#Medieval 141 | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

the-californicationist · 7 months ago

Text

ughhhhhh omg ive been waiting for this one and it DELIVERS!!!! the interaction between her and the prince --- and PRICE OVER THE SHOULDER. omg sedate me. perfecto.

Chapter 2- The Summons

Minors DNI please. 4.7k word length

Your house can't really be called anything more than a cottage, really. But it is home to you, your father, and your brother on the occasions when he is not in the Knights' quarters in the palace. It is small, drafty, and in desperate need of repairs, but it is home. It is safety. It is sanctuary.

A week and three days after the announcement at the festival, that sanctuary is shattered.

You are in the middle of sharing a breakfast with your father when the knock at the door comes. Seeing your pale expression, he gets to his feet and answers the door for you. You hear him greet whoever is delivering the message, confirming your residence. Your father, usually so kind and chatty, is rather brusque with the messenger, and does not linger in the doorway before closing the door in the man's face.

"Was it from the palace?" You ask needlessly, stirring your porridge with a wooden spoon.

"It is," Your father says, voice soft. "Do you want to read it? Or shall I?"

You hold your hand out for the sealed letter, and take it from his hand. You rip the top of the envelope open, not bothering with breaking the wax seal that bears the signet of Prince Aldous.

"Dear so-and-so," you start with a dreary, sarcastic sigh. "This is a formal summons to the palace to participate in the presentation of yourself as a candidate for courtship to His Royal Highness Aldous Godfrey. You are required to present yourself at the palace in a weeks's time. Any questions should be directed to the Royal Steward." You set the parchment down, swallowing against the sudden lump in your throat.

"I don't want to do this," You whisper to the empty room. "I don't have any desire to be royal."

Your father comes around the table, settling in the chair next to you in order to pull you into a tight embrace. You press your face into his shoulder, leaning into his embrace as you accept the reality that you're going to have to go to the palace.

"Maybe if I'm lucky I'll spill wine on him or something and get booted immediately," You mutter into the fabric of your father's tunic.

He runs his hand over your hair and down your back in a soothing manner. "Whatever happens, whichever the results, I will always be proud of you, my darling daughter. And I have no doubts that you will be safe at the palace, under Jonas' watchful eye."

That thought has occured to you. A dim flicker of hope in what seems like a sea of doom. "He won't let anything happen. Maybe I can bribe him to kidnap me," You giggle then, leaning back once more. Your father gives you a tight-lipped smile, but the corners of his eyes crinkle in that familiar, soothing way.

"Well you have a week to get yourself together. Either your Sunday Best, or your washing clothes, which will it be?"

---

"Your summons, my lady?" The guard at the gate peers down at you, an eyebrow raised. He's evidently tired of this particular assignment, and you can't particularly blame him. You hand him the envelope with the letter inside, watching as he removes the summons, skimming over the contents and examining the seal.

"Thank you," the guard says, handing you the letter back. "Continue through that door there, and you will wait in the parlor room with the other ladies being presented today." You give him a nod before gathering your bag into your hands once more and heading for the door that leads into the castle proper.

The morning is bright, sunlight and birdsong filling the courtyard with warmth and beauty. You're loathe to leave it for the uncertainty that is within the castle walls, but alas, with more women arriving behind you, and guards all around keeping a watchful eye, you can't exactly make a grand escape, at least not without making a scene.

Despite your reluctance to participate in this whole debacle, you've resigned yourself to the fact that, if you do indeed try to win the Prince's hand, your father may yet be able to retire in peace and comfort. As the wedded of the heir to the throne, you, and by extension your family, would never be without.

The parlor you enter is well-lit and filled with a soothing breeze. The windows that are usually shuttered against the elements are open now, letting in the smells and sounds of summer. A couple dozen young ladies lounge on the many chairs, cushions, and couches, twittering away like a flock of sparrows. You find yourself a plush cushion to settle on, situated underneath one of the many windows, and pull out a bit of mending from your bag.

As you begin a row of careful stitches on a torn stocking, you let your eyes roam the room. Aside from the young ladies, there are a handful of guards in the room, posted to keep the peace, and to escort the ladies to their audience with the Prince. Every few minutes or so, a harried-looking page will run in, announce the names of several of the women, and then dash away once more.

The ladies themselves are a rainbow of colors, though you cant help but notice that some shine brighter than others. The young noblewomen have come from their estates with bustles and pastels and ropes of pearls. Some even cary boxes and bags of what you can only assume are gifts, though perhaps the better term would be "bribe". The young nobles flounce around and laugh and chat, casting glances over their shoulders at other women in the room, particularly the commoners such as yourself. The truth of the matter is that your Sunday Best will never equate to even the worst of the gowns that those with noble blood boast of.

"Would you care for some refreshment?" A voice from somewhere above you brings you back to the present. You glance up from your needlework, gazing up into the fair face of one of the palace servants. Her plain but practical dress suits her nicely, and she wear a matronly look about her, with her greying hair tucked into a bonnet. "There is wine, cider, ale, and water."

"Some water would be lovely, thank you." You say to the servant with a smile. She gives you one in return, and then moves away to a door that you assume leads to where the refreshments are being stored. In a matter of minutes, you have a cup of cool water in your hands from which to sip from. Then the matron is on her way to the next lady to inquire the same of her.

You're not certain how long you have been sitting on your cushion, basking in the warm sunlight and darning your socks, before a ripple of excitement heralds the return of the pageboy. You lift your gaze to watch the page as he unrolls a slip of parchment, from which he reads several names. You watch those who approach the door when their names are called, noting their mannerisms. All but one of this group seem excited to get their moment with the Prince.

Once they are lead away, the room settles back into its previous state of waiting, and you return once more to the mending in your hands. You count the stitches to keep yourself entertained as the minutes crawl by, humming tunelessly to yourself.

"Is this seat taken?" A familiar voice asks. You glance up to smile at Jenny, gesturing to the cushion beside you. She fluffs her skirts out and settles next to you, bumping your shoulder with hers as she giggles a little.

"It's a good thing you and I got picked for the same day for our summonings," You remark. "I don't know hardly anyone else in here."

"Oh tosh," Jenny said, rolling her eyes. "There are at least three girls here that we attended early schooling with." She scans the crowd. "There's Elisa Redmont, Genevieve Windmyre, and whats-her-name over there."

You roll your eyes and chuckle, rolling your needle between your fingers. "I wouldn't say I know them," you reply in kind. "We meet occasionally on market days, but I don't actually speak with them, or go out of my way to spend time with them." Patting Jenny's arm, you continue. "That's what I have you for. Who else do I need?"

"You flatterer," Jenny grins, leaning gracefully against the wall behind her. You notice the book in her hands, one you'd given her a few years' past for a birthday present. Fondness makes your chest tight as you smile at your friend, before settling your back once more against the stone wall.

The time does go by faster with a friend in tow, and before you know it, the pageboy is back once more with a new set of names. "Jennifer Atkins, Wren Rivers, Carmen Pruitt..." And there, at the end of the list of names, you hear your own. You and Jenny share a look before getting to your feet and move to the door along with the others that have been called.

"I'm sure ready for this to be over with," Jenny murmurs in your ear, a note of nervousness tinging her words now. You nod in agreement, clutching the bag at your side.

As you and the others walk down the stone corridors of the castle, you can't help but admire the beauty in the architecture. High ceilings with arching supports, brass candelabras bearing flickering candles, and braziers glowing with fire. In certain places of the castle are well-worn, but ornate rugs to cover the wooden slats, and in other places, delicate but impractical tables stand, boasting beautiful vases of summer wildflowers.

"My Da says that my great-great Grandda was a mason for this castle," jenny murmurs to you, looking at a stone blocks that line the walls. "Can you imagine?"

You shake your head in mute wonder, eyes wide and taking in all the sights.

"You'd think they'd never been inside a castle, the way they stare," Your ears pique up at the sound of a scornful tone. Facing your attention forward, you see three of the young women in the group huddled together and looking over their shoulders at you and Jenny. You can hear their mocking giggles, and grit your teeth as an angry, embarrassed flush fills your cheeks.

"Ignore them," Jenny murmurs to you, though her face is red and her eyebrows furrow as well. "They are just frustrated that they don't get a leg-up by being noble. Normally, the Prince would never even consider a commoner, and here they are, having to associate with us as they vie for position."

Taking your friend's words to heart, you inhale deeply and slowly before letting the air whoosh from your lungs in a steady stream. More focused and centered now, you lift your chin high, continuing to admire the castle you walk through.

Before long, you're brought before an ornate wooden door, heavy and decorated with some sort of mosaic made of precious and semi-precious stones.

"You will wait here until your name is called," One of the soldiers says. "When your audience with the Prince is over, you will be escorted out to the courtyard from where you entered, and you will be free to return to your respective dwellings." The soldier looks around at the group of women in front of him. "Any questions?" When there are none, he gives a brusque nod, and then raps his knuckles on the heavy wooden door.

The herald looks a little winded, truth be told, his balding white hair all askew. He gives the group of girls, yourself included a slightly weary glance, before unrolling the scroll of parchment he has in his hands. "Let's start with Wren Rivers, shall we?"

One by one, the girls are called. Jenny is in the middle of the pack, and after she is escorted to the throne room, time seems to drag on infinitely longer. You lean with your back against the cool stone wall, peering up at a high and shuttered window that lets in a small crack of sunlight. The otherwise dim entryway is lit by torches, their flames flickering and dancing to some song unknown to you.

Soon enough, you are alone once more, save for the guards who remain with you. In an attempt to steady your nervous fidgeting, you clasp your hands behind you, humming tunelessly as you begin to count flagstones. One... Two... Three... Four...

"You look familiar, my lady." You glance up from your counting towards one of the guards, who is looking at you with a queer expression. "Have you been around the palace before?"

You shake your head, rocking back on your slippered heels a little, and then forward onto your toes. "No, I can't say that I have. My brother, however, is a Knight and guard for the castle here. That might be why I seem familiar."

The guard grunts, giving you a once-over, before dropping the topic and returning to his watch. You return to your counting, now timing your breaths with the even and odd counts.

Somewhere around three hundred, the heavy door opens, and the herald says your name. Despite his tired expression, his eyes are kind, and he gives you a soft smile to match your nervous one. "Are you ready?"

The nod you give is a little shaky, but you manage it nonetheless. The herald enters the room and announces you as you step through into the hall beyond.

The high ceilings continue here, the rafters arching above your head. Torches in brackets along the wall remain unlit at this time, allowing for natural light to enter the room from the lofted windows. The ground underfoot is smooth flagstone, though as you raise your gaze to the end of the room where the dais and the throne sits, you notice a small recess into the floor, like a remarkably shallow amphitheater, and a beautiful mosaic which decorates the floor in front of the throne.

The king's throne has been replaced with a smaller, but no less elegant one. The Crown Prince is settled in the throne, draped in fine silk and velvet, and with a silver wine goblet in his hand. Behind him stand his parents, and to the sides of the dais is the full guard of the King's Men. The urge to twitch when you notice familiar faces in the audience rises up, a flash flood of heat in your face.

As it is, you brave the walk down to the mosaicked floor, and dip into a curtsy as low and as graceful as you can manage.

"Rise," Prince Aldous says, and you do so, setting your cloth bag behind you so as to not be a distraction. A moment of silence drags on as you wait for the Prince to finish looking you over. "You look familiar, My Lady," he finally says, bringing his gaze up to meet yours. "Have we met?"

"I don't believe I've had the pleasure, your highness." You clasp your hands in front of you, biting the inside of your cheek to remind yourself not to roll your eyes at the increasingly annoying reminder how much you look like Jonas. "But my brother is a knight of the realm, it's possible that you are thinking of him." Out of the corner of your eye, You see Ser MacTavish grin, apparently recalling the conversation you'd had with him and his comrades at the festival.

"And your brother is...?" The prince's gaze is intense, boring into you.

"Ser Jonas, of the same surname as I," Recognition flares in the Prince's eyes, and you watch for a queer moment as a handful fo emotions flits across his face, before his expression melts into a smooth mask once more.

"I see," He nods slowly. "You and he share a striking resemblance," Another heartbeat of silence, and Prince Aldous Adjusts his seat, leaning forward a little more as he combs his pale hair off of his forehead. "Tell me about yourself, My lady."

You hesitate, gnawing on your lip slightly. Searching for the right words, your gaze flicks over the others in the room. The King and Queen watch you with rapt attention, and you don't dare hold their gazes for long, before shifting to glance at the knights. Ser Simon in his black armor, Ser Mactavish with his kilt. Sers John and Kyle have their heads tilted towards each other slightly, as if in the middle of conversation, their gazes on you. You feel the older's dark blue eyes on you more intently than most.

"I am the lowborn second child of a blacksmith." You finally say, rocking from your toes to your heels. "My mother passed away a few years ago in the Summer Sickness, Leaving just my father, my brother and I. My brother, as I mentioned, is a knight serving in your Highness's service.

"My father is aging, and recently had to retire due to an injury. The Summer Sickness also left him much weaker than he used to be, his heart aches for my mother, I feel.

"I bake for a local tavern to earn some coin, and serve in the evenings to travelers at some local inns. It gets us by, between my income and my brother's, we are luckier than most to benefit from the generosity of our peers and superiors.

"I know my letters and my numbers; I used to assist my father in keeping record of his expenses. I enjoy reading when I can afford the time. I can sew and mend, and I am learning knitting from a friend. I can cook and maintain a household, and with the help of Jonas, I am a decent seat on a horse."

"Can you wield any weapon?" Prince Aldous asks, brows furrowed.

"Not well, Your Highness," Your hands run along the sleeves of your forearms. "My brother has made sure that I have some small skill in knife-work, and he bids me bring one with me when I leave the cottage unattended. Though today I lave left it at home, as you can see." The spot at your waist where the small knife in its worn leather sheathe would normally hang from your belt is indeed vacant.

"As a child I had some experience with the sling, but that would be the extent of my weapons knowledge."

"Do you play any instruments? Perform any art?"

You think of the lute that your mother used to play. "Unfortunately I have not had the pleasure of being able to learn the finer arts. Especially since mother died." You trace the line of your lips with a fingertip. "My family isn't as poor as others... but it is hard to justify luxuries such as instrument or dance lessons when we are still struggling to get by."

Prince Aldous stares at you for a long moment before getting to his feet, and steps down from the dais. You watch with wide eyes as he walks towards you with a swaggering charm. Those remaining on the dais, as if surprised at the Prince's movements, murmur amongst one another. Ser John steps down as well, shadowing whom you now assume to be his protective charge.

The Prince's movements are smooth, like the strides of a dancer, or mabey like one of the great mountain cats that stalk the outer shanties of the town. As he draws even with you, you have to tilt your head up to remain meeting his gaze; he's quite a bit taller than you. You fight the urge to draw back a step as the prince bends his head down towards you, close enough that his breath fans your face as he takes one of your hands into his own. They are warmer than you thought they'd be.

"Have you had any lovers before me, my Lady?" His voice is pitched low enough that only you, and maybe the guard standing at his shoulder, can hear. All the same, your cheeks flame red, and your ears burn in indignation. "Do you currently have a lover? Are you here unwillingly?"

"I don't see how my lovers, past or present, is your business, Your Highness," You mirror his lowered tone, but there is a bite of frost to your words. You watch as Aldous' spine snaps straight, his face tilted down with an unreadable expression. Oh Damn, I've done it now. You press your lips into a thin line, but make no move to remove your hand from his.

"Because," The words are drawn out, as if he is speaking with a child, "I need to know if you will be loyal to me, or if there is a risk of unfaithfulness with someone who might be my competition for your beauty." One of his thumbs, long and thin, strokes the back of your hand with a feather's touch. "I also need to ensure that whomever I chose will not give me bastard heirs, female or male."

"There is no one that you need to be concerned of," You say with measured tone, despite your irritation, "The only men in my life are my brother and father."

Prince Aldous considers you for a few more moments, before pulling back and spinning on his heel, leaving you for the dais once more. He nearly shoulder-checks the Captain, who takes a step back to let him pass. Ser John turns his gaze towards you for an instant, his gaze scrutinizing. The appraisal takes only a second, and then he is stepping back up into the dais to his previous station.

"That is all the questions I have for you, my Lady. You are dismissed."

You don't linger to ponder the brusqueness of the dismissal, nor the queer feeling settling in your gutt. With another curtsy, you gather your bag into your hands and allow one of the guards to escort you from the throne room.

Back out in the courtyard, you blink at the bright sunlight, shading your eyes as you peer up into the sky. It is clear and breezy, a fair day. A direct contrast to the storm brewing in your own thoughts.

"How did it go?" Jenny steps out from a shady spot beneath a sprawling willow. You approach her, sighing through your nose.

"It went,"

Jenny chuckles at your brevity, reaching out to catch the crook of your elbow. She tows you along beside her as she makes her way across the courtyard, back to the main road that leads into town. "Nothing of interest to note? I'll tell you about mine if you tell me about yours."

"He recognized my resemblance to Jonas."

"Everyone does. Are you sure you two aren't twins?"

"Yes, I'm sure. Anyways, he asked about the things I could do, and I guess about the things I can't do. He asked about if I had any lovers, too."

"He did?" Jenny's eyebrows raise. "That's a rather intimate question."

"If you think so, then you will love how he asked me!"

Before long, the grey clouds are blown away from Jenny's gushing and laughing as you dramatize your experience, and as you both descend into the village, you let your cares tumble away for a little while, like pebbles in the bottom of a stream.

---

The phases of the moon pass, and you almost forget the looming doom that hangs over your head. Each day, Prince Aldous meets more and more young women of the kingdom, some of which will be trying their very best to impress him. You're grateful for the number of women, frankly, and the length of the process. "The more women there are to choose from, the less likely I'll be one of them," You tell your father over supper one evening, nearly a full moon having passed since your audience.

"Aye, that may be true," Your father murmurs, a twinkle in his eye. "However, he would be a fool not to pick the most beautiful young woman his kingdom has to offer."

"If I didn't know any better, I would think you're trying to get rid of me!" You exclaim, the grin on your face betraying the fake outrage in your voice. You father laughs deeply, his deep rumble dissolving into a slough of hacking coughs.

As quickly as it came, the good mood is gone. You get to your feet and move to your father's shoulder. "That's sounding worse, Da," You murmur, fingers combing through his thinning salt-and-pepper hair.

"I'll live," You father rasps, clearing his throat once more. "I've been through worse, and it's yet to kill me."

Despite his assurances, you continue to worry, even as your father readies for bed. You make sure that he is settled comfortably in the one bed in the house, before you yourself retire to your pallet situated by the dying embers in the hearth. The night is sleepless, and when the sun begins to rise, and the roosters crow, you're scrubbing your face with cold water, sighing and the warped image of your face in the cracked silver mirror that hangs over the washbasin. Plum-colored smudges adorn your under eyes, and you have no face powder with which to cover them as the rich girls do.

Muttering curses under your breath, you search for your basket, and the coin purse that resides next to it. "I'm going to town, Da," You call as you exit the cottage. "I'll be back in a while." You hear a muted affirmation from your father in the back room, and take it as your cue to leave.

Your skirts wind around your legs as the breeze blows past, bringing with it the fresh smells of produce from the market. Your pace picks up almost of its own accord, your mouth watering at the thought of a leg of lamb for dinner, maybe a fresh piece of fruit. Townspeople already flood the main road leading up to the village square, and you take care to keep your basket and purse close by.

You are neck-deep into negotiations with the butcher when you hear it: the sound of a royal herald. Your stomach does an acrobatics routine as you hastily agree on a sum with the butcher, gathering the wrapped meat in your basket before heading for the center of town.

It's not hard to locate the herald. He is standing on a stack of boxes, to be above the gathered crowd. His garb is nicer than the average commoner, a sign of his station. Standing at the edge of the crowd, you've situated yourself under an awning for the shade, but you can hear the herald clear as day as he begins to speak.

"Peope of the kingdom, hear the words of your King! The Summons have been finished, and the selection has been made. Of all the women in the kingdom, ten will be brought to the palace to win the Prince's hand. These ten women are as follows: Ami Orund, Joan Bavent, Ysoria Rainecourt, Jennifer Atkins, Natale Parry, Sabine Vauville, Lydia Gueron, Floretia Eveque, Cyrila Tirel, and-"

Hearing your name roll off of a stranger's tongue is disconcerting, especially in this context. You lean back against the wall behind you, steadying yourself as the truth of the matter sets in. As the herald continues his speech, you tune him out, eyes scanning the crowd. Which woman would have wanted to take my place? You wonder, gripping your basket with whiote-knuckled tighness. Some people in the crowd are looking your way. In this little villiage below the castle, it is not uncommon for everyone to be at least semi-aquainted with each other. To your dismay, it appears there are quite a few aquaintances in the crowd.

Warmth creeps into your face as you edge around the crowd, just wanting to go home. People whisper as you pass, and you duck your head, walking all the faster.

Someone beats you there. Jenny stands in front of your door, face pale, apron wringing in her hands. You both gaze at each other in wordless shock, as the fact of the matter sets in. You invite her into the house with little preamble, to prepare for the ordeal to come.

tag list: (hope i did this right ;-;)

@adnauseum11 @the-californicationist @strawberrygato @marierg

#john price #john price x reader #medieval 141 #medieval au #omg so good

70 notes · View notes

lovifie · 9 months ago

Text

Her Royal Highness Pt.5

Masterlist

Prologue — Part 1 — Part 2 — Part 3 — Part 4 — Part 5

The people of the city turn out to be delighted, elated to be visited by the Princess. And you feel glad because they don't look at you with the fear the guard had, they look at you with happiness in their eyes, joyful the Princess finally left the castle.

They are so happy, that they don't seem to notice the mysterious men that follow you. Not literally, they remained on a table inside the inn, but you can feel their eyes on you at all times.

It is a nice thing they do, because after a while you start to feel dizzy. People keep pulling you in different directions, wanting to show you places and introduce you to people. You can see the guard from the journey, and he looks ready to pull his hair out every time someone grabs your hand, afraid that you are going to suddenly turn into a tyrant like your late father.

You won't, of course. Getting a taste of what a kingdom that likes you feels like, you don't want to experience the opposite. At some point, the guard loses his patience and peels your hand away from the people, guiding you to the table where everyone else is eating.

“Ooh, the Princess finally resigned herself to sit with us. Such an honour, your Royal Highness.” Gaz exclaims, standing up just to do a dramatic reverence, with Soap doing exactly the same.

“Sit down, you muppets.” The king orders next to you with a teasing note in his voice. So he can be nice. That's how he sounds when normal.

“Yes, my dear King” Soap says, doing a second reference before sitting down. Price snickers beside you at Soap's antics, if only you could get on his good side like that.

Around the rectangular table, you are sitting beside the king on one side, with Gaz, Soap and Ghost sitting on the opposite. Ghost and you are the ones sitting the more far away from each other, which is why it surprises you to see him staring at you.

You maintain eye contact, not wanting to back down first, and surprisingly it's him who does. But only to look at your hand, his eyebrows raise, remembering something. You look at him curious as he gets his hand inside his pocket and pulls something that slides across the table in your direction.

Five heads look at the object, and soon realize what he throws at you.

A ring.

A simple small gold band.

For a second, you think that it is just a weird gift from the Prince; a peace offering. But when you look at him, he looks at you expectantly as if waiting for you to answer and it clicks.

Your soon-to-be husband, is proposing to you.

“That's it?” You ask picking it up to check it better, disappointment clear in your voice.

“We're you expecting rubies?” He laughs. “I thought you were more humble than that, princess “

“It's not about the ring…” You say looking at it. “I thought you would at least ask me, indulge me a bit and trick me into thinking I had a choice, you know.”

“If you were expecting me to kneel, you may be more stupid than we thought.” He chuckles drily.

You ignore him, the insult falling on deaf ears at this point and focus on the ring. Just looking at it you know it's not going to be your size, and when you try to get your finger in it, it is so much bigger it could fit two of yours. You realise then, that they didn't even bother to find an actual ring, and just used one they had themselves.

“It doesn't fit.” You comment, still looking at your hand.

“Close your fist then.” Ghost answers. “Better not lose it.”

You should hit him. Shove the ring down his throat until he chokes. But you don't, instead, you stand up, ring in hand, and walk up to the room they lend you without saying anything else.

Some of the maids quickly follow you as you walk upstairs into the room. Your luggage is already there, and you take out the nightgown even though the sun is still out. But your chances are going down to the king and putting up with their passive-aggressive remarks or going out and getting hurt or kidnapped by people's kindness.

You are far from being used to dealing with this many people on a daily basis, so the silence of the room when you get out of the bathtub makes you want to go to sleep.

So you step into the room, looking at the ground and closing the door behind you. When you look up to your bed, the bed looks back at you. Well, not the bed, but Simon.

You gasp when you see the behemoth of a man, laying down on his back on your bed without his mask and cape. In his hands, he is playing with a garment you can figure out at first.

Until he smirks at you, and then you realize is the undergarments you were wearing today. “Simon!” You exclaim, completely scandalized by the violation of your privacy. “That's not yours!”

The fact that he entered your room while you were bathing becomes a second offence, and you walk up to him ready to take it back. Except it looks like that was exactly his plan because when you extend your hand to try and grab it, he grabs your wrist pulling you on top of him.

You shriek out of the surprise, in part surprised by his strength; able to hold you up by the hand on your wrist and in part, surprised by his lack of decorum. He is so close you can feel the heat radiating from his skin, he is looking up at you with such a condescending look but it is the eye contact of his golden brown eyes that keeps you in a trance.

Trance, that gets suddenly broken by a sharp pain in your ass when Simon slaps your ass. You slowly look back at him and slap him back on his chest. “You did not fucking do that!” You exclaim, and he raises his eyebrows. “Princess!” He says covering his mouth with his free hand. “Language!”

You manage to get your hand free and get back on your feet. You point to the door and say: “Get out!”

He barks a laugh sitting up at the edge of the bed, and at a surprisingly fast speed, he hugs your waist pulling you tight against him again. You manage to get your hands on his shoulder, pulling some distance between him and you.

“But I need to check your wound, Princess.” He says looking up through his eyelashes. “The wound is amazing, Simon. You can leave.” You answer, still trying to pull back.

One of his hands moves up to your waist, and with his thumb and index, he presses over your wound, hard, drawing little droplets of blood and making you wince. “That does sound amazing, but I don't think your wound is.” He says pulling his finger back and licking the blood of his thump while looking at you. You can feel the heat in your ears, an obvious sign of your flush, completely uncalled for.

You're supposed to get warm with gentle touches, grazing hands and kisses on the cheek. Not by this brute, personification of strength, licking your blood.

“Let me see it, Princess.” He says sternly looking at you. You feel trapped, like in a cage… a really warm cage. So you start to pull the gown up, and you can feel Simon's eyes drag up the newly exposed skin, you are not wearing anything under the nightgown and he notices his eyes widening slightly. One of your hands remains between your legs, making sure only the outside of your leg is exposed as the other rises the gown up to right below your boob where the wound is.

Simon sets his hand on your knee engulfing it, and apparently, he needs to move his hand up your tights, your hips and up to under your boob just to check the wound. He touches the wound, moving his thumb across it and his fingernail grazes your underboob causing you goosebumps. You turn your head, unable to keep looking at his face, letting a sight escape your lips trying to play it out as a sight of annoyance.

“You were right, it looks good.” He murmurs, when you feel his breath against your skin you whip your head back to look at him, just to see him lick a strip right under the wound, causing a whine out of you at the heat of his tongue.

You slap his shoulder this time, taking a step back and putting the nightgown down. “Why did you do that? You are gonna get it infected!” He simply laughs at your face and adds: “Sorry, Princess, I just wanted a taste. It was too tempting.”

“You are a really weird man, Simon Price!” You exclaim, moving back until your back hits the wall, putting as much space as possible between him and you.

He looks at you confused, before standing up and walking up to you. “Why do you say that, Princess?” He asks, putting a strand of hair behind your ear. “Hm?”

“One second you do these… things. Next second you don't even look at me and treat me like trash.” You say looking at the floor.

He chuckles, cupping your face making you look up to him. “Is this because I told you I wouldn't kneel? Now, Princess. I already gave you the ring, why else do you want me to kneel for you, hm?” He asks getting his face close to yours, for a second you panic he would kiss you, but just before reaching it, he moves to your ear and whispers: “Naughty, girl.”

Putting his hands on your hips, he turns you around leaving you staring at the wall. “Better to check the exit too.” He murmurs against your neck. “Do it quick, and leave.” You order, trying to remain calm.

Instead, he takes his time. Crouching down, knee almost touching his ground, and he grabs the hem of the gown, and slowly, really slowly, as if time has stopped and therefore he had all the time in the world, he starts to raise it, with his fingertip gracing the skin of your leg, fingernail scratching just at the verge of pain.

Goosebumps spread as he rises, up your calf, up your thigh, up your arse, which he touches with no remorse, and up your back. With one hand, he holds the gown up, and with the other, he caresses your hip.

You don't feel his eyes on your wound, you feel them lower. And if you have the courage, you would confront him; but coming face to face and he proudly admitting, because he would, that yes, in fact, he was staring at your arse, it's not something you could bear without blushing and therefore feeding his ego.

“How is it?” You ask, growing impatient with his lack of sounds.

“Amazing, indeed.” He answers immediately, and you know he is not talking about the wound, but that'll do for now. So you take a step to the side, getting out of his hold and let the gown back down, covering your body.

“Great, then you can leave.” You say, crossing your arms unable to look at him.

“But why? I'm enjoying myself in here, Princess.” He says chuckling at you.

“Precisely!” You exclaim and grab his wrist, him obviously letting you drag him. You open the door, ready to throw him out when you come to face with Gaz who looks ready to knock at the door. He looks between Simon and you, before gasping loudly.

“Premarital encounters?!” He asks smiling widely, and making you roll your eyes, pushing Simon out of the room and slamming the door. Hearing the two men laugh loudly on the other side.

The next morning, a quick breakfast is eaten. The ring is not on your finger, too big to be comfortable to wear; instead, it is hanging from your neck with a threat. It rests on the center of your chest, so everyone can see it.

“Princess, I had an idea last night.” The king breaks the silence. “Once we are back at the kingdom, how about we arrange a joust? To welcome everyone that will help arrange the wedding. I'll help everyone to cheer up a bit.” He asks, looking at you.

“A joust?” You ask a bit surprised by the offer. There is still a sour taste on your tongue, it is only for the wedding, so people like him more. But again, he is asking you. Not for your consent, he would do it anyway. But to make you feel like you are actually heard. His voice saying “We are more powerful together than against each other” comes to mind, and you decide to play along: “Sure, that sounds fun.”

205 notes · View notes