Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

When Newt first heard that he was going to be wed to the king of the Northern Lands, he was torn between being bewildered and impressed.

Never did he imagine that soon the day would come in which he would be betrothed. Betrothed to a king.

He would marry the king of the Northern Realm. Percival Graves, also known as the black dragon of Dracanoye.

Newt had heard many stories about the reign of Percival Graves. Most of them, he had learned during his lessons about the history and politics of the various kingdoms scattered around the continent. And he remembered being very intrigued and curious by the exploits of this man he had never seen. Despite the fact that some tales seemed to him a bit far-fetched and unlikely to have happened, he quickly became enthralled nonetheless, his inner adventurous side finding itself dreaming about snowy mountains and infinite plains, flying above them like a dragon. Free and fearless.

The tales he liked to listen to the most were those told by his older brother Theseus, who had led many battles in his life and had apparently interacted with Percival Graves on a regular basis during his rule.

Newt was eighteen when he first heard about the dragon of Dracanoye. He remembered the rapid thumping of his heart when he listened with rapt attention to Theseus’ words, clutching with delicate fingers his brother’s arm as they sat in one of the blooming gardens of their holiday estate.

It had been a sunny day, a warm and bright light trickling through the leaves of the surrounding mandarin trees and casting golden specks on the two men sitting on a bench near the fountain. It was the beginning of spring, Newt’s favorite season, because it was often during that period that Theseus managed to get a little free time from his duties as the king of the Southern Kingdom, and could spend his due rest with his little brother in his favorite estate, whenever his wife was preoccupied with her own obligations.

It was a soothing habit of Newt to coax his brother into resting his head on his lap and card freckled fingers through Theseus’ smooth hair, basking in the sight of Theseus relaxing under his touch, the tension slowly draining from his exhausted form.

And today was no exception. Theseus was lying beside Newt, his head resting on his little brother’s lap as he talked about his “old friend, Percival”, as he liked to call him.

“It’s been a while since I’ve had the pleasure to get acquainted with such a fierce and powerful man. A man who knows how to rule a country; with a firm hand, yet caring for the wellbeing of his people,” he said as he leaned his head into Newt’s hand, tired green eyes fluttering shut under the soft caress. “At first I thought it was just a farce when I first heard that Percival had the gift of the dragon. But oh boy, you must’ve seen my face when I saw with my own two eyes what this man was capable of.”

“What is it, the gift of the dragon?” Newt asked, unable to hide the curiosity in his tone as he waited with a sense of giddiness for Theseus to continue.

Theseus smiled at his brother’s inquiry and let out a sigh, seeming to recall a particularly memorable event.

“It is said that every century, or five hundred years, a person is born among the royal family of Dracanoye with the ability to transform into a dragon. You’re aware by now that the land of Dracanoye is known for its people’s close affinity with those majestic creatures, hence the dragon symbol on their flag.”

Newt nodded, clearly recalling his history lessons.

“Yes, most of Dracanoye’s inhabitants know how to communicate with them. Dragons are untamable and proud, but they form close friendships with the people and also go with them into battle whenever their land is in danger. They forge an unbreakable bond and together they’re skilled strategists. That is why Dracanoye is known for its many glorious victories in past wars.”

“Correct,” Theseus nodded his approval and pinched Newt playfully in the side as the younger man blushed at the praise. “Ancient stories tell that there was a dragon who offered the first ruler of Dracanoye a sacred gift which permitted them to gain dragon-form anytime they saw fit. This ability has been passed on in the royal family until now. But since it only happens every century, and with luck, not many people have the privilege to witness a person transforming into a fullgrown dragon.”

“And-- King Graves has this gift?”

“Oh, yes.” Theseus’ eyes mirrored the apparent awe in Newt’s eyes, and his voice became a low murmur as he added, “I saw Percival in action during a battle we were both fighting against the land of Vargskir, his dragon-form slicing the wind like lightning, scales glinting like black onyx under the sun. Sometimes I even think that he has dragon blood inside him. Because even when he’s in his normal human form, his eyes have this ageless and cunning spark that you can only see in a dragon’s eye.”

Newt’s breath caught in his throat at Theseus’ uttered words, his mind already filled with images of a faceless yet powerful and wise man doing extraordinary deeds with his unique ability. The young prince could only imagine how freeing it must feel to fly at unknown places all by himself with the wind rushing beneath his outstretched wings, feel the rush of adrenaline while diving headfirst like an arrow into a raging battle. See the world through dragon eyes…

He wanted to meet that man. He wanted to know how it was to be gifted with such a treat.

Newt had always been drawn to a life filled with adventures and travels, and Theseus permitted him to visit the peripheral kingdoms whenever Newt’s longing for expeditions became too strong to ignore. Though, he was always accompanied by his royal escort, much to Newt’s dismay. The young prince understood that Theseus was protective of him and didn’t want him to be subject to enemies’ attacks. The risk to be ambushed by bandits was often very high, especially for members of royalty. But that didn’t diminish the unyielding flames of Newt’s drive to discover new and foreign lands on his own.

He felt that the people of the Northern Kingdom were as drawn to liberty as him, given that their symbol was a dragon, a creature meant to be independent and wild. And now, with the current knowledge he had about the king of Dracanoye, Newt couldn’t help but become all the more intrigued and attracted to this land of lengthy winters and ancient magic.

The young prince of the Southern Kingdom rapidly found himself rummaging in the royal library, searching for more stories about the Northern Kingdom, sucking up each discovered parchment with thirst for new knowledge like a sponge. If Theseus was surprised by Newt’s new hobby, he didn’t let it show.

With amusement glinting in his eyes, Theseus answered patiently to every question Newt directed at him, not missing on an opportunity to recount his exploits and memorable moments he fought alongside the great Percival Graves.

Newt was twenty-two when the heartbreaking news came.

The king of Dracanoye had lost his wife and two children during a vicious and unexpected ambush led by the clan leader of the Feronn islands Grindelwald, a tyrannical man who was known and feared for his ruthlessness and greed for unlimited power. Every kingdom of the continent was aware that Grindelwald had always been after king Graves’ lands. Dracanoye possessed countless dragon dens filled with the brightest and purest gems, and there was no equal to their immense value and magical features. This fact alone was often source of wars caused by opportunistic men who were foolish enough to pique the wrath of a territorial dragon.

Grindelwald had proved to be the most tenacious and avid man who tried to invade Dracanoye. And to Newt’s utter shock and sorrow, Grindelwald had managed to weaken Graves’ solid pillars by ripping out of his grasp his dearest gems that were his wife and children.

Newt hadn’t even met the man. He didn’t know what he looked like. But the sadness that filled his chest and threatened to constrict his heart in a vice grip made him weep silently into the cushion of his bed, as soon as he was sure that he was alone in his chambers with no one listening.

The prince couldn’t explain to himself why he was so affected by Graves’ loss. But soon he realized that during the years he had spent reading about Dracanoye and its king, a timid sense of affection for the black dragon had started to bloom in his chest, a tiny thing which had grown bigger and bigger the more time passed, making his heart flutter in a strange way whenever he heard someone mention the king’s name.

He couldn’t deny that he felt connected to the people of Dracanoye; and knowing that they were in grief and suffering, invaded Newt with a sadness he hadn’t felt before.

What hurt the most was to see Theseus trying to mask the pain in his expressive eyes behind a strained smile, his strong shoulders slumping under the weight of his inner grief when he thought that no one was looking at him. He refused categorically Newt’s plea to come with him when he decided to visit king Graves, telling in a soft yet serious tone that tolerated no rebuttal that Newt definitely wasn’t ready to witness the current state Percival was in.

“Trust me, you don’t want to see him like this,” Theseus insisted apologetically, and upon seeing the apparent weariness in his brother’s eyes, Newt shut his mouth and reluctantly accepted this decision.

More years went by, and before Newt could even blink, he was twenty-five. An age by which he already should have been married.

Normally, Newt was meant to be wed to someone from the neighboring kingdoms since he was seventeen. But after many refused proposals from potential suitors – most of them being women and men who were after the Southern Kingdom’s rich soils and coveted spices – it became quickly apparent that Newt would always remain celibate, not that he complained.

The prince was more than happy with his freedom to do whatever he wanted, without the horrible prospect of being chained to someone with whom he didn’t have any affinity. Most people among the other families viewed him as an eccentric and odd bird anyway. They didn’t want to deal with a prince who mostly preferred to be alone and was far too invested in studying books about foreign lands and magical creatures.

Newt was conscious of his own qualities. He knew that if he felt the desire, he would have caught a suitor long ago. He had often been complimented for his lean, elegant figure, his copper hair that gleamed like fire in the sun, his freckles that were scattered like constellations along his tanned skin, and his green innocent looking eyes that sparkled like jade in the tiniest flicker of light. If he was vain, he would have maybe accepted a proposal among many others. But it wasn’t the case, and he was completely fine with his current situation.

Theseus didn’t seem as thrilled with the thought of Newt remaining a bachelor for the rest of his life. But it didn’t take long until he accepted it and even admitted that he wasn’t very fond of the idea of someone taking his precious little brother away from him.

That’s why Newt’s astonishment was more than great when Theseus suddenly announced one day that Newt was to be wedded to the king of the Northern Lands in exchange for strengthening the bond between the two realms.

“Why?” was the only word Newt was capable of saying while his reeling mind tried to digest the information. Every emotion swirled like a whirlwind inside his stomach, making it churn and flip like a winding snake. The thought of being king Graves’ betrothed seemed equally insane and utterly strange. It felt like a dream of which he wasn’t sure he wanted to wake up or not.

Theseus visibly winced at Newt’s bewildered question, but his demeanor remained serious as he observed his little brother with a mix of fondness and tired resignation.

“Newt, you know that at the moment our kingdom isn’t doing well. Our economy is stalling and the crops aren’t as fructuous as they had been five years ago. We need help and support from a place we can trust, and nothing is better suited for it than Dracanoye. Percival’s lands are prospering like never before and he’s my friend.”

“I understand that, but what do I have to do with all of this?” Newt retorted, still not seeing where Theseus was going at. He tried to remain calm, but it was difficult when he saw that he didn’t have as much power of decision over his own fate and future like he always believed. He felt a little betrayed, but at the same time he couldn’t be mad at his older brother, which was all the more frustrating.

Theseus sighed and rubbed the bridge of his nose, looking a tad sheepish.

“This might sound bizarre right now, but Dracanoye isn’t doing well either. The problem isn’t its financial or social state. On the contrary; on that basis, they’re doing pretty well. What is worrying right now is the state of low morale among the Northern Kingdom’s inhabitants. Since Percival lost his wife and children, he isn’t the same anymore. His mental state is deteriorating each passing day, and I fear he’ll die soon too if nothing is done quickly to remedy his situation.”

Newt’s heart constricted upon hearing Theseus’ uttered words, worry and pain making his hands clench on his lap. Since the murdering of king Graves’ beloved wife and children, he had prayed each night to the gods, sending his thoughts to Dracanoye in the naïve hope that it would help, no matter how seemingly inconsequential it might be. Each year, Newt had received depressing news regarding Percival’s state from his older brother. But a stubborn part in him had always refused to believe that king Graves – the powerful, wise and cunning dragon – might succumb to a slow, agonizing death like any other mortal. Vulnerable and alone, in the state of perpetual mourning.

Before Newt could utter an answer, Theseus continued, “While Percival is becoming weaker, Grindelwald, that piece of shit, is getting stronger. One of my spies just told me that he is gaining alliances from Feronn’s surrounding islands. I feel that he plans another attack. If we don’t act now, I fear, both Dracanoye and our own precious kingdom will crumble under his clutches like a house of cards.”

A shadow passed through Theseus’ grim looking eyes, making him suddenly look years older, the weight of his responsibilities as a king bearing on his shoulders like a ton of bricks.

“Every kingdom in the continent, including Feronn, needs to be reminded of the fact that the Southern Lands and Dracanoye are still one powerful unity; that we are never to be underestimated. By strengthening our alliance through the sacred link of marriage, it not only gives the people of Dracanoye and our own people hope, but it also gives Percival another reason to continue on living, at least I hope.”

Newt bit his lip as he tried to digest what Theseus just said, his mind still scrabbling to understand what was going on. With a sense of uneasiness, he realized that the situation of his country was in more dire state than he imagined.

“You make it sound like I should become King Graves’ caretaker,” Newt muttered with a certain bitterness in his voice. Upon seeing the slight flinch in Theseus’ shoulders, he knew that he was being unfair, but he didn’t want his own feelings to be ignored.

“I’m sorry Newt. It isn’t my intention to make you feel denigrated. I’m not very good with words,” Theseus said quietly, and his eyes looked so sad, Newt instantly regretted what he just said. “I know that all of this seems a little sudden. Being the betrothed of the king of Dracanoye is a great responsibility. Suddenly, it’s like the fate of both our kingdoms lies in your hands…”

Theseus reached out to take Newt’s hand, and Newt immediately clutched at his brother’s fingers, squeezing lightly in silent apology.

“It was just a thought I had,” Theseus went on, slowly relaxing under the gentle caress of Newt’s fingers. “I will never oblige you to do what is against your will, Newt. If you don’t want to consider my proposition, you don’t have to. Maybe there is another way for us to save our lands…”

Theseus let out a sigh, and Newt suddenly felt distraught, worried and pained all at once. He was submerged by the urge to comfort his brother and lift the weight from his shoulders. Seeing him like this instilled a burst of childish anger against the world in his chest, and he didn’t know what to do.

Wordlessly, Newt rose from his seat and rounded the table so that he could sit beside his brother. With a slight tremor in his limbs, he pulled the king into the circle of his arms and trailed a soothing hand along his back, giving a little hum as Theseus shivered under his touch.

“I love you, ‘Seus,” Newt whispered, suddenly close to tears, and Theseus tightened their embrace in reply, his face buried in the crook of Newt’s neck. It was one of those cherished moments where he could show his own vulnerability and be consoled by his little brother; where he could forget for one moment his unflappable and strong king persona.

“I love you too, little brother,” Theseus murmured, and they both remained seated close to each other, seeking comfort in their proximity in the face of the uncertainty of their future hovering over them like a dark shadow.

After their last discussion, weeks passed, the early days of autumn slowly turning the trees in the courtyard in all shades of gold, orange and brown.

Newt had never been so restless in his entire life. He had spent many sleepless nights turning in his bed, wracking his head for a possible solution to the crisis situation his country was in. The more the days passed, the less he was unsettled by the prospect of marrying the black dragon of Dracanoye. Though, it still felt strange to imagine himself standing as the king’s spouse next to Percival Graves, ruling alongside him the Northern Lands. The land of dragons.

With a certain mix of guilt and timid excitement, Newt slowly but gradually found himself imagining scenarios of him meeting king Graves for the first time. Making their vows before the altar. Sharing a meal… Sharing a bed…

He didn’t know what was expecting him if he ever said yes to Theseus’ proposal, and this uncertainty felt equally dizzying and intimidating at once. However, Newt couldn’t deny to himself that departing for Dracanoye invaded his whole being with a thrilling sensation, turning his nerves alight with a constant thrum. His wanderlust became stronger than never before, making his skin itch, and his thoughts started to wander more frequently towards the Northern Lands and their king, like the wailing song of a homesick soul.

Newt was familiar with politics and economy. During his schooling he had acquired much knowledge about the ways of running a kingdom and managing the requests of its inhabitants. But it was a fact that the prince lacked practice. Theseus and his wife had always been the ones having this great responsibility. And they knew at all times what was right for their country. Now, Newt regretted not having spent more time with Theseus during his weekly councils with his ministers. Maybe then he would have known all along what decision he should have made for his people.

Newt realized with a sudden feeling of dizziness that for once, his voice counted. The destiny of one entire nation lay in his hands. He had to be careful, because once his decision was made, there was no turning back.

The prince slowly had to come to terms with the realization that there was no other way. Theseus was right. A union with king Graves would be the symbol of a new hope and a birth of a stronger nation. Each kingdom around the continent would hear the news and regard them with newfound reverence and respect. Regardless of culture, the concept of marriage was a sacred and powerful trait. Knowing that Dracanoye and the Southern Lands of Gilliya were forming a much stronger link meant that even the islands of Feronn would think twice before declaring war.

If marrying king Graves brought a better future for his land, then so be it. Newt would do anything for Gillya’s safety… and for his family.

After another week, Newt made his way towards Theseus’ study, his heart hammering against his ribcage like a scared woodpecker.

As he knocked, then stepped into the room, his brother looked up from his documents that lay scattered along the table, his green eyes widening in mild surprise.

“Newt…”

“I accept, ‘Seus,” Newt breathed, his voice trembling around the edges. “I’m going to marry King Graves.”

Many expressions passed over Theseus’ face. Bewilderment. Fear. Worry. Slowly, he approached his younger brother until they stood inches apart, his eyes softening as he took in Newt’s features. He settled a hand on the prince’s shoulder.

“Newt. Are you sure?” he asked, barely able to hide the trepidation in his tone.

Newt nodded and leaned into the touch, trying to convey that everything was fine. His body may still be trembling under barely suppressed nervousness, but in his mind everything was clear. He was confident.

“Yes.”

Theseus observed him for more silent minutes, eyes searching. Then he pulled Newt into a hug and sighed into the soft tuft of Newt’s red curls.

“Alright.”

Newt may have accepted the proposition, but now, they had to wait for the black dragon’s approval. After the prince’s consent, Theseus had immediately sent a letter to the Northern Kingdom. Now everything depended on king Graves’ reply, and Newt would be foolish to deny the fact that he was awaiting the answering letter with a mix of anxiety and curious anticipation.

After three agonizing weeks, Theseus finally barged into Newt’s chambers with a parchment clutched in his left hand, his chest heaving and eyes sparkling with thrumming energy.

“Newt,” he wheezed, waving the parchment as Newt faced his brother with widened eyes, breath hitching. “He accepted.”

---

“I can’t believe I’m doing this,” Newt muttered for the umpteenth time as he observed his servants putting his books and other belongings into the carriage that was already full to the brim. He was starting to fear that they would need a second carriage; maybe three.

The weeks after Graves’ reply went by in a blur. The news of the future wedding spread through the whole kingdom of Gilliya like wildfire. Every person came to the throne room in order to congratulate their precious prince, happy to know that finally, Newt was getting married to a king, and not any other king. To everyone it felt like an insane dream. Never would they have expected that Percival Graves, the grieving black dragon, would accept a union with another person.

Newt was unsure of what to think of his people’s excitement. But at least there was a certain calm satisfaction in the knowledge that his country was proud of him and was gaining hope for a better future.

What certainly pleased him was to see the joy returning in Theseus’ tired eyes, even though there was still this bittersweet sadness in seeing his little brother leave his nest.

During the weeks following king Graves’ reply, Theseus helped Newt organizing his departure and took care of the letters that kept piling up in their study since the announcement of Newt’s wedding. The whole castle was bustling with energy, servants and other attendants fluttering around Newt like a swarm of fireflies, chattering and chirping about what the prince should take with him and wear during his stay in Dracanoye.

Not used to being suddenly the center of such rapt and energetic attention, Newt quickly became worn out and stressed; but fortunately, Theseus was a calming presence in his befuddled state of mind, following him everywhere like a sentinel.

Finally, with the last leaves turning copper, announcing the arrival of autumn, Newt’s carriage and his troops of royal guards were ready to leave.

Newt heard that the journey to Dracanoye would be quite long. Three weeks, if they were fast enough. One selfish part of him had hoped that the wedding would take place in his own land, but tradition wanted that he shall be wed at the place where he would live at from now on, meaning that he was going to be alone, without his people.

The young prince couldn’t ignore the growing knot of distress in his throat as he stepped hesitantly into the carriage, his fingers shaking slightly as he waited for Theseus to join him.

Of course, Newt’s restlessness didn’t go unnoticed to his brother’s watchful eyes, and the king took hold of Newt’s hands, squeezing them in reassurance as he planted a soft peck on Newt’s forehead.

“Don’t be afraid, Newt,” he whispered and trailed a thumb along Newt’s blanched knuckles. “The people of Dracanoye already love you, and Percival is a good man. He might seem a bit gruff at first, but he has a big heart. He will always protect you. He gave me his word.”

“Will you come with me? Please,” Newt asked, although he knew the answer already. Theseus had other obligations, especially now that Gilliya was in deep crisis. It didn’t hurt to ask nevertheless, even though it was a vain attempt to coax Theseus into accompanying him to the wedding.

Theseus chuckled in reply, his gaze turning sad as he met Newt’s eyes.

“I’m sorry, Newt. As much as I want to come with you, I can’t leave my kingdom behind, unprotected. Gods, you can’t imagine how much I miss you already.” He pulled Newt’s shaking form into a tight embrace and kissed him on the head. “Even when Dracanoye becomes your new home, it doesn’t mean that we won’t see each other regularly. You can visit us whenever it pleases you. And… you have Frank, that crazy bird.”

Newt giggled shakily at Theseus’ playful jab, and rubbed his eyes in an attempt to hide his unshed tears. He nodded.

“Yes, at least he will be with me. It would be cruel to leave him alone.”

Frank was a gold-feathered hippogriff that Newt had received for his tenth birthday. And immediately after their first encounter, the proud creature had become attached to the prince and followed him around like a dog since then. Hippogriffs were very protective of the persons they saw as their family, which pleased especially Theseus who had never been able to shake off his constant worry over Newt’s safety. Now that Newt was going to live in Dracanoye, it was evident that Frank would remain his ever-present guardian.

Both men smiled at each other, until Theseus suddenly rummaged in the inner side of his tunic and pulled out a golden pin in form of an orchid flower. It glinted in the sunlight as Theseus gently attached the pin to Newt’s cloak, its tiny weight resting snugly against the prince’s chest.

“Take this with you,” Theseus said with a tremor in his voice and forced teasing grin, tears forming at the corners of his crinkling eyes. “So that you never forget where you come from.”

“’Seus…”

Newt trailed a finger reverently over the smooth surface of his pin, heart swelling with emotions. The orchid flower was the symbol of Gilliya, its blue petals spreading on each flag and crest of the Southern Kingdom. It represented humility, loyalty and fertility, the three credos of Gilliya. Newt would live from now on at king Graves’ side, but his heart would always remain here, by his family.

Afraid that he might burst into tears, Newt threw his arms over Theseus’ shoulders and pressed his face against his neck.

“I’ll miss you so much, ‘Seus,” he breathed and let out a tiny sob as Theseus rubbed his back in silent comfort.

“I’ll miss you too, little orchid. I’ll miss you too…”

Newt detached himself from his brother’s embrace with great reluctance. But now the time was running and he couldn’t delay his departure any longer, as much as he wanted to.

After one last hug, Newt settled into the warm cocoon of his carriage while Theseus closed the door for him. He extended his hand and once again took hold of the prince’s hand, squeezing lightly.

“I’ll see you soon, Newt. May your light always brighten your path.”

“And your path guide your light,” Newt said with a low murmur, remembering his family’s saying, and as if on cue, the carriage started to move, forcing Newt to retract his hand from his brother’s grip.

Newt peered out of the window, never leaving Theseus out of sight, and his heart made a painful stutter as he saw the king turn his head to the side, eyes pinched shut with a tear trailing down his cheek.

As the carriage left the city, the shiny domes of his castle disappeared behind the hills, the sunset plunging the lush flower fields in an orange light.

Fighting against the tears that threatened to spill out, Newt took a deep rattling breath and reclined in the cushioned seat of the rocking carriage.

Everything was going to be fine. He had done the right thing.

---

During the journey, Newt spent his time drifting in and out of a restless and agitated sleep, his mind invaded by anxious thoughts. Sometimes he was torn between the feeling of regret and homesickness, and at other moments he couldn’t help but wait for his arrival in Dracanoye with great anticipation. As the days passed, the prince became more and more aware of the fact that he was finally going to meet the king of the Northern Kingdom; this man he had read countless stories about for so many years.

Soon, he was going to be wedded to king Percival Graves, and this prospect filled Newt with a mix of curious wonder and excitement.

The convoy finally arrived in the Northern Lands after two more weeks.

The hilly and green scenery Newt was accustomed to gradually morphed into a tundra-like, barren landscape. The tips of snow-covered mountains appeared in the distance, their gigantic height looming in the sky like threatening spikes. A chilly wind blew across the fields and tousled Newt’s hair as he peeked out of the window, greeting his arrival with a low whistle.

As soon as they were deep within Dracanoye’s territory, the girth of the mountains surrounding the carriage became wider, making it more difficult for the horses and royal troops to sidestep the sharp rocks rising from the earth. Though, after hours of patient determination, Newt’s procession finally crossed the first wall of mountains. The path became more sinuous and led them towards the top of another row of those natural barriers, and upon hearing the shrill cry of Newt’s hippogriff flying above their heads, Newt looked up and recognized the first peaks of king Graves’ fortress behind the fog that covered the mountains like a thick blanket.

Newt’s breath hitched as more rooftops and high black towers appeared in the horizon. A giant gate leading towards the main city peeked between the two peaks of the mountain the cortege was currently crossing. The prince didn’t have the time to marvel at the glittering onyx walls of the intimidating looking fortification, because suddenly, another bone-rattling cry echoed through the wind, this time coming from a gray-scaled dragon that suddenly surged out of the fog at high speed like a gigantic falcon and landed with a loud thud right before Newt’s carriage, making the horses neigh in surprise.

Newt’s jaw dropped. He couldn’t help the sound of awe slipping past his lips as he let his gaze settle for the first time on this majestic creature. He felt his heart hammering in his ears and he was certain his fingers were trembling with barely suppressed fascination and amazement.

The dragon that acknowledged them with intelligent, gleaming sapphire eyes was as big as Newt’s carriage. Its wings were stretched out across the floor like wide leather webs and the scales glittered in various silver shades under the cold sun, little luminous sparks erupting from their surface as the dragon shifted and settled its large body with a rumbling grunt on the rocky ground.

It was only after long minutes of awe-filled staring, that Newt realized that someone was sitting on the dragon’s back. It was a young man who seemed to be around Newt’s age, his almond shaped hazel eyes looking at him through dark luscious locks that cascaded along his shoulders and framed his pale, sharp-edged face like a silky curtain. Both the man and the dragon formed an image of regal beauty, and Newt quickly found himself all the more enchanted by such a magnificent display.

Before the young prince could ask who the pair was, the dragon-rider cleared his throat and said with a low melodious voice, “We were awaiting your arrival, your highness, prince of Gilliya. Welcome to Rasgard, capitol city of Dracanoye and royal siege of King Graves, the black dragon.”

The young man bowed his head, to which Newt gave a slight tilt of his head in reply.

“Thank you for your kind hospitality. I’m glad that I have reached your beautiful city. It is a great honor to finally get acquainted with the proud people of Dracanoye,” Newt said in a reverent breath, his cheeks turning slightly pink as the young man smiled softly, hazel eyes crinkling.

“The pleasure is mine, your highness. My name is Credence Barebone, personal assistant of his majesty, King Graves. I shall escort you to our castle and attend to your settlement and wedding preparation.” With an elegant leap, the young man jumped from the dragon’s back and gestured towards the gate. “If you would please follow me. The way won’t be long.”

The commander of Gilliya’s guards peered at Newt with questioning eyes, and the prince nodded, giving his soldiers the silent order to follow the king’s assistant.

At the guard’s yelled command, the carriage started to move and the cortege climbed up the mountainous path, passing rows of spacious houses, wide towers and bustling crowds. An assembly of people had gathered around the carriage, curious eyes trying to sneak a peek on the prince of the Southern Kingdom. Newt blushed bright red and his heart fluttered in timid glee when he heard Dracanoye’s inhabitants start to cheer and yell greetings at him, the remaining traces of anxiety slowly seeping out of his tense limbs.

It didn’t take long until they arrived at the gate of Graves’ castle. It was an imposing building that seemed to be carved into the mountain itself, high pointed towers growing out of black stone like dragon claws. The dark shades of the castle made a sharp contrast to the snow which had already covered the entirety of the city despite the early days of autumn. The gray flags of Dracanoye framing the opening gate whipped in the sharp wind and the black dragon depicted on them seemed to come to life in the fluttering fabric, its curled tail winding on itself like a snake.

They passed the gate and moved into the courtyard, horse shoes clattering on the pavement as the convoy came to a halt. Credence opened the door of the carriage with a swift movement and extended his hand, helping Newt to step out and settle foot on the muddy ground.

“Welcome to our castle, your highness.”

---

Newt spent the next hours familiarizing himself with his surroundings, walking with cautious curiosity through long corridors and taking in the high ornate halls of the castle. The first thing that the prince noticed was that fire seemed to be the main element in Dracanoye, which wasn’t a surprise, really. Each wall of every room was flanked by candelabras that contained red, blue or green fire, their flames casting dancing shadows across the carpeted floor.

In contrast to the sunny and floral halls of Newt’s home in Gilliya, king Graves’ rooms were in a perpetual state of twilight, the black walls making the atmosphere seem gloomier than it already was. Unused to such looming darkness, Newt swallowed past the lump in his throat as he followed Graves’ assistant to his new chambers, a sense of claustrophobia making his chest constrict painfully against his heaving lungs.

Seeming to have noticed the look of uneasiness in Newt’s eyes, Credence gave an apologetic smile and said, “Normally, the halls have wide windows and big terraces, because us people of Dracanoye don’t like to be imprisoned in close walls. Freedom-loving, we mostly spend our time outside.”

The young man gnawed on his lower lip, big eyes flicking briefly to Newt’s face, before he added in a cautious tone, “Though, since our king is still mourning over the death of our beloved queen and her children, he avoids the light and spends most of his time barricaded in his study. If I can give you one first advice: when you see him, do not question him about his life and--” Credence’s cheeks suddenly turned beet red and he sheepishly cleared his throat. “…and his physical appearance.”

“R--Right,” Newt mumbled, a bit confused and unsettled by the young man’s riddled words.

Before the prince could ponder further over Credence’s odd behavior, they arrived in a spacious room that was already furnished and stored with Newt’s belongings. It seemed apparent that this room was meant for royal members of the Graves family. A plush queen-sized bed covered with furs and cushions stood at the far end of the chamber, next to a row of man-sized windows that offered a breathtaking view on the city and surrounding mountains. A large ebony table filled with books and a vanity stood side-by-side at the opposite end of the room, and a wardrobe beside the bed was flanked by a fireplace carved in onyx-stone. A fluttering fire was already crackling in it, casting a comforting warmth on Newt’s skin.

The prince was glad that at least his new chambers seemed to have a certain familiarity with his room back in Gilliya.

“Is the room of your liking, your highness? If you have a request for other accommodations, I will arrange it for you promptly,” Credence said, making Newt smile in reply. The prince was already growing fond of the sweet young man, and he considered himself lucky to be in such reassuring company.

“This is perfect, thank you,” Newt said, moved by Credence’s thoughtfulness. “May I ask though, when I will get the privilege to meet his majesty?”

Credence’s twinkling eyes widened slightly before he meekly bowed his head and answered, “My apologies, your highness, but our tradition wants that your soon-to-be husband remains unseen ‘til the beginning of your wedding ceremony which starts tomorrow night. Until then, you have to be patient.”

Newt nodded, recalling his lecture about Dracanoye’s customs. He was slightly disappointed that he didn’t have the chance to meet his future spouse today, but surely he could wait until tomorrow.

“Of course. I understand,” the prince smiled and Credence answered with a shy grin of his own, pale fingers fiddling with the hem of his tunic.

“You must be hungry, your highness. Allow me the pleasure to escort you to the dining hall. Then you can rest for today. You need to gain strength for the wedding.”

Credence made his way towards the door and beckoned Newt to follow him.

“If you have any specific requests, you can always come to me. I’m at your service.”

---

The next morning, Newt was startled from his restless sleep by the roar of a dragon flying past his window, and for a panicked second he didn’t know where he was-- until slowly, the events of the past day trickled into his muddled mind, making him groan.

Right. He was in Dracanoye and today, he was going to marry Percival Graves, the black dragon of the Northern Lands.

With a drawn-out sigh, the prince slumped back into the soft pelts and let his eyes drift shut, already feeling exhausted by the events that were awaiting him.

He still had trouble believing that all of this was actually happening.

How many times had he dreamt of visiting this wild land filled with ancient magic and mystery? In a strange way, the prospect of marrying didn’t scare him as much as it did before. Perhaps it had to do with the fact that he was more than curious about this enigmatic man who always appeared in his daydreams since he was eighteen. He also had to admit that the selfish part in him saw in this union the opportunity to gain the freedom to explore unknown lands as much as he pleased and be linked to a nation which was known for its fierce independency.

Feeling slightly guilty for his selfishness, the prince reminded himself that he mustn’t forget his main priority which was to protect Gilliya and Dracanoye from the looming threat coming from Feronn.

Newt had to take into account that king Graves was still stricken with grief. And considering Credence’s words, the situation seemed to be worse than he thought. He had absolutely no clue how he was supposed to act before his king. And he would be a liar if he claimed that he wasn’t at least a bit anxious about this uncertainty.

Before Newt could meditate further on his more than tricky situation, a soft knock came at his door and Credence stepped into the room, a warm smile splaying on his lips as he bowed his head.

“Good morning, your highness. I hope you’ve slept well.”

The prince straightened up and smiled sheepishly in return while trying to adjust his unruly bed hair.

“Good morning. It has been a restful night, thank you. Though… If I have to be honest, I’m feeling quite nervous.”

“That’s understandable. Today is a very important day,” Credence chuckled and gave a curt nod, his luscious locks bouncing at the movement. “But don’t fret. The wedding will be a magnificent event, and everyone already cherishes you, your highness. The bond between our two nations is strong and unbreakable. Having you here with us, my prince, fills us with great joy and pride.”

Newt blushed at those words, unable to look at the man’s smiling face as his mind scrambled for an answer that wouldn’t make a fool of himself.

“Thank you, Credence. I’m grateful for everything Dracanoye has done for my country. Our friendship means a lot to me,” he said sincerely.

Credence beamed, his eyes twinkling warmly.

“Your wellbeing is important to us, your highness.” he said, and with those words, he walked towards the windows and pulled the curtains to the side, letting the soft sunrays stream into the room. “If you don’t mind, I’ll escort you to the changing rooms so that our dressmakers can take your measurements for the wedding attire-- after you’ve had your breakfast, of course.”

Sensing that this was going to be a stressful day, Newt let out a sigh of resignation and slowly got out of his bed, the joints of his knees cracking as he made his way towards the wardrobe and quickly pulled on a warm robe over his shivering form, still unused to the chilling cold of Dracanoye’s mountains.

As he left his chambers and followed Graves’ assistant down the hallway, a new kind of jitteriness invaded him, making his heart beat fast like the flapping wings of an excited bird.

A new destiny was awaiting him and he didn’t know whether he should feel happy about it or completely mortified. Today, he was going to get married, and there was no turning back now.

Newt imagined his future consort standing by the altar, his appearance only waiting to be revealed before the prince’s curious eyes.

Feeling all the more intrigued, Newt let himself be led into the changing rooms and waited with anticipation for the fatidic event to come.

---

“You look dashing, your highness!”

The head-dressmaker – Queenie was her name, if Newt recalled correctly – pushed Newt towards the mirror and giggled in prideful glee as he contemplated his reflection with eyes as wide as saucers.

Newt had worn countless clothes that varied from the simple work tunic to the glinting satin gown destined for important events and banquets. Though, he had always worn them with certain indifference, not caring about his own appearance and how it looked to other people’s eyes.

Now it was as though he was looking at another person.

He wore a form fitting, emerald green gown that trailed smoothly along his body like silk and was decorated with fine embroidery at the edges. A golden belt in form of a dragon was slung around his waist, one half of its tail held in the grasp of the creature’s snout, the other half trailing in one sinuous and mobile loop down along Newt’s legs. A series of gleaming lacing trailed along his sleeves, making the little elegant arks of his arms and wrists more apparent. Under his gown, he wore smooth trousers that ended in a pair of fitting boots, each one of its clasps adorning a glinting gem.

A long scarf made of crimson fur was draped around his shoulders, giving the copper color of his hair a flaming touch. A flower crown made of fine rubies and jade had been settled on his head, and after further inspection, Newt realized that the freckles on his face had been retouched with red crayon, making them more visible even to the farthest observer. His overall appearance expressed delicate green beauty and proud, iridescent fire. His clothing was gorgeous without seeming too overdone, and Newt found himself admiring his own reflection with rapt disbelief and shy contentment.

He looked like a true intrepid prince of Dracanoye and it filled him with a new kind of thrill, making his body buzz like a string.

Newt was startled out of his daze when Credence stepped up behind him, next to Queenie, and gave an appraising hum, his eyes twinkling with mirth and admiration.

“Well done, Queenie. His highness is ready for the ceremony.”

Queenie nodded enthusiastically and clasped her hands, her smile widening upon seeing the blush on Newt’s face.

“Only one last touch is missing. The veil!”

Newt’s blush deepened at the thought of him wearing a veil. He found that veils were outdated, and who even needed to wear one when the future spouse would see their partner’s face anyway once the ceremony has begun?

Noticing the slight pout on Newt’s face, Queenie chuckled and gave the prince a light pat on the shoulder.

“We want to reserve your pretty face for the last part, my prince. Our king must unveil the cloth himself so he can have his little surprise,” she winked in a conspiratorial manner, to which Credence sighed and rolled his eyes.

“Don’t listen to her,” he said apologetically, but Newt smiled and shook his head, amused by the behavior of his new attendants.

His heart made a jump as he imagined himself being unveiled by the king himself, and suddenly, he found the idea not so annoying after all. It seemed rather fair, to also be a mystery that the king wished to reveal; just like Newt wished to solve the enigma that was Percival Graves.

“Maybe you’re right,” Newt breathed timidly, and Queenie beamed.

“You won’t regret it, my prince!”

---

The committee was smaller than Newt expected.

As he stepped out of the carriage into the chilling cold, with Credence in tow, he was met with an assembly of not more than forty people standing in front of him and looking at him with polite curiosity.

The afternoon wind was getting stronger, fluttering up the folds of his gown, and with a spark of exasperation, Newt asked himself for the umpteenth time why the wedding ceremony had to take place outside. He remembered having read not long ago about a shrine which had been built in memoir to the first regent who had received the gift of the dragon. The shrine – that stood in a small clearing of a forest not far from the castle – was sacred to the people of Dracanoye. That’s why it wasn’t a big surprise that king Graves and Newt would make their vows in its presence.

But that didn’t mean that Newt had to approve it.

With clattering teeth, the prince walked past the row of ministers and other important people, inwardly thanking Credence for his reassuring presence. He could hardly see through the fabric of his veil, making it impossible for him to walk through the snow without the grasp of Credence’s guiding hand.

He flinched when suddenly, the rumbling and rhythmic sound of a drum reverberated through the clearing, accompanied by a chorus of guttural voices whose rattling timbre made goose bumps trail along Newt’s skin. It was a bewitching and trance inducing chant. As though it came from another world. Newt couldn’t understand the words, but he believed it was a prayer sent to the gods, an ancient mantra already linking him to the black dragon through an invisible thread.

Newt’s hands were trembling by the time they arrived before the shrine, and he was sure it wasn’t just the cold which affected him.

A surprised sound nearly slipped out of his lips when Credence abruptly released his hand and stepped back, leaving the prince shivering on the spot, anxious of what was about to come. His breath hitched as he turned around and spotted a tall silhouette standing by the shrine. He would have mistaken it with a statue if it didn’t tilt its head to the side as if observing him with certain interest.

Newt froze when the figure walked up to him with slow, measured steps and extended a hand, reaching for his shaking limb. Warm and callused fingers circled his own, their rough texture sending a jolt through his arm, making him gasp. The stranger’s hand was big, firm and held him in a manner that expressed self-assuredness and calm. Newt couldn’t help but sigh out in relief, his nervousness slowly starting to subside as he clutched at the grounding hand like a drowning man.

As if sensing his inner distress, the hand gave a light squeeze, and it was then that Newt was sure that the stranger was the king. His consort.

The hand pulled at his own, prompting him to move, and Newt followed the stranger without a second thought, heart fluttering and skin prickling with unrestrained eagerness.

Once they arrived before the shrine, a voice coming from Newt’s far left greeted them, an airy and melodious sound floating through the cacophony of drums. Newt assumed it was the priestess who began to recite the ancient sayings of Dracanoye and bid them welcome to the sacred shrine. While the voice started to recite the credos and asked them to say their vows aloud, the grip on the prince’s hand tightened a fraction, and Newt was sure he was about to swoon when he heard his king’s voice for the first time.

King Graves’ voice was a deep rumble. Rasped around the edges yet smooth and cool like the calm before the storm. It felt like an intimate caress on Newt’s skin, and he wanted more. He couldn’t wait for the ceremony to end. The urge to finally see his king was so ardent, it nearly shocked him.

And then, when they had exchanged their rings, finally, finally, his consort stepped forward and reached out to grasp the delicate edges of the veil. Newt’s body was thrumming with nerves as he watched with a held breath how the veil was lifted above his head like a curtain. As the fabric slowly disappeared from his line of sight, the first traits of his king’s body revealed themselves before his curious eyes.

First he saw a pair of thick-furred boots, then his gaze trailed up to see a massive silver belt and an ash-gray tunic that clung to a muscular body, its strength hidden behind the envelope of a dark cape. A pelt made with the finest wolf’s fur was draped around large shoulders, one end of the pelt held by a pin and a chain to the other end, the mesh lying snugly against a wide chest. It was only when Newt’s gaze landed on the man’s face that his breath stuttered, mouth going agape on its own accord.

A myriad of thoughts floated in Newt’s head at once, jumbling together like a whirlwind of leaves. The man looked menacing. Sinister even. Yet, there was a wild beauty to him that made Newt instantly fall for the man, a sudden pull inside his gut making him want to reach out and touch his face in a reverent caress.

King Graves had a stern looking, pale face, its fierceness highlighted by a deep scowl which was accentuated by the thickness of his dark brows. He had a thin and serious mouth, its left corner pulled up into a permanent snarl by a row of angry red scars that trailed from his lips up to his graying temple. The scars looked as though a lion had dug its claws into his face. A battle scar that surely told many stories that Newt dreaded and longed for at the same time.

The man’s silver hair was shorn short at his temples, the only long part being a mop of smooth raven-black hair that was slicked back in a severe fashion, making him look even more threatening than he already was.

The most alluring trait of him was his eyes. At first sight, they looked like black coals, their bottomless depths pulling Newt in like a call of a siren; drowning him in their pitch black sea. But as Newt subconsciously made one step forward, eyes fixing the man’s stoic gaze, he was certain he saw amber colored specks, gleaming like fluttering flames as they caught the light of the sunset. King Graves’ eyes were cold, calm and piercing. Yet there was also a certain wild spark to them. A dormant force that only waited to be awakened. They looked utterly cunning and weary, as though they had seen many lifetimes. And suddenly, Newt understood what Theseus had meant.

They truly looked ageless.

Newt couldn’t hide the deep flush that spread across his cheeks when he noticed those unearthly eyes tracing his features with intent, as though trying to memorize them. He felt naked under that chilling gaze, but to his utter mortification, he found himself desiring more of that attention.

There was a moment where neither moved. Then, the king lifted the prince’s hand and brought it to his lips, planting a light peck on its freezing knuckles and the wedding ring, his piercing gaze staying locked with Newt’s. His lips were surprisingly soft. Their caress left a trail of pulsing heat on Newt’s skin, making him shiver and instantly crave more.

He nearly embarrassed himself by letting out a needy sound as the man stepped back and released his hand, but he managed to stifle it at the last moment as he was left reeling.

The priestess raised her hand and the chorus of throaty voices stopped with a last, dramatic drum roll. A roar of a dragon was heard in the distance.

The vows were sealed.

---

The engagement banquet had truly nothing to envy to the Southern Kingdom’s feasts.

The hall was filled with rows of tables that were laden with countless plates filled with the most delicious and exotic meals. It went from the rare fruits of the Western Desert to the juicy and aromatic beef from the prestigious farming of the Willow Islands bordering Gilliya.

Newt was still in a dazed and giddy state as he observed with certain bewilderment how every guest who was gathered in the hall laughed and cheered in carefree glee, apparently happy with their king’s wedding. The crowd kept sending Newt curious gazes filled with awe, as if they also couldn’t believe that this memorable event was actually happening.

A small smile curled at the corners of Newt’s lips, warmth unfurling in his chest. Dracanoye’s people genuinely seemed to be relieved; glad that their king had decided to turn the page on this sorrowful and sinister chapter relating the last cruel events his country had endured.

With a fluttering heart, Newt kept sending his spouse shy glances, hoping that they could engage in some conversation. He wanted to know who the man was beneath his intimidating regent persona. And now that they had a full lifetime ahead of them, they had plenty of opportunities to get to know each other more intimately.

Both men were seated side-by-side at the elevated part of the ‘U’ shaped table, giving them a complete view on the assembled guests and vice-versa. The king held himself in a nonchalant and quiet manner, his posture still emanating an aura of authority and dormant danger. There was a sense of conscious control and self-assuredness to his body, his limbs seeming to move with perfect precision – without unnecessary movement – as he lifted a hand to take a sip from his cup. That gesture was simple, without significance. Yet, to Newt it was like looking at a monk performing a ceremonial act.

The prince tried to ignore the pang in his chest as he saw the king letting his watchful eyes wander in slight boredom along the assembled guests without sparing him a glance, seeming to be more interested in his contemplation rather than make conversation. He didn’t even seem to acknowledge the prince, and it filled Newt with sudden hurt and disappointment.

Newt bit his lip and ducked his head, staring with prickling eyes at his untouched plate.

Perhaps his consort was the private and withdrawn type who felt uncomfortable in first encounters and public conversations. Perhaps he was as nervous and terrified as Newt, but didn’t let it show. But that didn’t mean that it was acceptable to ignore his consort.

With newly regained determination, the young prince turned to face his king and timidly cleared his throat. He was sure his heart was skipping a beat when the taciturn man slowly turned his head and settled his piercing gaze on him, dark ambers glinting in the fluttering flames of the candelabras.

Before his courage had the chance to leave him, Newt gnawed on his lower lip and gave tentative smile, the corners of his mouth trembling in masked nervousness.

“It’s-- It’s a pleasure finally meeting you, your majesty,” Newt stammered. He tried not to avert his eyes in embarrassment as the king kept watching him with an unreadable look, his eyes unblinking.

“Finally, you say,” the older man replied pensively after a brief pause, the roughness of his voice making Newt shiver in delight.

“W—Well…” Newt fiddled with the orchid-pin on his chest and swallowed down the lump in his throat, chuckling shakily. “I’ve heard many stories about your deeds and great adventures. My brother Theseus talks about you with great respect, and it has always made me curious about you.”

At that, the king let out a snort, eyes narrowing slightly as he kept fixating the squirming prince.

“Well, I hope your curiosity has been satisfied, my prince.”

There was a sharp edge to his tone that made Newt flinch in shame, instantly regretting his choice of words. But before the silence between them could become more awkward, the king continued, “I’ve heard many things about you too. There is not much resemblance between you and your brother.”

Newt blinked, not sure if his king was either mocking him or just stating a fact.

“Um, yes… Physically, we’re quite different. Also our personalities, I guess,” he mumbled, feeling slightly perturbed by the weirdness of their conversation.

The older man just grunted in answer and detached his gaze from him, returning to his previous contemplation. Silence stretched between them, and Newt wondered with a sudden sense of trepidation how their next interactions would play off.

Deciding to not let it rest, Newt wetted his lips and offered his kings another smile, his ears turning red when the man fixated him again with a hard look.

“I’m truly glad that the bond between our two kingdoms is still perpetuated. I hope that we can get to know each other better, your majesty.”

The man stared at him with dark eyes for what seemed like an eternity, until suddenly, he let out a huff that sounded like a mix of a humorless chuckle and a wheeze, the first scar on his lip stretching taut, accentuating the snarl.

“Stop with those formalities. Since we’re a married couple now, you should call me Percival.”

His last words ended in a derisive mutter, as though he was slowly getting annoyed by the whole conversation, and Newt’s heart sank at that.

Newt had to concede that he imagined the scenario of the king prompting him to call him by his first name differently. Oh well… Since when did most expectations turn into reality?

Trying to ignore the growing sadness and deception constricting his chest, Newt forced another smile, saying, “You should call me Newt, then. Or Artemis, if you like.”

Percival huffed out another grunt of acknowledgement before he took a swig of his cup, mouth pressed into a thin severe line. Newt gulped and looked down at his folded hands, which had become clammy during their tense interaction.

He wiped his face before the first tears could prick at his eyes.

---

The ending of the ceremony was truly anticlimactic.

After the most regrettable dinner Newt had had in his entire life, Percival promptly excused himself and left before Newt could even suggest going with him to his chambers.

The prince knew that they didn’t have to consummate their marriage at the very first night, but a naïve, hopeful part in him had wished that they would still pass a little time together and maybe mend their first shaky conversation. Their interaction may have started on a bad note, but Newt had still the fragile hope that they could go past that and focus on getting better acquainted.

It still felt strange that the man who had offered Newt a silent reassurance and comfort during their vows suddenly became unapproachable and cold, seeming to not want to have anything to do with him.

Maybe the king had just done his duty as the considerate and caring groom in order to keep up appearances before the watchful eyes of the priestess. And now that everything was over, the mask had fallen. The charade was over.

Newt couldn’t help but feel humiliated and hurt as he dragged his feet into his room and let himself fall face-down onto his bed, his whole body shaking with repressed sobs.

Everything had started so well though. Once Newt had laid eyes upon his king, something powerful had struck him like a lightning bolt. He couldn’t explain to himself why, but it was the first time that he felt attracted to someone in such an ardent way. There was something to the man’s whole demeanor that made his heart beat like a war drum and his skin tickle in a dizzying way. King Graves looked wild and so composed and dangerous, it made the inner intrepid side in him tremble with want.

Those amber eyes that seemed to pierce right through him like sharp knives concealed an inner defiance and grief that invaded Newt with the urge to trace his fingers along the hurting scars on the man’s face with tender caresses and strokes. He suddenly asked himself what Percival was like before he lost his children. Did he smile often? Did his eyes gleam like dancing fire when he was happy?

With a sudden crushing feeling of hopelessness, Newt realized that he had married a man who was now a shadow of himself, who might not be able anymore to desire someone else. To feel happy again…

A sob slipped past Newt’s lips as he buried his face into the furs, his eyes pinched shut, his chest weaving.

He missed his home. He missed his brother. Even though it was Theseus himself who had sent him to this dreadful and depressing fate.

Newt flinched and straightened up when he suddenly heard someone knocking at his door. His heart hammered fast and a myriad of thoughts swirled in his head, making him dizzy.

Before he could wonder who could possibly come in his room at this hour, the familiar mop of Credence’s luscious hair appeared at the entrance, almond eyes peering at him through wavy strands.

“Your highness,” the man whispered and approached Newt with a pained expression when he noticed the prince’s red-rimmed eyes. “Is everything alright?”

Upon seeing the worried look in Credence’s big innocent eyes, Newt couldn’t hold it any longer. All the pent up tension, anxiety and sadness welled up in his chest like a broken dam. With a pained sound, he buried his face in his hands and broke into tears, his chest heaving and trembling as he tried to calm his wheezing breath. He let out a choked sob when Credence sat next to him and rubbed his shivering back with a soothing hand, cooing softly as a tremor shook Newt’s body all the more.

“Your highness. Please, talk to me,” the young man murmured and squeezed the prince’s shoulder in reassurance when Newt slowly lifted his head and peered at him through wet eyelashes.

“H—He doesn’t want me,” Newt croaked, wincing inwardly at the ridiculousness of his needy behavior. “You should have seen him. He didn’t even look at me. I’m just a burden and a tool.”

Credence’s eyes softened, and he reached out to brush away a piece of fur that was stuck in Newt’s fringe with his thumb.

He breathed, “Your highness. I understand that you’re feeling disappointed and hurt. But let me assure you, our king isn’t cruel. He cares about your wellbeing. It’s just very new and foreign to him to suddenly be betrothed to someone whilst he just lost his wife and children.”

“I know that he’s in grief,” Newt countered, a heavy sigh leaving his lips. “I should have realized sooner that he just married me for political reasons. Nothing more. He isn’t interested in me.”

The prince ducked his head in defeat and blinked at his trembling hands, unseeing.

“I don’t really blame him, you know… It’s ridiculous how badly I’m affected by his rejection, although I don’t even know him.” A sudden pang of guilt hit him, making him feel even more miserable than before. “He is in great pain, and I’m acting like a spoiled brat.”

Credence shook his head at those words, smiling softly.

“Your feelings are valid too, my prince. You’ve sacrificed so much for your country. For us. You want to please your king, but he remains distant. Of course it hurts,” he said as he kept rubbing Newt’s back, soft fingertips pressing on tense muscles. “I know it’s a lame consolation… but, please, be patient. Everything is still fresh and new. You both need some time to adjust to your new status.”

As Newt regarded him with a doubtful look, Credence gave an insisting nod, eyes twinkling warmly.

“Our king isn’t the most talkative person, and it will be hard to pull him out of his self-inflicted isolation. But he is kind-hearted and considerate, your highness, even if you may not believe me now. He doesn’t loathe you or find you burdensome. If he rejects you at first it’s because he has issues with himself. Give him time. Give yourself time. Don’t rush.”

Newt remained silent, his mind whirring as he digested Credence’s words. The more he pondered over it, the more it made sense. With Credence talking like that, everything seemed so simple. But he knew that it won’t be easy. A long and tedious road filled with hurdles was awaiting him, and he wasn’t sure if he would be able to handle it. Yet, he had to admit that he felt slightly better after hearing Credence’s comforting words. The young man was surely right. Newt had just met his king and had immediately jumped to hasty conclusions, his only reference being their first encounter.

He had to learn to get to know his spouse better, and for that he had to be patient and determined.

Nodding to himself, Newt sighed, the waves of exhaustion crashing over him, yet feeling hopeful and soothed all the same.

“Thank you, Credence,” Newt whispered and smiled at the man sheepishly, the fondness he felt for him only getting greater. “You help me so much… I don’t deserve your kindness.”

A pink blush spread across Credence’s delicate features, a timid smile twitching at the corners of his lips.

“I—I want to see you happy, your highness,” Credence whispered, making Newt chuckle at the sheer sweetness of this endearing man.

“Please, call me Newt,” the prince said, and his smile grew wider upon seeing the look of wonder and barely concealed joy in Credence’s features.

“Alright, N-Newt.”

Both men smiled at each other, and for the first time that night, Newt looked upon his future with renewed hope.

---

The next days were pretty uneventful and as deceiving as the engagement banquet, if Newt was honest with himself.

Percival kept locking himself in his study when he wasn’t occupied with his council meetings and other daily obligations, ignoring every attempt of the prince to engage in conversations with him. Whenever Newt managed to gain the attention of the brooding king, he only received a dark look and a grunt that clearly let him know that his consort didn’t wish to be disturbed.

Each rebuff felt like a knife stab to Newt’s heart, but he remained determined nonetheless, his will fueled by the encouragements of his new friend, Credence.

One day, two weeks after the wedding, Newt sat with him in his chambers, reading a book while Credence sat behind him and tried to untangle the stubborn knots in his hair with a comb, his tongue stuck between his teeth in intent concentration.

Upon hearing Newt’s pained sigh, the young man stopped in his tracks and sent his prince a questioning look in the mirror before them.

“Am I hurting you, Newt?” he immediately asked, voice laced with concern.

Newt shook his head and smiled at Credence through their reflection.

Today he was wearing a wide-sleeved indigo robe that was studded with gleaming gold-scales around his collar. It made the green of his eyes stand out and his limbs seem softer. More elegant. Sometimes Newt amused himself by lifting his hand in a graceful manner, admiring himself in the mirror as he observed the sleeve slowly gliding up his arm, revealing tanned and soft skin like a sensual dance.

More often than not, he imagined Percival doing the act. Strong and calloused hands gliding along his skin as they pushed the fabric away, admiring each little revealed sliver of flesh with a heated caress of searching fingers, thumbs rubbing in circles, leaving goose-bumps in their wake.

All of this was pure fantasy. Wishful thinking of a desperate prince who craved the attention of a king who only regarded him with aloof indifference.

It often left Newt in bittersweet agony, because if he wanted to engage in more intimate activities with his king, he had to succeed in breaking the impenetrable wall of ice that the man had raised around himself. Two weeks had passed and Newt still hadn’t managed to coax Percival into saying more words than the occasional derisive grunt.

Gradually, the prince felt his resolve deflating, leaving him with a sensation of weariness and creeping sadness. If it wasn’t for Credence’s optimistic nature and candid encouragements, Newt would have abandoned everything long ago.

Once again, the prince let out a drawn-out sigh, a shadow passing over his face.

“It’s nothing, Credence,” he mumbled, responding to Credence’s inquiry with a sad smile. “I’m just wondering what I should do in order to get closer to Percival.”

The prince closed the book in his hands and trailed a finger along its ridged spine.

“He still forbids me to approach his chambers and still won’t acknowledge me unless I talk to him directly. I know that we aren’t obliged to share a bed together but--”

His freckled cheeks were tinged with a pink flush as he went on, “Sometimes I can’t help but ask myself if I’m that undesirable. I—I don’t ask him to show affection or anything… I just want to be acknowledged. Be his equal… Does he even like men?”

Credence sputtered upon hearing those words, face turning beet red as he looked at Newt with widened eyes. Newt lifted one amused eyebrow at that.

“What?”

“W-Well…” Trying to keep his hands occupied, Credence continued combing Newt’s hair while pointedly keeping his gaze on his work. “You-- You are not undesirable, Newt. And his majesty has had quite a few fleeting relationships with other men before he met our queen. The problem isn’t there…”

Newt perked up, listening with renewed interest to his friend’s words. He became worried though when Credence paused, hazel eyes turning sad and serious as he kept combing Newt’s hair.

The prince settled a hand on the man’s wrist and squeezed lightly.

“Credence…”

“He… He has nightmares. A lot,” Credence began hesitantly, as though afraid that someone might hear him and punish him for what he was about to say. “If he keeps refusing to share a bed with you, it’s because he hardly ever sleeps. And if he sleeps, it is always loaded with horrible nightmares. I think he keeps reliving the tortures he has endured during Grindelwald’s attack. Sometimes, I can hear him scream in agony…”

Newt’s heart made a painful stutter, his eyes widening in shock. He felt ashamed for not being considerate enough regarding Percival’s distress. But how could he have known that the king’s pain ran much deeper than what transpired on the surface? He felt a rush of sympathy for his king, and suddenly, he wanted nothing more than to comfort him and lift this unbearable weight from his shoulders.

“I… I didn’t know,” Newt whispered, his mind still reeling from the new revelation.

Credence shook his head and squeezed Newt’s shoulder, biting his lip.

“Don’t torture yourself, Newt. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you before. It’s just that… he has always managed to hide it. His majesty doesn’t want people to know that he is still vulnerable in some way. I’d suggest you keep this secret for yourself. For your sake…”

Newt nodded silently. He understood that Credence wanted to preserve his king from unnecessary questioning and pain. It was endearing to see how protective he was of Percival.

But… Newt also knew that leaving the king alone to deal with his critical situation wouldn’t arrange things either. On the contrary. The nightmares seemed to take a great toll on the king’s mental state, driving him slowly but surely into insanity. No wonder he always seemed so closed-off and rude when he barely even slept.

Newt had to think over a solution, a way to help Percival out. He was his spouse after all. Whether he liked it or not.

For now, he kept this decision to himself. Credence didn’t need to know right now that slowly, a plan was starting to form inside Newt’s head.

---

With a shiver running down his spine, Newt tapped on silent feet through dark corridors toward Percival’s chambers, his heart hammering so fast, he feared it might jump out of his throat.

That night, he had decided to sneak a peek into the king’s room, trying to test the waters before taking any further action. He was aware that he was walking on dangerous territory. He only had to think about the fierce and piercing spark in those amber eyes in order to be frightened. But he had to try. If not, nothing would ever change.

With tentative steps, Newt approached the door and gently pushed it, relieved that it was already open one gap, a soft light filtering through the crack, into the dark hallway.

Newt licked his lips, sending a silent prayer to the gods, then—

“I can hear you, you know.”

Newt froze, his breath catching in his throat. Oh, no…

Before the wave of panic could wrap its claws around his racing heart, the door was pushed open wide and the tall figure of Percival Graves appeared before him, looking as menacing as ever with those cold, bottomless eyes that kept glowering at him.

Newt shivered. He desperately wracked his paralyzed mind for a quick explanation, but he stopped dead in his tracks as soon as his eyes settled on his king’s body.

Percival was only wearing a pair of gray linen trousers, the rest of his body stark naked and looking utterly glorious. A multitude of scars of different shapes were littered across the man’s muscular torso, making each little ripple of muscle more apparent as they pulled at his skin. Percival’s arms looked as powerful as the rest of him, biceps flexing in a downright sinful manner as the man lifted one hand and settled it against the doorframe, making his posture more imposing and threatening. As Newt’s gaze traced the king’s torso, he started to blush upon seeing the trail of dark and coarse hair on his chest, which went down his belly until it disappeared behind the trousers, leaving to the imagination what lay beneath the thin cloth.

Newt was sure his entire face was red with barely repressed arousal and embarrassment.

Oh, gods…

“What do you want?” Percival asked coolly, seemingly unperturbed by Newt’s open stare. Either he didn’t notice Newt’s reaction or he was completely indifferent to it and decided to ignore it. Either way, both suggestions still stung a bit.

“I-- I…” Newt inhaled shakily and mentally shook himself, his heart skipping a beat as he met Percival’s probing gaze. “I was just wondering if you could borrow me one of your pelts. It’s… It’s getting colder in my room, and I’m still not used to the climate here…”

Wonderful. Nice lie. Newt was certain that the king had surely seen past his bluff; but if it was the case, he didn’t let it show. Instead, he let out a low hum, eyes softening a fraction.

That tiny change in the man’s simmering depths didn’t go unnoticed to the prince. His heart fluttered and a strange kind of warmth filled his chest. Before he could admire further his husband’s handsome features, Percival turned around and disappeared into his chambers. It didn’t take long until he came back, one arm draped with two covers made of the fluffiest fur.

He dropped them unceremoniously into Newt’s hands, making the prince startle out of his momentary daze.

“Better?” the king asked gruffly, and Newt nodded, unable to suppress a bashful smile as he saw Percival’s awkward attempt at being nice.

“Yes… Thank you, Percival,” he breathed and looked up at his husband through reddish eyelashes, smile widening.

For one silent moment, Percival stared at him with an odd look, an indiscernible expression crossing his face. But then he shook his head and gave a dismissive wave of his hand.

“Go to sleep,” he grumbled, and with those words, the door was shut, leaving Newt alone in the chilling darkness of the corridor.

Newt pressed the furs to his face and sighed into it, breathing in the musk and manly scent of his king that clung at the soft fabric.

As the prince walked back to his room, he couldn’t help the bright grin that spread across his face, his heart jumping with new vigor. The little interaction with his king had been strange at best, but it was still a victory.

For the first time since he first arrived in Dracanoye, Newt had a restful sleep.

---

The next morning, Newt was seated in his bathtub, watching the foamy bubbles float as he relaxed into the hot water with a content smile.

The events of the previous night kept replaying in his head and it left him with a feeling of hopeful joy and warmth. He knew that just because one interaction with Percival had gone well, didn’t mean that the future would lack of other upcoming hurdles.

But that didn’t stop Newt from having a new and strengthened resolve. He wanted to stay beside his husband and help him, and he wanted to do anything in his power in order to make them both happy, as naïve and unrealistic as it might sound.

A pleased sigh slipped past his lips as his mind was invaded with images of Percival’s topless figure. All rippling muscles and savage beauty. Despite his early forties and battered body, the man had maintained a strong and powerful shape. Newt wished he could touch him once, feel those shapely muscles under his exploring fingers.

Newt had always been quite disinterested in anything that involved sex and intimacy. Since he could think, he had told to himself that he would never meet someone who could ignite the roaring flames of desire and arousal inside his loins in one heartbeat. But with Percival, all his previous doubts and presumptions were blown into the wind. He wasn’t sure if it had to do with the man’s imposing and enigmatic aura; or his cunning eyes that seemed to look right into his soul and dig up his darkest secrets. Or the wild spark in his depths that drew up in Newt his most primal and adventurous emotions.

He couldn’t deny that he felt attracted to the man. And despite the fact that he felt a bit guilty for his lecherous thoughts – for craving a man who was still in pain – he had trouble suppressing the growing curl of arousal and want that spread through his lower body, making him bite his lip in a lame attempt to stifle a needy sound.

A deep flush covered his face and spread down to his chest as Newt grazed with trembling and tentative fingers his sensitive nipples, the hot water and scented bath oils making his senses sharper and mind hazier. He felt utterly mortified by this act, but he couldn’t stop his mind from drawing up images of Percival stroking his shivering body with rough and exploring fingers, firm hands kneading his skin and touching him at intimate places with the sure determination of someone who knew how to pleasure their partner.

Newt was certain that Percival was more than capable in bed. He only had to imagine the way the intimidating man carried himself as he strode through the corridors as if he owned the entire world. Suddenly, the prince couldn’t help but wonder what type of lover his husband was under the sheets.

Was he rough and demanding? Would he either pin Newt under him, gripping his delicate wrists with one hand while he drove into his willing body with brutal thrusts? Or would he rather pull the prince into the comforting circle of his arms, press him firmly against his chest while breaching him gently with his pulsing length, slowly fucking him into sweet oblivion?

“Gods…”

Utterly embarrassed and already far too deep in his sinful thoughts, Newt trailed his fingers lower, a sharp moan leaving his mouth as he circled his most intimate region.

It didn’t take long until he came. With a muffled cry, Newt threw his head back, making the water ripple around his twitching body. He panted up blindly at the ceiling, chest heaving with heavy breaths and fingers shaking. He lolled his head to the side and pinched his eyes shut, a mix of shame and sated satisfaction making his already drunken mind spin. It was as though his head was filled with cotton, and he feared he would have great trouble standing up from the tub.

With a shaky breath, Newt sank deeper into the water in the foolish hope that it would submerge him completely and never let him resurface again.

He was truly fucked.

---

“Good morning, Percival.”

The king lifted his head, eyes narrowing slightly as Newt walked into the currently empty council room.

After his bath, Newt had debated for at least an hour if he should join his husband at his appointed council meeting with his ministers or not. He knew that as his consort, he had the right to attend any event and meeting the king was organizing. But he wasn’t sure if Percival would actually appreciate it.

Deciding that he was still capable of making his own damn decisions without seeking his husband’s approval, Newt finally went to join Percival at the meeting, determined, although still a bit sick with nervousness.

He bit his lip as he walked with feigned confident steps towards the table and took his seat next to his spouse, heart racing as he felt the king’s heavy gaze on him. With all the courage he could muster, the prince turned his head and offered Percival a tentative smile.

As their eyes met, the older man suddenly froze, his nostrils flaring as he inhaled sharply, seemingly sniffing the air. His dark eyes flickered with a flash of gleaming amber as he stared at Newt with a stunned expression, which the prince would have found comical if he wasn’t already perturbed and confused by the king’s strange behavior.

“Is… is something the matter, Percival?” Newt asked hesitantly, a sense of worry settling in his gut when the man kept staring at him as though he had just grown snakes on his head.

Seeming to have regained his composure, Percival shook his head in irritation and let out a grunt, his previously flaming eyes returning to their cold and impassive state.

“Nothing,” he muttered darkly, the permanent scowl on his face deepening as he turned back to the strategic maps that were scattered along the table.

Newt frowned at his husband, feeling lost.

Before the prince could open his mouth for another question, the door to the council room suddenly flung open and a guard barged in, his chest heaving as he tried to regain his breath.

“My king,” the guard wheezed with frantic eyes, and the king immediately straightened his back, eyes alert.

“What is going on?” he asked, thundering voice steely and sharp, making the hair on Newt’s neck stand on end.

“Sire, the harbor town of the east coast is under attack! Fire has spread around the wall, making it impossible for the people to flee! Until we find enough dragons who can evacuate the city, it will be too late!”

Percival’s gaze hardened, dark irises sparking in all shades of angry yellow, giving him suddenly a dangerously reptilian look.

A bone-chilling growl left his clenched mouth as he rose from his seat and hissed, “Did you recognize the assailants?”

The guard nodded and gripped his spear tighter, his expression turning grim.

“Yes, Sire. Those are bandits, coming from the Feronn islands. But I don’t think Grindelwald sent them.”

“If he sent them or not, it doesn’t matter. They dared to come into my territory and now they’re attacking innocent people,” the king barked, and with those words, he pulled the cape from his shoulders and threw it violently on the nearby chair, leaving him only in his simple black tunic.

Newt, who had silently observed their interaction with a growing sense of dread, stood up and sent his king an uneasy look, a lump forming in his throat. If Percival had always had an intimidating aura to him, now he looked downright deadly.

Seeming to share the prince’s unease, the guard swallowed and asked, “Do you want me to send reinforcements?”

“That won’t be necessary,” Percival growled in a calm voice that only promised upcoming danger, his eyes suddenly turning hard and icy, irises morphing back to its pitch-black color. “I’ll take the matter into my own hands.”

Ignoring the guard’s sputtered protest, Percival marched with stomping strides towards the exit and left Newt alone in the council room.

But the prince had none of that. With a racing heart, Newt followed Percival hastily out into the wide terrace, a strong wind blowing against his face as they both stepped outside.

“Wait!” Newt yelled, ignoring the man’s warning growl as he reached out and gripped his husband’s arm, eyes pleading. “What if it’s a trap? You can’t go alone, Percival!”

Percival looked like he was about to burst in hardly contained rage, the scars on his face pulling his mouth taut into an angry snarl. But he didn’t pull out from Newt’s grasp, which was a relief.

“You won’t teach me what I already know, Artemis,” the man said in an eerily quiet tone, pressing Newt’s name out in a menacing hiss.

His stormy eyes took on a dangerously steely look as he cradled Newt’s hand in a surprisingly gentle grip and pushed it away, leaving Newt bereft and stunned by the strange act.

“Percival,” Newt whispered, a sudden feeling of dread making his guts twist. “Let me come with you!”

Newt’s pleas fell on deaf ears. The king turned around and jumped with one giant leap over the railing, his body diving into the void as it rapidly dissolved into a cloud of black smoke. Rendered speechless by the display of magic, Newt ran towards the railing and leaned over it, trying to see where Percival had disappeared.

All he saw were pointy cliffs and a raging river that flowed around the castle, down the city. The thundering roar of a dragon could be heard, but nothing showed that Percival had just jumped into the gaping depth.

Trembling under barely contained worry, revolt and frustration, Newt turned on his heel and ran with a look of determination towards the stables, searching for his hippogriff, Frank.

He was going to follow Percival, even if it meant that soon, he would have to deal with the force of the dragon’s wrath.

---