Authors Note: Alright, I posted this on Tumblr weeks ago back when I was still taking requests. The request was for Caroline to be a poor serving girl and Klaus was a king searching for a queen. If you do decide to read this you'll see that I took a couple of creative liberties with the overall idea.

I'm going to warn you now that if Stefan seems at all out of character (which he does to me) it's because I pictured Ripper!Stefan while writing this.

On that note, please review and let me know what you think!

Disclaimer: I do not own or am in no way affiliated with The Vampire Diaries

He ruled without mercy, without any inclination that he cared for those subjected to him at all. If others yearned to inspire love, he sought to inspire fear to captivate their loyalty. As far as his manner was concerned, he would prefer to be feared rather than loved. And that was entirely unsettling to her, even from her distant gazes and hurried steps.

Her mother had died, as had her father, both having perished in a fire his greatest warriors had inflicted on her home. Her entire village had been swallowed by an angry burst of red and orange flames until all that was left to even suggest its existence was the billowing pillars of thick smoke. And she had been pulled from her home, dragged into the street and thrown against the burning rubble. She could still feel the ash sticking to her skin when she remembered.

Those circling her had barely tugged at the bodice of her dress before he came in and his presence was enough to draw the others back. It was his gloved hand that helped her move to her shaky feet and his hand that left the comforting weight on her shoulder. His eyes were a bright green and she could not stare into them for long. For though he seemed kind, she could see that hardness in his eyes, the pain that was buried beneath.

And she was taken back to the dark stronghold she had only caught glimpses of when the fog didn't engulf the mountain it was placed. She was drawn to the dwelling where sunlight hardly even drifted through the thick stone and boarded windows. There was seclusion there, a vicious, dangerous one that demanded both attention and fear. She experienced much of the latter in those dark corridors, the hallways where the shadows seemed to shrink from the presence of a king loathed by all.

Her knight (and what a silly thing it was to call such a man as he) could not keep her a secret for long. He would lure her into those corridors with their whispering shadows and trail fervent lips across her throat until she would bury her fingers in his hair to keep him there. For as foolish and absurd as it was, he made her feel safe, even when he was the last person she should feel safe with. She had heard stories of him and his mannerisms. She had heard of those green eyes and strong arms and the terror they could inflict. More often than not any scream heard in the night was caused directly by the man who rescued her from the fire and the men. She suspected that was why he was the king's most trusted ally.

She should not trust him the way she did. She could not believe that he would save her from everything because of his own selfish wants. But she did, and she hated it.

She grew to hate him the day his brother caught him leering at her from across the way. The moment those icy eyes met hers she knew there would be repercussions. For his brother, though feared and admired in his own right, was sick of being second best. There was a rivalry there that she could not understand, no matter how one-sided it seemed to be.

She grew to hate him the day his brother whispered of their late encounters to a king that valued loyalty most of all. She grew to hate him the moment he pressed a kiss to her hair before leading her to a room she had only heard murmurs of. She only needed to glimpse the wood to discover where his intentions led. She only needed to glance into those eyes to see the truth. She only needed to push him away once before that gaze hardened and she was shoved into that dimly lit room with rich fabrics of crimson that reminded her of some twisted blend of blood and fire.

She almost didn't see him there among the shadows. His back was to her and he was standing at the window and she could not fathom why it was so dark with the curtains drawn back. She could not find the moon in the sky. But he turned before she could think on it further and she felt her eyes widen. His sandy hair was a mess, his eyes curious and amused, and there was a smirk tugging at his lips. She had not expected such a cruel man to hold such a splendor, but it made perfect sense.

He approached her with such grace and her eyes followed his every move until he was standing before her. She did not speak when he raised a hand to tuck a curl behind her ear. His fingers were rough and calloused.

"Stefan has managed to keep you to himself," he stated and she felt the heat rise in her cheeks. "Such a shame. What is your name, love?"

"Caroline," she replied timidly, lowering into a familiar curtsey and he chuckled at the proper manner.

"Caroline," he repeated before his smirk returned. "You are not to see him anymore, do you understand?"

His tone implied that it was not question. It was a command that was meant to be followed. It suggested the consequences if she disobeyed. She could only nod and he smiled in return before his hand fell away from her cheek, trailing his fingers along the flesh of her neck and down her collarbone before coming to a halt at the top of her dress. His hands were strangely cool and she felt the chill settle along her skin. He did not say a word, just held her there, his eyes never leaving hers until she felt her dress fall to pool at her feet. She did not protest, she could not even if she chose to. Her voice was caught in her throat and she was frozen in place, standing with parted lips in a silent gasp, perhaps a plea, as he ran his hands against the newly exposed skin.

She did not make a single sound until he had claimed her against that peculiar silk of crimson.

Everything proceeded as normally as it could in the weeks to follow. She spent her days accomplishing the most tedious of tasks, whether it be cleaning or cooking. She avoided those watchful green eyes at all costs. Or at least she did until the night. He was always her escort, leading her to that room and returning to walk her back the following morning. He kept his expression guarded most times, or he did until her dress would shift and he would catch glimpses of purple bruises speckled across her throat and chest. She would watch as his jaw clenched before he seemed to remember his place.

It was the arrival of the woman that would soon become the king's queen that reminded her of hers.

She was beautiful, a vision in her deep gowns of elaborate design and rich silks. Her dark hair cascaded down her back in curls and her brown eyes held a mirth that had long ago faded from her own blue ones. She walked with an elegance and confidence that mystified and entranced the men of the court.

"Her name is Charlotte," he said to her one day before they reached that familiar door. "He is to marry her in a fortnight."

"Why are you telling me this?" she asked before letting herself make eye contact with him for the first time in weeks. "Why now?"

"Do not be so foolish to believe that he actually cares for you," he scowled before raising a hand to the pin resting in her hair, the necklace at her throat. "His gifts are not promises, Caroline."

"I know that," she snarled in response and he only laughed.

"He does not love you," he spat the word as if the very thought of such a thing was so distasteful. "He will not marry you or hope for an heir that you will mother. You are nothing more than his whore and any child that is produced from your couplings will be deemed a bastard."

She did not give him the satisfaction in displaying her hurt. She did not strike him, she did not weep, nor did she speak. Instead she pushed past him and made her own way to the room.

That night he took her against the door.

She did not notice that swelling in her stomach until the day of the wedding. She could only watch from afar as the woman was coroneted, feeling entirely undesirable in her listless dress and discomfort in her throat. Her eyes grew wet as the bile climbed up her throat and she was able to slip out the door just in time to empty what was left in her stomach. She pressed her hand there, staring blankly ahead with wide, fearful eyes. And it was not her king who came to her aid. It was not her green-eyed savior who pulled her away before the crowd gathered inside could notice and realize what they had all been expecting. No, it was his brother with his dark hair and blue eyes who helped her to her feet and led her away from the cries of allegiance and well wishes.

And it was he who told the king of her state. The man with the sandy hair who had known her in every way only visited her once and he never moved to stand near her.

"Niklaus," she had said tearfully and she saw the distance in his eyes.

"Your Majesty," he corrected and she had to look away before he could see her crumble before him.

He did not return after that. His queen's belly soon grew to rival her own. She did not see her personally. Everything was passed down to her through carefully worded messages. But she was told that his Majesty was elated with that child, and she bitterly realized he had a right to be.

She did not weep for her loss or for her loneliness.

But she smiled when she was graced with a little boy who had his father's sandy hair. And she made a promise to that little child when he was placed in her arms, a whispered frantic promise to never leave him alone.

"What have you named him?"

She did not look up when he entered the room, though those around her dipped into a curtsey or a bow in greeting. Her eyes were cold when they fell to him before settling back on the smiling infant in her arms. She would have laughed if she had not caught herself. The two brothers had accompanied him, both looking as collected as she remembered them. But she did not answer his question; she could not give him that. The birth of a son was more difficult to forget than that of a daughter. But he had managed to stay away for over a month.

"How is the queen?" she asked instead, still too stubborn to look at him.

"Well," he replied. "The child is very strong."

"I am pleased to hear that," she smiled and allowed herself a quick glance at his face, but his own steely eyes were focused on the boy.

"A son," he breathed and she saw the smallest trace of a smile.

"He looks like you," she admitted and it was the first time she had said it out loud. "I cannot see my likeness in him at all."

"I can," he protested and she had not noticed him approach the bed until she saw him reach out to brush the top of the child's head.

"Your Majesty," the elder brother spoke and it was only then that they both saw the servant in the room, out of breath. "The child is coming."

He spared her one last glance and she knew it was a goodbye. She could already foresee her exile and the pitiful future both she and her son would live. He had ruined her in every way possible. But she could not hate him the way she had believed to have hated Stefan. He had given her a child, a bastard or not, and that was not something easily forgotten, no matter how he sought to remove the both of them from his life.

When he left it was the older brother who stayed, hanging back in the doorway, looking at her curiously.

"Why are you so joyful?" he asked after a pause, eyes narrowing.

"How could I not be?" she retorted with a small smile.

"Your whole life will be polluted with whispers and men who will not wed you because of that child."

"I will need to be strong for him," she replied sadly. "What other choice do I have?"

"Did you love him, the king?"

She paused, considering it.

"I apologize, but I do not know your name."

"Damon," he chuckled.

"I believed I did, Damon," she said ruefully with pursed lips. "What a foolish thing to consider."

"You are not foolish."

"You are kind to say so."

"You did not have much of a choice," he told her as if she should have known it sooner. "You could not object to his advances."

"I suppose my future was ruined the moment I set foot in this place then," she sighed, handing the now sleeping baby to a woman who placed him in a cradle. "Have you ever been in love, Damon?"

"I do not believe so."

She did not reply to that. She could hear the dishonesty in his voice and she only smiled in response and her eyes drifted again to the sleeping child.

The queen gave birth to a baby girl hours later.