It's difficult, being overlooked.
More difficult is finally having a glance bestowed upon her, a hand clasping her own to pull her to the forefront, only to have it pulled away by the sounds of war, by her step-mother's scheming. The thought that finally, maybe she'd have a chance to prove herself once and for all is snatched away in an instant, and it burns.
Kougyoku hates it.
Judal is far from a comfort, no matter how she wishes he would be. He's a little less a playful kitten these days, his attention oddly resting upon Hakuryuu, and that, too, makes Kougyoku ache. She squirms, huffs, frowns, annoyed at the lack of eyes on her when normally, Judal's mouth would be on hers, finding comfort in an odd sort of shared loneliness (he's no less valued, give no less attention by the one that he truly wants to be worshipped by).
It takes effort, bringing that loneliness out in him this time.
When her back finally hits the sheets, she's vicious—her hands clawing down his spine, her mouth on his shoulder, biting hard enough to leave a dark bruise. The sound from his own throat is a groan, and it's muffled in short order by her lips, the stain on them smearing across his cheek when she pulls away with a gasp, and all Kougyoku can focus on, blissfully enough, are his hands, the bony jut of his hips pressing down into her, the hardness of his cock, sliding up against one of her thighs when his hands hike up her robes.
They know better. They truly, truly do, and that's the most frustrating thing of all. Kougyoku wishes Judal would have no regrets, would slide deep inside of her and take her and fuck her. It would render her useless for marriage, no longer a tool for the empire to use—but he won't, because he cares, somehow, about what happens to her, and that makes her both happy and bitter all at once.
Instead, he grabs at her, slides up against her thighs, kisses her hard and makes her groan into his mouth as her nails rake down his spine, clawing red lines into his skin. He's not gentle with how his hands dig into her skin, bruising wherever he grabs, wherever he yanks, and it makes Kougyoku's skin flush hot when he comes, spilling hot and slick and messy against her thigh.
"Wish you'd just—"
"Shut up," is Judal's hoarse, breathless interruption, his fingers slick and sticky with the wetness of her as they swipe between her legs, drag against her clit, make her buck and squirm and squeak, screams muffled into his neck when she shudders and twitches beneath him in a release that just isn't quite enough.
Nothing's enough, really—fitting, because she isn't either.