#medieval wlw

[monstersandmaw]

Female knight x lady - part one?

Disclaimer which I’m including in all my works after plagiarism and theft has taken place: I do not give my consent for my works to be used, copied, published, or posted anywhere. They are copyrighted and belong to me.

I've had this knocking around for ages, and I don't know if I'll continue it, but I fell in love with all the characters anyway and figured someone might enjoy it. It was based on a prompt that I can't find now, but ran along the lines of: "Female knight looking for a Lady to serve. Experienced in monster slaying."

Wordcount: 4149 Contents: Buff, tough, butch knight seeks employment from a local lady, featuring the ugliest horse in all the land, a dog named Muffin, and a brother who just wants his sister to be happy and safe... Fleetingly suggestive moments, but nothing super nsfw.

“Here goes nothing,” she sighed as she drove the nail into the village noticeboard with the pommel of her dagger and stepped back to look at her chicken-scratch writing. “Fuck,” she added as she glowered at it and saw the way her hand had smudged the bottom of it.

“Female knight looking for a Lady to serve. Experienced in monster slaying. Find me at the Bleeding Goat until the day after the Spring Equinox.” At least, if she squinted it still looked like ‘Spring Equinox’. If she didn’t, it looked like ‘Stink Jurybox’ or even ‘String Fairyfox’.

“Fuck,” she said again, and turned away. It would have to do. She didn’t have any more paper anyway.

And with that, she led her enormous war horse down the road towards the Bleeding Goat inn. Maggot was a vile mare by anyone’s estimation, but Vika loved her dearly. Built like a brick shithouse, with a shaggy, yellow-ish white coat, pink eyes, and a propensity for biting anyone who came within a three yard radius of her, the mare wouldn’t have won an equine beauty contest if she was the last horse in the land, but she was loyal to Vika, and could keep up a steady trot for days without breaking a sweat. She made a great windbreak too, if the need called for it, and her hooves were the size of a large buckler shield. Once iron-shod, they were lethal when she reared up or lashed out.

The ostler at The Bleeding Goat almost didn’t take her.

“Size of that beast,” he muttered as Vika led her into the fresh stall. “Looks like it might eat one of my donkeys whole if I turn my back!”

“She won’t trouble the others if they don’t trouble her,” Vika growled down at him.

“If you say so,” he said, giving her the once-over too as he looked back over his shoulder at her.

At six foot three, with broad shoulders, thick, wild, dark brown hair that resisted almost every attempt at combing, a jaw like an anvil and a glare to make a dragon nervous, Vika was only distantly aware of the little man, the way a lion might briefly take note of a mouse in the grass.

“Like horse, like rider,” he muttered as he shut the door on Maggot’s stall. He reeled backwards and tripped over his own heels when Maggot lunged for him, teeth bared, red eyes rolled to show the whites and her lopsided, wolf-bitten ears pulled right back against her matted mane. “Fucking hell,” the ostler yelped as he scrabbled to his feet. “Look after it yourself!”

“Suits me,” she said with a shrug. “You never gave me the chance to offer.”

“Bitch,” he spat as he slunk out of the stable yard, nursing a bruised backside and a wet patch where he’d fallen on the muddy ground.

“That’s ‘Dame’ to you!” Vika yelled after him. When he stopped and lurched back around to goggle openly at her, she offered him a cold, feral grin and tapped the pattern of embroidered lilies and swords on her padded brigandine with her thumb. “Dame Vika of Sharkshoal Point.”

“Right. Sorry, m’lady. Ma’am. Dame…”

She snorted and turned away just as Maggot whickered in a way that meant she was thoroughly amused with her own antics. Vika poked her in the chest and she stepped back from the stable door to let her owner in, and with practised movements that felt almost meditative, she had untacked the horse and rubbed her down with a handful of straw. The bran mash and oats she’d paid for were brought to her by a trembling stable lad who had stared up at her from over the stable door with wide eyes until Maggot had neighed with soft, enquiring interest and he’d practically flung it over the door and bolted for the kitchen door of the inn. Anyone might have thought Maggot was a roaring dragon by the way he’d reacted, but it was a common enough occurrence that neither mare nor knight paid it any mind.

Vika spent three days at the inn.

She took the time to sharpen all her numerous blades, not just the greatsword she usually kept sheathed on Maggot’s tack, and she even managed to acquire a needle and thread to darn up a few slashes in her padded brigandine. Her needlework wouldn’t have passed muster in the house of a lady, but delicate embroidery wasn’t the goal. She could make two pieces of fabric meet and stay together well enough, and that would have to do. She could also sew up a person if push came to shove, and she bore the scars of her own neat stitching in a number of places about her body as proof.

On the fourth day, while the lively little town was setting up for the Spring Equinox celebrations, a man entered the tavern’s common room and looked around, asking for the ‘female knight’ who’d placed the advert on the board.

She tensed but let the scene play out, watching as the cute serving girl flushed and pointed across the room at her.

The man turned and cocked an eyebrow when he looked Vika up and down, but he thanked Ella and wove his way carefully between the tables. He was wearing the practical garments of a labourer, with a long tunic that covered his hips and a belt around the waist, but the fabric was far finer than any Vika had ever clapped eyes on, and his fur-trimmed cloak looked soft enough to swaddle a baby. His boots were worn to the point of comfort, but not falling apart, and at his hip he carried a slender sword with a silver pommel.

“Forgive the intrusion,” he said with a polite incline of his head and an accent that betrayed him as nobility as surely as the gold stitching on his scabbard. “But are you the knight who placed the advertisement on the noticeboard? You’re looking to serve a lady?”

“I am,” she said, blunt and direct as ever. “Vika,” and she stuck out her hand to him.

He shook it without hesitation and revealed a strong, firm grip. “Lord Roland. Brother of the Lady Elayne Drummond,” he added with a friendly twist of his lips.

He was attractive, for a man, with big, brown, puppy-dog eyes and russet brown hair that fell in easy waves around his ears to brush the fur of his cloak. He had a short beard that was well-maintained, and his skin had the healthy glow of one who had never missed a meal a day in his life and spent much of his time out of doors.

“May I sit?” he asked, eyeing the chair opposite hers across the table.

She glanced down at the throwing knife she’d been in the process of sharpening, and at the black grime that coated her fingertips and around her nails from the oil and the whetstone, and felt a touch of shame beside his immaculate appearance, but she nodded all the same. “Sure. Make yourself comfortable. Can I get you something to drink?” she offered.

He smiled at that and nodded. “The ale here is the best in town,” he said, looking over his shoulder and beckoning over the serving girl with dark eyes and curly, black hair.

“M’lord?” Ella chirped and then shot Vika a smile. She’d flashed her the same smile on Vika’s first night, and again when Vika had made it clear in which room she was staying, should the young woman feel like joining her when she’d finished work. Ella had, and she’d fallen apart with the same glorious light in her eyes under Vika’s mouth and with her fingers buried deep inside her. They’d not met since, but they’d been easy in each other’s company ever since.

They ordered their drinks, and Roland turned back to Vika, resting his forearms on the table. “I suppose I should ask the reason you’re placing advertisements on public noticeboards instead of serving with the king, or even the knight who gave you your title to begin with.”

“A fair enough question,” she shrugged. “He died. Of old age, mind you. I served Gwilym of Sevenoaks from the time I was first raised to the order until two years ago. After his death, I decided to travel. Found myself here, and decided it was time to find myself a new place to roost.”

 “Your advertisement said you’ve slain monsters…?” he asked just as their tankards arrived.

“Thanks,” Vika murmured to Ella as she slid it across the table to her, and then looked up at Roland and shrugged. “Yeah. But nothing that didn’t deserve it first, you know? There was some sick fuck who was kidnapping maidens to feed to a dragon, so I went to the dragon and found out what was really going on, challenged the fuck to a duel, he ran, I put an axe through his skull before he’d cleared the trees. Then there was a vampire that had gone feral back near Reaver’s Canyon, and she refused to let me chain her up til the bloodlust faded. Went into full shift, came at me, and went for my neck —” she bared the side of her throat to Roland where the skin was puckered. “Near tore me open with her fucking claws, but I staked her and that was that. Cauterised it with my own dagger. Nearly fucked up the temper on it too,” she added as an afterthought.

Roland cleared his throat and shifted in his seat, and she wasn’t sure if he was impressed or uncomfortable. Again, that wasn’t an uncommon reaction for folks to have to her.

“Right. Well, you clearly know what you’re doing…” he said in his clipped, aristocratic tone. “I do have one more question.”

“Ask away,” she said and drained a third of her tankard in one go. “Ah, fuck me, you’re right. That is good.”

“Right,” he chirped again, shuffling slightly in his seat. “My sister is… Well… She’s… She’s a lady… you understand…”

“Sisters of Lords usually are,” Vika growled. “What’s your point?”

“Quite, but… while your… um… your deeds are certainly impressive — and if you say you served with Sir Gwilym, I can’t argue that he knew good character when he saw it — I must say that your language is… uh…”

“Unbecoming of the knightly order?” she said. “Don’t worry. I can hold my tongue when I have to. I’m just tired and a bit run down. I apologise. I can watch my mouth, if it offends the lady.”

Roland blushed. “You know, it probably wouldn’t offend ‘the lady’, if I’m honest,” he sighed. “It’s just… Well, you understand. Decorum and all that.”

“Yeah, I get it. So is there an opening at the castle or not?”

He nodded. “I think you’ll fit in just fine, but as a formality, I’d like to extend a trial period to you.”

“Oh, Roland,” she grinned over the rim of her tankard. “Never give a knight the challenge of a trial.”

His answering smile went all the way to his big brown eyes, and he raised his own tankard to her. “I look forward to meeting you in the lists, Dame Vika.”

She snorted and drained her ale. “Ready when you are. Just need to grab my horse and my gear.” Roland slid two coppers onto the table and she frowned. “Thought I said I’d pay?”

“I’m the one interviewing,” he shrugged as he stood and made his way past Ella to the door. “You can leave a tip if you like.”

“Oh, I already tipped her,” Vika purred, sliding a silver coin into Ella’s palm while the young woman blushed prettily and tried to hide a smirk behind a dip of her head. “Bring my saddlebags down to the stables, love? They’re all packed up in my room,” she asked before following him towards the stables.

A magnificent black palfrey, still wearing his gleaming tack, stood in the stable next to Maggot’s, staring wide-eyed and stock-still at the mare with a look of abject horror on his face so comical that Vika guffawed when she saw him.

“That’s…your horse?” Roland asked as he saw Vika hang her arms over her mare’s stable door and dangle her hands in a ‘come here’ gesture at the mare.

“Yeah,” she sighed. “I know. Before you say it, we’ve heard it all before. But she’s everything to me, alright? Wouldn’t trade her for a high-stepping prancer like that for the world.”

Roland’s horse snorted, offended.

“Fair enough,” he said, and swallowed thickly. “Come on, Lancer.”

Vika rolled her eyes and hefted her own saddle off the rack near the door and slung it over the stable door. She tacked her mare up in silence and led her out into the yard to mount up after Ella brought out her saddlebags and Vika winked at her just to watch her blush again. “Thank you, love,” she said. Damn, but the girl was pretty.

Ella rested her hand boldly on Vika’s thigh as she looked coyly up at her and said, “It’s been a pleasure, m’lady.”

The ride to the castle took twenty minutes, and passed through some of the loveliest countryside Vika had ever seen. Deer scattered from a nearby field into the oak and beech trees on their right, and as they urged their horses into a canter, Maggot threw in a little buck of happiness and Vika laughed, patting her neck as she sat it with familiar ease.

“I don’t mean to be rude,” Roland said as they continued to canter, his palfrey slightly in the lead and looking wary about the lumbering beast a pace or two behind him, “But how did you come by a horse like… that?”

Vika looked down at her mare’s boulder neck and shoulders and sallow, flaxen mane, listening to her dragon snorts as she heaved up the hill. It sounded like a hell of a lot of effort, but she could outlast any fancy racer once the quarter mile marker had been passed. She wasn’t fast, but hell, she had endurance.

“Saved her from a slaughterhouse,” Vika called above the wind in their ears. Her own long hair streamed behind her, probably tangling into an even worse bird’s nest, but she couldn't have cared less after days cooped up in the tavern. She’d expected to have her advertisement ignored, and simply to move on while the town celebrated equinox, but this was infinitely more attractive.

Roland’s horse put on a sudden spurt of speed, nudging from canter to a ground-chewing gallop, but Maggot just ploughed on at the same stubborn canter, pounding her great hooves into the soil until Roland sat back in the saddle and his fancy prancer slowed with a frustrated toss of his head. “A slaughterhouse?” he asked.

“Yeah. They thought she was far too ugly to make a destrier, and too mean to make a carthorse. I took one look at her and bought her. She was a year old at the time, and already built like a siege engine. She could teach mules about being stubborn too.”

“Something I sense you two have in common?” he said, and because he said it not unkindly, Vika laughed.

“You got me there,” she said with another laugh. “So what’s your sister like? And why is she looking for a female knight, specifically?”

He slowed Lancer to a brisk trot, and Vika nudged Maggot up beside him, instinctively tugging the reins to one side when Maggot went to bite the destrier’s glossy, black rump on the way past.

“Ah, none of that,” she barked at the horse, and for once, the mare listened, plodding along like an aged plough horse.

“Elayne is…” Roland began, and then faltered, scrubbing his hand over his face. “She’s beautiful, educated, beloved…” he said, and Vika frowned. When he looked askance at her, he sighed and the weight of it dragged his shoulders down with it. “She’s miserable. Our father… well, he loved her more than anything, but he kept her penned in… like a bird in a cage. She can insult you in about fifteen different languages, but she’s got no experience of any of the places where they speak them. Not even of our own country, really.”

“Sounds lonely,” Vika offered, and not without some sympathy. She’d travelled, and she’d met her fair share of courtly folk before. It wasn’t all it was made out to be.

Roland nodded. “Yes. I think… now that father’s dead, she’d like to see something of the world.”

Vika raised her eyebrows. “And you want someone to go with her?”

“Precisely. We have contacts all across the land,” he said. “She’d never want for a place to stay, but it’s the in-between that worries me. There’s no disguising we’re a wealthy family, and if someone figured out who she is, she could be taken for ransom, or harmed, or… It doesn’t bear thinking about. I can’t go with her because someone would have to run our estates in her absence.”

“She manages that now then?” Vika asked and he nodded.

“Yes. Father taught her everything, and, to my shame, I never had much of a head for it; not the way she does. She’s a natural. I can manage though,” he added, cheeks heating. “It’s not like it’d fall apart completely without her, but… yes. She’s the one who manages the day to day of the castle and the estate finances.”

“I’m surprised she’s not got suitors lining up from the castle gates to Southport,” she snorted.

“Oh, she has,” he laughed.

“None of them good enough?”

Again, Roland barked a laugh. “Seemingly not. Look —” he said, and pointed with his gloved right hand as they rounded a bend in the road and the trees drew back a little way. “That’s Crow’s Nest.”

Vika followed his gesture and spotted the dark castle on the hill easily enough. “Impressive,” she murmured.

“Think your ugly mare can beat my Lancer to the courtyard from here?” he asked.

Maggot was already lurching forwards into a determined canter before Vika had processed the question. “What did I tell you about knights and challenges?” she yelled over her shoulder at him as they took off with an ungainly jolt.

Lancer, of course, was off like a hound after a hare a second later, his silky tail held high as an officer’s plume, but after a mile, he began to slow while Maggot just thundered on like a boulder down a mountain. Vika just sat forward a little in the saddle and gave the mare her head to set her own pace. They overtook Lancer on a corner by an oak on the last stretch and Vika yelled, “I hope they let us in without you, Prancer!”

“You’d just batter down the gates anyway!” he roared back, laughing.

Maggot won by a country mile, though mostly through grim determination and grit than anything else. Her sides heaved by the time she got to the barbican gate, and Vika was forced to sit back and ease her into a trot before the archers on the gate started to shoot at her.

Lancer appeared a few minutes later, his deep, black chest rimed with foam and his nostrils flared wide while Vika was still walking Maggot in a lazy circle just out of bow shot, and Roland shook his head. “Damn,” he laughed. “I’d love to see Maggot race Crocus.”

“Crocus?”

“My sister’s gelding. Don’t ask about the name — something to do with saffron and the fact that he’s probably the most orange horse you’ll ever lay eyes on. Open the gate!” he added in the same breath, and the portcullis rumbled up.

“Bit extreme, isn't it? We’re not exactly at war…” Vika muttered as the ironwood frame ground upwards into the bastion above and Lancer ambled in like he was the lord of the castle, not Roland. Maggot eyed the murder-holes with deep suspicion, and then followed the palfrey inside.

Roland shrugged. “There’s already been one attempt on both my sister’s life and my own since our father’s death,” he said, and all the jollity of the race evaporated from his handsome, boyish features. “Can’t be too careful.”

“Shit,” she hissed. “I can see why you’re not celebrating the Equinox here,” she commented, looking around and finding the castle bailey empty of all the accoutrements of celebration like a mummers’ platform and festive stalls.

“Not this year. We’re funding the festivities in the town though,” he said, “To make up for it. But we’re not hosting anything here. Elayne is devastated,” he added as he sprang lightly down from Lancer’s saddle and loosened the girth while a stable hand strode over to greet them. “And very angry with me.”

“Careful,” Vika advised as a second stable hand approached her. “She’s… not the friendliest.”

“Right…” the young man chirped, faltering. “Uh… you want to lead her in then?”

Vika saw her mare settled and rubbed down, and when the stable hand promised to feed her in an hour’s time, after the strain of the race had faded from her body, Vika relaxed a little. He did know what he was doing after all. “Don’t shut yourself in there with her though,” she advised him while the mare rolled her red eyes at them, and the young man nodded.

She hooked her saddle bags over one arm and strode after Roland to meet him at the castle entrance.

The next few hours passed in a blur, but after she’d bathed and been given a new set of clothes, which not only fitted her but actually suited her, by a tailor who seemed to have magicked them out of thin fucking air, Vika meandered down towards the great hall.

A massive wolfhound lay sprawled across the doorway ahead of her, and just as the sole of her boot touched the marble entrance hall floor at the base of the stairs, a young woman emerged from a doorway on the other side, and the wolfhound looked up. His shaggy, bull whip tail began to wag and he whined and wriggled on the floor like a puppy as the woman approached, unaware of Vika’s presence behind her on the stairs.

“Oh, Muffin!” she giggled, kneeling beside him and playing with his ears and his bearded chin.

Her dress — a silvery, iridescent blue that shifted as Vika stared at it — pooled around her like a cloud on a summer day, and Vika watched as the dog floundered into a sitting position and tried to lick the woman’s face. She leaned back, laughing, and then caught sight of Vika as she turned her face away.

Vika, a woman who rarely found herself without retort or reposte, stood speechless as the young lady looked up at her and parted her lips in a soft ‘oh’ of surprise.

Vika was no stranger to beauty. From milk maids to marquesses, she’d seen it all, but this woman, with her smooth skin and warm, honey-coloured hair coiled up in pearl-studded waves, her flowing silk dress and bright, blue-grey eyes, gave new meaning to the concept of beauty. “Fuck,” she breathed, too quite for the lady to hear.

“Hello,” the lady smiled. The dog had gone still and was staring at Vika as though he was still deciding whether to launch himself at her or let her approach. “I don’t believe we’ve been introduced.” And with that, she rose like a dancer and crossed to her.

Standing in front of her, she was a foot shorter than Vika, but as she looked up into Vika’s face, the urge to kneel, to bow her head and give every shred of her soul to the woman surged so strongly in her chest she almost wept. Swallowing thickly, she managed, “Dame Vika. Of Sharkshoal Point.”

Something cleared in the woman’s face and she smiled so delightedly that Vika felt lightheaded. “You’re the knight my brother found!” she beamed.

Unable to do aught else, Vika bowed her head. “I am, Lady. If you’ll have me.”

“That remains to be seen,” she grinned, bouncing on the balls of her feet. “I hear you beat my brother in a race today,” she added and turned towards the great hall behind her. “Perhaps you’d care to spar with him tomorrow?”

“Will you be there to judge us?” Vika asked before she could stop herself.

“I suppose I should be, shouldn’t I?” Elayne said, pausing and looking back over her bare shoulder. “If you’re to be my knight,” she added, and as her dark eyes raked the length of Vika’s body from boot to crown of head, Vika shivered.

“I’ll be your knight, Lady,” she promised.

Elayne smiled brilliantly, and Vika bit her lip.

___

I hope you enjoyed it. If you did, please consider reblogging to show your support as well as leaving a like and/or a comment.

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[hailsthegeek-art]

Sketch page from an medieval wlw webcomic idea I have 👑⚔

The princess is Thea and her knight is Alexandra 💕

[theartofmadeline]

yeah i'm wlw (wench loving wench)

[ydolem-art]

Inktober day 31: The Soulmates

I was rewatching the Haunting of Bly Manor (my favorite tv series) and the mood inspired me this art piece 🖤

~~~

That's it for this year's Inktober, thank you for following me on this journey ! 🌿⚔

[nothwell]

I know I'm not the first reader to say "lesbian A Knight's Tale" and I doubt I will be the last.

But I'll be damned if Lesbian A Knight's Tale doesn't hit good.

There's more to it, of course, than the already very strong premise of hidden identity at a tournament. Even more than the even stronger premise of a sapphic cross-dresser fighting for her lady's hand. Every medieval history tidbit gave me a delightful sense of vindication. Every plot twist was both earned and satisfying. To say nothing of the beer brewing, the refreshingly non-villified embroidery, the literal bodice-ripping, and my favorite medieval English nickname. There's a lot here to reward the reader for diving in to this queer adventure.

All the Painted Stars by Emma Denny (@a-kind-of-merry-war ) is already out in the UK (you lucky bastards) but if you're stateside you can preorder it wherever fine books are found!

[anonbeadraws]

painted commission of Guin and Marcella for @wearethewitches ⚔️🌹 ⚔️I do commissions🌹

[tiffbaxter]

Lesbian and Bisexual Pride Angels

[theinimitablefuckstormkilligan]

I'm a plague doctor sometimes too.

[pien-art]

In This Life (Or The Next)

prints available here!

[flowersandfashion]

More Pre-Raphaelite Lesbians!

Lamia and the Soldier, John William Waterhouse, 1905

& Psyche Opening the Golden Box, John William Waterhouse, 1903

[her-stars]

the urge to kiss someone wearing a full suit of armor holding a sword covered in blood.

[bobbin-buckley]

Some Secrets Are Meant To Stay Veiled

Chapter 1

Family Issues

Cairo Sweet x Masc!Fem!Reader

Warnings: Medieval violence, Cairo’s parents are homophobic and strict, cursing, sexual mentions, Miller is mentioned incase you care, witchcraft, satanic stuff

Y/L/N: Your last name

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Some fairytales end with a good ending.

The princess finds her Prince Charming though tough battles and grief. Then gets married at the end and lives happily ever after.

Not this fairytale. Some fairytales end with a bad ending. Not everyone gets the ending they want, the life they want. Their dreams don’t always come true, or even what they pray about doesn’t come true, no one finds true love.

Those whom kneel in front of the cross and pray that everything is going to be okay. Their families are safe, other loved ones, their children, fathers, mothers, grandparents.

And for those who don’t pray, or dream can achieve and become stronger even if they are the weak. Wether it be a young man, a child, an elder, or even a woman.

Women aren’t supposed to be warriors right? Just the people who clean and make food, serve and are meant to be housewives.

Except for one in particular, no. Two in particular. Two young women who broke the rules by almost sacrificing their love for each other. Feelings are just feelings.

No one in this fairytale can change that.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Get a move on Y/L/N!!”

Men are such trash. You thought. Can’t even treat you like a normal human being because you are a female who is meant to be a housewife, a maid. Not you though, that wasn’t your destiny.

You’re a knight, a warrior. A protector of the kingdom you live in and care for. Even if there are those who don’t see that, some see you as a fellow peasant, a woman, a maid. You were once a maid though, only at a young age.

You served in the kitchen, making good biscuits with fresh made jelly on the side. That’s what you we’re known for.

“The Bread Maker” they called you. It was unique and sweet, until you were fired from the job and forced to be your mothers servant. Not pleasant whatsoever.

The age of sixteen your father vanished one day. Never seen again. It made your mother go insane, she had asked the King and Queen if they could search for him, hoping to find him somewhere not far beyond the gates of the kingdom.

A week later everyone stopped looking for him. Some say he ran away because his wife was too demanding, or maybe some beast in the moonlight kidnapped him and had him for a late night snack.

Those stupid stories never made you or your mother believe. And once your mother gave up on finding your father she became mentally insane, started doing weird things. Saying weird verses that are not found in the Bible.

You read the Bible enough to know that what she was saying was non-existent in it. Maybe she just started creating nursery rhymes or her own stories to..let go of your dad. You heard a few people in the village say she was possibly a Witch. You could never believe that your mother was doing witchcraft, it wasn’t even proven anyways.

Witchcraft was banned from your kingdom. Because generations ago your ancestors got their hands on witchcraft and did the most unstoppable things known to mankind.

The people who find out about your past might think you’re also a witch if it’s proven enough. That could ruin everything. Your life, your mothers life, the kingdom. Nobody wants that.

This whole thing has been going on in your life for six years now. You became a knight at twenty one, it’s your second year. You’ve been told to just fall in love with a man and get married instead of being a sin.

But instead you deceived to make two great big sins in your life.

One being a female warrior, and two…

Falling in love the the King and Queens daughter.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Watch it Y/l/n!” A man yelled through the moving crowed of villagers. You hated everyone, the way the treated you made no sense.

“Yeah Y/n stop bumping into people!” A young girl yelled from the side of the moving crowd. Even children accused you, called you names.

But hurting a child was a sin, so it wouldn’t look good on your name.

“Y/n The Child Abuser”

Doesn’t have a rhyme to it

You’re just making your way downtown in the village to go check on your mother. The maid you have that comes twice a week to help clean the small house you lived in, said your mother was acting strange this morning.

So you came down from your duty to check on her, make sure she had plenty of food and water. That was mainly your job instead of the maids, you’d get food for her and harvest it from the garden. Making meals for her at times when she couldn’t, or at least have premade ones that can last for a while.

You could see your small hut up ahead, it was kinda in a random place in the village. Your other home was stolen by some “professional” knight. Whenever your dad was around, he was a knight so you got a nicer home to live in. But now since he’s gone, you live in a poor hut on the outskirts of the village.

When reaching the small home you walked up the stone steps and approached the wooden door. You began to knock on it, calling out for your mother.

“Mother? Can I come in?”

No response. It’s always like that, every time you come visit. But the maid should be here, it’s her work day.

The door then swung open, the servant right there.

“Oh, good to see you Y/n. I was just about to come search for you.” She said, seemingly to have a worried face.

“Nice to see you too Gloria, what’s wrong?” You knew something was up, and it obviously was about your mother.

“Your mother, she’s not feeling well.” Gloria looked at you with a frown, then began leading you into the house, shutting the door and guiding you towards your mothers room.

Walking through the small house, you caught glances at the stuff the maid had cleaned, many religious objects and books, and pictures of your father. Yet some seem to keep disappearing for no reason out of the blue.

Gloria stopped with you in front of the bedroom door, gesturing for you to open it and peek inside. When you did, you could see your mother kneeled down in front of the cross she kept on the table of other religious stuff.

She was praying. But also not…

Her words were fast, voice lower..to a whisper. You couldn’t really hear what she was saying, but you knew damn well it was a verse.

“She’s been like that all afternoon, this morning she was okay. But ever since she’s been in her room she hasn’t stopped saying the same words.” Gloria explained, but you didn’t really pay attention to her much..only focused on your mother, trying to understand what she was saying.

“See the cruelty and the pain, that you have caused once again I turn the tables three times three. Bring light to your actions, I will be free, when light fades and dusk comes through, the pain you caused will come back to you, I say this spell to Karma tonight, I am witch, I stand and fight.”

“What’s she saying?” Gloria broke your concentration. You thought about her question, not sure if it was a good idea. You didn’t know that you’re own mother did witchcraft, or even tried to. It broke your heart, witchcraft was a sin in your village, kingdom.

It is banned

Even if it was a power back within when your ancestors lived. You knew some stories about them, they used witchcraft. I guess that really tells a lot about your family’s history, why your dad suddenly disappeared.

“Y/n?” Gloria broke your thoughts again.

“Oh, yeah sorry…..I’m not sure what she’s saying, she’s probably sleep talking again..” you walked away from the door..heading towards the front door.

“But she’s awake..” before Gloria could finish her sentence you left without a reply or a goodbye. You really didn’t want to speak to anyone at the moment, not after finding out your mother does witchcraft.

Not that you were like the rest of the village, you weren’t. In fact.. you were different by how you played the rules. Witchcraft and magic was always a fairytale to you, it wasn’t real. Not after your father had told you real stories of magic and witchcraft, even Satan when you were real young.

Your mother never liked whenever your father told these “joke” stories. She’d say your father was just trying to scare you. But truly he meant to tell you for a reason. It changed you.

It changed everything about you

Amongst the village, over by where the farmers lived. There was a hill with a massive stone ground at the top. Most warriors when training would go up their and sword fight with their “opponent”.

On that training pad, was the King and Queens only daughter. Cairo.

Now Cairo wasn’t like her parents, wasn’t like any other woman, any other person in the village. She prefers the outdoors, preferred nature, books and writing. It was her passion.

Her greatest achievement

Currently she was sitting in the middle of the training pad, book in her lap as she read.

Poetry was her favorite to read, she’d trade things will the local writers in town. Jonathan Miller being one of them.

Nobody entirely liked the fellow writer, he was kinda odd around young girls. He has a wife, and people simply only liked him for his writing and his wife’s cooking. Though everyone is pretty sure his wife is fed up with him.

Cairo was reading one of Millers books. She was so engrossed in it she wasn’t really paying attention to her surroundings. It’s always windy up in the hills, the breeze flowing through her brunette hair, the ends of her white dress flailing in the wind.

Suddenly she saw a rock being thrown out of the corner of her eye, peering up to see no one who was responsible of the throwing rock.

No one in sight, just the large willow tree in front of her, it’s loosely leaves nearly touching the ground.

But then she heard a familiar voice to the side of her.

“Good afternoon, princess Sweet.” You said, smiling and walking up to her from the stone path.

“Good gracious, you nearly gave me a heart attack!” Cairo complained, but not really mad since it was just you.

“Aw don’t be complaining.” “You threw a rock!” She argued, but a smile crept on her face as you stood now in front of her.

God you were sexy

“To get your attention but I guess that didn’t fully work,” you explained. “Anyways, what are you doing out here princess?”

Cairo made sure you could see her eye roll. She hated (loved) being called princess by you. She closed her book and stood up with a smirk, “oh nothing. Just reading a book out here in peace.”

You nodded your head, noticing the book she was reading. “Millers? You know he’s a creep right?” Cairo understood that, but didn’t care since Miller has been nothing but sweet to her.

“Yeah, yeah. He’s just nice to me though,” she looked down at her book, “he makes sure to give me the first look at his book.” Cairo heard your scoff, looking up at you.

“Psh- he only gives you the first look at it because he wants to fuck you.” Cairo gasped at your words, smacking your shoulder.

“No he doesn’t! He has a wife!” “So? That doesn’t mean he won’t cheat.” “Are you saying this because your jealous I got his book before you?”

Something like that,

You wanted to say

Something related to jealousy

“Nah, I’m just teasing you. Anyways, shouldn’t you be back at the kingdom? You’re stupid wedding or whatever is tomorrow.” You said, with a hint of annoyance and jealousy in your tone.

And yes, Cairo is supposed to get married to someone tomorrow night. Boy she wished she didn’t have to, but it’s apart of being the daughter of the King and Queen.

The fact that she doesn’t know who the man she’s supposed to marry is, she hates the thought of marrying someone she’ll just meet! It sucks! It’s like an escape room, or a puzzle with a missing puzzle piece.

How are you supposed to finish the puzzle if you can’t find the right piece to it?

Cairo sighed at the thought, not really noticing how she sighed out aloud, making you change your expression.

“You don’t seem excited..” you “pouted”. Cairo crossed her arms, the book still in hand.

“I’m not. How am I supposed to know I’ll spend the rest of my life with someone if I don’t even know them? Or like them? I hate the way the rules work here.” Cairo rambled, making you nod in understanding.

“I get that, but see how your parents turned out.” That was a dumb comment.

“Turn out to constantly fighting and being very strict about everything? Yeah no thanks.” Cairo retorted, huffing.

Was it clear that she is fed up with her parents?

“Okay well- you have me to go through it.”

You’re too sweet for your own good

“You? My parents won’t even let me see you! It’s because they think your family is cursed or some shit.” You scoffed loudly, not happy about that’s how her parents think of you and your family.

A curse? Curse my ass, your family is basically falling apart

You thought.

“Yeah whatever they can think that all they want. But we’re alone! No one knows we’re up here.” You grinned, looking around the hill until you heard a horse trotting.

“Princess Cairo!” A raspy voice was heard alone with the sound of a horse galloping. Then an older knight appeared, he was one of the main servants in the castle. The ones who stand right beside the King and Queen when at their thrones.

“Yes Lord Burkheart?” Cairo shoved you back a bit so Burkheart wasn’t suspicious of anything. He knew she wasn’t supposed to be seen with you.

“You know you aren’t supposed to be around this weak pest.” Burkheart spat out at you when he noticed your presence, and his words made you irritated. “Anyways, I bring you orders from the Queen, you need to be back to try a wedding dress on for your ceremony tomorrow.”

Cairo groaned at that mentally, she knew her mother would eventually notice her missing presence and have someone come find her. Cairo looked at you then back at the older man.

“Fine, I’ll be there soon.” She answered, wanting to go back to the castle at her own pace. Burkheart nodded and turned his horse away to head back to the village himself.

The princess sighed, rubbing her right temple with her right hand and clutched the book in the other. God she hated her own mother at times

“You okay?” She heard you speak up, forgetting you were there for a moment.

She turned to face you, “yeah. I am, just don’t want to do this.” She looked genuine, which made you a little shocked but not too shocked. Cairo always had a search for love you knew, but not like this. “And yeah, I get what you might be thinking. I’ve always wanted to fall in love, but at my own pace and who I choose.”

“No, no I get that. I respect that, so maybe you tell your mother that.” Another dumb thing to say.

Cairo was shocked at your suggestion, you know damn well her mom would absolutely say no!

“Are you crazy? If I told my own mother that she’d slit my throat! She’s been planning my wedding since I was a baby! Literally!” Cairo huffed, her hand over her mouth as she looked at the ground and thought. “Sorry, I wish I could stop her decisions but I can’t. It’s a family tradition.”

Cairo’s words made you upset and angry with the Queen. You kinda have a view of her side, you get parents can be stubborn. Your mom can be like that.

Cairo deserved better

She deserved you

She deserved to have her own decisions, she’s an adult. Almost. Eighteen is close enough, basically is an adult. But I guess not in Cairo’s “family tradition”.

“I’m sorry, I wish I could do something about it.” You mutter, rubbing your arm. You really did wish you could stop it, help her. You cared for her a lot.

“It’s okay, I’ll accept it at some point,” she gave you a small smile before looking over at the village and castle. “I should get going, don’t want to boil my mother for too long. Or the pot will spill over.” She tried to joke, but her laugh came out sarcastic.

“Yeah, I’ll see you later?” You asked with hope, you always wanted to see her.

“Maybe, depends.” Was all she said before walking down the hill with her head down.

God you’ve gotta do something about it

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Felt like a short chapter but editing and reading through it didn’t.

So I just hope this is good 🧍🏻‍♀️

[imagerymoodboard]

wlw moodboard

A Princess and her Knight

sources: 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10

[theartofmadeline]

courtly love

[ieatangstforbreakfast]

sorry for the lack of an update i’m having an author’s block anyways here’s a villainess x heroine drawing i made

i want to get kissed liked that </3

[scredgirl]

Inktober: Castle 🏰