Before I launch into the story, I thought it might be nice to define the title. Saudade is a Portuguese word that embodies the feeling of sorrowful nostalgia for something that hasn't happened or will never happen again, according to a professor of mine. I thought it was really fitting for this pairing, so without further ado, I present the following:
Regret. It was the sentiment that haunted him in her stead, that stole into his heart during the hours of night in which he was most vulnerable. He had never imagined that he would be tormented this way, that something other than the injustices exacted by that cruel empress would ever vex him so. But here he was, pensive, scowling at the door before him as he thought of the last time he strode into this room to confront his Princess. Back then, the White Prince had been an arrogant child—eighteen and brash and flippant, thinking he had all of the time in the world to slake his desires. Now, he was twenty five and imbued with all of the slow burning cunning he had not possessed all those years ago, all that simmering passion that burned in his fingertips as his mind ventured to the memories of the woman on the other side of the door.
He braced his forehead against the door, closing his eyes and listening for any movement on the other side. All was silent; it seemed the woman was not awake. A relieved sigh escaped his throat, and his hands dropped to the crystal knobs decorating his bedchamber doors. Seven years of this—of dreaming of this moment, of wondering how she would react to seeing him again, of planning every little quirk of his brow and inflection of his voice. She would be furious—oh, he could envision those cerulean eyes burning with all of that righteous indignation and reawakened hatred. Those soft lips of hers would sneer at him, hiss the most venomous words, and the White Prince knew that no matter which mask he chose to don, he would not be able to resist taunting her with his victory.
Twisting the knobs, Demando entered the room with little thought. The twin doors creaked and moaned to herald his entry, but he quickly silenced them and turned the lock. If his cruelty was inevitable, then it did not matter. No more waiting. No more interruptions. No more watching his love from afar.
The room was dark save for a lone candle that burned from its place on the nightstand. As he took quiet steps towards the bed in the center of the room, the already ailing flame seemed to cower before him, stealing away much of the remaining light. But the White Prince was a creature of the night, so it did not bother him when fear finally snuffed the little fire out of existence for good; his eyes effortlessly adjusted to the penumbral pall that descended upon the chamber.
Ice scorched his veins as he eyed his prize. In his chest, his heart began to rage, pumping thick, hot blood through his vessels. It only heightened the sting of its predecessor as flame and frost mingled within him and left his body num and tingling. His prisoner's lithe body was draped on a bed of black silk sheets and smothered by the glimmering, furry hide of a beast from another world. Dozens of feathery pillows cradled her head, loose golden locks all but spilling off the sides of the bed. All of the unbridled joy that usually glowed on her visage had been tempered by a somber droop of her features, as if even in her slumber she knew that Demando watched her.
Those wicked heartbeats of his slowed to thick, ominous pounds as he braced a knee on the bed. Beneath his weight, the mattress caved as he eased his body onto the it. Seconds later, a strangled noise passed through her lips, practically freezing him in his place.
Her eyes did not open as she rolled onto her side and reached for the warmth radiating beside her. A gentle smile spread on her lips. "It's cold. Hold me."
Quickly, his frightened spell wore off, allowing Demando the freedom to draw the young woman into his arms. Imprisoned in his embrace, she tucked her head in the crook of his neck, the warmth of her pleased sigh washing over his skin and stirring the lust that existed only for her. Suddenly, he was that arrogant eighteen year old again, with the haughty eyes and a sinful purr, who reveled in her lapse of recognition. His lips pressed a kiss to the crown of her head. "As my princess commands."
It took only moments before her body stiffened in his grasp. So it begins.
Her hands were the first to wake, clutching his arms with diminished strength, manicured nails biting into the fabric of his sleeve. Next, her legs stirred, scrambling to unwind her body from his embrace when her arms failed to pry his own away. Finally, her eyes—those smoldering cerulean orbs that had haunted him for all this time—found his in the darkness, balked at the sight of him.
"Prince Demando." Was her strangled gasp as she continued to fight his hold.
His arms remained firm, unyielding, full of some timeless strength that vowed to never let her go. As her movements grew increasingly frantic and futile, that wolfish grin of his only spread. "It's been a long time, Usagi."
No. Her eyes closed, dark lashes fluttering wildly as she squeezed them tightly shut. Those small hands of hers balled into fists and dropped to her sides, trembling with mounting tension. Against her breast, her heartbeats were erratic tremors, forcing her breath from her lungs one shallow pant at a time. This was a nightmare, a night she had relived countless times over the years, but one that could not hurt her if she woke. But hope—the only thing that refused to bow to her terror—all but died when she opened her eyes and saw her captor beaming down at her. Eyes heavy with disappointment, she craned her neck to survey the room.
Impeccable. The setting beckoned that fourteen year old girl within, the one who woke all those years ago with the throbbing headache and leaden limbs; the one whose gaze flitted down to her body and saw an opulent dress hugging her form where her fuku should have been; the one who knew that someone's eyes had seen the most intimate parts of her.
The infinite, desolate darkness wrapped itself around her, gave her an affectionate squeeze, as she gaped at her body. Held by a pair of thin, satin straps around her shoulders, a black chemise draped her shivering body. Hundreds of diamonds glimmered like stars on the ebony garment, winking at her coyly with every ragged rise and fall of her chest. Her shoulders drooped, a frightened chill radiating from her core and draining all of the warmth from her flesh. She rubbed her bare arms, eyes slowly finding their way back to the White Prince's malevolent violet orbs.
"How?" Her trembling voice was hardly above a whisper.
Delighted—ah yes, this was the pregnant question Demando had eagerly anticipated. His slim fingers grazed the underside of her chin and tilted her head back, baring her milky throat that quivered with a suppressed sob. "It's simple. I came back for you, and this time I was too powerful to be stopped."
She shuddered as his hand wandered down, stroking the side of her throat with his knuckles. It wasn't possible; her enemies couldn't just come back after they had been defeated. And yet, here the unbidden Prince was in all of his wintry malice, a snowstorm that had somehow emerged in the sweltering heat of summer.
"Didn't I vow that I would make you mine, no matter the cost?" He grinned, a single finger hooking the strap of her chemise. Demando nodded appreciatively at how the fabric accentuated every supple curve of her nubile form. His other hand drifted down to her thigh and seized the lacy hem of the chemise before he brought his lips to her ear and chuckled: "Imagine how many galaxies I had to tear apart to make this dress. After all of that, do you think one little planet would be much harder?"
"You," the word trickled past her teeth no louder than a whisper, but as his gaze began to slide down her body, rage forged her resolve. That fourteen year old girl—that child who was powerless to stop him from violating her—retreated behind the woman who was mere years away from becoming a queen. All of the fear and anger simmering in her breast began to cool, hardening until it was as sharp and biting as cold steel. With venom dripping from her rosy lips, she hissed: "You will not get away with this."
She imagined that she was curling her hand around the hilt of a sword as she seized his wrist and tore his palm away from where it had begun to gently stroke her thigh. I am not a creature to be trifled with, Usagi screamed with her gaze, pinning Demando's arm against the headboard just above his ivory mane. He raised an eyebrow, an amused glimmer twinkling in his eyes, as she glowered at him. "And you will not touch me."
"So cold for a woman who claims to be the patron of love." He mocked, that vulpine smile of his growing. Her grip on his wrist tightened, and he almost laughed at her paltry strength. If it had been Rubeus, his arm may have been on the brink of shattering in his grasp; but it was this petite woman, the one who had spent the last week unconscious beneath the Jakokuzuishou's suffocating power. Still, he humored her when she rose to her knees, bracing his head against the headboard so that he was staring up into her venomous eyes.
It drove her wild, the fact that he was playing with her and was so damn flippant about the situation at hand. She stopped trying to stoke the flickers of memory that caught fire in the black abyss of her mind, well aware that some tragedy lie in the near past. The Earth she knew was gone—she could feel that desolate despair aching in her bones. And he, this ivory demon beneath her, had the gall to mock her with those lustful eyes as he reveled in his victory. One after another, curses bubbled from the wicked brew of hatred and indignation swirling in her chest, but each seemed to be but a pale manifestation of how she truly felt. So she said nothing, scowling at that handsome and malevolent man, wishing that the daggers she glared were real and pressed against his throat. In her enraged stupor, her grip slackened, and she missed the wanton droop of his eyelids.
The White Prince struck fast. With his free arm, he hooked her waist, reeling her onto his lap. She gasped and lurched forward, relinquishing hold of his wrist in the process. His hands were immediately on her again, splayed on her hips as her lean legs straddled his waist.
"Of all the things in the universe that I have vanquished, I will take the most delight in conquering you." He purred. Passion reigned in his half-lidded eyes. Inevitable—his mind returned to that word when the wrath in her eyes reignited. It always came to this. The disappointment sinking into his heart was swiftly washed away by an amorous tide the moment he became conscious of the warmth radiating against his most intimate parts. His wanton heart raged, and the Black Moon sigil on his forehead twisted into that wicked eye. Without remorse, he commanded: "Kiss me."
That sensual purr echoed in the hollows of her body, ached in her tense muscles. The inky crescent unveiled that horrid gold eye, and she averted her gaze, squeezing her eyes shut. But it was too late. The conflagration reigning in her chest began to freeze beneath the power of his cool voice until Usagi was left cowering behind the wall of glass that had once been her impenetrable resolve. Persuasion swelled and strained against it, probing for any cracks that may have existed; gleefully, it found that tender part of her that had never come to terms with the fact that this man had once died protecting her, however malevolent his ultimate intentions were. The crack began to dart out frantically in all directions under the pressure of his magic, and her hands—those tiny hands that tried to hold her will together—could not be everywhere at once. The glass barrier shattered, and in surged the red tide in its wake. It swept her up, swirled around her, choked her mind with thoughts that made the most sinful parts of her blush.
So this is lust, she thought as her arms curled around his neck. Her hands betrayed her, fingers twirling around his ivory locks as she crushed her lips to his own. All that resentment, the flickers of friends loved and lost, melted as her body burned with tempestuous passion. Ardor scorched her flesh in anger's stead, warming her palms as she began to explore his taut body. She tore her lips away from his own and seared kisses into his strong jaw, wondering what parts of this wicked man she could set aflame. Around them, his breaths echoed as ragged pants, full of all the lust he had spent years struggling to bay.
It was everything he had ever wanted. His dreams could never have conjured something as titillating and awe-inspiring as this beautiful creature writhing against him. How he had waited for so long, starved of the affection of the one woman he desired above all else. The White Prince groaned as he felt her lips pulse against the nape of his neck, her fingers all but clawing his jacket off his torso.
He knew that she was so far gone, smothered by his nefarious powers and her own pleasure. But it did not stop the taunts from tumbling off his tongue as he brought his lips to her ear. "Tonight it's just the two of us, all alone in this palace. No one is coming for you. No one is ever going to take you away from me again."
So long, his arms seized her in a feverish embrace. He crashed his lips to her own, burning in that sinful pleasure. So, so long.
As usual, this was an absolute joy to write. I've already begun drafting part two, so be on the lookout for that in the coming future! I am eternally thankful for anyone who takes the time to read my work, and I love to read everyone's feedback. On your way out, I'd adore it if you left a comment or two sharing your thoughts on this piece. Happy New Year!