The Arrangement {Timothée Chalamet x Reader}

left in the dark

The queen walks down the hall. Examining the soldiers getting fitted for their outfits was oddly tiring, probably because of the amount of people talking at her at all times from all angles. She covered her mouth with her hand as she yawned. The queen did not feel happy. And when she did—which was rare—there was a dark cloud of anxiety and worry that hung over her mood. The queen was not prepared. The queen was afraid.

You stand on your balcony, watching the stars come out. The sky was an extraordinary dark purple, it oddly reminded of your friends back from the South. You wondered why maybe you just missed them.

It was boring out here in the dark, actually, it was boring everywhere. You needed something to take your mind off of the war that would arise in a week. Once the war was over you would get married.

You did not want to get married. You would be expected to be a quiet wife, provide your husband with children and a clean environment to do as he pleased, dropping everything at his call. You did not want that. You wanted to be loud, vocal, not locked in a box, kept away like an old trophy.

You push through the balcony doors, walk out of your room and downstairs. You knew exactly where you were going. You arrive at your father's office. You open the old doors and stand there in he room, embracing the quiet.

You missed your father, so, so much. You walk around the large table and stop when you notice a long sheet of paper. You hadn't seen this before, building plans laid out on the parchment paper.

Building plans for a new fortress.

You stare at the drawing, examining it cautiously scared of what could be found in the scribbled notes. Coordinates lie in the mass of writing, you look over at the map your father mounted to the wall. Curiosity wins and you plot the numbers, your heart racing. You stare at where your finger is placed. Your stomach knots.

Your finger was over the boundary line that separated the South and West.

—

You hold the paper in the kings face. "What's this?" You snap.

"Looks like a drawing, why?" He asks, exhaustion creating a film over his eyes.

You scowl and grab his wrist, leading him back to the office. You had woken the pour man up angrily, pounding on his bedroom door. You point at the place where you had shoved a thumbtack. You point at the coordinates and then at the marker. "They are putting this," you hold up the drawing. "There." You say.

"That's over the separator." Timothée states.

"I know." You say dryly. He stares blankly at you. "Jesus Christ." You pinch the bridge of your nose. "They are building a castle in the middle of our countries." You remember what your mother said the night of Timothée's coronation. 'Have them merge politically, but not physically'. She lied, and was plotting something drastically different. He blinks at you. "Your really didn't know?" You let your hand fall to your side.

"Nope, I heard Dad mention something about building up something but I didn't stick around." He shrugs. "D'you know why they're building it?" He twists a pen between his fingers.

You flush slightly. "I'm assuming it's so that there isn't one designated fortress. They're building it merely so we can merge instead of the West's queen living in the south, or vice versa." You say. You weren't lying, just weren't telling the full truth. There were two other reasons, so that the grandparents weren't deprived of seeing their grandchildren more than the other. And so that said children could be made.

AJUJUJUJU 100 READS HEHEHE TYSM I LOVE YOU ALLL ;)

ANOTHER SHORT CHAPTER IK IM SORRY THINGS HAVE BEEN LOWKEY STRESSFUL IN MY LIFE LATELY AND I HAVENT HAD A TON OF TIME TO WRITE

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