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rubycruzin4abruzin · 5 months ago

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Forbidden Crown - V

Summary: During a sleepless night, you stumble upon Kit alone in the garden. After making up from your fight, discussions of your future lead to a night of confessions and heated passion.

Pairing: kit tanthalos x princess!reader

Contains: smut!!, oral, light fingering, kissing, first time, outdoor sex, nipple play, confessions, forced marriage trope, nightmares, making up, 18+

Word Count: 3.1k

A/N: It’s finally here!! This is not the end. There’s gonna be 2-3 more chapters after this. Also, is this intimacy lowkey beautiful? I had such sappy little feelings writing this.

Not speaking to Kit after your fight was agonizing. Each morning, you woke up and spent the day assisting your mothers with wedding planning while avoiding each other at all costs. You had to admit, you missed her terribly; there were nights you lay awake, wondering if you should go find her and apologize, until you replayed your fight in your mind and anger washed over you once more.

One morning, you had woken up slightly later than usual, and descended the stairs into the Great Hall to find Kit sitting with her mother, accompanied by two men you didn’t recognize. Sorsha chatted with the men excitedly, while Kit sat quietly, wearing a pained and bored expression.

One of the men, identifiable as a diplomatic envoy by his fine garments dyed in Galladoorn green, reached into his satchel, pulled out a document, and slid it over to Sorsha. “I can assure you, your highness, the kingdom of Galladoorn is in high spirits over this alliance. I trust the contractual negotiations are to your liking?”

Sorsha scanned over the document, humming in approval. “Everything seems very fair, yes. My daughter is immensely grateful for the opportunity to marry Prince Graydon, isn’t that right Kit?”

Kit scoffed in response. Sorsha (not-so-gently) nudged her under the table, causing her to stifle a groan and reluctantly nod. With one final nod of satisfaction, Sorsha dipped her quill pen in ink and signed the bottom of the contract, sliding it back across the table.

“All we need is a notarization,” the envoy stated, looking towards his partner. The notary, donning a modest tunic and a feathered hat, took the quill from Sorsha and signed his own name just underneath. He passed it to the envoy to tuck into his satchel, and handshakes were immediately exchanged around the table.

“Prince Graydon is quite eager to make your acquaintance, Princess,” the envoy assured Kit as he shook her hand. “And who could blame him? I would be too if I were betrothed to such a beauteous young maiden.”

He shot her a sly wink, prompting her expression to crumple in disgust. You couldn’t hold back the audible gag that left your throat at his comment, causing Kit to turn in your direction. She met your gaze, finally noticing your presence in the doorway and froze in place.

The finalization of her betrothal should have left you emotional. Normally, you would cause some sort of commotion, or rush over to the envoy to attempt to destroy the contract. Instead, you simply offered Kit a curt nod as you turned away and calmly made your exit.

That night was spent tossing and turning as a recurring nightmare from your fifteenth year overtook you. Familiar fears revisited your subconscious, using recent events to transform into a new horror.

The dream began as usual, with you and Kit making flower bouquets in the Tir Asleen garden. This time however, instead of leading you astray, she offered her bouquet and pulled you in for a sweet kiss. You closed your eyes as you savored the familiar warmth of her soft lips, almost pillowy against your own.

When you pulled away, expecting to see Kit’s shining face, you gasped when Airk suddenly stood before you. Glancing down, you found that once again, a wedding gown had replaced your everyday clothing, and the bouquet Kit gifted you had wilted in your hands. Faceless guests lined chairs in rows, the weight of their stares falling upon you as you stood at the altar.

Behind you stood a priest, wearing a stoic expression as he spoke mechanically. “We are gathered here today in the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit.”

“Amen,” chanted the guests in unison, their monotony making your skin crawl.

“Do you,” the priest eyed you. “Take Prince Airk Tanthalos to be your lawful wedded husband, to have and to hold, from this day forward, for better or for worse, for richer or for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish, till death do you part?”

“No!” You shrieked, but none of the guests reacted. You tried to break away, but found your hands had been chained to Airk’s. “I cannot take him, please forgive me! I don’t love him!”

You felt someone nudge your shoulder, and turned to see Kit standing behind you. She wore a wedding dress eerily similar to yours, and her hands were bound to another faceless character presumed to be her own groom. Any previous color had been drained from her features, and she spoke with a tone as lifeless as her facial expression.

“Marriage isn’t about love, Princess.”

Once again, you shot up in bed, gasping for breath as you clutched your pounding heart. A quick glance out the window showed a still-black sky, with no indication of the morning sun. You grabbed your pillow and buried your face in it, the linen helping to muffle your frustrated groans.

Fearing a repeat of the nightmare, you decided sleep was futile. Abandoning your bed, you quickly donned your nightrobe and prepared for an insomnia-induced stroll through the castle.

Cool January wind pricked your face as you ventured outside. Usually, you would wrap your nightrobe tighter around yourself, but tonight, you welcomed the cold air as a distraction from the whirlwind of thoughts plaguing your mind.

You wandered the castle grounds with a lantern in hand, your feet inadvertently guiding you towards the Tir Asleen garden. Yielding to your subconscious, you sought solace among the shrubs and snowdrops. Just as you reached the gated entrance, a soft rustle echoed from within the garden. You froze as you saw a shadowy figure shift in the distance, fearing you had stumbled upon an intruder.

With a trembling hand, you raised your lantern to reveal the figure. Your heart skipped a beat when Kit’s face came into view, sitting beneath the tree where you shared your first childhood kiss. Neither of you dared to speak. With a sigh, you turned to leave, reaching for the gate latch.

“Wait…” she called out.

You paused, hand still on the gate. Kit looked at you with pleading eyes, hugging her knees to her chest. “Please don’t go…”

Pity washed over you, overriding any lingering anger. Kit appeared like a wounded bird: fragile, frail, a fragment of her former self. You approached and settled opposite her, facing but keeping your body pointed away.

Silence enveloped you both. You continued to study Kit’s newfound decrepitude as she rested her head on her knees. The lantern you had set aside highlighted her dark circles, shadowed like bruised fruit yet to ripen.

“I have so much to apologize for,” she murmured eventually, her voice coming out soft and meek. Lifting her head, she tucked her chin between her knees but avoided your gaze. “I really, truly do. I’ve been so… angry, and I took it out on you.”

“Why me?” You asked sincerely. “Have I done something to offend you? Because if so…”

She shook her head, cutting you off. “There was no order, no reason. I was hurt… and I wanted someone else to feel that hurt… and you were there. That’s all.”

You continued to stare, resisting the urge to reach out and soothe her tousled hair. Instead, you remained still, waiting for her to speak again.

“I was so lost in my own despair, I neglected to consider your distress,” she continued. “I’ve been so contrite, but I don’t expect your forgiveness. I’d understand if you were to loathe me.”

She didn’t need to beg; you crawled over and wrapped your arms around her. “I could never loathe you.”

Kit looked up, her big blue eyes brimming with tears. “You couldn’t?”

“Of course not,” you reassured her. “I love you.”

The word slipped out before you could stop it, the one word neither of you had uttered to each other before. You froze, feeling her tense in your arms. Those brilliant baby blues, the ones you had fallen for, continued to stare up at you, but you refused to meet them.

“You do?” She asked, disbelief coloring her tone.

You bit your lip, nervously playing with the ends of her short locks. She studied your features for a moment before a sly smirk spread across her own. Reaching behind her neck, she grasped your hand and pulled you into a captivating kiss. Your lips immediately melted into hers, engulfed in the familiar warmth you craved during her absence. She snaked her free hand around your waist, and you reciprocated by clutching the fabric of her nightshirt, both of you desperate to draw closer.

It was her who finally broke the kiss, pulling away with a sigh. “I love you too, if that wasn’t clear,” she chuckled lazily.

“It was,” you giggled, still a bit dizzy. Unsure of what to do next, you made a feeble attempt at a joke. “Such a pity marriage isn’t about love, isn’t it?”

Kit’s smile vanished instantly, guilt returning to her widened eyes. “I didn’t—“

“No, no, you were right,” you cut her off, repositioning so your head could lean against her chest. “Marriage isn’t about love…” you admitted sadly, regretting your jest. “Though… it should be…”

The last sentence was murmured under your breath, but Kit heard it anyway. She stared off into the distance, wrapping an arm around your shoulders as she contemplated her next words. “I’ve heard whispers…” she began.

You glanced up at her, curious. “Whispers?”

“Of other kingdoms, far more… advanced than ours. More innovative. More… accepting.”

Turning to face her, your expression twisted with confusion and disbelief. “Kit… what exactly are you suggesting?”

She took your hands in hers as she carefully surveyed your features. “I don’t want to lose you. I don’t want to watch you walk down the aisle to my brother. I don’t want to marry Graydon, or any man, or anyone else but you…”

“Kit…” you interrupted gently, urging her to get to the point.

She sighed, squeezing your hands. “I want you to come with me.”

You couldn’t believe your ears. “Where?”

“I don’t know,” she admitted with a smile. “Somewhere that will allow us to be together, somewhere that isn’t here.”

“Kit…” you began, shaking your head in disbelief. “Surely you’re not suggesting we… run away?”

“Not immediately,” she assured you, brow furrowing in thought. “It will take some time. We’ll need a plan. Some essentials. Research on different kingdoms and villages. We could even flee to an African country! I’ve read of societies that encourage the union between two women…”

“Kit,” you cut her off with a chuckle as you tried to be the voice of reason. “How could we possibly get to Africa?”

“We’ll devise a way!” A crazed smile crossed her face as she pulled you closer. “In the worst of perils, we’ll retreat to the Wildwood and live as simple woodswomen!”

Your expression turned serious. “But our kingdoms. Our responsibilities. Even if we were to flee to a different kingdom, we wouldn’t be princesses. We would be common villagers. You wouldn’t harbor the same power you do here, Kit.”

Kit simply sent you a lopsided grin. “Perhaps that wouldn’t be such a terrible thing.”

A defeated sigh left your lips as you searched her expression for humor, but found none. “You’re truly serious about this?”

All the love and admiration in the world couldn’t compare to the way she gazed at you. “I’ve never been more serious about anyone my entire life.”

There was nothing you could do to stop the way your heart lurched at her words. You nodded. “Alright.”

“Alright?”

“The weddings aren’t until next month. We can use that time to plan and leave the night before.”

Kit grabbed your face and pressed her nose to yours with an excited giggle. “I love you so much.”

“I love you too,” you whispered joyously before crashing your lips into hers. She eagerly reciprocated, grabbing handfuls of your hair in an attempt to draw you closer. Your arms encircled her, fingernails clawing at the back of her nightshirt as if you were underwater, desperately seeking a surface.

She moved atop you, swinging her leg over until she straddled your hips. The tree bark pressed against your back, scratching against your nightclothes like a scribe’s quill on parchment. Her lips traveled to your jaw, rolling your sensitive flesh between her teeth and eliciting soft moans from deep within your throat.

“Kit…” the name fell from your mouth in short gasps. Her hands were everywhere, roaming your body with the urgency of a desert traveler seeking water. Each brush, every gentle caress burned at your core, causing your body to tremble under her touch.

Desperate for release, your hips instinctively bucked against hers. You expected her to pull away, as she had when you were teenagers. She didn’t. Instead, her moans filled your mouth and vibrated against your lips.

You were the one to pull away, panting heavily as you pressed against her shoulders. “K-Kit? Are you… I mean… is this alright?”

Kit seemed to be lost in a daze. Her pretty pink lips were slick with spit and parted slightly as she fought to catch her breath. “I love you, Princess,” she began. “I long to share the remainder of my days… every fiber of my being with you. But only if you’ll allow me.”

You didn’t respond. You didn’t have to. All you needed to do was sit up and pull her into a tender kiss to convey your agreement. Her hands wandered to your midsection, untying your nightrobe and slipping it off your shoulders. All that remained between you and her was your thin nightgown. She traced the hem with her fingers, looking to you for permission. You nodded, shifting to allow her to pull it up over your shoulders before casting it aside.

Kit gazed upon your naked body as if it were a work of art sculpted by the Greek gods. She layed you back down, gently lowering your head unto the base of the tree as the cool grass tickled your bare skin. Her visage could only be defined as lovesick. “Will you tell me if I should stop?”

A breathless sigh escaped your lips. “I can’t imagine I’ll want you to.”

“Promise me,” she insisted, and you saw her request for what it was. Behind her hungry stares, amidst her growing need was a real, genuine pursuit of consent. You nodded, agreeing, and she was on you again.

Her lips traversed beneath your jawline, leaving a trail of kisses before stopping at your chest. “Continue?”

“Please,” you purred.

She took one of your breasts in her hand, pinching the erect bud. The soft sounds that elicited from your throat could have been enough to cease her heart’s beating. Her mouth found its way to your other breast, suckling at your swollen nipple with careful curiosity.

You groaned as your hand flew to the top of her head. “Kit… please don’t tease…”

Removing herself from your bosom was a task that Kit was initially reluctant to do, but soon complied after your hips began rolling into her once more. She resumed peppering kisses down your torso, pausing just above your mons. “Surely you’d like to stop now?”

You gave her a small laugh, shaking your head. “Far from it.”

With a serious determination, Kit dragged her index finger up the length of your wet folds, noting the way your breath hitched when she came in contact with your clit. Lowering her head, she squinted to observe the pink pearl, barely visible in the dim lantern light, which seemed to sweeten your sounds. She experimented with her fingertips once more, gently encircling your clit with the fascination of a honeybee drawn to a blossoming flower.

“Kit…” you growled, hips chasing her touch.

Your novice lover couldn’t help but marvel at the way your juices glistened on her skin. Overcome with intrigue, she stuck her slick-covered finger in her mouth, moaning at the taste.

“Is it pleasing?” You asked.

“Very,” she replied. “Like a salted peach.”

It didn’t take long for Kit to dive into you like a woman starved, using her tongue to explore every inch of your wet slit. She didn’t know what she was doing, but she was a determined and fast learner, each breath, each shift, each guttural cry from your throat helping her to gauge your needs and proceed from there.

Soon, amidst your labored breaths and electric shocks of pleasure came an unfamiliar sensation deep inside your pelvis, as if someone had wound a spring tightly around your muscles. “K-Kit…” you sputtered. “It feels quite tense…”

Kit groaned in recognition, murmuring something akin to ‘the lewd literature.’ She spoke while her mouth was still on you, each word vibrating against your core and adding to the stimulation. “Breathe, beautiful. You’re doing so well. Trust me, lean into it, it’ll feel so good.”

You did as you were told, relaxing your muscles and leaning into the powerful sensations. The way Kit looked up at you as she lapped at your folds only spurred you forward, nearer, closer to wherever you were going. It wasn’t long before a burst of warmth exploded in your abdomen, causing your legs to tremble and your vision to blur. You squeezed your thighs together against her head, ragged breaths pleading with her to stay right where she was as you rode out your climax.

Kit lifted her head up once your breathing evened out, grinning up at you with a mouth coated in your slick. “Was that alright?”

“More than,” you assured her, still panting. “Much more than.”

She crawled back up to you and tenderly brought her lips to yours. Hints of your arousal still lingered on her tongue, irrefutable evidence of the events that just transpired. You hummed as she pulled back, goofy, embarrassing grins spread across both of your faces.

“Shall I return the favor?” You asked, trying to be seductive but your eyelids were drooping heavily.

Kit chuckled, taking your face in her hands. “At a later time,” she responded, thumbing the dark rings under your eyes. “It appears we both could use some sleep.”

Too tired to argue, you let your head fall back onto Kit’s chest. She smirked, reaching for your discarded nightrobe and draping it over both of you. Her arm settled upon your shoulders as she nestled into your hair, planting a kiss on your head. “Sleep well, Princess.”

That night, you both slept in the Tir Asleen garden, intertwined under the tree’s protective branches until the first light of dawn crested the horizon.

Tag List: @chloepricesgirl @canmargesimpson @yourelliewillms @valenftcrush @camilleee222 @prettygirlfemme @slaytillieswooo @lovinglynny @joanvisitsrome @athenalive @mih11 @j-pacifica @everybodyhatesari @vii-ofswords @sofi4v13 @detmarmalade @at1nyzen @ikyk-leeknow

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rubycruzin4abruzin · 3 months ago

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Forbidden Crown - VII

Summary: You and Kit prepare for your escape, everything seems to fall apart at your engagement party, and your mother reveals a shocking truth…

Pairing: kit tanthalos x princess!reader

Contains: kissing, angst, reader prepares a murder, some boob touching, non-explicit mention of vomiting, medieval partying, drinking, drunk behavior

Word Count: 6.4k

A/N: hope this one knocks your socks off

“Strike once. Through the heart.” Kit instructed, handing you a sword before stepping back.

You stood over the training dummy lying on the stone floor of the armory, the tip of your sword hesitating over its straw chest. The dummy was made to mimic a human form, and while its thatched figure was less than realistic, the very idea that it could one day be Kit filled you with a deep sense of dread. “I… I c-cannot…”

She frowned, crossing her arms. “You promised me…”

“Suppose I don’t intend to keep my promise?”

“Then we can’t go.”

Your face crumpled in defeat as your shoulders slumped, the sword dropping to your side. Kit softened her stance, placing a hand on your shaking shoulder. “Don’t… don’t think of it as me, alright? Because it won’t be. It’ll be… a walking infection, with an ashen face and lifeless eyes. Nothing but an ensorcelled servant to the Wyrm.”

She repositioned the sword in your hands, helping you hold it properly before stepping back again. “Protect yourself, Princess.”

You took a deep breath, squeezing your eyes shut before plunging the sword straight through the dummy’s heart. Straw flew up at the impact, drifting around you and making you sneeze. You dropped the sword with a loud clatter, body trembling as you stumbled back into the armory wall. Tears began to spill down your cheeks, and Kit was quick to comfort you.

“It’s alright,” she wrapped her arms around your shoulders and kissed the top of your head. “You did perfectly.”

You spoke between ragged breaths. “I don’t… ever… want to have… to do that… again…”

Kit’s thumb wiped your tear-stained face. “Perhaps you won’t have to,” she said, though her words rang hollow, and deep down you sensed she didn’t believe them either.

The fortnight that followed was filled with planning, mapping, and gathering for your escape. Kit regularly pilfered smaller weapons from the armory, stashing them at the bottom of storage chests, beneath her bed, or anywhere she knew a chambermaid would overlook. You were tasked with securing food—a much more difficult endeavor, as stealing from the kitchen without arousing suspicion from the staff proved quite challenging.

It was Kit who had the brilliant idea to procure the help of the kitchen maid. However, the one she called ‘Muffin Girl’ held you both in little favor—Kit due to her relentless teasing, and you for more… obvious reasons. The only one she did seem to favor was her paramour, Airk, so it wasn’t long before he was enlisted as an oblivious pawn in your scheme.

“Remind me why I’m sneaking you extra provisions?” Airk inquired one evening, delivering a basket of bread and fruit preserves to your chamber.

You accepted graciously. “I’d simply like to… fill out my bridal gown a bit more,” you lied.

Airk’s brow furrowed in disbelief. “You mean to say you eat all of this? Each night? By yourself?”

You shrugged innocently. “Kit intends to fill hers out as well.”

He remained puzzled, but a quick mutter about ‘a secret matter of womanhood’ had him bidding you goodnight and taking his leave. It wasn’t a lie, per se—you and Kit were both women with a secret, after all.

As the days passed, your diligent efforts began to bear fruit and your journey was well underway. Of course, your meticulous scheming was not without consequence. Sex became nonexistent, as you both were so preoccupied with getting your affairs in order that it was the furthest thing from your mind. That's not to say either of you wouldn’t benefit from some physical release—coordinating an escape could be vexing—but there was a time and place for everything, and you two would have ample opportunity for such matters once you reached Nockmaar.

Eventually, all packing, planning, and preparations were complete, and right in the hour of necessity, as your parents had arranged an engagement party just two nights before the weddings.

You stood in your chamber, gazing at your reflection in the mirror, clad in the golden ball gown your mother insisted upon. It was a fine dress—you would surely be the envy of every maiden at the party—but it had been awhile since you’d worn a gown of such opulence, and truthfully, it was not to your taste. Your everyday dresses were simpler—looser, allowing a wider range of movement—and never so ostentatious.

“Gold,” your mother had emphasized when she presented the gown earlier that day. “It signifies wealth, luxury, nobility.”

It was difficult to fathom why your mother had been so insistent upon a color denoting status. Azarenth might have been a smaller realm than Tir Asleen, or even Galladoorn, but it was a kingdom nonetheless, and you a princess. Perhaps your mother was overcompensating, simply seeking to appear at equal stature with the other kingdoms.

Suddenly, the sound of a doorknob turning jolted you from your reverie. You smoothed your dress one last time before leaving the mirror to find your mother in the doorway, donning a rust-red gown.

You should have known; your mother wouldn’t knock, nor have any regard for your privacy.

“The guests will be arriving shortly, you’re needed in the ballroom,” she proclaimed.

String music from the consort echoed through the lofty ceilings of Tir Asleen’s grand ballroom. Long tables encircled the dancing area, with place markers clearly labeled for each guest. You were stationed at the front of the hall, joining your parents, the Tanthalos’, and the Hastur’s in greeting the guests as they arrived.

“Thank you for coming. “A pleasure to meet you.” “It’s an honor,” each phrase rolled from your lips, spoken with the practiced formality of routine. Despite your efforts, your wooden smile couldn’t reach your eyes, and a glance at Kit showed she wore a similar mask of indifference.

Kit had worn a dress. You shouldn’t have been surprised; it wasn’t as if Sorsha would have allowed her daughter to wear breeches to one of the most important events of the year. But you had never seen Kit in a dress before, at least not that you could remember, and it certainly was a sight to behold. The fabric hugged her figure in a manner foreign to her usual tunics, and its v-shaped neckline dipped low enough to reveal a bit of cleavage—a stark reminder of the recent lack of intimacy. A metal asymmetrical corset enveloped her waist, complementing the silver motif that adorned the rich green fabric.

Green. The color associated with Galldoorn, and also known to symbolize fertility. You could vomit.

Once the concourse was seated, the feast began. At the high table, you watched as servants poured wine and served roasted meats to the guests. Among them was the one Kit had dubbed ‘Muffin Girl,’ her long blonde hair secured with a linen coif. She kept her head bowed among the other cupbearers—ashamed to be working at her forbidden lover’s engagement party—but occasionally cast furtive glances at the high table, her gaze lingering on Airk.

“Muffin Girl has her sights set upon your betrothed,” Kit whispered from beside you. “Are you prepared to duel for his hand?”

You snorted, quickly concealing your amusement behind your goblet. “Have you spoken to your intended yet?”

“I have,” she replied, her lips curling in amusement. “I even curtsied. Like a real lady. And he sort of… grunted… and shuffled his feet. Like a real… winner.”

“So he’s a mouse,” you said, turning to look at Graydon, who sat with his father at the other end of the table. The way he choked on his wine, sputtering it down the front of his doublet, spoke volumes; much like your father, he was a royal only by blood. Otherwise, he was a meek, reticent man—undoubtedly lacking the ability to keep up with a headstrong woman such as Kit.

As you and Kit exchanged giggles and gossip throughout the meal, Sorsha rose, tapping her silverware against her goblet and commanding the room's attention. “For many moons,” she began. “Tir Asleen has maintained civility with both Azarenth and Galladoorn. Three kingdoms, joined together, but ruling separately… until now.”

Kit slipped her hand under the table and rested it upon your upper thigh. You shivered at the unexpected contact, quickly ensuring no one saw before returning your attention to Sorsha.

“In two days time,” she continued. “My son and daughter shall wed the Princess of Azarenth and the Prince of Galladoorn, respectively. At last, our three kingdoms shall be united—strengthening us and ensuring a harmonious future.” She raised her goblet. “To the brides and grooms; may they rule wisely, and justly, and foster unity and strength within our kingdoms!”

The crowd raised their glasses, clinking them together amongst cries of “To the realm” and “Hear, hear!” You turned towards Kit, studying her expression for any sign of guilt at forsaking her kingdom, but her lips were curled in a celebratory smile as she tapped her glass against yours.

You stood to the side like a hawk perched in the rafters, watching as Graydon awkwardly led Kit around the dance floor. He was a dreadful dancer, unable to meet Kit’s eye as he watched his own feet stumble over here. As humorous as the display was, your gaze focused solely on the hand he rested at Kit’s waist. You shouldn’t have been jealous, you had no reason to be; Kit barely tolerated this poor-excuse for a prince. Yet, the way he was able to hold her close, to take her hand in public without hesitation, ignited a burning envy within you.

The goblet in your hand was nearly empty, and the song had just begun. Visiting the wine table for a refill sounded tempting, but your gaze refused to stray from Kit. You told yourself you were protecting her, simply ensuring Graydon’s fingers refrained from wandering, though you knew it was senseless; Kit could take care of herself, and she would if she deemed it necessary.

Brief visions of Kit drawing her sword at the mere twitch of Graydon’s thumb crossed your mind, and you couldn’t suppress the snort that escaped.

Your amusement caught Kit’s attention, and she turned from Graydon momentarily to face you. Her eyes softened with pity; Kit had been your companion for fifteen years, and as much as you tried to hide it, she could recognize how bothered you were watching her dance with Graydon.

“I’m sorry,” she mouthed. Her face shone with concern before crumpling into another wince as her partner stepped on her toes once again.

“In need of company, Princess?”

You spun around to find Airk facing you, his lips curled in a sympathetic smile. Airk had always been handsome—a trait perhaps the reason he was so popular with the ladies—and tonight was no exception. His usually loose brown curls had been slicked back, highlighting his sharp features and piercing green eyes. A doublet the color of coffee beans decorated his torso—understated, much less ornate than Graydon’s grandiose gettup, but Airk didn’t need magnificence. Unlike Graydon, who would likely disappear into the walls of the castle if it weren’t for his crown and jewels, Airk stood forth without assistance. He was simply… Airk, prince of Tir Asleen—all the young women pined for his affections, and you were the one to marry him.

Perhaps if things were different, if you were different, you would be the happiest maiden in all the land.

”You appear lonesome,” Airk spoke again. “And if I didn’t know any better, I’d say you were completely disinterested in this entire ordeal.”

You smirked, taking the last sip from your goblet. “I haven’t the slightest idea what you’re referring to, there's nowhere I’d rather be.”

He chuckled, offering his hand. “Care to dance?”

You accepted his invitation, grateful for the distraction, and let him lead you to the floor. Kit caught your eye as you made your way, her face scanning yours for any sign of trivial revenge, but your warm smile reassured her and she turned back to her partner.

Airk kept his hand in yours, but moved his other to sit at your waist, while yours rested on his shoulder. Neither of you were very interested in dancing properly, so you simply swayed to the tune of the consort’s playing. As you enjoyed the silent comfort of Airk’s company, you caught sight of your mother across the room, standing with your father and Queen Sorsha. You began to realize why she had insisted you wear such a fanciful gown; the brick-red of her own garment seemed dull in comparison to Sorsha’s deep crimson one. If it wasn’t for the splendor of your golden attire, Azarenth would appear poor in comparison.

While you pondered the monotony of your mother’s attire, Airk suddenly moved closer, mere inches from your face. Your breath hitched, shoulders tensed. He wasn’t, no, he wouldn’t…

He smirked. “Surely you didn’t think I was going to kiss you, did you?” He whispered in your ear with a chuckle. “I know where I stand.”

You sighed, relieved. He wouldn’t. “Of course.”

“I was simply going to ask if our parents were watching,” he whispered again.

You peered over his shoulder, locking eyes with your mother. She wore a beam of approval you hadn’t seen since you inadvertently agreed to marry Airk as a child. It pained you, somewhat, that smile. From her viewpoint, her daughter was dancing intimately with her betrothed while he whispered sweet nothings in her ear. It was all she’d ever wanted. And it was a lie.

“At last, I’m the daughter she’s always wanted.” You muttered solemnly. Airk’s mouth formed a straight line of sympathy, squeezing your hand in an attempt at comfort. “You should see their faces.”

Airk spun you around so he could see for himself, and as he did you met eyes with the blond servant tagged as ‘Muffin Girl,’ clearing tables with the rest of the staff. Her glare wasn’t as cold or threatening as it usually was towards you; instead she just appeared… sad, defeated even. You couldn’t help but feel pity towards her; you knew how it felt to watch your lover dance with another, to be promised to another.

”They do seem quite pleased,” he commented.

“Unlike your mistress,” you spun him back around, shrinking under the weight of her unbearable stares.

He glanced over at her, a momentarily flickering of longing in his eyes before turning back to you. “Is your paramour present this evening?” He asked, scanning the hall. “Wherever he may be?”

You forced a smile, fighting back the urge to correct his pronoun misuse. “Closer than you might think.”

Before Airk had the chance for further inquiries, the music ceased, signaling the end of the dance. You broke away from each other, joining in polite applause with the rest of the partygoers. He bowed, bidding you adieu before exiting the floor—perhaps in search of closure from his forbidden lover.

The dancing area was nearly empty when the consort began to play a new song—still slow, but far less somber than before. Sounds of a vielle’s plucked strings filled your ears, giving the emerging melody an almost romantic air. Your eyes met Kit’s—who had also been abandoned by her partner on the far side of the room—and you exchanged glances full of unattainable longing.

In the center of the floor stood two women, close companions from a nearby village, caressing each other with cheeks rosy from the flush of wine, their laughter louder than the music as they swayed. They drew little notice, these ladies, dancing together in their tipsy states; they appeared as merely two friends, carousing as their husbands were elsewhere.

Husbands. Surely they had arrived with their respective spouses. No one would question a married woman dancing chaste with her female companion.

Your gaze returned to Kit, and an unspoken understanding passed between you. Slowly, you moved towards each other, each step forward echoing within you like a heartbeat. Your breath caught as you finally stood face to face, skin mere inches apart, the closest you had been, had been allowed to be, all night. She didn’t speak. She had no need. Her hands moved to sit at your waist, while your arms floated up and draped around her neck.

In every story, all the romance novels you’ve read, this was the moment when the world around you was meant to melt away, only leaving you and Kit together in its sanctum. But as hard as you tried, as much as you longed to lose yourself in the arms of your beloved, you were acutely aware of your surroundings. Whispers from the concourse seemed to drown out the music, filling you with a pertinent dread. It was one thing for the two commoners to dance together at a party, but you and Kit were royals—yet to be wed—and your closeness perhaps breached propriety more than the women you sought to emulate.

“Are you well?” Kit whispered, sensing your trepidation.

All you could do was nod, mind still absent. The arms you had wrapped around her neck trembled as you buried your face in her shoulder, desperate to block out the world.

Kit chuckled. “I’m not complaining, but you needn’t hold me so tightly, Princess. You have no reason to be so envious of Prince Graydon.”

You pulled back, mouth agape, but giggled upon catching the glint of mischief in Kit’s eye. “I most certainly am not.”

“You most certainly were,” she countered. “Enough so you engaged in dancing with my brother to enact your revenge.”

“I was simply dancing with my betrothed,” you retorted with a grin. “Just as you were.”

“Please,” she scoffed. “I saw you, watching me from afar. Envy practically radiated off your body, green as my array this evening.”

“You forget yourself, Tanthalos,” you laughed, smacking her shoulder.

And in that moment—the moment where Kit held you close, her nose scrunching and eyes sparkling as she laughed with you, where you had momentarily forgotten your environs and allowed yourself to be silly with the person you loved, the one who loved you—that was the moment the world around you finally seemed to melt away, leaving only you and Kit together in this melodic bubble. Even so, you could feel your mother’s eyes boring into you from across the room, but for once, you could cast all cares and worries of her judgment aside. She had gotten what she wanted; you had danced with Airk. It was your turn to indulge.

“I’ll make it up to you,” Kit said, drawing you from your thoughts.

You gave her a small smile. “You have nothing to make up for.”

“I do,” she argued. “And I will.” Her thumb stroked the plush of your sides as she leaned in closer to whisper. “And if it weren’t obvious, you are a much better dance partner than Graydon could ever be. I haven’t checked yet, but I’m sure my poor toes are as bruised as they feel.”

You winced in sympathy, but then chuckled along with her until the song came to an end. Applause filled the hall once more, you and Kit joining in after breaking away from each other. With an exchange of curtsy’s, and a final squeeze of your hand, Kit turned and exited the dance floor, vanishing within the crowd like the last note of the consort’s melody.

As the night wore on, bottles of wine seemed to disappear from the tables, replaced only by the staggering and raucous laughter from the party guests. Servants bustled about, clearing empty bottles and mopping spills, while the retinue danced to lively music.

You were no exception to the tipsy merrymakers, the apples of your cheeks tinted pink from the mixture of claret and revelry. Strands of hair had strayed from your once-neat pinup, clinging to your forehead and the sides of your face through beads of sweat. You took another sip from your goblet as you swayed out of sync, comforted by your boozy blur and the warmth in your belly.

Kit had faded from view long ago—not that you were particularly concerned. The gathering was quite large; she could have easily merged with the throng. Although it was unlikely, given that Kit—much like her brother—was difficult to lose in a crowd, it was still a possibility. Moreover, it seemed Graydon had little taste for festivity, choosing instead to hover in the shadows or remain close to his father, as if he were a lost youth amidst a horde of strangers.

As long as Graydon didn’t wish to be seen, Kit had no need to be seen.

The night was certainly alive with the company in high spirits, but for all the sport it provided, you were beginning to grow weary. Finishing your drink, you sought solace near a window at the far end of the hall, partially concealed by heavy velvet drapes. You leaned back, catching your breath while allowing the cool glass to temper your heated skin.

As you began to relax, your breath evening out, a disembodied hand emerged from behind the curtains, seizing your arm and pulling you out of sight. A sharp gasp escaped your lips, but another hand quickly covered your mouth, stifling your cries of protest. The dense curtains eclipsed any light, and fear coursed through your veins as the shadowy figure loomed over you, overpowering your struggles…

“Shh… shh… My lady, it’s me.”

The familiarity of the whispered voice immediately calmed your nerves. You blinked, allowing your eyes to adjust to the darkness until Kit’s sweet face came into view.

“Kit, what are you…”

“I promised I’d make it up t’ you, didn’t I?”

Even in the dim light, the flush of her cheeks was evident. Her hair, once elegantly arranged, now hung about her head in a tangled mess. Each word she spoke reeked of fruit and spirits, her sentences punctuated by giggles and hiccups. Kit was thoroughly inebriated, perhaps even more so than you.

“Yes, but, I…”

Before you could finish, her mouth was on yours. She kissed you sloppily, her hands lazily gripping at your waist to pull you closer. Her lips, the heat of her breath tasted flammable, almost, yet still so intoxicating. You wanted so badly to give into her, to melt under her burning flame, but you pulled away.

“Kit…” you breathed. “Not here…”

“Why?” She groaned. “S’ been so long.”

Your eyes flickered down to her chest once again, gulping at the sight of her bare décolletage. She had a point—a dangerously tempting point—but her invitation posed too great a risk.

“If someone from the party were to find us…”

She dismissed your concern with a wave of her hand. “They’re all b’scotted. Utterly foxed. ‘S fine.”

“Kit,” you giggled. “You’re quite muddled yourself.”

“You’re one t’ speak,” she snorted. Her hands tangled in your hair, destroying what was left of your pinup as she stumbled. You had to laugh, despite yourself; although your soused stupor was much more relaxed than Kit’s, it was far from negligible.

“Alright,” you held onto her hands. “Perhaps we should retire for bed.”

“Fin’ly…”

“Kit,” you blocked her advance, despite every inch of your body screaming to give in. She groaned again, and you sighed, struggling against thoughts of what those groans might sound like under different circumstances…

No. “Surely they’ll notice our absence.”

“Graydon ‘s busy in the corner,” she slurred. “Airk ‘s gone ‘s well. We won't be missed.”

You frowned, knowing just how right she was; with your suitors missing, no one would be searching for the two of you. Beyond that, every moment spent with her in this pocket of darkness only made you want her more—to feel her on you, her mouth against your skin, her hands roaming your body. It truly had been too long, and the sight of her in that bedeviled dress did nothing to soothe your desires.

Almost as if she could sense your thoughts, as if she had planned on interrupting them, Kit pressed her lips to yours once more. This time, you didn’t resist and allowed yourself to burn under the heat of her body. You could never tire of her taste, her touch, her feeling; you could get drunk off her alone, even without the vine’s blood plaguing her breath.

The world seemed to spin faster with your oxygen now compromised, but Kit remained your anchor. You reached for her shoulders to steady yourself, but your hands inadvertently fell at her breasts. A soft whimper escaped her throat, almost inaudible over the roar of the party, but still resonant in your ears. Your fingers slid down her skin, dipping lower, lower, until they grazed the edge of that plunging neckline that had tortured you all night. She only spurred you forward, seizing your hips and pressing them against hers as your touch ventured beyond the fabric of her dress, fingertips exploring the delicate flesh that lay beneath it.

God, she was soft. How was she always so soft?

Her breath quickened, the hot air tickling the skin around your mouth. You took it as an incentive to lose yourself further and further in the arms of your lover, drowning in her warm embrace and the taste of Falernian wine that still lingered on her tongue. She was all-consuming, and the way she gripped at your sides told you she felt the same way about you.

You were both so absorbed in each other, so immersed in the private world you had created, that neither of you noticed the blinding scourge of light that intruded upon it.

Followed by a shrill scream.

That you did notice.

Pulling back, you ignored Kit’s whines of protest and squinted at the disruptive brightness. There, in front of you, was none other than Muffin Girl, clutching the velvet drapes and wearing a look of terror. Behind her stood an equally-stunned Airk, and you swore, for but a fleeting moment before they separated, their hands were intertwined.

You were frozen in place; her scream had alerted the party’s multitude. All eyes fell unto you as the music ceased, the hall became as still as the private chapel during prayers. Your gaze surveyed the room, taking in the varied facial expressions of your party guests—shocked, horrified, disgusted, perhaps even some lascivious interest from a few less-than-respectable individuals. Sorsha’s visage was different, however—still aghast, but not directed towards you, rather slightly lower, and that’s when you felt Kit tugging at your wrists.

Realization hit you like the strike of a battering ram; you had yet to remove your hold on Kit’s breast. Queen Sorsha of Tir Asleen, your hostess, your future mother-in-law, had just happened upon you with your hand down her daughter’s dress.

Immediately, you stepped back and let your hands fall to your sides, yours and Kit’s faces flushed and fear-stricken as you desperately tried to smooth yourselves out. But when you looked up for the final time, catching sight of your own mother’s face, you knew then and there you had reached far beyond the point of no return. You expected her to yell, to scream as Muffin Girl had, or to react with the fury of a siege engine, but she did not. She merely composed herself, turned on her heel, and walked briskly out of the hall. Your father trailed after her, and you knew you were expected to follow as well.

The rest of the party wasn’t far behind. Never before in Tir Asleen had a gathering disbanded so quickly.

Your mother didn’t bother to escort you to your guest chamber, nor even to her own. The first private place outside the ballroom happened to be the solar, so that’s where you ended up. You hadn’t been in the solar before, but it left much to be desired; tall wooden walls matched the floor, nearly barren save for a lone table in the center with benches on either side.

It was ironic, almost, that they called this room the “solar;” it was practically as frigid as your mothers demeanor.

She paced about, waiting for your father to shut the door behind you before dropping her pretense. “Do you loathe me?” She asked, taking you by surprise. “Do you? I can’t fathom what I’ve done. My own daughter, to hold such malice…”

“Mother…”

“I chose a fine young man for you to wed,” she interrupted. “I even granted you fifteen years to grow accustomed to him. I thought it would be cruel, then, to force my daughter into marriage with a stranger, but I now see that would have been best.”

“Mother…”

“After all I’ve done for you, after everything your father and I have done for you,” she turned towards him, seeking his support, but he merely shrunk under her piercing gaze. “Is this how you repay us? Such grievous betrayal…”

A storm of conflicting emotions roiled within you—anger, guilt, fear—but none of them were for your mother. “It is not about you!” You shouted, catching her off guard. She did nothing but stare back; mouth agape; never before had you raised your voice to her. “It was never about you.”

Her mouth opened and closed a few times, as if she was choking on her next words, before her eyes narrowed. “I never held her in good favor, I’ve always been wary of her influence on you.”

“Pardon?”

“That wretched friend of yours, she has corrupted you. Brought you to the ways of this unnatural lifestyle…”

“It was not her doing,” you snapped. “And we are not friends!”

“How are you not ashamed to speak such words?” She exclaimed, her face twisted with a frenzied fury you were unfamiliar with. “How are you not as abashed as I am? My daughter. Princess of Azarenth. Consorting with her betrothed’s sister, and at her own engagement party no less!”

You hung your head, not ashamed of your love for Kit, but at having been discovered. She noticed your change in bearing and sighed, casting her eyes to your father as she wrestled with her thoughts. “Perhaps… perhaps Airk could still agree to marry you. You were quite wine-sodded tonight, yes? As was Kit? If we offered that as an excuse, and an apology, of course…”

“I do not intend to wed Airk, Mother,” you confessed, your gaze still lowered.

That made her freeze. A tense silence hung in the air before your father’s voice broke it, his tone cautious and uncertain. “Princess… do you mean to say… you intend to wed Kit?”

“Of course not,” you replied; though the idea was compelling, you knew it wasn’t feasible. “I do not intend to stay here at all. And neither does Kit.”

Your parents' faces twisted in confusion, and your pulse quickened as the weight of your words settled over them. As you stared back at them silently, defiantly, their expressions slowly shifted to terror, despair, and… fear?

“Darling…” your mother hesitated, her eyes wide with panic. She displayed a vulnerability you had never seen before in your usually imperturbable mother, and it filled you with unease. “You must stay and marry Prince Airk. We need our alliance with Tir Asleen!”

“Why?” You demanded. “There are many kingdoms with which we could ally, some where I wouldn’t need to marry at all! What could Tir Asleen provide that is such a necessity?”

As your mother stammered, desperate to find the right words, she turned to your father for help, but alas, he tucked his head like a turtle retreating back into its shell. She sighed. “Princess… Azarenth is penniless.”

“Pardon?” You exclaimed, shocked. “Penniless?”

She nodded. “As a poet without a patron. Fifteen years ago, Queen Sorsha agreed to offer financial aid in return for your engagement to her heir.”

You looked to your father for any sign of jest, but his eyes softened only with pity. “Without your betrothal, our union will be severed, and our people will surely starve.”

The world seemed to crash down upon you as everything suddenly made sense—your parents’ insistence on abiding with Airk, how they always seemed to sycophantize with him and Sorsha, the size of Azarenth and how it lacked resources compared to Tir Asleen, how you always seemed to visit the twins and rarely the other way around, your mother’s dress, and how she was so importunate about your appearance, insisting that you look as wealthy as possible.

Your head swam, feeling as if the floor were slipping from underneath you. You pushed past your parents and collapsed onto one of the wooden benches. “Impoverished…” you whispered to yourself, contemplating where your priorities truly lay—your loyalty to your people, or your loyalty to Kit…

It didn’t take long for the Tir Asleen ballroom to clear, but if inquired, Sorsha would swear she spent years of her life stationed near the doorway, cheeks afire as she bid farewell to each scattering guest. The King of Galladoorn barely paid her any mind as he stormed off to his guest chamber, Graydon in tow, both visages aglow for varying reasons.

While his mother busied herself with mending the falloutl, Airk moved his sister to a nearby table, handing her a goblet of water to dilute the alcohol in her stomach. Kit groaned as she sipped from the goblet. Her head pounded; even while seated the room still seemed to spin. She lazily tugged at her corset, its constriction suddenly becoming too much for her to bear.

Airk sighed, reaching back to relieve his twin of the restricting garment. “I must say, I’m intrigued to see how you plan to explain this,” he whispered as he gently undid the laces. “I haven’t seen Mother so enraged since she caught me reading the lewd literature as a lad.”

Though the corset was loosened, Kit still felt her stomach clench as she glanced at her mother. Sorsha’s calmness, though eerie, was intensified by her flushed face, as crimson as her gown. As soon as the last guest departed and Sorsha closed the ballroom doors, the atmosphere shifted to one of unease. Airk noticed immediately, and busied himself with clearing tables, determined to stay out of his mother’s line of fire. Kit gulped as her mother approached, the dread forcing her mind out of its drunken haze.

“I’m not sure why I’m surprised,” Sorsha began, her expression stoic. “Twenty-one years I’ve endured your antics. I once thought it was mere childish theatrics, that you’d surely mature beyond it, but it seems I was mistaken.”

Kit also remained expressionless as she continued to sip from her goblet. She was used to being scolded, berated by her mother, to the point that it had lost its sting long ago.

Sorsha, however, was far from finished. “I just never imagined my own daughter would go as far as to make a mockery of her own kingdom, and for what? To thwart a betrothal? To evade your royal responsibilities?”

Her voice grew louder with each sentence. Kit groaned, clutching the side of her still-throbbing skull.

Sorsha knelt to her daughter’s level until Kit could feel her breath warming her face. “Goblet’s ache? You should give thanks to the gods above for your intoxication tonight,” she continued. “Without wine’s influence, the inquisition would surely have your head after your misdeed this evening!”

Kit’s earlier dread settled like a pit in her stomach at her mother’s words. Sorsha was right; in her lustful, wine-soaked stupor, she had risked not only a scandal, but possibly your lives as well.

Nausea bubbled inside her; she clutched her stomach, desperately fighting back the bile that threatened to rise. Airk quickly noticed his sister’s disposition, and rushed over after grabbing a maid’s bucket off a nearby table.

Sorsha scoffed at her son’s compassion, watching in disbelief as he held Kit’s head over the bucket. “Honestly Kit, did you ever stop to consider how your brother might feel about all this? If I were him, I’d leave you to wallow in your own excretion.”

Upon being mentioned, Airk’s head lifted to look at his mother. As betrayed as he knew he should have felt, as shocked as he was to learn his intended’s paramour turn out to be his own sister, he couldn’t deny, he had been keeping his own secrets. And if Kit’s was so harshly exposed against her will, perhaps alluding to his own could alleviate her burden. “I care little, mother…”

His words grabbed Sorsha’s attention, drawing it away from Kit momentarily. “How can you not?”

“I don't love the princess,” he admitted. “And she doesn't love me.”

Sorsha merely waved off his confession as if she were flicking away dust. “Marriage isn’t about love, Airk! Few engagements begin with love, you learn to love!”

“I have been in the princess’s company for fifteen years,” he argued, beginning to raise his voice before using her own choices against her. “I have not grown to love her, and you and father’s union was not arranged!”

“I married a reckless man because I was ‘in love’ with him, and look where that got me! I ruled a kingdom alone while raising two children, and he’s dead in a ditch somewhere in Nockmaar!”

“That’s where I shall be, too,” Kit interjected.

The raspy sound of her voice took Airk and Sorsha by surprise. They slowly turned to face her. “Kit…” Sorsha began. “What do you mean, that’s where you shall be?”

Kit glanced up from her bucket, her eyes red and watery. “Nockmaar,” she gurgled. “The princess… we’re not staying…”

Both Airk and Sorsha’s jaws dropped in horror at Kit’s remark. Airk was the first to speak. “Kit, you’re not serious…”

“Nockmaar?!” Sorsha cried. “B-but your father… and the Wyrm…”

“Safer than here…” Kit muttered, dropping her face back towards the bucket.

It was Sorsha’s turn for her head to spin; visions of the dire fates that might befall her daughter danced in her head—nightmarish scenarios her mother had long foreseen. She could practically taste her own heartbeat; she knew her daughter better than most, and recognized her obstinacy derived from her father. When Kit had her mind set on something, there was no stopping her, regardless of the peril; Kit would willingly risk everything—even her own life—if it meant being with her beloved.

Without another word, Sorsha turned on her heel and exited the ballroom, leaving her twins behind as the doors shut behind her.

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