thinking about royalty au!sukuna and royalty au!reader…
royal au!sukuna who is a cold and unfeeling prince, next in line to be king of his kingdom and has fought in countless of wars. each one coming out undefeated and sharper from the years of training and isolation.
royal au!sukuna who is forced to betroth royal au!reader in hopes of getting him a dutiful queen who will be able to play her role as his placeholder till the next comes.
royal au!reader who is a rebellious princess from another kingdom, who is forced to accepted the engagement, out of reasons of ‘settling down’ and becoming more ‘royal-like’ - fulfilling her birth rite duty to becoming someone’s wife and someone else’s mother.
royal au!reader who decides she will do everything in her means to live her life the way she wants and somehow try to make royal au!sukuna’s life a living nightmare.
royal au!sukuna who has to try to not poison, stab or choke royal au!reader to death at every inconvenience she pushes him into.
royal au!reader who has to try to juggle the massive mantle of being next in line to be queen of a kingdom she has never called home, while maintaining her own self-identity as reader and not just a princess or someone’s wife.
all while somehow royal au!sukuna seems to soften up around the edges over time at the presence of royal au!reader. as cliché as it sounds.
royal au!sukuna and royal au!reader who end up finding out little things that make them fall for each other find each other more tolerable over the course of their year long engagement.
royal au!reader who finds it hard to love.
and royal au!sukuna who finds it not just hard but an absolute pain to love… yet, wants to try if it’s a chance to be with royal au!reader.
❝ I have not seen you smile since we met, princess. What grave sin have I committed to be met with such derision? ❞ - @whccares for pompom!
✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ* ARRANGED MARRIAGE SENTENCE STARTERS 3.0 ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ*
Royalty!AU for @whccares
BEGINNINGS: ❝ I have not seen you smile since we met, princess. What grave sin have I committed to be met with such derision? ❞
✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ*
She can't help but chuckle at his sentiment, despite an undertone of sadness.
"No sin of yours, I assure you~"
Abigail adjusts the soft fabric of her royal gown, crushed crimson velvet and lapis complimented by delicate golden lace. Dark black hair cascade in mini waterfalls across her pale shoulders, adding to an overall humble and graceful stature.
"I just...regret the arrangement that has been placed upon you. It's quite an archaic tradition for our families to still be upholding...I would wish for anyone to choose the person they spend forever with."
The prince's aloof nature didn't help her overall feeling of being little more than a burden placed upon him and she couldn't blame him for feeling so, even if she didn't share the same disdain for authority.
who wants a royalty au of poly141 with pirate hunter reader?
Think about it. Four dukes meet a princess who is coincidentally a pirate hunter.
Dividers: @cafekitsune + @strangergraphics
If you would like to have a say/ input for this idea: Link to a poll.
The Defiant preys upon other vessels belonging to pirates, bandits, assassins, slavers, marauders, and thieves. Described as a beast with an insatiable appetite. Its prey deliberately chosen before headhunting those with influence inside those few communities. Targeting the ones who gather the most power amongst the pirates, slavers, and marauders.
The defiant is maintained by the pirate ships, she cleaves through in half with the obsidian blade in the front of the war ship. A blade made from obsidian and steel.
The wood of the ships would be used to fix damages incurred, and anything left over would be stored as cargo. Anything of value would be secured in safes to prevent theft from third party groups and individuals. Ensuring nothing of the wreck is left behind once they're done.
The Defiant's crew likely assess the materials on the conquered ships for quality and usability before dismantling them.
Usable wooden components are carefully removed and sorted for potential repairs or reinforcements.
Valuable metals, fabrics, and other resources are extracted and catalogued for later use or trade.
The obsidian blade is used to efficiently cut through enemy ships, minimising damage to the Defiant while maximising the harvestable materials.
Skilled carpenters and blacksmiths on board The Defiant repair and reinforce the ship with the salvaged wood and metal.
Any excess materials are stored in the ship's hold as cargo, providing additional resources for trade or barter.
The Defiant gets large shipments from outposts you have created all over the world, hubs of intelligence gathering, recruitment, trade, repairs, and maintenance.
Your ties to people within the black market, information brokers, contraband trade, blacksmiths, mercenary services, protection rackets, money laundering, hidden workshops and safe houses.
Planting disinformation whenever the target needs to be forced out of hiding.
While also maintaining a close eye on the region as a hub for their spy network. One that you have meticulously established over the years to help hunt down more pirates, obtain more resources and expand their range of influence.
Working on your own for this long has been taxing on your mind. So how do you do it when things constantly require your attention for one thing or another?
They called you, ‘Ghost of the High Seas’, ‘The Iron Maiden’, ‘The Merciless’, ‘The Pirate Killer’ and ‘The Human Shark’.
However, once someone got your loyalty, they would have to do something so heinous and vindictive against you to lose it.
You didn’t give out demands.
You gave out requests.
For things which for sensitive souls in the royal department often took as forceful demands with a dramatic flourish.
John heard a rumour of how you asked for something. But a Duchess took it as an aggressive demand.
Which he thought was either a declaration of war or an exaggerated complaint about you. Either way, you weren’t to be crossed, regardless of how simple your requests actually were.
You didn't need to raise your voice to get what you wanted; a simple, firm look usually did the trick.
John chuckled to himself whenever someone complained about how you managed to make it sound like a demand. Your diplomacy was as subtle as a sledgehammer, or a knife in the back. Depending on who you were dealing with.
It worked surprisingly well in your favour.
It was all part of your charm. But you didn’t think you had charm. Something which he vehemently disagreed with you.
To him, you had it in spades, enough to sink a merchant’s ship. His first meeting with was in court. You were mumbling, grumbling and scowling about having to wear a dress.
“‘I must take care to maintain a vigilant watch over you and all matters of such impropriety.’” you were as sour as a cat trying to get the taste of lemon off their tongue.
The dress you wore, a midnight blue colour with matte silver trimmings, and silver embroidery in the skirts. The skirts hovered just above the marble floor.
Custom-made as well as custom-designed to suit your personality and fit your physique perfectly. The dress in made of soft feeling velvet. The underskirts of the dress have both satin and silk underlay. Underneath the silk and satin is a layer of cotton for added comfort.
The three throwing knives sat firmly. Comfortably in your garter. It provided another level of security in case you felt cornered by someone you didn’t trust. The fan you used to cool yourself down had feathered tips along the edge, matching your dress.
It was all part of your charm.
Which had earned you the respect of many and the fear of those who knew you well. Price had seen it in action during your second meeting. You'd simply looked at a man twice your size and said.
“Might I entreat you for the loan of that map? Your generosity would be greatly appreciated.” and somehow, it had ended with him handing it over without a fight. It was uncanny.
“I am wholly indifferent to the duration required for its completion, provided that the task is executed with care. Such an undertaking demands an ample allowance of time, for one cannot hasten the attainment of perfection, even should the final result fail to appear flawless to the discerning eye of another.” you told your second-in-command.
You weren't petty, vindictive or sadistic. The preferred term you loved to call yourself is more, realistic, tinged with cynicism in your terms and conditions.
Strolling right past the four of them. Blatantly ignoring them. Not even giving them a sideways glance.
Your mind wasn’t focused on any of them. You had a target on your mind. The focus totally on your own mission. Your own priorities.
"Didn't your father give you a warship at sixteen?" John would overhear in complete disbelief. A warship for your sixteenth birthday? Was your father mad or just incredibly wealthy?
"I didn't just hear that, did you hear what I just heard? I'm not going hearing things, am I?" Kyle asked the other three.
"The defiant is more than enough. It dwarfs every warship stationed at this dock, and you know it." you protested. "It will cleave those pathetic pirates in two, or I will die trying."
The other person's voice is muffled. Your voice was loud enough to echo own the hallway. Simon couldn’t help but wonder how long you’ve been at sea for. Some say it has been almost eleven years. But that couldn’t be right. It would mean you were sixteen when you started Pirate hunting.
“Did you hear that Price? Eleven years. What does eleven years sound to you if they were spent at sea the entire time?” Gaz asked Price.
“Either a living legend or a madwoman.” John answered.
“Possibly both.” Simon interjected.
When Price had the misfortune timing of coming across you in person a second time. Your face, had a sickening, twisted Cheshire grin painted across your face. The two sword slicing through pirates like a hot knife through butter. Slicing and cutting them down to size.
It was, by the lord above, it was enjoyment on your face. Unhinged joy radiating as you continued to cut them down.
Then a loud sound came from your throat.
Your war cry sounded like a siren's song to your crew, a battle hymn echoing through the port as you led them further into the fray.
These pirates had no idea what was coming for them, who was coming for them, but the four shadows lurking in the alleyways certainly did. Watching with a mix of horror and fascination as you and your loyal band of warriors descended upon the marauders like the wrath of Neptune's own hand.
You weren't just a killer; you were a strategist. Knowing what how to strip things down fast enough to leave someone with nothing to work with. It’s a system you are familiar with. A system you crafted your own purposes.
The stragglers were picked off by your archers. As the fight quickly came to an end.
“Look, take a real good look. The defiant cannibalises other ships as it is MEANT to be. To devour, to eat, to survive. And we do it well. She does it well.”
Price couldn't help but begrudgingly admit you had a point. The way your crew moved with precision, stripping the enemy vessels of their resources, was surgical. It is adamantly clear the Defiant is more than just a ship to you; it is a living, breathing entity you had tamed and turned into a weapon of war.
“Awful thing for morally minded people, to be sure.” you stated. “But sharks eat, lurk, move around, they don't stand idle because they're pretty or have a fancy title. They survive.”
“And you know what we do? SURVIVE.”
Perhaps it was the time Johnny seduced you into walking to their home in person a third time, whispering honeyed words into your ears like he knew what you were capable without really knowing what kind of person you are.
“You and your questions. I love them. Please tell me you have more.” you answered, taping the tips of your fingers together.
Price gripped the pommel of his sword upon hearing your voice coming through the front door. As his lover, their lover Duke John MacTavish, made his blatant seduction attempt in front of him, Duke Kyle Garrick and Duke Simon Riley. Their anger thrown towards you, as if you should have known better, despite not knowing he was spoken for already. How could you have known that?
You tapped the tips of your fingers together nervously. “I will take my leave. My deepest apologies, your grace.” you were a rank higher. Tipsy sure. But you weren’t going to stay in a den full of lions.
Simon blocked your exit, leaving your heart beating fast like a rabbit running from its predator. As the adrenaline building up inside, finally kicking in. “Goin somewhere luvie?” he asked.
Price placed a hand on your shoulder, you were certain you were going to die right then and there. Was it the way your hair had crimson red flowers woven into your loose braid? Was it the matching teardrop earrings in your ears?
“Your grace, if I may.” you said, trying to keep the tremor out of your voice. As if you were willing your courage to come back to you.
“You may not.” Price uttered into your ear, guiding you back into the depths of the room again. “As you might observe, your... reputation has indeed found its way to us. Yet, it is our friend Johnny, who, possessing a certain flair for eloquence, appears to have made no small impression upon your good self as well.”
“I can always find someone else.” you protested. Meekly.
“But why would you need to? Why would you even want to?” Price cooed into your ear. “You have four willing men at your service.”
Dratchet is my favorite thing to write about, but today I'm giving you some Tarnma (I know they're always the bad guys in my fics, but I actually love them nnnnhh)
Maybe one day I'll write a sequel to this? Who knows.
Enjoy ❤️
***
Pharma had never imagined that one cycle he would end up like this: stripped of his title as court medic, stripped of his social status and riches, reduced to chains before the ruler of a rival kingdom.
And yet there he was, his wrists restrained by a pair of cuffs, his chin held high, his gaze proud. It didn’t matter if this was the end, his final moments before deactivation; he would not go down on his knees, trembling with fear, begging. Ever.
Even though his internal circuits were firing wildly, even though his spark pounded violently within his chassis, none of it was enough to force him into total submission.
“Oh,” a low, rumbling voice echoed through the enormous hall. “What do we have here?”
The mech seated upon the throne did not need to raise his voice. No one present moved; not the guards at Pharma’s sides, not the assembled court. Nothing in that place seemed to stir without the sovereign’s permission.
Tarn shifted on his throne, leaning forward slightly to better observe the prisoner before him.
The hall’s lights seemed to sink into the black and purple of his armor, swallowed by its darkness. His optics were the only expressive feature of that masked faceplate, glowing red with curiosity, and something else that sent a shiver down Pharma’s spinal strut.
“Ah. The king of Delphi’s favorite medic.”
Tarn said it simply, as though a single glance were enough to tell him everything he needed to know about his prisoner. The casual certainty of it irritated Pharma more than any insult could have.
“They usually bring me warriors.” Tarn continued, slowly rising from his throne. And suddenly Pharma had the distinct impression that the hall itself had grown too narrow to contain that immense frame, whose very presence radiated command.
“It’s interesting to watch them fight to the death.” Tarn went on, one heavy step following another as he descended the stairs. “Sometimes against me. Sometimes against each other.”
His long purple cloak whispered against the floor. “Those warriors are entertainment worthy of my court.”
Tarn stopped directly in front of Pharma.
Pharma forced himself to remain perfectly still. It was obvious Tarn intended to toy with him, to provoke him; but he would not give him the satisfaction of a single tremor. Not even the ghost of fear.
“What would I need a doctor for?” Tarn asked mildly. “I already have one. A competent. Loyal one.”
Pharma ground his denta together, staring into the towering red optics above him; so close they seemed capable of burning straight through his plating.
“Still,” Tarn added thoughtfully, “it would be a shame to dispose of something so… pretty. Wouldn’t it?”
For the first time, Pharma opened his mouth to retort, ready to strike back with his whip-sharp glossa.
He never got the chance.
Tarn’s massive, clawed servo snapped around his jaw, forcing his head up, forcing his gaze to lock with those blazing optics.
“I’m certain I can find a use worthy of a noble medic like you.” Tarn murmured. “Am I right, my prize?”
Whatever words had been poised on Pharma’s intake died instantly. He couldn’t see Tarn’s face behind the mask, but he was certain that, in that moment, Tarn was smiling.
Falling more and more in love with the little moments of my Analogical Royalty!AU
Just- them being so comfortable with each other. Maybe there's a party that they both have to attend but would both rather not be at so they hover near the edges together. Enough for plausible deniability of skipping but with minimal interaction since they'd both rather be anywhere else.
I think i mainly love this au for a: strong virgil (which i've posted ab) and protective virgil (which i talked ab in a post like 2-3 days ago along w/ the other dark sides) idk man guard dog Virgil. Stop me i dare you
Love him clocking potential threats as soon as they enter the room. Love him taking every preventative measure to make sure Prince Logan is safe. Love him going absolutely insane on somebody who would even think about hurting Lo
brief summary of the concept for the knight!jean x prince!jeremy fic, btw:
Jean becomes Jeremy’s personal guard and knight, ofc
but it’s because Jeremy is fucking betrothed to Riko goddamn Moriyama (it’s a whole ‘figure out a way to make the useless second sons into some sort of alliance pawns without risking them having kids that might threaten the firstborn sons’ privileges’ thing)
which is going to go exactly as badly as you’d expect
(readers you KNOW how much I love to torment The Characters)
Alpha MacTavish grows up under shitty King Riley's rule: the King and Queen wasting money and lives on booze and extravagant parties, pointless wars and ego-stroking. MacTavish joined the army and rose through the ranks to join the King’s guard and eventually became Captain.
There was an incident where he saved the King and heir, Alpha Prince Thomas, but for their pride they were insulted that he was better than them, capable of taking on their attackers and defending them on his own when they were clearly overwhelmed. As a reward - intended as a punishment, a blow to the pride - he was made the personal guard of the innocent and pure Omega Prince Simon. The same Prince the King refused to marry off, even a the eldest son. The Prince’s family were ashamed at his Omega status and how, according to tradition, his firstborn Alpha son would be the next heir even if his brother were to produce an heir of his own.
The Prince is so lonely, the gentle attentions of the handsome warrior Alpha are a seduction themselves. It's not long before the guard has the Prince as his. When the Prince is found to be pregnant it enrages his family who demand answers and imprison the whore Prince.
MacTavish stokes the unrest of the people until there is no choice but for those loyal to the Kingdom to remove the royal family. Captain MacTavish, so popular with the better lords and the army, known to the common people for fairness and sense, rises to the throne. Out of kindness he frees the Prince and claims him, even the unborn bastard in his belly, as his consort to soothe the royalists.
Only Lord Price questions, looks at the new King and wonders at the blind loyalty and faith the man cultivated, even in him. He wonders at the odd attack, almost a year ago, that saw MacTavish assigned to the Prince, an attack which saw the perpetrators get so far into the castle that only the Captain stood between them and the royal family; the Prince's loss of innocence when under the Alpha’s care; even the Prince’s unexpected and unheard of heat needed for him to be with child. The way the Prince submitted to the forced marriage with sweet eyes and not a word of his unknown lover.
He's the only one willing and able to take a step back and see MacTavish for the manipulative and cunning man he really is but by this point he knows there's nothing he can do and realizes that for all of that MacTavish has done he is a far better King than Riley ever was.
cw: fantasy!au, fem!reader, eventual displays of fighting and violence bc it’s fantasy, kind of slow burn?, tension, reader has an attitude, tall af!abby bc size difference, royalty!au, mentions of arranged marriages, some mentions of au politics, abby in armor is a warning in itself
synopsis: you are the youngest princess of the royal family that rules over your kingdom, Aphrynia. now a young adult, you’ve come of age in a tense time, and your personal protection is of utmost importance — which is why the resignation of your previous personal knight means a rushed reassignment ceremony with little to no preface. That being said, why does the name of your new knight sound so familiar?
word count: 2.8k
a/n: this is gonna be so trope-heavy and romantic and cheesy and i don’t even care i’ve been giggling and kicking my feet this whole time
⊹ ⋆｡˚ ————————— 𓆩♡𓆪 —————————⊹ ⋆｡˚
“Princess, you really do need to get up.”
You groaned, rolling over in your excessively comfortable bed as your lady’s maid, Nina, started forcefully pulling the many blankets you had covering you off. Your proper mind knew that she was right, that you needed to get ready, but the pounding in your head begged otherwise; and right now, the pounding side was winning. You tried to sit up and open your eyes, but the bright sunlight instantly blinded you, causing you to groan and fall back again. Nina sighed.
“Either you get up, or I’m calling George and he can drag you out himself.”
That made you sit up. You’d had enough of your second eldest brother ripping you out of bed throughout your childhood to last a lifetime. Your legs already felt a phantom soreness at just the thought.
“Okay, okay, I surrender, I’m up…” you grumbled, swinging your legs over the edge of the mattress and tenderly standing on the cold floor. Nina rolled her eyes as she started gathering materials for you to bathe.
“I told you to ease up on the wine last night,” she scolded as you started shedding your nightclothes and trudged to your washroom.
You rolled your eyes in response and yawned. “Don’t judge me! You would let loose a little too if you knew it was your last night before getting assigned another overbearing knight,” you replied dramatically. These were the times that you both loved and resented that you and Nina had known each other since childhood; sometimes she knew you a little too well. Nina just chuckled and followed you.
A while later, you were clean and dry. And cold. You shivered as Nina helped you slip layer after layer of your intricate clothing on your body. “Why is it so frigid in here this morning? I can literally hear the fire going,” you whined as another shiver made your arms shake. Nina shrugged as she picked up another layer.
“The mornings have been getting colder lately,” Nina remarked thoughtfully. “Perhaps an off the shoulder dress wasn’t the best decision the seamstress could’ve made for today’s gown.” She grimaced as she eyed the off the shoulder masterpiece waiting to be adorned.
Your pout spoke for you. Even so, you had to admit the gown was rather lovely. The gauzy pink seemed to shimmer in the light, and you couldn’t help but stare at it in the mirror once you had finally put it on. Nina, however, still anxiously watched the time and rushed to finish getting you ready.
For whatever reason, one you weren’t exactly keen on understanding, being assigned a personal knight was something of a ceremony in the royal family, and was therefore to be treated as such. And ever since your former knight, Mattheo, had resigned not even a fortnight ago to wed and begin a life outside of his knighthood, you had been assigned a rotation of lower knights while a replacement was decided on. While you couldn’t blame Mattheo for wanting to have a different life and a family, you couldn’t help but resent his leaving just a little bit; he had been your personal knight since you were young, and you had grown to trust him like an uncle or a father. Whatever young, overconfident knight you would be assigned now would not be nearly as tolerable, of that you were certain.
Nina’s voice pulled you out of your thoughts and reawakened the pounding in your head. “Princess? Princess, we’ve got to go,” she harped, placing a guiding hand on your back. “Wouldn’t want to keep everyone waiting.” You nodded in agreement and started walking, trying your best to hide the grimace pulling at your face.
You could barely keep up with Nina’s quick steps as you navigated the corridors of the palace, your shoes clicking on the polished stone floors. “Nina,” you muttered through panting breaths, “You know you can slow down a little bit, right? It really isn’t that serious,” you pointed out. Nina shook her head.
“Sorry, princess, but I’m under strict orders to get you there on time. Promised the queen,” she replied with a wink sent your way. Your mouth gaped while your brows furrowed.
“Seriously? For a knight assignment? The fuck…” you muttered back, still grumpy from your hangover and unending headache. Nina clicked her tongue at you in disapproval.
“Princess! Language!” she scolded, holding back a giggle and not quite managing to suppress a tickled smile. You made an amused face in response and you both had to struggle to hold down your laughs as you passed knights and members of the court in the long corridors.
As you finally turned onto the corridor leading to the throne room, Nina cleared her throat to get your attention. “Please try your best not to seem hungover, princess,” she muttered through clenched teeth, “lest the queen come for my head.” You both stifled one last giggle before the doors to the throne room opened, and your arrival was announced to the small crowd standing inside.
You took a steadying breath, blanking your face as you delicately walked forward, desperately hiding your fight not to wobble in these godforsaken shoes. You kept your gaze steady on the front of the room, not wanting to risk an offhand glance at the crowd interrupting your focus.
You breathed a quiet sigh of relief when you reached the front and stood in place amongst your siblings, ignoring George’s knowing smirk and Elyssa’s disapproving look. Like always, your eldest brother, Philip, stayed as stone-faced as ever, and Henry, the fourth sibling, gave his best attempt at matching Philip’s ever-serious mood. Although he was closest to you in age, only being 18 months older, the two of you couldn’t be more different. He never seemed to possess the itch for mischief and adventure that you did, and instead followed your eldest brother like a puppy and tried to copy his every trait. You suppressed the urge to roll your eyes and turned towards the rest of the room.
Glancing at you to acknowledge your arrival, your parents rose as one, and your mother’s voice rang out in the spacious throne room. “Welcome, esteemed guests and friends, as we conduct our youngest daughter’s knight reassignment ceremony on this lovely morning. As many of us know, our youngest has quite the…lively spirit, and as she reaches marrying age, we’ve found it impertinent that we find a unique knight to ensure her safety amidst the happenings of that lively spirit.” A soft chuckle carried through the room, and you had to suppress another eye roll as your mother – the “ever-esteemed” queen – basically called you a burden who needed watching. Great. Exactly what you needed this morning.
Your mother continued her speech. “While the knight we’ve chosen for her assignment may not have the age to match her rank, her experience and accomplishments make her quite the perfect match to guard our lovely daughter. Thus, Knight Anderson, will you please approach?”
Your mind came to a sudden stop. ‘Her’? Your new knight was to be a female knight? Well that certainly makes things more interesting. And her name…Anderson. It sounded oddly familiar, but you couldn’t put your finger on it. A young female knight, a respected, high-ranking one at that, was to be Mattheo’s replacement? Certainly she wouldn’t be quite as easy to slip past. But you had gotten creative over the years…
Your racing thoughts mixed with your eyes searching the crowd for this ‘Knight Anderson’, but came to a sudden halt when the knight finally stepped through to the front of the crowd, and the sight of her left your mouth hanging ever so slightly ajar. Although it had certainly matured since the last time you saw her, you would recognize that face anywhere.
9 YEARS AGO
Abigail Anderson was going to be the death of you. No matter where you went, she was somehow there, ready to show off and drive you up the fucking wall. Since her father was the royal family’s physician and a childhood friend of your father, and the two of you were so close in age, the two of you had been shoved together since you could read, and you couldn’t resent it more. She never failed to take an opportunity to prove herself against you; whether it was her intelligence in tutoring sessions, or showing off her strength and size outdoors while exploring or riding, if the chance was there, she took it.
You were both twelve, and while you were able to spend more time apart, tutoring and riding lessons were still spent together. You had started spending your free time with the daughters of the court members, while Abby spent her time training for knighthood or whatever it was that motivated her to sweat in a dirty training ground for hours a day. It wasn’t like you paid it too much regard; you were perfectly happy spending tea with your friends that you could actually relate to before retreating to the palace library to spend afternoons reading and exploring different worlds.
On one sunny spring day, Abby had shown up late to your joint riding lesson, and you were already annoyed since George had ruined your favorite riding boots by dropping them in a boiling, soapy wash basin while the maids weren’t looking, only for them to be found hours later and sorrowfully returned to your chambers. The twat. So when she came jogging up to the stables, your glare was already set upon her, and she preemptively rolled her eyes.
“I know, I know, training went over,” she retorted to your glare in an annoyed voice, raising her hands apologetically at your instructor.
You continued glaring as she saddled her horse and mounted the steed, flipping her braid behind her shoulder. Sensing the tension and not wanting to be a part of it, the instructor casually instructed the two of you to take a simple ride through the naturalistic grounds surrounding the palace during your normal lesson time. You nodded curtly and took off in a simple trot, Abby quickly following and settling into a matching trot beside you.
“Heard about what happened to your boots,” she remarked casually, not even glancing your way. But you knew what she was doing, and you already weren’t in the mood for it. She kept pushing anyway.
“What a waste,” she continued, clicking her tongue. “You poor thing, how will you ever survive?” You could feel her smirk without looking. Trying to be the bigger person, you only sighed and kept ignoring her.
She laughed. “What, don’t want to admit that you’re upset over a pair of boots? It’s okay, you are a princess, after all.” Even though she was right, it wasn’t like you wanted to admit it to Abby, of all people. You really liked those boots! Princess or not, you were allowed to be upset about it! You could say that, but it’s not like Abby would care. She’d just keep teasing you about the boots, or poking you about some other stupid thing that was sure to push your buttons. So you kept your head straight forward and kept riding. She wasn’t satisfied.
“Too good to talk to me now, are you? You’d rather be at a prissy tea party with your prissy friends?” she said, mocking a posh accent and expression as she spoke. And you just snapped.
“You know what Abby, just because you don’t like me or think I’m shallow or spoiled for whatever reason, that doesn’t mean you have to go after my friends too! You don’t even know them! You know, I don’t think you even know me like you think you do, so why don’t you just shut up already,” you exploded, taking off on your horse like a bullet and leaving Abby shouting after you in the dust. You heard her call your name after you a few times, but you ignored her, clenching your teeth as your resolve hardened and you quickened your pace even more.
By the time Abby started galloping after you, you were too far ahead to hear her. You just kept riding and riding, not stopping until you reached the creek that bubbled along one of the far edges of the palace grounds. Hopping off your horse, you gently smoothed the mare’s chestnut hair as you watched the clear water run up and over the rocks in the creek. Remembering what Abby had said, you clenched your other fist and loudly groaned in frustration, holding back the urge to go as far as to stomp on the ground.
You took a deep breath to steel yourself as you heard hooves approaching quickly from behind you. Abby called your name again, but you barely even turned your head, fist still clenched. She scoffed and dismounted, walking up to you casually.
“You know you can’t ride off like that,” she remarked. You continued to ignore her. “C’mon, you know I didn’t mean it like that,” she continued, leaning to try to get in your line of sight.
You only scoffed in reply and turned away, speed walking along the creek bed. Abby kept following you, reaching out to grab your arm once she was close enough. You gasped angrily and whipped around, hair slinging from side to side. You tried to pull away, but her grip was tight. And you panicked. No one had ever grabbed you like that, and you were so shocked, you couldn’t help but go into panic mode.
“Will you– let go– get your hands OFF of me–” you shrieked, starting to flail and struggle in her grasp. Abby also began to panic in response to you, and before you knew it, you were slipping on the creek bed, and the two of you tumbled into the creek, a tangle of limbs and shocked exclamations as you fell into the surprisingly icy water.
As soon as you hit the water, you gasped, inhaling water instead of air and immediately choking. You floundered, desperately coughing and trying to eject the water from your lungs. Finally, your flailing arms found a large rock to land on, and you started pulling yourself out of the water. At the same time, you could hear Abby climbing the water as well, and you got distracted, your hand slipping as you crashed back down into the creek. Another breath of water infiltrated your mouth and throat, and you continued to choke and cough, unable to gain enough footing to grab back onto the rock. Finally, a pair of stronger arms latched onto your own, stopping your flailing to pull you out of the water and onto the creek bed.
Flopping onto the ground, you coughed out the remaining water from your lungs until you could finally take clear breaths, anger returning with the consistent oxygen. You shot up suddenly, cutting Abby off as she opened her mouth to ask if you were okay. “You are despicable, Abby Anderson! Despicable!” You shouted as you pushed hair out of your face and straightened your soaking clothes. “I am leaving. You need to give me time to return my horse and escort myself inside, lest I see your despicable face and decide to strangle you once and for all!” You continued as you mounted your horse, giving her one last dirty look before riding off as fast as you could.
It wasn’t until the next morning when Abby wasn’t present at your lessons that you discovered that she had left for official training. And no matter how angry you were at her, you couldn’t help but be at least a bit disappointed that she hadn’t said goodbye.
THE PRESENT
Your mother’s voice was all but muted background in your head as you watched Abby – apparently now known as ‘Knight Anderson’ – approach you and your family at the front of the throne room. A lump settled in your throat, and your mouth felt impossibly dry watching her armored form get closer and closer. You barely registered your mother reciting practiced phrases as Abby knelt in front of her and bowed her head towards the queen. It was like you were outside your body, watching everything happen, only an observer as Abby stood and she and your mother approached you. You were sucked back into your body as Abby knelt in front of you, taking one of your polished hands in hers and bowing her head towards it.
“Knight Abigail Anderson,” your mother began, her voice confident and steady in contrast to the nerves that rocked your body, leaving you lightheaded. “Do you solemnly vow to dedicate your life to the protection and safety of the princess?” Abby looked up at you through her lashes, and you felt like you could faint.
