regrettably thinking of king!price and princess!reader whom had three suitors lined up but the king was not satisfied despite them being more than perfectly acceptable -- well-read, wealthy, politically intelligent, strong, and witty. none of them are fit for his princess. and he tells you so, at the end of court, while you're sat in his lap, his warm heavy hand resting at your inner thigh beneath the many skirts of the dress he had made for you. his thumb rubs to and froe. his voice is low, a breath against your neck.
'any of them would take you away. that's the nature of the thing, innit?'
It's been so long since we've seen any King!Price!! Has he managed to make his ambassador the queen already?? 👀
he enjoys bullying you, likes the way your eyes flitting away from his and your voice softens into something meek and placating. he likes the way you avoid him, force him to exert his authority over you with each summons. he likes that you still seem to think you could run, that you could find some way to save yourself from what could be a very... pleasurable experience.
especially after that first night you spent in the palace. he could still taste you on his tongue, still feel the curves of your body under his fingers, hear the gentle cries you'd tried so hard to stifle. even when you stand in front of him with your head bowed and your hands clasped oh so tightly together, asking for again for him to sign your new travel cards all he can hear is, "yes, please, God harder."
and he knows youre getting closer and closer to slipping up again. you drink a little more at each meal you take with him, your resignation growing clearer with each sip, your eyes lingering on where his fingers press to his lips, warmth in the gaze that traces his smile. he knows. you can only hold out for so long, and youre beginning to wonder why you wanted to in the first place.
a/n : this is way longer than i anticipated, it was supposed to be a drabble. also this is angsty, like level ten angst
There was no one who didn't know about their revered king and their queen.
Their long-lasting love went above and beyond of traditions. His kingdom was filled with his statements of his love, a love letter to his queen.
Garden of peony, tall castles bought under his queen's name, stone stairs with her feet carved in, her noble house crest embroided with his royal one. The kingdom overflowed with his token of his love.
That was the people thought until king!price had personally delivered the annulment letter to his queen.
No one had anticipated, much less the queen.
The maidservants still remembered her cries, how she had begged until her knees bled while their king had fled beyond the door that she couldn't reach.
Their own tears pricked their eyes as they watched their queen sob until she was heaving. Cursing their king under their breath.
Not knowing that beyond the door, the seemingly heartless king was hiding his own tears at her cries.
It had been a fulfilling and happy marriage. She had been happy, and he had been too. The quiet signs of wars were signed off with stamps and promising alliances with the neighboring kingdoms. Their commerce was blooming, and their crops were never ending.
What had possibly gone wrong, the people thought.
No one knew until king!price had married the daughter of duke only a few months later.
It was sudden that the people had barely any time to mourn their first queen before their second queen had been crowned.
It was a simple wedding compared to the first one. It had taken place under the chapel and lasted only a day, unlike before where the wedding had been a parade. Confetti had to be scrubbed from the streets for months, and silk ribbons were still being found to this day.
Yet now, a quiet lingering sorrow filled the air.
Had the king fallen out of love? Had it been an affair? Or was it coercion? Had the king hand been forced?
None of it mattered, not when life went on until the second queen bore the king's first child, a prince.
They knew it then, what it had been.
The first queen and the king had been dealing with infertility for many years. Doctors and physicians around the world had been paid in diamonds and gold just to find a cure, a solution.
But time had passed, the queen had grown older and the council was anxious.
An heir, an heir!
Every council, every meeting, they had pointed their finger at her, at their king. Wars could settle and quiet down, but it would never fully rest. Enemies would come for his throne, their fertile lands, their women, and their children.
The queen heard of their words, and she had tried, so very hard, but only sheer will wasn't enough to bear a child.
She just had never anticipated that the king would let go of her first.
Now, she resided in one of the many castles Price had once gifted her.
He had left her in comfort, not knowing the only comfort she seeked was in his arms.
She trailed around like a ghost and wailed at night in grief.
Servants left, servants stole until all that was left in the castle was the half dead queen.
The king hadn't stepped foot once. No letters, no visits. She was alone in the castle where everyone had left her to rot.
Every morning had been the same, and then she heard the news.
The king has a son! An heir!
The same day, she jumped out of a window.
Unfortunately, she only had a broken leg and bruises.
She drank poison, and the few maidservants left had to stick their fingers down her throat until she vomited liquid.
She had tied a rope around her pretty neck. Her neck that Price always reverently kissed and carved his love until all she could feel was his warmth.
They had found her before she could take her last breath.
She fought to fall in the arm's of death, but they clipped her wings every time, please, my queen, please!
They begged.
She snarled back, I'm not a queen, I'm not! I'm a rotting woman, don't you see? Even death doesn't want me!
It took a while for her to settle her down, until one day she didn't make any more sound.
It was because the queen had a secret.
Hidden and locked away, there was a tower. Only the queen knew where it resided.
Inside was a crib made of cotton and sturdy wood. The walls had handcrafted bears and colors of blue yellow and green painted by mastered hands. There were blankets hanging from the ceiling, softly blowing in the wind.
There sat the queen.
No, not a queen.
No longer queen, no longer price's wife. No noble name and no noble title. Just a girl.
A dead woman walking.
It had been so long she had heard her maiden name, always your sovereignty or my love, my pretty girl, my dove, that she had forgotten it.
In the rocking chair, she held a doll, small and lovely, she thought. She shushed it, cradled it, and brought it to her breast.
There there my love, mother is here.
If anyone had been listening they would've of seen her madness.
Alas, she was alone.
Mother will always be here, Father is busy, you see? There are so many documents to sign, so many duties, but he will come, he always does.
The servants thought she had finally settled, that the betrayal had scarred, and the wound had finally healed.
They saw her in the morning, and she would lay in bed to watch the sunrise. She would eat what they made, wincing when she bite in a bread too stale yet she never complained. She took walks when they gently pulled her from her chamber. Took baths willingly, where she mumbled mindlessly. They thought loneliness had made her a little humming bird. Always talking to herself.
They noticed nothing amiss, and time passed as always.
Until the kingdom's bell rang, and with it came a warning.
THE BORDER HAD BEEN BREACHED! THE BORDER HAD BEEN BREACHED! SEEK SHELTER! I REPEAT SEEK SHELTER!
The lasting servants rushed and scrambled to the bunker, the one hidden by a heavy armoire made of ivory wood.
They pulled and clung to each, and in the middle was their queen. They were rushing in the hallway, eyes wide, observing every shadows and movements while the once upon a queen stared blankly.
Moving when they did, stopping when they did.
A little marionette they had to protect.
They were just a chamber away when they heard a clash of a door opening. They all tensed. Some crying out, some praying, but it was only then her eyes focused.
Because who walked in was no other than the second queen, her crown slipping as she wobbled with a small cloth resting upon her chest. The child was no longer a babe. Instead, it was a chubby child with grown legs and hands moving with a mind of their own.
Beside her was the kinguard, the face she was once familiar with, and a nurse maid who protectively held her body around the young queen.
She held her breath, her eyes transfixed on the child the woman held.
Help us please, I beg of you, they have entered the castle, we don't know where to go, it has become a battlefield, there is nothing left standing!
The servants all looked at each other, recognizing the young queen, but it was she who welcomed them.
Y-yes, yes.
Her voice was raspy and trembled as she spoke, but her eyes were fixated on the child the woman held. Almost in a trance.
There was a moment of hesitation before there was a jumble of movements as they all rushed to the bunker.
The last servant was quick to push the armoire back over the bunker as everyone settled down.
Although the tense atmosphere didn't go unnoticed.
It was only broken by the sudden sharp cry of the child.
Hush hush,
The mother jostled the child while rocking nervously before the nurse maid took the child in her arms.
The second queen left out a shaky sigh, head falling in her hands as she crouched.
The kindguard had left to observe the perimeter in case the enemies came too close to where they were. And so, only the servants, the nurse maid, the queen, and the once upon a queen were in the bunker.
But all of it seemed to go unnoticed by her.
What a lovely child,
She had said watching, transfixed on the baby. A stubborn little boy, the young queen said smiling.
Stubborn, just like his father, she continued.
The servants flinched at that.
But she remained unfazed. Instead, she kept watching the child slowly fall asleep.
They stayed hidden for a few days. They waited until they heard the horn, a signal that everything was safe. Until then, they lived off the food they had stored in advance and shared the water they had managed to save.
All the while, the frost that was once between them melted. The servants slowly came to talk to the queen they never met and cooed around the baby. While she maintained her gaze on the baby.
The young queen had often told her to hold the child if she so desired, but she refused.
It was the fourth day when they heard it. It was faint but there. They thought it was another clash of swords or a raid, but they heard it again, the horn.
Relief were breathed out as they all cheered. One by one, they all went out of the bunker.
However, when they go out, they froze. The once lavish castle was overturned. Walls ripped and chandeliers shattered. Paintings were stolen, and windows were smashed.
They only thanked the Lord that they skimmed over the armoire where they hid under.
They tiptoed, still afraid. The glasses cracked under the steps as they held their breath.
It's too quiet, the nursemaid said. Where are the soldiers? This doesn't feel right, she mumbled, but it went unheard as the girls cried out in joy.
They all hugged each other while the young queen leaned on the wall, finally breathing fresh air.
When suddenly a group of shadows came out of nowhere. They hadn't noticed it until one of the servant body went flying.
It's was hard to see in debris and the shadows as everyone screamed and ran for their life. She stood frozen until her body forced her to move. Her eyes were wide, and she trembled lightly as she ran down a hallway.
She didn't know where she was running when she stopped.
She heard a small cry, then a hiccup.
She stumbled and barely registered the glass, piercing her foot when she heard it again.
Within a moment, she traced back her steps as she saw the nursemaid run past her with the young queen, panting, while the queen cried out.
In her panic, the nurse maid dropped the child and ran for safety with the queen, while the remaining servants were slain while others begged.
She saw it then, the child crawling and crying out, and her heart tugged.
My baby, it didn't take a second for her to crawl on her hands and knees before she went and grabbed the crying child.
She almost let put a sob when she felt his warmth on her chest and tucked his head in her neck.
You are safe, sweet child, she held him close to her while dodging and running. Using the shadows to hide before running when the enemies's attention was averted.
It wasn't long before she caught up with the young queen, which the nursemaid was now dragging.
It wasn't until the queen saw she was holding the child that she fell on her knees with a cry.
She could faintly hear the nusemaid apologize, which neither woman registered as they were both focused on the child.
She stood frozen as the young queen took the child out of her arms, the once calm babe whining before it felt the warmth of its mother.
Thank you, she whispered while pressing gentle kisses on the child head.
Not seeing the heartbroken look on her face.
They heard a series of clash before the young queen had practically pulled her along to who knows where.
Yet her mind was numb, blood rushing in her ears as her steps slowed.
My child, my baby, she repeated over and over until her eyes filled with tears.
She tore her wrist from her grasp and stopped walking. The nurse maid and the queen looked at her while she shakily pointed to her left.
Take the left and turn when you see the bridge over the pond. There's a shelter hidden with a net. You can hide there.
The nursemaid nodded before taking the young queen's hand, but she halted.
Come along, come, she practically gripped her fingers off.
But she only grimaced, tears rapidly running down her cheeks. Her body felt hollowed out. She shook her head once again before she ran in the opposite direction.
To the tower.
She was sobbing by the time she raced the twirling stairs and came into the baby's room.
I'm sorry, mother is mean, isn't she? I forgot about my sweet baby, I'm sorry, would you forgive your mother? she picked up and rocked the doll in her arms as she fell to her knees by the crib.
Not knowing the traces of blood her footprint had left behind. Leading the enemies straight to her little heaven.
It wasn't long before she faintly heard the scrap of a sword on the stairs before a shadow fell on top of her head. She sobbed, her hair sticking to her face as she crouched on herself, holding the doll to her chest to protect it.
Please, spare my child, I would give you anything but my child,
She gasped when it pulled her hair with a tight fist, and the last thing she saw was a bloody row of teeth.
Price had fought all that he could. His comrades had taken falls just as he had. He kneeled on the step below his throne, head forced on the bloodied marble as the enemy held him and his men hostage.
They were one step too late.
He could feel a few loose tooth as his tongue poked his cheek. He was a king, and he was on his knees, and it left a bitter taste in his mouth.
He grunted against the ropes around his hands and hissed when the sword at his neck nicked his skin.
Watch it, he growled, but the man spit on the ground before nudging his back with his leg.
Bunch of bastards, if you want to fight a king, show your face cowards.
The band of men chuckled but didn't comply to his demands.
It was quiet for a moment, and he noticed that the leader he saw earlier was nowhere to be found.
He looked at his soldiers on the right, and they shook their head, they haven't seen him either.
He chewed on his lips when suddenly he heard the heavy boots of said man.
Waiting for me, he heard a husky voice mumble by his ear before he felt a kick. He grunted as he fell, curses waiting to be spoken when he heard before he saw him drag the body of a woman.
She was wiggling around as she was dragged by her hair, but he would recognize her anywhere.
He uttered her name faintly.
Found a pretty prey here, he shook her head head once and let go. She scrambled to curl on the marble.
Price barely recognized her. She was all skin and bones, and the silk dresses she wore were replaced by a thin cotton cloth. The fabric stained with dirt and blood.
His eyes misted as he saw the state she was in.
He uttered her name again, and this time she flinched, arms tightly wound to her chest with the head of a doll peeking out.
I heard the queen was a loved woman, she wore more gold than the mines you owned, but, he kicked her once in the stomach, and Price lunched at him with his teeth bared.
Maybe the wrong queen, the masked man cocked his head.
My love, get up, he whimpered, please.
But she shakily curled on herself.
What a grand spectacle, I hoped more for the child, but oh well, seeing your crumpling face is satisfaction enough,
Slowly, she tried to crawl away. To protect her child, she mumbled. I have to protect my baby, I'm the only one who can.
The enemy went on and on with his grand speech, but Price's eyes were fixated on his girl. He held back a sob when he saw her broken leg, the bone oddly shaped in her skin.
Hey, hey, are you listening to me? Listen to my speech before I blow your head off, he tipped his head before slowly he looked back.
Both watched as she helplessly tried to crawl away.
Now we can't have that, the enemy said, before Price yelled out, stop it you fucker.
He watched as he dragged her back with her broken leg, her whines echoing as she tried to kick him off of her to no avail.
She's sort of little coco in the head, he pointed at his head before forcing her upright, kept whining about a baby while holding this dumb doll, tell me Price did you fuck her stupid?
Price barely registered his words as he watched as the enemy ripped the doll from her hands. She cried out, eyes wide in fear as she trembled.
Give it to me, it's my baby, let it go.
The man held the doll above her head, what this baby ?
Before ripping the doll's head off.
Her scream broke his soul.
He watched as she scrambled to take the broken pieces. He never heard her cry so painfully.
With a kick, he jumped to his feet and slammed the sword out of the man holding him. With a deadly slash on his neck, he swung the sword and held it steady on the enemy's neck.
Let her go, his voice was gruff, but the man only put his hand up and chuckled.
I could, won't. It is nice seeing you so railed up, the man chuckled. I guess she's the first wife, huh ? I get it. First love hard to let go isn't? Or was it? After all, you did marry so quickly, and don't we all know how fast your babe was born?
Price tried to graze his neck, but the enemies surrounded him now, him against twenty.
He saw his men fighting in the enemies hold, but only he was free yet remained trapped.
I thought Kings took care of their wife, mmh? The castle I found her in? Man, was it a dump. Come on, you could have been generous. I get it. You have been busy with Missy, but seriously, even people at the slums had more luxuries than whatever shithole you shoved her into.
Shut up, he yelled out, arm ready to swing when he felt a sword pierce him from the back.
Blood fell from his lips as he tried to keep his body upright.
Price!
He heard his men yell, but his eyes fell on her.
She was clinging to the enemy's pants, begging, begging, and begging. While cradling the doll to her breast, madness was written all over her face.
The one he had caused.
A doctor, we need a doctor, please, my baby, please help me,
Her eyes were flushed red, her hair in disarray.
The enemy rolled his eyes and looked back at Price, no wonder you left her, my ears are ringing.
Before anyone could react, he took a sword from his hip, and with a tilt of her head, he sliced her head off her body.
Price crawled on his hands and feet. The sword was still stuck in his chest, but the pain didn't matter.
Only her.
The fights were increasing around him. Violent and brutal.
He heard their voice, his men fighting for victory, the enemies howling, but he only heard her silence.
He took her head and cradled her to his chest while tugging her corpse against him.
I'm here, my love, I'm here, it's okay.
He reached for the doll and it's ripped head and tried to stick them together.
Look, I'll fix it huh? I'll fix our baby a-and, a wail escaped his mouth as he pressed his lips to her head.
He tried to cradle both the doll and her sliced body, but there was so much blood.
Her blood.
I can fix it, he mumbled, won't you answer my dove? I'm sorry for everything. I just wanted to protect you.
He rocked the three of them as the air filled with the smell of blood.
I'll fix it.
They say the king went mad!
They say he sleeps with the corpse of his first wife! They say the servants refuse to clean his chambers from the foul smell! They say he hides in a tower! They say he rocks a headless doll to sleep! They see him carry the head of his dead wife! They see him dance with her headless body! Kiss her sliced head!
I've always loved when in royal AUs the concubine reader was a feral thing that didn't just accept the situation or magically made the king fall by..being a woman? But I am a very shy person and would never actually say anything if it happened to me, so I thought, what if reader was polite and sweet and femine-like, but actually hated the king and was cursing him every second ever?
This is bigger than I intended, and I'm working on a part 2, so let me know if y'all want that lol! Also, F!reader, I tried keeping it more gender neutral, but it's still pretty feminine
Part 2!
The moment your father decided giving you to the king, as a gift congratulating him on his war victory, was the moment you felt the ground beneath you crumble.
You didn't ever feel too interested in marriage with any man. To be forced to care for a household and please a man while stripped of any of the things you loved to indulge — studying, reading, writing and any of the arts.
Now, not only were you forced to it, you'd be right in the wolf's den, unable to do what you loved most while being in the political center of the kingdom. It really grated your nerves, made you want to shout at your father, bite the head off of the men who'd never have to deal with such infuriating situations.
Yet, as a educated person, you don't. You speak softly and politely to any staff, you smile quietly at any person that talks to you the whole way to your new quarters on the outer castle. Where you're bathed and dressed. Then, like you weren't losing your whole life just to be here, you were left there. Not once requested. It was simply infuriating! So, amidst your anger, you decided to write.
You went around the palace, the places you were allowed to, at least, and started your rampage. You couldn't just be rude to staff — it wasn't their fault you were here — and you surely couldn't be rude to any of the royals and aristocrats. So, you went around and started your critiques in your notes.
The architecture was beautiful, but many points were renovated with little to no care for the art behind the palace, giving the place the aspect of something unkept and unappreciated by it's ruler. The gardens were surely big, but with no visual appeal, it was a simply green maze with nothing of interest, the only fountain could've been beautiful once, but it was forgotten and filled with vines. The library had little to no servants to keep it in prime condition, the only librarian was overworked, and some precious copies of wiseful tomes were almost unreadable, which just reflects how the king is a facade of power, lacking wiseness behind it.
You didn't hold back in your critics, putting it all on paper — the sleazy dresses that were gifted to the concubines, how they were expected to be on the palace all day, when they weren't even requested at all, how not once did the king organize a ball to pamper his inner circle, how the social network inside the palace was weak and full of snakes, how the king, as much as he was a grand war strategist, lacked any knowledge of high society's ins and outs, making him a glorified war hero more than a king, at best.
What your didn't expect was that after a few weeks of having written your frustrations out, you'd find your words to have been published by someone. The pamphlet had found it's way to everyone's hands, many shocked that someone inside the palace had such strong opinions, and worse, critiques towards the king himself.
And then it was hell. You really were starting to get used to this, you could read all afternoon, enjoy the architecture (despite the flaws you notice everywhere) and the artworks on the halls. Even talk a little with a few staff. Particularly, a few of the maids, even a Knight with cerulean eyes and a strong accent that seemed to find it funny whenever you'd start murmuring about hating being a concubine — he liked keeping you company sometimes.
You were...scared, obviously. But after a few weeks of investigations, it never led to you. The thing, you noticed, is that they were looking for a man who had written it; they were sure only a man would write so well, and with such critic thinking and detailed criticism, they couldn't really imagine it was you, a simple concubine.
So you, in your fury that not only were you still in this wolf's den, but now your writing was being connected to a man simply because they underestimated you for being a woman — something that never failed to getting you annoyed —, did what you did best; you wrote.
Since the person that published your critiques had used a pseudonym to hide their identity, you decided this time, you'd really make it known that C. Hete, the writer of that pamphlet, had more to say.
You started with simple things. For such a big kingdom, the quality of the palace's food was lacking, and you were sure the farmers of this land were good ones. Then, you started writing of other things. For weeks, you cautiously wrote the perfect pamphlet, full of all the hidden plans of aristocrats that didn't feel threatened by the presence of a woman, knights that harassed many of the concubines and maids alike, and many other things you felt almost giddy writing about.
And, to finish your little criticism towards the most powerful man of the kingdom, you wrote, as a last point; with how the king ignores his concubines, it's no surprise this kingdom soon will have no heir to it's throne. Actions a mirror of his facade, much like his meager knowledge of what happens in his own palace.
You happily hum about for a few weeks, thinking of how you'd publish your pamphlet. But before you can decide, like before, whoever published your first pamphlet, did it again. And this time? This time it was a mess. The king had the knights mentioned fired, the aristocrats that were planning against him beheaded, the concubines received lavish gifts suddenly. Balls were planned, more servants were now caring for the grand palace library.
And, of course, an investigation was made. But this time, you weren't afraid. They wouldn't imagine you were the one writing, once again, they'd expect a man to have written it, and you'd be left in this life as concubine, but at least a bit satisfied after managing to affect the king as much as you did.
You were happily reading in a quiet spot in the library when a couple of knights found you. Both men looked at you, one of them, the one you already knew of, with blue eyes and strong accent, smiled and said you were being requested by the king.
A cold feeling found it's way to your stomach. Your hands clammy and your legs weak. Surely he wouldn't know, but you were still having a bad, bad feeling about this. Sadly, though, you couldn't really flee, as it was your duty to serve your king.
When you walked into his quarters, the man you had only caught glimpses of in the artworks of the outer palace, stood there in flesh. He had looked furious when you stepped in, but as soon as his eyes took you in, it vanished, leaving only amusement and mirth dancing in those blue eyes. He smiled and sat in a plush armchair like it was his throne.
He wasn't wearing a crown, much less the many layers you'd expect. A simple white blouse and dark pants, with the royal family's ring on his right hand was all he really wore. The fabric of the shirt was loose, but the neckline was open enough to show a hairy, muscular chest, the pants strained against the strong thighs that manspread over the armchair. You opened your mouth to speak after bowing, but he simply pulled a dark notebook and hummed, seeming to enjoy the way you looked as terror filled your eyes.
"You write quite well. Your father did not tell me you were so well versed in the ways of words. And not only that, to critique such things like my palace's architecture, ancient tomes and even myself..."
He hums with a smirk, flipping through the pages of your handwriting, stopping at the last page.
"Actions a mirror of his facade, much like his meager knowledge of his own palace. Signed: C. Hete"
He read outloud. You feel yourself weak. So this is it? You'll die because..what? You wrote the truth? As much as you were scared, you were also annoyed, such a petty reason to kill you, really.
"Say, miss Hete" he teases with the pen name "any more critiques towards my ruling?"
You knew he was just messing with you, toying with you to mend his bruised ego, showing off his power to remind you killing you meant nothing. But, maybe it was the confidence of having written what you did, you stuck up your nose and cross your arms.
"I have just published a pamphlet, as you must know. If I have any more critiques, make sure to keep an eye to any more of my public pamphlets, your majesty, you'll receive them like any other citizen of this kingdom"
Just as you finished talking, you felt stupid. You were talking back to the king himself? The man that went to war and fought alongside his army? That has more blood in his hand than you could imagine? Just looking at his strong figure is enough to let you know he himself could kill you right now for your words.
But he just laughs. A mischievous, dangerous glint in his eyes as he does, watching you like a predator watches prey. Raising an eyebrow, he hums.
"I see. Then, I'll be waiting for any news from you" he grins and throws your full notebook onto his nightstand "you'll have any material needed to write delivered to your quarters, which are now in the inner palace"
He stands and walks up to you, relaxed and confident, taking your chin in his hand, thumb brushing over your bottom lip.
"Keep me entertained, won't you, miss Hete?"
He rumbles, making you hot all over despite your conscious effort no to. Then, he's dimissing you. A knight taking you to your new quarters as the doors to his chambers close behind you.
[had thoughts of recreating Chink In The Armour but instead of ghostsoap, it's pricegaz.]
King John Price made a very tentative, very temporary truce with Phillip Graves and was offered you as a show of good faith.
and while John absolutely detests Graves for almost causing the war that nearly broke out of his kingdom, he can't help but note that the bastard has good taste.
so he keeps you. much to his knight's chagrin.
you've never met anyone as devoted to a king or anyone who hates you as much as Knight Garrick.
The Heartache and The Natural Shock - 1, "In the Morning, Bring Me The Dust"
This is a fic I've had in the drafts for a long time! Vaguely Macbeth inspired King!Price and Witch!Reader who hate each other, but are stuck together. Enjoy the first chapter <3
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For the first time of the day, you breathe out a satisfied sigh with your work. The sack is full of crucial materials, both for your survival and magic; albeit, you could say they are one in the same to you. Scooping up your untamed hair, you lift the back of it to allow your back and neck to replace the stifling sweat with sweet coolness. Even before you left the village, you would refuse to cover your hair. You dust off your hands of the collected dirt, unwilling to spend much time thinking of your old life. Just the one memory of then sours your tongue and churns your stomach like spoiled butter.
You are not given the privilege to scream as the rotting door snaps. You stagger back, tripping over your feet and only narrowly missing your head against the corner of your table. Deathly steel is pointed to your throat, your own eyes reflected in the weight of shining violence. The sword does not graze you, boasting powerful control and agile swiftness as it is presented to the lifeline of your vessel. Only the imposing silhouette of the pursuer stood above you. And there, adorned on the very top of his head, sat the heavy shine of jewels and thick wall of golden weave.
The crown of the King - John Price.
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An Archive of Our Own, a project of the
Organization for Transformative Works
Um...idk, I have nothing to say guys, I feel like I'm not sure where this is going anymore 😦 I'm trying to work with it, but I do have a bad history with giving up on things halfway, and for some reason this series just...my head just isn't working and idk if it's writer's block or just this series in specific :/
Part 1! | Part 2!
Kyle is going crazy. He's going crazy because the king is an idiot who has an ego too big to notice his new concubine is a genius! He was forced to so many late nights planning and going over politics that he had never felt so angry at falling asleep on his king's bed rather than his own.
So he takes matters in his own hands. He goes to Johnny and Simon, huffs and grumbles about the situation, vents about it all for so long they end up all splayed on Simon's bed. So the three make up a plan, they'd make the king listen to you one way or another.
You were shocked the king hadn't called you at all since that night. Maybe part of you was expecting him, waiting to see what he had to say, and you might have been dissapointed when it never happened, but you weren't about to admit it any time soon.
You used the free time to explore the royal library and study. It was harder with no tutors, but the amount of books made up for it. You'd spend day after day reading and using one of your notebooks for annotations about politics and such. And maybe, after reading how the king's triumphs have brought so much good to the kingdom, you kind of admired him — only a little!
You were curled up on a seat, books all around you, focused on your literature when you heard a familiar voice and accent.
"There you are!"
Johnny smiles, grins, actually, and steps up to you, humming as he glances at your open notes and nods, like he already expected you to be studying. Then, he ushers you with notes and all, like a herding dog, he pushes you through the palace while you stammer and frown, asking what he's doing, only to receive vague answers that left you more and more confused.
By the end you're pushed into a room, and you immediately recognize the chambers you're in. You turn to ask Johnny, but he already closed the door; you turn back and there's...no one in the room? In the first few minutes, you stand still, expecting the king to emerge somewhere with his annoying speeches and big ego, but he doesn't, so eventually you tentatively sit down on the same chair from last time and go back to studying.
After some hours, Ghost appears with food, sets it on the side table, but doesn't answer why you're here, neither does he tell you where the king was, so you just eat and quietly slip back into studying and reading, if only just requesting more books from library.
From then on, the two knights kept you in the king's chambers for some reason. You weren't really stuck there, but whenever you started studying, they'd herd you back there. So you ended up just giving up. Whatever was he reason for the king to want to watch you, it wouldn't be enough for you to privy yourself from comfort, which meant you were now studying and reading curled up on the king's bed.
Kyle's plan was good. He was sure, he wasn't dumb, he was he royal advisor for god's sake, his job was to be smart. So he and the two knights decided to leave the smart bird studying in the king's chambers. They were sure John was going to walk in, see her pouring over tomes and studies, and he'd be visually confronted enough that his ego wouldn't be able to stop him.
Only he didn't count on the fact said king has been sleeping in his office for days! Ruining his plan and making them have to keep you in the king's room for longer than he'd expected. It was going to go a whole week and the king is still going over each aristocrat of his inner circle so the next ball he'd be able to do what he should've been doing all along.
And when Kyle wasn't forced to help his king in his pursue to being a better ruler, he was passed out in either his or Johnny's room, contemplating going back to being a knight, all while Johnny is now betting that John is going to walk in on you and throw a tantrum that you were in his room for days.
John was tired. He was now having to know all these nobles and aristocrats and business deals he never cared for before, but his country is no longer in war and damn him for only ever being good in the field and not in this tiring bureaucracy.
He spend a week preparing for the next ball, making sure to know what he was doing, for what? He didn't want to admit it, but he didn't want to have you publishing another pamphlet putting him to shame, even if the way you glared back at him last time had his cock twitching in his pants.
He sighs as he slips inside his chambers, having already peeled away the layers of clothing at the baths, he just wanted to lie down on his bed and sleep, actually sleep, instead of the naps he's been taking.
Only when he looks at his bed, he finds it occupied, with papers, books, tomes and notes thrown around it. He grumbles and starts gathering it all, noticing they're all about the kingdom, varying from economics to noble families, ally countries, history and other topics not even he had studied so carefully. He assumed the person beneath his blankets must be Kyle. The advisor wasn't new to sleeping around John's bed, but something felt off, the handwriting of the notes not of the man he knew well.
He shouldn't have recognized the handwriting so fast, shouldn't be so easy to admit he had been obsessed with that little black notebook with your first pamphlet still writen with your sharp, angry handwriting.
His eyes flit back to you when he hears you grumble, sighing when he gets the confirmation he needed in the form of you sticking your head out from under the covers. Hair messy and eyes half closed still. Before you can say anything, he sits down by you and tilts his head, by the way you seem comfortable, it wasn't the first time you were sleeping here, maybe waiting for him during these last days.
"Kept you waitin' much?"
He smiles at your half-asleep grumbling, nodding along, way too amused to finding out one of his concubines was sneaking in his room than he should be. His hands twitch at his sides, and he'll later blame it on the exhaustion, but he doesn't stop them from brushing your hair back, humming.
"You always study this much just to write critiques on people?"
He teases gently, seeing you frown and pout, too sleepy to actually explain your reasons, he leaves the part about why you'd be sleeping in his bed unsaid, not really sure why he doesn't want to remind you that you should leave — he's not sure if he wants you to anyways.
"Say...how about you attend the next ball, huh? As my companion, this time." He doesn't know why he says it, but he doesn't stop himself "since you wanted me to start paying attention to politics, and you seem very studied on it... what'd you say, sweet'eart?"
He smiles, voice a low rumble, and he doesn't hide his satisfaction when you nod sleepily. You did say he needed to be less neglecting of his concubines, and he might just want to decide on one to be his queen soon enough...it would be easier than dealing with all those gifts and invites to those noble girls.
He leaves you there, groaning and stretching before leaving the room with a yawn. He didn't trust himself not to do anything dumb when having a smart, sweet thing in his bed. He decided on sleeping on ones of the spare rooms, feeling somewhat smug you had been in his quarters. He wondered if his bed would smell like you after you left?
