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Forbidden Crown
"Apply these effects to 1 face-up monster on the field, until the end of this turn.
Negate its effects.
Cannot attack.
Cannot be destroyed by battle or card effects.
Unaffected by activated card effects, except its own.
Cannot be Tributed.
Cannot be used as material for a Fusion, Synchro, Xyz, or Link Summon.
Neither player can activate monster effects in response to this card's activation. You can only activate 1 'Forbidden Crown' per turn."
Forbidden Crown - VIII
Summary: Will you follow your head, and stay in Tir Asleen to marry Airk and rule your kingdoms together? Or will you go with your heart, and run away with Kit to hide in the valley of Nockmaar?
Pairing: kit tanthalos x princess!reader
Contains: non-explicit smut, kissing, homophobia, commitments, arranged marriages
Word Count: 3.7k
A/N: we’re finally here… the final chapter. Thank you to everyone who’s supported what is over 30k words of pure lesbian pining. Extra thanks to anyone leaving comments, replies, or messages to tell me how the story has affected you—whether it be positive or negative, your words brightened my day!! Onwards and upwards, onto the next writing process, but until then, without further ado… here’s the Forbidden Crown finale :,)
Kit gazed at her reflection in her bedchamber’s polished mirror, the white satin of her gown flowing around her ankles. She shifted her legs with a grumble, feeling bare beneath the billowing fabric.
“Please hold still, Your Highness,” the seamstress murmured from behind, carefully removing pins from the gown. Kit couldn’t recall her name in the moment. “I wouldn’t wish to prick you.”
With the last pin removed, the seamstress stood and circled Kit, inspecting every inch of the newly-finished garment, The way the lace dipped low at her back before forming sleeves that cascaded down her arms like bells, while the satin hugged her hips, gathering at her thighs before softening into delicate folds around her feet. Every stitch was impeccable, the dress handcrafted specifically to give Kit the appearance of the most elegant bride.
With a final nod of approval, the seamstress began to pack up her workbox. “The gown is ready for the morrow’s matrimony, my lady,” she said. “You’re sure to make a radiant bride.”
As she left Kit alone to undress, Kit couldn’t help but note how the seamstress had avoided her gaze throughout the entirety of the fitting. It didn’t surprise Kit; much of the castle staff had been behaving strangely after the events of the previous night. Of course, they knew better than to blatantly give voice to scorn about any member of the royal family, but their sudden eschewal and reproachful stares were difficult to ignore.
It wasn’t as if Kit was overly concerned by their sudden change in demeanor; she had long grown accustomed to strange looks—after all, she wasn’t exactly a ‘beloved’ princess. What troubled her more was how you were faring. Your parents had ordered guards posted outside your doors during the night, making it impossible for Kit to check on you after you were sent to your separate chambers.
Kit turned her attention back to the mirror. Despite her unease, she chuckled softly at the sight of herself in the gown—the white gown; a color worn by brides to signify their purity, something Kit was proud to admit that you had ruined many times over.
Reaching behind herself, she tugged at the laces holding the gown together, only to groan upon realizing the seamstress had left her locked in a double-knot. She clutched at the fabric in frustration, knowing she’d be resigned to waiting until her lady’s maid came to relieve her.
Just when she was considering reaching for a dagger to cut herself free, her door swung open. She turned away from her reflection, expecting her maid—and ready to scold for the delay—but instead came face-to-face with her brother.
“Airk,” she exclaimed in surprise. “What are you…? I could’ve been undressed! You shouldn’t…”
“Come with me,” he interrupted, taking her hand and pulling her along.
Kit was not one to yield to orders and quickly began to protest, but her objections went unheard as Airk continued to lead her through the castle corridors. Anxiety gnawed at her as he steered her around the busy servants who paid them no mind—why would they? To them, it was simply a prince walking with his sister through their home, never mind that Kit was debuting her wedding gown a day too early.
“Could we please just…”
“Here,” Airk opened the door to a random guest chamber and pushed Kit inside. “Half an hour. No more,” he declared cryptically before slamming the door shut.
Kit stared at the wooden barrier in shock and confusion before revolving to take in the room. It was small, dark, lit by nothing but a mullion window in the corner, and only by its narrow rays of sunlight could Kit see you, standing in the center of the floor, donning your own fluffy white gown.
“Princess…” she breathed, taking in the sight of you in your dress. Ivory brocade embraced your chest and torso, flowing into a full skirt around your feet. Gilded laces formed a mock-corset at your waist, matching the gold trim along your neckline and attached hood. You were the picture of wealth, the portrait of a perfect bride, and if you had been wearing that dress in any other context, Kit might have taken you right there and then.
“I’ve just finished my final fitting,” you explained, stepping closer.
“As did I,” Kit chuckled, gesturing to her own gown. “But, what are you…” Her voice trailed off as she noticed the tears staining your face. You wrapped your arms around her neck and kissed her gently, your lips salty from crying. Kit hesitated, but soon brought her hands to your waist, drawing soothing circles into your hips in an attempt to comfort you. Her small gesture prompted the lump in your throat to rise again, and you pulled back, deepening Kit’s confusion. “Princess, what…”
“I just… I wanted to see you… one final time,” you whispered, your voice shaking as you held her tight.
“You… final?” Kit questioned, a nervous chuckle slipping through. Her hands clasped at the small of your back, pulling you closer. “Don’t be ridiculous, Princess. We leave tonight, remember?”
All you could do was shake your head, unable to meet her eyes.
Kit’s face faltered. “No?” She moved you to sit on the edge of the bed, wrapping an arm around your waist. “I don’t understand…”
Your gaze dropped to your lap as you spilled everything in a single breath—how your kingdom was in dire straits, how Tir Asleen had been financially supporting Azarenth in exchange for your betrothal to Airk, and how your engagement was necessary to save your people. When you finished, you looked up to find Kit’s eyes swelling with tears.
“So… this is it?” She asked, her voice cracking.
You didn’t respond; you swallowed the lump in your throat and seized her lips in a passionate force, almost as if she could take this thing from you, as if you could somehow rid yourself of this reality if you kissed her hard enough. She grasped your hips, falling back onto the bed as you covered her with your body, your hand already slipping beneath her dress.
This would be how you remembered each other—faces flushed and limbs twisted in the linen sheets, hair splayed about the pillow, skirts bunched at your waists, eyes clouding over in pleasure upon reaching your peaks. Kit brought her lips to yours as you came down, removing her fingers from within you and wiping them on the soiled coverings. “I love you,” she whispered against your skin.
“I love you too,” you murmured, still overtaken with bliss. But as your breath evened, and your skin cooled, you felt the fragile oasis you had built begin to crumble, leaving only a devastating reality behind. “It… nothing will ever feel whole… not without you.”
Kit shook her head, stroking your cheek. “Don’t say that. You don’t mean it.”
“I do,” you insisted, your voice breaking again. “I’ll remain in Tir Asleen, but my heart will wander with you, wherever you go—whether that’s Galladoorn or beyond.”
Kit desperately wanted to protest—argue that you would be sisters, that you could see each other all the time, that you could live for little stolen moments like this during visits. But deep down, she knew better—that if you would be risking your lives for slivers of secret bliss, and even if you were extra cautious, your royal responsibilities would keep you far too busy for such endeavors.
Instead, she lifted your chin, meeting your tear-filled gaze. With a sad smile, she whispered, “I want you to have something.”
She helped you sit up, smoothing out your hair while you pulled your freshly-wrinkled skirt over your legs. The lace of her sleeve bunched around her elbow as she pushed it up, revealing a thin, gray string hanging loosely around her wrist; it was frayed, discolored, worn to mere threads, but you instantly recognized it as the once bright-pink ribbon she had stolen from you as children. With one careful motion, she released the knot, letting the ribbon dangle freely from her pinched fingers.
That lump returned to your throat. “Kit, I…”
“Take care of this, would you?” She gingerly took your wrist, wrapping the ribbon around it. “It means a lot to me.”
You shook your head. “Kit, no, I can’t take this. You’ve kept it for fifteen years.”
“Then give it back to me in another fifteen.”
There was nothing you could do to stop the tears from spilling down your cheeks as Kit secured the knot. The tattered strings appeared foreign on your wrist, but not as much as the pale band encircling Kit’s—a narrow strip of skin shielded from sunlight for nearly a lifetime. Unable to trust your voice, you simply nodded, silently accepting her gesture.
She caressed your cheek, her thumb wiping away your tears, though her own had begun to fall. Her voice came out weak, barely audible. “I love you.”
You let out a watery laugh, your own voice trembling. “I love you too.”
She leaned in for another kiss, the taste of salt lingering between you, only to be interrupted by a knock at the door. You both pulled back reluctantly, standing up to fix and flatten your gowns as the door cracked open, Airk’s head peeking through, his eyes shut tight. “Are you presentable?”
Both of you let out breathy laughs. Kit took your hand as she responded, “You’re clear.”
Airk opened his eyes, blushing slightly. “Forgive my intrusion, but the half-hour has passed.”
You smiled back warmly. “We truly appreciate it, Airk. Thank you.”
He bowed his head, extending a hand to Kit. “Come on, then.”
Kit glanced at you, her eyes filled with unspoken words suppressed by the absence of time. She squeezed your hand once, holding on until she was out of reach. And then the door snapped shut, and Kit was gone, and you were once again left alone, surrounded by empty darkness.
The following morning, Kit had expected to be awakened before dawn by a frantic servant sent to fetch the bride. Instead, she awoke to golden rays of sunlight spilling through her chamber window and the cheerful sound of birds chirping outside. She rubbed her eyes, allowing them to adjust to the newfound brightness when she heard a soft rap at her door.
Expecting her lady’s maid, she sat up. “Enter.”
The door swung open to reveal Sorsha, standing in the doorway with her hands clasped in front of her.
“Mother,” Kit groaned, her voice raspy with the weight of sleep. “What are you… am I late?” Her gaze drifted to her wedding gown, carefully hung on a rack in the corner of her chamber. “Nobody came to fetch me…”
Sorsha cut her off with a shake of her head. “Make yourself presentable and meet us downstairs.”
“Presentable?” Kit pressed. “I… where’s my maid? I’ll need help donning the gown…”
“There will be no need for that,” Sorsha interrupted. “Dress in your everyday attire and come downstairs. We’re met in the Great Hall.”
Before Kit could further question, her mother made a swift exit, clicking the door shut behind her. Kit sighed, throwing off the covers and dragging herself out of bed. She trudged to the storage chest at the foot of her bed, selecting a loose, woad-dyed blue tunic, some boots, and black trousers. As she dressed, a feeling of unease crept through her—fear of the unknown gnawing at her insides, coupled by an intrusive, pondering voice rattling through her mind and growing louder with each step, only ceasing upon reaching the Great Hall.
All eyes turned to Kit as she stood in the doorway, but her gaze settled only on you—sitting in a beige linen gown, your confused expression mirroring that of your parents sat on either side of you. Sorsha motioned to the seat beside her, and Kit obliged, settling across from you and your parents.
The air in the hall hung as heavy as a drawn bowstring, everyone waiting with baited breath for the meeting’s purpose to be revealed. Kit glanced around the long table, realizing something was missing, and decided to ask, even if she didn’t necessarily want the answer. “Where is Graydon?”
Sorsha let out a long exhale before answering, a breath perhaps even she hadn’t known she was holding. “Prince Graydon and his father have returned to Galladoorn,” she replied finally. “They left early this morning, and Airk has gone with them.”
Everyone at the table seemed to gape at this news, but it was your mother who pressed further. “What do you mean my daughter’s betrothed has fled?”
“He hasn’t ‘fled,’” Sorsha clarified. “I’ve sent him to train with the knights of Galladoorn.”
Not a jaw in the room remained shut. Your mother’s face quickly hardened. “You’ve done what?”
Sorsha merely nodded. “He’s always been quite the swordsman; I think you’d agree. King Hastur certainly did. I had him demonstrate his abilities late last night, and he agreed to take him on as a trainee.” She turned her attention to Kit, her expression unreadable. “Due to this new arrangement, your betrothal to Prince Graydon is no longer necessary.”
Kit could have sworn her heart ceased its beating.
”And our daughter?” Your mother asked angrily. “What is the nature of her engagement?”
”Well,” Sorsha began. “Airk will reside in Galladoorn for the time being—five years, perhaps more. Because of this, I believe the best course of action would be to… postpone the nuptials.”
Something snapped inside your mother; she rose, slamming her hands on the table. “You’re delaying our daughter’s matrimony? You’ve decided all of this without even taking the time to discuss it with us?”
“I see no reason for such commotion.” Sorsha stated, folding her hands atop the table. “The engagement still stands, it’s simply postponed until further notice. Your alliance with Tir Asleen remains intact.”
She glared across the table, her gaze hard and unblinking. Your mother faltered, reminded of something she momentarily forgot; Sorsha held the power—she always had, whether financial, political, or otherwise. With an awkward clearing of her throat, your mother resumed her seat.
“But how shall I fare?” You couldn’t help but ask. “Am I to return to Azarenth for the next decade?” A sense of dread washed over you at the thought of living with your parents for another ten years, especially knowing what they know now. Not to mention, the idea of being away from Kit for just as long made your heart ache.
Sorsha took in a breath, fiddling with her hands as if preparing to say something controversial. “It is of utmost importance to keep up appearances… for the sake of our people, of course. After all, we’ve just made a spectacle of an engagement party.” She glanced at you. “Your parents may return to Azarenth. You shall remain here so our people see Airk’s departure as an unexpected change of circumstance rather than a capricious stunt.”
Something flashed within Sorsha’s eyes—something small and brief, almost imperceptible, but you saw it: recognition. This wasn’t about Airk, or her kingdom, or anything else but her acknowledging the love between you and her daughter. A short gasp escaped your throat as you realized this, tears pricking the corner of your eyes.
Your father turned to you, noticing your hand over your mouth. “Are you alright, Princess?”
You could barely speak; you stood, muttering something along the lines of “you must excuse me” before making a brisk exit, overwhelmed with emotion and unable to meet anyone’s gaze as you pushed through the doors of the Great Hall.
Kit stared after your retreating figure until you were out of sight, wanting nothing more than to run after you—to hold you in her arms, to cry together tears of joy, to promptly move all of your belongings into her chamber despite the protests she would face. It was Sorsha who shook her from her trance with a hand on her shoulder. “I believe we can handle the remainder of the meeting,” she said, gesturing to your still-seething parents. “Why don’t you go… settle your own arrangements.”
With a smile full of gratitude, Kit mouthed a quick word of thanks and dashed out of the Great Hall, determined to find you. She beelined toward your guest chamber, throwing open the door, but was met only with dark, empty space. Her heart quickened its pace, and she rushed through the castle corridors, her resolve to find you growing more desperate with each empty room. All hope was beginning to fade, and Kit became anxious. Her hand moved to fiddle with the ribbon on her wrist—a nervous habit she’d developed—but her fingernails only scratched a pale strip of sunless skin. In that moment—that moment of fleeting forgetfulness—she remembered the sacred oasis you two had shared for so many important moments, and suddenly, Kit knew exactly where you would be.
The wintry February air nipped at her skin as she stepped outside, the tall stone walls of the castle doing little to stave off the shivers running up her spine. Despite the chill, she pressed on until she reached the garden gates, finding you exactly where she thought she might—perched beneath the protective branches of the large tree. You had your knees tucked to your chest, your arms wrapped around yourself in a feeble attempt to shield against the frigid air. The wind whipped at your hair, leaving messy strands strewn about your face and framing your cheeks, stained red from a mixture of tears and the cold.
“You’ve never looked more beautiful,” Kit murmured, latching the gate shut behind her.
You lifted your head to look at her. “Kit…” you whispered, your voice shaky and fragile. “What… what’s happened?”
“I’m not sure myself,” Kit replied, moving to sit beside you. She smiled, reaching up to wipe away your tears. “Can’t we just enjoy it?”
You let out a shuddering breath, shaking your head. “I… I can’t…”
Kit frowned. “Why not?”
“I don’t understand,” you sniffed. “Your mother… after all this time… why?”
Kit smiled, brushing away the wisps clinging to your cheeks. “My mother knows of love,” she explained softly. “Her own union was not arranged.”
You sniffed again, hugging your knees tighter. “This doesn't feel true,” you admitted. “It feels like a cruel trick.”
“No tricks,” Kit assured. “It is true, Princess. Yes, there will be some conditions, and we must make sacrifices for a public appearance, but we can be together. Isn’t that what matters most?”
“But your brother,” you protested. “I’m still his betrothed. What happens when he returns from training?”
“We have at least half a decade until that day, perhaps more,” Kit chuckled. “We’ll cross that bridge when we come to it.” She took your hands in hers, compelling you to look at her. “Princess, I may not know what fate has in store, but I do know I want you in it. I’ve known since our first kiss under this very tree. I remember it well—you wore that muddy pink gown, all tucked into a pair of my breeches. I’d never seen anyone so beautiful. Somehow, since that day, you’ve only grown more so. Every time I look at you, I manage to fall in love all over again.”
You opened your mouth to protest, but Kit quickly shook her head. “We’ve been granted an opportunity, Princess, and if you’ll have me, I’d like to spend the rest of my days—or as long as I’m able—with you, falling in love again and again. Please, Princess. Will you let me?”
Kit’s words swirled in your mind like birds around the eye of a storm. You stared into her pleading eyes, filled with hope and adoration, and your own began to well with tears once more. Dropping her hands, you stood and silently made your way over to a barberry bush in a corner of the garden, Kit’s curious gaze following you all the way. Your fingers fell to your wrist, toying with the delicate knot Kit had tied so carefully the day before until it hung from your skin like a loose thread. Kit’s brow furrowed, but before she could speak, you plucked a branch from the barberry bush and used its piercing thorns to slice the ribbon in two.
A strangled gasp escaped Kit’s throat, her eyes following the tattered string as it drifted atop the garden dirt. “Princess…” she whispered, her face twisting with hurt and confusion. “I don’t… why…?”
You seized the two pieces and knelt beside her again. She couldn’t bring herself to look at you, only at the ruined ribbon hanging limp from your palm. Without a word, you took her left hand and tied one of the pieces around her fourth finger.
“I meant what I said,” you murmured, securing the final knot. “Nothing is whole, not without you, not even this ragged ribbon.” You chuckled breathily, your cheeks reddening at such a blatant display of sentiment, but you continued on. “Because it’s not mine—it hasn’t been in fifteen years—but it’s not yours either. It’s ours, and it cannot be complete without both of us.”
Kit stared down at her finger, once bare and reserved for Graydon’s wedding ring, now occupied by a sweet promise, a piece of you. The gray, uneven bow drooped down the back of her hand, brushing against her skin with every movement. Her heart swelled with affection, and she saw your gesture for what it was—a symbol of your commitment to her, as official as one could be within a realm of disdain.
“I promise myself to you,” you held out your own left hand, the other half of the ribbon resting in your palm. “Will you do the same?”
Kit let out a breathy laugh, overwhelmed with emotion. “What sort of question is that?” She secured the knot before bringing up her own left hand and intertwining it with yours, the tattered laces blending into each other like the tree branches overhead. “I love you, Princess.”
You sighed, a blissful smile painting your features. “I love you, always.”
As you tangled beneath the big tree, sealing your promise with a sweet kiss, you both knew how different your vow was from your previous betrothals; marriage may not have been about love, but the commitment you shared, your bond, would be forever forged within it.
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The kleptomania returns BPRO-JP067 Kinjirareta Seikan / Forbidden Crown Quick-Play Spell You can only activate 1 card with this card’s name
Darklord update!
Condemned Darklord simply cannot stop stealing shit XD
Guys!!!
Soooo after 1.5 months I finally got my book back from my editor! She sent it back with this caption, direct quote:
“l've read and edited a TON of books. Because I've read so many stories, books don't often get a physical emotional response from me (I'm just used to it--not heartless, promise). *Book Name* is the first book in a long time to get me crying.”
I’m literally GIDDY I could create such an emotional response!! I’ve started submitting to literary agents now that I have it back—six rejections down so far! 🥰
Forbidden Crown - VII
Summary: You and Kit prepare for your escape, everything seems to fall apart at your engagement party, and your mother reveals a shocking truth…
Pairing: kit tanthalos x princess!reader
Contains: kissing, angst, reader prepares a murder, some boob touching, non-explicit mention of vomiting, medieval partying, drinking, drunk behavior
Word Count: 6.4k
A/N: hope this one knocks your socks off
“Strike once. Through the heart.” Kit instructed, handing you a sword before stepping back.
You stood over the training dummy lying on the stone floor of the armory, the tip of your sword hesitating over its straw chest. The dummy was made to mimic a human form, and while its thatched figure was less than realistic, the very idea that it could one day be Kit filled you with a deep sense of dread. “I… I c-cannot…”
She frowned, crossing her arms. “You promised me…”
“Suppose I don’t intend to keep my promise?”
“Then we can’t go.”
Your face crumpled in defeat as your shoulders slumped, the sword dropping to your side. Kit softened her stance, placing a hand on your shaking shoulder. “Don’t… don’t think of it as me, alright? Because it won’t be. It’ll be… a walking infection, with an ashen face and lifeless eyes. Nothing but an ensorcelled servant to the Wyrm.”
She repositioned the sword in your hands, helping you hold it properly before stepping back again. “Protect yourself, Princess.”
You took a deep breath, squeezing your eyes shut before plunging the sword straight through the dummy’s heart. Straw flew up at the impact, drifting around you and making you sneeze. You dropped the sword with a loud clatter, body trembling as you stumbled back into the armory wall. Tears began to spill down your cheeks, and Kit was quick to comfort you.
“It’s alright,” she wrapped her arms around your shoulders and kissed the top of your head. “You did perfectly.”
You spoke between ragged breaths. “I don’t… ever… want to have… to do that… again…”
Kit’s thumb wiped your tear-stained face. “Perhaps you won’t have to,” she said, though her words rang hollow, and deep down you sensed she didn’t believe them either.
The fortnight that followed was filled with planning, mapping, and gathering for your escape. Kit regularly pilfered smaller weapons from the armory, stashing them at the bottom of storage chests, beneath her bed, or anywhere she knew a chambermaid would overlook. You were tasked with securing food—a much more difficult endeavor, as stealing from the kitchen without arousing suspicion from the staff proved quite challenging.
It was Kit who had the brilliant idea to procure the help of the kitchen maid. However, the one she called ‘Muffin Girl’ held you both in little favor—Kit due to her relentless teasing, and you for more… obvious reasons. The only one she did seem to favor was her paramour, Airk, so it wasn’t long before he was enlisted as an oblivious pawn in your scheme.
“Remind me why I’m sneaking you extra provisions?” Airk inquired one evening, delivering a basket of bread and fruit preserves to your chamber.
You accepted graciously. “I’d simply like to… fill out my bridal gown a bit more,” you lied.
Airk’s brow furrowed in disbelief. “You mean to say you eat all of this? Each night? By yourself?”
You shrugged innocently. “Kit intends to fill hers out as well.”
He remained puzzled, but a quick mutter about ‘a secret matter of womanhood’ had him bidding you goodnight and taking his leave. It wasn’t a lie, per se—you and Kit were both women with a secret, after all.
As the days passed, your diligent efforts began to bear fruit and your journey was well underway. Of course, your meticulous scheming was not without consequence. Sex became nonexistent, as you both were so preoccupied with getting your affairs in order that it was the furthest thing from your mind. That's not to say either of you wouldn’t benefit from some physical release—coordinating an escape could be vexing—but there was a time and place for everything, and you two would have ample opportunity for such matters once you reached Nockmaar.
Eventually, all packing, planning, and preparations were complete, and right in the hour of necessity, as your parents had arranged an engagement party just two nights before the weddings.
You stood in your chamber, gazing at your reflection in the mirror, clad in the golden ball gown your mother insisted upon. It was a fine dress—you would surely be the envy of every maiden at the party—but it had been awhile since you’d worn a gown of such opulence, and truthfully, it was not to your taste. Your everyday dresses were simpler—looser, allowing a wider range of movement—and never so ostentatious.
“Gold,” your mother had emphasized when she presented the gown earlier that day. “It signifies wealth, luxury, nobility.”
It was difficult to fathom why your mother had been so insistent upon a color denoting status. Azarenth might have been a smaller realm than Tir Asleen, or even Galladoorn, but it was a kingdom nonetheless, and you a princess. Perhaps your mother was overcompensating, simply seeking to appear at equal stature with the other kingdoms.
Suddenly, the sound of a doorknob turning jolted you from your reverie. You smoothed your dress one last time before leaving the mirror to find your mother in the doorway, donning a rust-red gown.
You should have known; your mother wouldn’t knock, nor have any regard for your privacy.
“The guests will be arriving shortly, you’re needed in the ballroom,” she proclaimed.
String music from the consort echoed through the lofty ceilings of Tir Asleen’s grand ballroom. Long tables encircled the dancing area, with place markers clearly labeled for each guest. You were stationed at the front of the hall, joining your parents, the Tanthalos’, and the Hastur’s in greeting the guests as they arrived.
“Thank you for coming. “A pleasure to meet you.” “It’s an honor,” each phrase rolled from your lips, spoken with the practiced formality of routine. Despite your efforts, your wooden smile couldn’t reach your eyes, and a glance at Kit showed she wore a similar mask of indifference.
Kit had worn a dress. You shouldn’t have been surprised; it wasn’t as if Sorsha would have allowed her daughter to wear breeches to one of the most important events of the year. But you had never seen Kit in a dress before, at least not that you could remember, and it certainly was a sight to behold. The fabric hugged her figure in a manner foreign to her usual tunics, and its v-shaped neckline dipped low enough to reveal a bit of cleavage—a stark reminder of the recent lack of intimacy. A metal asymmetrical corset enveloped her waist, complementing the silver motif that adorned the rich green fabric.
Green. The color associated with Galldoorn, and also known to symbolize fertility. You could vomit.
Once the concourse was seated, the feast began. At the high table, you watched as servants poured wine and served roasted meats to the guests. Among them was the one Kit had dubbed ‘Muffin Girl,’ her long blonde hair secured with a linen coif. She kept her head bowed among the other cupbearers—ashamed to be working at her forbidden lover’s engagement party—but occasionally cast furtive glances at the high table, her gaze lingering on Airk.
“Muffin Girl has her sights set upon your betrothed,” Kit whispered from beside you. “Are you prepared to duel for his hand?”
You snorted, quickly concealing your amusement behind your goblet. “Have you spoken to your intended yet?”
“I have,” she replied, her lips curling in amusement. “I even curtsied. Like a real lady. And he sort of… grunted… and shuffled his feet. Like a real… winner.”
“So he’s a mouse,” you said, turning to look at Graydon, who sat with his father at the other end of the table. The way he choked on his wine, sputtering it down the front of his doublet, spoke volumes; much like your father, he was a royal only by blood. Otherwise, he was a meek, reticent man—undoubtedly lacking the ability to keep up with a headstrong woman such as Kit.
As you and Kit exchanged giggles and gossip throughout the meal, Sorsha rose, tapping her silverware against her goblet and commanding the room's attention. “For many moons,” she began. “Tir Asleen has maintained civility with both Azarenth and Galladoorn. Three kingdoms, joined together, but ruling separately… until now.”
Kit slipped her hand under the table and rested it upon your upper thigh. You shivered at the unexpected contact, quickly ensuring no one saw before returning your attention to Sorsha.
“In two days time,” she continued. “My son and daughter shall wed the Princess of Azarenth and the Prince of Galladoorn, respectively. At last, our three kingdoms shall be united—strengthening us and ensuring a harmonious future.” She raised her goblet. “To the brides and grooms; may they rule wisely, and justly, and foster unity and strength within our kingdoms!”
The crowd raised their glasses, clinking them together amongst cries of “To the realm” and “Hear, hear!” You turned towards Kit, studying her expression for any sign of guilt at forsaking her kingdom, but her lips were curled in a celebratory smile as she tapped her glass against yours.
You stood to the side like a hawk perched in the rafters, watching as Graydon awkwardly led Kit around the dance floor. He was a dreadful dancer, unable to meet Kit’s eye as he watched his own feet stumble over here. As humorous as the display was, your gaze focused solely on the hand he rested at Kit’s waist. You shouldn’t have been jealous, you had no reason to be; Kit barely tolerated this poor-excuse for a prince. Yet, the way he was able to hold her close, to take her hand in public without hesitation, ignited a burning envy within you.
The goblet in your hand was nearly empty, and the song had just begun. Visiting the wine table for a refill sounded tempting, but your gaze refused to stray from Kit. You told yourself you were protecting her, simply ensuring Graydon’s fingers refrained from wandering, though you knew it was senseless; Kit could take care of herself, and she would if she deemed it necessary.
Brief visions of Kit drawing her sword at the mere twitch of Graydon’s thumb crossed your mind, and you couldn’t suppress the snort that escaped.
Your amusement caught Kit’s attention, and she turned from Graydon momentarily to face you. Her eyes softened with pity; Kit had been your companion for fifteen years, and as much as you tried to hide it, she could recognize how bothered you were watching her dance with Graydon.
“I’m sorry,” she mouthed. Her face shone with concern before crumpling into another wince as her partner stepped on her toes once again.
“In need of company, Princess?”
You spun around to find Airk facing you, his lips curled in a sympathetic smile. Airk had always been handsome—a trait perhaps the reason he was so popular with the ladies—and tonight was no exception. His usually loose brown curls had been slicked back, highlighting his sharp features and piercing green eyes. A doublet the color of coffee beans decorated his torso—understated, much less ornate than Graydon’s grandiose gettup, but Airk didn’t need magnificence. Unlike Graydon, who would likely disappear into the walls of the castle if it weren’t for his crown and jewels, Airk stood forth without assistance. He was simply… Airk, prince of Tir Asleen—all the young women pined for his affections, and you were the one to marry him.
Perhaps if things were different, if you were different, you would be the happiest maiden in all the land.
”You appear lonesome,” Airk spoke again. “And if I didn’t know any better, I’d say you were completely disinterested in this entire ordeal.”
You smirked, taking the last sip from your goblet. “I haven’t the slightest idea what you’re referring to, there's nowhere I’d rather be.”
He chuckled, offering his hand. “Care to dance?”
You accepted his invitation, grateful for the distraction, and let him lead you to the floor. Kit caught your eye as you made your way, her face scanning yours for any sign of trivial revenge, but your warm smile reassured her and she turned back to her partner.
Airk kept his hand in yours, but moved his other to sit at your waist, while yours rested on his shoulder. Neither of you were very interested in dancing properly, so you simply swayed to the tune of the consort’s playing. As you enjoyed the silent comfort of Airk’s company, you caught sight of your mother across the room, standing with your father and Queen Sorsha. You began to realize why she had insisted you wear such a fanciful gown; the brick-red of her own garment seemed dull in comparison to Sorsha’s deep crimson one. If it wasn’t for the splendor of your golden attire, Azarenth would appear poor in comparison.
While you pondered the monotony of your mother’s attire, Airk suddenly moved closer, mere inches from your face. Your breath hitched, shoulders tensed. He wasn’t, no, he wouldn’t…
He smirked. “Surely you didn’t think I was going to kiss you, did you?” He whispered in your ear with a chuckle. “I know where I stand.”
You sighed, relieved. He wouldn’t. “Of course.”
“I was simply going to ask if our parents were watching,” he whispered again.
You peered over his shoulder, locking eyes with your mother. She wore a beam of approval you hadn’t seen since you inadvertently agreed to marry Airk as a child. It pained you, somewhat, that smile. From her viewpoint, her daughter was dancing intimately with her betrothed while he whispered sweet nothings in her ear. It was all she’d ever wanted. And it was a lie.
“At last, I’m the daughter she’s always wanted.” You muttered solemnly. Airk’s mouth formed a straight line of sympathy, squeezing your hand in an attempt at comfort. “You should see their faces.”
Airk spun you around so he could see for himself, and as he did you met eyes with the blond servant tagged as ‘Muffin Girl,’ clearing tables with the rest of the staff. Her glare wasn’t as cold or threatening as it usually was towards you; instead she just appeared… sad, defeated even. You couldn’t help but feel pity towards her; you knew how it felt to watch your lover dance with another, to be promised to another.
”They do seem quite pleased,” he commented.
“Unlike your mistress,” you spun him back around, shrinking under the weight of her unbearable stares.
He glanced over at her, a momentarily flickering of longing in his eyes before turning back to you. “Is your paramour present this evening?” He asked, scanning the hall. “Wherever he may be?”
You forced a smile, fighting back the urge to correct his pronoun misuse. “Closer than you might think.”
Before Airk had the chance for further inquiries, the music ceased, signaling the end of the dance. You broke away from each other, joining in polite applause with the rest of the partygoers. He bowed, bidding you adieu before exiting the floor—perhaps in search of closure from his forbidden lover.
The dancing area was nearly empty when the consort began to play a new song—still slow, but far less somber than before. Sounds of a vielle’s plucked strings filled your ears, giving the emerging melody an almost romantic air. Your eyes met Kit’s—who had also been abandoned by her partner on the far side of the room—and you exchanged glances full of unattainable longing.
In the center of the floor stood two women, close companions from a nearby village, caressing each other with cheeks rosy from the flush of wine, their laughter louder than the music as they swayed. They drew little notice, these ladies, dancing together in their tipsy states; they appeared as merely two friends, carousing as their husbands were elsewhere.
Husbands. Surely they had arrived with their respective spouses. No one would question a married woman dancing chaste with her female companion.
Your gaze returned to Kit, and an unspoken understanding passed between you. Slowly, you moved towards each other, each step forward echoing within you like a heartbeat. Your breath caught as you finally stood face to face, skin mere inches apart, the closest you had been, had been allowed to be, all night. She didn’t speak. She had no need. Her hands moved to sit at your waist, while your arms floated up and draped around her neck.
In every story, all the romance novels you’ve read, this was the moment when the world around you was meant to melt away, only leaving you and Kit together in its sanctum. But as hard as you tried, as much as you longed to lose yourself in the arms of your beloved, you were acutely aware of your surroundings. Whispers from the concourse seemed to drown out the music, filling you with a pertinent dread. It was one thing for the two commoners to dance together at a party, but you and Kit were royals—yet to be wed—and your closeness perhaps breached propriety more than the women you sought to emulate.
“Are you well?” Kit whispered, sensing your trepidation.
All you could do was nod, mind still absent. The arms you had wrapped around her neck trembled as you buried your face in her shoulder, desperate to block out the world.
Kit chuckled. “I’m not complaining, but you needn’t hold me so tightly, Princess. You have no reason to be so envious of Prince Graydon.”
You pulled back, mouth agape, but giggled upon catching the glint of mischief in Kit’s eye. “I most certainly am not.”
“You most certainly were,” she countered. “Enough so you engaged in dancing with my brother to enact your revenge.”
“I was simply dancing with my betrothed,” you retorted with a grin. “Just as you were.”
“Please,” she scoffed. “I saw you, watching me from afar. Envy practically radiated off your body, green as my array this evening.”
“You forget yourself, Tanthalos,” you laughed, smacking her shoulder.
And in that moment—the moment where Kit held you close, her nose scrunching and eyes sparkling as she laughed with you, where you had momentarily forgotten your environs and allowed yourself to be silly with the person you loved, the one who loved you—that was the moment the world around you finally seemed to melt away, leaving only you and Kit together in this melodic bubble. Even so, you could feel your mother’s eyes boring into you from across the room, but for once, you could cast all cares and worries of her judgment aside. She had gotten what she wanted; you had danced with Airk. It was your turn to indulge.
“I’ll make it up to you,” Kit said, drawing you from your thoughts.
You gave her a small smile. “You have nothing to make up for.”
“I do,” she argued. “And I will.” Her thumb stroked the plush of your sides as she leaned in closer to whisper. “And if it weren’t obvious, you are a much better dance partner than Graydon could ever be. I haven’t checked yet, but I’m sure my poor toes are as bruised as they feel.”
You winced in sympathy, but then chuckled along with her until the song came to an end. Applause filled the hall once more, you and Kit joining in after breaking away from each other. With an exchange of curtsy’s, and a final squeeze of your hand, Kit turned and exited the dance floor, vanishing within the crowd like the last note of the consort’s melody.
As the night wore on, bottles of wine seemed to disappear from the tables, replaced only by the staggering and raucous laughter from the party guests. Servants bustled about, clearing empty bottles and mopping spills, while the retinue danced to lively music.
You were no exception to the tipsy merrymakers, the apples of your cheeks tinted pink from the mixture of claret and revelry. Strands of hair had strayed from your once-neat pinup, clinging to your forehead and the sides of your face through beads of sweat. You took another sip from your goblet as you swayed out of sync, comforted by your boozy blur and the warmth in your belly.
Kit had faded from view long ago—not that you were particularly concerned. The gathering was quite large; she could have easily merged with the throng. Although it was unlikely, given that Kit—much like her brother—was difficult to lose in a crowd, it was still a possibility. Moreover, it seemed Graydon had little taste for festivity, choosing instead to hover in the shadows or remain close to his father, as if he were a lost youth amidst a horde of strangers.
As long as Graydon didn’t wish to be seen, Kit had no need to be seen.
The night was certainly alive with the company in high spirits, but for all the sport it provided, you were beginning to grow weary. Finishing your drink, you sought solace near a window at the far end of the hall, partially concealed by heavy velvet drapes. You leaned back, catching your breath while allowing the cool glass to temper your heated skin.
As you began to relax, your breath evening out, a disembodied hand emerged from behind the curtains, seizing your arm and pulling you out of sight. A sharp gasp escaped your lips, but another hand quickly covered your mouth, stifling your cries of protest. The dense curtains eclipsed any light, and fear coursed through your veins as the shadowy figure loomed over you, overpowering your struggles…
“Shh… shh… My lady, it’s me.”
The familiarity of the whispered voice immediately calmed your nerves. You blinked, allowing your eyes to adjust to the darkness until Kit’s sweet face came into view.
“Kit, what are you…”
“I promised I’d make it up t’ you, didn’t I?”
Even in the dim light, the flush of her cheeks was evident. Her hair, once elegantly arranged, now hung about her head in a tangled mess. Each word she spoke reeked of fruit and spirits, her sentences punctuated by giggles and hiccups. Kit was thoroughly inebriated, perhaps even more so than you.
“Yes, but, I…”
Before you could finish, her mouth was on yours. She kissed you sloppily, her hands lazily gripping at your waist to pull you closer. Her lips, the heat of her breath tasted flammable, almost, yet still so intoxicating. You wanted so badly to give into her, to melt under her burning flame, but you pulled away.
“Kit…” you breathed. “Not here…”
“Why?” She groaned. “S’ been so long.”
Your eyes flickered down to her chest once again, gulping at the sight of her bare décolletage. She had a point—a dangerously tempting point—but her invitation posed too great a risk.
“If someone from the party were to find us…”
She dismissed your concern with a wave of her hand. “They’re all b’scotted. Utterly foxed. ‘S fine.”
“Kit,” you giggled. “You’re quite muddled yourself.”
“You’re one t’ speak,” she snorted. Her hands tangled in your hair, destroying what was left of your pinup as she stumbled. You had to laugh, despite yourself; although your soused stupor was much more relaxed than Kit’s, it was far from negligible.
“Alright,” you held onto her hands. “Perhaps we should retire for bed.”
“Fin’ly…”
“Kit,” you blocked her advance, despite every inch of your body screaming to give in. She groaned again, and you sighed, struggling against thoughts of what those groans might sound like under different circumstances…
No. “Surely they’ll notice our absence.”
“Graydon ‘s busy in the corner,” she slurred. “Airk ‘s gone ‘s well. We won't be missed.”
You frowned, knowing just how right she was; with your suitors missing, no one would be searching for the two of you. Beyond that, every moment spent with her in this pocket of darkness only made you want her more—to feel her on you, her mouth against your skin, her hands roaming your body. It truly had been too long, and the sight of her in that bedeviled dress did nothing to soothe your desires.
Almost as if she could sense your thoughts, as if she had planned on interrupting them, Kit pressed her lips to yours once more. This time, you didn’t resist and allowed yourself to burn under the heat of her body. You could never tire of her taste, her touch, her feeling; you could get drunk off her alone, even without the vine’s blood plaguing her breath.
The world seemed to spin faster with your oxygen now compromised, but Kit remained your anchor. You reached for her shoulders to steady yourself, but your hands inadvertently fell at her breasts. A soft whimper escaped her throat, almost inaudible over the roar of the party, but still resonant in your ears. Your fingers slid down her skin, dipping lower, lower, until they grazed the edge of that plunging neckline that had tortured you all night. She only spurred you forward, seizing your hips and pressing them against hers as your touch ventured beyond the fabric of her dress, fingertips exploring the delicate flesh that lay beneath it.
God, she was soft. How was she always so soft?
Her breath quickened, the hot air tickling the skin around your mouth. You took it as an incentive to lose yourself further and further in the arms of your lover, drowning in her warm embrace and the taste of Falernian wine that still lingered on her tongue. She was all-consuming, and the way she gripped at your sides told you she felt the same way about you.
You were both so absorbed in each other, so immersed in the private world you had created, that neither of you noticed the blinding scourge of light that intruded upon it.
Followed by a shrill scream.
That you did notice.
Pulling back, you ignored Kit’s whines of protest and squinted at the disruptive brightness. There, in front of you, was none other than Muffin Girl, clutching the velvet drapes and wearing a look of terror. Behind her stood an equally-stunned Airk, and you swore, for but a fleeting moment before they separated, their hands were intertwined.
You were frozen in place; her scream had alerted the party’s multitude. All eyes fell unto you as the music ceased, the hall became as still as the private chapel during prayers. Your gaze surveyed the room, taking in the varied facial expressions of your party guests—shocked, horrified, disgusted, perhaps even some lascivious interest from a few less-than-respectable individuals. Sorsha’s visage was different, however—still aghast, but not directed towards you, rather slightly lower, and that’s when you felt Kit tugging at your wrists.
Realization hit you like the strike of a battering ram; you had yet to remove your hold on Kit’s breast. Queen Sorsha of Tir Asleen, your hostess, your future mother-in-law, had just happened upon you with your hand down her daughter’s dress.
Immediately, you stepped back and let your hands fall to your sides, yours and Kit’s faces flushed and fear-stricken as you desperately tried to smooth yourselves out. But when you looked up for the final time, catching sight of your own mother’s face, you knew then and there you had reached far beyond the point of no return. You expected her to yell, to scream as Muffin Girl had, or to react with the fury of a siege engine, but she did not. She merely composed herself, turned on her heel, and walked briskly out of the hall. Your father trailed after her, and you knew you were expected to follow as well.
The rest of the party wasn’t far behind. Never before in Tir Asleen had a gathering disbanded so quickly.
Your mother didn’t bother to escort you to your guest chamber, nor even to her own. The first private place outside the ballroom happened to be the solar, so that’s where you ended up. You hadn’t been in the solar before, but it left much to be desired; tall wooden walls matched the floor, nearly barren save for a lone table in the center with benches on either side.
It was ironic, almost, that they called this room the “solar;” it was practically as frigid as your mothers demeanor.
She paced about, waiting for your father to shut the door behind you before dropping her pretense. “Do you loathe me?” She asked, taking you by surprise. “Do you? I can’t fathom what I’ve done. My own daughter, to hold such malice…”
“Mother…”
“I chose a fine young man for you to wed,” she interrupted. “I even granted you fifteen years to grow accustomed to him. I thought it would be cruel, then, to force my daughter into marriage with a stranger, but I now see that would have been best.”
“Mother…”
“After all I’ve done for you, after everything your father and I have done for you,” she turned towards him, seeking his support, but he merely shrunk under her piercing gaze. “Is this how you repay us? Such grievous betrayal…”
A storm of conflicting emotions roiled within you—anger, guilt, fear—but none of them were for your mother. “It is not about you!” You shouted, catching her off guard. She did nothing but stare back; mouth agape; never before had you raised your voice to her. “It was never about you.”
Her mouth opened and closed a few times, as if she was choking on her next words, before her eyes narrowed. “I never held her in good favor, I’ve always been wary of her influence on you.”
“Pardon?”
“That wretched friend of yours, she has corrupted you. Brought you to the ways of this unnatural lifestyle…”
“It was not her doing,” you snapped. “And we are not friends!”
“How are you not ashamed to speak such words?” She exclaimed, her face twisted with a frenzied fury you were unfamiliar with. “How are you not as abashed as I am? My daughter. Princess of Azarenth. Consorting with her betrothed’s sister, and at her own engagement party no less!”
You hung your head, not ashamed of your love for Kit, but at having been discovered. She noticed your change in bearing and sighed, casting her eyes to your father as she wrestled with her thoughts. “Perhaps… perhaps Airk could still agree to marry you. You were quite wine-sodded tonight, yes? As was Kit? If we offered that as an excuse, and an apology, of course…”
“I do not intend to wed Airk, Mother,” you confessed, your gaze still lowered.
That made her freeze. A tense silence hung in the air before your father’s voice broke it, his tone cautious and uncertain. “Princess… do you mean to say… you intend to wed Kit?”
“Of course not,” you replied; though the idea was compelling, you knew it wasn’t feasible. “I do not intend to stay here at all. And neither does Kit.”
Your parents' faces twisted in confusion, and your pulse quickened as the weight of your words settled over them. As you stared back at them silently, defiantly, their expressions slowly shifted to terror, despair, and… fear?
“Darling…” your mother hesitated, her eyes wide with panic. She displayed a vulnerability you had never seen before in your usually imperturbable mother, and it filled you with unease. “You must stay and marry Prince Airk. We need our alliance with Tir Asleen!”
“Why?” You demanded. “There are many kingdoms with which we could ally, some where I wouldn’t need to marry at all! What could Tir Asleen provide that is such a necessity?”
As your mother stammered, desperate to find the right words, she turned to your father for help, but alas, he tucked his head like a turtle retreating back into its shell. She sighed. “Princess… Azarenth is penniless.”
“Pardon?” You exclaimed, shocked. “Penniless?”
She nodded. “As a poet without a patron. Fifteen years ago, Queen Sorsha agreed to offer financial aid in return for your engagement to her heir.”
You looked to your father for any sign of jest, but his eyes softened only with pity. “Without your betrothal, our union will be severed, and our people will surely starve.”
The world seemed to crash down upon you as everything suddenly made sense—your parents’ insistence on abiding with Airk, how they always seemed to sycophantize with him and Sorsha, the size of Azarenth and how it lacked resources compared to Tir Asleen, how you always seemed to visit the twins and rarely the other way around, your mother’s dress, and how she was so importunate about your appearance, insisting that you look as wealthy as possible.
Your head swam, feeling as if the floor were slipping from underneath you. You pushed past your parents and collapsed onto one of the wooden benches. “Impoverished…” you whispered to yourself, contemplating where your priorities truly lay—your loyalty to your people, or your loyalty to Kit…
It didn’t take long for the Tir Asleen ballroom to clear, but if inquired, Sorsha would swear she spent years of her life stationed near the doorway, cheeks afire as she bid farewell to each scattering guest. The King of Galladoorn barely paid her any mind as he stormed off to his guest chamber, Graydon in tow, both visages aglow for varying reasons.
While his mother busied herself with mending the falloutl, Airk moved his sister to a nearby table, handing her a goblet of water to dilute the alcohol in her stomach. Kit groaned as she sipped from the goblet. Her head pounded; even while seated the room still seemed to spin. She lazily tugged at her corset, its constriction suddenly becoming too much for her to bear.
Airk sighed, reaching back to relieve his twin of the restricting garment. “I must say, I’m intrigued to see how you plan to explain this,” he whispered as he gently undid the laces. “I haven’t seen Mother so enraged since she caught me reading the lewd literature as a lad.”
Though the corset was loosened, Kit still felt her stomach clench as she glanced at her mother. Sorsha’s calmness, though eerie, was intensified by her flushed face, as crimson as her gown. As soon as the last guest departed and Sorsha closed the ballroom doors, the atmosphere shifted to one of unease. Airk noticed immediately, and busied himself with clearing tables, determined to stay out of his mother’s line of fire. Kit gulped as her mother approached, the dread forcing her mind out of its drunken haze.
“I’m not sure why I’m surprised,” Sorsha began, her expression stoic. “Twenty-one years I’ve endured your antics. I once thought it was mere childish theatrics, that you’d surely mature beyond it, but it seems I was mistaken.”
Kit also remained expressionless as she continued to sip from her goblet. She was used to being scolded, berated by her mother, to the point that it had lost its sting long ago.
Sorsha, however, was far from finished. “I just never imagined my own daughter would go as far as to make a mockery of her own kingdom, and for what? To thwart a betrothal? To evade your royal responsibilities?”
Her voice grew louder with each sentence. Kit groaned, clutching the side of her still-throbbing skull.
Sorsha knelt to her daughter’s level until Kit could feel her breath warming her face. “Goblet’s ache? You should give thanks to the gods above for your intoxication tonight,” she continued. “Without wine’s influence, the inquisition would surely have your head after your misdeed this evening!”
Kit’s earlier dread settled like a pit in her stomach at her mother’s words. Sorsha was right; in her lustful, wine-soaked stupor, she had risked not only a scandal, but possibly your lives as well.
Nausea bubbled inside her; she clutched her stomach, desperately fighting back the bile that threatened to rise. Airk quickly noticed his sister’s disposition, and rushed over after grabbing a maid’s bucket off a nearby table.
Sorsha scoffed at her son’s compassion, watching in disbelief as he held Kit’s head over the bucket. “Honestly Kit, did you ever stop to consider how your brother might feel about all this? If I were him, I’d leave you to wallow in your own excretion.”
Upon being mentioned, Airk’s head lifted to look at his mother. As betrayed as he knew he should have felt, as shocked as he was to learn his intended’s paramour turn out to be his own sister, he couldn’t deny, he had been keeping his own secrets. And if Kit’s was so harshly exposed against her will, perhaps alluding to his own could alleviate her burden. “I care little, mother…”
His words grabbed Sorsha’s attention, drawing it away from Kit momentarily. “How can you not?”
“I don't love the princess,” he admitted. “And she doesn't love me.”
Sorsha merely waved off his confession as if she were flicking away dust. “Marriage isn’t about love, Airk! Few engagements begin with love, you learn to love!”
“I have been in the princess’s company for fifteen years,” he argued, beginning to raise his voice before using her own choices against her. “I have not grown to love her, and you and father’s union was not arranged!”
“I married a reckless man because I was ‘in love’ with him, and look where that got me! I ruled a kingdom alone while raising two children, and he’s dead in a ditch somewhere in Nockmaar!”
“That’s where I shall be, too,” Kit interjected.
The raspy sound of her voice took Airk and Sorsha by surprise. They slowly turned to face her. “Kit…” Sorsha began. “What do you mean, that’s where you shall be?”
Kit glanced up from her bucket, her eyes red and watery. “Nockmaar,” she gurgled. “The princess… we’re not staying…”
Both Airk and Sorsha’s jaws dropped in horror at Kit’s remark. Airk was the first to speak. “Kit, you’re not serious…”
“Nockmaar?!” Sorsha cried. “B-but your father… and the Wyrm…”
“Safer than here…” Kit muttered, dropping her face back towards the bucket.
It was Sorsha’s turn for her head to spin; visions of the dire fates that might befall her daughter danced in her head—nightmarish scenarios her mother had long foreseen. She could practically taste her own heartbeat; she knew her daughter better than most, and recognized her obstinacy derived from her father. When Kit had her mind set on something, there was no stopping her, regardless of the peril; Kit would willingly risk everything—even her own life—if it meant being with her beloved.
Without another word, Sorsha turned on her heel and exited the ballroom, leaving her twins behind as the doors shut behind her.
Tag List: @chloepricesgirl @canmargesimpson @yourelliewillms @valenftcrush @camilleee222 @prettygirlfemme @slaytillieswooo @lovinglynny @joanvisitsrome @athenalive @mih11 @j-pacifica @everybodyhatesari @vii-ofswords @sofi4v13 @detmarmalade @at1nyzen @ikyk-leeknow @ingigisworld @willowthegremlin
I promise the next Forbidden Crown chapter is coming, she’s just long 😵💫
I'm soooooooo scared for the last chapter of forbidden crown 😭
I'm sure of two things though:
1. I will cry my eyes out
2. It's gonne be one of the best pieces of writing ever
You're totally my favorite writer here, Katy, thank you so much!! 💕
Thank YOU my love!! This made my day!! 🥰✨
Also… I promise it’s coming!! I have about half of it written so far. I’m currently working three jobs, and I just had my first movie premiere (I’m an actress) so my life has been exceptionally busy in the best way! I appreciate your patience 🫶
literally OBSESSED with your work ESPECIALLY Forbidden Crown like i am wondering how i only found your work now bc i am just like fangirling so hard
THANK YOU GORGEOUS PRETTY GIRL!! 😘💋
When y’all leave sweet comments I always end up giggling kicking my feet twirling my hair 🥰
