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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𝖑𝖛𝖎𝖎𝖎. Can't Live Like This
Valencia
THE THRONE ROOM feels empty without the Reds, colder somehow.
Annabel is stupid if she thinks they can coronate Matt tomorrow, and Valencia knows it. No king of Norta can be crowned anywhere but the capital, and it will take a few days at least to stabilize Harbor Bay before anyone can leave for Archeon. There's also the High Houses who are loyal to Chris. They'll need to kneel, pledge themselves to Matt, and be present at any coronation, if the country is to pull itself back together. Valencia says none of this, of course. She's decided to let them figure it out for themselves. An unstable King Matthew will hardly have time for marriage.
Unfortunately, he has Cedric Anderson, and the singer lord is more adept at politics than he has ever let on. He overrides Annabel and suggests they wait a week before the coronation. Matt is happy to take his advice in this (and other matters, too).
Even now, Matt slumps on his throne, looking drained by the battle and the aftermath. Mostly the aftermath. He keeps stealing glances at the door, willing Maeve to return. But it's been almost an hour. She and her companions are probably long gone by now, fleeing to the distant mountains of Montfort. Her family is there, waiting. She'll be happy to go back to them. Valencia wishes she could do the same, and escape back to the Rift.
Or to Montfort, a voice whispers. Figures flash in Valencia's head, the premier and his husband presiding over their dinner. Hands clasped, relaxed and self-assured. Allowed to be who they are. Valencia touches a finger to her temple, trying to massage away the low, dull ache in her skull. Everything seems impossible right now.
Elle isn't in the throne room, but she's close by. She suffered the journey with Valencia's parents, arriving this afternoon. The magnetron princess is itching to be free of this council, if only to steal a few hours with her. Valencia doesn't know how many they have left.
"I'll send out the word," Cedric says, hands folded as he stands at Matt's side. Without the Reds, the raised dais of the throne room is hilariously lopsided. "The lords and ladies of the High Houses will be summoned to the capital in a week's time, and you'll be waiting, happy to receive them. Afterward, we can crown you as king." He sounds less than thrilled.
Matt barely nods. Valencia's sure he wants to be done with all this. He doesn't seem to notice Annabel and her sharp eyes, now fixed on Cedric. Both hope to win the ear of a king, seeking to be highest in his favor, like children vying for a parent's attention. Valencia's bet is on Annabel. She has the stomach for court. And the spine to eliminate anyone who might threaten her grasp on her grandson.
