knight!abby x princess!reader
part 1 here part 2 here MEN AND MINORS DNI
Content: knight!abby x princess!reader, slow burn, light angst, hurt/comfort, no warnings for this chapter, no time period specified, abby referred to as abigail for a few chapters, fluff, sorry it's taken so long for this part to be released <3.
check out my master list here for more Abby and Sevika fics.
Part 3: Cut the wound deeper
A week had passed since you last visited the field.
More suitors came and left, more lectures from the King and Queen passed and for the first time in your adult life you submitted to the predetermined flow of royal life.
You resorted to reading in your room to avoid actually having to spend time with Abigail alone. You were humiliated, unpleased with yourself and most concerning, you felt hollow; deflated. Your vigour to fight, to rebel -no matter how small the impact may be- had vanished.
Unexpectedly, a knock sounded at your door.
The person on the other side entered without announcing who they were. So, naturally, you assumed it was your mother. You frantically hide the book in your hands under your pillow, replacing it with an embroidery hoop instead- your mother encouraged more lady-like activities and forbade reading as it didnt attract suitors.
“My dear daughter” she started, the words felt insincere from her. “You look rather pallid” her nose scrunched slightly in thinly veiled displeasure “you must take a turn about the garden, put some life back into your skin before the last few suitors arrive tomorrow” she smiled. You suppress a dramatic huff and follow her orders with a smile just as fake as hers.
You don’t bother arguing against her, being able to recognise by now when one of her suggestions is really a command.
As you take a stroll around the castle gardens, you try not to still feel as dejected as last week. Abigail’s firm footsteps echo yours but you try not to pay her any attention. Today you don’t talk as much as she prefers. She likes the sound of your voice, specifically your intonation and the way your lips form softer sounding words.
You walk into the conservatory on a whim and feel the humidity of the greenhouse immediately. As you observe the giant plants and vivid colours you feel uncomfortably warm, the sheer scarf that sits over your shoulders and chest adds to the unnecessary heat so you simply remove it.
Abigail chokes on air, trying to rip her eyes from your bare skin.
You don’t notice, too busy enamoured by a flower that matches the lavender of your dress.
Although you’ve made your rounds through the castle grounds you feel unsatisfied. The castle gardeners are superlatively talented in their craft but this organised formulation of nature suffocates you. You yearn for the freedom of the fields.
“Abigail, tell the servants to fetch the horses. I miss the field”.
She obeys and minutes later Arod and Broiefort are brought to you.
You hoist yourself up on Arod and ride to your sacred spot.
Rain must’ve come in the night, the grass is damp and mud collects at your shoes as you walk. Abigail urged you to get back on Arod so your dress could remain clean, but that wasn’t the point of the field.
Abigail felt wrong in her counsel already knowing that you wouldn’t agree with it but she continued on, just wanting to spare you any scoldings from the Queen.
She dismounted Broiefort and walked a short distance behind you. Watching you walk through the tall grass, your fingers brushing along each viridian blade.
You stopped to stroke Arod, his chestnut hair silky under your touch.
“I’m sorry Abigail” you lower your head in shame.
“I shouldn’t have shouted at you like that”.
Abigail stays silent for a moment. Your breathing halts, anxious to her response.
Her pink lips form a tender smile and you finally exhale.
“I’m sorry for shouting at you too, my princess”
Something shifts in the air, a truce forms between you: I’ll forgive you if you forgive me.
You both grin, a silent agreement settled amongst you.
“See why I like this place so much? It’s healing!” you banter, although there was some truth to your words.
Abigail raises a brow and tilts her head “Is that what you call last week? Healing?” she chuckles. The slight rumble in her low tone makes your stomach flip.
You remembered your outburst in the woods one week ago. The mortifying memories inundated your mind, causing a wave of embarrassment to wash over you.
Your eyes turned to the ground for a moment.
“I call that purging. And purging is a part of the healing process, no?” you press Abigail, feeding the playful air between you.
She laughs. A sweet, deep vibration that you haven’t heard from her before. It seems genuine and you want to believe it.
Abigail yields and responds with an amused “Fine”, an almost imperceptible smirk working on her lips.
The sun shines fiercely in the afternoon sky. You walk onwards and find a comfortable spot in the shade, under the protection of a willow tree.
You brought a picnic blanket and a basket along with you, packed with seasonal fruit, bread and cheese brought up by the kitchen staff.
After laying everything out, with the help of Abigail you sit and enjoy the coolness of the shade. She watches you reach for a book that you snuck into the picnic basket at the last second.
Usually, her job would be to stand guard at a short distance and observe your leisure, scanning the area for potential threats, but over the past few months that she’s been entrusted with protecting you, you’ve convinced her to sit or stand next to you instead.
You’ve always found it freakish how your primary guards loom. The sound of their breath still audible, their eyes always watching and yet, they do not penetrate your most inner world.
You prefer the way you and Abigail seem to work around things.
A question itches her mind.
If this question were to arise three full moons ago, Abigail wouldn’t dare ask it. However, over time she’s felt herself drift further and further away from the King’s watchful eyes. She’s noticed it and yet she’s chosen to bury it within the depths of her mind, a single primal urge blinding her of her undying allegiance to the crown: her utter need to learn more about you.
The question itself isn’t important, the audacity embedded within it is what jeopardises her very existence.
She holds back for a moment, not wanting to interrupt the chapter you’re currently reading through. Once you set the book back into the basket she asks the seemingly weightless question “Hasn’t the Queen forbade you from reading, my princess?”.
You hesitate your response, unsure if Abigail is capable of bending the rules even by the slightest inch. You try your luck and whisper “What she doesn’t know won’t hurt her”.
She lets out an incredulous and amused breath, watching you smile in wicked satisfaction.
Abigail lets out a sigh of relief and tries her luck once more as she tentatively asks “Are you okay? After last week?”. She immediately regrets it, hounding herself in her mind- why would you ask such an imposing question?
You meet her soft round eyes and immediately break, a wobble stirs your bottom lip. You let out a defeated sound “I don’t know who I am”.
Abigail feels strangely familiar, like a long lost friend and the moment you open your mouth you can’t stop. She feels like home, so naturally you begin to confide in her.
“I thought I was strong, different, destined for another life, but I’m not my delusions” you refrain from giving away too much detail, afraid Abigail would rush to the King at the slightest suspicion that you plan to run far away some day…or at least hope to.
You continue “All I have is my understanding of myself and even that seems to be a lie. I’m a stranger to myself”.
Abigail doesn’t respond just yet, she listens. Waits for more. You smile, no one ever waits -outside of obligation- for you, and this conversation was something beyond titles and obligation completely. In fact, this kind of communication between knights and royalty was entirely forbidden.
The mood turns melancholy quick, “this is probably pathetic to you, huh? Spoiled princess cries about problems someone else wishes they had” you laugh, although the sound is bitter and devoid of humour completely.
Abigail turns her head away for a moment, should she cut the wound deeper?
After a short deliberation a deep sigh leaves her lungs. That decision was too easy, she must’ve been thinking about letting the final bolt loose for too long.
“No, no. It’s not pathetic at all” she speaks gently, cobalt eyes anywhere but on yours. “Sometimes…I feel like I don’t know who I am either” she confesses.
“But you seem all put together?”
“Years of practice, years of knighthood” she dryly explains, unimpressed with her answer.
A small pause sits comfortably in the air. This whole conversation you’ve noticed she hasn’t used any formalities, which makes you pleased and makes her words seem more sincere. You choose not to comment on it in fear that she’ll suddenly remember and begin using them again.
“Tell me more?” you ask in the softest voice.
Abigail nods and leans back against the trunk of the abundant willow tree. You mirror her actions and let yourself relax at the sound of her soothing smooth voice.
“I don’t know who I am when I’m away from the castle or out of my armour. What am I without my knighthood? Something that can be ripped from me at any second…” her eyes flicker to you for a fleeting moment as she says that last line, so quick you almost miss it. But you did catch it. And for some reason, it stays with you.
“I don’t recognise myself without my armour” she continues, and something in you breaks. You don’t even think when your hands wrap around her large muscled frame.
Your cheek rests on her shoulder as you bring her warmth and comfort. Abigail stills under your sacred touch. She shouldn’t be doing this. She should’ve never opened up to you.
A thousand thoughts flicker through her brain at lightning speed, warning her to back away from you and ,yet, she does the polar opposite.
At first she stiffens under your touch, unsure how to reciprocate the action. Then, slowly, her arms begin to raise. You feel her gloved hands smooth over your sides and back and your heart beats so rapidly you’re afraid she might be able to feel it.
The birds sing, a soft wind causes the willow tree that encircles you to sway with a gentle rustle. You’re chest to chest now, so close you can feel her breath leaving her.
You want the moment to last forever. Her touch has a protectiveness…a secure hold, that makes you feel important in a way you’ve never felt before. Not important to the advancement of the Kingdom, important solely to her. As a person , not a princess.
Hope you enjoyed! Pls repost if you can, as it helps my work reach a wider audience 🤍🗡️⚔️
Also my heart dropped just as I posted this because I accidentally deleted it seconds after 😭 I’m so lucky I reposted it straight after so I could just copy my work instead of losing it forever 🙏
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