The Crowned Captive
Those Sacrificed For Love

Morana’s legs still felt gooey from the night before. Dear gods, the hours Rowan had spent relentlessly working her to the edge of bliss and then letting the feeling fall away, only to work her up again… She had not known it was physically possible to find her completion so many times in one night, nor so powerfully. In the end, she begged Rowan to let her sleep, finally drifting off to her whispering sweet nothings in her ear.

She had woken to his roving hands again in the morning and had near immediately turned him down. Her entire body ached, covered in bruises and scrapes from their activities the night before. Rowan had merely laughed and taken his time to ensure her every inch of skin was healed with a meticulous thoroughness she had never seen in him before. She had no doubt he had enjoyed her every moan at the feel of his fingers against her bruises but refused to give him the satisfaction of pointing it out.

Lorenna giggled at her as she realised this fact. Morana suppressed the urge to roll her eyes at the half-siren, enjoying seeing some joy on her face instead of the usual fear. Morana was sure her ears had been just about to curl over in embarrassment as she had described in excruciating detail the things Rowan had done to her, but never had her maid seemed so happy.

“I wish that one day I get to marry a lord as gorgeous as yours,” Lorenna breathed, nearly swooning with the proclamation. Morana rolled her eyes.

“Choose one less complicated, Ren. The gorgeous part is fine, but make sure he has fewer issues,” Morana replied, holding her arms up diligently for the seamstresses that measured her every angle.

“But the issues are part of the fun, Mor. You don’t want someone gorgeous and boring, that is just no fun. Think of all the hot angry sex you would miss out on, or all the brooding and grumpy voices. Just imagine how grumpy he is right now knowing he can’t come in and peak as you dress up just for him.” Lorenna let out an ungodly moan at that thought, collapsing back into the chaise at the back of the room.

Morana truly wished she could refute her words, but she knew they were true. She would not be surprised if Rowan was outside the door even now, prowling up and down the halls trying to convince himself that the tradition was worth breaking. She smiled to herself at the thought, then thought of the other elf who would once have been laughing alongside her. Cordan had all but disappeared in the middle of the night, and Rowan had sworn he had no part in it. But already she missed the comforting presence he had brought her.

Finally done with their measurements, the seamstresses took a minute to draw up their designs whilst Lorenna continued to prattle on about her ideal husband. Morana smirked and entertained the girl the entire time, happy enough to finally have a female friend. Despite the chaos that still toiled around her, speaking of such trivial things was pleasant.

Sure enough, when Morana had emerged from the room, Rowan had just about pounced upon her. Lorenna’s giggle had faded into the distance as Rowan’s lips had claimed her with a burning passion unfit for public hallways. The world burnt itself away for a long second until she had enough sense to pull herself back into it. Breaking away, she looked up at him disapprovingly.

“My parents agreed to come to our betrothal,” Rowan breathed down at her, as if saying the words out loud might no longer make them true. “My father has not approved of one singular thing I have done in the past two centuries. I just spoke to him, and he is happy for me. Both he and Mother are to come.”

Rowan’s grin was contagious. Morana could not help but return it, even though she honestly thought his parents were rather obtuse. His lips were on hers again, and she laughed against them, not used to such glee coming from the usually broody elf. Even as he broke away a second time, crushing him into her in an embrace, she could not help but feel her heat sing at his happiness. Finally, after all the turmoil around he in these recent months, things were looking up.

They walked together for a while then, Rowan listing all of the things they still had to ready. They were to be tasting the meals to be offered tomorrow and picking their favourites, and this afternoon King Victor himself was to bring the jewellery to Morana’s chambers. Her head swum as he listed at least a dozen more things to do, but she happily smiled alongside him and agreed to whatever he requested.

Finally, they came to stand in front of a door that she would not have picked from any of the rest. They were on the far wing of the castle, the side of the royal gardens opposite Rowan’s room. She gave Rowan a quizzical look as he grinned down at her, opening the door and ushering her in.

“These, Morana, are the chambers we are to spend the rest of our lives in if you are still stupid enough to go ahead with the betrothal. Obviously, there are to be some renovations, but they are the finest I could find. They were your mothers, your birth mothers, once upon a time.”

Morana looked between Rowan and the massive expanse of space. Giant bay windows lined the entire wall, a huge expanse of the gardens visible. To the left, she could see the bedroom with a bed bigger than any she had ever seen and a spiralling staircase beyond that. Centrally, there was an entertaining area large enough to sit at least a dozen guests if needed. To the right, there were gaming tables and weapon racks already piled in to set up.

“The bathroom has a hidden door to the back of the bedrooms, and is nearly as fun as mine,” Rowan began, resting his hands upon her shoulders as she took it all in. “The upper story has a small library and a large study for any planning we need. The only thing they don’t have is a kitchen, but I could try and get one installed if you so wish.”

“They are perfect, Rowan,” she breathed, not knowing what else to say. She relaxed into him as he embraced her from behind.

Truly, there was nothing else she could want currently. Her every expectation and more were met here, as it had with the dress and the ballroom, and she was sure in the rest of her planning. She was having a betrothal fit for any princess and should have been more than happy about it.

Yet the more her joy built, the stronger the realisation was that she could share none of it with Cordan.

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