Content: knight!abby x princess!reader, angst, no warnings for this chapter, a sprinkle of fluff, no time period specified, abby referred to as abigail for a few chapters, afab!reader. MEN AND MINORS DNI
Wc:909
Part 1: Loyalty
Wheat stalks brushed against each other in the wind, producing a natural music as the green leaves of the oak trees accompanied with a light rustle. The sun was setting, you both had to get back yet you didn’t want to leave.
This was the one place you felt unrestrained, free to be yourself. The real you. Years of etiquette lessons and your mother’s scoldings taught you to mutate into another you. The princess. Your parents daughter and the kingdom’s prized jewel.
These rare pockets of time allowed for your escape, for what was left of you to climb out and exist amongst nature.
“Abigail?”
“Yes, my princess?”
“What’s it like beyond the gates? Are the fields bigger, greener?”
“Just as bountiful as the Kingdom’s, my princess”
That wasn’t what you wanted to hear. You knew it was a lie, you knew your father trained all the Kingdom’s staff to exaggerate the land’s grandeur.
“I told you not to call me that when we’re out here, Abigail” you frowned, handing her a daisy crown you had just weaved.
She handled it with care, a faint smile on her lips as she examined the creation.
“My princess, I must-” you sighed as she started, already prognosticating her refusal to address you directly.
You watched her interact with the creation, amusement and curiosity in your eyes as you noted the comical contrast between her hard steel armour and the delicate flowers.
“Can I put it on you?” you shifted closer.
Her breath hitched at the lack of space between you. A hesitant nod later and your hands were in her hair, fitting the flower crown amongst her blonde strands.
You sat back into the grass just watching her, a weird heat blooming in your chest.
“Do you ever get tired of it?” you lie back into the soft grass, hair spread around you.
“What should I be tired of, my princess?”
You choose to ignore her formal address of you despite your indefatigable insistence that she call you by your name. With how far you were from the castle it could almost seem believable; just two women, no labels, no formalities.
“Serving my family, waiting, watching, listening, obeying?”
She immediately responds with her undying duty and allegiance to the crown.
Though, deep down Abigail wonders if that question should be directed towards yourself.
She notices more than you think. Your secret refusal to embrace your identity, the tears that swell in your eyes whenever you’re near your parents, your stiff posture at every ball.
You don’t belong there, nor do you want to.
Yet she never voices these observations. She’s already made the oath, sworn her life to the crown. If she spoke out of line your father would have her head.
-
The first suitor wears his Kingdom’s colours, navy blue and crimson. Silver accents scatter his attire, kissing the tips of his patent leather pointy shoes.
He meets your gaze, dark brown eyes eager to please. You have to act like you’re interested, but it feels like betrayal. A betrayal of yourself and for some reason a betrayal of Abigail?
Four more princes pass, you aren’t interested in any one of them.
Each time you have to feign a little smile, a false connection; a potential future with you swirling in each of their eyes as you simply carry out your duty.
You feel disgusting.
They idolise you, practically worship you as they bow and prepare to obey any order you throw their way in return for a spec of public recognition or praise.
They’re all sycophants and it sickens you.
By the time the last prince presents himself to the court and the crown your eyes shift to your right side. Abigail stands tall and formidable, armour catching the light like a blade.
You give her a once over, analysing her stature, her hardened features, the blonde wisps of hair that escape her braid, softening her appearance.
She’s one of them too.
You feel alone, suffocated, like you’ll snap under all the pressure any time soon. And then you look at her once more, something hidden pulling you in.
She’s one of them, you repeat in your mind in an attempt to deter any unorthodox thoughts.
As you smile at the last suitor like its second nature, your mind flashes with mirages of the past. Just yesterday you were with her in that field, in your land of suspension and yet she was both everything you needed and despised.
She wasn’t like the rest, you felt like you could peel back her layers in time and reveal the person underneath. She could be soft; human.
But she could also be relentless. An armour built of loyalty shielded her from your touch and the potential of something beyond the Kingdom’s gates.
Abigail met your eyes- the only part of her body that had moved within the whole hour. Your defeated countenance shattered her, but she didn’t show it. She felt helpless for the first time in her whole service as a knight. She wished she could be there for you emotionally, to actually call you by your name, to be able to hug you even but her oath to the King always prevailed, keeping her most earnest desires under lock and key and drowning them out of her system with one single word pulsing through her body like a heartbeat: Loyalty.
please do not skip over this! continuing to support palestine in any way possible is much more important than reading any piece of fanfiction.
𝐚𝐧 𝐞𝐦𝐛𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫𝐧𝐬
𝒄𝒉𝒂𝒑𝒕𝒆𝒓 𝒊: 𝒊𝒄𝒂𝒓𝒊𝒂𝒏
knight!abby x princess!reader
summary: your plans to usurp your despotic brother are halted when he assigns one of his strongest knights to keep an eye on you. what will wither and what will blossom in her presence?
warnings: 18+, minors do not interact, political elements, fem afab reader, princess reader is manipulative, extensive descriptions of blood and violence, graphic depiction of murder, subtle enemies to lovers (more so in next chapter), degrading terms used in a non-sexual manner, insults, profanity, probably ooc?, not edited, reader discretion advised
a/n: this is HEAVILY inspired by The Jasmine Throne by Tasha Suri. this song is the atmosphere i was going for if you wanted to listen while reading!! dedicating this to @catfern, love you <3
wc: 4.7k
The corpse-quiet hours before dawn settled over the world with the languidness of dripping wax. There was a tenseness to it, beneath the silence, the twinings of a tautly strung instrument. You could smell it on the breeze too, a lick of disturbance carried sharply on the air alongside the fragrance of jasmine and rose. This night was a thing too tender for imminence, you thought, as you watched off-white petals scatter across pristine marble.
You felt it in your bones first, as it reverberated through the night. It felt like rolling thunder across the mountainside, but it was far too regimented to be birthed from mother nature. No, you knew this sound as intimately as your own heartbeat.
Hoofbeats. Steadfast, almost urgent, as they ascended towards the palace. Through your balcony, you could see a sea of them, clad in the pure white of moonlight and the gold of dawn. At the very front jostled a garish carriage swathed in the same colours, flying your nation’s flags. You stepped further out onto the balcony. A retinue, a homecoming. Your brother has returned.
Of course, ease slid through your veins at the fact that it was not a darker reality encroaching, but it curdled instantaneously, soured by the notion that you would merely be a marionette tugged upon and prettied up in order to appease him. A dutiful princess, you would play the part of orator, musician, perhaps finally bride to a stranger if the King and all his attendants had his way. What were you but a flower with an endless array of malleable petals to be arranged this way and that?
You drank in the perfumed scents that swirled around you, a sigh passing your parted lips. The silk curtains of your suite lifted like a breath, the solid colour broken apart by somebody familiar, whose chest rattled for the solace of fresh air.
Your features did not falter as your eyes remained fixed upon the retinue fast approaching. The girl, one of your many pairs of watchful eyes, strode towards you, sweat upon her brow, a worrisome crease at the youthful corner of her lips. You remained fixed as you felt the brush of rough parchment against your smooth palm.
Politics was a game played by degrees, after all. It demanded quiet, the slithering of a black-belllied snake in the grass, waiting for the perfect moment to coil around its prey and squeeze. You let the paper unfurl against the wind, let it flap in the air as you read word upon word scrawled onto the page with an unsteady hand.
You knew what you hungered for, the prey that dangled just out of reach above your open maw. It glistened deepest oceanic blue cast in gold, and it sat safely atop of your tyrannical brother’s head.
Like all noble daughters, you knew that patience was a virtue. Things did not fall easily into your lap, so you would have to work for it, a dog searching ceaselessly for a single scrap of bone. You would let the meat of the empire simmer, wait until it was your turn to have your fill.
The parchment began to crinkle under the ferocity of your grip as your brother flashed through your mind. His smile, all canines. The cruelty that lurked just beneath the surface of that untarnished exterior.
With a fiery savagery singing in your veins, you silently declared that his crown would be yours.
𖥸 𖥸 𖥸
The day’s last light was beginning to wither away, its last breath sweeping across the courtyard below and setting it ablaze. The air that seemed like an extension of your own lungs the night before was cloying now, pollen stuck in the crevice of your throat and tightening it with fist-strength.
There were certain things you expected of your brother, but this…
Your eyes flitted from the balustrade to the woman who stood just behind the gauzy silk draped across the doorway. She had a straight spine to match the strength in her features. Slight aquiline nose, plump lips, and those eyes, crystalline blue but honed from years of slinking, silent observation. There was no denying the touch of regality woven throughout her being. If somebody had said she were an empress from some distant land, you would have believed them.
It wasn’t such an extravagance that granted you with her presence, though. A white cape threaded with gold was draped around her armour-laden shoulders. There was a sword at her hip, but the breadth of her body alone was enough to make anybody hesitate.
This woman, whose body was carved for the gruesomeness of the battle, was to be your watchful knight, under oath to quash any harm that may arise.
A bitterness rose from the pit of your stomach to the back of your throat. Sworn protector. The words thrummed in your skull like jailer. It was clear from her unbroken gaze alone where her loyalties were placed, at the feet of your brother and your brother alone.
You were the first to break your eyes away, demurely, subtle but unerringly feminine, and more importantly, inferior. Your spine was straight, but you hung your head slightly, letting your eyes wander along the outline of lush greenery below. Your hands skimmed along the finery that swathed your body. You appeared reticent and meagre, but every minute movement was deliberate on your part, a dance in which you knew all the steps.
Her shadow of a presence was a setback, certainly, something to keep you at bay, but if you wove the right tale, spun an intricacy of honeyed words and laid syrupy sweetness upon her… this one, like any other, could be used, moulded and rolled like clay with the right pressure. All you had to do was locate a chink in her armour.
You gave a hesitant pause, counted to three, until you walked the expanse of the balcony, back into your quarters, the tinkling of weighty jewellery sounding with each step you took. Even closer, she appeared much more powerful, the jagged lines of her face schooled into sternness. The refusal to drop her gaze in the presence of her new lady sent a shiver down your spine.
“Abigail.” Your voice was gentle, the lulling of a flute. “I am grateful for your service. To my dear brother, of course, but especially to me.” You stepped closer to her, but remained at a polite distance, a benevolent smile gracing your lips.
Her face remained the same, but there was a slight quirk to her thick brows. She was used to doing bloody work for the King, but you could tell that she was unused to interacting with royalty. “My loyalty is to the crown. I would do anything His Majesty asked of me, princess.” Ah, what a well trained response. As expected of one of the most renowned weapons in your brother’s arsenal.
“Yes, and it warms my heart.” You ensured your smile widened, your eyebrows softening in tandem with the lovely upward curve of your mouth. “I have heard stories of your bravery. To have such a hero protect myself alone… well, it feels rather a waste of talent, does it not?”
Her lips parted for a moment at the steer in conversation. You could see the hardness melting from her face like butter, replaced by an expression unreadable. It was too early to tell whether there was now a weakness to strike at, but it was better than talking to the righteous facade of her. “My talents can be just as useful in the Royal Palace as they would be on the battlefield.” Her words were as certain as solid stone, unmoving in their conviction.
“Such a noble heart you have.” You let the distance close between the two of you, then, your body just a few mere inches away from steel. Your hand met the one at her side, soft fingers grazing across leather, the cool hilt of her sword brushing against your knuckles. “But you do not need to protect me. Guards swarm this palace, after all.”
You expected abashment, the averting of that steady, unbreakable gaze, but not so much as a twitch of her fingers was drawn out of her. Still, you pressed on, as a thumb circled a spot on her gloved hand. “You would be better suited to attacking any threats at the root, dear knight. I could arrange you to be back where you once were. Not here, not with me.”
These lies, this faux flattery, left your tongue with the ease of second nature. You had none of the power you wished to possess, and you could not fulfil any such promise to her, but a few sweetened words could at least put you in her good favour, string her along for at least for a few moments outside of her obstructive gaze.
Something flashed across her features, but it was not the distant yearning for battle, not even the consideration of your hefty offer. You felt her thick fingers slip, gently, out of your grasp. Shock burst in your chest when her lips curled into a smile. Not completely unkind, but belittling all the same.
“The way we view honour differs greatly, princess.” Her mouth shaped the words slowly, deliberately and they hung in the air like an accusation. The last of the sun filtered through the balcony, causing the stray hairs framing her face to shine gold, the dust of freckles on her cheeks to appear like a smattering of starlight. You were once again struck by the wondrous beauty of her, a blow to the ribs.
You urged the swell in your guts down hastily.
“Is it so dishonourable,” you started, choosing to focus instead on that same jagged ambition that ate away at you, “to desire glory for oneself?”
The eyes that you thought resembled a pristine shoreline now darkened with the implications of your question. You watched as the storm passed across her face, as the act of noble knight swallowed her whole once more.
“Glory means nothing if it is not for the sake of serving the King.” She finally averted her gaze to the rolling gardens below.
“Our King.”
𖥸 𖥸 𖥸
Thunder rippled across the charred night sky, the rain beating against the earth with the ferocity of a thousand rapid heartbeats. Your quarters burst white and fizzled with each lightning strike, and you could see the dozing face of Abigail each time. She laid, with one arm cradling the back of her head, in a cot at the foot of your bed, her golden-brown lashes long enough to cast wispy shadows on the apples of her cheeks under the inconsistent light. Even in her sleep, she seemed to be withholding herself from you, despite the stretch of days you had spent together thus far.
Beneath the writhing rage that clawed at your insides, you felt a soft pang, something faint and unfamiliar, for this woman. She was forced to live her days, in utter numbness, waiting for an attack on your life that would never come. She was here to intimidate you into compliance, at your brother’s whims, and she was completely unaware of it. To be a pawn in such a twisted game unwittingly… It was cruel. But weren’t you attempting to do the exact same? The hypocrisy was completely not lost on you.
You watched her sleeping figure for a few more moments until you were certain she was asleep. Then, soundlessly, you slipped out of the embrace of your bed. The air was cool but heavy with humidity as you walked on the balls of your bare feet, your nightgown brushing your ankles and sending an anxious tremble up your body. You tried to move as swiftly as you could. Your spies and confidants were loyal enough, but even they would not wait out the entire night for you when there was other work to be done at dawn.
An electric thrill jolted your being when you clasped the door handle. Was evading her watchful eye really so easy? Was all you had to do is slink around in the deep hours of dark? You bit down a smile as the heavy door gave way . Freedom, for a few mere minutes at least, was just beyond the door…
“My Lady?” Something glacial hardened in your veins. The voice was hoarse with the remnants of slumber, but there was no doubting the razor-edge awareness of it.
For a beat, you were too stunned to face her. When you didn’t turn, she spoke again. “Princess, what are you doing out of bed?”
What was the safest way to avoid her suspicion? The crashing of thunder sliced through your thoughts like a knife, offering you an escape route on a silver platter.
You whorled around, your eyebrows high-strung. Abigail was sitting upright, her head tilted and her unbound blonde hair dripping over one shoulder. There was no armour covering the wide expanse of her chest, a rare exposure of bare collarbone and surprisingly soft skin. You would perhaps never get used to the sight.
You clutched the fabric of your nightgown and widened your eyes, fawn-frightened. “Abigail, I…” you let your voice taper off into a quiver.
She was up in an instant and striding towards you, brows knitted together. Despite the urgency vibrating every cell in her body, her large hands cupped your shoulders with a gentleness you thought so disjointed for a woman of her size and profession. You doubted she would have touched you if it weren’t for the haze of confusion that overpowered her usual meticulousness.
“What is the matter? Speak to me, princess.”
“I-it’s absurd, I…” You trembled ever so slightly and could only pray that you were convincing. “The storm… well, it frightened me. I apologise. You mustn't be used to such frivolity.”
The tautness of her bow-strung body seemed to drift away all at once. Her shoulders drooped and she smiled, this time a thing of pure relief. “Is that all that this is?”
You nodded once, pulling yourself inward more and silently thanking whichever god had just granted you quick wits. She tsked softly and brought you closer to her. The warmth of her body was comforting, as alive as the spark upon a coal.
“You can wake me when you’re frightened, my lady,” she breathed out, her breath rustling the hair at your ear.
“I thought– I didn’t wish to burden you.” For once, there was a distasteful speck of truth in your words. She was a thing too gentle and straightforward for the ugliness of court politics. How could you ask her to help you usurp a throne she adamantly kneeled at the foot of?
“Princess,” she sighed, her hands trailing from shoulder to elbow. “Your brother has tasked me to protect you.” A lie, and yet she believed it so wholeheartedly. A loyalty as steady as a heartbeat.
“You cannot be a salve for every little thing that ails me.”
“There’s a sort of protection in comfort, is there not?” Such naive words, ones a child could have spoken, but they rang throughout your entire being.
She was diluted ink in the dark of the storm, but the whites of her eyes and teeth shone with the sheen of pearl. Your lips parted, drinking in a shaky inhale. You should have kept playing the delicate flower in distress, but you were teetering on the edge of something dangerous and curious, a hunger that gnawed at the very marrow of your bones. A hunger that you had no choice but to satiate.
“And how do you intend to comfort me, dear knight?”
A moment of something heady passed, and you could practically see the churning of her mind, the weight of precariousness at her throat like a glinting blade. You knew then that the same starvation engulfed her own being, your hands slithering down to her wrists and clutching them.
“I would do whatever you ask of me, My Lady–”
“No,” you cut her off, tracing a sliver of puckered flesh that outlined her bare wrist. A quaint shiver wracked her shoulders at the abrupt stone of your voice, unbidden. “No, Abigail. How do you wish to comfort me? Speak plainly.”
“I want…” Her voice was strained, the word leaden and fumbling on her tongue, her own will now foreign to her. Her hands tightened around your elbows. “What I want… what I desire, is not so easily spoken, princess.”
Even in the dark, her eyes were the bottomless wells of a carefully guarded vulnerability. You wanted to chip away at that wall she had between you and her, between anyone but her fiery devotion and her own self.
You cupped her cheeks with the soft, uncalloused palms of your hands, watched as her reluctance dissolved with the touch.
“Then show me.”
Perhaps all that was needed was an uttered confirmation that you felt the same infuriating emotions. You had torn through the neat little bow of restraint that kept her being together, and now it was uncontainable, this ever-swelling.
There was a moment of hesitation, shared breath mingling sweetly, before she pressed her lips to yours. She cradled your waist as if you were porcelain, but her kiss was a beast of want, all teeth and tongue. Your back melded with the carvings of the door as she nudged you back, wooden jasmine blossoms and orchids keeping you tethered to the moment. You kissed back with just as much viciousness, astonished by your own affections welling up like crimson from a finger pricked.
It was with the ebb and flow of ocean waves that she let you go just as promptly as she had kissed you, her face a hazy mass of surprise in the semi-dark, leaving only the remnant of her warmth against your skin, the phantom of soft lips and tongue.
Her fingers scraped her blonde locks away from her face, chest heaving.
“Princess,” she spoke through the ragged edge of her breath. There was a singed quality to her voice, raw and crisp. “Princess, it would be improper to continue.”
Disappointment, to your dismay, pooled in the pit of your stomach. You turned your head to the side and gave a feeble nod, swallowing at the thick knot lodged in your throat. Letting her warm your bed would be unwise, you reminded yourself now. It would serve no purpose to your goals, and a lovesick knight trailing you around was the last thing you needed. And yet...
“We cannot cross that line,” she whispered. You felt the gentle snaking of arms around yours as you were pulled close to her chest, your ear snug against it. “But I am still here.” Her heartbeat was hummingbird-rapid, a reflection of your own.
She led you back to the bed and watched intently as you laid down beneath the smooth blanket. You stared in return. How was a person sharpened for such luridness able to wield tenderness the way she did a weapon? It was more frightening, you silently mused, than any tale of her violence could offer. It did little to divert the ache that seeped to your very bones, the craving for it.
Lightning still ruptured the heavens, followed dismally by a cacophony of thunder.
“Abigail.” Your hand drifted into the air, toward her. She held it gently in both of hers.
“Are you still frightened?”
Your plan for the night had been uprooted, and you had no choice but to remain here in this room. You traced each feature of hers with your eyes, lingering on the worrisome crease of her brow. Perhaps… “Yes, a little.”
Perhaps, this once, sweet selfishness was justified. Perhaps you could let this sordid business of trickery and usurpation float from your mind. This once…
“Will you lay beside me?” You sat up, peeling the blanket aside. “It would help me a great deal.”
“My lady…”
“Innocently, of course,” you reassured. “To know someone is beside me, to share that warmth… it would ease my nerves greatly.”
A beat passed, then another. “I think… It's something I also need. For tonight.”
“For tonight,” you echoed, patting the empty space of the bed next you.
She clambered in beside you without another word, a slow exhale escaping her when her head softly hit the pillow. You could feel her breath fan over your face gently, followed by a soothing, steady hand on your arm.
“Will you hold me?” There was a waver in your cadence, something unbearably soft puckering to the surface. “Is that okay?”
You were encircled by her arms, so gently that you felt, something swirl inside of you, just to then sink.
Consciousness left her almost instantly at the feel of your body against hers. The comfort of someone to hold in the eternal stretch of night elleviated the quiet ache that thrummed and tugged at her own being.
You listened as she slipped into a deep, dreamless sleep, until the sky stopped its tears and the only sound that could be heard was the rhythmic thump, thump, thump of her heart at your ear.
𖥸 𖥸 𖥸
The marble was icy beneath the soles of your feet, each footfall echoing softly through the desolate, cavernous halls. The lanterns flickered low, the walls cast in leaping, ravenous shadows.
Wait for me at the entrance to the orchard, you had told your spy, an inconspicuous place for business made in the night, but as you reached the intricately designed archway, you were met with the absence of the living. The sharp smell of damp earth and overripe fruit wafted through the open space, yet it did little to calm the eerie feeling in your blood.
Perhaps you were too late, or perhaps she had appeared conspicuous. A fist of disappointment twisted at your gut, but relief flooded your veins with it. There was silence, at least. Stagnance was a better ordeal than disruption. You turned away from the trees, feet almost silent without the usual finery adorning your ankles.
A whisper against the precious stone. Something scratching and picoting, until you felt the brush of it at your leg. Frozen, you peered at what had touched you. A piece of flimsy paper, the uncertain handwriting that you had come to know so well. Between the looping letters of secret after secret unfurled, vermillion stained the thin sheet. Vibrant. Fresh.
A man at the very first tree, the shimmer of the whites of his eyes furious and expansive. You knew this face, these pompous clothes, the cruel, all-knowing scowl on his lips. Your brother’s confidant and his closest advisor. If this man could stretch himself as thin as a carpet to soften your brother’s steps, he would have.
His movements were rigid, yet quick as he lunged in your direction, teeth bared and motivated by his sweltering rage alone. His cheek was streaked with the same shade of red.
“You treasonous whore!” He swiped his hands at you, but you scrambled away at the very last moment. “Traitor!”
“My Lord–” Your heart thrusted against your ribcage, your breath coming out in uneven, shattering breaths. There was no cajoling such a blind beast. His voice was much too loud, his body propelled by something untethered to reason.
You were going to be found out. He had the evidence and his screams were enough to alert any guards patrolling the slumbering palace. You had to do something, you had to–
He lunged forward again, forceful yet sloppy. Your body began to react on its own accord.
The blade was an ugly little thing, stolen from beneath Abigail’s pillow weeks ago and fastened in a makeshift sheath of torn silk and ribbon, held steadily enough by a bangle at your wrist. It was in your hand, slipping from the snugness of the material and clanging against the jewellery with the same delicate ring of anklet bells chiming in the midst of dance and song. A song of retribution, thrumming, awake and unabated, in your veins.
The moment was a blur, the contact of iron to skin one you could not even comprehend until a surprised, wet sound bubbled forth from the nobleman’s lips. He slumped forward against the blade, his eyes glassy. Lifeblood trickled down the hilt of the blade and down your fingers. The warmth of it made your stomach churn.
Before you could pull the blade out, he swayed to the side, toppling to the ground with a sickening thump. Crimson bled across the stark white of the floor, pooling beneath his now motionless body.
The bile of pure panic rose to your throat, face leached of warmth. What have I done? What have I done? What have I–
“Princess?” A voice of honeycomb, even when it wavered with such uncertainty.
No.
You stared ahead, the bulky outline of her blurring only to refocus as she got closer. There was a look that had never graced her face before, one of confusion mixed with something akin to horror. Had she known this man? Taken orders from him?
But she did not look down at the grim image at her feet, but rather at you. Your stained fingers, the way your face had grown ashen and fear-stricken.
Her fingers ghosted over your cheek, but stopped short of making contact. “What…” You could hear the thoughts that knotted in her mind. How could such a sweet thing – you – do this?
A shout sounded down the hall, and you flinched, eyes darting in the direction as a new wave of bone-rattling fear crashed down upon you. There was a clamour, the sound of swords against urgently moving legs.
Abigail pulled her hand away from you as if seared. Hardness seeped into the cracks where her moment of bare emotion shone. A moment ticked by, voices growing closer.
With a flash of movement, she yanked the blade out of the lifeless body beside her, a sickening squelch that did not seem to rattle her, and turned her back on you. Surely she had to be more selfish than this?
“Abigail–”
“Be silent and stay behind me.”
Your voice sank down into an urgent whisper. “Your recklessness is going to get you killed.”
Her head turned toward you then, her gaze meeting yours. Blue flame, a flicker of pure torment.
“You have already made me your accomplice.” They should have been sweet, simple words, but they held the acrid tang of rotting fruit, bitter and wilting despite their saccharine nature.
They were encircling you in an instant, guards wearing the colours of the sun and the moon. Their swords were raised, but they waited for something…
The guards parted, roiling ocean waves. You watched as your brother stepped his way to the front, head held high.
Without a single word, Abigail dropped to her knees, the blade clanging against the floor and skidding away from her to rest at his feet.
Your brother did not spare her a glance. His eyes pinned you in place, cold and measured. He did not ask about the commotion or point grieving eyes towards his closest advisor. No, he already decided on what truth in this he would spin and alter in order to squash you beneath his bejewelled hand.
As he stared you down, you gazed at the back of Abigail’s neck, peach-toned skin peaking beneath the cascade of blonde waves over her shoulders. You wanted to reach out, to touch her one last time if only to bid farewell.
Such a rotten heart you had. You felt it thump mournfully, greed winning out in the end.
Your lips remained tightly locked as she took the fall for your turpitude, an act of the foulest betrayal.
As you watched them drag her away, you may as well have been clapping the chains around her wrists yourself.
Who knew that even a blade of the soul could be double-edged?
warnings : physical abuse mention. kissing. mentions of reader have a sister.
a/n : head canon only, but i may expand on some of these or end up writing a story based on this idea. if you like this please interact!!! loves!!
₊˚✧ ﾟ Knight! Abby who had just come back from a trip abroad, and is regarded as a high authority in your kingdom.
₊˚✧ ﾟ Knight! Abby who gets assigned to watch over you, and you only. Which she finds weird but ultimately doesn’t protest.
₊˚✧ ﾟ Knight! Abby who remembers you as the rude younger sister who would always bicker and annoy Abby.
₊˚✧ ﾟ Knight! Abby who, still after arriving back from the trip, continues the bickering and beef you two have thus leading to a kind of hatred forming between the two of you even as she has to protect you.
₊˚✧ ﾟ Knight! Abby who slowly picks up on the fact that your schedule always seems to have an excess amount of suitor dates, or manner classes.
₊˚✧ ﾟ Knight! Abby who accidentally bumps into the Queen, your mother, coming out of your room one morning, obviously angry.
₊˚✧ ﾟ Knight! Abby who finds you sobbing that same morning, a throbbing red mark on your cheek in the shape of a palm.
₊˚✧ ﾟ Knight! Abby who slowly warms up to you following that morning.
Abby’s fingers tenderly grazed over the throbbing red mark, trying to apply the makeup smoothly even as your tears disrupt her process. She doesn’t want to tell you to stop crying, instead she wipes the tears and tries to continue her work. “I didn’t know your mother was so strong.” She broke the silence, feeling a need to fill the void of quiet sobs.
“She usually isn’t just… I really upset her.” Your eyes fell to the floor, ashamed, as Abby kept your head tilted up with her thumb and index finger.
“What did you do? If I may ask.” She moved to get more powder on the sponge, before dabbing it back onto your skin.
“I…” You hesitated, “snuck out to see someone.”
Abby’s mouth moved into a grin, a mischievous look on her face. “Not that proper now, are you?” You grumbled at the question, not giving a proper answer. “I thought your mother was fine with you seeing bachelors? Your sister used to always sneak out at night before she was engaged.” Abby spoke, swiping the powder on your skin in soft sweeps.
“I’m not like my sister. These people aren’t bachelors.” You sighed, the obvious truth still hanging in the air. Abby’s eyes studied you, seeing the way you looked ashamed of yourself- she decided to leave it at that, finding the way you seemed to halt your tears good enough for now.
₊˚✧ ﾟ Knight! Abby who slowly becomes more protective over you, and ends up working overtime to watch over you whilst you go on dates with the boys your mother picks out.
₊˚✧ ﾟ Knight! Abby who actively asks to hear about each date, and enjoys the small remarks you make about each boy which always makes Abby laugh.
- Knight! Abby who notices how no one else besides her and your mum are allowed near your room.
₊˚✧ ﾟ Knight! Abby who becomes so invested in your life that she actively can sense when you enter and leave a room.
₊˚✧ ﾟ Knight! Abby who, after your first kiss, will suddenly become cold- never seeming to have any time to talk or help you anymore.
₊˚✧ ﾟ Knight! Abby who ends up getting cornered by you when she enters your room one morning, and quickly confesses how much she wants you; leading to a heated make out.
₊˚✧ ﾟ Knight! Abby who ‘accidentally’ stays in your room till late.
₊˚✧ ﾟ Knight! Abby who pulls you into dark corners and forgotten sections of the castle for a kiss or a quickie.
₊˚✧ ﾟ Knight! Abby who gets flustered easily and ends up almost revealing your relationship after you made a sly joke about how much she’s helped you.
₊˚✧ ﾟ Knight! Abby who gets increasingly jealous of every suitor you see.
₊˚✧ ﾟKnight! Abby who always intimidates any guy who tries to push it with you (leading to a celebratory thank you from yourself.)
₊˚✧ ﾟKnight! Abby who always knows what you want or where you are, making it hard to keep secrets from her.
₊˚✧ ﾟ Knight! Abby who is ultimately the best secret girlfriend ever! And definitely savors each moment with you like it's the last!
knight!abby x princess!reader part 1 here , part 3 here
Content: knight!abby x princess!reader, more angst than the last chapter hehe, no warnings for this chapter, no time period specified, abby referred to as abigail for a few chapters, afab!reader. MEN AND MINORS DNI.
Wc: 1,205
Chapter 2: Weak
Resonant clangs of sharp metal awoke you from your slumber. The unfamiliar sounds seemed to be coming from the castle grounds just outside your window.
You peeked at the scene below: two knights training, their swords attracting and repelling with each calculated move.
Finally, the smaller of the two yielded, his neck almost met with the piercing edge of his opponents sword.
They sheathed their swords and removed their helmets, revealing Abigail as the victor. You were a lot more interested now. She untucked her long blonde braid from within her armour as she conversed with the other knight with a stern countenance, probably commenting on the flawed moves he made during the fight.
Your eyes were glued to her, infatuated with the power she exuded. It was rare for you to see her in full head to toe armour - she only wore it for training and battle and at other times she wore casual dress or a gambeson.
It was too early, before sunrise in fact, so you resumed your slumber.
——
Your day was free of any royal duties so you returned to the field, this time with Arod- you’re riding horse- accompanied by Abigail and her horse Broiefort.
She supervised your free time, which only frustrated you when you desired time alone, but you took what you could get and alone time with Abigail didn’t sound that bad.
You knew riding at full speed on Arod was strictly forbidden but this was a vast field and you’d seen how fast Arod could ride; you couldn’t pass up that offer.
Your lilac gown rippled through the wind like water as Arod took off. A giggle escaped you as you clung onto him, nearly falling off as he sped through the field and into the deep verdure forest. You breathed in the fresh air, closing your eyes as your horse followed the path his heart desired. If only you could be so free.
Abigail’s eyes widened, her heart nearly beat out of her chest as she saw how fast Arod galloped away. She clicked her tongue and squeezed her calves around Broiefort, signalling him to match your speed.
Abigail panicked, adrenaline rushing through her body. You on the other hand felt your heart swell with fulfilment. You leaned into the ephemeral liberty, slowly rising into proper riding posture and embracing the wind in your hair, the slight pinch of the cold on your nose from the river nearby. You felt like your own person for once. You smiled, teeth bearing the cold of the biting wind.
Abigail surpassed you, cutting you off with a sharp turn. Your horse immediately stopped, hooves sliding across the gravelly earth at the impact.
You smiled up at your knight, excitement still buzzing through you. She was cross, in fact more than cross- she was livid!
“Dismount! Now!” she commanded.
You were stunned, you’d never seen her act like that in front of you.
Your feet met the ground with a small jump. She followed, tying both Arod’s and Broiefort’s reigns to a nearby tree.
Her chest was heaving, more from pure worry than exertion “Have you gone mad?!”.
You laughed, breathless- a sound closer to shock than humour. She’s finally stopped addressing you with royal titles.
“Finally got the hang of it, Anderson?”
Her features twist in confusion, what are you talking about?
A smug smile plasters itself on your lips and it’s only then that Abigail comes back to Earth.
Fuck.
“My sincerest apologies your royal highness” she kneels, steel knee plates hitting the soft soil.
You sigh, you shouldn’t have said anything at all. Your existence without any royal titles - if only just to Abigail- was short lived. Her cheeks are overtaken with a violent blush, you’ve never seen her so flustered- you find it adorable.
She rises, attempts to collect herself, and resumes the great lecture she was about to give you “Princess, you cannot just ride off without my supervision!”
“Abigail, I can handle myself! I’m not as delicate as I present myself to be!”
Abigail cocks a brow, as if to disagree and it infuriates you. The strongest, most valiant knight in the Kingdom questions your strength making it certain you have none at all. “No one sees me for who I am!” you suddenly yell. The sound is ragged and low, an insolent sound you’ve never dared to share with your family.
The attack isn’t entirely directed towards Abigail, however. Your father and mother should’ve taken the brunt of it for their insulting and pathetic expectations of what a princess should be.
And, yet, you fall right into their palms at how much you fear them. How much you conceal your inner self and conform to their humiliating standards: all soft and passive, always the epitome of perfection, waiting for the perfect man to submit to.
You hate how deceptive and weak you are. Abigail’s right. It hits you like a lighting strike, you’re everything you swore you weren’t. You’ve become just what your father hoped you’d be. Obedient, lacking identity, malleable.
You fall to your knees, utterly stupefied at the realisation that you’ve fabricated your own sense of strength. What have you ever accomplished on your own?
A single tear slips down your cheek. You’re weak. You have nothing but weakness. How will you ever leave this place if that’s all you’ve got?
Abigail freezes as she watches you beat yourself up internally. She can’t touch you unless to protect you from harm. She’s not responsible for any emotional problems you might face. She’s not obligated to help. So why does she want to wipe away your tears?
You clamp your mouth shut as a violent sob wracks your entire body. It’s just become clear to you that you’re never going to escape.
This Kingdom will always hold you captive.
Abigail stands guard faced away from you, giving you the privacy you need. She wouldn’t let her stupid sympathy get in the way of her knighthood.
She hears another broken sob leave your lips and it feels like a punch to the ribs.
…sympathy? Is that what it is?
Maybe she-
Abigail shuts the thought down before it can develop. A knight cannot be soft, cannot have any sort of…partiality for another. She must remain unfazed by your struggles, no matter how severe they may be or how intensely she may want to interfere.
You lift yourself off the ground and find the stain of soil damp on your lilac dress from where your knees met the earth. You sniffle and wipe your tears, hoping the moments tension and awkwardness passes. You’re grateful that Abigail turned away, you wouldn’t have wanted her to see you break down like that -even more pathetic than you’ve just found yourself to be.
The ride back is silent and purposefully slow, especially after the incident with Arod less than an hour ago. As the sun lowers a chill seeps into the open air.
You ride, side by side, the soft movement of hooves on grass makes the silence somewhat bearable.
You dread returning to the castle and passing your mother with a dirtied dress, cracking the ever-still image of her perfect little girl.
Content: knight!abby x princess!reader, slow burn, light angst, hurt/comfort, no warnings for this chapter, no time period specified, abby referred to as abigail for a few chapters, fluff, sorry it's taken so long for this part to be released <3.
check out my master list here for more Abby and Sevika fics.
Wc: 1779
Part 3: Cut the wound deeper
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A week had passed since you last visited the field.
More suitors came and left, more lectures from the King and Queen passed and for the first time in your adult life you submitted to the predetermined flow of royal life.
You resorted to reading in your room to avoid actually having to spend time with Abigail alone. You were humiliated, unpleased with yourself and most concerning, you felt hollow; deflated. Your vigour to fight, to rebel -no matter how small the impact may be- had vanished.
Unexpectedly, a knock sounded at your door.
The person on the other side entered without announcing who they were. So, naturally, you assumed it was your mother. You frantically hide the book in your hands under your pillow, replacing it with an embroidery hoop instead- your mother encouraged more lady-like activities and forbade reading as it didnt attract suitors.
“My dear daughter” she started, the words felt insincere from her. “You look rather pallid” her nose scrunched slightly in thinly veiled displeasure “you must take a turn about the garden, put some life back into your skin before the last few suitors arrive tomorrow” she smiled. You suppress a dramatic huff and follow her orders with a smile just as fake as hers.
You don’t bother arguing against her, being able to recognise by now when one of her suggestions is really a command.
-
As you take a stroll around the castle gardens, you try not to still feel as dejected as last week. Abigail’s firm footsteps echo yours but you try not to pay her any attention. Today you don’t talk as much as she prefers. She likes the sound of your voice, specifically your intonation and the way your lips form softer sounding words.
You walk into the conservatory on a whim and feel the humidity of the greenhouse immediately. As you observe the giant plants and vivid colours you feel uncomfortably warm, the sheer scarf that sits over your shoulders and chest adds to the unnecessary heat so you simply remove it.
Abigail chokes on air, trying to rip her eyes from your bare skin.
You don’t notice, too busy enamoured by a flower that matches the lavender of your dress.
Although you’ve made your rounds through the castle grounds you feel unsatisfied. The castle gardeners are superlatively talented in their craft but this organised formulation of nature suffocates you. You yearn for the freedom of the fields.
“Abigail, tell the servants to fetch the horses. I miss the field”.
She obeys and minutes later Arod and Broiefort are brought to you.
You hoist yourself up on Arod and ride to your sacred spot.
—-
Rain must’ve come in the night, the grass is damp and mud collects at your shoes as you walk. Abigail urged you to get back on Arod so your dress could remain clean, but that wasn’t the point of the field.
Abigail felt wrong in her counsel already knowing that you wouldn’t agree with it but she continued on, just wanting to spare you any scoldings from the Queen.
She dismounted Broiefort and walked a short distance behind you. Watching you walk through the tall grass, your fingers brushing along each viridian blade.
You stopped to stroke Arod, his chestnut hair silky under your touch.
“I’m sorry Abigail” you lower your head in shame.
“I shouldn’t have shouted at you like that”.
Abigail stays silent for a moment. Your breathing halts, anxious to her response.
Her pink lips form a tender smile and you finally exhale.
“I’m sorry for shouting at you too, my princess”
Something shifts in the air, a truce forms between you: I’ll forgive you if you forgive me.
You both grin, a silent agreement settled amongst you.
“See why I like this place so much? It’s healing!” you banter, although there was some truth to your words.
Abigail raises a brow and tilts her head “Is that what you call last week? Healing?” she chuckles. The slight rumble in her low tone makes your stomach flip.
You remembered your outburst in the woods one week ago. The mortifying memories inundated your mind, causing a wave of embarrassment to wash over you.
Your eyes turned to the ground for a moment.
“I call that purging. And purging is a part of the healing process, no?” you press Abigail, feeding the playful air between you.
She laughs. A sweet, deep vibration that you haven’t heard from her before. It seems genuine and you want to believe it.
Abigail yields and responds with an amused “Fine”, an almost imperceptible smirk working on her lips.
The sun shines fiercely in the afternoon sky. You walk onwards and find a comfortable spot in the shade, under the protection of a willow tree.
You brought a picnic blanket and a basket along with you, packed with seasonal fruit, bread and cheese brought up by the kitchen staff.
After laying everything out, with the help of Abigail you sit and enjoy the coolness of the shade. She watches you reach for a book that you snuck into the picnic basket at the last second.
Usually, her job would be to stand guard at a short distance and observe your leisure, scanning the area for potential threats, but over the past few months that she’s been entrusted with protecting you, you’ve convinced her to sit or stand next to you instead.
You’ve always found it freakish how your primary guards loom. The sound of their breath still audible, their eyes always watching and yet, they do not penetrate your most inner world.
You prefer the way you and Abigail seem to work around things.
A question itches her mind.
If this question were to arise three full moons ago, Abigail wouldn’t dare ask it. However, over time she’s felt herself drift further and further away from the King’s watchful eyes. She’s noticed it and yet she’s chosen to bury it within the depths of her mind, a single primal urge blinding her of her undying allegiance to the crown: her utter need to learn more about you.
The question itself isn’t important, the audacity embedded within it is what jeopardises her very existence.
She holds back for a moment, not wanting to interrupt the chapter you’re currently reading through. Once you set the book back into the basket she asks the seemingly weightless question “Hasn’t the Queen forbade you from reading, my princess?”.
You hesitate your response, unsure if Abigail is capable of bending the rules even by the slightest inch. You try your luck and whisper “What she doesn’t know won’t hurt her”.
She lets out an incredulous and amused breath, watching you smile in wicked satisfaction.
Abigail lets out a sigh of relief and tries her luck once more as she tentatively asks “Are you okay? After last week?”. She immediately regrets it, hounding herself in her mind- why would you ask such an imposing question?
You meet her soft round eyes and immediately break, a wobble stirs your bottom lip. You let out a defeated sound “I don’t know who I am”.
Abigail feels strangely familiar, like a long lost friend and the moment you open your mouth you can’t stop. She feels like home, so naturally you begin to confide in her.
“I thought I was strong, different, destined for another life, but I’m not my delusions” you refrain from giving away too much detail, afraid Abigail would rush to the King at the slightest suspicion that you plan to run far away some day…or at least hope to.
You continue “All I have is my understanding of myself and even that seems to be a lie. I’m a stranger to myself”.
Abigail doesn’t respond just yet, she listens. Waits for more. You smile, no one ever waits -outside of obligation- for you, and this conversation was something beyond titles and obligation completely. In fact, this kind of communication between knights and royalty was entirely forbidden.
The mood turns melancholy quick, “this is probably pathetic to you, huh? Spoiled princess cries about problems someone else wishes they had” you laugh, although the sound is bitter and devoid of humour completely.
Abigail turns her head away for a moment, should she cut the wound deeper?
After a short deliberation a deep sigh leaves her lungs. That decision was too easy, she must’ve been thinking about letting the final bolt loose for too long.
“No, no. It’s not pathetic at all” she speaks gently, cobalt eyes anywhere but on yours. “Sometimes…I feel like I don’t know who I am either” she confesses.
Your eyebrows raise.
“But you seem all put together?”
“Years of practice, years of knighthood” she dryly explains, unimpressed with her answer.
A small pause sits comfortably in the air. This whole conversation you’ve noticed she hasn’t used any formalities, which makes you pleased and makes her words seem more sincere. You choose not to comment on it in fear that she’ll suddenly remember and begin using them again.
“Tell me more?” you ask in the softest voice.
Abigail nods and leans back against the trunk of the abundant willow tree. You mirror her actions and let yourself relax at the sound of her soothing smooth voice.
“I don’t know who I am when I’m away from the castle or out of my armour. What am I without my knighthood? Something that can be ripped from me at any second…” her eyes flicker to you for a fleeting moment as she says that last line, so quick you almost miss it. But you did catch it. And for some reason, it stays with you.
“I don’t recognise myself without my armour” she continues, and something in you breaks. You don’t even think when your hands wrap around her large muscled frame.
Your cheek rests on her shoulder as you bring her warmth and comfort. Abigail stills under your sacred touch. She shouldn’t be doing this. She should’ve never opened up to you.
A thousand thoughts flicker through her brain at lightning speed, warning her to back away from you and ,yet, she does the polar opposite.
At first she stiffens under your touch, unsure how to reciprocate the action. Then, slowly, her arms begin to raise. You feel her gloved hands smooth over your sides and back and your heart beats so rapidly you’re afraid she might be able to feel it.
The birds sing, a soft wind causes the willow tree that encircles you to sway with a gentle rustle. You’re chest to chest now, so close you can feel her breath leaving her.
You want the moment to last forever. Her touch has a protectiveness…a secure hold, that makes you feel important in a way you’ve never felt before. Not important to the advancement of the Kingdom, important solely to her. As a person , not a princess.
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Hope you enjoyed! Pls repost if you can, as it helps my work reach a wider audience 🤍🗡️⚔️
Also my heart dropped just as I posted this because I accidentally deleted it seconds after 😭 I’m so lucky I reposted it straight after so I could just copy my work instead of losing it forever 🙏
