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jakegooglyeyes · 11 months

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Emblem of Roses - 5

Hi, everyone, sorry for the radio silence. I have been dealing with a lot of issues in my life, with both my health and my job. I'm doing better now, so don't worry. I'll try to keep Emblem of Roses updated more regularly from now on. Thank you for everyone's support and patience. Your asks and messages meant a lot to me and they really pulled me through a tough time.

Special thanks to @gyllenhaalstories for countless encouragement and beautiful wishes.

Pairings: Jake Gyllenhaal x reader, Maggie Gyllenhaal x reader (Medieval AU)

Summary: You were content with your quiet life as an illegitimate daughter of the King, hanging out with the maids and learning your craft. All that ended when your father married you to Lord Gyllenhaal, the Usurper, as a peace offering and a hostage.

Word count: 5,400

Warnings: 18+ MINOR DNI , RPF, DUBCON, angst, hurt/comfort, enemies to lovers, hate to pining, polyamory, slow burn with smut, political marriage, mean!Jake to pining!Jake, cunning!Maggie, kind!reader.

*** Your online experience is your responsibility. You have been warned. If any of these content upsets you, DO NOT READ!!! ***

Divider credit: @/firefly-graphics

"Who are you?"

Lady Maggie's voice turns cold and distant. An immense presence you have never felt corners you like a helpless animal. Your feet grow heavy as though they are chained to the ground. Thousands of thoughts race through your head as you contemplate how to respond to ensure your head will remain on your shoulders. Ultimately, there is no other way but to speak the truth.

"I am the bastard daughter of the King." You try to still yourself, preventing the cracking in your voice.

Relief. In a split moment, that is all you feel, relieved that you no longer have to carry the burden of a lie. You tell them your given name, at which the Lady doesn't seem surprised, leaving you to wonder how much she has learned about you. And for how long.

"It is never my intention to deceive you. The King ordered me to marry Lord Gyllenhaal in the princess' stead. I was not given a choice, my Lord, my Lady." You attempt to look at the Lady in the eyes but quickly avert your gaze.

Lady Maggie eyes you like a hawk, searching for any sign of deception. You don't even want to know what kind of expression is on the Lord's face right now. The silence suffocates you like tangling vines. You hang your head low, making yourself appear as humble as possible. Now, you have said all that you can. Only Gods know if the Lord and Lady Gyllenhaal believe you. If they do not find your answer satisfactory, well, you fear your fate has been sealed.

"And you have no nefarious intentions? Another order by the King, perhaps." The Lady asks, her voice calm but grim. The cold glint of the dagger and the King's command flash through your head. There was indeed another order. One you would never have the courage to obey.

"Never, my Lady. I swear on my life that I never had a single ill intention." You reply, struggling to keep your voice from shaking. Your ears are ringing from the dread so much that you cannot even hear yourself speaking, only your thundering heartbeat. What you said is not a lie. You have no intention of taking anyone's life. You can only hope your nervousness doesn't make you seem guilty.

"No? So you are not spying on us?" The Lady's eyes gleam as she looks upon you with a mocking expression. Or it could have been her disappointment, not that you can discern what she thinks. "Well, I wonder why the Lord's little wife has been dressing as a servant and running all over the place."

As you hear the Lady's inquiry, you feel the life force being sucked out of your limbs. Blood is drained from your knuckles as you tighten your grip on the fabric of your dress. Being cast aside by the Lord has made you careless. You have guessed that the Lady knew all about your activities but were too foolish to realize how incriminating they were.

"What is the meaning of this?" The Lord frowns. It's not just you who are caught off guard. He is also stunned by Lady Maggie's revelation.

"Oh, my dear brother. You truly ought to spend more time with your wife." The Lady's tone is nonchalant, with a drop of sarcasm pointing toward her brother. She is not entirely pleased that her brother sees you as her responsibility.

"Who gave you permission to act freely within our premises?" The Lord demands an answer. His sharp tone and piercing gaze reveal his apparent distrust toward you, making you almost jump from your chair. "Speak!"

"I... I was merely trying to be useful during my presence here. I swear my motives are without malice." Another attempt to diffuse the Lord's hostility seems to be in vain.

In a brief moment, your eyes met with his. The creases between his brows remind you of the first time you saw him. It is the same hatred he always has for the royal family. The Lord's hand never leaves the dagger by his side. And you know, just one wrong word could cost you your insignificant little life.

"Do you truly expect us to believe the words of someone sent here by the King? How can we trust that you are not here to do his bidding?" The Lord questions your pleas. The idea of letting a spy run amok inside these walls makes him regret not being able to just sever your head right now and end all doubts. A quick swing of his blade for peace of mind? It is very tempting.

Ever the diplomat, Lady Maggie interferes after sensing the Lord's mounting thirst for blood. Her hand raises with grace in a gesture of restraint. "Rest assured, my Lord. My people have kept a watchful eye on her since her arrival. The girl can do no harm... even if she wants to."

You are somewhat thankful for Lady Maggie's intervention. Even if the Lady's scorn is carefully concealed in her sophistication, at the very least, she is more level-headed than her brother. However, it makes you wonder why she didn't deal with you or inform her brother sooner. Why force you to face him now?

You open your mouth, wanting to say something, but soon are cut off.

"Before you say anything, I wish to remind you that lying will not benefit you nor us." Lady Maggie raises her hand to shush you.

As you wonder about the Lady's implication, a steady footstep draws everyone's attention. The steward comes carrying something in her hand. The middle-aged woman leers at you before approaching her mistress, presenting Lady Maggie with the objects she has brought. The Lady nods in acknowledgment before dismissing her loyal servant.

You freeze in place, and your heart cannot stop drumming as you notice the familiar roll in the Lady's hand. You recognize the yellow hue of the parchment, the dry ink, and your very own unfinished sentences.

Your body is quicker than your brain as your composure crumbles, lunging forward, trying to take the letter from the Lady's hand. An act you greatly regret as soon as a tremendous force blocks your airway. You only have enough time to cast your fearful gaze over the Lord, who is closing his fingers around your throat with the intent to kill.

"I wonder who this 'mother' could be. I am quite flattered you speak so highly of our House, princess."

Lady Maggie's slender fingers brush across the material, unbothered by your predicament. Her casual remarks obscure the threats bubbling underneath a peaceful facade. You struggle to draw a breath, starting to feel light-headed as you try to claw at the grip on your neck. Even as your chest burns and your vision blurs, your eyes fixate on the parchment as you mouth the phrase "give it back."

As suddenly as it has started, the chokehold is gone. The Lord huffs with disapproval. His fingers loosen after his sister's discreet hand gesture. You fall on the ground, choking on your own spit as your body becomes greedy for fresh air. Your hand reaches out for the letter as if it were a lifeline. In a delirious state, you can only make out the embroidered hem of the Lady's dress. The patterns swirl in front of your eyes, digging out old memories you thought you had forgotten. In a dreamlike trance, you crawl to the Lady's feet, the cold stone floor beneath reminiscent of another time.

You are back at the King's castle once more. A long time ago. Before Mother was there. Before you could fight back. Tiny hands and bare feet, riddled with blisters and scabs. Groveling at someone's shoes, pleading for them to give you little food scraps. You no longer know what you are begging for, only an echoing desperation to protect your little peace.

Lady Maggie's demeanor shifts. Her feigning smile disappears as she looks down at you. While she has anticipated a response, the depth of your emotional upheaval catches even a seasoned strategist like her off guard, though she swiftly conceals her surprise. A delicate touch brushes under your chin. Lady Maggie lifts your face with deceptive grace.

"Now, care to enlighten us about the intended recipient of this letter?"

The coolness of her fingers brings you back to the present. Something in your head is gnawing at you, warning you to keep your secret. You do not understand. It should not matter whether you tell the Lady about your mother. And yet, you cannot help but feel a sense of dread, as if you were curling up, fearing you would be disemboweled by a great bear.

"I... it's... it's no concern of yours." You catch yourself stammering.

The Lady's smile widens, seemingly unoffended by your refusal to cooperate. "Oh, but I am genuinely curious. I did not mean to frighten you, my dear. It's my duty to know more about those under my care, after all."

As you hesitate, the Lord, who has been observing silently, interjects, "Get to the point! What are you trying to hide?"

The Lady shoots him a glance, a mix of annoyance and amusement dancing in her eyes. Ignoring her brother's impatience, she refocuses on you. "I promise, no harm intended. Just a little explanation to satisfy my curiosity."

You finally relent under the pressure.

"She's just an old healer, my Lady. She took me in and treated me like her own flesh and blood. I only write to ease her mind about my well-being."

The Lady shoots you an inquisitive eye that you cannot decipher. "Ah, the blood of the covenant is always thicker, is it not. I can only surmise your father wasn't particularly benevolent toward an illegitimate child."

You lower your gaze in response, your silence serving as a confirmation of the Lady's assumption. As she speaks, the Lord notices a rare glimmer of empathy in his sister's eyes. Well, even he pities you a little, not for whatever misery you went through but for the road you are being led down by his sister. He knows her well, and he understands her convoluted games even better. She pokes and prods until she uncovers people's weaknesses, then uses them to either control or break those who cross her path. But her showing guileless compassion? This is an unfamiliar territory even for him.

The silence lingers until a sudden knock echoes through the door, with the steward's voice soon following suit, announcing the arrival of the royal delegates. The Lord grimaces, a flicker of frustration crossing his features as he is not amused by the abrupt conclusion. He exchanges a secretive look with his sister before shifting his focus to you.

Lady Maggie nods at her brother, who maintains his ever-present frown. "Please escort your Lady to the Great Hall, my Lord. Let's not make our prestigious guests wait. I will join you later." Then, she turns to face you. Her words carry an unwavering seriousness, no pleasantries, no pretense.

"We'll resume this conversation when the timing is more fitting. However, bear in mind that whatever you were before, right now, you are Lord Gyllenhaal's wife. And every step you take will be subjected to scrutiny."

Your head lowers as you can only muster a quiet "Yes, my Lady" before the steward enters the chamber to help you back up on your feet. The Lady orders the woman to aid you in fixing your appearance into a more presentable state. Afterward, the steward leads you to the Lord, who awaits you in the hallway, seemingly lost in contemplation.

A swift glance is all he affords you before turning on his heel and taking long strides toward the Great Hall. That is your cue to follow. You make your best effort to keep up with the Lord's unforgiving pace but deliberately trail a few steps behind him, mindful not to stay too close. For whatever it's worth, you are grateful that he stays silent throughout the trip. His thoughts remain unknown to you while you take the time to admire the impressive breadth of his shoulders and his steadfast posture, reminiscent of a warrior marching to the battlefield.

On the way, you notice quite an unusual presence of heavily armed guards, roses insignia carved into their armor plates. The air is stagnant, and the festive mood of the previous days is replaced by caution. As the Lord and you approach the towering double doors of the Great Hall, your pulse quickens with the palpable uneasiness permeating the stone walls.

"Raise your head." A voice, as measured as it is unexpected, cuts through the silence. The Lord's command disrupts your thoughts, momentarily catching you off guard. It is the first time he has ever addressed you in such a manner, devoid of either contempt or revulsion. Instead, it reminds you of the words Lady Maggie told you last night.

Do not let anyone think that House Gyllenhaal is to be trifled with.

You are a lady of the House.

The Lord and Lady are indeed kin, you observe. They are different from each other in every way, and yet, at times, they are almost the same person.

As the heavy doors swing open and the servant loudly announces the Lord and his wife's arrival, you step into the grand chamber where the esteemed guests are waiting. Your eyes lock onto the royal delegates seated at the long table, their opulent attire embroidered in gold threads, contrasting the austere clothes worn by House Gyllenhaal's people. Two sides greet each other with false flattery, an intricate interplay of feigned courtesy and veiled intent.

The Lord leads you to the front, reserved for the heads of the family. His presence makes heads turn, though you can tell many of those gazes fall on you. This is only the second time you walk next to him as his wedded wife. You focus, keeping your posture poised and expression composed, trying to mirror the image he presents to his people and guests.

The delegates, sent by the King, rise from their seats and bow to the Lord in an exaggerated display of etiquette. Honeyed words drip from their lips, laden with poisonous insincerity. The Lord reciprocates with polite nods and faint smiles. You are somewhat surprised to see this stone wall of a man can be such a diplomat. Now that you think about it, he used to be a respected general in the King's court before the rebellion. He must have been no stranger to court intrigues.

Among the delegates, you catch the subtlest of glances, fleeting stares that linger for a heartbeat too long. You don't recognize anyone, but you have no doubt that a few of these nobles know your true identity as the King's bastard, a pathetic replacement for the real princess. Some of them can't even hide the condescension on their face. Even as they address you with the princess title, a trace of mockery flickers in their eyes.

"Your Highness, rest assured that we shall bring the news of your well-being to your father, the King. The magnificence of Goldenhall undoubtedly befits your greatness." One of the delegates gives praise, a middle-aged man whose smile, though broad, carries an underlying tone of sarcasm towards both you and House Gyllenhaal.

You hold your head high. Compared to the things you've heard, this is next to nothing compared to the spiteful words you heard. You reply with humility and ambiguity, avoiding saying too much as you have never had to participate in diplomatic affairs. It feels surreal to stand here on the same footing as the people who see your whole existence as a disgrace. Within these walls, they will not be so foolish to bare their fangs at you. You do not want to admit it, but you feel almost invulnerable with the Lord by your side, as strange as the idea is.

"Indeed, my wife is doing well. We are not the treacherous monsters who imprison and torture the guests coming into their homes." The Lord sneers with an edge to his voice, his words masking a touch of disgust. A wry smile appears as he raises his cup toward the delegate. The man returns the Lord's gesture with the same broad smile.

Before long, the musicians begin to play their songs, signaling that the feast has started. You finally get to see with your own eyes how the Lord and his people enjoy the festivity. Unlike the servants, whose idea of celebration is basically an abundance of food and drink, for the nobles, it involves people presenting their gifts and good wishes to the Lord's family. That, and the endless praises being thrown back and forth.

The whole event is exhausting. Your face and neck go stiff after having to smile and nod every other second. Even the Lord himself appears to be weary of the constant pleasantries. With the royal delegates' presence, he cannot allow himself to be reckless for even just a moment. One can tell Lady Maggie is definitely the more adept navigator of these delicate interactions.

Nonetheless, seeing how the Lord puts on such a courteous mask is very eye-opening. He appears to be much less threatening than he was during your wedding, that, or the wedding was much more miserable for him than practically anything else.

An old couple whose clothes are embellished with House Gyllenhaal symbols approaches, bearing a modest wooden box. With respect, they place the container before you, emitting a subtle fragrance of herbs. Inside the box are three rare flowers that exclusively grow far up north. The plants immediately pique your interest as you have only ever seen drawings in your mother's book.

"Milady, we hope you accept our humble offering. May you soon be blessed with the Lord's sweet fruit." The elderly woman speaks, her smile radiating warmth and kindness.

"Allow this old man to offer a piece of wisdom." Her husband, who seems to have had one too many drinks, turns to the Lord. "Children are important, yes, and hardly any pleasure in life can beat a woman's embrace. But please do not exert your wife. For the soil must be well tilted before the seeds can thrive." After his slight jest, the man holds his drink up to the Lord, provoking a chorus of laughter among the guests and a scolding from his elderly wife.

The words of the wife and husband send warmth surging to your cheeks, a mixture of embarrassment and discomfort. Surprisingly, the Lord appears unbothered, raising his cup to thank the couple for the gift. Instead, he leans over to you with his elbow on the armrest and his face resting lazily on his hand.

"My sister's handy work," He murmurs, his voice a hushed undertone meant only for your ears. You cast a quizzical glance in his direction, perplexed by his unexpected initiation of casual conversation. "I do not know what tall tales she has spun about you, but it seems to give the elders strange ideas," the Lord elaborates. "Whatever puts our elders at ease."

You don't know what to say, nor do you think the Lord wants your input. You have undoubtedly noticed a subtle shift in how you are regarded by House Gyllenhaal. Their caution around you still lingers, yet hatred has given way to a more neutral stance. You even receive the occasion curtsy from the lower-ranked members of the House.

The light of day in the winter is fleeting. Soon, the Hall begins to bask in the fuchsia hues of dusk. With a polite request, you ask permission to leave the chamber for fresh air, earning a nonchalant dismissive wave from the Lord.

As the chattering of the guests is left behind you, a moment of respite envelops your body and mind. In the crispness of the outside air, you finally find solace, and the pent-up breath you have been holding is released in a gentle exhale.

Without a destination in mind, you wander through the courtyard, feeling the chilling night air seeping through your clothes. In your solitude, your mind wrestles with your current situation. You have not forgotten the King's order to assassinate the Lord nor the threat hanging above your mother's life. But you have never had the gut or heart to commit such an act. You have no intention of taking anyone's life. And even if you did, getting the chance to do so would be an entirely different problem.

The mere thought of obeying the King's command sends shivers down your spine. The memories of your miserable life are hard to ignore. You want nothing but to stay far from this power struggle between House Gyllenhaal and the King, and to live your life in peace. But you understand with your circumstances right now, it is a luxury you know you cannot afford.

The letter is still in Lady Maggie's possession. Neither she nor her brother are going to simply trust your words. Your life under the King was pathetic, but people treated you with disregard, allowing you to just disappear. Here? You are, at best, a useless captive and, at worst, a threat. The only silver lining is when you are not playing the unwilling role of a princess, your life here is fine, good even.

A daring idea flashes through your mind. One doesn't have to be well-versed in politics to know that the peace between the King and House Gyllenhaal is incredibly fragile. This uneasy balance can shatter at any moment. When things come to that, you need to find a stable ground to stand on, and you know you will never achieve that by the King's side. Not that there was ever a place for you. If, and this is a big if, you are able to secure favor with House Gyllenhaal, it could guarantee your safety here and dispel a little bit of their ill will against you. Such an endeavor might improve your situation considerably. And then, maybe, just maybe, you can find a way to bring your mother here with you.

The problem? It's one thing to put on the servant's garb and duck your head to avoid being seen. It's another thing to actively support the King's enemy. Your sense of self-preservation keeps tugging at your soul. What terrible fate awaits you and your mother were the Gyllenhaal to fail? At times like this, you wish the old healer were here to tell you the right thing to do.

The biting cold reminds you that you must return to the feast soon. At least there is a large fire in there, you tell yourself. Looking around, you find yourself having wandered to the servants' quarter. The guards are spread thin in this part, and most servants are busy tending to the guests. You cup your hands over your mouth to warm them up before making your way back, not noticing a group of people wearing the King's symbols approaching.

"You are late, lady Maggie."

The Lord snorts, displaying his displeasure of being left alone fending against these diplomats. Lady Maggie lets out a hearty laugh, apologizing to the guests with a socially acceptable excuse. She then takes the seat beside the Lord, positioned opposite your now vacant chair. The Lord leans closer to his sister as the music and revelry shield their conversation from prying ears.

"What is it that you're scheming, sister?" The Lord inquires.

"Ah, is this about the girl?" The Lady lifts the cup to her lips, musing at her brother's annoyance. She takes a small sip, allowing the aromatic liquid to warm her from the inside. "Have you frightened her off, my Lord?"

The Lord scoffs at his sister's evasion of his question. "I am curious as to why you seem to take pity on her? Has House Gyllenhaal's ruthless strategist suddenly grown a conscience?"

The Lord expects his sister to retort with her usual witty remarks, but they are nowhere to be found. Instead, she falls into silence, pondering ideas only she herself knows of. After taking another sip of her drink, the Lady speaks in a soft voice while watching her distorted reflection within the ripples of the wine.

"Brother, I have been wondering. Would it not be easier to throw away something you do not want?" The Lady doesn't look up from her drink. She speaks as if to herself.

The Lord knows full well that she is speaking of you. He has not really given much thought about you unless he has to. However, his sister's question gives him pause. That's right. It should have been far simpler for the King to consign you to a family of peasants or abandon you in the forest. Why did he keep an illegitimate daughter all these years?

He glances at his sister, who is exchanging courtesies with several guests. He has so many questions but this place is not suitable for them. Well, he suspects Lady Maggie has already sent out her little ravens searching for information. This is not his domain to worry about, anyway. He never doubted his sister. When has she ever led him astray?

After all the ordeals you have gone through today, the last face you want to see is the one standing before you. You recognize this woman - the Head Maid from the King's castle, undoubtedly bringing back many unsavory memories.

"Oh my, isn't this our princess? Thriving, I see, unlike us humble servants." She stands at the forefront of a dozen servants brought here to serve the needs of the delegates, effectively blocking your path. You haven't seen them with their masters as they are not allowed in the Great Hall.

Wishing to avoid confrontation, you maintain a stoic expression, refusing to acknowledge her jibe, and press on, determined to walk past the group. However, a vicious force yanks on your arm, almost making you lose your balance. You glare at the Head Maid's chilling face. It reminds you of the past when her authority and cruelty loomed over you like a shadow.

"Why the rush, princess? Forgot your manners?" She sneers. The mockery in her voice sounds unpleasantly familiar.

Resisting the urge to retaliate and risk tarnishing the image of the Lord, you fume in silence, baffled by her audacity to assert power over you even beyond the castle walls. You are no longer the lowly bastard subjected to her whims.

You wince as she pinches your arm, something she often used to do any time she believed you were out of line, which is every time. As you attempt to push her away, a sinister grin twists the Head Maid's features as she deliberately invokes your mother's name.

"Well, well, princess. Perhaps you've forgotten the lessons I taught you." Her words are full of malicious intent, and her fingers dig into your arm like a crab's pincers. "I may be unable to teach you another lesson here, but mark my words. If you don't learn to behave, your mother will pay the price for your insolence."

Like a spark to dry hay, the threat ignites a torrent of anger within you. The frustrations of the day, the weight of your struggles, and the danger your mother has to face because of you all converge into an explosive outburst. You can no longer contain the seething rage that boils in your blood. Everyone wants something. You just want to be left alone.

Summoning every ounce of strength, you push the Head Maid away with a force that sends her tumbling into a freezing puddle. The unexpected defiance leaves the other servants stunned with disbelief. Clearly, the Head Maid's distasteful tales of your supposed powerlessness have given them the idea that you are underneath, and they never anticipated such resistance.

Some of them rush to help the sputtering woman up from the icy water, while others cautiously encircle you, uncertain what they should do. They look at each other with hesitation, for this place is not their territory, and your status is not exactly their equal.

"Make the bitch pay!" The Head Maid, shrieking at the other servants, declares that you must pay for your transgressions. The notion that even within the Gyllenhaal's fortress, the King's authority still holds sway takes root among royal servants. Tentatively, one of them reaches out to subdue you just as the guards arrive, alerted by the escalating commotion. However, they are not the only ones to have come.

The guards soon part to make the way for the Lord and the head of the delegates. You don't know how much of the unruly display the Lord has seen, but he has a look on his face you can only describe as "heads will roll tonight." You look down, fumbling with your dress, unsure what will befall you now.

The Head Maid, soaked and enraged, scurries to the delegate, seizing the opportunity to blame the altercation on you. She launches into a mad tirade, claiming the incident was an unprovoked attack when she was simply trying to greet you. A knot of anxiety tightens inside you as you can only stand there, unable to meet the Lord's gaze, grappling with the fear that your actions may have brought shame upon him.

"Come here." The Lord's voice cut through the wailing. Indeed, he sounds angry, but the anger is not directed at you. Furthermore, there is an underlying assurance in his words that steadies your racing heart. The chaos seems to recede as you approach him. His presence should be apprehensive but now oddly comforting.

"Tell me what happened?" He offers you a chance to defend your name, a gesture you did not expect. The residual rage clears your head, and the threat the Head Maid had made about your mother still rings fresh in your mind.

Rolling up your sleeves, you reveal the vivid red marks inflicted by the Head Maid, some even breaking the skin. "This woman attacked and threatened me. I had no choice but to defend myself,"

The Lord's brows knit together as he examines your injury. It seems his sister was right about your miserable life at the castle. He turns to the delegate, his voice grim. "Handle your people swiftly, or I'll deal with the perpetrator myself. I assure you, you will not like my methods."

Sensing the gravity of the situation, the delegate acts decisively. The delegate detests House Gyllenhaal, but he is not keen on upsetting them, at least not for the sake of a mere servant. The Head Maid's eyes widen at the turning tides. She opens her mouth to spew more of her venom but is immediately cut short with a resounding slap that almost causes her to fall again.

"Beg for the Lady's forgiveness, NOW!" The middle-aged nobleman orders.

The woman is flabbergasted. It finally clicks in her head that her master will not be on her side. The Head Maid reluctantly takes a step forward and bends her knees. Her usual arrogance crumbles, replaced by a forced submission. With a hesitating voice, she never imagined she would have to say to you, unwillingness evident in every syllable.

"I... I apologize, my Lady. I beg you to forgive my impudence." She mumbles insincere words.

"I want you gone." The words escape your mouth before you can rein them in. The metallic sound of a sword being unsheathed echoes, accompanied by the Head Maid's fearful cry. The Lord has drawn his sword and is aiming for the woman's neck. Realizing your sentence has been taken the wrong way, you catch the Lord's hand to prevent any more escalation.

"I... I mean, I want her out of my sight. I want her to leave the Keep." Desperation colors your voice as you tightly cling to the Lord's arm. He exhales sharply before sheathing his weapon in disappointment. The delegates had given him the urge to spill blood the whole evening, and he was really looking for an excuse, any excuse.

"I'll make sure this maid departs before dawn." The delegate rubs his hands together, relieved that this matter is finally resolved.

"Before midnight." The Lord commands.

One of Lady Maggie's servants comes forward, bringing a cape made of soft fur, and hands it to the Lord. He accepts the cape and drapes it over your shoulders, shielding you against the lingering chill. Of course, he completely ignores your sheer bewilderment. The unexpected gesture and the weight of the fur leave you awestruck.

"Return to your chamber. I'll have the physician look at your arm." The Lord instructs you. You are still so speechless that you can only nod. He then turns to the delegate and his servants, issuing a warning to those who even think about overstepping their boundaries.

"The moment she crosses those gates, she is no longer a princess or whatever she once was. She belongs to House Gyllenhaal and is under my protection. Tell your people to remember that."

Tag List:

@looloolily

@boydhoebrook

#jake gyllenhaal x reader #maggie gyllenhaal x reader #fic: emblem of roses #jake gyllenhaal fanfic #maggie gyllenhaal fanfic #nat writes #fics #cw: rpf

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