Lucy had been trapped before she'd met him… he set her free. The man who would enslave the world had chosen to save her, and who couldn't love him for that? She stood at his side and watched the world fall to its knees, watched towns burn and cities crumble to dust. She walked beside him through the ash and the smoke, her hand in his, and then they laughed and danced until they were dizzy from it.

That first night, after the Decimation, she'd looked out of the window at her father's skewered head on the gate and she'd smiled.

"Queen of the New World… Have I achieved something yet, daddy?"

He gave no response but a lopsided grin.

The New World was their kingdom now, and what a kingdom it was… Those who had survived the first week presented their own wrists to be shackled, resistance was minimal, and those foolish enough to fight were soon captured and nailed to the tallest buildings. She watched anyone who had ever done her wrong run through the streets screaming as the fire burned them alive. Such blood flowed that she wondered how the rats didn't drown in it.

On their anniversary he blew up a dozen island nations in alphabetical order to the sounds of her favourite song. The fires on the monitor lit the darkened room like candlelight as they toasted their success and then made love on the floor, their discarded wine staining the thick, cream carpet.

She sat on his knee like a doll as he admitted representatives into the throne room one by one and heard them drone on about their problems: they had no food, the water plants were all contaminated, and people were killing each other in the streets… it seemed endless.

He played with her hair as he listened to their complaints, a decidedly apathetic expression on his face.

"People are dying, that's what people do," he shrugged, "It seems an easy way to sort the strong from the weak, don't you agree?"

The man before him stuttered before falling silent and deciding it best not to give reply.

Lucy pressed a soft kiss to her husband's cheek. "You're so clever, darling."

He nuzzled his nose against hers and returned the kiss with one equally soft.

That night he caught her crying. He held her tightly and convinced her she was being silly, and he was so gentle that she barely even felt the bruise the next morning

For her birthday he took her to a beautiful palace in the north, once home to a foreign princess.

"This is for you," he told her, gesturing to the space around him.

"You can't mean the entire palace?"

"No. I mean the entire country."

He laughed at her shocked expression and then pulled her close and she showed him how grateful she was.

She lay beside him in bed that night and watched him sleeping. When he slept he was just a man, just her man, and she wondered how life would have been if...

She remembered the first time he'd held her, the two of them huddled close together on the chaise longue as her brothers discussed new plans for the family business with her father. They barely acknowledged her presence after the initial greeting, but then those sorts of affairs were always like that; at least Harry was with her that night. She'd felt his arm around her waist, surprisingly strong, protective and comforting, and she'd known then that she wanted to spend the rest of her life with him.

Everyone had said that they were moving too fast, that six months with someone wasn't long enough before deciding to get married. She had at least suggested that they wait another six months, but he loved her so much and insisted they wed right away.