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Warnings: None really, slight nsfw (but not really)
Comments: God I really really needed a break in essay-writing so I did this in Skype in like 15 or 20 minutes. I was gonna go back and edit it and polish it up but I really do not have the energy to and there's a certain kind of charm to it being more impulsive and less polished (this is not me being lazy I swear). Also inspired by Tinycrown's incredible shibari drawing here
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It's long past dark, and most of the castle is asleep as Ameil leads Maelic down to the throne room. Their footsteps echo through the empty halls: Ameil's light and purposeful, Maelic's louder and heavier and loyal, falling in time with his prince's gait.
"Are you really sure we should be doing this?" Maelic asks, as Ameil drapes himself over his ceremonial seat. It's not as grand as his father's throne, but since Lisette is the heir apparent it's not his place to sit there. He wouldn't want it, anyway; his own, smaller seat is more suited to his slight frame, and that's where he arranges himself as Maelic looks on in slight trepidation.
"We won't be here for long," Ameil responds, slinging his right leg over the arm of the chair. He scoots around, shifting to a more comfortable position, and beckons Maelic forward.
Maelic obeys, as he always does, letting the bundle of red rope uncoil and slink to the floor. He follows the end of the rope as he kneels, looking up between Ameil's legs, hands hesitating at the left ankle pressed against the leg of the throne.
"You're sure this is okay?" He asks, one more time. Ameil gives him a curt nod, and that's all the encouragement Maelic needs. He winds the rope around his Prince's ankle, tight enough to keep his leg firmly bound, but loose enough that if a late-night snack desire hit anybody, it would be easy enough to remove.
Ameil's breath is steady even as Maelic finishes with his left leg and stands up. The next section of rope winds around his arms - a few times around his forearms, pinning them to his hips, and then a few times around his upper arms, so his elbows are snug against his ribs.
Maelic looms over him as he ties, and in the emptiness of the room Ameil can feel his knight's breath quickening. He remains calm and complacent even as the knots tighten and the ropes are digging into his skin against the fabric of his nightshirt. Then Maelic runs the end of a rope along the inside of his thigh and Ameil squirms, a very faint blush spreading to his cheeks even as his mouth remains in a collected frown.
The ropes go around his thighs and calf easily enough, tying under his knee. But the final piece of rope has nowhere to really tie to; instead, Maelic wraps it around his ankle a few times, just for the feel of the rope against his skin. He ties a slipknot around Ameil's dangling ankle, and pulls the rope up so that the prince's knee slips higher along the arm of the throne, the space between his thigh widening.
 "What do you plan to do with me now that you have me here?" Ameil asks, and it comes out as a petulant purr.
"I don't know," Maelic admits. It was originally Ameil's idea; Maelic had just expanded and collaborated on it. And now here they are and what should he do with the prince tied to his throne? "Maybe I'll just leave you here."
"You wouldn't dare," Ameil says. He frowns some more and his eyes narrow and he gives Maelic a defiant look fron under his blond hair.
"It's tempting," Maelic responds with a laugh. He pulls on the end of the rope in his hand and Ameil's legs spread a little farther and he slides down into the chair a little bit more. Maelic steps forward, rests his knee against Ameil's groin, and leans in for a kiss.
Ameil obliges him, and when their lips separate Maelic leans down and engulfs the smaller frame against the hard line of his body. He sighs into his prince's neck, leans down, and undoes the rope holding the ankle to the leg of the chair.
In one easy motion, Maelic picks up Ameil and carries him, ropes and all, back to their room in the tower. His footsteps fall loud and purposeful against the floors, loud enough to cover the lighter sound of a princess stepping out from the kitchen. She jots something down on a handy piece of parchment, smiles, and returns as well to her bed and lover.
The end
I can't sleep but I am exhausted so this is probably going to be pretty out of character I'm gomen
Words: 1025
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The news didn't take long to reach Lisette, but even though she'd ridden as fast as she could to the area of conflict, by the time she arrived at the small village it was already burning. For a second, Lisette paused, afraid that she'd arrived too late, but then she was springing into action, grabbing a bucket and heading to the small stream nearby. From the smell alone, she figured that this bucket was usually used as a chamber pot, but there was no time to clean it out or find a new one.
"Fetch some water! Help me put this out!" She snapped at her escort, which had just caught up. She handed the bucket off to one of the knights and ran into the village instead, a sleeve over her nose.
"Hello?" She called out, voice rising as she reached the village square. "Is there anybody here?"
A red raven cloaked in fire flew through a broken wall, cackling as he held in his talons a particularly expensive-looking ring.
"You'll find no one here, Queen of Echen," The raven said, admiring the ring. It seemed that even ravens of the fae could hardly resist the allure of something shiny.
"So the villagers have evacuated? Are any of them wounded?"
The raven cackled. "I claimed nothing of that sort. You are late, Lady Ruler, but you were late by the time you heard the news. At this point, the centaurs are simply cleaning up." He flew to a large building, perching on the edge of its burning roof. "If you wish to collect what remains of your people, you'll want to put this one out quick."
Again, the split-second of hesitation. But Lisette had little reason to distrust the raven; they had always been a very neutral species. Lisette couldn't remember ever having to settle a quarrel with the ravens, and this one in particular seemed little threatened by her presence. It had, after all, already gotten what it wanted.
"Over here!" Lisette called to her knights. "Focus on this building; there may still be people trapped inside!"
When she looked back to the raven, it had already flown off. One of the knights appeared beside her, a bucket of water in his hands. The same one that she'd handed off, actually.
"Sir Maelic," Lisette greeted him, as he threw the water into the blaze. It didn't seem to make much of a difference.
Maelic looked at the bucket, then back to the stream. A few more knights were straggling to the square with their own buckets, and the building creaked and crackled.Â
"There's no time," Maelic said, setting the bucket down. He grabbed a full one from a fellow knight and charged at the door with his shoulder.
The door crumbled away easily, probably far more easily than Maelic had been expecting. He stumbled through the doorway, throwing the water in an arc in front of him as fire surged through the opening. Lisette passed his empty bucket to another knight, watching the door with vigilance. If he didn't appear soon, she was probably going to go in after him.
Which, it seemed like she was going to have to. She frowned and marched towards the door, ignoring the protests of her escort. Like Maelic, she grabbed a bucket of water to clear an entryway for herself.
Before she could walk into the building, but after having thrown the water, an armored figure stepped outside. Maelic had a grimace on his face as he carried with him a young child, perhaps twelve or thirteen years old, and Lisette dropped the bucket at her feet as images of her younger brother flashed through her head.
"Ameil?" She whispered, even though she knew that at this point, he'd have to be older. Maybe only a little bit younger than Sir Maelic, himself. She would've stayed frozen there, but Maelic grabbed her around the shoulders as he passed by, pushing her to safety. Lisette's feet didn't want to work as she looked at the blonde child in Sir Maelic's grip. Somehow, she made it back outside.
Seconds later, the roof crumpled under its own weight, the supports eaten away by the flame. Lisette was hopeful, but practical: if there HAD been anyone alive that Sir Maelic left behind, there probably wasn't now.
"I'm sorry, your Grace," Maelic said, setting the boy's body down near her. Behind them, the fires still crackled and the knights were yelling to one another, and water splashed and sizzled. But to Lisette the world was a vacuum; she could barely even hear Sir Maelic. "I could only recover one body, the others were already half-burnt. They were all like this, though."
He moved the boy's arms away from his face and torso, and again Lisette saw a flash of her brother's face, petulant and angry. And then it was gone, and she was looking at the glassy stare of a village peasant. His stomach had been torn out. Almost certainly the centaurs' doing.
"Shall I seek reparations from the centaur tribe, your Grace?" Sir Maelic was asking her. Lisette shook her head. This was the third village destroyed in as many months, and it would likely not be the last. She was tired of waiting and reacting. She was tired of being late.
"We need to stop this at its source. Somebody is instigating these attacks, despite our efforts to mediate."
"Shall I send a team to investigate?"
"That won't be necessary, Sir Maelic."
Lisette leaned down and closed the dead boy's eyes. The sound was slowly draining back into the world. Over the roar of the chaos, she could hear, even from over a year ago, the rumors of a blood-mouthed diplomat with a double-edged tongue wandering the woods. She had wanted nothing more in her world of magic and fae for those stories to be wild fantasy. She hoped, even as she gave Sir Maelic his next assignment, that they were nothing but gossip.
