Archive of Our Own

When Seraphim first began to wonder if everything was truly all right with her nation's queen, she erected a great wall in her mind and decided that as long as Jophiel’s life was not in danger, everything was fine and she would not interfere.

Well, that was more or less the plan. Not to interfere, not to ask questions—absolutely nothing. 

And things were going beautifully until the moment Jophiel appointed her as the second in command.

That was when the questions came pouring out on their own, and Seraphim couldn't even hold herself back.

“M’lady, pardon me but– why? What does that mean?” Seraphim blurted out the exact moment they stepped off the pedestal and had entered one of the back halls. 

Jophiel walked calmly ahead of her, posture upright; her heeled shoes made dull clicking sounds against the floor with every step.

She held her head high, as befitted a queen; her blonde hair was pinned into a bun made of two braids, while fine strands fell onto her shoulders, tucked behind her ears.

She smiled gently, gazing straight ahead.

“You are the Lady of Tricolour now, Sera.” Jophiel hummed amused. 

All she had to do was stand by the queen and protect her, just as she had been assigned to do when Jophiel appointed her to her personal guard.

Sera had absolutely no issue with this; her life had revolved around wielding a sword from the moment she took her first steps—it was in her blood, but second in command?

She could barely handle her own temperament; saddling her with such a role was sheer folly!

Seraphim catched herself slouching nervously and fixed her posture immediately. “What about King Gabory? There’s no need for me.”

“Oh, don't worry about it, it was a joint decision.” Jophiel turned her head slightly to look at Seraphim over her shoulder. Noticing that the woman was already staring at her–her smile widened ever more and a quiet chuckle escaped the queen’s mouth. “It’s not nice to stare like that, you know? And why the shock, dear? I think you’re perfect for the role.”

“Perfect? Please forgive me, but I cannot agree to this; I have done nothing in my life but stand in armor. Surely there is someone in Parliament who would fill this role more worthily.” The dark-haired woman breathed out the explosion of words that came up on her tongue. 

Disbelief clearly refused to leave her mind.

And how could it?

Right in the middle of addressing the gathered subjects, Jophiel had decided to drop such a massive bombshell without giving Seraphim any prior warning—leaving Seraphim to instantly compose her expression, step out, stand beside the Queen, and pretend that everything was absolutely fine.

It was madness! Absolute madness!

They turned into another corridor that led gradually toward the Queen’s private office, and as soon as the number of guards had dropped to zero and the two women were left alone, Jophiel stopped and turned to face Seraphim.

The guard stopped as well, stunned at the woman's sudden action and stepped back a few steps away just to keep a reasonable distance between the two of them. 

Jophiel breathed out a calm sigh and eyed the woman in front of her up and down before making some calculations in her mind quietly. “Seraphim, have a little faith in yourself, hm? I know you well enough to know that this is the right decision.”

Seraphim stood bug-eyed, trying to read the expression on the queen’s face but came to nothing in the end.

Truly that woman knew how to hide emotions well enough. It was frustrating to say the least but how can she fight against that? She simply can’t, and that’s the magic of being close with the queen.

Seraphim finally sighed and nodded, deciding that there is absolutely nothing she can do now about it. 

“I know switching to a dress isn't really your style, so how about a more elegant suit for you? What do you think? I could call in the seamstresses today.” Jophiel clasped her hands at her hips and looked at Seraphim with large eyes that were clearly meant to persuade the woman to agree.

Seraphim kept watching the queen, but under that steady gaze, she could do nothing more than fix her eyes on a spot behind the woman and calm her own thoughts before doing something she might regret.

She bit her lip, and realizing the queen had no intention of backing down, she clenched her fist around the fabric of her vest. “Sure.”

“Awesome, now come, let’s get you ready for measuring” 

So, this meant the seamstresses were already expecting them both; no matter what Seraphim might have said, the outcome would have been exactly what Jophiel expected of her.

The dark-haired woman merely smiled serenely to herself and followed the queen, who had changed course toward her chambers.

“You’re unbelievable.”

──.☘︎ ݁˖

Seraphim had known Gabory from back before he grew into his role as a serious leader—when he was still learning the ropes of kingship and politics. 

She even had a bit of blackmail material on him: a time he got absolutely wasted—after challenging Sera to a drinking contest, convinced he could down more shots without passing out—and she had to smuggle him back to Verdant from the bar without anyone seeing him.

Unfortunately, she hadn't spared him the indignity of photos; she kept at least five pictures of a drunken Gabory stashed away in her room. 

But he didn't need to know anything about that.

So, in short, one could say they knew each other reasonably well.

The question now is, what was weighing on her mind—why did she feel so awkward sitting at the table with him and Jophiel?

After all, she had accompanied them at dinner more than once before! But wait—back then, she had merely stood by the door, keeping watch over their safety. 

Now, however, she was sitting at the table; a separate plate had been set for her, and servants were moving about, serving a variety of dishes. So that’s probably why. 

If she were alone with the Queen, the awkwardness certainly wouldn't be so glaring to her. But with the King sitting at the table, too?

Ish, someone get her out of here.

Sera kept glancing toward Jophiel, perhaps expecting some sort of comment, but when the woman seemed lost in her own world, happily tucking into the meals, her gaze shifted to Gabory.

Maybe he would say something?

Maybe he would remark on the fact that she was suddenly sitting at the table eating with them?

Unfortunately, nothing—the man didn't even pay attention to anyone around him, engrossed instead in DayBreak media. 

What was the point of reading a newspaper from the neighboring island? Seraphim couldn't fathom it, but she reasoned that asking would only draw more attention to herself than she wanted at the moment.

If only she could, she would get up and walk away from the table without a word of explanation, heading wherever her feet might take her.

Damn it all—now there was nothing she could do!

Besides, doing so would likely upset Jophiel, so, it was absolutely out of the question, no matter how much she longed to do it. 

Suddenly, she felt someone clasp her hand from beneath the table.

Seraphim turned her head toward the person who might have done it and found Jophiel—though the queen wasn't even looking at her; she was in the middle of taking a sip of wine.

The woman gave her hand a light squeeze three times, then let go.

Seraphim stared at her in shock at the sudden touch; finally, the queen glanced warmly in her direction for a brief moment, offering a gentle smile before returning to her meal.

Now there was absolutely no way she would get up from that table, no way in hell. 

Seraphim sighed quietly, calming down the heat that found itself at the tip of her ears for some reason and lowered her gaze to the plate in front of her: fried potatoes, pork stew, and asparagus.

Nearby stood a goblet filled with blood-red wine—likely dry—while in the center were small ragouts of assorted vegetables and pieces of meat that were not overly heavy.

What was the point of those dishes in the middle of the table, given that everyone fills up on what’s on their own plate?

She picked up her fork and knife, cut off a piece of potato, and put it in her mouth. It was well-cooked, and the seasoning was neither too strong nor too weak. It was fine—palatable.

If she is now to serve as second-in-command, does that also mean she will no longer be able to fight with a sword?

After all, she has become someone far more important to the nation; her name will now be invoked during councils and meetings.

She will no longer be Seraphim the Guardian—the woman in armor standing like a shadow always behind Jophiel.

Will she ever put on armor again?

Will she be assigned a specific duty?

What is she supposed to do with herself?

If Jophiel and Gabory have made this decision, they clearly need extra hands for the work—which means stacks of paperwork and documents will soon be adorning her desk. 

“I heard that the senators are trying to reconcile Tricolour with Westhelm—is that true?” Gabory asked, placing down the newspaper next to him on the table and shifting his attention towards the blonde-haired woman. 

Jophiel blinked a few times and swallowing the piece of meat down her throat, she fixed her posture up-right. “Yeah, they are. Saying it would help us gain more power, be more invincible and the whole thing with the unification of the two islands.” 

Seraphim nearly choked on the asparagus when the king's words finally sank in.

Say that again, sorry what? 

“I’m intrigued, then. Is there any word on what Emperor Schpood thinks about it?” The king leaned towards the table and placed his head in his palm. 

“Not really. I wouldn't be surprised if he doesn't know anything about it himself yet—after all, we know what kind of a man he is.” Jophiel chuckled, placing her utensils against her plate and sighing quietly. “I won't lie—it's not the worst idea. After all, Westhelm is Yggdrasil powerhouse; we would gain a great deal of respect and security against invasion.”

Seraphim felt her knuckles slowly turning white from the force she was exerting on the knife.

This was the first she had heard of such a thing, yet Jophiel seemed completely well-versed in the matter.

Why hadn't she known anything about it?

After all, the Queen always shared the juiciest and hottest gossip from all her meetings.

A marriage between her and Schpood? What was that supposed to mean?

Gabory leaned back in his seat, humming in agreement. “True… But outside of politics, what do you think about it?”

Jophiel gazed ahead, deeply considering her answer. Her eyes wandered from the stained-glass windows to the paintings hanging on the walls to finally resting on Seraphim.

The dark-haired woman felt a shiver run down the back of her neck as she sensed the queen’s gaze upon her.

The queen studied her closely for a few seconds before finally turning her head back to Gabory, who was awaiting her reply.

“Not a fan,” Jophiel smiled warmly. “Can’t see myself with that man.”

Gabory burst out laughing, his shoulders shaking with that as he shot his head backwards. Jophiel started to laugh quietly too at the mere sight of the man’s reaction.

The only person present who remained completely silent was Seraphim. 

She glanced between the king and queen, observing the cheerful mood that enveloped the room.

She felt the nerves that had been surging within her just moments ago slowly subside, but then a thought struck her: why had that piece of news upset her so much?

And why had Jophiel looked at her?

──.☘︎ ݁˖

“Ish, you fucking idiot leave that alone!” Gatoga yelled at the top of his lungs across the table at drunk Rotation who for some reason thought that climbing one of the shelves that were screwed to the wall was the best idea on earth. 

Without turning around, the boy gave him the finger and continued his special mission.

More shouting and swearing erupted between the two of them, and finally, Thomas joined the scuffle, trying to pull the two idiots apart before someone actually got hurt. 

Yep, it felt like home. 

Seraphim stretched her legs out onto the table, resting her elbow on the chair. The soft cushions she was sitting on banished any desire to get up and help the brown-haired boy who had just taken a knee to the hip while pulling Gatoga away. 

“You motherfucker!” Thomas yelled and Rotation laughed in his face.

“Sooo, Lady of Tricolour you say?” Fluixon hummed caustically, leaning back deeper into his own chair.

He was practically reclining in his seat; Seraphim began to wonder how on earth he could be comfortable in a suit.

“Don’t even start,” The woman groaned, taking a sip of the wine she was holding. “I can’t fucking believe that it is actually true.”

Flux huffed, his eyes glancing towards the ongoing fight. “Listen, I think you’ll be great.” Clear irony, Seraphim couldn’t hear anything other than that, and she felt like those words twisted her insides even more. 

“Shut it.” She commanded, rolling her eyes at the comment. The boy only laughed and reached for his own cup before taking a sip as well. “I cannot fathom where this idea came from. Where? I would sooner burn this nation down than help it in any way.”

Fluixon clicked his tongue crossing his legs over the table. “No clue.”

The door behind them suddenly slammed against the wall with a loud crash, then shut with the same intensity of sound.

Newkids pulled a chair away from the table next to Seraphim and sat down with a slight thud, stretching his legs out onto it as well.

It was evident he had just returned from somewhere, as mud mixed with dried leaves still clung to the soles of his shoes.

“Bro get those off.” Fluixon growled as he swirled the wine in his cup.

“Fuck off, I brought more.” The boy scoffed, leaning to the side to grab his bag and pulled three more bottles of wine up. Those were definitely stolen, for sure. They just screamed “expensieve” and knowing NewKids as much as Seraphim did, that boy had nowhere near enough money to buy these. “On the house.”

“You’re houseless.” The woman sneered, shooting the boy a glance. 

“And you’re bitchless, look who’s talking.” NewKids rolled his eyes and smirked, proud of his comeback. 

Seraphim clenched her fist and had already grabbed the back of the chair with her other hand, leaning forward to strike the boy, but Fluixon kicked the table, drawing both of their attention to himself. “Are the two of you on your period or what? Calm down, we don’t need more fights here.”

Sera sighed, leaning back as her plan had just been demolished and NewKids huffed irritating laughter under his nose as he managed to avoid having his face punched by the woman, relaxing back in his seat. 

“And uh-huh-uh, let me defend her—Jophiel just appointed her as second-in-command.” Fluixon snorted, wiggling his eyebrows at the boy that sat opposite of him. 

Seraphim instantly turned her head towards Flux; Ish, how she hated him—why was he blabbing about it? It was humiliating enough that they’d found out; she didn’t need NewKids involved in this team, too.

“For real?!” The boy shot upright, clenching Sera’s chair. “Fucking hell, typicall lesbians.”

Fluixon burst into laughter at NewKids' comment, while all Seraphim wanted to do at that moment was smack the hell out of both of them. “Go kill yourself.”

NewKids gasped dramatically, clenching hand around his chest and leaning back in his chair in a manner that one might think he was a theatre kid at some point.

“Oh touchyyy– I’m just saying what’s true my dear!” he huffed, lazily running a hand through his hair to sweep the strands back.

“Dude she has a husband” Seraphim felt her sanity slowly leaking out of her head the longer she sat with those people. 

“Dude–it’s a political marriage?? Ever saw them kiss, fuck, anything?” NewKids grinned as he clearly enjoyed seeing the amount of pain he caused his friend. “No! So we have an answer.”

Seraphim glanced at Flux, searching for any kind of support but a mere look at the boy just screamed he was absolutely not on her side in this situation.

He sipped his wine as he watched them both, obviously covering his stupid smile with the cup.

“Sera, he’s right. And I swear–just try to look at this whole thing from a different perspective, that woman is head over heels for you.” Fluixon finally mumbled, calmer than before it was almost scary.

“Kinda cringe though” Ah yes, couldn’t hold back that, could he?

Seraphim closed her eyes and with all her might tried to vanish both of them from existence.

Didn’t matter it was impossible, at least just imagining them gone was enough.

She took another big swing of the wine and sighed loudly. 

“You should worry about your little white-ish boy and not my shit” She shot back at him and the catch worked instantly, Fluixon sat upright in his seat already stressed at the sole mention of Saparata. 

“The fuck you mean? What’s up with him?” Flux hissed, swallowing loudly. 

NewKids started to ascend next to Seraphim, already reaching the heavens with how loud he started to laugh, clearly a few more seconds and that kid might choke.

It’s not like it bothered anyone though.

Seraphim was proud of herself, cleverly pushing the attention from herself and that sensitive topic.

But despite how pissed off she was at them in that moment, she couldn't shake the thought at the back of her mind that, for some reason, she wanted what they were saying to be true.

──.☘︎ ݁˖

The sun cast its rays gently through the clouds onto the earth, a warm breeze occasionally stirred the leaves on the trees and the stems of flowers that rose from the ground like little rainbows.

Jophiel hummed a soft melody under her breath, pausing every few steps to examine the flower petals and check for any torn stems or damaged blooms.

Her turquoise gown swirled elegantly with her every movement; the fabric seemed to dance as she walked and cascaded like a waterfall whenever she crouched down. 

Seraphim could not take her eyes off the woman—watching how the sunlight turned her blonde hair into vibrant gold and how the strands framed the queen’s face as if she escaped from an oil painting.

And even though Sera stood only a few paces away, she felt as though she had never been closer to the queen in her life.

She felt at ease; true, she was wearing a custom-made brown suit with the Tricolour herb embroidered on the shoulder, but Jophiel had allowed her to wear pieces of armor over it, with her sword strapped firmly to her hip in its scabbard.

Seraphim already felt the weight of responsibility that came with being the Lady of the nation—a sensation heightened by the suit she wore—yet those small defensive elements kept her from feeling ill at ease.

Her sword meant everything to her; she had grown up with it, and the thought of suddenly losing it was the ultimate nightmare. 

So, at that moment, she was incredibly grateful to Jophiel.

“The harebells are blooming beautifully, don’t you think Sera?” the queen’s voice drifted with the wind, as she stopped before the purple-ish flowers. 

Seraphim blinked a few times as she caught herself staring at the woman in front of her and took a steep closer, just a few centimiters away from the queen, leaning forward slightly to get a better look. “They are.”

Jophiel hummed, bright smile adorning her face as she started to pace away. “You know, I had a dream with those flowers not long ago. I just can’t really remember what it was about. Shame”

“If you forgot, then it probably wasn’t that important.” Sera noted, shifting her attention back to the queen from the flowers and noticed the woman had already made some distance. She quickly followed behind, her eyes fell upon the woman’s figure.

Such was her curse: she could never fill gaze on Jophiel beauty—it was never enough. 

Gold stitching lined the hem of her dress, and her hair was tied with red ribbons that fluttered gently in the breeze.

The red in her own eye was a shade remarkably close to that of the ribbons.

Seraphim checked her thoughts for a moment; her imagination was running away with her again, already searching for—and finding—similarities where none made sense.

“What is your favorite flower, my dear?” Jophiel dropped her voice low as she glanced over her shoulder at Seraphim.  

The dark-haired woman rose her head, eyes meeting the queen’s. “Cornflowers, my queen.”

“Cornflowers? I’m sure they should be growing somewhere close.” Jophiel mumbled, seemingly getting lost in thoughts for a second, before suddenly taking a turn on the path, clearly going in some set direction.

Seraphim sped up her pace as well, to match the woman’s and found herself walking directly next to her after a second.

Jophiel upon noticing how close her companion was, embraced the woman by her arm, pulling Seraphim closer to herself. 

“M’lady–” 

“Yup, here they are.” Jophiel cut her off as she stopped, pulling Sera down with her so both could crouch in front of the deep blue delicate flowers that were in their early stage of blooming. “Truly, they are beautiful.”

Seraphim crouched dumbfounded, heat rising to her cheeks rapidly at the sudden touch from the queen.

She couldn’t even care less about the crownflowers at the moment, not at all, when a more beautiful breath-taking sight was clenching onto her arm. 

“They fit your dress, my queen.” Sera found herself muttering quietly. 

“Do they?” Jophiel glanced at Seraphim and then at her dress before chuckling slightly. “You’re right. Beauty does look good on me, doesn’t it?” She whispered, pushing her elbow teasingly onto the dark-haired woman. 

It absolutely did. 

“Don’t flatter yourself.” Seraphim shot back half-heartedly, corners of her mouth forming a smile as well. 

“Aww, what a meanie you are!” Jophiel laughed, slowly getting up, and Sera did the same. 

“You should smile more, looks good on you.” The woman soon added. 

They lingered before the flowers for a few moments; Seraphim gazed at their deep color, which shifted into much lighter shades as the sunlight caught them.

She felt the gentle brush of fingertips against her cheek as Jophiel tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, then returned her gaze to the plants before them. 

Seraphim decided that, for her own good, she would not react in any way to what had just happened.

Jophiel turned toward her and, with a slight nod, suggested they continue their walk through the garden.

Seraphim nodded in agreement and turned toward the path stretching out before them.

──.☘︎ ݁˖

Seraphim sat at the wide table—the very same one where they ate all their meals.

Before her laid a chaotic heap of documents: papers spilling out of folders, and several books buried under loose sheets. To her right sat a quill, waiting only to be dipped in ink and put to use. 

It was a good thing she had mentally prepared herself for this kind of work beforehand; had someone approached her with this task out of the blue, she would have exploded on the spot.

All she had to do was grit her teeth and get the job done as quickly as possible—while, of course, keeping up appearances and actually filling out the paperwork correctly—and then she would be free.

Maybe, if she wrapped things up before sunset, she’d still have time to go out and practice her archery a bit.

This new hobby brought her a great deal of pleasure; it gave her body a good workout and kept unwanted thoughts at bay. Lately, those thoughts had been swirling in her head, and Seraphim was certainly not a fan of it.

Clearly, the conversation with Fluixon and NewKids had done no good; quite the opposite—it had only muddled her thoughts further, making Seraphim second-guess herself whenever Jophiel felt something with her.

It was a fact that, for a good two months, the woman had been acting somewhat differently toward her.

She was devoting more time to her, speaking more kindly, and initiating far more physical contact. Yet, Seraphim had managed to explain this to herself quite satisfactorily. 

However, that entire mental picture was shattered when she was assigned a new role.

She couldn't make sense of that at all, and the idea that Gabory had supposedly played a part in it didn't sit right with her.

True, he would have had to agree to it, but for the idea to have actually originated with him? That sounded absurd.

She glanced at the document lying before her—something regarding the Scarlet District and the lower iron yields from the mines.

It was nothing particularly critical; she could finish dealing with the document in two minutes, so no harm would come of letting her thoughts wander for a moment.

Seraphim rested her head on her hand and turned her gaze toward the windows, adorned with stained glass in shades of blue, green, and red. The light streamed beautifully through them, bathing the hall in a breathtaking effect.

Gazing out the window, she found herself thinking about Jophiel again. And Gabory.

NewKids had been right: their marriage was nothing other than being strictly political.

There wasn't an ounce of love in it—at least, not the kind Seraphim might have known about. Jophiel had never mentioned anything happening between the two of them—no romantic overtures or passionate feelings.

Thinking about it now, it looked more like two friends deciding to get married for a laugh just to keep up appearances, simply because they happened to hold high-ranking positions.

Did they even have a shared bed?

Or a chamber at all? 

Sera realized just how little she actually knew about Jophiel’s private love life; they had never discussed it.

There hadn't really been much opportunity, either—the Queen rarely mentioned such matters, speaking of them only when interesting rumors surfaced, and that was it.

And out of politeness, Seraphim had never asked.

Maybe she should?

Now that she was in such a position, it wouldn’t seem weird, right? 

No, it definitely would. What her position had to do with the sudden want of knowing if Jophiel every loved or slept with someone. 

The woman sighed loudly, feeling a terrible headache already forming from all this thinking. 

Why was she even thinking about Jophiel and Gabory's private life, wondering if they shared a bed or anything.

Imaginating the woman with him under the sheats turned her insides upside down. The sight of Jophiel with anyone in a situation like that infuriated and repulsed her for some reason.

Jophiel with her hair loose, her dress half-removed, eyes parted—ENOUGH!

Seraphim slapped herself.

Ish, how could she let her mind wander like that?

That was incredibly irresponsible and inappropriate; that was her queen. She ought to cut out her own brain and eyes for something like that.

She took a few deep breaths and turned her attention back to the table in front of her—to the stack of documents reminding her of the task she had to complete.

She might have miscalculated; finishing this was clearly going to take far more time.

She would have to put off her longed-for archery practice until the next day—provided, of course, she didn't run into any further obstacles or roadblocks deliberately thrown in her path to stop her from doing what she wanted. 

Could she still back out of being this "Lady of Tricolour" figure, or was it already too late?

She picked up the pen and, dipping it in the ink, began underlining various passages of text, until finally realizing she really needed to focus, because otherwise–this whole thing would be a dead end of her life. 

It had probably been tens of minutes—maybe even pushing an hour and a half—of constantly flipping through folders, searching for yet another important sheet she’d misplaced for the umpteenth time, and writing up a report that, in all likelihood, no one would ever read or even touch.

Seraphim couldn't give a damn about any of that now; the only thought in her head was, "Please, someone put me out of my misery."

“Hi dear” Sweet voice called out behind her and Seraphim was fighting against melting into it and jumping out of her goddamned skin because she almost shit herself right here and there.

She turned her head towards the door, hand curling into a fist that immediately loosened the moment she realized it was Jophiel who had entered the room. 

She was wearing a cream-colored nightgown, clearly made of a delicate, silky material. The neckline draped gracefully across her collarbones—though it seemed to have other ideas, slipping a bit lower than intended—with lace detailing the seams.

Over it all, she had a sheer wrap draped around her shoulders.

The entire look was reminiscent of a scene from a movie where Jophiel played the stunningly beautiful lead. Her hair hung loose, swept over one shoulder, with stray strands framing her face like the border of a painting.

It took Seraphim literally just a second to snap her head back toward the documents and fix her gaze on the biggest, most trivial piece of crap imaginable—anything to avoid looking at the queen.

Heat creeped up at the back of her neck and cheeks. 

“Ish, did they really assign you that much work?” Jophiel leaned on the table beside her, scanning the amount of sheets spread on the table with pure shock, her hair falling gracefully along. 

“Mhm, seems like I’m actually useful.” The woman answered, keeping her voice low and as calm as it was possible, her whole posture suddenly stiff. 

Soft laugh escaped the queen’s lips at her companion's comment.

She turned her head toward Seraphim, who was intently staring at some meaningless text before her; her short, dark hair fell over her face, partially veiling one eye, and she was still wearing her formal suit, with the tie hanging loose from the collar and draping down over her blazer.

“Seems like you are.” Jophiel placed her hand on Seraphim's shoulder and stroked it. What a gentle gesture—her very being seemed to proclaim it. That calm and understanding queen. “Told you, you are perfect for this role.”

Seraphim only sighed away the amount of words that wanted to spill out, all the complaints and curses she would have loved to scream at that pile of documents—if only they had ears—but since Jophiel was the only one there, it might have been taken the wrong way.

She did not want to trouble her thoughts, either; the sunset was already drawing to a close, and the last orange rays were slipping beyond the horizon.

“Finish up and go to sleep, my dear.” Jophiel placed a soft kiss on her head and walked away. 

Huh?

Seraphim felt her entire body go rigid; a cold shiver ran down the back of her neck, and only when the queen had left the room did she push her chair back from the table and stand up.

She gripped the edge of the table and, leaning against it, fixed her gaze on the floor.

Her legs suddenly felt like jelly; she bit her lip and closed her eyes, replaying the moment when the woman’s soft lips had kissed her head.

“Holy fuck, I love her.”

──.☘︎ ݁˖

If something was weighing on Seraphim’s mind, it was bound to come out eventually—whether she wanted it to or not.

Honestly, it happened on its own; she couldn't always control it. This time, the thought was whether Jophiel actually had any feelings for her. 

For her part, it took far less time than she had expected to realize she was head over heels in love with a woman.

Honestly, who hadn't been?

But this was about her, and Seraphim was absolutely certain—to her dying day—that this wasn't just some fleeting new romance; no, she was ready to do anything Jophiel asked of her, without so much as lifting a finger in protest or uttering a single complaint. 

So, once she was sure of that, all that remained was to find out if Jophiel felt the same way.

And who was the first to kick off this whole dilemma? None other than Mr. Grump and party-pooper extraordinaire—Fluixon.

Ish, how she hated him. 

Mr. Nonchalant—that edgy, emo prince who’d appeared out of nowhere, flaunting an ego higher than Mount Everest.

But what did she really have in the matter? At least the guy covered the cost of alcohol whenever their little group got together, and you could actually hold a decent conversation with him.

And, unfortunately, he was also the person closest to her other than Jophiel. 

Seraphim ran her hands over her face in exasperation; she sure knew how to pick her friends.

Adjusting the scarf around her neck once more and brushing back the loose strands of hair that had fallen across her face, Seraphim took a deep breath, knowing she would almost certainly be laughed at after this conversation.

Still, she could handle it; with a quick movement, she knocked on the solid door standing before her. 

The sooner she got this over with, the sooner she could leave. 

A few seconds passed, then a dozen more. 

No answer. 

That guy had to be messing with her. 

This time, she banged on the door a few times instead of just knocking—because if there was one thing to know about her, it was that she had absolutely no patience.

“Ish, who the fuck–” Fluixon groaned opening the door but quickly cut off his voice the moment he realized that it was Seraphim who was standing there. “Huh?”

Ignoring his look of surprise, Sera squeezed past him and stepped inside. She didn't even feel like taking off her shoes anymore; never mind that Fluixon hated it—he’d get over it.

She heard the door slam shut behind her and the sound of footsteps clearly following her.

Seraphim turned toward the kitchen table and, pulling out a chair, spun it around so she could sit facing the backrest. 

Fluixon glowered at her—visibly offended that she had kept her shoes on—though he seemed too distracted and tired to actually comment on it.

He walked over to the counter and leaned against the edge, staring at Seraphim. 

“You, want something from me, and I’m not a fan of that. Why are you here?” He basically growled with how low his voice got.

Seraphim sighed, taking off the scarf and placing it on the table in front of him.

“Oh-oh-oh you taking this off means a longer talk, should I be scared?” Flux switched the weight from one leg to the other, pointing with his finger on the piece of cloth. 

“Ish, you’re such a pussy.” The woman breathed out, rolling her eyes.

“Remember where you are, this is my home.” The man scoffed, crossing arms over his chest. 

“Well no shit Sherlock.” 

Flux groaned under his nose, eyed her up and down judgmentally and not bothering to hide that, like at all. “Alright, what do you want? I need to decide if I want to put up with your shit or not.”

Seraphim rested her elbows on the back of the chair and glanced around the room.

She still couldn't believe she had actually come here for advice—and relationship advice, of all things.

Fluixon was the last bastard who would know anything about such matters, especially since he’d been wrestling with himself for weeks over whether to confess his feelings to Saparata. 

But then again—desperate times call for desperate measures.

“How sure are you, that Jophiel might like me?”

Ugh, she really hated him.

When the woman’s name was mentioned, Fluixon practically turned into the Grinch, given the idiotic grin that spread across his face. His entire posture visibly relaxed, and his sense of humor shot right through the roof. 

“I can’t believe we are having this kind of talk, wow, I’m honored.” Flux chortled, wiping imaginary tears from his eye. 

“Kill yourself.”

Fluixon shot her a disappointed look, before sighing and turning around to put water in the kettle. “You want my help or what?”

Seraphim groaned, defeated. “Alright bro, how sure are you?”

Fluixon began sorting through the mugs until he finally settled on one—a burgundy-colored that had surely been broken more than once and desperately glued back together each time—and dropped a tea bag inside. “Want tea too?”

“Bro, I don’t care about tea! Answer my question, fuckface!”

He snapped his head around and pointed a very aggressive finger towards her. “One more fucking comment and I’m throwing your ass out of here, understood?”

Seraphim raised her brows and stuck her tongue out. “Yessir.” She blurted out with clear irony. 

Fluixon ran a hand down his face and reached for the sugar bowl. 

“Soo?” The woman hummed, growing impatiently. 

“I’m staying by what I said last time, head over heals.”

Seraphim shot upright from the chair and walked up to Flux to stand next to him. He side-eyed her after which he poured a teaspoon of sugar into the mug. 

“Dude okay, but where did that conclusion come from? I need solid evidence”

“From the fact that she literally is. Every freaking meeting where the two of you are present, she’s leaning towards you like a magnet," Flux pulled his hand out and began listing everything on his fingers, adding one for each example. “she made you her personal guard, then her second-in-command. We also have her constantly calling you dear, and at the very end–because I don’t feel like listing every fuckning thing–the way she looks at you.”

After Flux finished he breathed out like as if he had been talking non-stop for hours. Ish, he knew how to be dramatic like no one else. 

The water in the kettle began to hiss and whistle, signaling loudly that it had boiled, and Fluixon reached for it to brew the tea.

Seraphim leaned against the edge of the counter and fixed her gaze on the mug, mentally going over everything he had just listed to make sense of it all.

Was it really like that?

Well, regarding two examples, she couldn't really argue—those were plain facts—but the rest?

Honestly, Seraphim had never paid much attention to it; such behavior from Jophiel seemed natural to her, nothing out of the ordinary.

Well, perhaps a little—for some time now, the closeness between the two of them had intensified; the queen teased her more often, made comments, and initiated physical contact suspiciously frequently.

“What? Finally realizing the yuri-ness of y’all?” Fluixon shot, smirking under his nose as he  turned towards the woman and sipped his tea. 

“The fuck is yuri-ness? Making shit up out of plain nothing now?” Seraphim blurted out in disbelief as she pushed herself away and walked back up to the table that stood by the wall. 

“Damn, you’re old.” Flux rolled his eyes. 

“Damn you still haven’t confessed to Saps.”

Flux immediately frowned, narrowing his eyes. “I’m working on it.”

“It’s been weeks dude!” Seraphim shot her hands up, staring intensely at him. 

Fluixon waved a finger and closed his eyes, as if defending himself against what Seraphim had just said to him.“The longer you let the wine age, the better it is.”

“What the fuck, you Shakespear now or?”

Fluixon nodded and smiled under his nose, evidently proud of himself and his comeback. Seraphim rolled her eyes for the hundredth time, already feeling a headache coming on. 

Honestly, despite the guy’s massive ego and his belief that he was some sort of genius, every time she was around him, she felt her brain cells dying and her IQ plummeting toward zero.

Maybe that was Flux’s cunning plan? To be so incredibly dull and dry that everyone around him turned stupid, leaving him convinced he was the smartest one there?

It was highly likely—so much so that Seraphim actually felt a lot better about herself by comparison. 

But putting all that aside, one thing was certain: when it came to Jophiel, the guy wasn't joking, and it was clearly worth the risk. A massive triumph or a massive fall if she went through with it. 

But what was she? A pussy? –Hell no.  

Nothing ventured, nothing gained.

──.☘︎ ݁˖

Did Seraphim feel a bit like an idiot as she stood before the mirror, struggling for over twenty minutes to properly fasten the armor pieces on her shoulders so she would look elegant and neat? Absolutely. 

This time, it wasn't about defense– this time, she had to adjust everything so it looked flawless and tidy, ensuring the suit material didn't bunch up in even a single spot.

She had already readjusted her tie three times to ensure it sat perfectly beneath her blazer, and she had tweaked the belt at her hips countless times—just to make sure the sword scabbard wouldn't dare shift even a millimeter.

This time, she wore a dark turquoise suit—one intended to match the color of Jophiel’s dress. It was a minor detail, perhaps, but in her mind, it made a world of difference.

How does one strike up a conversation with the Queen? Today was supposed to be an ordinary day—nothing special was planned—so how should she approach her and attempt a devilish tango, trying to find out what Jophiel really thought of her? 

Seraphim sighed with relief as the armor had finally settled well enough that she no longer felt the need to struggle with it. 

Maybe she should take Jophiel out to the gardens again; a walk among the blooming flowers didn't seem like a bad idea.

Or perhaps she could find a way to catch her and, using some flimsy excuse, invite her to dinner at one of the Tricolour restaurants?

Though that might well attract far too much unwanted attention from the nation's inhabitants.

Her head was already starting to ache from it all—really, dwelling on such matters wasn't her strong suit. 

Seraphim glanced toward the window situated to her left.

She was so certain of her own feelings—though slightly less sure of Jophiel’s—but what weighed most heavily on her mind was the question of what Gabory would think.

True, their marriage was strictly political, but still!

She felt as though she were meddling in something she shouldn't, tempted to take a bite of that forbidden apple.

“Hi, my dear” That sweet voice again. 

Seraphim started when she heard Jophiel’s voice behind her. She turned instantly to look at the woman, who was just closing the chamber’s door.

Her hair was once again styled in a bun made of two braids, with loose strands framing her face.

Her gray-blue eyes were fixed on Seraphim, and a smile lent them a sparkle in which one could easily lose oneself.

“Oh Jophiel, hi.” Sera breathed out shakily, trying to compose her posture as fast as it was possible. 

Jophiel glanced around the room, her gaze darting between the window displays, the wallpaper, the made bed, and back to the dark-haired woman standing by the mirror. 

“I haven't been here in a long time, but not much has changed.” She noted, clasping hands behind her back. 

“I don't feel there is a need for change” Seraphim said with the most nonchalant voice she could manage. 

Jophiel smiled brightly before walking up to her and while standing by her side, looking out the window as well. “Don’t need a bigger bed, or anything? I can always do something about it if you want”

“Not really.” 

Seraphim turned to face the window as well, both looking out at the city and the common people doing their business.

She could feel sweat already forming at the nape of her neck and very much unwanted heat gathering at the tip of her ears.

Really, Sera calm down. 

“You look very pretty today, that colour suits you.” The queen hummed, glancing at the woman next to her briefly before shifting her gaze back at whatever was going on outside. 

Okay, I can’t fucking calm down.

Seraphim bit her lower lip and closed her eyes for a moment, trying to compose herself. How on earth—and by what right—could Jophiel drop such a bombshell on her? It was simply unbelievable.

“Thank you, my queen.” Stay natural and don’t fuck this shit up. 

Jophiel chuckled, shooting Seraphim one more subtle glance. “What’s the occasion, hm?”

“There is none, just felt like dressing nicer.” Sera you are for hell not acting natural, oh my days. 

“Ah, I see.” The blonde-haired woman hummed once again, nodding gently at her companion's response. She turned to face Seraphim, staring with her big eyes at the woman. 

Seraphim felt her blood pressure spike and the cortisol levels threatening to go off the charts—all simply because Jophiel was looking right at her.

She quickly swallowed and mirrored the Queen’s movement, turning to face her fully. 

Why had she never noticed that before?

Jophiel was slightly shorter than her; she had to tilt her gaze upward to look the dark-haired woman straight in the eye.

It was such an obvious detail. Perhaps it was because she had never had the chance to stand so close to her?

Wait—come to think of it, why was Jophiel standing so close?

It was a dangerous move from her. A very dangerous one. 

Jophiel licked and bit her lower lip. Her big eyes focused only on the sight in front of her. Hands still clasped behind her back. 

Ish, Seraphim could feel in real time how her breath hitched in her throat and became more and more shallower. It was starting to get difficult at this point.

Her heartbeat already pounding loudly, she got scared for a second that the queen might actually hear it.

Why was the tension suddenly so tight? The air so warm and thick? 

“Tell me Sera…” Jophiel kept her voice low. “Do you have some time? Perhaps now?”

Seraphim blinked a few times, widening her eyes slightly but getting back to her casual resting face immediately. “Plenty of it, my queen.”

Jophiel smiled even more broadly; her eyes sparkled as never before, catching the warm rays of sunlight that streamed through the windowpane. They were almost reminiscent of a calm ocean melting into that glow. 

Fuck it, your mom didn't raise a pussy—have a little faith in yourself, Sera. You were planning on doing it sooner or later anyway.

If she read the room wrong then not her fault, she was ready to pay for the consequences nonetheless. 

Raising her hand, she rested it gently against Jophiel’s cheek; her fingers curved around the woman’s jaw, their tips touching the skin near her ear. Seraphim tilted and inclined her head forward, positioning herself perfectly to face the other woman. Her gaze lingered on Jophiel’s lips, though the moment of hesitation was quickly broken when Jophiel leaned in and pressed their lips together.

It started as soft, warm, gentle. 

Seraphim closed her eyes, her second hand trailed immediately to the nape of the queen’s neck, pulling her to herself even more and the woman smiled, breaking the kiss for a split second. She could almost taste the toothpaste that still lingered from Jophiel. Her knees became incredibly weak.

The blond-haired woman placed her hands at Sera’s hip and waist, fingers brushing over the material that hugged her body. 

It was exactly as she had imagined. Or perhaps reality was even better—no, it was definitely far better. She felt she could lose herself in the feeling, and it tasted even sweeter now that she was certain her feelings were reciprocated. Seraphim deepened the kiss and Jophiel gasped quietly against her lips. 

Her hand that currently rested against the queen’s neck wandered lower, shifting under the woman's collar, fingers brushing the soft skin. Seraphim could feel the vibrations, the tingles that ran down Jophiel's body. 

The queen breathed out once again against her mouth, now the kiss shifting itself into becoming more tender and confident. 

Ish, how lucky she was that someone like Jophiel liked her too. 

Jophiel broke the kiss for a few seconds, leaning her forehead against Seraphim and taking quiet breaths. “I love you, dear.” Her tone walked the line between quiet and hoarse. 

Okay, loved her too. 

Seraphim smiled, keeping her gaze low, using the pause as well to steady her breathing. 

“I love you too.”