Summary: You’re unwillingly engaged to the Crown Prince of another kingdom, whom you had known as a child but then lost contact with. Time, deceit, and politics brings you two back together, but it’s a dramatic stretch to the ascension of the throne.
A/N: so here’s the first part of RY, and I’m pretty impressed by it, honestly. hope everyone reading enjoys it
Your mother does not touch you as you walk alongside her with Grant still holding your arm towards the throne room of the Barnes Castle. Your heart beats triple the amount of times you take steps, and you’re sure Grant can feel your heartrate in your arm, but if he does, he does not address it.
The stained glass windows of the hall leading towards the throne room are gold and silver, images of the land and past kings and queens pictured in them and shining disarrayed blends of color onto the stone floor you walk on.
“You’re a queen,” your mother reminds you, though she needn’t to. “That is one rank higher than James.”
You only look at her, blank faced and still frustrated with her, and she turns her head forward, chin raised as you three take the last turn into the throne room.
The king and his queen had greeted you upon your arrival the evening before, late into the night, but neither his son nor daughter were awake for you to meet. They stand at the foot of their parents’ thrones now, dressed equally elegantly and each as beautiful as their kingdom’s breathtaking country side.
“Your Highnesses,” King George Barnes says, rising from his throne with his wife following suite and descending the steps down onto the main floor.
“Your Majesty,” your mother bows deeply to him, and smiles at him and his wife, Queen Winifred.
“Your Highness,” you say in turn, bowing to him just as much as your mother.
“May I introduce to you to my son, the Crown Prince James, and my daughter, Princess Rebecca.”
They step forward upon being called, and the Princess grins at you and bows to you, as you do the same.
“It is an honor to finally meet you, Your Majesty,” Princess Rebecca says to you.
“It is my honor alone,” you reply, and look to her brother.
Prince James nods to you, back ramrod straight and demeanor closed off, but his chest expands when you make eye contact with him, and you do not nearly bow as low to him as you had the rest of his family.
“This is my advisor, Grant of Ward,” you introduce the man at your side, and he gives his respect to the Barnes family.
“A pleasure to meet you,” King George speaks to him.
“It is an honor, Your Majesty,” Grant responds, returning to his straight composure.
“Your Highness.” King George addresses your mother. “If you would please join myself and my wife in a discussion.”
Your mother conforms, and glances to you before stepping towards Queen Winifred.
“James,” his mother addresses him, and Prince James looks at his queen, wordlessly. “Take Queen (Y/N) on a stroll through the gardens. Reacquaint yourselves with one another.”
You open your mouth to oppose this suggestion, determined not to be alone with the Prince until you had to, but Grant’s gaze silences you, and you comply to his unspoken recommendation.
“Of course,” Prince James obeys, his voice rigid. Grant releases your arm, and James nearly looks livid with himself as he offers his own, which you reluctantly take.
“Grant,” you say, and your dark haired advisor gives you a reassuring smile, his emotions at bay as you are guided away from the throne room by the Crown Prince.
Once outside, James removes his arm from yours and reforms to locking his hands behind his back as you walk side-by-side down the path towards the garden of dying flowers. Your fingers hold each other loosely in a prayer like form in front of yourself, and you struggle to find words to say to the man next to you.
Your attention is instead drawn by a statue of a naked woman in the center of the garden, visible only now because of the dead branches of summer time plants in the labyrinth of flowers surrounding you both, and you stop, glancing between it and Prince James.
“Do you remember laughing at this statue?” you ask the prince, and he looks down at you.
Your family had known the Barnes since before your birth, and you had spent a few years in the company of them as a child, between the time when your father had died and day of your coronation, at age seven. Up until then, you had memories of the Crown Prince as a long haired, buck-toothed child. There were only a few, and they were distant, but you reminisced on them whenever you missed the innocence and bliss of childhood.
“Where is Prince Steven?” you ask him, remembering your second companion in those early years and Prince James’ own cousin.
“He is away,” Prince James responds flatly. “His wedding has prevented him from meeting you, again.”
You frown at this news, not having been in recent contact with Prince Steven and not having heard the news of a wife. You suppose the news had been kept from you or deemed unimportant, but it brings an unfamiliar feeling into the pits of your stomach to realize the skinny and sickly small boy you had once put flowers all over in the summer time was married, and grown.
Prince James walks on, and you follow his lead, strolling with him towards the center of the maze. He takes every right, passing blooming flowers and the dead ones alike, soundless except for his boots crunching dried branches under him.
“Prince James,” you say, trying to achieve a conversation with him. “I know this arrangement must make you as angry as it makes me, but I am not the one to blame for it.”
The prince halts, and you stop as well, waiting for his response, which comes as a bitter laugh as he turns around. His chuckle cuts through the frigid air like a sharpened sword, and his lips twist into a scowl.
“You have no idea how angry this arrangement makes me,” he tells you, voice finally adopting some kind of tone, though it is rage. “I don’t even know you, and here I am, being forced to marry you, because it is ‘for the good of our kingdoms.’”
“And you think that I approve of it?” you demand, crossing your arms over your chest. “I do not need a husband to rule my kingdom, but here I am, having to because being alone weakens my reign, in my people’s eyes.”
“Damn your people,” Prince James hisses.
“Damn you!” you respond, offended by his curse. “How dare you say something like that.”
“How dare I?” the Prince repeats. “How dare you come into my country and request my hand in marriage!”
“Request your hand?” you repeat, confused. “James, I never even reached out for a marriage!”
“Really?” Prince James scoffs. “Then explain to me why a messenger came to this castle not two weeks ago, requesting that I become your king and you become my queen with your family’s seal at the bottom of the note?”
You fall short, lips parted. “James, I haven’t sent messages to you, or this country since I was eight years old.”
Prince James falls into silence, his eyes analyzing your face for truth.
“James,” you say his name again, stepping forward to grasp his arm, believing your shared history allowed you this. “The seal on the message, did it have the dove in the crown or a wreath of laurels around it?”
He shakes his head, pinching the bridge of his nose as he moves his body away from yours.
“A bird, a dove maybe,” he responds. “Why? Why does this matter?”
Your expression darkens and you press your lips into a firm line.
“It matters because the seal of my country, upon my coronation, is a wreath of laurels surrounding my crown,” you tell him, new anger and disbelief coursing through you. “The seal of a dove flying through the crown was the seal of my parents before me.”
Prince James meets your eyes as the understanding clicks with him.
“I didn’t send you anything,” you mutter. “My mother did.”
@a-steroides @princeofsassgard
discoholicmusic
stormborns
annaxmalina
baratheonpilled
ellievsbear
titsay
pixelskylines
izzy806
blakekathryn
gummygunk
