warnings: hurt/no comfort, ROYALTY AU, princess!reader, knight!clarisse, miscommunication (a little bit), mentioned homophobia/banned relationships :(
this was based off a c.ai roleplay I had..
NOT PROOFREAD BE NICE TO MEEEEEE
It was wrong, you knew that. You both did.
But, that thought subsides as Clarisse La Rue ducks through your window, sporting a sharp grin. You reach out, soft hand on her bicep, the other on her hand. You do little to actually help her, but she accepts it nonetheless.
The window shuts with a click and you immediately pull her in, bumping your foreheads together with a sweet giggle.
“My lady,” she greets, you pepper gentle kisses on her cheek. Then, you land one on her mouth. You give her a warm smile, one that could stop armies and rival goddesses.
“So formal.” You chide, hands holding hers as you pull Clarisse to the bed, she happily follows.
She presses gentle kisses to your knuckles as you flop on the bed. She carefully sits down, delicate as to not creak the bed or stain dirt on your expensive sheets.
You face her, placing your legs over her lap and Clarisse’s hands instinctively rest on your thigh. You hum approvingly, leaning into her warm body.
The stark difference between you two only shown through in moments like this: Clarisse, a battered, violent warrior having just returned from her night shift, covered in dirt and smelling of sweat. And you, the princess— clad in your delicate nightgown, looking soft and ethereal. Never could Clarisse imagine touching you, being this close.
Though, that thought is quieted as you tuck some stray hair behind her ear. Your touch was something forgiving, a thanks for her service: a sacred prayer, only to be heard by the Most High. A rejuvenation from the blood on her hands, all is forgiven when you look at her with an appreciation that could rival her devotion.
Clarisse’s tired muscles relax, even by a small bit.
“What? Would you prefer me to be informal, my lady?” You laugh at that, the feeling of your cheeks heating up is welcomed and you lean into her. It sends a wave of warmth over her whole body, an ache in her chest.
You cup her cheeks, gently shaking her head side to side as you coo at her. “No,” you speak gently, “this’ll do, brave knight.” Your nose brushes hers and she grins. Your touch marks her golden, so unlike yet similar to the blood that looms over her, the arching shadows that follow each footstep.
She would destroy the world just to consume the carbon dioxide you breathe out. Your gentleness is bewitching, overtaking her body and soul, and putting her on autopilot. She knows nothing but how you wish to be loved.
She turns her head, one of her hands wrapping around your wrist and she places a chaste kiss to your pulse point. “As you wish.” The words flow easily from her, a sacred prayer.
You look up at her in adoration, a hidden reverence. You love her like she is renewed, she loves you like an idol.
“More suitors are coming tomorrow,” you hush out. She tenses, her hand tightens on your thigh, and she brings your hand to her chest, she frowns, but it looks suspiciously like a scowl.
“Are they now?” She speaks lowly, darkly. Her gaze is something nearly animalistic, and only rage-driven Achilles could understand the thoughts going through her head currently. She hates them— the suitors— all polished princes with no idea of who you are, how you love. She would tear them apart with her hands, if she could. Scream that you were hers, fight them and eat them raw.
You smile in response, nodding. “I’ve been considering having them fight you, like a trial of sorts.” She snorts at that, and the hurt in her heart is somewhat softened. She imagines it: those pompous, spoiled men trying to face her in a duel, only to end up face-first in the dirt and bleeding.
”They wouldn’t last two seconds against me.” Clarisse scoffs, but you swear you hear a tad bit of excitement and pride as an undertone.
”You could teach them.” You say simply with a shrug. “You’re an equal— stronger than them, actually— anyone could learn from you.”
It smoothes something in her to hear you speak of her like that, like she’s worthy of being equal with royalty.
She doesn’t like being considered lowly. But, compared to the pampered princes that come in and try to court you, take over the country— she is. She’s just a soldier, with no right to be here and touching you. The smell of vanilla that seems to trail after you only smells like damnation and impending doom to Clarisse.
“Thank you.” She mutters, so uncharacteristic of her.
“Always.” You whisper back, and Clarisse’s fingers gently ghost over your cheek. Then, you swallow, eyes searching her face before you speak. “There’s one prince I have my eye on.”
Her movements still, calloused fingers tightening into the plush skin of your cheek. Her expression is grim, and she almost scoffs out a laugh. It’s almost esoteric, something she could never understand— how do you claim she owns you, yet you’re in preparation to marry another man?
“Oh?” She raises an eyebrow. “Is that so?” Clarisse knows a prince carries more worth, that she is— in the end— a lowly knight, but it hurts more than she’d like to admit.
You sigh softly, taking her hand off of your cheek and holding it in both of yours, pressing it over your heart. “Clarisse, my love, listen to me. At least hear me out.”
She lets you take her hand, and bites back her natural instinct to tighten her grip on you. She meets your gaze with cold eyes. Her heart feels heavy, a raging storm hushing secrets long-known. She will never fully have you.
If you tell her this prince is a better match than her, she may just rip her heart out herself, bleeding out on the high-quality carpet beneath you. But, your voice is gentle and loving. It calls out the gluttony within her, she wants all of you.
She nods her head for you to continue, “I’m listening.”
“If I tried to marry you, we’d be killed. You know that, my dear.” Your whispered voice is loud in the room. “I am yours. Entirely, wholly. But..” You pause, and it looks like it physically pains you to utter these words, these harsh truths cursing your dear lover. “I must protect you in the only way I can, Clarisse. And this is it.”
She listens, and she hates that this is true. If they were to find you two, you two would be executed in a heartbeat. But, if you were to die, you’d die together. A sacrifice Clarisse would gladly do, silently sworn to protect you and love you with every shadow and sin within her. She squeezes your hand, a silent ‘keep going’.
“This prince, Perseus of Elysium, he’s a good man with a secret lover of his own.” You tell her, voice a silent beg as you shift to kneel on the fluffy mattress beneath you. “He won’t lay a finger on me, he’s a good ruler— I’ll be allowed to rule my kingdom alongside him.”
Clarisse pauses as she takes it all in, bristles at the idea of this man— someone who isn’t her— being with you. Holding you like she had, touching you. She doesn’t like it, and she grimaces at the thought alone.
“You’ve spoken to him before?” She speaks, and the words struggle to leave her throat given the painful tightness within it.
When you speak, the words feel like a betrayal to utter. “Many times.”
Clarisse takes a sharp breath, a fire sparking in her cold eyes. She wishes to scream, to tell you not to go along with this. Her jaw clenches and she gently shakes her head. “What’s he like?” It’s petty, and does little to soften the hurt in her.
“Nothing compared to you.” You plead.
Her heart aches, and she yearns to believe you. She really does. But, the thought that this man will be able to love you openly, mimicking all that she had done, doesn’t let her. “Then why do you wish to marry him?” The words almost sound pathetic as she glares down at you.
“Because he’s the only safe option.” You argue back, voice quiet but in disbelief. “He will only lay with me to have children, to consumate the marriage. He will treat me as an equal.”
She feels physically ill, and she swallows back her disgust at the thought. “You’d have to be with him for life. Eat with him, sleep with him, live with him.” She tries to calm herself as to not frighten you, but her irrational anger slowly bubbles to the surface and she sees nothing but pleading and regret in your eyes.
“I have a duty to my country.” You beg. “I need this. I need to rule— Lord knows nobody else can.” Clarisse hears your words and scoffs, tugging her hand away from you and firmly ignoring the whimper that escapes you as she does so.
“This isn’t about duty.” She hisses. “You know I’d fight for you, for us. But, you just expect me to sit back and watch you marry another man as I’m kept in the dark?” Her words are harsh, cutting straight to your heart. To her, you were heaven— and yet, you were putting her through eternal torture, banishing her to the darkest depths.
“You will have to.” You say, your eyes glassed over and you speak with pain and frustration. “That or you must leave me. I can’t risk both of our lives because you made me reject the one man that would let us be together.”
She hates hearing you speak this this— so uncaring of the gap this’ll create between you two. Like it doesn’t matter.
“Fine.” She speaks bitterly, darkly. “Go marry some prince and have a perfect little life. With a man who can hold your hand in public— love you without fear—“
“Fine.” You cut her off. “If you wish to go, you may leave.”
Silence fills the room, and she pauses. The words seemed foreign, the poison behind them something unexplored. How had you two been reduced to this?
“..What?” She whispers. The anger in her tone is gone, replaced with confusion and fear. You scoff at her, “if you are unwilling to listen, to let me fight for us in the only way I can, then we should go with the safe option.” You turn from her, firmly hiding the tears that threaten to fall from your eyes. “You’re dismissed, that’s an order.”
That hurts her more than anything, more than the idea of you belonging under some man’s name. That you had reduced her— reduced your whole relationship— to nothing but your knight. Her fingers twitch, wishing to apologize and reach out for you. For a moment, Clarisse thinks she may fall apart entirely.
Yet, she doesn’t speak. What more is there to say? Instead, she stands from the bed. She fastens armor on herself again, and doesn’t notice the tearful and longing glance sent her way.
The shaking of her hands— whether it’s from anger or sadness, she doesn’t know— causes her to put her armor on more slowly. She tries to manifest words to speak to you, pleads and prayers to try, but nothing steps forward. She avoids looking at your face, but her hears your muffled sniffles and quiet cries, and she knows that your tears whisper her name.
Once she has her full armor on, her sword sheathed and helmet under her arm. She throws you a glance from over her shoulder. Every part of her aches and she has to force herself to step away.
Looking at you like this feels sinful, but a small part of her knew this was inevitable. That you two were just poeticizing the forbidden nature of your love, eroticizing the primal nature of Clarisse’s love for you. You two had both done nothing but dreamed of a love that bewitches you— body and soul— and you had gotten it. But soul-crushing devotion will never let you win. Happy ever after isn’t made for those with hearts.
Without another word, no apologies or last love confessions, she goes towards the window.
Clarisse leaves without a trace, gently shutting the window behind her. And you collapse against your bed.
Your sobs echo like the laughs you two had once shared.
