#king hal x reader

[witchywomanrunningupthathill]

Hello and welcome to the Witchy Woman's Library! I write mostly for Harry Potter (Marauders Era), but I have been branching out into ASOIAF as well.

Take your time and browse around! - Iz

Gwayne Hightower

Confessions

The Keep: Part I | Part II

Regulus Black

Strangers

Read Me

Veritaserum

Of Quidditch Cups and Crystal Caves

Nights Like These (Room 11)

Borgin & Burkes

Grim, Old Place

Prelude to a Pounding

Blurb #1

Prince Hal/Henry V

Burn the Witch

Presume Not That I Am the Thing I Was

Paul Atreides

Will You Hold Me?

Dreams (series)

My ask box is always open, so feel free to come chat :)

[loverangels]

THRONE BOUND; prelude

A UNION. ONE THAT CAN ONLY STRENGTHEN OR WEAKEN THE THRONE.

pairings: king hal x fem!reader

warnings: arranged marriage, death, political insights

a/n: this will be a series from the post I had earlier teased 'the tailor girl' and this is the prologue I hope you enjoy it! Reblogs and feedback is very much appreciated!

One

The Will of King Henry IV, First of His Name

To Be Read and Executed Upon the Event of My Passing

In the Name of God, Amen.

I, Henry of Bolingbroke, First of My Name, King of England, Sovereign Lord of the Isles, and Protector of the Realm, being of sound mind and body, do hereby declare this my last will and testament, that it may be carried out in full accordance with the law of God and the statutes of this kingdom.

First, I commend my soul to the Almighty, trusting in His infinite wisdom to judge me as both king and man. May the weight of my deeds, both noble and cruel, be measured fairly on the scales of eternity.

To my son and heir, Henry of Monmouth, known as Hal, I bequeath the throne, the scepter, and the kingdom of England. May he wear the crown with strength and wisdom, ruling over this land with honor and justice.

To my loyal councilors, who have served me with unwavering loyalty, I entrust the guidance of my son, Henry of Monmouth, in his reign. Let them continue to support him as they did for me, aiding him in the duties of kingship.

To the Church, I dedicate lands and wealth for the care of our souls and the furtherance of God’s will upon this earth. The relationship between crown and church must remain sacred, especially in these tumultuous times.

And lastly, to my son Henry of Monmouth,

I leave a final decree. On the Feast of St. George in the Year 1412, an agreement was forged between this crown and the noble house of Fairmont, sealed by blood and bound by honor. Despite the fall of Lord Alaric Fairmont’s house, despite his descent into debauchery and ruin, the contract between our families remains intact.

You, my son, are bound to marry (name) Fairmont, daughter of Lord Alaric Fairmont. It is a union forged not out of love or whim, but for the stability of this kingdom. Let it be known, that the fall of her family’s house shall not dissolve the contract, for a king’s word, once given, is unbreakable.

You may wish for a different bride, one of higher birth or nobler blood, but the kingdom’s future is tied to this union. Thus, I command you, Hal, my son, to wed (name) Fairmont and unite our houses.

May God bless this union, for the future of our crown and our kingdom.

Signed this day, in the Year of Our Lord 1418, by my own hand,

Henry of Bolingbroke, First of His Name, King of England

The will lay open on the desk like a predator, its contents baring their teeth with every line. Hal’s gaze had been fixed on it for so long that the words had begun to blur, the black ink swimming against the yellowed parchment. His temples throbbed, and yet he could not look away.

The study was cold, despite the fire burning in the massive hearth. The high, arched windows let in shafts of dying sunlight, but the golden rays did nothing to warm the room. The scent of aged wood and leather mixed with the faint tang of smoke from the fireplace, creating an atmosphere both rich and oppressive.

Hal stood at the centre of it all, his figure tense and unyielding. He paced like a caged animal, his boots clicking against the polished floor, the fur lined mantle of his cloak sweeping behind him with each sharp turn.

"Why now?" he muttered to himself, his voice low and venomous. "Why did he have to tether me to this… to her?"

He stopped pacing abruptly and turned toward the desk, where the will waited, silent and damning. His father’s words still echoed in his mind, a relentless specter. You will wed her, Hal. You will honor this contract.

Hal clenched his fists, his nails biting into the leather of his gloves. His jaw tightened, his teeth grinding as he fought the urge to shout, to lash out at the unfairness of it all.

He could see his father now, clear as day, seated in the very chair that now sat empty behind the desk. He had been a man of iron—cold, unyielding, and immovable. Hal had hated him as much as he had respected him, and now, with the old king dead and buried, that hatred seemed to burn brighter than ever.

"You couldn’t even leave me in peace," Hal spat, his voice rising. He slammed his fist onto the desk, the sound reverberating through the room. The inkpot wobbled precariously, threatening to spill, but Hal barely noticed.

For a moment, he stood still, his chest heaving as he tried to wrestle his emotions back under control. He closed his eyes, taking a deep breath. But the words on the will remained etched in his mind.

His bethroed.

He knew little of her, only that she was the daughter of a disgraced nobleman—a drunkard and a gambler who had squandered his wealth and reputation. Her name had been little more than a distant whisper in court gossip, a relic of a house that had long since fallen into obscurity.

And now, she was to be his bride.

The thought sent a fresh wave of anger coursing through him. What kind of woman would she be? A simpering fool, eager to please? Or worse, a resentful, bitter creature, forced into this union just as he was?

"Henslowe," Hal barked suddenly, his voice cutting through the silence like a blade.

The older steward, who had been standing quietly in the shadows near the door, stepped forward. His expression was calm, unreadable, as always, but there was a flicker of concern in his eyes.

"Yes, Your Majesty?"

"Send for her," Hal commanded, his tone sharp. "Eleanor Fairmont. Summon her to court immediately."

Henslowe nodded, bowing slightly. "As you wish, Your Majesty."

Hal hesitated for a moment, his jaw working as he considered his next words. "And have the maids prepare chambers for her. Something… appropriate."

"Of course," Henslowe replied.

"And the tailors," Hal added, his voice quieter now but no less commanding. "Have them craft a gown for her. Pink. With lace. Something…" He trailed off, struggling to find the words. "Something worthy of a queen."

The steward bowed again and left the room, his footsteps fading into the distance.

Hal turned back to the desk, his hands gripping the edge tightly. The fire crackled behind him, its warmth doing little to soothe the cold knot of anger and resignation in his chest.

For a long moment, he simply stood there, staring at the will. His mind raced, filled with thoughts of duty, of legacy, of a future that was no longer his own. He thought of his father, of the weight of the crown, of the woman who was now hurtling toward his castle in a carriage she likely never thought she would see.

The room seemed to grow darker as the sun dipped below the horizon, the firelight casting long, flickering shadows across the walls. Hal’s reflection shimmered faintly in the polished surface of the desk—a lone figure, surrounded by opulence and burdened by the weight of kingship.

"Damned old man," he muttered under his breath, his voice raw.

And yet, even as the anger boiled within him, there was a flicker of something else—a quiet, unspoken fear.

What kind of queen would she be?

The question lingered in his mind, unanswered, as the fire crackled on.

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[capsized-heart]

l’ incendie

Pairing: Hal x Reader

Summary: You grew up as witness to the atrocities committed under the British crown. Lord Grey is your father and newly pledged councilman of the royal court. Now, England has a new boy king, one who is set on keeping peace in Europe. You are determined to see England burn, even if it means corrupting the lionhearted boy of Eastcheap.

Word count: 10k+

Warnings: explicit smut, strong violence, sacrilegious imagery a blowjob in a chapel lmao

A/N: l’ incendie ; French translation for fire

..so..I watched The King back in November and have had this idea in my brain for the past 2 months now?? It literally consumed me. All throughout my last few weeks of classes and final papers, this is honestly all I could think about, like I’ve been bumping the soundtrack and rewatching the film to plan this, I looked at Lord Grey’s true lineage (he aint Scottish btw I made that up..but he really was related to King Edward lol).......I’ve just had to get this out of me for so. long. and I’m so happy that I finally have! It feels like this huge weight is gone, but I’ve enjoyed this creative process so much, like it’s so exciting when you hyper-fixate find a new piece of media that you enjoy so much that you dive completely and utterly into everything about it that you can get your hands on, and this is my piece for this!

And my boy Timmy?? Had no fucking clue who this guy was before I saw the film, now I’m writing fics about him a;sdkfjskj but you’re here reading this so. we’re both guilty.

I love story arcs like this where you see a character’s slow descent into corruption and having it revealed that someone was talking in their ear the whole time....i eat that shit right up. Reader’s character is heavily inspired by Lady Macbeth. Using wiles, using sex, etc. Ooh baby. I had fun with this. 

gif credit to @michonnegrimes​ 

Scotland was once your true home. Moors, lochs, rugged mountains, biting cold, all. You remember the endless mist and gloom, the wet winters of your childhood that made the creaking wood of your cottage whistle and moan. Summers were warm and mild and the highlands bursting with rich green and sunlight, running through fragrant fields of heathers, bluebells, myrtle with your skirts damp with dew, shrieking and choking on laughter as your older brother, Callum, chased you all throughout your little village of Kirkcaldy. Laughing himself, grabbing at you and wrestling you down into the mud, blossoms, and river water.

“Yield! Yield to the English crown or perish, wretched witch!” Callum would boom in mock play, tickling your sides until you’re gasping for air and tears stung your eyes.

“Aye! I yield!”

“What? You mad girl! Take it back! We are Scots!”

And then Callum would descend on you with all the wrath of England and you’d be howling with giggles and screams.

Returning home at nightfall smelling of wind and rain with vibrant wildflowers tangled in your hair and dirt streaking the skin of your cheeks, still plump with baby fat. Scarce food, but stomach full of adventure and blissful naivete. You were happy. 

Your father would scold you promptly before his voice would soften a touch, smoothing back your hair from your face. Round, curious eyes and missing teeth. A feral, untamed child. 

Daughter of Lord Thomas Grey. His precious girl. So much of your mother in you, the same fight, the same spark and love for life. Until you had ripped her body from the inside out and she had lost too much blood, the wet nurses unable to stop the bleeding and she had given her last breath cradling you lovingly against her naked chest.

You had killed your own mother. 

In your early years, Callum and your father gave you nothing but warmth and protection, the sole surviving daughter of Grey lineage. But a child can only be sheltered for so long. Your world is a man’s world. Your country is no stranger to bloodshed. 

The Anglo-Scottish Wars have endured for as long as you can remember, rebel leaders beaten down by English captains and more Christian blood staining the lush lowlands with every day. Robert the Bruce. Percy Hotspur. Blood all the same.   

You are bleak, wild, uncivilized in the eyes of the English. 

It’s all your people have ever known. Weary, resilient Scotland. 

You have no memory of your mother, your earliest memory being the image of William Wallace’s torso strung up in the village square and the ensuing riots that had truly put the fear of God in you, mounted soldiers and civilians clashing in a fury of slick, gory steel, longswords and blacksmith daggers, a fear so raw and primal it struck you frozen and you’d soiled yourself in the midst of chaos. Callum had grabbed you and raced the four miles home as you bellowed atop his back with great, ugly heaves, snot and tears dribbling down your chin. 

You didn’t need to understand the politics of rebellion or Wallace’s stake in it all to understand a massacre. 

You have no memory of your mother, only murder in the name of the English king. 

But you’ve learned to nurture that little glowing kernel of survival, of the fighting spirit and grit inside you that had evidently cost your mother her life. You’ve kindled it, watched it ignite with every passing year of war, your body flourishing into the figure of a young woman with embers in her soul. A stable simmering of flushed coals beneath your skin, glistening in the pools of your irises, ready to flare up and burn all you touch should you choose to. 

You feel it now as a jostling carriage takes you to Northumberland, England. You sit quietly, watching the hills of Scotland tremble by, eyes hungrily drinking up as much of its strong landscape as you can.

Your father and brother have already gone ahead to England to make arrangements for Callum’s recent engagement to Isabel, Countess of Essex and only daughter of the Earl of Cambridge. You are reuniting after a lonely week, perhaps your last, to ever see your homeland. 

Callum’s betrothal didn’t come as much of a surprise, rather, you’ve been counting down the days until your village lifestyle was doomed for inevitable change; for years, your father has been preparing the two of you for noble life outside of Scotland. Son and daughter subjected to the arts of chivalry, proper etiquette, gentility. The best that your little village could accommodate.

Your father and his maternal ancestry have interestingly long influenced the English courts, as his title of Lord would suggest. Through his grandmother’s side, you are distant descendants of Margaret, Duchess of Norfolk. 

King Edward himself. Now cold and buried in London’s Westminster Abbey. 

The coals jump, flames twisting at the idea of relatives long dead sitting idly on the opportunity and resources for a coup d'etat, instead choosing to line their own pockets and watch your country crumble from the comfort of their English estates. 

The carnage and murder of monarchy feel that much more personal to you. 

With your brother’s new marriage, Callum will acquire lordship and be gifted property in Essex. Your father will be secured a seat in the king’s council. You will be given rooms and hospitality in the castle as a noblewoman available for marriage. As Lady Grey. 

A lick of fire coils up your throat. 

God save the king. 

**

The switch cracks so hard against the skin of your knuckles that your lip draws blood when you bite back a scream. Pain diffuses up your arm in fractured, ringing jolts and your eyes flood with hot tears. You hazard a look at where an angry welt has already started to flush, red and pulsing on the back of your hand. 

“Again.” Says Miss Hunt.

Your gaze falls to the open manuscript in front of you, to the passage that you’ve rehearsed aloud for the past two hours. Your tongue works nervously in your mouth, swallowing. Sweat glistens your brow. You think you may even be trembling. 

You draw in a quick breath and begin again:

“Time and tide wait for no man.

The life so short, the crafts so long to learn.

People can die of mere imagination.

And gladly wolde he lerne, and gladly teche-”

Another crack and this time you can’t restrain the cry that leaves you. You blink back the heat blurring your vision, set your jaw when Miss Hunt clasps her hands coldly behind her back and looks down at you over her hooked nose. 

“Your voiced consonants are absolutely horrid, girl. Don’t close up your mouth. If you are to perfect the King’s English, you are to completely forget that savage dialect before I cut out your tongue. Am I understood?”

Miss Hunt gives you a smart swat to your cheek.

You nod quickly. 

Another stinging swat.

“Am I understood?”

“Yes, Miss Hunt.”

Satisfied, she turns on her heel, granting you a few precious moments of quiet, of rest. Afternoon light filters into the chamber in dusty, silvered shafts, hueing the book’s pages in a drab of diluted grey. The inked words of Chaucer bleed back up at you as you settle your breathing. 

This English sits like gravel in your mouth, low and rough and choking up your throat. Sharply iambic, as if everyone is talking down to the other. 

England’s English sounds slow and stupid.

You wonder if Callum had this much trouble mastering the accent. You wonder if Callum, as a Lord, has ever been slashed with a switch.  

Since your arrival to England and for the better part of a year, Miss Hunt has dissected every syllable of your speech through bodily punishment and repetition, ripped out any trace of Gaelic, any remaining trace of Scotland on your tongue and sutured it back together with mouthfuls of Chaucer and pompous, exaggerated vowels. 

But pain, degradation, and humiliation are wonderful motivators. And to your horror, it has worked.

Your father recently introduced you to a few councilmen out of courtesy and as the sister of the soon to be Lord Grey of Essex. You politely discussed politics, entertained banter and jests of marriage proposals. None questioned your status as an English noblewoman. 

Masquerading with voice and poise. 

But that hasn’t stopped your secret, unseen resistance. 

Miss Hunt may have taken your language and cadence, but her practices have only shown you the true powers of speech, knowledge, shown you just how intimidated and afraid all of England is of the bold north, of any European empire threatening its legitimacy. 

A cowering dog with raised hackles and snapping teeth, but only so out of mad fear. 

The harder Miss Hunt pushes, the deeper you dig into your own studies. By day, you are her sole pupil. By night, by candlelight, you are the pupil of Cicero, studying rhetoric and the power of spoken influence. You’ve also begun to study French as a means to bolster your wiles and mental arsenal. 

You are already a so-called savage by blood. Learning the language of England’s arch rival will do nothing to hurt your reputation. 

You feel a bead of sweat slide down the base of your spine as the switch swishes impatiently in Miss Hunt’s clutches. Oral recitation and the simultaneous reduction of your accent demands every ounce of your concentration. You know already that if you are hit again, the skin will break and you’ll only be reprimanded harder. Miss Hunt is sadistic and cold with her beady eyes and that ugly high starched collar.

“Again.” Her voice clips evenly.

So, you inhale a strong, supportive breath and begin again, pushing down the smolder in your chest.

**

The day of the wedding is cloudless and full of sunshine, a rarity for England. Callum has been bustling about the chapel’s back rooms in nervous energy all morning, fixing his hair and dress shirt over and over. You send your father to go and calm him down as you tend to Isabel, shooing him away quickly so your father’s mirrored jitters won’t affect her before the start of the ceremony. She gives you a small smile of thanks.

Isabel looks beautiful sitting in front of the mirror as her maids finish arranging her hair. Back straight as a board, plump lips and cheeks the color of a rosy, coral pink. You help to pull the veil over her face and the thin fabric does nothing to mute her radiance.

You see the flickering range of emotions in her eyes as she sees her own reflection. The life that all women are fated to live. Her last moments of true freedom, uncertainty for the future, and that small, significant trickle of vanity at having a perfect day of her own. 

You see it all. After all, you are a woman. 

She relaxes a bit when you lay a comforting hand on her shoulder. Her gaze finds yours in the mirror. 

“You and I will soon be sisters,” she laughs softly. You give her a pleasant smile.

“I would want nothing more.” 

Her throat works as she swallows tears, gives you another radiant laugh. “Someday, you will be sitting here, too.”      

The truth of her words causes your smile to weaken, but you quickly hide it by busying yourself with her skirts and lace. Your world is a man’s world, even outside of war-torn Scotland. One man’s world, to be exact. 

King Henry IV.     

“And I expect you, my dear Isabel, to be at my side when that day comes.” You say to her. She nods kindly. 

Your brother and Isabel are married a few hours later beneath the rainbowed, iridescent wash of stained glass and chiming church bells. And as the newly wed couple beam at you and their close company of friends and family, as you see Callum hold his wife proudly on his arm, you think that the bride and groom may truly love each other despite their arranged marriage. The possibility of such a happiness makes you grin wide and the familiar coals to simmer down ever so slightly.     

The reception then moves to the chapel’s outdoor gardens. Ornately trimmed hedges, chirping birdsong, bubbling marble fountains, and the sweet fragrance of daisies and roses perfume the budding spring air. 

The sun is warm on your skin, the air brisk and comfortable. You keep your fur lined mantle draped around your shoulders, your embroidered sleeves catching hints of daylight, the jeweled metalwork glittering about your waist. And with your hair twisted with ribbon and pinned back with a light linen caul, even Isabel herself murmurs that you look as refreshing and incandescent as the flowers surrounding you. You smile back teasingly, whisper that no one could possibly compare to the blushing bride. 

As sister of the groom, you mingle politely, accepting congratulations and kind regards.  

You see familiar faces, lords and fellow council members alike, and some of those not yet well acquainted. You meet Cambridge, Isabel’s father and a bird of a man. Gangly limbs and a flittering that accompanies his quick movements, but cordial and gentle. He tells you the union of your families will be prosperous, benign. You agree.  

Then, Cambridge is pulled aside by a young man. Cambridge seems to recognize him instantly and clasps him into an embrace, chuckling heartily.

“Hal! You made it!” he exclaims. The two talk together briefly before the young man turns to you. 

He’s tall and lean, broad chested with sloping shoulders. The angular planes of his face are undeniably handsome, a strong nose, full dark lashes and brows that frame his bold complexion. Black, unkempt curls and soft, hooded green eyes that hold an undertone of vigor, like his very gaze has commanded attention his entire life. They flicker over you quickly, as if you’d imagined it yourself, a trick of the light. 

You don’t miss the way they linger at the exposed dip of your neckline, however.

��Aren’t you going to introduce me?” He then asks of Cambridge, his voice a soft murmur and his eyes never leave you. 

Cambridge looks quickly between the two of you, as if acknowledging your presence again for the first time since this young man’s interruption. He burns bright red, stammering, then gestures to the stranger beside him.

“Of course. My lady, may I present my cousin, Henry. Prince of Wales.”  

The suddenness and sheer absurdity of it all almost makes you burst out in laughter.

Cousin? King Henry IV’s eldest son is the cousin of your father-in-law? 

With this marriage, you realize your family is now tied to the most powerful family in all of Britain. Yet, no one in the wedding party seems to have even acknowledged the presence of the boy prince dressed simply in dark cloak and tunic.

And then you remember. Prince Hal is a drunk, a dangerous playboy from Eastcheap. His claim to the throne is as illegitimate as the probable dozens of children from his bedded girls. 

And asking for a formal introduction from his cousin? It’s utterly laughable, pathetic even.

Hal’s gaze is unwanted, skin prickling from where his eyes trace the curve of your chest in a way that makes you feel vile. 

So, you wet your lips, pretend to wordlessly accept his flirtations and give him a slow flutter of your lashes. The reaction he so craves from you as his chin tilts back in delight, hungry to see more. 

“Your reputation precedes you, my lord.” Your words drip with venom. Flowery girl with a serpent’s sharp tongue. 

The barb makes Hal’s features tick in surprise, shock before settling back into a cool demeanor. 

“Then you’ve heard of me.”

Your mask of amour stays firmly in place.  

“It is hard to be deaf against such defamatory gossip.”

Hal hums softly with a hint of a smile, breaking his gaze to look out over the reception, ego obviously bruised. Cambridge goes pale as a sheet.

Isabel suddenly swoops in with the apology of wanting to introduce her father to a newly arrived guest and excuses him, hauling him away by the arm. Cambridge looks relieved to go.

And then it’s just the two of you beneath the halo of rose-tinted light. 

“Beautiful ceremony.” He says simply. Hal is incredibly soft spoken for a prince and you find yourself unconsciously leaning in to hear him speak. Part of the intimate charm that makes him so alluring to women, you think. A whispered promise only for you.   

“I thank you, sire.” 

He takes a step forward. It startles you, enough for him to crowd you against the garden trellis wall. Ivy and lavender press into your back, dancing in the same breeze that peppers goosebumps down your spine. You shiver softly. Hal steps closer.

“I pray this is not the last of today’s festivities?” His words ghost over your throat, tickling the shell of your ear. 

“No, sire. There will be a dinner tonight,” you reply just as quietly. You understand the game perfectly because it is the same one you have been playing your whole life. You indulge him, fire sparkling behind your fluttering eyelashes. “Surely your cousin will be expecting your attendance.”

Hal leans over you, hair tickling your face, green eyes glimmering. Up close, you see that freckles and beauty marks dot his skin. “I’m sure he will.”  

You think you see him incline his head as though to kiss you. For a moment, you’re frozen, entranced. 

You turn your cheek and his lips brush your temple. He hesitates with a low chuckle, keeping his close proximity.

“Then, I will see you tonight, my lord.” You whisper. Your fingers graze his arms as you sidle out of his reach. You can feel his eyes on you as you go and rejoin the other guests. 

You leave him burning. 

**

The tavern teems with merriment and the sound of fiddle, fife, and drum. You feast on broiled meats, roasted potatoes, greens, sweet breads and cakes until your stomach is full to bursting. 

 The glow of candlelight is lush and sensual, throwing shadows over the faces that only hours before you had shared with in prayer and communion in the church of God. Now, every attendant indulges in debauchery.

You’re drunk, blood pounding with mulled wine and spiced ale and cider. Pleasantly warm and head swimming, watching Callum and Isabel and friends and family dance about the room as if possessed, twirling in swirls of colored fabric that make you laugh and clap along in breathless euphoria. 

You catch a glance of a figure standing in the doorway. You see the motion of a glass moving to lips, throat working to swallow drink. When the glass falls, you lock eyes with Hal.

You beckon him forth with a crooked finger. He grins wickedly and sets down his cup. 

Despite the obvious wine in him, his steps towards you are sure and true and his hands feel good against you when they caress your waist, pull you against him.

You play coy and twist out of his arms. He groans. 

He follows you like a dog until you’re in the midst of spinning bodies and then you turn to him. Giving him the permission to finally touch you.

His eyes ignite. He splays a hand on the middle of your back, perfect pressure, authoritative, the other gripping you tight and then you’re both cackling with drunken mischief as he guides the two of you across the creaking wooden floor. 

You let him support you, lean against his chest, enjoying the sensation of being held so close. The thrill of feeling wanted. 

Even if it is all a charade. 

The strings and beat of thumping drums careen to a crescendo that has the entire tavern whooping and hollering in delight. You break apart from Hal to join in as the music flows through your limbs, absolutely enchanted, throwing back your head like that feral child from girlhood.      

Hal looks just as wild, the rumored wayward prince. Long, dark locks falling in his eyes, tunic unbuttoned and disheveled. Light and shadow dancing across his face in a manner that makes him look devilish.  

He pushes a glittering goblet into your hands, eases his strong fingers around your own to help bring it to your lips. You see the unmistakable red slosh of wine and wordlessly drink. He watches you tip back the goblet, watches rubied jewels of crimson spill down the sides of your mouth and down the skin of your throat.   

“That’s it. That’s a good girl.” He cooes. 

The flames feel desperately hot, flushing your skin and cheeks, burning bright behind your lips. Or perhaps it's the alcohol? Or the prince’s wandering touch that now seems to be cupping your breast, tongue lapping at the trails of wine…

The heat is suddenly too much and you push away to a secluded corner filled with empty tables to catch your breath. Hal slumps beside you. His head lolls, dipping to press another whisper of a kiss to your jaw and his weight feels comfortable against your side.

You don’t know what comes over you. Perhaps you truly are possessed.

You turn into him and then your hand is reaching between his thighs. 

Hal exhales sharply in your ear. You harden your touch, feel him widen his stance to accommodate you. He braces an arm behind the small of your back, supporting himself on the space of the wooden bench as your fingers slip below the waistband of his trousers. 

He gives a strangled sigh when you grip him tight and begin to coil your hand. His head lolls once more, nuzzling into the crook of your neck, panting, bursts of hot breath fanning over your throat. You feel your own breath quicken, feel yourself getting excited.

You mesh your other hand into his curls and pull him closer, press your body flush against his. Hal moans, keening, his arm now around your waist. You shush him quietly, tightening the hold in his hair.   

To any patron, you look as though you’re only consoling a drunken boy, simply talking in the muted light. The shadows hide you both but the flames shine in your eyes.     

“Enjoying the festivities, my lord?” You sigh into his cheek. 

“Please don’t stop..” Hal whimpers. 

You chuckle through a half-lidded gaze and work him harder. It’s delicious, erotic. 

You hold all power, all of England in your delicate grip. 

You watch his mouth fall open, dark brows furrowing, feel him tense against you before the eldest son to the crown spills himself onto your fevered palm with a sharp gasp, chest heaving.  

“Good boy..” you murmur with a cheshire smile, running your fingers soothingly down the line of his jaw. Hal shudders with aftershocks, eyes closed, forehead glistening with sweat. 

Before he can attempt to try and reciprocate the favor, you wipe your hand on his cloak and stand to fetch another drink. 

**

You avoid Hal afterwards and don’t see him again for the remainder of the night. You think he must have gone home with another girl to satisfy himself and it makes you smile knowing you are responsible for laying that trap, for letting him taste pleasure, driving his desperation and taking it all away just as easily. 

Your brother and Isabel spend their honeymoon in London before returning to her home in Essex. They write to you, informing of their safe arrival at the new estate and that you will have to come visit in the very near future. It warms your heart. You already miss them terribly. 

Soon after, your father is awarded the scarlet, fur-trimmed peerage robes of the House of Lords and with your new rank, you experience the privilege of wealth for the first time. 

Rich foods, dresses and flowing silk skirts, cosmetics, more books and manuscripts than you can imagine. You glow with health, beauty, pride, and sharpened wit.

But you have not forgotten your burning flame. Aided by money and status, your little light only grows stronger.

**

King Henry IV dies of sickness on a warm March morning. It had only been a matter of time, the stubborn man had been calling your father and the other lords to his bedside for the past several months to continue to discuss the politics of his own wars. In his dying breath, Henry IV saw that his empire had fallen to civil strife. 

Court and kingdom are called to witness the coronation procession and as you stand with the lords and ladies of the crown inside Westminster Abbey, inside the church containing the tomb of your distant descendant King Edward and the generations of his forefathers, the same Gothic abbey where British monarchs have turned men into rulers and tyrants, you watch the archbishop anoint Prince Henry of Wales with holy oil. 

His curls have been trimmed clean, his bare skin and body presented to be blessed with the sign of the cross. All old ritual, old prayer and Latin incantations that have been performed for over a thousand years.

So what is a new boy to wear the crown?

Beneath the arched stone cloisters, baptized in the sunlit streams of stained glass, you watch that same ceremony unfold again with burning heart. And harmonized by the tolling of bells, Hal is dressed in royal robes, regalia, scepter and all, shedding the title of prince as you all pledge homage to your new King of England.

“All hail King Henry.” The archbishop calls out to clergy, God, and country.  

“King Henry!”

**

Neither you nor Hal feel the heat of embarrassment when the court is ushered into the dining chamber and you meet again in candle and firelight. The feast is an intimate setting, shared by the company of Hal’s new council, clergymen, and close family. Your father is seated alongside Cambridge, Chief Justice William Gascoigne, and the archbishop; even his sister, Queen Phillipa of Denmark, is in attendance.

Hal’s appearance and demeanor is surprising to you.  

He looks striking, handsome as ever in his new robes and you can sense that familiar aire of charisma and confidence you remember from the wedding as Lord Chamberlain presents gifts from the monarchs of the world. A jeweled vase from King Wenceslas of Bohemia, a trinket of a mechanical bird from the Doge of Venice. Hal is jovial, good humored and merry. 

The presence of his cousin and sister seems to comfort him greatly. And rightfully so, considering he now sits on the throne of his dead father. Dead as well is the alter ego of the delinquent prince.

Like a spoilt child opening wrapped packages at Christmas. The privilege of royal blood. 

When the final trunk is presented, a gift from the Dauphin, you quite nearly let out a low snicker. 

A ball for the boy king.   

You see Hal hesitate before picking it up and the silence throughout the chamber is long, uncomfortable. The entire court seems to be holding its breath. Yet, you know there is an aspect of truth to the Dauphin’s gesture. 

A boy indeed. You recall Hal’s touch and him gasping into your neck, his muffled begging, how quickly he had finished in your hand…

Then, the cool magnetism returns to his features. He locks eyes with you and you wonder if he is thinking of the same moment. You are both proud challengers, wielders of personal charm. 

You wonder how long it will take to break him completely.    

There’s a glimmer in his gaze you think to be from the blazing hearth as he tosses the ball once against the chamber’s stone wall, then catches it deftly with youthful poise. 

**

After the coronation dinner, the court is dismissed and you find yourself to be one of the last remaining patrons as guests trickle out into the adjacent hallways and disperse through the rest of the castle. You deliberately hang back, watching your father, Cambridge, Phillipa, and William slip through the doors, slowing your step so that Hal can catch sight of you.  

“Lady Grey,” you hear. His voice is galant, hushed with that same temptation of seductive promise. With your back still facing him, you can’t help but smirk. 

You feign surprise and turn.     

“Yes, my lord?”

Hal beckons to where he stands by the fireside. You gather your skirts and join him in the welcoming nimbus of light and warmth. When you bend to curtesy, his fingers find your chin, tilting your eyes to his own and forcing you to rise to your feet.

“None of that is necessary, my dear,” he whispers. He keeps your face cradled between thumb and forefinger, a delicate pressure, one that makes you feel precious as he holds you close. “Tell me, did you enjoy tonight?”

“Immensely.” You smile. Indeed, you have. The Dauphin might as well have spoken on your own behalf.  

Hal hums, pleased. His thumb brushes the corner of your mouth, then eases in between the petals of your pink lips. You purse them ever so slightly and watch his self-control start to simmer. The candles burn low around the two of you, the only source of light emanating from the hearth itself. You are reminded of how the shadows flickered on the planes of his face the night of the wedding. Now, you see the same shadows again, but as king.  

“I want you to have something.” He says finally.

He looks reluctant to break his touch from you, but you see his hand disappear within the folds of his robes. He then produces a glittering pendant with a golden chain, a necklace that looks ablaze.

Amber, you realize. 

The surprise that crosses your features is genuine. Baltic amber set into teardrop sterling silver and gold, a gift from Rupert of the Palatinate and the kingdom of Germany. An extraordinary piece.

Hal’s hand finds your waist and you turn to offer him your bare neck, pulse pounding. You have no say, no power to even deny this token of affection. 

His caresses against your skin as he fastens the chain are soft and featherlike and you can feel his breath on the top of your spine. The pendant is heavy, rich with precious stone and gilded metal, settling between the valley of your breasts. It feels cold, but shines like an inferno. 

He lingers, tracing your shoulders when his mouth presses to your ear. 

“Turn. Let me look at you properly.”

When you do, the weight of Germany itself, of foreign and fallen kingdoms and countries, conquered and pillaged and burned, simultaneously settles between the tender skin of your sternum. 

Hal’s eyes cloud with dark delight when he sees the flaming amber. He takes your chin back in hand, angling your face every which way, studying how the firelight glints off the pendant with a sensual curiosity. 

“Beautiful.” He murmurs. 

Your body begins to react on its own accord, chest rising and falling with faster breaths, your cheeks blooming. 

“I thank you, my lord.” 

Still cradling your jaw, he brings himself closer with only a whisper between the two of you. His crimson robes seem to swallow you completely, like the gaping maw of Britain’s lion, a mantle of blood. He speaks into the gap between your mouths, yet you feel every word upon your lips.

“With this gift, I expect to see you more around my court, Lady Grey. Am I understood?” 

The tension he commands is unbearable. He watches you carefully, dark eyelashes fluttering. Trapped like a pinned butterfly. Then, you understand he’s waiting for a verbal response. 

“Yes, my lord.”

He releases you.

The pendant suddenly feels more like a collar. 

You’ve underestimated Hal. He is just as much the player as you.

**

You keep your promise. You see Hal daily in passing, often dressed in full regal attire as he comes from the council chambers, your father, William, and the rest of his train tailing close behind. The twinkle in his eye when he sees you is discreet, reserved only for you. The amber pendant remains fastened around your neck at all hours of the day, even while you sleep and bathe, like fire and ice between your breasts. A piece of Hal always with you. 

The two of you are a queer, twisted pair of sweethearts. You’ve yet to be fully intimate since that wedding night, but the pressure that ripples with every fleeting glance, every grazing touch of lips and skin is enough to prove your attraction for each other. Or rather, the attraction to the game. 

You keep Hal on his toes, never fully give in even when he invites you out for evening strolls in the palace gardens and the safety of darkness envelops you both. It is your nightly ritual to walk the grounds together amongst hushed breezes and chirping crickets, you as a means to unwind before bed, and a way for Hal to clear his mind of the day’s tolling demands. 

And tolling they are. Despite his bravado, he is easily irritable, tense. You listen when he speaks to you plainly about his frustrations for the court and archbishop, how they all expect from him the same swift retaliation of his father. 

You find Hal’s consciousness of this want to break tyranny quite curious. Sons are typical to idolize their fathers and see past faults. It is why you know how cruel kingship has endured in Britain for generations; learned behaviors become expected and change more difficult. You’ve even seen that same behavior in your own brother.

And Hal’s trust in disclosing even this to you is telling. The thread to unravel the boy king.

Tonight, you dare to pull at it, heighten your girlish wiles and offer him a lingering kiss and soft words. You tell him that Christendom is damned and tease that it’s his own fault his council is made up entirely of old, graying men, your father included, when he could have anyone else.   

Hal’s spirits seem to lift a little with a ghost of a smile, understanding you perfectly as his arm snakes around your waist. He pulls you into a secluded labyrinth and settles into the stone seat of a fountain, pulls you atop his lap. The kiss he returns is fierce. 

Without the burn of alcohol to subdue your senses, every touch is intensified tenfold. Hal feels it too, his breath coming ragged as he breaks the kiss to mouth down the skin of your neck, the dip of your collarbone, your chest. His hands wander beneath your skirts.

“It is only polite that I return the favor..” You hear him say.

Your mind is reeling. You knew this moment would eventually come, yet you feel ill-prepared when his fingers brush your core, his other hand gripping the back of your neck. You gasp, finding his lips in another tangled kiss, straddle him completely. 

It’s strange, exhilarating to be on the receiving end of your little game. 

If you are to truly break Hal, you are to first make him believe that he holds any sort of power over you, to reverse that dynamic you had set the night of your brother’s wedding. 

You are to let him touch you. 

And like the flaming sword of Raphael, Hal’s pendant, it is time to finally draw upon your fire. 

You hate how good Hal is at this. He knows just where to caress inside you, the right amount of pressure, the weak spots at your throat and just below your ear. Your competitiveness takes over and you push him back against the fountain, start to circle your hips, grind yourself down on his hand and grip at the rich fabric of his tunic to better anchor yourself. 

His eyes pool with lust with every sigh from your lips, watching you closely. He rolls his thumb, picks up the tempo of his fingers, relishing the sight of you slowly falling apart on top of him.  

But it isn’t enough. You lean in and wrap your arms around his neck. He responds in tandem, gathering you close as you rock against him, the friction of his thighs sending you closer and closer to that threshold of pleasure. 

“Please..I need t-to…” you whisper into his neck, into his mouth. 

Words of magic. Hal’s expression flares with masculine pride, the delight of pleasing a woman. 

The last of the day’s golden hour spills over you both in glowing, peached splendor and with the sound of the fountain’s rushing water as your only witness, you muffle your final moan with a desperate kiss, bliss pulsing behind your eyelids. Hal keeps his fingers where they are, coaxing the last waves of your orgasm out of you, cradling your chin with his other hand as his lips part yours, slipping tongue as you come floating back down to earth.

You’re dazed, flushed, lazily kissing when he removes his fingers. Slick when you suck them into your mouth and taste yourself. The velvet of your tongue makes him shiver.

“Now, what ever are we going to do about your council, my lord?” You murmur once you catch your breath. You gently kiss his fingertips.

Hal only smirks and pulls you to him.

**

Your plan begins to take motion. With each passing month, you worm your way deeper into Hal’s heart with honeyed words and empty promises. He confides in you more and more as he grows wary of his councilmen, trusting only the pretty face he sees in the privacy of his bedchamber each night. Graced against silk pillows. 

You sense the crushing pressure upon him, his own doubts and fears. You slowly leech away his magnetism, his charisma, and take it for yourself. His eyes dim, harden with resolve. Gone is the assurance for peace. Hal instead grows cold, timid, questioning his every move. 

You only burn brighter.  

**

There is talk that a French assassin has breached the castle.

You hear the conversation for yourself when your father and William are called down to the dungeons, hear Hal speaking directly to this assassin as you linger at the top of the stone staircase. 

“Qui êtes vous?”

“J'ai été envoyé par le roi de France pour vous assassiner.”

Hal’s voice is cool, calm as he pries for details. The assassin’s responses are noticeably vague. You infer it to be out of his own self interest. 

Then, nothing. Days go by with no direct action from Hal.

You grind your teeth. War with France would be the perfect fruition of your schemes, the final act in a tragedy deemed to be an epic of British monarchy. War with France would show Europe and the rest of the world the extortion and murder of the English crown; not that these neighboring countries needed such a reminder. But England and her king have been blind for too long.

Previous attempts at quelling war had caused Percy Hotspur to rebel, Prince Thomas of Lancaster to push on and die alone on foreign soil. 

Is Hal not trying to prove himself in this same way? Proving he is not like his father? Just as Thomas had wished for his peers to see him as a commander and better equipped to bear the crown despite being the youngest son, is Hal not guilty of this same charge of public approval? 

And having the privilege to sit idly atop a throne amidst all this makes your blood boil. Idleness is instability, you’ve learned this years ago. 

You will be the one to push Hal to war.

**

You are sewing one afternoon in an empty chamber when the strained voices of your father, Cambridge, and William reach your ears. Hushed and argumentative, it draws you to your feet, possesses you to lean against the frame of the door and just out of sight.

You hear the disgust in your father’s tone when he speaks of the king. The weakness in forgiving France, the lunacy of Hal’s ascension. It amazes you, grips you tight at hearing such passion and loathing; you’ve never heard your father speak this way about anyone, let alone the head of England’s monarchy. Slander and defamation carry swift punishment. 

You learn that he and Cambridge have been approached by French agents. The three men debate quietly as you stand against the door, nearly panting. A coup d'etat? The idea excites you more than it should. But you perish the thought quickly before you can get ahead of yourself.

Why only approach the two of them? Surely to turn England’s people against their ruler, a greater number of conspirators would prove to be more efficient? You know distrust is not uncommon among Hal’s council, so possible traitors would not be hard to find.  

This approach means your father and Cambridge have been judged weak in character by the French. Insecure, lacking, most likely to bend at the knee for candied prospects in exchange for loyalty.

And now as you eavesdrop on your own father, you know Lord Grey does not have faith behind his king and is too afraid to do anything with it. You know that if you had not gathered this knowledge for yourself, you would never have been told so, unseen as all women are expected to be.

These French agents and councilmen think they hold all power with their debates and their meetings in private, oblivious to the fact that it is women who move the world. Women like you, wielding their very sex to push these men as pawns. 

Are men not born into this world by women? Do men not seek a woman’s tender embrace for love and comfort and to carry on long, unbroken lineages of royal blood?

Your own father, as all his peers, are blind to the influence you bear over Hal. Even Hal himself. 

**

You find yourself in the king’s private quarters one cold night, sitting in front of the hearth and watching the crackling, shimmering flames that warm the room. The soft silence is comforting to you as you sit bathed in orange glow, wrapped in furs and waiting for Hal’s return. 

Your mind wanders. You think of the French assassin still held captive in the dungeons beneath your feet, how the man had been granted asylum in exchange for a confession. 

“Quel était le l'ordre?”

“Que je devrais tuer le roi d'Angleterre.”

And with the French approaching Cambridge and your father, it is certain, undeniable that tension is thick and stakes high for all of England. 

You are standing on the very brink of war, standing flush at the edge of a swallowing cliffside with dragging winds and dark, inky waters swirling beneath you down below. Waiting to embrace you, like the jagged shores of St Kilda, the northern shores of Scotland. Calling you home like a siren’s song. 

And Hal only needs one final pull before you both fall together. 

The chamber door opens and the king steps inside. His presence is stormy, like a cold wind blowing into the room. 

He’s dressed handsomely in a navy tunic and dress shirt, a mantle that drapes over his burdened shoulders. Yet, his hair is mussed and disheveled and you can see the tightness around his eyes. His once youthful glow now gone, but a sharpness to him that you think resembles a pike; diligent, wary, and still capable of hurting you if you’re not careful.

You pretend to quickly wipe away tears before you stand to greet him. Hal sees this and his brows draw together in concern, further contorting his expression into one of pain. He comes to the fireside.

“Good evening, my king,” you say as he takes your hands.

“What upsets you so?” he asks you directly. His voice is strained, sets your pulse aflutter more than it should. You give a small, breathless smile, a shake of your head.

“Nothing of your concern, just innocuous thoughts, my lord. Let us go to bed.” 

But you do not move in the direction of the luxurious canopied bed, one you have grown intimately familiar with. You stay exactly where you are and let Hal’s mind race.

His fingers grip your chin and when you meet his eyes, they’re bold and smoldering, the first touch of life in them you’ve seen for sometime. His grasp is strong and a muscle ticks in his jaw.

“Speak freely to me. Please,” he whispers. “Of all people. My dear, speak true.” The last word falls like a plea from his lips. You suppose it is one as he pulls you closer. A boy desperate for truth, constricted and poisoned by a council of vipers.

Unknowingly turning to the girl with the pretty mouth as she pours poison into his ear. 

At this, you bite your lips and summon tears that spill forth, pool your vision. You let the familiar sensations take over, the shortness of breath, the depleted posture, and pretty soon you’re trembling, weeping in Hal’s arms.  

“This assassin. It frightens me,” you say finally, broken. “If he had fulfilled his order and taken you from me, left me here all alone…oh, Hal. I’m so afraid.” 

His thumb circles your cheek, silent. You sense that dangerous cocktail of anger and darkness simmering just beneath his skin. Anger at the world, anger reserved for his dead father.

“France means to have you killed, Hal. Then what of us?”

Us? England?

Tears drip down your neck and onto your rising chest. Where you’ve left the first clasp of your blouse carefully unbuttoned. You press yourself to him ever so slightly, look up through tear-soaked eyelashes and embered iresis. 

“Then what of me?” you whisper.

Hal’s lips are crushing against yours. You feel every ounce of his anguish, every bit of tension wound tight in his frame, every doubt, every fear. You feel the restraint as he cradles the back of your neck, his other hand finding your waist as he pushes you flush against him. The dichotomy to feel love, to feel comfort and safety and to relieve and dispel just a hint of the pressure building inside him. The dichotomy to conquer, the urge to channel this animosity in a way he must be familiar, to ravish you completely. 

With your bosom rising and falling so sweetly, eyes glittering with tears, looking almost divine with firelight circling the shine of your hair in a golden halo, you watch Hal’s walls collapse. You let him succumb to that mirage of safety and warmth, to ease his conscience. You will both get what you want, eventually. 

You break apart to kiss the line of his throat, his pulsepoint, where you know he’s weakest. Hal gasps as you thread your fingers through his curls, bring your lips to his ear in a soft lull.

“May I have you tonight, my king? Completely?”

His response is immediate, yet wordless when he tilts back his head and feels your mouth against his jugular, the hand at your waist tightening. 

At last, you lead him to the bed with the intent of christening it. 

He pulls you atop him, helps you unthread the bodice of your nightgown. Despite the blazing fire behind you, the air chills your shoulders, your chest as you slowly expose more and more skin, finally letting the thin fabric pool around your waist. The feel of his bare hands cupping your body fuels you, act as your catalyst. Soft, firm. 

The amber necklace swings like a golden pendulum when you stoop to kiss him again, his fingers ghosting over the skin of your back. Hal’s desires are plainly stated as you feel him harden against your inner thigh.

There is no time for coy deception tonight. You make quick work of his tunic, leave his trousers and instead unfasten and pull him through, positioning where he wants you most. Hal is already nearly panting.

You arch as he settles inside you, a biting stretch that has both of you sighing when you bury yourself into the crook of his neck. Something long-awaited. You stomach the discomforting pressure and set a rhythm, one that has Hal cursing into your hair.

“You must protect the women of England, my lord,” you whisper. “Who will do so if you are gone?” You punctuate your point with a well-timed swivel of your hips and Hal moans low and guttural. “Your wives and children. Can you protect me?”

Hal’s arms wrap around you, nearly choking on pleasure. “I will. Anything for you. Please...” 

Unseen by him, you grin. You can practically hear the crashing ocean waves, to feel the quench of water at long last! You think you could make him do anything in this moment with how enthralled he is in bliss. 

You sit back and Hal’s hands glide over the smooth expanse of your stomach, watching his eyes grow dark, the amber pendant swinging between the two of you. The discomfort in your belly is gone and you start to mirror Hal’s pleasure, head falling back, sighs growing louder. 

And as the two of you finally fall from the cliffside and towards the waiting waters, Hal gives a soft cry, vision rolling and you feel his heat spill onto your inner thigh. You kiss him until the strength drains from his body, a true succubus as Hal at last descends into sleep, relaxed. 

You have the king’s word. 

**

You awaken the next morning to find the bed empty and cold. Surprised, you dress alone and return to your chambers to call for your breakfast. When you send for your father to share his company, the servant returns and tells you Lord Grey is currently engaged and his presence cannot be requested.

“A meeting, you mean?” You ask the servant rather crossly. Why must everyone speak to you in riddles? You obviously did not sleep much the night before and had trouble long after Hal had finished, like a slumbering babe beside you. Typical.

Your mood sours further in that you won’t be able to share this meal with your father. You despise spending mornings in solitude. It seems like it’s been ages since you’ve last seen each other in private, with no councilmen lurking about.

“No, my lady,” the servant stammers slightly, the words stumbling out of his mouth. “Lord Grey is condemned and is forbidden from taking meals before tomorrow morning.”

“What?” You growl at his vagueness. Your anger and irritation rise hot and fast and you’re tempted to hurl the glass cup of strawberries at this blubbering young fool. 

“Lord Grey and Cambridge await execution tomorrow morning for treason, by order of the king.” 

Your world stops. You send the servant away with a ghost of a whisper.

When the door snaps shut, you laugh mournfully. So the gossip had come to naught. Hal had indeed kept his word. Your stomach turns in nausea. Food is suddenly the last thing on your mind.

You rush to your writing desk, overturning bottles of ink, hands shaking when you retrieve quill and parchment, attempt to pen a desperate letter to Callum with a fevered hand. But before you can draft a single sentence, your blood turns cold.

You have not heard from your brother, from Isabelle in weeks. Have your worst fears already come true?

Glass and fruit explode against the far wall.

You tear out of the room like a bloodied banshee in search of Hal, fingers tinted crimson from cut glass and mashed berries. 

And if thy right hand offend thee, cut it off, and

cast it from thee: for it is profitable for thee

that one of thy members should perish, and not

that thy whole body should be cast into hell.

One of Miss Hunt’s chosen passages from the book of Matthew comes crashing into your mind. You are like Eve, you think. Bearing the burden of Original Sin with lust and curiosity. You have tasted the fruit and have seen the evils of mankind. Never in your wildest dreams could you have imagined your plan backfiring so horribly. 

Now, hellfire awaits your father, for you when you draw your final breath your last day on this earth. Suddenly seeming to loom that much closer. 

You approach Hal like Samuel’s ghost did to King Saul on the eve of war, the Philistines instead of the French. Interchangeable, cycles of warfare that have dawned for milenia and will continue until the end of time.  

He looks terrifying, colder and more severe than you’ve ever seen, outfitted in those horrible blood red robes that one coronation dinner long ago you had once thought he looked becoming. 

You know with one wrong word you could be joining the two men to die at first light. Your mind races. 

“My lord, to think my own father had been plotting against you sickens me,” you speak slowly. The sentence stings like venom in your mouth, damning your father. Hellfire burns brighter. But it is the only way you can protect yourself. Your grisly appearance, your quick breaths, it is all to sell your story. “May I accompany you tomorrow morning as witness?”

Hal’s lips twist into a hint of a smile, the shadow of his former self. “Of course, my dear. Lord Grey may have failed his fatherly duties as protector, but I will not.” 

**

And so, with your hands wrapped in fresh bandages and stitchings, you stand in a courtyard with wind whipping around you, the only Christian woman among councilmen and knights as you watch your father lay his head upon the chopping block. His hair has been shaved off to ensure the killing blow will be swift and true. Shivering, pale, and damp with sweat, he looks like a ghost. Soon, he will be one. You want him to see you in these final moments, for him to know that you will utterly destroy this king, but you cannot risk the danger. 

Like the coronation, Latin prayers are recited, only this time they are prayers for your father and father-in-law to find peace in the afterlife. The last time you, Hal, Cambridge, and your father had shared company like this had been at the wedding. You know now that Callum and Isabel are truly dead. In the blink of an eye, Hal has slaughtered your entire family.

Weary, resilient Scotland.

You do not cry. You must show your loyalty.

“Requiescat in pace.”

Weak, fragile as Lord Grey starts to whimper aloud. No daughter should see their father, their protector through girlhood, like this. 

The axe glimmers in the sunlight and is brought down with deadly precision. Your father’s head rolls grotesquely off of his shoulders in a wet gurgle. His body is shoved aside and Cambridge is pushed onto the block next, now slick with fresh blood. 

Neither you nor Hal flinch.

**

You are now fatherless, Hal, kinless when you enter the neighboring chapel alone. You sit in the first pew respectfully, head bowed as Hal crosses himself and kneels before the altar. With his back to you, you study the firm line of his spine, his clasped hands with the beaded rosary held firmly between. Unmoving, statuesque. He prays for a long time.

Thou shalt not kill. 

You wonder if God is so forgiving.

The images of angels, of Mary and Joseph and flawless purity are what drive you to march up to Hal and kiss him hard. He hums in surprise, brows furrowed, the pressure behind his mouth mirroring yours when you grip the back of his head.

You want to kill him the same way he had murdered your father. But you settle with digging your fingers into the back of his neck and relishing in the way he hisses against your lips. You fumble blindly with the fastening of his trousers.

“What are you doing?” he growls.

“Shut up.” You bite back.

You’ve never been afraid of Hal before today, you’ve had no reason to be. You’ve been so careful to build the reputation and the facade he sees, using words and sex to push him like the chesspiece you had thought him to be. And he’d pushed right back.

You want to hurt him in the only way you can.

He cries out when you suck him into your mouth with teeth and harsh pressure. You’re anything but gentle, taking him as far as you can so that you’re choking and Hal is grunting and pulling at your hair and the lewd sounds of your lips and tongue echo to the tops of the vaulted ceiling. 

You’ve both lost family today. You are both selfish and full of quiet rage. The consequence of Hal’s choice is evident in how hard and wet you mold your mouth around him, how his hand tightens and pushes you farther down, wordlessly ordering you to finish him off in this holy church.

Like Christ Himself with bandaged hands, you twist and work at whatever you cannot fit between your lips. His hips snap forward, tears collecting at the corners of your eyes with burning throat, your scalp stinging from where he yanks back your hair, your linen caul disheveled. Saliva dribbles out of your mouth.

When his moans grow high and desperate, you take him out of your mouth and Hal’s release splatters white on the skin of your cheek, mouth still agape. He slumps forward on his knees, panting, as if still in prayer. The rosary dangles between his fingers. 

Thou shalt not commit adultery. 

The cross looms before you, silhouetted by candlelight. It is too much and you turn away.

**

If the change in Hal’s nature had not already been felt by all, it is seen in his dress. No longer does he donn the regalia of red cape and sceptre, but dark tunics and jackets that fit snug over the expanse of his chest. No more are the billowing robes, now replaced with tight military clothing and jackboots. A captain preparing for battle.

Hal recruits John Falstaff and countless other marshals for his campaign. It’s truly happening, you think. France will soon feel the wrath of England as your homeland and countless other countries have. 

The amber necklace sparkles.

Tomorrow, Hal sets sail across the English Channel. Another crusade to add to the Hundred Years’ War. You wonder if French women are just as lustrous as the rumors suggest. 

This is the last night you will be together like this for some time. The thought of Hal with another woman makes you quicken the hand you have around him and he gasps into your chest, spilling onto your thigh like that wedding night centuries ago. You’ve already made love countless times tonight, your bodies fitting together because it is only natural for two corrupt souls to find solace in the other. 

Masquerading with voice and poise. A boy from Eastcheap and a Scottish girl. 

As Hal shudders against you, kissing your throat and twining his fingers into your hair, he tells you he loves you.

You think you may love him too, in that twisted way of how fire craves oxygen. You need each other to fuel chaos. 

You understand better than anyone the burden of a child forced to grow up, the weight of decisions and the toll it takes. Only the strong can endure such hardship, only the strong can triumph and come out on top. It has been so forever, a law as old as the world. 

 The speed at which Hal is already hard again makes you chuckle darkly. He pins you to the bed, hovering, eyes bearing into you before he enters you just the same.

“You were made to be beneath me,” he rasps, gripping your face with a single hand. His eyes glitter in the low light. The double entendre of his words make you rake your fingernails down his back in angry lines of red. He sucks a bite into the skin of your collarbone. 

 You know that when Hal returns from France, he will no longer be yours. He will be changed, most likely to marry a foreign princess to ensure peace. You think of Isabel and how she had evidently been the one to put you in this position of status, how a marriage is a man’s means to gain power. A law as old as the world. 

Do you want him to be yours? The same way the English crown has raped and pillaged for the thrill of conquering the barbaric? A trophy? A prized kill? Still, the thought makes you bitter.

You say you love him back when he finds the spot below your ear, pushes your legs apart to drive into you that much harder.

There’s a bit of you that prays he will be victorious, that he will return to England and be yours again. But even if your paths do not cross in the future, you know you will see him again where the flames grow hot. Be that in his chambers or down below. 

[thefanbasewhore]

can you do hurt comfort prompt "you’re not a burden." with hal (henry v)?

summary: ever since Hal had brought you to the castle, you felt like nothing but a burden

content: angst, talk of marriage

paring: Henry V (Hal) x reader

join my Hal tag list - Hal masterlist

Hal's face contorts to form a look of confusion, eye brows laced together that form wrinkles on his forehead. The look worries you, eyes dropping to the marble floor lined in gold and maroon.

"I don't completely understand. You want to leave?"

The look of pain as he bites on his lower lip, hand reaching out to hold your own, a way of still holding on while you seem miles away, "You want to leave me?"

"I-I just, feel like it would be so much easier for you..if I went home." You pause, avoiding his eyes at all costs, "I'm distracting you, I'm in the way."

As if he could not believe the words, he scoffs, a hand cups your cheek to finally bring your eyes to his darkening hazel ones. "Is that what this about? You think you are a bother?"

You don't quite like the look of sympathy across his face. The way he looks guilty, guilty of your loneliness. Moving from a small village to a castle is a big transition, one he never paid much mind to. He never thought of the nobody's above the law, not the turmoil that would follow afterwards, the emotional changes that you are experiencing.

Almost as quickly as his hand touches your cheek, you're pulling away from his touch but he's shaking his head following your every step.

"Hey, hey, look at me." Both hands cup the underside of your jaw, "you're not a burden, if you feel lonely I am sorry - I haven't been around and you have been here all by yourself. I haven't been thinking of you and for that, I apologize."

"You need a queen, you heard the pope. I cannot be here any longer. I will not stand in the way of your country, a queen is needed to gain power."

"Screw a queen." He spits through gritted teeth, using his thumbs to keep your eyes on his own, "I will not marry any queen, I will marry you."

"You can't, Hal. You are a king, we both knew before this started it could never work."

"Those customs are the ones of men before me. If they want a Catholic marriage to strengthen my hold on England, they will get one. Me and you will marry, England will have their queen." He speaks so surely of himself, nose high in the air as that boyish smirk of owning the world makes you frown. For such a smart man, he still carries a childhood quality, one that won't accept the real world and understand how it works.

"Hal, it will never work, they won't accept it."

He gives you one final look before pressing a kiss against your lips then whispering against them, "I am king, and I pick you to be my wife."

Tags:

@mashtoncliffin @summergirl123-blog-blog @lifetimeofadventue @sabrielka-133 @timmyslover @bbrs-princess @simpforshelby

@valliantlamasandwich @weakling-grace @rockdrummersbae @whatamiobsessingovernow @aacciorriptide-shitpost @reddir14 @ellabellabus07 @12thpisces @reblogsfandom

@lesinferno @lys009 @msjb2002 @rangerelik

@addy-morgan

[crescenthistory]

silly little prompt list

send me a letter, number and character(s), as well as any additional details you'd like<3 mwah

for more prompts, go to the "writing prompts" tag on my blog

☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆

nb! prompts in italics have already been chosen and written. you can request it again in another context, but be aware that i’m less likely to use it

a. sassy:

"how great that we have you to fix the world"

"thrilled to be blessed by your presence"

"i'll hear you out when you actually have something to say"

"well done, i would never have thought of that"

"how delightful"

"aren't you just a sweetheart"

"i'm sure you're not the only one"

"i'm sure you are the only one"

"how thoughtful of you"

"who would have thought"

"and?"

"in other news, the sky is blue"

"please do us all the favour of shutting up"

"i'd like nothing more"

"you forgot that i just don't care"

b. fluffy:

"i require at least a thousand kisses to make up for it"

"how are you so soft?"

"you occupy my every thought"

"kiss me again"

"you think (x) would kill us if we just eloped?"

"are you falling asleep on me?" "..." "alright then"

"may i have this dance?"

"it will always be you"

"i didn't know it was possible for you to be more beautiful"

"you changed my life"

"come back to bed"

"nothing matters but you"

"when did you realise you love me/her/him?"

"i can't imagine loving you more"

"how are you so cute right now?"

c. hurt/comfort:

"i want nothing more than to kiss away all your pain"

"maybe this will make it okay"

"who made you think all of this?"

"i didn't know it could hurt this much to be in love"

"there will not be a day where i am not there for you"

"i don't know, it just happened"

"they never left your side"

"you would have thought they were the injured one, the way they were acting"

"it pains me to see you like this"

"i'll get you out of there"

"you're okay, you're okay"

"i can't believe i did this"

"hold on, this might sting"

"i don't think i can take it, not this"

"i'm sorry, i know, i'm sorry"

d. angsty:

"how did you expect me to take it?"

"i just can't trust you anymore"

"well, i am terribly sorry for inconveniencing you"

"did you expect me to be more digestible?"

"but do you love me?"

"how could you expect me not to be angry with you after this"

"don't you have someone to take care of right now?"

"where is she?"

"it hurts like hell because you are everything to me"

"what a shame, they were so beautiful together"

"i never expected you to lie to me"

"what was i supposed to do?"

"i never hated you!"

"oh, stop with the tears"

"i can't do this anymore"

e. steamy:

"loosen up a little"

"let me distract you"

"turn around"

"kiss me, coward"

"tell me to stop"

"shut up"

"make me"

"it's more than want"

"use your words, sweetheart"

"don’t think about that right now”

"i want to see you"

"let's make this quick"

"is this okay?"

"tell me i'm yours"

"this is wrong"

f. ambiguous:

"well, fuck, i wasn't expecting my morning to go like this"

"you look like you want to read my mind"

"are we friends?"

"you woke me up for this?"

"tonight we're drinking straight from the bottle"

"pity"

"i cannot stand you two anymore"

"get over yourselves"

"do you realise you slam every door you close?"

"why would you do that?"

"can we please talk about this?"

"i'll ruin you"

"i'm so glad i was wrong about you"

"fine, keep acting like you hate me"

"i'm not drunk enough for this"

bonus: tropes (pair with a dialogue)

there's only one bed

bandmates

meet the family

near death experience

mutual pining believed to be unrequited

fake dating

temporary truce

accidental confession

secret relationship

firsts

soulmate au

arranged marriage

enemies/rivalry to lovers

trapped

sunshine x grump

[obviouslyinsanelypretty]

At the end of the day it’s the cute, kind brunette/dark-haired, curly haired prince who can wield a sword and fight your battles for you😍🤭🤷‍♀️

[starlightsuffered]

Make Her Finish (Hal)

Info - possessive Hal, horny Hal, discussing waiting till marriage to have sex, high sex drive, Hal being insecure, discussing faking orgasms, Hal not being verbal during sex, knife play, carving initials in skin, cutting away clothing, spitting in mouth, demanding praise, unprotected sex, accusing someone of faking an orgasm, ass slapping, slapping cock on body, injury, licking blood

"It is so good to see you sister," I said smiling.

"Yes, I was gone a long time, but it was well worth it. Edward is the love of my life. You must thank Hal for introducing us," she smiled.

"That's wonderful. I know you were waiting for your wedding night," I said. With how voracious Hal's sex drive was that hadn't been a possibility for us and I was happier for it. My sister had saved herself. "Was it all you dreamed?"

Her expression soured and she looked out the window. The grip on her tea cup tightened.

"He has, he has yet to me make me finish," she said dismally.

"What have you done?" | asked in genuine fascination. Hal never had this issue. I wondered what he would do if I didn't?

"I've been faking," she sighed.

"Faking? How would one even do that?"

"You moan and say you feel good and make your walls contract, it seems to work well," she said sheepishly.

"You need to tell him!" | urged.

"Why?" She asked. "He'll only be upset."

"Or he would try to get better," | offered.

"But, can you get better?"

"Absolutely, I've told Hal everything I like and he's given into my requests. I'm not sure what the monarch would do if he had found l'd faked an orgasm," | chuckled.

Very soon after my last sentence my husband came stalking into the room. I knew the lust filled look in his eyes.

"Do you need me your highness?" | asked immediately.

"Yes!" He said, and dragged me from the room. My sister seemed astonished but Hal was like this. He wasn't used to having his desires ignored. If he wanted something, he went and got it.

Once in his chambers I was thrown against the wall. He was always rough with me and I adored it. He kissed me hard and I gave him the same force. He lifted my skirts and harshly pressed my clit. He swallowed my whimper.

He broke our kiss to get his sword.

"You know, one day you'll empty the crown's treasury with all the dresses of mine you need to replace," ! chuckled. He loved cutting my clothing away instead of dealing with the skirts and lacing.

I could finally breath properly with the corset slit. Sure a little more belly protruded, but Hal often went on and on about my natural form. He was disrobing quickly.

He threw me over his shoulder, landing a smack to my ass. I adored it when he threw me down and was over me in an instant. His eyes were darker than I'd ever seen.

He grabbed my jaw, forcing open my mouth. He spat into my mouth, but kept it open so he could speak his words into it.

"Im going to fuck you, and all the the while you will tell me how good I feel," he said darkly into my mouth. I nodded obediently. He let go and I swallowed his saliva.

"Yes my King," I swore. He sheathed himself inside me after slapping both my thighs with my cock.

"Hal, you're so deep," | whined as he began to rut into me at a nearly unimaginable speed. He plunged in and out of my hurriedly. I heard his little grunt of effort and traced his popping veins. He was really pushing himself.

"You're so good at this. You were made for sex my lord, the length and girth of your cock, the speed you always have, the selflessness of the pleasure you provide," | praised him.

"Oh, fuck, your cock is the only thing that could make the Queen swear," I moaned as I writhed. He pulled out with a wet sound and I whined.

"Hal, what's going on?" I asked. He got his dagger. His eyes looked wild, he was in a different mind frame than me obviously. He was all desperation. He didn't even have the foresight to use the handle, instead he gripped the blade of the dagger, and without pushing too hard, carved his initials into my upper thigh. It only stung a little and his possessiveness made it worth it. He threw the dagger away and plunged back into me.

"Oh yes my king I'm yours, brand me if you like," I said bringing his injured hand to me. I let my tongue flick over the two parallel bloody lines. He let out a whimper at the sight.

'So good to me Hal, how do you outdo yourself every time?" | asked and he began to come, his expression bliss filled. I felt my eyes roll back into my head as his cock hit my g spot over and over. My walls clenched him. I sucked on his bloody hand as I came undone, my walls convulsing uncontrollably.

"That was amazing my King, but I do wish you would have talked more, I love your voice. I must ask though, it seemed like you were trying to prove something. Is there something on your mind?" I asked.

"You told your sister you faked an orgasm with me," he said softly.

"I did not!"

"You said you didn't know what l'd do if I knew," he countered.

"That was hypothetical. I've never NEVER had to fake with you. Every one is incredibly real. Her husband wasn't pleasing her and I was in wonder because you always do it perfectly," I said.

"Oh, sorry about your leg then," he said and bent to kiss the spot he'd cut.

"I don't mind," I smirked. "I like being marked as yours."

"I love you," he moaned.

[cassie48]

𝗛𝗶𝘀 𝗾𝘂𝗲𝗲𝗻

King Hal x fem reader.

A/N: In which the king isn’t happy with how his wife, the queen is treated.

(O.O)(O.O)(O.O)(O.O)(O.O)(O.O)(O.O)(O.O)(O.O)(

You were chosen to be queen. Hal himself wanted you. But, in some ways, a lot of ways actually, you felt you weren’t meant to be a queen. You were very quiet and innocent, to scared to correct someone or stand up for yourself.

Now, Hal was always there to stand up for you, he was really very protective of you. He threatened men that mocked you, and declared to the people of England that you were his wife, and that they must accept that.

On this particular day, you were sat on a bench in a secluded area of the gardens, hiding from everyone, crying. Earlier that day there had been an incident, leading you to hide away from your husband and those he would send to look for you.

You had been on a stroll, earlier that day. You often went on strolls when Hal would have meetings. On this particular morning, you bumped into a man that served Paul. He was a sort of advisor and helped him stay in order. George, was his name.

You had never really warmed to him, as he constantly made you uncomfortable. He would send you odd looks, when Hal wasn’t looking, sometimes in places that no man but Hal should be looking.

“Sorry George” You said looking at the ground.

“Oh it’s fine your majesty, it’s my fault” he said with a disgusting smirk.

“Do you know where Hal is?” Your sweet voice said, wanting to see your husband.

“He’s busy right now” he told you.

You nodded turning to continue on your walk, when his voice continued.

“I could accompany you, you know” George said not even bothering to address you respectfully.

“Oh, it’s fine, really” you said going to turn.

“Are you sure, I’d like to” he said, clearly wanting you to agree to go with him.

“No really, it would be…improper” you said, with a polite smile, trying to leave.

But, to your shock, he grabbed your upper arm roughly, tracing his finger over your body.

“From what I’ve heard, you’re quite the improper girl” he whispered, his fingers sickly travelling all over you.

“W-What?” You said your voice trembling, pulling back slightly, but it didn’t work.

“The men talk, say that you’ve been quite 𝘐𝘮𝘱𝘳𝘰𝘱𝘦𝘳” he said with a menacing smile.

This was when you lost it, you stared to ball your eyes out, ripping yourself away from his hold, running off to hide in the gardens, crying as you did, that’s where you found the little bench.

(O.O)(O.O)(O.O)(O.O)(O.O)(O.O)(O.O)(O.O)(O.O)(O.

At that same time, Paul was leaving his meeting room, going to see you in your chambers. This was a daily routine for him, he truly loved him.

But a scowl made its way on his face when you weren’t there. “Where is the queen?” He yelled at the servants in the room.

“We, aren’t sure, your majesty” a man answered staring at the ground in fear.

“Is it not your job to take care of her when I’m not?” He yelled rage dripping from his voice as he grew more worried.

“Find her” he demanded with a cold voice.

They all scrambled, running in all directions to search for you, fearing for their lives if they didn’t.

Around an hour later, there was still no sign of you, Hal was getting very impatient. So he went to look for you himself.

He knew your favourite places in the castle and he knew one of which was the gardens, so he made his way there. He had searched almost all the gardens, until her heard a soft crying.

Hal eventually found you on that bench, as soon as he saw you, he was 𝘔𝘢𝘥.

“My love? What’s wrong?” He asked as he sat on the bench too, placing you on his lap.

You wrapped your arms around his neck, continuing to cry loudly into his chest.

“Are you hurt?” He asked with a concerned look on his face.

You nodded your head no and hugged onto him tighter, as the tears fell down your face.

“Love, you have to tell me what’s wrong, so I can fix it” he said kissing your head.

“It was…g-george” you cried.

“What about 𝘎𝘦𝘰𝘳𝘨𝘦?” He said, his face suddenly becoming cold.

“He, he said I was an improper lady! And h-he was touching me Hal” you hiccuped.

Hals phase froze in anger and shock. George was in the room when Hal first threatened everyone about going near his wife. He made it very clear she was to be shown respect. George was one of his most trusted men. 𝘞𝘦𝘭𝘭 𝘯𝘰𝘵 𝘢𝘯𝘺𝘮𝘰𝘳𝘦.

“I’ll deal with him, this won’t happen again” he said kissing your hand.

You eventually lifted your head from his chest, as he wiped your tears from your cheeks.

“C-Can we go for a walk?” Your gentle voice asked.

“Of course, anything for you” Hal answered lifting her off his lap onto the ground, and taking her hand in his.

They walked the grounds talking about everything and anything, happy to be in each others company.

You hugged his side, yawning, suddenly becoming very tired.

“Do you want to retire” he said, his arm around your waist.

You only nodded in response, and you both headed back to your chambers.

He ordered the maids to run a bath for you, before kissing you softly, telling you he had something to take care of, and he’d be back later.

Around one hour later, you lay in the bath, the bubbles covering your naked body, and your eyes closed, enjoying the heat.

The door swung open to reveal your husband once more, but this time with blood on his hands.

“Hal?” Your little voice squeaked.

“It’s not my blood, I only took care of something that needed to be handled” he said sitting beside you, and giving you a kiss on the forehead.

You nodded, your eyes heavy as you leaned into his touch. You yearned to be in bed.

Hal caught onto this, and ordered the maids to help you prepare for bed, and get into your nightdress.

“What did you do to him, George I mean” you whispered, playing with your fingers.

Hal smiled before saying “I taught him a lesson” and giving you a long kiss, and bidding you goodnight.

𝘠𝘰𝘶 𝘸𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘲𝘶𝘦𝘦𝘯 𝘢𝘧𝘵𝘦𝘳 𝘢𝘭𝘭,

𝘏𝘪𝘴 𝘲𝘶𝘦𝘦𝘯.

A/n

I hope you all enjoyed, I’ve been wanting to write for Hal for some time now so finally I did!!

[lokidbadguy]

someone fancasting young tywin with tom hiddleston and i ran with it

[loverangels]

writing a king hal lengthy fic and I'm tagging people. If you want to be added reply to this post to confirm!

(this post will possibly turn into a series based on how well it goes)

[kteezy997]

The Lady in Waiting-Part Six//King Hal

Warnings: secret relationship, SMUT, fingering, female receiving oral sex, cursing, cream pie

continued directly from part five...

The pads of his fingers slid over your clit, soon rubbing a rhythm along the soft, slick nub. "Oh yes, Hal!" You cried out, realizing no one was around for miles. The palace was basically an entire world away.

"Yes, let me hear you." Hal purred from above you.

You looked up at the sky, baby blue in color, your sight getting lost in the whisps of clouds as he pleasured you so dexterously with his fingers.

He inserted a finger inside of you, and your eyes clenched shut in such a foreign sense of pleasure. It was strangely invasive, but you loved it. You reached down underneath your skirt and pressed against the back of his hand, making him pump his fingers deeper into you.

A moment later, Hal stopped his actions completely and raised himself up onto his knees.

You lay back, propped up on your elbows, watching him undress.

He pulled his crisp, white shirt over his head, peeling it off from the back of his neck.

He was immaculate, his skin was beautifully pale and soft looking, but his muscles were firm even though he was not a large man. He was just perfect.

Next was his trousers. He untied them at the crotch and slid them down. His cock was already half erect.

Your breath hitched in your throat at the sight of it. You knew that Hal would have a big cock. You desperately wanted him inside of you. Your fears were replaced with raw desire.

Hal put his hands at the front of your dress, pulling the fabric down, freeing your breasts. He stared down at them, then looked into your eyes as he said, "I have dreamt of your breasts," he slid his lower half between your legs, "and I have kissed them a thousand times."

He moved his face down to your breasts, licking over your left nipple, causing you to tremble. It was like a pleasure signal sent straight to your center. He licked the bud over and over as it hardened. Taking your breasts in hands, he dispersed kisses all over them, giving special affection to your nipples.

His green eyes met yours as he put his lips around your right nipple. He sucked hard on the bud, moaning on your breast. He lapped his tongue over it, then his softly dragged his teeth there. You let your head fall back, moaning like mad in ecstasy.

He left your breasts, gently grabbed your jaw, forcing you to look at him. He pecked you on the lips, and took ahold of your waist to draw his cock closer to your core.

You gasped as you felt his tip meshing with your wetness.

"I've also thought of your sweet cunt wrapped around my cock.” he pressed his fingertips into your skin, “I need to make love to you the same way I need air in my lungs to breathe."

With a soft plunge, he was inside of you. Your toes curled and your legs clenched to him. It was the only way you could react to the intense pressure.

Hovering above, Hal could sense your tension, most likely feeling the tightness of you and said, "Please relax, my love." He put his hand into your hair, his fingers grazing lightly on your scalp, "Relax and I'll make it better."

His voice was soft and tender, you were soothed in a moment. Slowly, he moved his hips, sliding his member in and out. Soon, there was no more pain. The both of you were panting softly, Hal held your thighs as he glided himself into you. His eyes did not leave your face.

His pale chest met your hard nipples as his lower body thrusted. Your arms laced around his body, your hands sliding over the silkiness of his back, feeling the waves of muscles there. Softly, you let your fingernails drag up and down his ribcage.

Hal shuddered at the tingling sensation. He put his face into the crook of your neck, breathing heavily, moaning. He brought his hands up to cradle either side of your head.

You moaned and your body shook with euphoria. Sex with Hal was complete bliss. You felt warm and tingly to your core, the pressure of his big cock ramming deep into you, causing a singe of rapture with each thrust. You held onto him, kissing his handsome face, saying, “I love you, Hal.”

He pressed some tiny kisses to your neck, tickling a little bit. You giggled at the feeling and Hal looked down at you with a grin, “I love you, y/n. This feels so good with you.” He started to move his hips slower now, and you could hear the wetness of your arousal smacking between you and him.

Hal was becoming lazier as he went on making love to you. He put more of his body weight on you, which you truly didn’t mind. You loved the feeling. You loved having him on top of you, sharing his air, breathing his scent. You felt so protected and loved in this moment.

As his hips kept a steady rhythm, he licked and kissed your neck, moaning onto your skin as he moistened it. “Oh, my love.” he moaned. He raised up in a final stretch of stamina, baring his toned torso to you.

You could not help but run your hands over his sweaty chest. He was so gorgeous, just looking at him naked aroused you.

He rested his hand on your chin, bringing his thumb to your lower lip, letting the pad of the digit run along the softness of your lip.

You watched his face, his green gaze darkened with lust. You took the brutality of his beautiful cock. He was ruining you, and you loved every minute of it.

In a flash, his hand went around your throat.

You gasped in surprise, but found yourself actually desperate for air. But you were not afraid, you trusted Hal.

He squeezed your neck just for a moment, then loosened his grip. He kept his hand there, possessively on your throat. “You are mine.” he said plainly.

You were able to breathe, but still felt his grip. He was so intimidating, but it only added to the excitement you felt. You grinned as he pounded you slowly.

Hal noticed your deviant smile, and tapped your face lightly. He then moved his hands to your breasts, kneading them and lunging his hips deeper into you. He leaned his head back, feeling the tight strokes of your walls. “Oh, fuck.” he groaned, squeezing your breasts then bringing his hands up to push his own hair back.

You could see the sweat collecting at his hairline, with little drops running down his neck.

“My cock belongs to you. Only to you. Your cunt is my home.” he huffed, wiping away some sweat from his forehead with the back of his hand.

The adrenaline inside of you became more prevalent. His cock continued to carve away at you, and your walls convulsed around it. You felt your core vibrating. “Oh, Hal, yes!” you cried as your lower body went through a shudder.

Hal let out a series a loud grunts, then he carefully collapsed on top of you. As his hips jolted against you, you held each other. His voice ricocheted off of your skin as he pressed his face to your neck once more. With each groan from him, you felt a warm stream from his cock enter you.

You put your hands onto his damp back. You both tried to catch your breath. In this moment, you realized how much you loved feeling his weight on you, how much you loved being in his embrace. It was your new favorite place in the world. You hoped you could do this together again and again. But with his wedding to your lady to take place tomorrow, you could not be sure.

You lay there underneath him, combing your fingers through his wet curls, wanting the moment to last as long as possible.

@gatoenlaciudad @thebetawolfgirl @musicandbooksaremyhappyplace @softhecreator @tchalamss @lixzey @bitchyunknownuser @ducktapebar @aoi-targaryen @yukideadinside @elloise0 @thatoneweirdgirl17 @mel-vaz @sammy-halpert @iwishchalamet @that-one-fangirl69 @jindongdongie @briefkittenearthquake @imnotoverlyobsessive

[ginnysgraffiti]

dirty thoughts, riding, self-relief, needy

y/n, partner half asleep.

&. KING HAL (HENRY V) x yn.

you were his fabric doll, as he started to call you after the official marriage.

softness, kindness, a giving nature and wisdom; that's how he described you.

hal spent hours worshipping and absorbing every tiny detail about you, and if you only asked, he could go on and on.

he usually got lost in your fair wavy hair, doe eyes, blushed porcelain cheeks and delicate little hands.

"all your grace is in your vagueness, my queen. your soft voice, your manner languid, your features blurred and dreamy." his shooting words waking you up the morning after the marriage.

and then he got lost again in your features, measuring the distance from one freckle to the other, the softness of your lower lip, more evident than the upper one, before primitively undressing you and making the bed creak until small hours.

his place was between your legs, no doubt.

and anyone who dared to lay eyes on you would meet the guillotine the following morning, at the bell's heavy ringing, and you knew it.

but the sticky words of his, sweet like honey, they only dripped down the walls of the royal halls, during boring and long meals, where you represented a public image and inspiration source.

yes, because with you, you and you only, in private, hal was the most alive animal you had ever seen.

and you missed all this.

you missed the taste of his tongue, the heat of his thighs, his overly expert hands and his hungry gaze.

he made you feel so loved, beyond every limit.

now, however, the peace pacts and bloody wars were consuming him to the core, badly scratching his armor, crumbling his tolerance.

you could rarely see hal during the day, and even when you hoped to enjoy his company in the late evening, he was usually too tired or busy checking the artillery.

you felt neglected, even though you knew very well that it wasn't his fault at all.

but now the gazes of the other nobles became more focused on your skin, and the caresses he used to give you left an empty space under the covers.

(...)

one evening, when the flame crackled particularly on the medieval torch on the wall, your steps drew their way towards your room.

the latter creaked slightly, and hal's sleeping figure gave you such a view.

he was shirtless, as always, lying belly up, lost in a deep and calm breath.

you approached the mattress, making sure to not make any noise. you quickly got changed in your pajamas and sat next to him.

something about his position and his presence was awakening something brutal and hot inside your knotted stomach.

you could feel your stomach juices flaring up.

fuck, you needed him.

the sin was now rising to the neurons of your brain, consuming you alive.

you didn't know if he would forgive you, no, but you knew that that was all you had to do.

such dirty thoughts for a queen.

(...)

you found yourself straddling him with only your underwear, you had taken off almost everything. you molded yourself to his pelvis and the hardness you felt between his thighs took your breath away.

you stopped breathing. your eyes widened and you felt your cheeks burning.

you felt his erection quiver under the thin layer of your panties and with an inhibition that was unknown to you and an incessant need to attenuate the devastating heat that you felt between your thighs, you rubbed yourself against him, moving your pelvis dangerously.

faster, faster.

faster.

faster until you could feel yourself soaked.

you could feel his hips bones the more you moved, and your mouth was wide open.

you looked at him hypnotized in his most regal sleep. his perfect face teasing you slowly, in such a perverse way that made you even wetter.

you panted.

the breathing heavy and wet.

no longer able to bear the powerful pulsations between your legs you moved even faster but slowing down every now and then, when small grunts came out of his soft lips.

without even realizing it you were already entertaining yourself, rubbing your fingers against the fabric of your own underwear.

dirty moans filled your ears.

you didn't know what you were doing, but you knew you had never felt better.

"are you going to cum on me so soon?" asked a husky voice in your ear, panting.

fuck.

you couldn't look up, you couldn't allow yourself to sink into your wet perversity like this.

you could barely nod.

an ashamed queen ashamed of her own actions.

how disgusting.

hal grabbed your hips and with one move made you lay on your belly, making you let out a small cry of surprise that you knew would excite him even more. your smells mixed with the spicy ones of the room, the bodies merge. this position made everything more intimate and awkward.

"how naive to think i was really asleep..."

you worshipped him, as if you had a god in your hands, while he slammed you onto the mattress with incredible force.

now you found yourself with your cheek against the pillow and your pelvis raised to the height of his cock. with one hand he grabbed your buttock, he placed the other on the back of your neck to keep you still. you felt dizzy and hot.

he moaned like a caged animal.

you knew he was just holding back and that if you could turn around you would catch a murderous look waiting for you.

the one look you needed to know when he wanted to push himself into you.

he needed.

instantly.

he squeezed your buttocks vehemently and your eyes widened when he gave you a resounding slap on your buttock which made you let out a very powerful scream and which, to your enormous surprise, made you terribly more excited. you felt him lean over you, his massive chest pressed against your thin back. he loomed over your body, brought his mouth close to your ear and, in a husky, sensual voice, murmured, "fuck, i didn't know my queen could have such a twisted mind within these walls."

"i-...i can explain...your majesty...forgive m-"

he pulled your hair to make your back arch and the loudest moan left your wet lips.

your legs trembled in the middle due to your own sound.

how pathetic.

that's just how you were when you needed hal.

"there's no need, just let me fill you up with my cum until my queen is completely satisfied beyond any physical limit. and call me hal, only hal." a soft wet kiss delivered on your shoulder.

"forget your queen duties tomorrow."

the last famous words you fucking craved for so long.

[m00nkissedlover]

・｡Sugar Rush 🍰

You've ordered: an assorted dessert tray! enjoy!

"Have you got a sweet tooth?"

Various Timothèe Chalamet characters x reader | word count: 1,565 words

Summary: just little drabbles about baking with various timmy characters!! 🍰

Warnings: none!

Note: i didn't do every timothèe character, just some of my favorites!

lee (bones and all) (cherry pie) 🥧

baking with lee would be really cute and also very chaotic. he'd hug you from behind as you'd mix the ingredients to make the dough for the pie crust. he'd definitely sneak tastes of the cherries you're using. lee's actually a pretty good cook and really enjoys baking. he'll be at the stove, sautéing the cherries in sugar and vanilla, while you place the crust in a pie tin. once you pour the cherry mix into the crust, he'll stick his finger in what's left over and smear it on your nose, making you gasp and do the same to him. then he'll smear it on your lips just so he has an excuse to kiss you. once the pie's done, you two clean up and enjoy it together while reading comic books or watching a movie.

laurie (little women) (apple tart) 🍎

laurie would be such a sweetheart when baking. he'd insist that he should do all the work and you shouldn't lift a finger. eventually, you convinced him that you two should do it together. you two would find yourselves goofing off rather than baking. he'd throw flour at you and you'd smear butter on the tip of his nose. you two would laugh before finally deciding to take this seriously. laurie would work on the crust and you'd sauté the apples in sugar and cinnamon. laurie would come over and stick a spoon in the gooey apple mix, giving it a try. you swear, you'd see his eyes light up. once the tart's in the oven, you two would clean up, still messing around as you'd cover each other's faces in soap suds. once the tart is baked, you both curl up on the couch with a blanket, laurie reading to you as you two enjoy your sweet creation.

elio (call me by your name) (peach cobbler w/ ice cream) 🍑

i feel like you'd be working on making peach cobbler to surprise him. but it'd be ruined once he hugs you from behind and glances over you, asking what you're making. you'd have to tell him and he'd laugh, finding it incredibly sweet that you're making a dessert for him, with his favorite fruit at that. he'd ask if he could help and you'd happily oblige. much like lee, elio's a rather talented cook, telling you the right amounts of cinnamon and sugar to use, etc. but obviously, he'd see the peaches and cut himself a few slices, snacking on them when you weren't looking. and when you'd catch him, he'd just laugh and offer you a slice, which you happily took. after letting the peaches soak and sauté, he'd help you make the crumble that goes on top. you'd feed each other pieces of it and exclaim about how good it is. you'd sprinkle it on top of the peaches and put them in the oven. i can imagine you putting on some music and you two laughing and dancing around the kitchen together. once it's done baking, elio would go get some ice cream and you two would sit on your balcony, watching the sunset while enjoying the tasty peach dessert.

yule (don't look up) (brownies) 🍫

it was your idea to bake, yule having his arms wrapped around you from behind as you'd get the ingredients together for making brownies. obviously, you two would goof around, yule sneaking chocolate chips into his mouth, or smearing some of the batter on your nose. you'd giggle and kiss his cheek as he took his turn mixing the batter. he'd probably make a joke about setting some batter aside for him to make weed brownies (pls tell me i'm not the only one who can see yule being a stoner-). while the brownies are baking and you're cleaning up, he'd splash you with water and you'd chase after him with a spoon covered in leftover batter. you're finally done cleaning and the brownies are done! you two probably sit in front of the tv, yule having you in his lap while you feast on the brownies, watching a movie together.

paul (dune) (spiced lemon turnovers) 🍋

i feel like specific fruits would be native to arrakis, specifically citrus fruits. with the use of spice in most foods, it makes a delicious combination. you'd be in the kitchen/ food storage area of the freman sietch, being tasked with preparing desserts for whatever event was going on. as you're cutting lemons, you'd hear the door creak open, turning around to see paul. he'd probably make up some excuse, saying he was looking for stilgar and got lost. he'd peek over your shoulder and ask what you're making. he'd be pretty intrigued, asking if he could help you out. once you agree, you'd have him kneed out the dough for you while you finish cutting and crushing the lemons before cooking them with sugar and spice. paul would find it odd that you're adding spice to the dessert, so you'd give him half a spoonful of the lemon filling and he'd be shocked by how good it tastes. he'd stand behind you as you show him how wrap the turnovers. you'd turn around and realize just how close he was standing, his breath hitting your cheek. he'd give you a soft smile and lean over to kiss your forehead, praising you on how talented you were in baking. you'd smile and let him try, some of them coming out great, some of them looking kinda wonky. but it was still great fun to bake with your boyfriend. once they were done, you two took them out to the other freman waiting outside. you'd tell them that paul helped you out and they wouldn't believe you. it would take forever before they'd stop teasing him about the funny looking turnovers.

wonka (wonka) (chocolate chunk cookies) 🍪

wonka was working on making cookies in the main kitchen of the factory (this takes place after the wonka movie!). you'd given him the suggestion to put his chocolate in other things, like cookies or cake. he'd decided that cookies would be rather simple....he found out quickly that they were not. he told noodle to go get you and your jaw dropped when you saw the mess: flour everywhere, sugar in his hair, a bowl of batter sitting there with a spoon in it, and wonka's chocolate wrappers strewn on the floor. you'd laugh, wetting a rag and wringing it out before going up with willy and wiping the flour and butter off of his face. you'd ask him if he needs some help, to which he'd nod, feeling a bit embarrassed. once you've laughed for a bit longer, you help him clean up the kitchen, then gather all the ingredients once again. he'd watch you with sparkling eyes as you'd pour in perfect amounts of sugar and flour and melted butter. he swore you were a magician, to which you'd laugh and agree. you'd have him try mixing the batter and chop up chunks of his chocolate, placing them into the cookie dough. making little balls of dough and placing them on a sheet tray, you'd pop them into the oven, willy standing in front of it like a child. you'd watch with him, gently playing with his hair and talking about whatever. the timer would go off, he'd get so excited as you take them out of the oven. he'd probably bite into one while it's still hot and burn himself, making you giggle a bit. once they'd officially cooled, he'd try one and tell you he should start selling your cookies in his factory. you'd put the cookies in little bags, planning to give them out to noodle and the others later.

hal (the king) (spiced rum cake) 🍰

even though you're the queen of england, you love baking. hal would tell you that the cooks could bake for you or that he'd hire a special pastry chef just for you. he didn't want to see you, his beloved, working too hard. you'd laugh and tell him you rather enjoyed it, that it helped you relax. you'd be in the kitchen, measuring out flour to make a cake. hal would be looking all over the castle for you, until he'd eventually open the kitchen door to see you with some flour on your face. you ask him if he'd want to help you out and he'd say he'll just watch....which ended up being a lie. he practically did everything for you since he was worried you'd cut yourself or burn yourself. you couldn't help but find it rather cute how your husband dotted on you like that. while making the rum soak for the cake, he'd sneak a swig, insisting that you have some too. sooner or later, you two are both a little tipsy, practically baking while drunk. luckily, you had taken the cake out before you two started drinking. he'd wrap his arms around you, pressing a few kisses to your face and mumbling about how great of a baker you are and how he loves you so much. it was cute watching him cut you a slice of the cake and feed you some, the two of you sharing soft kisses between bites. and guess what...the servants were watching from behind the door the whole time!

© m00nkissedlover, 2024

[thebetawolfgirl]

His Chosen Queen

Pairing: Timmy x Reader

Warnings: Smut, soft Hal.

A/N: I wrote this at midnight so I might be rushed in some places because I was so tired!

His Chosen Queen!

Hal had chosen his Queen, she was the love of his life and had been with him from before he became King, she was there during his wild days as the young prince, although while the other women he went with were more interested in his title, y/n couldn’t care less. He was utterly fascinated with her because she wasn’t hanging onto him like the other women, she would always serve him with a smile, and she would always ask him how he was and he knew she meant it and genuinely wanted to know how he was doing.

When his father passed away, he went straight to the pub to drown his sorrows even though he knew he now had duties as the newly appointed king of England, he just needed some time to himself to process everything, it was very quiet in the Inn and the moment he stepped through the door he felt soft gentle arms wrap around him, and a voice of an angel.

‘I am so sorry, my lord. Your father was a good man and a wonderful King.’

He wrapped his arms around her back, and buried his face in her neck inhaling her unique scent, she smelled of fresh cotton and rose oil, she felt so soft, he thought as she pulled him upstairs and just sat with him on the bed as he cried.

He began inviting her to the castle and spending time with her immediately after his coronation as King, his council didn’t get it. They had tried to recommend several eligible ladies, princesses and Duchesses but the King wasn’t interested in them, he just wanted y/n, so one night after a beautiful meal and a walk around the grounds he proposed to his lady and was overjoyed when she accepted his hand.

After their wedding y/n insisted on going outside to greet the people and Hal would do anything for y/n so they went out and greeted the people of the Kingdom.

Hal watched his new wife with the people, he watched as she hugged the children and spoke to the elderly, some of them regulars from the Inn, she truly was a Queen of the people and she had won over their hearts.

They spent nearly every day together when he wasn’t doing his royal duties for the Kingdom, which was thriving under the new king and queen, there was hardly any poverty amongst his people now, since y/n had began to work with the local farmers to provide enough wheat, grain and barley for everyone. Y/n made sure everyone had their fair share of everything and the people loved her for her kindness and her intelligence as well as her beauty.

The King was still ruthless and somewhat merciless towards those who would choose him as their enemy, and some even went as far as attempting to attack his queen, but she never feared because she knew he would always protect her.

‘I will protect you with my life, y/n! You are my Chosen Queen.’

She smiled and lay her hand on his cheek in one of their rare moments of privacy and he melted against her like ice under the blazing sun.

‘Then I have no fear of being harmed my Hal. For I have my Knight in shining armour. Many people would not have approved of your choosing a commoner as Queen-‘

‘Name them and I will have them all hanged.’ He glared looking around them pulling her close.

She chuckled and brought him back to her by taking his face in her hands and stroking his cheeks. ‘There are no enemies in the castle my love, be at peace.’

She nuzzled his nose with hers and watched his eyes soften again.

‘Let us retire to bed my King.’ She whispered and took his hand in hers and pulled him upstairs.

Hal was sitting on his large bed staring at his wife watching her getting undressed and leaned forward to pull her towards him by her hips and rested his head on her stomach closing his eyes.

‘My Queen.’ She ran her fingers through his short hair smiling.

‘I am not Queen yet, my love.’

‘You are MY Queen. Queen of my heart, Queen of my mind, Queen of my soul! You are the air I breath, through my lungs. You are the blood that runs through my veins.’

He slides his hand up her thigh pulling her to sit on his lap letting her wrap her legs around him while he pushed her underdress from her shoulders,

‘Don’t stop my king, what else am I to you?’ She whispered against his ear her long hair falling into her eyes.

His breathing hitched as he untied the lace in front of her gown slowly.

‘You are the music i hear in my head at night, you are the birdsong in the morning. You are the voice of an angel that takes away all of my fears,’

She lifted his shirt over his head tossing it aside and ran her fingers up and down his chest before moving sideways and falling back against the bedsheets and pulled him on top of her.

He had slid her gown down to sit around her hips and placed open mouth kisses up her torso watching her eyes close as he reached her breasts and wrapped his tongue around one nipple and sucking gently while rolling the other between his fingers before switching to the other with his mouth, he trailed his tongue along her collarbone before capturing her lips in his.

He moaned feeling her tongue dancing with his and deepened the kiss passionately. She slid her hands down his body and reached for the strings that tied his pants together and pulled them free before sliding her hand in and wrapping her fingers around him making his hips to rut forward against her hand moaning.

She began stroking his hard length sliding her hand up and down him as she moved her head and kissed down his jaw leaving gently nips along his neck causing him to whimper and let his head fall against her throat and dig his fingers into the sheets just by her head.

‘No! Not like this.’ He growled hoarsely and gently pushed her hand off him before ripping the rest of her gown off and grabbed her legs to wrap around him as he ran his cock against her opening teasingly making her groan before pushing into her slowly, both their eyes rolling back into their heads.

He set a steady pace thrusting into her hard and deep and leaned down to kiss her lips as she pulled him down on top of her deepening the kiss, causing his cock to go deeper into her making them both moan.

She wrapped her arms around him holding him close as he thrust into her, the only sound being their breathing and contact of skin against skin, he thrust deeper nearly slamming into her as he slid his arms under her body pulling her close against him panting into her shoulder feeling his hair sticking to his forehead and neck.

‘I’m close my King.’ She muttered breathlessly against his ear as her body jerked upwards from the force of his thrusts, he raised her legs up nearly around his chest and slammed harder and deeper making her scream his name beneath him and came undone around him, he watched her in awe as she came around him his eyes never leaving hers as he came straight after her before collapsing into her arms moaning and whimpering her name like a prayer over and over again.

‘Y/n, y/n y/n, y/n. My Queen y/n.’

He lay in her arms, both drenched in sweat and tangled in the bedsheets trying to remember how to breath again. He buried his face in her neck as she lightly ran her fingers down his back, she turned and lay small pecks against the side of his head earning a nudge and a nip against her neck, she lifted his face and gave him an open mouth peck against his lips which he deepened pushing his tongue into her mouth.

She returned the kiss pushing him onto his back and gently held his face between her hands as he wrapped his arms around her back and just lay there letting her kiss and nibble his lips. She pushed his hair from his face with her fingers before breaking the kiss and laying her head on his shoulder.

‘Sleep, My king. We have the rest of our lives to make love and be together forever.’

He smiled and closed his eyes holding her close and pulled the bedsheets around them falling asleep.

@sufferingstarlight

@gatoenlaciudad

@kteezy997

@lixzey

@minnypress

@tchalamess

@tchalamss

@mel-vaz

[starlightsuffered]

The Whimper of a King

Info - arranged marriage, medieval punishment, smut, needy Hal, making sure partner is satisfied, jealousy, oral (female receiving), soft Hal, wanting to be pregnant, squirting, not cleaning up after squirting, unprotected sex, dry humping, Hal obsessed with cunnilingus, wanting a baby

"He let a Man be killed under his watch, and didn't report it. Two days in the stocks is generous," I said fiercely to the wife of the famous Tavern owner. She was upset with my husband's ruling.

"But, he didn't-"

"You heard the Queen!" Hal roared. "Leave us immediately!"

"Your majesty, should we send in the next peasant?" Asked a knight.

"No, I must speak to my wife for a moment," he said, standing up stiffly and grabbing my hand.

"We are rather behind," said another one.

"Am I not king?" He demanded.

"Of course."

He pulled me along, and I knew what he wanted. He pushed me in a unused room right off the throne room.

"Take care of me," he whimpered as he kissed down my throat.

"Hal," I chuckled, I knew it'd been my display of power that had overtaken him.

"I can't help it," he whined, and I chuckled. I tentatively kissed his lips. He didn't let the kiss be simple. He held my face in his hands, pressing his crotch against me, and even through our thick layers I felt his hard on. His kiss was wild, his tongue making it wet and sloppy.

"You've already had me twice today my King, I have also serviced your cock with my mouth, you need more already? The sun is barely halfway across the sky," I giggled.

"Such a woman as you had never existed, of course I need you again. That display of power was gripping."

"Oh alright my love, who can deny a king?" I asked. He began to strip me immediately.

"I must have your seamstress make your dresses easier to remove," he growled. "I need instant and constant access to your body."

The words washed me in chills. He soon had me naked before him. I never felt more powerful than when he took in my bare form. He didn't even bother with his clothes before pushing me down on an ornate couch. I'd talked to his previous lovers, who were always jealous of me. Through this conversation I'd learned my king had been selfish once. He had never eaten them the way he had me. However, with me, he was addicted to mu juices. He had once requested for his birthday he be allowed to taste me for as long as he pleased. I'd come so many times I couldn't count, and he'd still gone on into the night. The next day his jaw had been swollen, and he could only have liquids, but he hadn't minded in the least.

"I must feast, the finest wine doesn't taste as delicious," he whimpered. He attached himself to my pussy, laving at my wet membranous walls. He sucked at my second pair of lips. I was arching into his talented mouth.

"My husband, you do this like no other," I sighed. He shot up.

"Others have had their mouths on your cunt?" He asked. He didn't judge me, he simply got jealous easily.

"I'm sorry, I swear, Oh!" I had tried to calm him but he'd grabbed handfuls of my ass and brought his mouth to my pussy hungrily. There was no stopping him as he ravaged me. I fell over the edge, my orgasm making me shake and moan, and yet he didn't stop.

"Hal, h Hal, fuck, your mouth and tongue. They're heaven sent, I'm going to come again," I praised him. He hummed inside me, his tongue darting and tracing. Soon I came again, and I felt myself release in a more powerful way than I ever had. When my eyes opened I saw that his face was covered in slick.

"Has any man," he growled as he ripped off his pants. "Even made you do that?"

"No man, no being, not even me," I swore as he entered me. I cherished that I was the only one who would ever hear the King whimper. Not even his enemies would hear this. Only I would hear the noise bred of pure unfiltered desperation.

"I'm not wiping my face, let my people see how my wife has deemed to bless me," he said, and a coil inside me tightened at the idea.

"King Hal, you own me, I am only yours, you need never fret," I promised.

"I need you, I need you, I need you," he chanted, eyes soft and adoring, and for my eyes only.

"You make me feel so good," I told him, unbuttoning his shirt. I desperately needed to touch the velvety softness of his pale torso. Soon his chest was bare. I lifted myself up to lick it.

"You are the only person who makes me weak," he confessed in a near whisper.

"I love that," I sighed.

"I do make you feel pleased don't I? Not just sexually? You are happily wed to me?" He asked. He always needed this reassurance, even more so because we'd been arranged, but the attraction had been instant.

"Of course, and Hal, I want a child please, soon?"

"Oh, yes my love!" He said excitedly, his hips picking up their pace. Genuine excitement graced his features. "I hope they look exactly like you, oh, I'm going to cum my love."

He was painting my insides white as I arched into him, scratching down his back as I too came undone. My walls squeezed him harshly.

"You did come didn't you?" He asked anxiously.

"Of course, I always do," I smiled at him.

"Let me know if you ever don't, that take precedent over many things," he said sternly.

I nodded and kissed him lazily. He didn't lie, he didn't wipe down his face. I knew the guards could smell the arousal, and I knew he didn't care.

[cassie48]

|𝘎𝘰𝘰𝘥 𝘤𝘢𝘵𝘩𝘰𝘭𝘪𝘤 𝘸𝘪𝘧𝘦|

King hal / Henry V x fem lady!reader

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𝘠𝘰𝘶 𝘨𝘳𝘦𝘸 𝘶𝘱 𝘢𝘭𝘰𝘯𝘨𝘴𝘪𝘥𝘦 𝘏𝘢𝘭 𝘪𝘯 𝘔𝘰𝘯𝘮𝘰𝘶𝘵𝘩 𝘤𝘢𝘴𝘵𝘭𝘦. 𝘠𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘧𝘢𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘤𝘭𝘰𝘴𝘦 𝘵𝘰 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘧𝘢𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘸𝘩𝘪𝘭𝘦 𝘩𝘦 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘨. 𝘏𝘦 𝘸𝘰𝘳𝘬𝘦𝘥 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘩𝘪𝘮 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘮𝘢𝘯𝘺 𝘺𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘴. 𝘠𝘰𝘶 𝘸𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘴𝘦𝘯𝘵 𝘵𝘰 𝘭𝘪𝘷𝘦 𝘪𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘤𝘢𝘴𝘵𝘭𝘦 𝘵𝘰 𝘭𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘯 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘬𝘦𝘦𝘱 𝘏𝘢𝘭 𝘤𝘰𝘮𝘱𝘢𝘯𝘺.

𝘠𝘰𝘶 𝘸𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘢 𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘺 𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘥, 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘴𝘦𝘯𝘴𝘪𝘵𝘪𝘷𝘦 𝘴𝘰𝘶𝘭. 𝘈𝘭𝘵𝘩𝘰𝘶𝘨𝘩 𝘵𝘩𝘰𝘴𝘦 𝘢𝘳𝘦 𝘣𝘦𝘢𝘶𝘵𝘪𝘧𝘶𝘭 𝘧𝘦𝘢𝘵𝘶𝘳𝘦𝘴, 𝘪𝘵 𝘢𝘭𝘴𝘰 𝘮𝘦𝘢𝘯𝘵 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘧𝘦𝘦𝘭𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘴 𝘸𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘩𝘶𝘳𝘵 𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘺 𝘦𝘢𝘴𝘪𝘭𝘺. 𝘛𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘭𝘦𝘥 𝘏𝘢𝘭 𝘵𝘰 𝘣𝘦𝘤𝘰𝘮𝘦 𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘺 𝘱𝘳𝘰𝘵𝘦𝘤𝘵𝘪𝘷𝘦 𝘰𝘧 𝘺𝘰𝘶. 𝘕𝘰 𝘰𝘯𝘦 𝘥𝘢𝘳𝘦𝘥 𝘨𝘰 𝘯𝘦𝘢𝘳 𝘺𝘰𝘶, 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘪𝘧 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘺 𝘥𝘪𝘥, 𝘮𝘢𝘺 𝘎𝘰𝘥 𝘩𝘦𝘭𝘱 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘮.

𝘠𝘰𝘶 𝘸𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘸𝘦𝘭𝘭 𝘬𝘯𝘰𝘸𝘯 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘨𝘰𝘰𝘥 𝘤𝘢𝘵𝘩𝘰𝘭𝘪𝘤 𝘣𝘦𝘩𝘢𝘷𝘪𝘰𝘳. 𝘞𝘩𝘦𝘯 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘸𝘦𝘳𝘦𝘯𝘵 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘏𝘢𝘭, 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘸𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘪𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘤𝘩𝘶𝘳𝘤𝘩 𝘱𝘳𝘢𝘺𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘵𝘰 𝘎𝘰𝘥, 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘮𝘢𝘳𝘺 𝘰𝘧 𝘤𝘰𝘶𝘳𝘴𝘦.

𝘐𝘵 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘰𝘣𝘷𝘪𝘰𝘶𝘴 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘴𝘰𝘮𝘦𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘨𝘰𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘰𝘯 𝘣𝘦𝘵𝘸𝘦𝘦𝘯 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘱𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘤𝘦. 𝘐𝘵 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘰𝘣𝘷𝘪𝘰𝘶𝘴 𝘣𝘺 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘸𝘢𝘺 𝘩𝘦'𝘥 𝘮𝘢𝘬𝘦 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘴𝘪𝘵 𝘰𝘯 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘭𝘢𝘱, 𝘭𝘦𝘵 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘵𝘦𝘭𝘭 𝘩𝘪𝘮 𝘢𝘣𝘰𝘶𝘵 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘥𝘢𝘺. 𝘏𝘦'𝘥 𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘯 𝘭𝘦𝘵 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘱𝘭𝘢𝘺 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘩𝘢𝘪𝘳, 𝘤𝘭𝘢𝘪𝘮𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘪𝘵 𝘥𝘪𝘥 𝘢𝘯𝘯𝘰𝘺 𝘩𝘪𝘮, 𝘣𝘶𝘵 𝘪𝘯 𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘭𝘪𝘵𝘺 𝘩𝘦'𝘥 𝘭𝘰𝘷𝘦 𝘪𝘵 𝘸𝘩𝘦𝘯 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘸𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘥.

𝘠𝘰𝘶 𝘸𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘢𝘭𝘸𝘢𝘺𝘴 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘩𝘪𝘮, 𝘸𝘩𝘦𝘯 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘧𝘢𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘣𝘳𝘰𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘧𝘰𝘶𝘨𝘩𝘵 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘩𝘪𝘮. 𝘊𝘰𝘯𝘴𝘵𝘢𝘯𝘵𝘭𝘺 𝘳𝘦𝘮𝘪𝘯𝘥𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘩𝘪𝘮 𝘩𝘦 𝘸𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘥 𝘯𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳 𝘣𝘦 king. 𝘠𝘰𝘶 𝘵𝘰𝘭𝘥 𝘩𝘪𝘮 𝘯𝘰 𝘵𝘪𝘵𝘭𝘦 𝘤𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘥 𝘢𝘥𝘥 𝘵𝘰 𝘩𝘰𝘸 𝘸𝘰𝘯𝘥𝘦𝘳𝘧𝘶𝘭 𝘩𝘦 𝘢𝘭𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘺 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘢𝘯𝘺𝘸𝘢𝘺, 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘺𝘰𝘶'𝘥 𝘱𝘭𝘢𝘯𝘵 𝘢 𝘴𝘰𝘧𝘵 𝘬𝘪𝘴𝘴 𝘰𝘯 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘱𝘢𝘭𝘦 𝘤𝘩𝘦𝘦𝘬.

𝘍𝘳𝘰𝘮 𝘵𝘪𝘮𝘦 𝘵𝘰 𝘵𝘪𝘮𝘦, 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘸𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘥 𝘴𝘩𝘢𝘳𝘦 𝘬𝘪𝘴𝘴𝘦𝘴, 𝘮𝘰𝘳𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘯 𝘪𝘯𝘯𝘰𝘤𝘦𝘯𝘵 𝘤𝘩𝘦𝘦𝘬 𝘬𝘪𝘴𝘴𝘦𝘴. 𝘈𝘴 𝘴𝘰𝘰𝘯 𝘢𝘴 𝘪𝘵 𝘸𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘥 𝘩𝘢𝘱𝘱𝘦𝘯, 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘸𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘥 𝘣𝘦 𝘪𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘤𝘰𝘧𝘦𝘴𝘴𝘪𝘰𝘯 𝘣𝘰𝘹. 𝘕𝘰 𝘮𝘢𝘵𝘵𝘦𝘳 𝘸𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘩𝘢𝘥 𝘥𝘰𝘯𝘦, 𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘯 𝘪𝘧 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘩𝘢𝘥 𝘬𝘪𝘭𝘭𝘦𝘥 𝘵𝘦𝘯 𝘱𝘦𝘰𝘱𝘭𝘦, ��𝘩𝘦 𝘱𝘳𝘪𝘦𝘴𝘵 𝘸𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘥 𝘢𝘭𝘸𝘢𝘺𝘴 𝘵𝘦𝘭𝘭 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘎𝘰𝘥 𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘨𝘪𝘷𝘦𝘴 𝘺𝘰𝘶, 𝘢𝘴 𝘏𝘢𝘭 𝘵𝘩𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘵𝘦𝘯𝘦𝘥 𝘩𝘪𝘮 𝘧𝘳𝘰𝘮 𝘵𝘪𝘮𝘦 𝘵𝘰 𝘵𝘪𝘮𝘦.

𝘏𝘢𝘭 𝘳𝘦𝘮𝘦𝘮𝘣𝘦𝘳𝘦𝘥 𝘰𝘯𝘦 𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘯𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘸𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘩𝘢𝘥 𝘤𝘰𝘮𝘦 𝘪𝘯𝘵𝘰 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘳𝘰𝘰𝘮, 𝘢 𝘱𝘳𝘦𝘵𝘵𝘺 𝘸𝘩𝘪𝘵𝘦 𝘯𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵 𝘥𝘳𝘦𝘴𝘴 𝘰𝘯, 𝘣𝘢𝘭𝘭𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘦𝘺𝘦𝘴 𝘰𝘶𝘵. 𝘏𝘦 𝘩𝘢𝘥 𝘶𝘴𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘦𝘥 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘵𝘰 𝘰𝘯 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘭𝘢𝘱 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘵𝘦𝘭𝘭 𝘩𝘪𝘮 𝘸𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘩𝘢𝘥 𝘩𝘢𝘱𝘱𝘦𝘯𝘦𝘥. 𝘖𝘯𝘤𝘦 𝘩𝘦 𝘩𝘢𝘥 𝘧𝘪𝘯𝘢𝘭𝘭𝘺 𝘨𝘰𝘵𝘵𝘦𝘯 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘵𝘰 𝘤𝘢𝘭𝘮 𝘥𝘰𝘸𝘯 𝘦𝘯𝘰𝘶𝘨𝘩 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘵𝘰 𝘴𝘱𝘦𝘢𝘬, 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘦𝘹𝘱���𝘢𝘪𝘯𝘦𝘥 𝘸𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘩𝘢𝘥 𝘩𝘢𝘱𝘱𝘦𝘯𝘦𝘥.

𝘠𝘰𝘶 𝘵𝘰𝘭𝘥 𝘩𝘪𝘮 𝘩𝘰𝘸 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘩𝘢𝘥 𝘨𝘰𝘯𝘦 𝘵𝘰 𝘤𝘰𝘯𝘧𝘦𝘴𝘴𝘪𝘰𝘯, 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘵𝘰𝘭𝘥 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘱𝘳𝘪𝘦𝘴𝘵 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘏𝘢𝘭 𝘩𝘢𝘥 𝘴𝘩𝘢𝘳𝘦𝘥 𝘺𝘦𝘵 𝗮𝗻𝗼𝘁𝗵𝗲𝗿 𝘬𝘪𝘴𝘴. 𝘠𝘰𝘶 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘯 𝘦𝘹𝘱𝘭𝘢𝘪𝘯𝘦𝘥 𝘩𝘰𝘸 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘱𝘳𝘪𝘦𝘴𝘵 𝘨𝘢𝘷𝘦 𝘰𝘶𝘵 𝘵𝘰 𝘺𝘰𝘶, 𝘵𝘦𝘭𝘭𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘩𝘢𝘥 𝘣𝘦𝘦𝘯 𝘴𝘪𝘯𝘧𝘶𝘭.

𝘠𝘰𝘶 𝘤𝘳𝘪𝘦𝘥 𝘪𝘯𝘵𝘰 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘤𝘩𝘦𝘴𝘵 𝘰𝘯𝘤𝘦 𝘮𝘰𝘳𝘦, 𝘢𝘣𝘴𝘰𝘭𝘶𝘵𝘦𝘭𝘺 𝘥𝘪𝘴𝘵𝘳𝘢𝘶𝘨𝘩𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘱𝘳𝘪𝘦𝘴𝘵 𝘵𝘰𝘭𝘥 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘎𝘰𝘥 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘢𝘯𝘨𝘳𝘺 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘺𝘰𝘶.

𝘏𝘢𝘭 𝘩𝘢𝘥 𝘯𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳 𝘴𝘶𝘤𝘩 𝘳𝘢𝘨𝘦, 𝘴𝘶𝘤𝘩 𝘢𝘯𝘨𝘦𝘳. 𝘏𝘰𝘸 𝗱𝗮𝗿𝗲 𝘩𝘦 𝘵𝘢𝘭𝘬 𝘵𝘰 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘭𝘪𝘬𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵. 𝘔𝘢𝘬𝘦 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘴𝘰 𝘶𝘱𝘴𝘦𝘵. 𝘏𝘦 𝘩𝘦𝘭𝘥 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘪𝘯 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘢𝘳𝘮𝘴 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘯𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵, 𝘦𝘢𝘴𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘸𝘰𝘳𝘳𝘪𝘦𝘴. 𝘐𝘵 𝘨𝘰𝘦𝘴 𝘵𝘰 𝘴𝘢𝘺 𝘩𝘦 𝘮𝘢𝘥𝘦 𝘢 𝘵𝘳𝘪𝘱 𝘵𝘰 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘤𝘩𝘶𝘳𝘤𝘩 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘯𝘦𝘹𝘵 𝘥𝘢𝘺.

𝘞𝘩𝘦𝘯 𝘏𝘢𝘭 𝘩𝘢𝘥 𝘴𝘶𝘥𝘥𝘦𝘯𝘭𝘺 𝘣𝘦𝘦𝘯 𝘵𝘰𝘭𝘥 𝘩𝘦 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘵𝘰 𝘣𝘦𝘤𝘰𝘮𝘦 𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘨, 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘣𝘰𝘵𝘩 𝘰𝘧 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘸𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘲𝘶𝘪𝘵𝘦 𝘴𝘩𝘰𝘤𝘬𝘦𝘥. 𝘈𝘧𝘵𝘦𝘳 𝘺𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘴 𝘰𝘧 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘧𝘢𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘮𝘰𝘤𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘩𝘪𝘮, 𝘩𝘦 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘵𝘰 𝘵𝘢𝘬𝘦 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘱𝘭𝘢𝘤𝘦.

𝘠𝘰𝘶 𝘸𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘢𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘤𝘰𝘳𝘰𝘯𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯. 𝘈𝘯𝘥 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘧𝘰𝘤𝘶𝘴𝘦𝘥 𝘯𝘰𝘵 𝘴𝘰 𝘮𝘶𝘤𝘩 𝘰𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘤𝘦𝘳𝘦𝘮𝘰𝘯𝘺, 𝘣𝘶𝘵 𝘮𝘰𝘳𝘦 𝘰𝘯 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘯𝘦𝘸 𝘩𝘢𝘪𝘳𝘤𝘶𝘵. 𝘚𝘢𝘺𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘣𝘦𝘭𝘪𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘥 𝘪𝘵 𝘴𝘶𝘪𝘵𝘦𝘥 𝘩𝘪𝘮 𝘸𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘥 𝘣𝘦 𝘢𝘯 𝘶𝘯𝘥𝘦𝘳𝘴𝘵𝘢𝘵𝘦𝘮𝘦𝘯𝘵. 𝘏𝘦 𝘭𝘰𝘰𝘬𝘦𝘥 𝗵𝗮n𝗱𝘀𝗼𝗺𝗲.

𝘏𝘦 𝘴𝘮𝘪𝘳𝘬𝘦𝘥 𝘸𝘩𝘦𝘯 𝘩𝘦 𝘩𝘢𝘥 𝘴𝘦𝘦𝘯 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘢𝘯𝘨𝘦𝘭𝘪𝘤 𝘧𝘢𝘤𝘦 𝘴𝘮𝘪𝘭𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘢𝘵 𝘩𝘪𝘮. 𝘏𝘦 𝘧𝘦𝘭𝘵 𝘭𝘪𝘬𝘦 𝘢 𝘯𝘦𝘸 𝘮𝘢𝘯. 𝘏𝘦 𝘧𝘦𝘭𝘵 𝘪𝘮𝘮𝘦𝘯𝘴𝘦 𝘱𝘰𝘸𝘦𝘳, 𝘢𝘴 𝘪𝘧 𝘩𝘦 𝘤𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘥 𝘩𝘢𝘷𝘦 𝘢𝘯𝘺𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘩𝘦 𝘥𝘦𝘴𝘪𝘳𝘦𝘥, 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘆𝗼𝘂.

𝘛𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘯𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘢𝘧𝘵𝘦𝘳 𝘩𝘦 𝘩𝘢𝘥 𝘣𝘦𝘤𝘰𝘮𝘦 𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘨, 𝘩𝘦 𝘴𝘢𝘵 𝘪𝘯 𝘢 𝘳𝘰𝘰𝘮 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘮𝘢𝘯𝘺 𝘢𝘥𝘷𝘪𝘴𝘦𝘳𝘴.

𝘖𝘯𝘦 𝘰𝘧 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘴𝘭𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵𝘭𝘺 𝘰𝘭𝘥𝘦𝘳 𝘮𝘦𝘯 𝘩𝘢𝘥 𝘵𝘰𝘭𝘥 𝘩𝘪𝘮 𝘩𝘦 𝘮𝘶𝘴𝘵 𝘤𝘩𝘰𝘰𝘴𝘦 𝘢 𝘸𝘪𝘧𝘦, 𝘯𝘰𝘸 t𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘩𝘦 𝘩𝘢𝘥 𝘣𝘦𝘦𝘯 𝘤𝘳𝘰𝘸𝘯𝘦𝘥 𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘨.

"𝘱𝘳𝘦𝘧𝘦𝘳𝘢𝘣𝘭𝘺 𝘢 𝘩𝘪𝘨𝘩 𝘤𝘭𝘢𝘴𝘴 𝘤𝘢𝘵𝘩𝘰𝘭𝘪𝘤" 𝘩𝘦 𝘩𝘢𝘥 𝘵𝘰𝘭𝘥 𝘩𝘪𝘮.

𝘏𝘢𝘭 𝘴𝘮𝘪𝘳𝘬𝘦𝘥 𝘢𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘮𝘢𝘯𝘴 𝘸𝘰𝘳𝘥𝘴, 𝘣𝘦𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘦 𝘢𝘯𝘴𝘸𝘦𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘨 "𝘪 𝘬𝘯𝘰𝘸 𝘸𝘩𝘰 𝘮𝘺 𝘸𝘪𝘧𝘦 𝘴𝘩𝘢𝘭𝘭 𝘣𝘦" 𝘣𝘦𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘦 𝘨𝘦𝘵𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘶𝘱 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘭𝘦𝘢𝘷𝘪𝘯𝘨.

𝘛𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘯𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵 𝘩𝘦 𝘩𝘢𝘥 𝘨𝘰𝘯𝘦 𝘵𝘰 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘳𝘰𝘰𝘮, 𝘵𝘦𝘭𝘭𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘩𝘦 𝘸𝘪𝘴𝘩𝘦𝘥 𝘵𝘰 𝘮𝘢𝘳𝘳𝘺 𝘺𝘰𝘶. 𝘠𝘰𝘶 𝘸𝘦𝘳𝘦 s𝘩𝘰𝘤𝘬𝘦𝘥, 𝘺𝘦𝘵 𝘤𝘰𝘮𝘱𝘭𝘦𝘵𝘦𝘭𝘺 𝘰𝘷𝘦𝘳 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘮𝘰𝘰𝘯.

"𝘉-𝘉𝘶𝘵 𝘴𝘩𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘥𝘯𝘵 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘸𝘪𝘧𝘦 𝘣𝘦 𝘢 𝘱𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘤𝘦𝘴𝘴" 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘩𝘢𝘥 𝘵𝘰𝘭𝘥 𝘩𝘪𝘮.

"𝘪 𝘢𝘮 𝘦𝘯𝘨𝘭𝘢𝘯𝘥, 𝘪 𝘴𝘩𝘢𝘭𝘭 𝘮𝘢𝘳𝘳𝘺 𝘸𝘩𝘰𝘮𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳 𝘪 𝘤𝘩𝘰𝘰𝘴𝘦" 𝘩𝘦 𝘳𝘦𝘱𝘭𝘪𝘦𝘥, 𝘱𝘭𝘢𝘤𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘢 𝘬𝘪𝘴𝘴 𝘰𝘯 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘱𝘰𝘶𝘵𝘺 𝘭𝘪𝘱𝘴.

𝘛𝘩𝘦 𝘸𝘦𝘥𝘥𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘣𝘦𝘢𝘶𝘵𝘪𝘧𝘶𝘭, 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘧𝘢𝘮𝘪𝘭𝘪𝘦𝘴 𝘸𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘣𝘰𝘵𝘩 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘦, 𝘢𝘴 𝘸𝘦𝘭𝘭 𝘢𝘴 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘭𝘰𝘳𝘥𝘴 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘭𝘢𝘥𝘪𝘦𝘴. 𝘠𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘨𝘰𝘸𝘯 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘧𝘢𝘣𝘶𝘭𝘰𝘶𝘴, 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘢 𝘭𝘰𝘯𝘨 𝘸𝘩𝘪𝘵𝘦 𝘷𝘦𝘪𝘭 𝘤𝘰𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘴𝘵𝘶𝘯𝘯𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘧𝘢𝘤𝘦.

𝘰𝘯𝘤𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘮𝘦𝘢𝘭𝘴 𝘩𝘢𝘥 𝘧𝘪𝘯𝘪𝘴𝘩𝘦𝘥, 𝘏𝘢𝘭 𝘩𝘢𝘥 𝘸𝘩𝘪𝘴𝘬𝘦𝘥 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘢𝘸𝘢𝘺. 𝘠𝘰𝘶 𝘩𝘢𝘥 𝘢𝘴𝘬𝘦𝘥 𝘩𝘪𝘮 𝘸𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘵𝘸𝘰 𝘸𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘥 𝘥𝘰. 𝘏𝘦 𝘵𝘰𝘭𝘥 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘵𝘸𝘰 𝘰𝘧 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘮𝘶𝘴𝘵 𝘤𝘰𝘯𝘴𝘶𝘮𝘮𝘢𝘵𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘮𝘢𝘳𝘳𝘢𝘪𝘨𝘦, 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘎𝘰𝘥 𝘩𝘪𝘮𝘴𝘦𝘭𝘧 𝘸𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘥 𝘸𝘢𝘯𝘵 𝘪𝘵.

𝘌𝘢𝘨𝘦𝘳𝘭𝘺 𝘸𝘢𝘯𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘵𝘰 𝘱𝘭𝘦𝘢𝘴𝘦 𝘩𝘪𝘮, 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘢𝘨𝘳𝘦𝘦𝘥. 𝘛𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘯𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵 𝘏𝘢𝘭 𝘩𝘢𝘥 𝘵𝘢𝘬𝘦𝘯 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘱𝘶𝘳𝘪𝘵𝘺, 𝘢𝘴 𝘸𝘦𝘭𝘭 𝘢𝘴 𝘱𝘭𝘢𝘤𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘢𝘯 𝘩𝘦𝘪𝘳 𝘪𝘯𝘴𝘪𝘥𝘦 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘵𝘶𝘮𝘮𝘺. 𝘏𝘦 𝘩𝘢𝘥 𝘵𝘢𝘶𝘨𝘩𝘵 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘢𝘣𝘰𝘶𝘵 𝘴𝘦𝘹 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘮𝘢𝘥𝘦 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘤𝘳𝘺 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘯𝘢𝘮𝘦 𝘰𝘶𝘵 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘢𝘭𝘭 𝘰𝘧 𝘌𝘯𝘨𝘭𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘵𝘰 𝘩𝘦𝘢𝘳 𝘪𝘵.

𝘠𝘰𝘶 𝘸𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘯𝘰𝘸 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘨𝘰𝘰𝘥, 𝘤𝘢𝘵𝘩𝘰𝘭𝘪𝘤 𝘸𝘪𝘧𝘦.