❝ I can't save us ❞
in which the Foxling and the Codfather exchange
trades, looks, and blue orchids in a world of war,
death, and political alliances.
❝ my Atlantis ❞
( male!oc x solidarity )
( empires smp...
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FORGOTTEN ORCHIDS | CHAPTER THREE
THE PAPERWORK WAS SENT TO the Cod Empire just as the sun reached noon, Atticus sending the post the moment he had sealed it with the official Vulpesterra stamp. It was important to him that the agreement between the Cod Empire and Vulpesterra was set in stone, even if he was sure that waking up before dawn to draft paperwork wasn't his brightest idea. Especially when there was a meeting with his council looming ever closer as the sun peaked over the mountains.
Atticus was only able to get the final draft done while under the stares of the older men and women that guided him, though they pretended to converse among themselves to avoid distracting Atticus from his work. It was helpful, in a way, as the white noise gave him the push he needed to finally sign his name and put the paper into an envelope.
"Take this to the Codfather," he told the errand boy that had been summoned to the chambers ten minutes before. He pressed the envelope into the boy's hands. "Take care of it and be safe during your journey." The boy—a teenager, really, just shy of eighteen—nodded and took his leave, the closing of the door behind him setting the agreement between Vulpesterra and the Cod Empire into stone.
Flowers for a shulker of wood every month. His mother would kill him.
"The kingdom is prospering nicely, Foxling," Lady Angelica spoke, turning his attention onto her. "We're all very proud of you for your hard work."
Atticus tried to fight back that warm feeling in his chest that came with an adult—a real one, one who understood the world more than he did—recognizing the work he'd put into his kingdom. He smiled, giving her a nod. "Thank you. How are your own lives faring in Vulpesterra?" he asked, looking around the table.
"I think we're all in agreement when we say that our lives are very well," Lord Arthur said, the others nodding in agreement at his statement. "I do have a question for you, Foxling, if I may have the time?" Atticus nodded, leaning forward to hear him better—Lord Arthur was always a quiet man, even before he joined the council. It was rare to hear him speak more than a sentence at the meetings. "When do you think you will be ready to be married?"
Atticus frowned, biting back the pinch of annoyance that came with the question. He respected his council—trusted their opinions. They'd led his mother when she was still alive, and they had never led him astray before. "Do you believe I need to be married soon?" he asked, looking at the other councilmen, so Lord Arthur didn't feel targeted by his question.
There were a few moments of silence, the councilmen thinking over his question. Atticus tapped his fingers against the table, trying not to let his nerves get to him. He was only twenty-four, for Prime's sake—not exactly on the Death Goddess' doorstep! Everyone was always poking at those parts of Atticus' life—marriage, kids. He was practically still a kid himself. Just because he was a king at sixteen doesn't mean he was ready to be an adult.
