I don't know why this idea came to me, but I really enjoy it. While I love Mareke and Eomer, I got to thinking about Nevermore (which you should read before you read this one) and what might have happened if Mareke did agree to marry Amrothos of Dol Amroth. So that's what you've got here. I hope you love it!
Mareke found Amrothos in one of the quieter gardens of Minas Tirith, the sun filtering through the trees and casting dappled patterns across the stone paths. He was leaning against a low wall, his gaze fixed on the horizon, but he straightened immediately when he noticed her approach.
"Mareke," he greeted her warmly, though there was a flicker of hesitation in his smile. "To what do I owe this honor?"
She smiled faintly, folding her hands in front of her as she stepped closer. "I wanted to speak with you," she said softly. "About your… proposal."
Amrothos' expression shifted, his usual charm tempered by a quiet seriousness. "I'm listening," he said, his tone gentle.
Mareke hesitated for a moment, searching his face before she spoke. "I like you, Amrothos," she began, her voice steady but laced with honesty. "You bring a lightness to my life that I haven't felt in years, perhaps not ever. And the idea of building something with you… it isn't unpleasant."
He smiled at that, a genuine warmth lighting his features. "That's good to hear," he said lightly, though there was a flicker of uncertainty in his gaze.
"But," Mareke continued, her tone softening, "there are things we would need to consider. Important things."
Amrothos nodded, stepping closer to her. "Such as?"
"For one," Mareke said, glancing away briefly, "you are the third son of Dol Amroth. Where would we live? I am tied to Harad, to my son and my people. I don't know if I could leave them entirely."
Amrothos tilted his head slightly, his expression thoughtful. "I've spent much of my life traveling," he said. "I'm not bound to Dol Amroth the way my brothers are. If we needed to split our time between Harad and Dol Amroth, I would be willing."
Mareke studied him, her chest tightening slightly at the sincerity in his voice. "And then there's my age," she said quietly. "I am thirty-six, Amrothos. I may not be able to give you children."
Amrothos stepped closer, his gaze steady as he reached for her hand. "Do you think that matters to me?" he asked, his voice low but firm. "I've seen you with Adnan. You are already a mother, Mareke—a remarkable one. I don't need more children to see a future with you."
Her throat tightened, her composure wavering as she searched his face. "You say that now," she murmured. "But what about years from now? What if you regret it?"
"I won't," Amrothos said simply, his fingers tightening around hers. "I know what I want, Mareke. And that's you."
Mareke exhaled slowly, her gaze dropping to their joined hands. She felt the weight of his words, the steadiness of his care, and for the first time in years, the possibility of a future that felt lighter, freer.
"I'll need more time," she said finally, her voice barely above a whisper. "To think. To decide."
Amrothos nodded, his smile softening. "Take all the time you need," he said. "I'm not going anywhere."
Mareke smiled faintly, a warmth spreading through her chest as she stepped back. "Thank you, Amrothos."
As she turned and began to walk away, she felt his gaze lingering on her, steady and unwavering. For the first time in a long while, Mareke felt the stirrings of hope—fragile, but real. And though the path ahead was uncertain, she knew one thing for certain: Amrothos was offering her something she hadn't dared to dream of. And that, at least, was worth considering.
ooooOoooo
Mareke found Adnan in their private sitting room. He was reading through a document, his brow furrowed in concentration, but he glanced up when he heard her approach. Setting the parchment aside, he offered her a smile.
"Mother," he said warmly. "What brings you here?"
She hesitated for a moment, her composure steady but her thoughts swirling. Finally, she sat beside him, folding her hands in her lap. "I needed to speak with you about something important," she said softly.
Adnan's expression shifted, his curiosity piqued. "What is it?" he asked, leaning slightly toward her.
Mareke took a deep breath, her gaze drifting to the flowers as she began. "I am considering the proposal from Amrothos."
Adnan's eyes widened slightly, though he said nothing at first. His surprise was evident, but so too was his effort to understand.
"You're considering marrying him?" he asked after a moment, his voice quiet but steady.
"I am," Mareke admitted, her gaze returning to him. "He is kind, Adnan. Sincere. And he… he makes me feel lighter than I ever have."
Adnan studied her for a long moment, his expression unreadable. "And you would leave Harad?" he asked, his tone carrying a faint edge of concern.
"Not entirely," Mareke said quickly, her voice firm. "I couldn't. My life, my responsibilities—they are there with you. But Amrothos and I have spoken of the possibility of splitting our time. Harad and Dol Amroth. It's not ideal, but it could work."
Adnan's brow furrowed as he processed her words, his gaze dropping briefly before meeting hers again. "You've always been there," he said softly. "For me. For our people. The thought of you not being in Harad all the time…" He trailed off, exhaling deeply. "It's difficult to imagine."
Mareke reached out, placing a gentle hand on his. "I know," she said quietly. "But you are a man now, Adnan. A king. You've grown into someone strong, capable, and wise. You no longer need me by your side every moment."
Adnan frowned slightly, his voice tinged with frustration. "That's not true. I will always need you, Mother."
She smiled faintly, her fingers tightening over his. "I will always be here for you," she said. "But you must also understand that I am still a woman, Adnan. And this… this is something I am considering for myself."
Adnan's shoulders sagged slightly, the tension in his posture easing as her words settled over him. He was quiet for a long moment before finally nodding.
"I understand," he said softly. "I want you to be happy, Mother. And if Amrothos can give you that, then… I won't stand in your way."
Mareke felt a wave of relief wash over her, though her chest still ached faintly. "Thank you, Adnan," she said. "That means more to me than you know."
Adnan managed a small smile, though his eyes carried a mixture of emotions. "You've given so much to me, to Harad," he said. "If anyone deserves to find happiness, it's you."
Mareke leaned forward, pressing a kiss to his forehead. "You are a good son, Adnan," she said softly. "And a good king."
As she stood and began to walk away, Adnan called after her. "Mother."
She turned, her gaze questioning.
"If you do marry him," he said, his tone lighter now, "make sure he knows what he's getting into."
Mareke laughed softly, a warmth spreading through her chest. "Oh, I will," she said. "I promise."
And with that, she left the garden, her heart lighter than it had possibly ever been. The path ahead was still uncertain, but for the first time, it felt like a path she could walk with hope.
ooooOoooo
Mareke knew she had to speak with Éomer about her decision. She owed him that at least.
The opportunity came late one evening, when the day's negotiations had concluded and the halls of Minas Tirith were quiet. Mareke found him in one of the smaller council chambers, leaning against a wooden table, a goblet of wine in his hand. His golden hair was disheveled, and his expression was pensive, as though he were lost in thought.
She lingered in the doorway for a moment before stepping inside, her footsteps soft against the stone floor. He looked up at the sound, his blue eyes narrowing slightly in surprise.
"Mareke," he said, his voice low but steady. "What brings you here?"
She hesitated, her composure intact but her heart racing beneath the surface. "I needed to speak with you," she said. "Privately."
Éomer straightened, setting his goblet down as he folded his arms across his chest. "About what?" he asked, though his tone suggested he already had an idea.
Mareke approached him, stopping a few paces away. She held his gaze, her dark eyes steady but carrying a weight that made his chest tighten. "I thought you should hear it from me," she began softly. "Amrothos has asked for my hand. And I have decided to accept."
Éomer's jaw tightened, his blue eyes flashing with a mix of emotions—shock, anger, and something deeper, harder to name. He turned away briefly, his hands clenching at his sides before he faced her again.
"You're going to marry him?" he asked, his voice rough with restrained emotion. "The Dol Amorthian princeling?"
Mareke straightened, her chin lifting slightly. "Yes," she said firmly. "He has been kind to me, Éomer. Genuine. And he offers a future that feels… lighter than what I've known."
Éomer exhaled sharply, raking a hand through his hair. "A future?" he repeated, his tone bitter. "What kind of future, Mareke? You in Dol Amroth, away from Harad? Away from your son?"
"No," she said quickly, her voice sharp. "We've discussed it. I would not leave Harad entirely. We would split our time. I could never abandon Adnan or my people."
"And you think Amrothos understands that?" Éomer asked, his voice laced with skepticism.
Mareke's eyes narrowed, her composure cracking slightly. "He has already accepted it," she said. "He knows who I am, what I carry. And he does not begrudge me for it."
"You should have more," Éomer said. "You are not meant to be the wife of someone so insignificant."
"That is not for you to decide. I have ruled alongside my father and now my son. I am tired of what significance has brought me."
Éomer stepped closer, his blue eyes blazing. "And what of your heart, Mareke?" he demanded. "Does he have that too?"
The question struck her like a blow, and for a moment, she faltered. But then she straightened, her voice calm but unyielding. "My heart is mine to give," she said softly.
Éomer's expression darkened, his chest heaving with the weight of his emotions. He wanted to argue, to say something that would change her mind, but the words wouldn't come. Instead, he looked away, his jaw tight.
"Mareke," he said finally, his voice quieter now. "I never stopped—"
"Don't," she interrupted, her voice trembling slightly. "Don't say it. It's too late for that, Éomer. We've both made our choices."
He turned back to her, his expression filled with a mixture of regret and longing. "And you're certain this is what you want?" he asked, his voice rough.
"I am," she said, her tone steady. "Amrothos offers me something I haven't had before. Peace. Joy. I need that, Éomer."
He nodded slowly, his shoulders sagging as the weight of her words settled over him. "Then I hope he gives you everything you deserve," he said quietly. "Even if it isn't me."
Mareke's chest tightened, but she managed a faint smile. "Thank you," she said softly.
They stood in silence for a moment, the unspoken weight of their shared past hanging heavily between them. Finally, Mareke inclined her head and turned to leave, her steps steady as she walked away.
Éomer watched her go, his heart aching with the finality of it all. She was choosing a path that didn't include him, and though he hated it, he knew he had no right to stand in her way. Mareke deserved happiness, and if she believed she had found it with Amrothos, then Éomer would let her go.
But as the door closed behind her, the ache in his chest remained, a reminder of what might have been and what he would carry with him for the rest of his days.
ooooOoooo
The afternoon sun bathed the palace gardens in warm light as Mareke sought out Amrothos. She found him near the fountains, leaning casually against the stone edge as he watched the water ripple. When he saw her approach, his face lit up with a smile, his usual charm shining through. But there was something softer in his gaze, a quiet hopefulness that made Mareke's heart flutter.
"Mareke," he greeted, stepping toward her. "You've been on my mind all day."
She smiled faintly, clasping her hands in front of her as she stopped before him. "Amrothos," she said softly, her voice steady but tinged with emotion. "I've made my decision."
His expression shifted, his gray eyes searching hers. "And?" he asked, his tone careful but filled with anticipation.
She took a deep breath, her composure wavering for the briefest moment. "I accept," she said simply. "I will marry you."
For a moment, Amrothos stood frozen, as though he couldn't believe what he had heard. Then his face broke into a wide grin, and he reached for her hands, pulling her closer. "You will?" he asked, his voice filled with disbelief and joy.
Mareke laughed softly, a warmth spreading through her chest at the sight of his unguarded excitement. "I will," she confirmed, her voice lighter than it had been in years.
Amrothos let out a soft laugh, his hands tightening around hers. "You've made me the happiest man in all of Gondor," he said, his voice low but filled with emotion. "I promise you, Mareke, I'll do everything I can to make you happy."
Her smile faltered slightly, and she stepped back just enough to meet his gaze fully. "Amrothos," she said softly, her tone shifting. "Before we move forward, I need to be certain that you understand what you're agreeing to."
His brows furrowed slightly, but his grip on her hands didn't loosen. "I do understand," he said. "But tell me anyway."
She nodded, her voice steady but serious. "I am not just a woman, Amrothos. I am the mother of a king. My loyalty to Harad and to Adnan will never waver. I can't leave my homeland entirely, and my responsibilities will always come first."
He nodded, his expression calm. "I know that, Mareke. And I respect it."
"I am also older than you," she continued, her voice softening. "At thirty-six, I may not be able to give you children. If that is something you desire—"
"I desire you," Amrothos interrupted gently, his voice firm. "Children or not, Mareke. I want you, and I want the life we can build together."
Mareke's breath caught at his words, her chest tightening as she searched his face. "You're certain?" she asked, her voice trembling slightly. "This is not a decision to be taken lightly."
Amrothos stepped closer, his hands moving to cup her face, his gaze steady and filled with sincerity. "I am certain," he said quietly. "You are everything I've ever wanted, Mareke. I don't care where we live, or what the future holds. As long as we face it together."
Tears pricked at Mareke's eyes, but she blinked them away, a soft laugh escaping her lips. "You make me feel like a girl again," she admitted, her voice barely above a whisper.
Amrothos smiled, leaning down to press a light kiss to her forehead. "Then I'll make it my mission to keep you feeling that way," he said softly.
Mareke laughed again, her heart lighter than it had been in years. For the first time in a long time, she allowed herself to feel hope, to imagine a future filled with joy and companionship. And as she stood there in Amrothos's arms, she knew she had made the right choice.
ooooOoooo
The grand hall of Minas Tirith was alive with laughter and conversation as the evening meal commenced. Mareke sat beside Amrothos at one of the central tables, the warmth between them palpable as they exchanged quiet words. Adnan was nearby, chatting animatedly with Haleth, while Éomer sat at the head table with Lothíriel, his expression unreadable.
The dinner was nearing its end when Amrothos stood, raising his goblet and commanding the attention of the room. His smile was broad, his confidence shining as he glanced at Mareke beside him.
"Friends, allies, and esteemed guests," Amrothos began, his voice carrying easily over the hum of the crowd. "Tonight, I ask for your indulgence as I make a very personal announcement."
The hall fell silent, all eyes turning to him. Mareke's cheeks flushed faintly, her gaze flicking toward Adnan, who arched an amused eyebrow. Éomer, seated at the head table, stiffened, his blue eyes narrowing as he watched the scene unfold.
"I am honored to share with you all," Amrothos continued, his tone warm and genuine, "that the most remarkable woman I have ever known has agreed to become my wife."
A murmur of surprise rippled through the room as Amrothos turned his gaze to Mareke, his expression softening. "Mareke," he said, his voice quieter now, though it still carried, "you have brought light into my life, and I can only hope to be worthy of the love and strength you give so freely."
The crowd erupted into applause, the sound echoing through the hall. Mareke inclined her head gracefully, though her cheeks were warm with color. She reached for Amrothos's hand, her lips curving into a faint smile as he squeezed it reassuringly.
But Éomer didn't clap. His jaw tightened, his knuckles white where he gripped his goblet. His gaze bore into Amrothos, his chest tight with a storm of emotions—anger, jealousy, and something deeper, more painful. He had expected the announcement, of course, but hearing Amrothos speak so publicly, so boldly, about Mareke, felt like a dagger to his chest.
"And let us all raise our glasses," Amrothos said, his voice lifting once more, "to the future we build with love and hope, no matter the obstacles of the past."
The room cheered again, guests lifting their goblets in a toast. Éomer's remained firmly on the table.
As Amrothos sat down, Mareke leaned toward him, her voice too soft for anyone else to hear. "That was bold," she murmured, though her tone carried a hint of amusement.
Amrothos grinned, his gray eyes twinkling. "I thought it appropriate."
Éomer exhaled sharply, his jaw working as he struggled to rein in the storm within him. His gaze remained fixed on Amrothos, who was laughing quietly with Mareke.
For the rest of the evening, Éomer sat in silence, his mind a whirlwind of regrets and unspoken words. Every glance at Mareke, every smile she shared with Amrothos, felt like a reminder of what he had lost—and what he would never have again.
ooooOoooo
Amrothos found Mareke in the quiet of a balcony overlooking Minas Tirith later that night, the pale moonlight casting a soft glow over the city. She was leaning against the stone railing, her dark curls spilling over her shoulders as the cool evening breeze played with the hem of her gown. She turned as he approached, her expression warm but curious.
Amrothos grinned, stepping closer until he was beside her. "I've been thinking," he admitted. "About us. About the wedding."
Mareke arched an eyebrow, folding her hands lightly on the railing. "Oh?" she prompted.
He turned to face her fully, his gray eyes alight with excitement. "Why wait? Let's get married here, in Minas Tirith, while our families are gathered."
Mareke blinked, her composure faltering for a moment as she processed his words. "Here?" she echoed. "Amrothos, this is a monumental decision. A wedding in Minas Tirith would be—"
"Perfect," he interrupted, his grin widening. "Our families are already here, the city is alive with celebration, and it would save us from the back-and-forth of arranging something elaborate in Harad or Dol Amroth. It makes sense."
Mareke hesitated, her gaze searching his face. "You're serious," she said finally, though her tone carried a note of disbelief.
"Completely," Amrothos said, his voice softening as he reached for her hands. "Mareke, I don't want to wait months, traveling back and forth, juggling politics and logistics. This is about us—our happiness. Let's keep it simple and meaningful."
She looked away, her thoughts swirling. The idea was impulsive, bold even, but there was a certain appeal to it. For years, her life had been governed by duty and caution. Amrothos's suggestion was unlike anything she had considered before—an act of pure, unburdened joy.
"And what of Harad?" she asked quietly, her voice tinged with hesitation. "What of Adnan?"
"Adnan will understand," Amrothos said, his tone confident. "And as for Harad, this is only the beginning of our story, Mareke. We can celebrate with your people in time. But for now, let this be for us."
She exhaled slowly, turning back to him. "You make it sound so simple."
"Because it is," he said with a smile, his hands tightening gently around hers. "We want to get married. That's all that matters."
Mareke's chest tightened, a mixture of emotions swirling within her. She thought of Adnan, of Éomer, of the weight of the past she had carried for so long. But as she looked into Amrothos's earnest, hopeful eyes, she felt something she hadn't ever: freedom.
"Minas Tirith," she said softly, a faint smile tugging at her lips. "A wedding here would certainly be memorable."
Amrothos's grin widened, his excitement barely contained. "Is that a yes?"
Mareke laughed softly, the sound light and unguarded. "It's a yes," she said, her voice filled with quiet certainty.
He pulled her into an embrace, his joy palpable as he kissed her forehead. "You won't regret this," he murmured.
As Mareke leaned into him, the weight of her past felt a little lighter. For the first time, she allowed herself to imagine a future unbound by the constraints of duty and filled instead with the promise of something new.
Amrothos pulled back slightly, his arms still wrapped around Mareke as he studied her face, his gray eyes searching hers with an intensity she hadn't expected. The excitement that had lit his features moments ago was replaced with something deeper, more vulnerable, and yet unmistakably eager. He reached up, brushing a stray curl from her cheek, his fingers lingering against her skin.
"Mareke," he said softly, his voice rougher now, filled with emotion. "I've wanted to do this for a decade."
Her breath hitched, her heart racing as his hand slid to the back of her neck, drawing her closer. There was a moment of hesitation, a flicker of uncertainty in his gaze, as though he was giving her the chance to pull away. But Mareke didn't. Instead, she tilted her head slightly, her eyes fluttering closed as he leaned in.
When his lips met hers, it was gentle at first, a question more than a demand. But as she responded, her hands resting lightly on his chest, his kiss deepened, growing more certain, more fervent. Mareke felt a shiver run through her as his arms tightened around her, pulling her flush against him.
Amrothos broke the kiss only to press his forehead against hers, his breath coming quickly as he held her close. "You undo me," he murmured, his voice thick with longing. "You always have."
Mareke smiled faintly, her fingers curling into the fabric of his tunic as she steadied herself. "And you, Amrothos," she said softly, her voice trembling slightly, "you make me feel… alive."
Her words seemed to undo him further, and he kissed her again, this time with an eagerness that left no doubt about the depth of his feelings. His hands moved to her waist, his touch firm but reverent, as though he couldn't believe she was real. Mareke felt herself surrendering to the moment, her own composure slipping as she allowed herself to feel the weight of his passion, his sincerity.
When they finally broke apart, Mareke's cheeks were flushed, her lips tingling from the intensity of his kiss. Amrothos cupped her face in his hands, his gaze filled with a mixture of wonder and desire.
"You are everything I've ever wanted," he said, his voice barely above a whisper. "And I'll spend the rest of my life proving that to you."
Mareke's chest tightened at his words, a mixture of joy and uncertainty swirling within her. But as she looked into his eyes, saw the sincerity and longing there, she felt something shift. For the first time in years, she allowed herself to believe in the possibility of love, of happiness, of a future unbound by fear or regret.
"I believe you," she said softly, her voice steady despite the storm of emotions within her. "And I'm ready, Amrothos. For whatever comes next."
His smile was radiant, and he kissed her once more, his touch filled with both passion and tenderness. And for the first time, Mareke allowed herself to believe that she could have a future filled with light, with love, and with the man who now held her so tightly.
ooooOoooo
The wedding was an intimate affair, held in one of Minas Tirith's sunlit courtyards. The white stone shimmered in the late afternoon light, garlands of crimson and gold draped along the walls in homage to both Dol Amroth and Harad. A soft breeze carried the scent of blooming flowers through the air, mingling with the low hum of murmured conversations among the gathered guests.
Mareke stood at the edge of the courtyard, her gown a deep red silk embroidered with golden patterns reminiscent of Harad's desert flowers. Her dark curls were adorned with delicate gold chains that framed her face, and her eyes shone with a mixture of serenity and quiet joy. She looked every bit the mother of a king, though this moment was for her alone, not her kingdom.
Across the way, Amrothos stood near his brothers and father, his gray eyes locked on Mareke. He wore the blue and silver of Dol Amroth. He looked more regal than usual, his easy charm softened by the weight of the moment. When their eyes met, he smiled—a genuine, radiant smile that seemed to set the entire courtyard alight.
Among the guests, Éomer sat with Lothíriel at his side, her hand resting lightly on her belly as she leaned toward him to say something. Éomer nodded absently, his gaze fixed on Mareke. He couldn't look away, not even when Lothíriel's soft sigh betrayed her awareness of his distraction.
As the ceremony began, the guests fell silent. Adnan stood proudly at his mother's side, his dark features mirroring her quiet strength. He handed Mareke's hand to Amrothos with a firm nod, his approval of the union clear. Mareke's heart swelled as she saw the confidence in her son's stance—he had grown into a man she could be proud of, and his support meant everything to her.
The vows were simple but heartfelt, spoken with sincerity that brought smiles and a few quiet tears from those gathered. Amrothos spoke of Mareke's strength and grace, of the light she had brought into his life, while Mareke promised him a partnership built on trust and respect. When the officiant declared them husband and wife, Amrothos leaned in to kiss her, his touch both tender and filled with promise.
The courtyard erupted into applause, and Mareke felt a wave of warmth as she looked out at the smiling faces of her friends and family. Her gaze lingered briefly on Éomer, who clapped along with the rest but wore an expression she couldn't quite read.
As the celebration moved into the evening, music filled the courtyard, and the guests took to the dance floor. Amrothos rarely left Mareke's side, his arm around her waist as he led her into their first dance as husband and wife. They moved gracefully, their smiles never fading, and for a moment, Mareke allowed herself to feel the weight of her happiness, untainted by regret.
Éomer watched from the sidelines, his goblet untouched as he observed the scene. Lothíriel, ever perceptive, placed a hand on his arm, drawing his attention.
"She looks happy," she said softly, her gaze steady.
"She does," Éomer replied, his voice rough.
Lothíriel smiled faintly, her hand resting on her belly. "You could be too, Éomer. If you let yourself."
He didn't respond, his gaze returning to Mareke as she laughed at something Amrothos said. The sound was light, unburdened, and it twisted something deep in his chest.
ooooOoooo
The newlyweds retreated to Amrothos' chambers after the celebration, the echoes of music and laughter fading behind them as the heavy door closed. The room was warm, lit by the flicker of a dozen candles casting soft golden light over the stone walls and richly adorned furnishings. Mareke stood near the center of the room, her fingers brushing over the embroidered edge of her red gown, her nerves suddenly sharper than they had been all day.
Amrothos watched her from the doorway, his gray eyes soft but unwavering as he stepped closer. "You look beautiful," he said softly, his voice carrying none of the playful charm he so often wielded. Instead, there was reverence in his tone, a quiet awe that made Mareke's chest tighten.
She smiled faintly, though her hands fidgeted with the delicate clasps of her jewelry. "Amrothos," she began, her voice steady but hesitant. "Before we… before this goes any further, there are things you should understand."
His brows furrowed slightly, but he came to her side, his hands resting lightly on her arms. "What is it?" he asked gently.
Mareke took a breath, steadying herself. "I'm not the maidens you're used to," she said quietly, her dark eyes meeting his. "I've borne a child. It's left its marks on my body. And I'm nearly."
Amrothos blinked, her words sinking in, but he didn't move away. Instead, he tilted his head, his expression softening further. "Mareke," he said, his voice low and steady, "I know who you are. I've always known. And I don't care about marks or years."
She searched his face, her chest tightening. "You say that now," she murmured. "But in time, you may—"
"No," he interrupted gently, his hands moving to cup her face. "I've spent enough time in meaningless pursuits to know the difference between fleeting infatuation and what we have. You are not a girl, Mareke. You are a woman. Strong, wise, and more beautiful than anyone I've ever known."
Mareke's breath hitched at his words, her composure faltering as he pressed a soft kiss to her forehead. "And as for your marks," he added, his lips brushing against her skin, "they tell the story of the life you've lived, of the strength it took to raise a king. I would never wish them away."
Her eyes shimmered with unshed tears, and she closed them briefly, leaning into his touch. "You make me feel like a girl again," she admitted, her voice trembling slightly.
He smiled against her temple, his hands sliding down to her waist as he pulled her closer. "Then let me keep doing that," he murmured. "For the rest of our lives."
Mareke laughed softly, a sound filled with both relief and joy. She reached up to touch his cheek, her thumb brushing lightly over his jawline. "You're a good man, Amrothos," she said, her voice filled with quiet affection. "Better than I deserve."
"You deserve everything," he replied, his tone firm but tender.
When he kissed her, it was slow and deliberate, his hands tracing the curve of her waist as though committing every part of her to memory. Mareke felt herself relax into him, the weight of her fears lifting as she allowed herself to trust in his words, in his touch. For the first time in years, she felt truly seen—not as a ruler or a mother, but as a woman deserving of pleasure.
As the night deepened, Mareke let herself surrender to the moment, to the warmth of Amrothos's embrace and the promise of a new beginning. And for the first time, she allowed herself to believe that this was where she was meant to be.
As Mareke's fingers worked the clasps of Amrothos' tunic, her composure began to falter, replaced by a sense of disbelief she couldn't quite hide. The fabric slid from his shoulders, revealing the lean, chiseled frame beneath, his sun-kissed skin marked with the telltale ink of a Swan Knight's crest over his heart. She paused, her dark eyes widening slightly as she took him in.
"This can't be real," she murmured, her voice tinged with laughter and incredulity. "I must be dreaming."
Amrothos arched an amused brow, his lips curving into a crooked grin. "Dreaming, are you?" he asked, his tone light but laced with affection. "Should I be insulted or flattered?"
Mareke shook her head, her laughter spilling free as she reached out to trace the edges of the tattoo on his chest with a light touch. "Flattered," she said, her voice filled with teasing warmth. "You're so… young. And sculpted. Like something from a legend. I'm going to take this impossibly handsome man to bed, and surely I'll wake up any moment now."
Amrothos chuckled, his gray eyes gleaming as he caught her hand, pressing a kiss to her palm. "I assure you, Mareke," he said softly, his voice lowering, "I am very real. And very much yours."
She flushed at his words, her laughter fading into something quieter, more vulnerable. "I've lived through so much, Amrothos," she admitted, her voice trembling slightly. "I never thought I'd have this —this moment, this feeling."
He stepped closer, his hands sliding gently to her waist, his touch both steady and reverent. "You deserve this, Mareke," he said firmly. "Every laugh, every joy, every moment of feeling cherished. Let me give that to you."
Her throat tightened, her gaze locking with his as she felt the sincerity of his words settle deep within her. With a soft sigh, she leaned into him, her hands sliding up his chest as she tilted her head. "Then prove it, Swan Knight," she said, her voice laced with both challenge and affection. "Make me believe this isn't a dream."
Amrothos grinned, his hands tightening on her waist as he leaned in to capture her lips in a kiss that was both tender and passionate. His touch was sure, his movements filled with the quiet confidence of a man who knew exactly what he wanted—and what he wanted was her.
As Mareke surrendered to the moment, she felt her laughter return, not from disbelief but from a sheer sense of joy she hadn't felt in years. Taking this young, impossibly chiseled man to bed wasn't just a dream—it was her reality. And for the first time, she allowed herself to embrace it fully.
His hands easily undid the laces of her gown, slipping it from her shoulders so it pooled at her feet. He then pulled her slip over her head and sighed as he took her in.
Without a word, Amrothos scooped her into his arms and took her to the bed. He was upon her immediately, kissing from her jaw to her collarbone.
Mareke gasped at his fervor. Her arms looped around his shoulders and pulled him close.
He slipped from his breeches, settling between her legs. He looked at her, a question in his gray eyes.
Mareke nodded. "Please."
"As you wish," Amrothos said softly. He pulled one of her dark legs around his hip and sank into her with a groan.
Mareke's back arched into him. "Amrothos," she murmured, her mouth on his chest.
He kissed her neck and tangled his fingers in her wild curls.
She panted under his ministrations. "Yes."
The tension built between them until they were both at the edge. Mareke cried out in her release.
Amrothos moaned her name before stuttering to a stop and collapsing next to her.
He looked at her with his easy grin, sweat shimmering on his brow. "I think we shall be quite happy."
Mareke couldn't help the laugh that bubbled from her lips.
I hope you enjoyed this first chapter! I loved writing it and I'm looking forward to seeing where this goes. Don't forget to make sure your email opt in settings are up to date!
Happy reading,
Avonmora