#fantasci royalty

[thepenultimateword]

Love Thy Enemy Part Five

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“What did you do?” Pin’s nimble fingers expertly navigated the knot of chain links and hair, freeing strands bit by tedious bit.

“I couldn’t see,” Vorrin defended half-heartedly. He rubbed his hands over and over each other as if he could wipe away the memory of the knife in his hands. Even now, it burned a hole beneath him, stuffed in a slit he'd cut into the front side of the mattress. He tried to make it look as rough and handmade as possible. If anyone happened to see the hole, they may think it another casualty of yesterday's rage, and not suspect him of carrying a weapon.

A weapon. He was carrying, concealing, a weapon.

He'd denied it at first. Tried to explain that there was no way he could keep the knife on him, but the assassin had insisted. A precaution. Maybe something Vorrin would never use. But maybe, just maybe, if he never had another chance at a weapon... It made a dangerous sort of sense.

"You probably tried to yank it out before unbraiding it," Switch said, gathering up the contents of Vorrin's not deflated pillows feather by feather. He probably had 100 little downy fluffs stuffed into the makeshift basket of his tunic.

"I did not," Vorrin said though he honestly didn't remember. The undoing of a hairstyle was a small blip in the overwhelming events of last night. "Why are you gathering those anyways? You could sweep them."

"With the dust?" Switch stared at him incredulously.

"They're being thrown out anyway, aren't they? Wait. You're not about to stuff them back into my pillow are you?"

First, Vorrin wasn't certain he was allowed to have pillows returned just yet. Second, it seemed like an awful lot of unnecessary work when they could easily be replaced with one of the wool ones from the barracks. Surely those were still lying around.

"Not your pillow," Switch affirmed. "I couldn't in good conscience give the royal consort anything that had been on the floor. But there are a number of servers who wouldn't mind a bit of dirt."

Vorrin blinked. "Is that allowed?"He hated out snobbish it sounded out loud and quickly amended, "I mean it's a great idea, but would Empress Callista allow it?"

Switch, and even Pins, looked at him strangely. "The waste and excess always goes to the lower classes. It's the law."

"You mean the scraps?"

"No," Switch said disapprovingly. "Well, yes. The excess."

Vorrin nearly commented that fancy wording did not change the intent, but he stopped as he remembered that King Duras had never done any better. In fact, he taxed the people to buy an excess which he then threw out. He would have flogged a servant for attempting what Switch did now, justifying it as the servant trying to "rise above their station."

"Well. I hope you, or whoever uses them next enjoys them. Personally, they put a crick in my neck."

"Apparently you prefer none at all," Switch snapped then immediately froze, biting his lip savagely as if to latch his mouth shut. The young man habitually scolded like a mother hen, but it had never sounded so directly reproving. So bitter. And from the widening of his eyes, he'd definitely surpassed his station with that jab, and they all knew it.

"You really should be more careful," Pins said much more casually and offhanded, smoothly transferring the attention away from his mortified coworker. He tilted his head sideways to get a better angle at the tangles. "The Empress has a well of patience, but it may not stay full forever."

Good. That was what Vorrin wanted to say. Would have said yesterday. But defiance couldn't be his motive anymore.

"I'll be more careful," he said instead, then wryly, "Couldn't leave you boys unemployed, now, could I? You wouldn't know what to do with yourselves."

"Well, I wouldn't mind passing up this hair job." He leaned in closer, eyes narrowed, frowning deeply. "You really got it tangled--"

A knock interrupted Pins's complaint, quickly followed by the inward swing of the door and the proud clack of boot steps.

The empress surveyed the room, already tidier than last night, courtesy of Switch. Vorrin's neck prickled, the hidden blade suddenly seeming so obvious in its nook. Was she going to search the room? Did she know?

Pins immediately leaped back from Vorrin's hair, speaking a little too loudly. "It is certainly stuck. Forgive me Royal Consort, but I'm not authorized to help."

“No, you may continue." Empress Callista's tone washed over them in a way Vorrin had never heard before. Gentle. Her eyes fixed on Switch, frozen with his shirtful of feathers on the other side of the bed. "Would you be so kind as to find the Royal Consort something to wear?"

"Of course, your majesty." Head down, Switch slunk quickly past her.

Vorrin was glad he'd had the good sense to redress in yesterday's ruined clothing before the empress could arrive, but that didn't change the fact that the air had suddenly become acutely cold as it slipped through the large rip running down his chest. He expected a discomforting comment on the exposure, but instead, the Empress stepped across the room and, taking his bruised hand in hers, met his eyes.

Vorrin tried not to flick his gaze toward the hiding spot, tried not to show deceit in his eyes.

Pins slowly stepped back toward the bed, as if expecting a rebuke any moment. When it didn't come, his fingers returned to the remaining not, moving a little less confidently than they had before.

“I believe I was harsh on you," Empress Callista said, thumb stroking over the purple running up the side of his fist. "I still do not regret my actions in the city, but my treatment of you afterward did not fit the standards of care an empress should have toward her consort. I have not gone about this correctly. I was impatient for peace, and I expected too much of you too quickly. And for this I am sorry."

Vorrin blinked up at her in shock. Several things came to his mind all at once. 'You're right, you haven't gone about anything correctly', 'I wasn't on my best behavior either', 'Do you really expect me to accept an apology from you?', 'So even the great Empress Callista has a heart.'

Instead what came out was, “And Emil’s mother?”

The empress needed no explanation as to who he referred. “Tried and released. And much happier now that she’s seen her son.”

"You let her go?" Vorrin couldn't keep the astoundment from his voice.

"It was a first offense. For many, a night in the dungeons is all it takes to awaken someone to their mortality. Besides, she had a good ally backing her." Empress Callista smiled, a real one, softening the sharp edges of her features and traveling up into her eyes. The amber didn't glint with its usual wolfishness, instead lighting entirely, like rich sunlight. But just as quickly her lips pulled down again, returned to their proud line. "Though she will not get off so lightly a second time."

Vorrin nodded, gluing his eyes to the smooth pink of her nailbeds--how did she fight and still keep them so perfect?--forcing his reply up his throat. "I suppose...I was difficult."

"That's one word for it."

"Erratic?"

"That's another."

"Impertinent? Bull-headed? Psychotic?"

"Look at all those words you know," the empress said, as if praising a child. She caught herself. "I'm sure some of those describe me as well." She squeezed his hand a little tighter, twisting it to interlock fingers. "I'm going to fight for you, Vorrin."

Vorrin shivered at the casual usage of his name. It was usually "General" or something mocking like 'darling' or "love." She had never addressed him so personally.

"This kingdom needs balance. For that I need you. So if it means winning you first, so be it."

"And how do you intend to do that?" He probably should have simply agreed, but he was honestly curious.

"By taking even better care of you. Spending time together. Any meals I can spare. Day trips too if you behave. You may also have access to the armory and training grounds under supervision."

It still felt like the treatment of a pet or maybe a child, but he bit his tongue. He couldn't have asked for a better start into the empress's good graces. He sighed heavily.

"Thank you. I know I've been resistant to this whole thing...but I'll try. " Careful, not too much. "For my people." Better.

"Aren't you cute when you're agreeable."

Vorrin flushed, gritting his teeth. "Don't expect me to like any of it."

Empress Callista released his hand with an aggravatingly disbelieving smirk. "Wouldn't dream of it."

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[yourheartonfire]

"Well, isn't this a pretty picture."

The protagonist jolted up to - oh no. Jolted up from where they'd fallen asleep on the floor of the backshelves, books and notes scattered around them like some kind of nerd bomb had gone off. And the antagonist, their old rival, was standing over them, lamp in hand and that same stupid sneer on their face.

"Shit. I mean..." The protagonist shook their head, trying to clear the cobwebs. "What are you doing here?"

"I work here now," the antagonist said with narrowed eyes. "Which you'd know if you bothered to keep up with changes in your staff. The real question is what are you doing here? Shouldn't you be throwing a diplomatic reception or issuing royal commands or snoozing in the royal sheets?"

"You want a command?" The protagonist pushed themselves up. It was easy to put on the imperious mask when they were so tired and so irritated. "Help me clean this up. Then forget you saw me. Think you can handle that, Second Aide to Librarian?"

The antagonist's face was a study. But they put down the lamp with only a small whunk. "Yes, Your Majesty," they said and started scooping up books into a pile. The protagonist choked back a yawn as they sorted their scrawled pages of notes into piles. For a few moments they worked side by side in silence, the protagonist ignoring the looks the antagonist kept directing to the back of their head.

"I'm sorry... for your loss," the antagonist said stiffly. "I know you were close to Dax."

"Thank you," the protagonist said. It was a rote response now.

"The kingdom of Sterztan?" the antagonist said, rather more tentatively as they glanced at the title. "Don't you have people now to be experts for you?"

"Oh yes." The protagonist folded their notes into a neat stack. "The ambassador to Sterztan is one of my greatest allies on the council. And this morning she looked us all in the face and assured us that Sterztan would never pose a challenge to our metals imports."

The antagonist's brow wrinkled. Their fingers twitched towards the pages in their hands. "But... half Sterztan's economy is based on their silver trade."

"I know." The protagonist rubbed. "So my ally is either an idiot or a liar. Not the kind of research I can outsource to a secretary."

"Ah." The antagonist put down their books on a an empty shelving cart. "So of course you became hyper-obsessed over this and snuck off to waste a night researching something you already knew about Sterztan's economy."

"I didn't sneak anywhere," the protagonist snapped. "I am the crown-"

Abruptly the antagonist moved. Suddenly the protagonist found themselves crowded up against the shelves, the antagonist towering over them. "The crown," they said, "without their guards."

"How dare you!" The protagonist shoved the antagonist back. "Are you insane?"

"Are you?" The antagonist grabbed another book off the floor angrily. "You're our ruler now. I expect you to at least make better use of your time."

"But this is the only thing I'm good at!" the protagonist wailed. The antagonist froze in a half-crouch but the protagonist couldn't stop. Exhaustion and the unfairness of all it was too much. "I'm not supposed to be ruling anything; I was supposed to be here, doing research for Dax while he dealt with all the politics and rituals and lies-"

"Hey, hey, hey." The antagonist was crowding up against them again. But this time it felt... supportive? A warm hand on their back as the protagonist gasped for air through the panicked sobs. "You've got this."

"I really don't," the protagonist moaned. "God, I wish I were you. No that's not true. But I wish I had your job."

"There you go, that sounds more like you." The antagonist tugged at the protagonist's arm insistently, until the two were sitting side by side on the floor. "Okay. I'm going to write you a report."

"I already figured out the Sterztan thing," the protagonist sighed.

"Not about that. About every stupid mistake every great sovereign we've ever had made in their first year as the crown."

The protagonist wiped their nose on their sleeve. "That sounds horrible."

"It will be. But," the antagonist scooted closer. Their hand was still rubbing circles into the protagonist's back. It was weirdly soothing. "My point is that every great sovereign starts out green."

"Green like inexperienced, or green like constantly feeling that you're going to throw up?" the protagonist muttered.

The antagonist grabbed their hand. "I'm saying that once you compare where you are now against where our other sovereigns were in their first year, you're going to see that you're actually doing all right. I'm not going to lie, you're doing a lot better than I thought you would be."

The protagonist huffed a tired laugh. "That sounds... like a nice theory. Got the data to back it up?"

The antagonist quirked their lip. Not quite the same sneer. "Are you ordering up some midnight research?"

The protagonist hauled themselves to their feet. "Nope. You volunteered. I'll expect that report on my desk by tomorrow. That is, tomorrow tomorrow," they added. "Not in - oh, god, in six hours."

"Go to bed," the antagonist said, picking themselves up too. "Good night."

The report was on the protagonist's desk in 10 hours.

[im-a-wonderling]

Lowly Soldier ~ a continuation of Sorrows Can Swim

Ugh, I have such a soft spot for Prince, and I hope y'all do too. Any and all lynch mobs formed will go towards Guard’s residence and not mine, d'you hear me? 😂

Word count: 2.7k

Sorrows Can Swim masterlist

-

A WEEK BEFORE THE WEDDING

In the dead of night, the towering shelves cast long shadows that danced and hid from the light of the few, flickering candles resting in front of Prince on his desk. In this dim lighting, if one tilted their head and relaxed their eyes, they might mistake the library ladder at Prince’s left for a monster. 

But no, the monster stood not to Prince’s left, but directly in front of him, shifting in the way only guilty men did. 

“I know about your relations with Princess.” Prince didn’t bother glancing around the library or lowering his voice. 

Guard didn’t move, but Prince could’ve sworn he paled slightly. “Your Highness, I don’t know–”

“Spare me the act of innocence.” Prince took a deep breath, reining in his anger like an unbroken stallion. 

The soldier wisely went silent, leaving the two men to stare at each other for a few moments.

“How long do I have to pack my bags then?” Guard asked, his chin held far too high for the situation. 

Prince considered it. It would be so easy to simply send him away. Prince wouldn’t have to go so far as to remove him from the King’s service. Guard could be reassigned to a different fort. Perhaps somewhere south where the high temperatures and heavy rays of sun would cause Guard to sweat like a pig and burn like a roast. The image of Guard in full uniform, wiping at his dripping and sunburnt forehead brought Prince such satisfaction.

Then came the image of Princess’s face when she learned Guard had been sent away. 

He sighed, dismissing the image. “You must act swiftly if the two of you are to avoid scandal.”

Confusion colored Guard’s face. “Sir?”

“You must–” Prince’s voice failed him, and he chided it. “You must…marry Princess.”

The soldier gaped at Prince, clearly questioning what he’d just heard. “Your Highness?”

“I won’t repeat myself,” Prince said frigidly. It’d been hard enough to say it in the first place. 

Guard stood perfectly still for a while, and Prince impatiently waited for the soldier to get his wits back so they could continue this conversation. 

“But…ho-how?” Guard stammered. “She is royalty, and I am but a lowly soldier!”

A lowly soldier, Prince scorned in his head. Guard rose through the ranks faster than most, and he caught the attention of far more than Princess, even if Princess was the only one Prince really cared about. 

“We must be crafty.” Prince took a deep breath, sitting down, the plush red velvet sinking underneath him. “I can’t simply promote you, it would look too suspicious. We will organize a way for you to receive an increase in rank. It will–”

Guard started frantically shaking his head, making Prince stop and narrow his eyes. Why was Guard protesting? He got to marry and become honorary royalty. He wouldn’t be king, not while Princess’s older brothers still drew breath, but the rank of a prince was nothing to sneer at. 

Perhaps he was simply having a hard time wrapping his mind around it.

“It will take some time, of course,” Prince continued, “which brings its own risk, but if we’re going to do this–”

“But a marriage between us would be improper!” Guard interrupted. 

Prince fixed him with a cold, hard stare. “And the impropriety didn’t cross your mind before you stole her virtue?”

“I did not steal her virtue!” Guard snapped. “She’s the one who–”

“I would recommend,” Prince interrupted calmly, “that you don’t waste my time by finishing that sentence.”

Guard shut his mouth, looking quite taken aback as he eyed Prince. 

Prince sighed. “It doesn’t matter how things progressed.” The words tasted like vinegar in his mouth, but he pushed on. “What matters is what we must do to protect everyone in this situation, and we will get started at once.” 

Guard blinked, bringing a hand to nervously fiddle with the chainmail of his soldier's uniform. 

This is it, Prince thought. This is the moment when Guard complies, and we plot for the wedding that will soon follow, a wedding I forced Guard into, a wedding Princess isn’t expecting, and a wedding that will break my heart. It would require all of Prince’s strength to sit through, and it would cost him all his self-respect, but he would do it.

For Princess, he would do it. 

But instead of hearing words of agreement, Prince saw a sudden, dangerous gleam in Guard’s eyes. “I’m sorry, You Highness, but I cannot do that.”

Prince simply stared, trying to process what he’d just heard. Was Guard disobeying a direct order? Perhaps he hadn’t understood that Prince’s statement was a command in the first place. “All due respect, this is not a request, Guard.”

Guard’s gleam didn’t dim. “All due respect, sir, but you cannot force me to marry her.” His voice was remarkably calm, as if they were discussing the weather and not the fate of a woman. 

For a moment, Prince couldn’t form any words. He could only stare at Guard, wondering how the man could be so cavalier and care so little about Princess’s reputation?

He wanted to toss Guard out the library window, but that wouldn’t save Princess.

Prince clenched onto his self-control, imposingly rising to his feet instead of rushing at Guard in fury. “Do you realize who you are speaking to?” He stepped closer to Guard, holding his posture as tightly as he held his fists. “I am your prince. I can demote you so that you are guarding a kitchen for the rest of your days. I can have you branded as a traitor and exiled. I can have you flung in the dungeon, facing execution in a week.” Prince raised his chin. “It all makes no difference to me.”

The threat in his tone would make most men concede by prostrating themselves in front of him. 

“If this kingdom finds out that the Tunican princess had affairs with a lowly soldier, the gossip will spread like wildfire,” Guard said slowly. “And if the Tunician King finds out, it will be war.” 

“You would create war for your own country?” Prince seethed.

Guard spread his hands. “This may be the country of my birth, but that doesn’t mean it’s the country of my life.” He pointed at Prince. “That’s your position.”

Prince gaped at Guard.

Had Guard gone mad? All the authority rested with Prince, and yet Guard acted as though he possessed the upper hand!

What pure selfishness.

What audacity.

Prince slammed his hands into the desk, making the candles shake and drip wax down onto the polished wood. “You dare threaten me with war?” 

Guard smiled back at Prince. “Do you know what Princess told me last night?”

Prince froze, sensing the wave of pain about to crash over him, an upper hand that was about to be gained. “That is neither here nor–”

Guard stepped closer to Prince, baring his teeth like a child who hadn’t quite mastered the art of the smile. “She told me she loved me.” 

A groan of pain nearly ripped through Prince’s throat as the knot of pain coiled tightly in his chest. He blindly fell back onto his chair, trying to relearn how to breathe under the weight of this information. 

She…she loved Guard? Truly? It wasn’t merely some youthful dalliance or fleeting fancy?

Prince looked back to Guard with a sharp inhale, realizing too late that he’d given away too much with his silence. 

“You love her.” The triumph in Guard’s voice set Prince’s teeth on edge. “You can’t bear to see her in pain, or you would’ve sent me away instead of trying to get me to marry her. If you banished me or imprisoned me, it would only hurt her, and you can’t bear to do that.”

There was no point in denying it. Unlike Guard, Prince was a man strong enough to admit to the truth. So Prince glowered at Guard. “I’m warning you–”

“No, Your Highness.” Guard smirked. “I’m warning you, unless you promise me that you won’t mention this conversation to anyone, I’ll tell the Tunician King about our affair myself.” The satisfied smile widened. “See what happens to your precious princess then.”

“You are a snake,” Prince fumed.

Guard’s only reply was to grin. 

“Fine!” Prince burst out. “I promise, now get out of my sight!”

Guard wisely didn’t reply. He simply slipped out the library door, likely off to go sleep soundly in his bed.

Now what? Prince thought desperately.

Princess was not the first royal to be in this compromising situation, but the world would see her as damaged goods if they found out. It didn’t matter if it was a year from now when the truth got out, she would be seen as damaged goods, and whatever husband she possessed would turn his back on her, for no self-respecting husband wouldn’t care if his wife dallied with a soldier. Except for Lord perhaps, but Prince couldn’t subject Princess to marriage with him. His breath smelled fouler than the stables, and he was old enough to be her grandfather. 

Whoever married Princess would have to know beforehand.

But who would ever marry her with that knowledge? And even if they didn’t care, Prince would be breaking his promise to Guard, and who knew what the soldier would do?

Prince sat at the desk, his hopes dwindling by the second.

If only status and dignity didn’t matter so much. If only the world could see Princess for her sweetness or even her beauty, and value her for those things instead of whatever station she possessed.

Alas, it seemed the only one who saw Princess’s sweetness and beauty was Prince and Guard, and Guard wouldn’t marry her.

Prince sat bolt upright.

Was that…?

Could it be…?

Prince lifted his hand to his hair. 

Was that really the solution? Marrying Princess himself?

The idea which would normally make his heart soar instead made his stomach turn over. 

He couldn’t marry her, not like this. Not as a last resort to stave off scandal and potentially war. Princess deserved better than that. Everybody deserved more than that. 

Prince leaned forward, resting his forehead on the desk. There had to be another way, a way where Guard wouldn’t win without Prince losing so badly. 

But there wasn’t. No other desperate solution in his mind was feasible in the amount of time they had left. 

Prince let out a breath. 

He couldn’t count on Princess to understand. He loved her, but she could be naive. No, Prince would conduct this himself, and it started with talking to his father. 

God help him.

A MONTH LATER

“Well, this is a sorry sight!”

Forever a light sleeper, Prince started from his horizontal position on the couch. He blinked blearily around at his study, trying to find the source of the words. For a wild moment, in the delirium of having one foot in the real world and the other in the land of dreams, he wondered if his desk had spoken to him.

Then Prince’s eyes fell on Brother, standing in the open doorway with folded arms. 

Prince glanced at the grandfather clock in the corner. “It’s six o’clock in the morning,” he grumbled, rubbing the drowsiness from his eyes. 

“Yes, and you’re sleeping on a couch in your study alone instead of in your bed with your wife.”

Prince didn’t bother to answer the question asked by his younger brother’s tone. Yes, he didn’t sleep in their bedchamber anymore, but that didn’t mean he had to explain himself, certainly not to Brother, who had yet to be married. 

Brother swept towards Prince’s desk, ignoring the neatly ordered papers as he jumped up to take a seat on top of them. “Your wife says she hasn’t seen you for days. Is there a declaration of war I don’t know about?”

Prince almost bit back, not appreciating the dig. Yes, Prince had assumed the Tunican party had nefarious intent, and yes, it turned out to be a company of soldiers containing Princess’s dowry. But in Prince’s opinion, it was better to be overly cautious than taken unawares.

Getting to his feet, Prince shoved at his brother. “Get off your porcine behind.”

“It’s a royal behind to you.” Brother hopped off the desk to recline lazily on the sofa on which Prince had just woken from. 

“If you’re in the mood to pry,” Prince said bluntly, “go down to the launderers to hear the gossip. I’m busy.”

Brother sat forward, the usual merriment gone from his face. “Why are you avoiding Princess?”

Prince grit his teeth. He’d promised himself that he would only return to the scene of Princess’s encounter with Guard when he was sure he could control his temper. 

As of yet, his temper hadn’t dissipated. 

So he avoided it altogether—which meant he avoided her altogether. 

“What happened?” Brother asked, dropping his voice even though they were the only two in the room. “Did the two of you have a fight?”

Prince shook his head. “I can’t tell you.”

“If you can’t tell your own brother, who can you tell?” 

“I won’t be telling anyone anything.”

“Maybe not, but that only makes it worse for you.”

Prince wanted to scream at his brother, beg and plead with his brother to stop prying, but it would only make clearer the gravity of the secrets he held. 

“You’re married,” Brother said 

“Believe me, I’m painfully aware of that!” Prince snapped. He pinched the bridge of his nose between his fingers, trying to reel in the slip in his temper. 

“You need to get to know your new wife,” Brother insisted. 

“I know my wife!” Prince growled at his brother. A heavy silence fell while he once again tried to get his temper under control. “I know that she loves to spend her entire mornings sleeping. I know that her favorite flowers are white roses. I know that she has a birthmark on the side of her neck. I know that she hates boiled eggs and always wants her eggs fried.”

I know the name of the lowly soldier she loves.

Prince sat heavily on his chair, sagging against the armrests like he’d gone boneless. “I’m not ‘getting to know’ my wife because I don’t need to.” He swallowed. “It’s her that doesn’t want to know me.” 

“You think your wife doesn’t care for you,” Brother said, as if it were some grand realization, the truth behind what kept Prince awake at night. 

Prince bowed his head, wishing that that was all it was.

“You have to give her time,” Brother said gently. “She came here as an effort to strengthen kingdom ties, not to gain a husband.”

The great ache in Prince’s chest threatened to swallow him whole. 

He knew he’d practically forced himself onto Princess. That’s how she saw it, and it’s how Prince’s kingdom saw it. They saw him as a man who took what he wanted. But how could this ever be what he wanted? To be married to a woman who belonged in his dreams and yet loved someone else? To know that she wanted nothing more than to spend her time with Guard? 

He heaved a large sigh. “I will give her that time.” 

Brother didn’t say anything more, and Prince didn’t want him to. He didn’t want any more of his brother’s pity nor his brother’s advice. He wanted Guard gone, and he wanted Princess’s heart intact when Guard left. 

Impossible. 

“Leave me be,” Prince said wearily.

Brother hesitated a moment and then got to his feet and walked towards the door. He paused before opening it. “Why would she marry you if she didn’t see something in you?” With that, Brother left. 

Prince knew the question was rhetorical. He knew it was meant to make him believe in the chance that his wife could love him. But all it did was remind him of the answers he couldn’t share. 

At this point, Prince was fairly certain those answers would die with him, and the only way anyone would ever know was if they opened his chest to see the words carved into his heart.

-

Part 4

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Tag list:

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[watercolorfreckles]

What's Mine is Yours (Prompt/Short Snippet)

"You know that I want you." The villain's nails, perfectly manicured, skimmed over the swell of the king's parted lips. His breathing caught somewhere in his throat, stilling at the touch. "But the only thing that I want more than you...is your crown. Don't you love me?"

Beneath the villain's intent gaze, the king upon his throne was certain that he looked far less like the ever-poised ruler, and far more like a smitten puppy. He wet his lips just to watch the villain track the movement. "You know that I do," he answered, settling his hands oh-so-gently, against her waist, as if the villain were a delicate flower and not a weapon capable of carnage and destruction and world-ending bloodshed.

The villain's fingers closed around the king's chin, leaning closer. Her smile rivaled the brilliance of sunsets. "Then prove how devoted you are to me. I know that you want me, too. And you can have me. I only ask one little thing of you." Her voice softened, narrowing the world into just the two of them. "Get down on your knees and offer me your everything, sugar."

The very air around them seemed to hold its breath. The king rose to his feet, straightening to a height a full head above the villain, though there was still no mistaking who was truly in control. He turned and lowered himself to his knees, tender hands brushing her thighs to guide her to sit back atop his throne in his place.

His throne suited her far more than it ever could him. Surrounded by gold and precious jewels, the villain glittered, all the more striking.

The king lifted his crown, heavy and dripping in rubies, to perch it on the top of the villain's head. He sat back on his heels as their eyes met; drawn together with all the dazzling intensity of lightning meeting water. Deadly to those around them. But gods, such a beautiful sight.

"You are everything to me," the king spoke finally. "All that I am is yours. My kingdom, my throne, belongs to you. I only ask one simple thing of you. Take me to be yours too?"

The villain laughed, a little breathless, heady and cheeks flushed a rosy pink on the high of the moment. Some might interpret the action as patronizing.

The king perceived instead that, just maybe, she felt a little smitten too.

She clenched a fist in the front of the king's expensive shirt, yanking him upright to lock him in a searing kiss.

The world was theirs together.

This is a very short snippet, so I don't mind if you use it as a prompt! Just tag me if you do, please, so I can read it! :) A little piece of this dialogue popped into my head earlier and plagued me until I wrote it out lol Hope you like it. I think this makes for a really interesting power dynamic (and yay for female villains!)

PS, sorry for disappearing again lol I'm really going to try to do better! I haven't been reading much at all lately either so i need to catch up on all my faves' writing!!

[fantasci-side-blog]

Since I know a popular trope in fantasy and royalty stuff is marriage, both forced and arranged

Here's the difference between arranged and forced marriages copied from another post I wrote

No hate if you use the trope, just make sure you're using the right terms and aren't putting your culture on a pedestal while putting others down

-

If a marriage is forced then it can't be called arranged, even if it's arranged for one, as a matter of principle and definition since arranged means they both agree. If either one doesn't agree, it's not arranged it's forced.

And arranged marriages are the norm in most of the world, most of which are healthy (most arranged marriages are perfectly healthy and the people involved are perfectly okay with it).

It's not that arranged marriages have more instances of unhealthy over love marriages — like you haven't heard of abusive boyfriends/girlfriends or otherwise significant others in Western culture — in fact, since arranged marriages mean that both person's families researched their potential spouse AND their family AND personal history, AND you find them more via word-of-mouth, arranged marriages seem to be the safer bet.

(of course, your family and friends can research your SO you're in love with too. But if you're like "I don't care about their past! They've changed!" that's, well, I hope the best for you.)

Arranged marriages can also have a period of getting to know the other person before making it official, and the engagement period can be as long as they want — I'm talking multiple years — where the couple interact and invite each other places, on dates, or just outings with family or friends, but it's all chill. Or just message each other on your phone.

You can even do the thing where you, like, ask your fiance to drop and pick you and your friends from places and stuff without anyone batting an eye (they're part of the family, your friend group (your social circle) etc now!).

Arranged marriages can (and most are) healthy; please don't confuse them with forced marriages which are (ideally) a crime both religion- and legal-wise.

Just wanted to clarify because someone once told me people confuse all arranged marriages as forced and think of the cultures where this is a norm as backward or in an otherwise bad light.

[thepenultimateword]

Prompt #207

The prince gaped. “You can’t possibly be wearing that?”

His bodyguard patted her poofed skirts nonchalantly. “I thought it was nice.”

“You look like a woman!”

The bodyguard blinked at the outburst. “That may be because I am, shocker I know.”

“No, that’s not what I— People are going to get the wrong idea. They’re going to think…” He trailed, ears going warm. “I can’t go out in public with a woman, a non-uniformed woman, without arising…romantic gossip.

“Good,” the bodyguard said. “The king wanted as much. It’s far easier to catch an assassin when their guard is down.”

[thepenultimateword]

Prompt #204

"...and this is the royal garden. Oh look, the prince, what happy happenstance that we should run into him."

The prince looked up from his book, gazing back and forth between the Queen and her puff-sleeved guests for a moment before a line furrowed between his brows.

"Mum, if [woman's name] finds out you're doing tours introducing me to girls again, she's going to be mad."

"[Woman's name]?" a guest asked.

The Queen waved it away. "Nobody, just this silly person who won't stop following him around."

The prince sighed, snapping his book shut as he rose from his bench. "That person is my wife, and her turning out to be a knight and not nobility doesn't make her any less so. No matter how much you pretend otherwise."

[thepenultimateword]

Tomfoolery

She wore bells in her hair. Big gold ones hung on the red ribbons weaved into her braids. The chimes bounced and jingled against her spine when she backflipped and sailed in gleaming arcs when she cartwheeled.

Apparently, she'd been part of a circus act before the prince's uncle bought her for the court. And with such a background, she could do all manner of oddities and diversions: contortions and gymnastics, juggling and skits of false clumsiness. She could balance knives on her nose like a seal--up to three at once. Her ribbon dancing was the prince's favorite, the way she made the cloth rush like a river current or swell like living flame. And on the days when everything failed to divert her royal charges, she did not shirk from their endless ammunition of rot, always armed with a bright, laughing smile. As if even in the face of yesterday's scrap pile, she too, was in on the joke.

The prince did not enjoy that last one, especially once he began noticing how the light in her grin never reached her eyes. They stayed dull and opaque all the time, like the frosted glass his father had installed in his windowpanes to keep him from staring out.

However, the prince's father and uncle seemed to revel in food-lobbing days, and it was after one such merriment involving the curdled remains of a creamed spinach dish and a rancid meat pie that the prince found her in the kitchen, swearing and ripping at the knots in her ribbons as she bent upside down in front of a half-filled wooden tub the prince was pretty sure, from the smell, had already been used for mass washing heads of cabbage.

"Can I offer you a hand?" he said.

She beat her bare toes into the wall of the tub with a yowl, flipping her hair back over her shoulders as she whirled to face him. For the first time, her eyes were clear, not shining with lovely laughter but deadly fire.

"Do I look like I want--" The flames doused, and her eyes went wide as silver coins as she registered his face. "Your Highness."

All at once she was on her knees, head nearly touching the greasy stone floor.

"I apologize, I didn't expect anyone of your..." she swallowed as if struggling past something foul, "standing to be here. In this part of the palace."

"Well, I used to come down and read next to the ovens, but I'm not quite so inconspicuous anymore. A little too big to hide behind the flour bags." He chuckled awkwardly. The jester did not smile. "Anyway, Catry said you'd be down here."

The jester leaned back on her heels, eyes narrowed. "That little--" She caught herself, gaze flicking warily back to the prince. "Angel! That little angel. So good of her to direct you to me. May I be of assistance, my prince?"

A warm blush spread up the prince's neck to the roots of his hair. He hadn't exactly thought about the peculiarity of a member of the royal family searching out the court jester. Many a servant could be spoken to on pretenses of orders, but he had no good excuse for why he'd be in search of her.

The truth sprang to his lips before he could think to smother it.

"I was wondering if you were alright. When Uncle thew that last pie, it looked like the tin-- Oh!" He canted his head toward the purple splotch making itself known under her left eye. "It's bruising."

His hand reached as if of its own accord, and she swiftly side-stepped, this time smoothly avoiding the lip of the tub. Her eyes narrowed even further. "I'm fine. Thank you, your majesty, but I assure you the bruise will not affect my performance. I'll have it covered and be ready to go by tomorrow."

Ice. Sharp, pristine, palace-perfect ice.

Right. That was about what he'd expected He had learned long ago that the people hired to serve and take care of him were not comfortable with his attention or friendship. What he meant as concern was always interpreted as criticism, expertly masked by royal politeness.

"I'm certain you will be." He paused, glancing over the tub and its room-temperature water. It was situated in an alcove at the very back of the kitchen, out of sight unless standing directly in front of it. He hadn't realized anyone might... He heated a little thinking about what would've happened if he had arrived a little later.

He pointed at the tub lamely.

"Would you like to use mine?"

As soon as it left his mouth he knew he'd made a mistake. She wouldn't even accept an inquiry on her well-being.

"What do you think I am?" she snapped, face red with embarrassment or fury or both. All decorum had fled. "Your uncle might have purchased me, and maybe to you, that makes me property. But I would rather be guillotined than accept the passes of a disgusting, spoiled, power-abusing, prince!"

The prince thrust up his hands, attempting to block the heat of some of her fire. "Th-that's not what I meant at all! Of course, I think you're beautiful, but I honestly only had your well-being in mind. I would never dream of--" His hands flew over his face, and he cringed as he found his cheeks hot to the touch. He pinkened at the slightest of embarrassments--something his father never ceased to remind him of--so right now he must be vibrant. "Excuse me."

His heart beat loudly in his ears, the blood rush making him a little dizzy.

"You're...really red."

A new wave of heat the prince didn't even realize could outdo the last one washed over him.

"I know."

"If you're this embarrassed just talking, how..." She trailed. "You were serious."

The prince didn't dare confirm or deny. Everything he said today had disastrous results.

"Why?"

He should just leave. Leave and pretend none of this ever happened. It wasn't like she could confront him about it later. But he also wasn't sure he could accept leaving her opinion of him tainted.

"Because that looks terrible." He jabbed a thumb at the foul water, his other set of fingers still clapped firmly over his eyes. "And they already treat you terrible. Me too I suppose. So I wanted...I simply thought you might like some help."

There was a long pause. So long, the prince half-wondered if she'd tiptoed around him while he hid his face in his hands. Finally, he peeked out through the cracks at her clenched jaw and dulled eyes. Reverted from the fiery phoenix of a few seconds ago to the submissive show bird of the court.

She locked onto his gaze. "No. Thank you. I appreciate, your highness's concern, but I fear my acceptance of such a magnanimous offer would not be appropriate. I fear I would tarnish your highness's name if anyone were to misunderstand. For this reason, I must also advise your highness not to seek me out."

A politically correct way of saying, 'Leave me alone.'

The prince's heart sank. He wasn't sure what he had been expecting of this encounter, but he couldn't help but feel he'd failed spectacularly.

"Right. Of course. I appreciate your heartfelt concern." He turned, moved a few steps, then turned again. "I-if you change your mind, about needing help, let me know. Alright? It's not personal. As a prince, I have all my subjects' best interests at heart."

A thin smile. "You have my word, your majesty."

That too, was all politeness, and maybe, at the heart of it, fear.

As the prince miserably retreated, he did not expect to hear from the jester again.

So it was rather a shock when she showed up at his bedroom window two days later, pale as a ghost and covered in blood.

Master Taglist:

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[thepenultimateword]

Royalty Prompts

It was close, but Royalty won the poll, so here you guys go!

1. A human prince finds himself engaged to the Queen of monsters in order to build an alliance between their two kingdoms and ease tensions between their peoples.

2. Royal is a prisoner of war to the barbarians that sieged and nearly succeeded in taking their kingdom. Luckily, their armies have held them off so far, but Royal isn’t sure how long their people can stand without them. Or—the more they live amongst the barbarians—how much they deserve to keep their homeland based on its history.

3. A royal emissary is traveling on a starship to scout out the kingdom and planet of their Monarch's upcoming marriage alliance. Unbeknownst to them, the nice fellow passenger they've been building a friendship with is the Monarch's future spouse who is traveling home after attempting to learn the customs and culture of the Monarch's home planet. However, it seems there's been a misunderstanding about the emissary's identity: the future spouse believes they're the Monarch in disguise.

4. Overthrowing the kingdom was supposed to be the hard part, but now that the commoner-turned-royal is on the throne, they realize that being ruler is much more complicated, especially when half the kingdom wants them dead, and they don't know who they can trust.

5. The Kingdom's ruler is despised by everyone but their poison taster. Because of this, their food is poisoned almost daily, which is why the taster--secretly a creature who lives off consuming deadly poisons--likes them so much. They are living in the lap of luxury with this job, and all they have to do is keep switching out the bad food with something good.

6. A royal runs away from their kingdom and into the dark woods, inadvertently stepping into a faerie circle. The fae that steals them does not know what they’re getting until it’s too late: an incredibly spoiled, over-demanding, oblivious brat with no self-preservation skills.

7. The crown prince/princess has never felt the danger of living on the outskirts of the dark woods. In fact, they often take rides or trips into its depths and have never seen anything so strange as the rumors say. Unbeknownst to the kingdom, and themselves, the forest is biding it’s time with the future ruler’s ignorance, for they are a changeling switched at birth, and when the current monarch dies, it will finally be the otherwordlies’ turn to reign.

8. A magical assassin is sent to kill the current monarch of a kingdom, but when their window comes, they take pity on them and transform them into an animal instead. Now the assassin is masquerading a very bitter ruler as their familiar while lying to their teammates/bosses about their death. They also sort of wish the spell did not include the telepathic link, because they don’t need to hear the monarch calling them names on top of everything.

9. The second sibling of a royal family is kidnapped by a dragon who is very intent on keeping them. Once they get past the mortal terror of possibly being barbecued or eaten alive, it’s quite nice being treasured.

10. A too soft king/Queen is overthrown by conspirators and sacrificed to the mountain dragon by their superstitious people. The dragon takes the monarch away much to the people’s glee, but instead of killing them, they take them back home to the mountain peak. The dragon is horrified that these humans can keep sacrificing their own, especially their own ruler.

11. A royal guard must flee a recently usurped kingdom with their young royal charge. Their only hope is that one day, when the royal is old enough, they might be able to return to take the kingdom back. In the meantime, they must go into hiding. A chance encounter with a morally gray city thief gets them new identities, a place to stay, and more found family than they bargained for.

12. The crown prince/princess has always had a weak constitution, so they see the royal apothecary daily for tinctures and elixirs. Their childhood apothecary retired a couple years ago, replaced by a younger apothecary they once apprenticed. With their constant contact and the apothecary’s complete understanding of medical problems that others find tiresome, the royal can’t help but grow attached.

[thepenultimateword]

Keep the King

For my song-story writing challenge! This story is based on the song "King" by "The Amazing Devil", which was submitted by @lqmie! I'll be honest, I secretly really wanted this one, so when the randomizer gave it to me I was ecstatic.

Sorry it’s a day late, I’m mad at myself for not meeting the deadline in time when I’m the one who made it, I also meant this to be MUCH longer, but realized I was getting over ambitious , but I hope everyone still enjoys.

***

Chimera ignored the water’s wailing. Phantom hands dragged on the oars while luminescent waves rocking the rowboat to and fro, threatening to leave the vessel stranded and stagnant enough to flip, but she kept her eyes fixed on the shore, lit in a blue, spectral glow that made the shadows of the trees stretch long. 

“Not long now, your highness.”

“You’ll hang for this!” King Idris shouted in return. He looked a bit like trussed bird on the boat’s floor, hair mussed, cheek to the boards, fine bell sleeves crumpled in scarlet tatters behind his back. He’d been a bit scrappier than she’d imagined such a slender, pampered thing to be. She’d barely managed to drag him past the forestline and into the glammer before his guards caught up. Pinning him long enough to tie and blindfold him had been a whole other mess. The scratches on the backs of her hands prickled like stinging nettle.

 “My soldiers are some of the best trackers in the kingdom; they will hunt you down! You’ll be on the noose faster than you can plead mercy, that is if they don’t tear you apart first!”

“Last I saw, your soldiers were having quite the problem with glammer, sooo…” Chimera heaved against an especially violent pull from the lake’s occupants. An oar almost slipped from her paw side, but she managed to sink her claws into the grooves. “Besides, you’re going back soon anyway. Just wait.”

“Take me back now!”

“No can do.” 

King Idris cranked, his cloth-swathed face in her direction. “I’m giving you an order!”

Chimera clicked their tongue in feigned disappointed. “Sorry, not human.”

“What do you want then? Gold? Food? Do you have a grudge on my father?”

“Nope. I only came for you.”

The boat knocked hard against the head of the dock, and Chimera shook off any lingering fingers from the oars. The king yelped as a couple glowing droplets speckled his cheek though they quickly dulled against his skin. 

“The water won’t hurt you, silly.” She scooped up the rope from the floor and leaped over his head to the dock, tethering the boat fast to the post. “It’s what’s in the water that wants to hurt you.”

Idris only had the chance to make a small strangled sound before Chimera grabbed him under the arms and hoisted him up after her.

“Don’t touch me! Monster!”

Chimera dropped him. She probably shouldn’t have. Adler would ask if he had a giant bruise on his face. Besides, this was a king, not only a human king, her king. Or he would be.Of a sort. Anyway, she’d been charged with keeping him safe here, not with dropping him face first on s hard, splintery dock. But…that word. Monster. It made her insides burn, and her hands moved on impulse. 

“Suit yourself.” A quick flick of her knife and both the blindfold and the bonds around his ankles fluttered to the ground. She kept the hands tied for good measure. “I dont care if you walk.”

Idris rolled onto his side and blinked rapdily at his new surroundings. His eyes widened like silver pieces at the Dead Lake, then like saucers at the sight of dark looming trees and the pitch black spaces in between the trunks. She wondered if he caught the dark’s barely perceptible writhing? Like something alive. But the biggest reaction came when he looked at Chimera. His pale eyes became like twin moons. He’d called her monster based off a glimpse, she must seem truly inhuman now. She was a sight, alright, even among other fae. A lion paw on the top, a goat leg on the bottom, a tufted tail in between. Plus one devilish horn.

“We’re going up there.” Chimera pointed up the cliff face to the rickety house at the top; blessedly, the king’s gaze followed. “I really wouldn’t recommend running off. Especially not at night. The lake will drown you and the wood will eat you.”

Idris leaned his forehead against the planks and slowly shoved himself up onto his knees. He glared up at her. “My soldiers are coming.”

Chimera shrugged. “Then let’s wait for them inside.” She hooked her claws into the knot of his bonds and yanked him upright. “Come on.”

Maybe Idris realized the stupidity of staying out on this rock because he walked forward without argument. Every once in a while his muscles went rigid like he wanted to bolt or jump or turn on her, and Chimera prodded him in the back with the hilt of her knife, but halfway up he was wheezing to much for defiance. By the time they reached the top of the cliff’s stone steps, he seemed to be choking on his own breath.

"Hey." Chimera slapped him a couple times on the back, but it only sent him into a fit of coughing. "Hey, hey, hey."

She pulled him to the dining table and rushed to fill one of their wooden cups with cold tea from the kettle. She only remembered his bound hands as she held out the cup.

"Right." She moved the cup up to his mouth. He drew his lips together into a tight line, though a few spluttering coughs broke threw, sending ripples across the drink's surface. "It's just honey and blackberry. The normal kind. Not fae food. On my honor."

Idris slowly loosened his mouth and took a tentative drag. HIs face unwrinkled a fraction.

After a couple sips, Chimera placed the cup on the table and crouched behind the king to cut ropes on his wrists. He slowly drew his arms in front of himself, flexing his hands and wrists a couple times before folding them in his lap, the shredded ends of his sleeves swathing his knuckles less elegantly than this morning.

"Did they ever make you do anything in that castle?" Chimera said before she could think better of it.

"I tire out easily," Idris snapped with the defensiveness of one already hyperaware of his own limitations and others' thoughts on the matter. "I always have. There are more important things than traipsing up mountains and hitting people with swords."

Maybe so. As far as she knew King Hyacinthe didn't do much of either. News from the deep wood only brought word of sweet torture and cruel revelries, the fae court's specialties.

"Do you want something to eat?" Chimera said.

Idris went even stiffer than he already was. "Why?"

"Becaaaause we've been traveling since this morning?"

"When you kidnapped me?"

"I wouldn't exactly call it kidnapping." Chimera plopped into the seat next to him.

"Oh? Pray tell then. What would you call it?"

"A temporary retrieval. It's not like I just snatched you to snatch you; we've been expecting you, see?" She motioned to the thick pile of skins in the corner. "That's your bed there in the corner. And there is food for 3 stockpiled in the cellar. We even scrounged you up some clothes for the stay."

"Oh, how magnanimous, that fixes absolutely everything because what I've really been concerned about is what I'm going to wear."

"Well, obviously I couldn't come to you, so I was sent to bring you here."

Idris stared at her incredulously. "Sent? By who?"

"King Hyacinthe." Idris continued to stare. No recognition. "The king. The other king. Fae king. My brother and I were specifically assigned. It's a very important job, you know, and not easily acquired."

Idris held up his hands, trembling a little with the rising register of his voice. "Job? Assigned? Is this a political abduction? Are the fae planning a siege on my kingdom? Are there going to be peace negotiations?"

So he didn't know. Chimera had wondered. When a changeling was planted as an infant it often wouldn't know its true identity. But usually, they figured it out. There were only so many unexplainable things that could happen--accidental glammering, elemental phenomenons, new appendages--before someone took notice. But Idris...the way he spoke. It was like a human.

"No, nothing like that," Chimera said.

The human kingdom was already covered 25 years ago. Time for him to know.

"This is an individual issue. You're late."

Idris furrowed his brow.

"You should have manifested years ago, maybe it's best that you didn't, but now you're king. And obviously, you've been doing an awful job on your own, so if you're ever going to change, you're going to need a mentor."

Idris folded his hands tightly together and rolled back his shoulders, staring Chimera down with a cold regality that couldn’t counterfeited. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Chimera’s stomach dropped a little. She’d known their situations weren’t the same, but she’d still stupidly thought… Nevermind. None of this was about her. Alder would be depending on her to get their plans in motion.

"Haven’t you felt anything? It's like an itch. An itch so bad you want to claw out of your own skin.”

“I don’t have dealings with magic or magic folk. I have nothing to do with your witchcraft.”

Chimera snorted. “You might want to bend that person ideal.”

“I do not and will not. I demand an immediate explanation of the fae monarchy’s intentions for my kingdom and myself. I will not be cooperating until you do so.”

How did such a pale, and fragile thing pull off such commanding airs? Like he shrugged away his very body and exposed the core of his being. Well, she had to say it straight out sooner or later.

She took a deep breath and then locked eyes with the changeling king. “King Idris, the entire fae court, has been waiting for your ascension. Because only you, a changling raised as human royalty and crowned their king, can make the human kingdom ours.”

[thepenultimateword]

Love Thy Enemy Part 3

Part 1, Part 2

CW: forced relationship, captivity, very light violence

As it turned out, the city had not changed much. Yes, the peacekeepers wore a different colored uniform. Yes, there was still rubble and buildings in different stages of disrepair. And yes, as the empress's carriage passed, a portion of the people froze or stared or a combination of both. But they were still going about their lives. Selling, buying, socializing, sweeping out their homes. None of the burning and hunger Vorrin had pictured these last few months.

Empress Callista watched him out of the corner of her eye. She pretended to be occupied with the stack of letters and supplications she'd brought along with her, but her attention was not so easily masked.

Maybe she expected him to run.

"Here." She licked the tip of her finger and separated one of the pages from the rest of the stack, holding it out to him. "What do you make of this?"

Vorrin pinched the page tentatively before scanning it over . It looked like…a military report? One of the generals wanted permission to increase the troop size within Tarov, the next city over, as well as its surrounding villages. 

He peered over the top of the page. “What are you expecting of me?” 

“Your opinion.” The empress lounged back in her seat. “This is your homeland. Is it a good idea? What is the temperament of the city’s inhabitants? I’m still keeping troops in the larger cities at the borderlands, so sending more to Tarov would be stretching it a little thin, though nothing I can’t handle with little strategy. Though, a confirmation of necessity would be preferable before I leap into any orders.”

Vorrin furrowed his brow. “Why would I help you? You’re the enemy.”

“The war is over, darling, whether you like or not, this is the outcome. So you can either make the transition smoother, or let your people drown in uncertainty.”

Vorrin bit savagely at his lower lip. This felt wrong. He shouldn’t be doing anything for this tyrant or her people. But on the other hand, what if he really did more harm by refusing than submitting? Empress Callista had a point. The kingdom would never be what it once was. 

As far as Vorrin knew, King Duras had been declared missing in action. No body among the heaps of dead, but no appearences after all this time either. Likely, he had been missed. War was rarely so kind as to leave its victims pristine and recognizable. Even a king. 

If he was alive, he wasn’t taking the kingdom back any time soon. If he did give his opinion, there would be no loyalty lost there. And Vorrin supposed he’d already practically turned over the kingdom, what was a little more dagger twisting?

“I would pull out.”

Empress Callista scoffed.

“No, I’m serious.” Vorrin set himself a little firmer in his seat, meeting the empress’s predatory, amber gaze directly. “The people were already on edge when you invaded. The more troops you send to watch them, the more you segregate yourself from your goal, that is their respect and acceptance for you as their rightful ruler. Things may be smoother here in the capital with you present, but I can guarantee tension is growing. Especially in Tarov. The majority of that population comes from retired soldiers and palace officials. Patriots. You push, they push right back. Pull out. Give them some space. Then reapproach without the soldiers.”

Empress Callista crooked her brow slyly. “I wasn’t expecting that much honesty.”

Vorrin jolted a little, surprised at the empress’s surprise. “You…asked for my opinion.”

“Yes, but most people involve a few more lies and manipulation tactics. You don’t have an ounce of venom in your body, do you, lovely?”

A rush of warmth swept through Vorrin’s cheeks, and he gritted his teeth. “I’m plenty venomous. I just didn’t see a point in lying.”

“If you say so, darling.” She shook the page back out of his clenching fists and placed it wrinkled on the “read” stack. “Alright, I’ll pen up a fall back order when we return this afternoon.”

Vorrin blinked. “Wait. You’re using my idea?”

“Mm. I’ll at least see how it plays out.”

“But…but I’m just…a trophy. A consort. Won’t your advisors protest?”

“I don’t know the customs of Totholan, but in Avarose, royal consort is a seat of honor. In fact, consorts are much more utilized for their personal talents then they are for…more expected duties. Many consorts never even see the inside of the imperial bedroom, only consorts in name as to be kept close and protected. You, my darling, can count yourself special.”

She winked, and Vorrin hated himself for blushing harder.

He opened his mouth to belt some scathing defense he hadn’t quite worked out yet when the carriage jolted to a halt.

"Ah, we're here."

The empress bustled her robes together, ready as the footman swung the carriage door open to descend to the cobblestone road.

Vorrin ignored the footman’s offered hand and leapt the steps to the ground, sending an ungracious puff of dust up around his ankles.

He blinked around himself at the shopping district. “Here?”

“We have several droll obligations today, so why not begin with something lighter? There are several traditional outfits I expect you to keep, but I do not pretend not to notice your displeasure for your wardrobe. I’ll be keeping you to a certain standard, but perhaps we can find you some items that are more to your liking.”

Vorrin recoiled from the offer, unable to help the displeasure he knew twisted his features. It felt a little too much like acceptance of his position. And he was far from that. “I respectfully refuse.”

“No need to be shy, choose anything you like.”

“I’m not your dress-up doll.”

“But you are mine. Now, let’s not make a scene, hm?”

She started toward one of the shops, entourage close on her heels.Vorrin picked up speed to a brusque soldier’s stride, passing just a couple centimeters in front of her. 

“So much for a position of honor,” he growled lowly, “Don’t give me commands and act like I have a choice.”

The empress came to a halt and let her servants grab the door for her. “But aren’t pretenses so much nicer?”

“No. At least with orders I can–” 

“Excuse yourself for not having a choice?” Empress Callista finished, resting her hand on the small of his back to usher him forward. “You know, if you didn’t spend so much time pouting, maybe you could have done something for your people by now.

Vorrin bristled. “Pouting? You’ve stolen my entire country!”

His voice bounced off the polished walls and alcoved displays, and Empress Callista’s grip grew tighter around his waist. Her other hand pressed a soft, but unusually strong finger to his lips. For the first time Vorrin realized she stood only an inch or so shorter than he did. Were all Avarosian women this tall or was it just her?

“I apologize,” she murmured. “That was insensitive of me. Of course, you’re grieving. If you would like me to pick out all of your clothes, I will. I certainly have some ideas.”

Vorrin fought the urge to bite, instead jerking a step to the right to slip out of her grip. “I’ll pick some blasted clothing.”

With that he stormed around the perimeter room, eyeing the wooden models bitterly and feeling a little childish. He felt Empress Callista following a few feet behind him; even if weren’t for the tramping feet of her guards, the aura coming off her was practically tangible, a pressing shadow against his spine. And it was just as obvious when the pressure suddenly lifted.

He preteneded to stop and admire a long, red suitcoat with bronze buttons while stealing a glance over his shoulder. Empress Callista stood in front of who Vorrin could only assume was the shop owner, a withered old man with half his weight on a cane and hair pulled into a long silky tail that draped over one shoulder. He smiled and  bowed incessantly to the empress while shooting suspicious side glances in Vorrin’s direction. 

How was he the one getting ill looks? He wasn’t the one who overthrew any kingdoms recently! Was it really that obvious that he was reaching beyond his station? 

Before he could think on it any further, both came walking in his direction, Empress Callista with a strong stride, the shop owner at a tottering crawl.

“Nigellus is going to have someone take your measurements,” Empress Callista said, reaching him first. “After that, you can choose anything you like and they’ll tailor it to your size.” 

“Why can’t one of your tailors at the palace make me new clothes?”

“Spoken like the soldier you are. Do you eat the same food for every meal? Do you find one pretty tune and listen to nothing else? Clothing is art. It’s full of variety and differing styles, and if you want it done right you go to the masters. And you may have noticed, this one doesn’t travel well.” Her gaze flicked up to the coat, surveying it up and down. “You like this?” 

“It’s a little flashy,” he said.

“Mm. Does it come in black?”

That part was not addressed to him but to “Nigellus”, as he came up behind them. He rapped his jade-handled cane against the floor as he came to a halt. 

He grimaced a little, but assented, voice raspy and soft, like the vocal cords could barely support being used. “It could be done.”

Empress Callista brushed something imaginary off the breast of Vorrin’s  tunic. “You look good in black.”

 Vorrin stiffened. Black was the Totholan general’s uniform color. Was she making fun of him? 

“But of course it’s up to you,” she said. 

“I’d like to keep looking,” he replied non-committedly. 

“Once you’re measured, I’ll show you to the most appropriate sections,” Nigellus said. Vorrin had given enough commands in his life to know when he was being given one. And even though  it came from a fragile old tailor, he found himself following the man’s waving hand into the back. Much to his surprise, and relief, Empress Callista did not follow. 

They entered a rounded alcove of a room covered from wall to wall in mirrors, quadrupling Vorrin’s uncomfortable, irreecognizable self back at him. Maybe he understood why Nigellus had not been fooled by his status. He dressed like royalty, his hair was spun with gold and jewels, but the way he stood was like a scrapper getting ready to brawl. Not to mention that habitual grit to his teeth when he was in an uncomfortable position, a grimace on the best day and a scowl on the worst. That sort of thing definitely would have been trained out of royal by birth.

His 5 reflections rapidly shook their heads. What was he thinking? He wasn’t a royal by anything. 

“This is one of our fitting rooms,” Nigellus said. He wacked a rounded stand at the room’s center, sort of like what the models in the shop stood on. “Step up here.”

Vorrin obeyed. Again.

Nigellus claimed the cushioned chair at Vorrin’s right side and raised his wispy voice loud enough that it cracked. “Angelique! Bareck!” 

It barely seemed loud enough to pass the fitting room walls, but almost immediately, a pair of employees, a thin man in a rolled shirt and clinging trousers and a young woman with her golden hair braided into a crown, came through the door, armed with fabric and measuring tape.

“Please, take off your outer clothing,” Nigellus said, beady eyes back on him. “I require as exact a measurement as possible.”

Vorrin hesitated with his fingers pressed to his buttons. He’d undressed in front of others plenty of times, especially now that he never dressed on his own, but… He sideglanced at Angelique.

“Angelique has no interest in your figure,” Nigellus said bluntly, sending Vorrin’s face blushing six-fold. “Now stop acting like timid schoolboy and undress. I have other appointments today.”

Vorrin had rarely felt small next to anyone, but this man held the same presence of his childhood commanding officers, but with a quarter of the physical strength. Perhaps being bossed around was the new theme of his life. He began unbuttoning his coat and wondered as he slid it to the ground, how he was going to get some of these pieces back on.

No sooner was he bare, scar-riddled skin reflected at all angles, and the two employees surged forward. For  the next half hour, he stood at stock still attention while they measured practically every inch of him and Nigellus watched discomfortingly from the side. Every once in a while he barked–or wheezed–out commands to hold different fabrics up to his body. Something about seeing how the different materials draped or matched.

“You’ve met the empress before?” Vorrin found himself saying without warning as the room grew quiet.

“A couple of times now,” the tailor replied, wrinkled hands scribbling down something in a tiny notepad.. “I made her “coronation” clothes. And now I’ll make yours.”

Vorrin jerked around, causing Bareck to stumbled back a surprised step. “My what?”

“Oh dear,” Nigellus said dryly, not sounding at all concerned or sympathetic. “Did you not know about that?”

“Don’t be clever, old man. What are you talking about?”

“Your introduction as Empress Callista’s official royal consort. It’s no different than your current station, you’re simply being presented publicly.”

“And everyone knows of this.”

“I may be more informed for obvious reasons.”

“Why are you serving a tyrant?” Vorrin cried, more out of his own building panic than any real anger toward the old man. He knew it was unfair. It wasn’t like Nigellus could turn the empress away, or pack up his life and move. Besides, Vorrin was worse. He hadn’t been exactly , compliant with his new position, but he still went along with it all. 

Nigellus barely seemed bothered by his outburst, tapping his fingers lightly against his cane. “Take it from someone who has been around a while. King Duras was a parasite to his people. The empress did us a favor by taking him off the throne.”

“Treason.”

“Not anymore.” He hauled himself to his feet. “You’re finished. Angelique and Bareck will help you dress. I will attend to the Empress.”

Vorrin watched the man going with a bitterness that surprised even himself. What did it matter what the tailor thought? He knew what he’d seen in battle. What he’d felt. He didn’t need confirmation to know what Empress Callista had done was unforgivable. 

As he exited the fitting room several minutes later, he was immediately accosted by the empress shoving a bundle of outfits against his chest.

“Nigellus said you’d like these ones,” she said, almost…giddy? He wasn’t sure he’d ever seen her anything other than bold and sly.

The outfits were all finely made but the styles were definitely simpler than the majority of the outfits with their dramatic cuts and frills. 

He looked at Nigellus in surprise, but the man simply pointed toward the other end of the store.

“There are more on that side if you’d like to browse.”

“Er…thank you.” 

He let Callista transfer the clothing into his arms and followed her purposeful stride to the indicated clothing. High collars, practical trousers. Military style. But…fancy. Not practical for actual military use, but one might be fooled.

“Any of these are fine.”

“Be specific darling. I’ll buy you three.”

He motioned vaguely to two styles on models, one high collared and caped, and the other with a long, v-cut coat, and held up a third charcoal outfit from the bundle Empress Callista had forced on him.

With that, the money was exchanged, a promise of delivery by the end of the week offered, and they were on their way. 

“Now where?” he asked as they exited, eyeing the guards as they spread out to give the illusion of privacy.

“We take a walk. As you saw, I receive  constant reports on the kingdom’s condition, but I like to see the larger issues myself before passing judgment.” 

“And this larger issue is…?

“Some political unrest in the dregs. Talks of uprising. Persecution of those trying to assimilate. As well as persecution of those who speak up against me. A whole pot waiting to boil over.”

“And you’re just going to walk into that?”

“Why wouldn’t I?”

“Because you’re the empress! You’re valuable.” Maybe not to him, but to the well-being of the country. Especially with no one else lined up to rule. The last thing they needed was another ruler dying and sending them into a bloodbath for the throne. 

“That’s sweet, but if I was scared of scraps, I wouldn’t have declared war. Now stay close.”

She linked arms with him once again, this time holding more to him than forcing him to hold her.

It was a little disconcerting how quickly the polished steps and wide glass windows turned to greasy streets and smoky stench. Vorrin had to admit that the dregs had never seemed so grim when he’d had nothing higher to compare it to. The people stood outside their houses, hanging clothes between rooftops or smoking with neighbors, dirty-faced children kicked loose stone along the street. But as soon as they caught sight of the pair of them they froze, expressions somewhere between shocked and bitter. He felt like a bright colored pheasant strutting into a hunting camp.

“Empress…”

“Keep moving.” She gripped him tighter, maybe that wasn’t her softening as much as it was keeping him locked in place. “We’re meeting someone a couple blocks from here. If you don’t act nervous they won’t bother you.”

“Obviously, you don’t know the dregs. They love—”

“Vorrin, you cur!”

Vorrin’s body stiffened at the husky voice, familiar and yet unknown.

He turned around just as the stout, horse-shouldered woman bowled into him, slamming his chest over and over with strong, battered hands. It all happened so fast, he had no time to steel himself; the next thing he knew he was toppling to the street, palms slipping on the oily grime. 

A whirl of thick, blonde curls loomed overhead. 

“Where is my son, Vorrin? Where is my son?”

Vorrin’s brain rapidly picked her apart, shortening the hair, slimming the face, turning those dishrag gray eyes to stormy blue. Emil. Emil’s…mother.

“He’s safe. He’s only in the dungeons,” he spilled rapidly before he could realize how ridiculous that sounded.

Her eyes flashed behind her curtain of hair. “The dungeon? My son is imprisoned so that you can whore around with the enemy?”

“I was trying to save them.” They were the only words he could find, but they sounded weak even to him. 

"You didn’t do anything for them! You betrayed them! And your country!”

The guards leached out from hiding in the corners of Vorrin’s eyes.

“Wait…no…” he protested, but he couldn’t seem to raise his voice loud enough.

“I hope it's worth it!” Emil’s mother snarled, and in her he saw his soldier’s hate. “I hope you have enough gold and silk to cushion your sleep at night. Enough tinctures and hot bath water to wash all the blood from your hands.”

She spat a wad of saliva in his face. .

All at once, a pair of guards seized her, dragging her with arms twisted behind her back.

“Wait!” Vorrin cried, “Stop! Let her go!”

Empress Callista stepped forward, all danger and poison in one breath. “You’re under arrest for assaulting a royal consort.”

The woman snarled, and Callista bared her teeth to match it. “You should be happy. You're joining your son. Though unlike him, I can’t promise the absence of punishment.”

“No!” Vorrin scrambled upright, clothes smeared and torn. He snatched the empress’s arm, yanking her a couple feet away. 

Her guards made a move to grab him as well when she held up a hand to stop them.

“Don’t do that,” she said, snapping his grip.

“Don’t arrest her.”

“What?”

“She’s just upset! She has a right to be upset!”

“Yes, but she does not have the right to lay hands on a consort like a common brawler. To touch anything or anyone in association with royalty is a crime. A serious one.”

“This is about pride?” he said, gritting his teeth. 

She furrowed her brow, but her voice managed to remain cool. “This isn’t about me; it’s about you. Your reputation. Your honor as a consort.”

“I don't want any of this!” 

“Like it or not, it’s what you have.”

“You let her go!”

Empress Callista closed her eyes against the saliva spray. When she opened them again they were ablaze. “Guards, take my consort back to the palace. Now.”

Part 4

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[im-a-wonderling]

Once A Heart Is Given ~ a continuation of Sorrows Can Swim

It's definitely true that art mimics life. Thanks to certain life events, I'm feeling remarkably similar to Prince, so...I guess inspiration is my silver lining?

Warnings: none

Word count: 2.2k

Sorrows Can Swim masterlist

-

Prince was tired of meetings. He was tired of people needing him. And he was tired of this life he called his own. 

The council, fully composed of men greyer than rainclouds and wrinklier than raisins, sat at the big table. They never looked at him with anything less than expectancy, waiting for him to listen and make the big decisions that came with his duty. 

“We’ll send funds to the village, but discreetly,” Prince decided, hating that he had to be subtle with his support at the risk of offending the nobility, but unwilling to let his people flounder. 

The men leaned in towards each other, debating his decision with those calculating eyes and lowly spoken words. Prince waited for them to raise a complaint meant for his ears, but the murmuring eventually died. “Are we settled?” he asked the room at large. The men didn’t speak, to agree or disagree, which was a telltale sign they felt they were doing him a great service in humoring him. 

Prince ached for a kind word from them, but that was like waiting for fairies to come, pointless and even if it happened, only a luxury. 

“Is that all for today?” he asked the council, concealing his weariness the best he could. 

The head councilman bowed. “Yes, sire, that’s all for the day.”

“Then I will see everyone tomorrow.” The council all got up from their chairs, bowed as one, and filed out of the room, talking amongst themselves again. 

They have each other, Prince lamented. I have no one. 

Prince’s shoulders slumped as he rubbed his eyes against the harsh, bright afternoon sun streaming into the room. He got up, turning to grab a fistful of the curtain, intending to close it and shut away the light. 

But then he caught sight of the garden below and the beauty running amongst the hedges. 

Princess.

Her long, unbound hair streamed behind her, her fists pumping as she ran. She reached the fountain and spun, the pale purple fabric of her dress billowing around her as she spun a full circle and a half, allowing her to face the castle once again. Her radiant smile was aimed at the ladies that were catching up to her. 

What would it feel like to have that smile aimed at him?

Her mouth opened, and even through the glass, his ears caught her merry laughter. His heart swelled, and a pained croak fell from his lips. 

He couldn’t contain it, the way he felt for her. He ached to hear her laugh again, but with the way his heart seemed to grow every time he heard it, it might grow too big for his chest if she did. He felt as if a piece of her was inside him, like she was interwoven in his being, and in the piece’s mighty effort to return to her, it nearly dragged him with it. He considered it a minor miracle that it wasn’t her name he said every time he opened his mouth. He couldn’t imagine what the council would think of him if that were the case. 

Princess tagged one of the ladies and ran away, shrieking from the excitement of the game. 

A sigh left him, and he allowed his forehead to rest against the glass, his eyes following her every movement. He knew he needed to look away, if not out of respect then for his own sanity. He needed to banish her from his mind or he would spend forever watching her from this window. If Princess were to look up through the window, she would catch sight of the fond smile toying at her husband’s mouth. But Princess kicked off her shoes, oblivious to her spectator as she lifted her skirts and ran. 

And he couldn’t look away.

He’d spent most of his life either looking at or looking for her. 

Every summer since Prince turned ten and Princess turned eight, she’d spent in this castle. Prince could still remember the first day she’d arrived in a blue carriage with golden accents, the Tunican colors. Nursemaid had all but wrestled Prince into his best clothes. As they stood outside the castle, watching the carriage appear in the distance, Nursemaid lightly smacked Prince’s hand every time he reached up to scratch the itchy collar. When the carriage came to a stop and a footman opened the door, Prince expected a bratty, snooty girl to step out.

A snooty girl indeed was who took the footman’s waiting hand. Once she was out of the carriage, she stood on the ground, blinking out at all the people standing in the castle courtyard waiting for her. Prince had started to groan, not looking forward to the bowing and scraping that was about to occur. 

But before anything of the kind happened, the girl took off like a shot, running not towards the people or back into the carriage, but off to the side, towards the royal orchard. 

The footman, clearly used to this behavior, ran after her, calling her name, and a few other servants joined in the chase, including Nursemaid.

But Prince looked back at the carriage to see two dainty blue shoes, laying discarded in the dust of the path from where Princess had kicked them off. 

Never in his life had Prince known chaos like the day Princess sprinted through the courtyard and into his life. And nothing else in his life had he wished for since. 

“Sire?” 

Prince jerked away from the window, blinking as his eyes tried to adjust to the darkness of the room that had been too bright moments before. “Yes?” 

“I have done as you ask.” 

Finally, Prince’s eyes adjusted to see Maid standing in the doorway, looking a bit confused. “I’m listening.” He tried to arrange himself in a very thoughtful, serious position.

Maid swept into a deep curtsey. “Sire, she said she has no need for jewelry or clothes, sire, nor stationary or books.” 

Prince frowned. His sneaky attempts once again failed to find out what Princess wanted for her birthday—which was two days away. It would be her first birthday in Prince’s kingdom, her first birthday as his wife. He wanted her to enjoy it, and he was getting desperate. 

“What about a horse?” he asked desperately.

Maid shook her head. “She has a prize mare already, sire.”

Prince pursed his lips, deep in thought. 

With their lives similarly decadent, what riches could he offer her? The only thing he could give with value other than monetary was his heart, and he’d given it to her already. She didn’t want it, he knew that, and if it were humanly possible, he would’ve taken it back long ago. Prince wasn’t even sure that a heart could be taken back once it was given. 

“But if I may?”

Prince looked up at Maid, her fingers anxiously smoothing down her skirt, betraying her unease when her face didn’t. “Yes?” he said.

“She mentioned that she wants to go see Queen’s Veil Falls.” 

Prince turned back to look at Princess, who was much further through the garden now. The waterfall was one of Prince’s favorite places in the whole kingdom. 

As he watched Princess roll on the grass in an attempt to dodge one of the ladies, a plan started forming in Prince’s head. “Thank you, that will be all.”

“Sir, you…you don’t want to hear anything else?”

Prince furrowed his brows, spinning to see Maid’s furrowed brows. “What else is there?”

Maid glanced over her shoulder and then lowered her voice. “There’s a man–”

“No!” Prince said, so loudly, Maid flinched. “I’m sorry.” Prince rubbed his forehead, reeling back his feelings and pushing them down. “You’re dismissed.”

His outburst must’ve frightened her, for Maid curtsied and scurried away. 

What had she been about to say? It certainly would’ve involved Guard, but was it information Prince already knew? Or was there more?

Prince swallowed hard and pulled out a map, forcing himself to stare at the location of Queen’s Veil Falls. 

The waterfall was a pleasant, secluded space. Prince had never been there with more than three people, and often, he simply went by himself. But Princess wouldn’t want to spend her birthday with Prince, and he couldn’t send her ladies there without an escort, and an escort would make the group too big.

But there was a way for Princess to go to the waterfall with only one other person, someone who was very capable of protecting her, and possibly the person Princess would most enjoy going with. 

-

Prince waited until the next morning before going to the barracks.

The dimly lit room contained twenty beds, ten on each side. Nineteen of the beds were empty, only one bed was occupied: the bed in the corner, furthest away from the light. The torches had been snuffed, leaving the sunlight streaming through two tiny windows as the only source of light in the room.

Prince walked briskly to the bed, eyeing the lump underneath the blanket. Guard was on duty the night before and was now catching up on some much needed sleep. Normally, Prince would avoid waking him at all costs, for Guard was already problematic enough to deal with when he’d slept well.

But this conversation couldn’t wait with the Princess’s birthday being the next day. 

“I have work for you,” he told the lump still in bed.

The lump moved from beneath the blanket, and Guard’s groggy face appeared. Any other soldier in this castle would leap out of bed, standing at attention with poker straight posture. But Guard merely rubbed his eyes. “What?” he said, irritated. 

“Princess’s birthday is tomorrow.” 

Guard propped himself up on his elbows, blinking sleepily at Prince. “And?”

Prince stood statue still. Somewhere inside surely resided anger, but all Prince could feel was misery. Everyone deserved to be celebrated on their birthday. If Guard cared a mite for Princess, he’d commit himself to her enjoyment. But he didn’t, so he wouldn’t. Over and over, Guard’s actions spoke of nothing but self-interest, and Prince only had himself to blame for being disappointed. 

He took a deep breath and blew it out as slowly as he could. “Princess wants to go to Queen’s Veil Falls. If the two of you leave after breakfast tomorrow, she can have lunch at the falls and be back before dinner. I think–”

“What’s in it for me?” Guard interrupted, swinging his legs over the side of the bed.

“A picnic. The chance to see a beautiful place. Time with Princess away from the castle.” Guard raised an eyebrow, looking unimpressed, and Prince scowled. “You’ll have a day free of duties aside from keeping her safe. That must be sorely tempting.”

Guard smacked his lips, as if he were literally tasting the offer and deciding his verdict. “Very well.”

Prince stared as Guard yawned and stretched.

What would he himself give to be the one Princess wanted to celebrate her birthday with? If some witch could somehow make Princess naturally love Prince…why, Prince would give the witch anything she wanted, perhaps even his life’s purpose—his kingdom. And here Guard was, acting as though this opportunity, as though Princess were burdensome?

Guard’s eyes lazily passed over Prince, but then he froze in his position with his arms stretched towards the ceiling. Then, he lowered his arms and pushed himself up on his feet. “Does His Highness have something to say?” he asked, his mocking voice undermining the title. 

Prince turned away. “The kitchens will prepare the picnic basket, and the stables will have two horses saddled and waiting for you.”

“Look at me!” Guard shouted, and Prince looked over his shoulder to see a dangerous light flickering in Guard’s eyes. “You don’t get to dismiss me.”

“I’m not.”

Guard advanced on Prince. “You will treat me with the respect I’m owed, or I’ll–”

“Spill the beans. I’m aware.” Prince held his clasped hands behind him, looking Guard directly in the eye. If only Guard knew what the kitchen staff normally did to rats, then he’d have no doubt that Prince was already treating him much better than he deserved.

Guard’s mouth suddenly spread into a nasty smile as he made a show of dusting off the shoulder of Prince’s doublet. “No matter. Your wife treats me well enough for both of you.”

Maybe Prince should’ve punched in Guard’s nose right then and there. Ordered him out of the castle. Called for the other soldiers to throw him in prison.

He was too defeated to do anything of the kind.

Prince just tiredly blinked at Guard, waiting until the man was satisfied enough to allow him to leave without more grandstanding.

Guard stepped back. And then he spat.

Prince lowered his gaze to the glob of saliva now darkening the front of his shirt.

“You’re pathetic,” Guard said in a low tone. “And your wife knows it.” 

Prince waited for the searing, poker-hot pain to shoot through his chest, but he felt nothing. Nothing at all. His heart made nary a peep. Perhaps it really was wholly and completely Princess’s, so far gone, it resided in his chest no longer. “Don’t forget about tomorrow,” he said quietly before turning away.

“Come back here!” Guard shouted, but Prince ignored him.

He had a meeting to go to, and apparently he had to change his shirt.

-

Overall tag list:

@thelastpyle @valiantlytransparentwhispers

Tag list:

@writing-on-the-wahl @thepenultimateword @elf-kid2 @thinkwrite5 @tobeornottobeateacher @brekker-by-brekkerr @girl-of-the-sea-and-stars @lunatic-moss-studio @blueberryblood11

[thepenultimateword]

Prompt #206

“No.” The royal froze in the center of their bedroom, insides icing at the flapping coat and gleaming orange eyes lingering on the threshold of the balcony. “No, you get out right now.”

“My liege—” the all too familiar shadow of the assassin began, as purring and flirtatious as the day they left. The royal hated that for an instant their heart panged thinking about it.

“Go away!”

“Is the shouting really nece—“

“It is! And I’ll get louder unless you crawl back over that railing and hope I forget you ever attempted contact.”

In direct opposition, the assassin took a step forward into the royal’s quarters.

“Is that arrest order still in place?”

“It most certainly is.” The royal opened their mouth wide to scream, but in two rapid strides the assassin was at their side, clamping their mouth shut with one hand and restraining their thrashing arms with the other. The royal bit them.

The assassin gritted their teeth, but kept their hand firmly in place. “Can we talk?”

Royal tasted blood, and the assassin tore back, hissing a curse and tucked the wound against their chest for a few seconds.

The royal bore red-stained teeth. “We cannot. You’re a liar and a deserter, and I’m not falling for your serpent charm ever again.”

[thepenultimateword]

Hello!! Can I request a captive x captor prompt list? I don't know if that's something up your alley, but your prompt lists have a wide variety and have helped me get out of some sticky spots (that I wrote myself into lol). If not, that's totally fine too. I appreciate your work ❤

Sure thing! Imma do my best to make them non-toxic/non-Stockholm syndrome-y because that’s more comfy for me. But thank yooou! I’m so glad that my prompts have been able to help you at all! Sometimes I wonder, so that’s really nice to know!

A pirate crew captures a selkie and intends to sell it at a dark enchanted market of different creatures and rarities. However, the more one of the pirates spends time guarding their captive, the more they dread pawning them off to the highest bidder. But how can they commit mutiny against their crew and captain, the only family they know? Especially for a creature that most definitely hates them. 2. When a human steps into a faerie circle, the fae in question is ecstatic. Their fellow fae friend has a birthday coming up and a taste for unique items and eccentricities. Actual conscious animals are hard to come by, but a human transformed into an animal? Much easier. And how is Other Fae to know the difference?

3. After trying their food by chance, a royal forces a local cook into their employ as their personal chef. Though the royal spoils them with nice quarters, unlimited ingredients, and a ridiculously high wage, the chef cannot forgive them for taking away their freedom. Meanwhile, the royal, whose love language is food, falls deeper in love with each meal.

4. Pirates are to be hanged. That is the law. However, when a recently arrested pirate is up for execution, the city's lord visits them with a bargain: their life for their service as a guard. The lord's child has recently bought a ship and is insistent on sailing around the world, oblivious of their own inexperience and naivety. And everyone knows there's no one more sea-smart than a pirate. However, their child, having no idea of the deal, begins catching feelings for their gruff crew member who always seems to be there for them.

5. Dragons have taken humans captive since the days of knights and princesses. It is no different for the modern-day city dragons, though the reason has become foggier over the centuries. Is it for hoarding? For food? Love? All the dragon knows is their instincts screamed at them to take this person, so they did. Except now they're riddled with guilt. On the other hand, they picked on of the only humans who would be ok with this development. A dragon scientist/expert who is over the moon to study a member of the rare species up close.

6. Human pests are always breaking into the giant's home, stealing their supplies, wealth, and anything else they can get their tiny grubby hands on. They decide to put up traps, but when they actually succeed in catching one of the thieves, they're not sure what to do with them. They don't want to kill them, but they certainly can't let them go either.

7. A monster hunter is taken captive by one of the very monsters they once caught and sold. The monster escaped a couple years ago, but not without serious scars, both emotional and physical. They intend to make the monster hunter share their pain, but the hunter is so much more ragged and tired then they remember. It seems they’ve become broken and scarred all on their own.

8. Knowing that planet earth is about to be destroyed, a group of aliens breaks protocol and abducts a few hundred humans in order to preserve the race. However, the humans, whether uninformed or wracked with grief are none too happy about this development. The ship’s captain tries to keep them isolated to one area of the ship, believing it will be easier to them adjust to one factor at a time, but one of the humans is always escaping, and searching the captain out. The captain is still only semi-fluent in human, but their addresses usually involve a lot of shrieking and spitting.

9. Vampires are merciless, bloodthirsty monsters; the vampire Hunter knows this from much experience. So why are they having such a hard time finishing this one? Pretty hair and a sunshiny attitude are not reason enough!

10. The detective is the only thing standing in the way of the criminal’s success and freedom. They should take this chance, catching the detective helpless and off guard, to get rid of them permanently. But…the detective has also been the only constant in their life for years. They’ve dedicated so much time to impressing and thwarting them and the detective so much time to chasing them. Maybe they shouldn’t rush it and keep hold of them a little longer.

11. A royal is almost assassinated and the hitman is put in the dungeons. The royal insists on talking to their would-be-killer themselves and what starts as an interrogation transforms into a daily storytelling session, with the royal hounding the assassin for information about the outside world. As the assassin’s execution date looming, the trapped royal’s desire to leave grows. If anyone could take them away from this place, it would be assassin, but can that trust them not to finish the job they were hired for?

12. After kidnapping Sidekick multiple times as leverage, it is Villain’s turn to be a hostage. In all their captures, Sidekick discovered a familial connection between Villain and Supervillain, and with Supervillain on the verge of mass destruction, Sidekick is going to exploit it. Surrender or Villain will be killed. Except Sidekick has no experience with hostages and is relying on all of Villain’s advice on how to keep them secure. At first it’s manipulation, but after a while…Villain doesn’t really want to leave anymore.

[im-a-wonderling]

A Union of Obligation

I wasn’t actually planning on writing a continuation of Sorrows can Swim, but writing inspiration is an unpredictable mistress, and it was already written when @thepenultimateword requested a continuation. More to add to the @fantasci-side-blog I guess 😂

Word count: 3.3k

Sorrows Can Swim masterlist

-

Prince shoved aside his lunch, sliding a paper describing trade routes into the place vacated by the bowl of soup that wasn’t at all warm anymore. 

Trade with Tunica and his own kingdom had always been strained, but managing the routes was crucial for maintaining the peace between the two kingdoms. If it wasn’t crucial, Prince would not have acted as swiftly as he did to avoid Princess’s name falling into scandal. If the Tunican king found out that his daughter had consorted with a lowly soldier from Prince’s kingdom, the repercussions would’ve been catastrophic for both lands. Prince hoped his new marriage would go beyond simply saving face, solidifying the bond and giving way to beneficence for all. 

He’d already seen the beginnings of that hope’s fruition. 

Reports of celebrations throughout both kingdoms had reached him, and there were rumors circulating the court that this union marked the beginning of a golden age. 

Well, at least his marriage was good for something.

He rubbed his forehead. If a golden age was in the future, why had the requirements of his position doubled?

Sure, before the wedding, he’d spent nearly every day dealing with some odd commission. But in the fortnight since the wedding, the only day he’d had off was the day immediately following his wedding. 

To all outsiders, it was easy to assume those hours had been spent intimately getting to know his new wife. In reality, he’d spent them pretending to work in their sitting room while listening to Princess’s bilious sounds coming from their bathroom.

Clearly Princess didn’t drink liquor all that often, a fact that both relieved and worried Prince. He didn’t want an alcoholic for a wife, but if she drank far beyond her limits because of marrying him… 

Prince sat back in his chair, giving up on the trade routes. He let out a deep breath and allowed his eyes to fall shut. The expectations that came with being royalty were always exhausting, but he’d been freer. Before, he could go for a horse ride, eat alone, sleep alone, and go gallivanting through the city to his heart’s content.

Now, he was a married man. 

A knock sounded at the door.

“Come in,” Prince called, wearily rubbing his eyes.

“Your Highness.”

Prince glanced over at the man who came in and, at first glance, nothing seemed amiss. But then Prince noticed the mud decorating the man’s shoes. The servants, occupied with the cleanliness of the castle, should’ve made him change footwear or at least go barefoot rather than track mud over the expensive carpet. Then, he saw the piece of paper clenched in the scout’s hand, for the man could be nothing else.

Prince sat up straight, holding out his hand for the paper. “What is it?”

“I’ve come from the watchtower.” The scout handed the page to Prince, who quickly opened it, taking in the information. “We spotted a company of soldiers marching through the forest, all bearing the Tunica coat of arms.”

“What did they say when they stated their purpose?”

“Your Highness, they…didn’t stop to do so.”

Prince only just managed to keep his thoughts from leaping from his mouth. There shouldn’t be a company across the border at all, and if they hadn’t stopped to talk of their intent…

The scout shifted, likely uncomfortable being in the room with Prince with such a tense silence. 

The scout had done his job, Prince reminded himself. The information was known, and now actions could be made because of this warning. “Thank you. Please, go down to the kitchens for refreshment before you leave the castle.”

The scout bowed and retreated. 

Prince gave him the count of ten before storming out of the room and down the hallway, the report clenched tightly in his hand. 

One thing he’d learned about his wife since their wedding was how much Princess loved to sleep in. Prince could be dressed, fed, and already halfway through his tasks for the day when Princess stumbled out of the bedchamber and into the sitting room. 

If one wanted to paint an angel waking from sleep, Prince knew exactly what it would look like, for Princess never looked quite so divine as she did when her countenance was weighed down with sleepiness…and it was her ethereality that tugged at Prince’s heartstrings like nothing else. She would yawn and lift her arms up towards the sky, her eyes falling shut as she stretched. Then, one hand would drop to trace a path down her face while the other ran through her slightly disheveled hair. 

Prince shook his head. 

Considering the sun’s position, she would certainly be awake by now, which was good, because he needed her. 

…for affairs.

…of state. 

Prince rounded the corner, opening the door of their suite, expecting Princess to be amusing herself with sewing or reading. 

But the sitting room was empty. 

He glanced out the window. The sun was high in the sky. Could she possibly still be in bed? 

Shaking his head, he reached for the polished doorknob of their bedchamber. He almost pushed it open, ready to catch sight of her, when he heard the sound of giggling. 

His fingers froze, his ears strained. 

More giggling. 

It’s probably one of Princess’s lady’s maids, he told himself, the hand holding the forgotten paper limp at his side. They were a giggly bunch, and if Princess had just woken, they’d be helping her dress anyway. 

But there was a pit in his stomach and a lump in his throat as a preternatural sense of dread seized control of him. He clenched the doorknob, praying he was wrong. It was a prince’s job to be prepared for the worst possible scenario. Paranoia was a useful skill when one couldn’t make any mistakes. That’s all this was. It was his paranoia making him think the worst of the situation. 

Then his ears caught the unmistakable sound of a moan. 

His grip tightened in time with his heart, and he flung the door open. 

Princess and Guard leapt away from each other, looking at him with shock, which quickly morphed into guilt as details bombarded Prince’s brain.

A padded vest, resting a foot from Prince’s feet.

The way both of their chests heaved. 

A woven tunic discarded on the armchair.

Princess’s curls, dislodged from their normally careful hairstyle.

Guard’s bare torso.

The partially undone laces of Princess’s dress. 

All semblance of composure slipped from Prince’s grasp, and his fist clenched, reducing the report into a ball of paper. 

Guard and Princess didn’t move. They both just stared at him, frozen pillars of uncertainty.

Then Princess began to wring her hands together, lowering her eyes to the floor with pink cheeks. Guard, however, continued looking at Prince straight on, directly contrary to the disparity between their stations.

Somewhere, a tea kettle must’ve been boiling, because Prince’s ears filled with shrill whistling. 

One breath.

Two breaths.

Three breaths. 

“I believe you’re supposed to be on duty elsewhere,” Prince calmly told Guard.

Guard walked slowly towards the door, bending to pick up his vest.

“Don’t forget your–” Princess began, reaching for the tunic on the patterned armchair, but Prince was already there.

“Yes,” he said slowly before turning to face Guard, “you can hardly return to your post half-dressed.” He held out the garment.

Guard flicked his eyes towards Princess. Prince nearly turned around, aching to see what expression lay within the devastating beauty of Princess’s face, but he steeled his resolve. Guard inched closer, gingerly taking the tunic from Prince’s outstretched hand. In the split-second before Guard turned away, his eyes met Prince’s. 

Prince was transported back to their private conversation in the library, and judging by the look on Guard’s face, Guard was reliving it as well. Prince couldn’t decide if he wanted to hit Guard now more than he’d wanted to then. 

Despite the conclusion of their conversation, whatever he saw in Prince’s expression made Guard pale, his first sign of discomfort, and he quickly left the room, leaving the door open.

Prince faced Princess. 

Her red cheeks suggested a modicum of shame.

Prince just stared at her, forgetting what he’d come here to do and the threat that was marching closer to the castle. All his strength went into taming the tornado of thoughts and feelings within him. Once the roar inside finally dulled, he opened his mouth, fully intending to ask her to compose herself and accompany him to the councilroom.

Then he made the mistake of looking at her lips. 

Her normally perfectly pink and plump lips were angry red. 

Swollen.

From Guard, the man who respected her so little that he never tried to do the right thing by her. He hadn’t even stepped up to do the right thing when Prince threatened him. 

Princess’d let such a man kiss her.

Red-hot anger boiled underneath his skin, tearing apart every natural connection that held his body together until all that held Prince together was rage. It frothed inside him, multiplying every negative feeling tenfold. 

But even as the ugly feelings spumed, he couldn’t bring himself to allow them to erupt, not at her. Even if she deserved it and perhaps even expected it. 

Without a word, he turned away, leaving the suite as fast as his legs could carry him.

He would solve the issue with Tunica without her. 

-

Prince didn’t go back to their bedchamber. Even when the sun set and the rest of the castle had gone to sleep, he remained in his study, pacing back and forth, alone save for the candles that were steadily burning shorter and shorter. 

He’d sent a message to his father-in-law, inquiring as to the intent of the company of soldiers currently headed towards his castle. Their numbers weren’t great enough to be of any threat, but their presence indicated something more sinister. As it was, he’d prepared the defenses of the castle, just in case. 

Now the only thing he could do was wait, either for a response or for the arrival of the soldiers. 

Which he could technically do from his bed. 

But how could he go back? How could he lay beside Princess, in between the sheets, when she so clearly didn’t want him? 

The thoughts whirled around and around, picking up speed as the hours passed by. 

How soon after the wedding had Princess resumed her tryst with Guard? How many times had Prince laid in that bed not knowing that he was only the second man to slide between the sheets that day? 

His patience slipped, and he slammed his fist down on the desk, breathing hard. 

Prince thought he’d had burdens, but this extraordinary affection he carried for a woman who barely looked at him before she was to marry him? It weighed him down, changing him from an unhampered bachelor to a lovesick fool. 

He would do well to not think of her, but he wasn’t convinced there would ever be a day when he didn’t.

Behind him, he heard the whisper of the door opening. He didn’t need to turn around to know who it was. Only two people possessed the rank to come into his study without knocking first, and he knew his father had no reason to come in this late. 

“Can I help you?” he asked cooly, leaning forward to pluck some arbitrary scroll from his desk. He opened it, his eyes not taking in the meaning of any of the words as he waited.

The only thing Prince could hear was his own breathing, his own heartbeat, as if she wasn’t here at all, simply hiding somewhere within him. 

“You haven’t come to bed.” Her timid voice spoke of reluctant, but clear worry. 

As it should, he furiously thought. She was a married member of royalty fooling around with a man other than her husband, someone of lower rank. And she hadn’t even locked the door. 

She didn’t ask a question, the slight lilt of her comment the only indication that she wanted him to speak. 

Well, he wouldn’t. 

She’d stolen his own heart away from him; he wasn’t about to let her steal his silence too.

“Are you…coming to bed tonight?”

Prince couldn’t decipher her tone without seeing her face, and he couldn’t see her face without picturing those swollen lips.

What did she want from him? Yes, they slept in the same bed, but with their backs to each other and without speaking. She couldn’t possibly think he’d missed the way she placed a wall pillows in between their bodies every night.

“Prince–”

“If you’re lonely,” he said before he could stop himself, “I imagine Guard will gladly keep you company.” 

So much for her not stealing his silence. 

There was no reply. Prince replayed the comment in his head, realizing how harsh it was. Guilt infested his insides, twisting and turning around his organs, turning them black from the inside. With a sigh, he turned to face Princess. “Look, I’m–”

She wasn’t wearing a dressing gown over her white sleeping shift. 

He kept his eyes dutifully trained on her face, refusing to let his focus dip down even a centimeter. Nonetheless, he felt his cheeks fill with color. Was he a juvenile? For crying out loud, he’d seen fully bare women before. Why did he get such a thrill just from seeing her uncovered arms and collarbones peeking out from the simple sleeves of her nightgown? 

Princess stepped forward hesitantly. “I don’t want you to be angry.”

He was angry. He was seething, but seeing her face made it…so…hard…

He dropped his gaze, replacing her bare arms and undone hair with the gold designs in the velvet carpet. “I am well aware that you hold no affection for me.” He took a ragged breath. “Ours is a union of obligation, not fondness or…or love.” Heavens, those words maimed him, each one a dagger. 

Clinging to the pain, he used it to bring him fire. He slowly met her eyes. “But marriage…especially a royal marriage…requires fidelity.” 

Princess jutted out her chin. “This marriage wasn’t my idea.”

“That may be so, but you agreed to it.”

“Under duress!” 

“And who’s responsible for your duress?” Prince snapped. “If you’re blaming me for that too, you are not as bright as I thought!”

Princess advanced on him, her eyes alight with vexation. “You have no right–”

“To what?” Prince stepped forward too, refusing to be cowed. “To speak the truth? Guard is the reason you married me, supposedly against your will, and yet I find you in an indecent position with him today! Have you learned nothing?”

“You certainly think tremendously of yourself, to lecture me in this fashion!” 

“Maybe so,” Prince retorted, “but you are far too obstinate to agree to this marriage unless you saw the need for it. If you didn’t, no one could have forced you to make those vows for all the world!”

Princess growled right in his face, the sound filling him with heat. “Yes, there was a need for it. And you are correct, if there wasn’t, I never would’ve married you.”

“Is that so?” Prince replied, feeling his gut whip into a heartbroken frenzy. “Well, whatever reason there was, whether you wanted it or not, there is no way out of this. You are my wife. I am your husband. And if anyone finds you in Guard’s embrace, both of you might lose your heads!”

Prince didn’t realize how close they’d gotten until he could see every aspect of the fear that flashed in Princess’s wide eyes. He cursed himself, because once again his mouth had run ahead of his brain, and now she was scared for her life.

He reached out his hand to touch her shoulder. “You don’t–” he began to say.

Princess peered up at him, moisture gathering in her eyes, giving them a glossy appearance. “Guard could be killed?”

Prince nearly bit his tongue.

Her concern was not for her reputation, for their kingdoms, but for that man. Over and over, she chose Guard over everything else.

“There is no telling what might happen,” he said, unable to muster much volume over the roaring of his heart. Princess lowered her head, looking downcast.  “If you are not careful…I fear the consequences will be steep.”

When she lifted her head, he caught sight of the determined twist of her mouth. “We’ll be more careful.”

Prince balled his fists, trying to stop the hurt. She wasn’t going to stop her relations with Guard, she wasn’t even going to get angry at Guard for his carelessness or demand better of him. She was going to continue on her current path.

He couldn’t stand keeping it from her anymore. He grabbed her hands. “Listen to me. Guard–”

“I know you hate him.”

“No, he–”

Princess lifted her hand to stop his words, her fingers cold against his lips, and every nerve in Prince’s body lit up. She’s touching me, his body sang, she’s touching me. Nothing had ever silenced him so effectively as he waited for Princess to speak.

Her eyes beseeched him, for what, he didn’t know, but he knew he would give her anything and everything she asked for.

“I love him.”

She might as well have gutted him. 

“I love him,” she said again, as if he hadn’t heard her well enough the first time. “He and I, we’ll be better about it, I promise.”

Promise.

Prince made a promise as well—a promise to Guard that he wouldn’t tell Princess of what had been said in their conversation in the library. He’d only made it because he knew the information would crush Princess, and unlike Guard, Prince couldn’t ever do anything that hurt her. 

Princess didn’t understand, and he longed for her to understand. 

But as he looked at her, she seemed so small, with desperation in her eyes and, underneath that, the love she spoke of. Whatever she had with Guard, it meant everything to her. Prince believed that she loved Guard, perhaps as she had never loved anyone before. He wished he didn’t believe it.

He pulled her hand away from his mouth. “Okay,” he managed to say, and the pain was all worth it for the hope that lit up her face. “Be smarter about it.” She nodded, and he stepped away. “Now, please, go back to bed.”

Princess nodded and started towards the door.

Some string linking them grew tight, the attachment point in his chest going tight. “Wait.” Princess turned to look at him. 

Prince quickly undid his laces and pulled his sleeves out of his arms. “Take my doublet. It’s too cold for you to be walking around in just your nightgown.” 

Princess padded forward, allowing him to wrap his jacket around her. He started doing the laces up again, pulling the fabric together to block those lovely collarbones from view. The burden of her attention on him nearly made him crumple to his knees in a vow of fealty, but he focused on his task. 

Far too soon, it was over. 

And yet, Princess didn’t head back for the door. 

She simply remained where she was, looking up at him. He gazed back at her, his eyes trailing the features he already knew by heart. Someday, when he was old and his memory started to fail, he knew he would always be able to describe her perfectly. 

He wiped his sweaty palms on his pants. “Goodnight.” 

Quick as he could, he walked back to his desk, taking a seat and pulling out that same scroll, making a great effort to move his eyes from side to side as if he were reading. 

Princess shuffled towards the door. 

Prince could’ve sworn he heard a whispered goodnight, but he couldn’t be sure. 

Either way, she slipped out of his study, and the door clicked shut behind her, leaving the room far emptier than it’d been a moment before.

The string in his chest stretched, pulling him forward, tightening to the point of pain. Instead of following her, Prince slouched back in his chair, the scroll tumbling to the floor.

His eyes fell on the report from earlier, rumpled from when he’d crushed it in his anger earlier.

Even if he didn’t tell her the truth about Guard, he should’ve told her about what was brewing between their kingdoms.

But he feared Princess only cared if one specific man were sent into the skirmish, and it wasn’t him.

-

Part 3

Overall Tag List:

@thelastpyle @valiantlytransparentwhispers

Tag list: 

@writing-on-the-wahl @elf-kid2 @thinkwrite5 @tobeornottobeateacher @brekker-by-brekkerr​

[fantasci-side-blog]

A froggy day in the life of a young prince and a (to be) knight 🐸

Inspired by this prompt by @thepenultimateword! Based on my characters with @callmemeg

“And you confronted the witch head on because…?” young Prince Belir trailed, staring hard with his amphibian eyes at his equally amphibian as well as equally cursed wannabe-knight sister. Though, rather than nestling into the wet leaves for camouflage like he was, she was hopping around in the soil making a spectacle. She didn’t seem to realize that her usual move of athleticism did not transfer well to this small, round body.

“To protect you, of course!” she cried, struggling through a somersault.

"And what protection this is, thank you so much."

"Hey!” His sister’s throat swelled up and she involuntarily let out a croak.

Their bickering and frog-leaps eventually caught up to the witch. There she was, outside their vacation home, lounging in their family’s hammock, eating a croissant that- that- fine, they didn’t know it was theirs, but maybe their parents had bought it and she had stolen it from their kitchen!

“Hey, Witch!” Miana croaked.

The witch raised her sunglasses contemptuously. “Have your parents taught you no manners at all? That’s Ms Witch to you.”

If Belir had eyebrows, one of his would have been raised right now. 

“Oh, apologies,” Miana said without missing a beat. “Ms Witch!”

“Yes, children?”

“Turn us back!”

“Is that all?” She leaned down and turned both frog children to face the opposite direction.

“Not like that!” Miana’s throat swole once more. “We want to be human again!”

“Oh?” Her lips curved into a smirk, but her victims were… not bright enough for her to get the reaction she hoped for, so her face settled back into a tired look instead. “Don’t you know your magic basics and history?”

“Why, yes,” Belir answered. “Just yesterday I read that some cultures used to decorate magic wands with flower petals on special occasions.”

“Very good.” Belir proudly puffed out his little frog chest. “But I meant curses. Particularly the curse of turning people into frogs. Like your situation.” She gestured between the two of them.

“Oh. No, I can’t say I’m familiar.”

The wi- Ms Witch sighed, “Elvara and Doretan are going to hear from me,” she mumbled to herself. Then she sat up straighter and got out her teaching voice. “Turning people into frogs is a very basic and easy-to-break curse. It’s a very common curse, mostly used by people just learning magic or who just want to use a temporary spell. Its popularity is thanks to the famous fairytale The Frog Prince, that I will personally ask your parents to read to you tonight." Anyone else listening to their conversation may have heard some slight snideness at the last comment, but there wasn’t anyone nearby so that snideness was lost.

Miana nodded. “Thank you. But can you turn us back now?”

“No can do, frog princess. Only true love’s kiss will do the trick. You two do know what that is, I hope?”

“True love’s — HEY! No! What if we don’t have a true love?” Their trembling forms gave Ms Witch reassurance that there was at least some intellect in those heads of theirs.

“Well, I guess then you’d better start looking.” She lowered her sunglasses and resumed eating her croissant. 

With great difficulty, Ms Witch was able to control her laughter and her tongue while the two amphibians panicked their heads off.

Her entertainment was unfortunately put to an end when Ms Nerianne and Queen Elvara walked out the cabin door. 

“Jadi, remind me, do you have any allergies —” 

“WAHHHH! NENE! MOMMY!”

“MRS MOM! NENE! I DON’T WANT TO BE A FROG FOREVER!”

The two frog children continued wailing as two very surprised guardians looked on. They looked toward Ms Witch, Jadi, who had a hand on her mouth to try to muffle her snickering.

“My word…” Elvara rushed forward and picked up her kids, her slimy, crying kids, but her kids nonetheless. Memories of her children being small enough to hold in her arms resurfaced before her critical thinking did. Thankfully, that wasn’t the case for Nerianne.

“What did you do, Jadi?” She withheld the second croissant she had brought as hostage till her question was answered.

“Nothing! You wanted me to teach them magic, I’m teaching them magic!” With a wiggle of her fingers the hostage croissant had transferred to her hand.

“You made them cry!”

“Nuh-huh! I turned them into frogs. I never made them cry. In fact, they started crying when you two came. A suspicious correlation, don’t you think?”

“Oh Gods, Jadi.” Nerianne’s so-done voice was undefeatable.

“Sorry.” Jadi finally had the sense to look sheepish. “But, on the bright side, I agree to take them on as my pupils! Also, I’m allergic to eggplant.”

Nerianne sighed and took one of the children from Elvara’s arms. 

“Dory! Dory, come here!” Elvara called for her husband Doretan, still entranced by the fact that her children were so small.

Doretan walked out, still in an apron and flour, “Yes, Elly?” He paused at the sight of the crying frogs. He didn’t know frogs could cry, he realized.

“I DON’T WANT TO MARRY A WEIRDO WHO KISSES FROGS!”

“I DON’T WANT TO GET MARRIED AT ALL!”

Those voices were unmistakable. He sighed. It was only a matter of time before his children were turned into frogs, it was a very common occurrence among kids their age, either a curse by a jealous classmate or an accident while learning magic. Thankfully, the curse’s popularity meant its remedy was also very popular.

“So they’re finally frogs, huh?” He wiped his hands on his apron before taking one of the tiny sobbing creatures in his arms. “What kind of frogs are they? They’re so small," he mumbled.

“Aren’t they, Dory?” Elvara responded. “Almost makes me want to keep them this way. So small and tiny,” she freed Nerianne of froggy Miana and cradled her in her arms.

It took a while, but, eventually, Miana and Belir each received a kiss on their heads by their guardians. The kisses had turned them from two sad frogs back to their perpetually confused human selves. It was true love’s kiss. True family love. Tomorrow Jadi would go on to say that they would have known this if they had had better schooling in magic history. But today, they were ordered to get back to their chores and set the table for lunch with her instead.

---

Writing journey:

Had this in my head ever since I saw the prompt (which was... July! maybe) but couldn't write. I finally wrote it :D

I need help with ending paragraphs lol.