Chapter Text
Marriage, as it turned out, had done absolutely nothing to cure Red of her worst instincts.
If anything, four years in, she'd gotten better at them.
It started, most days, before either of them was properly awake.
One hand finding a waist under the blankets, a mouth pressed lazily against a shoulder blade, the particular quiet negotiation of two people who had learned exactly how the other liked to be woken and had no intention of being fair about it.
Chloe had complained about it only once, very early on, something halfhearted about some of us have correspondence to answer, and Red had informed her, with total seriousness, that correspondence had never once made anyone late for anything worthwhile, and Chloe had not brought it up again.
It carried through the corridors after that.
Red had never learned to walk past her own wife without doing something about it, and showed no intention of changing anything.
Her hand was always catching Chloe's wrist to pull her behind a pillar for exactly as long as it took to kiss her properly.
The quick detours into an alcove between the map room and the council chamber fooled absolutely no one. Least of all the guards who had long since stopped reacting to it at all.
There was an unspoken agreement among the staff that if the princess and her wife disappeared for a couple of minutes on the way to any given meeting, they would reappear eventually, slightly flushed, entirely unapologetic, and the meeting would simply start a couple of minutes late.
"You're going to get us actually caught one of these days," Chloe told her once, breathless, straightening her collar in the reflection of a hallway window while Red leaned against the opposite wall looking thoroughly pleased with herself.
"We are constantly caught. Everyone knows."
"That's worse."
"Is it, though?"
____________________________________
Council meetings had become their own particular arena.
Chloe managed, most days, to look entirely composed through even the driest hours of trade discussion and border logistics. Her spine straight, expression politely attentive, the same unbothered poise she'd been raised on since birth, which made it considerably more satisfying, from Red's spot at the table, to see how quickly that composure could be dismantled with nothing more than a foot sliding slowly up the inside of her ankle.
Chloe's pen would stop moving for exactly one second too long.
Her eyes would flick sideways, sharp and warning, entirely unable to disguise the color rising in her cheeks, while Red kept her own face perfectly neutral, nodding along to whatever the treasurer was saying about grain tariffs like she hadn't just committed a war crime under the table.
"You are going to make me say something regrettable in front of the Southern Isles delegation," Chloe murmured, once, barely moving her lips, while a minister droned on about shipping lanes.
"I have complete faith in your professionalism."
"That's not comforting. That's a threat."
Sometime later in the same meeting, Red’s hand found hers, tucked low beneath the table's edge where no one could see, fingers lacing together loose and easy.
That, somehow, undid Chloe far more than any of Red’s antics, because nothing was teasing in it at all. Just Red's thumb tracing slow absent circles against her knuckles while she argued fishing rights with a straight face, like holding her wife's hand under a council table was simply the most natural thing in the world to be doing at the same time.
It was.
That was rather the whole problem.
___________________________________
The library had been, historically, one of the more reliable places to disappear to.
It was quiet, it was rarely visited in the evenings, and it had exactly the kind of tall, forgiving shelving that made it possible to lose track of an hour entirely without either of them particularly minding.
Which was more or less how Red found herself with her back against a shelf of maritime treaties, Chloe's mouth on hers and one hand fisted loosely in the front of her shirt, the two of them happily derailed from whatever original errand had brought them in here in the first place.
"We were," Chloe managed, between kisses, not remotely trying to stop, "looking for a book."
"We were." Red's hands had found her waist, pulling her closer, entirely unbothered by the several books currently digging into her spine. "I can’t remember which one."
"Neither can I."
"Good. Excellent. Very productive use of a library." Red kissed along her jaw, feeling Chloe's breath catch, feeling the whole thing tip from playful into something considerably warmer in the space of a few seconds.
She was just leaning back in, just getting genuinely distracted, when the door at the far end of the room creaked open, and Pink's voice carried clear across the stacks.
"Has anyone seen the treaty archive? I swear it was reshelved wrong again -"
Red moved fast.
Faster than should have been possible for someone that distracted ten seconds prior.
She grabbed Chloe's hand and hauled her sideways through a narrow gap between shelves, down a side passage, and through the first door she found, which turned out to be a cramped storage closet stacked with spare candlesticks and a truly baffling number of unused inkwells.
"This is not a good hiding spot," Chloe whispered, crammed shoulder to shoulder with her in the dark, still laughing under her breath.
"It's the only hiding spot. Be grateful."
"Oh, wow, Red. I am extremely grateful. I love it in here. Very romantic. The inkwells really make it."
"You're being sarcastic."
"I would never."
"You absolutely are; I can hear it," Red whispered back, grinning in the near-dark, close enough that Chloe could feel the shape of it against her own mouth, "and honestly, it's doing something for me, so keep going."
"That's deeply concerning."
"You married me. Bit late for concern."
Chloe laughed again, quiet and helpless, the sound of it doing absolutely nothing to help either of their self-control, and Red leaned in for another kiss, slower this time, unhurried despite the ridiculous circumstances, the two of them tucked into a closet meant for candlesticks, entirely wrapped up in each other and making, by any reasonable estimation, far too much noise for two people supposedly hiding from something.
Which was why the universe picked that exact moment for the closet door to swing open.
Pink stood in the doorway for a long, silent moment, one hand still on the handle, taking in the full scene with an expression of profound, weary betrayal.
"I was looking for a spare inkwell," she said finally, "and instead I have found this. I want it noted, for the record, that this is not the first time. I am building a case."
"This is a private moment. Get out." Red said, entirely unbothered, not moving an inch away from Chloe.
"In a closet. You're the crown princess. You have an entire palace. You have, specifically, a bedroom, which I know for a fact exists because I walk past it every day."
"Spontaneity has value."
"Spontaneity has consequences, namely me, standing here, needing therapy." Pink grabbed an inkwell off the shelf with pointed efficiency and turned to leave, pausing only to add, over one shoulder, with the particular flat disgust of a teenager who had simply seen too much.
"You're both extremely lucky I like you. Otherwise I'd be telling Mom."
"You wouldn't."
"I absolutely would. I'm choosing not to out of pure family loyalty. You're welcome."
The door shut behind her, and Chloe dissolved immediately into laughter, forehead dropping against Red's shoulder, shaking with it, and Red was grinning like she'd won something and simply wrapped both arms around her and held on, laughing right along, with absolutely no regrets whatsoever.
"We should probably actually find that book," Chloe said, eventually, still breathless with laughing.
"We should probably not."
__________________________________
Red had never expected to be fond of slow mornings, but she has instead found she will never grow tired of them.
She woke early most days, some old habit from years on deck that had never quite worn off, and she'd taken, in that quiet stretch before Chloe stirred, to simply watching her.
The way morning light caught against her hair, the slow, even rhythm of her breathing, the small furrow that sometimes appeared between her brows even in sleep, like even her dreams occasionally required strategic thinking.
It should have felt strange, probably, staring at someone like that. It never did. It felt, if anything, like the most natural thing in the world.
"You're doing it again," Chloe mumbled, eyes still closed, voice thick with sleep.
"Doing what?"
"Staring. I can feel it. It's very intense for six in the morning."
"I'm allowed to stare at my own wife."
"You're allowed. I'm simply noting that you do it a suspicious amount." Chloe cracked one eye open, found Red already smiling at her, and the corner of her own mouth curved despite the early hour. "What."
"Nothing. You're just -" Red reached out, tucked a strand of hair back from Chloe's face, unhurried, "- very something, this early. I haven't worked out the right word yet."
"Concerning?"
"I was going to say beautiful, but sure, we can go with concerning."
"I like concerning better. It has range." Chloe shifted closer, burrowing into the warmth of her, entirely unbothered by the early hour or the ridiculous compliment or any of it. "Five more minutes."
"Five more minutes," Red agreed, tightening her arms around her, nose pressed into the crook of Chloe's neck, perfectly content to stay exactly there for the rest of the morning if the world would simply allow it.
The world, however, did not allow it.
The door swung open without so much as a knock, and Hazel's voice cut through the quiet with the particular flat efficiency of someone who had long since stopped bothering with ceremony in this household.
"Morning, lovebirds. Get out of bed and put some clothes on; we need to go."
"But I don't wanna," Red whined immediately, without lifting her head, pulling Chloe even closer and nuzzling further into her neck like sheer physical stubbornness might solve the problem. "It is so comfortable in here."
"Well, tough luck, because the guests are arriving for the new trade deals."
"Ew." Red finally lifted her head just far enough to glare in Hazel's general direction. "You're pulling me away from my wife for something so boring? I don't wanna gooo."
"Well, great, then, because I have orders to put at least ten miles between you and the city."
Red went suspiciously still. "Wait. Why?"
"Weselton's going to be there."
There was a beat of total silence, and then Red sat bolt upright with the sudden, electric enthusiasm of a woman who had just been handed excellent news. "Wait, really? Then I want to go."
Chloe, still buried in the blankets, laughed into the pillow. "Thanks, Hazel. Tell Bridget I'll be right there."
"Take your time. I'll be outside not listening to whatever comes next." Hazel was already withdrawing, entirely unbothered, tossing one last comment over her shoulder as the door swung shut. "And put on real clothes. I’m talking to you, Red."
The door clicked closed, and Chloe rolled over to find Red already grinning down at her, tousled and delighted and utterly unbothered by the interruption now that it had turned out to be, against all odds, good news.
"You're insufferable in the mornings," Chloe told her, fond despite herself.
"You married me anyway."
"I did." Chloe reached up, brushed a thumb along her jaw, something soft settling behind her eyes even through the teasing. "Best decision I ever made, if we're being honest."
Red kissed her, quick and easy, already half out of the blankets, energy fully restored now that Weselton's imminent misery had entered the equation. "Come on. Ten miles from the city and a diplomat I get to make fun of all day. Best possible use of a morning."
"You agreed to the five more minutes."
"That was before I had motivation."
____________________________________
It went on like that.
Mostly the days stitched together out of small, ordinary theft.
A kiss stolen in the shadow of a doorway on the way to breakfast. A hand finding the small of her back during some interminable formal dinner, steady and unthinking, the way you might reach for a railing without looking. Red sneaking up behind her in the training yard some afternoons just to fluster her mid-drill, catching a laugh instead of a lecture more often than not, because Chloe had never once been able to stay properly annoyed at her for long. Evenings on the deck of the Crimson Hook when Hazel let them borrow her for an afternoon sail, Red at the wheel and Chloe curled against her side, watching the coastline blur gold at sunset, neither of them saying much of anything because there wasn't, most days, anything that needed saying.