Lyssa's Effin Junkyard

[ His impervious sense of patience blinded you. Even after you shouted in his face like you hated him and his reaction..did not show.

Why wasn't he scolding you like the nuns? Wasn't he part of the convent?

You thought, worriedly. You still didn't know who he was to the church- you thought that convents were only suited with nuns and sisters. Where did a man fit into the ordeal? You weren't educated in the ways of the cloth and how the order was comprised but…wasn't the only man in a convent..the priest?

They wouldn't have sent the only priest out here to find you. Surely not?

“Who are you?” You asked, spewing the words quickly in a blurt to which he returned infold,

“Does it trouble you who I might be?”

You thought for a moment until he asked further, reaching to his pocket for something you couldn't see,

“Who do you think me to be, child?”

You shook your head, even knowing it was bad manners. Truly, you would've guessed him to be a bachelor that you'd see women fawning over in passing on the boardwalk. Perhaps he'd hang his cane to his wrist to pay a penny for the newspaper and shoot them all a wink when the clerk turned around. He was….botheringly attractive. Which turned your insides when seeing the clerical collar to his neck.

He rested the lantern to his own side of the railing well across from you and he leaned to his hip upon one of the thin columns to begin reading from a small book he'd fetched from his pocket. He recited your name, your date of birth, the names of your parents until he began reading to himself further and mentioning thusly as if in pleasant surprise,

“You're from a wealthy family. Your father owns estates in New York. Not humble Buffalo, either. Your mother, her parents are well-off from a railroad dynasty stretching back before… the Civil War. Good graces, that is well-to-do, old money.”

You sighed to know that he in fact knew everything about you. Your parents must've met him before enrolling you here and your head dropped where you turned away for the onslaught to continue.

“I'm afraid you won't fit in with most of the girls here. Most of them come from, excuse my lack of phrasing, dirt farmers. None of them…came from wealth. Certainly not…petticoats and parasols as yourself."

Just when you thought he might save you some grace, he asked with sharper, more prying intentions now,

“So, why is a well-to-do girl…so angry?”

“I'm not-” You snapped, becoming tight in the mouth and hot in the veins.

“You destroyed your room here..because you're angry. You ran away from Mass because you're angry and you'd rather sit out here in the dark…alone because-”

“God won't fix me!!!” You yelled after feeling the world spin faster to know that you'd been figured out. Down to the fine grain, he could see you with his own eyes. There wasn't a shred he couldn't unravel and you hated him for it. His eyes that pegged you down to the millimeter. Here again, you wept, shedding hateful tears out of spite as you felt so easily transparent as glass.

“I've always been this way! Since I could walk! They wanted to send me away ever since then. Because I'd break my dolls, shatter my mirrors- nothing worked. They've tried God before and it only made me worse. He…won't help.”

The man stayed silent yet again, watching as you fell apart to have finally been seen. He didn't rejoice, didn't gloat to the fact that it took him one try to do what clearly he had intended by coming here but he only stated blankly with his eyes burning down to try and meet your own.

“You're right about one thing. God won't help you, child-”

Your thoughts came to a halt and you turned your head up, wondering how he could ever tell you something so easily. After only a moment of thought, you stayed quiet, needing to know if he'd back track after such a cold turn of phrase.

“Because God doesn't open doors that you keep barring shut.”

He took the burning lantern and he crossed the stone floor between you now without permission. When he knelt just a foot away, putting the light between you, he clutched his hands at his bent knees to tell you more firmly to level your thinking of being destitute from the help of God.

“You stay angry… because you think that it suits you. You carry rage within your spirit because you think you will need it to defend yourself. Hatefulness is not armor, child. It is a sickness. God can help you, but only if you let go of what you think that you need to hold.”

When he heard your tears pattering to the stones below you, he said nothing else. But you were freezing, he could tell just by the closeness where he felt no warmth from your body. He swung his coat around your shoulders, before somehow with the strength you didn't expect him to have- even as you recognized his towering height above you- he lifted you into his arms.

You sobbed into his black parishioners shirt and you muttered through tears instead of trying to fight to walk back to the convent yourself.

“I don't know what to do.”

“You're not meant to-” He mentioned, cradling you onto his upper arm so he could hold the lantern above you both,

“That’s why he's put you here. I'm Father Hiromi. But all the sisters here, just call me Father. And you're welcome to the same.”

You weren't sure what happened after you'd finally confirmed he was the priest at the head of the entire convent. Your eyes fluttered into a rest as the gait of his slow and steady walk rocked you to a quiet sleep that was short lived.

“Oh, great Saviour! We're grateful to thee! What a blessing she is found!”

You opened your eyes again to Mother Sarah praising aloud with her hands raised above her as you both approached the parlor of the house from where you escaped. Hiromi instructed that you were cold and needed to be drawn a bath to help your body temperature rise back to normal. You were weary but you prepared for reprimand the minute your feet touched the ground again.

“Child, you could've been taken?!” The tired mother Superior began, taking the Father's thick suit coat from your shoulders,

“Vagrants will frequent those woods in their travels for sin.”

“She'll confess tomorrow in the morn, Mother.” Hiromi stated, shrugging on his suit jacket and straightening his collar. The sisters gathered to collect your soiled hose and dirtied veil that was found forlorn to the lawn.

Sarah seemed to bite her tongue when Father went further, evidently preparing to leave with his Bible and hymnal in hand, “Prepare her bath and aid in her rest. She'll repent to me directly.”

“Yes, Father.”

He turned to leave but the room became as still as the night when you peered over your shoulder to tell him meekly and soft, meeting his eyes clearly without them being filled with cloudy tears,

“Thank you….Father.”

It was the first time you saw a reaction on his face. Nearly undetectable, but his brow softened away from the routine of returning to his nearby rectory estate from the chapel. He faced away from the flickering light of the outside stoop and turned to you now instead, all of the nuns in watch as the enraged girl, became so polite as to thank a priest.

Father Hiromi only nodded, keeping his reply unsaid with a smile before turning to then leave into the dark.

After your bath that you enjoyed in solitude, it was quiet in the lower cells following the long corridor that led to your personal room. When you lit a candle, you found your blankets from home placed on the end of your bed arranged so you'd use them over the top of the thin sheets here. You then glanced at the small chifferobe where your habits were meant to hang. You discovered the scarves your mother had knitted were folded beneath a new pair of shoes and stockings.

It made you smile in the candlelight even as you knew you would never see these walls as homely. Your head met the pillows and for the first time, you felt noticed and accepted. There was now a pit in your stomach about getting along with the other girls which would have to be a fight for tomorrow but you felt better to have been met by Father Hiromi.

Even if it was to talk you away from doing something mindless.

You thought about his last words..about having to confess and you became disturbed by the unclarity of what that entailed. Would he take you to a confessional? Those tall, curtained boxes in the vestibule that always smelled of antique, stained carpet?

It wasn't clear now but you'd know tomorrow.

At his hand.

[ 1902, Edwardian New England.

The convent stones were cold against your feet. Even through shoes and socks. The walls were damp, covered in earthly moss that preyed the walls in stretches as wide as the corridors. The windows held no glass, sitting open like parapets of a castle and here you were- its own religious captive.

"You'll receive two habits that you will wear over your night smock, two veils with pins to keep them seated. Two pairs of stockings and your black sandals which you will be responsible for keeping clean and polished. And two feminine rags for your menstruation week." Sarah, your new Mother Superior told you as she piled your arms full of garments that you were to carry down the long, open hall leading to your new sleeping quarters in the dark convent.

Your parents left you here in hopes of bettering you into a godly new life….that neither of them lived themselves. So, you made your own assumptions that you were intentionally cast out the moment you turned eighteen and free now of a need for parenting. You didn't want to marry off, or go to charm school that no one would help you pay for.

This was your last option. The involuntary one.

Stone angels painted in green and evidently time itself watched you pass like keepers of a crypt as you followed Mother Sarah whom you noticed now wasn't carrying the suitcase packed of your belongings. The blankets from the end of your bed- your scarves knitted from your mother.

You stopped in your tracks, asking then if you should go back to retrieve it yourself and the withered old woman turned to you blankly, seeming unmoved by your request to have it brought with you.

"Father Hiromi would like to inspect your belongings. To ensure you aren't bringing the devil and his evils into our home."

You grimaced when she turned back around and tsked quietly during the last few steps to finally reach your bed. When you sat down the clothes already folded, you were asked to change while the Mother Superior stood.

Watching.

"Am I allowed privacy?" You asked, already being prodded with eyes and fingers upon your arrival to assure you weren't fevered with typhoid that was prevalent here in the countryside.

The older nun shook her head with her rosary swinging and clacking as she quipped firmly in response,

"I am to assure you're not hiding anything under these …unbecoming clothes."

You rolled your eyes when you turned around, beginning to unbutton the cotton blouse that you'd picked out from the department store yourself with the help of your Mother. It was scarlet red in hue which you could argue was a sultry color for the ladies of a convent.

One piece at a time you undressed as Mother Sarah stood in watch, taking your garments as they fell to the floor. Your head fell to your hands in grief when she reached for scissors to cut you free from your favorite corset, your first one ever that made you feel like a woman.

Before you turned, you held your chest in your cupped palms when you revealed that you had nothing else to hide besides the dirty, long socks falling down from your knees and she pointed to the bed which had your first postulants outfit prepared, telling you to become dressed except for your white veil which she would assist you in tying and pinning.

"Evening Mass begins in one hour and you will attend. Punctuality is of The Lord."

The door to your room closed and your head dropped again where you cried no different than an orphaned child.

You sat to the bed where your shoulders rocked as you wept for someone to save you. From the cold stares of haggard old nuns. From their rulers marring your hands in Bible lessons. From learning and playing part in a life you never wanted.

In a fit of anger that warmed even your tears, you slammed the Bible placed on your pillow onto the stone floor. You kicked the study desk, turning over the chair that banged to the ground and thudded through the entire hall. Your face reddened and you felt like an animal caught in a trap, one limb close to being severed but all the others still free as you attempted to claw to safety.

You'd never been close to the Christian belief. Let alone those who practice this devotedly.

Nuns and Priests were a sight to glance at on the boardwalks and alleyways in the city you were from. They all traveled in packs with their prayer beads and tattered Bibles clutched tightly in their wrinkled hands. You thought younger nuns were girls too ugly to be married and too inept for finishing school.

Now, you would be in their skin- saying blessings as your habit dragged the sidewalk where you broke bread for the vagrants and destitutes who listened to the tales of God's bountiful mercy just to fill their mouths for one night.

When you finally decided to put on the scratchy, wool habit clearly made for someone quite larger than yourself, you tidied the evidence of your previous fit to spare anymore grief from the Sisters and you exited your room.

There in the hall, you were made to stand in line where other girls were dressed like porcelain dolls made in clothes that didn't fit and Mother Sarah waved forward for all of you. There must've been ten, perhaps fifteen of you together in those green plaid skirts that reminded you of the patterns old men would wear in their golfing ties. Horrid and ugly. Black postulant veils were all covering the length of your individual hair where only the front of your crown could show. Their many shoes matching your own clunked to the stone ground as you drew closer to the chapel whose bells tolled now like an omen ahead.

You lowered onto the steps that toed down from the vestibule of the church, and now you struggled to see at all from the dim light only given by candles burned down to their ends in what seemed to be hundreds. Ones by your feet as you descended the steps, ones aligning the pews messily and finally the most were placed ahead by the rustic yet religiously ornate altar. Large stained glass windows depicted biblical scenes that you'd never been taught but had seen when your own family attended mass to please your more practicing relatives.

You'd only spoken to one person since coming here- no one had asked your name, written your information to pen and paper. And now you were expected to attend church service as if you felt welcome at all.

At the front, more Sisters were knelt in prayers where rosary beads tangled their withered fingers, murmuring beneath the breath that alone seemed to tire them and soon, as if haunting the very walls by the sound, a hymn began. Their voices in song rang within you with Latin vowels that called to only disturb you as you sat stilled by annoyance. Or fear.

Mother Sarah ducked some of the girls heads, calling them to be "reverent in the house of God-" and you too bowed your head but only to keep your eyes concealed. You wanted a way out of here- not out of this room but out of the convent entirely and you looked slowly over your shoulder to the doorway so close by.

When a prayer was being led aloud amongst those seated, you found your chance.

You hoped no one would notice when you stood and you were sure that at least someone saw but you didn't care. When you passed the last candle leading into the room that seemed to follow in presence behind you- you ran.

Your heavy shoes that swallowed your small feet were the first things to leave you, the veil you pinned yourself so Sarah didn't have to touch you again was next when it billowed behind you in the green brush. It seemed to be a garden that you found yourself in as your feet led you instead of your eyes. Your heart pounded to know that a nun could find you at any moment, taking you back inside with threats of punishment if they wouldn't begin punishing you here.

The socks to your feet were well soaked and squishing from the wet soil beside a flowing trail of soft, calm water guarded by grass and moss. The trees were thick now, you couldn't see the convent behind you anymore but it was darker now than before. When you turned, you found one stone angel there in the thick woods.

Behind her, there was a stone bench aligned outside a well-hidden garden folly that was old and in ruin. It looked the same as the angels- blackened by years of unkempt and now you drew closer. At least you'd have a place to be quiet you thought, and when you felt well guarded from the eyes of others- your tears swelled again.

You wept in view of the angelic statue for hours, having taken a seat on the folly rail near the top of the structure and you wondered how to proceed. Would you beg on the side of the road? Would you hitchhike to the nearest town on someone's wagon? Or maybe they'd be in an automobile from the city?

You dropped your head in your hands to realize you didn't know anything about taking care of yourself but you then heard a brush behind you and it snapped you back to thinking. In a second, you spun to see…a man approaching.

A man in the dark. It couldn't have been worse and you called out to the figure shrouded in black, warning him not to come closer.

“Keep your distance! Don't come any closer!”

When a lantern was ignited there in the distance, the man in the dark raised the beacon in hand to show his face before he stepped closer. You were cornered by the rail you'd sat on. Running in the dark now, you at least knew, wasn't an advisable escape. He approached you even closer where you saw then.. his white clerical collar.

“I gather that you're our little runaway?” He asked, tilting his head to call your bluff and step onto the stone folly just feet across from you now.

He was so oddly…serene when he spoke. Like neither of his hands had ever held anger once in his life. Unlike yourself. Angry and clawing at just a passing thought. His eyes seemed methodical, like he needed to see every fine ridge of a puzzle before solving it and here you were needing put together.

“You made it a good ways. Another mile and you would've been on the way to Bridgeport. Alas, there's nothing up there but shops locked up for the night and drunkards to follow you in the dark along the road.”

He stepped closer again and you snapped to him, becoming threatened again just by his distance, let alone his affiliation, and you barked like a cornered hound,

“I said don't come near me.”

He paused, showing little reaction which only made your blood burn hotter to receive the gesture as manipulation and he only asked,

“Y/N, do you think I came to drag you back there by the hair on your head?”

“How do you know my name?!”

“God knew your name before your parents did.”

“Shut up!” You shouted going into one of your fits where he only raised a hand. At this second, in some strange…unsettling way… his hand stilled the very breath you were going to use to call him the pious, meddling zealot you thought he was. And when you paused in the glow of the golden lantern light…somehow on cue to his unspoken gesture, he spoke instead.

Calmly.

[[ You entered the King's chambers trying not to seem hurried but you felt cheated of grace in your entry where you were quick to rest your crown to his scribing bureau and then turn to find him.

Softly, you called his name after making sure the door had closed behind you for his privacy. You heard nothing in the first second, nearing the bed where he had the long sheer linens of his canopy drawn as he did when he took these early evening retires.

Your hand reached to separate the thin curtains and you found him in the bed where he called for you by name. He was lying there with his head upon the pillows, seeming at the end of his exhaustion with a vial from the apothecary still in his grasp having just drank to recover some of his strength brought on by the tiresome day and you knelt.

"My King.." you cooed, seeing as he turned to face you still in his silver mask.

"Y/N-" he said again weakly, having a haggard slur to his speech, waving you closer where you could hear him more clearly.

"I must confess." He began with a break in his voice, "It brings me shame to have spoken ill to your father his first night here. I should've strayed from the temptation of anger but I could not. All I could see was your veils wet with tears from his absence. I wanted him to know that your sorrow comes at a price. But that is not Godly. I'll ask your forgiveness before The Lord's."

You drew a breath when you stood, resting your weight on the bed at his side when you took his face in your hands, minding the head silk that always fell across your shoulder when you leaned close. Gently, you took his mask, removing it with the bravery you were proud of now after these months of loving him and you said to him wrapped in his bandages that lined his face,

"You won't receive forgiveness. Because you do not require it. Father believes Hadjari rests at the top of the world, rooted there by his own hand. He is proud and I knew that something of his doing would lead you to anger. But I am without qualm. He even found pride in your exchange. Because he knows you care for me."

Baldwin's torn lip curled up in a half smile and said slowly in a nod, "At least there will be some understanding between us in that regard."

You smiled back before easing your mouth down to his in a kiss that assured him he need not worry for your feelings if it came to animosity between him and your father. You'd been fighting for your father's approval all your days before this night and finally it was the last of your priorities now. Baldwin kissed in return sweetly, letting his eyes flutter for a moment that was meant to ease him.

But your lips against his always took their toll on his heart.

His gloved hands petted your jaw lovingly as your mouths moved together but his hands wandered again to place you atop his lap with your body curved to lie atop him in a straddle. You hummed to feel his arms hug around you closer before his weight shifted. He sat up slowly to make you gasp that he was using his strength to join you both closer.

Slowly, his kisses then traveled down your neck alike his breath that warmed your skin but gave you chills that shivered you into a soft state of arousal. Your head tilted to allow him the space to graze down to your collar bone before you spoke between you in a needing whisper,

"You need to rest, My King."

Your mouth moved to the shell of his ear hidden beneath his coverings and spoke further to ease him away from what you knew was coming when both of you shared an open, passionate kiss in privacy that led you both to being embraced in his bed,

"I came to see you have peace before supper. You're exhausted."

Baldwin purred against your shoulder, his mouth agape languidly to press more kisses that teased you but we're laced with affection. Yet, his words thrilled you as the gravel of his hollow, sultry tone most found at the hours midnight, found you now,

"My weariness does not stop me…from desiring you."

You wanted to ask more of what your father had told you about their discussion, but now your eyes were rolling back in a flutter of your eyelids to hear him whisper so sweetly. Your legs stirred and you said with a salacious smile coming to your mouth between gasps of air, playing into his teases with sensual jest,

"We'll be late for supper-.."

"My beloved, trying to seduce me before a meal with your father? Was it I that gave a kiss so sublime? I recall differently." He teased with a grin growing.

"No- I'd be taking my clothes off if I wanted to seduce you, Your Grace."

"You should do just that." You heard him say after a pause that stilled you and your hands gently braced to lie him back to the bed. He reached for his mask to place back to his face but you stopped him, saying with your eyes that he would be seen as your body would be.

Your hands still shook as you loosened the knotted string behind your nape to free your day gown and opened the small button from your tightened smock. As you shimmied the linen down your chest, freeing your curves only for him to see, you felt beneath you as his body reacted in time with his eyes widening.

"Oh, what a sight." He breathed heavily in what felt like a gasp before he swallowed,

"You want me to lie, don't you?" He asked, spearing his gaze up to see if you'd give him any leniency for this and he knew you'd do that slow nod to your head that gave no mercy.

"My King is tired. And I shall help him rest. I remain true to…my intentions." You answered, feeling a jitter of nerves to realize this would be the first time he had lied completely down for love making- something you wanted since the first time he touched you.

He watched you raise the skirts of your day gown , unraveling and separating the under silk from the heavy textile atop and he took your chin when you looked away, taking your mouth for another kiss before the moment could turn to lust. You felt the first graze of his tongue across your bottom lip and you felt desperate to finally free your bottom half from under your dress.

As his mouth lapped with yours, more open and messy, he made effort to free himself from beneath you. His cincture belt became unraveled with a tug that you aided with prying fingers. His weight was propped onto one elbow and excitedly you felt your core become teased then by the tip of his cock.

He grunted to feel your arousal already meeting him with such a warm abundance and he said with a choked breath that lulled his words in pleasure,

"Don't hurt yourself, y/n. I've forbidden this because you're a new bride that's still learning my body and your pleasure. Do you understand?"

You nodded with half lidded eyes to assure that you weren't lost in your passion just yet and you promised to move slow atop him. He stayed planted on his elbow while your weight eased down to begin penetration that was careful and gentle- but agonizing to take so slowly in such a decadent heat that overtook you both.

Baldwin shut his eyes tightly, only breaking his gaze to feel your walls around his cock deliciously. His hand gripped your hip where he planned to stop you if you tried to move fast at first. His eyes cut the space between you to assure himself you were staying careful with yourself now that your bodies were joined.

You nodded, breathless with your lips already shaking to feel his length already so deep inside, throbbing and owning you silently. You then ground your hips across him for the first time with a slow and experimental pace to ease his caution. But you wanted his delight. As the bed began to groan beneath your movements, and you heard the uptick in your husband's breath, you reached.

Slowly, your hand took the bottom of his silver mask where you were met with hesitation that you planned for.

"No, my angel. Nngh, not yet."

His eyes were half lidded in a glaze of pleasure staring up to you and you answered while keeping your careful pace,

"I want to know what pleases you, my king. Let me see. And this mask will steal your breath."

He gave in when you tried again and you turned the silver disguise to the pillow where you saw that his mouth already hung open for air. He looked to you in yearning, hoping now that you wouldn't discover so soon as to why he had forbade this position thus far. Besides your lack of physical experience.

As your hips ground further, his eyes closed tighter where you felt him throb inside you so sublime. Your back arched to the sensation and he watched your body wind upwards in this divine bend of its liking. He groaned and finally once you saw him again, so washed in pleasure and begging in the eyes for you to continue, you knew.

"Baldwin-" you rasped as your hips rolled,

"You knew that we would like this….too much. Didn't you? That's…why you've denied this for so long."

He grunted and caught a breath with his tired head turned to the side where he stifled another swathe of bodily euphoria that would've made him call out. After a dry swallow, he said with his teeth nearly gritting to feel his passions beginning to climb.

"Because…I would like this too much. Because you would make me melt much too fast…just from the sight of you…working to please me."

You moaned to hear him admit it and feeling of his gripped hands at your hips only drove you further. Softly, beneath the sounds and whispers of your body moving the linens of his bed, you heard his quiet voice coaching your movements. His lips shook in muted trembles to tell you, to beg you to 'keep going-' or praises that were warm in a glow as he was becoming satisfied, 'yes, just like this.'

The groaning of the bed became more prominent as you then began to feel your own pleasure meeting you with a chill and you wished that someone wouldn't hear but you knew that everyone that passed his chamber understood…that the king never slept during his evening rests when you were requested to join him. It was something unspoken in the halls of the citadel that only his Queen could disturb his peace in the afternoon.

And you often did.

"Baldwin-!" You cried, unable to stifle the sharpness of your voice for the sake of others,

"My love-" you stuttered, trying to tell him that your body was nearing its great finish and he felt his legs twining, his muscles tensing in watch of your passion slowly beginning to unfurl.

"Do not stop." He told you, knowing your mind would try to convince your body to slow for his enjoyment to continue. And he forbade it.

"I want…to sate you, Baldwin. Mm, my king." You purred until his gloved hands balled the loose fittings of your gown emphatically and his mouth hung open for air when he said, choking on breath to carry him to an orgasm,

"Your pleasure…sates me, y/n. Do as I've said."

Your hips rode and writhed for seconds more where you felt the release begin to chill you. In the sudden, jarring descent of the moment, your legs shook where you cried out for him with your head tilted back.

The King watched from below and felt as your body hugged around him, squeezing and gripping around his length that already throbbed as his ecstasy found him, making him grit his teeth and curving his back against the bed as it rocked him.

"Oh, my Queen." He breathed laboriously but with a smile creeping onto his face and you smiled the same, feeling like young lovers causing mischief in these moments alone and you were then lied carefully across his collar.

Your head was petted like a prize made of fine silk, encouraged to stay with him until morning and you agreed with a contented sigh.

"What else did father say? I remember now..of what I wanted to ask you when I arrived." You giggled softly and Baldwin had already begun in a slow drift towards peaceful sleep, but he answered in a murmur,

"I'll tell you in the morning. I think he was making…a joke. Because he couldn't have been serious. Never …took him to be a man of humor. But I indulge..in being wrong."

You smiled with a tired snicker that never left your throat and together you slept with the king until well into the early, pale blue morning. Just before dawn, you rose athirst for water but also you felt the need for fresh air away from his medicinal haze of frankincense that loomed heavy in the mornings.

You entered the large corridor after rising, tying your long silk robe to keep you decent in your stroll, minding the hair that had fallen astray during your time with the king and Sir Isaac came to your side once your presence was known in the King's Hall.

"Shall I accompany you on your walk, Your Grace?" The palace knight asked, having stood guard outside Baldwin's chambers in the night.

"No-" you told him, gesturing for him to stay at ease,

"Stay with the King. I believe he'll rise soon."

"Directly, Your Grace-" He said with a gallant nod, still grasping the hilt of his sword when you walked further to pass by the long open terrace between the gapped pillars where one could peer down into the sandstone below. It felt in the air that rain had fallen in the night but you could hear movement that made your head turn to observe closer.

Your hands met the half wall that lined the catwalk that would lead you to the gardens but you looked down to search with your eyes until finally you saw the cause of the subtle commotion.

Tariq, your father's lieutenant, swung his long spear in practice with the pointed blades on either side of the home crafted weapon swirling at his back, whirring the air in rhythms that you could hear even from far away. He spun on his feet to complete a turn made in offensive to the sparring opponent made of morning air but his back met you again.

Your feet turned to continue to the garden but his voice then spoke across the empty terrace, having heard even the soft drags of your morning robe across the castle floor.

"Your father missed you at dinner, Princess." He turned with a smirk you would've liked him to keep to himself but you made your discontent known when you corrected him thusly in your home tongue,

"I am Queen now. You will address me as such."

Your sharp and nearly spiteful turn only made his smirk grow wider and he watched you leave until he spoke again at your back, something that began to annoy you,

"Did your King husband grant your father's request? Surely not after merely hours. He will have to consider the risk he is taking."

"I know not of what you speak-"

"-Your father wants you to fight in this war, y/n." He said, polishing the end of his blade with a cloth from his belt as if the words held nothing but the weight of an idea in passing,

[ "I know you still view me as a child-" You said, letting one step break the space between you here in the long stone hall where it was only God standing in watch.

"-But you can speak to me candidly. I have no fragile feelings." You said with the burning in your throat to know that it was a lie. You crumbled before him each time with the fragility of a breath and Father Hiromi raised his eyes from the floor, becoming steady in heart as well as restraint when he knew what he needed to say.

You both knew you'd stand here. In the feeling of sin, in the wrongness of merely a glance.

"I know you're not a child. But you are still young, and your heart is still tender. I...don't want to hurt you."

Your lip quivered as you braced for him to remove all feelings away from his words, making them cold and indigestible in the stomach but he finished with a glance you didn't expect,

"But...I already have. Haven't I?" ]

[ Baldwin led your father into his master study, informing the other servants to leave them both unattended until the supper had been prepared. He urged the High Lord of Hadjari to please make himself comfortable and he did so, but kept a careful stare over the table between them. But his eyes did drift away from the matter at hand that had called him from the war front.

Your father, otherwise known as Hakim, The Desert Serpent, let his attention linger over the many accolades before him as he made himself comfortable seated before your King husband. But it wasn't jewels or wartime mementos that had caught his eye curiously. It was scrolls of ancient text, frankincense burning, and books with parchment older than his own father.

When he met the King of Jerusalem the first time, shut away in the palace of Hadjari when you were away with your tutors to the bazaar so you'd remain unaware of the King's presence, he saw a conqueror among mortal men. The defeat of Saladin did not come easy even by a man told to be prolific in tale. Lord Hakim did not see the scholar shut away behind screens and linens upon that first meeting. But he begged himself not to rush towards judgement.

"I must tell you firstly-" The King began with a gentleness that would touch upon the sensitive topic of your new marriage that was filled with affection and kindness unlike anything he'd known,

"Although this was arranged with benefits in line for both parties….I find myself soft hearted towards y/n. It gives me great pride to tell you that I see her as my equal. In all things-"

"But she remains a maiden-" Your father said, making the assumption that because you had not fallen pregnant with an heir just yet, you remained untouched. Baldwin narrowed his eyes to the concept of leaving you in an indefinite state after making you his Queen and his bride in front of all of Jerusalem.

"You stand incorrect in that assumption, My Lord." He said plainly but latent with malice as to not paint a vivid picture to your dear father of how many attempts had infact been given for his lineage to continue.

Night after night.

“Our marriage is consummated, I assure you.”

He looked to your father with sharp, quiet eyes that spoke of discontent in being questioned and your father shared in the tension with a becoming scowl that curved his dark mustache. The room grew cold as both rulers felt the need to curse the other of what they believed was most beneficial for themselves and for you. But your father spoke justly to avoid ill words.

"I bring you a daughter of eighteen years, well fed and healthy. She should be pregnant. Hadjari wants an heir that will have Tu'undanian and Christian blood in its veins." He explained, thinking of his own daughter being the sole conduit of bringing glory to their homeland….if defeating this rebellion were to fail right in front of his eyes. Something he couldn't control. Merely attempt to prevent.

"My physicians assure me that providing an heir is possible for me. My strength and wellness has improved in these months of marriage. However, this is left to the will of the Almighty and I dare not sway him for earthly volitions." The King replied with growing malice threaded into his words hidden under the veneer of keeping this talk amiable.

Your father nodded but the pause spoke of something on his mind further and Baldwin adjusted his weight, telling the man silently that he was willing to hear more of the concern that seemed to weigh him down from across the table. He was willing to sate the worry of a daughter being led astray in a marriage that seemed to others as fruitless.

But the notion itself sickened him that anyone could dare assume such.

Your father twined the leather of his riding glove into a fist, contenting his mind in a fidget when he asked your husband in that rumble of that thick Tu'undanian royal accent he'd only heard from you thus far,

"Well, seeing that my grandchild is yet to come, I'd hope we could discuss something."

Baldwin felt his brow furrow from under the silver mask and waited for the man to clarify.

But he did not.

"Something that would make her country and her late mother proud. Now that she is Queen."

"First-" Baldwin said with his mask of poise and patience beginning to slip upon realizing your father came to Jerusalem without apologies. But with another ask of his great consideration,

"First, we will discuss the day of her coronation-"

~Meanwhile

You were enjoying the last meal of the day before the large supper planned in honor of your father and countrymen in the wide great hall of the Citadel. As one hour passed into several, you wondered where your father and The King had been all this time as you waited for their return. Your daily routine was something cherished and it was well past the time for Baldwin to have his afternoon rest which you always attended to assure that he found sleep.

"Has he taken his rest yet, Risha?" You asked the girl as she watched some of the dancers from Hadjari that had made show in the center table while drummers played in a driving rhythm as she rolled and spun in their silks.

"Who, Your Grace?" She asked over her shoulder, half paying attention as she clapped along to the rhythm with the rest of the castle that was awestruck by the immersement of the Queens own culture,

"The King!!" You said, trying not to be annoyed and Yasmeen chirped up from where she sat on a cushion at your side, telling you in your ear,

"The King asked that no one enter his chambers and the guards outside his door have not left their post. They have much to discuss, you know, Your Majesty. Your father wants to assure his daughter is being taken care of here-"

You scoffed and told her with a mention of what you knew to be true of your father's mannerisms when approaching someone others viewed as above him in rank, "Father is boastful. His bragging will bore Baldwin or anger him. Perhaps I should-"

You began to stand but the timing was unlucky as the song had just then stopped with a rain of applause for the decorated performers and you then pretended to have stood only to applaud as well as the dancers turned to bow in your honor.

"I think The King is upset. He has not acted himself all morning. He's never late to his rest." You said to no one particular, but making sure to keep your words pertaining to your husband hushed from the wandering crowd below you.

A castle harker then announced the return of your father to the large open hall and his captains and militants alike rejoiced in his presence that filled the room. Your hand maidens then noticed one man in particular at his side, one of youthful age and…unlacking in charm from his gallant appearance in his dark uniform that hung with cords and tassels that swung in his proud gait.

"Who is that, Your Grace?" Hana asked then as she took notice last and the other two paid close attention when you paused to answer. Seeming struck by the first glance of this man…who you'd not seen since you were a child.

You blinked several times wondering why he was here and how ironic it was that this ghost from your past was your father's Captain of Guard judging by his decorated uniform.

"That's Tariq. He leads my father's squads in battle." You answered, unsure of how you even remembered his name as you watched him beam in a smile to slap your father's arm in jest.

The truth of his identity was fickle now in your position as a wife and as a Queen but you mentioned plainly,

"I would've been promised to him if my Father hadn't called to Jerusalem. We used to play together as children."

All three of the girls looked to each other with words unspoken, even hiding their expressions under their sheer head silks made in the Queen's dark, foreign shade. Before one of them could say something that could've been heard as a negative remark about your Father's choice of guard, your husband's chamber servant requested your ear with a bow and gesturing hand.

"The King wishes to see you for his rest, Your Majesty."

You nodded and your servants and handmaidens stood in reverence for you to come to your feet. They arranged the long train of your royal gown behind you and there was a silence in the room when you lifted your chin to begin towards the open large doors to the corridor. Your father met you hand in hand before you could turn your back to the room and you kissed his cheek, telling him that The King had called for you.

Quickly, you began an apology for leaving the celebrations of his arrival to the city that was all but haunting in the many ways it reminded you of parties at your home in Hadjari but he stopped you with a firm shake to his head that nearly reprimanded the very thought.

"You must obey your husband. We will talk in the morning, sweet one." He said in your language, then taking a moment to turn as if his next words should be said in confidence, "I must warn you. I think my discussion angered The King-"

"Papa-" you gasped, wondering what could have possibly been said to provoke Baldwin to anger but your father stopped your worry again by saying to you sternly in assurance that you mustn't feel concern.

"Your husband scolded me for not attending your coronation, y/n. Like a master to a hound. Had I not admired him so, I would've cursed him to speak to me such a way."

"Father, he feels this way because-"

Your father took your face in his gloved hands, reminding you of the childlike gleam in your eyes when he told you Tu'undanian fables, only that this time it was entirely real.

"But I must thank God that I have given you to someone so caring. I welcome his anger. It speaks to love. But we discussed something else that soured our parlez, I'm sure. But I want to make my Queen daughter the jewel of her homeland. Go speak to the King and then come see me in the morn-"

You didn't know what exactly was said between them in this conversation that needed to be hidden from your knowledge. But you wanted to know about Baldwin's show of anger towards your father. One that he himself found so profound that it was only admirable from a man now holding his daughter in marriage.

You kissed your father again as the sun finally crept low below the horizon, washing the walls in the orange that saturated the stone pillars lining your way to the King's chambers.