventilate as the vile understanding slithered into her very soul.

He had been there.

She had been a child , and he had been in that castle. As she was being groomed to become his bride.

She was going to be sick.

That voice - so much like Vikter’s - reached her again, pulling her back into the present. “You must have been very fortunate to not have been turned or killed.”

Poppy blinked herself back to the present, to the table surrounded by the only people who might be able to save her, and answered breathily, “Yes. I’m not entirely sure how it happened. I don’t remember much.” Her eyes darted between the table, the scar over Alistir’s brow, Casteel’s amber eyes, Malik’s downturned mouth and sharp jaw. She couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think. 

“Are you alright?” the younger prince asked softly, and she focused on his face. It was the same gentle voice that had asked her what the Duke did to her in that study so many months ago. His concerned expression was an anchor. She clung to it so tightly, even as Malik stiffened beside her.

The atmosphere between Poppy and the future king became so taught, tension seizing his shoulders. He was angry. Furious. She didn’t give herself time to ponder the consequences of all that had been done and said. Instead, she stood on wobbling knees and nodded to the council before speaking to her husband’s chin. “I fear I am not feeling well, and I think I should retire. Please, do not halt on my account.”

For a brief moment she wondered if he would refuse, but that strong chin dipped once. She turned and nearly ran from the great hall, unable to calm her wounded heart. And so she returned to Malik’s chambers and the courtyard with little choice but to steel herself for the pain that awaited her upon his return.

~~~

Casteel struggled through the remainder of the evening to keep his attention on the table and the wealth of knowledge surrounding it, as opposed to letting his eyes drift to the arched opening through which the former Maiden of Solis had fled. The shift in her had only taken an instant. She had been speaking pleasantly - nearly confidently - when something had washed over her. What little color still painted her cheeks had drained away and her spring-colored eyes had blown wide. And then she’d run.

Now that the majority of the council had cleared, the prince scanned the hall for who might be left. The King and Queen, Alistir, Jasper, and the back of Malik as he stalked toward the same exit that Poppy had disappeared through.

“What did you do to her?” The accusation was venom on his lips, his blind intention to poison his brother’s reputation before his parents and their closest advisors. Casteel took two strides toward his brother’s stiffened spine before stopping. They may have been yards apart, but he could still feel simmering ire billowing from the prodigal son. Malik turned to him, glowering with molten gold eyes.

“I’m afraid I don’t know what you mean.” The words were lethally soft, deadly with their apparent gentleness. Casteel wouldn’t be fooled, though he could feel the stares upon his back from his family. The silence was so cavernous he could hear the echo of his sawing breaths.

“One moment she was fine, and the next moment she was petrified,” the younger prince spat, taking another threatening step forward. “Were you afraid she might say too much? That if she found the courage to speak here she may yet find the courage to crawl out from under your thumb?” Malik scoffed.

“Perhaps you should ask Alistir why she reacted in such a way,” he growled, jerking his chin past Casteel’s shoulder. “They were his questions she was answering. Not mine.” Cas felt a muscle twitch in his jaw, his teeth threatening to grind themselves to dust.

“Don’t think you’re fooling me. Not for a fucking moment, brother ,” he seethed, earning a narrow-eyed stare in return.

“I don’t appreciate what you’re insinuating, brother ,” Malik replied before straightening his tunic and lifting his gaze to their audience. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I need to check on my wife.” The younger brother watched him turn, catching the malicious half-grin that painted his expression - just for Casteel to see.

He could only stare as the footsteps faded from his ears. Could only pray that Malik’s hand didn’t fall too heavy upon his bride this night.

“My King, my Queen, if I may,” Alistir’s haggard voice broke the silence and the spell Casteel was under. Turning, he made his way toward his parents as the advisor continued, “I have a few concerns-”

“As do I,” the prince joined his parents, Jasper, and Alistir where they stood, gathered near the far end of the long banquet table where they’d been seated nearly all day. “Something is very wrong with this marriage -”

“Yes, Casteel, you’ve made your opinion on that quite clear,” his father, King Valyn, cut him off. “But I would like to hear what Alistir has to say before you continue hurling accusations at your brother.” With a heavy sigh the prince dipped his chin, in deference to the wishes of his father and signaling the advisor that he was free to speak.

“I am concerned about what the reception might be to the Maiden being the new queen,” Alistir explained. Casteel balked, barely containing a sardonic laugh. Optics? That was his concern. But the blood drained from his face as the old Wolven continued. “She was raised by the Ascended, and I fear that the prince is potentially being misled or manipulated.”

Cas sputtered, “You think Malik is the victim here?” He looked between his parents and the two Wolven advisors, their expressions careful and unreadable. “You can’t possibly be serious.”

“The Maiden was raised by the Ascended to a very specific end,” Alistir warned. “If it had been you, still in the Blood Crown’s clutches, it may well have been you who was placed under her spell.”

“Her spell ?! Gods-fucking-dammit!” The prince roared, rage pounding in his blood. “Did none of you see what I saw that first day? Are you fucking blind?!”

“Hawke -” his mother pleaded but he silenced her.

“No, mother. You don’t understand. None of you understand. I met my sister-in-law -” the words like acid on his tongue “- in Masadonia. I had worked my way into being appointed her guard. We’d formed a plan to kidnap the Maiden and ransom her to save Malik, and that was my way to get close to her. And I did. I got closer than I ever thought I would, and I can assure you that she is the one who has been trapped and victimized her entire life.” He took a jagged breath and ran his fingers through his hair, an outward manifestation of his growing frustration. “Penellaphe Balfour was an irreverent, curious woman. She was determined to experience the world and discover the truth of it, even as her keepers threatened to literally beat her into submission at every turn. The woman I guarded was witty and kind, and was questioning the Ascended more and more each moment.” A stunned quiet hung over the small gathering of royalty and intelligence, taking in Casteel’s desperate words. He huffed another breath before clenching his fists at his sides.

“The woman that followed Malik into this hall is a broken, hollow shell of the person she was only months ago. I will not allow you to brush aside the darkness in her eyes or the bruises that marked her cheek.” Casteel settled his gaze upon his mother, beseeching, as he practically vibrated with fury. “My brother and I were raised - by all of you - to respect women and encourage their strength. That women are powerful and capable, just as any man may be. Did you know that two days after the Duke had taken a wooden cane to her back she was on the Rise, defending the city from a Craven attack? I found her there, shooting bloodstone arrows into skulls. And when I tried to get her to admit who she was, she knocked me on my ass. But that woman in Malik’s chambers… something has been done to her. The fire has been doused, the warrior subdued. And I think all of us know who is responsible, troubling as that may be.” The prince was met with stunned silence. Looking to his mother he found her lashes lowered and head bowed, his father’s protective arm draped over her shoulder. It wasn’t that he didn’t understand - it was a horrible realization, that his brother was capable of such cruelty - but his shoulders relaxed at the notion that they had at least acknowledged the truth of it.

“You care for her.”

To his surprise it was the gravel tone of Jasper that pierced the quiet, and the prince found ice blue eyes studying him. They were warm despite their cool, curious hue. Casteel returned his regard as he worked on a swallow, noting that the advisor’s words hadn’t been a question, but an observation.

Did he care for her?

Gods, but wasn’t that an absolutely idiotic question? Because of course he did, and far more than he should. Not just because of the fundamental differences in their lineage and upbringing, but also because he’d only truly known her for days.

It had never felt that way, though.

But where Jasper’s eyes were soft and understanding, Alistir’s were wary and sharp, and Casteel could see that he had more to say. An admission might keep him from sharing his thoughts, and the prince needed to see as much of every hand he could. Needed to play his own perfectly.

“She’s an innocent. She was abused as a child, raised to be forced into a marriage, and is abused now. It is a travesty,” he explained coolly, making eye contact with Alistir before nodding to the group that his speech had come to an end. He had said his piece.

“Be that as it may,” Alistir turned again to the King and Queen, and Casteel could feel his blood heat in anticipation. “I have another… concern. About her claim to the throne.” When nobody responded he continued. “The Maiden was often referred to as the Chosen, a child of the gods. And I find it quite alarming that she survived the Craven attack that disfigured her face.”

“Yes, how terribly tragic that a child wasn’t killed that night,” Cas snarled, earning a heavy sigh from his father.

“I only mean to say, your Majesty, that it is possible that the blood of a god runs in her veins. If that is the blood of Nyktos…”

“She usurps the throne,” the Queen finished. Casteel took a breath, wondering if that was even the slightest bit possible. True, she had survived the Craven attack as a child. And those in Masadonia used to speak of the child of the gods coming to the aid of those cursed, to ease their passing. But could it truly be…

“The prince and the Maiden would be poised to take the throne, regardless of where their true intentions lie. And we would have little true choice in the matter. And that is not even taking into account,” the aged Wolven paused, choosing his words carefully, “the other potential consequences. Ancient plans that may be set into motion by welcoming the veritable heir to Solis into our homeland.”

“Ancient plans, Alistir?” Jasper was nonplussed, skepticism tightening his lips. The prince folded his arms across his chest, waiting expectantly.

“And so it will begin with the last Chosen blood spilled, the great conspirator birthed from the flesh and fire of the Primals will awaken as the Harbinger and the Bringer of Death and Destruction to the lands gifted by the gods. Beware, for the end will come from the west to destroy the east and lay waste to all which lies between.”

“You can’t be serious,” Casteel balked.

“Come now, Alistir. We have seen no indication that she is descended from the gods,” the Queen scolded. “And you know Atlantians don’t believe in prophecy. We mold our own fates.”

“And what if she is? What if it’s true?” The elder spoke with a quiet, lethal calm that sent prickles down Casteel’s spine.

“What would you have us do, Alistir?” King Valyn took a step closer to the sandy-haired wolven, his amber eyes flashing as he dared him to speak.

“There are things that could be done. To ensure that the Maiden would not ascend to the throne.” The prince bristled, keenly aware of Alistir’s refusal to speak her name. Referring to her only as the Maiden.

“You would have her killed,” he growled, even as his heart cracked open a bit. This man, who had been like a second father to him, would be so fanatical as to see what Poppy was being forced to endure and only seek to cause her more harm.

“I am only trying to protect our kingdom -”

“You will do no such thing,” Eloana spoke sternly, with regal power and finality. “We have no proof that any of this is real, or that she has any gift or birthright beyond the luck to escape the Craven. You will not take any action against her.”

“But your Majesty -”

“Is that clear, Alistir?” The Queen lifted her chin, and Casteel couldn’t keep the corner of his mouth from tilting upward. She had always been so strong, an incredible leader. She had played a vital role in his learning to respect and admire the women in his life, as they were often beacons of tenacity and power.

A muscle ticked in Alistir’s jaw, but he lowered his head and uttered his quiet acquiescence. A somber, silent ending to the day of meetings and growing frustration. Casteel ran a hand through his hair, wincing as his head began to throb. Dismissing himself, he walked through the same archway that Poppy and his brother had used. The path to his chambers felt endless as his racing thoughts stretched before him, cobbling the floors of the stone corridors. The so-called prophecy was preposterous, but it was concerning that Alistir had deemed it worthy enough to bring before his parents and even went so far to imply that perhaps Poppy should be assassinated… Between his brother and one of his father’s oldest friends, it was any wonder she had made it this far. And it was that realization that solidified his resolve.

In the morning he would begin working in earnest to find a way to set her free.

Chapter Text

Casteel grinned to himself, a nearly unhinged expression, as he peeked around the corner to spy the petite hooded figure slip out through a servants’ entrance. The cloak slid through just as the heavy wooden door closed behind. Gods bless everything in the sky and in the sea and on land, Poppy had snuck out of the castle and into the bustling heart of Evaemon.

That smoldering ember inside her had not yet winked out.

He strode for the door, thinking for a moment that perhaps he should let her explore on her own. But what kind of prince would he be if he didn’t give the future queen a grand tour of the capital city? The prince was at her side in mere moments - she had only turned one corner.

“The atheneum is in the other direction, if you’re looking for more scandalous reading material.” Casteel leaned down, lips near where her ear would be under the cloak. Poppy halted with a gasp, his own steps halting just in time for his chest to brush the back of her shoulders. The warmth there felt so familiar. Comfortable. Like coming home to a roaring fire in the dead of winter, a shelter from the chaos of everything that was happening around them.

“Oh, my gods,” she breathed, and he couldn’t help but grin. His hands had lifted - their destination her shoulders - when she whirled on him. The hood of her cloak fell away, emerald eyes flashing. “What are you doing here?” she hissed.

“Following you,” he answered, shrugging his shoulders. His hands were still hovering on either side of her face, a moment of uncertainty slithering through his wiggling fingers before he chose to let them fall upon the scratchy wool of the cloak. “I thought it was obvious.” His heart soared with her dramatic huff, her eyes rolling.

The prince was struck then, eyes blowing wide as he pushed her to arms length and examined her face and neck and any other exposed skin he could see. Brushing the cloak open, the threads scritching over his knuckles as he gathered the fabric and draped it over her shoulders.

“Did he hurt you? After yesterday?” His eyes roamed down her arms, covered in a lovely velvet that was the color of the sea. They narrowed at the long sleeves, suspicion clawing up into his throat. Trailing his fingers down her arm, he let the tips revel in the softness. Memories flashed behind his eyes, the knowledge that the skin under the gown was even more succulent. When he reached her wrist he looked up at her, brushing his thumb over the delicate flesh. “I think I made Malik angry last night. I’m sorry if he took it out on you.” He dipped a finger of his other hand under the cuff of her sleeve, blinking as he silently begged permission. Poppy’s full lips parted, and for a moment he thought she’d pull away from him. But she held his stare and worked on a swallow before finally dipping her chin in quiet consent. He pushed up the material, bunching it near her elbow, watching the angry purple and blue splotches emerge. He sucked in a breath, blood running cold. “Gods, Poppy. I’m so fucking sorry.”

“You have nothing to apologize for,” she whispered, finally pulling her arm away and grabbing at the sleeve. Casteel settled his palm over her delicate fingers and squeezed, studying her too-pale face and willing her gaze back to him.

“Poppy. Please,” he begged. “Walk with me? We could talk. You’re safe with me. Malik won’t find you.” Those spring green eyes widened with a glimmer of panic, cheeks turning pink. She chewed on her lip, and Casteel barely kept himself from groaning. He wanted to be the one nibbling there.

It was an age later when she nodded, a quiet determination behind the movement. He squeezed her hand again, chest expanding with pride and awe at her strength. He pulled back, arranging the cloak back over her arms before reaching behind her head to pull the waves of vibrant wine out and spread them over her shoulders. He loved her hair - it had been one of the first things he noticed about her, her hair and those luscious curves. Those curves were less, now. He’d noticed how she ate so little when sitting for the council, how his brother had forked the few pieces of fruit on her plate and apparently decided that it was enough. Casteel could not describe the rage that had seared him.

The prince straightened, took a step back, and extended a hand to her. “Come, Princess. It has been far too long since I have been a part of your escapades.” When her palm dropped into his, he twisted their hands to tangle their fingers together and gave her a gentle tug. “I’ve missed them.” As they began walking she clutched his hand tighter, pulling herself closer to his side.

“I’ve missed them, too,” she sighed.

And when he looked down at her, Poppy was smiling.

The morning passed in a relative blur, and Casteel would bet that his heart would beat out of his chest. They’d gotten breakfast, and he’d encouraged her to eat her fill. When he’d mentioned that she had lost weight, she looked away from him and murmured that Malik was strict with her food. There were other occasional offerings from her - times when the conversation turned to her husband and her life with him. Times when she would grow quiet and that awestruck grin would falter. But, for the most part, it was pleasant conversation and a deluge of questions from her. As if her thirst for knowledge and her curiosity had not been broken from her, but merely hidden just beneath the surface. And, all the while, she’d never let go of his hand.

After they shared lunch, he pulled her through quieter parts of the city before finally escaping it’s buzz, finding a quiet meadow of lush, sun-warmed grass near a small pond - likely on the edge of some farmer’s property. Poppy’s eyes lit up, a great smile shining upon her face. Casteel couldn’t help but gaze down at her, memorizing the moments of joy that she’d been denied.

“I know how much you love the beach, and this is the closest I could think of. But it’s quiet here. We could relax. Talk,” the prince offered with a brush of his thumb across her knuckles. He led her closer to the water before sitting on the ground, not missing Poppy’s wince as she lowered herself next to him. “I’m sorry, Poppy. I didn’t realize -”

“It’s alright, Haw -” she stopped herself, a question shining in her emerald eyes.

“You can call me Hawke, if you would like, though only my mother calls me that anymore,” he answered, scooting closer to her and cradling her small hand in his lap. “Most people closest to me call me Cas.” When he looked up from their hands she was staring at him, as if fascinated. But she just blinked twice and shook her head, gazing out over the shimmering water.

“You are so very different from your brother,” she whispered. Her eyes darted to Casteel for a moment before returning to the view, though her hand squeezed at his fingers. “I… I’m not permitted to address him by name.”

“What?” he balked. The prince gripped harder, his steely gold gaze boring into the grass in front of him as he ground out, “And how the fuck are you to address him?”

“I address him as ‘your Highness’.” Poppy’s words were cold, her voice empty. He could only imagine how it felt. It was probably the only way she could get through it, to separate herself as much as she could from the reality of her situation. She had experience, after all. The Maiden had been all but forbidden to feel anything at all. But he would feel them all for her - could feel every raging lash of anger and hatred burning white-hot across his insides. He stewed in the silence, letting his ire simmer, the woman next to him so still and reserved. After another passing moment, he lifted her hand and brushed his lips over her knuckles.

“Poppy?” Her hair flashed like fire in the sunlight as she turned to him. “Will you tell me about what’s been happening since you left Castle Teerman? I know it will be difficult, but… I want to know. I need to know. There may be something that I can do.”

 While Cas had been ready to be a pillar of strength for her, he was not prepared for the onslaught. Words tumbled from her full lips like a waterfall after a great spring rain, a deluge of suffering and isolation and terror. That first night, when she’d met Malik for the first time and was informed that he would take up the mantle of her oh-so-important lessons, should she need to learn them. Her grip on his hand became vice-like, grew painful, as she recounted being forced to Ascend new citizens, how she’d tried to fight back but had been beaten severely, day after day. How Malik fed from her, his bite excruciating and brutal. The tears had started when she explained that the only way they got her to endure the marriage ceremony was to use her brother as leverage, and she trembled as she described how Malik had forced himself upon her over and over, obsessed with producing an heir. That his anger at her failure to conceive, once again, had been what had marked her lovely face that day she’d walked meekly back into Casteel’s life.

He didn’t allow himself a chance to think twice before grabbing her trembling form and pulling her into his lap, cradling her as she cried. He rocked her back and forth, his hands moving in comforting sweeps up and down her back. She felt so small in his arms, so fragile and afraid. He remembered the first time her body had been in his grasp, how bold and stubborn she had been. Her lips had been so soft, her body supple and luxurious. He had never forgotten that night - hadn’t had a woman since - and he could hardly comprehend how they had arrived here from that memorable first encounter. 

“None of us knew you were gone until it was too late,” the prince whispered into her hair. “Vikter was furious, and I was beside myself. If I’d have known what was happening, I would have been there with you. I would have fulfilled my vow to protect you. I know it wasn’t supposed to be real, but it was.” Casteel kept talking, breathy murmurs spiraling through tendrils of wine. “When I found out you were gone, I went to your chambers and just… sat there. In one of the chairs in front of the fireplace, twirling your bloodstone dagger in my hands. I knew you would have found a way to take it if you could, and finding it there in your room was like a punch to my gut.”

“That was the first thing that made me nervous - that you or Vikter were not to accompany me. You had only been my guard a few days, but Vikter… I would have thought they would want an experienced guard with me in the capital.” Poppy sniffled, burning her face into his chest. “And then, when we arrived, the Queen and my brother were nowhere in sight. I thought that Ian, at least, would be waiting for me with open arms. But the only thing waiting for us was a veritable battalion of guards. Far too many for a simple girl. Gods, I should have tried to run then.” Then she pulled back, her small hands pushing against his pecs so she could look up at him. Casteel met that emerald gaze, wiping away her slowing tears with his calloused thumb as she spoke. “Is Vikter alright? He didn’t… do anything, did he? Nothing reckless?” His lips tilted up, awed by her concern. But it was little surprise to him, considering she’d never fought back against the Duke and the Lord to protect the guard she’d considered a father figure. If she had fought back, it would take little effort to figure out that Vikter was the one who had taught her how to do so. Poppy had always been very concerned with the consequences he would face, and had sacrificed so much to shield him. 

“That depends on your definition of reckless, Princess.” Casteel’s smirk grew as he was met with a withering green stare.

“I’m almost afraid to ask,” Poppy groaned, but the corner of her mouth tilted up ever so slightly.

“You needn’t worry. Vikter is well, as far as I am aware. He has proven very valuable to our cause.” Her eyes bulged at his words, blinking in disbelief.

“W-what? That can’t be. Vikter? A Descenter?”

“You underestimate how important you were to him, Poppy,” he murmured. His fingers had tangled into her hair at her nape, though his thumb hadn’t stopped stroking over her cheek, even though the wetness had finally dried. “He found me in your room, and I’d never seen him so angry. He was pacing, raging, rambling about how he should have known, how he should have protected you. He told me that something was very wrong about the things that were happening - and what had been happening up to that point.” The prince sighed, walking her through the story. How he’d extended the first olive branch, bonding with Vikter over their work with the Cursed, and how he knew the Maiden had accompanied him. They continued sharing, piece by piece, until the false guard had finally laid it all out. Cas rubbed the end of her hair between his fingers as he explained the anxiety he’d felt, lungs locked as he waited for Vikter’s verdict. But the sandy-haired guard had simply stated that he hadn’t done enough before Poppy was gone, and that he would do everything he could to make up for it.

“We killed the Duke and Lord Mazeen before we left.” He felt her gasp more than he heard it, a great inhale as she covered her mouth with her hands. A dark chuckle rumbled through his chest at her surprise, but Casteel just shrugged. “He had it coming, Poppy. His death warrant was signed the day I found out what he did to you. And Vikter had plenty to say about Mazeen as well. Don’t worry, nobody saw us. And he is safely away from the city. Not terribly far from here, actually. Once we get all of this figured out - get you away from Malik - I’ll take you to see him.”

Her eyes were watering again, and his lips curled into a gentle smile. Without a word, he shifted them, turning her so her back was against his chest, her hips between his spread thighs. There was no reason for her not to enjoy the lovely view - knew that her time near the water was one of her favorite memories with her family. Casteel’s arms wound around her middle as he settled his chin on her shoulder. His brows furrowed, thinking through all they had shared.

“Poppy?”

“Hmm?”

“You’re part Atlantian, aren’t you? I didn’t understand how you were used for the Ascension, but when Vikter told me about your gift…”

“I wanted to ask you about that, too. I think… I think my gift may be more than what I thought it was.” Poppy’s small hands gripped his forearms. “I was able to feel the pain of others and take it away. And it had seemed like it was getting stronger… I was feeling other emotions. But I think the wedding ring is something to keep it subdued. When I took it off the other day, the sensation was nearly overwhelming.” Her hold grew tighter, though her voice grew thin and weary. “That would explain why he was so insistent that I wear it. Why… why the punishment was so severe if I didn’t. It was a lesson he needed me to learn. But I don’t understand. What is so dangerous about my being able to know what someone is feeling?”

Casteel ignored the question, opting to untangle his arms and grab her left hand, a fingertip stroking over the strange band. “Could you show me? What you can do?” He nuzzled closer, the warmth of her cheek sending flames through his body as she nodded silently. He slipped the ring off her finger, her lungs expanding with the sensation she was likely feeling again. But she quickly pulled herself together, breath steadying as she curled her fingers around his again. “Can you tell me what I’m feeling?”

“You have always felt so much pain,” she whispered, and he stilled around her. “I never knew what it was, but even in Masadonia… I could never understand how you could bear to stand, to tease, to smile. I think I understand a little more now.” Her jaw worked as she swallowed, and Cas was seized with a sudden urge to follow that swallow with his lips. To show her that the feeding didn’t have to be what his brother had made it - that it could be sensual and pleasurable and intimate.

“And now?” he breathed.

“Now,” she swallowed again. “The pain is still there. And guilt, I think. Concern. And… affection?” Her cheek grew hot against his, and his smug grin answered her blush. And then, suddenly, he was washed in a warm glow. There was no notion of sadness at the loss of his brother, nor the guilt he felt that the woman he held had been made to experience such pain. Contentment bloomed inside of him, shining the bright midday sun into every dark, desolate corner of who he was. And as he looked down to where her hands held his, he found a silver shimmer surrounding them. Sucking in a breath, he held his tongue. But he knew what this could mean. At the very least, she was likely descended from a powerful Atlantian bloodline. At most…

“I think you are more than just part Atlantian, Princess.” At his awed murmur the light began to dim. “You’re a goddess .” Her laugh was light and unsure, and her cheek grew even hotter against his. And he knew that she didn’t understand his full meaning. True, she was beautiful and strong and brave, a true goddess among men. But if what he suspected was the truth - if his brother and the Blood Queen knew it, too - then it was so much more than that.

Alistir was right.

Poppy carried the blood of Nyktos in her veins.

Chapter Text

“Give me one good reason I shouldn’t tear you apart fucking limb from limb,” Casteel roared as he gripped his brother’s shoulder and pulled, turning him before slamming him against the wall by the collar of his tunic. He’d cornered Malik in a rarely utilized hallway as he left the council chambers. The younger prince hadn’t seen Poppy today, and he prayed that Malik hadn’t caught wind of her foray into the city. With him.

“Think long and hard about what you’re saying, Casteel. You are sticking your nose into things that are far outside your control or ability.” Malik’s voice was steady and arrogant, and it grated on his very thin restraint. Casteel pushed his forearms against his brother’s chest, grinding him into the unforgiving stone.

“Then enlighten me, brother,” he seethed, chest heaving as his breath sawed in and out between clenched teeth. “Because I find it difficult to believe that you would beat and rape and brutalize your wife if it weren’t exactly what you wanted to do. Especially now that you’ve made it safely back to Atlantia. So explain it to me. I’m dying to know.”

“Take. Your. Hands. Off. Me.” Malik growled as he pushed back against the younger prince. Casteel stepped back, keeping his arms loose and legs ready. He was ready for a fight, and if Malik made a single move toward him, his fists would be ready. The elder prince simply scowled and brushed his hands down his tunic, examining himself for wrinkles and nonexistent lint. When he began speaking, his tone was dripping with malicious arrogance. “Let me begin with this. Penellaphe is my wife. She is mine . You have no say in what takes place in our relationship. It is none of your business. The only thing you need to know, brother , is that I will take the throne. There is no stopping it. Penellaphe’s blood cannot be denied. And when I take the throne, we will unite with Solis. The heir of Nyktos will propel me to the top of the food chain. Even the Blood Queen will not be able to stand against me, with that power at my disposal.”

Casteel felt himself pale, the vengeful tension in his face melting into disbelief. He’d acknowledged that Poppy’s heritage could, indeed, lead to the king of the gods. But realizing that his brother knew… that he had kept her bent to his will solely to wield her power…

“So you would just keep her battered and broken until the opportune moment? You think that she’ll perform just because you will it? That she would be capable?” he demanded.

“She will if she knows what’s good for her,” Malik sneered, his stare hard and frigid. “As for her capability, I believe the raw power inside her will be enough. It will be wild. Deadly. But as long as it’s Ileana in her path and not me, I don’t care what happens.” Casteel took another step back.

“You don’t expect her to survive it.”

“Whether she does or does not is of no concern to me.” The future king’s flippant tone lit a fuse, and before there was time for question Casteel unleashed, swinging his fist into his brother’s face. Malik roared and fell back against the wall. The younger prince smirked, satisfied with the damage he’d done as the elder flexed his jaw with a cringe. “What the fuck is wrong with you?” Malik grunted, eyes flashing.

“Not used to a fair fight, brother?” Casteel’s laugh was caustic and bitter on his tongue as he tightened his fist to the point of pain. His thoughts were racing, but it was only a distant rushing like waves in the sand, his rage boiling through every sound and sense.

“And what is your motivation, Casteel? It’s only the Maiden, a light to all of the Ascended. They’ve ruined our lives, our parents’ lives. They tortured you for decades, killed Shea. Why do you give a fuck what happens to her?” The accusation made sense, to an extent. And yet, it was completely irrelevant. She wasn’t the Maiden. She was a person .

“If you had taken even a moment to look beyond the veil and the venom of the Blood Queen, you would have seen that she was just as much a prisoner as I was!” He cried. “Poppy is more -”

“ Poppy ? On quite familiar terms, aren’t you?”

“She’s a person! She is no more guilty than I am, and definitely no more guilty than you . I thought you were better than this,” Casteel said, his shoulders slumping. “The brother that I was willing to sacrifice everything to save would not have done this.”

“You were willing to sacrifice her then,” Malik answered, pinning him with an accusing look.

“Not anymore.” It was the elder prince’s turn to step forward, until the brothers were chest to chest. He glared down his nose at Casteel. He snorted. “You can’t think the two inches you have over me will intimidate me, brother.” Malik sneered.

“You will stay away from her. You will not speak to her. You will not even acknowledge that she exists.” He jabbed a finger into Casteel’s chest, fury contorting his face into something the younger prince couldn’t recognize. This was not his brother. Not anymore. “You were always so naive, so idealistic. You have no idea the powers at play, what’s at stake. Stay out of my way.” Malik eyed him for a long, heavy moment before turning stiffly and stalking down the corridor. Cas didn’t even watch him go, eyes unseeing as they stared straight ahead. It was too much, seeing Poppy like this and truly coming to terms with the vile creature his brother had become. Fire flickered from intricately carved sconces on the walls, and he found himself entranced as he tried to piece his heart and soul back together.

Malik had been a beacon for his hope, an endgame toward which all of his decisions had been focused. Until that day, not even a week prior, when he’d strode into the great hall with his wife in tow, determined to take the throne. Even when the nightmares of Poppy had plagued him, he had still been hopeful that he would be able to save them both. Never in a thousand years would he have dreamed that one’s pain would have been caused by the other. Never would he have imagined that Malik would have become the same kind of monster that Cas had seeked to save him from.

~~~

Poppy swore she felt the whole bedchamber shake when Prince Malik burst through the doors, his bruised face contorted with malice. Holy gods, someone had hit him. It took everything in her not to cower as he stalked toward her. But her outing with Casteel had breathed life back into her soul - her blood sang with the potential of it. There was something within her that this monster and the Blood Queen feared, something they felt compelled to contain. 

This dark prince had taken great pains to reduce her to a meek, submissive pawn. His abuse of her had been extensive, his ownership of her body complete in every way. She had forgotten the woman that she had been in Masadonia. She’d lost the fire, determination, and irreverence. She’d abandoned the woman who had snuck to the Red Pearl, but Poppy could feel her coming slowly back to life. It was with that long-absent courage - and recklessness - that she turned to her husband, chin held high.

And the Atlantian prince stopped in his tracks. 

Whatever satisfaction she felt at the small triumph was squandered when his lips curled up into a deadly smirk. “Good evening, Poppy ,” he purred, and she flinched. He’d never called her by that name before, and the sound of it slithered down her spine. She hated the word on his lips - he hadn’t earned the right to call her that.

“Don’t call me that,” she whispered. It was a mistake, she knew. Malik would not take kindly to the directness and tone of the address. But she couldn’t take it back, so she kept her shoulders square and back straight, even as the prince’s nostrils flared in agitation.

“I beg your pardon?” The words seemed to rumble in his chest, a dangerous growl that made her tremble. She took a deep breath, willing her teeth to keep from chattering.

“Only my friends call me that,” she answered, with a voice far steadier than any part of her felt. Her wobbling knees were certain to give out at any moment.

Malik was on her in a blink, a large calloused hand curling around her throat and pushing her back against the wall. He sneered, breath scalding her cheek, “So Casteel may address you as such, but your husband may not?” Poppy swallowed against the pressure on her neck. Gods, why couldn’t she just keep her mouth shut? One day of reckless abandon, and it was as if she’d forgotten all of the terrible pain - all of the lessons she’d been taught in the months since she’d been given to the prince. “I don’t think I’m comfortable with the familiarity he has with you. And I think you need to be reminded of your place. Who you belong to.” He tossed her to the side as if she weighed nothing, her spine cracking painfully against the corner of a nightstand. Poppy groaned, rolling onto her stomach before pushing herself up to her hands and knees. When she tilted her head up she found her husband simply standing there. Staring. Calculating.

She shifted herself, leaning her weight on her hip as her whole body turned to face the Atlantian prince. Her eyes didn’t leave his, another disrespect that she would pay for. But she was beyond the point of turning back. She winced as she used the surface of the end table to help her pull herself to her feet. Malik still didn’t move, and alarm shivered up her arms. But she knew she wasn’t powerless anymore. She had a card to play - the thing he had been desperate to keep bound within her.

“Tell me about the ring,” she demanded. Amber eyes flashed.

“It is not your place -”

“What are you afraid of, your Highness ?” she spat, eight months of helplessness and anger strengthening her tongue. “What is it about my gift that intimidates you so greatly?” She knew he would pounce quickly, but her fingertips were already gripping the small white band, slipping it off her finger as Malik charged. Her senses exploded, but she kept her focus on her husband, ducking below the wild swing of his arm - a knockout punch that was aimed for her face. She kicked out, her body bemoaning the stretching and power that had not been required for nearly a year, and swept his feet out from under him.

And then she ran. If she could just get to the hall, someone might see or hear her. The door grew larger and larger as she drew nearer. She pumped her arms and legs as hard as she could and reached for the handle -

A hard, unforgiving band of… something… was looped across her chest, holding her arms at her sides. Her senses went quiet again, any hint of her gift fizzling like a snuffed-out candle flame. The air was pushed from her lungs and she was roughly forced back into a wall of hard, unforgiving muscle. He had caught her. Malik had been able to overtake her, and panic became a living, writhing thing within her. She would never escape after this… after all she had revealed, she knew her future with him had been irrevocably changed. So she did the only thing she could think of - one last attempt to save herself.

She screamed.

“CASTEEL!” Malik’s hand was over her mouth in an instant, but her call had made it past her lips. It was all she could do, and pray that it meant anything. Tears fell unbidden from her wide eyes as the prince’s breath sawed in and out against her ear.

“These are the Bones of the Deities. The same thing that your wedding band is made of, you little whore,” he seethed, tightening the bind around her and causing her to whimper against his hand. “They keep your power in check.” Her breaths grew uneven as her body seized up. Gods, she’d really done it. How could she be so stupid, to think she could escape on a whim? But, still, she’d been so close. Poppy almost wished she wouldn’t have made it past the threshold of their bedchamber. Perhaps it would feel less devastating.

“You’re going to wish you’d thought twice about this little escape attempt, my lovely wife,” he snarled, and she felt the wet heat of his tongue on the column of her neck. “Since I can no longer trust you to wear your wedding band, I’m afraid you’ve left me no other choice.” The prince secured the bone binding at her back and then immediately moved her trembling body back against his. She could feel his hardness, as if her rebellion and his impending retribution had aroused him. Poppy tried to breathe deeply, to calm herself and find a place in her mind to escape the pain that was certain to come. Malik clutched her hips, returning his mouth to her neck, his fangs scratching threateningly over the sensitive skin.

“I hope you’re prepared to spend the rest of your days chained in a cell or to my bed. You are now a liability, and you only have yourself to blame.” With that, his fangs sunk into her flesh and she was consumed with raw, searing agony. She screamed again, her vocal cords straining at the brutality as he drank from her vein.

Before it became too much, her only thought was that she had tried, had been so close, and had failed.

She wasn’t sure she could survive the consequences.

Chapter Text

“Remind me what we’re doing here, exactly?”

Casteel sent a baleful glance toward his bonded Wolven, who was lazily propped against the wall next to his brother’s chamber door. “Yes, Kieran, you’ve made it quite clear that you disapprove,” he grumbled, rapping his knuckles on the heavy wood.

“I don’t disapprove , especially with all you’ve told me. I’m just not sure we’ve properly explored the consequences -” The prince pushed the door open, since nobody seemed present to open it from the inside. Kieran rolled his eyes and exhaled dramatically with puffed cheeks. “Consequences be damned, I suppose.”

“Yes, Kieran, consequences be damned,” Casteel hissed, turning back to the man who was now the only brother he had in his life, though it wasn’t a blood bond between them. But they had grown up together - were bonded - and the Wolven was one of the best men he would ever know. “Nobody has seen her in three days. She hasn’t been in the garden, not in the council meetings, nor at meals. I don’t know what it means for her, but it can’t be good.” With that he turned back to the sitting room, finding nobody there, and strained to hear if anyone was moving around in the bedchambers beyond. 

Nothing.

Frowning, the prince surged forward and, without a second thought, threw open the double doors into the bedroom. He wasn’t sure what he expected, but what he saw was not it.

Nothing. Nobody in the bed, nor sitting in one of the wingback chairs in the corner, nor lounging on the small terrace that led into the garden. Panic started to bloom in his stomach.

“Where could she be?” he whispered, stalking into the bathing room. When he made it to the center of the room he turned in a circle, his hands winding through his hair as frustration and dread strangled his thoughts.

“Oh, fuck! Cas!”

The prince bolted at the sound of Kieran’s voice, the curse sending his mind into overdrive. When he passed into the bedroom, he spied the now-open closet door and burst through the opening, skidding to a halt as soon as he entered. There, in a crumpled heap next to Kieran’s crouching form, was Poppy.

“Oh, gods,” Casteel breathed. The Wolven moved out of the way and the prince knelt next to the battered princess. Nearly every inch of exposed skin was discolored or marked, as if it had been someone’s unholy goal to put her through as much pain as possible. Her wrists and ankles were bound with some sort of polished white chain that looked like bone - not unlike what her wedding band was made of. Her eyes were closed, and Cas prayed that she was asleep or unconscious. That perhaps she wasn’t feeling the pain that undoubtedly consumed her body with every breath. He tenderly stroked his fingertips down her cheek before tucking her splayed red hair behind her ear and cupping her cheek. A broken “Poppy” escaped his lips, and he thought his heart would shatter into a thousand pieces. But it would have to wait. He never would have imagined he would find her like this, but that only made his original mission more dire.

They had come there to get her out.

“Kieran, can you grab some of her clothes?” He looked up to his brother, who worked on a swallow and nodded. As he started pulling clothes from the hangers, Casteel gingerly scooped the woman up into his arms and carefully carried her out into the bedroom and laid her gently on the bed. First he went to work on the bone chains, grunting with effort as he pulled them apart at her wrists and ankles and cursing at the bloody, angry flesh they left in their wake. Then he wrapped her in a blanket and lifted her into his arms again as Kieran emerged from the closet, a stuffed satchel hanging over his shoulder. The Wolven’s icy eyes softened, clearly observing the prince’s devastation, and he let an encouraging hand fall upon his shoulder.

“Come on, Cas. Let’s get her out of here,” he offered, jerking his chin toward the terrace door.

With a sharp nod, Casteel strode purposefully out of Malik’s bedchambers, Poppy in tow. He would take her out of the city, take her somewhere safe so she could recover in peace.

And then he would kill his brother.

~~~

“So you know what they are?” Prince Casteel was perched on the edge of a small bed, elbows leaning heavily on his knees as his head twisted to face a pacing Jasper. The cabin was incredibly small, which was both a blessing and a curse. For the four people occupying the tight space - if they included the unconscious woman currently resting under a pile of bedraggled throws and afghans - it was close quarters, indeed. But it’s tiny size and remote location made it an unlikely stop for anyone who searched for the wine-haired maiden.

Malik knew of the cabin, of course. Had shared this very room with Cas and Kieran more times than they could count. It was only a matter of time before he found them here, unless they traveled further. Casteel didn’t want to go any further. Any danger they would avoid from Malik would just be replaced by the Ascended as they made their way back into Solis. Spessa’s End may be safe a day or so longer, but it wasn’t worth the harshness of the journey.

Poppy had been asleep for two days.

“They’re called the Bones of the Deities. They are one of the only proven ways to contain a god or a deity. They prevent their prisoner from using their eather, and tighten when the victim struggles.” Jasper nodded to the bed as he surmised, “That is likely why her wrists and ankles were bloodied.” Casteel’s lips curled downward as he let his head fall between his shoulders. 

“I never thought Malik would be capable of this,” he murmured, more to himself than to anyone else. True, his brother had been primed for the throne, and had encouraged Casteel to pursue his other passions. He had always thought it had been out of understanding and love, but perhaps there had been more to it than that. Had Malik always been thirsty for the power that the throne would provide? Had he always been willing to sacrifice the innocent to get it, and to keep it? Shaking his head, Casteel looked back up to Kieran’s father. “How much longer do you think she’ll be out?”

“I can’t imagine it will be too much longer. Her body has been recovering remarkably quickly, which can likely be attributed to her no longer being restrained. The eather in her blood, and her heritage, is working wonders,” Jasper answered, nodding toward the head of the bed. His expression did not soften, remaining dark and thoughtful as he added, “Both a blessing and a curse for her, I’m sure.” Casteel’s head bobbed solemnly, turning his attention back to his sleeping princess and grasping the small hand that lay over the blankets. All three of them had seen the marks that crossed her velvet-soft flesh. Not the jagged, wending scars from where the Craven had sunk their teeth and claws into her has a child, but the many stick-straight, raised remnants from what had to have been countless beatings with a cane and, potentially, even more unsavory implements.

A blessing that she could heal so well. A curse - that swift recovery only meant her body would be ripe for more torment. It was a paradox with which Casteel was intimately familiar.

A soft moan and a rustle of sheets prompted the Wolven to take their leave, Kieran dropping a heavy, reassuring hand upon the prince’s shoulder before exiting the room. Casteel slid further up the bed, shifting her hand to his left and reaching out with the other to trace over her cheek with gentle fingertips. Her full lashes fluttered as her eyelids struggled to open, cracking and blinking as they revealed those beautiful orbs the color of Atlantian spring. Even darkened with demons and exhaustion they were the most exquisite jewels in all the land, more valuable than anything that could be found in his parents’ royal coffers.

“Good morning, Princess,” he whispered, a soft grin spreading his lips. His fingers continued stroking her skin and hair, busying themselves with pushing the wild, silken strands away from her face as he amended, “Afternoon, actually, not that it matters, I suppose.” A raspy huff answered him, and he chuckled. Poppy’s eyebrows furrowed in confusion, her gaze roaming about the room and taking in the far less opulent furnishings than those she had left.

“We’re in a small cabin on the far side of the Skotos Mountains. Kieran and I have used it for hunting in the past. Or when we’ve needed to lie low,” he said, hoping that the explanation would suffice. Casteel didn’t care about where they were or why it was or was not a good idea. “How are you feeling?” She screwed her eyes shut and chewed on that bottom lip, as if she was deep in thought. Then, with a small gasp, they burst open again.

“Kieran? The one who interrupted us at the Red Pearl?” Her voice was gravelly and hoarse, but her words… He couldn’t stop the rich, throaty laugh that bubbled up through his chest. At least he wasn’t the only one who had been bitter about that.

“The very same,” he replied. “You didn’t answer -”

“Did you actually break his hand for that? Or was that just an empty threat?”

“Gods, you are violent. And stop avoiding my question,” he growled playfully, reveling in the glimmer in her gaze and the slight upward tilt of her lips. That she could still smile, after everything she’d been through, was a miracle. “How. Are. You. Feeling?” He enunciated each word, as if she hadn’t heard him or understood the first time. Because he would not entertain the prospect that she had intentionally ignored the question. He would not allow her to avoid it.

“I’m… I’m alright. I’m…” She wriggled around beneath the blankets, shrugging her shoulders and bending her legs. “I’m a little stiff and sore, but… but nothing like I was… yesterday? Wait, how long have we been here? What happened?” Casteel hated the way her eyes shadowed with puzzlement, the realization dawning of how much her most recent altercation with Malik had impacted her own understanding of time. He gave her small, delicate hand a gentle squeeze.

“You’ve been sleeping here for a little over two days. And it took us about half a day to get here from Evaemon,” the prince said, working on a swallow as he began to explain the next bit. “Nobody had seen you for three days after our day in the city, and I knew something bad had happened. I was determined to find you, so Kieran and I snuck into Malik’s chambers that morning. We found you in the closet…” His heart constricted as he watched her face flush. It was the same bitter heat of shame that had colored her features when she’d tried to hide the Duke’s abuse from him, and it enraged him that she had been made to feel that what had been done to her was somehow a reflection of her worth or her strength. His ceaseless caresses came to a stop on her cheek, his large palm cupping her face.

“Poppy,” he breathed. Gods, he felt the weight of the world upon his shoulders as he realized how truly close he might have been to a world without her in it. Had his brother lost control? Or did he know exactly how far he could go before she was too broken to heal? “Do you… do you remember anything about what happened?”

“I got too bold. Too brave,” she confessed softly, not meeting his gaze. Casteel had not yet relinquished his grasp on her, so he let his fingers gently weave between her own.

“What do you mean?” he asked.

“He burst into the room. Angry. He had a bruise on his face. I’m assuming that was your doing.” Her eyes flashed to him for just a moment, and he could’ve sworn there was a split second shimmer of warm satisfaction before her focus turned to their joined hands. “He called me Poppy. He’d never done that before, and I immediately told him not to call me that. Because only my friends call me Poppy. And then… Gods, his eyes were so dark. I knew I was toeing a very dangerous line when he mentioned that you could call me Poppy, but he could not.” Guilt sliced through him. It had been his slip of the tongue that had started this.

“Fuck, Poppy. I -”

“Can you help me sit up?” she asked, wriggling away from his grasp. Her features screwed up in concentration, the tip of her tongue poking out between her lips as she tried to lift herself up with trembling arms. With a sigh and a shake of his head, Casteel slid forward and wound a forearm around the back of her shoulders to lift her. Poppy pushed herself back as he moved the pillows to support her back against the weathered headboard. In a surprisingly bold move, the fire-haired beauty grabbed his hand and cradled it in both of hers. He stared at where they connected, the pale, milky flesh a beautiful contrast of moonlight against his own sun-kissed golden skin. “I can feel you. Your guilt. It weighs on you like the veil did me. Please… don’t hide behind it. You are guilty of nothing, Casteel.” A feather-soft caress brushed over his cheek and his chin jerked up to find the bruised maiden giving him a gentle smile, her palm settling against the side of his face. His heart lurched, beating nearly out of his chest, and the beauty and silent fortitude of her. She was… everything. The prince choked on a swallow, attempting to tamp down the emotion clogging his throat.

“But it’s my fault.” His voice cracked, and he blinked back the stinging in his eyes as he grasped her hand and turned to press his lips to the lines of her palm. Poppy’s breath hitched, and he could feel the tremor down through her fingertips. “I was so angry,” he whispered against her soft, warm skin. “Gods, I wanted to kill him. And I wasn’t thinking, and I called you Poppy and he commented that I was on such familiar terms with you. And then… nobody saw you anywhere. All that anyone heard was a crass, offhand remark about you performing your wifely duties.” Those words were like acid on his tongue, and he spat them as if they left a bitter taste in his mouth and his soul. How could a man who shared his blood be such a monster?

“You may have struck the match, but I fanned the flame,” Poppy argued, her voice a melody of reassurance. “I demanded that he not call me Poppy. Then I demanded he tell me about the ring, asked him what he was so afraid of. And then when he came at me when I slipped my ring off, I ducked and kicked his feet out from under him.” Casteel’s breath caught on his disbelief, and he coughed away the shock and exasperation.

“Godsdammit, Poppy,” he groaned, running golden fingers through the waves of his thick hair. He moved both of their joined hands between them atop the ragged green blanket, squeezing to emphasize his words. “You’re so incredibly reckless. Brave and lovely and utterly astounding, but reckless.” Small fingers squeezed in response, as a blush bloomed over her cheeks. And while he knew Malik had punished her for her impertinence, the prince couldn’t help but feel that if he had restrained himself, she wouldn’t have been locked, bound and beaten, in a closet. Who could say what he’d done to her in those three days.

“I don’t regret it,” she whispered. Casteel’s gaze met hers, and he fell into the promise of the Atlantian spring in her eyes. “It felt like I was… me again. No matter the consequences, I felt strong and bold. I was strong and bold. And you gave me that, Casteel. Going into the city with you was the first time I’d felt truly alive in months. You made me smile - a real, genuine smile - for the first time since I left Masadonia. You gave me all of that. You gave me strength to stand up for myself, and I haven’t done that in so, so long. So don’t go blaming yourself for the consequences of what I did, because I wouldn’t change it. Yes, it was agonizing, but… everything is different now. Better. I feel hope again, and that’s because of you.”

The Atlantian prince felt his heart swell and grow and shatter and mend, and he was compelled to reach for her. Absently, he registered wetness threatening to spill onto his cheeks, and he closed his eyes to take a shuddering breath.

“Poppy?” he rasped, opening his eyes to her gentle, concerned expression. “Can I hold you?” Her head tilted, as if that wasn’t what she expected. But then she nodded, and Casteel was a man nearly-possessed. A tiny giggle bubbled from her lips as he lifted her - with nearly no effort - and slid himself beneath her, setting her back down between his thighs. He sighed contentedly when he tucked her head beneath his chin, and she echoed it. One of his hands settled across her lower back, while the other tangled it's way into her hair. Gods, he’d always loved it. It was silky and wild and thick, and he swore he might be content if he could just comb through it for hours, the relaxed woman snuggling into his chest. The silence was comfortable and easy, and he tried not to notice how much lighter she was. How he could feel the bone in her hip, her body having lost that luxurious suppleness that had set his fantasies aflame. It was as if there were no part of her that Malik had wished not to harm.

“I never forgot that night. At the Red Pearl,” she murmured, breaking the quiet. And his arm tightened around her. “When I went to Carsodonia - after I was forced to marry Malik and learned what my… responsibilities… would be, as a wife - I would think back on it. I would thank the gods that I had the chance to feel a touch like that. To be kissed like that.”

The prince stilled, sorting through thoughts and memories and words that were all clamoring on the tip of his tongue. As a guard he’d had a bit of a reputation - a man who could wield his words as deftly as his weapons, and whose skill with his hands and body had circulated quickly through the rumor mill of Masadonia. He hadn’t been the cad the rumors had claimed, but, looking back, he definitely could have made smarter choices regarding his partners. Britta had been particularly loose-lipped.

But Poppy had been special, and he’d known that since he first felt her lips against his, even though he’d had no idea who she was that first time. He had been trying to figure out how to keep her out of the Ascended’s hands the moment he found out about the Duke’s punishments. And, not long after that, he had found himself increasingly enamored with her wit, her feistiness, her luscious curves, and her skill with a blade. But after she’d been taken, he hadn’t allowed himself to think about whatever potential had sparked between them. Instead, he turned his attention fully to immersing Vikter into his ranks, killing Duke Teerman and Lord Mazeen, and then returning to his homeland to lick his wounds and decide what to do next.

Never, in a million years, would he have expected the Maiden to walk into the great hall in Evaemon.

Poppy sighed in his embrace, her hands falling into her lap. “I’m sorry if that’s strange. And you don’t have to say anything.” The heavy burden of resignation cracked her soft voice, and it was a poisoned dagger to his gut. Clearly he hadn’t been the only one who felt something. The quiet grew heavy with unspoken words and unanswered confessions, and though Casteel’s hands resumed their ministrations, his mind was whirling and warring until he couldn’t hold it in anymore.

“I dreamed of you. Every day,” he whispered. She shuddered beneath his hands, and he added, “Until Malik put that godsforsaken bone ring on your finger.” Small hands pushed against his chest, and she lifted her head to face him with wide eyes.

“What?”

Casteel gave a halfhearted half-smile and lifted a hand to cup her cheek. “It was hell, Princess. I could feel your anguish, as if it were my own. I would wake to the echoes of your cries.” Poppy’s breathing grew uneven and desperate, emerald eyes blowing out in alarm. “What is it?”

“I thought… I thought my mind was trying to save me - to take me to a safe space when the rest of my life was a spiral of fear and pain and confusion,” she murmured, gaze drifting away from his face before snapping back to his own amber eyes. “I dreamed of you, too.” His heart hammered behind his ribs, as if confirming what he’d been trying to ignore. The connection they’d shared. The way it felt like their souls had known each other far longer than the few days they’d spent in each other’s company. His fierce devotion and desire for vengeance against all who had done her harm. The dreams, where he could feel her. The immense sense of loss when his life no longer included her. It was becoming increasingly clear, even as he’d tried to deny it.

“Heartmates.” The word was little more than a breeze, barely loud enough to hear. A timid step toward a hopeful future - one that Casteel would not allow his bastard of a brother to steal from him.

“Wha-”

With a mental ‘ fuck it ’ he leaned in and crashed his lips down over hers.

Chapter Text

When Casteel cracked open the door, he found Poppy sitting upright at the head of the bed, her gaze fixed on the book in her lap. Pushing it a little further, as quietly as he could, he simply watched her. The way her chest rose and fell as she breathed. The way her cheeks turned pink and a whisper of a smile tilted her lips. The way that thick, unruly mane of crimson tumbled over her shoulders, her fingers absently tucking a stray lock behind her ear, only for it to escape again. Leaning his shoulder on the doorframe he crossed his arms and let a grin stretch his lips. She was absolutely breathtaking.

As he watched her, his mind wandered back to the kiss they’d shared only a couple days before. Well, shared was a strong word - he’d practically attacked her. But she’d met him stroke for stroke, and it had been one of the most incredible things he had ever experienced. They had shared a few more kisses since then, and the prince had found that he had a penchant for brushing his lips across her temple and brow as often as he could manage. It felt natural - as easy as breathing. A satisfied hum rumbled in his chest and Poppy’s head jerked up. A shy smile graced her angelic face.

“What are you doing? How long have you been standing there?”

Casteel chuckled, kicking the door wide open and stepping into the room. “Not very long,” he answered with a lazy shrug. “And I was just admiring the lovely view.” The redhead rolled her eyes, and his heart swelled at that, filled with pride and awe at the irreverence that had emerged so quickly.

“Oh, my gods,” she huffed, shaking her head as her face and neck turned pink. The prince scoffed.

“Now, Princess, I won’t have any of that humility nonsense. You’re beautiful, and you should know that.” Casteel took slow, measured steps around to the head of the bed, his gaze never straying from her fiercely flushed skin. Anger clenched his hands into fists, knowing that he was on a very short list of people who had told her that. And that he was likely the last one to have done so, months and months ago. Instead of scolding her further for being so demure, he simply waited for her to finally look up at him and nodded toward the bed. “May I sit with you?” Poppy dipped her chin, and he settled himself on the mattress, his back against the headboard as he made a show of examining the pile of books on the side table.

“You’ll be happy to know that Netta absolutely adores you, though I expected nothing less,” he mused, grinning as he spied a familiar leather binding at the bottom of the stack.

“Oh, she’s delightful. Thank you for having her visit. And for asking her to bring some books. I haven’t gotten to read in so long,” she sighed wistfully, and Casteel leaned down to brush his lips against her temple.

“What if I told you that I made sure she included one of your favorites?” he asked, and her chin tilted up so she could look at him, eyes narrowed in confusion. He grinned rakishly and snatched the book from the night stand. When she looked down at it her eyes widened.

“Oh, my gods! What is wrong with you?” she squeaked, and even her ears turned flaming red. Her pale hands covered her blushing cheeks as she hissed, “And that is not one of my favorite books!”

“Liar,” he crooned, chuckling at the scowl that he could see forming behind her hands.

“How on earth did you get that?” Poppy whispered an exasperated shriek. 

Casteel dipped his chin, giving a baleful look. “Poppy. If you think you hid things well in your room, you are very sorely mistaken.” She gasped, lifting her head with that incredulous fire burning in her eyes.

“Vikter never found anything. And neither did Tawny! Or the Duke!”

“Ah, but they don’t know you like I do, Princess,” the prince answered, leaning close enough that his lips brushed the shell of her ear.

“And why did you keep it?” Her voice was soft as a breath, and he nuzzled his nose to that hair he loved so much.

“Because. In spite of how incredibly inappropriate, scandalous, salacious, naughty -”

“Thank you for the vocabulary lesson, but if you could get to the point?” she huffed, and he chuckled. Casteel closed his eyes and took a breath, taking in every magical piece of her that he could.

“Because, my princess, in spite of the content… it reminded me of you. Of the day I caught you on the window ledge, and the way your face flamed when I taught you what ‘manhood’ meant -”

“I knew what it meant!”

“Of course you did.” The prince grinned as Poppy’s nose wrinkled. But then his expression softened, and he reached an arm around to trace a finger down her cheek. “It made me think of your reckless bravery and your fierce heart. Your determination to live . To feel . It… it reminded me of better times. Helped me fill the void that I felt when you were gone. I just… wanted to keep it close. It reminded me that, even if my nightmares were real, you were strong. That you would be okay.” Her eyes were shimmering, silver lining her lower lashes. Casteel’s palm cupped her cheek, and a single tear slipped out as she closed her eyes and leaned into him. His lips captured the droplet near the corner of her mouth before whispering against the warm, silken skin. “I have something else for you.”

The prince pulled away and reached down into his boot, finding the cool bone handle of the dagger Vikter had told him to keep - made him promise to return to her. This gasp was different than what she’d done with the book, and when he looked back to her face the tears were flowing in a deluge, her hands cupped over her mouth. The crimson blade glinted in the warm afternoon light as he held it out to her.

“I gave this back to Vikter when he found me in your chambers the day you left. When we parted in Spessa’s End he gave it back and made me promise that I would return it to you.” Casteel swallowed the emotion as the lovely woman at his side reverently took the blade from his hands, her fingers trembling as they felt the cool, smooth stone. “I think… I think he knew that we would find each other again. I’d like to think that, at least.” Without warning, Poppy sunk the dagger into the mattress and flung herself into his embrace, her arms winding firmly around his neck. Hot, wet tears drenched his throat, where she had buried her face as her emotions overwhelmed her. The prince’s hands caressed her back and wound through her hair as her shoulders shook and her lungs heaved. Gods, it must have been so much to try to keep in - pain, fear, confusion, then disbelief and joy. The poor young woman had been holding everything in as long as she could remember, risking harsh punishment if she failed to do so. So he just whispered gently into her hair - a reminder that he was there and that she was safe.

Eventually the tears subsided, but Poppy made no move to free herself from his hold, and he sighed contentedly as they sat snuggled together at the head of the bed.

“Cas?” His name vibrated against his neck.

“Yes, Princess?”

“What are heartmates?”

One side of the prince’s mouth tipped up, even if the subject made him more than a little nervous. He should have known she wouldn’t miss what he’d said before he’d kissed her the other day - like he was suffocating and she was air. Would it scare her if he told her that he was sure they were destined to be together?

“They’re very rare,” he began, trying to find the easiest way to explain, “but they share a connection. Deeper than friendship. Deeper than love. It’s like… an intimate familiarity with each other’s very being.”

“Like soulmates?” she asked, her voice still muffled against him.

“Somewhat. The first heartmates had to go through intense trials to prove their devotion, as they were never meant to be a part of the same world. But when they emerged victorious, the gods granted them their blessing, and they -”

“Lived happily ever after?” Poppy giggled, and he couldn’t help but chuckle along, planting a kiss into her hair.

“Something like that,” he murmured.

“And… and that’s what you think we are?” Her voice was quiet and uncertain, but he couldn’t tell if it was from the concept of heartmates or from the idea that he thought she was his. Gently, he grasped her shoulders and pushed her back, looking into her wide, depthless eyes.

“Does that scare you, Poppy?” he breathed, and his lungs seized as he waited for her answer. And, gods, if his heart didn’t nearly burst from his chest when a sweet smile painted her full lips as she shook her head.

“What scares me, Casteel, is the thought of never escaping Malik. It scares me that I might never know what love is, what it feels like. The only thing that scares me about you and I being heartmates is that I’m afraid he will find me and steal me away from you.” She swallowed, eyes growing damp and bright. “Or steal you from me.”

Cas palmed the back of her neck, bringing their foreheads together as he whispered fiercely, “I will never let that happen. I promise, Poppy. From this moment to the last moment, I am yours.” The kiss he planted on her lips was soft and sweet, full of devotion and care. When they parted Poppy took a deep breath, her hands coming to rest upon his chest.

“Will you show me? How it’s supposed to be?” Her expression was so open and trusting that it broke his heart. And he knew, without a shadow of a doubt, that he would do anything for her. Give her anything she wanted. He kissed the corner of her mouth.

“You’re sure?” he asked, searching that emerald gaze for fear or uncertainty. But she nodded, grin widening.

“Yes.”

Casteel kissed her again, slow and sensual and deep, his tongue teasing past the seam of her lips. He lifted her up and drew his knees in so he could rise on them and move her to the edge of the bed. He settled her there, her legs dangling over the side, before stepping off the bed and pulling his tunic over his head and tossing it to the side. Then he knelt between Poppy’s knees, letting his palms slide up her thighs as he gazed up at her.

“If you feel uncomfortable - at any point - you tell me to stop, alright?” His fingers hooked over the band of her breeches, noting that they were only loosely laced. “Lean back and lift your hips for me, Princess.” When she obeyed, he tugged the fabric down over her hips and down her thighs, his tanned knuckles sliding over her velvet skin. After she lowered, Casteel lifted one of her feet to tug the worn brown garment off her leg and repeated with the other. Then he trailed his calloused fingertips back up from her ankles, over the curve of her outer calves, reveling in the goosebumps that he could see pimpling her flesh in his wake. They didn’t stop until they reached the hem of the too-big tunic that seemed to swallow the fair maiden before him. Her cheeks were pink, lips parted ever so slightly. She looked so innocent and entranced, and the prince basked in the knowledge that she was giving herself to him, that she trusted him to worship her body the way she deserved.

“Do you want to keep this on?” When she took a breath, startled at the question, he smiled gently. “Don’t misunderstand, Poppy. I would love nothing more than to see all of you, but only if that is what you want.” Her flush deepend to that shame-tainted crimson and she looked away from him.

“I… I’m not sure you would like what you see,” she confessed quietly, and his expression faltered. He reached for her chin, turning it back to him.

“You are beautiful, Poppy. All of you. I said it that first day I truly saw your face. I meant it then, and I mean it now.” His thumb stretched to brush over her lower lip.

“There are… more scars. Than before,” she rasped, the crack of emotion hampering her words.

“And I will look upon every single one of them with the reverence they deserve.” Casteel reached up with his other hand and secured her face between his palms. “They are a testament to your strength, and I will cherish them just as I do the woman who bears them. Alright?” When she nodded he smiled again, letting his thumbs brush across her cheeks again before returning his grip to the hem of the billowy tunic that was just a shade darker than her skin. “Arms up,” he murmured, lifting the shirt in time with her arms and standing himself up to keep her from having to bend forward. He kept his eyes averted as he tossed away the tunic, taking a breath to calm his nerves and his hardening length.

Gazing upon her was a jolt to everything he was, lightning striking into his very soul. His eyes raked over her, taking it all in. Her neck was dotted with a smattering of small marks from the puncture of fangs. Her collar bones were more pronounced than they had been before, the skin flushed the same color as her face. The same puncture marks littered her full breasts, and he hated his brother more than he thought he ever could, knowing the agony that he had ensured his bite would cause. He could have made it pleasurable. But he didn’t. The soft folds of her stomach met her thighs, and he could see narrow, silvered lines of where she had been cut slicing over the pale skin of her belly and legs. Her luscious body was a map of pain and fear, of fortitude and stubborn hope, and every inch of it was glorious. A rough chuckle escaped him, and he raked a hand through his unruly locks. Poppy’s eyes never left his face, beseeching and uncertain.

Casteel took a step forward, finding himself once again between her knees and peering down at her. His hands trailed down from her shoulders, feeling the ridges of scars on one arm as they journeyed down to grasp her hands and lift them. Holding her up, he whispered, “Lie back for me,” and he helped her ease back until she was laying on the bed, her legs still hanging over the edge. He settled his hands on either side of her and leaned down until they shared breaths, his strong arms holding him rigid above her as he drowned in her shining eyes. “You are exquisite , Poppy. A goddess . Truly.” His lips found hers, gently pushing and pulling. “I have never seen anything more beautiful in all my life.” The redhead let out a breathy, unsure giggle at his words. Perhaps she didn’t believe him. Perhaps she did. Regardless, he would prove it to her. Over and over, until there was no question in her mind about what he felt when he looked upon her.

He kissed her again, sucking her bottom lip gently between his teeth. Then his mouth found her jaw, planting a kiss there before continuing down the column of her throat. Chaste, tender kisses that lit him aflame. Poppy, too, if her heaving chest and quick breaths were any indication. Casteel continued his journey down her sternum, placing a kiss between her breasts before turning his attention to the peak to the left. Her breath caught has his head dipped toward the bud, and he felt a trembling hand on his shoulder. When his eyes found hers, he could see the trepidation there - fear of fangs and blood and pain. Immediately, he pulled himself back up so they were face to face.

“You’re safe. I won’t hurt you. I promise,” he vowed, pushing a strand of crimson away from her eyes.

“I’m sorry, I just -” The prince silenced her with a kiss before she could say anymore.

“Don’t, Poppy. Don’t apologize. Never for this. You’ve done nothing wrong. You’ve only redirected me, which is exactly what I want you to do.” His lips quirked and he kissed the tip of her nose. “Would you prefer it if I use my hands on them instead of my mouth? Or nothing at all?”

“You can use your hands,” she whispered. Her cheeks were still blushing, and Casteel had a passing thought that the stain may just be permanent, considering all that had made her flush to this point. Not that he would mind - he absolutely adored those pink cheeks. With a nod he slid himself back down her body, resuming his path of kisses down the center of her stomach as he palmed one of her breasts, kneading it tenderly. When he was again kneeling between her legs, his mouth at the apex of her thighs, she gasped again. “Wh-what are you doing?” He looked up at her with a wicked grin.

“Come now, Poppy. I know you’ve read a decent amount of that diary. Surely there are many things you found… memorable,” he answered before branding one of the scars on her inner thigh with his kiss.

“I… I seem to have… forgotten.” Poppy’s voice was raspy with need. He could smell her arousal. Hear her thinning anxiety.

“I’m taking care of you, Goddess,” he murmured, looking straight into her eyes. “I’m going to make you cum and make sure you’re plenty wet and ready to take my cock. And I swear to all the gods and goddesses that it will feel incredible. Do you trust me to do that?”

“Oh… okay.” Her lips made a delicious ‘O’ and she nodded. “I trust you.”

“Alright,” he answered. And then he plunged into the auburn curls surrounding her cleft, intent on feasting upon her sweetness. Her body immediately jerked, and he hooked her thighs in each of his arms, pressing his hands over her hips to keep her still.

“Oh, gods,” she cried, hiccuped gasps and mewls reaching satisfied ears. Her hands almost immediately found his hair, frantically clutching and moving. He licked up her wet slit, the tip of his tongue dancing on the nub at her apex and making her wail. “Oh, my gods, Cas!” He chuckled against her sex, feeling his cock jerking in his breeches. His tongue circled the bundle of nerves, causing her hips to buck against his hold. Her moans and pants grew louder and more desperate, and she cried out as if she didn’t know what to do.

And it was very possible that she didn’t - that she truly hadn’t felt anything like this before. As he devoured her, tongued her, he would lift his head and encourage her.

“You’re safe.”

“I have you.”

“Let go, Goddess.”

She came apart on his tongue, screamed as her thighs tremored around his head. Her fingers gripped his hair, a delectable twinge of pain as his tongue carried her through the throes of her ecstasy. His pace slowed, until he finally allowed himself one more languid lick up the length of her. Poppy’s breathing was labored and heavy, echoing through the room as he released her legs and stood. He used his heels to step out of his boots and then peeled off his extremely tight breeches before leaning his body over hers again. His chest tightened with panic as he saw the tears in her eyes.

“Poppy? Are you alright?”

“I’ve… I’ve never felt anything like that before,” she panted.

“Is… is that good?” he asked.

“It was incredible,” she breathed, and then tilted her head up to capture his lips in a kiss. Casteel wholeheartedly surrendered to her boldness, letting her deepen their connection as he let a hand roam over the side of her breast and down to her hip. When Poppy’s head fell back onto the bed she wore a lazy grin, and he had never seen anything so arousing.

“Are you ready for me, Goddess?” he purred against her cheek. His hand slid under her back and lifted her enough to slide her into a better position on the mattress. His legs and hips were still between her thighs, his length hard against her stomach. “Is this still what you want?” He watched as Poppy’s gaze flicked from his face to where his manhood jutted between them, that delicious blush heating her face again. When her focus returned to his face, he worked on a swallow.

“Y-yes. I… I do want this,” she answered, though her voice was shaky. Casteel’s fingers absently stroked the ends of her hair that had fallen away from her shoulder as he dipped down for another tender kiss.

“I’m not him, Poppy,” he offered. “This is all up to you. You decide the pace. You decide when we stop. You are in complete control here, alright? You have nothing to fear from me.” Her  chest rose and fell with a deep, calming breath. Then she nodded and smiled up at him.

“I know. I’m ready.”

The prince could not hold back the reverent sigh that escaped his lips. “You are amazing, Poppy. I’m constantly in awe of you.” Casteel fisted his shaft, looking down for a moment to find her entrance and stroking the head up and down to gather some of the wetness there. Then he pushed in, just enough to allow him to return his attention to Poppy, who was still staring at where their bodies were joining with wide eyes as she gulped down deep inhales of air.. “Hey. Look at me, Goddess. Focus on me.” Her lashes fluttered as she blinked, and then he was falling into Atlantian spring. “There you are. Just breathe, Poppy. Keep your eyes on me and breathe.”

As he began to push forward he studied her face, watching for any twitch of muscle or hint of a grimace. His hips pulled back slightly, and then pumped slowly forward again. A little deeper. Her breath hitched, but she didn’t appear to be in pain. Those full, pink lips parted into that delicious ‘O’ as he continued the measured thrusting of his length into her. She began to moan as he went deeper, her hands lifting to clutch at his shoulders.

“You alright?” he asked, pausing his movement.

“I’m okay,” she breathed in response, tightening her hold. “It’s just intense. But it doesn’t hurt. It feels… good.” With that reassurance, he pushed into her again, and soon he was buried as deep as he could go. It felt incredible - her core wrapping him in molten heat. He remained there, seated inside her, giving her time to adjust. But her eyes were intent on him, one hand lifting to stroke his jaw. She grinned shyly.

“Please, Cas. You can start moving.” Her hands wrapped around the back of his neck, dainty fingers tangling into the hair at his nape. He took a shuddering breath, and she added, “I need you to start moving.” Pure, male desire rumbled in his chest and throat, and he began a slow, intentional rhythm, thrusting deep into her and pulling back. The sounds she made - tiny gasps and whimpers, were music to his ears. Her eyes rolling back and her bottom lip dragging between her teeth the most exquisite art he’d ever seen. But it was when she moaned ‘ more ’ that he nearly came. It was only through gritting his teeth and pausing inside her - which earned a whine of complaint - that he composed himself.

“You want more of me, Goddess?” he purred, lifting his hips to pull himself nearly all the way out of her. Poppy groaned and wrapped her legs around him, trying to keep him from moving any further. His dark chuckle filled the space between them, and he leaned down to whisper in her ear, “Such a needy girl.” And then he thrust himself deep inside her.

“Oh, gods,” Poppy cried, clawing into his back and shoulders. It was a delicious pain as he continued plunging into her, reveling in the way her body molded to his and the way his name sounded as she repeated it over and over in the throes of pleasure. “Oh, gods, yes .” He knew he wouldn’t last much longer, with his heartmate taking all of him deep within her and glowing with her own pleasure.

“Yes, Poppy. You’re so godsdamned perfect. You feel so good, so wet for me,” he growled, his pace becoming more frantic. And she met him thrust for thrust, her fingers clinging to him as her body began to shake. “Let go, Goddess. Cum for me. Let yourself feel all of your pleasure. All of me. Cum on my cock, Poppy.”

“Cas, Cas, CAS !” She tipped over the edge, her walls clenching him in the most magnificent way as she wailed in her climax. It sent Casteel roaring into his own release, pumping into her until he was empty. He gulped in air, his lungs ablaze from their joining, and stared down at those beautiful blushing cheeks.

That were shimmering with the trails of tears.

He pulled out of her and scrambled to the head of the bed, pulling her trembling form into his arms. “Poppy. Poppy, please, tell me you’re okay. Tell me I didn’t hurt you,” he begged, voice shaking in time with her shuddering sobs. Dear gods, what had he done? Her arms wrapped around him, clinging to him as she cried. And he wondered why she would draw so close to him if he had harmed her. “Poppy, please ,” he choked. 

“I’m sorry,” she cried, shaking her head against his shoulder. “You didn’t hurt me, not at all. I just…” She pulled back, fixing him with luminous, emerald eyes. Tears still flowed freely down her cheeks as she whispered, “I never knew it could feel like that. I’d read about it, but I never thought I would get to experience it. I… I thought I was doomed to be his… his…” Her words cracked, her voice breaking as she unraveled again. Casteel pulled her back against his chest and pressed his lips to her crown as he stroked her back, feeling the ridges of her scarred flesh as he tried to calm her down.

“It’s alright, Princess. I’m here now, and I will never let him hurt you again,” he murmured into her hair, rocking her gently. “I will show you what love is supposed to feel like. You deserve to be happy. Treasured. You are mine now. Mine to care for. Mine to love and protect. And I will destroy anything or anyone that seeks to harm you.”

Eventually her tears subsided and her trembling ceased, and he left her side for a moment to fetch a cloth to wet and tend to her. When he returned to the room her eyes were dark with exhaustion, lids barely staying open. He quickly wiped the cloth over her brow before dragging it over her inner thighs and sensitive center. After using the cloth on himself, he tossed it to the floor and crawled onto the mattress beside the fair-skinned woman. He grinned in delight when Poppy rolled over and nestled her body against his, pressing a tiny kiss to his chest. Casteel wound his arm around the small of her back, drawing her impossibly closer with a contented hum. She sighed, and her tiny, tired voice barely made a sound.

“It feels like I shouldn’t feel this way so soon,” she sighed again. “But I think I’m falling in love with you.”

Casteel only smiled, dipping his chin to brush his lips over her brow. “I’m glad to hear it, Princess, because I’ve been falling since the Red Pearl.”

Chapter Text

Poppy’s eyelashes fluttered open, buttery sunlight casting a soft glow through the faded curtains at the window. She felt warm. Safe. Tucked against something hard and unyielding.

Casteel.

She took a deep breath, inhaling his decadent spice and pine scent. Gods, she felt like she could stay there forever, wrapped in his arms and legs tangled together. She was beginning to think that maybe she could, that this man could save her from the hell that her life had become. But even if he couldn’t, he’d given her so much already.

As if roused by her swirling thoughts, the Atlantian prince stirred, his hands splaying across her back and pressing her further into him. Like he was physically unable to touch enough of her at once, but he would try his hardest. Poppy couldn’t help but giggle.

“Good morning, Princess,” he muttered, voice gravelly with sleep.

“Good morning, Prince,” she answered, earning his raised brow as he looked down at her.

“ Prince ?” he crooned. “I never knew you to be so proper.” Poppy rolled her eyes, slapping at his chest. “In fact,” Casteel kissed her brow, “I know you to be quite inappropriate.” She gasped, feeling the prickle of heat in her cheeks.

“You’re one to talk!” she balked, but he only laughed. She tried to scowl, but it quickly softened into a grin as she felt so little of the grief and pain that he usually carried upon his strong shoulders. It was a comfort to see his happiness reach his eyes. When one of his hands tangled into her hair, stroking at the nape of her neck, she let out a moan that was nearly sinful. Her breath stuttered when he gripped her hair tighter.

“Keep making sounds like that and inappropriate will be the least of your worries.” His voice was all smoke and suggestion, and it made her stomach do the strangest things - flips and twists. Even as a delicious heat coiled even lower. “Speaking of our… activities… I wanted you to know that I do take the monthly contraceptive. From our conversations before, I assumed that you do not. So I just wanted to reassure you.”

He may as well have thrown her into an ice bath, the flames of desire extinguished at the thought of her potential fertility. Or lack thereof.

“Oh,” she whispered. She didn’t have the strength to look into those smoldering golden eyes. Did Casteel want children? Malik had demanded that she be examined by the healer after having not conceived in their first three months. The healer had assured them both that she was in good health - that there was no physical reason that her body should not be able to conceive and carry a child. But she couldn’t help but wonder. And now that there was hope for a life away from Malik, the prospect of potentially being infertile gripped her heart. Threatened to rip it away from her body.

“Poppy? What is it?” She felt a finger at her chin and didn’t resist when it tilted her face back up. The expression that met her gaze melted through every defense she had, concern and confusion softening the sharp edges of his cheekbones and jaw. Her broken, mangled heart swelled. She had trusted him with her body the night before. She could trust him now with this part of her soul.

“Malik was very intent on my producing an heir, but in eight months I never conceived. The healer assured us that I was physically fine. But I can’t help but wonder if he missed something,” she confessed, the tender caress of Casteel’s fingers over her cheek giving her comfort and strength. “It was a relief not to become pregnant with his child, but now… with you…” Her voice faltered.

“Oh, Poppy,” he breathed, and Poppy thought she might break down yet again. She had spent so many months - so many years - keeping a firm grip on her emotions. It was protection, from heartbreak and from her overseers, and suddenly she was free to feel. It was overwhelming, as was the sweet taste of his affection accompanying his gentle half-grin. “Let’s not borrow tomorrow’s problems for today. We can try on our own time, when we are ready, and we can face those challenges if they arise.”

Gods. How had he managed to settle so deeply into her heart so quickly? His words, his reassurance, his support - he was so quickly stitching together the ragged, torn edges of her soul. Her eyelashes fluttered as she desperately sought to blink away the wetness in her eyes. Cas leaned in and captured her lips with his, a tender, loving dance as his mouth moved against hers. He broke the kiss for a breath, then pecked a few more times before pulling away.

“We should get you dressed, Princess, before I decide to ignore all of my princely duties and stay here to ravish you until we are both too exhausted to move.” And just like that she was on fire again.

She nearly jumped out of the bed completely when someone pounded on the door.

“Cas! Are you decent?” The familiar timbre took Poppy back to the first time she shared a bed with the man beside her. Yet another time they were interrupted. She buried her head into his chest, feeling the vibration of the growl that rumbled through him.

“If you’re asking if I’m a man of upstanding moral character with a head full of pure, innocent thoughts? No. If you’re asking if I’m clothed? Also no.” He sounded just as irritated as he had that night, too. “I was kind enough to spare your hand the last time. I won’t be so benevolent -”

“It’s Malik, Cas. Delano spotted him at the trailhead. We have half an hour, at most, before he’s here.” Every muscle in her body went rigid at the muffled words she heard through the door. Malik was here. He’d found her. And while it was silly to think that this dream in this mountain cabin would never end, it had truly been so wonderful that she hadn’t even thought to ponder what might happen when this day came.

Casteel’s strong arms tightened around her, reminding her that he was there. “Thank you, Kieran. We’ll be out shortly.” And then he sprung into action. The cool air prickled her skin in the absence of his warmth, and she watched with wide eyes as his long, glorious body swept through the room, pulling on his breeches and throwing his tunic over his head. Before she knew it, he was on her side of the bed, a small pile of clothing in his hands. “We have to get you dressed, Princess.” She nodded numbly, allowing him to move her arms and her legs however he needed to. She was vaguely aware of his knuckles brushing over her stomach before lacing her breeches, the soft caress of the tunic falling over her torso. And then there were warm, calloused palms on her cheeks.

“Poppy. Poppy .” She blinked, his beautiful angular features coming to focus.

“Casteel,” she whispered, voice ragged.

“Remember, Princess. He doesn’t have power over you anymore. You are strong. You are a warrior. A goddess given mortal form, remember?.” He took his hands away and turned his attention to buckling her old leather sheath to her leg. “Between the two of us, he will never have you again.” His words were like magic, the fog of panic clearing from her mind. When he tucked a stray lock of her chaotic waves behind her ear, she smiled. Genuine. Determined. Poppy grasped the bone handle where it had remained sunken into the corner of the mattress since the prince had given it back to her, jerking it out and sliding it home in the harness at her thigh.

The pride in his amber eyes was enough to steel her courage, and she grasped his jaw and pulled him up for a kiss. “I’m ready,” she said.

They stepped into the small clearing not long before Malik and his personal guards emerged from the treeline, that familiar, arrogant sneer on his cruel face. Poppy’s shoulders sagged as she looked around the clearing, recognizing that they were outnumbered by more than two-to-one. And who knew how helpful she would truly be - it had been months and months since she had even trained, much less entered into battle.

“I’ll make this easy,” Malik crooned, as if he were making a grand gesture of kindness. “You return my whore of a wife, nobody has to get hurt, and then I’ll leave.”

Casteel snorted, sidling in front of her. “Nobody gets hurt? That’s rich. Care to explain what will happen to her once she returns home with you?”

“Nothing that a wayward wife would not deserve,” the elder prince bellowed, the ire like acid upon her tongue. 

“She won’t be going anywhere with you,” Cas answered, drawing one of his short swords. Under different circumstances Poppy might have laughed at the theatrics, but she was too busy trying to make sure her lungs kept working as the anxiety rose into her throat and the nausea churned in her gut.

“And you’re the one who is going to stop me, little brother? You and your pets?”

“Fuck you, Malik,” Kieran growled - legitimately growled - in response.

“Enough of this,” Casteel interjected, taking a step forward. “It doesn’t matter why you’re here. Even if you didn’t want to take her, I would still be determined to kill you. It’s no less than you deserve. So let’s get this over with.” Malik drew a long, deadly sword that glinted in the waning sunlight. Poppy looked to the sky, noticing the clouds beginning to collide with one another in silent crashes of gray and white cotton.

“So be it, brother.”

And then they charged.

Poppy was absently aware of the differences in Malik and Casteel as their weapons met with a deafening clang. Gods, they were fast, their strength the stuff of legends. The elder prince was bigger. Broader, as if he was thirsty for brute strength. Cas’s shoulders were still broad, his body still coiled with practiced power, but he was definitely smaller.

While Malik focused on his brother, the rest of his regiment had set their sights on Jasper and Kieran, who were now in the form of enormous, ferocious wolves. Casteel had told her what they were, but she had never seen the legendary creatures in person. And while she was fascinated at the scene, she found herself quite insulted that she was so obviously not considered a threat.

Everything flickered off - the emotions, the fear, her gift - until only the quiet of instinct and skill remained. Poppy took a deep, cleansing breath, unsheathed the dagger, and then jumped into the fray, determined to help even the playing field between the two wolven and the ten guards. She was able to take one out purely by the surprise of her presence, sinking her dagger deep into his back.

The rest would not be so easy.

The guard next to him swung around, clearly astonished - and angry - that the small, fire-haired woman had the audacity and the skill to bring down a royal guard. Not to mention that she was their master’s wife, meant to be meek and quiet and subservient.

Fuck. That.

The guard’s sword swung in a wide arc. He was skilled, but the long sword made him slower. Poppy dodged the attack, dropping to the ground and kicking at his kneecap. It buckled and he roared, and her pain from the impact was lessened by her satisfaction in causing him a relatively devastating injury. Flailing, he swiped the sword again, and she stumbled backwards to avoid the deadly blade, falling on her ass. Her body was definitely not used to having to exert itself in this way, but she didn’t have time to worry about that as the soldier staggered forward, limping on his mangled knee.

“You bitch,” he seethed, preparing to strike. “We were ordered not to kill you, but accidents happen every day.” Poppy remained on the ground, feigning helplessness, but she knew this fight was hers. He could only step on his good leg, and when he did she sprang forward, cutting to the opposite side and slicing through his abdomen. She didn’t allow herself to waste precious seconds listening to his insults and curses, instead surging forward. But an anguished cry sent her whirling to face the opposite end of the clearing just in time to see Malik bring the heavy hilt of his sword down on the back of her heartmate’s head, a dagger protruding from the younger prince’s thigh.

“Casteel!” She screamed, immediately running toward him. It was foolish - somewhere in the back of her mind she knew. But nothing could keep her from trying to get to him. And Malik took full advantage of her narrowed focus, catching her with one of those long, muscular arms and pulling her back into his chest, his other hand holding a tiny throwing knife to her throat. A frustrated, terrified shriek bubbled up from her lips.

“What a relief to have you back in my arms, wife ,” he whispered threateningly into her ear. “You could have just listened, you know. Remember what your Queen said? That people get hurt when you don’t keep your mouth shut? And now your beloved little boyfriend is half dead on the ground.” Tears streamed down her face, and the silence of battle had been chased away by the roar of pain and guilt and fear.

“I would recommend that you stand down, boys,” he called across the field, catching the Wolven’s attention. “I would hate for anything to happen to our pretty little Poppy, here.” Bile surged, threatening to heave out. Gods, she hated him. Loathed him for what he’d done to her, and what he wanted to do. And for what he’d done to his brother and his family.

“I’ll never go back with you,” she gritted out, teeth clenched as she tried to avoid the blade under her jaw. “I am not a object for you to rape and beat into submission.” He snarled against her, crushing her in his grip and digging the knife into her skin. She felt it pierce the flesh - not deep, but enough to send a message.

“Big words for such a tiny thing. I don’t like the mouthiness you’ve developed in just a few short days.” He lowered the sharp edge, slicing across the thin skin over her collarbone. The pain lanced through her, and as much as she tried, she couldn’t keep her cry contained. She didn’t want to give him the satisfaction, but it hurt . Malik tucked the blade into his sleeve and curled his hand around her throat, and she whimpered as his hot breath seared her ears with his horrifying promises. “I can’t wait to fuck that mouth. To whip that attitude from your flesh. I broke you once before, Penellaphe, and I only imagine that it will be that much more satisfying to do it again. To watch that defiance and hope fade from your eyes, after you thought you could be free… how terribly heartbreaking for you.”

He took a long, exaggerated breath, dragging his nose up and down her neck. “Mmmmm, I’ve missed this in particular.” With no further warning he sank his fangs into her vein, and at his first pull from the wound she spasmed and screamed, her voice cracking with the strain. Every muscle in her body twitched and tightened, her hand clenching around something solid and cool.

She still had the dagger!

Stars burst in her vision as Malik continued his assault on her throat and drug the blade of that tiny throwing knife over her breasts and stomach. She sobbed and wailed at the pain seeping into her body from so many different wounds. Not deep enough to truly threaten her, but deep enough to draw blood. To scar.

But she still had her dagger .

 And when the prince took a gasping breath away from her vein, she rammed it back as hard as she could. Right into his side. He roared and threw her to the ground, the open gashes meeting the grass and dirt in an agonizing tumble. But she was away from him, and when she looked over at Casteel - unconscious, shallow breathing - and then looked down at the blood weeping from her battered body, something within her snapped. She saw red and silver, anger and vengeance. She felt Malik’s arrogance, his malice, and needed to make him feel its weight a thousand fold. He, and anyone who followed him, would pay for what they’d done to her. To her heartmate. What they would likely do to the Wolven.

Poppy drug herself forward and rose unsteadily to her feet, as the earth and sky both cracked open. Behind her, where her blood soaked the grass, dark roots emerged from the ground. Above them the clouds were dark and heavy with rain, lightning crackling like an omen.

It was an omen. A terrible one. For them . 

Her power lashed out, but it wasn’t like before. Before, she would imagine a tether that linked her with someone. That would allow her to understand their emotions. But this was a true, physical link - a curling, twisting rope of silver lighting the ground until it latched onto the remaining guards, to Malik. She could feel everything from them: pain, surprise, rage, fear.

And as the rain started pouring down, she pushed all of it back into them. Every hurt that her husband had caused. Every tear she had cried. Every lash upon her back. Every scar upon her skin. They would know. They would feel . Until they were nothing at all.

She couldn’t see anymore. Couldn’t think. All she could feel was light and power and need . And so she kept pushing that pain into them, ignoring the shrieks she distantly heard.

Poppy .

A whisper somewhere so far away. But she hadn’t done enough, not nearly enough to avenge her body and her soul.

Poppy. Please, Princess. You have to stop.

It was closer now, but she shook her head, fighting against the urge to douse the fire roaring inside her.

An intense, blinding pain shot through her shoulder, radiating through her entire body, and the tethers snapped. She blinked back, hearing Casteel roar before she looked around. The clearing. Malik and his men. Dead. The Wolven snarling. Cas, her heartmate, looking at her with such terror and outrage. She looked down, seeing the arrowhead protruding from the front of her shoulder, and jerked around from where it must have been shot.

“Alistir?” She took a faltering step to try to see around the blood tree - where did that blood tree come from? There was the advisor who had seemed so kind, with a small contingent of people who were wearing what appeared to be silver descenter masks. Shaking her head, she blinked and looked again. But it was all the same. Gods, she must be hallucinating.

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” Casteel roared. Her relief at seeing him able to stand on his own power washed over her like the sun on a sandy beach.

“I am protecting Atlantia. She is the harbinger of death and destruction. You can see what she did here. She wouldn’t have stopped if it weren’t for that arrow in her shoulder. You may not understand now, Casteel, but in time you will realize this needed to be done.” As the line of masked soldiers pulled their bowstrings taut, Poppy fell to her knees. She felt sick. The pain, the loss of blood, the power. Gods, she was tired. Warmth and the luscious aroma of spices soon surrounded her, and she knew that it was Casteel who knelt beside her. Shielding her. Supporting her.

“Stand back, Casteel,” Alisitir demanded.

“I will do no such thing. You will stand down, Alistir. That is an order from your Prince.” Poppy felt the words more than heard them, his voice a deep, authoritative presence all around her. She felt so warm. So safe. So… exhausted.

She was sure she had fallen into a dream when she heard a chorus of howls and yips drifting from the forest’s edge. But she looked up and still saw the clearing, but through the great, fur-covered legs of Jasper and Kieran. And suddenly there were dozens more, circling and yipping and growling at the masked men, their bows lowering as they looked to each other in confusion. She couldn’t see Alistir anymore, but she could hear his desperate, raspy call.

“Remember your duty! She cannot be allowed to survive this night.”

And then the Wolven struck.

Chapter Text

He found Poppy in their bedchamber, sprawled across the settee with a book in her hand, a tray of grapes and cheese on the low table in front of her. Perfect for grazing. She’d regained those luscious curves he’d gripped so desperately at the Red Pearl nearly two years ago. Even a war could not keep Casteel from doting upon her and ensuring that she ate her fill as often as she could.

Those few days in the cabin had changed his life - their lives - in so many ways. Poppy’s power had been a wonder to behold, the breaking of the bonds an adjustment. But knowing that she had the power of a goddess and a veritable army of Wolven to protect her if he couldn’t? He couldn’t be happier.

And so he found himself in their chambers - the King and Queen’s chambers - in the capital of Atlantia. The Blood Crown had been dismantled, and any Ascended who would not control their bloodlust swiftly dispatched. Their new peace with Solis was complicated and messy, but even the most embittered of Atlantia’s citizenry could grasp to the tendrils of promise. Change was slow, but it was coming.

Casteel found himself leaning upon the frame of the entryway, appreciating the exquisite specimen before him. Her hair had grown even longer, nearly tumbling to her waist. She had mentioned cutting it once, and he’d all but begged her not to. She had agreed, with a blush and a shy smile.

His heart squeezed as she lowered her book and turned her attention to her left palm, tracing fingers across the gleaming gold mark and the gold and diamond band on her finger. They’d been married in Spessa’s End not a week after they defeated Malik and Alistir, neither himself nor Poppy worried about what impression it might make. They were heartmates, and had been connected for nearly a year, even though they had spent much of that apart. And the marriage that she had been forced into had been a farce - a political play to infiltrate Atlantia. The wedding had been small, but beautiful. Vikter had even escorted her down the aisle, and his eyes had prickled at that. He could not sense emotions like she could, but Cas could feel the bright, beaming light of her joy that day.

“Don’t tell me you’re trying to wipe it off? It’s a little late for that,” he crooned, stepping into the room. Poppy gasped, looking up at him with those perpetually blushing cheeks and expressive green eyes before giving him an admonishing scowl. “Although if you want a new ring, I would be glad to oblige. I don’t know if it’s big enough.”

“Cas, if you get anything bigger I won’t even be able to lift my hand,” she drawled, reaching out to him. He grasped her bejeweled hand and brought her knuckles to his lips before sitting down beside her.

“Alright, fine. I won’t get you a bigger ring.” He smiled, grabbing her by the waist and pulling her into his lap. That earned him a giggle, and he lit up at the sound. It was the sweetest music that reached deep into his soul. Instead of tucking her head beneath his chin as she usually did, she lifted her hands and stroked his jaw, pushing back a strand of toppled hair or caressing a cheek here and there. It was like she was studying him, her emerald eyes so full of love and adoration, and her freckled cheeks still holding onto a light flush. “Poppy? What is it?”

“I’ve been trying to figure this out all day. How to tell you…” Her voice trailed off, and Casteel sat up straighter. “I saw the healer this morning. For the… third time in as many weeks.”

Oh, gods. “What’s wrong? Are you ill? Have you been hurt?” He grasped her shoulders and examined all that he could see. No bruises or injuries that he could discern. And her complexion appeared rosy and healthy.

“No, Cas. I’m not ill,” she laughed nervously before dragging her lip between her teeth. “I just needed to be sure.”

It felt like hours - like he was legitimately dying as she took a deep breath, her eyes never leaving his - until she took the plunge. Words that would change his life forever.

“I’m pregnant, Casteel.”

He knew his eyes had never been so wide. His lungs had never been so… useless. He stared down at his wife, his Queen, unable to comprehend what she had said.

“It turns out that my inability to conceive… before…” It was still difficult for her to speak his name, to address the months of abuse that she’d endured at his brother’s hands. They were moving forward together, happy to leave the past where it was. “...was likely due to the stress my body was under. I am, apparently, quite fertile.” Cas blinked rapidly, trying - and failing - to prevent his undiluted joy from spilling onto his cheeks. He cupped her face in his hands, his fingers brushing tenderly over the jagged scars she’d received so many years ago.

“We’re having a child?” he breathed reverently. Poppy nodded, a wet giggle filling the space between them.

“If everything goes well, in a little over seven months.”

Casteel leaped from his seat, twirling her around the room, his head tilting back as he laughed and thanked all the gods and goddesses that his life had turned out like this. He peppered her face with kisses, unable to contain himself. Turning, he carried her to their bedroom, feeling the urgent need to express to her how thrilled he was - to pleasure her beautiful, luscious, fertile body until she was quaking with pleasure.

“I’m guessing you’re happy?” she snickered as he set her on the edge of the mattress. He leaned down and kissed her before kneeling between her legs. 

“I’m elated. Gods, I’m going to be a father,” he pushed his fingers through his hair, his amber eyes still wide with shock. “Are you happy, Poppy?” She smiled sweetly as tears threatened to escape over her eyelashes.

“I… I’m overjoyed to be carrying your child, Casteel. I’m so relieved that my body can. And that it wouldn’t before, but…” His Queen looked away from him, chewing on her bottom lip. “I’m a bit nervous. I had… never thought about children. About being a mother. And I don’t have many memories of my own. I’m afraid I won’t know what to do.” Casteel’s expression softened, and he lifted his gold-marked hand to cup her cheek.

“Everything about you is caring and thoughtful and kind. You are so strong and fierce and protective, and there is not a single doubt in my mind that you will be the most incredible mother.” The tears spilled over, and his lips quirked up as he brushed them away with gentleness that did not match his fingers’ rough skin. “And you won’t be doing it alone. I will be here at your side, for this child and every one after that. From this moment to the last moment, and into the Vale beyond.”

He rose, kissing her again, and as he pulled away those small, strong hands pulled him back down for a deeper, longer caress.

“I love you, Cas. You are truly my hero, and I am so grateful to have you by my side, for every challenge and every joy.”

Casteel ran his hands down her shoulders and arms before linking their fingers together and giving them a squeeze. Then he grabbed her by the hips and gingerly tossed her back on the bed, earning a giggling yelp.

“You are everything, Poppy. My Queen, my Goddess, the mother of my child.” He positioned himself between her legs, languidly, teasingly pushing the hem of her gown up and up and up. “Now. I think I need to show this body how overjoyed I am. How grateful and mind-blown and awestruck I feel.” He flipped the rest of the skirt up with a flourish, revealing her to him. He licked his lips, a wicked grin stretching them over his fangs. “Perhaps I will just keep you in bed, naked, for the next seven months. Can’t be too careful, after all.”

Before Poppy could try to scold him, he dove in for the feast.