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Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as noncon/dubcon, age gap, power imbalance, bullying, cheating (Lloyd is married), and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.
This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.
Summary: You find yourself adrift among court until you find yourself snagged on an unexpected snare. (medieval AU)
Characters: king!Lloyd Hansen, short!reader
Note: Alright then, fuck me. This will be 2 or 3 parts top. I was planning on a one shot and this was my second attempt at thot from someone but odds are I'll go with my original thot of that bc it fits another challenge and I'm a mess!
As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me.
Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!) Please do not just put ‘more’. I will block you.
I love you all immensely. Take care. 💖
You rub your hands together beneath the shield of your cloak. Your lambskin mittens mysteriously disappeared that morning. In the last weeks, several of your possessions have seen fit to walk away from your chest. You suppose it comes with sharing space with others. They might mistake a pin or a bauble as their own; perhaps even lost and in need of a new keeper.
You try not to let yourself be tainted by suspicion. Things are only that. They are only worth what you attach to them. You can go without your silver chain and even your gloves. You’ll only be sure to keep your hands beneath your arms.
The snow crunches beneath your boots. You chatter and dip your chin down into the high collar of your cloak as you puff out a cloud from beneath your hood. The horses nicker impatiently in their jackets as they stand attached to large sleighs.
A screech comes from the front of the caravan. Queen Magnolia shoves a footman into the snow and stomps her foot. “Foolish man! I should have you whipped for being so careless.”
She searches around and waves her red glove at one of the liveried guards, marked with the golden swan of her service. The queen has her private guard just as the king. The man saunters forward to offer his gauntletted hand, dwarfing the footman still digging out of the snow.
Several women stare at the scene, others whisper, you merely turn and try to hide from the wind behind a taller figure. Your eyes rove over the castle yard. The walls are topped with glistening snow as the heaps of cleared snow form an inner barrier. You like the winter, it’s beautiful, but you are weak to the cold.
“Out of my way!” The snarl frightens you.
You move to stand behind one of the sleighs as several men shove by. At their centre, the king stomps across the frozen ground. His hood is back behind his head as his nose and cheeks are reddened by the temperature. His bristly mustache trims his lips with a touch of frost on the ends.
“Icy as bollocks!” He proclaims crassly.
He goes to the front of the line as the queen settles in her velvet-lined seat. You can view little more than their heads above those waiting to claim a bench of their own. You sway as you rub your stockinged legs together in a bid for any sort of warmth.
“There’s my beautiful wife,” he greets her as he grabs onto the side of the sleigh and hauls himself up. “You are just as frigid as this day. Dare I say, more so?”
The queen keeps her nose pointed away from her husband. He cackles and drops down next to her. She sidles away from him. The adversarial nature of their relationship is rarely subtle. Even you can see it clearly.
“Suppose you won’t want to warm yourself on my log, eh?” He taunts and your lips part at his implication. You aren’t entirely certain of it, only that it is bawdy.
She snarls but you do not hear more than her growl as her words are swallowed up by a gust. She leans away from her husband as he takes up as much space as he can and pulls up his hood. He signals and a lidded stein is brought to the sleigh.
Behind the king’s sled, the older dukes load in with their wives and a few of their unwedded heirs. You are left to the rabble of lower ladies, to be kept apart from the married and single men. You are among the last to claim a seat, sitting near to the side of the sleigh where it dips down to let in the wind.
The gates open and the royal sleigh is the first to lurch ahead. The others follow one at a time and you are nearly thrown off the bench as yours jerks at the tail of the procession.
The ladies behind you chatter on as those to your right giggle. Your chamber mates, Lissa and Calliane, sit ahead of you. They openly avoided you at breakfast and you wonder why they are so evasive. They’ve never been overly amiable but lately, you find them distant.
A countess’s daughter is hardly popular. Your mother did you few favours with her reputation as well. The only effort she ever lent in your direction was to send you off to court. No, many would rather pander to a duke or a marchess. So is the order of things.
You are content to watch the ivory landscape pass, like a swathe of silk unfurling before you, skimming up and down across the horizon. Trees speckle over the distance then thicken to dense clusters, only to thin again and open onto frozen lakes or sprawls of untouched snow.
You rub your hands over each other, as a mouse might do when seeking out a crumb, and raise your head to see further over the wintry brilliance. The noble passengers grow quiet as the cold blows over the top of the sleighs and the horses find their steps deeper and slower.
A dark structure looms on the pale canvas. The party veers toward it, winding past small clusters of trees, up a slight incline. You brace yourself on the bench as you count the peaks of the winter castle. It’s your first December progress and you’ve never been at court beyond the capital.
Those around you grow restless at the sight of their destination. You sit patient and pensive, shivering as you hug yourself under your cloak. Your fingers are throbbing from the cold.
The king stands first, almost before the sled is still, and he hops down into the powder. He kicks through it and grumbles. The queen is slower, less eager, and is helped down by her loyal queen’s guard. The same who aided her prior.
As others rise to descend into the snow, you remain. The king plods through the knee deep blanket and shouts on how he commands the sky to cease. He laughs at his own jape, as do the other men.
The ladies around you are assisted by footmen. You take your turn and sink into the snow. You push through as you’re lost in the crush of bodies seeking shelter.
You stumble aside before you can be tamped down into the snow and nearly collide with another. You look up as the king stops short of bowling you over. Your eyes round and you bow your head.
“Apologies, your majesty. I did not mean to impede your path,” you bring your hands outside your cloak to pull it together as the wind stirs the wool.
He grumbles and sniffs, rubbing his nose with the back of his glove. You lift your feet, awkwardly backing up. He growls and shakes his head.
You slip your hand down to your belt and pull free your handkerchief. Without a second thought, you offer it to him as you would your fellow ladies. Your eyes meet as his brows tweak. His reddened nose furrows as he considers the offer.
“Your majesty, if you require,” you hold out the embroidered cloth. It’s too late to retreat. “More than I, it seems.”
He tilts his head and snatches the handkerchief. His glove brushes your naked fingers. You recoil as he takes the cloth and you bury your hands under your elbows. You repress a shiver and bow again.
“Your majesty.”
You nearly fall over as you flee. You are aware of the audience peeking in your direction. How embarrassing. You are not a groom or servant. To offer the king your handkerchief so boldly. You put your head down and trod over to Lissa.
“Hm, perhaps you might find a place near the kitchens,” she jibes. “It suits you.”
“So it does,” Calliane agrees and giggles.
You don’t argue. They like to tease. It was only that you lost yourself in the snowfall. You didn’t mean to be in the way. You pray all forget your folly as you will try to do the same.
👑
The bedchamber is cold and airy. Even with three of you packed into the space, you shiver endlessly under your dressing gown. You pull your night gown over your toes once more only for the linen to shift and expose you to the temperature.
Calliane and Lissa sit on the latter’s bed and whisper behind a sewing hoop. You try to read but the numbness in your fingers distracts you. You wish you had a warm brick to put under the blankets. At least your chambermates have each other to share their warmth.
Lissa leaps out of the bed, frightening you so you drop your book. She grins and looks at you, her cheeks rosy. Calliane slips to the edge of the feather mattress and stares at you. You squint curiously between them.
“Did you hear that?” Lissa asks as she flutters to the door.
“Hear… what?” You ask. You can only hear the wind whistle outside the shuttered windows.
“There it is again!” She shows her teeth.
Callian puts her palms to her cheeks and whine. Strangely, her lips are still curled. You look at the door.
“What… I don’t hear it.”
“Oh, it’s still going. Please, I cannot,” she nearly swoons as she watches the door. “Please, you have to go see what it is.”
“I don’t… I do not hear anything.” You say.
Calliane gets up and latches onto Lissa’s arm. “I hear it! Oh, I’m scared. You go.”
Calliane pushes Lissa but she doesn’t budge. They sway then look at you. “You!” Lissa declares. “Go see what that noise is.”
“There is no noise,” you sidle to the edge of the bed. “It’s nothing.”
“How can you know? You must see!” Lissa squeals.
You pout. You’re so cold you don’t want to get up. Still, they will not let you rest. They did this when a mouse got in the chamber before. You had to catch the poor creature and find some place to let it scurry away. Perhaps it is only that they are in an unfamiliar place.
You get up and cross the room. You stand in front of the door. You listen. You can only hear them tittering behind you. You look over your shoulder. They flinch and round their eyes at you.
“Alright then, I’ll just look.” You assure.
You pull the ring on the door and poke your head out. The lanterns hung on the wall flicker across the brick. You feel a nudge on your back.
“You must go out so you can see it,” Calliane insists. “Make certain it’s nothing.”
You bite the inside of your lip and shuffle out. You hug yourself as the draft in the corridor skims over your bare feet and wafts up your nightgown. You peer around then turn. “There’s nothing–”
The door slams and you hear the latch grind into place from the other side. You rush forward and slap the door. The girls cackle loudly from within. You hit the door a few more times.
“Please, don’t leave me out here. It’s cold.” You beg.
“You’ll be fine,” Calliane calls back and laughs again.
“Ha, we got you!” Lissa mocks. “You’re so silly!”
“Stupid!” Calliane adds.
You wince and step back on your heels. You rock as you cross your arms and your teeth chatter. You’re not sure what you did to offend them so.
You push your hands up your sleeves and look up and down the corridor. There is no where to go. You don’t have friends at court. It isn’t for lack of trying. It’s only that when you arrived, everyone always claimed their companions. They didn’t need any others.
You walk along the wall as you curl your shoulders, tucking your chin down as you try to ward off the chill. You stop beneath one of the burning lanterns. You look up and reach. If you can get it down, you can use it to warm yourself until they let you back in. If they do at all.
You stand on your toes, fingertips just below the metal base of the glass shade. Your feet flatten and you lean on the wall breathless. Even if you could get a hold on it, you’ll be more likely to spill the oil on your head.
“It is only copper, not gold,” the deep voice carries down the corridor.
You recoil and face the figure at the far end. You watch them march toward you and dip your chin down in recognition and shame. It is the king. Of course, your humiliation must be witnessed.
“Not of much worth at the merchant,” he scoffs.
“Your majesty, I was not– I only– Apologies.” You clasp your hand over your chest.
He hums and stops before you. He sets his feet wide and clucks. He crosses one arm under his chest, his other elbow bent as he rubs his fingers together.
“You are not a servant,” he muses. “You may look up.”
You hesitate but obey. As you look at him, he smoothes his mustache with his thumb and index finger. He hums. You are bitterly aware of your sleeping clothes.
“I know you,” he says. “The lady with the handkerchief.”
You blanch and squeeze your fist tighter. “Yes, your majesty. I hope I didn’t offend. It was only… I thought… well, I suppose I forgot myself.”
His blue eyes cling to you. You squirm and shiver as the hem of your nightgown brushes your toes. You bite down and tuck your hand under your dressing robe.
“Why are you out in the cold corridor?” He asks.
“Your majesty? Thank you for asking but it is only…” you turn to glance over at your bedchamber door. “I… I was cold. I thought the lantern would warm me. That is all. A questionable thought.” You tuck your other hand under your robe. “I will be out of your way. With your leave.”
He considers you. He tilts his head. “Go on then, lady…”
You slowly back away. You turn as you near your door and turn to pull on the ring. It doesn’t move. Still locked.
You peek over at the king and tap on the door. He has not passed or retreated. He lingers and watches.
“Oh, ladies, please, I think I’ve locked myself out…” You eke through.
“Enjoy the stone!” Calliane hollers back.
You lower your head and knock again. “Please, just let me in. It’s all very funny but–”
“We’re having so much fun without you, though!” Lissa taunts.
A deep sigh rises from the king. You wince as he stomps toward you. You cower away from him.
“Your majesty, my apologies. I–”
He quiets you with his splayed palm. He balls his other hand and pounds on the door so it shakes in the frame. The girls squeal.
“Listen to her!” Calliane shrieks.
“Are you scared, little baby?” Lissa sneers.
The king hits the door one last time. “Open the door. Your king bids it. Now!”
The last baritone word echoes down the corridor until all that’s left behind is a dense and suffocating silence. You stare in horror as the king’s lip curls. The latch slides back loudly and the door opens slowly.
“Your majesty?” Calliane simpers. “It is only a game–”
“It is too cold for your children’s games.” He snaps and pushes the door inward. Lissa stumbles back at his force. “I should put you out in the snow and let her have the chamber for her own.”
“Your majesty,” they utter in unison. “Truly, you may ask her. We were playing.”
He looks at you. You blink and part your lips. You close your mouth and swallow. You nod.
“Yes, a game,” you lie.
He stares at you as he drags his hand down the door. He lifts his chin and his eyes flick over to the other ladies. He tuts.
“You all should be abed. Ladies wandering through the dark…” he lets the words hang, almost tasting them. “Can only bring mischief.”
“Thank you, your majesty. Please forgive us,” you put your head down and tiptoe through the door.
“Yes, apologies,” Calliane says. “We are truly sorry, your majesty.”
“To bed!” He barks.
The door slams behind you and the ladies squeak. You go to your bed and climb up. Your book is gone and so is your quilt. You have only the linens left. You see your blanket on Lissa’s bed.
“You didn’t have to squeal like a child,” Calliane excuses.
“I didn’t,” you murmur as you ball yourself up in the corner, wrapping the sheets around you.
“Baby,” Lissa spits. “Maybe you should grow up and you can be a whore like your mother.”
“Then you might make a friend,” Calliane adds. “Or at least find someone who wants you around.”
