34 FOR IRENIDES PLEASE AND THANK (IT WAS SO HARD TO CHOSE ONLY ONE PROMPT BECAUSE ALL OF THEM WOULD MAKE AMAZING IRENIDES PROMPTS)
Ok, here we go! Thank you for your patience, anon, I hope it was worth the wait! Also, two things: one, a reminder that I haven’t read Thick as Thieves yet (it’s coming tomorrow–I’m dying inside). I doubt that has any real bearing on this small story, but just in case; and two, I’m changing the prompt “It’s not like I missed you or anything” just a bit, because, while the sentiment is so Irenides oh my gosh, I can’t imagine either of them saying that exact phrase. Hope that’s ok. And, onward!
A servant set a large platter down on the table in front of the Queen, a whole lamb roasted to golden brown perfection sitting upon it. Attolia raised both eyebrows. To her immediate right sat a loaf of crusty bread, and a dish of soft, spreadable cheese.
She stood, nearly causing the serving girl behind her to drop her amphora of wine.
“Your Majesty?” One of the barons sitting closest to her asked, standing hastily. She paused to give him a cold smile.
“Please, eat,” she ordered, gesturing to the feast before the assembled court. Then she swept out of the throne room and down several successive flights of stairs, her attendants and guards chasing after her like a disorderly flock of ducklings.
Attolia arrived in the kitchens with a gust of icy fury, garnering the immediate attention of a young woman who was elbows deep in soap, scrubbing dishes. Her mouth fell open, her round face immediately turning pink.
“Your Majesty,” the girl said, drying her hands on her apron. She dropped into a bow that made up for any gracelessness with enthusiasm.
“Did you assist in preparing dinner tonight?” Irene asked, straightforward in her displeasure.
“I did, my Queen.” The girl’s face blanched. “Was it not to your liking?”
The Queen ignored her question. “Why was no food provided for the King?”
The young woman’s fingers twisted in her stained apron and she bit her lip before answering. “I’m sorry, Your Majesty, I didn’t know he was in the palace.”
And he wasn’t. Attolis had been gone for three weeks, and would surely be gone for a while longer. That didn’t matter.
“And are you so familiar with the king’s schedule that you can predict what meals he will or will not be partaking in?”
The serving girl paled further. “I just thought you might like to eat something that you usually can’t because he’s here.”
Attolia raised her eyebrows again, her mouth pursed in a white line, lovely and furious. The girl bowed again, realizing her error.
“Forgive me, Your Majesty,” she pleaded. “I was wrong to assume.”
Irene huffed in quiet vexation, but she answered with significantly less fire in her eyes. “Every meal is to be prepared and served with the King in mind, regardless of whether he is in the palace or not. Is that understood?”
“Of course, my Queen. Shall I prepare some more suitable food now?”
“No.” Attolia turned on her heel, her attendants parting before her like water around a rock. “I’ve lost my appetite.”
The thief slipped into the room quietly, his soft soled boots muffled by the expensive rugs that decorated the floor. There was no moonlight tonight, but he didn’t need it to know the layout of the bedroom. He slipped around the large desk, pulling his over-shirt off as he did, casting it onto the chair to his right. Both boots came off next, kicked over by the door. And finally, the prosthetic hook, making up for his missing right hand, was dropped without ceremony onto the bedside table.
He crawled onto the bed, pulling down the elaborately embroidered coverlet, and slipping underneath. And again, he needed no light to reach forward and wrap his arm around his wife, gently stopping her wrist as she instinctively grasped at the knife under the pillow.
“Eugenides,” she murmured softly, releasing her grip on the weapon. She rolled over to face him, the dark complete but unheeded as she lifted a hand to brush against his cheek.
“My queen,” he whispered, kissing her fingertips when they ventured across his lips.
There was a warmly textured silence, heavy with sleep and worries, too long present in their minds, slipping away.
“How was court?” Eugenides said, turning over onto his stomach, burying his face in the pillow. It had been a long time since he’d slept in an actual bed.
“Peaceful. There was not one scene, shouting match, or declaration of war without you to spur it on.” She carded a hand through his too-long hair.
“You missed me terribly, then?”
“Of course not,” she lied, pulling her hand away. He scoffed into the pillow, and they both slept.
Eugenides slept through sword training the next morning, arriving on the balcony for breakfast tousle haired and grumpy, rubbing at his eyes like a child. He sat down across from his wife, blinking down at the meal laid on the table.
“You had the kitchens alerted of my return,” he observed coolly, reaching for the bowl of honey to stir into his runny yogurt, the figs and dates sitting next to his cup already cubed, the bread torn into small chunks with a bowl of oil for dipping.
“No, I did not,” Irene remarked placidly, sipping from her glass. Her husband gave the smallest hint of a smile.
Hi! Sorry for asking but, may i request a victuuri saying happy bday? You'll see, my best friend and I are getting apart for external reasons that make us so sad, her bday was this past week and i feel so helpless bc i can't give her anything, a fanart of her otp would be much help, please.
gyaaaaa i wanted to write their name on it~ oh well, but here you go!! i hope things go well with you guys, this was such a sweet request i couldn’t help it ////
considering how tropey this whole plotline has been so far, I don’t think it’s too much to ask for a scene of Ed angrily demanding that Oswald tell him WHY ON EARTH he murdered Isabella because Os keeps refusing to give him a straight answer, and Ed continues yelling until a tearful and clearly wrung-out Oswald finally shouts, “I DID IT BECAUSE I LOVE YOU!!!” followed by him dramatically clapping his hand over his mouth as Ed stares at him, mouth hanging open and eyes wide, and we can literally see Ed’s gaze flicker all over Oswald as the pieces start to fall into place in his head and of course, of course, how could he have have been so blind–
Me: Omg i frickin wish like Chanyeol and Baekhyun would be so cute together, god i ship them so much like they are my otp and i would give anything for them to be together but i bet they are together and just dont want to come out i mean the evidence is all there did you see that smile Chanyeol gave Baekhyun at that concert i mean that smile was full of love and affection theres no way they dont love eachother oh and did i mention Hunhan I mean look at that Sehun basically said he was gay and they would be so cute together and Oh my god Tao and Kris like i totally ship everything about them and you know how you said BTS was gay too like i hope so because vkook is my life and so is namjin i cant believe that they arent out yet like all these couples are so cute and have so much potential and everytime any of these ships look at eachother i get so many feels because their eyes are just full of love and they are probably thinking about how cute the other person is and i just literally cant even
Irene wan’t really sure when Eugenides stopped watching her cut her meat at dinner. It hadn’t taken her long to notice after their marriage–she would slice pieces off with the silver knife, and Gen’s eyes would flick towards her hand with every movement. Or, more accurately, toward the knife with every movement. He was afraid of her and she accepted that and even relished it a little bit, when he was being particularly stubborn about something.
But then the wariness faded. The fear might have remained, did remain judging by the nightmares, but his watchful eyes, his tense muscles, his caution relaxed until he would reach for her hand without looking, trusting it not to have a knife in it, ready to cut off some other piece of him. It scared her. She did not trust herself so easily.
It came to a head one morning, when they were finishing their breakfast. He had drained his glass, fresh from the training field and dehydrated, and no one had refilled it yet. She had offered her own, and then watched in horrified amazement as he drank from it. When he set it down again, he noticed her stare.
“You’re the one who offered it,” he reminded her.
“I didn’t expect you to actually drink it,” she hissed.
“Was there a reason not to?” he asked coolly, knowing her answer. He tipped his chair back on two legs.
“Don’t trust me,” she warned. “I could still poison you. I could cut off your other hand. I could hang you from my castle walls.”
“You could. But you won’t,” he said simply.
“And you have come to this conclusion how?” She was keenly aware of her attendants and guards listening closely.
“Because I am your king,” he answered, and several attendants drew sharp breaths. He stood and kissed her as he always did. “Because you love me,” he whispered, then left.