Feast or Famine - a gift for savepureness
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Title: Feast or Famine
Author: kitty_mrowr
Gift for: savepureness
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 2,719
Pairing: Draco Malfoy/Ginny Weasley
Warnings: Some mild language, implied sexual situations, AU set in Victorian London
Summary: Ginevra Weasley is tired of those around her suffering while the royal family can afford to act upon their every whim. She takes action in the only way she knows how.
A/N: So, I wanted to incorporate Victorian themes into your fic, savepureness, but I admit that I do not know much about the time period or the setting, so I used what information I could find. That being said, I'm going to say that is all around AU and apologize in advance if this is not historically correct. For some reason, the Wizarding aspect really wanted to be written as though it were in the Tudor era rather than the Victorian era, lol. Hopefully, the compromise worked out alright. I do hope you enjoy, though! This is the first time I've ever written anything historical or AU, so I had a lot of fun doing so! Thanks for the great prompts! It was neat to put them in a different setting and see how it worked out.
Thank you to kalina_blue for running a great fest, too. It's been fun!
Had she been in the state of mind to do so, Ginevra would have smiled proudly at her handiwork. It had been easy; a flick of her wand and the Muggle guards in front of the obscenely intricate palace had let her in, thinking the faded parchment holding her mother’s mince meat pie recipe had been the exclusive invitation to the royal ball that night. The fact that the recipe was faded was an obvious clue to the dire situation in which her family and those of the same social standing found themselves. The famine had been steadily worsening for the past five years and there was no sign that anything would change soon. This palace and the festivities inside were a disgusting reminder that the famine had obviously not affected everyone, just those who were not the royal family, whether magical or Muggle.
She was discontent with the current political climate. King Lucius was the current ruler of Wizarding Great Britain and though the Muggles believed that they were ruled by Queen Victoria, the former was the one truly in charge. Had this not been the case, perhaps things would be different. The Malfoy family, however, was unconcerned with those of lesser status, be it blood or money, and therefore took no action to cease the famine sweeping the nation. While they were throwing extravagant parties and eating rich food and the Muggle royals were producing offspring-what number were they on now? Six? With a seventh on the way-as though they, unlike the rest of Britain, could actually afford it, the rest of the population was starving with barely two sickles to rub together. Not that her family could say much about large families; Ginevra was now the seventh child in a line of six older brothers. Had they been in charge, though, they’d not have continued to feed themselves greedily without first ensuring that their people had food on the table and logs in their fires.
That was neither here nor there, though. She had one simple mission tonight, and it was not to ponder on the what ifs of the ruling class. She was here to find salvation from the devil himself; Prince Draco, heir to the throne of Wizarding Great Britain. She’d sold her soul to him already, or at least whatever was left of her pride and dignity, the night that she’d gone to bed with him and the following countless nights after that. One would never know, though, of their late night trysts, if one were to base their knowledge upon their interactions outside of the bed chambers. One would suspect that not only had they never even met before, but that her mere presence caused him great disdain. She’d tried infiltrating the Ministry multiple times only to be forcefully escorted back out by the Prince’s guard under the stern exclamation that the Ministry was not the place for commoners such as herself. Of course, he’d make it up to her in turn each night, though the blow was nevertheless painful.
But here she was, now. The use of Muggle guards had been a terrible idea on the royal family’s part, but, of course, appearances had to be kept in the face of the Muggle population. For all the latter knew, the Wizarding royal family consisted of distant relatives to Queen Victoria and her family. If only they truly knew who was behind the nation’s predicament.
Ginevra had dressed wisely for this endeavor, having spent the last of her family’s gold on an appropriate dress and masque. If all went according to plan, the gold would have been well worth it. If not, well, she’d find a way to pay her family back.
Before walking through the threshold into the Malfoy palace, Ginevra fixed her masque upon her face and took a deep breath. She could not be caught, that would mean certain imprisonment within the dungeons that lay below as though they lived in the seventeenth century and not the nineteenth. It was brutal how these royals treated those they deemed lesser than themselves and Ginevra wanted to put a stop to it. While others sat back and conspired, she would be the one who finally took a stand. If she’d planned on going unnoticed, however, Ginevra was unpleasantly surprised. She’d only stepped one foot into the ball when all eyes were upon her. Did these people have nothing better to do than to stare? Did they not have dances to dance and feasts to eat and commoners to persecute?
Her ears reddened, but were thankfully covered by her rich red hair that she’d chosen to wear free with confidence. This had obviously been a mistake as, after a quick scan of the hundreds of faces staring at her, she noted that the women here had worn their hair in updos. She’d been an idiot to come here. She’d be found out and then where would her family be? Frederick was sick with cholera, her father was quickly losing his position within the Ministry and her brothers were marrying, having to worrying about their own families. She was the Weasley’s last hope. She may have been a fool, but she would not leave, not until she’d done what she came here to do.
Ignoring the looks surrounding her and therefore forcing their attention to fall elsewhere, Ginevra worked her way into the crowd, her masque disguising her identity. This place was certainly a sight to behold when the festivities were in full swing. The columns were decked in green and silver hangings and the feast laid out ahead was full of entire roast pigs, ducks and other small animals. Potatoes and cakes and teas and various delicious looking morsels lay bare for the guests’ delight. Ginevra scowled at the sight. Above her, chandeliers were hanging brilliantly and she was certain each shining crystal on it cost more than her family’s home. It was disgusting, really, how three people could live in such splendor while their people lived in squalor. Why she’d ever let the blonde-haired git under her skin, she’d never quite understand. In these lights it was so easy to despise him, to see him for what he truly was. But in the dim lights of his bed chambers, the lines were never so defined. They were blurred and grey, and in those lights she thought that maybe she could love him.
Again, none of that mattered. The Devil was in the details and she was only here for one thing. She had to remember that and not let herself get sucked into his world again. She would never belong in this world, not because she thought she was not good enough, but because she would never choose to live a life of waste such as this.
“I thought I told you never to come back to this place in public.” His familiar voice drawled and his breath was hot on her neck and she had to close her eyes to fight down the betraying flutters that erupted within. His hand was on her waist and she only needed to turn slightly to see his pointed features glaring down at her.
“I’m not in public, a mysterious ginger is. No one knows who I am, nor do they care. Or at least they wouldn’t care if the Prince wasn’t showing interest in me.” She glanced up sideways at her lover, a look of defiance burning in her pupils.
His nostrils flared, but he kept his cool. “Who says I am showing interest in you, Weasley?”
“You’re not too bright, are you? You’re touching me. You’re whispering in my ear. From a cold-hearted Prince, that’s interest. And don’t use my name, you idiot.”
“Do you realize to whom you are speaking?” His eyes were dark now. They did that when he was angered. Normally, they were a docile silvery gray, but if one were to catch him in a bad mood, they’d find his eyes to be dark pools of gray.
Ginevra snorted quietly but turned to face him, leading him into a calculated dance so as not to continue the conspicuous display of him whispering scandalously into her ear. “I do believe I am speaking to the Prince of Wizarding Great Britain, Draco Abraxas Mafloy, son of King Lucius and Queen Minister Narcissa Malfoy. The man who is heir to the throne; the man who cries like a small child after we have sex,” she smirked. That was a low blow, yes. But it was his fault, really. He always brought out the worst in her.
Draco gripped her wrist mercilessly and stared daggers into her bright and beautiful and ferocious blue eyes. He could drown in them if she didn’t anger him so. “Be careful, Commoner, or I’ll reveal you to the guards. You’ll be killed for seducing me.”
Ginevra tried fruitlessly to pull her arm from his stronghold. “Draco, you’re hurting me. Please, let go.” She could feel the eyes upon them. If he didn’t stop, the guards would be over here in seconds regardless of whether or not he revealed her presence.
Draco’s hold loosened, but he didn’t let her go. His malicious glare, however, did soften along with his grip. “Why are you here, Ginevra? This place isn’t safe for you. I’ve told you time and time again, and yet you never heed my warnings.” He was concerned. The look didn’t suit him. He looked as though it physically hurt him to feel something other than disdain.
“I want you to speak to the King. Make him see reason, Draco. Only you can do it.” She wouldn’t tiptoe around the issue. Now was not the time for small talk and skirting what needed to be said.
Draco smirked and spun her lightly around in time to the eerie notes streaming from the music being played. It was obvious that the royal family had splurged on the entertainment for the night as they had hired the services of Les Seours Etrange, the number one Wizarding group of musicians. Their melody sent chills down Ginevra’s spine. Of course, she’d blame it on the music and not the fluid movement of herself in Prince Draco’s arms.
“It will never work. If my father wanted to take action, he would have by now.”
“Have you even tried?” she bit back. How could this man even consider taking the throne in the future if he wouldn’t stand up to his own father now?
“Of course not. Why should I?”
She purposefully stepped on his toes as they moved through the other dancing couples. “Is that your stance? Why do something if there is nothing in it for you? What about me, Draco? Should you not try because it is important to me? People are dying, for Merlin’s sake. They have no food because their only earnings are being paid to your father to fund monstrosities such as this!” She jerked her head to gesture toward the ball and it’s extravagancies. “You don’t even care, and these are your people we are talking about!”
Draco visibly winced at her tone. “It’s not as simple as that, Ginevra. I have an appearance to uphold and that is to warrant fear and not respect.”
Ginevra stopped then, afraid she might say or do something soon that would undoubtedly give her presence away. “If that is how you feel, I have nothing more to say to you. What we have is done, Draco. I can not bed someone who cares not for the well-being of others. You and your father are despicable. I hope with everything I am that someone brings you down to earth while you’re dancing among the clouds.” Her cheeks reddened then, but they were hidden by her masque, just as her ears had been by her hair. There was no mistaking the sincerity in her eyes, though. “Long live the people. I couldn’t give a hippogriff’s arse about the royals.”
She turned to go then, not allowing Draco time to respond. As quickly as she had arrived, she was running back through the threshold and away from the very things she despised. Oh yes, she had definitely been a fool to come here. She’d known it all along, but she’d hoped that she might possibly find a way to reason with Draco. They were never compatible for conversation, though. They were never compatible for anything that involved speaking to one another at all.
“Ginevra!”
She had not expected him to follow. The Prince never followed anyone. She couldn’t look at him now. She’d hex his bollocks off if she got the chance. She turned on her heel away from him and Disapparated. She was being pulled through time and space as she felt a hand clasp upon her wrist once more.
Landing on her own two feet mere moments later, she jerked her hand away from the intruder and edged closer to the cliff where she could hear the water below beating up on the rocks. It was colder here than it had been outside the palace and she shivered beneath it.
“Where the bloody hell did you take us, Weasley?” Draco’s drawl was unmistakable.
“I didn’t take us anywhere, you sodding imbecile. I took myself to the Cliffs of Dover and you chose to tag along on your own volition.” Her tone was murderous and tears were stinging her eyes, whether from frustration or the cold, she wasn’t quite sure. Either way, she didn’t want him to see her cry. “I suppose what Mum said is true. Trouble will follow you wherever you go.”
She hadn’t counted on his arms to wrap around her from behind or for his lips to press against the skin just below her ear. She ripped her masque away from her face and threw it of the cliff. It would be impossible to hear it hit the water from this height.
“I’ll talk to him. I can not promise you anything except that. Will that make you stop crying? I can’t stand it when you cry.” And there was the voice she knew from those nights they had spent alone, the voice that made her melt in his arms and want to forget all the badness in their world.
“How do you know I’m crying?”
“I know you, Ginevra. I know you better than anyone else. I know that you’re crying and I hate myself for being the cause of that.” His hold on her tightened but not forcefully. It was almost as though he were trying to keep his own grip on reality.
She turned in his arms and looked up at him imploringly. “And what if he won’t listen? What will you do then?” Perhaps her mission hadn’t been in vain, after all.
“You have my word as the Prince Draco of Wizarding Great Britain, heir to the throne, that if I can not make him change his views I will throw myself from this very cliff and be at the mercy of the water below.” He removed his arms from her and pulled his scarf from around his neck to place it around her shivering shoulders.
Ginevra looked at him skeptically. “Your word as all that doesn’t mean very much, you know. Using your title as collateral is nothing.”
Draco pursed his lips sourly and wrapped his arms around her again as he chose his next words. “I give you my word as Draco, then. The man who loves you more than he ever thought he could love a single living thing. Is that enough for you then?”
Her lips twitched. Being love-stricken didn’t suit him, either, but she’d take it. She’d take anything she could get at this point. “You know, if you were to make me your Queen that might be enough.”
Draco looked contemplative and then smirked again. “Don’t push it, Ginevra. Everything in stride.” He kissed her then and knew that this fiery little redhead would always be able to make him do anything she wanted. He was never sure how he felt about that, but as long as she wasn’t crying, he didn’t care. If that meant personally feeding the people of his nation from his own silver spoon, so be it.
Title: Feast or Famine
Author: kitty_mrowr
Gift for: savepureness
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 2,719
Pairing: Draco Malfoy/Ginny Weasley
Warnings: Some mild language, implied sexual situations, AU set in Victorian London
Summary: Ginevra Weasley is tired of those around her suffering while the royal family can afford to act upon their every whim. She takes action in the only way she knows how.
A/N: So, I wanted to incorporate Victorian themes into your fic, savepureness, but I admit that I do not know much about the time period or the setting, so I used what information I could find. That being said, I'm going to say that is all around AU and apologize in advance if this is not historically correct. For some reason, the Wizarding aspect really wanted to be written as though it were in the Tudor era rather than the Victorian era, lol. Hopefully, the compromise worked out alright. I do hope you enjoy, though! This is the first time I've ever written anything historical or AU, so I had a lot of fun doing so! Thanks for the great prompts! It was neat to put them in a different setting and see how it worked out.
Thank you to kalina_blue for running a great fest, too. It's been fun!
Had she been in the state of mind to do so, Ginevra would have smiled proudly at her handiwork. It had been easy; a flick of her wand and the Muggle guards in front of the obscenely intricate palace had let her in, thinking the faded parchment holding her mother’s mince meat pie recipe had been the exclusive invitation to the royal ball that night. The fact that the recipe was faded was an obvious clue to the dire situation in which her family and those of the same social standing found themselves. The famine had been steadily worsening for the past five years and there was no sign that anything would change soon. This palace and the festivities inside were a disgusting reminder that the famine had obviously not affected everyone, just those who were not the royal family, whether magical or Muggle.
She was discontent with the current political climate. King Lucius was the current ruler of Wizarding Great Britain and though the Muggles believed that they were ruled by Queen Victoria, the former was the one truly in charge. Had this not been the case, perhaps things would be different. The Malfoy family, however, was unconcerned with those of lesser status, be it blood or money, and therefore took no action to cease the famine sweeping the nation. While they were throwing extravagant parties and eating rich food and the Muggle royals were producing offspring-what number were they on now? Six? With a seventh on the way-as though they, unlike the rest of Britain, could actually afford it, the rest of the population was starving with barely two sickles to rub together. Not that her family could say much about large families; Ginevra was now the seventh child in a line of six older brothers. Had they been in charge, though, they’d not have continued to feed themselves greedily without first ensuring that their people had food on the table and logs in their fires.
That was neither here nor there, though. She had one simple mission tonight, and it was not to ponder on the what ifs of the ruling class. She was here to find salvation from the devil himself; Prince Draco, heir to the throne of Wizarding Great Britain. She’d sold her soul to him already, or at least whatever was left of her pride and dignity, the night that she’d gone to bed with him and the following countless nights after that. One would never know, though, of their late night trysts, if one were to base their knowledge upon their interactions outside of the bed chambers. One would suspect that not only had they never even met before, but that her mere presence caused him great disdain. She’d tried infiltrating the Ministry multiple times only to be forcefully escorted back out by the Prince’s guard under the stern exclamation that the Ministry was not the place for commoners such as herself. Of course, he’d make it up to her in turn each night, though the blow was nevertheless painful.
But here she was, now. The use of Muggle guards had been a terrible idea on the royal family’s part, but, of course, appearances had to be kept in the face of the Muggle population. For all the latter knew, the Wizarding royal family consisted of distant relatives to Queen Victoria and her family. If only they truly knew who was behind the nation’s predicament.
Ginevra had dressed wisely for this endeavor, having spent the last of her family’s gold on an appropriate dress and masque. If all went according to plan, the gold would have been well worth it. If not, well, she’d find a way to pay her family back.
Before walking through the threshold into the Malfoy palace, Ginevra fixed her masque upon her face and took a deep breath. She could not be caught, that would mean certain imprisonment within the dungeons that lay below as though they lived in the seventeenth century and not the nineteenth. It was brutal how these royals treated those they deemed lesser than themselves and Ginevra wanted to put a stop to it. While others sat back and conspired, she would be the one who finally took a stand. If she’d planned on going unnoticed, however, Ginevra was unpleasantly surprised. She’d only stepped one foot into the ball when all eyes were upon her. Did these people have nothing better to do than to stare? Did they not have dances to dance and feasts to eat and commoners to persecute?
Her ears reddened, but were thankfully covered by her rich red hair that she’d chosen to wear free with confidence. This had obviously been a mistake as, after a quick scan of the hundreds of faces staring at her, she noted that the women here had worn their hair in updos. She’d been an idiot to come here. She’d be found out and then where would her family be? Frederick was sick with cholera, her father was quickly losing his position within the Ministry and her brothers were marrying, having to worrying about their own families. She was the Weasley’s last hope. She may have been a fool, but she would not leave, not until she’d done what she came here to do.
Ignoring the looks surrounding her and therefore forcing their attention to fall elsewhere, Ginevra worked her way into the crowd, her masque disguising her identity. This place was certainly a sight to behold when the festivities were in full swing. The columns were decked in green and silver hangings and the feast laid out ahead was full of entire roast pigs, ducks and other small animals. Potatoes and cakes and teas and various delicious looking morsels lay bare for the guests’ delight. Ginevra scowled at the sight. Above her, chandeliers were hanging brilliantly and she was certain each shining crystal on it cost more than her family’s home. It was disgusting, really, how three people could live in such splendor while their people lived in squalor. Why she’d ever let the blonde-haired git under her skin, she’d never quite understand. In these lights it was so easy to despise him, to see him for what he truly was. But in the dim lights of his bed chambers, the lines were never so defined. They were blurred and grey, and in those lights she thought that maybe she could love him.
Again, none of that mattered. The Devil was in the details and she was only here for one thing. She had to remember that and not let herself get sucked into his world again. She would never belong in this world, not because she thought she was not good enough, but because she would never choose to live a life of waste such as this.
“I thought I told you never to come back to this place in public.” His familiar voice drawled and his breath was hot on her neck and she had to close her eyes to fight down the betraying flutters that erupted within. His hand was on her waist and she only needed to turn slightly to see his pointed features glaring down at her.
“I’m not in public, a mysterious ginger is. No one knows who I am, nor do they care. Or at least they wouldn’t care if the Prince wasn’t showing interest in me.” She glanced up sideways at her lover, a look of defiance burning in her pupils.
His nostrils flared, but he kept his cool. “Who says I am showing interest in you, Weasley?”
“You’re not too bright, are you? You’re touching me. You’re whispering in my ear. From a cold-hearted Prince, that’s interest. And don’t use my name, you idiot.”
“Do you realize to whom you are speaking?” His eyes were dark now. They did that when he was angered. Normally, they were a docile silvery gray, but if one were to catch him in a bad mood, they’d find his eyes to be dark pools of gray.
Ginevra snorted quietly but turned to face him, leading him into a calculated dance so as not to continue the conspicuous display of him whispering scandalously into her ear. “I do believe I am speaking to the Prince of Wizarding Great Britain, Draco Abraxas Mafloy, son of King Lucius and Queen Minister Narcissa Malfoy. The man who is heir to the throne; the man who cries like a small child after we have sex,” she smirked. That was a low blow, yes. But it was his fault, really. He always brought out the worst in her.
Draco gripped her wrist mercilessly and stared daggers into her bright and beautiful and ferocious blue eyes. He could drown in them if she didn’t anger him so. “Be careful, Commoner, or I’ll reveal you to the guards. You’ll be killed for seducing me.”
Ginevra tried fruitlessly to pull her arm from his stronghold. “Draco, you’re hurting me. Please, let go.” She could feel the eyes upon them. If he didn’t stop, the guards would be over here in seconds regardless of whether or not he revealed her presence.
Draco’s hold loosened, but he didn’t let her go. His malicious glare, however, did soften along with his grip. “Why are you here, Ginevra? This place isn’t safe for you. I’ve told you time and time again, and yet you never heed my warnings.” He was concerned. The look didn’t suit him. He looked as though it physically hurt him to feel something other than disdain.
“I want you to speak to the King. Make him see reason, Draco. Only you can do it.” She wouldn’t tiptoe around the issue. Now was not the time for small talk and skirting what needed to be said.
Draco smirked and spun her lightly around in time to the eerie notes streaming from the music being played. It was obvious that the royal family had splurged on the entertainment for the night as they had hired the services of Les Seours Etrange, the number one Wizarding group of musicians. Their melody sent chills down Ginevra’s spine. Of course, she’d blame it on the music and not the fluid movement of herself in Prince Draco’s arms.
“It will never work. If my father wanted to take action, he would have by now.”
“Have you even tried?” she bit back. How could this man even consider taking the throne in the future if he wouldn’t stand up to his own father now?
“Of course not. Why should I?”
She purposefully stepped on his toes as they moved through the other dancing couples. “Is that your stance? Why do something if there is nothing in it for you? What about me, Draco? Should you not try because it is important to me? People are dying, for Merlin’s sake. They have no food because their only earnings are being paid to your father to fund monstrosities such as this!” She jerked her head to gesture toward the ball and it’s extravagancies. “You don’t even care, and these are your people we are talking about!”
Draco visibly winced at her tone. “It’s not as simple as that, Ginevra. I have an appearance to uphold and that is to warrant fear and not respect.”
Ginevra stopped then, afraid she might say or do something soon that would undoubtedly give her presence away. “If that is how you feel, I have nothing more to say to you. What we have is done, Draco. I can not bed someone who cares not for the well-being of others. You and your father are despicable. I hope with everything I am that someone brings you down to earth while you’re dancing among the clouds.” Her cheeks reddened then, but they were hidden by her masque, just as her ears had been by her hair. There was no mistaking the sincerity in her eyes, though. “Long live the people. I couldn’t give a hippogriff’s arse about the royals.”
She turned to go then, not allowing Draco time to respond. As quickly as she had arrived, she was running back through the threshold and away from the very things she despised. Oh yes, she had definitely been a fool to come here. She’d known it all along, but she’d hoped that she might possibly find a way to reason with Draco. They were never compatible for conversation, though. They were never compatible for anything that involved speaking to one another at all.
“Ginevra!”
She had not expected him to follow. The Prince never followed anyone. She couldn’t look at him now. She’d hex his bollocks off if she got the chance. She turned on her heel away from him and Disapparated. She was being pulled through time and space as she felt a hand clasp upon her wrist once more.
Landing on her own two feet mere moments later, she jerked her hand away from the intruder and edged closer to the cliff where she could hear the water below beating up on the rocks. It was colder here than it had been outside the palace and she shivered beneath it.
“Where the bloody hell did you take us, Weasley?” Draco’s drawl was unmistakable.
“I didn’t take us anywhere, you sodding imbecile. I took myself to the Cliffs of Dover and you chose to tag along on your own volition.” Her tone was murderous and tears were stinging her eyes, whether from frustration or the cold, she wasn’t quite sure. Either way, she didn’t want him to see her cry. “I suppose what Mum said is true. Trouble will follow you wherever you go.”
She hadn’t counted on his arms to wrap around her from behind or for his lips to press against the skin just below her ear. She ripped her masque away from her face and threw it of the cliff. It would be impossible to hear it hit the water from this height.
“I’ll talk to him. I can not promise you anything except that. Will that make you stop crying? I can’t stand it when you cry.” And there was the voice she knew from those nights they had spent alone, the voice that made her melt in his arms and want to forget all the badness in their world.
“How do you know I’m crying?”
“I know you, Ginevra. I know you better than anyone else. I know that you’re crying and I hate myself for being the cause of that.” His hold on her tightened but not forcefully. It was almost as though he were trying to keep his own grip on reality.
She turned in his arms and looked up at him imploringly. “And what if he won’t listen? What will you do then?” Perhaps her mission hadn’t been in vain, after all.
“You have my word as the Prince Draco of Wizarding Great Britain, heir to the throne, that if I can not make him change his views I will throw myself from this very cliff and be at the mercy of the water below.” He removed his arms from her and pulled his scarf from around his neck to place it around her shivering shoulders.
Ginevra looked at him skeptically. “Your word as all that doesn’t mean very much, you know. Using your title as collateral is nothing.”
Draco pursed his lips sourly and wrapped his arms around her again as he chose his next words. “I give you my word as Draco, then. The man who loves you more than he ever thought he could love a single living thing. Is that enough for you then?”
Her lips twitched. Being love-stricken didn’t suit him, either, but she’d take it. She’d take anything she could get at this point. “You know, if you were to make me your Queen that might be enough.”
Draco looked contemplative and then smirked again. “Don’t push it, Ginevra. Everything in stride.” He kissed her then and knew that this fiery little redhead would always be able to make him do anything she wanted. He was never sure how he felt about that, but as long as she wasn’t crying, he didn’t care. If that meant personally feeding the people of his nation from his own silver spoon, so be it.