Summary: An AU, in which Kenna and Diavolos meet before the massacre at Stormholt.
Kenna notices the handsome stranger as soon as she makes her entrance into the ballroom. He must be a member of one of the royal families in the Five Kingdoms, though she doesn’t recognize him. His eyes catch hers as she makes her way to the head table, and Kenna is so thrown off by the sudden, instant attraction and unexplainable pull she feels that she nearly walks into the back of one of the guards. She catches herself just in time, and when she looks back up, the man, whoever he is, is staring at her, a hint of a smirk on his face.
Kenna asks her mother who he is once they’re seated, and her mother’s eyes crinkle in delight as she smiles.
“Mother,” Kenna sighs, smiling and shaking her head. “I don’t recognize him, that’s all.”
“You’ve never expressed interest in any of the princes from the Five Kingdoms before,” Adriana says.
“He’s a prince?” Kenna asks in surprise.
She’s met nearly all of the princes, except for Luther Nevrakis’ oldest sons, which must mean…
“That’s Diavolos Nevrakis,” her mother confirms.
Kenna frowns. “Of course he’s a Nevrakis,” she mutters.
“Kenna,” Adriana scolds her quietly.
Kenna is about to protest that Luther Nevrakis has a reputation for being cold and tyrannical, his daughter Zenobia spoiled and cruel, Marco possibly one of the most obnoxious and least likable people she’s ever met, but the first course is served before she can utter a word. The dinner isn’t particularly exciting, though Prince Tevan is at least entertaining to talk to. Still, Kenna finds her gaze continually drawn back to Diavolos Nevrakis, even though she tries to keep herself from staring at him.
She tells herself it’s simply because he’s far more attractive and capable looking than the royal men she’s met before. Diavolos is tall and broad-shouldered, dark-haired and dark-eyed, undeniably good-looking. There’s a confident look on his face every time Kenna steals a glance at him. He looks nothing like Marco, with his permanent sneer and scrawny frame. Though she’s never met Diavolos, Kenna knows he’s in the Abanthus army and spends much of his time fighting in the war against the Iron Empire. It would explain why she’s never met him before today.
Adriana and Luther introduce them just before the dancing is to begin, and Kenna feels her stomach flutter as Diavolos dutifully kisses the back of her hand and asks her for the first dance. There’s a glimmer of a grin on his face as he watches her, waiting for her answer. Adriana looks pleased, and Luther…well, Luther looks like his usual calculating self, figuring out how to work this to his advantage.
It would be unspeakably rude to refuse to dance with him, of course, and even though part of her keeps thinking about the fact that he’s a Nevrakis, Kenna can’t deny that she’s somewhat fascinated by Diavolos. He grins at her confidently as she agrees and he sweeps her out onto the dance floor. His grip is firm as he holds onto her hand, his other hand warm as it rests on her back.
“My mother is watching us,” Kenna laughs quietly as they glide along the room.
Diavolos chuckles. “I’m guessing you’re expected to marry a prince, and-“ he pauses, glancing around the room, “-none of these men look like the type to attract your attention.”
Kenna scoffs, though he’s right. “How do you know?”
He shrugs slightly, tilting his head down to say, “You don’t seem like a typical prim and proper princess, content with sitting on a throne.”
“…I’m not,” she admits. “It annoys my mother to no end.”
“Well, that explains why she’s watching us then,” Diavolos says, straightening up and twirling her out.
He’s a surprisingly good dancer as he leads her around the room, his movements confident and sure. Kenna finds herself enjoying his easy company as they talk about Stormholt, Abanthus, his siblings (they have a mutual dislike of Marco, much to Kenna’s amusement). Diavolos laughs when she tells him how often she sneaks out of the castle to spar with Dom and how irritated Gabriel gets.
They’re expected to dance with other people, of course, and Kenna is disappointed when a nobleman from Bellmere whose name she can’t remember at that moment interrupts them politely and asks her to dance. He’s nervous and a little clumsy, and Kenna finds herself tuning him out as he drones on and on. She keeps glancing at Diavolos, and he always seems to be looking at her whenever she looks up. Her gaze flickers down to his lips, and then she can’t stop thinking about what it would be like to kiss him. He would be good at it, she thinks, and wonders if she’ll ever find out if he is or not.
As the evening goes on, the slow dance Kenna always dreads begins. It’s intimate and designed to let couples flirt, and she usually avoids it by claiming a headache or sneaking out of the room. She slips out a side door before anyone can ask her to dance, making her way to her usual favorite corridor. It’s quiet and almost always deserted, one of the few places she’s found where she can be undisturbed for a few minutes. Kenna closes her eyes, leaning back against the cool stone wall.
“Do you always hide during these gatherings?”
Kenna jumps, her eyes flying open. Diavolos chuckles as he makes his way over to her.
“Not a fan of that dance?” he asks.
“Not usually, no,” she answers.
“I think I could change your mind,” Diavolos says in a low voice, and she has no doubt that he could as he steps in front of her, watching her with those dark, intense eyes.
He holds his hand out to her, and she looks at him in amusement. “What, here? There’s no music.”
Diavolos shrugs. “I know the steps.”
He pulls her toward him as she places her hand in his, leading her silently through the steps, twirling her out and pulling her back against his chest. She shivers as he gently squeezes her hips, his breath a warm puff against her neck as he leans down and murmurs, “Have I changed your mind?”
“Yes,” she sighs, turning around in his arms.
He tucks her hair behind her ear, leaning in. “Gods, you’re beautiful. I’ve been wanting to kiss you all night,” he says in a low voice.
“I’m not stopping you,” Kenna says, and lets out a noise of surprise as he suddenly pulls her in tight against him and presses his lips to hers.
Diavolos is an undeniably good kisser. He kisses like she thought he would, commanding and just a little bit rough. He kisses her like she’s his sole focus, like all he wants in that moment is her. His lips are hot and insistent, sucking lightly on her bottom lip before he takes it between his teeth. She groans as his tongue demands entrance to her mouth, opening up to him willingly. Her hands fist in his hair as he turns them and presses her back into the wall. One of his hands tangles in her hair, tugging slightly, his other arm tight around her waist.
This is nothing like her kisses with Dom, those sweet, loving kisses that made her smile and feel a little giddy. No, this kiss is fiery passion that threatens to consume her, makes her want to throw caution to the wind and forget who she is, who he is, makes her want more. She gasps for breath when he pulls back, his eyes glittering darkly. Her hands grip his shirt tightly.
“I want you,” is the first thing that comes out of her mouth, and she feels a flush of pride at the low groan that comes out of his throat, the way his grip on her tightens.
She’s feeling bold, reckless. Her mother and Gabriel would kill her, but in this moment, Kenna doesn’t care. She wants this man, wants more than just kissing him. Diavolos leans in, pressing a surprisingly gentle kiss to her lips.
“And I want you,” he assures her. “But this isn’t the time or place.”
He kisses her again when she goes to protest. “People will notice the princess of Stormholt being gone for long.”
She deflates just a little, knowing he’s right. Sighing, she loosens her hold on his shirt. Diavolos brings his lips to hers again, leaving barely restrained kisses against her mouth before he finally pulls back.
“We should get back,” he says. “Before people come searching and I get thrown in the dungeons.”
There’s a hint of a smile on his lips, and Kenna laughs quietly. She wonders if she’ll see him again as they slowly make their way back to the ballroom. As much as she hates to think it, she knows the chances are good that she won’t. He’ll be back in battle soon, and she’ll be expected to wed. The thought of not seeing him again bothers her, more than it should.
She barely knows the man walking beside her, but she’s feeling regretful that she won’t get the chance to. When they stand outside the side door to the ballroom, Diavolos suddenly sweeps her back in, crushing his lips to hers until she’s breathless. He stares at her for a long moment, and she searches his face, wondering what he’s thinking.
“Until we meet again, Princess Kenna,” he finally says, taking her hand and brushing his lips over her knuckles.
He cups her face in his hands, pressing another brief kiss to her lips, and then he’s gone, disappearing around the corner. Kenna sucks in a deep breath, steadying her nerves, then smooths down her hair, and slips back into the ballroom.