“I need–” she began as imperiously as anyone could when they barely stood over five foot and were still in their pyjamas. “–a drink. It’s the absolute LEAST I deserve after everything that’s happened.” They were the words of a woman desperately attempting to maintain composure by clinging to the mask of a spoilt little child. Charlotte was the most off centre she’d ever been in her life, no training could ever prepare for being dragged out of bed in the middle of the night, wearing only silk shorts and a matching camisole, and dragged off by PIRATES. A lot could be said about the princess, but never that she was a brat. Except, of course, for those rare times when she felt like crying, and the only answer was to cling to a persona that wasn’t entirely her own. “The stiffer the better.”
before he even called himself a pirate, or even a fighter in the ring, ryder was above all just another kid from the streets of brooklyn. a part of that was going out and partying, a lot, and ryder was good at it. hell, he was revered for it. sitting at the bar nursing an amber glass, ryder was once again another just another kid from the brooklyn and when the princess asked for another, he could think of little else to do but to oblige her. “did they teach you how to drink at princess school too, or did you learn it all by yourself?”
