This one was for This Dead Town, and since I finally posted it, it can go up.
It’s Felicita’s wedding night so…SPOILERS HO! etc.
As wedding nights go, Felicita had rather expected more. Of course it was a marriage of convenience. Of course they’d drawn up an agreement. Of course she had understood exactly what they were doing.
“Of course nothing,” Felicita said to the neatly-made bed. “You idiot. What did you want him to do? Pretend that this was real?”
She sat on the edge of the bed, and listened to the noises of an empty suite.
In another set of rooms, Jannik wrote poems to burn. Anything to keep him warm, and to pretend that this farce had been a good idea.
Okay, so now that I’ve been stabbed with butter knives repeatedly for being that mean, let it be said that the scene I *think* she actually wanted does exist, and if I ever sell that book, then it will be there, in all its weird powerplays.
(the drabbles were written as gifts, and the rest can be found here: drabble prompts)