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Chapter Text

Her favorite place in the whole palace is her very own bedroom. With its warm light from the fire and the seat beneath the window where she can sit and look out over the vast kingdom of Gallifrey at night, studying the pinpricks of light in the village and making up stories about the lives of the people who live there. She loves the cozy blankets piled high on her bed that she snuggles beneath at bedtime and the chest of drawers littered with trinkets from her parents’ travels.

Papa always bring her back something from the neighboring kingdoms every time he and Mama leave and she displays her most treasured ones proudly – tiny music boxes, a piece of sea glass, and a porcelain doll with a painted face. And of course, all the books. Luna’s absolute favorite thing about her bedroom is the bookshelves, filled with stories from every land and every culture. And best of all — fairytales.

Luna loves fairytales and there is one in particular that she loves most.

“Tell me the story?”

Aunt Missy glances up from tucking the blankets haphazardly around her, her wide blue eyes filled with exasperation. “What, again?” At Luna’s nod, she groans and sinks onto the edge of the bed. “Pigeon, that’s the third time this month. Are you trying to get me to dive off a turret and make an icky splatter of myself on the ground? Because it’s working.”

Wrinkling her nose, Luna settles further into the plump pillows behind her and hugs her stuffed bunny to her chest. Jutting out her chin, she retorts, “It’s my favorite.”

Sticking out her tongue, Aunt Missy grumbles, “I’ve heard better.” She brightens. “What about the one with the old witch who eats the kids? That’s exciting, isn’t it?”

Luna eyes her dubiously. “Not really.” She bites her lip, peering hopefully up at her aunt. “Please? Just once more?”

With an exaggerated huff, Aunt Missy flops onto her back across the bed and glares at the ceiling for a long moment. Luna stares at her, waiting. Finally, in a bored tone of voice that still does nothing to quell Luna’s excitement over the tale, Aunt Missy begins, “Once upon a time, there was a little girl with really rubbish hair-”

Luna glowers. “Aunt Missy.”

She sighs. “Once upon a time, there was a little girl without a mummy and daddy.”

Faithful to the story to the very last, Luna presses, “What happened to them?”

Aunt Missy snorts. “Knowing what she’s like, probably ran off to get away from her.” Luna nudges her with a small foot and her aunt amends reluctantly, “They were in a terrible accident and perished. And the little girl, left all alone in the world, was sent away to live with her last living relative.”

Luna clutches her bunny, dreading the next part though she knows it by heart. “Who?”

“An old crone by the name of Kovarian. A baroness by marriage but she lost it all when her husband died. She and her daughter Natasha lived like paupers in an empty manor until the little girl came along with her inheritance.” Aunt Missy purses her lips, her eyes flashing, and Luna knows no matter how many times she repeats the story she’ll never admit how deep her hatred for Baroness Kovarian runs. “That’s why the hag took her in, you see. Since the little girl was so very little, all that wealth fell into the hands of her guardian instead.”

Biting her lip, Luna says, “The little girl didn’t get any of the money, did she?”

“Not a drop, pigeon.” Aunt Missy shrugs. “The Baroness spent it all on herself and her terrible daughter. They made the girl their servant, ordering her about and treating her like muck beneath their shoes for years and years until she believed nothing would ever change.”

“But it did, didn’t it?” Luna presses eagerly, leaning forward with a grin. She does so love this part.

“It did.” Aunt Missy sighs. “When she met a spoiled old man with commitment issues.”

Luna deflates, huffing. “Stop that. You’ll ruin it.”

With a roll of her eyes, Aunt Missy concedes, “Fine. When she met the man who will change her life, just as she will change his.” She pauses dramatically, mocking enough to rouse another frown from Luna. “The King of Gallifrey…”

Usually, there is nothing that delights John more than getting his royal advisor worked up into a red-faced, squeaky voiced rant about something he had every intention of addressing in the first place. When someone else does all that work for him and leaves John to deal with the consequences, it takes all the fun right out. He slouches in the chair behind the desk in his study, watching disinterestedly as Nardole paces a worn path in the rug.

“Sire, I really must insist in the strongest possible terms that you have words with your sister.”

Elbow on the desk, John leans heavily into his palm and stifles a yawn. “What’s she done now? Set the cook on fire again?”

“No, well, yes but – she ran off another suitor.” Nardole huffs through his nose and squeaks, “The Earl of Arcadia!”

John stifles a smirk, biting down hard on his lip. “To be fair, I did tell you she’d hate him.” He tilts his head, curious despite himself. “How’d she get rid of this one?”

Nardole glowers. “She bit him.”

This time, John doesn’t try to stifle his amusement. He laughs out loud.

On the other side of the desk, his advisor appears to struggle with his temper. He breathes in through his nose and says through clenched teeth, “Your Majesty, this is no laughing matter. The very existence of the monarchy is at risk if this…childishness continues."

“Save the theatrics for someone with talent, Nardole.” John waves him away, already bored of the whole thing. He scans his desk for something more interesting, grimacing when his eyes land on the new trade agreement from Skaro. “Things aren’t as dire as all that.”

“They will be,” Nardole warns, and though he doesn’t lift his head to look, John can just imagine that scolding finger of his wagging about. “If Her Royal Highness doesn’t marry soon-”

“I thought we agreed you’d stop rushing her?” John reaches for his quill, resigning himself to an afternoon spent signing contracts. “She’s been through enough-”

“Forgive me, Sire, but the Princess has had plenty of time to adjust to the idea.” Nardole shuffles forward an impatient step, wringing his hands. “The line is going to die with the two of you if you don’t do something about your sister’s behavior.”

John pinches the bridge of his nose, sighing. “Perhaps it should die with us. Cowards and madwomen, the lot of us. Gallifrey might be better off.”

“Better off without a King to lead them? You’ll leave them vulnerable to war again.” Nardole speaks softly, as though apologizing for bringing up the war at all. John barely contains his flinch. “We’ve two neighboring kingdoms who would love to fight over who gets Gallifrey when you and your sister are gone. Is that the legacy you want to leave? Abandoning your people to the highest bidder?”

“They’re not-”

They’re not my people, he wants to say. I didn’t want this. I ran from this.

He doesn’t say it but Nardole seems to hear him anyway. “They’re yours,” he says, frowning. “Whether you like it or not.”

John drops his hand from his face, finally glancing wearily up at his advisor. “I’ll talk to her, all right?”

Nardole nods once, grudgingly satisfied. For now.

The respite from his nagging won’t last long so John abandons the paperwork on his desk the moment his royal advisor leaves him alone. He steels himself for confrontation the whole long walk from his study to his sister’s chambers, rehearsing the scolding he’ll deliver once he reaches her. Nardole has been harping on like a banshee for nearly three years now, swearing up and down that if an heir isn’t produced before the two of them shuffle off this mortal coil, the whole monarchy will come crashing down around their ears. He has a point — not that John will ever admit as much aloud. But the thought of forcing his sister into a marriage she doesn’t want will never sit right with him. John knows all too well the burden of duty and he wouldn’t wish it to fall on anyone else’s shoulders but especially not hers.

He doesn’t knock before he walks into her chambers, shutting the door behind him and leaning against it. Arms crossed over his chest, he studies her sitting on the edge of her bed. The elaborate gown she’d been wrestled into for the sole purpose of impressing her newest suitor is in a crumpled heap in the corner of the room, expensive fabric glistening in the early morning light. Missy sits curled in on herself, wearing only a thin chemise. Her hair is in crumpled, dark waves around her face. She doesn’t look up.

“What was wrong with this one?”

“He tasted like rotting fish.”

John grimaces. “And the one before him?”

“He sounded like a donkey when he laughed.”

“And the one before that?”

“He was ginger.”

John sighs. “You scare them all away, there won’t be anyone left to marry.”

She snorts delicately. “Kind of the point, dearest.”

Pushing away from the wall, he stalks to her wardrobe and pushes aside riding clothes and ball gowns until he finds her favorite dressing gown. The castle is drafty on the best days and Missy is far too thin. Most meals they share together, she picks at her food like a bird. He makes a mental note to put in a request at the kitchens for chocolate cake — the one thing she can never resist no matter her mood. Draping the gown around her, he settles onto the edge of the bed beside her. “Are you…” He winces at his own lack of subtlety. “How are you today?”

Missy scoffs, slipping her arms into the sleeves of the dressing gown and tugging it tight around her chest. “I’m lucid, if that’s what you’re getting at.”

It was. Not that he’ll admit it. On her good days, Missy is thoroughly capable of trouncing him in a fight. Instead, he tries to steer the conversation back to the reason he’d encroached on her territory in the first place. “I know this isn’t what you want-”

“Oh, and we care about what I want now?”

Her lip curls in a sneer and he flinches. “It’s for the good of the kingdom.”

“Forgive me, dear brother, but I don’t remember agreeing to devote life and limb to this blessed kingdom on coronation day. My memory of those days might be a tad fuzzy but if I recall correctly, that was you.” She tilts her head, sharp blue eyes studying him intently. “If Gallifrey requires an heir, I see no reason you can’t be the one to produce it.”

“You honestly think anyone would have me?” He scoffs. “I’m a bitter old man-”

“You’re a King,” Missy snaps, eyes narrowed. “And every pathetic sycophant in this court with no idea what it actually means to have the burden would jump at the chance to be Queen.”

He snorts. “And that’s a solid foundation for a marriage?”

“It’s better than marrying off your mad sister to a power-hungry nobleman.” She clenches her hands around the sleeves of her dressing gown, her knuckles turning white. John glances away, lest he drown in his own guilt. It isn’t fair to ask this of her. He knows that. But the thought of giving up his last hope of some semblance of freedom… “At least you could have your pick rather than being foisted off on the first willing body with a decent title.”

His throat tightens. “You know I-”

“I know you’ve sacrificed more than your fair share already,” she interrupts, and her expressions softens briefly. Most days, he isn’t sure she has enough self-awareness to realize what he gave up for her sake but looking at her right now, he knows Missy understands exactly what he lost when he agreed to stay. “I know it’s selfish to ask you to give up anything else. But I’m your spoiled little sister and I’m asking it of you anyway.” She looks him right in the eye then and his breath catches. It’s the most present he’s seen her in days. It’s been a bad week. “Don’t force this role on me.”

He recoils. “I’m not… don’t you want all this to last after we’re gone? Everything we’ve worked for? It’ll disappear the moment we’re buried if we don’t do something.”

Missy stares at him. “You think I care what happens to this place when I’m worm food?”

With a sigh, he clenches a hand in his hair. “I can’t leave them to the wolves. I just… can’t.”

“And that, Your Majesty, is why you’re leading them and I’m not.” She slips to her feet, tying her dressing gown into a knot as she pads barefoot toward the door. “You feel so responsible for them? You do it.”

John stares after her as she makes her escape, his heart in his throat. Even after all these years, after everything she’s been through, Missy still knows just when he needs a good kick in the backside. Knowing he owes her, he gives her a good five minute head start before he flags down a passing servant in the corridor and tasks them with keeping an eye on her. “She’s likely gone down to the gardens,” he says, ushering them in the right direction while the girl attempts to bow. “Give her space. Just… keep an eye on her.”

Once certain Missy won’t cause any mischief while he’s out, he sneaks down to the stables and liberates Idris. He makes certain no one is watching before he climbs into the saddle and gallops away, racing headlong away from the palace and into the trees surrounding the city. It makes him feel like a young man again, slipping his guard and riding off into the forest to pretend he didn’t have the burden of an entire kingdom on his shoulders. It always infuriated his father but it never stopped him from escaping any time he could. With powerful Idris beneath him and the wind rushing through his hair and making his riding coat fly behind him, it’s almost enough to make him forget what it is he’s trying to run away from.

As the trees of the forest envelope him, the canopy of brilliant leaves a safe haven over his head, John can’t help but recall the time he had traversed this same path with a much lighter heart. There had been a time he had left Gallifrey in the dust, so certain he would never come back. With age, however, one learns that so many things never work out quite as one would hope. His plans back then had crumbled into dust eventually but John still likes to pretend every once in a while he’s still that same man — with hopes and a future that has nothing to do with the weight of a crown.

You feel so responsible for them? You do it.

It might not be fair to ask John to sacrifice everything for a role he voluntarily gave up once upon a time but he knows in his heart that what is fair is not necessarily what is right. If he truly thinks on the matter, he knows he would never be able to relinquish his sister to anyone less than deserving. Someone who would understand and appreciate how quick and clever she is; who would know how to handle her on her bad days and yet not think any less of her for them. She won’t find that in any of the suitors Nardole keeps throwing at her.

And ever since that terrible accident when they were still teenagers, Missy has never once expressed any desire for children. In fact, she seems to go out of her way to avoid them in most instances. He cannot ask her to bear a child for the sake of the kingdom. She’s been through enough and he will not add to her burden. So the question becomes: will he sacrifice even more of himself for Gallifrey than he already has — for this responsibility he never wanted — or will he let the royal line die with him?

He’d meant what he said to Nardole. It might be for the best.

The thought of marrying some stranger and producing an heir — dooming another generation to this life, permanently and unequivocally tying himself to the role of King for the rest of his existence… He isn’t abandoning Gallifrey. He has no intention of sneaking off in the dead of night and leaving them to the vultures. And yet the idea of having a wife and child, of never again even being able to entertain the notion that he could walk away in his darkest moments fills him with overwhelming dread. Pretending he has a choice in all this is all he has left.

It’s with something shamefully close to relief that he realizes Idris has begun to slow, glad to have some measure of distraction from his thoughts. The horse seems off-balance and he suspects she might have slipped a shoe. He slows her further, carefully coming to a stop in the middle of an empty orchard and easing out of the saddle. A quick inspection of her feet confirms his suspicion and he curses under his breath. Even his brief interludes away from the palace aren’t without interruption.

Stroking Idris’ neck soothingly, he glances around in hopes that another method of transportation might present itself. He blinks in surprise when he spots a barn in the distance. Surely it can’t be that easy. He leads Idris in that direction anyway, knowing even if the barn is empty it will provide some shade for his horse while he goes back to the palace on foot and cajoles Missy into coming back with him. She’s always been better with the horses than him anyway.

To his astonishment, the barn contains one other horse — a beautiful, grey beast that neighs irritably at the sight of him. John grins. “Not to worry. I’m only borrowing you.” He yelps, turning to swat Idris’ mouth away from the sleeve of his coat. “Oi, none of that. I’ll send someone to fetch you, jealous thing.”

His new horse doesn’t make much of a fuss over his nearness, letting him throw on the saddle and taking the bit without any trouble. He climbs on and takes up the reins, clicking his tongue and digging his heels lightly into the animal’s sides. He barely makes it out of the barn and into a trot across the orchard before he hears a shout from nearby. He frowns, turning to have a look —

Pain blossoms in his head and the world turns itself upside down.

No, not the world.

He squints up at the sky overhead.

Him.

Sprawled on the ground with a sudden headache, John peers blearily at the horse staring down at him — suspiciously smug, if you ask him — and groans. He reaches up a hand to touch his aching forehead and winces. “What the bloody hell-”

“Thief!”

He grimaces, curling in on himself as another projectile lands painfully against his jaw. An apple, he realizes as another bounces off his shoulder. “Oi!”

“How dare you try to steal my father’s horse!”

“I was borrowing it,” he protests, throwing up his arm to avoid another direct hit. “Mine — ow, Christ — slipped a shoe and there wasn’t much choice-”

“Oh? And what’s my choice?” Another apple flies at his head. “To let you ride off into the sunset with our horse?”

Aching all over and quite through being target practice, John growls under his breath and struggles to his feet. He whirls to face his attacker and stops short, staring. The young woman does the same, her eyes widening in recognition now that she can see him properly. The apple clenched in her fist drops to the ground and rolls to a stop at his feet. She’s pretty for a servant. Her hair is pulled back away from her face, her cheeks flushed with anger and her eyes glittering dangerously. There’s soot smudged on her cheek and her dress is old and stained with what looks like ash and mud.

She ducks her head in deference to him like a good little subject but her jaw is still clenched in silent fury. John feels a reluctant smile begin to tug at his mouth, knowing despite his identity she remains furious at the thievery. Through her teeth, she says, “Forgive me, Your Majesty. I didn’t see you.”

John lifts a hand and touches his smarting forehead, knowing instinctively that he’ll have quite a bruise to show for the encounter. “Your aim suggests otherwise.” She tilts her head, as though taking it as a compliment. His amusement with her grows. “Do you often stand around in orchards waiting for thieves?”

“No, Sire. It’s just your lucky day.” She lifts her eyes briefly when he bites back a snort of laughter and for a moment he’s struck by how very green they are. “We have other horses, you know. Younger and faster than this one if that’s what you’re looking for.”

Amusement fading, Joh lets the smile slip from his face. “What I’m looking for, there isn’t a horse in this kingdom fast enough to carry me to.” He reaches into the pocket of his coat, pulling out a heavy bag of coins. Tossing them at her feet, he summons a bit of authority to his voice and says, “I was never here.”

She nods once, eyes quietly assessing. “You’ll bring him back.”

It sounds like an order and John has to admire a servant giving out commands to him. He rests a gentle hand against the neck of the horse that means so much to her she’d confront a thief to protect it and make demands of a King to ensure its safe return. His head still aches. “I’ll bring him back,” he promises.

After a moment, she picks up the bag of coins and nods her assent. With a muttered thanks, John climbs into the saddle and doesn’t look back. He sets a breakneck speed for the forest. He has much to think about and perhaps an hour before his guard discovers him missing.

As the sound of the king’s retreat fades into the distance, Melody walks back to the manor in a daze. The coin purse is heavy in the pocket of her apron and her heart races, part of her suspicious he might change his mind and come back to snatch it from her. It’s a relief when she finally reaches the house and slips through the back door into the hot kitchen. The air is stifling and the place bustles with the usual morning activity but at least here there isn’t a king masquerading as a horse thief.

“Where have you been?” Clara glares at her over a boiling pot, the steam somehow making her look even angrier. “She shouted for you ten minutes ago. And just a warning, she’s in a mood.”

Melody rolls her eyes. “She’s always in a mood. Waiting a bit longer can’t hurt.” She strides up to the counter where Bill stands plating the breakfast dishes, bringing the soft leather purse out of hiding and tossing it onto the counter. It jingles beautifully, heavy with coins. Melody grins. “Look what I found in the orchard with the apples today.”

Wide-eyed, Clara drops her spoon into the pot and abandons her post entirely. As she scurries toward them, Bill reaches out hesitantly, as though the money might bite her. She tips it over and snatches her hand back, watching with a mixture of awe and horror as the gold coins spill out over the counter. “Who did you rob to get this?”

Clara whistles, poking at a coin with a fingertip.

“Actually, it was a thief who gave it to me.” Melody crinkles her nose, waving a hand. “Long story. But I know just how to spend it.” She seeks out Bill’s gaze meaningfully, giving the girl an encouraging smile. “What do you think?”

Bill blinks at her, instantly misty-eyed. “Really?”

Reaching for her hand, Melody laces their fingers together and squeezes. “If Kovarian can sell Heather to pay her taxes then we can certainly use all this gold to bring her back home. They’ll have no choice but to release her.”

“But how?” Bill bites her lip. “The Baroness will never go for it-“

“Who says we need her?” Melody pats her cheek and turns away, picking up the breakfast plates and balancing them carefully. “You and I will go.”

“Us?” Bill gapes at her, her brow furrowed but a hopeful, wide grin curling her mouth. “How are two servants going to walk right into court and buy another servant without being thrown in with the rest of them?”

Melody winks. “Leave it to me.”

Climbing up the steps from the overheated kitchens and into the dining room, Melody senses the change in the air like a living thing. Upstairs might be several heavenly degrees cooler but the company downstairs is infinitely preferable to the cold silence of the Baroness Kovarian and her horrid daughter Natasha. They sit at opposites ends of the table like mirrors of one another — from the dark hair and cruel eyes right down to the way they drum their fingers impatiently against the table as Melody serves them breakfast. It used to unsettle her when she was a girl, the way the two of them would watch her so dispassionately — like a child studying a bug right before he steps on it. Now that she’s older, neither Kovarian nor her daughter are capable of intimidating her. They’d lost that power over her years ago and she suspects neither of them have ever forgiven her for it.

“What kept you?”

Melody doesn’t look up from pouring fresh juice into Kovarian’s goblet as she lies, “I fell off the ladder in the orchard.”

“Careless,” Kovarian mutters, snatching the cup from Melody. “Injuring yourself won’t exempt you from your chores, you know. If you must hobble about bleeding to do your duties then so be it.”

Last year, she’d broken her wrist and been forced to hem all of Natasha’s new dresses anyway. She’s lucky the wrist healed at all. The whole incident remains particularly vivid in her mind as she says, “I’ll be more careful in future, ma’am.”

Tasha looks up from her eggs as Melody pours her glass. “You’ve a cloud of ash and soot following you about,” she says, nose wrinkled. “Reading by the fireplace again?”

Melody bares her teeth. “Jealous you never learned how?” A throat clears in wordless warning and she bites back a sigh, glancing at Kovarian. “Will that be all, ma’am?”

Ignoring her, Kovarian lifts her glass to her lips and confides in her daughter as though Melody isn’t even in the room. “She reads because she has no hope of attracting a man with her beauty. She hopes — in vain — her mind will be enough for him.”

With a delicate snort of laughter, Tasha offers Melody a pitying glance. “Poor Mels. Don’t you know a man never marries a girl he thinks smarter than he is?”

Melody sketches a quick bow, her grip on the empty pitcher white-knuckled as she murmurs, “Then I suppose you’ll have your pick of husbands.” She smiles sweetly, cheered by Natasha’s outraged glower. “Enjoy your breakfast.”

The next few hours are a waiting game. She rushes through her own chores and then does most of Bill’s since the poor girl can barely focus on even folding laundry. It’s only when Kovarian and Tasha take the carriage into town just after eleven that Melody finally feels safe enough to open the old trunk in her tiny attic bedroom.

She’d only been a child when her mother died, far too young to think of preserving any of Amy Pond’s belongings. A kindly neighbor had packed the trunk for her before Melody had been shipped away from Leadworth to live with Kovarian, filling it with beautiful gowns and slippers, bits of jewelry and ribbons. Over the years, Melody has slowly altered each piece to fit her. Every time she finds another occasion to pull out one of the dresses, she could swear the scent of her mother’s sweet perfume still fills the air around her.

She pauses reverently, eyes shut, to breathe it in.

“Are you sure about this?”

Eyes snapping open, Melody doesn’t look up. Instead, she begins to rummage through the trunk while Bill hovers behind her. “I’m rarely sure of anything.”

Bill huffs. “Not exactly easing my mind.”

“Oh, hush. It’ll be fine.” Finding what she’s looking for, Melody pulls the gown from the trunk and holds it against her chest. “What do you think? Do I look like a courtier?”

Bill arches an eyebrow. “You look like trouble.”

“Flatterer.”

Eyeing her with a warring expression of fondness and uncertainty, Bill shakes her head. “One of these days you’re going to get caught and strung up.”

“Nonsense.” Melody turns and plucks a pair of shoes from the trunk. “Now help me do my hair.”

She walks into the Gallifreyan court wearing her mother’s dress, the gold coins tucked away in pocket sewn into the voluminous skirt. Much to her relief, no one stops her from entering but the paranoia of suspicious eyes following her doesn’t immediately leave her as she moves across the palace grounds. It’s hardly her first time disguising herself above her station but Melody usually sets her sights on less high stakes locations like the open air market, where she can blend in.

She’s gotten quite good at getting around unnoticed when she wishes to, picking the pockets of wealthy men and women, looking for things to pilfer from market stalls that might fetch a decent price in a back alley. Kovarian’s negligence and extravagant spending have put the manor in debt for years and the old crone has come to rely on Melody’s nefarious skills to continue funding her lavish lifestyle. If she ever finds out Melody had dressed up and gone out without permission, Kovarian would whip her until her back was raw.

Shuddering, Melody pushes the unpleasant thought aside. What – or rather, who — she came here for is worth the risk. Bill has been like a sister to her, a constant companion to split chores with, to laugh with, to get into mischief with. Freeing her partner from a life of indentured servitude is the least of what Melody would do for Bill.

The palace grounds are filled with various lords and ladies of the court wandering about in their finery but it doesn’t take long to spot the cart loaded with prisoners, positioned at the end of the long drive. Dorium Maldovar sits holding the reins and it’s clear Melody has arrived just in time to stop him from hauling all those people to the docks and a boat bound for the Americas.

Skirts in hand, Melody quickens her steps down the path to reach him. Dorium is a notorious brute and she steels herself for an unpleasant encounter. What he makes up for in size and general nastiness, he lacks in brains. It shouldn’t be too difficult to get the best of him.

Melody strides right up to him, calling upon years of pretending to be a noblewoman with more money than decency. She keeps her back straight, as though her spine were made of steel, and tips up her chin so that she has to look down to whoever she talks to. The dress commands a certain sort of presence, a confidence that Melody has to fake most days. It’s easier with clothes like these, rich fabric and vibrant red color. The rubies sewn into the bodice glisten as she walks, catching the eye of anyone who looks her way. Dorium included. He narrows his eyes the moment he sees her, watching her approach warily.

Giving him a cool smile, Melody gestures to Heather — hands wrapped around the bars and pale face pressed between them — and says, “I’ve come to pay the debt against my servant. Release her.”

Dorium looks bored. “Too late,” he says. “She’s due at the docks any minute now.”

“No, she’s due at my home to wash my laundry.” Melody glares. “Release her or I shall take this matter to the king.”

He snorts. “The king’s the one who gave me the order. He sold your little servant and all the other poor buggers to our dear friends across the Atlantic.”

Apparently under the impression that he just dismissed her, Dorium grabs the reins again. He clicks his tongue to move the cart along but Melody doesn’t let him get far, stepping in front of the horses and ignoring Dorium’s growl of protest. She will not be ignored by this foul toad of a man. She stands her ground, determined that he will never get past her without letting Heather go first. She can’t go back to Bill without her. Simple as that. “She is not property, you pathetic tub of lard,” she seethes. “She is a person. Now release her."

Beady eyes narrowed, Dorium leans over the side of the cart. The scent of cured meats and sweat assaults her instantly but Melody holds her breath, refusing to budge. His broad chest heaves as he bellows, “If you don’t move your arse right now-”

“You dare speak to a lady like that, Dorium?”

Before this morning, she might not have recognized the voice of the man suddenly behind her but Melody doubts she’ll ever forget it now. She stiffens, ducking her head. If he recognizes her, she’ll no doubt be joining the cart loaded with prisoners headed for the colonies. She doesn’t look at him even as he moves to stand right beside her, avoiding his curious gaze.

Properly chastened, Dorium bows his head. “Forgive me, Your Majesty. I was merely following your orders, taking these criminals and thieves to the coast.”

Forgetting herself, Melody lifts her head and glowers at him. “A servant is not synonymous with a thief. And the ones who are can hardly be blamed for it, can they?”

The king makes a noise of interest beside her. “Is that so? Enlighten me then.”

Melody draws in a sharp breath, slowly turning to face him. He barely even blinks, watching her with an amused twinkle in his eye. He doesn’t recognize her. Exhaling in relief, Melody allows herself a moment to relax under his gaze. He’d asked her a question, after all, and nothing puts her more at ease than railing against the monarchy.

“You create an environment where your poorer citizens are destined to be ill-educated and corrupted by those around them from their infancy. When they’re grown, you punish them for what you’ve forced them to learn in order to get by. I don’t know what else could be concluded from this, Your Majesty, other than the fact that you are in the business of creating criminals and then punishing them.”

The king stares at her, wide-eyed.

Oh, sod it.

She’d come here to get Heather back, not to put an arrogant king in his place. Humiliating him at court is hardly going to get her the results she’d been hoping for. Bill is going to be heartbroken. And Melody is going to have to explain the reason Heather is on a boat to the Americas instead of at home with them is because Melody couldn’t keep her big fat mouth shut long enough to flatter the king into letting her go.

“Release her.”

Melody snaps her head up. What?

Dorium seems to share the sentiment. “But-”

“Release her,” the king snaps, sharp blue eyes landing on Dorium. “Now.”

And just like that, Dorium does.

Heather stumbles out of the cart once it’s unlocked, clinging onto Melody’s arm for balance and beaming at her tearfully. Melody squeezes her hand and murmurs under her breath, “Go home. Bill’s waiting.” Louder for their audience, she says, “Prepare the horses and we’ll leave at once.”

As Heather scurries away in the opposite direction, Melody turns and finds herself face to face with the king. He’s still staring at her like she might be some foreign life form, his brow furrowed. She looks away quickly, worried he might be remembering their unfortunate encounter this morning.

She curtsies, keeping her eyes lowered. “Many thanks, Your Majesty.”

He finally blinks as she begins to walk away, stumbling a bit in his haste to follow after her. “Have we met before?”

“No.” Melody grimaces, walking quickly. Behind her, she can still hear his footsteps. “I don’t believe so, Sire.”

He makes a skeptical noise in his throat, still far too close for her liking. “I could have sworn I knew every courtier this side of Gallifrey.”

“I’m visiting relatives,” she lies.

He finally catches up and she clenches her teeth, refusing to look at him. “Who?”

“My relatives.”

He frowns. “Yes, but which ones?”

“The only ones I have, of course.”

He gapes at her, seeming torn between amusement and frustration. “Are you actually refusing to tell me your name?”

Melody stops in her tracks, whirling to face him again. Their eyes meet and she swallows, taking in the hawkish features and bright eyes for the first time. His gray hair is wild, as though he’d only just returned from whatever he’d been doing when their paths crossed this morning. The bruise on his forehead is nearly hidden by the unkempt, windblown mess. He’s still wearing his riding breeches and a finely tailored, mud-spattered coat. Altogether, he cuts a rather dashing figure and she might have found him handsome if she weren’t so furious.

“And if I am? Will I be chained up with the others and shipped off too?” At his incredulous expression, she lifts her chin. “It is not the courtiers who serve you, Your Majesty. It’s the people you look down on who deserve your respect. They are the legs your precious monarchy stands on.”

His brows lift and a slow, intrigued smile curves his mouth. “You find me arrogant, don’t you?”

Melody bristles. “You released my servant. You didn’t even glance at the others.”

He looks stricken, lips parted and cheeks going pale. As she turns to leave, he calls out softly, “Please? Tell me your name.”

In the coming days, she can never determine why she did it. Perhaps because he’d asked nicely. Maybe because he’d actually listened to her like he cared and she’d never expected that of a king like him. Possibly just because he actually is rather handsome despite her irritation. For whatever reason, Melody pauses. And when she glances over her shoulder and finds the king watching her desperately, she lies, “River Song.”

Chapter Text

“If you don’t stop following me, I swear on everything unholy I will take this letter opener and slit you from your shiny bald head to your pudgy little belly.”

John pauses in the doorway to his study, shuts his eyes, and contemplates turning around and striding back out again. Having finally escaped a meeting with his council after three tedious, unending hours, it’s less than thrilling to walk into his study and find Missy and Nardole in the midst of yet another disagreement. Can’t a man have five minutes of peace in his own damned castle?

Red-faced, Nardole shakes a crumpled stack of letters at her. “Just pick one and I’ll leave you alone!”

Missy snatches up the letter opener from John’s desk, brandishing it threateningly.

Nardole gulps.

“Enough, both of you.” John drops onto the settee by the bookshelves, collapsing back into the stiff cushions and rubbing at his temples with his fingertips. “The next person to utter a word is going to be dragged to the highest tower and pushed off.”

“But Sire, she’s refusing to even consider another suitor!”

“Because your taste in men is on par with your beauty — nonexistent.”

John digs his fingers into his temples and tries to imagine what it must be like to be surrounded by people who actually listen when he speaks. He used to think the last thing he’d ever want was subjects who were afraid of him but right now, he thinks a bit of fear might be healthy. Or at least soothe his ruffled ego. He drops his hands and sprawls wearily across the settee. Staring at the ceiling, he says, “Stop pestering her, Nardole.” He breathes in deeply, attempting to savor his last morsel of freedom. “Missy isn’t getting married. I am.”

He doesn’t look but he presumes the quiet sigh of relief is from Missy. It’s almost enough to make him smile. He listens to the sound of her sinking onto the other end of the settee and feels her hand curl briefly around his ankle and squeeze. She draws away again immediately, like he might think she’s going soft, but her gratitude is palpable. John closes his eyes, content for now with knowing he’d done the right thing.

Nardole, to no one’s surprise, has gone squeaky-voiced again. “You’re what?”

“That is if you can find anyone willing,” he amends, opening one eye to peer at his advisor. “I can’t promise I’ll be a very good husband and I can certainly guarantee I’ll be even worse as a father. But as you like to remind me, Gallifrey is my kingdom. If it needs something, my job is to provide.”

Still gaping at him as though he’s grown two extra heads, Nardole appears blessedly speechless.

John glances at his sister, forcing a smirk when he finds her watching him closely. “Besides, Missy would just push her husband off a turret on their wedding night and we’d have to start all over again.”

Missy pulls a face at him but doesn’t disagree.

“But-” Nardole pauses when his voice comes out higher than usual, clearing his throat. “But Sire, you’re not — you don’t-” He fidgets, looking torn between his duty as advisor and his duty as a friend. He lowers his voice, as though confiding a secret, and John knows that for the moment, his need to be a friend has won out. “I know how you feel about the idea of marriage and children. You’ve never wanted any of it. And if we announce your intention to marry to the kingdom, there’s no going back.”

Slowly, John forces himself upright again and looks his advisor in the eye. “Then let’s find someone I can tolerate.” He holds up a hand and starts ticking off his fingers. Part of him feels completely removed from the whole conversation, unable to process that he’s actually planning to marry. “I don’t want an idiot on the throne. Give me someone I can have a conversation with and not want to bash my head in.”

“Don’t forget pretty,” Missy reminds him. The unhappiness so present in her eyes these last few months seems to have all but disappeared, replaced with hesitant concern for him. And perhaps just a bit of guilt. John doesn’t find the change all that comforting. “We can’t have a hideous heir.”

He rolls his eyes.

“What?” Missy frowns. “No one wants to be ruled by an ugly.”

Hunched over John’s desk and muttering to himself, Nardole scribbles a few notes on a spare piece of parchment. “I’m sure there are a few young ladies who fit the bill. In fact, there’s a princess in Clom-”

“No foreigners,” John interrupts, shaking his head. “If this is happening then I want a marriage, not a business deal.”

Nardole huffs, dropping his quill. “No foreigners? Well that narrows it down drastically.” He gestures an exasperated hand toward the window. “You may as well pick from the courtiers — you know them all.”

John stills. A face comes to mind instantly, unspeakably lovely despite the annoyance clear in her green eyes. “No,” he murmurs, smiling suddenly. “Not all of them.”

“Sire?”

He looks up, still grinning. “We’ll host a ball. Every eligible woman in the kingdom should be invited to attend. I’ll choose a bride from amongst them.”

Skeptical, Nardole crosses his arms over his chest. “And if none of them strikes your fancy? What then?”

It’s difficult to imagine seeing the countess River Song again and not fancying her. Hell, he already does fancy her and all he knows is that she cared enough about a servant to go up against Dorium to save her and she isn’t afraid to put the king of Gallifrey in his place when he needs it. She’s brave and clever and that sharp tongue of hers would keep him on his toes. And she’s beautiful. Not even Missy could object. “Then you have my permission to pick anyone you like. Satisfied?”

Nardole harrumphs, grumbling even as he goes back to making notes. “I’ll be satisfied when I can hear the patter of little feet through the halls.”

At the reminder of where this is all headed, John groans.

On this day, two weeks hence, there shall be held a royal ball at the palace. It is hereby declared that at said ball, His Majesty King John of the House of Smith shall choose a bride. Every maiden in the Kingdom of Gallifrey is invited to attend, be she noble or commoner. Such is the command of our most noble King.

“I can’t believe he’s actually going to get married.” Bill plucks another blueberry and drops it into the basket swinging from her arm. “I mean, he’s practically the age of my granddad.”

“It’s never too late, I suppose.” Melody pops a couple of berries into her mouth, ignoring Bill’s exasperated glance. “I almost feel sorry for him, poor fellow. With people like Kovarian scheming to get the crown for their daughters, he’ll have a hell of a time finding a decent queen. Though to be honest, he and Tasha might just deserve each other.”

“Oi.” Bill tosses a berry at her, grinning when it bounces off Melody’s nose. “He gave you enough gold coins to get Heather back. He’s a saint in my book.”

“A saint? Him?” Melody huffs. “I’m the one who risked my life to go and fetch her, you know.”

“Don’t try and tell me you didn’t enjoy it a bit. I know you too well.”

Laughing, Bill squints at her in the bright afternoon sunshine. Hair tied back with a colorful scarf and blueberry stains on her dress, she looks happier than she has in weeks. Melody can’t bring herself to be too offended. She pretends to be anyway, just for the sake of it. “So I’m a thrill seeker and he’s a saint?” She scoffs. “Spend five minutes with the man and you’ll be singing a different tune. He’s insufferable. Arrogant. Thinks he’s so bloody clever-”

“Yeah, you’ve been going on about him since you got back.” Bill raises an eyebrow, looking rather pleased with herself. “Got a crush, have we?”

Melody looks away, stealing another berry from the basket. Her cheeks feel flushed but she blames that on the heat, refusing to entertain the notion it has anything at all to do with King John. Or his stupid windswept silver hair. Or that wide grin when she’d given him that fake name. “Don’t be ridiculous. I’d sooner snog Lord Hydroflax.”

Bill grimaces. “Oh come on. He’s handsome enough for a granddad.” She nudges Melody, still smiling. “I bet he’s pretty charming when he puts his mind to it.”

“What mind?” Melody mutters, examining her blue stained fingertips.

Bill laughs. “Is the Baroness going to let you attend? It did say every maiden.”

“Who’s to say?” Melody shrugs. “She said I could but you know what she’s like. She’ll just dangle it over me for good behavior and then snatch it away at the last minute.”

Bill frowns, suitably distracted from the issue of the king. She holds up her basket, peering at the berries they’ve collected so far — less than they could’ve had, if Melody had stopped sneaking a handful every time Bill wasn’t looking. “What do you think? Enough for a pie?”

“Plenty. You’ll sweep her right off her feet with that.” Melody traipses into the bushes, skirts in hand as she stomps through the underbrush in her work boots. She can hear the gentle sound of water lapping against the lakeshore and in this stifling heat it’s calling to her. “Come for a swim with me?”

“Normally, wouldn’t miss it.” Bill wipes at the sweat on her brow with her forearm, eyes apologetic. “But Clara promised if I picked the berries, she’d make the pie for my picnic with Heather — only on the condition that I got back before she gets too busy at lunchtime.”

Melody pats her cheek and gives her a gentle nudge back toward the manor. “Well then best not keep her waiting.”

Walking on foot to the lake doesn’t take long and Melody is familiar enough with the path to walk it blindfolded after years of shirking her chores to go for a swim in the summer. Or just whenever Kovarian is in the mood to withhold water as punishment for some infraction. Bathing in the lake is better than not bathing at all — even in the dead of winter. Despite the short trek, the sun beats down mercilessly and by the time Melody reaches her destination, sweat has collected in a very unpleasant pool beneath the bodice of her dress. Her hair hangs limply over her eyes and she feels damp all over without even stepping a foot in the water yet.

With a grimace of disgust, Melody undresses quickly beneath the shelter of a shade tree. She strips down to her undergarments and plaits her hair in a haphazard braid away from her face. Checking the pockets of her dress, she slips out her father’s old diary and tucks it against the trunk of the tree — far from the water and any sweaty garments. The battered old thing isn’t much but it’s all she has left of him.

Satisfied, Melody makes a running leap for the water and jumps in.

The relief is instant. The moment the cool water envelopes her overheated skin, she wants to laugh. Kovarian can have all the silks and gold brooches she wants; none of that comes close to the sheer luxury of a dip in cold water on a hot day. Melody remains submerged for as long as she can hold her breath, breaking the surface at the last possible moment and drawing air into her burning lungs. She does laugh then, blinking water from her lashes as she kicks her legs to stay afloat.

She swims until she gets tired and then she floats on her back, humming to herself and gazing up at the cloudless sky overhead. Thoughts of chores she has yet to finish threaten to intrude on her solitude but she pushes them away, determined to linger. Time to herself is a rare thing in Kovarian’s household. There is always something she should be doing — laundry, cleaning, mending Tasha’s dresses, polishing Kovarian’s jewels, serving meals, mucking out the stables and tending to the animals. The only respite she gets is after Kovarian and Tasha have gone to bed, when she gets to curl up by the fire in her room and read until she can’t keep her eyes open any longer.

It’s entirely possible she’ll pay dearly for her current rebellion but Melody had learned long ago she’ll never be able to please Kovarian. She’d tried for a while — when she was a little girl missing her mother and father, wanting desperately to be held and loved by the closest thing to family she had left. Kovarian has never looked at her with anything other than contempt. A forbidden afternoon swim won’t change that.

As she floats, arms outstretched and content smile tugging at her mouth, Melody hears the faint sound of nearby voices. She doesn’t concern herself with it or even open her eyes to check. It wouldn’t be the first time she has had company at the lake but it’s usually in the form of servant girls from nearby houses looking to cool off. She wonders idly if any of them have brought food. Those stolen blueberries from Bill’s basket had been the sole contents of her breakfast and lunch. 

“With a name like River Song, I don’t know what else I expected.”

She snaps open her eyes, barely stifling a shriek of surprise when she finds herself face to face with the king of Gallifrey — leaning over the side of a rowboat and smirking at her. With a gasp, she submerges herself up to her neck in the water, hoping to hide how see through her white undergarments are at the moment. With a glare, she says, “Your Majesty. Didn’t any of your tutors ever teach you it’s rude to sneak up on a lady?”

“Must have missed that one,” he says, looking irritatingly unapologetic. “Oops.”

She sighs, doing her best to look intimidating while treading water. By the look on his face, she isn’t quite succeeding. “What are you doing here? In search of peasants to look down on?”

His mouth twitches but the smile doesn’t fade. “Actually, I’m off duty. Care for a lift?”

He extends a hand to her and Melody reluctantly takes it, letting him help her into the boat. It rocks precariously as he pulls her over the side and she lands in a graceless, soaking wet heap. Feeling like a drowned rat in front of the bloody king. Surely the day can only improve from here. The hope is destroyed in the time it takes for Melody to lift her head and spot the woman watching her from the other end of the boat.

It takes her a moment to recognize the princess of Gallifrey. Every time she has ever seen the woman in public, she has looked nothing less than devastatingly pristine but today her dress is a simple, purple morning gown and there is no kohl lining her eyes or rouge on her cheeks. Her dark hair is disheveled and Melody wonders why these particular royals seem to operate under the impression that they need not use a hairbrush unless a servant pins them down and does it for them.

Soaked through and shivering, Melody dips her head briefly in deference and mutters in greeting, “Your Highness.” The only reply she receives is a raised eyebrow, the princess’ gaze dropping briefly but meaningfully to her chest. Remembering her drenched, see-through undergarments, Melody curses inwardly and crosses her arms over her chest. The princess smirks.

Beside her, the king coughs awkwardly. “Here. Take this.”

He drapes his coat around her shoulders, avoiding her eyes. Melody tugs the coat tight around her and glances at him in silent, begrudging gratitude, amused when he refuses to look at her. The tips of his ears are red. Bless. “Thank you.”

She almost forgets herself and thanks him for returning her father’s horse as well, before she remembers it had been Melody Pond who had pelted him with fruit and demanded he bring Centurion back. The horse had been returned by the end of the day, with a new saddle for good measure. But right now, she isn’t Melody Pond. She is River Song and River is a wealthy countess who probably has so many horses she wouldn’t even notice one missing.

She watches in silence as the king takes up the oars again, rowing them toward the shore. “Shouldn’t you have a group of armed men shadowing your every move?”

He scoffs. “And shouldn’t you have just waded in to your ankles like a proper lady, Countess?”

She glares. “It was hot.”

“Certainly was,” he mutters.

On the other side of the boat, his sister snorts.

Melody snaps her gaping mouth shut, knowing somehow that her surprise at his candor would only please him. Instead, she tugs his coat tighter around her frame and asks, “Do you often escape the people meant to be protecting you?”

He grins at her — not that polite, close-mouthed smile she has witnessed him bestow on people in public but a wide, happy smile that shows all his teeth. She stares. “It was Missy’s idea this time. She’s a master of disguise.” He throws his sister an admiring glance and Missy preens, hand dangling over the side of the boat to flick water at him. “We dressed up as a stable hand and a scullery maid and walked right past them.”

Melody stifles a laugh. “They thought you a stable hand? With those spindly arms?”

“Treason,” he accuses mildly, offering her an offended glance. “Consider yourself beheaded.”

She eyes him without fear. “Of course, Your Majesty.”

He smirks. “Never mind. Join us for lunch — that should be punishment enough.”

On any other day, she would have declined. She’d have made her excuses and escaped back to the manor and her neglected chores. But she hasn’t eaten anything but a handful of blueberries today and the heat is beginning to make her dizzy. So she acquiesces and watches the king beam at her.

The moment they reach shore, Missy leaps from the boat and crouches beside the basket they’d left waiting for them, rummaging until she finds a sandwich to her liking. “Going for a walk,” she says, snatching up a flask of water as well. “Don’t leave without me this time.”

“Then don’t get lost,” the king mutters.

“Even if I did, it would still be a better time than sitting here listening to you try to flirt.” Missy takes a bite out of her sandwich and glances at Melody, nose wrinkled. “My condolences, by the way.” And with that, she disappears into the trees.

For a moment, Melody listens to the sounds of her traipsing through the foliage, muttering the occasional curse when she gets caught on a branch. When she’s too far away to hear any longer, she turns to glance at the king sitting cross-legged on the ground and pulling food out of a hamper. “If you’d told me staying would run her off, I’d have agreed faster.”

He snorts. “It’s not you. She dislikes company — even me.”

Though stories of Missy’s mental health are rampant throughout the kingdom, no one official has ever confirmed a thing. Rumor has it the princess went a bit mad during the war but no one knows exactly why. She just stopped appearing very often in public. Apparently she wanders about the palace corridors in her night dress most days. From all that talk, Melody had expected a mute with blank eyes. Missy doesn’t seem to fit the description most of the kingdom has been led to believe but Melody doesn’t dare bring it up with the king.

Instead, she accepts the sandwich and peach he passes her, trying to remember to take delicate bites like a courtier would rather than giving herself away as a starving servant. She can sense the king watching her but she doesn’t acknowledge his curious gaze, reclining on the blessedly dry bank, ankles crossed and his coat still draped around her. She tips up her head toward the sun, waiting for it to dry out her clothes and hair. Biting into her peach, she ventures into the silence, “I didn’t realize you were planning to marry.”

Out of the corner of her eye, she sees him stiffen and look away out over the lake. “I wasn’t.”

“Really?” She glances at him, eyebrow raised. “I received an invitation to a ball that would beg to disagree with you, Sire.”

“It’s never been my plan to marry,” he admits, still frowning out at the water. “But my sister and I have been put under pressure from my advisor, who has been under pressure from the council. I couldn’t put it off any longer.”

Melody lowers the peach back to her lap, turning to face him properly. “You’re the king,” she points out, watching him twitch away from her incredulous stare. “Aren’t you sort of… in charge?”

The slight curl of his lips is bitter. “You’d think so, wouldn’t you?” He scoffs, turning his head to look at her for the first time since their conversation began. His smile is entirely without humor. “I’m really more of a figurehead at this point. In fact, I can think of very few decisions over the years that have actually been mine. My council is responsible for most of it — they just need my seal on the official documents.”

She tilts her head, bewildered by the notion of a powerless king he seems determined to paint. “But if you wanted to choose differently than them… they’d have to listen to you, wouldn’t they?”

He shrugs, lifting a flask of water to his lips. “I suppose so-”

“Then you aren’t a figurehead, Your Majesty,” Melody points out, shaking her head and looking away from him. “You just don’t care enough to make an effort.”

Though he doesn’t say anything for a long, tense moment, Melody can sense his eyes on her as she glares out at the water. It might have worried her if she were the type to fear people like him, fretting that she’d insulted him and would be punished. Instead, she can only sit and fume that someone who has true power over the people trying to push him around is simply too apathetic to bother seizing it. What must it be like, she can’t help but wonder, to be in charge of one’s own fate? And furthermore, what must it be like not to care?

Finally, the king says in a voice filled with wonder and amusement, “You’re… disappointed in me.”

“No,” she lies.

“Liar.”

She startles, surprised enough to glance away from the water and stare at him. He watches her silently, eyebrows raised. Reluctantly, she relents, “Fine, yes. I am.”

Though he seems pleased to have dragged the truth from her, the bewilderment never leaves his expressive brow. “Why?”

“Because you’re the king,” she bursts out, waving an incredulous hand at him. The coat around her shoulders slips and she grips it tighter, fingers white-knuckled. “Do you have any idea how many people in this world would give anything for the sort of power you have? No one controls you but you. But you’re letting a council of old men dictate when you must marry and have children.”

The king studies her quietly, none of the self-righteous anger she might have expected present anywhere in his face or in his lax posture. He looks at her with such warmth in his expression, a kind of admiration she never would have thought him capable of giving a woman who had just delivered him a scolding — much less one of lower station. “My power is an illusion,” he says, and his eyes slip lower to linger at her tight grip on his coat. “The people in this kingdom are the ones with power. They’re why I’m doing this. Inheriting a kingdom is rather like becoming a father, I suppose. Nothing is about me anymore. It’s all for them. My kingdom needs an heir so I’m going to give them one.” His jaw tightens and his soft gaze grows suddenly cold. “We can only hope his mother will be a decent parent because I’m sure to be rubbish at it.”

Melody shakes her head, utterly disarmed by his honesty. “You just told me Gallifrey is like a child and you must be selfless when it comes to their needs.”

His brow furrows and his eyes flicker briefly toward her. “Yes?”

With a quiet laugh, she presses, “So what makes you think you’d do any less for your own flesh and blood when the time comes?”

His expression clears then, a lightness returning to his blue eyes that she hadn’t even realized she missed until it came back. He looks softer, less the bitter king and more like the kind man she is beginning to suspect might be buried beneath. He swallows. “River-“

The use of the fake name she had given him shocks her like a bolt of lightning. She’d almost forgotten she was pretending to be someone else. Whatever he’d been about to say, the moment is broken when she looks away, attempting to gather her wits about her again. Something about arguing with this man makes her forget just about everything else. An uneasy silence falls over them.

“Melody!”

She stiffens, recognizing Clara’s voice calling for her in the distance. That can only mean one thing: Baroness Kovarian has noticed her prolonged absence and Melody is in for another punishment if she doesn’t leg it back to the manor right now. Making an attempt at a casual exit, she sets aside her half-finished sandwich and climbs to her feet. “Excuse me, Sire. I must be going.”

He scrambles up after her, hand outstretched like he might try to stop her. “Wait, can I see you again? When can I see you again?”

Hiding a smile, Melody shrugs. “Word around the kingdom is you’ll be throwing quite the party soon. Perhaps I’ll see you there.”

He grins at her, relief clear in the crinkles around his eyes. Dipping his head in a simple bow, he says, “I look forward to it.”

Melody slips his coat from her shoulders and tosses it back. He doesn’t bother catching it, slack-jawed as his eyes linger on her damp undergarments and her curves for a moment too long before he remembers the proper thing to do is look away. She winks. “Thanks for the coat, Your Majesty.”

Though she doesn’t look back, she senses his eyes on her until she disappears through the trees.

Chapter Text

There are two kinds of dinners in the household of Baroness Kovarian. The first takes place downstairs in the kitchen and includes Melody, Bill, Heather, and Clara. It’s a simple affair at a battered table with mismatched candles after the day’s chores have been done and it usually consists of whatever leftover food Kovarian and Tasha hadn’t eaten. There is an abundance of wine, however, and there is never a shortage of ridiculous, boisterous antics and warm laughter. It’s a dinner between family, though they do not share blood amongst them.

The second dinner is the sort Melody must endure first before being allowed her own — and in her opinion, far superior — dinner. A feast sits arranged to perfection on a long, mahogany banquet table though there are only two people to enjoy any of it. The table’s two occupants rarely laugh, snickering cruelly over gossip instead. They eat their food with a carelessness that reveals their inability to comprehend what it must feel like to go hungry. And though Kovarian and Tasha are indeed family by definition, one would not know it by observing them dine together. They both drink their wine in silence, cutlery scraping daintily against their plates.

Leaning against the wall and waiting for them to finish so she can clear the table and disappear downstairs, Melody crosses her arms over her chest and shifts restlessly on her feet. Her stomach growls and she winces, waiting for Kovarian to snap at her over it.

Thankfully, the Baroness is too busy squinting down at her plate to notice. “Is there a reason you didn’t set out the candlesticks? I can barely see my dinner, you incompetent girl.”

Melody bites her tongue against a sharp retort about Kovarian smuggling things out of the house to sell and only says mildly, “They’re missing, my Lady.”

“Yes, I’m sure they are,” Kovarian mutters, one dark eyebrow lifting in skepticism. “Did they fetch a handsome price at the market when you took them to hawk like the thief you are?”

Stiffening, Melody bites out, “I haven’t stolen anything you haven’t asked me to. That includes the also missing tapestries and the good silverware. And your precious bloody candlesticks.”

“Watch your tongue or I’ll cut it out to watch it for you.” Kovarian snarls at her, the vicious expression entirely at odds with the ladylike mask she tries so hard to present in public. She needn’t bother with Melody, who has seen her for the monster she is for many years now. “The candlesticks shall come out of your wages until they’re returned. Or until I decide to ship you off to the colonies with the rest of the criminals.”

Eyes boring into Kovarian’s unflinchingly, Melody trembles with suppressed rage and nods stiffly. Let her dock Melody’s wages again. Let Kovarian take all of it and start refusing to pay her like the indentured servant she already is. It won’t make any difference. Melody will survive anyway. Over the years, it has become all she knows how to do – whether she really wants to or not.

Tasha makes a small noise of disdain, picking at her plate in boredom. “I suppose you haven’t heard then?” Her eyes lift wearily to gaze across the massive table to her mother. “The king released all the criminals.”

Melody glances up sharply, suddenly interested in the conversation once more. “He what?”

With a warning glare for daring to interrupt, Kovarian waves her daughter on with a muttered, “Go on.”

“He made a royal decree.” Tasha pulls a face, scrunching up her nose and curling her lip as though smelling something foul. Disapproval drips from her every word. “Apparently, anyone who sails must now be compensated.”

Kovarian shudders, revulsion evident in the sneer marring her severe face. “Compensated? Of all the ridiculous nonsense.” She scoffs quietly, sipping at her wine. “Where did he get such an idea?”

Tasha shrugs stiffly. “Yet another mystery. Along with whoever the hell this new courtier is. It’s been days since she was last seen at court and she’s still all anyone can talk about.” She scowls at her dinner, oblivious to Melody ducking her head to hide a smirk. “Apparently the king fell all over himself talking to her.”

“A new courtier is no threat to you, my dear.” Kovarian pierces a slice of potato with her fork. “My sources tell me the king will be at the market tomorrow. We’ll make certain he runs into you, won’t we? An afternoon with you and he’ll forget all about this new tart.” She tosses Melody a warning glance, eyes narrowed. “You will be working. And I don’t want to see you back at the manor until you’ve acquired enough for a new dress for Tasha. Is that understood?”

Melody nods reluctantly, already plotting how she’ll avoid the king in the crowds.

It turns out, avoiding a king in a large crowd is rather easy – simply stay clear of gathered masses scraping and bowing. Melody slips along the outskirts of the adoring public, humming under her breath. Fortunately for her, the king visiting the marketplace has made her own job much easier than usual. Everyone is so preoccupied with craning their necks to catch a glimpse of him that no one is paying any mind to their pockets. Melody’s own pockets, concealed in the skirts of her disguise, are heavy with her spoils. She even jangles a little when she walks; luckily, the noise of the market drowns out most of it.

Occasionally, when she takes a break from her work to munch on a pilfered apple and glance through the crowd, she catches a glimpse of Natasha walking alongside the king and his royal guard. She’d worn her best gown for the occasion; something she’d bought with Melody’s bounty three months ago. Her dark hair is arranged into the severe knot at the back of her head Melody had spent a good deal of time securing with pins this morning. And she keeps smiling that red-lipped, arrogant grin she thinks makes her look mysterious.

Tasha keeps her arm threaded through the king’s as though he might run away if she gives him a chance. Melody wouldn’t blame him a bit – anyone with the good sense the gods gave a goose would run from Tasha. She watches them stroll through the market stalls together and feels an odd pang of disappointment. Silly, but she’d thought King John clever enough to see through someone like Tasha.

“Men,” she mutters, turning away from the sight of them sharing a piece of chocolate. “Can never see past a nice pair of-”

“Careful, my dear. By the look of that dress, I assume you’re meant to be a lady at the moment.”

Melody stiffens.

“That common tongue of yours will give you away.”

Forcing a smile that feels rather more like the snarl of a threatened animal, she turns slowly to face the interloper. “There’s nothing common about my tongue, Lord Hydroflax. Pity you’ll never get to find that out for yourself.”

He laughs, that very same booming chuckle that had made her hair stand on end the first time she’d heard it. Unlike most men of his ilk, Hydroflax seems to relish her impertinence. She might have found that charming if he didn’t look at her the way he did – like a horse trainer faced with a particularly challenging mare, mulling over the best way to break her. “One day, we’ll come to an understanding, dear Melody. I have everything a woman like you could want.” He smirks, holding out a broad, meaty hand to tick off his fingers. Melody swallows the urge to break his wrist. “Money, status, and a vast estate that desperately needs a mistress.”

“Fascinating,” she says, baring her teeth. “And I have a gag reflex that activates at the sight of you. Alas, we all have our burdens to bear, don’t we?”

A strong hand wraps tightly around her wrist and Hydroflax looms over her. A broad, muscular fellow with a reputation for dabbling in hand-to-hand combat for fun, he dwarfs her in size. His physical presence isn’t enough to intimidate Melody in a crowd of this magnitude. She’d only have to scream to get him to release her – not that she’d need to. One swift knee in the groin and he’d think twice before he ever touched her again. But if she draws attention to herself, her work for the day will be through and Kovarian will be furious. So Melody tenses in Lord Hydroflax’s painful grip and glowers silently up at him.

He leans in close, clearly hoping to frighten her. “You’d do well to remember Baroness Kovarian is a dear friend of mine. I keep silent about your little escapades in the market for her sake.” His free hand drifts to the bulging pocket of her dress and Melody slaps him away with a hiss. “Play nice, Melody, or you may find yourself clapped in irons for thievery.” His smile returns then but his eyes are still cold. His thumb caresses her wrist briefly before he finally loosens his grasp. “Think on my offer, won’t you?”

Melody yanks free of him with a snarl. “I’d prefer chains over your touch any day.”

Rather than infuriate him, the words make him smirk. “We’ll see about that.”

Fury rages like fire through her veins as she turns and stalks away from him, disappearing into the crowds before he can goad her any further. Her hands shake with it and her heart hammers furiously against her ribcage, an angry thrum that trembles through her whole body like a drumbeat. Oh she loathes him and how utterly bloody helpless she feels to deal with him the way she would any other brute. He’s simply too powerful and too close to Kovarian to gut him like he deserves.

Furious and vulnerable are likely the worst two emotions to be feeling while trying to pickpocket. It’s easier to lose focus and become careless – sloppy. Easier to get caught. She knows she’s too emotional to properly do her job but she’s just angry enough not to give a damn about that. So it’s own her fault when she’s in the middle of pocketing an emerald bracelet and the sudden touch of a hand at the small of her back makes her jump a foot and stifle a yelp of surprise.

A warm chuckle caresses her ear, followed by a whispered, “Surely you’ve fortune enough to buy your own, Countess.”

Melody shuts her eyes and grits her teeth, mortified. Of course the bloody damned king himself has caught her picking pockets in the middle of the market. Her heart hammers in her throat. “Your Majesty,” she breathes, slowly turning to face him. “What a surprise. I was just…”

Just what?

She’s utterly buggered.

Thankfully, he doesn’t let her finish. He laughs again and she finally looks at him, flummoxed to find him looking amused to have caught her doing something she shouldn’t be. “I can never tell what I’ll find you doing from one day to the next. What kind of aristocrat are you, anyway?”

As she begins to understand he isn’t about to throw her into a cell and let her rot, Melody realizes he isn’t angry at all. He’s intrigued, the hypocrite. He doesn’t see anything but a noblewoman swanning about picking pockets for the fun of it. Funny, the way a little bit of money changes the nature of the crime. Little does he know she’s nothing more than a servant doing as her mistress bids.

Melody relaxes, pasting on a daring smile as she slips into the role of the woman he has come to expect – privileged beyond all reason. “A girl has to do something to get a thrill around here.” She glances over his shoulder, relieved to find Tasha has disappeared from his side. “Would you like me to teach you?”

Anyone would think she’d just offered eternal peace and prosperity for his kingdom, the way he looks at her then. His eyes brighten and wide grin nearly overwhelms his face. “You know what? I think I would.”

Considering he’s a king who has had everything handed him to all his life, he’s understandably terrible at getting things for himself. It doesn’t help that he’s so easily recognizable, with that decadently expensive velvet coat and the wild silver hair. The bodyguards always lurking nearby are a dead giveaway too. As a result, his efforts at stealing anything are thwarted at nearly every turn. What he lacks in technique, he makes up for by being the ruddy king. No one dares question him even when he’s caught with a hand around someone’s coin purse.

Melody watches his attempts with a stifled smile, muttering critiques hidden behind the palm of her hand for his performance every time he’s caught. Only when she sees him growing frustrated enough to give up does she finally step in, catching a merchant by the sleeve and bestowing the poor man with a dazzling smile.

“Excuse me, Sir,” she murmurs, batting her lashes at him. “Could you tell me the difference between your Anjou and Forelle pears? It’s just so terribly confusing.”

Over the merchant’s shoulder, the king gapes at her, his eyes narrowed and his brow furrowed as if to ask what the hell are you doing? Melody glowers briefly at him, darting a quick glance toward the display of apples beside him. He turns to look and mutters, “Oh. Right.”

She fights the urge to roll her eyes, forcing a sweet smile for the merchant instead. He drones on and on, flushed and wearing a pleased smile at her particular attention when Melody rests a gentle hand on his arm and watches him shyly through her lashes. Suitably distracted, he doesn’t notice the king pocketing one apple and sinking his teeth into the other as he strolls away with a smug waggle of his brows.

Satisfied, Melody interrupts the merchant with an abrupt, “Well, that was fascinating. Thank you for your time.” She slips past him and strides quickly after the king, following in the footsteps of his ever-present guards. She keeps an eye on the back of his extravagant coat through the crowd until she catches up to him at last.

He glances at her with a grin when she appears at his side, tossing her the spare apple from his pocket. “I can’t say I care for your methods but thanks for the distraction.”

She scoffs. “You didn’t even steal it.”

His brows lift in outrage. “I did!”

“Oh?” She slips the apple he’d given her into the satchel of a boy trying to sell a selection of poorly woven baskets, ignoring the King’s curious glance. She knows what it is to go hungry and at least that child will have something to eat tonight, no matter if he sells his wares. “I suppose I must have imagined you leaving enough coins back there for a whole bushel.”

He looks away, the tips of his ears red. “Well, I’m their king. Stealing from them feels rather counterintuitive.”

Melody laughs. “And yet when you caught me stealing, you didn’t have me arrested. Some might call you derelict in your duties, Your Majesty.”

“Didn’t you notice who you were stealing from?” He takes another bite of his apple, his embarrassment at having been caught forgotten now. Instead, he looks quite pleased with himself. “That was the mistress of the Marquis le Goff. Dreadful woman. And so wealthy I guarantee she’ll never even notice that bracelet missing.”

She arches a brow, turning her head to glance at him incredulously. “I’m not in prison because you don’t like the woman I stole from?”

“No, you’re not in prison because I do like you.” He flushes, concentrating on his apple for a moment as though she might forget he’d admitted such a thing if he just avoids eye contact long enough. Melody bites her lip, studying the way his long fingers curl tightly around the fruit. “Just promise me you’ll donate that bracelet to someone who could use the money and we can forget about the dungeon for now.”

Melody considers teasing him further but he still looks so adorably self-conscious she decides to take pity on him. And perhaps because she has no idea what to say to any of that herself. She glances away, eyes straying to a stall full of scarves. “I suppose I can do that.” She has enough coin and jewels hidden away in her dress to satisfy Kovarian anyway; one little bracelet won’t make much of a difference. “Word has it I’m not the only criminal you’ve let escape your grasp recently.”

He makes a faint noise of dissent around a mouthful of apple. “They weren’t criminals. Or at least that’s what a very wise woman pointed out to me once.” She feels his gaze on her and turns to meet his stare, unsettled by the softness she finds there. “I thought perhaps I should heed her advice and stop punishing them for things that aren’t their fault.”

Swallowing, Melody wishes desperately to look away but something in his eyes leaves her caught. “You know,” she says quietly, as though imparting a secret. “I think, deep down, you might actually be a good man after all.”

Barking out a short laugh, he breaks her gaze to grin down at his apple. “Keep that to yourself, would you? Can’t have it getting out.”

“Your secret is safe with me, Sire.” She winks. “And what of your council? How did they take your decision?”

He scratches his cheek, looking very much as though he’d like to fidget if his good breeding would have allowed him. “They’ll get over it.”

Melody smiles, shifting just enough to gently bump his arm with her own. “Must feel nice, hmm? Using those powers for good.”

He blinks in surprise, gaze falling briefly to where her arm had touched his. “I could certainly get used to it.” After a moment of hesitation, he returns the gesture with a swift brush of his hand against the edge of her fingertips – barely there and gone again but Melody feels it lance through her like fire.

She draws in a sharp breath and clasps her hands in front of her. “So,” she says, hoping she doesn’t sound quite as rattled as she feels. “I saw you strolling through the market with Baroness Kovarian’s daughter.”

He barely covers a grimace, carefully rearranging his expression into something suitably neutral. “And you didn’t come to say hello? Rude of you.”

Melody shrugs. “I’d hate to interrupt an outing between lovers.”

His dedication to looking disinterested abandoned, his face twists into something altogether sour at her choice of words. Melody finds herself pleased with his reticence. “Don’t be crass. I ran into her while browsing and invited her to join me.”

She scoffs, wondering what he’d think if he knew of Tasha’s machinations to put herself directly into his path. “What a lovely coincidence she happened to be close by.”

The king arches a heavy brow at her. “You seem upset.”

“Not upset.” She bristles, eyes narrowing when he only smirks. “Merely questioning your choice in companion. I suppose even kings must get lonely sometimes. With the whole of Gallifrey to choose from, I’m just surprised you’d pick someone so…”

“Unpleasant?”

Melody hides a smile. “Yes. Quite.”

He sighs wearily, stepping aside to allow a woman carrying a large basket of fabric to pass by. “You know I’m being pressured to marry.”

Humming her agreement, Melody asks, “So you’ll take anyone then?”

“Of course not.” He takes one last bite of his apple and tosses it over his shoulder. Melody almost scolds him but one of the guards she has been trying so hard to ignore lurking behind them catches it easily. She doesn’t bother concealing her eye roll. “But I’ll pretend to be interested enough to keep my advisor quiet. I’ll do damn near anything to keep Nardole quiet.”

Melody thinks briefly of how often she bites her tongue around Kovarian and Tasha and though she knows a nagging advisor isn’t even close to facing a sound lashing, she recognizes the act of playing a part to keep the peace. “I suppose I can understand that.”

He remains quiet for a long moment, his mouth pursed and his jaw tight with some unknowable tension. At last, he glances at her and confesses, “As it happens, there is one woman in particular who has caught my attention. I’d very much like to get to know her better.”

It would be easy to misinterpret his words but there is no mistaking the look in his eyes as he studies her intently. The woman who has caught the attention of a king is standing right in front of him – little more than a servant girl. Melody feels her throat tighten. She flexes her fingers, remembering the phantom touch of his hand brushing hers as they walked side by side. Soft-eyed and smiling, she says, “She’d like that too.”

“Good. That’s good.” He grins and their shoulders brush as they resume their stroll through the market. “So you’ll tell Tasha if you see her then?”

Melody huffs, using her elbow to shove him away when he laughs out loud.

Chapter Text

Despite his best attempts to coax Missy out of the castle and on a little trip with him, John finds himself riding alone in the direction of the monastery and its vast library. At least, as alone as one can be when surrounded by a team of bodyguards. The head of his royal guard had insisted he take the carriage but luckily for him, Vastra hadn’t stipulated John actually had to be in it. He sits astride Idris and rides alongside his men, the empty carriage trundling behind them.

The day has turned out to be a beautiful one, the dense fog from this morning dissipating to reveal a warm afternoon of cloudless sky and boundless sunshine. Birds sing in the trees and the canopy of green overhead whispers every time a soft breeze rustles the branches. With every inhale, John fills his lungs with fresh air and the scent of pine. It’s a vast improvement over the hustle and bustle within those dreary castle walls, which get narrower and narrower with every day he watches the flurry of preparations for the ball and his looming future as a husband and father grow closer.

He’d needed to get away. The monastery had been his first choice, with its sacred hush and the smell of parchment and books. There, John hopes to regain some sense of peace with the direction his life has taken. Ever since he was a young man, nothing has turned out as he’d dreamed and just when he resigns himself to one roadblock to his happiness, another comes along to upend him all over again. He’d never wanted to be king but he’s gotten used to the burden over the years and though he’d settled into the role reluctantly, he has given it all the solemnity and respect the duty requires of him. And now it seems price of being king requires even more sacrifice, in the form of the bonds of matrimony. As someone who had never planned to marry, he’s still struggling with the idea despite his determination to do what needs done for his kingdom.

And this trip was supposed to help with that. John holds in a sigh, fingers curling and uncurling restlessly around the reins of his horse. Their party moves too slowly and it’s driving him mad. He’d ventured out for a distraction, not to sit quietly with his thoughts astride a horse. He could have done that in the sodding stables.

“Enough of this,” he mutters. Straightening in the saddle, he nudges Idris out of line and heads away from the road toward the trees. “I’m taking a short cut. Meet me at the monastery.”

He can sense their reluctance without even glancing back at them but his guards know better than to argue with him, despite facing Vastra’s wrath later if she ever finds out he gave them the slip again. The moment they’re out of sight, John coaxes Idris into a gallop. They race through the trees as though flying, leaping over fallen logs and kicking up leaves in their wake. John laughs as the wind rushes through his hair, leaning into Idris and urging her on.

He only slows when they come to a clearing and he spots a group sitting on a blanket having a picnic. Or at least he’d thought there were three of them. He looks away only for a moment but when he looks back again, there are only two women sitting there instead of three. He offers them a perfunctory nod and almost rides right past them as they rise to bow but an idle second glance has him pulling on the reins of his horse and slowing to a stop.

“You,” he says, nodding to the slender blonde. “You’re the servant River freed.”

The second girl, tall and willowy with wide brown eyes, frowns. “River?”

The blonde nudges her. “Yes, Your Majesty. My name is Heather.”

He grins. Finally, he might have the chance to see River Song on purpose rather than running into her by chance. He hasn’t been able to get her out of his head since the moment he met her and every meeting thereafter – happening upon her in the middle of a lake like some water nymph and then strolling through the market teasing one another – has only strengthened his need to see her and spend time with her. “Where is she staying?”

Oddly, Heather seems to hesitate for a moment. She glances uneasily at her companion and says, “She is staying with Baroness Kovarian, Your Majesty.”

John grimaces. Well, that explains some of her irritation over seeing him with Tasha in the market. If River has been staying with the woman and her mother, he can only imagine the sort of gossip she’s been hearing. Tasha likely told her they’re betrothed already. He can hardly show his face there to call on River as he’d hoped. “That does present a problem,” he mutters.

“Actually, I happen to know she’s there now by herself.” Heather nudges her companion again, her eyes wide and encouraging. “Isn’t she, Bill?”

Bill pastes on a bright grin and nods. “Yup. All alone. By herself. Right now.”

“Right.” John eyes them both suspiciously for a moment, wary of those eager smiles. They keep watching him innocently and he decides he has spent far too long in the company of back-stabbing courtiers. These two are only servants helping their king. “Thanks.”

Heather smiles and the last of his suspicions melt away in the face of such sweetness. “Our pleasure, Your Majesty.”

One with last nod, he goes back the way he’d come. He catches up with his guard easily, instructing them to follow him on a quick detour to the manor of Baroness Kovarian. It’s even more difficult than before to ride in the company of his guard, every part of him itching to race his horse as quickly as Idris is able.

He wants to see her, to speak to her, to be at her side whenever she does the next outrageous thing entirely unbefitting of a courtier. Never before has he felt this way about anyone, preferring instead to keep company with no one but himself and perhaps his sister when they’re both in the mood to tolerate one another. This is different. Every day not spent with River Song feels to him like a day wasted. What has she done to him?

When he and his guard arrive outside the manor, it’s all he can do to slip from his horse with dignity rather than the eagerness of a child anticipating a gift. The door opens as he reaches the steps and River meets him there, looking flushed and out of breath as though she’s been running. She’s beautiful, dressed in a delicate silver gown and wearing a matching circlet of silver leaves nestled in her curls. “Your Majesty,” she greets, dropping into a brief curtsy. “To what do I owe the honor?”

“I am in search of peace and quiet today,” he confesses, shrugging. “So I am bound for the monastery. The monks have an astonishing library and since you are so very fond of reading-” His gaze drops briefly to the battered edge of a faded blue book peeking out from the pocket of her dress. River flushes, attempting to conceal it with the palm of her hand. “I thought you might like to join me.”

She sighs and he watches her try valiantly to stifle a smile. “It’s unfair, you know.”

His brow furrows. “What is?”

“You appear to have discovered my weakness but I have yet to learn yours.”

“Really?” He allows his gaze to linger on her face before he leans in to whisper, “I should think it was rather obvious.”

She laughs, the flush in her cheeks deepening. “Oh well done. Very charming.” She eyes him for a moment, apparently deliberating with herself. “All right, Your Majesty. I’ll join you.”

He leads her to the carriage waiting for them, silently thanking Vastra for insisting he take it. When he holds out his hand to her, River allows him to help her into the carriage with a wink and the heat of her fingers even through his gloves is enough to make him out of sorts as he climbs in after her. He sits on the bench opposite her, not because he doesn’t want to be close to her but because it’s so much easier to look at her this way. And he’ll take any excuse to study her.

They chat the whole way to the monastery, passing the time with bickering and gossip. River tells him of Natasha’s confidence in a proposal at the ball and he laughs and regales her with the story of how Nardole had woken him up at dawn this morning in a tizzy over an ice sculpture that had arrived too early and was currently melting into a puddle all over the great hall. Strange, how he doesn’t feel restless for a single moment as the carriage rolls along at a leisurely pace. An odd sort of peace settles over him and there isn’t anywhere else he wishes to be.

The feeling stays with him as they wander the library, finding books to flip through and discuss. Each of them with a stack of things to read, they settle on the stone steps of a balcony on the second floor, the soft chanting of the monks echoing around them. John watches the way she handles each book, the careful touch and gentle fingers as she turns the pages. Her brow furrows as she studies a map of the stars, stroking a fingertip along the illustration as she reads. At her side, the blue book he’d spotted peeking out of her pocket earlier sits in silent companionship. Every now and then, her hand will drift out to stroke its cover reverently, as though to reassure herself it’s still there.

At last, his curiosity will no longer be contained and he asks, “What’s the book?”

To her credit, River doesn’t ask which book he’s talking about despite having a rather hefty volume open on her lap. She doesn’t glance up from the page as she replies, “It’s a diary.”

John glances at the book again, more intrigued than ever. “Yours?”

“My father’s.”

 It’s only because he’s watching her so closely that he knows she is no longer reading the book in front of her, her eyes fixed on one spot near the bottom of the page. Her fingers flex around the spine and she bites her lip, gaze far away. He doesn’t push her for details, waiting patiently and watching the way she seems to struggle before finally coming to a decision. Something foreign and warm blooms in his chest when he realizes she has decided to trust him.

“He kept a journal from the moment I was born until he died, documenting our days together. I suppose he wanted to remember my childhood.” She smiles sadly, her eyes drifting to the worn blue book at her side. “We didn’t get many years together but the ones we did have were full and happy. I remember he had kind eyes and my mother had the sweetest laugh…”

John feels his throat tighten at the ache in her eyes, wanting nothing but to reach out to her. Wanting to ask what it’s like to have fond memories of her parents, something to keep her warm on dark, lonely nights. Instead, he asks, “Why do you carry it everywhere?”

She blinks quickly, looking away from the book to frown at her hands curled together over the book on her lap. “I suppose I like to remind myself that I had a family once who loved me.” Her lips purse immediately after the confession, as though regretting it at once. As though he might tease her for the sentimentality. When John does nothing of the sort, only watches her tenderly, she begins to fidget. “Silly, I know. I was only six when I lost them.”

“It’s not silly,” he says, ducking his head with a frown. “Not at all.”

“Your Majesty?” She sounds puzzled and he doesn’t blame her. He can barely even explain to himself why her story has affected him so deeply. She carries such conviction in her words; he feels certain River Song could win wars without ever lifting a hand. “Have I… offended you?”

“Of course not. I asked you because I wanted to hear it.” He sighs, lifting his head. “I’m not offended, River. I’m envious.”

“Envious?”

He hears the incredulity in her voice and he doesn’t blame her for it. He can even understand it. That a king should be envious of anyone is probably quite a ridiculous notion to most people. But River isn’t most people and he hopes once she understands what he means, she won’t fault him for it. “You hold more passion for a book filled with people you barely remember than I have all the memories of my life. I’m sorry you lost them at such a young age but you’ve no idea how lucky you were to have such love.” He taps a gentle fingertip against the cover of the book, lifting his eyes to find her watching him carefully. “And they did love you, River. Not every father keeps such a book. Mine barely acknowledged me unless my governess complained about the toads I kept putting in her bed.”

River doesn’t offer him pity or empty words the way others might. She doesn’t try to reassure him that of course his father loved him or that at least now he has the love of his people – as though such a thing would make any difference at all. She keeps her eyes on his as she reaches out and tentatively rests a hand on his knee. The touch is so utterly unexpected that John finds himself holding his breath so as not to scare her away. His lungs burn but it’s nothing compared to the warmth of her small hand.

“Tell me something else,” she says, smiling softly. When he hesitates, searching his mind for something entertaining or sweet or just something that won’t make pity appear in her eyes the way he keeps dreading it will, River shakes her head. “It doesn’t have to be a happy memory. An unhappy one will do just as well.” Her grin turns sharp and teasing, putting him instantly at ease. “It’s only fair. I did tell you mine, after all.”

He breathes out a laugh and drops his chin to his chest, thinking. His eyes land on her hand still resting over his knee and he cannot for the life of him look anywhere else or think of anything else until she hastily pulls away. Her cheeks grow flushed, as though she’d only just realized the liberty she’d taken. John stifles a smile. Despite wishing for her hand back, he’s almost glad of it. He can think properly about her request again.

Only one memory comes to mind. And he’s starting to believe he can trust her with it.

He angles his body to lean against the stair railing, stretching his legs out in front of him. Beside him, River sets aside her books and tucks her legs beneath her on the wide stone steps, giving him her full attention. The hall echoes with the shuffling steps of the monks below, their quiet murmuring low and resonant. John closes his eyes.

“I’m sure you already know I was in the war so I’ll spare you the details. The height of it was in the dead of winter. My troop had gotten lost in a storm. We ran out of food and if it wasn’t for the snow we’d have died of dehydration long before we reached the nearest village. Half my men were injured, including me. These people… this tiny, poor village on the outskirts of the borders took us in. They didn’t have to. They weren’t even ours – had nothing at all to do with the war.”

Even now he can see them behind closed eyes, the ruddy faces and the kind eyes of the people who had taken it upon themselves to care for a man who wasn’t even their king. He’d asked why once, when his curiosity got the better of him. It was Sarah Jane, a peasant woman he’d been staying with for days by then, who had smiled and answered him as though it was the most obvious thing in the world. I’m not helping you because you’re a king. I’m helping you because it’s right.

“I spent a week there recovering my strength. My men gorged themselves on bread and broth, warmed themselves by their hearths. We slept with a roof over our heads for the first time in months.” A small, sad smile curves his mouth and though he doesn’t open his eyes he can sense River’s gaze on him. “I remember teaching the village children how to play dice. One of the lads kept pestering me to teach him how to use a sword. I never did. I suppose I wanted to believe he’d never need to.”

For a moment, neither of them speaks. John too reluctant to go on and River waiting to hear the end of his sad little tale. She finally nudges him along with a gentle, “What happened to them?”

And it’s this – the knowledge that she already seems to know this story doesn’t end well – that pushes him to finish it. “It was a couple of months before I passed through the village again. It had been burned to the ground. Not a single person was left alive.” He swallows roughly, refusing to open his eyes lest they water. “Those people who had cared for me were dead precisely because they had cared for me. Those children I’d played with I now had to bury.”

His hands clench into fists and he swallows again, finally allowing his eyes to open. River hasn’t moved once while he spoke, frozen in place with her gaze pinned on him. Her eyes are soft and there’s sorrow in the downward curve of her mouth but still no pity. John releases a quiet breath and unclenches his hands.

“I still think about the boy who wanted to learn to handle a sword,” he confesses. “If I had, maybe he could have done something. Saved someone. Anyone.”

“Maybe,” she agrees quietly. “But you weren’t to know they’d be punished in a war they were never supposed to be a part of. It isn’t your fault.”

He frowns, glancing away. “Is that supposed to make me feel better?”

“Of course not.” She shrugs when he glances up in surprise. “But I have a feeling no one has ever said that to you before. I thought someone should.”

His scowl slips away and he stares at her. “No one has ever said it because I’ve never actually told anyone else.”

“Oh.” She looks away, biting her lip as she fidgets with the lace of her sleeve. “Then I’m honored to be the first, Your Majesty.”

Not for the first time, he wants to ask her to call him John. It feels unnatural to have River referring to him as a title. He’d hated it even when they first met but now, as they get to know one another better with every passing day, it makes him bristle every time she utters it. He isn’t sure how she’d react to such an informality, however, so he bites his tongue and reaches for one of the books he’d pulled from the shelves.

He flips idly through the pages, mostly so he doesn’t find himself staring at her like an idiot again. The soft rustling of skirts pulls his attention away instantly and he glances at her out of the corner of his eye, watching her move closer. She settles right beside him, her father’s diary tucked under one arm and their shoulders brushing.

Distractingly close and radiating warmth, she whispers, “Remembering them is penance enough.”

He nods once, his eyes stinging and his heart calling out to hers in gratitude. “Thank you.”

They don’t speak of it again. The rest of the afternoon is spent in perfect contentment with one another, each moment filled with laughter and little secrets as they learn about each other. They oscillate back and forth between talking nonstop and teasing one another like children to reading quietly beside each other, satisfied just to be close. John cannot remember the last time he felt so at ease in another’s company. Possibly when he and Missy were children, back when everything still made sense.

By the time the hour nears to leave, he realizes he hasn’t had one panicked thought about getting married. The worries are still there in the back of his mind but when River is beside him, every single stress seems to lose its power. It all feels so bearable when she’s near. He finds himself sneaking glimpses of her out of the corner of his eye, studying her while she reads. He pictures a crown on her head in place of the circlet resting there now and it doesn’t look out of place at all.

He smiles.

“This is ridiculous.”

“Has anyone ever told you a pout is unbecoming on a king?”

Standing at the base of a huge oak tree in the middle of the forest, John forces himself not to glance up. Overhead, he can hear the rustle of branches. He grits his teeth and glares at his boots. Not looking. “I’m not pouting. It just doesn’t make sense for me to be all the way down here while you’re up there. In your undergarments, I might add.”

On the way back from the monastery, the carriage had lost a wheel. One of his men had taken a horse and run ahead to fetch another but he and River had decided to take the opportunity to walk back. It hasn’t taken him long to notice that, like him, River abhors sitting still. So they’d begun a leisurely, meandering stroll and John had been so busy enjoying her company that he’d quite forgotten to pay attention to where he was going.

To his utter mortification, he’d gotten them lost.

River had taken it in stride, taking charge as though born to do it. She’d volunteered to climb a tree and look for the castle; stripping out of her gown before John could utter a word of protest. Of course, it hadn’t been his first time seeing her out of her gown. That time he’d stumbled upon her in the lake had come to mind. River seems to have a fondness for shocking him speechless. He’d been powerless to do a thing but stand there and gape at her until his senses finally returned to him and he’d found the will to turn around.

She had teased him ferociously about his attempts to preserve her modesty, laughing as she pointed out his red face. “Surely at your age you’ve bedded a nobleman’s wife at some point,” she’d said, sounding amused. “At least a couple of scullery maids in your wild youth.”

He’d choked out her name in a growl. “River. Honestly.” Most women would be far too well-bred and puritanical to ever bring up such matters and anyone with a shred of decency wouldn’t dare ask a king such a question. He has long since realized River is not most women and there isn’t a decent bone in her body. “That’s none of your business.”

Her laugh had been far too knowing. “That’s a yes, then.”

Now John stands at the base of the tree and does his very best not to give in to the urge to glance up and catch a glimpse of her stripped down to her undergarments. Every rustling tree branch is another blow to his fragile determination to be noble about this. It wouldn’t be the first time he’d looked – and last time she’d been drenched from the lake and what little she had been wearing was damn near see-through. And she doesn’t seem to mind if he looks…

“I couldn’t very well climb up here in that gown,” she finally answers, somewhere over his head. “Besides, you’d have probably broken your royal neck trying to do anything this physical and then they’d hang me for breaking you.”

John huffs, giving in to the urge to turn around but only to glare up at her. To his eternal disappointment, she isn’t even visible through the canopy of leaves. “First of all, I’m hardly some old man prone to breaking a hip. And second of all, this was completely unnecessary. I know the way to my own damn castle.”

From above, he hears a weary sigh. “What is it with men and asking for directions?”

“I’m not lost,” he snaps, scowling. “I’m… temporarily displaced.”

River snorts, apparently as unphased by his ire as ever. “Ah, there we are. I see it. Back in the other direction, by the way.” She laughs again, clearly still gaining much amusement at his expense. “Prepare your delicate eyes, Your Majesty. I’m about to climb back down.”

John glowers at the tree despite not being able to see her and refuses to turn around like a proper gentleman should. It’s quite obvious River thinks such decorum unnecessary and he doesn’t want to give her another reason to tease him. The idea that she might view him as some stuffy old man doesn’t sit well with him. He’s perfectly capable of satisfying whatever desires she might have, thanks very much.

He listens to the sounds of her climbing back down the tree and once she’s near enough to the bottom that he can see her again, he breathes a sigh of relief – at once happy to see her safe and endlessly exasperated with her for doing such a thing in the first place. “You swim alone, climb trees, rescue servants. Is there anything you don’t do, River Song?”

She pauses balanced perfectly on a branch midway down, a smirk curling her lips. Arms spread wide, she answers, “Fly.”

And then she jumps.

John cries out, his heart climbing into his throat. His petulant mood dissipates entirely as he leaps forward with his arms outstretched, replaced with blind panic. What in the name of the gods is she thinking? There’s no way he’ll be able to catch her –

The sheer exhilaration he feels when she lands against his chest is unmatched. He stumbles instantly and they land hard against the ground but he barely feels it, too busy laughing out loud. River stretches out beside him in the grass, leaning up on her elbow to grin down at him. There’s a leaf stuck in her hair and she’s still outrageously underdressed but she looks so terribly smug it only makes him laugh harder. He can’t even remember the last time he found anything quite so funny. It’s been ages and ages since he laughed like this and it feels so good. For a moment, there’s nothing at all in the world but River and the summer sun shining through the trees, nothing but the utter joy blooming in his chest like flowers in springtime.

A broad shadow blocks the sun from his face and John stops laughing, he and River turning as one to stare. A man with a wide smile and bright blue eyes grins down at them, hands on his hips. “Sorry, you two are just so damn cute I didn’t want to interrupt.”

John frowns, trying to place him. He isn’t in uniform so he can’t be from the palace. “What do you want?”

The man shrugs, holding River’s dress aloft, and gods damn it John had been so engrossed in peering up at her like a besotted idiot he hadn’t even noticed someone stealing her clothes. Beside him, River goes stiff. “Money, of course. The lady had nothing in her pockets but an old book. I’m going to need some coins to make this whole thing worth my time.”

River glares up at him, eyes hard. “Give me the book.”

The bandit leers at her. “Hi, Jack Harkness. You are?”

She doesn’t even look intimidated or frightened the way John would have expected a woman of her breeding to be. River doesn’t cower or beg or cry. She doesn’t wait for John to defend her. She reaches into her boot and pulls out a dagger, gripping the handle and brandishing it comfortably in her fist. John gapes at her. Eyes still locked on the man towering over her, she demands, “The book. Now.”

Jack looks delighted by this turn of events, utterly enamored with the woman threatening him with a knife. To be fair, John can’t blame him – he can barely take his eyes off River himself. He forces his gaze away, tightening his jaw. This is important. Lurching forward before he loses the momentum of surprise, John kicks the bandit’s legs out from beneath him and he hits the ground hard.

River scrambles to her feet at once, snatching her book back from their winded assailant. John makes quick work of disarming him while River keeps her dagger under his chin. Gripping the hilt of his newly pilfered sword, John asks, “How many of you are there?”

Grinning breathlessly at River, Jack doesn’t even look at him. He lounges on the ground, looking pleased as anything whilst she threatens him. “Just me.” He eyes the dagger, then River. “Are we about to kiss?”

John growls at him. “He’s lying. There’s always more. They travel in packs like wild dogs.”

“Of course he’s lying.” River nudges his chin up with the flat of her blade. “Let’s have it, handsome. Before I start getting impatient.”

Still looking to be enjoying himself far too much, Jack brightens. “You think I’m handsome?”

River rolls her eyes. “Don’t act as if you don’t already know.”

He shrugs. “Still nice to hear every now and then.”

John stares at them, scowling. “River, stop flirting with the man trying to rob us.”

She glances at him, a sly grin curling her lips. “Jealous, Your Majesty?”

He refuses to flinch, arching a brow. “What? That you’ll run off with a bandit and live in the woods?”

“Could do,” she says, winking at Jack. “I like a bit of adventure as much as the next girl.”

“You’re adventure enough on your own,” John snaps, struggling not to bristle. From this angle, Jack is most certainly staring down the front of her bodice. And River is still in her damned undergarments. He clenches his teeth together to keep from snarling. “You hardly need him for that.”

She lifts her head, a surprised and pleased smile lighting up her lovely face. “Really? Oh, you know just what to say to a lady.”

John offers her a smug glance, brandishing the sword. “There’s more where that came from, Countess.”

She laughs and John feels a little thrill shiver through him, knowing they’re in the middle of what could be quite a bit of trouble and even yet, River still looks at him like he’s all she can see. He licks his lips, wondering if it would be considered ill-timed to drop to one knee right now. Strange, the way he’d started his day dreading this damned ball and now it simply cannot approach quickly enough.

“Ugh. Fine. With eye contact like that I know when I’m beaten.” Jack sighs, lifting a hand to his mouth and whistling. With a mournful glance at River, he adds, “We could have been very happy together.”

Before she can reply, the sound of rustling in the nearby brush breaks the quiet. Between one blink and the next they’re surrounded on all sides, at least fifteen men and women pointing weapons at them. Damn. Quite a bit more than he’d expected. Most of them carry swords but John spots a bow and arrow aimed at River and inches forward cautiously.

River spots it too and drops her dagger from Jack’s throat with a grumble. She retreats to John’s side and they stand back to back, surrounded wherever they look. Frantically thinking through every possible escape route that won’t get them either killed or seriously injured and coming up empty, John asks, “How good are you with that dagger of yours?”

“Better than you.”

“Rude.”

She ignores him. “Still not good enough to take them all on and worry about keeping your royal head on your shoulders where it belongs.”

He huffs. “I did fight in a war, you know. And won.”

River makes a faint noise of agreement and wonders aloud, “And how long have you been sitting behind a desk signing treaties since then?”

With a grimace, he mutters, “Surrender?”

She growls under her breath, sheathing her dagger. “For now.”

Jack climbs to his feet, dusting himself off. “Excellent decision. I’d hate to scar either of your pretty faces.” He strolls right up to them and holds out an expectant hand to John, who gives up the sword without fuss. “And I didn’t say you could have this back.” He snatches the diary from River’s hand before she can stop him, dancing back a step when she lunges forward with a snarl.

John grasps her around the waist to hold her back. “Stop it,” he murmurs. “We’ll get it back. I swear.” She stops struggling but he can feel her trembling against him, fury in the tense line of her shoulders. Satisfied she won’t be going rogue on him, John releases her. “I’ll send word to the palace for ransom money. Her Royal Highness will make certain to pay you handsomely. On one condition: you let this woman walk away now unharmed.”

River stiffens, whirling to glare at him. “What? No-”

“I am still your king, River Song. Shut up.” He narrows his eyes at her, frowning, and doesn’t look away even as he addresses Jack. “You’ve already said she has nothing of value to you. Let her go now and I’ll do whatever you want.”

Jack glances between them for a moment, River stony-faced and furious while John does his best to remain utterly blank and determined – a monarch making demands from his throne, his people little more than chess pieces. He’s had enough practice at it. Finally, Jack nods. “Alright, the lady can go.”

For a moment, River looks so utterly incensed at being sent away that John fears she might reach for her dagger again. Her eyes are murderous when they land on him and he tries to silently convey he’s saving her from whatever these people have planned for him – that he sodding well cares about her – but she looks away too quickly. Squaring her shoulders, she turns her burning gaze on Jack. “You will return my book at once. And since you appear to be depriving me of my escort, I demand a horse as well.”

Jack grins at her, apparently holding no hard feelings over the dagger to his throat. “Sweetheart, you can have whatever you can carry.”

River lifts her chin, every inch the aristocrat even in her undergarments. “I have your word on that, Sir?”

Marking an x over his chest with a fingertip, Jack sketches a little bow. “Cross my heart, gorgeous.”

When Jack holds out the book to her, River doesn’t reach for it. Instead, she turns on her heel and marches right up to John. He stares at her, bewildered, and wonders if perhaps she plans on slapping him before she goes. “River? What-”

“Oh, shut up, you idiot.” She bends, wraps her arms around his legs, and lifts. John flails, suddenly finding himself staring at the ground over her shoulder. “As if I’d leave you here.”

He heaves a sigh. “Do you ever actually do what you’re told?”

Her smile is audible. “Not if I can help it.”

She starts walking and John realizes she actually plans to carry him away. Jack seems to come to the same conclusion because he bursts into laughter and the rest of his fellow bandits follow suit. John lifts his head to peer back at them and catches a glimpse of Jack bent over at the knees and cackling. One arm outstretched as if to stop them, he calls, “Wait!” He chokes on another bout of giggles, straightening. “Get back here, sweetheart. You deserve a horse after that.”

And that’s how John finds himself sitting in the middle of a camp filled with bandits, sharing a flask of whiskey with the countess River Song. Somehow, she’d managed to charm an invitation to supper out of them. Neither of them has been willing to leave just yet and no one seems inclined to kick them out. It’s well past nightfall by now; the fireflies are out in droves and the crickets can be heard singing in the trees but the huge bonfire keeps the camp warm and glowing with light.

Huddled beneath his coat, River pushes the flask into his hand with a grin. While Jack had returned her father’s diary, the cheeky sod had refused to hand over her dress. John had been forced to drape his coat over her shoulders to ward off the evening chill and the wandering eyes of every single man in the camp. “All right, Your Majesty. Your turn.”

He sighs, turning over possibilities in his mind. They’ve been swapping stories and sharing secrets since sunset, passing the whiskey between them. River had just finished telling him a story about the time when she’d been eight years old and slapped her cousin over some disagreement. Her aunt had locked her in her chambers for days. The story had been about how she’d fashioned a rope out of her bedsheets to climb out the window but had fallen halfway down and broken her arm. She’d laughed as she told him how furious her aunt had been but there was something quietly sinister in the tale that set John’s teeth on edge. He has a feeling there is much she isn’t telling him. The whole story has left him with a sour taste in his mouth and the desire to meet River Song’s aunt to have a private word with the old biddy.

Around them, people sit in huddled groups as they eat but most of them seem to be congregated around Jack. He’s closer to the bonfire, telling a story filled with dramatic arm gestures and exaggerated facial expressions. Every now and then, a woman called Donna heckles him. John looks away, taking a sip from the flask and closing his eyes as it burns all the way down.

“I never wanted to be king,” he finally says. “In fact, my plan was to abdicate when the time came. I always thought Missy would be far suited to ruling. She was always less emotional about what needed to be done. Clever. Shrewd.”

River curls her fingers around the lapels of his coat, keeping it tight around her frame. Her hair falls in tangled curls down her back and there’s still dirt smudged on her cheek from her tree climbing venture. There isn’t a hint of judgment in her green eyes, only friendly curiosity. “What happened?”

“I left for a while. Traveled outside the kingdom for the first time in my life and realized how much there was to see and to do – how much more I could be than a figurehead on a throne. I made actual friends for the first time rather than greedy courtiers wanting to stay close to the monarchy.” He takes another long pull from the flask before he passes it back. River takes it from him, her fingers brushing his. “I even trained to be a doctor for a while, thought I might travel around healing people and seeing the world.”

River lifts the flask to her lips. “Why did you come back?”

“The war,” he says simply, shrugging. “I still had a duty to this kingdom so I came back to fight for it. Missy wanted to fight too but our father wouldn’t hear of it. He stationed her with the medics to care for the wounded. I suppose he was trying to shield her but he did a poor job of it. She had no preparation, no training. And she saw far worse things than I did. She watched men die up close every single day for a year, sometimes while she was elbow deep in their chest cavity. One of them was her own fiancé.”

He grimaces, head filled with all the things Missy has told him about her time in the war over the years. She keeps most things close to her and she doesn’t like sharing any of it with him but when she isn’t quite lucid, she lets things slip.

“It changed her. She hasn’t been the same since.”

John scrubs a hand over his face, closing his eyes briefly. It had been more than the war to send Missy over the edge but it had been the last straw in a long line of tragedies. The death of their mother when they were still so young. That summer fling she’d had with a visiting noble’s son when she was sixteen. The horse-riding accident that led to the miscarriage their father had been so relieved about because it spared him the embarrassment of a scandal. The horrors of the war. The death of her betrothed. All of it piled on top of one another until she simply… broke. He can’t bring himself to tell River everything. He trusts her, of course, but it’s simply not his story to tell.

“Our father died weeks before the war ended and I couldn’t leave her. She needed me. Gallifrey needed me.”

River doesn’t move, the expression on her face so unbearably kind as she whispers, “So you stayed.”

“I stayed,” he confirms with a sigh. “I’ve long resigned myself to this life but I suppose I still resent it at times. I don’t regret keeping the burden from Missy but I’ve lost so much of my freedom beneath the Crown.”

For a long moment, River says nothing. She sips from the flask and stares at the bonfire, her eyes tracking Jack’s theatrical movements. The fire crackles and pops, smoke curling high into the air and drifting toward the stars. John observes her in silence, watching the way she seems to be weighing her words carefully. They haven’t known each other long but he already knows she has something to say – something he might not like, by the way she appears to be hesitating. She’ll say it anyway, of course, given enough time. And gods, what a fool he is for adoring that about her.

At last, she sets aside the flask and looks at him again. “That’s… unbearably spoiled of you, Sire.”

His eyebrows climb to his hairline. “Is it?”

She bites her lip, nodding. “You’ve been given a unique position in this world. You have more power and opportunity to affect change than most people will ever dream of. And you’re wasting it.” She shakes her head, her expression growing animated as the words come to her all at once. “You wanted to be a doctor once and you still can be. You have the ability to heal this kingdom; to make its poorer citizens richer and make the weak stronger; you could turn criminals into upstanding members of society again and make sure not a single child who calls you king will ever go hungry again. You could be so much more than just a figurehead if you only realized the potential-”

The words stall in her throat suddenly and her eyes widen, the realization dawning on her that she has been scolding a king and he hasn’t said a word to stop her. He stares back at her, offering up no protest. A small smile curls his mouth and he knows his eyes must be shining with amusement and adoration.

She flushes, glancing away. “Forgive me, Your Majesty. I seem to have a mouth that won’t stop.”

He shakes his head, grin widening as he reaches out a hand and tucks a wayward curl behind her ear. “On the contrary, Countess.” He lets his fingers linger against her pink cheek and she turns her face into his palm, darkened eyes locked on his. John finds himself leaning forward, as helplessly drawn to her as ever. “It’s your mouth that has me so hypnotized.”

Her eyes flutter shut and before John can close the remaining distance between them, River does it for him. Their lips brush and there is no other comparison for the moment but a spark igniting kindling into flame. Her mouth is soft and when she parts her lips with a sigh, John can taste the whiskey they’ve been drinking on her tongue. She cups his jaw with her fingers, guiding him closer until he surges forward with a groan and takes her face in his hands, hovering over her on his knees. The new angle gives him an advantage and he sips from her greedily as River tips back her head and lets him.

Her fingers curl around his wrist, anchoring herself to him. The touch burns even through silk. “Sire,” she breathes, and her grip tightens when he nips at her bottom lip sharply.

“John,” he pleads, trailing kisses down her throat. “Please.”

River nods hurriedly, fingers slipping beneath his sleeve to stroke his bare wrist. “John.” He shudders, hands tangling in her hair as he lifts his head again and finds her mouth. His coat has slipped from her shoulders but neither of them moves to pick it up again. John trails his hands from her curls and strokes down her back through the thin layer of her chemise. River whimpers against his mouth, a soft and pleading noise that heats his blood. “John-”

The sound of applause breaks them apart. River is a vision, pink-cheeked and with lips swollen from his mouth. Her chest heaves with every breath and it’s all John can do to tear his eyes from her and look around. The entire camp stares at them, all of them clapping and hooting. By the bonfire, Jack has paused in his fantastical tale and stands gaping at them, a slow grin taking over his face. Somewhere in the crowd, someone whistles.

River laughs good-naturedly at the attention but does not try to leave his arms, turning instead to hide her face in the crook of his neck. It’s so adorably unlike her to be bashful that John feels his heart swell in his chest. Grinning, he wraps her in his arms and ducks his head, pressing a kiss into her rumpled curls. “Bugger off, all of you,” he commands.

To his complete lack of surprise, not a single person obeys.

It’s nearing dawn when he finally walks her home. River still wears his coat and their entwined hands swing between them as they stroll to a stop a good half mile from the manor where she’s staying. “I’d rather not wake my relatives,” she explains, her smile bright enough that he doesn’t ask questions.

They linger beneath the trees, gazing at each other and reluctant to part. If John had any say in the matter, they never would. Soon, he promises himself. The ball is mere hours away now and after that, he doesn’t plan to ever be away from her again. “Thank you for coming with me today,” he whispers, reluctant to break the peaceful quiet. “It was… interesting. It always is with you.”

River beams at him, clutching his coat around her shoulders. “You flatter me.”

“Only with the truth,” he promises. “You saved my life back there, you know.”

She shakes her head. “Jack wouldn’t have hurt you.”

“You didn’t know that then.”

“No,” she admits, meeting his stare.

“But you didn’t leave me,” he points out.

River watches him silently. “I couldn’t.”

“Why not?”

She sighs, as though finding him very slow. John stifles a smile. “Because, Sire, I realized perhaps my weakness is not books after all.”

“John,” he reminds her, grinning despite his best efforts.

River smiles too, somehow radiant despite the hour. “John.”

He leans in, kissing the name from her mouth. River sways toward him, back arching to press herself against his chest. John lets out a groan, pressing a hand to the small of her back to keep her close. “You know the ruins at Asgard?”

She hums quietly, nodding.

“Meet me there tomorrow.”

Biting her lip, she glances in the direction of the manor and says, “I’ll try.”

John cups her cheek, gazing down at her and drinking in her face – something to tide him over for the hours until he’ll see her again. “Then I’ll wait,” he promises, bending to touch his forehead to hers. “As long as it takes.”

Chapter Text

There is nothing in the world worse than feeding the pigs while hungover. Nose wrinkled, Melody tosses another bucket of slop into the pen and tries valiantly to fight the need to retch. The pounding of her head would only worsen if she were to get sick and there is nothing in her stomach anyway. She hasn’t eaten since yesterday in the woods. Kovarian had hardly been in the mood to allow her breakfast this morning. She had been more furious than Melody has ever seen her, fuming because she hadn’t come home the night before. There had been no one to serve them at dinner or heap abuse upon before turning in for the night. Kovarian had dragged Melody out of bed less than an hour after she’d fallen into it, forcing her into double the chores as punishment.

Melody leaves the pigs to their meal and grabs an empty pail. She usually waits to water the horses last but perhaps a few sips from the well will settle her stomach. Despite her less than pleasant start to the day, she doesn’t regret a single moment of last night. She has done nothing but wander about in a daze since she woke, thinking of John’s lips on hers and that wide grin when she’d made him laugh. She practically hums as she lowers the bucket into the well, already plotting how she’ll meet him at the ruins of Asgard this afternoon. Perhaps if she promises to make dinner tonight, Clara will cover for her. As she leans over the well and pulls the bucket out, she mentally runs through the selection of dresses from her mother and decides she’ll wear the ivory one with the pearls sewn into the bodice. Her lips turn up into a smile. He’ll like that one.

With a shake of her head at her ridiculous, girlish behavior, Melody tips the bucket up to her mouth. She sighs as the cool water hits her tongue, eyes fluttering shut as she drinks greedily. It takes effort to make herself stop before she gulps too much and gets sick, pausing to lean against the lip of the well and wipe her mouth with the sleeve of her dress. It’s rough material the peasants commonly use to make things, not at all like the pretty dresses she wears around John. She wonders what he’d think if he saw her like this, a commoner feeding the pigs and drinking from a water pail, and grimaces.

Best not think on that.

“Melody.”

She looks up, glancing around and seeing no one.

“Mels.”

She whirls, finally spotting Clara leaning out of a window and hissing her name urgently. Brow furrowed, she calls out, “What?”

Wide-eyed, Clara jerks a thumb over her shoulder – the universal sign for you’d better come see this. “Your room. Now.”

Dread filling her stomach, Melody nods and sets down her bucket.

In spite of all the possible scenarios she had imagined on her trek into the manor and up two sets of stairs to reach her room in the attic, Melody had not once considered she might walk in and find Tasha holding her mother’s dress. It’s the very same one she’d just been contemplating wearing to see John today, the ivory one with the pearls. She stands in front of the mirror, holding it up to her and admiring her reflection.

Melody stands in the doorway, shocked speechless for a moment. “What the hell are you doing?”

Tasha doesn’t even turn to look at her, tilting her head and studying herself. “Trying on my dress, of course. As the king’s favorite companion, I’ve been invited to lunch at the palace with the princess. She may very well be my sister-in-law soon enough.” She flicks her eyes in Melody’s direction, smirking at her through the mirror. “I needed something new to wear and it’s not as if you’ll need it for the ball.”

Hands balled into fists, Melody asks through her teeth, “And why not?”

Baroness Kovarian glances up from her perusal of the rest of Melody’s dresses in the trunk at the foot of her bed, holding a red velvet one up to the light. “Do you honestly think we’d allow you to go anywhere after that stunt you pulled last night?”

Melody scoffs bitterly, knowing Kovarian had never intended to let her go anyway. “And do you honestly believe these stupid games are going to make Tasha queen? You think him some kind of simpleton who doesn’t see right through your pathetic attempts at the crown?” She marches forward and snatches the dress right out of Tasha’s limp grasp with a glower. “This was my mother’s.”

Tasha smiles. “Yes. And she’s dead.”

Melody slaps her.

With a pained grunt, Tasha staggers backwards into the mirror. She hits it hard and the glass shatters on impact, littering the floor in glittering pieces. Tasha sinks slowly to her knees with a dazed look in her eyes, forehead bleeding and another cut on her lip from Melody’s slap. Sitting in the middle of the floor amidst broken glass, she gapes up at Melody in stunned silence. “You hit me.” She looks over Melody’s shoulder at Kovarian. “Mother, she hit me.”

Melody smiles. “That’s right, dear. Now get up so I can do it again.”

Finally snapping out of her shocked silence, Kovarian snaps, “Stop this at once, Melody.”

“Why should I?” Melody doesn’t waver, staring down Tasha as the other woman cowers on the floor. “I’m already going to be punished for hitting her once. Why not twice?”

“You’re insane,” Tasha snarls.

She scrambles toward the door on her hands and knees, as though if she doesn’t get back up she’s safe from Melody and her fists. She stumbles to her feet in the doorway, yelping when she glances over her shoulder and finds Melody right on her heels. She lurches out into the hall and down the stairs on wobbly legs, looking rather like a drunken deer. Perhaps Melody had hit her harder than she thought.

“Get away from me!”

Her mother’s dress draped over her arm, Melody chases her down the stairs. “Don’t worry, I will. Just as soon as you hold still.”

Tasha shrieks, hurtling through the parlour with Melody in pursuit. They skid through the dining room and Melody almost catches her, her fingers snagging briefly in Tasha’s skirts as they round the table. Tasha yanks out of her grip and runs for the steps leading to the kitchens. “Mother! Make her stop!”

“Oh stop calling for Mummy,” Melody snaps, making a lunge for her. “She can’t save you from your just desserts, you spoiled little wretch.”

Standing at a work table with some sliced vegetables in front of her on the counter, Clara stands motionless, her eyes wide and a knife hanging limply from her hand. “Melody, what are you doing?”

“What I should have done a long time ago,” Melody replies, turning her attention from Tasha to glance at Clara. She smiles and by the look on her friend’s face, it isn’t a pleasant one. “Want to help?”

The only warning she gets is Clara’s gasp. “Mels-”

She whirls around, feeling a tug on her skirts and fully expecting to be met with Tasha’s weak-fisted attempt at defending herself. Instead, Tasha darts backwards with a gleeful laugh and something clutched in her hand. At the same moment it dawns on Melody her dress pocket is absent the usual weight of her father’s diary, she recognizes the battered little blue book Tasha grips in her bony fingers.

Melody sees red. “Give that back.”

Restored to her usual arrogance, Tasha stalks over to the hearth. The blood on her chin and the red glow of the fire make her look positively demonic as she dangles Melody’s book over the flames. “Give me that dress and then get the hell away from me or your precious book burns.”

Behind them, Kovarian sweeps into the room with a smirk. Bill and Heather are just behind her, lingering in the doorway and watching with stricken faces. “Choose carefully, Melody. Your father’s book or your mother’s dress. Neither will save you from a sound lashing.”

Swallowing back bile, Melody lifts her arm and holds out her mother’s dress. “Take it,” she whispers, her eyes trained on the diary. “Just give me the book.”

“Clever girl.” Kovarian stalks forward and yanks the dress from her grasp. She throws it over a chair and nods to her daughter. “You know what to do, my dear.”

With a spiteful grin, Tasha drops the book into the fire.

Melody screams, lunging for it.

It’s Kovarian who holds her back, her hand fisted painfully in Melody’s hair to keep her in place. Melody can do nothing but sink to her knees and watch as the only piece of her family and their life together turns to ash right in front of her. The scent of burning pages fills the air and she blinks back tears, refusing to cry in front of either of them. Jaw clenched and eyes stinging, she watches in helpless silence as her father’s diary burns.

He waits for hours, pacing through the ruins and practicing what he’ll say and hating every single word. It all sounds rubbish – either too polished or too emotional. He’ll either sound like a monarch delivering a speech or like a complete idiot. At least he knows which one River would prefer. If she ever shows up. He’s starting to think he won’t see her at all when he finally hears the sound of someone approaching through the trees.

John turns, already smiling, and it only widens when he sees her. She looks like a vision, dressed in red velvet with her curls already slipping from whatever she’d tried to do to make her hair look respectable. “Hello,” he says, taking her hand the moment she’s close enough. He bows over it and kisses her knuckles, drinking in her soft laugh. “I missed you.”

River shakes her head and he can’t help noticing this close that she looks tired, her eyes rimmed red and her smile a bit strained at the edges. He worries briefly over her health, wondering if he’d kept her out too late and if she’d managed to sleep at all. He certainly hadn’t. “You saw me six hours ago,” she points out.

“Too long. I’ve got so much to tell you.” He holds out an arm to her and she tucks her hand into the crook of his elbow, allowing him to lead her along. Glancing around the ruins of a once ancient civilization reduced to a few pillars and crumbling stone walls covered in moss. “Have you been here before? I used to come here all the time as a boy, trying to hide from Missy.”

“Did she bully you?” River leans her head on his shoulder and John slows his steps to match her smaller ones. She seems to be holding herself oddly this afternoon, a stiffness in her steps that he has never seen before. She’s usually so fluid and graceful, almost predatory in the way she carries herself through the world. Maybe she’s still feeling the effects of all that whiskey last night.

“All the time,” he finally replies, stroking his fingertips over the hand she keeps curled around his arm. “She was utterly savage. And our father’s favorite, of course.”

“Really?” She tips her head back to regard him curiously. “But you were the heir.”

“And far too soft, according to him.” John shrugs. “He admired Missy’s ruthless streak.”

“Ruthless is easy,” she whispers, her eyes soft as she watches him. “Kindness is harder. Don’t ever stop being kind, John.”

“Never,” he promises, cupping her cheek. “Not with you around to remind me.”

River looks pained, shaking her head. “John, I have to tell you something.”

“Oh, wait. I forgot to mention-” He grins at her, sweeping her hair back from her face. “I invited Jack and his bandits to the ball. I wanted them there when I-” He stops again, holding up a hand. “First, let me give you this.”

He reaches into his pocket, pulls out the slim little book, and hands it to her. River takes it slowly, like it might bite her. She touches careful fingertips to the bright blue cover and slowly lifts it to flip through the crisp blank pages. Her voice shakes as she asks, “What is this?”

“I thought you should have your own diary,” he explains. “You’ll always have those old memories with your parents but I thought it was time you started recording your new ones somewhere. You might have something interesting to write soon enough.”

River closes the book and presses it against her chest, blinking back tears. “Thank you,” she whispers. “This means-” She shakes her head, swallowing. “Thank you, John.”

“Of course.” He takes her face in his hands and presses a kiss to her forehead. “The first gift of many, I hope. Now what did you want to tell me before?”

Her grip tightens around the book and she leans her forehead into his, trembling against him. “Nothing.” She sighs when he kisses her head. “Only that these last days with you have been the happiest of my life.”

He smiles into her hair. “Mine too. I used to be so afraid of everything. Afraid of losing my freedom. Afraid of ruling alone. Afraid of marrying some spoiled courtier and making her queen. Afraid to be a father. Something’s happened since I met you. I’m not afraid anymore.”

River nuzzles into the collar of his coat, her lips soft and trembling against his throat. “John…”

“You’ve changed me,” he confides, stroking her hair. “The war left me a shell of the man I used to be and then you came along and reminded me of my purpose. I’ve never met anyone like you, River Song. I want to marry you and make you my queen. And tonight at the ball, I’ll ask you properly.”

River looks up at him, tears in her eyes. “Why couldn’t you have just stayed the arrogant, insufferable man I met that first day?”

He laughs softly, stroking her cheek, and as he leans in to kiss her River meets him halfway. Her fingers thread through his hair and she tugs him down to her, arching up on her toes. She tastes like salt and there’s something worryingly desperate in her kiss, something that makes dread yawn wide in his stomach despite the sweet way she moves her mouth against his. Wanting nothing but to take away whatever is making her fret and bring back the daring woman he has come to know and – gods help him – love, John slides his hands down her back and tries to press her close, to cradle her against his chest and make all sorts of promises into her mouth. River cries out the moment he touches her, slipping out of his arms like water.

Arms suddenly empty, John drops them to his sides and stares at her. “River?”

She shakes her head, refusing to look him in the eye. “I’m sorry,” she whispers. “I need to go.”

“But -” He reaches for her and River shies away like she never has before. The knot in his stomach tightens. He wants to make her stay and talk to him about whatever is on her mind but there are preparations to be made before the ball and he can’t linger any more than she seems to want to. “All right. I’ll see you tonight?”

“Of course.” River stares somewhere just over his shoulder, her expression oddly blank. Her grip on her new book turns white-knuckled. “Until then, sweetie.”

John watches her leave, her steps still stiff and careful, and wonders why she’d sounded as though she was saying goodbye.

Chapter Text

He should have followed her. Something is obviously wrong and he should have followed her. He should have stopped at nothing until he’d gotten her to bloody well talk to him. He should turn around right now and go after her, trail her all the way back to Baroness Kovarian’s manor if he has to –

John stops in the doorway of his study, frowning when he finds Missy perched on the edge of his desk. “What are you doing in here?”

She purses red lips. “Waiting for you.”

He squints at her, realizing she’s actually dressed and coiffed today like a proper royal princess, rather than wandering the palace grounds in her nightdress. “You’ve had visitors,” he surmises, tilting his head to study her further. “Judging by the sour look on your face, I’m assuming you didn’t enjoy the company.”

“John-”

“You didn’t bite someone again, did you?” He eyes her reproachfully. “You’re going to get a reputation, you know.”

“I’ve already got one,” she snaps. “Now shut up. I have news.”

“Can it wait?” He edges back toward the corridor, remembering his original intent now that his sister’s surprising appearance has lost his interest. “I need to find River and-”

“She’s engaged.”

He stills. “What?”

Missy sighs, sliding off his desk and pacing to the windows. She stares out over the courtyard, her back to him as she says, “Thanks to Nardole and his meddling, I had lunch with that horrid Baroness Kovarian and her boring daughter. You mentioned this morning that River was staying with them so I asked about her – you know how I like to gossip.”

John snarls around the lump in his throat. “Spit it out, Missy.”

Her shoulders slump but she doesn’t turn to face him. “She’s engaged to some Lord with a rather scandalous reputation. Hydroflax, I think his name was.”

“No.” He shakes his head, striding back into the room and marching toward his sister. “That’s not possible. She’s coming to the ball tonight. I’m proposing, for god’s sake. I told her this afternoon and she said-”

Missy turns her head, eyebrow raised. “What?”

He swallows. I have to tell you something, she’d said. And then he’d gone on and on like a selfish idiot, hardly letting her get a word in; pouring his useless heart out to her and she’d simply been trying to tell him the truth. The stiffness of her shoulders, the sadness in her smile, the red around her teary eyes – all of it stark now in its transparency. What a blind pillock he’s been. “Nothing. She didn’t say anything.”

With a sigh, Missy leans her slight weight into his side. “Sorry, dearest.” She pauses, looking thoughtful. “We could always have him killed if you like.”

He snorts, shaking his head. There’s an ache in his chest that he doesn’t think is ever going to go away and he thinks the image of River walking slowly away from him clutching that book will stay with him all of his days. “Why didn’t she tell me?”

“What would you have done if she had?”

“I would have-” He sighs, deflating. “I’d have tried to talk her out of it.”

Missy makes a derisive noise in the back of her throat. “Do you have any idea what it would have done to her reputation to break such a contract? She wouldn’t have been fit for a pig farmer to marry, let alone a king.”

John scowls. “I don’t give a damn what anyone thinks-”

“You should,” she snaps. “It’s part of being king, you stupid man.” She rolls her eyes, prodding him in the side until he swats her away. “Ever think that might be why she didn’t tell you?”

He sighs, scrubbing a hand over his face. “Saving me from myself,” he whispers, and a sad smile tugs at his mouth. “Sounds like her.”

Missy straightens, apparently having reached the limit of her capacity to comfort. She pinches her skirts between her fingers and swishes them idly against the floor. “I’ll talk to Nardole,” she says. “We’ll put off the engagement until you’ve had time-”

“No. There’s no point putting it off any longer.” He sets his jaw and turns from the window, striding toward the door. “Tell Nardole to pick someone. Anyone. I don’t care anymore.”

“Don’t be an idiot-”

He stops in the doorway, every fiber of his being itching to be alone. A silly urge, really. He has the rest of his life for that. “We announce my betrothal at the ball tonight.”

By the time Melody arrives back at the manor in her old clothes, her back is screaming and the bandages Bill had applied earlier seem to be soaked through with blood. And yet even that is nothing at all compared to the way her heart aches. She’d meant to tell John everything the moment she saw him but then he’d smiled at her and given her the beautiful book safely tucked away in her pocket. He’d said such lovely things and promised her such happiness – how was she supposed to take that away from them both?

He had looked at her with love in his eyes but in a matter of hours he’s going to hate her for breaking his heart. She pictures him wandering the crowded ball looking for her but never finding her and her eyes begin to sting. She should never have let this charade carry on for as long as she had. He’d just been so terribly irresistible, with those kind eyes and the way he laughed like the sound surprised him every time. The way he looked at her like he could see her despite the disguise.

And now he’s going to marry some unbearable courtier while Melody goes back to being Kovarian’s little thief. It hardly seems fair to either of them. Suddenly she hates herself for putting them through this. They’d have been better off never having met at all.

She climbs the stairs to her attic room painfully slowly, every step making her grimace. Eventually she’ll need to find Bill and have her change the bandages but right now, she wants desperately to be alone with her self-loathing. It would be impossible to measure the depth of her disappointment when she finally makes it to the top of the stairs and finds Kovarian standing in the middle of her room.

Sweat beading on her brow and breath coming in shallow pants, Melody leans heavily against the doorway. “What do you want?”

Kovarian says nothing for a long moment, dark eyes studying Melody with such intensity and disgust that she suddenly feels like a little girl again, staring up at her new guardian. “The idea of you as a countess is nearly as absurd as a king marrying the girl who feeds the pigs.”

Melody breathes in sharply, spine stiffening. She knows. Remembering Tasha’s earlier boast about having lunch with the princess, she can only deduce Missy must have mentioned something that tipped them off. Not that it matters now. It’s all over. She forces a smile, pushing off the doorway and sauntering into the room like the lashes on her back aren’t seeping blood through her dress.

“Which part bothers you more? That I lied to you for so long or that he’d rather have me than your precious daughter?”

Kovarian glowers, nostrils flaring. “I don’t care who he wants; he’ll never see you again after I’m through with you.” She steps closer, something menacing in her movements that ordinarily might have given Melody pause. Today, she stands her ground. “Where is the dress? I know you’ve hidden it.”

She had. The moment Tasha left this afternoon, she’d taken the dress from her room and stashed it away somewhere her greedy little hands would never find it. Melody shrugs. “I haven’t the faintest idea what you’re talking about.”

With a snarl, Kovarian commands, “You produce that gown right now or I will -”

“You’ll what?” Melody laughs in her face. “Have me whipped again? Starve me? Lock me in this room for the rest of my life? Go ahead. It’s nothing you haven’t done before. I would endure all that and more before I’d see my mother’s dress on that spoiled, selfish cow.”

Dark eyes narrowed and enraged, Kovarian sneers. “Perhaps we can arrange that.”

Without another word, she sweeps past Melody and out the door, slamming it behind her. Melody listens in weary silence as a key slides into the lock and turns, trapping her inside until Kovarian sees fit to let her out again. Her back feels on fire, the inflamed skin aggravated every time she breathes, but she waits until she hears the Baroness’ furious footsteps thundering down the stairs before she finally sinks to the floor. There doesn’t seem to be a reason to get up again.

“Melody?”

She lifts her head from staring blankly at the floor, blinking when she realizes the light has faded considerably. She’s been sitting on the floor for hours. It’s nearing sundown now. Her heart throbs. Time for the ball. Her limbs feel numb and she shifts awkwardly into a new position, hissing through her teeth when the stripes on her back scream in protest.

“Mels?” There’s a soft knock on the door, followed by Bill’s quiet voice again. “They’ve left. You can come out now.”

Melody stares at the door. “Kovarian locked me in.”

Bill huffs. “Since when has that ever stopped you?”

“I’ve no reason to break out.”

“You’ve no-” Bill sputters indignantly on the other side of the door. “Are you serious? Not sure if you’ve forgotten the day but there’s a ball happening right now and you’re supposed to be there!”

Melody scoffs. “What for?”

With an exasperated noise, Bill says, “Don’t you think the king deserves to know the truth? He’s expecting you.”

“He’ll hate me whether I’m there or not,” Melody reasons, dropping her head to her knees. “Why must I be there to watch it happen?”

Bill sighs. “He isn’t going to hate you.”

“Even if he didn’t, I’m an orphan and a thief. He’s the king of Gallifrey.” Melody swallows thickly, Kovarian’s words echoing in her head. Nearly as absurd as a king marrying the girl who feeds the pigs. John only knows her as the intriguing countess who wears pretty dresses and picks pockets for fun. “It would never work.”

“It seemed to be working just fine until now.”

Melody frowns. “Because I was lying to him.”

“Then at least let him hear that from you,” Bill says, rapping her knuckles softly against the door. “He deserves that and you know it.”

Biting her lip, Melody doesn’t reply.

Outside the door, Bill sighs heavily. “Look, Melody Pond or River Song – whoever you are and whatever you call yourself, you are still the stubborn, bold, ridiculous, brave woman who walked into bloody court like she belonged and stole back a servant. You do not give up. Ever. Don’t you dare start now.” She knocks again, harder this time. “So get off your arse, stop feeling sorry for yourself, and start being the woman I know you are before I come in there and make you.”

Melody doesn’t answer her. She climbs laboriously to her feet, using the wall for leverage. Her legs are numb as she hobbles to her dressing table and picks up a hairpin. The back of her dress feels crusty with dried blood as she stoops to pick the lock. Everything – heart, mind, and body – aches as the door swings soundlessly open to reveal Bill still crouched on the floor outside.

With a soft smile, Melody asks, “Help me get dressed?”

Bill grins.

The ball is well underway by the time Melody arrives. She wears her mother’s dress – the very same ivory gown Tasha had wanted so badly for herself – and a pair of earrings that had been a gift from one of Clara’s suitors. Bill had changed her bandages and Heather had spent time sweeping up half of her curls, leaving the rest tumbling down her back. Melody smooths a hand over the bodice of her dress, fingertips catching on the pearls sewn into it.

In the deep pocket sewn into the skirt of her gown, she carries the book John had given her in hopes the weight of it might remind her of his desire to make new memories. With her. John is a good man who loves her, wealthy aristocrat or not. Once she explains herself, he’ll understand. Or at least, that’s what she’d repeated to herself over and over on the carriage ride to the palace.

Standing on the steps just outside, she can hear music from the band drifting past the walls of the courtyard, along with the happy chatter of everyone invited to attend. She stands there hesitating another moment before the image of John wandering through the dancers looking for her finally propels her forward. Hands clenched in her skirts, Melody walks into the party with her head held high.

“Friends, honored guests… people I’ve never seen before in my life, it gives me great pleasure on this festive occasion to tell you of a long-awaited decision that thankfully has nothing to do with me…”

Through the crowd, Melody sees the princess standing on the dais on the other side of the courtyard. John stands just behind her, looking stern and unhappy in his finery as he gazes out at the mass of people gathered around. Missy glances at him uneasily, looking reluctant to continue. When he doesn’t look at her, she sighs and carries on in a bored tone, as though reading from a prepared speech.

“Without further ado, it is my great privilege…”

Melody pushes through the crowd, nearly sprinting toward the dais in her heavy skirts. Drawn to the movement of the crowd as people part for her, John flicks his weary gaze in her direction. The moment he spots her, he freezes. So does Melody, staring up at him from the middle of the crowded courtyard.

“To announce the engagement of my brother King John to-” Missy stops short when John grips her shoulder, his wide eyes still fixed on Melody. With a frown, Missy follows his gaze and says, “Oh, Christ.”

John ignores her, practically leaping from the dais and out into the crowd. Everyone parts for him, bowing as they move out of the way. He doesn’t even glance at them, striding right up to Melody and not stopping until they’re nearly pressed together. His eyes are wild as he asks, “What are you doing here? Missy said you were getting married.”

Melody shakes her head, frowning. Bloody Tasha. “Of course not. But I do have something to tell you-”

His hands grip her arms, fingers digging into her skin through the delicate sleeves of her dress. “You’re not engaged?”

She sighs, laughing softly. “No, darling.”

John grins at her, wide and relieved. He sways forward, pressing his forehead to hers and gathering her close. “I was about to make the worst mistake of my life.”

Smiling, Melody can’t resist teasing, “Considering the length of your life, I’d say that would be quite a feat.”

He huffs out a laugh, eyes crinkling. “Are you calling me old?”

Melody scrunches up her nose and says, “Only a little.”

He laughs and gods, she thought she’d never hear that sound again. “Come with me, my dear. Let’s get this announcement over with and then we’ll find somewhere to be alone.” He tugs at her hand to guide her forward, brightening as he gestures out into the crowd. “Look, the bandits came.”

Spotting Jack, Melody offers him a distracted wave. He winks back at her.

“Wait,” she says, trying to dig in her heels. “We need to talk.”

John nods absently, still looking far too giddy to properly listen to her. “Of course, just let Missy make the announcement and-”

Melody doesn’t get the chance to protest again. A clawed hand grips her hair from behind and yanks, jerking her out of John’s grasp and making her stagger backward. She bites back a pained cry, stumbling into Kovarian as the woman holds her by the hair. Over her shoulder, Tasha watches with a smug smile.

Whirling on his heel, John reaches for her with wide eyes. With a growl, he demands, “What the hell are you doing? Release her at once.”

Kovarian’s nails dig into her scalp. “She is an imposter, Sire.”

“Oh shut up, you frightful old hag.” Melody elbows her in the side and wrenches from her grip, straightening with a grimace. Her head aches now along with her back. Straightening her gown, she glares at Kovarian and hisses, “I’ll tell him myself.”

Visibly seething, Kovarian orders darkly, “Then do it. Now, before I expose you as the covetous snake you are.”

“Enough,” John snaps, stalking menacingly to Melody’s side. “Watch your tongue, Baroness.”

“No, it’s alright.” Melody turns her back on Kovarian, reaching for his hand. John grips her fingers tightly, his brow furrowed with concern that only makes the guilt harder to bear. She draws in a breath and forces herself to meet his eyes. “My real name is Melody Pond and I am a servant in Baroness Kovarian’s household. I have been since I was a child.”

John shakes his head, eyes wide with disbelief. “No, you’re a countess. We met at court.”

“We met once before.” Melody bites her lip. “That morning, in fact. In an orchard when you were trying to steal a horse.”

“I was borrowing a horse,” he grumbles, and then her words seem to sink in. He goes still, staring at her incredulously. “The apple? That was you?” He barks out a disbelieving laugh, hand lifting to pinch at the bridge of his nose. “By the gods, I even thought you were charming.”

Melody smiles weakly. “You always do.”

“It isn’t funny, River,” he snaps, dropping his hand from his face. “First you’re engaged and now you’re a bloody servant?”

She reaches out a hand, wanting to offer comfort or an explanation, anything he’ll let her give. He flinches away from her and she feels a lump form in her throat. “Sweetie, listen to me-”

A shocked murmur ripples through the crowd at her informal address and John stiffens, as if only just now remembering they have an audience. Melody watches the wounded expression slip from his face, replaced by the arrogant king she’d first met and detested at court that day. Dread fills her and it comes as no surprise at all when he says in a clipped voice, “It’s Your Majesty. I am your king and you will address me as such.” His gaze slides away from her. “And you – well, I have no idea who you are.”

Her heart sinks into her stomach like a stone in a pond but Melody refuses to let the tears burning in her eyes slip down her cheeks. She clenches her hands in her skirts and says, “I’m the same woman I always was. Just without a title. I thought that wouldn’t matter to you but it seems we were both wrong.” John flinches, glaring hard at the ground in front of her. “I don’t know who you are either.”

She turns to leave before palace guards show up to escort her out or Kovarian attempts to humiliate her further, moving swiftly through the sea of people. No one steps out of the way for her now and she shoulders her way past countless gawkers, face after nameless face until she thinks she’ll never reach the end of it. She starts to run. Finally, people begin to move out of the way for her, parting like the tide from the shore. Melody doesn’t stop until she reaches the bottom of the palace steps.

Breathing hard, she shuts her stinging eyes and listens as the music starts up again. A carriage still waits for her but she walks right past it, her back throbbing with every step. Right now, she’s glad of it. At least this pain is physical. It will heal with time enough, leaving only faint scars behind. The same cannot be said for her battered heart.

She walks back home in the dark. It’s only when the shadowy outline of the manor looms in the distance that she realizes she can’t feel the weight of the little book in her pocket. She slips a hand inside and finds nothing. Empty. Probably for the best, she tells herself. There will be no more memories together anyway.

Chapter Text

Everyone in the palace is unhappy today.

Nardole is furious over a catering disaster and subsequently all of the kitchen staff are equally irate with Nardole; Vastra and the rest of the guard are stressed over the increased palace security; servants have been running about like chickens with their heads cut off for days; and Missy hasn’t really spoken a civil word to him since the ball. None of them and their petty misfortunes can possibly hold a candle to John. Perhaps it’s a bit overdramatic of him but shouldn’t he be permitted a bit of melodrama? It is his wedding day, after all.

In the three weeks that have passed since being made a fool of in front of the entire kingdom, Nardole had arranged a quick engagement with the Princess of Skaro. Today, John will officially make the two countries permanent allies. He hasn’t even met the girl. Yet somehow, he’s supposed to spend the rest of his life with her.

His stomach has been in knots since he woke up this morning. Hell, it’s been in knots since the ball. Ever since he watched her walk away nothing in his world has felt right. He’s been doing his damnedest not to think of her since then and so far, he’s been marvelously bad at it. Watching the wedding preparations has only made it worse so he’d taken refuge in the one room in the palace that doesn’t reek of flowers and the death of all freedom – Missy’s room.

He suspects she had agreed to let him hide on her balcony only so she could insult him up close instead of sending rude notes through a page boy but John is grateful for her mercy nonetheless. She had even deigned to share her stash of wine with him. Well, he’d nicked a bottle and she hadn’t stabbed him for it. In Missy-speak, she’d practically given it to him.

She has been stalking around her chambers like a restless cat all morning, snarling at anyone who gets too close. She would never say it but he knows she’s feeling guilty, stewing in the fact that John had taken her place so she wouldn’t have to endure exactly this – a loveless marriage to a stranger. He doesn’t blame her for any of it but he can understand why she feels as though she’s condemned him.

He and Missy aren’t the sort to talk about their feelings with one another but he can sense that she’s struggling with seeing him like this; she just shows it in strange ways, contempt in place of concern. Telling her it isn’t her fault would only infuriate her so he holds his tongue and lets her rage at him.

“What does it matter who the hell she is?”

John stares out into the trees from the balcony, utterly grateful Missy’s room doesn’t have a view of the bustling courtyard. He much prefers this one; nothing but endless forest for miles and miles. Letting himself imagine walking into those trees and disappearing, he absently listens to his sister rail at him.

“You’re going to just let some daft cow from Skaro marry into the family and pop out ugly babes for you?” She makes a faint retching noise and he rolls his eyes. “Have you lost every shred of decency? At least the other one had a mind!”

John sighs through his nose. “The other one lied to me.”

“Oh, so what? Gods, you’re such a girl. I lie to you every day. Sometimes every hour if I’m feeling up to it.” Missy pokes her head out the glass paned doors long enough to glare at him pointedly. “I hope your pride is worth spending the rest of your life with some spoiled princess and her screaming brats.”

She disappears back into her room still muttering under her breath. John turns away and focuses his gaze back on the forest, reaching blindly for the bottle of wine sitting on the railing beside him. He’s going to need quite a bit more of this to get through today. And tonight. He grimaces thinking of his wedding night, lifting the bottle to his lips and taking a long pull.

As he swallows, he hears footsteps approaching again and groans. “For the last time, Missy, this wedding is happening whether you like it or not. You asked me to get married and I’m doing it. So bugger off.”

“I know your sister is kind of a lunatic – no offense – but I doubt even she asked you to marry the Princess of Skaro.”

John nearly chokes, whirling around so quickly his vision swims. Leaning against the doorway to Missy’s room, Jack lifts a hand and waves at him.

“I mean, have you seen that woman?” He makes a face and gives a full-bodied shudder.

Still gaping at him, John admits, “I haven’t, actually.”

Jack scoffs. “Marrying someone you haven’t even met? I thought I was supposed to be the easy one here.”

“You are.” John sets the wine back on the railing. “How did you get into the palace?”

“I flirted with one of your guards until he let me in.” He shrugs when John stares. “What, like it’s hard?”

With a huff, he mutters, “Fine. What are you doing here then? Come to steal the crown jewels?”

“Maybe on my way out.” Jack strolls over to stand beside him, hands tucked casually into his pockets as though he’d been invited to tea. He leans an elbow against the railing and looks at John with unnatural solemnity – for Jack, anyway. “I came because you’re making a mistake and I’ve grown weirdly fond of your grumpy but still strangely compelling face.” He shrugs, smirking a little. “Thought I should try to talk you out of marrying someone who isn’t River Song.”

John sighs, glancing away. “There is no River Song.” He glares out at the forest. “That was a lie.”

“Maybe the name was,” Jack admits, frowning. “But I don’t think she made up a whole personality to impress you, Your Majesty.”

John scoffs. “You know, you’re saying Your Majesty but all I hear is you idiot.”

“Hey, if the shoe fits.”

“Watch it.”

“Listen, I’ve seen you sitting on the ground with a woman in her underwear and your tongue down her throat.” Jack grins shamelessly, undeterred by John’s embarrassed glower. “You don’t intimidate me, handsome. And she’s still the same person she was then.”

John drops his gaze to study his hands, curled tight around the railing. “How do you know that?”

“You really think she was faking the way she looked at you? Or that kiss?” Jack whistles. “I consider myself an expert on that particular subject and let me tell you, if anyone ever kisses me like that? I’m proposing on the spot.”

Doing his best not to think of that very kiss, John reaches for the wine again.

“Oh, I know – you must think she faked caring enough about you to stay instead of leaving you with a bunch of bandits in the woods when you ordered her to go.” Jack nods sagely, arms crossed over his broad chest. “Damn fine actress for a servant. But you spent more time with her than I did so I’m sure you’d know.”

Bottle halfway to his lips, John sighs and puts it down again. He hasn’t let himself dwell on her in weeks but there is no stopping the flood of memories Jack has released – the first time he met her in the orchard, then again at court when she rescued Heather. The way she’d glared at him when he happened upon her swimming in the lake. How horrified she’d been when he caught her stealing at the market and how patient she was teaching him to do the same. The look on her face when she’d confided in him about her father’s diary and the softness in her eyes when she’d listened to him talk about the war. She hadn’t been lying about any of that. She was just being herself. River or Melody or whatever else she might call herself, he misses her just the same.

A quiet thunk startles him out of his thoughts and he blinks, glancing down. Sitting on the railing beside the wine is a book. The very same book he had given River – Melody – when he thought they had a future together. He looks up, eyes narrowed. “Where did you-”

“She dropped it on her way out. Guess she was in such a hurry to get the hell away from you she didn’t notice.” Jack shrugs, inspecting his nails. “Thought you might like something to remember her by. You know, the only woman in the kingdom who actually loved you for who you are and not what you are.”

John clenches his jaw and snatches up the book, tucking it away into the pocket of his coat. “I have to go,” he says, turning away. “See yourself out.”

With a salute, Jack calls after him, “See you at the wedding? I mean, I didn’t get an invite but I’ll definitely be there.”

“Don’t bother.” John pauses in the doorway, glancing over his shoulder. “I’m not going.”

Jack grins broadly, relief in his eyes. “Good boy.”

He rolls his eyes, stalking off the balcony and into his sister’s room. “Missy?”

“Shouting is for peasants, dear.”

She barely looks up from her task, sitting in front of a mirror and lining her eyes with kohl. John doesn’t stop to chat, heading for the door. “I’m going to find River – damn it, Melody.” He lingers in the doorway just long enough to watch Missy pause, her eyes drifting shut in relief. “Do me a favor and tell Skaro the wedding is off without starting a war.”

Her eyes open and she goes back to lining them in black as though nothing had happened. “No promises.”

He glares. “Behave. Back soon.”

“Your Majesty, wait -”

John bites back a sigh, fingers gripping the doorknob. “What, Jack?”

The bandit perches on the edge of Missy’s bed and when his sister doesn’t snarl a reproach, John spares a moment to wonder how the hell the two of them know each other. “There’s something you should know.”

He frowns. “Why do people keep saying that to me?”

Jack eyes him with regret. “Melody isn’t with the Baroness anymore. I tried to visit after the ball and she wasn’t there.”

His grip around the doorknob tightens. Feeling a knot of dread in his stomach, John demands, “Then where the hell is she?”

Ducking his head, Jack admits, “According to the other servants I talked to… Kovarian sold her.”

Everything goes still and silent. He doesn’t move. Doesn’t blink. Doesn’t even breathe. White hot, suffocating rage rushes through his veins like wildfire. His Melody sold like an animal… Through his teeth, he bites out, “Who?”

Jack lifts his head, eyes wary. “Some guy named Lord Hydroflax.”

Melody tells herself she hasn’t escaped because he keeps her in shackles every minute of the day and night. It’s a lie, of course. She could easily slip Hydroflax’s restraints and make a run for it. The only thing that keeps her from doing it is the same question that keeps her up at night, staring at the ceiling from her bed on the floor: Escape to go where?

She cannot go back to the only home she’s ever really known – Kovarian had been so furious after that scene at the ball she had tossed Melody out to the highest bidder the very next morning. Melody hadn’t been able to say goodbye to Bill or Heather or Clara. Her chest aches when she thinks of them – her only real family in this world. She’ll likely never see them again.

She could run away and become a bandit like Jack, using the skills she’d needed to be Kovarian’s thief to survive in the wild; stealing when she needs money, hunting when she’s hungry, and sleeping on the ground in the forest. She might even be able to persuade Jack to let her join him and his people but it doesn’t seem fair to put a target on their backs. Once Lord Hydroflax notices she’s missing, he’ll almost certainly stop at nothing to get her back. He has wanted to get his hands on her far too long and he’d paid Kovarian a pretty sum to get her. He won’t let her go so easily.  

Hydroflax hasn’t allowed her out of the house at all. Most of her days are spent in his company, sitting at his feet in the library and polishing his silver while he reads; watching him practice for his illegal boxing matches; sleeping on the floor at the foot of his bed like a damned pet. He even makes her sit with him at the dinner table, a ridiculous farce in which he pretends she is a willing participant. He wants a lover and does not care if her hands are bound beneath the table so long as she looks pretty sitting there.

While he hasn’t touched her yet, she knows it is only a matter of time. He wants her willingly, likely for the satisfaction of seeing her submit to him. If he expects her to ever accept his hands on her without a fight, he’ll die an undersexed old man first. But Melody knows he won’t wait that long.

For now, she bides her time. With nowhere to go and no immediate reason to escape, she waits. It isn’t as if her mind is at its best at the moment anyway. She hasn’t had the motivation to do much of anything since the night of the ball. Of course, she’d fought like hell when Lord Hydroflax came to take her away but since then, she has done no more than survive. Her sore heart will let her think of nothing but John.

She hates him. She loves him. He’d broken her heart. She’d betrayed his trust. He wouldn’t listen to her when she tried to tell him the truth. She’d had plenty of opportunity to tell him before the ball and she hadn’t. Her mind goes round in circles like a snake eating its own tail, until she doesn’t know if she’s more angry at him or herself.

“Melody?”

She holds in a sigh. “In here.”

Listening to his heavy footsteps on the stairs, she tightens her jaw and picks up another piece of laundry to fold. It isn’t easy with her wrists manacled but she manages through sheer determination, refusing to look weak in front of him. He sweeps into the room unclasping his cloak, still smelling of roast meat from the market. Tossing the cloak over an armchair, he leans his weight into one of his bedposts and stares at her.

Melody offers him neither a word of greeting nor a glance of acknowledgement. Hydroflax has never been shy about how much he admires her spirit so she never gives him the satisfaction of actually seeing it. It’s always yes, my lord and no, my lord. She keeps her face blank and never glares or offers him any clever quips just to irritate him. She can tell it’s slowly driving him mad. It’s one of the few pleasures she has left.

“Still in mourning for your king?”

She folds a pair of his riding breeches and answers evenly, “No, my Lord.”

He crosses his arms over his chest, smirking. “Over him, are you?”

Melody says nothing, reaching for a shirt to fold.

“I do so hope you are, my dearest,” he says, and she wants to roll her eyes at the false sincerity in his voice. “Otherwise, I’m afraid the news I carry will hurt you.”

As if you care. She bites down on her tongue to keep from saying it out loud. Instead, she picks up the pile of folded laundry and carries it to the chest of drawers on the other side of the room. To her annoyance, she hears Hydroflax follow after her.

“I’ve kept it from you these weeks to spare you pain but I can no longer hide it.” He stops just behind her, hovering close enough that she can feel the heat of his body at her back as she stuffs his clothes into drawers. “The king is getting married today.”

Melody goes still, hands clenched around a silk shirt. It isn’t entirely unexpected, of course. She had known John was being pressured to marry in order to preserve the monarchy and she hadn’t been under any delusions that their brief romance would put an end to those plans. Still, having it confirmed – and by Hydroflax, of all people – stings more than she’d hoped it would.

Breath against her neck, Hydroflax asks, “Don’t you want to know who the lucky bride is?”

“No,” she lies, wondering if Tasha had managed to secure a proposal after all. “It’s none of my business.”

“My brave little Melody,” he sighs, and she stiffens when she feels his hand stroking her hair. “I can take that heartache away, my dear. I would have you forgetting every name but my own.”

In a calm, even voice, she demands, “Don’t touch me.”

“You dare give me orders?” His voice is a low rumble against her ear. “I paid for you. You are mine to touch any time I please.”

Well. It seems she’ll have to figure out where to go sooner than she’d anticipated. Closing her eyes, Melody jerks back her arm and elbows him directly in the gut. As he stumbles back from her wheezing, she reaches into the drawer in front of her and slips out the dagger he keeps hidden beneath his shirts. She tucks it into her sleeve and says, “Next time, I won’t ask so nicely.”

Hydroflax snarls, grabbing her by the arm as she turns to face him and yanking her into his chest. “How dare you, you ungrateful little wench.” He sneers down at her, his eyes dark. “I’ve been patient with you all this time and this is how you repay me? Most men would have had you already by now.”

“Then why haven’t you?” She smirks in his face. “Having trouble performing?”

With a growl, his grip tightens on her arm and he yanks her into him. She almost stumbles over the chains around her ankles but he keeps her upright with his bruising grasp on her wrist. When she realizes they’re headed straight for his bed, she moves quickly. Slipping the dagger from her sleeve, she grips it in her fist and lashes out – slashing Hydroflax across the cheek.

He lets her go, clutching at his bleeding face, and she uses his surprise to propel them both forward with a shove. They tumble onto the mattress, Melody pinning him with her weight and the dagger pressed to his throat. Hydroflax gapes up at her, his eyes wide and panicked. Melody smiles. “Give me one good reason I shouldn’t slit your throat right now.”

Visibly seething, he says, “I could have you hanged for this.”

She tilts her head, frowning. “That’s actually a point in favor of killing you. Poor lamb, I know it’s confusing.” She nudges the blade a little harder, close to breaking the skin. “Go on, try again.”

He stares at her for a long moment before apparently deciding his best chance of survival is to play her game. “I’ll tell you where I keep the key for those chains of yours.”

“I don’t need you for that either.” Melody eyes the strip of leather around his neck, a key dangling from the end of it. “One last chance.”

His nostrils flare. “I’m a Lord,” he snaps, sounding desperate now. “You’re a servant. If you kill me, they’ll hang you whether I live or not.”

Melody shrugs. “Then at least I’ll die knowing I rid the world of you.”

“I won’t come after you,” he vows, meeting her gaze steadily. “I swear it.”

It would be very stupid to trust him and Melody doesn’t like to be stupid. But she also knows she isn’t a killer, not really. Hydroflax will most certainly come after her but she hopes she can evade capture long enough to run far away from this kingdom and never set foot in it again. Digging the blade into his skin just hard enough to draw blood, Melody leans in until they’re nearly nose to nose. “If I ever see you again, I will not hesitate to kill you. Slowly.”

Nodding quickly, Hydroflax squeezes his eyes shut. “Understood.”

“Now, now. Mind your manners.”

His jaw clenches. “Understood,” he snaps. “My lady.”

“Much better.” Melody yanks at his necklace, smiling when she has the key in her palm. “Now, I hope you enjoy being tied up.”

When she steps outside a free woman, Hydroflax has been bound and gagged for his servants to find in the morning. She has until then to get as far from here as she can. Regretting that there won’t be any time to check in with her friends at the manor, Melody rubs at her raw wrists and begins plotting to steal a horse.

She looks up, planning to head in the direction of the stables and help herself to one of Hydroflax’s prized stallions. And then she stops, staring. Surrounding the house is what appear to be a small army, soldiers bearing the crest of Gallifrey armed to the teeth and sitting proudly atop their horses. One in particular catches her eye – a tall, silver-haired man in a red velvet greatcoat climbing down from his horse and barking orders at the others.

It’s him. Melody presses a hand over her aching chest, knowing she should turn and walk in the other direction but unable to do a thing but stand there and gaze after him like a lovesick girl. She should probably be angry with him but looking at him now, she doesn’t feel that at all. Only hurt and sad and so very, very tired.

John snaps something at one of his men and turns on his heel, marching toward the house. The moment he spots her standing there, he stops in his tracks and joins her in staring uselessly. “Hello.”

With a shake of her head to snap herself out of her daze, Melody asks, “What are you doing here?”

Glancing over his shoulder at his soldiers, John licks his lips and shrugs. “Rescuing you.”

She scoffs. “You’re the damsel, sweetie. Not me.”

“Yes, I suppose I forgot.” John wrings his hands, the leather of his gloves squeaking in the quiet between them. Not even the horses make a sound. “I also came to ask for your forgiveness. You offered me your heart and your trust, and then I failed you at the very first test.”

“Fine. You’re forgiven.” She turns, moving toward the stables. “If you’ll excuse me, I’ve got somewhere to be.”

“Melody, please-”

She pauses at the sound of her name – her real name – from his lips. Back to him, she sighs and drops her chin to her chest. “Don’t you have a wedding to attend?”

“I called it off.” She listens to the sound of his footsteps approaching. “I realized there was only one person I could see myself married to. The same woman who owns this, actually.”

She slides her gaze toward him when he moves to stand beside her, her eyes welling when she sees the book in his hand. Ever since she lost it, she has regretted leaving it behind. It was all she’d had to remember him by. Slowly, she reaches out and takes it from him. The cover is smooth, the leather supple beneath her fingertips.

John watches her quietly, his eyes soft and fathomless. She trembles under his gaze. Not five minutes ago, she’d been certain she would never see him look at her like that again. “She’s my match in every way,” he whispers. “Please tell me I haven’t lost her.”

Shaking her head, Melody says, “But I’m not who you thought I was.”

“You’re exactly who I thought you were,” he says, smiling softly. “I just lost sight of that for a bit. I hope, despite what an ass I’ve been, you can still see me for who I am too.”

“A king who would rather be a peasant?”

He grins at her. “More or less. But I’m not your king, Melody. Not right now. I’m just a man who loves you.” He sobers, taking her hand and lifting it to his lips. “I’m asking you – my rescuer and my dearest friend – to be my wife as well.”

“You want me to marry you?” Melody takes a step back but he follows her, still holding her hand. “But I’m not – John, be sensible. Surely your council would have something to say about the king marrying a servant?”

His grip on her hand tightens briefly, thumb stroking over her knuckles. “A very wise woman once told me I’m the one holding all the power.”

She laughs, incredulous. “And this is how you’re choosing to abuse it? Marrying me?”

His eyes remain soft and adoring but his grin is wide and filled with mischief. “I’ll have to do everything else they say for the rest of my life but I’m inclined to believe it’ll be worth it.”

With a sigh, Melody steps close again. Relishing the way John goes utterly still when she’s near, she tugs her hand from his and uses it to wrap around the back of his neck with a muttered, “Come here, you idiot.”

He only has time to huff indignantly before she pulls his head down to hers and kisses him. His mouth is gentle but firm against her own, his gloved hands cradling her face. Melody sways into him, seeking out his warmth and the solidity of his lean body against her own. Her fingers curl in the red velvet of his coat and she pushes herself up on her toes, certain she’ll never be close enough.

“Hang on,” he says, lips parting briefly from hers. His panting breath ghosts across her flushed cheek. “Is that a yes?”

Melody grins. “Yes, darling.”

He lifts her off her feet with a bright laugh, spinning her around and around in circles. He peppers kisses over her cheeks and down the bridge of her nose, his happiness as infectious as it is overwhelming. There are still red marks circling her newly freed wrists and the peasant dress she wears has seen better days but she has never felt more like the countess River Song than she does right now. Smile wide, Melody clings to John and closes her eyes as the world spins and changes around her. 

Chapter Text

“And while Cinderella and her prince did live happily ever after, the point, gentlemen, is that they lived.”

– Ever After

Melody feels like pinching herself. Over the years, she has washed standing in streams, in the middle of a field during a heavy rainstorm, and while standing over a shallow bowl of cold water in her tiny attic room. Never in her life had she ever imagined she’d get the chance to bathe in a palace. Submerged up to her chest in the huge tub filled with steaming water, she prods at the fragrant bubbles and flower petals floating around her.

Damp tendrils of hair sticking to her cheek and the back of her neck, she leans her head back against the lip of the tub and sighs. Her sore muscles have given up the fight and melted into submission. The tension in her shoulders and her jaw have given way to a languid relaxation that makes it impossible to stifle a lazy smile. Everything smells divine. Draped over a dressing screen in the corner, the most beautiful gown she has ever laid eyes on is waiting for her. Melody is pretty sure a maid had taken her old clothes to be burned. She can’t say she minds all that much.

“This room is bigger than the entire first floor of the manor.”

Melody squints one eye open, watching Clara pace from one end of the room to the other. She bounces excitedly to a huge gilded mirror on one wall and peers at herself, twirling slowly. She hasn’t stopped grinning since she stepped foot into the palace. “Think you’ll like working here then?”

Clara whirls, her eyes wide. “What?”

She shrugs. “I’m pretty sure there’s an opening for a chef if you’re interested.”

“If I’m-” Clara looks faint, wobbling over to a chair in the corner and sinking into it. “Really?”

Melody sighs, sinking further into the tub until the water laps at her chin. “You didn’t think I’d leave you to fend for yourselves, did you?”

“Me too?”

She stifles a smile, meeting Bill’s hopeful gaze where she sits on the floor beside the tub. She hasn’t left Melody’s side since they arrived. “You too,” she says, flicking water at her playfully. “And Heather, of course. It’s a big palace; I’m sure John can find something to keep the two of you out of trouble.”

Bill wipes the water from her brow with her sleeve. “I think he’ll have his hands full keeping you out of trouble. Does he actually understand who he’s agreed to marry?”

“Surprisingly, yes.” With a happy sigh, Melody scoops a handful of flower petals out of the water into her palm. “So, where does Kovarian think you are right now?”

Clara slips from her chair and goes back to inspecting the cavernous room, apparently fully recovered now. “I told her I was picking mushrooms for dinner tonight.”

“I’m at the market buying chamomile for Tasha.” Bill grins mischievously. “Heather just left without a word.”

Melody laughs, opening her hand and letting the petals flutter back into the water. “And where is your better half?”

“Keeping Nardole from killing Jack in a stress-induced rage.” Bill shrugs, looking mostly unconcerned. “Having a spontaneous, last minute secret ceremony has apparently put him on edge.”

It had been John’s idea to get married right away and she’d seen no reason to put it off either, afraid something or someone else might try to tear them apart if they waited. He hasn’t even informed his council yet and Melody had thought he looked rather gleeful over the prospect of informing them when he was already married and there was nothing they could do about it. Honestly, he behaves like a rebellious teenager at times. She rather loves that about him.

Inspecting her pruning fingers, she asks, “Anyone know how my fiancé is faring?”

Bill nods eagerly. “He went with his sister to sneak into some room where all the heirloom jewels are kept.” Looking misty-eyed, she confides in a whisper, “He’s fetching you his mother’s ring.”

Melody breathes in sharply. She hadn’t even thought about a ring – has never even owned a piece of jewelry in her life. Every bracelet, necklace, or gaudy brooch she has ever stolen went directly to Kovarian to be sold for a profit. She looks down at her hand again, picturing a ring on her finger, and feels a bit dizzy. How quickly a life can change. Combined with the image in her head of John sneaking around his own palace like a common thief, the besotted smile on her face is impossible to conceal.

Suddenly very eager to see her groom, she breathes out, “Alright, ladies.” Rising out of the water and dripping everywhere, she laughs as Bill blushes and looks away. “Let’s do this.”

Her dress for the ceremony had been one of several Melody had been given to choose from, all of them taken from an old trunk Missy had dragged into the room without a word. Melody presumes they must have been hers once because they’d needed a rushed few alterations to fit her but they’re all utterly extravagant and beautiful – fit for a queen. Melody had chosen a silk emerald gown with delicate gold stitching woven through the bodice and fluttering sleeves that fall over her fingertips. It bares her shoulders and trails behind her when she walks, dragging over the marble floor.

As Bill steps behind her to do up the jeweled buttons in the back, she mutters, “You’re actually getting married. I still can’t believe it.”

Melody laughs, hardly able to believe it herself. She smooths a hand over the skirt of her dress and stares at herself in the gilded mirror, feeling like another person. This morning she’d been in chains and folding Lord Hydroflax’s laundry and now…

“Forget getting married,” Clara scoffs, her mouth full of pins as she styles Melody’s hair. “She’s going to be Queen.”

Bill barks out a half-hysterical giggle. “God save Gallifrey.”

Rolling her eyes, Melody elbows her gently. She’s been doing her best not to think of what comes after the wedding. She isn’t just going to be John’s wife – she’s going to be this kingdom’s queen. It hadn’t been of any importance when she’d agreed to marry John; she wants him and only him, whether he can drape her in silk or if he could barely afford to eat. She just happened to fall in love with the ruler of this kingdom and in order to rule beside him, there is much to learn. The responsibility of it hangs over her but when the time comes, she knows she’ll embrace it with her whole heart. John has given her what no one else has ever managed – choices. No one will ever be able to control her or her life ever again.

Staring at herself in the mirror as Clara pins up half of her curls and then weaves flowers into it – nicked from a crystal vase by the window – Melody smiles. Clara notices instantly, of course, and shakes her head in wonder. “God, you actually properly love him, don’t you?”

Melody laughs. “What gave it away?”

“Never thought about a man with that look on my face,” Clara mutters, smirking.

“Perhaps it’s not a man you need,” Melody teases, meeting her eyes in the mirror. “You know, I hear the princess is still single.”

A knock on the door prevents Melody from teasing her further and they all turn as Jack pokes his head into the room. “Sweetheart, if you don’t get your ass out here and marry this man right now, I think he’s going to come in here after you himself.” He pauses, eyes trailing over her slowly. A low whistle escapes his lips. “Are you sure you were a servant?”

With a grin, Melody says, “Last I checked.”

“Well, then being royalty is going to suit you.” Jack leans in the doorway with a cheeky grin, offering his arm. “Mind if I escort you?”

She beams. “I’d be honored.”

Jack walks her out of the room with Bill and Clara trailing behind. They travel through a winding corridor and down a flight of stairs before walking into a spacious library. The room is covered in bookshelves from floor to ceiling and Melody can’t help but stare even as Jack ushers her out a side door and into a meticulously-kept garden.

The light is beginning to fade and lanterns have been lit, lining her path up the aisle. Fireflies have begun to illuminate the sky overhead and the setting sun has turned everyone and everything golden. The air smells of honeysuckle and gardenias, both of which seem to be growing in abundance everywhere she looks. And there, waiting for her underneath a flowering tree in the middle of it all, John stands grinning at her.

Heart in her throat and her eyes never straying from him, Melody moves toward her future, step by purposeful step.

For the past several hours, John has been walking around like a man in a dream. He’d narrowly avoided making the biggest mistake of his life, found Melody again, and then married her. He’s a husband now – he has a wife. Every time he thinks on it, he finds himself smiling like a fool. The ceremony had been perfect; small and private, surrounded by only their nearest and dearest friends and family. Melody had been the most beautiful bride Gallifrey has ever seen and now the kingdom has a queen once more – someone kind and lovely who will be the benevolent sort of ruler John has always wished he could be. He has truly never been so embarrassingly giddy.

And all it takes for all of that to fade away is one glimpse of Baroness Kovarian and her daughter. He’d been worried he would not be capable of holding onto his anger during this confrontation but he sees now that he should have been worried he would not be able to contain it. He watches as the Baroness and Tasha kneel before him and feels nothing but unrestrained contempt.

John grips the arm of his throne, teeth grinding together. Melody has not said much yet but he suspects this woman has abused his wife since she was a child. She’d tried to keep them apart. She had sold Melody to some man who kept her shackled like an animal for weeks. And she will pay dearly for it. Looking down his nose at the vile woman, he asks, “Do you know why I’ve summoned you?”

Kovarian rises slowly from her curtsy, keeping her head bowed in deference. “No, Your Majesty.”

He doesn’t satisfy her curiosity immediately, gaze flickering to Tasha at her side. She watches him with dark, eager eyes and he wonders if she actually believes he’s about to propose to her. Melody had warned him she might have such deluded notions in her head but he’d been skeptical until now, observing her cast hungry glances toward the empty throne at his side.

Disgusted, he looks away and begins, “You were invited to dine with my sister several weeks ago, yes?” They nod cautiously, their attention now on Missy standing still as a statue just behind him. “You told her you knew the countess called River Song. You told her she was engaged to a lord.”

The Baroness swallows guiltily. “Your Majesty-”

John doesn’t let her finish, cutting her off abruptly. “Did you or did you not lie to Her Royal Highness?”

Glancing uneasily between the equally cold and distant king and princess, Kovarian attempts weakly, “A woman will do much for the love of her daughter, Your Majesty.”

“For me? Don’t drag me into this mess, Mother.” Tasha steps away from her with a glare, approaching the throne. “Your Majesty, I am a victim in this situation just as you are. I am ashamed to call her family.”

Kovarian growls, marching up to her daughter and yanking her roughly away. “How dare you turn on me, you ungrateful brat.”

“Quiet, both of you.” John sighs, turning to share an exasperated look with his sister. “By the gods, how did you stand to share a meal with either of them?”

Massaging her temple with her fingertips, Missy replies tersely, “It wasn’t tea in my cup.”

“Ah.” He turns reluctantly to face Kovarian once more, his expression settling into what he knows must resemble a man looking at a particularly disgusting insect. “Baroness Kovarian, you are hereby stripped of your title. You and your horrible daughter will be shipped off to the Americas on the next available boat.” His eyes narrow and his mouth twists into a sneer. “Believe me, it is a mercy compared to what I’d really like to do to you.”

Kovarian stares at him, her mouth hanging open and her dark eyes glittering with fury. Her daughter looks less furious and more ill. John spares a moment to hope he won’t have to send for someone to clean up sick in the throne room. He allows the weight of the moment to settle heavily over them, giving them a few precious seconds to come to terms with their fate.

“Before you go,” he says, barely containing his delight. “There’s someone I’d like you to meet. Dearest?”

His wife steps out of the antechamber and into the room, striding toward him with the regal air of a woman who had grown up at court. She’s a bloody natural. John doesn’t bother hiding his grin as he watches her, admiring the dress of red and gold she had changed into for the occasion. The crown nestled in her soft curls gleams in the candlelight but it’s her face he cannot look away from – flushed and happy, free of all worries.

It takes effort to look away from her but the sight of Kovarian gaping in horror more than makes up for it. Standing, John extends a hand and pulls his wife into his side when she reaches him. “Thought you might want to see this,” he whispers, smiling when she kisses his cheek.

“You just like showing off,” she murmurs, eyes amused.

“Can you blame me?” He casts a pointed glare at Kovarian and she flinches, sinking slowly into a curtsy once more. For Melody. He sees the moment it sinks in for his wife, her eyes going wide as she realizes Kovarian is at her mercy. Feeling the rather childish urge to rub it in further and not bothering to squash it like a mature adult, he glances at Tasha. “I don’t believe you’ve met my wife, have you? This is the Queen.”

Looking very much like she might burst into tears, Tasha hesitantly follows her mother’s example and kneels. Melody stares at her, head tilted like she can’t quite believe what she’s seeing. Squeezing her arm gently, John guides her to the throne beside his and ushers her into sitting.

Without releasing her hand, he settles into his own seat beside her. The two of them looking down on Kovarian and Tasha, he asks, “Any requests, my heart?”

She shakes her head slowly, still looking rattled. “No, my love.” She blinks, glancing to him as if for guidance when she realizes he is putting their punishment into her hands. He has already sentenced them but if she desires it, he could make things far worse for them. “Only that you show them the same kindness they have always shown me.”

Of course she would never ask him to hurt anyone; would never encourage his darker nature despite having every right to want these women to suffer. She will be a marvelous queen but she is already a far better person than John could ever hope to be. “I think I can manage that.” He smiles softly, watching Kovarian cower. “Why don’t I have a guard show you to our lovely accommodations in the dungeons? You’ve got a long trip ahead of you in the morning, after all. You should rest up.”

Beside him, Melody conceals a smile. “Generous to a fault, darling.”

John kisses her hand, winking.

It’s hours before they’re truly alone. They ensure Clara, Bill, and Heather have settled into their rooms for the night before making arrangements to have Kovarian and Tasha at the docks by dawn. John also sends word to his council, requesting their presence at an urgent meeting in the morning. He’s looking forward to informing them they have a new queen.

By the time he finally ushers his wife into their chambers and closes the door behind them, he’s impatient and bordering on damn near begging to be alone with her. Melody stops in the middle of the room, looking around as though in a daze. He tries to look at the room through her eyes, wanting to see what she must see. The plush rugs and elaborate, flickering sconces casting shadows across the floor. The fire crackling in the massive hearth, two chairs sitting before it for the royal couple to warm themselves. The luxurious bed already turned down for them, a nightgown for her folded neatly on a nearby chaise.

None of this is anything close to what Melody is used to and he knows it will take time for her to grow accustomed to such a life. He hopes eventually it will stop feeling like a life that belongs to other people and begin to feel like her own. He wants her to be happy here because he knows with her at his side, this is finally a life he can settle into and be content. No more yearning to be someone else, somewhere else. What else is there to yearn for with Melody here?

Walking up behind her, John slips his arms around her middle and drops a kiss to the side of her neck. “Come to bed, dearest,” he murmurs.

She sinks back into his chest and he catches a glimpse of her smile over her shoulder. “What a domestic thing to say,” she whispers. “I like it.”

He hides his face in her hair. “Me too.”

Reaching behind her, Melody touches his cheek. “Help me out of my dress?”

“With pleasure.”

He’ll never understand why they make ladies’ garments so terribly complicated to get out of – how is he supposed to unfasten a tiny row of pearl buttons when his hands are shaking and all he can think about is the curve of Melody’s spine? With more than a little fumbling, he undoes the very last button and watches in satisfaction as the dress pools at her feet.

The next order of business is her corset and he tugs at it impatiently, dropping kisses along her shoulders as he goes. Melody makes a soft, very agreeable noise when he nips at her skin with his teeth so he makes sure to do it again as the corset falls away and joins the dress on the floor. Tugging at her shift, he says with his mouth pressed to the slope of her shoulder, “Take this off.”

“Bossy.”

“King.”

She laughs softly, lifting the shift over her head and dropping it. Presented with the sight of her entirely bare before him, John merely stares in speechless wonder. She’s perfect; all golden skin and delectable curves he wants very badly to reach out and touch. He reaches for her shoulder, intent on turning her to face him, when his eyes finally focus on the expanse of her back.

Red lashes crisscrossed over her lovely skin, slowly fading into scars. Whip marks.

John holds out a trembling hand and presses gentle fingertips to one line, tracing it from the base of her neck to the small of her back. At his touch, Melody glances over her shoulder and watches him quietly. He looks up, meeting her eyes. “What is this?”

“One of Kovarian’s punishments,” she answers, as easily as though telling him the sky outside is filled with stars or grass is green. Punishment is a fact of her life. He feels nauseous.

“Gods, Melody,” he chokes out, touching a particularly angry looking lash that seems to curl around her side. “This looks recent.”

“Yes,” she says dryly, sounding amused. Like it’s funny. His chest tightens. “She wasn’t pleased when I stayed out all night with you. Of course, slapping Tasha didn’t help.”

His brows rise. “You slapped-” Breath catching, he realizes, “Wait. That day at the ruins – you were different. You were hurt.” He swallows painfully. “Why didn’t you say something?”

“I wanted to. I just didn’t know how.” She turns in his arms, hiding her back from him as she takes his face in her gentle hands. Her eyes search out his, making sure he sees just how much she means it when she says, “I didn’t regret it, you know. It was worth it.”

He shakes his head, eyes stinging. “How can you say that?”

“Because I was with you.” She smiles, thumb brushing softly over his skin. “How could I ever regret that?”

John cradles her close, pressing his forehead to hers. “Kiss me,” he begs. “Before I march down to the dungeons and kill her myself.”

Leaning up on her toes and pressing all of her soft bare skin against him, Melody captures his mouth in a rough kiss. He sighs against her lips, shaking hands wandering from her back to her hips and then up to palm her breast. There is too much of her he wants to touch and not nearly enough hands at his disposal.

Melody helps him wrestle out of his finery until it’s all puddled on the floor with her clothes and they’re stumbling toward the bed still entwined. They climb between the sheets and Melody’s hot mouth slips from his to gasp out a delighted laugh. Stretched out on top of her, John watches with a smile as she stretches luxuriously.

“Well,” she breathes, curls fanned out on the pillow. “This is certainly a step above a cot in the attic. A girl could get used to this.”

“Only the best for my wife,” he promises, dropping a kiss to the tip of her nose. “It’ll be nice to have someone to share it with.”

She grins up at him, a slender leg curling around his waist. Her back arches and he hisses through his teeth when she presses against him. “Lonely, were you?”

“You’ve no idea,” he says, dropping his head to mouth at her chest.

She sighs, threading a hand through his hair. “Poor, lonesome king.”

He scoffs. “And you weren’t?”

He expects some teasing quip about always having company when she wanted it and how good breeding simply can’t compete with natural charm. Instead, Melody traces a fingertip over the shell of his ear and admits quietly, “All the time.”

The sudden lump in his throat makes it difficult to speak. He has to swallow twice before he manages it. “I’m sorry,” he whispers. “I’m sorry things were so awful for you.”

“I’d endure it all again for this. For you.” Melody looks up at him through her lashes, her vulnerable expression shifting into something teasing and sly, and he knows she’s about to lighten the mood. He’ll let her, of course, but he hopes one day she’ll tell him more about what it was like under that roof with that horrible woman. He wants to know – no, he doesn’t. But he needs to know. And he thinks perhaps Melody needs someone to listen.

But not tonight.

Tonight is for better things. So he lets her distract him when she holds up her hand and admires the ring on her finger. “Well, it was certainly worth this. I think I love it more than I love you.”

He pretends to be insulted, since that appears to be what she wants. “Thanks.”

“Darling, what do you expect?” She peers up at him, still brandishing the ring as though it speaks for itself. “It’s the size of my eye, for god’s sake. It’s a weapon.”

Capturing her hand, he kisses her fingertips. “Beautiful but deadly. Sounds rather a lot like the owner of the ring, doesn’t it?”

Melody goes utterly lax beneath him, her eyes hooded and her grin wide and pleased. “Oh, I think you’ve just earned yourself one hell of a wedding night, Your Majesty.”

John laughs, leaning in to kiss her soundly. She smiles into his mouth and her happiness is a palpable thing, so much so he can taste it on her tongue. He strokes a reverent hand over her scarred back and draws her closer with a silent vow that no one will ever harm her again. “As my Queen wishes.”

Breathless with anticipation, Luna clutches her bunny to her chest and demands, “What happened next? After the Baroness went to the dungeons?”

“Hmm?” Aunt Missy lifts her head, blinking the way she does when she has drifted off into her own head for a moment. “Oh. A honeymoon, I expect.”

Luna frowns. “What’s a honeymoon?”

“You’ll find out when you’re older, pigeon.”

“Grownups always say that,” Luna grumbles, falling back into her pillows.

“And yet you keep asking questions.” Aunt Missy sighs, slipping from the edge of the bed. She busies herself with straightening the blankets over Luna and her stuffed bunny, tucking them up to her chin. “Now, Your Royal Highness, will you please shut your eyes and go to sleep before I stab myself just to get a wee break from you?”

Luna giggles, shaking her head. “You haven’t finished the story yet, silly.”

“Of course I did.” Aunt Missy frowns at her, holding up a hand and ticking off her fingers exasperatedly. “They met, your mother showed her undergarments as usual, there was a wedding, the baddies were punished, blah blah blah, the end.”

Crossing her arms stubbornly beneath the blankets, Luna insists, “You forgot the part where they live happily ever after.” She bites her lip hopefully, blue eyes wide. “Mama and Papa do live happily ever after, don’t they?”

Aunt Missy pulls a face and admits with reluctance, “They do seem disgustingly happy, I suppose.”

“We missed you too, Missy.”

Luna sits up with a gasp at the sound of her father’s voice, a wide smile lighting up her face as her parents’ step into the room. They’ve been away for a few days now, visiting the neighboring kingdom of Karn. Scrambling from her nest of blankets, she launches herself at her mother, who laughs brightly and cradles her close. “You’re back early.”

“We simply couldn’t be away from you a moment longer, I’m afraid.” Mama strokes gentle fingertips through Luna’s blonde hair and her familiar touch makes Luna snuggle into her chest with a smile. While Aunt Missy is funny and often quite indulgent of her whims, there is nothing like being in her mother’s arms again. “Have you been a good girl?”

“Of course.” She peeks over her mother’s shoulder and spies Aunt Missy slinking out the door, but not before poking Papa with a fingertip as if to say welcome back. “Aunt Missy was telling me your story.”

Mama laughs, a soft and throaty noise that feels like happiness as it dances around Luna’s ears. “What, again?”

“It’s my favorite!” Luna beams when her father approaches, leaning out of her mother’s arms to press a kiss to his whiskery cheek. “I missed you, Papa.”

His blue eyes are very soft as he smiles at her. “And I you, my girl.”

Her parents stand close together, Luna cocooned safely between them. “Did you bring me a present?”

“Don’t I always?” Papa tugs gently at a curl hanging over her eyes. “You’ll get it in the morning. Now is the time to sleep.”

Luna allows her mother to carry her back to bed, feeling just a little colder when her head falls to her pillow and Mama’s arms slip away. And then the blankets are tucked snugly around her once more and everything is warm and cozy again. Luna reaches for her bunny and tucks it into her side, blinking up at her parents. “Are you going to live happily ever after?”

“Absolutely,” Mama says, settling onto the edge of her bed. “And so are you.” Her soft hands smooth Luna’s hair from her face and she leans in close, her lips curling into a smile. “But do you want to know a secret?”

Luna nods eagerly, eyes wide. “Please.”

“Happy ever after doesn’t mean forever,” Mama whispers. “It just means time with the people we love. Time with me and your Papa; time with each other.”

Turning the words over in her mind for a moment, Luna wonders, “And Aunt Missy and Clara? And Bill and Heather and Uncle Jack?”

Mama hums. “Yes, darling.”

“And Nardole?”

Papa grumbles. “That might be taking it a bit far…”

With a fond glance over her shoulder at him, Mama sighs and confirms, “And Nardole.”

“Happy ever after means time?” With a yawn, Luna snuggles into her pillow. Her eyes feel heavy but she simply has to know. “How much time?”

“Oh, lots and lots yet,” Papa answers in a low, gentle voice. “You’ve got so much to come. But first, you’re going to need rest.” He bends to press a warm kiss to her forehead. “To sleep with you, my wee Princess.”

Her eyes drift shut on the sight of her mother and father smiling down at her. Safe and loved and with all the time in the world, Luna sleeps.