Archive of Our Own ^beta

This was a bad idea.

Scratch that, this was an awful idea.

You don't run away to some hidden corner of Wolf Hall while at a ball to make out with someone you've sworn you've hated for years, let alone the prince himself, who also happens to be a vampire (no, not just a vampire. The vampire). 

Which reminded her again: this was a bad idea! One wrong move and she's as good as dead meat, even if she is a Fate.

But LaLa really can't bring herself to care right now. Not when his breath is hot on her skin. Not when his hands are threaded through her hair, having completely mussed the careful braid she'd done earlier today. Not when his lips are on hers, kissing her as if she's the only thing he's ever needed.

So, maybe this is still a bad idea. But, maybe, it's been a long time coming.

It all started when she arrived at the ball the Valors were hosting, in honor of some other thing she didn't bother to remember.

Or maybe it started before that. She really can't tell. And she really doesn't want to think too much of it, lest she actually does drive herself mad.

The ballroom was grand and luxurious, of course, decorated with countless curtains of silk and crystal chandeliers, with candles and lamps lighting every crevice, bathing everyone in warm tones as the band played soft melodies. The Valors have never spared expense when it came to parties.

As she entered, LaLa spotted Wolfric and Honora and made her way over them, wanting to greet and thank them for the invitation.

When she came up to them, though, she realized both Dane and Castor were standing with Wolfric and Honora. 

She froze.

LaLa wasn't on the best of terms with either of them. And she especially couldn't confront Dane. Not here. Not right now.

"Ariel! How good to see you," Honora said. She leaned in and kissed LaLa on the cheek.

"Yes! Quite," LaLa managed, and embraced the older woman.

She leaned back and glanced at the two brothers. Castor's gaze was somewhere on the floor (she wondered why he was even allowed to attend, considering he might just kill everyone there), and Dane was staring at her, expression unreadable.

"Your Majesty, I hope you're well," she said to Wolfric, turning to face him.

"Indeed, I am. Thank you for attending," he said with a slight smile, "You're always the one who livens up these events."

She recalled her youth, her teenage years when her biggest worry was what the town's hottest gossip was, or which dress she'd wear to see Dane.

Now, she has much, much more on her plate.

LaLa let out a slight chuckle, "Well, if I don't, then who will?"

Even though his face was tilted down, she could see Castor smile at her comment.

She tried not to think about how her heart skipped a beat at that charming grin she recognized all too well.

"You do have a point there," Wolfric noted.

Honora grinned at him then back at her, "We won't keep you from the festivities, have a drink! Maybe dance with a few gentlemen," she winked.

LaLa considered it, though she hasn't felt that urge, the gnawing feeling in her chest that sometimes made it unbearable to be alone in her empty flat, to meet someone and court them, in a while.

"Maybe I will." 

She curtsied, then Honora wound her arm through Wolfric's, and they walked away already smiling and greeting other guests.

LaLa made to turn and find the drinks table, she was sure she saw Evangeline and Jacks around here somewhere, but she heard a voice. A voice she spent so much time longing for.

"Ariel."

She finally looked at Dane, he had a hand on her wrist, and she was reminded of the fire tattooed on her arms. The fire she'd tattooed for him. 

"Can we speak? Somewhere more private, perhaps," Dane said quietly. She could tell he wished that this wasn't the conversation they'd be having.

"I'm..."

She really didn't know what to say to him. After all this time, everything she'd done and felt for him. She cursed her best friend just to see him again! And yet, LaLa still wishes she were anywhere else.

"Maybe... another time, Dane? I just don't think this party is the best place," she said, with what she hoped was a light tone.

"You've been avoiding me, Ariel. I just–" he let go of her wrist and ran a hand through his light brown hair, strands falling amiss.

"I thought you'd be... happier? When Castor told me you were still alive, I know I was."

At the mention of his name, LaLa glanced and saw Castor still behind Dane, looking around at the guests in lavish gowns and doublets, pretending he couldn't hear their every word.

The truth is she was happy when she heard the arch had been opened. She was so, so sure that this was her chance. To finally overcome the curse that loomed on her everyday, that never allowed her to love anyone.

Except, somewhere along the way, she'd romanticized and idealized the thought of Dane so much that when she actually spoke to him, it occured to her that he was... the same. The magic had been lost on her.

Meanwhile her and the world had centuries to change and evolve. And suddenly the boy who could turn into a great dragon, her first love, was just... a boy.

He was surprised by the way LaLa had changed, as she had always been confident and loud, but never so outspoken as she is now.

Centuries of dealing with frustrating men (Castor. Jacks. But she's not naming names) had given that to her.

And now, she needed to tell him that it just won't work out. That if they tried again and planned a wedding, it's entirely possible she'll leave him at the altar, the same way she had with every other man or woman in the past. 

But she couldn't tonight. She couldn't find the words even if she tried.

"Maybe it's best if you give her some space," Castor said, placing a hand on Dane's shoulder, eyes not quite on his.

"Stay out of this, Castor."

"Believe me, I've known her for almost a thousand years," he insisted, giving him a knowing look. Dane might be a dragon, but Castor was much, much worse (and also his older brother).

"He's right. I promise I'll speak to you when I'm ready," LaLa said finally, hating to agree with Castor. Hating that he came to "defend" her as if she were an innocent maiden.

Dane glanced at LaLa, the look in his eyes sad and unbelieving. And for a moment, she wished he were a better man, or perhaps her a better woman.

Dane finally stalked off, glaring at Castor as he walked away.

LaLa sighed in relief.

"You didn't need to do that."

"You looked like you needed the help," Castor replied, green eyes almost gleaming.

"I didn't."

"Really, I saved my brother more than you," his voice more serious, "I don't want you to hurt him."

"I'm not hurting him!" LaLa said defensively. "It's not my fault I can't love him the way I want to," she said, to herself more than him.

At that, Castor seemed to soften up again, leaning down slightly to better see her.

"You're right. Love doesn't always go the way we want it to."

She made the mistake of looking up at him. Luckily his eyes were mostly covered by the unruly brown curls on his head, but she could still see the worry lining his face.

As if moved by some magnetic force, she stepped closer, staring up at him with wide eyes. He shifted closer, too, and suddenly all she could take in was him. His carefully tailored doublet, that seemed to stretch in all the right places. His brown hair that would be oh so soft under her fingers. He smelled vaguely like whatever champagne they were serving, and though she hasn't had any, she felt drunk on it.

His lips, parted, seemed to be moving closer... closer...

LaLa stepped away abruptly with a breath, suddenly feeling too hot in this big hall.

"Ariel—" Castor tried to reach an arm out to her.

"No!"

"Why?" Castor asked, in an unexpected desperate tone.

"Because this doesn't end well. It never does," she said, almost bitter, still facing away from him.

"Then why won't you admit that this is a thing?" he said, his voice low in her ear, and she's glad allure doesn't work on Fates— because Fates Unholy, that voice.

"I can't do this."

LaLa turns and starts to walk off to no specific place, but she can still feel Castor's gaze on her.

"Ariel!" 

Dane's voice floats through the air. Why does he still want to talk to her?

She walks a little faster.

"LaLa? Is that you?"

She hears what she thinks is Evangeline's voice but she really can't face her.

She starts jogging.

"Miss Ariel–"

Some gentlemen from some House probably wanting to speak with her, perhaps dance. But she truly wasn't in the mood.

She starts running.

It feels like everyone needs to speak with her or dance with her or just annoy her because as she runs past, she feels everyone's gazes on her.

She runs faster, out the ballroom, and through the corridors of Wolf Hall, almost knocking into a servant boy carrying trays.

She manages an apology and finally stops after turning a corner.

LaLa leans against the wall, somehow out of breath even though she shouldn't be. Although she's lived for hundreds of years, somedays she truly felt like the same seventeen-year-old she was when she became a Fate. Too hopeful, too naive, too young to understand what the world is really like. 

She hears footsteps and hopes they aren't walking this way.

"Are you okay?" Castor's worried voice greets her.

"I'm fine. You should go back to the ball," her voice is unsteady and she doesn't meet his eyes.

LaLa feels a hand on her shoulder, and she tries to ignore how warm it is, how it feels like everything right in this world. 

"Really. Don't you have anything better to do than annoy me to death in this hallway?" she swats his hand away and stands up straight.

"Excuse me for caring," he says, dry.

"I don't think you actually care, so let's not pretend you do. It'll be easier for both of us," LaLa makes to walk away, but a hand on her arm stops her.

"I care."

That low voice is back, and the few candles in this hall makes the shadows dance on his face.

She meets his gaze, and realizes her mistake too late. Except he isn't looking at her eyes. His eyes, are on her lips. His face an expression that reminds her desire is a very dangerous thing.

"Castor..."

She really should walk away. Because this is a bad idea. No matter which way you twist it, this is going to end awfully.

He shifts to face her, moves the hand on her arm up to cup her face, and now she can't breathe.

He leans in closer, as close as he'd been earlier, and she feels his breath ghost her lips.

She needs to push him away, say some mean words and stay away from him for a few months, except... nothing has ever felt so right. His other hand is slowly trailing up, up her spine, and hers raises to rest on his shoulder. 

There's most definitely danger in the heat of his touch, but she hears that thought further back in her mind.

"Ariel..."

"We should probably stop," she hears herself say, not convincing in the slightest considering the breathless tone her voice took on.

"Probably."

They stay like that for another moment, entwined in sins and want, both of LaLa's hands now resting on his shoulders, his hands completely engulfing her.

One breath. Two. And then–

His lips crash onto hers, or maybe she crashes hers onto his. She can't tell.

She wraps her arms around his neck, drawing him closer as she goes onto her tiptoes. He plunges his fingers into her hair, pulling at the strands of her braid.

Their lips move with fervor, breathing in tandem, tongues clashing.

Castor's hands move down to her waist, and she can't get enough of him.

It feels like they're both in control and going insane at the same time.

Her back hits the wall, he presses her into it, lips leaving hers. He trails kisses down her jaw, on her neck and lower... lower–

LaLa pushes away from him abruptly. Both of their chests are heaving. His hair is a mess, errant strands everywhere, and she imagines hers is much the same.

His lips are kiss-swollen, slightly stained with the color she had painted onto hers before leaving the house. She's never seen a sight more devastating.

"This... this was a bad idea," LaLa says quietly, her voice still shaky.

Castor doesn't say anything. He just stares, making sure to not meet her eyes.

Fates, he could've bitten her, and she would've stood there like a mindless, unknowing girl.

And then LaLa does what she's always done. What she's done to anyone who has tried to love her, to care about her. 

She runs.

She runs and hopes that even with his speed, he'll give her the mercy of letting her run.

And that's how it ended.

A few blissful moments where LaLa pretended her entire life wasn't cursed.

So, maybe it has been a long time coming. But that doesn't mean she needs to let it happen.