prince!charles leclerc x debutant!reader
summary: The prince is set to find a wife this season. He's almost certain that the nature of his marriage will be in title only, but perhaps he can find something real with a very interesting debutant that catches his attention in a strange way during a ball...
warnings: none in this part but it will have heavy smut in parts 3 and 4
a/n: With the new Bridgerton season, my obsession with that show surely had to come back.. so I figured what could be better than adding Charles to the mix!This will be a fic in 4 parts, otherwise it would've been terribly long. I also apologise for the lack of my usual smut but I'm trying to keep it as realistic as possible and courtship in this timeline takes some time... I promise the next part will be much more interesting but it wonât be posted here until next month at least. However itâs already up in my Patreon! (link here)
'Til out fingers decompose
Nerves, excitement and desperation.
The first ball of the season.
The Windsor's house is as busy and energetic as any other, the family getting ready for the most important event of the week, perhaps the month.
Maids walking everywhere, men trying not to bump into anyone, and the two oldest in the abode moving with a calm that none of the children yet posses. Understanding the power of the family name, trusting in theirs and their offspring's abilities and charm.
The first two brothers are already married and starting their beautiful families, but there's still much work to do regarding three other sons.Â
And the youngest daughter.Â
Miss Windsor is as peculiar as a lady can be without being perceived in a negative light.
Bordering the lines of madness whenever anyone wishes to know your opinions on any matter regarding femininity, but still gracious enough to make your words look more like jest than actual criticism on society.
You read far too much for the average respectable woman, but hide your ideals well enough not to look like a threat. Like anything other than, perhaps, a tad bohemian.
Gentlemen find you rather puzzling, not unpleasant.
However, you don't share the same opinion on them.
And if there's something in the world that you wish to abolish, it's their superior smirks every time you're obligated to act dumber than you are in hopes not to upset them.
Well, that and corsets. You would very gladly get rid of those too.
"Uhg, I do not understand how you can be so calm." You complain, moving your left arm just enough to slightly readjust your garments. "I cannot breathe in this thing."
Your words make Primrose chuckle, moving her fan in front of her lips to hide the grin.
"You must grow accustomed to it." Her reply comes in a whisper. "Perhaps if you weren't so eccentric and finally decided to use it daily you wouldn't have such problems."
"I'm afraid I would perish should I use this terrible device daily."
Prim doesn't roll her eyes, nor does she complain about your odd words. She has known you since both of you were just little girls, when her family moved next door and became close to yours.Â
You grew up listening to the same lessons, eating the same meals every Sunday and playing with the same toys. At some point, that turned into sharing the same ideals too, although she knew how to hide the scandalous thoughts you talked about better than you.
"And what even is the purpose? I already know all this... gentlemen." You add, trying to hide the distasteful tone in the last word.
"You do not know the prince."
Your gaze immediately looks for him. The prince, Charles Leclerc, the middle child of the country's royalty. Rumours are most in his favour regarding his intelligence, charm and beauty.
And apparently, although he's uninterested in marriage, the Crown insists on him looking for a wife this season. Certainly the man of the year for any mother with a debutant daughter.
"Penny for your thoughts." Primrose speaks again when she notices your gaze on the most eligible bachelor.Â
You frown, curious. "He doesn't look like he's quite enjoying the evening, does he?"Â
Your best friend, ever the observant one, nods in agreement. "Oh, I have no doubt he isn't . He probably despises these dull gatherings as much as we do. I wonder what it's like to live under the constant pressure of being a prince, especially in Monaco. I mean, just look at those mothers and daughters eyeing him like a piece of meat."
You scoff. "My mother is probably on the line."
Prim rolls her eyes in agreement. All women in the kingdom might be waiting for a chance to just look at him.
"Of course she is. Don't be surprised if you find yourself introduced to him later on."
As if on cue, your mother appears at your side, a hopeful gleam in her eyes.
"I hope not. He looks cold." You reply, ignoring her presence.
"Nonsense, my dear." Your mother interjects. "He's simply carrying the weight of his responsibilities. He is a prince, after all."
You suppose that might be true. You had never seen him before, and you most certainly had no idea what kind of duties he had to attend to daily. However, as much as it earned your empathy, that enough didn't gift him your respect.
"He probably feels like a pig at auction anyway."
Primrose can't help but agree. Meanwhile, your mother looks slightly disapproving, but she quickly composes herself.
"That is most absurd, darling. A royal match is a privilege, not a transaction."
"Do not worry, mother, I highly doubt I'm fit to be a royal" You reply.
She sighs, still holding on to that glimmer of hope. "Oh, stop being so hard on yourself. You've been trained in the finer aspects of etiquette and grace. You'd make a splendid princess."
Prim snorts, earning a disapproving glare from your mother and forcing you to look downwards to hide your grin.
"I think you'd make a better pirate than a princess, you know. More suited to the life of adventure and swashbuckling, rather than sitting on a throne."
Unbeknownst to you, the comment reaches Charles' ears. You don't catch the brief smirk on his lips.
"Oh, I would just love to be a pirate."
Your best friend's eyes brighten up with excitement. "Can you imagine, we'd have an adventurous life, plundering ships, searching for buried treasure, and fighting off sea monsters. It would be absolutely thrilling!"
Your mother, overhearing the conversation, quickly interrupts.
"Stop this foolishness at once. Being a pirate is unbecoming of a young lady of your status, dear."
Your lips press together at the scold.
"We're just joking, mother."
"Good, because the last thing I need is for you two to run off and start a life as pirate queen and consort."
Prim laughs at the thought, but then her gaze drifts towards the buffet area, with the most extravagant sweets and drinks exposed on a beautifully decorated table.
"Changing the topic, those cakes look absolutely delicious. I'm off to grab some before they're all gone." She says, giving you a sly smile and leaving to get some pastries.
As you aimlessly walk around the grand hall, a few gentlemen try to catch your attention with an occasional compliment or friendly gesture. You politely respond, but you have little interest in engaging.
Out of the corner of your eye, you notice the prince, still engaged in conversations but occasionally sneaking glances at you. The intensity of his gaze is undeniable, yet he continues to feign indifference, so you don't give it much thought and look away.
But him, noticing you moving towards one of the doors, discreetly follows at a distance while remaining engaged in a conversation with a few other nobles. He keeps his eyes on you, curious about your destination.
When you're sure no one is watching, you slip away, needing a second to breathe alone.
However, you didn't count on the prince still having a curious eye in you.
He excuses himself from his conversation and waits for a moment, his eyes searching the crowd for your figure. And when he's convinced that no one else noticed your sudden disappearance, he follows suit, quietly slipping away as well.
You sigh when you find yourself alone, relieved. You hated balls at the start of the season, with everyone looking for a wife. Too many expectations, too much attention on every little thing you did.
As Charles follows behind you, his footsteps muffled by the soft carpet, he can sense your relief. He leans against the wall, keeping his distance without being too obvious.
He observes your every gesture, understanding your discomfort. He too had grown tired of the endless procession of debutantes and their mothers, parading their daughters for marriage.
He remains concealed in the shadows when you start looking at the paintings on the walls, watching you as you observe the artwork. He can't help but be most intrigued by your indifference to the social expectations that everyone else seems to be so fiercely bound by.
You start walking down the hallway, taking a look at every piece, and not noticing how Charles is following you several feet behind, careful not to be seen.Â
You keep going until you find a partially open door. And after a few seconds of thinking, you move your hand to the wood.Â
The prince, still hidden in the shadows, watches you enter the library. He notices the excitement in your eyes as you gaze at the vast collection of books. From his hidden vantage point, he can see you taking in the peaceful atmosphere of the room.
You look at the books eagerly, moving silently through the room, in awe of the vast collection before you, as you run your fingers delicately across the book spines.
One of them catches your attention, and you dare to take it for just a second.
Charles is still standing in the doorway, watching you as you gently open the book. He can see the joy on your face as you begin to read, the pages rustling softly in the quiet room. He feels a strange sense of comfort in observing you like this, so at ease in this secluded space.
He knows he should announce his presence, but he finds himself lingering for a moment longer. He enjoys watching the peaceful expression on your face, a stark contrast to the fake smiles and polite gestures everyone was forced to display in the ballroom.
Eventually, he takes a deep breath and steps into the library, making sure his footsteps are soft enough to not startle you. "Do you always read in the middle of a ball?"
You instantly close the book, looking at him with surprise in your eyes. Why was he here? Had he been following you? And most importantly, would he tell someone you were sneaking around?
He takes a few steps closer, the quiet atmosphere of the library contrasting against the lively chatter of the party.
"You certainly know how to disappear without being noticed." He remarks with a smile.
"Not really." Your voice is softer than you meant "You noticed."
"Touché." He responds, unable to hide the hint of amusement in his voice. "What brings you here, away from the crowds and the constant talk about potential marriage?"
You almost scoff. "Mostly the crowds, and the constant talk about potential marriage."
He chuckles at your response, entertained by your bluntness.
"I can relate to that," He admits. "It feels like every mother in the kingdom is on the hunt for their daughters to be the future princess."
"Mine is most definitely on that hunt too."
His expression softened at the mention. "Mothers and their endless quest for a noble alliance. It's a shame, really. Love and duty rarely align, especially in our circumstances."
You slightly wince at his words.
"In my circumstances, love is rarely something to consider."
Charles raises an eyebrow at your words. "And why is that? Love is never something to discard so easily, especially at a young age like yours."
"It's different for women." You reply, shaking your head.Â
Not like he would understand.
But he tilts his head, intrigued by your statement.
He takes a few steps closer, his eyes never leaving yours. It almost looks like he's actually interested in what others would consider an scandalous conversation.
"Men choose. We simply accept or reject. Usually not even that, our parents do."
He nods, understanding your point. "You're right. It's often our parents who dictate our futures. But does that mean you've given up on the idea of love entirely?"
You shrug, looking away for a second before moving your gaze back to him. "I know it can happen, with time. But i'm also not foolish, I'm aware it most definitely won't. Hoping for it is simply childish."
He seems to ponder your words for a moment, lost in thought. "Hope is not childish. It's what keeps us from surrendering to despair."
"It also makes it hurt more when it doesn't work out."
"I can't deny that. The fall from hope is often a painful one. But what is life without it? Without desire?"
Life without hope? Pointless, perhaps. For artists and poets, at least. But you're not a poet, you're just a woman.
He chuckles lightly, his gaze still fixed on you. "You have a way of looking at things that's both practical and cynical."
You frown im curiosity, intrigued by his views.
He takes a moment to think before answering, his expression slightly wistful.
"I believe that hope is like a candle flame.
It may burn brightly during the darkest hours, but it can easily be snuffed out by the slightest breeze." He shrugs, a hint of vulnerability in his eyes. "But I cannot bring myself to let go of hope entirely. Without it, everything seems so... empty."
You understand him, but still don't agree.
"Is emptiness so bad when the alternative is pain?"
"Perhaps there is a certain comfort in emptiness. But imagine a life without joy, without passion, without love."
You look away again, not being able to keep a polite expression. Because, God, you didn't have to imagine those things. That was quite literally your life, your future.
"Pain is a part of life. It's a reminder that we're alive, that we care, that we feel. To avoid pain is to avoid living."
You look down, most defeated by his words and your thoughts. "It wouldn't be that bad."
There's a hint of sadness in his eyes.
"You truly believe that?" He gazes at you, his expression filled with a mix of curiosity and concern. "To close yourself off from love and pain, is to deny yourself the true experiences of life. Life is messy, chaotic, and often painful. But it's also full of joy, passion, and love."
"Thinking like that is a privilege I do not possess." You reply, finally looking back at him.Â
You cannot take his wishful words anymore, they feel rather cruel considering your circumstances.Â
His expression softens, his gaze still fixed on you.
"Do you truly believe you have no privilege in life? You're a lady of high society, raised with the finest things that money can buy. You have the privilege of choice, even if it is limited. Many others don't even have that."
"I'm afraid you're fooled by an illusion."
"An illusion, you say?" He studies you intently, searching for the meaning behind your words. "Enlighten me, then. Enlighten me about the hardships you face that I'm clearly too blind to see."
"You believe I have a perfect life." You reply, assuming the meaning of his words.
He raises an eyebrow, a hint of skepticism in his eyes. "I don't believe anyone has a perfect life.
But you, with your fine silks and jewels, seem to have a life that many would envy. Pray tell, what horrors are you facing in such life of luxury?"
You look at him, your expression changing. You're not angry anymore, you're just disappointed.Â
He wasn't special because he was born in royalty, he wasn't more educated or at least informed on women's struggles. He was yet another man that would never understand your words.
He notices the change in your gaze and the disappointment in your eyes. His own expression softens, the edge of his arrogance fading away. "You look at me as if I've done something to offend you."
"You haven't offended me." You reply, putting the book back in it's shelf. "You simply do not wish to understand."
He sighs, his shoulders dropping slightly. There's slight frustration in his eyes, but also a hint of resignation.Â
"Then tell me, how can I understand?" He gazes at you, genuinely wanting to know where he went wrong. "I won't deny that my life is different from yours. But I am willing to listen and learn."
You look away again, not believing in his honesty.
And seeing your hesitation, his expression softens further. He takes a step closer, his voice quieter now. "Please, let me try to understand. I do not want to be the fool you seem to think I am."
You look back at him, and his gaze seems sincere, his arrogance replaced by a desire for comprehension.Â
"You live so comfortably in expense of women."
He seems taken aback by your straightforwardness. He opens his mouth to respond, but for once, he's at a loss of words.
He takes a second to collect his thoughts, his expression becoming more serious. He looks at you with a newfound respect for your honesty, and with slight guilt.
"You believe I have no consideration for women's struggles, that I've benefited from a system that exploits them?"
"If you were to get married, you'd be able to leave, travel, and follow whatever dreams you might have. She'd be tied down to the palace so you could untie yourself from it." You explain.
His expression shifts, the guilt in his eyes growing stronger. He knows you're right, but he has never considered it from that perspective before.
"You believe I wouldn't consider my wife's feelings in this? That I would choose a life of freedom over her dreams and aspirations?"
You have to fight very hard not to roll your eyes. You must not forget that you're talking to a royal, after all.
"She wouldn't have dreams and aspirations by the time she becomes your wife. Women aren't allowed to have those, adults shut them down since we're just kids." You reply "The only dreams we're conceded are marriage and children."
He stands in stunned silence, your words echoing in his head. He had always been aware of the restrictions placed on women in society, but somehow it had never truly hit him until now.Â
He averts his gaze for a moment, his expression reflecting a mix of realization and guilt. When he looks back at you, there's a newfound feeling in his eyes.
"It's what we're taught since we're young. You learn maths in school, physics, history. We learn to be wives, to take care of a house. We don't have the same opportunities even when we're little."
He listens intently, his gaze fixed on you as you share your perspective. A feeling of shame rises in his chest as he realizes how blind he has been to the inequalities you face. He runs a hand through his hair, his usual confident demeanor replaced by one of deep contemplation.
"I can't begin to imagine how it must feel to be held back that way. To be denied the chance to explore your very own dreams."
"We're not denied the chance to explore them, we cannot even begin dreaming." You reply, aware that men never consider it that way.
And indeed, he had never thought that the very essence of dreaming was taken away from women at such a young age.
"We learn to behave before we learn to think for ourselves." The quiet resignation is clear in your eyes, the reality of a lifetime of being denied the chance to think for yourself. "Our lives are just about getting married not to the best man we know, but to the least bad from the ones who ask for our hand. And then they're about obeying said man."
Charles feels the weight of his privilege, knowing that he will never be forced into a marriage he doesn't at least slightly want. And even then, he will still have the upper hand, he will still make all the decisions.
"So forgive me for believing that hope is pointless." You finish, your tone rougher than intended.
He wants to deny what you're saying, to give you hope for a better future, but he knows he can't.
He wants to tell you that things will change, that you deserve more than just a life of obedience. But he knows it's only empty words.
So he just nods silently, acknowledging the harsh reality you've grown up in.
"If you'll excuse me." You do a quick bow, walking out of the library. Leaving him alone with his thoughts.
He wants to stop you, to say something, anything. But he knows there are no words that can change anything. So he stands frozen, his heart heavy in his chest as he watches the door close behind you.
After an instant, he walks over to the bookshelf, his mind still reeling from the conversation you just had. He glances at the book you had picked out, the title catching his attention.
When he eventually makes it back to the crowded hall, he sees her in the distance, talking with the same girl she was with before leaving.
His gaze drifts towards your figure as you chat with your friend. He watches you laugh and smile, even though moments ago he had seen the true despair behind the mask you wore.
He can't help but be drawn to the contrast, a part of him wanting to pull you away from the pretense of the ball to somewhere more secluded before he realises he doesn't even know your name.
It hits him suddenly, a strange feeling sinking in his gut. He had just had such an intimate conversation with a woman, yet he didn't even know her name.
He turns to the gentleman beside him, trying to appear casual in his curiosity. "Excuse me, do you happen to know the name of that young lady over there?"
The man looks at her. "The one in the pink gown?"
He nods, his gaze still fixed on your figure. "Yes, that's the one."
"That would be Ms. Windsor." He replies, smiling politely.
"Ms. Windsor." He says it softly, testing the way her name tastes on his tongue.
"Her family lives right next to the Goupil's, a beautiful house."
He can't help but be intrigued by the new information. "Right next to the Goupil's, you say?"
"Indeed" The gentleman nods "The garden is most splendid in the spring."
A slight smile tugs at the corner of his mouth as he imagines the garden in full bloom, filled with the bright colors of spring flowers.Â
He can picture you walking through the garden, a vision of beauty against a backdrop of petals and greenery.
Charles thanks the man, his thoughts still persisting on the image of you surrounded by blossoms.
And when the evening comes to an end, he finds himself lingering in the now emptied ballroom, lost in thought on the earlier conversation he had with you.
He glances around the room, seeing the remnants of the ball. The music sheets lying on the piano, the half-empty champagne glasses, the wilting flower on the center piece.
Charles walks towards the windows, standing there in silence. The moon is illuminating the empty garden. He looks at the stars, his mind still whirling with thoughts. He had never felt so drawn to someone he just met, never experienced this strange feeling in his chest at the mere thought of someone.
He knows it's ridiculous, to be so preoccupied with a woman he only just met. But there's something about you, a mixture of your intelligence and your deep sadness. He wants to know more about you, your story, your thoughts.
He can't help it, he's most intrigued.
Days pass, and he finds himself growing even more curious about you. The image of you surrounded by blossoms, the sound of your words, it all haunts his thoughts. So, after some more consideration, he decides he can't wait any longer.
He moves through the grand library, his eyes scanning the countless shelves.
Eventually, he finds the book you were reading. He picks it up, running his fingers over the cover as if he can feel the trace of your touch on it, and then binds a delicate pink ribbon around it, tying it neatly with a small bow.
He stands there for a moment, looking at the book with excitement. For a man used to having everything he wanted at his fingertips, this was a new feeling.
Charles then gives his driver the address, the name of the house next to the Goupils' ringing in his head as he hands the instruction. He can't help but feel a bit nervous, but the excitement of seeing you again outweighs any hesitation he might have.Â
Sitting in the back of the carriage, his heart races with anticipation. He tries to compose himself, to remain calm, but he can't deny the sense of excitement that fills him at the thought of seeing you again.
A while later, he arrives at the destination, and takes a deep breath before getting out of the carriage, the book held tightly in his hand.
He stands before the house, taking in the beauty of the garden. He can picture you sitting under the cherry blossoms, the petals falling around you like a soft, pink snowstorm.
After taking a moment to collect himself, he walks up the front steps, the book clutched tightly in his hand. One of his servants knock on the door, his heart pounding in his chest, the sound like a drumbeat echoing through him.
A young maid opens the door, clearly surprised to see him, and immediately bows. "Your highness."
He gives her a small smile, clearing his throat before speaking. "My apologies for arriving unannounced. I have come to speak to Ms. Windsor, is she in at the moment?"
"Yes, sir." She replies, opening the door for him.
He steps into the entrance hall, trying to maintain his composure despite the anxiety building inside him. "Please, let her know I would like to speak to her, if she is available."
"Right away." She bows again, rushing upstairs.
He stands there, waiting for the lady to return. His palms feel sweaty, he can feel his heart battering against his chest. He grips the book a bit tighter, trying to anchor himself to reality.
And then, you appear at the top of the elegant stairs. "Your highness."
He looks up, his eyes widening a bit at the sight of you. You look even more beautiful than he remembered. "Ms. Windsor."
You immediately walk downstairs, and he notices the way you're dressed. Although still elegant, your gown is more casual than the one you wore at the dance.Â
He stands there silently for a moment, admiring your beauty. He had seen many dresses and many women, but there was something about you that made his heart flutter in a way it never did before.
"To what do we owe the pleasure of your visit?" You ask, trying to appear more polite than you were at the ball.
He gathers himself, taking a moment to collect his thoughts. "I apologize for coming unannounced, it's terribly rude."
You don't seem surprised to see him, merely intrigued. "I suppose I can excuse poor manners for a royal visit."Â
He feels a wave of relief wash over him at your response, letting a small smile form on his lips as he looks at you. "You are far too kind."
"You're the one gifting us with your presence."
He takes a step closer, looking at you intently. "I didn't come here to admire your home, although it really is beautiful. I came here to see you. I wanted to return something that you forgot."
You take the gift, your fingers grazing his for just an instant, making you blink rapidly.
He feels a jolt of electricity coursing through his body at the simple touch as he watches you intently, observing the expression on your face.
He nods, a hint of a smile on his face.
"It's the book you were eyeing at the ball."
You return his smile, your fingers softly touching the bow.Â
A sense of happiness washes through him at your reaction. "I just thought you might like to carry on reading it."
He tries to calm himself down, not wanting to reveal the desperation in his eyes.
"I will give it back." You reply, your gaze turning back to him.
But he immediately shakes his head. "No, no, no. It is a gift, Ms. Windsor, I want you to have it."
You look up at him, still grinning softly. Perhaps you had judged him far too quickly.
"This is incredibly kind." You say "Thank you, your grace."
He smiles warmly at you, his heart clenching
"It is truly my pleasure."
He stands there for a moment, taking in the way you look at him. He doesn't want to leave just yet, doesn't want to be away from you for much longer, but he's aware that he's been there for far too long already.
"I, uh..." You speak again, nervously looking down for a second before looking up at him "I realise I was rather rude at the end of our conversation in the library. I sincerely apologise."
He shakes his head, a warm expression on his face. "Oh, no, there's no need for apologies. I should be the one apologising, if anything. I didn't mean to upset you."
"It was unladylike of me to refer to you in such manners." You insist.
He smiles softly, stepping closer to you.
He feels the need to be closer.
"It was an honest reaction, there's really no need to apologise." He tries to be subtle in the way he looks at you, taking in every detail of your features. He's afraid that if he looks at you for too long, you might notice how desperate he is.
That makes the smile return to your face.
"I appreciate your kindness."
"It's you who I shall be thanking, milady." He dares to add.
He hesitates a moment, searching for a way to word his thoughts.
"I must confess, I was rather... intrigued by our conversation in the library."
You can't help but let your eyes roam on his features, noticing every detail of his face. The slope of his nose, the shape of his lips, the look in his eyes.
"In fact, your words had me quite fascinated." He swallows, his entire body on edge, the proximity filling his mind with the most dangerous ideas.
"Really?" Is the only thing you allow yourself to mutter, not trusting in your ability to be more charming.
"Yes, truly fascinating." He breathes out, almost whispering now, his gaze flickering between your eyes and your lips. "No one has ever spoken to me in the same way you did."
You wince at that, furrowing your nose. "In such terrible manner, you mean."
That makes him chuckle lightly. "I think you misunderstand me. I found your words to be sincere, straightforward and full of emotion. It was... Quite refreshing, if I may."
You observe his expression, the way he looks at you. It sends a shiver down your spine.
"I admire your honesty. You never once attempted to flatter me. It was... rather endearing." He insists.
"I am most glad you didn't take it as disrespect of any kind, your highness."
He shakes his head, his gaze still fixed on yours.
"Oh, no, of course not. I greatly appreciated our exchange, even if short."
"Perhaps we shall continue it in another ball. Sometime." You say, feeling an strange rush of hope at the thought of seeing him again.
"Perhaps we shall." He smiles. The moment threatens to linger, to push him over the edge.Â
The proximity, the perfume, the way you look at him, it's driving him insane.
After a few more seconds, he finally forces himself to break eye contact, to try and calm himself down a bit. "I should be going now."
The thought of leaving is almost physically painful, but he knows he is pushing the limits by staying this long already.
"Of course." You nod, bowing. "Your highness."
He smiles slightly, his gaze still lingering on you for a moment longer. "Until we meet again."
He can't help but look at you one more time, memorizing your features, your expression, trying to commit everything to his memory. He forces himself to turn around, walking to the door.
Someone opens it for him, and a second later, he's back in his carriage. His thoughts are consumed entirely by you. It's almost impossible to think straight, so he just leans back and stares out the window.Â
He knows he's acting like a fool, letting a lady affect him this much. He should be focused on his duties, his legacy, on the future of his country. But all he can think about is the next time he will get to see you again.
The palace was as calm as Charles could wish.Â
With his parents busy and his brothers nowhere in sight, he could finally allow himself to enjoy some peace and quiet. But as his day filled with meetings and paperwork, he found his thoughts wandering to you.
And now he was doing it again. Sitting at his desk, a mountain of paperwork in front of him, and instead of working on it he was just... thinking.
He let out a heavy sigh, burying his head in his hands. He was acting like a love-struck puppy, it was pathetic. Here he was, a prince with his entire life and future mapped out for him, yet all his mind was filled with was thoughts of you.
He tried to pick up his pen, he tried to start working, but his fingers wouldn't move, his mind still filled with your face.
He didn't even realise what he was doing at first when his hand automatically started to move across the paper as his mind stayed filled with thoughts of you. He didn't really notice what he was doing until he had already filled half the page with little sketches of you.Â
Charles finally paused, taking in what he had drawn. It was embarrassing, really.
He groaned, letting his head fall onto the desk in an almost childish act of frustration. What was he doing? Drawing you like a lovesick schoolboy? He really needed to get a hold of himself.
While he was still sighing, one of his valets, Max, a man he trusted deeply, entered his office.
"Your highness." He bowed.
Charles lifted his head off the desk, looking at him with a sigh. The man had seen him in embarrassing situations more times than he could count. "Max."
"It has been an hour since lunch was served, sir." He reminded him. "Do you not wish to eat?"
He hadn't even noticed. He had been too wrapped up on his thoughts to even realise how long he'd been sitting there.
"Oh. Has it already been that long...?" The prince ran a hand through his hair, trying to keep a sense of composure. "I'm not hungry."
His servant frowned slightly in concern. "Forgive the intrusion, your grace, but are you well?"
He sighed. Max knew him better than anyone, and could always tell when something was bothering him. "I'm fine, Max."
He tried to sound convincing. He even attempted his usual playful smirk, but he could see it failed to fool his valet.
"Alright, fine." He said with an exasperated sigh, knowing that there was no use in even attempting to convince him. "I might be a bit... distracted."
He avoided meeting Max's gaze for a second, fiddling with the pen in his hands. The situation already felt stupid in his head, and he could only imagine how silly it must sound when said out loud. "Yes, distracted."
He drummed his fingers on the table, still avoiding making eye contact. He knew he was only making himself look more suspicious, more nervous. "I can't seem to focus on much of anything... Perhaps I am unwell indeed."
Max just nodded, watching him carefully.
He knew the young prince well enough to realise there was something more that he wasn't saying.
"Not able to focus..." He repeated, a thoughtful look appearing on his face. "May I ask what is plaguing your mind, your highness?"
He hesitated for a moment, knowing he couldn't really avoid the question without raising further suspicion. But he also hated admitting the true reason for his distraction.
"There's a certain someone that has... taken my mind off things as of late." He finally lifted his gaze, looking at the other man for a moment.
Max took an instant to process the information, his expression remaining neutral. He was used to seeing his young master with a new woman every week, but the look in his eyes and the hesitation in his voice suggested something a bit different this time.
He raised his eyebrow slightly, studying the young prince for a moment longer "A certain someone, you say..."
He could see the curiosity in Max's eyes, the subtle signs of interest. He couldn't entirely blame the man, after all, he was behaving quite differently this time.
So Charles nodded, a small sigh escaping his lips.
"Yes, a certain... lady." He took a breath, his fingers fidgeting with the pen in his hand. "She has occupied my thoughts far more than she should."
"You sound almost infatuated, if I may say so." Max said with a hint of a smile, trying to hide his own curiosity.Â
The young royal was known for his usual aloofness when it came to women, the idea of his master harbouring an infatuation was a first.
His face flushed a slight shade of pink at the observation. He knew exactly how ridiculous he sounded, how out of character this was for him. And yet, he couldn't help it.Â
He shook his head slightly, trying to compose himself. "l... wouldn't be so quick to call it infatuation... It is merely passing curiosity. I am most intrigued about her."
"Intrigued, sir?" Max repeated.
He sighed, running a tired hand through his hair. "Yes, intrigued. She... fascinates me."Â
He was beginning to feel like a pathetic fool, getting so completely worked up over one woman, but he couldn't help it.Â
"Never have I met someone that spoke to me like she did. She was... completely upfront with me.
No flattery, no hidden intent or greed in her words. She was honest, sincere, and she said exactly what was on her mind. Even when it involved criticizing me..."
He couldn't help but let a small smile appear on his lips as he remembered your straightforwardness that night.
"She didn't even bow when I caught her in the library. Ha!" He chuckled, the memory of your bluntness still fresh in his mind.Â
He had to admit, the whole situation was rather baffling. Here he was, prince of the realm, and he was being utterly fascinated by a woman who had the audacity to not even show him the proper respect.
"I must admit I quite took her by surprise, but still a bow was in order. Not only did she wander off during a ball, she didn't even bow! I shall be offended by that, shall I not?" However, he couldn't help but find it endearing. He let out a small huff. "I swear, that woman has the strangest effect on me."
Max's smile didn't escape his notice. He knew he was probably enjoying this whole situation way too much, he could literally see the amusement behind the man's gaze.
"Ah. Do not give me that look." He said, raising an warning eyebrow. But it only seemed to amuse the valet even more.
He looked down, chuckling. "Your highness."
Charles sighed, running a hand through his hair in mild annoyance. Max's attempt at hiding his obvious amusement was not very convincing.
"You're enjoying yourself too much, you know." There was an playfulness in his tone, despite his best attempts to feign sternness. "Any other would kick you to the streets for finding amusement on their misery."
The servant didn't take any offence to his words. "I will leave if you so wish."
He chuckled at the comment, shaking his head.
"You will do no such thing." He tried to sound as stern as possible, but the smile on his face ruined the illusion of anger. "Who would I have to tolerate me if you were to leave?"
"I'm sure your brothers-"
He raised a hand, immediately silencing Max.
"Don't even start. I'd rather endure your snarky amusement than the constant pestering of my siblings."
"I'm glad i can be of service, sir."
"Oh yes, just the greatest service. Truly the pinnacle of servant-ship you demonstrate, taking amusement in my woes." He shook his head again, but the small smiles on his lips ruined the act of being offended "You're lucky you're more a friend than a servant, at this point."
"That is most kind of you." Max replied, smiling.
Charles rolled his eyes playfully, though the smile on his face remained.
"I am nothing if not gracious." He joked, resting his chin on his hands, looking at Max with a thoughtful expression. And after a moment of silence, he spoke again. "May I ask you something?"
His valet immediately nodded. "Anything."
He took a breath, hesitating for a moment before finally asking the question that had been nagging at him.
"You've witnessed me with every woman I've been with." He said, his gaze focused entirely on Max. "Every single courtship, every affair. You see the way women act around me, the different personas they put up to try and get my interest."
He paused for a moment, thinking about how to phrase his thoughts.
"And you've seen the way I handle myself with them" He eventually continued, his gaze drifting away as he began to remember all those nights of meaningless conversations and even more meaningless dances. "All of those women... they all acted the same way, you know? They were eager, almost desperate. Flattering me, flattering my title, flattering my wealth. It was almost pathetic. Their smiles were fake, their words were filled with hidden intent, their laughter false."Â
He let out a small scoff of distaste, and his shoulders seemed to collapse ever so slightly, an exhaustion taking over him.
He ran a hand across his face, feeling more tired than he should be, a slight ache in his chest.
"I learned very early on to differentiate an honest gaze from fake interest, manipulation and lust."
His gaze wandered back to Max, noticing the way the man watched him, listening intently. "Not once did a single woman speak with true sincerity, to speak their mind without fear of being seen as less than perfect. I had given up hope of ever finding even a drop of authentic interest... and then-"
He stopped himself before he could finish, cutting himself off mid sentence, realizing what he was about to admit.
The young prince bit his lip, his heart starting to beat ever so slightly faster. He should stop, he knew he should stop. He shouldn't say the thing that he was thinking, shouldn't even be thinking it at all.
But he couldn't stop the words from slipping out of his mouth.
"Her eyes are different from everyone else." A small breath escaped his lips, his mind completely focused on your face. "It's the first time I've encountered such gaze from a lady."
He closed his eyes, resting his chin on his hand, picturing your expression in his mind. The sincerity in your gaze, the lack of hidden intent.
"She didn't try to flatter me or act impressed. She criticized me in the open, she called me out for my attitude, and she didn't even bow to me when she was caught in the library."
He found himself smiling at the memory, the amusement of it even overcoming the slight feeling of embarrassment he felt for being so easily amused by someone he barely knew.
"And I'm painfully aware I should be offended at that fact, but I can't bring myself to feel such thing. Perhaps... perhaps what I want is someone that treats me as an equal." He sighed, realizing just how ridiculous he was being. "But that is stupid, isn't it? A prince, wanting someone of 'lower' status to treat him as an equal? Ridiculous, truly ridiculous."
He let out a small, frustrated laugh, shaking his head at himself.Â
Max was still watching him, a knowing look in his eyes. "I would say it is... certainly unconventional."
He couldn't help but chuckle, letting out a small huff.Â
"That's an understatement. Unconventional to put it mildly. Outrageous, perhaps. Absurd, more likely. What an odd situation I've found myself in." He shook his head, looking at the ceiling. "I have beautiful ladies lining up to court me, the epitome of etiquette and sophistication, and yet I'm completely taken by a woman who's been almost rude to me."
He chuckled at the memory of your bluntness, shaking his head as words kept tumbling out of his mouth.Â
"She is the first woman to have a complete disregard for such things. No fake smiles or flattering compliments, nothing. She spoke her mind to me, no holding back and no hidden intent. The whole interaction was like a breath of fresh air." He said, thinking of your eyes, how the golden specks danced in the light, how every emotion in your mind could be read in the hazel irises. It was like a magnet, making it impossible to look away. "Am I going mad, Max?"
"I don't believe so, your highness."
He chuckled dryly, running a hand through his hair. The whole situation was ridiculous.
"I've spoken to this woman exactly twice, yet she has completely consumed my thoughts. What is more, I find myself wanting to see her again. To talk to her again. For what reason? I do not even know."
They both knew the reason.
He knew the answer deep down. He knew why you occupied his thoughts, why he couldn't stop thinking about you or your words or the way you looked at him.
It was an absolutely ridiculous realisation, but even he couldn't deny the fact that he was developing an infatuation.
He shook his head slightly, looking down at the desk. He was a man of logic, of reason. The idea of having such strong feelings for a woman he didn't even know seemed so irrational.
But no matter how hard he tried, he could not stop thinking about you. He tried to convince himself it was all just a passing fascination, a brief infatuation that would soon pass.
But that night, he laid awake in bed, staring at the ceiling, completely unable to sleep. It was ridiculous, utterly ridiculous. He was a Prince, with duties and responsibilities.
He had his future already planned out, he was not supposed to waste his time with some strange infatuation with a woman he barely knew.
Yet, there he was, completely lost in thoughts of a girl that hadn't even bowed to him.
He really had tried to busy himself with work, doing paperwork and holding meetings in the morning.
But his mind kept drifting, and soon he found himself unable to focus. He tried to convince himself that he needed fresh air, that a simple walk would ease his mind, and so he decided on going to the city.
He knew it was pointless. He knew what he was doing. He was looking for a glimpse of you, a chance to simply see you again. It was utterly ridiculous, but man was he helpless.Â
He walked through the streets, his hands in the pockets of his trousers, and his eyes roaming through the crowds of people. He tried to convince himself that he was just out for a walk, that there was no specific reason he was looking at every woman's face, every dress, every hair colour. And yet, somehow he couldn't help the slight spark of hope every time he saw a figure even slightly similar to yours.
Finally, after a good half hour, he saw you.
His heart skipped a beat, his feet suddenly frozen in place. The familiar figure, the familiar hair. It was unmistakably you, standing in the middle of the street at the flower shop, browsing through the different options.
He couldn't move, his eyes fixated on you. Every bit of common sense was screaming at him, yelling at him to just turn around and walk away. This was foolish, he knew it was foolish. He had duties, responsibilities, a future to worry about. He couldn't just let this infatuation distract him so much.
And yet he found himself walking towards you, almost against his own will.
He approached you, his gaze completely fixated on you. He watched you closely, the way your eyes shone in the sunlight, the way you gently held the flowers in your hand, the way your hair fell on your shoulders.Â
It was as if time stopped. The world seemed to fade into the background, and all he could see was you.
He took a sharp breath, trying to compose himself before speaking. "You have excellent taste in flowers, I must say."
You immediately looked at him, surprised.
"Your highness." You bowed, smiling softly.
Something inside him stirred as you bowed to him. The formality, the fact that you addressed him with the appropriate title.Â
He had to suppress the desire to tell you to stop, to tell you that you didn't need to bow to him.
"Don't let me disturb your flower shopping."
"I was merely looking." You replied "My mother is commissioning a few dresses and I wandered off."
"Is that so?" He said, his gaze filled with a hint of amusement "And you decided to wander in the direction of the fanciest flower shop in the city?"
"They are rather beautiful, are they not?" You looked back at the big bouquet. "I adore lilies."
He couldn't help but let a slight smile on his face. There was something about this, standing with you near a flowershop, casually talking about lilies. It felt almost... natural.
"They are indeed very beautiful." He nodded, his gaze shifting between you and the flowers. "Lilies are your favorite?"
"Oh, definitely." You smiled "Unfortunately they're quite hard to find. I can almost never get them, as mother wishes to match my room's flowers with the rest of the house."
His next question came without a second of thought. "You're not one to disagree with your mother, I suppose?"
"I love her a great deal. We simply... don't always see eye to eye. I was always closer to my father."
He chuckled softly, your words making his heart tighten slightly. For reasons he didn't quite understand, hearing about you and your family made him feel... an almost nostalgic feeling.Â
He pushed it away, forcing a slight smile on his face. "Let me guess, you and your mother disagree on the colour of the curtains."
"We mostly disagree on my fate and dreams, but of course you would assume that."
There it was again. The subtle sarcastic tone in your voice, the bluntness, the complete lack of fear of offending. He couldn't help but find it amusing.
You didn't feel the need to flatter him, to be overly polite and proper when talking. It was oddly refreshing, and he found himself enjoying it.
However, you looked around, seemingly realising you were in the middle of a busy street and anyone could hear you. "Your highness." You added, as an apology.
Hearing you add the title to the end of your sentence made his heart skip a beat, a strange wave of disappointment filling him.
He shook his head slightly, his tone still slightly playful. "Oh, no apologies. You need not be formal with me, I'm merely enjoying our conversation."
You looked back at him, in silence, your lips slowly turning to a soft smile.
And Lord, he was mesmerized. The way the sunlight shone over you, the way your eyes glowed with a soft light, the slight smile that formed on your lips... all of it combined made it impossible for him to look away.
He swallowed, tearing his gaze away before he completely lost himself. It was a dangerous game he was playing. He was falling for you more with each second, and yet he was almost fighting himself to keep away. He was the Prince, destined to uphold strict etiquette and traditions. He did not have the liberty to fall for whoever he wanted, in fact he was already being watched closely by his advisors.
And yet here he was, letting himself be completely consumed by one woman and her words.
In hopes to put the fleeting awkwardness away, you changed the subject. "I finished the book you so kindly gifted me."
He could work with a casual conversation like this.
He tried to smile casually, putting his hands in the pockets of his trousers. "I see. I hope it was to your satisfaction?"
"It most certainly was! To be honest, it has been a long while since my father last travelled and brought with him new stories. I have read the same books again and again for the past two years."
"Your father is a traveller, then? It must be difficult to have him away for so long, l imagine."
"It is most difficult indeed, but when he returns he always brings back the most splendid memories and anecdotes, along with beautiful gifts mostly for my mother."
He couldn't help but find it endearing, how you spoke so highly of your father. There was no doubt you loved the man very much. He tried to picture you at a younger age, waiting eagerly for your father's return, only to be showered with exotic gifts.
He didn't know why, but he wanted to see that. He wanted to see the bright smile that would surely grow on your face.
"I'm sure you've heard many wonderful stories from his travels, then." His gaze wandered through the flower shop, as if the bouquets could distract him from her.Â
"I have." You replied "He always found time to tell me at least one the very same day of his return, even when exhausted from the journey."
He smiled again, imagining the scene of your father's weary return home, only to be greeted by the eager, young you. "I dare to imagine you as a young girl, running towards your father and demanding stories."
That made you laugh. "You shall not, I was most unmannered."
He chuckled, your laugh sending a jolt through his heart.
He could not stop picturing it. Your youthful, carefree face as you clung to your father's back and demanded the stories you had missed in the time he was gone. "Oh, really? So you were not a sweet little angel, then?"Â
"I certainly wasn't when it came to new stories and books."
He laughed again. "I'm assuming you demanded every single story as soon as he came back. I have a feeling he had no chance to rest before he was bombarded with questions."
You smiled at the memories before replying. "He usually bribed me with the new books he brought me so I would let him rest."
He let out another small laugh, his head tilting slightly towards you. "And I'm assuming the books were effective."
"Very" You nodded. "I've read them so many times, I could almost recite them by heart."
He raised an eyebrow, a slight smirk on his face. He had to admit, he found the mental image of you reciting an entire book by heart adorable.
He decided to take the chance, asking the question he knew could open a door to a different conversation. "I suppose that means you spend the majority of your time reading."Â
He chuckled, the way you replied only confirming the thought in his head. In truth, everything about you screamed of intellect.
He decided to push forward, wanting to see if his conclusion was correct. "You enjoy reading more than the more... social things a young lady of the court is usually occupied with, I suppose."
"Unfortunately for my mother, I was raised by my dad and four older brothers."
He tilted his head, a small, almost teasing smile on his face.
"Oh, really? That would explain the disregard for etiquette." He said with a lighthearted tone.
"I suppose you are quite used to more... boyish activities, rather than typical balls and dances, then."
"Only thing I wasn't allowed to do like them was riding."
That surprised him. Despite everything he had learned about you, hearing you not being allowed to ride was what caught him off guard.
He let out a small scoff of surprise, his eyebrows raised in an amused expression. "Why is it you were not allowed to ride?"
"Far too dangerous, she claimed. I always wanted to learn, however." You looked away at some of the flowers, trying not to let him see how much that actually upset you.
His heart twisted slightly at the sight of your distress. The fact that you had wanted to learn but were not allowed to seemed almost cruel to him.
His gaze was fixed on your expression, his mind already working, the idea of offering to teach you forming in his head.
He tried to sound casual, even though he was already itching at the chance to offer help. "What a ridiculous notion indeed, to say not to let you ride due to it being dangerous. Why, I daresay horseback riding is one of the finest things one can do."
"I thought the same thing."
This was perfect. The more he thought about it, the more he wanted to teach you. Teach you everything. To see you ride, to see your eyes light up when you succeeded at something...
So Charles hummed softly, the thought that you thought the same making a wave of satisfaction wash over him.Â
"I will have you know that l am an excellent rider." He said, a hint of pride in his voice. "I would make an excellent teacher too."
Your head snapped back towards him, and he couldn't help but smile at the sight.Â
Your reaction confirmed his suspicion, you wanted to learn, you wanted to ride. Just needed a teacher. And he would surely be the one to teach you.
"I'm sure you don't doubt my ability on the back of a horse."
That made you smile. "I wouldn't dare."
He didn't even try to fight the growing need to offer his help, his tone almost casual. "I could teach you."
"I would be most honoured." You said, trying to contain your excitement. "But I wouldn't want to deviate you from your duties."
His smirk grew at your words, a slight feeling of triumph washing over him. He noticed the way you tried to contain your excitement, even though it was clear how eager you really were, and he found it absolutely adorable. To know that you wanted this so much filled him with satisfaction.
He tried to brush it off, keeping his calm facade. "Nonsense, I hardly have much to do. I assure you, it would be an absolute pleasure to teach you."
"I would have to talk to my mother..."
He nodded, a small spark of excitement running through his chest. But he tried to stay calm, not letting his excitement show in his voice. "Of course. It is a matter to discuss with your mother."
"What shall you discuss with me?" Your mother appeared behind you. Surprised by the prince, she immediately bowed. "Oh, your highness."
He nodded in acknowledgment, replying with a polite tone.Â
"Good day, Mrs. Windsor." He looked at you for a second, wondering how he was going to explain his offer. "Your daughter and I have been having a most delightful conversation."
That clearly made the woman happy, almost excited. "I am very glad to hear that, your grace"
"I find her company splendid." Charles added, the words slipping past his lips without thought, completely without filters. "She has a remarkable mind, and her love for literature is most impressive."
"She always was very fond of her stories." Your mother smiled. "Her father took it upon himself to teach her well."
"He did a marvellous job." He said, meaning every word. He looked back at you, almost unconsciously, his eyes lingering on your smile for a moment.
"That is most kind of you." Your mother made a slight bow again.
He nodded again, a polite smile on his lips, but his mind was not focused on your mother. His gaze was still fixed on you, his gaze wandering over your form, taking in your features.Â
He tried to refocus himself, looking back at your mother again. "I do have one topic that I would like to discuss with you."
"Of course, your highness."
He couldn't help but admire your mothers attitude, polite yet firm. She was a good parent, there was no doubt about that.Â
"Your daughter mentioned to me that she has wanted to learn how to ride." He said it bluntly, straight to the point, his gaze shifting between you and the older woman. "I am a most capable rider, if I may say so myself, and I would take great pleasure in teaching her."
He said, putting on a confident facade, keeping a polite smile on his lips. He looked directly at your mother, awaiting her response and trying desperately not show the tension he felt inside.
"Oh" She was clearly surprised. "Your highness, that is greatly kind of you."
Relief washed over him, the fact that your mother seemed open to the idea making him almost ecstatic with joy.
"As soon as your daughter mentioned her interest, I thought it my obligation to offer my help."
He hoped that his words came across as sincere and genuine, not too eager, but not uninterested either.
"It would be a great honour for her, but l wouldn't want to take your gentleness for granted, if you have other duties to attend to."
A small smile formed on his face when he heard your mothers words, an involuntary response at the thought that like mother like daughter. He noticed that the two of you were very much alike.
"Nonsense." He said casually, almost trying to sound indifferent, but the excitement he felt was almost impossible to cover at the thought of spending time with you. "I already said to Ms. Windsor I do not have any particularly pressing duties. I would be more than happy to teach her just as soon as the rain season is fully over and there's no danger for her."
Your mother bowed again in appreciation. "I shall not decline such a kind offer."
He smiled politely, nodding as your mother showed her gratitude, and he felt himself almost getting lightheaded.
You looked as shocked as he felt, but he could also see the happiness and excitement in your face. It only made him feel even more overwhelmed with happiness.
"It is settled then." He said, trying to keep his voice from betraying his excitement.
You smiled at him, and he immediately smiled back. He knew he had to restrain himself from looking too eager, but it was so hard to do.
"I will be looking forward to it." He said, his voice softer than before.
Both ladies bowed, and he forced himself to keep walking away.
He felt almost euphoric, filled with happiness and excitement, but he knew he had to restrain himself.Â
It was ridiculous, absolutely ridiculous how he felt towards you.Â
Charles is laying on his bed, a hand behind his head.Â
His mind keeps going back to you, thoughts of your smile, replaying the last conversation they had over and over again in his head. He feels obsessed over someone he's known for less than a month, someone he feels drawn to against any logic.
He cannot wait for the rains to completely fade, he wishes to see you again.
He sits up on the bed, frustration growing inside him. His mind is still plagued with thoughts of you, of the way your gaze made him feel. He can't stand the idea of spending days apart, it feels like a punishment in itself to be away from you.
He groans, falling onto the bed and looking up at the ceiling. The three weeks he should have to wait to ensure the rain season being over suddenly seem like an eternity. He would be going mad by the end of the week if he didn't at least get a chance to see you.
Charles suddenly sits up, a thought sparking in his overactive mind.Â
He could throw another ball.Â
Maybe he wouldn't be able to be alone with you, but he would at least be able to see you.
He stands up, determination filling his whole being. He was going to throw a ball. Who cares if it was unusual? He would do it anyway, just to catch a glimpse of you again.
The prince starts by choosing the theme for the ball: something simple but elegant, like the start of the good weather, a colourful affair. He quickly starts making arrangements with the event planner, thinking about the menu, the decor, the music.
The list is full of the most important names of the kingdom, the noble families and influential people of the community.
He finds your name, and just seeing it written on paper makes him even more eager to see you again.
The ball takes place just a few days after, and he is there as all the guests arrive, his gaze searching through the crowd for you. He feels his heart pounding just at the thought of seeing you again, of having your scent infiltrate his nostrils once more.
His eyes scan every guest, every face.
Time seems to slow down in anticipation, in expectancy.
And then, he sees you. Walking with your mother, father and two older brothers, clearly just arriving.
His heart nearly skips a beat as he lays eyes on you. You looked stunning in the new dress, its colour complimenting the complexion of your skin. His gaze is fixed on you, the words of whoever he is greeting fall from his mouth.
Charles feels as if every nerve in his body is on edge. You're not too far away, but it still feels like too much.
He has to stop himself from running towards you, his need to feel closer overpowering any thought of politeness.
He knows you have to walk around and greet the other guests, but that just feels so painful. All he wants is to be close to you.
He is trying hard to control himself, to not look like a dog in heat, but it is near imposible to stay in his place while you are in the same room...Â
And when other gentlemen are so fixed on greeting you.
His eyes narrow slightly as he catches them looking at you, noticing your beauty, the curve of your waist, the elegance of your walk. He feels a sudden rush of possessive jealously, the feeling making him want to march up to you and claim you as if he owned you already.
But he doesn't. It's open season, and she's unclaimed.
He hates the thought of that. He knows he has no right over you yet, but seeing all this strange men taking interest in you is stirring something in him. He doesn't like how the other men's eyes keep staring at you when you walk. They shouldn't be allowed to look at you like that, to gawk at you like starving dogs to a piece of meat.
Your father doesn't seem to like them either, which makes Charles slightly surprised, but also thankful.
He wants to go up to you, to stand behind you and claim you as his so the others will disappear, but he has to wait and follow the proper etiquette like everyone else.
And had he not been the prince, the proper etiquette would be to ask for a dance. But he is the prince, he doesn't dance.
He wants to be close to you, to feel your body so close to his as the music plays. He wants to hold you tight, to feel your breath on his neck as you move together to the rhythm... But he can't, because it's not the right moment.Â
ĐĐ” wants to break the rules so badly, just for the chance of holding you in his arms.
He knows it's forbidden. It would spark gossip all over the capital, whispers and murmurs. He is a prince, of course, who could have any lady he wanted. And there he was, openly taking an interest in you. The rational part of him knows the scandal it would cause, but he wants to throw any rational thought right out of the window just so he can have you close, just for at least one song.
Which is why he gathers himself, trying his best to appear calm and composed. His heart is beating fast as he approaches you and your parents, knowing he is about to breach one of the most important social rules on a prince's etiquette.Â
As he approaches you, he bows slightly at the three of you, a smile on his face. "Ms. Windsor, Mr. and Mrs. Windsor. Good evening."
All of them bow too. "Your highness."
He takes a quick glance at you, his eyes lingering on yours for just a split second longer than it is socially acceptable.Â
He smiles at you, his gaze holding yours. "I hope you are enjoying the ball so far?"
"Oh, it's truly lovely." Your mother replies. "The decorations are magnificent, and the music is just delightful."
He can't help but steal another glance at you as your mother speaks, his eyes drifting downwards to take in your figure in the light coral dress. The colour suits you so well, it makes you look even more radiant in the soft light of the dancing fireflies, if that's even possible.Â
He quickly tears his gaze away from you before he can embarrass himself, returning his attention to your parents. "That's fantastic to hear."
You smile at him, and he can't help but mirror your smile. He's standing so close to you now, but to anyone around you it wouldn't seem too improper.
He turns to your father. "Please forgive me, but may I speak to your daughter for a minute?"
The question is polite, but still clearly a demand instead of a request.
The man stares at him for a few seconds, not bothered but curious. "You may."
His heart leaps, his need to be close to you too powerful to ignore any more. He bows at your parents once more, before turning towards you. He offers you his arm, with a small but elegant gesture. "Would you be so kind as to give me a moment of your time, Ms. Windsor?"
"I'll allow it." You smile, softly holding onto his arm.
He smiles back at you, his heart skipping a bit as your hand wraps around his arm.
He can feel the warmth of your touch even though the fabric and has to repress the shiver that wants to go down his spine. He starts walking away, with you at his side, still holding onto his arm.
He finally regains his voice after walking in silence for a moment. He looks down at you, the dim light of the ballroom making the details of your face stand out even more. He almost feels lost in the beauty of your form.
"There is something I wanted to... I have been meaning to ask you" He gathers the courage for what he's about to say. "Tomorrow night, there's a performance of 'La Gioconda' at the Opera, perhaps you... could you-"
His voice trails off, realizing his request is far too forward.
He clears his throat, trying to form a more polite question.
"May I have the honour of hosting you there?"
His tone is a bit too formal than he intended, but the nerves are killing him. He's asking you to go to a high profile event at the Opera, with a lot of gossiping socialites in attendance. That will surely send people talking, but he doesn't care, all he cares about is that you might say yes.
"The Opera?" You repeat, smiling softly.
"Yes... I suppose you enjoy the Opera, do you not?"
"I adore it." You reply, truthfully. "And it would be an honour to attend with you, your highness."
There's excitement buzzing through his body, his heart beating fast as you accept his invitation. It will only worsen the gossip, but that is the furthest thing on his mind.
"I'm delighted! I'll arrange for a carriage to fetch you tomorrow evening and escort you there."
"That is most kind of you."
"It's the least I can do."
You both smile, and he's feeling more alive than ever.
Knowing you will be there with him, sitting in the private box with just the two of you... it makes him more elated.
He guides you back to where your parents are patiently waiting, noticing how almost every eye is on them as they walk together. He knows people will start talking, gossiping about the fact that the young prince is paying such attention to you. However, he can only focus on the fact that he will be having you all to himself in the opera.Â
His mind is already running over every idea of how to get as close to you as possible, every scenario where your hand might touch his...Â
He finally arrives where your parents are standing, nodding politely.
He glances at you once again, his gaze lingering on the curve of your lips for a bit longer, before smiling to your parents again. "Good evening."
You smile at him, and he smiles back, the expression natural and involuntary. His eyes linger on you for a few more seconds before he forces himself to turn away and leave, focusing on his duties as a host, talking politely and entertaining the other guests.
Your parents surely notice. They can see how their daughter is always on the young prince's mind, how he keeps stealing glances at you throughout the night. They notice how his gaze lingers on you when you walk, how his eyes follow your every movement.Â
They can both guess the nature of the young prince's interest.Â
Your father is a bit concerned, while your mother seems to think this development is quite entertaining.
She has a satisfied smirk playing on her lips. The prospect of having her daughter marry a prince, especially the young, attractive and well-liked royal, was beyond anything she had ever hoped for.
However, your father is more guarded, not wanting any danger and gossip to befall his daughter's reputation to fall into disgrace because of him. He doesn't doubt his daughter's innocence, but young men are always reckless when it comes to pretty women.
Your mother sees how your head keeps turning to look at the young prince. She can see the gleam in her daughter's eyes, the slight hint of nervousness in your features.
She glances at her husband, a small smile on her lips. "Oh, look at her, she's clearly taken by him."
"Stop it, mother." You complain.
She grins again, finding your reaction endearing.
"Oh come on, my dear, it is quite obvious the young prince has set his eyes on you. No harm in appreciating that, huh?"
You look down for a second in attempt to hide a smile. "He wishes to take me to the Opera tomorrow."
Your words cause your mother to gasp softly. "Really?" she says, almost in disbelief. To have a young prince take her daughter to the Opera...Â
She had been sure it would be just an infatuation from the very beginning, she had not expected him to act on it so soon.Â
Her daughter will be seen in a private box, attending the Opera with the prince himself. It almost sounds like a fairy tale.
"Can I please go?" You look at your father, wanting to know his opinion.Â
The man seems conflicted, like any caring father would. On one hand, he wants to protect you, to shield you from the possible harm. On the other, having a prince court his daughter was something no normal, respectable man would say no to.
"I suppose it can be arranged."
You smile, and he nods, trying to conceal a sigh.Â
He knows that the socialites of the city will surely gossip and chatter when they spot the two of you sitting together for the night, gossiping and whispering about how the young prince has taken an unnatural liking towards you.Â
He can already see the papers printing the headlines of tomorrow, the young and beautiful lady being courted by the prince...
"Behave yourself, though."
Your words are met with an amused, yet slightly concerned look from your father.
He knows you're a perfectly well-mannered girl, and that his warnings are just for etiquette sake, but he can't help feeling some apprehension. Your mother, on the other hand, seems to be much more open about the idea of you getting involved with the young prince. If he does take a genuine interest in you, it would be one of the best scenarios for your future.
Your options are still open, however, which is clear with the amount of men who ask you to dance during the ball.
The prince can't help but feel a slight twinge of jealousy at the fact. He just can't keep his gaze away as he sees other gentlemen twirling you around the dance floor, their hands on your waist and shoulders... the very thing he wants to be doing.
Hasn't he been clear enough about his intentions?
Any idiot with eyes can notice that the prince has taken a serious interest in you, so why are there still other men asking you to dance? Shouldn't they back off now to avoid angering the young prince?
Apparently none of them are smart enough to understand that very simple rule of etiquette and social grace.
It is not that he wants you to say no to them, what he wants is for them to leave you alone.
Can't they see all the signs of the young prince taking a major interest in you? It is clear as day.
He can't just sit there, staring at you dancing with other men. It's becoming more and more frustrating to watch, the feeling of frustration growing inside him.Â
He's the prince, no one should approach you if he has already shown his intentions for you.
So Charles finally decides to do something. He excuses himself from the conversation he's having and starts walking through the room, heading towards you. He knows he's not supposed to cut in, but he will anyway. People will just have to talk, he doesn't care.
You're currently talking with another man he didn't know nor cared about, with your parents beside you.
As he approaches the small group, he doesn't like how close that man is to you, how he's invading your personal space.Â
He tries to keep his voice polite, as to not embarrass himself in front of your parents. "Pardon me... May I talk to Ms. Windsor for a moment?"
That gentleman shouldn't be standing next to you. It's not his place to speak to you, considering the prince has already shown his very obvious attention towards you.
"Your highness." The man quickly bows. "Of course."
Charles gives him a polite smile, before looking straight at you.
He wants to dance with you, royal etiquette be damned.
He offers you his hand, bowing down politely.
"May I have the honour of this dance, milady?"
If that's what it takes for them to understand that you're off limits... so be it. He's tired of the proper etiquette.
As usual, your mother excitedly answers for you.
"She would be delighted."
You takes his hand, your glove touching his skin, and he gently leads you to the dancefloor.
His heart starts beating fast as he feels your hand in his, as he knows he will finally have you so close. He leads you into a position for a waltz, his hand gently holding onto your waist, while the other one gently holds your right hand.
You hold onto his hand and shoulder, looking up at him.
He feels the adrenaline rushing through his veins as you hold onto him. The dim light of the ballroom making you look even more beautiful, if that's even possible.Â
He quickly starts to get lost in your eyes, forgetting about the other people on the dance-floor. All he can focus on is you, and how you feel in his arms at that moment.
He pulls you a bit closer, his hand on your waist gently holding you there, just close enough to allow them to dance. If there weren't so many people watching them, he would've just pressed you completely against him, until all his body could feel was you.
Because, God save him, he wants to drown in you.
"You look absolutely radiant tonight." He finally speaks.
Your smile widens at his whisper. "You're too kind."
He shakes his head a little, smiling softly, his gaze still locked on you. "I'm just stating the obvious. You look... so beautiful, it's almost painful."
He nods, his gaze lingering on your face, on the curve of your lips. "Terribly painful, yes... you make me feel like I'm looking at the sun without being able to touch it."
That makes you blush pretty quickly.
"How do you get away with saying such improper things, disguising them as romantic?"
He chuckles softly, gently leading you through the dance. His eyes don't leave your face as he dances, his gaze fixed on you.
"I suppose I'm just a little more clever than your average gentleman." He leans in, his voice now just a whisper in your ear, his breath dancing on your skin. "Besides, what I'm saying sounds a lot more like a confession than a simple compliment, doesn't it?"Â
"A confession, your grace?" You repeat, rather confused.
He nods, his eyes staring into yours. His expression looks a bit like a desperate one.
"It is" He whispers, the hand on your waist now gently gripping a bit harder, pulling you closer. "A confession to the effect that my thoughts are preoccupied with you."
Your eyes look up at him with more intensity now.
He can feel the heat of your gaze, and it sends electricity through his veins, almost making him shiver.
"You're all I can think about. It's almost unbearable." His expression is one of open, blatant desire. He is a prince, he is supposed to know better than to openly show his interest in you, but he doesn't care about that right now.
"Is that the reason you're behaving with such carelessness?"
He smiles softly, his hand gently running over the small of your back, feeling your body against his. "If being carelessly honest is a way to have your attention on me, then I shall never be cautious, milady"
"Honestly and carelessness can be easily mistaken."
"Perhaps." He whispers, his hand on your waist squeezing gently, almost possessively. "Am I mistaken, then?"
His gaze is fixed on your face once more, the look in his eyes more and more revealing his desires. His body almost vibrates with tension as he keeps you close to him.
"I do not know yet." You reply, careful.
He feels impatient, desperate to make you understand exactly the effect you have on him. He doesn't understand one bit how you aren't noticing the way he's completely wrapped around your finger.
His voice is soft and low. "What will it take for you to find out?"
"I would most appreciate if my reputation could get out of this dance unscathed."
He can't help the small disappointed sigh that escapes him. He knows she is right, this isn't the place or time to do anything. He pulls away just enough to look at you, his eyes searching your face.
"I would never do anything to harm your reputation, believe me."
His hand tightens around yours, his expression almost looking a bit desperate as he says it. He doesn't want to seem so needy, so open, but he desperately wants you to know he's being sincere.
"I'm yet to understand the meaning of this dance, I must say." You finally dare to ask.
His expression softens at your words. He can't help the small, slight smile on his lips as he looks at you, the feeling of having you in his arms making him feel intoxicated, out of his mind almost. He is supposed to be a proper, well-behaved prince, but you make him want to break every rule.
"Does there need to be a special meaning?"
You look down for an instant, disappointed by his answer. "I suppose not."
His expression changes to a concerned one as you look away. He feels like he messed it up, he said the wrong thing.Â
"I did not mean to sound dismissive..." He gently leads you around the dance floor, his hand on your waist keeping you close to him.
"It's quite alright." You politely reply, looking back at him. "Perhaps I was expecting too much, I shall not be so forward."
He frowns slightly, the grip of his hand on your waist tightening a little bit. "I assure you, nothing about you is too forward. You're just asking for rightful clarification."
"A prince dancing with a debutant at the start of the season is indeed rather uncommon."
Charles cannot argue with your words. It is uncommon indeed for a prince to pay such an enormous amount of attention to a lady.
He feels frustrated with your obliviousness. How could you not get his intentions? Doesn't he show how much he wants you, doesn't he make it clear through the way his gaze is fixed on you at all times?
How can you not understand? Everyone else in the ballroom knows what this dance means.
The prince is pursuing you.
There are a few indiscreet whispers going around the room, a few noble people watching the young man dancing with the debutante.Â
They all know what it means, they can sense the change in the air, the shift of events.Â
But you, you're here, dancing with him and talking to him as if he isn't planning to court you for the rest of the season.
He lets out a sigh, his shoulders dropping slightly. It's both endearing and frustrating, the fact that you seem oblivious to all the attention the both of you are creating. "You are quite oblivious, you know that?"
You frown slightly in confusion, tilting your head.
And he can't help the soft smile on his face. He suddenly pulls you a bit closer again, his hand gripping your waist. "Have you taken a look around the room? Noticed who's been watching us ever since the dance started?"
He nods, a smirk forming on his lips. "Pretty much, yes. You do know what this dance means, do you not?"
You still appear confused, and he sighs, but there's no real frustration. His eyes are fixed on your face, his thoughts completely focused on you, on how lovely and utterly sweet you look. Charles suddenly wishes you could just be on your own, somewhere no one else could see or hear you, just the two of you, in complete privacy, away from all the gossip and whispers
"It means I'm trying to court you, Ms. Windsor."
Your eyes turn more intense, your lips slightly parting.
He feels a slight shiver in his entire body as his gaze locks on your expression, the need to feel you against his body slowly growing.
"Surely you're not this oblivious. You can't be ignorant to the fact that I have been paying an excessive amount of attention to you."
"I was not." You reply. "I suppose I didn't want to get ahead of myself and my possibilities."
He looks at you for a moment, his gaze lingering on your face, on the curve of your mouth. His feelings are all over the place, a mix of fondness and desperation.
"And what are those according to you?"
He's genuinely curious. Does he even want to know the answer, though? Is there the possibility that you won't be open to being courted by him? The thought makes him feel something he's never felt before, it almost makes him feel a little bit insecure.
"I'm well aware of that fact, yes. You are, however, the daughter of a well respectable man, and a beautiful debutante who's on the receiving end of a lot of interest from other gentlemen." He pauses, his gaze locked to yours. "Including me."
You smile softly at him, and he can't help but return the gesture.
He's usually a very careful person, very rational when it comes to everything, but you bring out things in him he has never felt before, and doesn't know how to make sense of.
Charles doesn't want the dance to end. He wants to keep you close to him, hold onto you and never let you go. He almost wants to pull you against him and keep dancing to some invisible melody when the song finally ends, but he knows better.Â
Instead, he softly lets go of you, feeling the absence of your body against his almost like a physical pain.
"That was a most enjoyable dance, milady."Â
You bow, and he smiles, taking your hand again in a gentle grasp, his fingers barely touching yours.
He raises your hand to his lips, his gaze focused on yours. He barely grazes your glove with his fingertips as he presses his lips to the back of your hand, not even attempting to hide his desire.
You can hear little gasps from the people around. The message was clear. The prince was pursuing you.
All eyes are on you from every corner of the ballroom, every noble person looking, discussing the public display of interest from the young man.
He knows there will be gossip going around the whole city by tomorrow morning: the prince has his eye on a specific debutante, pursuing her.Â
But he doesn't care, not when he can hear the shaky way you breathe when he kisses the back of your hand, not when he can see the hint of affection in your eyes.
He wants them to talk about it, in fact. It's not like a claim, but a warning.Â
He wants the world to know you're being courted by him.
PART 2 ALREADY UP IN MY PATREON (link here)
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