Location: Ren's West Village Townhouse Year: 2011
POV: Third Person
Morning light filtered back into the master suite, but this time, it found neither a sleeping nor a terrified Blair. It found her awake, alert, and in full control. She had risen before dawn, Ren's body still protectively wrapped around hers. For a moment, she allowed herself to savor the feeling: the security of his embrace, the warmth of his skin, the steady rhythm of his heart beneath her ear. It was a sanctuary, and it was hers.
But the sanctuary had a keeper, and that was her new role.
She slipped out of bed with the stealth of a cat, donned a silk robe she'd found in the closet, and set to work. When the first real rays of sun hit Manhattan, Blair had already reviewed the night's report from the Hong Kong markets on her tablet, measured a precise dose of insulin, and held a quiet, authoritative conversation with Elena, the head of staff, about the exact breakfast menu, specifying carbohydrate counts and protein balance. She moved through the vast, silent townhouse not as a guest, but as its mistress, its manager, its queen consort. And every staff member, from Arthur to the gardener tending the indoor garden, treated her with a deference that acknowledged her new, vital role.
By eight o'clock, she approached the bed. Ren was still sleeping, the deep, restorative slumber she had tacitly commanded for him. He looked younger, more at peace than she had ever seen him. The sight squeezed her heart with a tenderness so fierce it almost hurt. It was a wonderful, terrifying feeling.
She sat on the edge of the bed and brushed his hair from his forehead. "Ren," she whispered. "Time to rise. The world awaits."
He stirred, a low rumble vibrating in his chest. His eyes slowly fluttered open, focusing on her. A lazy, genuinely happy smile spread across his face. It was the smile of a man waking up exactly where he wants to be.
"Good morning, my queen," he rasped, his voice thick with sleep.
He pushed himself up, and before she could react, he grabbed her waist, pulling her onto the bed for a deep, possessive good-morning kiss. Blair laughed against his lips, but as he tried to deepen the kiss, she pulled back, placing a playful finger on his mouth.
"Ah, ah, ah, Ishikawa," she said, her tone a mix of teasing and affection. "Even absolute monarchs are not exempt from the demands of dental hygiene. There is a protocol. And morning breath is not in it. We must be civilized."
Ren groaned, a mock protest. "You're a tyrant."
"I'm a benevolent constitutional monarch," she corrected. "Now go. The bathroom awaits. Your glucose test and a nutritionally perfect breakfast will follow."
He watched her for a long moment, his smile softening into something deeper. "Yes, my Queen," he said, and the way he said it, with total sincerity, made Blair's heart flutter. He rose and headed for the bathroom, and Blair allowed herself a small, satisfied smile. She liked this new dynamic. Much.
An hour later, they were preparing for the day. The master suite had become their shared dressing room. Ren was already dressed in a charcoal grey suit that screamed quiet power, standing by the window and speaking softly into a phone in what Blair assumed was Russian.
She, meanwhile, stood before the full-length mirror, putting on the finishing touches. She had chosen her armor with care. A Roland Mouret day dress, in a rich cobalt blue. It was a deliberate choice: sophisticated, powerful, and, as she knew, one of her mother's favorite designers. It was a gesture that said: I am still a Waldorf, but I now play by my own rules.
She was putting on a pair of simple but exquisite sapphire and diamond earrings—a gift she'd found on the bedside table that morning, no note, just the box—when Ren finished his call and came up behind her. His arms wrapped around her waist, pulling her against his chest. He rested his chin on her shoulder, and they looked at themselves together in the mirror. They made a striking pair. He, tall, white-haired, dark and dangerous. She, sleek, vibrant, with a new confidence that shone in her eyes.
"You look happy," he murmured, his breath warm on her neck.
Blair smiled at their reflection. "I am. I'm beyond happy, Ren. I feel like... for the first time, I'm exactly where I'm supposed to be. I feel like everything in my life, every plan, every humiliation, every victory, was leading me here. To you."
"And what's on the agenda today for my terrifying, efficient, and happy queen?" he asked, his tone filled with teasing adoration.
Blair finished securing an earring, then turned in his arms to face him directly. She cupped his face in her hands, her expression turning serious, though her eyes danced with bright emotion.
"Today, my king," she said, her voice a purposeful murmur, "we have a very important appointment. A state visit, if you will."
"Oh, really? And which foreign power are we honoring with our presence?"
"A very formidable one," she replied with a smile. "The High Empire of the Upper East Side. We're going to the penthouse."
Ren raised an eyebrow, but said nothing. He waited.
"I'm going to talk to my mother," Blair continued, her voice gaining strength. "No more hung-up phone calls. A face-to-face conversation. And I'm going to formally introduce you. Not as the man I'm dating, or my partner." She paused, letting the weight of her next words settle. "But as my future husband."
Ren's breath hitched for a fraction of a second. His eyes widened, the only sign of his surprise. He knew their commitment was deep, but this declaration, so swift, so definitive, caught him off guard.
Blair smiled at his reaction. "And," she added, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper, "if he behaves, and if the topic comes up naturally, possibly also as the future father of her very well-dressed, strategically brilliant, and no doubt very spoiled grandchildren."
Silence filled the room. Ren stared at her, his mind, which could process billions of bits of data per second, struggling to take in the magnitude of what she was saying. She wasn't asking him. She was informing him of their shared future. She was claiming not just his present, but his entire life.
He, who had built an empire so he could enter her world, now found that she had conquered his without firing a single shot. He had surrendered long before he knew they were at war.
A slow smile spread across Ren's face, a smile of pure, absolute wonder.
"When you say you take control, you really don't mince words, do you, Waldorf?"
"Never have," she replied proudly. "Do you have a problem with the plan?"
He chuckled, a deep, genuine sound that vibrated through her. "None at all. It's the best plan I've ever heard." He leaned in and kissed her, a kiss that was a mix of gratitude, passion, and a total, absolute surrender. It was the kiss of a man who had found his equal in every sense of the word. "Tell me what you need from me for this... state visit."
Blair pulled back, her eyes shining with radiant confidence. "From you, nothing," she said, expertly adjusting his tie. "You just need to stand by my side, look like the impossibly handsome and powerful king you are, and let me handle the diplomacy. My mother may be more formidable than some of the dictators on your contact list, but I know her weaknesses."
"I have no doubt of that," he said, his admiration palpable.
The limousine ride from the bohemian tranquility of the West Village to the structured opulence of the Upper East Side was a journey between two worlds. The world Blair was building and the world she had left behind. She held Ren's hand, their fingers intertwined. They didn't talk about the plan. There was no need. They were perfectly in sync. They were a united front heading into enemy territory to announce the formation of a new superpower.
As the limousine pulled up to the familiar, ostentatious apartment building of her mother, Blair took a deep breath. She looked at Ren, who returned a look of unwavering support.
The last time she had entered this building, she had been Blair Waldorf, future Princess Grimaldi, a girl playing a part in a fairy tale she hadn't written.
Today, she returned as Queen Blair, with her King by her side. And she wasn't here to perform in a play. She was here to announce the beginning of her own, true dynasty.
The doorman, who had known her since she was a child, opened the limousine door with an expression of respectful awe.
Blair stepped out, her head held high, her hand still firmly in Ren's. She felt not a shred of fear. Not an ounce of doubt. Only an exhilarating, absolute certainty.
She was home. And she had come to claim her old kingdom in the name of the new.