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danibee33 · 8 months ago

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The Queen’s Guard- Chapter 4: Enough

knight!simon riley x queen!reader

CW: dark themes - no graphic depictions* but non-con, sa, domestic violence, suicidal ideations *read at your own discretion*

word count: 3.5k

[<<< chapter 3]

“Hen..” Johnny turns to walk backwards, looking at you with a lopsided smile before you see his eyes cast up and to the right- lids narrowing for a split second, but the expression passes as he continues, “It’s swelterin’ out today, what’s with the fashion choice, eh?”

It had been a terribly, unseasonably, hot day- the sun was bright and oppressive as you walked through the hedges. You can feel the individual pearls of sweat beading off your skin under the high collar, your teeth clenching at the way they trickled down between your shoulder blades and collected in your cleavage-

And may all the gods damn this forsaken corset..

You don’t say that, though you sorely wish you could. No, instead, you fan yourself; fighting vainly to keep your breaths measured and at a normal pace.

But that’s incredibly hard to do when your lungs can only expand as far as the rigid boning that lines your torso would allow.

Your handmaid, Elia, had fallen ill late last night, and her temporary replacement seems to have a grudge against breathing, apparently..

“It is supposed to be autumn-”, you mutter back, gratefully taking his arm when he returns to your side, “not bloody summer.”

“My, my.. Do they teach ya how to speak like that at Queen school, Your Grace?”

He belts out that wonderful, smooth laugh at his own awful joke- nudging into you when you give more of a strained huff than the actual chuckle you’d been going for.

This would be his last day here. The week had gone by so quick, far too quick; the days had felt like the usual whirlwind and calamity that is your life, though you admit that as soon as the King left the castle walls, you were quick to reschedule nearly every event that you could manage. Not wanting to miss any more time with Johnny than you absolutely had to-

Then there’s Simon.. Wasn’t it also a week ago since the night in the hedges? Oh- right here, actually! How painfully convenient-

You fight the urge to roll your eyes at the thought, recognizing the specific spot you had been with him- fight the urge to wonder desperately if he feels the same turmoil over what occurred.

Nothing had changed between you, well, nothing outwardly, anyway. Internally? You were confused, and ashamed, so fearful, and yet, every time you let your mind recount how sinfully good it felt- to have him so close, to have his lips caress your skin, and that deep, brassy voice reverberate through your ears- you feel that awful, terrible ache for him grow even more.

“Earth to Sunny…”

You look up too fast, or maybe it wasn’t even that fast; but the moment your head tilts toward his voice, and the sun bears down on your face, you see a flurry of black stars dance across your vision, thickening until there’s nothing at all. No more light, no heat, no heaviness, no restriction around your lungs- just pure, blissful nothing.

”Mm.. My Queen..”

Warm lips press a long kiss behind your ear, his voice silky and muffled as he speaks- calloused hands roam your body, they leave the most delectable chills in their wake. Your skin impossibly hot and cold at the same time-

“I’m not your queen anymore, Simon. Remember?”

He moves to hover over you, his mouth never leaving your skin as it traces every curve, and slope, and freckle with the softest kisses you’re sure you’ve ever felt. The sensation of them is more like a feather being dragged over your flesh, slow, every delightful stroke made with purpose, intention.

And when he chuckles, you can't help but to suck in a sharp gasp at how his breath tickles the skin of your tummy, how it seems to fan out, warming something much, much deeper inside you-

“Love.. You’ll always be my queen. Or, do you not remember the first time I kneeled before you? The oath I took- my fealty sworn to you, and you alone, for as long as I live.”

The image of Simon kneeling at your feet makes you squirm under him; recalling vividly how large and menacing he was even in such a vulnerable position, how he had looked up at you under his brow- molten amber irises practically dancing in the light, so full of guile and adoration, even then.

A shrill noise parts your lips when he hoists your thighs over his shoulders, your heart racing, blood rushing to your cheeks and neck as you dare to look down at him-

And you know the minute you meet his eyes, see the intensity behind them, even with the rest of his face obscured as he nuzzles further against your cunt, that it would be your undoing.

How would anyone, or anything, ever compare?

Certainly not your King- no, not yours anymore. Wait.. is that right?

The thought disappears just as quickly as it had come, the pain of it replaced by the reverent worship of Simon’s tongue-

You’re slammed back into reality by a rush of cool water streaming over your face- it feels heavenly, since you now also feel that ungodly heat wrapping around you again, your senses slowly coming back into focus-

The earthy, sweet smell of the garden filling your nose, the feel of the water evaporating from your skin, the dry taste that coats your tongue, and urgent voices resounding in your ear.

“Steamin’ bloody Jesus..”

“My Queen?”

You’re gently shaken, large hands holding your face- but it’s your name spoken in that voice you’ve dreamed about, so deep and laced with concern, with worry, that settles heavily in your heart, bringing you even further into the moment. And you so badly want to reach for it, for him-

But when you try to raise your hand, it feels like lifting iron chains, your energy thoroughly depleted; you move to sit up anyway, needing to fix this- whatever this was.

“W-what.. What is it?”

Gods, it even feels impossible to speak- but, finally, it seems your eyes have decided to work again, even if the view before you is blurred and hazy at first. You blink away the remaining starbursts, seeing two imposing silhouettes perched over you-

“Grianach..”

It’s when your gaze meets Johnny’s, your brain able to register the horror, the anguish- that you scramble to clutch at your throat.

Oh no.. no, no, no-

In their efforts to relieve you of your many insulating layers, it seems they cut the laces of your corset, and ripped the collar of your gown apart at the seams-

The high collar that you insisted on to cover the angry purplish bruises that currently wrap around your neck, the outline of a hand turning green and yellow with age. There were other bruises in much the same state on your arm and your thigh, and you thank the gods that those could not be so easily seen- because the murderous gleam in Simon and Johnny’s eyes is scary enough.

What would they do if they saw the rest…

You order them to help you up, dismissing their reservations as you simultaneously plead for them to call no one else-

“This is.. embarrassing enough. I do not wish for anyone else to see me, there are too many rumors and baseless speculation as it is-”

Simon is close again, right there supporting your weight, his body tense and ready for anything- but his eyes..

A shiver wracks through you as the image of those same eyes settling between your thighs flits through your mind; a motion they both mistake for the start of another fainting spell, judging by the way they grip you a little tighter- Johnny’s hand at your waist in an instant,

“Let me fetch the physician-”

“No.”

“Sunny..”

Looking between them, between cobalt blue and rich copper, between the man you’ve known your entire life, and the one that has somehow upended everything you thought you knew, your knees feel weak again.

“Please- Just.. Take me to my chambers.”

Simon moves immediately, leaving Johnny no choice but to follow as the towering man leads you through the hedge- but he doesn’t go towards the usual entrance you should be taking. You follow his long strides to a shadowed alcove, one you never would look twice at; but, to your surprise, when he pushes against an odd section of wall, it opens.

Johnny casts you a sidelong glance, and you wish you had an answer for him- hells, you wish you had an answer at all. It shouldn’t be surprising there are secret and hidden passageways within the castle, you suppose you’re just surprised you were never made aware of them. Especially since the corridor he chooses takes you directly to your rooms-

Your mouth opens the moment he closes the three of you in, a demand already on your tongue to know exactly how Simon knew about this, but all coherent thought turns to mush when he turns on you, pulling the black glove from his hand,

“Did he do this to you?”

The feel of his bare fingers on your skin sends your entire body reeling, unable, or maybe just unwilling, to pull away from his touch, even when you see Johnny’s eyebrows furrow in equal parts confusion and anger.

“Yes.”

“The King?” Johnny nearly choke on his own words, running a hand through his mess of hair as he watches Simon back away.

“It’s not-” You start, but you don’t have a justification, or an excuse, just the horrific memory of how angry your King had been, how he stormed into your room after the feast- his breath so laden with the smell of wine that it made your stomach queasy.

He took you that night before he left, by force. Pinned you down, and hissed the most obscene and vile things in your ear, his hands marking you for everyone to see; but you think it was mostly for his own depraved pleasure-

”Tell me about this Lord of yours- hm?” “Dancing with him like some common whore- you’re a fucking embarrassment to my crown-” “Well, since you want to act like one, I’ll show you exactly how I treat my harlots.”

As much as you tried to reassure him, he wouldn’t listen, didn’t want to hear what you had to say; and it was too easy for him to silence you with a strong grip around your neck-

You feel the hot tears threaten to spill at the memory, but you won’t, you refuse to let them fall- you refuse to shed one more single fucking tear for that monster, and certainly not right now.

So, you swallow the agonizing lump in your throat, pinning the men in front of you with a determined glare, “This shall not leave this room, am I clear?”

Johnny steps forward, “What?”

You raise your hand to stop him, holding your ground, “It isn’t a suggestion. It is a command-”, your feet move on autopilot, crossing the distance to the spacious washroom.

“But, Sunny.. You can’t let him get away with this! What else is there, huh? How else has he hurt-” Simon moves to cut him off, a strong arm reaching out to hold the Scot back, “Get your hands off me.”

They stand toe to toe, Simon’s eyes practically burning a hole through Johnny, the shorter man giving it back just as severely,

“Enough..” You sigh, moving quickly to push yourself between them, an open palm placed over their chests- Johnny’s, solid and warm, the muscle underneath heaving with every breath, and Simons.. The obsidian steel, cold and unforgiving, but it’s impossible to miss how his breathing is just as labored.

He’s just as livid-

“Please..”

At the same time, they relax under your touch, the sound of your plea softening both of their hearts for a moment- long enough to hear out, at least.

“Come back with me.” Johnny says, his voice so strong and steady that you swear you could feel the conviction behind the simple statement-

You shake your head, stepping from between them, “You know I can’t. That’s my home, our home, which you stand to inherit. The King would-“

Yes.. What would the great and benevolent ruler do? Would he make up a reason to attack your beloved homeland, to round up your family and have them executed? Would he make you watch Johnny’s head roll before casting your own off with it? He had already shown you a taste of how far his jealousy could go, how truly malicious and cruel he was willing to be when you angered him- and that only seemed to be happening more as of late.

“I will not go. I will not endanger your-” He tries to speak again, and you can see the flush of anger color his cheeks, his bright eyes so dark now, so full of turmoil, rage, “I WILL NOT.. endanger your life, or the lives of any of my people, Johnny..”

“Then I’ll take ya somehwere they won’t find us! Somewhere, where we’re nobodies, not a lord, or a queen- somewhere our names won’t matter. We’ll pick new ones, and it’ll be just us, just like it used to be, Grianach-”

A series of knocks at the doors throws the room into an eerie silence, agitation still hanging thick and heavy in the air around you as you look to Simon with a small nod; watching him cross the space and walk out of sight; your ears straining to hear who has come to seek you out, eyes staying glued to the wall, waiting to see him round it once again-

Johnny’s voice is sudden and low in your ear, so close it almost startles you as he speaks in your native tongue, or well, the bastardized slang you had always spoken to each other as children, ”Do you trust him?”

You turn to look up at him, eyebrows furrowed and your tone just as low, ”Yes, I do.”

There’s a moment when he seems to question your answer, question how little hesitation there was behind it- his eyes dancing over your face before darting up and back down to you just as quick,

”Bring him, then. Would that make you say ‘yes’?”

A familiar sequence of taps causes you to look back towards the entryway, where Simon stands as casual as ever, hand resting on the hilt of his sword as he looks between you and Johnny,

“Lord MacTavish’s horse has been prepared, along with his things, as previously requested-”

“Well, tell ‘em to take him back to stable, ‘m not leavin’.” Johnny spits back with a venom you’re not you’ve ever heard from the man.

But Simon, characteristically, is entirely unfazed by the outlash, looking back through his helmet, his expression almost comically bored.

“I answer to the Queen.” He hums out, eyes now on you in a way that feels far too personal, too intimate, as he moves forward with slow steps, “Not you.”

No.. No. I can’t do this- not here, not again. I don’t even know what this is, but it’s too much.

“All right, both of you- out.” You seethe, your hands clenching and unclenching as you all but shove Johnny back to the secret entrance- because the last thing you needed was for one the King’s many eyes in the castle to see him departing from your chambers.

He doesn’t try to stop you, but he does beg once again, softly, quietly- a plea for which you don’t have an answer to, not right now anyway. What he wants is impossible and improbable, it would never work. Right? Right.

There is no way out of this for you- there never really was.

“Later, Johnny. When we’ve calmed down and had time to think. I need to dress, now, go. I swear, I will find you.”

You watch him go, watch him spare one last glance before disappearing into the damp shadows of the tunnel, leaving you alone yet again with your Ghost. And that same, awful ache that never seems to leave you, makes itself apparent at the thought- your reeling mind certainly not helping to quell it by any means.

“You, too.” You say, squaring your shoulders and steeling yourself to face him, “I just need-”

When you do finally look up, your stride falters- seeing him already looking at you, his hand reaching for yours as if it were the most natural thing in the world to do- but, at the last second, he stops himself. His long fingers curling into a fist as they fall back in place at his side, and you don’t know why his restraint only serves to enthrall you more.

“I understand, My Queen..”

You want to scream and cry as you watch him slip his glove back on, covering the pale, scarred skin again-

“Si- Ser.. I’m sorry-”

“No.” He cuts you off gently, his voice warm and kind as he turns into you fully, “You have nothin’ to apologize for.. Not a single thing.”

Gods, why does he have to make it so difficult to be in his presence? Just standing here with him, his frame dwarfing your own, tall and broad, so immovable, so powerful; and yet, he somehow manages to make you feel like you’re the one looking down at him, like a deity gazing down on their devout disciple; like just allowing him the grace of your time and attention is what he lives for-

That is absurd.. And blasphemous. What is wrong with me.. It’s just a silly infatuation that I’ve aggrandized, that I’ve made more important than it is, obviously. I don’t know any better, anyway. This could be a ruse, and I wouldn’t know it, only ever having been with one boorish man; they could all be like that, Simon included-

“I’ll be at my post, Your Grace.” His voice is closer to normal now, not low and rich, spoken like it’s only meant for your ears-

All you can manage is a lame nod, turning away as he leaves because you know you couldn’t bear to see him go. Instead, you busy yourself finding another dress to cover your neck before calling in the handmaids for help.

Yes, busy, that usually tends to ward off the wayward and errant musings, the fantasies of what can never be- you’ll hone your focus on the mundane, on the way this new dress is softer than the last, the dark green velvet hugging you tenderly. Focus on the pinch of the corset, your eyes glancing at the wardrobe where you know the mutilated one now resides.

You simply won’t think about him. Or Johnny, and his preposterous proposal-

Oh, your sweet Johnny.. still ever the bleeding heart he is. You’ll send him back home with grand gifts, and hope he finds the letter you wrote for his eyes only, hope he can move on, and forget what he regrettably had to witness.

It will be ok. You’ll make sure he’s taken care of, that he won’t be cast into an unsavory light, or blamed.

Not when you’re so painfully aware that he’s the only wonderfully bright light you had been blessed with in so long, and gods forbid it’s your fault that his light is snuffed out-

The mirror catches your eye, reflecting someone so different back to you now. Different from a few short months ago, different from just a week ago, an hour ago, even. And while you don’t know if you particularly care for the woman you see, you know she is necessary for what’s to come.

It will be ok.

Simon stands guard at her door, unwavering and vigilant- but his mind races.

How could this have happened to his Queen, on his watch no less, how could he have allowed that monster to enter her chambers?

To hurt her.. defile her- his Queen. He swore his life to protect her, but he never imagined the one she needed saving from would be his own sovereign.

No matter. Because at the end of the day, the King is just a man; mortal, made of flesh and blood, a beating heart that can so easily be pierced by a sharp blade. A soft, squishy neck just made for cleaving-

And he doesn’t know this cousin of hers, doesn’t know what kind of lord he is, but she seems to trust him implicitly- they seem close in ways he can quite grasp. But, perhaps he’s on to something, Simon could get her away from here, away from this hellish place that drains her more and more, every waking moment.

He would take care of her, it would be so easy to make them both disappear.. they already called him ‘Ghost’, why not live up to the idea the mindless drones of court already have of him?

Hm.. Ghost-

The name rolls around on his tongue, Simon Riley has been called many things in his life, but none of them ever sounded so fitting.