A/N: Oh em to the gee. Something crazy happened. Like, Tomione Fanfics had their FIRST EVER Tomione Fest 2017, y'all, and I totally got to participate with some AWESOME writers. Siriusly, it is a pleasure and a half to write in the same comp with Ninjafairy86 (who SLAY'D and won overall), Maloreiy (whose story legit left me feeling so many feelings, like I just sat in a paralyzed stupor and really I need to read it again when she posts because the intricacies and complexities, MAN! #MindBlown), SaintDionysis (who wrote tomione for the first time ever and BEASTED IT like omgosh she has their dynamic so good!) but that's not all because sharkdiver1981, crochetaway, Lilbit903, Arendora, summersaults16, Kaarina_Riddle (my sis, ayy), Geekmom13, and VinoAmore all wrote bomb stories and y'all should totes check them out!
Anyway, this little dark-ish fairytale that my lush of a muse totally had free rein over, placed in a couple of categories—Aesthetically on Point (Best Cover - Joint Winner), Where Dwell the Cunning (Favorite Tom - Runner-up), and Out of This World (Best AU - Runner-up). I'm super stoked and ty to those who voted!

Written for the prompt: The Duke of Salazar arrives to Ballycastle to meet with the King after his success at the tourney. King Greengrass has a generous offer for the young Duke before he returns to Wiltshire Castle. A simple chambermaid, Hermione can watch the mysterious and handsome Lord Riddle freely from the shadows. He won't notice her—right? He shouldn't as he searches for a maiden to wed, but he does.

Beta Love to NikkiB and Kreeblim Sabs! Also, a huge thanks to LeanaM for hosting the fest. She is a cross between God and Santa and IT IS KNOWN.

Disclaimer: All canon characters, plots, and situations from the Harry Potter universe belong to JK Rowling. I am not profiting from this writing.

~Art and aesthetics for this story can be found on my Pinterest - arielriddlefanfiction~

Warnings/Triggers: Dark fairytale, OOC-ness a-plenty and idgaf, manipulative relationship, possessive!Tom, naive!Hermione, some very near non-con, dub-con enjoyed by both parties, probably some more but I just can't remember atm as drunk!me is the brains behind this story so I'll just say dark and you've been warned? I've been embracing my kinks and I don't even care (Pans knows!). No more sweetness! *averts eyes shiftily* There may be sweetness. Slightly unpredictable but if you do stick around I hope you enjoy the ride!

~oOo*oOo~

There were inherent benefits when it came to hosting tournaments at Ballycastle.

The typically sleepy kingdom and quiet castle would morph into a place that was alive and bustling with people from all over the world in a matter of days. It was almost as if an enchantment had been lifted and the dazed occupants of the kingdom had finally awoke from their slumber. Hermione's usual stringent routine of chores were thrown to the wayside in favor of making her available to the many guests the castle opened its doors to. One of the nicest perks was the wonderful happenstance that she was actually permitted to attend the festivities. There was an entire tier in the jousting circuit dedicated to off-duty servants. Which lead to the main reason why Hermione looked forward to tournament weeks.

She loved to people watch.

With so many foreigners arriving from distant lands - some she'd never heard of and some she had - she was afforded the privilege of watching people mill about to her heart's content. No one paid any mind to a lowly chambermaid.

Of course there were the weeks of preparation that went into readying the castle for the tournament. Hermione scrubbed and cleaned the vast stone floors until her hands were raw and reddened. The bucketfuls of water she'd brought from the river alone were more than she usually handled in a month, to say nothing of the amount she brought when the tournament guests arrived and opted for nightly baths. It was enough to busy a chambermaid from dusk until dawn. She'd even been plucked from her duties to help the manservants pick weeds and trim the lawn surrounding the moat. It had all been quite labor intensive. The savory smells from the kitchens wafting through the castle and assaulting her empty stomach were often torturous, but the end product of having the castle ready to host the games was always worth it.

Tournaments meant a leisurely reprieve from the strict Head Maid, and the chance to spend her pieces of copper on trinkets the caravans brought in or sweets from the stands. Tournaments meant gossip and intrigue more juicy than any of the stories she heard the other maids tell on a regular basis.

And being a chambermaid, she was privy to all sorts of gossip.

Probably the biggest thing to happen at Ballycastle, was the arrival of Prince Draco, Sir Theodore, and the Duke of Salazar. The royal envoy from the neighboring Castle of Wiltshire were all anyone wanted to talk about. Wiltshire was so close to Ballycastle - albeit the journey was treacherous and seldom made - but it was a mysterious place no one knew very much about. King Lucius was said to never leave his castle, let alone open the doors of his kingdom to visitors. No one knew whether or not to attribute it to the danger in such a journey, or if Wiltshire harbored closely kept secrets. The townspeople of Ballycastle were prone to believe the latter.

Some said the kingdom was home to magical beings. Hermione had heard werewolves and vampires suggested by some, but more often the rumor that surfaced was that it was home to a secret society of witches and wizards who practiced magic openly throughout the kingdom.

It did not matter to King Charles. The practical king cared not about rumors and stories, he cared about the rising threat in the north which was rumored to be amassing an army. The king desired to unite with his neighboring allies, despite the sordid tales he heard. He spread the word far and wide and made sure their royal neighbors were invited personally to the grandest tournament Hermione had ever remembered seeing.

She had only caught glimpses of the three foreigners from afar, but the whispers surrounding them were easy to hear wherever she went. Prince Draco had the fairest hair she'd ever seen in her life—not the golden color most in her kingdom boasted of, but a hair so light it was nearly white. Sir Theodore Nott had hair the same color as hers. It was not so different from what she saw on a daily basis, and truly, he could have been a citizen of Ballycastle. The Duke of Salazar was quite different than any sort of man she was used to seeing. His hair was as black as a raven's wings, and his skin kissed by the sun. She could not make out their faces, but word spread that they were handsome to behold. When the latter two played in the tourney with the prince watching imperiously from the sidelines, they ruthlessly swept through their competitors until they were the only two left standing.

Truly, Hermione had never seen a more impressive display at any games. The final jousting between Sir Theodore and the Duke of Salazar was the most exciting of the matches. They were very evenly matched, but in the end, the Duke of Salazar took the handsome purse for first place.

It was probably what prompted King Charles to make such a generous offer when the games concluded and the victors were invited to the feasts. "In addition to His Grace, the Duke of Salazar's handsome winnings," the beady eyed king surveyed the attendants in the stands before glancing at the dark-haired man in question, "I will also offer any maiden of your choice from the kingdom of Ballycastle in marriage."

Sounds of surprise riddled through the crowd. The king had named any maiden in the kingdom, which of course meant his daughters, the Greengrass princesses. The offer was a lavish one, because his two daughters would probably be expected to marry a prince at equal station to themselves, but the king had said any and that meant even his precious princesses may be up for consideration. Hermione may be a chambermaid, but she understood the king's reasoning: a union between Ballycastle and Wiltshire would be advantageous to his kingdom, especially when his enemies in the north came marching. What was more, the king was so desperate for the union, he would even offer a princess to a duke in order to secure it, instead of holding out for better courtships. He had the duke cornered, because surely King Lucius would want the royal to take such an offer and in so doing, secure the relationships between the two kingdoms.

It was all very fantastical, and along with the rest of the kingdom, Hermione couldn't wait to hear the Duke's decision. Tonight would be the much prepared for feast, and it would be her opportunity to better examine the newcomers. Excitement thrummed through her veins—she did so love the tourneys.

~oOo*oOo~

Hermione went about her daily chores in a rush, faster than she wanted the Head Maid to know she was capable of. She was now on Princess Astoria's room - a castle in of itself - and she stumbled over her own feet as she attempted to navigate through the maze of furniture with a stack of goose-down pillows in her arms.

In her typical, clumsy fashion, she tripped and fell on floor, with the pillows flying every which way. She counted herself fortunate to be on the thick, plush rug that spanned half of the room as she did so. She dragged herself from the floor and rubbed her chin. "That's sure to leave a bruise," she muttered.

From this vantage point, she discovered the hearth had a layer of soot on the fireside she'd need to scrub quite fervently. She silently cursed Cecilia, who had the assignment of the princess' room the prior week. "Lazy girl."

She straightened and set about plucking the pillows from the rug, debating whether or not she should go all the way down to the laundry chamber and collect new ones. She probably should, regrettably. Hermione had just gathered the last one when a sound from the door startled her.

She froze when she heard voices and the unmistakable creak of the door opening.

Princess Astoria wasn't alone, and Hermione should probably excuse herself, but then she saw a flash of white-blond hair, and her limbs froze up all over again.

"Is this part of the tour?" The confident voice drawled.

"A special extended tour," came the saucy reply.

Hermione's eyes scanned the room before landing on the ornately decorated dressing screen. She darted behind it as the footsteps came closer.

"I do hope you like what you see," Princess Astoria called in a voice so sickly sweet, Hermione wondered if it was really Astoria speaking after all. "You'll find we can be," she heard the sound of fabric rustling, "very accommodating at Ballycastle."

Hermione couldn't help herself, she peeked from behind the screen and her mouth fell open when she saw Prince Draco advancing on the princess with all the keen attention of a dangerous animal. Why were the princess and the prince together without an escort? The king would be furious. Hermione knew she should make herself known, but more than ever she felt dread at the idea of moving a single muscle. She peered up at the prince who was walking the princess into the end of her large canopied bed. He was really quite beautiful, in a predatory sort of way. She'd never seen a man she would call beautiful. He was smiling, only his smile seemed to be rather dark—wicked, even. Why did the princess not see the potential threat?

"I'm glad to hear our neighbors are so friendly." The prince set his lips in a confident line as his eyes roved over her body.

"Show me a magic trick, won't you?" The princess' voice was distinctly whiny. "I know you know how. I've heard the tales."

The prince rolled his eyes before muttering, "Incendio," and Hermione stared anew when a small fire danced in the prince's hands, casting shadows on his face that made him look all the more sinister. Hermione would not have believed such a thing were possible. The rumors surrounding Wiltshire flickered over her brain. Perhaps there was some truth to the gossip.

"Oh!" The princess clapped as if watching a show. "Lovely. Word was true about your many tricks and talents."

"I'd be happy to show you some of my better tricks if you like?"

The princess nodded and let out a giggle of delight. The prince anchored his hands over the princess' hips, and then Hermione had to duck around the dressing screen again. He'd pulled up the princess' dress—well past her ankles! What on earth did he intend to do? It was completely improper. Hermione's cheeks flamed magenta when she heard the sound of lips puckering and kissing over skin. She paled when she heard the princess let out a low moan from her throat.

Oh dear.

Hermione really mucked up now.

The princess would order her death if Hermione were discovered.

She was forced to hold as still as she could and try and make sense of the odd sounds the princess was making. She heard more clothing shift, and Hermione could not help but gnaw nervously on her lip. The prince let out a groan followed by a mewl from the princess, and Hermione started worrying for them both. What were they doing? Why wasn't somebody coming to save Hermione from this ghastly situation she found herself in? The sounds leaving the princess' throat picked up in tempo and then Hermione grew truly alarmed.

The prince was killing the princess.

It was happening right behind this dressing screen and Hermione could do nothing about it. Adrenaline pounding at her temples, she chanced another glance. The prince's face was twisted in agony, and he was snapping his hips into the princess. The princess had wrapped her legs around his waist and arched up her back as she continued the steady stream of moans. Hermione wished to plug out the sound. It was dreadful! She supposed that's how it sounded when you were being murdered, but still. She ducked back behind the screen and gathered her bearings. She needed to act, the princess was in trouble! Hermione's eyes fell on a chest she didn't dare open, the rod holding the curtains, and finally a poker sitting on the fireplace. Her fingers itched, did she grab for it and attempt to take the murderous prince by surprise? She couldn't live with herself if she did nothing during a murder!

"Yes, my Prince," came Princess Astoria's pleading voice. "Harder."

Hermione swallowed convulsively.

Her fingers paused over the poker. Did Princess Astoria require her help or not? The whole situation was maddening. The distinct sound of skin slapping against skin at an alarming rate caused her head to throb with questions. When the Prince let out a growl that didn't sound quite human, Hermione curled herself in a ball, refusing to look and afraid of what she might see.

Then blood curdling silence.

He'd killed her.

She heard the prince pulling up his trousers.

Hermione had bore witness to murder and done nothing. Guilt seared through her, only to be shattered a second later by impossible hope.

"My Prince?"

Hermione shot up at the sound of Princess Astoria's voice.

"Yes, Pet?"

"I hope when you return to your kingdom, you'll remember me, and the accommodations I can provide."

A dark chuckle. "Oh darling, you seem a bit confused: I get accommodations wherever I go."

Hermione risked a peek, and saw the prince turn briskly away before walking to the door. The stunned and disheveled princess looked lost for words as she stared after his retreating form. She sat for a good five minutes just looking at the door, making Hermione think she'd never leave, but she eventually got up and adjusted her dress before exiting out the same way.

Now it was Hermione's turn to stare at the door in confusion. She wracked her brain, but was unable to come up with a suitable explanation for what she saw. Her limbs felt like they were made of stone as she forced herself to her feet, hovering stiffly. The only source of comfort she could draw on was the fact that at least the princess hadn't died.

~oOo*oOo~

"Hilda…" Hermione trailed off uncertainly as she folded the pillow cases.

"What is it, girl?" The robust woman didn't pause to look up as she furiously scrubbed the linen in her bucket.

"In the castle today...I saw a man and a woman. They weren't with an escort and they were…" Hermione bit her lip. "Well, that is to say, their clothing wasn't on quite right and they were…" She heard the scrubbing stop and felt the heat of Hilda's gaze. She averted her eyes. "They were moving rather oddly and making the strangest sounds...well...what were they doing?"

"You saw a husband and wife coupling?"

Hermione shrugged. "I'm not sure if they were married, exactly." She pulled her eyes to face Hilda's hard stare.

"What you saw was coupling." Hilda looked back down at her work.

Frustrated, Hermione gripped the hem of her apron. "And what exactly is coupling?"

"It's when a man sticks his sword, so to speak, in between his woman's legs and pummels her."

Hermione's eyes widened to saucers. "Whatever for?"

"To produce heirs, of course. It's the only way to do it."

"Doesn't it hurt?"

Hilda gave a careless nod. "Mhm. It's best to just pull up your skirts, spread your legs, and grip the bed post until it's over. Nasty business making heirs is. The men like it well enough though."

"The men like to poke into their wives?"

"It's pleasant for them, I suppose."

Hermione wrinkled her nose. Hilda's answers only made her think of a dozen more questions, chief among them, why would the princess allow the prince to do that to her, when they were not married or producing heirs? None of it made any sense. Did Princess Astoria hope to make the prince happy by letting him do something he felt was pleasant in order that he might thank her and marry her later? Hermione shuddered. Who would want to get married when that's what there was to look forward to?

~oOo*oOo~

It had been easy to switch places with a kitchen maid so that she might serve dishes at the feast. The maid in question was happy to get the night off, and Hermione was happy to get her mind on anything else but the bizarre act she had witnessed earlier that day.

The royals at the long table paid her no mind as she slipped in and out to take and collect dishes. After each course, Hermione would slink back into the shadows and watch the occupants as they enjoyed their lavish meal.

She stifled a grimace when she saw Prince Draco, sitting as bold as brass in a position of honor by the king. Princess Astoria sat quietly beside her sister, Princess Daphne, sulking over her food, and looking rather put out at being poked just a few hours before, if Hermione had any guess. She kept her eye on the tankards of ale to make sure they didn't go low as she tried to tune into the table talk. Her eyes continued to wander during the lively discussion.

Sir Theodore did not appear to be enjoying himself. He was looking at the table occupants like someone of a higher station would look to her, as if they were beneath him. He did not possess the same highborn beauty as his wicked prince, but he was lovely just the same, and Hermione again marveled at how men could be so beautiful. She always thought them as hairy, fat, and stinking of ale, for the most part. His deep brown eyes were sharp and seemed to catch everything. She looked away, afraid he may feel her watching him.

Next to Sir Theodore was the man of the hour—the Duke of Salazar. If she thought the other two men had been handsome, the duke was on another level entirely. Her stomach tightened nervously. The Duke of Salazar was breath-stealingly handsome with golden skin that served to highlight hair the color of a moonless night. His chin was sharp and chiseled, his cheekbones were high with a nose so straight, it reminded Hermione of the Greek statues in the castle gardens. Perfectly shaped cupid-bow lips were pressed into a petulant line. When he did speak, his voice was unbearably rich. He was predatory, his presence dominating and commanding respect. Hermione found him fascinating. Eloquent brows rested above blue eyes so dark they may as well have been depthless. They were so piercing, Hermione suspected they would skewer her to her very soul. She may have stared at him all evening, just to wonder at the secrets behind those sapphire eyes, but then she realized with sudden clarity—those eyes were studying her!

Something hot and red spread and burst across her skin as if she'd been burned, and she quickly ducked.

Bells of alarm rang off in her head—why had a nobleman made eye contact with her? Did he require his tankard to be refilled? She was standing a decent distance from the table, in the shadows where she usually hid, but he had spotted her anyway. To have been noticed was so overwhelmingly disconcerting, she could scarcely gather her bearings.

"Duke," she heard King Charles bark out. "Have you thought about my proposal? Is there any maiden in my kingdom that catches your fancy? You may have your pick."

Murmurs from the surrounding tables produced a low humming in the court.

Hermione wanted to glance up and see the reactions for herself, but she was frozen with her head down against the wall, still reeling from the intensity of the duke's gaze.

"It's a generous offer," she heard Prince Draco say. "Thomas needs to settle down most expediently." The prince chuckled at some private joke.

Thomas, Hermione mulled the name over in her head. Something about even thinking a royal's name instead of their proper title felt decidedly wicked.

"Quite generous, Your Grace," the rich, melodious voice of the duke agreed. "I think it may be beneficial for myself and my kingdom to accept your offer."

She heard the sound of girls giggling, and imagined the duke to flash the princesses a breath-dazzling smile. How did he look like when he smiled? Lured by curiosity, she looked up and found that he was not smiling at all. Since observing the newcomers, the only one of the foreigners she'd seen smile had been Prince Draco, and that was more of a smirk, if anything.

"I most certainly agree." The king stroked his large chin. "Our two kingdoms need to revisit our travel policies and open the doors of friendship. With our enemies gathering in the north, we need to come together now more than ever."

Hermione watched the scene from below long lashes as she attempted to shutter her gaze, but the duke blessedly did not look her way again. When would the duke agree to take Princess Daphne as his bride? She was sure the wedding would be the stuff of dreams. She grimaced when she considered what the princess would be expected to go through upon her nuptials, and wondered if she even knew what was in store for her. Of course, if her younger sister knew and already engaged in the horrifying practice, chances were Princess Daphne knew as well. Hermione smirked to herself. She'd rather die an old maid than ever take a husband of any of the men who worked at Court. She thought about the golden-haired man who often offered to carry her buckets of water to and from the moat when she saw him. Cormac was handsome to be sure, but she would never elect to put herself through such discomfort at his hands. Children would not be in the picture for her, even if Cormac struck her as the type to be gentle, unlike what she suspected the Wiltshire royals capable of.

"I believe I shall take you up on your generous offer." Something imperceptible gleamed in the Duke of Salazar's eyes.

Gasps of intrigue permeated the ensuing silence. Hermione was not surprised the duke had decided to take the king up on his offer. It was a very favorable position for someone of his rank - though still noble - to wed a princess.

"And who will the lucky lady be?" King Charles gave a rare smile, his schemes on the verge of seeing fruition. "Who in the kingdom has struck your fancy?"

Princess Daphne sat up straight, a demure expression adorning her face, looking ever the delicate high-born. She seemed to know what was coming at this point.

"Sadly." The duke sat back in his chair. "I do not know her name."

Hermione's brows drew together in confusion.

The King chuckled as if sharing a joke. "No? Inform me of her description and I shall have her sent for straight away."

The king did not appear to believe the duke really had cast his eye on a no-name girl, but played along regardless.

"No need, Your Grace." The duke was the picture of ease as his compatriots exchanged mischievous looks with him. "The lady in question is already in the room, fortunately."

King Charles smiled widely, his stance haughty and confident. "By all means, point her out to us. I believe everyone in the court would like to know who the new Duchess of Salazar will soon be."

The duke gave a sure nod. "Of course, Majesty." His eyes drew to Hermione's side of the room. He stood from his seat and pointed in her direction. "Her."

All eyes drew to where Hermione stood, and just as curious as everyone else, she turned around to see who the duke had singled out, but was met only by a stone wall. She frowned, working her brain frenetically to figure out what exactly the duke had meant if there was no one behind her.

Silence.

Hermione turned back around and found that all eyes were focused squarely on her. Heat crept up her neck. Even the king and both princesses were looking at her, and she didn't think in all her years at the castle that they had ever addressed her directly, nor graced her with their attention. Her heart stuttered in her chest. Puzzled, she unwillingly brought her eyes up again to face the duke. It was hard to discern, but she thought she saw amusement lingering in his eyes.

Yes.

He was looking at her - pointing at her - beyond a shadow of a doubt.

There was a sudden roil in her stomach.

Awkward and forced chuckling interrupted the silence. "Truly?" the king queried. "Duke, tell me, do you jest?"

"I never jest," came the cool reply.

Hermione wanted to shrink away from his stare. Dizziness surged in her head and she suddenly felt very unbalanced. What did the duke mean by pulling her into a jest of this magnitude? She would never be forgiven. More likely, she would be ruined. This would be seen as a slight to the royals, no matter the teasing nature. Was this even happening?

"You offered me the maiden of my choosing, and I have made my decision."

Prince Draco let out a raucous laugh.

King Charles turned beet red. "You mean to make a fool out of me?" He slammed his hands down on the table. "Take my kind offer and snub me with it? If you jest, best to come clean now."

Something perilous flashed over the duke's eyes. "I already told you: I do not jest." The duke did not seem concerned in the least over the anger he incited. His expression of thinly veiled smug satisfaction caused Hermione to believe the duke was experiencing feelings of schadenfreude, not remorse. "You told me any maiden, and I have made my selection. Now what is the problem? Do the men of Ballycastle have a habit of going back on their word?"

"Everyone leave!" the king commanded, voice dangerously low.

The sound of chairs scraping and dresses rustling as the distinguished members of Court were dismissed caused Hermione's ears to buzz. Locating her lost control, she forced her limbs to move and follow the crowd.

"Not you," the king barked, "you stupid girl!"

Hermione froze.

Oh dear.

She wondered in vain if she could possibly be dreaming? Surely this sort of thing did not take place in reality? Perhaps she would wake up any moment. Unwilling to be mortified in her own dream, she faced the king, his daughters, and the foreigners, jutting her chin out with more pride than she felt.

"Your Majesty." She curtseyed, remembering her manners when a royal addressed her.

He ignored her. "What spell have you cast on this man to make him commit to such a rash decision? What hexes and jinxes have you conjured? Tell me true, girl!"

Hermione stammered, trying to make sense of his words. What sort of question was he asking? She hadn't done anything!

The duke saved her from answering.

"Nothing at all," he drawled loftily. "I value certain things in a potential wife, certain rarities, and this lady possesses them."

Princess Daphne gasped in outrage, then shot daggers at Hermione. Mirroring her sister, Princess Astoria pegged Hermione with a menacing look, filled with the promise of retribution.

"What certain things?" the king spat cruelly. "Surely a common wench doesn't measure up to a princess with generations of royal blood flowing through her veins!"

The duke merely inclined his head. "I grow quite bored of this. Will you be revoking your offer then?"

The king's face grew impossibly redder. "No! If you are stupid enough to electively choose such a disgraceful match, I'm sure you'll be well-suited." King Charles turned and barked at Hermione. "Girl! Come here at once."

A dream, she reminded herself. This is nothing but a dream or maybe a vision. May as well see how it plays out! She forced her legs steady as she made her way to the royal table. She stopped just before the king, acutely aware of the duke's stare to her side, along with the attention of his foreboding accomplices. It was unnerving!

"Your Grace?"

His eyes roved over her as if measuring her strengths and weaknesses and finding her lacking. "This man has named you as his Intended."

Hermione couldn't help but chance a glance at the rather imposing figure. She found no comfort in his calculating gaze. She turned back to the king and gave a stiff nod, unsure of what to say to such a preposterous statement.

"He has requested your hand in marriage, and I am inclined to give it."

~oOo*oOo~