The Lovelorn King - Chapter 2
Books and their Covers.
Bowser x Reader
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King Bowser.
King.
You’re standing in the presence of a King.
Old teachings that have been stitched into the very walls of your mind almost surge forth, and all at once, you find yourself resisting the urge to drop immediately into a curtsey as countless years of rigorous training in etiquette come rushing back to you.
You’re caught wildly off guard. Peach had made no mention of another monarch occupying a neighbouring kingdom. It hadn’t even crossed your mind that Junior was being serious when he boasted that his father was a king.
Still poised with his chest pushed out and his chin tipped back, Bowser’s molten gaze is busy studying your face, no doubt waiting for you to react accordingly to his grand declaration.
Technically, as a queen, you and the colossal Koopa are on equal footing, so you’re under no real obligation to bow to him.
But Bowser doesn’t know that.
For all he’s aware, you’re just another woman who boasts no royal heritage, which is a façade you’d quite like to maintain until you absolutely have to reveal your true nature.
Fine.
… You haven’t had to do this since you last addressed your father…
It stings your pride a little to bend low on your knees and drop your head in a graceful curtsey, entirely missing how the King’s jaw pops open and goes slack with shock.
You’re left with an especially bad taste in your mouth for showing deference to the father of your juvenile kidnapper, but you’re not about to start hurling around accusations just yet.
Here you are, all alone in the fortress of a foreign monarch, unarmed and unguarded.
This seems the kind of situation that best calls for tact, not tantrums.
You’ll have to play this cautiously.
“Your majesty,” you gush, straightening up and smoothing out your skirts, “It’s a… it’s a pleasure to meet you.”
Cordial. Polite. The barest show of common decency you can afford.
And yet… Bowser is peering down at you as if you’ve spontaneously sprouted wings.
His brows sit high on his scaly forehead as he blinks at you owlishly, working his jaw open and shut around silent words before he gives his head an abrupt shake, as if to rouse himself from a stupor.
It’s a little alarming, you’ll admit.
Slowly enough that it borders on cautious, he asks, “It… it is?”
And then, in a sudden burst of motion that makes you flinch, he draws himself up again and plants his hands on each hip, letting out a gruff bark of laughter. “I mean, of course it is!”
Everything about him is prodigious, even the slightest twitch of his hands is frighteningly noticeable, and you’re ashamed to admit that you flinch back at his exclamation, unwittingly allowing a tiny gasp to escape between your clenched teeth.
Clinging to his father’s leg like a limpet, Junior peers up at you with his bushy brows furrowed in thought, scrutinising your reaction. After a second, he shifts, patting a palm firmly against Bowser’s solid calf and tilting his head up to whine, “Papa, I think she’s scared.”
You might have refuted him if Bowser hadn’t so suddenly deflated at that moment, his lordly manner all but evaporating as he scans your face with those wild and terrible eyes.
You must have quite the look about you because just like that, the King’s eyebrows launch up his forehead and he ducks his head, half crouching to bring his muzzle level with your face. “Scared?” he echoes, trailing off and lifting his eyes to the guards at your back, locking onto their weapons like a homing missile. The spear heads are still trained on your vulnerable spine.
In a second of misdirected anger, Bowser’s temper flares up, aimed, not at himself, but at his troops.
“Hey!” he barks at the guards, all of whom flinch and cower backwards as their king sweeps a ferocious scowl across their ranks, “Lower your weapons! The heck’re you trying to do - threatening a lady!?”
They recoil in an instant with a chorus of whimpers that hardly befit their once intimidating bluster.
They all but throw their weapons to the ground as they scramble backwards, away from both you and their King.
Twisting about to stare at them over your shoulder in bewilderment, you’re unprepared to feel a warm, scaly paw sweep your hand up, nor for another paw to land on top of it, trapping your appendage between each of Bowser’s immense palms before you can even begin to think of tugging yourself free.
Letting out a gasp, you whip your head back to the King, the muscles in your arms turning stiff with unease. He, however, doesn’t seem to notice your rigid limbs.
In a flash, Bowser’s wrathful eyes turn soft, and a buoyant smile pushes at his round and ample cheeks. “There you go,” he hums pleasantly, giving the back of your hand an astonishingly gentle pat, “No need to fret, my dear. You’re in no danger within these walls. You have my word.”
You can feel the sweat gathering in the cup of your palm, stuck as it is amongst the cage of scaly fingers.
Down beside Bowser’s leg, Junior pipes up, “See? Told you Papa’d take good care of you!”
The King has yet to turn his attention away from your face, too preoccupied with blinking dreamily down at you, his nostrils fluttering open and shut around every breath he draws into those almighty lungs.
You get the distinct impression you’re being sniffed.
“I see you’ve already met my son.”
Somehow, he manages to lean even closer to you until all you can see is his vast, smiling muzzle, armed to the gunnels with fangs as long as your thumb.
Swallowing audibly, you send a flat look down at Junior, who sees fit to grin shamelessly back at you.
“Oh, yes,” you utter thinly, “He’s a real charmer, your boy.”
Evidently oblivious to sarcasm, Bowser expels a lazy puff of steam from his nostrils, letting it waft over your face where it slithers between your parted lips and settles over your tongue with the taste of charcoal.
“Takes after his old man,” he purrs.
He’s keeping you held close enough that you can feel the ensuing thrum travel through your joined hands and spill across your ribcage.
This is getting wildly inappropriate. Regardless of whether he knows of your royal status, for Bowser to maintain this… this… proximity-! While his guards and a child watch on?
It’s scandalous.
It’s improper.
“…. Yes… I’m… I’m sure he does,” you croak uncertainly, struck by the sudden yearning to clear your throat. Swallowing back the urge, you give your hand a surreptitious tug, and after a few seconds, Bowser’s palms ease apart slightly, allowing you to slide your arm through the gap, concealing a sigh of relief. “But I’m afraid there’s… something I really must discuss with you.”
It takes just a second too long for his arms to fall back against his sides. “Oh?” he says, a curious, fiery brow sliding up his forehead as he finally sheds that dopey smile.
Offering him a nod, you take a calming breath and gesture towards the little Koopaling clinging to the giant’s leg. “It… well, it’s about your son.”
You hope that’ll be enough to get him to dismiss the guards behind you, given that it involves the boy, and would thusly indicate a private matter.
But once again, Bowser seems slow on the uptake.
You’re starting to notice a pattern there.
“Junior?” The king’s great snout tips down to acknowledge the young Koopa, who merely returns his father’s gaze with an innocent tilt of his head.
‘Butter wouldn’t melt in his mouth,’ you gripe to yourself.
Aloud, you speak up, “Yes, you see, I’m just a bit concerned about his… Well, I hate to be indelicate about this, but I think his behaviour needs to be addressed.”
You’re too adept at reading a room to miss how the Koopas behind you seem to draw a collective breath, the wooden handles of their spears creaking softly under tightening fists.
Undeterred, you forge on. “Now, while I don’t want to believe that Junior did anything with malicious intent, the fact remains, Your Majesty, that your son stole me away from my ship, the Bonhomous.”
“Stole you?”
Nodding sombrely, you shift to cradle your elbows and cast an anxious glance at the ground underfoot, muttering, “I’m afraid so. I have friends who must be looking for me by now… Captain Skip is probably beside herself with worry…”
Perhaps it should have clued you in on his true musings that Bowser doesn’t immediately react in the way any normal parent might upon learning their child has just kidnapped someone.
As it is, you’re too busy clutching your arms and trying not to breathe too loudly to put much stock into his disconcertingly mild reaction.
“S’that so?” Bowser thrums, deep as a fissure. He turns to quirk a single, flaming brow down at his son, “You take this nice lady from her ship?”
All eyes are on Junior now as he cocks his head at the king and nods, uttering a baffled, “Uh huh?” as if that’s the last question he ever expected to hear.
In response, Bowser presses his jaws together into a hard line and exhales a long, resonant hum through his nostrils. “I see…”
You’re surprised when he swivels his massive snout towards you again and his expression shifts, stretched wide by an appeasing grin. “Say, would you mind if I have a word with my son in private?”
Ah. Of course.
The tension in your shoulders eases a little at his acknowledgment of Junior’s misdemeanour. It makes sense not to cause a fuss in the throne room in front of a visitor.
Inclining your head, you offer the King a polite smile – a silent mark of approval and permission.
Returning your smile with a dip of his great, horned skull, he lays a hand on his son’s shell and ushers the koopaling towards the set of heavy, wooden doors they’d previously come through.
You watch on as their tails disappear through it and it swings shut behind them with an almighty thud, and just like that, you’re left to stand alone once again the company of several, scowling guards and their equally fearsome weapons.
And yet, more than accustomed to being the centre of attention during uncomfortable silences, you swing your hands behind your back and clasp them together, standing tall and patient, one ear trained on the doors ahead.
Several long and arduously slow minutes tick by.
There’s no shouting from beyond the wood, no crying or wailing, nor anything that would indicate an unpleasant conversation is taking place on the other side.
The smallest brush of shame makes its presence known on the walls of your chest. Is it fair of you to have expected the brute of a King to possess an equally tempestuous temper? Perhaps you ought to have better remembered the old morals regarding books and their covers.
Unexpectedly soon, the doors are thrust open again with an abrupt ‘slam!’ jolting you from your musings as the heavy wood strikes against stone walls.
Despite his decidedly explosive entrance, one glance at the King’s muzzle reveals a toothy grin as he comes lumbering back over to you with Junior bounding after him, barely keeping up with his father’s extensive stride.
It doesn’t escape your notice that the boy isn’t looking especially chastised.
“Hope we didn’t keep you for too long,” Bowser announces, trundling to a halt in front of you and dipping his head into a shallow gesture of apology, “You know, I’m loathe to keep a lady waiting.”
You can’t tell if the room’s tension dissipates at his return, or if it grows even thicker.
“It’s no trouble,” you reply thinly.
“So,” Bowser grunts, shifting his weight onto one, thick-set leg, “My son and I have had a little chat.”
A swift glance down at the Junior reveals knitted brows and a childish pout that scrunches up his muzzle as if he’s just eaten something especially sour.
Whatever his father said to him mustn’t have been to his taste.
You have to remind yourself to let out an unsteady breath before it can sit stagnant inside your lungs. “I see… A-and?”
Clasping his clawed hands together with a slap of scales, Bowser bobs his head eagerly up and down and declares, “Seems this whole thing’s just been one big misunderstanding.”
Even with years of practice at keeping your expression strictly unaffected, even you can’t stop an eyebrow from sliding up your forehead.
‘Misunderstanding.’ What a quaint way to refer to a kidnapping.
Deaf to your dubious silence and blind to the thin press of your lips, Bowser plops a meaty palm down on Junior’s head and smooths the young koopa’s ponytail back before he lets it spring up into its prior position – just as unruly and fiery as Junior himself.
True to form, the boy immediately curls his lips and lets out a tinny growl as he throws up his arms, attempting – fruitlessly - to shove Bowser’s hand off his head.
The King hardly pays his efforts a trace of attention, apparently far more preoccupied with beaming down at you as if there’s nothing amiss. “Boy here’s just a little enthusiastic about meetin’ new friends, is all. Ain’t’ya buddy?”
Giving a squeak of indignation, Junior finally succeeds in extracting himself from under his father’s encompassing hand. Arms folded tightly across a rotund, little chest, he scoots off to one side and tips his nose down towards his feet with a grumble, his scarlet brows stitched together across his forehead, casting shadows over beady, black eyes.
“Anyway,” the King adds, “Kid’s got something he wants to tell you…”
Sparing Junior an expectant look, you and Bowser wait for him to speak, yet the youngling seems content to remain stubbornly silent.
“C’mon, kiddo.” One of Bowser’s sizeable paws nudges against his son’s shell, coaxing him to take a step towards you.
Heaving out a petulant sigh, the boy eventually concedes and allows himself to be prodded a little closer, though he looks for all the world as if he wants nothing more than to sink down behind his hunching shoulders and disappear.
“Junior,” his father rumbles, less of a warning and more gentle persuasion.
With far more effort than you imagine is strictly necessary, Junior slowly tilts his head up to look at you, sticking out his jaw in defiance. Yet despite the young koopa’s clear disinclination to speak, his voice is surprisingly solemn when he parts his lips to mumble, “M’sorry… For scarin’ you… And for takin’ you without askin’ first…”
Oh. Well, that’s… not quite what you expected.
As apologies go, you’ve definitely heard better. At least he sounds genuine.
Considering the inconvenience he’s cause you alone, you think you deserve a little more than a lacklustre apology. But then again, he’s young and he’s brash. And, true to his word, you haven’t been hurt.
Leaning back on your heel, you appraise the boy thoughtfully.
Examining the situation as a whole reminds you that he and his father haven’t really harboured any done anything to you with malicious intent. In fact, their guards seem more of a threat to you than Bowser and his son. But that’s to be expected. You’re a strange face in the castle of a King. That alone warrants caution.
This whole situation could have been a lot worse.
A hell of a lot worse.
Bowser is eyeing you carefully – you can feel his stare burning a hole into your forehead, but Junior has returned his gaze to the ground, shame curling his stubby tail up around his leg.
Sucking down a quiet breath, you remind yourself why you left the safety of your kingdom in the first place.
You’re here to forge alliances. To make friends. Your kingdom needs allies.
You refuse to rule with the same uncompromising brutality your father had. And if you can forgive him, you can certainly forgive a child.
Besides, it’ll hardly do to fall out with Bowser and his son over a transgression that never even seemed insidious in the first place.
Hiking up the hem of your skirts, you lower yourself down onto a knee in front of Junior, ducking your head to try and meet his downcast eyes. When he only shrinks a little further into his shell, a patient smile springs to your cheeks.
Your father would discipline you for being too soft with the same hand he used to drag your kingdom to wreck and ruin. You imagine he’d be disappointed if he were here now, watching on as you prepare to accept the apology of a creature who’d kidnapped you.
But he isn’t here now. So, you can hardly disappoint him, can you?
“Thank you, Junior,” you tell the young koopa in earnest, “It’s very good of you to apologise.”
You hardly finish your sentence before the boy’s head snaps up, his dark eyes bursting open wide with surprise.
“It is?” he asks.
Why that should come as a shock to him is beyond you, but… “Of course?” you reply, amused, “It’s the mark of a great ruler to know when you’ve done something wrong, and to accept responsibility in the aftermath.”
You hadn’t thought it would be possible, but somehow, the boy’s eyes grow even wider, sparkling in the light of an overhead chandelier as all the embarrassment he’d carried earlier evaporates like water off a lit stove.
Then, quick as a whip, he spins around to beam up at his father and, to your private delight, begins swinging his tail from side to side.
“You hear that, Papa!?” he barks, jamming a thumb into his proud chest, “I’m already a great ruler! I told you she’s cool!”
Flicking your gaze up the length of Bowser’s titanic body, you meet his stare and offer him a sheepish smile, lifting one shoulder in a shrug.
The King, for his part, is peering back at you with a strange expression lighting up his rugged features, something akin to both veneration and contentment.
Had he expected a different response?
He holds your gaze for a long moment before sparing his son a fond look. “Well, of course!” he announces, “I could’a told you that!”
“Yeah, but… you’re my pops! You gotta say stuff like that.”
The King’s shoulders quake as he laughs, shaking his head and stepping around his son to stretch an enormous paw down towards you.
You only just refrain from flinching.
Bowser remains stooped over for several long moments while you stare at his hand as if it might spring to life and close around your throat like a bear trap. You nearly kick yourself when it suddenly occurs you that he only means to help you to your feet.
Flashing him a grateful look, you hesitate for one last blink before tentatively reaching up to place your hand atop the pad of a single, plump finger. Again, you’re taken aback to find him warm to the touch, though he seems to grow ever warmer under your palm as he gingerly pulls you to your feet again, his eyes locked on where your hand meets his.
“I-uh…” He falls silent, throat bobbing as he swallows around a smile. “I hope this means Junior’s forgiven?”
Hm. You suppose the King, like you, had been hoping to make a good first impression.
To be perfectly frank, up until your unconventional acquisition, his son had been quite endearing.
Junior is still bouncing on the balls of his feet between you and his father, prompting you to lay an absentminded hand on the koopaling’s shell, stilling him for a moment as you reply, “Children are usually very easy to forgive. I’m sure you and I have made our fair share of mistakes when we were young.”
Bowser lets out an abrupt snort of laughter and raises a hand up to scratch at the underside of his chin. “Ha! Yeah, you got that right… Nothin’ I’d want him to learn about though.”
“Likewise,” you concur with a wink that sends a pleasant shudder rolling over the scales beneath the King’s shell.
Bowser can hardly believe his luck. This is going, dare he say, rather well.
You haven’t yet screamed at the sight of him, though at first you’d looked a little green around the gills… No doubt you were simply overcome with reverence at seeing such a fine, handsome specimen up close!
Junior seems to like you, and you in turn have been kinder to his boy than…
Huh… Than anyone outside the family ever has.
You even willingly touched Bowser’s hand!
And you smiled at him.
Him! Bowser!
Stars… How long… How long has he spent trying to coax a smile from Peach? How much time has he wasted showering her in praise and finery only to receive the venom of her glare and a shoulder as cold as the Ice Lands in return?
For anyone else, a smile might be such a mundane occurrence. Negligible.
But to Bowser?
It’s everything.
He wonders briefly if Junior had pulled you down from Heaven itself.
Of course, as he’s often found regarding matters of the heart, good things rarely last.
It happens all too abruptly.
You draw your hand from Junior’s shell and drop it down to your side, fiddling with a fold in your dress as you cast a tentative glance over your shoulder and eye the enormous doors at the back of the room. The alluring tilt of your lips starts to fade.
Bowser finds he misses the sight.
“Well,” you start, exhaling roughly, “I imagine I’ve taken up enough of your time. I should really be getting back to my friends…”
At first, he’s too busy mourning the smile you’d aimed his way to register the meaning behind your words.
In fact, it’s Junior who calls his father’s attention to them.
Spinning about to gape up at you, the little koopa’s grin vanishes. “You wanna leave!? But you can’t!” he cries out, utterly crestfallen.
Leave?
Bowser’s thundering heart gives a sudden, unexpected lurch.
Leave!?
No… No! It was going so well! What went wrong!?
What did he do wrong?
There’s something unfathomably cruel in the act of giving him such a fleeting sniff of happiness after so long, only to rip it from his claws like his heart is something expendable.
Without warning, the King throws his enormous arms up as if to reach out and grab you, prompting you to release an unintelligible exclamation and retreat several steps backwards, clasping your hands to your chest in alarm.
Bowser’s colossal body jolts to a stop the moment your mouth bursts open, and you gasp, shocked.
“Uh…” The King blinks dumbly, flicking his molten gaze between your startled expression and his arms that are still held outstretched before him. Seconds later, he tries to flash you a lopsided grin and hastily drops his arms, chuckling deep in his chest. “I mean, Junior’s right. You can’t go now! You’ve only just got here! M’not about to turf a lady out into the Dark Lands!”
Dark Lands… Even the name alone sends fingers of ice creeping up the length of your spine.
Still, you reason with yourself, Bowser means well. He’s just concerned. Nothing to be afraid of…
“Whilst I appreciate your concern…” you sigh, raising a hand to rub at your temple to stave of the beginnings of a headache, “Junior frightened the life out of the Captain, and her crew.” Shoulders slumping, you add, “I have to go. I have to let them know I’m okay.”
You have a terrible feeling that if you don’t appease your faithful Captain, there’ll be a diplomatic incident.
Junior however, doesn’t seem to grasp the urgent need for your departure.
Screwing his face up, he cranes his neck back to peer up at the underside of Bowser’s chin. “Papa…” he whines, reminding you, again, that you’re dealing with a young child.
Hoping that the King might help you appease his son, you follow Junior’s gaze up to meet Bowser’s eye.
But what you find is enough to freeze the blood solid in your veins.
Everything about the gigantic koopa has pivoted on its axis.
There’s not a trace of warmth to be found in his blood-red stare anymore. Only a scalding heat that could burn cities to ash in a single blink.
It’s a dangerous stare, filled with great and terrible rage.
You’ve never seen a volcano erupt in real life, but you can imagine that it can’t be unlike seeing the gradual glow of hellfire sparking to life in Bowser’s flaring nostrils and spilling out from between the tiny gaps in his clenched fangs.
It frightens you. Shakes your resolve.
You hate that alongside the bone-numbing fear that suddenly sweeps through your body like ice water comes an awful sense of inevitability. At the back of your mind, you can hear a voice that sounds distinctively like your father. ‘Here,’ he seems to taunt you, ‘Here is the monster you first expected to see. Does it sting you to know you should have judged this book by its cover?’
You’ve been itching to leave from the moment you got here. Perhaps now it’s finally time to beat your hasty retreat, electing to feel guilty about hurting Junior’s feelings later.
Bowser’s fiery man has just begun to bristle in the sudden influx of heat wafting off his neck when you at last find the gumption to spin around on your heel and march purposefully at the koopa guards, all of whom have thus far remained perfectly silent behind you.
A growl rolls across the room, low enough that it could have been a grumble of thunder chasing at your heels. But you know better.
Maintaining your composure is difficult, but you aim what you hope is an authoritative glare at the guards, knowing full-well that you’ve never been able to master an effective scowl.
Besides, for as scary as you can try to look, your efforts fall woefully short of the abject horror their monstrous King can strike into their hearts.
At the briefest flicker of Bowser’s lips, they swiftly snap to attention, falling into a line and crossing their spears over the next soldier’s to form a solid wall of scaly flesh between you and the far door to what you assume must be an escape.
The clack of your court shoes on the stone floor scrape to a halt in front of them. You cast each koopa a wide-eyed glance, and they match the look with defiance, silently challenging you to try and break through their ranks.
Your gorge rises, your heart starts to pound, not unlike a wild animal set loose behind your ribcage.
To your back, Bowser’s cumbersome footfalls tromp closer, and when he speaks, there’s a dangerous edge to his voice, barely held back behind rows of crushing teeth.
“Maybe I wasn’t clear enough before,” comes the low, throaty drone that thumps in your chest with every syllable, “When I tell you, you can’t go, I expect you to obey my wishes.”
“O…Obey?!” you bark before you can stop yourself, grabbing your skirts so you don’t trip over them when you whirl about to face the King, “I beg your pardon!?”
You forget, just for a moment, that he’s almost twice your height, and much, much more formidable.
Gone is the cordial rapport. Gone is the slowly easing atmosphere.
Trepidation has been replaced by terror, coupled with a healthy burst of indignation.
Towering above you only feet away, Bowser’s jaws twist up into a toothy smile-come-snarl, utterly devoid of any pretence at friendliness. “You don’t have to beg, you only have to stay.”
Bridling, you ball your hands into fists and retort, “With all due respect, Lord Bowser, you can’t rightly keep me here!”
“And with all due respect, Princess,” he purrs back, “You’re in my kingdom. I can do whatever I like.”
The situation is quickly turning from dire to deadly.
But then again, you’ve faced down a bully king once before and come out of it alive. For the sake of your people, you’re going to have to do it again. Though you despise how leaden your tongue has grown, you try to stand tall and keep your voice from wavering. “Lord Bowser,” you state firmly, tipping your chin back, jaw tight with apprehension, “Please, be reasonable-“
“Reasonable! I’m very reasonable,” he snaps, thrusting a clawed finger at you. You’re beginning to see where Junior gets it from…. “You’re the one being unreasonable!”
Aghast, you sputter, “I have been nothing but cordial about this whole affair! If I want to go back to my ship, the very least you could do it let me leave without a fuss!”
At that Bowser leans his snout down towards you, his eyes flashing like rings of burning embers. “You’re not going anywhere,” he all but seethes.
From the corners of your vision, you see his colossal arms slowly rise up to either side of your hips, fingers splayed out, poised to snatch.
Standing almost nose to snout with the King, you narrow your eyes at him. “If you dare…” you hiss waspishly, “…lay a single claw on me, so help me, I’ll-!”
Perhaps predictably, you nearly choke on your next words when Bowser grabs you around the waist and hoists you unceremoniously up off your feet.
For a dizzying moment, you’re rendered utterly disoriented, leaving your guts behind as you’re swung up through the air. A painful jolt brings you crashing back down to stability. Your stomach lands across a warm, solid surface hard enough to knock the air out of your lungs and something heavy falls over the back of your thighs, pinning you on your belly.
Dazed, you blink several times before the world around you stabilizes once more, only to find yourself squinting down at Junior’s upturned face. “What…?” You push a hand out to try and reorient yourself but at that moment, your world begins to move.
“Gah! What the-!?” Blurting out a strangled yelp, you slap your palms down on a rough-hewn surface and gape past an array of ivory spikes at the ground as it passes by in a blur underneath you.
He wouldn’t….
“Sorry about this, princess,” a gruff voice thrums just behind your head.
Why, of all the rotten, audacious-!
“Bowser!” you shriek, squirming beneath the weight of his scaly palm, “Put me down! You brute!”
Flopped helplessly over the koopa’s shoulder, you kick out with your legs and pound your fists against the lip of his shell as you’re carried off through the doors that he and Junior had come in by, leaving the throne room, Bowser's son, and the guards far behind you.
Vast hallways pass by, as do the unfamiliar faces of gawking koopas, all snapping to attention as their King passes only for their salutes to falter when they catch sight of you, their beaks dropping open in shock.
You make sure to aim a murderous scowl at every single one of them.
"Where are you taking me!?" you demand as Bowser begins to ascend a winding, stone staircase.
His step never falters, not even bearing the weight of a fully-grown woman across his shoulder. "Somewhere you can cool off until you're ready to join me for dinner," he replies shortly.
"I don't understand," you cry, curling your hands into fists and pressing them desperately against his immoveable shell as it finally dawns on you just how much peril you're really in, "Why are you doing this!?"
Squeezing his claws just a little too tightly into the fabric of your dress, Bowser wrinkles his nose and roars, "Because I'm sick n' tired of you people leaving me before you even give me a chance!"
"A chance? A chance at what?!" you squawk, incredulous, "What’re you talking about!? I was just trying to get back to my friends!"
Apparently having decided he's been too forthcoming, the King stuffs his lips together and steps off the staircase, dragging his tail noisily over the ground as he goes.
More of the same, dark corridors flit by as you continue to struggle, walls of basalt illuminated by fiery sconces that cause Bowser’s shadow to flicker and bulge eerily across the floor underfoot until, all too soon, he comes to a standstill at the end of a hallway and turns to face an enormous, wooden door set into the wall.
Without much preamble, the koopa raises a single foot into the air and thrusts it forwards, kicking the door open with such a force that your teeth rattle in your skull and the echo of wood slamming against stone ricochets off down the corridor, eventually fading to silence.
Exhaling a breath from his immense lungs, Bowser carries you, still kicking and squirming, across a well-lit chamber towards the four-poster bed that takes up a prominent position against the western wall.
“Here we are,” he grumbles, fastening both of his hands around your hips and drawing you up off his shoulder with an undeniable care and lowering you onto the silken bedsheets in front of him, ignoring the tiny fists that start to beat furiously against his forearms, “You should be comfortable in here.”
Thick, formidable claws rake gently over your dress as he withdraws his hands.
The very second you realise you’re free, you shoot backwards across the bed like a bullet fired from a gun, scrambling to the other side and almost tumbling over backwards onto the carpet below before pausing long enough to slide your legs down to the floor first, shoving yourself off the sheets and staggering away from the King, all the while keeping the bed firmly between the two of you.
Bowser’s jaw is set, his eyes adhered to you as your spine hits the stone wall behind you.
With nowhere left to retreat to, you plant your hands against the solid surface at your back and stare, wide-eyed at the koopa, your chest rising and falling in rapid succession.
He, in turn, appears lost for words, working his jaw in circles whilst he peers back at you with his brows tilted up at the centre of his forehead.
The standoff continues for an indiscernible amount of time.
Koopa King and hidden Queen lock eyes from across the chamber, neither of you seeing fit to break the overbearing silence that has draped itself like a lead weight over your shoulders.
When at last, Bowser parts his jaws and draws in a breath, you flinch, knocking your head against the wall behind you, all pretence of poise and dignity abandoning you here, where you need them most.
You’re not so proud that you can’t admit you’re afraid.
The sudden change in Bowser’s temperament had been so immediate, so jarring, and that’s what scares you more than his size, his fangs or his claws.
He isn’t just powerful, he’s unpredictable.
The King eyes you for a moment longer before he gives a sudden soft snort and, to both your surprise and relief, he begins to trundle back towards the door.
Grasping the wooden frame in one, gargantuan hand, Bowser hesitates, turning his snout over a shoulder to fix you in his sights once again and pinning you to the wall with nothing more than a look.
“Y’know,” he begins, his voice uncharacteristically soft and almost lost to the high ceilings and the distance between you, “I’m not a bad guy, really.”
You know that he's undoubtably waiting for you to say something, but all you can muster up is a scornful huff, delving deep into the very last reserves of your courage to pull out a reply. “You’ll forgive me if I find that claim absurd.”
Bowser’s only response is a gentle hum accompanied by the slightest nod of his head.
Then, without another word, he drags his eyes away from you and slinks from the room, pulling the door shut behind his tail with a damning thud.
