war has begun, and if they're not careful, a fatality will tear them down.
NO SMUT OR SEXUALIZING ━ if any of the triplets are uncomfortable with this fanfiction, it will be taken down immediately.
matt sturniolo x fem! oc x chris sturniolo (LOVE T...
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𝖝𝖑𝖎𝖎. You Have Your Army
Maeve
MAEVE BARELY SLEPT, despite her exhaustion. It took them almost until dawn to get back to Ascendant, the healers working on them along the way. When they arrived, they only had a few hours until Dawson's planned address to his assembled government. Maeve tried to sleep, but by the time the adrenaline from the raider battle wore off and she stopped thinking about her blood covering every inch of both hers and Matt's skin, she was racked with nerves for the coming meeting. She spent what was left of the night staring at the edges of her curtains, watching the blue light of predawn grow. Now she can barely sit still as she waits on the lower terrace, fussing with the edges of her dress. It's a harsh gown, a deep, spangled purple belted in gold at the waist, with ballooning sleeves gathered at the wrists. The collar plunges, showing the edge of Chris' brand, and she's braided her hair back away from her face. She proudly displays the scars branching down her neck. Her idea, not Emira's. She wants to show the Montfort politicians how much she's already sacrificed. And she wants to look like as much of the lightning girl as she can, even if that person isn't real. She can draw strength from her, as she draws strength from Maeva, too. They may be false versions of herself, but they're also pieces of someone real, however small.
Nick came down with her, considering he's required to go to this meeting as well. He went for something simple; like usual. He wears a completely black suit. It looks good with his skin.
Queen Annabel is not one to be late, especially for something as important as this. She descends from the palace entrance, her grandson and their guards close at hand. Cedric hangs back a bit, arms folded into his long, golden robes. He meets Maeve's eye and nods in greeting. She returns the gesture. She might not agree with his choosing to back his nephew, but she understands the choice. She understands supporting family over everything else.
Nick, next to Maeve, would be able to understand, had his family ever backed him before. But they haven't, so he settles for staring at the ground as they approach. No greetings from him.
In her Roloson colors, red and flaming orange, Annabel seems more like a Sentinel guarding her king than his grandmother. She's just as deadly. She doesn't wear a gown, but a brocaded coat with a matching tunic and black leggings beneath, their hems set with glinting bronze like pieces of armor. Annabel Roloson is ready for the kind of battle not fought on the field. Her smile at Maeve, from across the terrace, doesn't meet her eyes.
"Your Majesty," Maeve offers, greeting the women with a small dip of her head. "Matthew," she adds, her eyes flickering to him.
He smirks to himself, darkly amused by her refusal to call him anything else. Not his nickname. Not even his title.
"Good morning," he replies. He looks as attractive as ever. Perhaps more so. The raider battle hangs on him, and Maeve can almost smell the ash he spent the night scrubbing away.
