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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𝖑𝖎𝖎𝖎. The Losing Side
Reva
WHEN CHRIS RETURNS to his own ship, Reva fears he might force her to go with him and deny her a few more hours with her mother. However, to her surprise, his petty rage and his political cunning do not extend so far. Reva is left on her mother's flagship once more, given over to her own devices. With room to talk, and time to plan. Either Chris doesn't see his wife and her mother as a threat, or he doesn't care to fear them. Reva would venture the latter. He has more immediate enemies right now, and can spare little thought for herself.
TheSwan is a warship, built for battle and speed. What pass for staterooms are spare and rigid, barely suited to Red servants. Still, Reva's mother looks at home in them, equally at ease upon a bolted-down, narrow bed as on a jeweled throne. She isn't a vain woman and carries none of the flawed, materialistic pride most Silvers have. That was Reva's father's domain. He preferred his finery, even on the battlefield. The thought sends a sharp stab of pain through Reva as she remembers the last time she saw him alive. He was dashing in his armor, turquoise steel studded with sapphires, grey hair pulled back from his face. She supposes Atticus Lovelace found some flaw, and exploited it well.
Reva paces to settle herself, moving back and forth before her mother, stopping occasionally to glare out the small porthole window. The sea outside has turned blood-red. A bad omen. She feels a familiar itch and makes a mental note to pray later on, in the Swan's small shrine. It might bring her a bit of peace.
"Be still. Conserve your strength," Marella says in their native tongue ━ French. She sits with her legs drawn up under herself, and her long-sleeved coat is tossed aside, making her seem smaller than usual. It has little effect on her bearing, and Reva feels the weight of her mother's eyes as she walks.
But Reva is a queen, too, and hesitates to follow Marella's commands, if only to be contrarian. But her mother is right. The twenty-year-old eventually concedes and takes a seat on the bench on the opposite the wall, an uncomfortable thing with thin padding and rivets fixed to the metal floor. Her fingers curl around the edge of it, gripping tight.
"In your communications, you said there was something you couldn't tell me," Marella says. "Not until we were face-to-face."
Steeling herself, Reva meets her mother's eyes. "Yes."
"Well. Here we are."
Reva's expression doesn't change, but she feels her heartbeat quicken with nerves. She has to get up again and cross to the window, look out on the crimson waters. Even though her mother's room is the safest place for her, it still feels dangerous to repeat what she knows. Anyone could be listening, waiting to report back to Chris.
