#royalty.

she's silent for a long moment, expression twisted in concern. she cares for nettie dearly, but she's ever aware of the power she holds over the other girl. the last thing she wants is for her friend—can they be friends, with such differences in station?—to feel pressured by her, especially when she is already so clearly upset. back pressed to the wall, she shakes like a leaf. god above, she'd flinched at persephone's approach.

"i can," she assures the other. not that she wants to, but she doesn't want to overstep. "but if someone's harmed you, annette, i ought to know. you are my maid, and an insult upon you is an insult upon me." and with little exception, she can see that the perpetrator pays for their transgression.

All kinks here are purely fictional and do not represent any real-world beliefs I uphold.

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King James I was murdered in Perth, by a group led by Sir Robert Graham, on February 20th 1437.

James I became king in 1406 after living as Henry V’s prisoner for nearly 19 years. He became a cruel and ruthless king and made many enemies during his reign.

James spent Christmas of 1436 at Blackfriars Monastery with his Queen. The monastery had its own tennis courts, James’s favourite sport, and he continued to stay there into the new year.

On the evening of February 20, 1437, James was resting with his wife and her ladies when they heard raised voices coming from outside and realised he was in danger.

James asked the women to keep the door guarded as best they could while he searched for a means of escape.

Finding it impossible to break the leaded windows, James instead grabbed an iron tong from the fireplace and began to pull up the floorboards. Underneath was a drain for the privy, and he climbed inside and pulled the floorboards back into place.

A few days earlier, he could have followed the drain and escaped into the monastery grounds, but he had had the opening blocked just days before, as he kept losing his tennis balls down the drain.

A group of men burst into the room and, after a thorough search, found their King hiding in the sewer. They stabbed James to death.

Every curve so stunning, begging to be traced by fingertips, lips, tongues alike, every inch of your skin so soft and fragile, begging to be touched, kissed, felt - oh, has no one ever told you, whispered into your ear, how divine you present when you twitch, arch, shake, sigh, curl, when your lips part, when you gasp, when your pupils swallow the beauty of your eyes from the heat slowly pooling in your stomach, when you move against the gentle and not so gentle touches, when you beg and demand, when you wrap your arms and legs around them, when you thrust and shiver, when you whine, when your muscles tense because you're so close, when they curl their fingers and hit that spot inside you, when you scratch, bite, lick, when you silently, wordlessly, ask for more, for something better, something more intense, when you laugh and smile and your breath hitches, when you move against their body, god, the beauty of you, unmatched - when you come.

Has no one ever made an effort to show you just what an honor it is to touch you, to feel and watch and listen to you coming undone beneath their body? Has no one ever told you that you're the most precious thing they've ever laid their eyes, let alone hands, on?