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artficlly · 2 years ago

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lady of the ghosts [chapter 3]

After a great plague ravages your city, you are looking to marry to secure safety for your people. With a war finally ending, the nearby kingdoms are looking to celebrate. King James "Bucky" Barnes decides to continue his family's tradition of hosting a courting season. A medieval courting marvel AU.

Pairing: king!bucky x lady!reader

Warnings: mention of war, mention of torture, mention of poison, mention of burning alive, sexism, lmk if i've missed anything

Word Count: 6.7k

A/N: this was an absolute mission to write! i was going to sit on it overnight and do another quick refine but I decided to post it early. thank you all for all the love and support. this chapter is setting up some plot points but trust me the bucky x reader drama is going to heat up next chapter. lots of love for you all, thank you for reading! as per usual sorry for any typos, not proof read!

chapter masterlist | main masterlist

If you had thought being in Galanta would save you from forced socialization, you had been sorely mistaken. Shortly after breakfast, all of the guests were summoned to one of the upstairs tearooms. The room was large enough to accommodate a group of people but small enough that hiding in the corners was impossible. You expected they did it on purpose, to keep ladies like yourself from straying from the conversation. Events like these were designed to encourage mingling while keeping the environment appropriate.

A fresh breeze blew in from the balcony, which overlooked the city, sending the emerald green curtains swaying with each breath. There were a variety of sweets and savories on the dark oak tables positioned between the waiting staff and potted plants. You had inspected the pastries, tarts, and fruits with mild interest, observing how each piece was only a mouthful in size. All the food, you had noticed, was love themed. The pastries and tarts are shaped like little doves and roses, and the fruit cut and diced into heart and star shapes. You wondered if King James was actually a romantic at heart or if he had just let the planners go wild. The Galanta Season was famous for its beautiful details, entertaining events, and impressive love matches. You supposed by now the event would plan itself without much input from the royals beyond the gold they paid.

You had opted for some tea to keep yourself looking busy. Galantian teas were imported from the south, adding a tang of citrus to their flavor. You were unsure if you liked it as much as the stronger black teas of Faliene, but you enjoyed the sweetness. You had been horrified to see a woman add more sugar to her own tea while complaining that the citrus had made her mouth hurt. Faliene rarely had the luxury of sugar and sweets, so watching the overindulgence left an uneasy feeling in your gut.

With one of his signature scowls on his face, Prince Micheal had been staring at you nonstop all morning. You knew the moment the two of you were alone, he would reprimand you for your actions the night before. You could not find the energy to care. Instead, you found yourself avoiding King Harrison and watching as he lingered near Princess Peggy. She was blushing and smiled politely at King James, who seemed to be keeping her entertained among the circling lords. Peggy would be quite the catch if James didn’t snatch her up in time. Watching the scene unfold, you imagined the lords as southern vultures, circling the available ladies as they slowly withered away.

James had not offered you a glance the entire morning. You could understand why, considering that Princess Peggy had been determined to capture his attention since breakfast. You couldn’t help but wonder if Peggy truly liked James or if it was just to please her father. As children, she had mentioned James in passing to you, but never in recent years. During the war, she had not shown much concern for him, instead keeping her opinions to herself. She had never seemed to be the type to swoon over knights and princes; maybe she kept it a secret, or maybe she truly had no interest.

“Lady Y/N. Forgive me, King Harrison was supposed to introduce us, but it appears he is busy.” A rough voice spoke from beside you. Your eyes moved from Peggy over to the man who spoke, instantly recognizing him. Lord Rumlow. The Lord of the Snakes.

He wasn’t unattractive. Or old. He was quite handsome in a rugged way. His face was sculpted, with high cheekbones and a defined jawline. His skin had a light tan; he was a man who had seen labor before his time as a lord. His brows hooded over his dark eyes, and his strands of hair were dark and short. From the way he held himself, you could tell he was a fighter. You had seen it in knights before – the way they prowled on their toes, ready to strike. He was muscled and tall like Steve, his hands callused and steady with intention.

Those hands, that body – the way he held himself. You had heard rumors about his blood ties to Hydrina and how his leap to lordship had been questionable. Although Rumlow was unofficially known as Lord of the Snakes, his actual title was Lord Rumlow of Dorasea. Dorasea was a port city, although smaller in size than Faliene. It was located on the border between Hydrina and Galanta, trading goods between the two kingdoms. Only within the last few years had the port been founded, around the time that the plague struck Faliene. Before the port was built, Dorasea was a small section of land, mainly known for its tavern, which supplied rooms for those traveling between the two kingdoms. The previous Lord of Dorasea was Rumlow's grandfather, and Rumlow's mother had been wed off to a Hydrian lord to protect Dorasea from raids by Hydrians. You supposed that was where the blood ties came in – the Lord of Dorasea was half Hydrian. At least, that is what you heard.

“You made quite the entrance yesterday.” Rumlow continues, eyes snaking over your dress.

Today you wore another traditional dress that was adapted to fit the Galatian weather. The silk skirts were made of a light blue with gray sections. It had been hardened with whalebone to keep the fabric tight against your skin, forgoing the need for a corset. The bodice cuts a deep v-shape in the chest area, only coming to a point below your sternum. Your shoulders were exposed with small cutouts, and then the blue fabric continued snuggly down to your wrists. You wore the same trident necklace, a belt made of woven sealskin leather, with silver chains looped loosely around your hips. The silver rings on your fingers tapped against your teacup as you replied.

“It didn’t scare you off, you must be used to uncommon traditions after spending time in Hydrina?” You say, paired with an innocent smile. Your kohl-lined eyes survey him, judging his reaction to your comment. To your surprise, he smiles. It isn’t a kind smile; there is a darkness to it that you can’t quite analyze.

“Tell me, why are you here? Everyone here seems to think you are here to find a husband, but you seem to be intentionally scaring them all away.” Rumlow asks, hand finding your shoulder as he guides you towards a quiet corner. You follow reluctantly, abandoning your cup of tea at a nearby table. You presume he doesn’t want to be overheard. He must also know that he can’t speak to you fully alone due to the questions that may arise.

“I am here to find a husband, one who will accept me and my people.” You reply. Your tone bored, it felt like you had repeated those words countless times since arriving in Galanta. Stepping away from his touch, you clasp your hands in front of you, your thumb rolling over one of your rings.

“So you are here to find a lord, not a husband.” Rumlow retorts. You note how still his body is, like a predator tracking its prey through the forest.

“A lord, a husband… the title doesn’t matter, as long as he can help me.” You drawl in disinterest. Across the room, you spot Steve watching you warily, like he’s preparing to march over and drag you away.

“Lady of the Ghosts… She's too smart for her own good, they all say. They must be wrong because you are speaking like a fool.” His tone is mocking as he speaks, yet he is still armed with a taunting smile.

“I am no fool.” You say, narrowing your eyes at the Lord.

“You have been given a choice, marry to save yourself or perish alongside your people. Why do you insist on perishing?” Rumlow continues.

“In saving my people, I will save myself. I get a choice in who I will marry, and I will marry the man who will help Faliene. If that man is not you, then I suggest you leave.” You snip back, motioning out into the room with your hand. Rumlow only chuckles darkly at that, shaking his head.

“You must understand that realistically, no one will save Faliene. There are other ports, such as Dorasea, that have better weather conditions and could supply jobs to Falienean sailors. No one will marry you because you insist on holding onto that husk of a city.” He spells it out with a mocking grin. Any sense of politeness for the sake of pretending drops from your face, a glower overcoming your face.

In that moment, it dawned on you. The moment he mentioned Dorsea, it all clicked into place. Now you understood why Rumlow had taken up the challenge of trying for your hand. Not only because you were both disgraced in the eyes of polite society but because you held something powerful. From what you had heard, Dorasea was successful in small amounts but needed more sailors with experience. Too many wrecks and lost cargoes had shaken the recent profits.

There was a reason why Faliene had survived for all these decades, and that was because, undeniably, Falienean sailors were the best in the world. Not only could they navigate the icy Northern Ocean, but they could navigate any ocean. They were born with salt water in their blood; they called themselves the children of Nemue, Goddess of the Sea. Your house was ancient and known for its loyalty in seafaring and trading. Other continents and kingdoms trusted you because of your long line of dealings. They trusted Falienean’s because they knew they were one with the water and that they did not make mistakes.

Dorasea did not have the same reputation. She was a new port, filled with inexperienced and unknown sailors. The only thing stopping Faliene from losing what little trade she had left was her legitimacy. That legitimacy was granted by the Falienean sailors, by your house, by your name. Rumlow needed legitimacy to stake a claim on the seafaring world. Rumlow didn’t just want you for heirs, but to reinstate himself as a sealord. He had the men, the money, and the land to do so. With your name and your sailors, Dorasea could become the biggest and best port in Galanta. All he needed was you.

“Faliene is the biggest port in Haiford. It has the biggest imports of fish, ice, whale bones, and seal leather. It is the closest port to the capital of Haiford, and the cold weather means that the imported food does not expire as quickly. The men who work the sea are skilled at what they do, they can navigate the ocean like no other. Continents and kingdoms respect my name and my house. Why do you think that because Dorasea has seen some success that it will live up to the legend of Faliene?” Your voice is deadly as you speak, and your words are clear and precise. Rumlow stays calm, not even a fleeting look of discouragement crossing his features. You are growing to despise the way he holds himself, like he is better than you.

“It will take money, time, and men to rebuild Faliene to a point where it will turn a profit. Not many are willing to spare those things for their own people, let alone a dying city of legend. These past few generations never saw Faliene at its best, they cannot perceive it as anything other than a weakness. Even if you did hire men to bring to Faliene, they would not survive the winter. I can understand why you do not want to abandon your people, but there are other ways to save them than rebuilding a city. You have your name and your house.”

“What do you offer me? You want my name to secure Dorasea’s legitimacy, why should I give it to you?” You ask, tilting your head.

It was no wonder why he wanted this conversation to be private. He couldn’t have anyone knowing he planned to take a monopoly over the sea trades; chaos would ensue. Even if these men scoffed and rolled their eyes at you, undeniably, sea trade was one of the richest in the Northern Continent. The way these kingdoms made money was by import and export; whoever ruled the sea ruled them all. They did not want to see you succeed because they knew that with money and men, you could take over the sea trade. By allowing you to be married off to an old lord who only wanted heirs, they would be ensuring that Falienean sailors would be cut from the competition. Only because you were a woman, due to Haiford's laws, were you unable to lead. As a woman, you had no way to make or use money effectively, no way to access your dowry, no way to handle accounts, and no way to handle politics. With a husband, you did have a way to lead. With a husband, you could conquer all. Did these lords understand the power you held over all of their heads? In that moment, you could have laughed at the irony of it all. You, a disgraced lady, holding the fate of sea trade for an entire continent. Rumlow had revealed his hand; otherwise, you would never consider his offer of marriage. He wanted to be the King of the Northern Ocean, with you, the Queen, by his side.

“I can offer you safety and security in Dorasea. I can offer your people safety and security. I have land that your people can work on and jobs for seafarers at the port.” Rumlow explains, lowering his voice. He steps closer as a nearby lord lingers, hoping to catch parts of your conversation.

“My people will never leave Faliene. They are strong-willed, their ancestors built that city, they bled into that snow and their ashes lie in the crypt. Falieneans won’t abandon their home at the command of a Southern lord.” You reply lowly, a grin spreading across your face as you lift your chin in defiance.

“With some persuasion, they will.” Rumlow says, and you scoff at his words.

“You don’t know Northerners. You can talk and pretend to understand, but you do not know the North or the ocean. You are a fool if you think you can control it. You cannot hold water in your hands, it will slip between your fingers.” You laugh at him.

“I am offering you an opportunity, I am offering to help you. Do consider it, you are an intelligent woman. You must see that this fantasy of saving Faliene will never go your way. I can offer your glory and riches, I can offer you an opportunity to laugh in all of their faces.” Rumlow says in a hushed tone, his eyes following the nosey lord. You resist the urge to flinch as he reaches out, tucking a strand of hair that had fallen from your braided updo behind your ear.

“I do not want glory handed to me by a man. I am not weak or incapable. If I am to find success, I will be building it with my own hands and blood. I would rather be The Lady of the Ghosts than The Lady of the Snakes.” You hiss at him, pulling away sharply.

—

You hadn’t stood on the balcony long before Steve found you. After your chat with Rumlow, you decided to take some air. Most of the other guests had remained inside, watching you warily as you stared out across the land. Winter was mild here; Galatians referred to it as the wet season. The ground didn’t freeze and snow didn’t fall like in Haiford; instead, it remained green and lush, with the occasional heavy rain flooding the fields and turning the grass to mud. Your hands gripped the brick railings, the coarse texture rough against your skin.

Winter was drawing to an end, which filled you with worry. It felt like any day you could receive news of your mother's death. When you left Haiford, the castle was damp and cold, and your mother’s cough was worsening. You wondered if you should have brought her here, into the fresh air and sun. A part of you dared to think you should’ve taken her back to Faliene and let her die with the salty air in her lungs. You would’ve let her swim in the bay one last time and collected rocks like when you were a child. You wondered if those same rocks still remained in your father's study, lined up by size on the windowsills.

Rumlow’s offer haunted your thoughts, lingering and clinging like smoke. A part of you wondered if you should give up and take the offer to save your people. You knew they would never forgive you, but they would be safe. You would never lead; you would have children and watch as Rumlow stole all the glory and brought Galanta to her knees. You wanted to be a leader and to be successful. You knew you were capable of great things; you had known it since you were a child. There was a feeling inside of you, scratching and gnawing away, that knew that you hadn’t completed your destiny yet. Yet you knew you may never see greatness because of your gender. But in that moment, regardless of all that you did and thought, you couldn’t help but worry that you could either die alongside your people or die surrounded by a husband and children you would never come to love.

“You’re not going to jump, are you?” Steve asks you from nearby. When you stormed out of the room, you watched him track your every move. You had barely been out in the fresh air for a few seconds before he followed you out. You couldn’t imagine the rumors that would be flying around inside; you didn’t want to think about King Harrison’s reaction to it all.

“Perhaps I am.” You joke, glancing his way with a half-smile. Steve was dressed in his knight's uniform – leather chestplate and all. It was a seal-leather. That made you smile a bit more. He stood with his back to the railing, eyes focused inside the room, like he was pretending to be surveying the crowd. But you knew he was only paying attention to you at that moment.

“What did Rumlow say to you?” Steve asks, his voice low. Your eyes flicker over his uniform, noting the shield with a star carved into the breastplate. His hand was on his sword, Ravensclaw, knuckles white around the leather-bound handle. The pommel of the blade was silver, intricately carved with the swirling pattern of ravens. You guessed the sword was from an Asgardian forge, the raven being the symbol of the Odinson house. Asgard was well known for not only their magical tattoos but also their forging skills. You wondered if the blade itself had similar patterns; you had never seen it drawn.

“He offered to help relocate the people of Faliene to Dorasea on the condition that I marry him.” You sigh, looking back to survey the city and farmland. Directly below the balcony on the castle ground, there was a large garden. You watched as the gardeners fluted through the trees and bushes, pruning and watering the blooms.

“Why is that so terrible? Other than the fact you would have to marry him,” Steve asks, and his voice feels distant when he is not looking directly at you. You hope the breeze doesn’t carry his words into the room; you don’t want any of the sneering lords to know. You bite the inside of your cheek. As kind and intelligent as Steve could be, sometimes he was completely oblivious to your feelings. He knew you wanted to restore Faliene, yet sometimes he was just as ignorant as the lords that chortled away inside.

“He doesn’t want to save Faliene. He wants to give Dorasea legitimacy.” You mutter, a loose strand of hair tickling your neck.

“I thought Dorasea was already legitimate?” He questions.

“They lost three of fifteen ships to the Northern Ocean in their last export. He is losing money and respect. Even if he is legitimate in the eyes of the law, the traders do not respect him.” You explain with a sigh, glancing back over at Steve, who meets your eye with a worried look. He is silent, as if in thought, for a long pause before speaking.

“He wants your men and your name.” He states, as if enlightened to your dilemma.

“He wants control over all imports and exports coming from Galanta.” Words hang in the air for a long pause, and Steve’s brows furrow. He is deep in thought, his knuckles wrapping tighter around the handle of Ravensclaw.

“You need to tell James.” Steve says abruptly.

“Why?”

“Listen. There are things you don’t know about the war. About Rumlow and Hydrina. If Rumlow is plotting...” Steve trails off with a sigh, and you narrow your eyes at him. “If Rumlow gains that type of power, it would leave us vulnerable to an attack by Hydrina.”

“You think he is still working for Hydrina? Wasn’t he pardoned?” You question, moving closer so you are not overheard.

“It’s a suspicion. It is complicated.” Steve mutters, glancing back past the balcony into the room warily.

“Explain it then.” You pry.

“I can’t. Not here, not now. Too many eyes and ears –I’ve already said enough. Talk to James.”

You open your mouth to say something, but Steve shakes his head at you. His eyes have moved past where you stand, observing someone nearby. You turn, and to your surprise, Princess Peggy has joined you both on the balcony. Her pink skirts dance around her in the breeze, strands of dark brunette hair sweeping across her face. She pushes them behind her ear with a smile.

“Lady Y/N, so sorry to interrupt.” She speaks, clasping her hands in front of herself as she sidles towards you. Her voice is soft and polite, with only hints of her Northern accent shining through.

“Of course not, Princess. How can I help you?” You asked, subconsciously taking a step away from Steve. Had she noticed the two of you talking? You doubted she would say anything, but if she had noticed, others would have too.

“Myself and a few of the ladies were going to take a walk through the flower gardens. I noticed you were already out taking some air, I thought you would like to join?” Peggy asks, still armed with a dashing smile.

“Oh! Of course, that was kind of you to think of me.” You can’t help but let your icy composure melt a bit, returning her smile bashfully.

“Delightful!” Peggy squeals, linking her arm with yours in one swift movement. Her eyes met Steve’s for a moment, a blush crawling over her nose and cheeks. “Sir Rogers.” She squeaks.

“I hope you enjoy the gardens, Princess Peggy, Lady Y/N.” Steve responds politely with a nod of his head. You note how his cheeks have grown a little pink. You give him a confused look as Peggy drags you from the balcony.

—

One of the first times you spoke to Peggy, you spoke about flowers. Haiford had its own gardens, although they were sparse. It was mainly made up of mountainous plants and flowers, hardy and rough like the climate. Most of the time, the garden was made up of skeleton branches, knotted roots, and gnarled thorns. In the summertime, the daisies, buttercups, and blue wildflowers would bloom and add some color, but nothing in comparison to the blooms of Cala’s Keep.

All those years ago, you caught Peggy out in the gardens, the hem of her dress caught on a dead rosebush. You had helped her untangle herself with minimal damage, although she did receive a scolding from her governess for sneaking out and ripping her hem.

“What is your favorite flower?” You had asked her while untangling her skirt from the bush.

“A gallica rose. They grow them in Galanta. I saw them when I visited a few years ago… I tried growing them here, but they always withered.” She had replied shyly, inspecting you as your fingers pried the fabric from the thorns.

“Maybe they don’t like the cold. Where did you get the seeds?” You had asked, beaming up at her as you freed the fabric. She had beamed back, although it had fallen from her face when she saw how it had torn.

“Prince James of Galanta gave them to me as a gift... He is very kind.” She had said it with a blush, loose strands of hair covering her face.

“Hm. That is kind. It is a shame they don’t grow here.” You had replied while brushing the dead leaves from your skirts. “In the library, there is a book of all the flowers in the world, it even has colored illustrations beside each description.”

“But I can’t read.” Peggy had replied embarrassedly, the flush only growing a darker pink.

“That is okay. I can read it for you, and you can look at the pictures.” You hadoffered, and, Peggy had beamed at you with excitement.

You stood staring at the bush of gallica roses with a frown now. The petals were bright pink, the center yellow, dusted with pollen. You couldn’t help but wonder if the engagement unfolding between Peggy and James had been in motion far before the war. Although Peggy and you had grown apart since those childhood days, you did feel happy for her. She seemed smitten with James, and from what you had witnessed, he was with her. Since the Season had officially begun, Peggy had captured his attention, chattering and blushing away. You couldn’t blame James; she was beautiful, sweet, and kind. But after that moment in the library, where he had looked at you with such delight and kissed your hand… you didn’t know why their flirtations stung so much. Steve had obviously put delusions into your mind, convincing you that you had a chance.

Steve. That was another man on your mind. You had noticed the looks and blushing between him and Peggy, and you feared asking what it was about. There were more pressing matters anyway; Rumlow was proving to be more of an enigma than anticipated. Steve’s words hung over you – why did you need to tell James yourself? What did James and Steve know about Rumlow’s involvement with Hydrina? There were missing pieces that confused the picture, but what you knew for sure was that Rumlow had a plan. You weren’t sure if that plan was to conquer the sea or something even bigger than you dared imagine.

You lost Peggy and her crowd of ladies some time ago. While you were captured inspecting every petal and leaf, the ladies giggled and strutted their way through the garden. Many lords also twisted through the maze of bushes and trees, eyeing up the bashful ladies who blushed and battered their lashes. Falling behind had offered you some peace to think and also given you some time alone before lunch. You imagined it would be just as tortuous as dinner. You could only hope you weren’t seated next to Rumlow.

As you turned the corner, finally abandoning the gallica roses, you paused. Down the narrow path stood King James, inspecting a bright blue flower. You hadn’t realized he had decided to wander into the gardens as well; you had assumed he would stay upstairs in the tea room with Steve. You watched him for a moment, noting how the light breeze blew through his brunette locks. Your eyes wandered across his face, then down to his tattooed fingers.

“I wouldn’t get too close, that flower is poisonous.” You called out. His eyes snapped to yours almost immediately, a pleased smile crossing his face as he recognized you. The rest of the path was empty and silent. You knew it was improper to be alone with him, but you couldn’t resist the temptation.

“Is it? I wonder why it is planted in our garden. Maybe my gardener is plotting.” He replied, his eyes following you as you stood next to him to inspect the flower. It was brilliant blue in color, only fading to white near the tip. It was shaped like a cone, reaching as high as your hip. The petals were small, rounded diamond shapes that encircled the main stem. One could mistake it for a lupin hybrid if they weren’t careful. You ran a finger down the center of its star-shaped leaves.

"Its name is Kali Esoterica, although some call it Widowmaker. It originates from the Southern Continent in the swamplands. There was an Asgardian lady by the name of Fridga Gestidotr who was famous for using the poisonous petals to kill her husband. Every morning she would kiss him after coating her lips in a balm made from the flower, and then she would take the antidote. Her husband grew weaker day by day, until one day he dropped dead.”

“So, you are suggesting I don’t kiss my future wife?” He jokes.

“Maybe. Only if you find yourself growing sicker by the day.” You respond with a smile, and a silence falls over the two of you.

You withdraw your hand from the plant, walking over to the next section of bushes. A large group of orange lilies greeted you, their leaves thick and green. You watched as a bee landed on one of the orange petals, collecting pollen from the center of the flower. As you walk further down the path, James follows you, observing as you inspect each flower with interest.

“Are you alright? After Prince Micheal’s actions last night, I mean.” James speaks up, breaking the silence. You look up at him, smiling to yourself as you notice half of his face is obscured by a low-hanging branch.

“I am fine. He had taunted me with far worse words, trust me.” You hum, ducking under the low-hanging branch so the two of you are face-to-face. The leaves tickle the side of your face as you tilt your head at him. “How much did you overhear?”

“Enough.” James replies. There is a haunted look in his eye. You frown, pushing the branch away with the back of your hand.

“I am sorry. About what happened to your sister.” You say it quietly, noting how James swallows hard at your words. The two of you retreat further into the maze of hedges and trees.

“Thank you.” James murmurs in reply, his hands running through the leaves of the tree parallel to you both.

“I know that apologies and condolences will never be enough.” You sigh, a feeling of sympathy squeezing your heart as you survey his troubled face.

“I expect you of all people to understand that. I am also sorry about your mother. And your father... And the countless other Falienean’s you have lost.” James speaks; he doesn’t look back, instead leading you deeper into the maze. You wonder if he knew it like the back of his hand, if he had grown up running and playing between the bushes and trees.

“When my father died, it was so sudden. With my mother… I think it will be a mercy when she finally passes. I have spent so many years mourning her, I don’t think I have any tears left to shed.” You explain hesitantly.

“It is strange. The suddenness of it all. I was angry with my parents before they were killed. I was angry because of what they allowed to happen to Rebecca. I hadn’t spoken to them in days, and then suddenly... they were gone.” James’ voice is faint as he speaks, pausing as he pulls back a branch so you can pass without becoming entangled.

“Do you miss her? Rebecca?” You ask, and his eyes meet yours. Despite all the worry and darkness that haunt the blueness that stares back at you, you swear he smiles. His body is close to yours, and as you pass by the branch he holds back, you can feel the heat of him against your skin.

“Always. We fought like siblings, and she was insufferable at times, but when she was gone? She was too good, too kind for what happened to her.” You watch the branch swing back into place as he releases it while speaking.

“I never understood why they killed her.” You admit. You don’t think anyone outside the Barnes house did; maybe a few of the royal advisors and knights understood. They had kept it quiet; only half the story was ever known to the public.

“They wanted to send a message. Prove that Galanta was weak. They accused her of being a witch and tortured her for weeks before she falsely confessed. They burned her alive and mailed her ashes back to Galanta. I remember my father opening the letter at breakfast and watching the ashes fall on his plate. They didn’t let me read the letter at first, but... it detailed everything they had done to her.” His tone was pained. You look away from James with a hard swallow.

The Northern Continent was known for its varying opinions on magic. Some believed it to be real, like the Asgardians, who practiced magic with their forges and tattoos. The people of Faliene were known for being superstitious and practicing what could be viewed as magic. Other kingdoms believed it was just rumors and scare tactics. Many people made fun of those who worshiped the gods, while others lived in constant fear of their wrath. You supposed that was why it was curious that Rumlow had approached you. It was clear he followed Hydrinan values, which filled you with a sense of dread. The Hydrinan’s were known for their hatred of magic and witches. When they suspected a village had been tainted by magic, they would burn it down entirely out of fear. You had heard of what they did to women who they suspected were witches – how they would torture them for weeks or months until death seemed like a welcome release.

Prince Micheal’s words haunted you: ‘I’ll make sure they send you away to Hydrina like they did Princess Rebecca. I would find delight in hearing the ways they torture a woman like you’. He knew that by Hydrinan law, you would be considered a witch. Your people worshiped Nemue alongside other gods and goddesses; they practiced superstition and observed rituals. The new king of Hydrina would enjoy killing a woman like you; he was called Witchslayer for a reason.

“I am glad you killed King Alexander.” You say abruptly, earning a tired smile from the troubled king.

“Sometimes it does not feel like enough. Sometimes I wonder if I should have destroyed Hydrina completely.” James admits.

“There is always time.” You remark, and James chuckles quietly in response with a shake of his head.

“Thank you. It is refreshing to talk to someone who truly understands.”

“Does Steve not understand?” You ask, and James shrugs.

“He tries.” He replies with a sigh, his tattooed fingers running through his hair.

The two of you round another corner, ending up on a brighter, larger path. The trees are not as thick; instead, the hip-height flowers allow you to look into the nearby pathways. You pause near a bush of peonies, watching as a ladybug crawls across the salmon-colored petals. As you watch, you observe how no one is nearby. Steve’s words from earlier on the balcony hang in your mind. You needed to tell James about Rumlow. If Rumlow was plotting revenge with Hydrina, Galanta needed to be prepared.

“Forgive me, but why did you pardon Lord Rumlow?” You ask, avoiding eye contact as you stroke your fingertips over the soft petals of the peonies. James’ curious gaze burns the side of your face, a short sigh escaping his lips as he rubs his stubbled jaw in thought.

“It is complicated. He thought he had an allegiance to his father's blood in Hydrina. He thought so because Rebecca confessed that she was a witch. When he realized that Hydrina was losing the war, he came crawling back like the coward he is. He gave insider information that allowed us to succeed in the siege upon the Hydrinan capital, so unfortunately I had to pardon him.”

“Do you have reason to believe he is still aligned with Hydrina?” You pry cautiously. You dare to look up at him, watching as his eyebrows furrow in confusion.

“Why do you ask?” He asks, his voice low and suspicious.

You open your mouth to reply but pause as you notice movement nearby. A few pathways across, King Harrison and Prince Michael have emerged. James’ eyes follow yours; the four of you are locked into a silent battle as King Harrison scowls in annoyance. Your hands gather your skirts, ready to make a quick departure.

“I should tell you later. It would be improper for us to be seen together like this.” You say in a hushed tone.

Your eyes find a small path nearby, and your feet quickly move to escape the tense situation that is quickly unfolding. You move only a few steps away before James follows you, lightly grasping your forearm with his hand. You give him a bewildered look, your eyes following King Harrison as he watches the interaction with a look of outrage.

“I do not care what King Harrison thinks. Tell me now, has Rumlow threatened you?” James asks, his voice low and urgent.

“No. Quite the opposite.” You reply, your hands leaving your skirts. Across the garden, King Harrison and Prince Micheal had disappeared behind a group of bushes. You hope they get lost in the garden before they can interrupt your conversation. Or reprimand you.

“What did he say?” James continues to question. His fingers carefully unwrap themselves from your arm. You stand in place, warily watching as he smooths down the fabric of your sleeve and takes a step back.

“He wants to marry me. He wants the Falienean sailors and my name to gain dominance over the sea trade through Dorasea.” You reveal, watching as James’ forehead creases, brows knitting together in thought.

“He wants to control all trade entering and leaving Galanta.” He states.

“I fear this is bigger than Galanta. I believe he wants to control all imports and exports in the Northern Continent. He has the money and the men. With the legitimacy of my name and my sailors, he could start a war.” You express, your fingers twisting one of your silver rings.

“That snake.” James hisses, loathing clear in his tone. You share the sentiment.

“Do you think he is working for Hydrina?” You inquire, watching as James turns around to stare into the bush of peonies with an irritated huff.

“I am not sure. All evidence leads to that, but I know that he has not left Galanta in over a year. The new king of Hydrina, Zemo, does not seem particularly fond of Lord Rumlow either. This may just be a scheme to make himself important now that his reputation has been destroyed. But it is still alarming and suspicious.” He clarifies, his blue eyes boring into the layers of pink petals in front of him.

“Regardless, I am not accepting his offer.” You reply with a sigh, lowering your shoulders as you step closer to the peonies. You watch James’ eyes snap over to you, and you wonder if the look he is giving you is one of relief.

“No? I wouldn’t blame you if you did. It would make those lords you despise respect you.” He speaks carefully, as if gauging your reaction. You scoff with a smile, shaking your head at the king.

“I have enough self-respect to not marry Lord Rumlow.” You chuckle, watching as he plucks one of the peonies from the bush.

“Well, I am glad to hear it.” He hums in reply, handing you the flower with a coy smile.

“What will you do? About Rumlow?” You ask, voice lowered. You roll the stems between your fingers, watching the flower spin.

“I fear I do not know, at least not now.” He sighs. You tilt your head, looking up at him through your lashes.

“I have every belief it will be fine.” You say, watching as the distressed look on his face melts, replaced by a soft smile.

“With your help, I am sure it will.”

chapter four

taglist| @kimomoraba @gostodosopa @sweetwritingfanficfriend

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artficlly · 2 years ago

Text

lady of the ghosts [chapter two]

Pairing: king!bucky x lady!reader

Warnings: mention of war, mention of torture, mention of alcohol, sexism, racism, mention of blood, lmk if i've missed anything

Word Count: 7.3k

A/N: i was not expecting so many people to like this series! thank you for all the likes/reblogs! if you want to be added to the tag list pls comment on this post or on the chapter masterlist. steve is a little matchmaker in this, very cute. also can you tell that i am forever obbessed with queens gambit? sorry not sorry lol. not proof read - sorry for any typos as usual!

chapter masterlist | main masterlist

The past two months, you had felt like a beast in a cage.

The lords and ladies of the court circled you with curiosity, yet they never got too close out of fear. With each passing day, The Galanta Season drew closer, and you felt like you were staring your own doom in the face. The court would circle you closer, poking and jeering about your fast approaching annihilation. You were supposed to be happy – an excitable, blushing bride-to-be. Instead, you reared your head like an unbroken stallion or bared your teeth like a rabid dog. The bars of the imaginary cage grew closer, and the taunts and jeers became louder. Haiford Court made you feel like you were suffocating.

With the Knights of Galanta gone, your life felt empty. There were only so many dinners, afternoon teas, and ladies gatherings that you could sit through before you began to slip into lunacy. After the fifth discussion of fabric textures or the best hairstyles for the winter season, you decided you preferred isolation over meaningless discussion. You missed Steve, as embarrassing as it was to admit it to yourself. You missed discussing the world and laughing at the members of the court together. It seemed some of the other ladies of the court missed the presence of the Galantian Knights as well, often discussing them with giggles and blushes. You were not sure if they brought them up on purpose to torture you, as they cast knowing glances your way while you sipped your tea. The feeling in your chest got tighter and tighter. You would instruct the maids to tie the lacing to your corset tauter by the day, just to feel that crushing sensation. You knew it was masochistic, but you were miserable. Finding solitude on the balconies of the castle, you would stare into the north, wishing and hoping.

If it wasn’t talking about the Knights of Galanta, the ladies would discuss the Season and how wonderful it was that you were engaged by the end. They would speak of Lord Rumlow in mocking tones, their tongues laced with venom, and their teeth sharpened. In the final weeks in Haiford, you had resigned yourself to your rooms, reading and drinking wine late into the night. By that point, you didn’t know if The Galanta Season was a blessing or a curse. You desperately wanted to escape Haiford, but the reality of the Season's purpose still haunted you. Despite your wallowing and self-pity, you had enough sense to formulate a plan.

Now, standing in Galanta, you understood why Steve always complained about the cold in Haiford. The climate was moderate – not as hot as some of the southern Kingdoms, but definitely not the chill you were used to. While in your carriage, you watched the scenery pass by as the cold, rocky outcrops of Haiford turned to swamp, then to lush grass and farmland. By the time you arrived in the capital, you were sweating under your collar. Sometimes you wondered if you were born with ice in your blood.

The capital of Galanta was home to Cala’s Keep, the ancestral castle and home of King James’ bloodline. Looking out of the window of your assigned room, you could see the city below. It reminded you of Faliene in an odd way – rows of markets, multi-level houses stacked upon each other. The overall city had a yellow and orange hue, and the walls of the keep were made from red brick and stone. The city was a mass of terracotta and brick; the streets were cobbled, with mud and vegetation sneaking through. The banners and flags that flew across the city were a deep emerald green – the color of King James’ house. Their sigil was a shield, sometimes illustrated with a red star at its center. The Royal Family of Barnes, protectors of Galanta.

Your assigned maid, Rosa, fiddled with the lacing on your corset as you stared beyond the city. It was strange seeing so much greenery after living on a frozen mountain for most of your life. Faliene had limited greenery in the summer; most of the year, it was frozen ground, layered with snow and bulky rocks that had tumbled down the mountainside. Sometimes you could find flowers and grass growing around the thermal baths as the heat kept the snow from settling in the nearby areas. Galanta was very different. You understood why so many flocked here and why it had been named a haven for farmers and livestock. The livestock you had in Faliene were hardy goats and sheep, sometimes horses too. They were rough and shaggy, as feral as the wind that blew from the sea. Galanta was different; you had seen children playing with stray cats in the street, cows wandering and feeding just off the main road, and chickens eyeing crumbs left outside food stalls. Galanta was bustling and alive. It made you feel homesick for an era of Faliene you had never witnessed.

Outside your room, you could hear the giggling of ladies passing by to descend the stairs. Most of the attendants for The Galanta Season had arrived that afternoon, like yourself. You had all been ushered into your rooms to change and prepare yourself for dinner. First, you would be introduced and present yourself to King James, then be taken into a room to eat and socialize until you could eventually sneak away. You knew Steve would be there, though with King Harrison watching your every move, you doubted you would be able to speak to him. King Harrison had come along with the Haiford party in the hopes of further persuading the match between Princess Peggy and King James.

“You should head down now, Lady Y/N. You wouldn’t want to be late.” Rosa says, stirring you from your thoughts. You smile at the woman; she had been kind to you since you arrived. You had appreciated how she had put up with your specific instructions on how to braid your hair, allowed you to take over your makeup, and successfully helped you into your dress.

“Of course. Thank you for your help, Rosa.” You hummed, smiling at the blonde woman as she moved to open the door for you.

The inside of Cala’s Keep was bright and very different from Haiford’s Castle. Windows allowing the light to shine in, red bricks and stones complimented by green banners and paintings that lined empty spaces. In every corner, you noticed a potted plant, filling the space with color and blooms. Everything felt light and peaceful. Maybe it felt that way juxtaposed next to the winding, dark halls of Haiford, which sported gray, cobbled stone paired with stained glass windows that blocked out most of the light. In every room in Haiford, there was red and gold furniture, banners, and artwork with wolf symbolism carved into every piece. Haiford felt like a dungeon, one that slowly drove its inhabitants delirious.

You noted most of the guests were already gathered, murmuring excitedly amongst themselves as you slowly descended the stairs into the waiting room. A few guards lingered around, directing the guests into lines to be announced into the throneroom. Once they were announced, the guests would make the short walk to present themselves to King James. You were about halfway down when you noticed King Harrison scowling at you and Prince Micheal muttering in his ear. That was all the confirmation you needed to know that your plan had worked. It seemed that as quickly as King Harrison had noticed your presence, a few others in the room had too. Muttering from the crowd quiets down as eyes look you up and down, gazes of curiosity or disgust watching your every move.

Your plan had been in action since the war ended. You had specifically hired a seamstress to craft you some new gowns for the Season. You had wanted to send a message, but the dresses you would have worn back in Faliene or Haiford were too heavy and layered for the warm climate of Galanta. So, you had the seamstress craft you new gowns that had lighter, flowy fabric, revealing more skin, and most of all, looked similar to traditional Faliene wear. Faliene had a rich history lost to time; it was said that its people had been an independent city before becoming a part of the Kingdom of Haiford. The people of Faliene, all these years later, still never forgot their roots. As a child, you dressed in similar styles for events, rituals, and dances. In Haiford, you were discouraged from doing so, instead conforming to the fashion of the mainland.

The dress you wore was a light silk, starting as a darker blue at the hem. The fabric transitioned into a lighter shade on the bodice, the colors resembling waves overlapping each other. An outer corset made of gray and spotted sealskin leather pulled in the waist. The corset was embellished with silver eyelets and black lacing in the back. The bodice itself was high-neck, buttoned at the throat, but had a diamond-shaped cut-out revealing cleavage and a silver chain necklace. The chain held a small silver trident, which was nestled between your breasts – the trident being the sigil of your house. The sleeves of the dress blended blue silk into lace; the lace was designed to look like a fishing net. Delicate silver rings lined your fingers, as well as some simple silver earrings. Your hair was swept into a braided updo, complexly layered, and placed to perfection. Your makeup was minimal; rouge was dabbed on your cheekbones, and your lips and your eyes were lined with kohl.

But it wasn’t just your dress that had upset King Harrison – no, it was the line you had drawn from your bottom lip to your chin in black. It was a Faliene tradition to mark your face in different styles, sometimes used in rituals, during times of war, or as a statement of rank. The mark on your chin – they wouldn’t know what it meant, but you did. It was a symbol that you were a high-ranking woman and one past girlhood.

It was a carefully calculated move you made – a bold one too. It said you were ready for marriage, but whoever married you would have to accept Faliene as well. In a way, you were directly defying King Harrison. You were saying that you would marry only the man who could provide you and your city with security.

Such traditions had always repulsed King Harrison. He could turn a blind eye to the people of Wakanda, whose bodies were lined with scars, indicating each life they had taken in battle. He would ignore his hatred for the tattoos that decorated the skin of the Asgardians. He had always been very outspoken about his hatred for such embellishments, especially on the people of Faliene. He had instructed both you and your mother to follow Haiford's fashion. He wanted to completely rip that aspect of you from your body, to squeeze every last bit of culture and tradition out of you. He had wanted you both to be considerate and quiet ladies of Haiford. He may have succeeded in a way with your mother, but you were loud and full of contempt for the man. You would not back down.

“Lady Y/N, you are late.” King Harrison drawls, annoyance clear in his tone. Carefully clasping your hands in front of you, your eyes scan across the room. Unblinking, you meet the stares of the other guests. A few smile while others look away. None of them had been called into the throneroom yet; instead, they were waiting in anticipation.

“It appears I am just on time, Your Majesty.” You speak, your voice steady and paired with an innocent smile. Prince Micheal appears to glower, while Princess Peggy unsuccessfully hides an amused smile. Regardless of how terrible the royals of Haiford could be, Peggy was always genuine and enjoyable at times.

King Harrison exhales sharply from his nose, a look of displeasure crossing his features. His eyes scan your dress and face once more with a huff before he turns away. You knew he didn’t want to make a scene, especially in front of most of the royals and aristocrats of the Northern Continent. You can feel the gazes of them all burning into your back as you position yourself near the end of the line.

The royal families were introduced first, with each one announced by a guard stationed near the throne room doors. You could hear the mutterings of the Galantian court with each new entrance. You supposed this was a way for you all to not only pay respects but also get eyes on potential contenders in this dreaded battle of courting. By the time you had reached the front of the line, there were only a handful of the lower-ranking lords and ladies left.

“The Lady Y/N of Faliene.” The guard calls out, his voice booming through the throne room. You can already hear the muttering rise as you step onto the polished hardwood floor. It seemed that even in Galanta, your situation was notorious. You could hear the whispers of ‘the lady of the ghosts’ humming through the throne room as you walked towards the throne. Your posture was poised, your gait steady, and your gaze unwavering. You wondered if any of the aristocrats would ever have the nerve to call you The Lady of the Ghosts to your face. Prince Micheal had on several occasions, but you didn’t find such an act particularly daring for the thick-skulled prince.

The throne room was much like the rest of the castle, with light pouring in massive windows and decorated with large, intricately embroidered banners and potted plants, a cool contrast against the orange brick and stone. Other than the path that had been cleared for your walk, the room was stuffed full with the Galantian court and the guests that had already made their greetings to the King. The throne of King James was made of dark, polished wood that had been carved with ornate detailing. The carvings had been adorned with bits of gold, highlighting parts of the design. Alongside the deep emerald green padding, which made up the seat and backing, was gold embroidery. The throne itself stood on an upper level, accessible by a small series of steps. Behind the throne were two banners, proudly sporting the sigil of House Barnes. The shields were embroidered in gold thread, with a red star at their center.

King James himself looked bored, his elbow resting on the arm of his throne in a leisurely way. You noted how one of his arms was heavily tattooed with spiraling ink of Asgardian origin. You couldn’t help but wonder why. You had heard he had injured one of his arms during the war. Asgardian tattoos were rumored to have healing properties. Maybe that was why?

He was dressed in a light fabric tunic, dyed a dark green, with embroidery around the cuffs and neckline. The shirt held a short v-shape in the neckline, exposing some muscled chest where the lacing had pulled open. You could’ve sworn you saw the reflection of light for a moment, like he had a necklace hidden beneath the fabric. His pants were a dark black, tucked into his lace-up leather boots that reached mid-shin. Around his waist, he wore a leather belt with a sheath for a sword attached, but the sword was nowhere to be seen. Across his shoulders lay a cloak, black in color with detailing you could not see from the position he was sitting in. His fingers, which tapped against the wood of the throne, were lined with golden rings. His crown was simple, golden, and carved, half buried in his dark brunette hair, which lazily curled around the metal.

His hand went to rub along his chiseled jaw, stroking the short stubble that had grown. When his blue eyes met yours, you could’ve sworn they were as blue as the silk of your dress. They assessed you with mild interest as you stepped forward, his dark lashes shifting as he pulled his brows together. He was handsome; you had to admit it. If the ladies maids in Haiford had swooned over Steve, you couldn’t help but wonder what their reaction to King James would have been. He had a cool arrogance to him; he was a dark, mysterious stranger that you had only read about in stories. You had heard King James was a bit of an enigma, but you hadn’t anticipated him to be so…mystical.

Beside King James stood three men – his advisors, you presumed. You did not recognize two of them, but the third was Steve. You could tell he was trying to keep serious and do his job as the intimidating head knight. When your eyes met his, you saw his composure crack slightly, a small smile forming as he took in your appearance. You don’t dare smile back; instead, your eyes snap back to King James. You finally came to a stop, your head dipping as you curtsied for him.

“Welcome to Galanta, Lady Y/N.” King James spoke, his voice deep and rough. You lift your head steadily, forcing yourself to relax your shoulders as you meet his stare.

“Thank you, Your Majesty.” You reply with ease, your northern accent sounding strong and peculiar in comparison to his Midlandian one. You could’ve sworn there was the ghost of a smile across his face. As quickly as you thought you had seen it, it was gone. The next name is announced, and you pull your attention away, promptly finding your spot amongst the crowd.

—

The dinner had been dull and uneventful, full of empty laughter and meaningless small talk. Unlike Haiford, Steve had been placed near the front of the table, a few seats down from King James. You supposed the King had more respect for his advisors and knights than King Harrison. It was probably for the best that you were separated from Steve; you would have been reprimanded for being seen with him after King Harrison’s warning. Steve had looked about as bored as you had felt. King James’ attention had been captured by a blushing Princess Peggy, who chatted away with him. She always knew how to say the right things and be kind; you admired her for that. King Harrison seemed pleased by the interaction, his chest puffing out as he chortled away with a drunk-looking Prince Micheal. You had observed Prince Micheal eyeing some of the ladies and princesses further down the table, licking his lips with a smirk, like he expected them to be his next meal.

Your end of the table had been tedious. You had been seated with a group of older lords, all gray and wrinkled. They leered at you, like you were some kind of exotic beauty that didn’t understand the common tongue. It was clear there were two sides to the coin: one being men who viewed you as something disgusting that could be tamed with a heavy hand – a foreign seductress who could be molded into a proper lady. The other men viewed you with lustful gazes; they did not care what or who you were as long as you showed flesh. It made your skin crawl. By the end of the dinner, you had considered drinking yourself into an early grave. You hadn’t bothered to learn the lords' names, instead searing their faces in your mind so you could remember to avoid them.

Most guests had returned to their rooms, tired from the previous days of travel. Your maid, Rosa, had shown you to the royal library. While you had been preparing to undress for the night, she had asked if you had any plans before you slept. You had expected her to recoil when you mentioned you liked to read before bed, but instead she insisted you go and borrow a book. It had surprised you, almost like she had been anticipating the comment.

Now you stood in the candlelight, the last rays of the sun casting a warm, orange glow onto the dark wooden shelves. The library was massive, bigger than the one in Haiford. It had multiple levels, with books stacked higher than you could reach. The library was decorated with chairs, tables, and cushions. Even the windows featured small reading nooks and quilted blankets folded into neat piles.

Rosa had left you alone in the library, allowing you to navigate through the labyrinth of shelves, dodging between piles of books and scrolls that littered the floor. It was clear people came here to study; you could see tables abandoned with research scrawled across loose pieces of paper. Your fingers trailed across the spines of the books, breathing in the dusty scent of paper and leather.

You paused, a pang in your stomach as you recognized a title. Your finger had landed on a short, thick book. The edges were fraying, and the cloth and leather binding were ragged. You carefully pulled the book from the shelf, running your palm across the silver lettering. A History of Chess. With a short sigh, you slide open the cover. The blank page that meets your eyes fills you with disappointment, even though you knew the scrawl you had been anticipating would not be there. Your father had gifted you a copy of A History of Chess on one of your birthdays. He had taught you how to play, teaching you how to be ruthless and unpredictable. He had been the only one who had ever beaten you at chess. When he gave you the book, he had written a short note inside.

‘To my daughter, be as relentless and sharp in life as you are in chess.’

That book now remained in the Faliene library, along with all the other books that had been left behind. Your father had read nearly all of them, and he had encouraged you to do the same. He wanted you to be clever and brilliant, not just another lady with wasted potential due to societal pressures. You missed him terribly. Sometimes you wondered if he had been the only person in the world to truly understand you.

“I thought I would find you here.” A familiar voice pulls you from your trance, a sound of surprise reaching your lips as you jump in fright.

“Gods, Steve. Are you trying to kill me?” You gasp, clutching the book to your chest. He grins lopsidedly at you, leaning against the bookshelf. The light from the setting sun makes his blonde hair glow orange. He was dressed casually in comparison to dinner, obviously opting to change from his knight's uniform into a simple tunic and pants, though his sword was still attached to his belt.

“I like it when you call me that.” He says, still grinning. You roll your eyes at him, slapping his chest lightly with the book. The first time you accidentally called him by his first name, he looked like he was ready to explode with joy. He had made befriending you a personal goal, which you had deciphered, and being on a first-name basis meant he had succeeded.

“King Harrison will have my head if he sees me talking to you.” You grumble, walking a few steps further into the isle. You were aware of the distance between the two of you as well as the fact that this was a public library. The wrong person could walk by at any moment, and any hope of finding a husband other than Rumlow or a withering lord was lost.

“Is there ever a time when King Harrison doesn’t want your head?” Steve chuckles as you scowl, trying to locate where on the shelf you pulled the book from. As much as you were happy to see Steve, he was jumbling your thoughts. You hated that King Harrison’s words had crawled under your skin. Maybe it was just the circumstances of your mother coughing up blood in the other room that unnerved you.

“He warned me to stay away from you.” You explain, and Steve arches his brows at you as if it is news to him. “I don’t think the two of us being discovered unchaperoned in a dark library will help.”

“You’re not unchaperoned.” A husky voice announces itself from the next bookshelf over. You nearly drop the book in fright, stepping away from the end of the shelf as King James rounds the corner, sporting a mischievous smirk. You're at a loss for words for a brief moment, snapping shut your gaping mouth as you attempt to compose yourself.

“Your Majesty,” You gasp out, nearly knocking into Steve as you take a step back. Steve’s hand finds your shoulder, steadying you as you send him an irritated look. Why had he not mentioned that King James was lingering around the corner? Especially with the highly inappropriate conversation the two of you were having.

“Please, no need to bother with formalities. Just James is fine.” James explains, his hand running through his hair. Your eyes watch the brunette tendrils tangle around his tattooed fingers. Clearing your throat awkwardly, you step closer to the narrow bookshelf to gain some space between yourself and Steve. “Apologies, I didn’t mean to startle you.”

“Oh, it is fine. I dare say I invited it, wandering around so close to dark.” You politely say, hyper-aware of Steve watching the interaction with a pleased look. Making an enemy of the King of Galanta was not on your list of things to do this Season, so you would be as polite as possible. You could imagine Steve’s amusement at that – the Lady of Faliene being polite?

“I wanted to meet the woman who helped plan the Hiwold Expanse attack. Sir Rogers here said you have a love for books and that we might find you in the library.” James explains, mimicking Steve’s earlier actions of leaning against the bookshelf. You press your lips together, eyeing Steve with a sidelong glance. What had he been saying about you to King James?

“I wouldn’t say I helped plan, merely made some suggestions–” You begin to protest.

“She is modest. If it weren’t for her observations, we would have been drowning in Hydrinan men while stuck in a pool of mud.” Steve boasts, you bite your tongue so as not to scowl at the man. This was cruelty; you had not expected Steve to act on his little scheme. It was clear from your last dinner in Haiford that he thought you and James would be a match; you thought it was absurd. In fact, this whole situation was absurd, lingering between the tight isles of bookshelves with the King of Galanta and his head knight. If anyone saw? You couldn’t imagine the gossip that would consume the castle.

“You seem to have an eye for battle planning, it is good that your talent is not wasted. I wouldn't mind King Harrison, he is threatened by anyone he deems more intelligent than himself, and I’m sure that list is long. It makes sense as to why Prince Micheal has the wit of a small rodent.” Bucky comments, a bitterness to his tone. You continue to hold your tongue as Steve snickers at the quip. You felt wary about playing along, as if this were some kind of test. Steve had spoken of James’ dislike for Prince Micheal before, but you didn’t expect him to declare it so openly.

“That would be more of an insult to the rodent, Prince Micheal has the same amount of intellect as a pile of shit on the street.” Steve laughs, and you send him a shocked look as he speaks so freely in front of James. You clearly underestimated how close friends they were. Either that or they were toying with you.

“Oh, come on, Y/N. You’re allowed to laugh. I know that your idea of fun is making the lords squirm, but I have heard all the unsavory words you have spoken about Prince Micheal previously.” Steve says, spotting your unimpressed look. You swallow hard, feeling the expectant gaze of James’ burning into the side of your face.

“I fear you already know my opinion on the Prince, I do not need to restate it.” You reply sharply, giving Steve an innocent smile. He just chuckles, reaching out to pry the book from your hands.

“You play?” James asks, noting the title of the book as Steve moves to flick through it. You go to reply, but Steve has already cut in as he pretends to read the book.

“She does more than that, never witnessed a soul beat her. She left Wilson near tears after one match.”

“Why are you boasting about me? I am not some broodmare up for sale at auction.” You mutter, reaching over to snatch the book from his grasp. Steve looks up at you with a cheeky expression, holding the book out of your reach.

“Because you are too cautious when meeting new people, they assume you are rude.” Steve states, dangling the book in front of your face like you are a street cat to be toyed with.

“Then how did we become friends if you thought I was rude?” You remark, narrowing your eyes at the knight.

“Well, you were too busy giving Sir Walker a tonguelashing to be bothered with me.” Steve retorts with a grin, and you flush in embarrassment. Had Steve told James that story? You weren’t bugged by what you had done and said, but rather by how James might interpret your silver tongue.

“I’m sure Sir Walker deserved it.” James hums, speaking up for the first time in awhile. You are pleasantly surprised by his casualness. He has an amused look in his eye, watching the two of you interact so carelessly.

“He did.” You reply before thinking, earning a smile from both men. “Now, I should return to my rooms before it gets too late.” You go to snatch the book once more, but Steve just laughs tauntingly at you as he pulls it away further from your grasp.

“Would you have time for a game first?” James asks. You pause your movements, turning to face him in surprise. King Harrison had definitely infected your view of Kings. You always expected them to be uptight and full of themselves, never able to have fun or joke around, especially around women like yourself. Was it because James was young and new to being king? Or was it because he had a genuine interest in befriending you?

“Of chess?” You question, confused.

“Yes. Forgive me, but I am curious and arrogant enough to want to break your unbeatable streak.” James clarifies with a chuckle. You stewed on it for a moment, catching the persuasive looks Steve was sending your way.

“I suppose I have time to bruise another ego.” You reluctantly agree, only to be met with a grin from both men.

They guide you through the maze of bookshelves, talking and laughing between themselves as you try to memorize the route. The deeper you go, the taller the bookshelves seem, with only candlelight able to guide you as the setting sun finally dips beyond the horizon. In one of the corners, a small table stands. It’s made from the same dark oak as the shelves, and its feet are carved to look like lion’s paws. Even in the candlelight, you can see the reflection of the copper that embellishes the claws. The seating is similarly crafted, with the classic Galantian green fabric covering the seat and backing.

You follow in suit as James and Steve take a seat, watching as James organizes his pieces on the board. It seemed like someone had left it mid-game, with carved ivory pieces scattered across the checkered bottom. James had offered you the white side, meaning you started first. It was debated if going first meant that you inherently had an advantage, but you knew he was just doing it to be gentlemanly.

“Ladies first.” James says, presenting his hand forward as he motions for you to begin. You finish straightening up your pieces, fingers dancing over your queen’s pawn as you open the game.

With each movement, you are poised and delicate, aware of James’ burning gaze. You wonder if he’s trying to see if you let emotion slip or if he is trying to interpret your next move. As much as you try to deny it, a part of you wants to impress him. You can read every line in his face and every twitch of his lip or brow as he moves his pieces across the board. Steve watches intently in silence, completely still, with a knowing smile.

After some time in the midgame, you can tell James is growing restless and bored. It was your style of play; he had never experienced it before. Still, you are met with a pang of disappointment that he has given up on you so easily. Your style wasn’t to rush in and attack; no, you hung back, waiting and anticipating. You were most ruthless in the endgame. Your father had described you as a mountain cat, blended in with the snow and rocks, ready to pounce. The men you had played before had always thought by midgame that they were going to win. Their excitement or boredom had been their downfall. They became cocky and sloppy, not checking every corner because they believed you were incapable.

The moment you see that look of disappointment in James’ eyes, like he had expected more from you, you know it is your time to strike. You can feel Steve holding his breath beside you as James takes another one of your pieces, officially bringing you into the endgame. James thought he was going to win. He thought he had played you into a corner, outwitted you, and outsmarted you.

There was a sense of satisfaction in reaching forward and moving your piece in an unexpected way. You could see the surprise flash in James’ eyes and the sharp intake of breath that Steve took. James, to his credit, tried to stop your ambush. He moved his piece in an expected way to such an attack, but in his haste, he hadn’t anticipated your next move. He had fallen directly into your trap.

As you moved your pieces, James looked at you with wide-eyed surprise. His eyes flickered at Steve, as if asking him to confirm what he was seeing was true. You rested your elbows on the table, tilting your head as you rested it on your hands. You watched the thoughts tick through James’ mind as he tried to come up with a solution or a plan. It was already too late. Your heart felt like it was going to explode out of your chest, but you still held yourself composed.

“Do you see it?” You asked, breaking the silence. James’ eyes snapped to yours, a smile forming across his face. He looked impressed – near delighted that you had outsmarted him. You hadn’t anticipated the joy that filled your body at such a look.

“I do. You live up to your reputation.” James replied. With a chuckle, he knocks his king over. Steve is grinning ear to ear when you look over at him. A part of you wants to stay, have another game, and chat with the two men. But you know it is improper. The time you had already spent together was dangerous. It was best not to push your luck. With a sigh, you stand.

“I should take my leave; it is late.” You explain, glancing at the darkened windows. Outside, you can see the glow of the city below: thousands of candles burning in the windows of homes, shops, and taverns.

“Of course. Thank you for the game, we will have to play again another time.” James says, near-rushing to his feet. You are nearly frozen in shock as he reaches out for your hand, pressing your knuckles to his lips with a kiss. Steve stands with a smirk, offering you the copy of A History of Chess that he had taken from you. You clear your throat, thanking the gods that you managed to keep a straight face.

“Goodnight, gentlemen.” You breathe, offering them both a smile. They utter a low ‘goodnight’ in return. You swear you can feel their gaze on you even after you hurry your way through the winding bookshelves.

—

Your moment of peace wandering back through the dark halls was short-lived as a voice captured your attention.

“The Lady of the Ghosts. It seems you are trying to become a ghost yourself, haunting these halls at this time of night.” Prince Micheal spoke from the darkness. You recognized his voice instantly, turning to face him as he ascended the nearby staircase. You could tell he was drunk; there was a slur to his voice, and his movements were sloppy. His shirt had been pulled open, exposing the top of his bare chest. You could see a lip-shaped patch of rouge smeared across his neck.

“Maybe I am just here to haunt you? It seems you have had fun sampling the Galantian ale and women.” You reply with a sneer, pulling the copy of A History of Chess close to your chest. Most of your interactions with Prince Micheal went this way, with him insulting you until he finally got bored. He was just looking to torment you when no one was looking. Usually, you would let it slide and walk away with an air of annoyance. Tonight, you had a newfound confidence. Maybe it was because you were in a foreign kingdom, one where King Harrison’s reach wasn’t as strong. One where the King didn’t look at you and treat you like a piece of livestock to be bought and sold. Besides, if you were to be engaged by the end of the season, it was doubtful that you would have to return to Haiford Court to account for any insults committed against the royal family.

“You can’t speak. Why are you wandering around? Off visiting your dear Sir Rogers?” He taunted, stumbling forward so he was closer to your face. You could smell the reek of ale and women’s perfume on him. His breath was coming out in rasps as he chuckled darkly, eyes wandering your face and figure. You lift your chin slightly, not letting the comment strike as intended.

“Tell me, are the women here as good as the ones on the eastern front?” You drawl with an innocent smile. The eastern front had been where Micheal had been positioned during the war, where he spent more time drinking and whoring than fighting, much to the contempt of his men. Micheal’s smirk falls from his face and is instead replaced with a look of outrage. He didn’t like that you were fighting back; he liked making people feel weak.

With an irritated noise, he snatches your arm. His fingers latch around your wrist with a bruising grip, pulling you closer until you can feel his foul breath on your face. You try to pull away, but he only pulls you closer with a furious scowl.

“You best mind your tongue, witch.” He spits at you, “I hope even Rumlow doesn't want you, you worthless bitch. I’ll make sure they send you away to Hydrina like they did Princess Rebecca. I would find delight in hearing the ways they torture a woman like you.”

You blink in surprise, unnerved by both his tone and words. He was more drunk than you had realized; he was shaking, his face turning red, and a vein in his forehead was popping out. It wasn’t the cruel words he had spoken that shocked you, but the fact that he had the confidence to state them in the ancestral home of House Barnes.

Princess Rebecca had been King James’ younger sister. She was the reason the war with Hydrina began in the first place. Galanta and Hydrina had always had a tumultuous relationship. Hydrina were interesting people with a complex culture, as many of the farmers were also raiders. They made their fortune by sailing to the Southern Continents, pillaging small villages, and stealing their goods. Many of the people of Hydrina originated from the Southern Continent, having been brought over against their will. They would either work the land under the iron fist of a master or earn their place as warriors by killing said master. The people of Hydrina respected strength over all else; their king was appointed by slaying any competition, even if that competition was a child of a previous king.

Galanta had issues for years with the rising tension between their Kingdom and the Kingdom of Hydrina. The raiders of Hydrina often attacked small villages along the border, which created an outcry among the peaceful farmers of Galanta. As a means of making peace, Galanta offered to marry Princess Rebecca to the King of Hydrina, a man by the name of Alexander Pierce. It seemed something had gone terribly wrong with the marriage, as shortly afterwards it was announced that Princess Rebecca had been killed by her own husband. She had been beloved by many in Galanta, so it was unsurprising when King James’ parents waged war against Hydrina. After King James parent’s deaths, King James continued the war against Hydrina. It had only ended when he managed to infiltrate the capital and destroy King Alexander once and for all.

“Is something wrong here?” The familiar, deep voice of James asks. Steve had his hand on the hilt of his sword, surveying the scene with a look of displeasure. They must have left the library not long after you, and you were partly grateful for that. You can’t help but worry about how much of the conversation they overheard. James’ face is pulled into a look of resentment, his shoulders tensed, and you can see even the muscles in his jaw are clenched.

There was an unspoken rule, and that was to never mention Princess Rebecca in front of Galantians. It was a reminder of their weakness and failure. The marriage had been highly debated; many felt that the royals were rewarding the Hydrinan raiders by gifting Princess Rebecca. When she was killed, many felt that the royals had become inadequate and failed to protect their only daughter. It had been a cause for celebration when James had finally slain King Alexander and found justice for his younger sister.

“No, Your Majesty. Prince Micheal appears to have lost his way, in more ways than one.” You speak up, breaking the tense silence. With a huff, you rip your arm from Micheal’s grip. Micheal looks between you and the two Galantian men, deciding better on any insult he was about to throw your way. You gather your skirts, turning away from the group to return to your room.

“Lady Y/N–” Steve calls out softly, concern laced in his voice. You ignore him, deciding this was not the time to encourage any rumors about the two of you. Instead, you cast one last disgusted look at Prince Micheal. “Do sleep on your side, my Prince. I would hate for you to choke.” You spit at him. His mouth opens in shock, and James and Steve seem to try and hide their own surprised smiles. You don’t offer the three of them a second glance, instead walking away before they can speak.

chapter three

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