Honeymoon

Author's Note: It's my birthday next month, and to celebrate, I'm taking requests for flash fiction pieces! So please feel free to leave me prompts and whatnot via the comments. (Or serenades, if you would rather. Samples on my TikTok, with a preference for Disney/Broadway/showtunes.)

Anyway, kicking off this mini project with a request from my friends Meri and Fi, a little something from The Prophecies of Ragnarok series and the related short stories. Though this will make even more sense after you've read the final book of the trilogy, which also comes out next month! 😉

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"This is the last time we are doing something as dangerous as this."

She continues to swing her legs without a care in the world, as if they're not sitting on a steel beam near the summit of the Eiffel Tower. His ears pick up the distortion her movement causes in the breeze, and her furious chewing. "You were fine with climbing trees four months ago," she retorts, her words slightly muffled. She's probably waving half a croissant at him or something to that effect.

The bag with the rest of their haul from the bakery sits between them, nearly empty. He can count with one hand how many times he'd taken a piece from it.

"You were not—" He runs a hand through his long hair to keep the stray strands away from his face, though the effort is mostly in vain with how windy it is at their height. "We did not know you, we, were—"

She blows a raspberry. "So no rollercoaster?"

"No. No rollercoaster. And no glamouring yourself and tricking the staff into thinking you can still ride a rollercoaster." He has to keep reminding himself that he must be very thorough with whatever conditions he tries to set with her, or else she's going to wiggle her way out of a loophole. She'd make a good lawyer. She'd rock a pantsuit and stilettos, even if he personally prefers her wearing so much less.

"Then just the carousel," she says with a sigh. But she must've read something else on his face because she suddenly makes an exasperated noise. He hears her shift to face him more solidly. "Not even the carousel? Ymir, what is wrong with you? Did you lose your sense of fun when they put that crown—"

"I do not want to lose you again," he snaps. A moment too late, he realizes it had come off harsher than he'd intended as he feels her stiffen beside him. He reaches between the space for her free hand, bringing it up to kiss her knuckles. "Sorry. I... You know I want you to have everything. But the last time you... we..." He swallows, pushing down the lump in his throat. He can't protect her from everything. He knows that. But he'll be damned if he doesn't try.

The paper bag rustles. Then he feels her press a kiss to his shoulder before laying her head on it. "I am scared," she admits.

"Me too." And it's not dying she's afraid of. He's certain of that. He's known her for centuries, at times even better than he knows himself.

The paper bag rustles again, but this time it's followed by a crumpling sound, and her slow munching. Well, there goes the last of their pastries. Is it even a craving when she just really likes bread?

"So if we are not going on any of the rides, why are we bothering to go at all?" She makes an attempt to grab the wine from him, but with his battle-honed reflexes, he senses her move from a mile away. He holds the bottle over his head, tsking at her.

"I want them to meet Rapunzel," he answers with a grin and a tug of her braid.

She laughs and swats his arm. "I am not singing."