Work Text:
I married a prince from another realm.
It's a realm rich and flaxen, like the prince's hair, where the sun blinds you and the sky, blue to match his eyes, is always bright.
I sat on his throne, I argued with his court. I ate his golden, gleaming apples - they left a sour taste in my mouth.
He came to me, his affections needy and hungry, longing for the Jewel of Jotunheim the fates (and a pair of mad kings) gifted him.
We were to be wed, he was to be my husband, he said. To give his heart a fighting chance, he pleaded, gift him the time and the odds early love would need to blossom.
He warmed our bed, I showed him tricks and secrets that set his body on fire; always left him lovesick and yearning, run away and got his friends drunk, came back smelling like his guards.
He argued, said I broke his heart; I argued, said I would never hold such a fragile thing.
Yet he still came back, seeking fleeting affection in moments of passion, bringing with him words about ruby eyes and azurite skin and that sensitive heart; but I had never asked for it.
I had never asked for it.
So one day, he hid it, steeled himself to my whims and my beauty.
We grow closer, as we pull apart, he fals in line with our fathers' business plans; he has stories to tell me and for once, I hear the sound of his laugh.
Booming, like the thunder that dances at his fingertips.
His eyes of blue change hues between joy and power.
His battlelust is a force mightier than his hammer; he moves not like a prince, but like a predator zeroing in on certain, hapless prey.
We spar; he loses. He's trapped in emerald binds, covered in dust and sweat. His face is hidden in his hair, but I can hear the word he spits at me - a word that would make a weathered sailor blush.
I can see he's smiling and his smile is dripping blood.
A shiver runs down my spine.
They taught him how to dance, he lies, he stares at his own feet as we dance during the celebration.
He doesn't miss a single one of my toes.
He gives up, he lifts me in his arms and spins me around in the centre of the room. I can't hear the music over my own laughter - I hide my face in his neck.
He smells like sage.
We get lost in the forest, chasing after a bilgesnipe. We huddle together, I take a form similar to his - it comes with heat he can share.
My skin fades into white, for my eyes I pick the color of that one tree's leaves.
He asks me how I manage to always be breathtaking.
We slay the beast; I bring him back, wounded.
I don't let the healers dress his wounds; nobody but me, will touch my injured husband.
When I seek his touch again, after so long, he turns me down.
You're beautiful, you're power and danger, sharp wits and sharp edges, he says. You're addictive and if I let myself fall further in, I'm not coming out.
Will it matter now, if I say I wish for him to fall beside me?