#pre-eclipse

Note:

This was requested by @Bravo6_go_in_dark on Wattpad and I am so sorry for taking forever to write this. I've been writing this on and off for about a month and a half but it's finally done! (Note my username on Wattpad is @Parascythe- )

Request: "Can u do griffith with a fem reader who is Charlotte's royal best friend from another kingdom who is very chaotic childish bold and a trouble maker and once the king and queen of her kingdom has to drag her by the hair and keep her in her room but her multiple tries of escaping didn't work cuz griffith is outside her palace"

I will say that I do not like Griffith for obvious reasons, but I can respect who he was before a certain point in the manga/anime. I think some of my bias leaked into my writing, and as a result, this is not pure fluff. The realist in me demanded something more realistic.

I also never intended for this to be super long, but here we are at around 7k words. Maybe the long fic will make up for the amount of time spent waiting lol.

I hope anyone who reads this enjoys it. On with the fic! ( •̀ ω •́ )✧

─── ⋆ ｡ﾟ☆: *. ☽ .* :☆ﾟ｡⋆ ───

You never were the ideal princess your parents wanted. Some find it hard to believe that you’re royalty and would say so if it didn’t mean treason. While your parents made every effort to raise you properly, there was always your brash attitude that none of your tutors could tame. Etiquette and grace were drilled into you. You acted like a perfect princess—diplomatic and reserved—at events and official settings. Outside, however, is an entirely different story.

“Princess! Please come back! Her Majesty says you must look presentable for your upcoming betrothal meeting!” Your maid shouts, failing to keep up with your running.

You toss your head back with a laugh and continue gleefully dashing through the castle. “If he really wants to marry me then he should accept me as I am,” you refer to your pants. “Having to dress up to impress some man I might not even like is foolish.” As you run, you pass by a familiar white knight—viscount now—and meet curious blue eyes. Griffith is here to guard Charlotte while she’s visiting your kingdom. Flashing a cheeky smile, you wave and continue on your path to meet your potential fiance, unaware of his lingering gaze.

You stand in front of the drawing-room and enter unannounced before any of the servants can stop you. “Princess! It’s a pleasure to meet—” a man immediately stands up to greet you, pausing mid-sentence when he notices your attire. If you remember correctly, he’s the prince of a neighbouring kingdom. You also recall that your parents were adamant about signing a trade treaty with them, hence the sudden need to join the two kingdoms through marriage. The slight furrow of his brow already puts you in a bad mood. “Is the princess not able to come? I must say that I have never seen such a rude maid barge into a room, let alone one dressed so inappropriately. Are those pants?” You swear you see red but the diplomatic voice in your brain begs you not to cave his face in to avoid instigating a war. Instead, your fingers curl into a fist and you can feel the sting as your nails dig into your palms. You school your expression into something neutral and not at all the seething rage boiling underneath your skin.

“You’re speaking right to her.” His face pales. “I wasn’t aware that they skipped lessons on proper etiquette in your kingdom. How barbaric.” You look at him with disdain, already deciding that you wanted nothing to do with this man. His complexion quickly flushes with colour. He takes quick, angry strides towards you and grips your wrists tightly. Where were the guards?? You glance around the room and notice that it’s only the two of you and that there’s no commotion from outside. Part of you is scared, but another part of you is furious—furious at this man who looks down on you because he thinks you’re an easy target.

“Listen here, Princess,” he spits out your title with venom, “I would watch my tone if I were you. Your kingdom needs mine, not the other way around. My parents have left the decision up to me whether the treaty is signed or not.” His other hand drifts uncomfortably low and you glare murderously. “You should smile more, otherwise you’ll ruin that pretty face of yours; after all, that is your only redeeming quality.”

“To hell with the treaty.” Deciding that you’ve had enough, you rotate your wrist and pull your arm out of his grip. Taking the efficient route, you deliver a swift kick between his trousers and he crumples to the ground like a puppet that had its strings cut. “Don’t you ever threaten me again.” You rest your foot on top of the area you kicked, noting how he winces. “Do you understand?” When you receive no response you add pressure to your foot. “Do. You. Understand?” You emphasize each word. The question of whether this man would be able to continue his family line lingers in the back of your mind.

“Fucking bitch!” 

Before you can stomp your foot down, your parents enter the room.

“What is the meaning of this?!” Your father demands as your mother drags you away from your fiance—ex-fiance now.

“He started it!” You say, pointing an accusatory finger at him.

“Honey, we have talked about this,” your mother tries to soothe you, “you cannot keep making such childish excuses.”

“He threatened me! H-he tried to touch me!” you sputter, voice rising as your shoulders go rigid with tension. You whip your head and see his cocky smirk that immediately changes into a tearful expression when your parents glance over. 

“She just suddenly attacked me!” He sobs pitifully, his acting even worse than that jester your parents hired. “I went to greet her and she kicked me without hesitation. What will my parents do when they hear their only son may never be able to produce heirs?” You feel one of your eyes twitch in annoyance, but the look on your father’s face keeps your mouth shut.

“We can still sort this out.” Your father sighs and turns to you. “You are grounded, young lady. You are to stay in your room until the upcoming banquet.” You open your mouth to begin protesting. “Not a single word from you. Guards!” At his command, a group of guards enter the room. Where were they when you needed them?? “Escort the princess back to her chambers.” His tired eyes look over you once more. “Drag her if you must.” The guards salute and nudge you out of the room. Eventually, they do end up dragging you because you insisted on going back and reasoning with your parents.

You spend the next day locked up in your room, grateful that you were at least allowed visitors. And so here you were, sitting with Charlotte as she listened to you over a cup of tea. She frowned when you mentioned the man’s rude behaviour, and her eyes nearly bugged out of her head when you got to the part where you kicked him in the balls.

“I mean, honestly, Lottie. How could they expect me to marry such a pig?!” you exclaim indignantly. She pats your hand as a comforting gesture. “What’s with that look on your face?” You lean back in your chair and try to analyze her expression.

“I am surprised and envious of your boldness,” Charlotte admits. She is a lot more demure compared to you, something you assumed was a product of her father’s doing.

“And look where that boldness got me.” You gesture to your temporary confinement and the noticeable increase in guards around and in your room.

Charlotte laughs, and it’s what you would expect a princess’s laugh to sound like—melodic and light. “When has that ever stopped you?” She raises a brow and her lips lift softly into a smile.

You clamber out of your seat and rush to give her a hug, adoring the way she squeals joyfully in your arms. “This is why you’re my best friend.” You grin at her, already planning an escape in your head.

There are three more days until the banquet, which means three more escape attempts. On the first day, you decide to try climbing out of the window. Your room was only on the third level and you managed to gather enough silk sheets to form a rope. During the day there were guards inside your room, so you decided to wait until the evening to put your plan into action. 

Once the pale moon rises into view, you walk to your closet and pull out the pile of ‘rope’ and quietly carry a chair to your door, wedging it beneath the doorknob. This way you could give yourself more time before they realize what you’ve done. Tiptoeing to your window, you secure one end of the rope around the lantern hook next to the frame and carefully lower the rest of it. A light breeze brushes against your face and you shiver as you stare at the dark abyss below. You’ve read in books about heroes and heroines doing this countless times. How hard could it be to execute in real life?

Not as hard as you thought, but a lot harder than you expected. You never considered what would happen if you were to slip or fall before reaching the ground. But to be honest, this is a fanfic and you’re feeling fairly confident in your plot armour. 

With the fourth wall broken, you begin your descent towards freedom (hopefully). Thanks to all the horse riding and swordsmanship, it takes you less than half an hour to reach the ground. You internally sigh with relief when your feet come in contact with solid ground. 

“I believe you are supposed to be under room arrest, Princess?” A familiar voice shatters the small moment of victory and your shoulders immediately tense up—your back straight as a rod. Lucky for you, there’s a layer of amusement in his tone, so you’re probably not completely fucked. Turning your head, a small gasp falls from your lips. You already thought he looked handsome during the day, but the moonlight did wonders for his ethereal beauty. 

“Is your hair made out of moonlight?” The words escape before your brain has time to process them. Your eyes widen and it feels like you’ll snap in half if your body becomes any more rigid. “Shit—I mean, pardon me.” Your breathing quickens and heat flushes from the crown of your head to the base of your neck. 

“I can practically see the steam rising off your head. And no, Princess. My hair is simply just hair. Although the colour seems to intrigue most people.” He comes closer and makes an attempt to grab your arm. His fingers send a jolt of electricity and you jump back, the castle walls trapping you from behind. 

“I’m not going back, not yet at least,” you refuse, flinching away from his touch again. His lips turn into a small frown but it disappears when you blink again. His expression is more neutral now and that polite smile is back on his face. 

“I am afraid your parents have ordered everyone to escort you back to your room should they discover you escaping.”

“I wouldn’t call it escaping,” you mutter under your breath.

“And what would you call it, dear Princess?”

“I’m simply taking a walk away from my room and out of the castle.”

“As far as I recall, walks don’t usually involve scaling buildings.”

“What can I say? I like to take the scenic route—

A squeak escapes from your throat as the ground suddenly vanishes beneath your feet. Instinctively your arms cling around his neck. You glance up and notice that Griffith’s face is significantly closer to yours now. When did he get so close?

“W-what are you doing?” you ask, unsure whether to faint from excitement or embarrassment. 

“I am escorting you to your chambers,” he responds in a matter-of-fact tone, carrying you with ease.

“I figured as much, b-but I’m capable of walking. Y-you don’t need to carry me like this.” You stumble through your words, oblivious to the way the corners of his lips curl up. 

“I believe you and Charlotte called this the ‘princess carry’ during one of your book discussions.”

You furrow your brows and think back to all your recent interactions with Charlotte. Had he been paying attention all those times? Your heart skips a beat and you begin to sweat. If he remembers this then he probably remembers how the two of you drooled over the male leads in the romance novels you’ve been reading. 

“I didn’t expect you to eavesdrop, Sir Griffith.”

“One can hardly call it eavesdropping if the entire conversation consists of loud screams and squeals over fictional men.”

“Touché.” You look around and notice that he’s walking away from the main castle. You unconsciously tighten your grip. 

“Not to worry, Your Highness. I am still under orders to escort you back to your room.” He squeezes you gently in reassurance. “The length of time, however, was not specified. We are taking—what did you call it?” He flashes you a dazzling smile. “The scenic route?”

Blood rushes back to your cheeks and you turn away bashfully, hoping he doesn’t notice the dopey grin on your lips. “And pray tell what the scenic route entails?” You ask, trying to steer the conversation. 

“Through the gardens. I hear the flowers are lovely this time of year.” You reach the familiar archway with ivy woven between its frame. He sets you down gently and offers his arm. “M’lady.”

You accept and hope the lighting is dim enough to hide your glowing cheeks. “Thank you, for—“ you try to find the right words “—for everything tonight.” You admire the petals of the peonies nearby. “You could have taken me straight back to my room, but you didn’t. So, thank you.” Shyly, you tuck some hair behind your ear and smooth out your blouse. 

“Terribly stuffy, isn’t it?” You tilt your head at him. “The aristocrats and nobility.” 

“As difficult as it is, it’s a responsibility I was born with.” You shrug. “One I hear you hope to also carry?” Your question was innocent enough but his expression falters for a second. 

“I do aspire for my own kingdom.” He looks down at you with a serious gaze; there’s a fire in his eyes that you’ve never seen before. “It is a lifelong dream.”

You nod thoughtfully. “Is that why you and Charlotte…?” On numerous occasions, the two of you have gossiped over Griffith and his godly appearance. Lately, you’ve noticed the two of them growing closer. 

“Charlotte is lovely but I do not care for her as a lover,” he admits without hesitation. 

“Are you sure you should be telling me—her best friend—this?” you tease, nudging him playfully. 

He bends down and you can feel his warm breath tickle your ear. “Perhaps I wanted you to hear it.”

“Is that a confession?” You tease him, not expecting a serious reply. 

“Would you accept it if it was?” His words cause your steps to falter and you have to tightly grip his arm to steady yourself. 

“In your dreams.” You try to deflect your embarrassment. Griffith raises a brow; your flustered appearance does not go unnoticed. 

“Well, in my dreams I would present a flower—“ he plucks a rose from the garden “—like this and—“ he tucks it behind your ear “—and proceed to claim how no other flower is more beautiful than the one blossoming in front of me.”

The blush on your cheeks puts the rose petals to shame. “I wasn’t aware you were such a wordsmith, Sir Griffith.”

“There are plenty of things you don’t know about me, Princess.” He flashes you a smile that borders on a smirk. 

“And do I get the pleasure of learning about them all?”

“That depends.” He stops walking and you realize that you’re back at the main castle. Bringing your hand to his lips, he presses a gentle kiss against your knuckles. “Goodnight, Princess.” He leaves as swiftly as he appeared. You begin to process what just happened tonight and the familiar warmth returns to your cheeks. Shaking your head, you realize the only way back to your room undetected is to climb up again. With a sigh, you begin your journey back to your window. 

─── ⋆ ｡ﾟ☆: *. ☽ .* :☆ﾟ｡⋆ ───

The security is laxer the second day and there are no longer any guards inside your room. So when the guards rotate for their shifts, you pull out a spare maid uniform and change into it. For good measure, you put on a wig and remove any makeup you had on. Using the pretense that you’re a maid the princess called for earlier, you manage to walk right past the guards. You tell them that the princess ordered you to pick up her favourite pastries from the capital for tea later. With a solid excuse, you are free to venture into the capital. You even make it past the gates until you’re hit with a sense of déjà vu. 

“We meet again, Princess.” You don’t dare look behind you, opting instead to increase your pace into a brisk walk. He matches your speed with ease since he’s on horseback. He tilts his head curiously. “Taking the scenic route again?” The grin in his tone is evident. “A walk through the capital this time?”

“If you’re here to stop me, it won’t work,” you stubbornly say. The fabric of your skirt bunches between your fists and you force yourself to let go before any damage is done. Griffith smiles and shakes his head slowly. 

“I am simply here to escort you back to your room again.”

“Like you did last night?”

“Precisely.”

“Does this include a complimentary tour on your horse?” you cheekily ask. While the capital isn’t too far, riding a horse is much quicker than walking. 

He extends an arm to you and hoists you onto his horse. You sit in front of him, caged between his toned arms. The rhythm of riding a horse is unfamiliar to you, but you quickly pick it up, comfortably swaying in tandem with Griffith. He doesn’t speak for the rest of the way and neither do you. You lean into his chest, missing how he tenses slightly, and close your eyes to enjoy the warm sunlight. In your oblivious state, you remain unaware when he brings his arms closer until they hover just beside your waist. 

─── ⋆ ｡ﾟ☆: *. ☽ .* :☆ﾟ｡⋆ ───

This was not what he planned for, not at all. He had meant to take you back straight to your room, just like how he meant to last night. However, if someone were to ask him to explain why he didn’t, he would simply have no answer. 

At first, you were just Charlotte’s friend—her obnoxiously outspoken counterpart. But something has changed during the past few weeks. It’s gotten to the point where even those around him have noticed a difference. 

There was something refreshing in your behaviour. He was used to lowering his head, spewing false words of compliment to please the nobility. Despite being the crown princess, you were humble and kind, but stern and level-headed when necessary—someone fit to stand by his side. He always knew that he would need someone to rule beside, an equal if possible. However, from his many encounters with noble women, the chances were close to benign. 

He honestly didn’t think there would be a woman who would catch his eye. Most of them reeked of perfume or were trying to sleep with him to bolster their husbands’ reputations. And on occasion, he would accept their advances if they benefit him enough. But you, you were different. The first time you met, you were dangling from a tree branch to get a laugh out of Charlotte, hoping to make tea shoot out of her nose. When he saw you scaling the castle wall last night with leaves littered throughout your hair, it reminded him of that time. 

You’re honestly everything he would want in a partner, as difficult as it is for him to admit. Maybe it was your warm smile that sent his heart palpitating or your flustered appearance that made his chest puff with pride. Maybe it was because he found you so damn lovely that he unconsciously wanted to spend more time with you. And he didn’t know how to feel about it all. He was always in control, there was nothing he couldn’t sway in his favour, no person who could shake his calm exterior. Well, you came in and obliterated all those beliefs. Destroyed them with your sparkling eyes, the way your lips twitch when you hold back a laugh during meetings, and…

Fuck he had it bad for you. 

A small movement breaks him out of thought. You were squirming in front of him, trying to match the rocking of the horse. He could have turned back and handed you to the guards. But he didn’t, and he doesn’t know why. If he moved his arms any closer, they would be resting directly on your waist. A small feeling of pride swells in his chest when he notices how you ride the horse with ease now. He tries to ignore how you’re at the perfect height for him to plant a kiss on the crown of your head. Impulsive thoughts like these scare him with their unfamiliarity. 

The outskirts of the capital come into view and he decides to break the long silence. 

“What brings a princess to disguise herself?” He asks, noticing how your wig is starting to slip off. 

“Pastries.”

A deep belly laugh wracks through his entire body, and he feels you tense between his arms. “My apologies.” He manages to pull himself together after a few moments. “I wasn’t expecting such an answer.”

You giggle, snorting a little. The sound sends pleasant tingles through his body, and he ignores the urge to squeeze you tight. “You’ll find that my priorities are rather different than most princesses.” You turn your head back and smile in amusement. “What were you expecting?”

He shrugs and meets your eyes, mirroring your amused expression. “More scandalous novels about forbidden love and status gaps.” You let out a noise of indignation. 

“I would never!” you deny, lips lifting into a smirk. “Not without Charlotte, anyway.”

“Yes, you have been a wonderful influence on her.” And he genuinely means it, but you seem to take it the wrong way when you snap at him.

“Look, I already know it’s disgraceful how my ‘unconventional’ behaviour has rubbed off on her. I don’t need another person to chew me out on it.” The bite in your tone stings, wounding him unexpectedly. Why did it upset him so much if you were upset? 

Why did he care?

All he knows is that this growing affection for you will be the death of him.

─── ⋆ ｡ﾟ☆: *. ☽ .* :☆ﾟ｡⋆ ───

The bakery quickly comes into view and you sigh with relief, desperate to get away from the awkward atmosphere. You feel Griffith flinch at your remark and dread instantly punches you in the gut; he meant it as a compliment. He was trying to be nice and you bit his head off after misinterpreting his intentions. You mentally scolded yourself for being the biggest idiot in the kingdom. Suddenly the space behind you is empty and you notice that Griffith has dismounted and is offering you his hand. You gnaw on the corner of your bottom lip and hesitantly accept his help, unable to look him directly in the eyes.

“Hey—” a million words go through your mind but none of the combinations you create are good enough “—I’m….” Whatever poor excuse you scraped together dies in your throat. “Shit, why is this so hard,” you grumble to yourself. Griffith remains the perfect gentlemen and waits patiently for you to say your piece. Running your fingers through your wig in an attempt to fix it, you clear your throat and flick your gaze up to his eyes. “I don’t know what else to say except I’m sorry. I’m sorry for snapping at you earlier; it was undeserved. I understand you were trying to praise me, but I misinterpreted your words.”

He smiles, although there’s now a warmth that you don’t normally see behind it. “Sometimes ‘sorry’ is all that is needed to convey what you mean.” Bringing a hand up, he hesitantly pats your head. His smile gently curves at your wide eyes. You were panicking. If you got this embarrassed with a wig on, what would it be like if he patted your actual hair?

“A-anyway. Shall we head inside?” You avert your gaze again, cursing yourself for acting like a love-struck maiden.

“Certainly, I hear that the princess is often impatient when demanding items from the capital. I hear she sometimes sends guards to storm the local bookstore to obtain new books that are popular amongst women.” His teases do little to rile you up.

“I’ll have you know that gossiping about the royal family can be seen as treason.” Your face hurts from smiling so much. “Besides, that only happened once and I would have had to wait another month if I didn’t do anything.”

“M’lady.” He offers his arm to you again. You become aware of the increasing attention the two of you—mostly Griffith—are drawing.

“I am but a humble maid, Sir Griffith.” The last thing you wanted was to have your identity exposed. Your father would most likely increase the duration of your punishment and then you would really die of boredom. 

“You are a lady nonetheless.” To avoid further embarrassment, you grab his hand and tug him into the bakery. The timbre of his laughter sends your heart racing. Your hands begin to feel clammy and you release your grip, praying he doesn’t notice. “I underestimated your enthusiasm for baked goods.”

Your lips turn up into a wry smile and you wipe your palms on your skirt. “What can I say? I’m a sucker for a good tart.” You head to the owner, Sadie, and greet her. She’s one of the few people who know your true identity. When Charlotte isn’t visiting, you are often in the bakery helping Sadie. She has voiced her disappointment many times that you would be a great baker if you didn’t have a kingdom to run. While she heads to the back to retrieve the order, you tell Griffith that he can pick out anything for himself. “My treat,” you insist.

“I can’t say I’m a fan of sweets,” he admits, browsing the displays of various cakes and other desserts.

“Then how about a muffin? Or maybe some cookies?” you suggest, unsure of what he would like. “Of course, I can always offer you something else for your trouble?” Your bottom lip feels raw from the abuse it endures as you worry it between your teeth periodically. Flinching when a metallic taste fills your mouth, you swipe your tongue over the wound, hissing quietly at the sting.

“I sense that this is causing you distress.” His brows furrow and concern fills his gaze. He walks over to a shelf lined with bags of cookies and picks an assorted mix. “This will suffice.”

“Are you sure that’s enough?” There’s a tinge of doubt in your voice and the corners of your mouth tug down. Griffith ponders for a minute. You fidget under his calculating gaze. 

“Then perhaps the privilege to call you by your name.” You suck in a breath; will you really allow this man to have such power over you? Your heart already nearly combusts when he calls you ‘princess’. Hearing your name fall from his lips will surely cause your heart to stop. On the other hand, you feel guilty seeing the simple bag of cookies in his hands. He offered you a ride to town and his protection instead of handing you to the guards. 

“No titles?” You start biting your lip again, yelping when the forgotten wound reopens. Griffith rushes over to you and takes out a handkerchief, pressing the fabric firmly against your bottom lip. “I-I’m so sorry,” you stutter, the cloth impeding your ability to talk a little. Griffith’s face is close, his eyes are focused on your lips and you swallow nervously. 

“You should be more careful, Princess.”

“You can say it.” You avert your gaze. 

“I beg your pardon?”

“My name. I’ll allow you to call me by my name—but only in private. Father and Mother will kill me if they find out I let a man, especially one who isn’t my betrothed, address me informally.” Your eyes flicker back to him and they widen at the smile that spreads on his face. 

And so he does. He says your name in a gentle whisper, testing it on his tongue. Hearing it sends fireworks exploding in your rib cage; your heart pounds loud enough that you’re afraid he can hear it. 

“Then please just call me Griffith, I insist.” His kind smile sends the butterflies in your stomach fluttering.

“G-Griffith,” you hesitantly say. The pure joy in his expression is worth all the embarrassment you feel. Your lip has stopped bleeding by now and you stare guiltily at his handkerchief that you’ve stained. “It seems you’re always there in my time of need.” Before you can stop yourself, you ask him a question that’s been bothering you the past few days. “Why are you so nice to me?” His expression falters and the handkerchief scrunches up in his fist.

You aren’t stupid. You’ve seen how he interacts with other women besides Charlotte. Disingenuine. Similar to how all of high society socializes, where smiles hide sneers and insults are disguised as compliments. Sure you’re  Charlotte’s best friend, but that shouldn’t mean anything to him. And so you tried to ignore the little voice in your head, telling you that he’s treating you nicely because he wants something from you.

He pulls away and smiles ruefully. “Indeed. Why am I nice to you?” Only one side of his lips curls up, and his tone is melancholic. You fold your arms and hug yourself, uncomfortable with the sudden shift in the atmosphere.

“I asked you first,” you whisper. The silence in the store is deafening. Now would be a really good time for Sadie to come back—

“Delivery for the princess coming up!” Sadie cheerfully strides back into the room with an elegantly wrapped box in her arms. “Apologies. I didn’t mean to take so long. It turns out that nobody packaged any of the sweets despite my reminders.” She shrugs her shoulders and sighs. “Here.” She presents the box to you and you thank her profusely—grateful for the interruption—and hand her the payment along with a generous tip. You look around and deduce from Griffith’s absence that he already left and is waiting for you by his horse. “He left a few minutes ago.”

Your head snaps back to Sadie and you smile sheepishly. “Am I that obvious?”

“Honey, you have no idea.” You consider Sadie as an older sister. When everyone scolded you for your unladylike behaviour, Sadie encouraged you to find healthy outlets to express yourself with. She is also incredibly perceptive much to your dismay.

You fiddle with a stray thread on your sleeve, unable to bring yourself to look her in the eyes. You already know that she’s looking at you with concern. “I like him—maybe a lot more than I want to admit.”

“But?” Sadie asks, sensing the hesitation in your voice.

“But I know his type and I know what he wants to accomplish.”

“And you think he might be playing nice to get what he wants?” Her blunt words sting with the truth. Your shoulders slump and she steps around the counter, taking the box from you and setting it aside. She gently grabs both of your hands and squeezes them, and it takes you every ounce of control to not break down in the middle of the bakery. You nod, unable to speak for fear of bursting into tears, and she wraps you in a hug.

“I’m worried, Sadie. I’ve seen ambition and greed corrupt souls before. What do I do if he becomes a monster? Or what if he already is one?” You feel Sadie tremble, but then you look down at your arms and see that it’s not Sadie. It’s you. When did you start trembling? These unfamiliar feelings scared you. You were always in control, the person with the highest status in a room. Hell, a few days ago you made a grown man whimper like a baby. 

Sadie pulls away with a frown and her hands are on the sides of your face. “Then if you like him so much, you make damn sure that he doesn’t stray down the wrong path. And if you fail and he becomes a monster, I’ll break his damn kneecaps and we’ll run away together and start a bakery in another kingdom.” 

You choke out a laugh, your vision becoming blurry. She tuts and brushes away your tears with her thumb. “I will never understand your obsession with kneecaps.”

“You don’t have to be tall to reach them.” She grins, relaxing when your mood noticeably brightens. “Listen, you don’t have to make anything official or label what you have with him.” She drops her hands to your upper arms and squeezes them affectionately. “Your decision isn’t permanent, so just see how it goes for now.” You soak in her words and nod slowly, your gaze drifting towards the door. “Hey.” Looking back at Sadie, her expression is solemn. “I mean it. I’m always available for some kneecap busting.” Her face breaks out into a grin and you start giggling. The two of you laugh until your sides ache and your lungs beg for oxygen.

“Sometimes I wonder how you’re not an adventurer or in some job that requires physical violence.”

The Cheshire grin on her face sparks some curiosity. “Who’s to say that I’ve only done baking my whole life?” Before you can ask questions, she pushes the box against your chest and steers you to the door. “Your knight in shining armour is waiting.” You stick your tongue at her over your shoulder and she returns the gesture before waving goodbye.

─── ⋆ ｡ﾟ☆: *. ☽ .* :☆ﾟ｡⋆ ───

Griffith is beside his horse, feeding it a nice, shiny apple he bought while you were inside. You can’t help but notice the large group of girls admiring him from afar and the small few that gathered the courage to go up and talk to him. You lean against a wall and observe. His smile never reaches his eyes. His actions are all polite but he doesn’t go above the bare minimum. You could sense some irritation from his body language, which was so subtle that you almost missed it.

“Lord Griffith, what brings you here to town?” One of them presses up against his arm, purposefully sticking out her chest. He smirks and grabs the woman by her chin, brushing his thumb over her lips.

“To admire lovely ladies such as yourself.” You have to push down the bile rising in your throat as you watch the woman swoon and faint. 

She literally passes out. It takes two men to drag her to the nearest doctor. 

The group continues to gush over Griffith in hushed whispers, their incessant giggling begins to get on your nerves. Deciding that you were fed up—and most definitely not jealous—you push off the wall and walk over to Griffith. He immediately notices your presence and a more genuine smile appears on his face. “As much as I would love to stay and chat, ladies. I’m afraid duty calls.”

The group of girls glare at you. You beam a sweet smile at them, trying to convey with your eyes how little fucks you give. It seems to work as a majority of them wither under your gaze. “What would Lord Griffith have to do with an ugly harlot?” one of them says. If you weren’t holding a box of your favourite pastries right now, hands would be thrown.

“The princess urgently requires some desserts for her afternoon tea and I was sent to escort her maid to pick up the delivery,” Griffith replies, emphasizing your title. The girl pales immediately. Insulting a direct servant of the royal family was like insulting their master, and insulting a member of the royal family usually ends with someone’s head being lopped off. Without another word, he mounts his horse and helps you up. He grabs the reins and signals his horse to start walking, easing into a trot. A loud thud behind you signals that the number of fainting women today has increased by one. Although you would faint too if you thought you were surely going to be decapitated.

“Thank you,” you say, watching the scenery pass. “For standing up for me. I could have handled it—” you interrupt him before he can interject “—but I’m thankful for the assistance.”

“Well, I certainly couldn’t let them slander you like that.”

“Do you think I’m pretty, then?” you tease him, silently chuckling at how his chest tenses behind you.

“I won’t deny that you are,” he answers, his voice lilting. “I have to make sure my head remains on my shoulders.” You guffaw and smack his arm, leaning back harshly and ramming your head into his chest in hopes of winding him. He grunts and tightens his arm around your waist. “It’s dangerous to move around so much on a horse, Princess.” His warm breath tickles your ears and your face is ablaze. You simply huff and adjust yourself until you’re comfortable, trying to ignore the tingles running through your body. His arms are still around your waist, resting on them and almost holding you in an embrace.

You stare straight ahead, not wanting to see Griffith’s expression when you continue the conversation from the bakery. “You never answered my question.”

“If I think you’re pretty? I thought we already established that you’re exquisitely beautiful.”

“W-what! No, not that!” You smack his arm again out of embarrassment. 

“Careful, Princess. I can’t swing a sword if you maim my arm.” You retaliate by smacking his other arm, but he grabs your hand before the blow can land. He doesn’t let go and you secretly don’t want him to, so you don’t mention it. 

“I was talking about earlier when we were in the bakery,” you say

“Are you always so violent with men?”

You frown. “Why are you trying to change the subject?”

He squeezes your hand and flashes a smile. “I see my attempts to steer the conversation are futile.” He leans forward and sighs. His warm breath against your neck sends shivers down your spine. “You have become far more important to me than I intended,” he admits in a hushed tone. You struggle to process his words, the only thing grounding you is the brush of his thumb across the back of your hand.

“Is that a confession?” you squeak out, struggling to keep your breathing steady. 

“That depends. Would you accept it if it was?”

The familiar response brings you back to last night in the garden. Your heart nearly leaps out of your ribcage and it takes you every ounce of self-control to not jump off the horse and run away. Could you really trust his words? Did he genuinely like you? Or is he just like that prince you nearly made sterile this morning?

“And if I did?” You turn around, looking up at him through your lashes.

He breathes in sharply and dips his head down, nose bumping against yours.

“Then I would say your standards are considerably low if you call that a confession,” he whispers. His eyes flicker from your lips and back up to your eyes. Feeling bold, you straighten your posture. Your faces are so close that you can feel his warm breath fanning against your skin.

“Then how about—” you brush your lips against his “—I show you a proper confession?” and you close the gap. He doesn’t move at first. He seems to freeze behind you and this makes you pause in hesitation. But he quickly reciprocates, moving his lips in tandem with yours. 

Kissing Griffith is everything you imagined and more. His soft lips are gentle and he doesn’t try to push you further. But you want more. You want to feel more of him. He’s been the subject of many embarrassing dreams and you didn’t know if you would ever get the chance to kiss him again. Taking the initiative, you slip your tongue out and swipe it across his bottom lip. You hear him curse quietly as he opens his mouth and lets you explore. Before the kiss can get any more heated, he pulls away. There’s a soft blush dusting his cheeks and you stare. You stare until he ducks his head and buries it into the crook of your neck. 

He laughs joyfully, and it sounds so carefree and happy. The butterflies in your stomach flutter in response. “You’re killing me, Princess,” he mumbles, pressing a kiss on your shoulder.

“I can’t help it. I’ve never seen you look so…” you trail off.

“Weak? Vulnerable?” he says and adds more suggestions, each word more venomous than the last. “Stupid? Effeminate?—” you cut him off with a chaste kiss.

“I was going to say lovely, Griff.” You tug on the necklace he never takes off to pull him down, resting your forehead against his. “I was staring because at that moment, I couldn’t take my eyes off of you because you looked so lovely.” The pink on his face flushes into a deep red that reaches his ears and down his neck. His eyes look over your face as if he’s searching for something. “What are you trying to figure out?” you ask with an amused grin, unconsciously watching his mouth when he licks his lips nervously.

“You,” he answers simply. “How a wonderful creature such as yourself can exist in this dreadful world.” His arm around your waist pulls you closer to him and he basks in your presence. For a rare moment, you see his mask disappear and marvel at how innocent his expression looks. A desire to protect this Griffith is born and you open your mouth, but the horse suddenly stops. You’re back at the castle.

You didn’t even notice that he had taken you all the way back to your own section of the castle. He dismounts the horse and you accept the familiar offer that follows afterwards. Clasping his hand longer than what your etiquette teacher would deem appropriate, you look up at him. His expression is back to that neutral smile that’s always plastered to his face like a shield. You shuffle your feet and look down at the ground.

“Thank you again for escorting me. I really do appreciate it.” You can feel your neck straining but you refuse to look up, to look up and see the mask on his face again.

“Princess,” he whispers softly. He gently tilts your head up and cups your cheek in one hand. Out of instinct, you nuzzle into his touch, eyes wide. “Can I kiss you again?”

“Well, that depends.” The corners of his lips twitch up in amusement.

“On what?” You hum and pretend to be lost in thought, unable to stop the grin spreading on your face.

“On whether you can catch me again.” Your grin quickly becomes smug. “The banquet is tomorrow evening.” Understanding flickers across his face. “If you can catch me escaping again before then, I will grant your request and you get to be my escort for the night.”

Mischief sparkles in his eyes. “Do my escort duties end at the banquet? Or are you requesting that I be your escort for the duration of the entire night?” You catch his suggestive tone and pull him into a passionate kiss. 

You leave him stunned in silence, flushed with swollen lips; it’s a good look on him.

“Why don’t you find out?” You peck him on the cheek and skip merrily to your room with the box of desserts in your hands, eager to spill all the juicy details to Charlotte over tea. You giggle and glance back at him over your shoulder. “Catch me if you can!” He’s still rooted to the spot like a lovestruck fool, but you can clearly see the determination in his eyes.

You can’t wait for tomorrow night.

And neither can he.

─── ⋆ ｡ﾟ☆: *. ☽ .* :☆ﾟ｡⋆ ───

End Note:

Wasn't that a wild ride! I hope you all had as much fun reading it as I did writing. Originally, I thought three was a good number of escape attempts, but as I was writing the first one, I realized that three would end up being way too long and settled for two. The plot kinda developed on its own and became the giant fanfic you just read.

If you're ever reading one of my works and want to make a request, feel free to leave a comment! I can't guarantee I'll write or finish it quickly though if this request was anything to go by lol.

Until next time! (｡･∀･)ﾉﾞ