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lady-assnali · 2 years ago

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Meet You After Dark (3)

Here it is! In this part, we get to find out what really happened when Princess Marcia took that strange potion….

This au has been my baby, so I hope you enjoy it because it’s been a beautiful thing to work on. Thank you to @jinkx-monswoon for being half the brainchild for this fic, and for editing and having to witness my horrific writing process (so many half written sentences, So many typos. Just…this entire au came out of my brain completely unhinged and now that we’ve both edited it multiple times it’s finally good enough to post.)

Parts ONE and TWO

……

It’s quiet.

Anetra walks steadily along the stone halls, brushing a finger along the weathered texture as her mind wanders. The princess hadn’t answered her knocks tonight, not even after she’d come back and tried a second time. Instead she’s been taking her well-rehearsed path alone, listening to the fall of her footsteps echo against the empty space, her only company. It’s strange doing this by herself, not having Marcia’s laughter or excited whispers to fill her time. It’s boring without her, this pacing around. It gives too much time for thinking about the things she’s been trying to avoid. At least with the Princess’s company there’s conversation to distract from her feelings. Now, her mind plays around with her in a cruel combination of thoughts she’s pushed to the side.

Maybe Marcia’s done with her.

Maybe she’s annoyed.

Maybe they weren’t even friends to begin with.

She refuses to believe the thought even though it’s the domineering voice above all else. She can’t bring herself to believe that things may have been imaginary between them, not when they’d shared so many real conversations and thought-out ideas with each other. Marcia’s smile is not performative; Anetra had had a few opportunities to witness the difference between Princess Marcia entertaining a court and Marcia telling silly, fantastical stories with her just to keep her entertained. No, the princess is not a fraud by any stretch of the imagination. She is one of the most genuine people she’s met in her life.

Maybe she’s fallen asleep.

It’s been two days since she’d cried about her impending marriage, two days of visitors coming in and out of the castle, the guard on constant high alert. They’re made to know every florist, every designer, every consultant that comes in and out of the palace. Every visitor as of late has had something to do with the wedding whose engagement hasn’t even been announced, and each time Anetra has been able to catch a glimpse of Marcia she looks less and less like herself.

There had been a moment just yesterday morning when they’d managed to lock eyes across the room during a light breakfast banquet. Anetra had tilted her head slightly, blinked once. Marcia had only shrugged, returning to pretending to eat while pushing the food around on her plate, gracious and charismatic above her tired posture and disconnected thoughts.

Which is why she’d gone to check on her twice. Seeing the Princess’s light so dimmed has been worrying. Not seeing her in private has been worse.

Anetra is woken from her thoughts by the pounding of footsteps coming her way. Stopping abruptly she draws her sword, takes a defensive stance as her heart begins to race. But turning the corner is a knight not much older than herself, barreling through the halls with wide eyes full of alarm.

“The Princess is dead!”

The voice floats in the air above her as the other knight runs away, shouting into each corridor they pass. The words filter through her ears, in and out, her brain unable to process. It isn’t until she’s gasping for air that the knight realizes she’s forgotten to breathe. The front of her face is numb, locked in a sensation that does not hurt but rather paralyzes, like being hit on the wrong part of a bone during a fight.

She doesn’t process the word dead for quite some time, her mind simply unable to wrap around the sentence as a whole and what it might mean. When she does, however, a rush of adrenaline kicks in. Her feet carry her when she is unable to move them herself, her mind creating echoes of the clamoring around her. She runs alongside other guards and then runs faster, surpassing them all without thinking twice about how she’s going to be perceived. Taking a corner too sharp, her body slams against the wall, ricocheting her sideways. She catches herself, cursing under her breath at the throbbing pain in her shoulder. She barely loses speed, merely clutches the surely bruised area as she thunders on. She knows the path by heart from any part of the castle grounds, memorizing it solely for moments like this.

Just in case. She’d been trained to keep watch. She’d been trained for these situations. She should’ve been stronger, faster, better—just in case.

There’s a crowd when she reaches Marcia’s hallway: other members of the guard, the royal healer. From where she approaches, Anetra can barely see through the throng of people who have chosen to keep a respectable distance. They’re about four doors away from the place she’d let her heart live.

From her stoic guard by the door Sasha notices her, makes eye contact and shakes her head slightly. With two fingers she gestures to her left arm, tapping the space there twice. It’s code, and an unwritten one at that. None of the guard at Anetra’s ranking or age will know what has transpired, and it’s so subtle and quick that she’s sure nobody else picked up on it either. There’s no easy translation, just the knowledge that Sasha will fill Anetra in as soon as possible. It’s not at all reassuring, but it’s something. Then, she sees it.

Sasha shakes her head.

It isn’t a lot; nothing too powerful, or too noticeable. But it’s enough to break Anetra in two right in the throng of her fellow brothers and sisters.

She pushes through the crowd, every written rule suddenly meaningless. There’s a wall of grunting, of voices grumbling in protest and bodies no match for her adrenaline-fueled fight response. She breaks the sea of guards standing in her way. The distance to the door seems to stretch on forever, her mind becoming numb upon thinking about just what might be on the other side of that door. When she reaches Sasha she nearly falls at her feet, gives it all away right there. The older knight catches hold of her arm, steadies her and pats her shoulder.

“Ser Anetra has become close to the Princess in her time serving the kingdom. She’s shown exemplary loyalty and value.. The princess has taken to her, and has found in her a close friend and confidant, which is why the situation at hand may have sent her into a bit of a hysteria.”

Sasha studies the younger knight, whose face has grown pallid and unwavering in its expression. She nudges her, looking her over with eyes both disciplinary and motherly. Anetra bows awkwardly, only noticing the King and Queen’s presence so close to her own because of Sasha’s subtle hint at decorum. Apologies fly from the younger knight’s lips in rapid, broken sentences.

“It’s alright, Ser. We are both aware of the kind of toll news like this might take on a close friend.” The King betrays himself with his crooked brow, suspicion written all over his face. Sasha fervently shakes her head, holds Anetra’s shoulders with both hands.

“She is one of the best we have knighted within many years here. She is genuine. Believe me and take my own place as commander as proof of my judge of character. She would do anything to keep your kingdom safe, especially your daughter.”

This seems to satisfy the royals, who bow to both of the knights in apology.

“This has come as quite a shock to us. When we learned that the doctor was sending for the opinion of an apothecary…”

“It’s frightening, indeed. Why would our daughter—our brilliant, accomplished daughter—do this on her own accord?”

“She wouldn’t. Which begs the question of who could have done this…and why was the bottle in her possession in the first place? The stamping on the bottom does not match our apothecary’s seal; it is foreign to us. What lengths did this person have to go? And to what effect?”

Anetra stands shock-still, listening to the conversation with rapt attention and trying to piece together the details. There’d been a potion. Marcia hadn’t answered both times she’d stopped by to meet her for their walk. Had she taken the potion by then? And the effects…

“We can thank the powers that be that our Princess is merely bedridden for now.” Sasha supplies the information subtly, brushing her fingers against Anetra’s lightly. “I’m wondering if the slumber is just a temporary effect of it all.”

“It’s possible that she’s been so tired from the wedding planning that she simply needed something to aid in her sleep.” The queen prattles on about it all for a while, her hand smoothing down her gown and her hair and her husband’s shirt in an attempt to keep busy.

A person with bright orange hair and a subtly celestial robe emerges from the door, dark circles plaguing their eyes and a harrowed frown upon their lips. They sigh, scanning the mass of people congregating down the hall before turning their attention to the King and Queen.

“She will sleep. No harm will come to her in this state. I have taken the bottle to sample the liquid against some of my own in order to research its properties and gather a better understanding of it all…this way, we should hope to be able to wake her. There are several ingredients evident upon the use of sight and smell which do indicate foul play, but I will know much more in just an hour’s time if given the chance to take this last drop back to my workspace.”

There’s a murmured conversation between the royals and the apothecary, Anetra unable to focus on any of it. Her eyes are trained on the little glass bottle, the catalyst of the princess’s downfall. The last remaining bit of liquid is enchanting, milky and pearlescent, glimmering against the light of the candles and torches which have been lit along the hall. Its strikingly beautiful nature is not unlike Marcia herself, especially with the magnificent, hypnotic quality of the way it whirls around in the bottle.

Her fingers itch to take the glass from the apothecary’s hand, to swig the last drop of potion for herself. In the depths of her mind she knows that’s a brainless idea; drinking it would do nothing to help, mean nothing except putting herself in this same situation.

“You have only a brief moment.” A hand prods Anetra, jolting back into the present with a start. Her mind had taken control of her, had spun horribly vivid scenarios involving a future without the Princess—without Marcia. Her lips are a thin line, her body stoic and unmoving. Blinking, she realizes that they are the only ones left by the door. The hall is restored to careful silence. Sasha prods her again, this time bumping her enough to loosen her balance.

“I am giving you a gift and risking my own position here. If you don’t take it, I can assure you that you’ll find it to be one of the biggest regrets of your lifetime.”

“What?”

“Go in.” Sasha glances around the hall, taps twice on the door in show. “See her. Be with her. She’ll need your strength to survive this.”

“The apothecary said—”

“Damn them. Damn them, and do not repeat this but I wish the same upon the King and the Queen in this moment. They’re unable to see what their actions have done.”

“What do you mean by this?”

“I have known the Princess a very long time. She has been polished and charming and perfect her entire life. She has been the absolute pinnacle of royalty. But she has also been extremely reticent about her feelings in every aspect of her life. She has tried so hard to make the King and Queen proud and to please everybody that she has forgotten that she deserves to feel happiness in the same way the people in her life do.”

“I have only known her a short time, and yet I agree. Our last walk together was rather difficult. Quiet. This was two nights after she confessed that she does not wish to be married. The look on her face—”

“The princess does not wish to be married because she’s in love with you.”

Ser Sasha is sure to meet Anetra’s eyes when she says this, not wanting the younger knight to have any excuse to misconstrue her words. She hadn’t meant to meddle—had been intent on letting the blossoming romance come to fruition on its own in due time. But with the news of a wedding so soon in the year, the princess’s weeping, and Anetra’s own state of distress, the admission is a necessary motivator. She’s sure of this fact when the younger knight stares back at her in awe, shaking her head fervently.

“Princess Marcia is adoring of all of her people. She and I have become close friends as I was able to help her through some of the harsher emotions she’d been feeling. She doesn’t feel that way for me.”

“But she admitted it herself.” Sasha rushes through her words, eyes scanning the halls for the possibility of incoming footfalls. “The princess felt ill during her fitting, quiet and submissive and lacking that light of hers… And after everyone had gone, she fell to her knees and wept. Anetra, she wept over you. I would tell you the things she said but I have confidence that one day you will be able to hear them from her own lips. For now, you need to go to her.”

“Your position…”

“My position is to protect the family. I am their first line of defense. Sending you in to look after their daughter further is the most noble, dutiful thing I am able to offer this family. And if I am in turn protecting someone I consider to be a member of my own family? That’s luck.”

Anetra’s heart swells with a wave of emotion; never had she experienced the immense grief or immeasurable thanks that fill her at this moment. She bows to Sasha, a hand over her heart, before the older knight pulls her into a tight embrace. Then, she lets Anetra out of her arms with haste.

The young knight pulls on the handle of the tea green oak, the familiar creak of the hinges making her eyes close involuntarily. How many times during their nightly walks had Anetra tried to avoid that same noise, to keep their wandering a secret just for them? The very thing that brought them together has signaled what could be her last time seeing the Princess, and the thought of it almost stops her in her tracks.

“Go.”

She follows Sasha’s orders, stepping one foot warily into the room before shutting the door gently behind her, as if not to wake the sleeping princess.

It’s the first time she’s been in this room, and her nerves are pin-prick signals traveling up and down the length of her body with each of her slightest movements. The space is lit by a vigil of candles: long, short, stubby… Some hang from a large and stately chandelier while others litter the floor, keeping each inch of space visible. There’s the pink silk robe the princess had worn on their first walk, hanging in the open door of an ornate armoire against the wall. There’s flowers strung by their stems by the windows, dried out and displayed in organized arrays of muted color. There’s an easel propped in the corner of the room, a canvas revealing a painting only just begun, a few strokes of bellflower blue in an abstract shape.

She nearly loses her footing, stumbling and catching herself on the windowsill. Looking down, Anetra finds her boot to be tangled in a mass of white lace, which she shakes off confusedly, grunting at the impact of her hands on the rough stone of the windowsill. The lace is connected to a garish white gown haphazardly discarded on the floor, brushed halfway underneath a bench. The knight picks up the dress delicately, brushes off the bits of dirt that have collected on its surface. It’s truly a masterpiece—although clearly unfinished, still stuck with needles along the hemlines. It’s with a start that Anetra realizes that this is the wedding gown. This is the gown that the seamstresses have been working countless hours on, compiling the most beautiful lace and having it delivered to the kingdom with the utmost haste. This is the gown that Marcia is to be wed in within the year, notwithstanding the current predicament. It’s been thrown on the floor; discarded; cast away.

She can see the look on Marcia’s face from when she had admitted to the upcoming engagement.

Maybe, in her own way, the Princess had been asking for help-asking her to stay.

It takes Anetra longer than she’d care to admit to look over to Marcia’s bed. Her mind is busy conjuring up scenarios, possible pictures of what her favorite companion might look like. She’s not even sure what to make of the information she’d been prepared with; a potion unknown to the royal apothecary, a weeping princess, a supposed admittance of love…

It’s that one little word—four letters she’s never felt before but feels so deeply, the swell of her heart that will not be ignored. She’d suspected as much from the way she’d begun to count down the minutes until her night patrol started, or the way she’d find her eyes lingering on the princess any moment she’d be able to see her during the day.

It hits her all at once, crashes into her hard and fast, nearly knocking her over with its monstrous weight.

She’s in love with Marcia. She’s so irreversibly in love with her that she’s not sure how they’ve only just recently met, how she’ll ever be able to live a life without her wide, illuminating smile or the musical sound of her voice. She doesn’t want to know—can’t know…so she takes another lap around the room, admiring the steady organization of it all. Everything has its place here. Everything fits.

Until the knight’s eyes meet the bedpost and her knees go weak.

She closes the physical distance with shaking legs and stands by the bedside with a face distorted by anguish.

Swathed in flickering golden light, Marcia is the most ethereal she has ever looked. Her long blonde locks are neatly arranged, laid gently on her pillow. Her eyes are closed, her lips in an unmoving pout. They’ve covered her in a thick quilt, lain her arms over top with her hands one on top of the other. Every piece of her is so delicate, so gentle.

So completely still.

Moved by a fusion of curiosity and genuine horror, Anetra bends over to examine Marcia closer. There is no air coming from her nose. Her chest does not rise and fall. She is not any more pale than her naturally fair skin, the freckles that dust her nose and cheeks still visible. She’s almost flushed, cheeks a delicate shade of pink that touches the tip of her nose. It looks almost as if she’s spent too much time in the cold without a robe. Or like she has a secret she’s guarding close to her chest.

Like being in love.

The conversation with Ser Sasha has been sitting in the back of her mind since she’d opened the door to Marcia’s chamber. It’s too good to be true, surely. There has to be some mistake within her thinking, some kind of misunderstanding that would have caused the older knight to believe that Anetra’s love might just be reciprocated. It seems like a child’s fantasy—a bedtime story told to children who had parents to demonstrate just what love truly was. Anetra hadn’t had that. She hadn’t had anything.

Growing up alone had been hard. Being accepted into the knighthood had taken years of bloody, tearful work. But growing up within a community of people who would train such a young child had given her a family, and switching into the palace guard had given her another. She’d been jostled and bumped from place to place, ridiculed for being alone and then thrust into new brotherhoods when she was deemed to be too skilled for her standing. Through all her life, she had come to adopt this sense of semi-permanence in her heart. She’d wondered when she’d find where she truly belonged.

This story, this bedtime fantasy, this child’s fodder…it has to be enough.

She’s found where she belongs. She’s sure of it.

Her home is lingering on the precipice of death, and it takes Anetra to her knees.

She grabs hold of the Princess’s hand, laces their fingers together. Her skin is still warm to the touch, soft as silk against her work-hardened hands. She brings Marcia’s hand to her lips and kisses it tenderly, looking upon her with tear-glazed eyes. She can’t focus, can’t breathe… The chamber around them is awash with a mist that takes everything else away, every last stone and dried flower and the easel with its masterpiece in progress. She is stuck in this tunnel, only able to see the Princess laying still before her. She’s stuck on all of the stories she could have been told as a child and focused on their endings, and there’s a part of her that begins to believe that maybe it all could be true.

At this point, with death lingering so closely, Anetra is willing to believe in anything, try anything to get Marcia back.

She puts one hand on the mattress, runs her fingers along the delicate quilting of Marcia’s blanket. She hovers, one hand holding Marcia’s while the other cards softly over her forehead, through her hair. Anetra leans in, lips inches away from the Princess’s, but then pulls herself back rather swiftly. It all feels so wrong, this thing she’s wanted to do for so long. The princess isn’t awake, isn’t able to tell her if this is what she truly wants. Sasha had insisted, but without the words from Marcia herself the fairytale feels a bit distorted.

If this is to work, it’s now or never. No time to dwell.

The knight touches Marcia’s cheek with tender, feather-light fingers before she lowers herself again. This time, her lips graze the corner of the Princess’s mouth, still soft and pouted. She feels the rush of butterflies in her chest, the way they move up her arms and down her legs, tickling her senses with adrenaline. Hope fills her to the brim, carrying itself over to the impatient shuffling of her feet and the pause in her breathing.

Nothing happens.

Marcia lays still, ethereal as ever.

Anetra sinks, crashes down hard from the disappointment. She supposes a child’s tale would have been too good to be true, or that perhaps there’d been a miscommunication in the way the stories had been passed from knight to knight. Maybe the stories only worked for royalty, or people who’d had families to tell them. Either way, the Princess is still asleep and Anetra can’t bear the sight of her knowing that there is nothing left to do but wait with the rest of the crowd.

She’s not looking to overstay a lost cause. There’s too much pain in this room now.

She takes one last look at the Princess, bends to kiss her one last time before averting her eyes, preparing herself to make her somber way out of the chamber and never return.

“I know who you are.”

Anetra stills at the sound, jolted by the faint whisper of that melodic voice she so adores. It must be a hallucination, a drop of the potion having touched her lips and poisoned her as well. Otherwise, this could only be a miracle. The hand she’d been holding tightens around her, tugging at her wrist and pulling her back toward the bed.

Marcia’s sitting up.

Marcia’s staring at her, big brown eyes welling with unshed tears.

Marcia’s awake.

“I remember you,” she repeats, her other hand reaching forward for her. The knight’s feet carry her without needing any more prompting.

Marcia’s hand finds her cheek, her thumb carefully tracing the line of her jaw, memorizing the curve of it with immense care. Anetra finds her own hands cradling the Princess’s face, wiping away any tears that threaten to fall.

“Anetra,” The Princess gasps, her words coming out in breathless whispers. “I’m so sorry.”

“An apology isn’t needed… Somebody did this to you.”

“I asked for it.” She buries her face, muffling the cries that ultimately spill out into her hands. “I asked them to help me forget you.”

“...Oh.” The knight freezes, the pieces of the puzzle connecting in her mind with terrible clarity.

“That’s all it was supposed to do. I was supposed to wake up and be able to go through with it all—the wedding. Forgetting you was the only way I was going to go through with that marriage. I don’t want anybody else. I can’t think of anybody else. I only want you.”

“Me?” The words are still so unbelievable, even coming straight from the Princess’s lips. Marcia’s looking up at her now, clinging tightly to herself.

“Your kiss woke me up, did it not? Does that mean something to you?”

“It means that my world is no longer shattered.” Anetra doesn’t dare break eye contact, not even as tears now pour from her own eyes. “It means I can breathe again. And it means I need to say this now, while we have a moment of time without interruption.”

She sits gently on the side of the bed, fingers touching Marcia’s hand until the princess holds on tight.

“I love you with every last piece of my heart. I have loved you for a long time, I think. You are so radiant, so open and loving and kind. You walk into a room and the world falls in love with your smile, your heart, your quick wit… The breadth of it all is immeasurable, and when I thought I had lost you, everything fell into place.”

Marcia’s heart fills with an unmistakable warmth. “I have never been happier than to hear those words.”

She pulls Anetra close, pecking her lips with a brush of shyness. When the knight smiles against her she urges on, shifts to her knees to press herself against her. When she pulls away, it’s reluctant, her face still only inches away from the knight’s. She traces the line of Anetra’s scar with her fingertip, unable to take herself away from her gaze.

“I love you,” She sighs, her head falling onto Anetra’s shoulder. “If that wasn’t clear.”

“It’s clear, but I’d like another reminder if you’ll allow it.”

Anetra tips the Princess’s chin, her heart skipping around in her chest as Marcia’s incandescent smile is finally restored, giggling a bit under the knight’s ever-so-gentle touch.

Their kiss is fervent, Anetra steadying the Princess’s body with two sturdy hands on her hips, aflame in each place that they connect.

There’s footfalls in the hall. Anetra pulls away, Marcia whining at the loss of contact. They sit knee to knee, chest to chest, listening as the noise falls quiet again. Anetra presses her lips to the Princess’s forehead, her nose, then languidly to her lips.

“Ser Sasha is outside. Everyone’s waiting for the apothecary. They’re examining the potion, looking to see what you took.”

“And I’ll tell them.” The blonde huffs, indignant. “They can ask me, and I will be honest. They haven’t heard a word I’ve said for months now, only what they want to hear. And if they don’t hear this after what I have been through, then maybe they don’t deserve an heir at all.”

“Your father…”

“My father will understand or he will disown me. I am better for either of the two options, because in both we will be together.”

“And you’re sure that this is what you want?”

“I have wanted you for a long time. Waking up to your kiss confirms what had been in my heart and my mind all along; there is nobody else for me.”

Anetra grazes her thumb over the princess’s lower lip, then kisses her once more. Marcia hums in delight, eyes fluttering shut as that same wash of golden warmth that woke her spins around her, consumes her with a pleasant shiver in Anetra’s arms. The knight pulls back at first, but cannot keep herself from showering each bit of exposed skin with gentle, amorous lips.

“I suppose we should be telling the kingdom the good news.” She speaks between kisses and Marcia’s soft hands trailing her body with heightening urgency. “We cannot stay here forever, no matter how much I would like to.”

The princess sits back, wide-eyed and flushed, and runs her fingers through her long blonde hair.

“You go—I’d like them to see me bedridden one more time. I want them to know just how serious this is.”

The knight moves to stand, but is held back by Marcia’s hand on her arm. The princess giggles, smoothing out Anetra’s hair and straightening her clothing. Then, she dramatically flops back down onto the bed, covering herself up with a wave.

“We will be together.” She’s softened, a hint of nerves and vulnerability hiding behind the confident smile she wears. Anetra puts her hand over her heart, looking down at the Princess with unparalleled warmth.

“Always.”

Then at last, she departs, and turns to open the tea green door that will lead her to their fate.

#Anarcia #the knight au #that’s it that’s the tags #Do with it what you will

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