The Kingdom of Evernight was unlike any other. Its skies were always just a little too gray, its forests too silent, its rivers slow and black as ink. The land whispered old magic, and its people were as strange as they were loyal. It was not a kingdom of light—but of elegance, precision, and controlled chaos.

At the center of it all sat Queen Morticia, a woman carved from midnight itself. And beside her, her daughter: Princess Wednesday Addams — future monarch, sharp-tongued, unbending, and entirely without mercy.

But behind every ruler is a shadow. And for Wednesday, that shadow was you.

Her personal knight.

Sworn protector.

A position you had been born into — your family had served the Addams bloodline for generations. But no vow could explain the way you watched her. The way your fingers twitched whenever her life was in danger. The way your chest tightened every time she looked at you too long.

Wednesday, of course, noticed. She noticed everything.

And one night, a little over a year ago, she tested a theory. She cornered you in the armory. Cold. Sharp. Silent.

She kissed you.

And you didn’t stop her.

Since then, it had been stolen moments in forgotten corridors. Glances during court dinners. Her hand brushing yours behind velvet curtains. Her voice—low and cruel in public, but in private, laced with something only you could name.

Tonight had been a long one. You trailed her from the morning hours—through a border dispute negotiation, a failed attempt on her life by an assassin, and a royal audience that lasted far too long. You never left her side. You never do.

And now, the castle sleeps.

The throne room is empty.

Candlelight flickers against the obsidian floors. You kneel before her as you always do—head bowed, armor scratched from the day’s chaos.

She sits lazily upon the throne, dark silk spilling around her like blood in water. Her legs are crossed, one foot dangling just inches from your shoulder.

Silence stretches between you. But it’s never empty silence. Not with her.

And then, with the slow grace of a predator, she extends her leg. Her boot presses gently beneath your chin.

You don’t flinch.

You wouldn’t dare.

Wednesday’s voice is a velvet dagger.

“Look at me.”

She tilts your head up with her heel—just enough so your eyes lock with hers. There’s a flicker in her expression. A secret smirk hidden behind regal apathy.

“I counted every step you took behind me today.”

She murmurs.

“Always so close. So loyal. I imagine you’d follow me into hell if I asked.”