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Amorous Scribbles
Meteorite
- Joined
- Oct 28, 2024
Hello, I am Scribbles. :3
I have decided to hunker down and dedicate myself to mechanical improvement and refining my writing style. I aspire to, one day, publish my creative works of fiction in some fashion. Step one on the way to that goal is to determine where my strengths lie and what my weaknesses are.
Leaning on editing programs like Grammarly, Hemingway Editor, or ChatGPT to catch my mistakes, will only get me so far. I know I will need the input of Beta Readers who can give me gritty, honest, objective, but ultimately constructive criticism, that will point me toward the aspects of creative writing I need to study and practice.
What am I doing right? What am I doing wrong?
I am hoping to get feedback on all these points:
1. Clarity and Understanding
2. Structure and Organization
3. Character Development
4. Engagement and Interest
5. Language and Style
6. Grammar, Spelling, and Mechanics
7. Originality and Creativity
8. Consistency
9. Audience Reaction
Feel free to speak bluntly, off the cuff, or straight from your heart.
________________________________
Due to the text length of the posts, I have decided to contain them within spoiler tags to avoid bogging down the page.
Background Info: The excerpts below are from a roleplay I did that never quite got off the ground. We managed an exchange of five posts in total in our attempt to cultivate past relationship dynamics between the two main characters.
My partner's character is named Aldrik, and my character is named Maddalena. We brainstormed themes of unconfessed love, tumultuous feelings, adjusting to change, forbidden love, and enemies to lovers.
What you will read below are my contributions to the narrative of that roleplay.
Idea Synopsis: The firstborn heirs of two royal lines are exchanged to establish a fragile peace between two enemy kingdoms.
The murder of the Princess of the Southern Kingdom while in the care of the King of the North sparks a war that leaves the Northern Kingdom decimated and subjugated under oppressive foreign rule. People rally behind the Northern Princess, the last living member of the royal family, as her unintentional actions ignite rebellion.
Separated from her first love for over five years, the Princess of the North has changed greatly, and when reunited with her prince, she finds he has changed greatly as well.
Trigger Warnings: Thoughts of death, depression, desperation, adult themes
I have decided to hunker down and dedicate myself to mechanical improvement and refining my writing style. I aspire to, one day, publish my creative works of fiction in some fashion. Step one on the way to that goal is to determine where my strengths lie and what my weaknesses are.
Leaning on editing programs like Grammarly, Hemingway Editor, or ChatGPT to catch my mistakes, will only get me so far. I know I will need the input of Beta Readers who can give me gritty, honest, objective, but ultimately constructive criticism, that will point me toward the aspects of creative writing I need to study and practice.
What am I doing right? What am I doing wrong?
I am hoping to get feedback on all these points:
1. Clarity and Understanding
2. Structure and Organization
3. Character Development
4. Engagement and Interest
5. Language and Style
6. Grammar, Spelling, and Mechanics
7. Originality and Creativity
8. Consistency
9. Audience Reaction
Feel free to speak bluntly, off the cuff, or straight from your heart.
________________________________
Due to the text length of the posts, I have decided to contain them within spoiler tags to avoid bogging down the page.
Background Info: The excerpts below are from a roleplay I did that never quite got off the ground. We managed an exchange of five posts in total in our attempt to cultivate past relationship dynamics between the two main characters.
My partner's character is named Aldrik, and my character is named Maddalena. We brainstormed themes of unconfessed love, tumultuous feelings, adjusting to change, forbidden love, and enemies to lovers.
What you will read below are my contributions to the narrative of that roleplay.
Idea Synopsis: The firstborn heirs of two royal lines are exchanged to establish a fragile peace between two enemy kingdoms.
The murder of the Princess of the Southern Kingdom while in the care of the King of the North sparks a war that leaves the Northern Kingdom decimated and subjugated under oppressive foreign rule. People rally behind the Northern Princess, the last living member of the royal family, as her unintentional actions ignite rebellion.
Separated from her first love for over five years, the Princess of the North has changed greatly, and when reunited with her prince, she finds he has changed greatly as well.
Trigger Warnings: Thoughts of death, depression, desperation, adult themes
The exchange of the two princesses was arranged to establish a ceasefire. An end, be it a shaky one, to the senseless cycle of aggression and retaliation which was one step shy of war. The Crown Princess of the Southern Kingdom was sent north to the Kingdom of Atterrir. Princesses Maddalena of Atterrir found herself hauled south. Taking along nothing more than what the lumbering pack mule tied behind her horse could hold. She had settled for the basics in the end. A few of her favorite books, two weapons, and three sets of clothing. A Casual set for daily use. A training set that was in a masculine style. Good for combat and horse riding. Finally, she had packed a formal set for banquets. Complete with gaudy necklaces of gold and jeweled rings too large for her slim fingers. Ones her departed mother had loved.
Her entourage hung back a respectful distance once their party had broken free of the tree line. Six Knights protected her person. Two adorned in full plate armor. The rest were clad in hauberks overlayed with fine cotton surcoats stained a deep blue. The Kingdom's crest, a red blooming rose emblazoned on their chests. Her father, King Eamond, also had a dedicated guard. His knights numbered only three. Riding tight on his heel. The King nudged his steed deeper into the clearing. Cutting an imposing figure against the rising sun at his back. Like their king, The Badeaux brothers have forgone their helmets for this encounter. Instead, choosing to intimidate the enemy with stoic looks that border on scowls. Identical triplets are hard to forget. Even more so if you face their formidable teamwork in battle. The forces of the Southern Kingdom were lined up with their backs against the open plain. Every one of their enemies is on a horse, albeit less armored.
Maddalena followed a few paces behind head hanging a little lower than it should. Her brown eyes trained on the shadows of the eldest Badeaux cast in the grass. Waiting for her queue. To flee to the forest like a frightened fox or advance into the viper's nest. Her horse stomps the ground in agitation and she jerks the reins to keep the black stallion steady. This is too important of a duty to run from. She will stay the course. She has too. For the sake of peace. For the sake of her people. She only has to last five years on foreign soil. Then she can negotiate with the Southern King for her freedom. For lasting peace. An unshakable alliance. She centers her thoughts on how an open trade agreement will bring prosperity to the common man. She wants that more than pretty gowns or sparkling gems. She wants to make her mother's legacy shine. A heavy burden for a scrawny girl of fifteen to bear, but bear it she must. In Five years she will be coronated as Queen with all the pageantry the Kingdom can muster. Sitting comfortably on the purple velvet cushions of the Golden Throne. Ruling Atterrir by divine right alone as her birth decrees.
Maddalena hears her father negotiating last-minute terms with the Southern King. A man whose deep voice is like a crack of thunder. Her right foot vibrates in the stirrup. That King's glower marks him as a man not to cross. She knows it in the way her gut twists into knots. She feels that same when pitted against someone better in a mock battle. A wrong move will sink a sword into her gut. The Southern soldiers at the King's back also have the same feel about them. They size her up with clear disdain. The charge they are about to receive is not of equal value to the one they are giving up. One grizzled old soldier with a bushy gray beard locks eyes with Maddalena and spits.
The youngest of the Badeaux brothers sidesteps his horse by four paces. And glances at Maddalena. A gentle look on his face, through the pinch he can't quite ease from his brow, betrays him. With his long legs and broad shoulders, it's easy to forget that Jacob is only three years older than herself. The youngest squire ever Knighted in Atterrir. The sword gifted to him by her father is still in its sheath. Untested, much like him in delicate matters such as these. Maddalena swallows around the lump in her throat and sits up straighter. Shoulders back, chest puffed out as much as the steel breastplate will allow. A deep breath stills her racing heart somewhat. She shoots Jacob a firm look to mind his own business. The pity in his eyes is gone in a blink. The cock-sure smirk he flashes before returning to his duty makes her guts twist in a different way.
The repositioning of Jacob's horse was a blessing and a curse. Out of the pan and into the fire. Maddalena stares down the Southern Princess. She is delicately perched, side saddle, on a white mare with an intricately decorated mane. A black lace veil obscures her face and a matching dress clings tight to her well-rounded curves. It's maddening how relaxed she is. Fiddling with the end of her long braided hair as though nothing of import was going on. Maddalena would even place a bet on the precise angle of her nose. If the square set of her shoulders was indicative of her mood. Then again, this is just another day for her. She will not be venturing into Atterrir empty-handed, not alone. The wagon behind her horse is filled with all manner of goods. Maddalena counts five trunks in total. A large comfy-looking chair and two other women. A younger woman, glazing about like a newborn, and an older one with a leathered face full of wrinkles. Servants. She suspects. A lady-in-waiting and her nursemaid.
Maddalena can't help but card her finger through her hair. The short brown locks are spiked and stiff. Barely able to poke out beyond her fingers when she grabs a fist full of her bangs on impulse. It's a man's haircut. The Badeaux bothers all sports the same style. An economical length that allows for quick grooming and does not get in the way of wearing a combat helmet. It's far from alluring or even pretty. She catches the Southern King's glare and drops her hand into her lap. Eyes following the corded muscles of her forearm to the defined meat of her bulging bicep. Another part of her was built for combat. Not beauty.
She is so different from the Princess of the South, Maddalena might well have been a man. Hell - she rides a horse like one. Swaying with strength in the saddle, she guides her temperamental beast forward on cue. Like the obedient princess, she needs to be. Her father doesn't even say goodbye. There is no room for weakness. Knees digging into her stallion's flanks to keep him from bucking when a woman in the wagon spins like a top. Keen to watch the drama unfold as they follow their Princess into the Atterrir ranks. She tugs her cloak closed a little more. Shielding the exposed skin her short sleeve tunic will not cover. It is a feeble shield against the fading sound of feminine snickers, but it's all she has.
Battling back the tears that threaten to fall. Maddalena steels herself for the next five, dreadful, years. Surrounded on all sides by enemies. She is utterly Alone.
Freedom is not within Maddalena's grasp. She is still stuck in the Southern Kingdom at the age of twenty-two but at least she is no longer alone. Happiness finally seems like an attainable thing. Especially out here. Lost amongst the wildflowers. The emerald field is ripe with their bright hues. Bobbing in the light breeze that does little to steal the heat from her supple skin. She is wearing a gown of white gossamer silk. It's the one the Queen hates.
The Wind captures the abundant fabric of her gown in its current. Making it ripple in slow cresting waves. If not for the chemise of identical color laid beneath, the gown would be sheer in the summer sunshine. Improper. Vulgar. The Monarch often chides in the haughtiest tone her nasal voice can impress. But, refuses to confiscate it from Maddalena's wardrobe. The Southern Queen likes picking away at the foreign princesses' self-esteem. Bit by bit, with venomous claws. It's like a game.
One she can never win. The other noble ladies that flutter around the court remind her of that often. Maddalena no longer looks like a man after her defined muscles wilted with lack of exercise. But she still doesn't quite look like a lady. Though she has tried hard to conform to the standards of beauty it seems all men of this warmer climate crave. The Aldrik aesthetic he seems to like if her observations are anything to go by.
Aldrik--her guard. Her personal knight. Her... He is an infallible man of chaste virtues. It's the only reason She is permitted to be alone in this way. A rare grace that nurtures a friendship that often feels like something more. Something beyond duty. Like they share certain feelings that she dares not name. Maddalena couldn't go on living if she poured her heart out to him and he laughed at her like all others at court do. She trusts him too implicitly. Trusts him with her happiness. Allowing the silly thoughts she represses to roll off her tongue without thinking. Trusts him with her unreasonable fears that force her to run to his side in the night. He wields a candle like a sword, then. Chasing away her ghosts plagues her nightmare. He is far too gallant for his own good. Indulging her whims at times when he should not. Like now. This impromptu outing would result in a harsh punishment for him if discovered.
A disagreement with the Southern Queen sparks the revival of Maddalena's rebellious nature. Carefree and bold. The Northern Princess feels more like her old self. This far from the sprawling castle town, no one but the Knight that guards her person will see this side of her. The 'shameful' dress eggs on her less-than-royal countenance. Long nails dig into the soft topsoil. Rending whole root systems of carefully selected flowers from the field. She will secret them back to her room and plant them in the boxes that edge her balcony. She is sick and tired of looking at weeds. Maddalena bounds back to her Knight. A bundle of dirty flowers cradled in her arms like precious cargo. She flops down on his cloak laid out like a blanket. A breathy giggle bubbles up as she shows off her bounty to his appraising eye. Aldrik takes them with care. Wrapping the roots before tucking them into the cloth sack that had once held their lunch.
There is no judgment on his face or repulsion in his body language as he takes her sullied hands in his own larger ones. He uses the hem of his tunic to clean each finger. One by one. When he puts a respectful distance between them once more, all be it unwilling. Her hands gleam in the sunshine. There isn't even dirt left under her fingernails. All evidence that she was rooting around like a boar is gone. His chivalrous gesture makes her chest squeeze. She will skirt the Queen's ire when she returns to her gilded cage.
Maddalena pulls a satin ribbon the color of the sunset from her short, scraggly, brown hair. Aldrik's face tumbles through emotions. Finally coming to rest on a carefully neutral look that was broken with a soft smile more radiant than the sun. A token, for her gallant Knight. With a heart that flutters as fast as a hummingbird's wing, She ties with care to the hilt of his sword, under the guard. A spot chosen at random, but one that will caress his skin. Maddalena's cheeks stain with a crimson flush. Besotted. Hopelessly besotted. If Aldrik was to sneeze right then and there she would seize upon the opportunity and bestow another.
Would such a gift mean anything to him? Her fears well up without warning, and the rosy blush drains from her cheeks. Maybe the acceptance was simple courtesy. Maddalena can't sit still under Aldrik's raking gaze. She needs to do - something, anything. She craves distraction from the swirling negative thoughts that branch into uninvited tangents. There are better women than her in his court. Ones that not only act like ladies but look like them as well. Maddalena knows she can not compare when placed side by side. She envies the Nobel daughters who parade around. Attempting to attract his affectionate eye in ways she can only dream of.
Maddalena hops to her feet. Skirts swish as she spins on her toes with a hollow giggle. The fake smile she likes to hide behind fastened in place. She knows most of his tics. Goating Aldrik into a game of chase is an easy feat. She watches the puzzled look lingering on his face as he plays along. Following hot on her heels as she blazes a trail down to the creek bank devoid of any foliage larger than a water weed. Aldrik gabs for her elbow. Fingertips not gaining a firm hold on the slippery silk. Maddalena evades with a step to the right. She avoids his next lunge with a sidestep to the left. A chuckle bubbled up from both unbidden. Aldrik is lost to the game. His strong jaw set with determination. Eyes alight with a fire that fans her own.
He moves with the grace of a mountain cat. Herding her towards a patch of slimy rock where she won't be able to flee unless she crosses the water. Maddalena fears the water. He knows she can't swim. So he presses his advantage with a cocky smile. The final dodge has her falling into his trap. Her slippers hit the cool water. The hem of her gown grew heavy, twisting about in the thrashing water. Aldrik sloshes after her as she retreats deeper with a true joyous scream of delight.
A mistake.
Maddalena's gown tangles around her legs. The next step has her falling backward, arms flailing about in a futile attempt to keep her balance. Aldrik is there in a flash. Taking hold of a wrist, and pulling her into the protective embrace of his arms. It does little to remedy the situation. His boots slip in his rush. His bulk pulled them both down into the meandering stream with a huge splash.
Maddalena spits a mouth full of water with a cough. Raking the hair out of her eyes she takes stock of the blue sky and the puffy white clouds that drift over her head. She is safe. Breathless, but safe. Her landing was blunted enough that she escaped without a signal bruise. Aldrik isn't as lucky. His forearms take the brunt of the damage she should have received. Nasty bruises will bloom within the hour. The rounded stones on the creek bed don't go unnoticed by Maddalena. She can feel them against her back as he withdraws his arms from around her torso. Shifting his position in a mad scramble to raise his weight off her body. The world moves very slowly for Maddalena then. Aldrick towers over her half-submerged body on his knees. He plants his hands on either side of her head. His eyes are blown wide. Pouting mouth, a gap.
The gown and by extension her chemise, underneath, is drenched. The fabric clings to her body like a second skin. See-through. She watches with bated breath as the hint of something she doesn't wish to name sparks in her Knight's eyes. Dark and passionate. She followed his lingering gaze down to her chest. Pebbled nipples tent the fabric, staining through in their dusky pink hue.
Maddalena moves first when the shock ebbs away. Shifting her legs to get up. It only makes things worse. Aldrik's hips settle into the valley her parted legs provide. The knotted tie of his breeches settled upon the little nub of flesh at the apex of her legs. She bites down on her lip in reflex. Her gown is a lackluster barrier. Its roughness only adds to the wicked, coiling, ache that settles into her lower belly. When he moves to correct the awkward positioning, it's damn near torture.
Maddalena's back bows on pure instinct alone. Chest surging upwards until clothing presses against clothing. The column of Aldrik's neck catches her heated gaze. Once she had deemed it safe to look upon. Now, in this breathless moment that drags by at a crawl - she is swift to re-evaluate that assumption. Never in her life has she wanted to put her lips upon something so badly. To bite down like a crazed animal and claw her way through his clothing. She grabs Aldrik's hips, hands slipping to the swell of his ass and-
A dream. Why now? She hasn't thought about him like that in years. Where does she draw the line? It is getting harder to separate the wonton fever dream from the real memories of that day. Perhaps, everything after eating the noon meal is all a figment of her imagination. A fantasy she dreamed up to make her feel less lonely. Less scared. Less sad. In the end, it doesn't matter. Maddalena doesn't care whether he gives in to his lust or shies away, the outcome will always end up being the same. Aldrik is not here with hers. He never will be. The throbbing ache between her legs makes that abundantly clear. It pulses with the rhythm of her pounding heart and no amount of restless squirming will assuage it.
Maddalena crumples in on herself, sheltering against her knees. She breathes in and expands her lungs to the limits of their capacity. Hold the air. Then deflates in a methodical way. Slow. Measured. It's not calming in the least because - God she wants for him more than she wants for air. She misses his company. His voice. His touch. Maddalena batters her forehead against a knobby knee. She loves him. How stupid could she be? How stupid was it to fall in love with her Enemy? Her eyes water at the thought. Maddalena pulls the threadbare blanket over her head. She still acts like a child at the age of twenty-eight.
"Aldrik," Maddalena whispers into the dark like a prayer.
Speaking that hollowed name will not grant a miracle. Aldrik will not descend from the sky bathed in a pillar of golden light. Hand outstretched to take her burdens. His lips will not place a tender kiss upon her forehead to soothe her fears. If he is ever summoned from the heavens by her feeble cries, he will descend as an angel of vengeance. It is easy to imagine. The clap of thunder that will herald his arrival when her time is up. A flash of lighting catches on the glossy black feather of the wings arching his back. He looks like a carrion bird in her mind's eye. Graceful. Deadly. Ready to skewer her chest with the razor-sharp sword that never leaves his side. The icy glint of revenge smoldered in his glare.
It's almost preferable. A quick death at the hands of the man she loves. One last look into the glorious eyes. A final touch upon her skin that is meant to do not more than hold her down, but she will savor nonetheless. Much more preferable when what the Southern King has in store for her. He will execute her as he executed her father, Eamond. If not worse. Because Maddalena basked in their hospitality for years. Ate their food. Sheltered under their roof. Was protected from harm by Prince Aldrik, their son. While their daughter was murdered in Eamond's care. A victim of his madness. Her body returned to her homeland like a butchered animal. Surrounded by white roses to dull the stink of decay. Brought the Southern army down upon the Kingdom of Atterrir. The invasion was swift and surgical and over in the blink of an eye. Atterrir fell in less than two years.
King Eamond was the first noble the Southern King executed. Chained to a whipping post in the center of the castle town his citizens witness it all. He was flogged until his back was raw. Stoned until his bones broke. Scalded with oil just to wring a final hoarse scream before he was shown the mercy of a rope. Maddalena knows she will suffer worse as the final ruler of the monarchy. Her demise will be a marked example to the population. A warning against rebellion. It will be ten times as painful and last ten times as long. When the noose is finally looped around her neck - she knows, without a doubt. The rope will be too slack to snap her neck when the gallows hatch drops away. A life for a life.
If he followed you... Not all is lost... Aldrik may still care... May still be searching for you even after five years... He is a dear friend, is he not? The little devil on her shoulder whispered in her ear to keep those false hopes alive.
It matters little now. If by some slim chance, Aldik cared for her beyond friendship or duty she could offer him nothing. Her Kingdom- destroyed. Her throne- stolen. She had no title. She has no land. She has no wealth. Maddalena is nothing more than a dirty peasant. Common. Plain. Ugly. He would still be of noble birth- of royal blood. A man of honor. A man of duty and virtue. A man who will be forever out of her reach for one reason or another.
Safe within her blanket cocoon, the tears come in earnest. Racking her shoulders and soaking her chemise. It is some time before the fallen princess finds the resolve to move. Uncoiling herself and pushing to the edge of her straw-stuffed mattress. The back of her hands scrub the tracks on her cheek, A long loud sniffle clears her red nose. She looks haggard in the fading light of day but still finds the energy to hang a pot on the spider hook over the hearth. The deft strike of flint on steel showers fresh kindling in sparks. A gentle puff of air from her plump lips ignites the flames. Buttriced by the camomile tea, Maddalena's nerves have ceased their trembling. Thoughts of her Knight, of those happy times, she has packed them away as one would pack away an ill-fitting dress. Forgotten but not discarded. She could never discard something more precious to her than her own life.
A visitor announces themself with a quick rap of knuckles on her wooden door. When she doesn't stir from her seat at the table, the visitor knocks again with a heavier hand. Insisting to be heard with a pounding that threatens to tear the door's hinges from the wall.
"Maddalena!" A male voice hisses outside. "I know you're awake. I can see you through the cracks. Let me in."
Elrik... This night can't get any worse.
He is... Her ally for a price. Maddalena would call him a thief, but that would be giving him too much finesse. He is a brigand. A scoundrel who only sniffs around the village when there is a coin to be had. He is far more at home in the wilds. Rolling around in the mud and stalking the roads for helpless merchants. He thumps upon the door again making enough of a ruckus to wake the dead. Or at least pull her more nosey neighbors from their night meals. The gossip mongers would seize their opportunity. Maddalena already raises enough eyebrows with her antics. Being unmarried at her age and living alone is not uncommon in the aftermath of the war. However, receiving male guests at twilight still is.
With a roll of her eyes, Maddalena stomps towards the door, scooping up the blanket from her bed on the way. Wrapping it tight around her shoulder to preserve her modesty. She won't change a lecherous stare. The man is a notorious rouge in these parts. The heavy wooden chest she uses to bar the door in place of a proper bolt, scraps across the floor. Elrik nearly breaks Maddalena's nose as he flings the door open the moment he can without care. Pushing past her into the soft glow of the firelight heedless of her narrowed eyes. Elrik is a tall, lean man with short-cropped black hair. Built for speed and power rather than stealth. The dark leathers and black cottons he wears can not camouflage his physique. He looks out of place walking around a fishing village with arms and legs the width of tree trunks.
"There is a job tonight that I need you for. Put this on." He said. Tossing a balled-up dress at her face without warning. The cream-colored apron fell loose at her feet. Maddalena takes a surprised step back. She lets go of the blanket to struggle with the many voluminous layers that entomb her head.
"What?" Maddalena replies. When she gains her bearings and rights the dress with a snap of her wrists, her mouth hangs agape. Clutched in her finger is the low-cut dress of a barmaid. One size too small in the hips and two sizes too small across the breast. Borrowed from Elrik's lover, no doubt. "No!"
"Yes! You owe me for the use of this house. Remember?"
Maddalena snaps her gaping mouth shut. Lips thinning into a line. Elrik makes himself at home. Sinking into the only chair she owned, heels crossed and resting on top of the only table. He picks up her half-finished cup of tea and sniffs at it like a dog, face souring after a sip. Apart from the creaky bed and rudimentary hearth, there is nothing else. She owns no screen to dress behind. Maddalena shifts from foot to foot uncomfortable under Elrik's green hawk-like eyes. Vulnerable. Exposed. The deep smirk that etches itself into his face makes her feel like prey. Angeling her chin a little higher in the air, her lungs inhaled a measured breath to puff out her chest.
"Turn Around." She demands. An air of degrading authority laced her words making her sound, every bit, like a Southern Royal.
Elrik is at a momentary loss. He gives the cup in his hand a contemplative look before replacing it on the table. Feet slipping from the tabletop to the floor. The elation Maddalena feels is short-lived. Elrik doesn't stand. Doesn't even turn his head. Unceremonious, he settles his elbows on the wood without a sound. The soft lines of his carefree face were gone. Lost within the creeping shadows of night. Elrik rests his chin in the open palm of one hand. A day's worth of stubble biting into the calloused skin. Casual in his demeanor, if not for the wicked-looking dagger he pinches, between thumb and forefinger, in his other. Maddalena hadn't even seen him draw it from the sheath slung across his chest.
"You are going to get changed. Right. Now." Elrik states in a level voice, with a half-bored look. The knife swung like a pendulum toward Maddalena. She has seen his skill with a throwing knife before. Even as he is now, slouched at an odd angle to one side, he can land a blow on any part of her. Her leg. Her arm. Her belly where her guts writhe with the instinct to flee. She swallows hard to keep the tea from rushing back up.
"The ship I have been waiting for months has finally arrived. A reliable word says it's loaded with valuable cargo. Gold, jewels, and other finery for the Southern lord taking up residence in the castle. You will not deprive me of such a bounty- Understand?"
All she can seem to muster is a slight head wobble in agreement. Her voice has left her, and so too has the color in her cheeks. Face, now a ghastly white as she is mesmerized by how the hearth flames dance along the steel's length. Maddalena yanks the front tie of her chemise without a second thought. Spinning on her heel to face her front door, still open a crack. The linen flutters down the length of her back exposing creamy, unblemished, skin. She lifts her arm to toss the dress over her head and hears the clunk of the knife impaling the table. With the fire at his back, Elrik can see it all. The cleft of her round ass. The curve of her slim waist. The parts of her large breasts that her slim rib cage fails to hide.
If Elrik is going to kill her tonight, he won't do it here in this dingy little room. He needs her too much for whatever he is plotting. Why she let the destructive thought that they were friends fester, she can't say. Loneliness, perhaps. A poor excuse for letting down her guard. But it was all she could come up with on the spot with the strangling feeling of sadness welling up once more. The butter yellow of the dress slips over her face obscuring her only escape route.
The village of Baleine had little to do with the war tucked away as it was in the north. Backed against the sea and hemmed in by a rugged mountain range, few refugees had chosen to flee this way. Maddalena, too, had thought it daft. The castle's fall- her father's death was still a fresh wound then. Running to save her skin, like most other nobles had done felt...wrong. Not when the rights of the Freemen of Atterrir were being ripped away. Forced to serve new Southern Lords under a feudalistic style of governance. A system completely foreign to their more capitalistic way of life.
It had steeled her resolve to remain in the heart of her Kingdom for as long as possible. Playing little games of cat and mouse with the enemy forces. Always staying one step ahead of the lapdogs of Southern Conquer when they turned to give chase. The victories were minuscule at best. A torched enemy encampment here. Stolen supplies there. But the stubborn show of defiance to his false reign drew other like-minded people to her side. At first, it was only the vestiges of loyal knights and usurped nobles who had escaped the witch hunts. But then commoners began to gather wherever Maddalena's small group made camp. Following the rumors of where the Rebel Princess would attack next. Unwittingly Maddalena had sown the seed of rebellion.
Maddalena directed her crusade towards a strategic fort that had fallen out of use and been lost to time. A good defensible position where her rag-tag army could dig in their heels and build a base. Hidden well on the outskirts of Atterrir's lowlands. It was the ideal massing point for more complex tactical maneuvers. The fort's access to the waterways of the Kingdom was unfettered. The Rebel Army needed that mobility. Needed that access to fresh water and the abundant food the sea could provide. Maddalena hadn't even been able to march her troops halfway there before they fell into a trap. All she could do was call for a full retreat. Fracture her forces and scatter them to the four winds for a chance at survival.
That battle had been six- No, eight months ago. With precious little information on what became of her soldiers. Maddalena found herself drifting north, alone. The plan had been to swallow her terror of water and board the next merchant ship heading across the sea. Her mother had made allies there. Powerful ones with coffers deep enough to back rebellion in any way she needed. Short of that she would seek assistance from one of the more marauding nations. Vikings came to mind. Fearsome raiders with a reputation for snatching victory from the jaws of defeat. Maddalena did not know what to offer them. The Kingdom's recourse? Is it vast wealth or what little was left after the Southern King's plunder? Perhaps herself? An offer of arranged marriage for her body and everything that went with it. Not the ideal trade, but the most valuable one she had. If those barbarians, whom she knew very little about, valued such power.
"We haven't missed them!" Elrik said, pointing to the rocky beach where a small contingent of men milled about. Attempting to dodge the many tidal pools that pox-marked the harbor at low tide as they unloaded. Carrying much of what they brought to a horse-drawn wagon parked upon solid ground. The heavy-looking strong box still sitting pretty in one of the two dinghies, left for last.
Maddalena's footfalls came to an abrupt halt. Face blanching at the sight of the ship anchored farther offshore. It was a three-masted behemoth. Bigger than any Galley ship she had ever seen. The flag that flies at the top of the tallest mast is silhouetted against the full moon. The crest of the Southern Royals flaps with all its glory in the gentle wind coming off the sea. Maddalena feels bile hurdle up her throat. A hand clamps over her mouth to hold back her sick. A ship that side can hold hundreds upon hundreds of sailors. Hundreds upon hundreds of enemies.
Aldrik...
Gods! She needs to run. Pack what little she owns and leave this village right now. Take her chances with the wolves in the woods. Maddalena turns on her heel, but Elrik's firm grip on her arm makes her freeze mid-stride. Her thin frame is spun about like a top. Her back crashes into his chest. The guard of the dagger strapped here digs into her body as he tightens his hold with the arm slung around her abdomen.
Maddalena panics. Opens her mouth to cry out as he pulls her into the deep shadows created by two closely constructed huts. "ALDR-"
Elrik's meaty hand clamps over her mouth. He tastes of dirt and sweat. The hiss he lets out next to her ear is snake-like, low, and menacing "Shut your mouth woman, or we will be caught!"
Maddalena hears it then, the sound of grinding stones. Someone is approaching their location. So focused on the ship she had missed a singular smudge of dark swaying clothing that had broken from the group.
The man, no boy, hikes up the uneven terrain with little trouble. He is in his late teens. A cabin boy, perhaps. Left behind by the wagon to guard the boats. He carries a hammer in one hand and a piece of parchment in the other as he strolls past them unaware. Heading for the fishmonger's stall a little ways past. Maddalena watches wide-eyed as he slaps the parchment against the weathered wood. The sharp tink of metal striking metal breaks the silence of the night. He finishes the task in short order and meanders down the road to repeat his task at the next unlucky piece of wood.
"What the hell is he doing?" Elrik asks when the coast is clear.
Releasing Maddalena, Elriks strides forward with quick steps. Fingers scratching at his chin as he regards the posting. The black scrolling script stands stark against the bone-white color of the page. He can't read but doesn't need to, to understand what it is. A wanted poster with a hefty reward for the capture of this outlaw, alive.
"One thousand gold coins... Holy fuck." Elrik says. "What could this poor lad have done to warrant such a bounty? He can't be much older than sixteen."
The face Maddalena stares at is her own, albeit horrendously done. The Eyes are too small and set into an unduly thin face. Even with longer hair the portrait looks too masculine to be a woman of twenty-eight years of age. The artist commissioned to paint this likeness must be referencing the outdated material. Paintings from within the castle, no doubt. A source created firsthand by her father before she left for the South. So the accuracy had not been called into question.
"It's Atterir's princess," Maddalena finds herself correcting out of spite. Her appearance had changed by leaps and bounds since then. Still, she can not escape that tomboy persona.
Elrik laughs so hard that he snorts. "No way. I don't believe you. That's a budding man, not a princess. No Royal can be that ugly."
To her credit, Maddalena keeps her lips sealed even though she bristles like a feisty cat. Elrik had unwittingly touched upon an old wound. The nobles of the southern court often jeered about her appearance like Elrik had. Delighting in riling up her anger till she lost face. Answering their slanderous accusations about her dead mother with concise violence.
It's how she met Aldrik. He had interceded in a quarrel that Maddalena had been having with a nobleman's daughter. Taking the blow that had been meant for that bitches nose on the chin. His intimidating stare made her rage burn wild. Maddalena had thrown her good sense to the wind and struck out at him again and again. Landing a few good shots before he dropped her to her down with a singular punch to her core.
‘...I am sorry. You must understand I don't normally raise my hand against wome but…’ Aldrik had said that day.
Maddalena had shot back a quip instantaneously between her gasping breaths. Something stupid, cavalier, and still full of fight and fire ‘...good thing I'm not a woman.’
When they turn back to the beach the wagon is gone. Elrik tugs Maddalena along to follow the tracks left in the soft mud. Thoughts of fleeing have left Maddalena's mind. The poster is a new tactic. One the Southern King, most likely, employed in every other town before reaching this one. Someone will recognize her face, if not her face then her name etched on the missive. Be willing to commit treason for the gold. They will have a proper depiction of her soon. It's only a matter of time. Doing what Elrik wants tonight and then laying low- here, is the only way she will survive.
Dim light filters out of the tavern's back door as they approach. Still keeping to the shadows so as not to be seen. It has been left open to vent the hot air from the dining hall full of people. Her enemy included. Maddalena spotted the wagon parked alongside the tavern as they cozied up to the back wall. Tucked close to the wall in the shadows. Guarded by only one lazily man pacing to stave off boredom, while his fellows eat and drink inside. The locals are nothing more than lowly fishermen and farmers. They pose no threat.
"Get the key to the strong box." Elrik whispers, "Get outside. That's all you have to do. The men I have scattered about will do the rest."
It takes everything Maddalens has to nod in assent. She gathered her long earthen locks into a ball. Securing it at the base of her neck with a white handkerchief stained with berry juice. Elrik pulls free out two tendrils of silky to frame her entrancing blue eyes. Wetting his finger with spit so the curls he works into the lengths stay. Critically, he paws at her dress to smooth out the pleats. The already exaggerated collar of the gown slipped lower with each tuck. Lacey fringe barely conceals her nipples by the time he finishes.
Maddalena's face resembles a tomato by that point. The tightness of the gown hardly lets her breathe. She can suck in little more than a shallow breath before it constricts her chest like a snake. The world narrows to the creamy swath of flesh that bounces with each jarring inhale. Her squashed breasts are pushed impossibly high drawing the eye to her birthmark. Tattooed onto the swell of skin above her heart. It is a light pink thing. Similar in shape to a budding rose. Teardrop in formation with a small burst pattern along its lowermost curve. Her mother had that mark and her mother before her. A thing of pride. Undeniable proof that she was of the royal bloodline.
Maddalena feels... cheap; for lack of a better word. Leveraging the stained skin to capture the attention of male eyes while she pockets the key.
She takes what solace she can in the fact that her enemy is largely unaware of the identifying mark. The only soul in the Southern Kingdom that had gleaned that mark was Aldrik. That day- when she fell in the river and was soaked to the bone. Maddalena swallows hard. Would he have told his father about it in the aftermath of the peace treaty's betrayal?
"Good enough. Go!"
Elrik slaps her ass. Maddalen jumps from the sting of it much like a horse would when cracked with a whip. She stumbles forward through the door. Nodding to the bartender as she passes. A fat older man with a crown of balding hair. He has been bribed handsomely to look the other way and to keep his mouth shut if questioned. He is ill-suited to do much more than that. Maddalena is alone in this wolf's den of debauchery.
Find the key and get out. Find the key and get out. Maddalena repeats in her head like a mantra. Her shaking hands each plucking a tankard from the counter as she ventures out into the crowd. Forcing the sexiest swing she can muster into her stiff hips.
The tables are full tonight. Locals mostly. Friendly faces if nothing else. The entourage from the boats looks, decidedly, less friendly. Maddalena can spot their congregation without effort. Huddled around a window that gives a clear line of sight to their cargo. Most wear chain mail. The few that do not sport padded gambesons. All, by her quick tally, are armed with swords they have not removed from their belts.
Eight foot soldiers are spread across three tables. Four knights and two squires, in the advanced years of their training, take up the fourth. Fighting is not an option. No matter how many bandits Elrik talked into coming down from the mountains. They are outmatched in both equipment and skill.
Five. There are five knights in total. Maddalena stills like a deer on high alert. The knight had approached her from behind. Footfall concealed by the cacophony of conversation. The smell of alcohol is evident in his breath as he chuckles. He is not drunk yet, but it won't take long before he loses his reason. The gloved fingers that dance across her collarbone make Maddalena squirm. The weight of the chain mail that settles on her chest is unpleasant. The pomme of his sword jams into her side when he presses up against her back. Hand groping her backside in languid circles. A note of approval hummed right in her ear. Maddalena bristles with that. Eyes narrowing on an indistinct spot on the far wall. Lips pinched into a thin line as she reigns in her temper. What she wouldn't give to hit this asshole?
"Come. Sit with me." The knight said. Motioning to a table with his countrymen. A queasy feeling of dread settles in the pit of her stomach. Without awaiting a reply he guides her by the arm to the relatively quiet corner. A lamb guided to its slaughter. The fake laugh she used so often in the Southern Kingdom bubbled up as she pulled down upon his lap. She will play her part. Entertain this man for as long as need be, so as not to arouse suspicion.
Maddalen steels her resolve. Swallowing back bile, she locks eyes with the next knight who stares openly. There is a string around his neck that drops out of sight underneath his surcoat. The bulge of the fabric speeds up her heart.
The key?
Her entourage hung back a respectful distance once their party had broken free of the tree line. Six Knights protected her person. Two adorned in full plate armor. The rest were clad in hauberks overlayed with fine cotton surcoats stained a deep blue. The Kingdom's crest, a red blooming rose emblazoned on their chests. Her father, King Eamond, also had a dedicated guard. His knights numbered only three. Riding tight on his heel. The King nudged his steed deeper into the clearing. Cutting an imposing figure against the rising sun at his back. Like their king, The Badeaux brothers have forgone their helmets for this encounter. Instead, choosing to intimidate the enemy with stoic looks that border on scowls. Identical triplets are hard to forget. Even more so if you face their formidable teamwork in battle. The forces of the Southern Kingdom were lined up with their backs against the open plain. Every one of their enemies is on a horse, albeit less armored.
Maddalena followed a few paces behind head hanging a little lower than it should. Her brown eyes trained on the shadows of the eldest Badeaux cast in the grass. Waiting for her queue. To flee to the forest like a frightened fox or advance into the viper's nest. Her horse stomps the ground in agitation and she jerks the reins to keep the black stallion steady. This is too important of a duty to run from. She will stay the course. She has too. For the sake of peace. For the sake of her people. She only has to last five years on foreign soil. Then she can negotiate with the Southern King for her freedom. For lasting peace. An unshakable alliance. She centers her thoughts on how an open trade agreement will bring prosperity to the common man. She wants that more than pretty gowns or sparkling gems. She wants to make her mother's legacy shine. A heavy burden for a scrawny girl of fifteen to bear, but bear it she must. In Five years she will be coronated as Queen with all the pageantry the Kingdom can muster. Sitting comfortably on the purple velvet cushions of the Golden Throne. Ruling Atterrir by divine right alone as her birth decrees.
Maddalena hears her father negotiating last-minute terms with the Southern King. A man whose deep voice is like a crack of thunder. Her right foot vibrates in the stirrup. That King's glower marks him as a man not to cross. She knows it in the way her gut twists into knots. She feels that same when pitted against someone better in a mock battle. A wrong move will sink a sword into her gut. The Southern soldiers at the King's back also have the same feel about them. They size her up with clear disdain. The charge they are about to receive is not of equal value to the one they are giving up. One grizzled old soldier with a bushy gray beard locks eyes with Maddalena and spits.
The youngest of the Badeaux brothers sidesteps his horse by four paces. And glances at Maddalena. A gentle look on his face, through the pinch he can't quite ease from his brow, betrays him. With his long legs and broad shoulders, it's easy to forget that Jacob is only three years older than herself. The youngest squire ever Knighted in Atterrir. The sword gifted to him by her father is still in its sheath. Untested, much like him in delicate matters such as these. Maddalena swallows around the lump in her throat and sits up straighter. Shoulders back, chest puffed out as much as the steel breastplate will allow. A deep breath stills her racing heart somewhat. She shoots Jacob a firm look to mind his own business. The pity in his eyes is gone in a blink. The cock-sure smirk he flashes before returning to his duty makes her guts twist in a different way.
The repositioning of Jacob's horse was a blessing and a curse. Out of the pan and into the fire. Maddalena stares down the Southern Princess. She is delicately perched, side saddle, on a white mare with an intricately decorated mane. A black lace veil obscures her face and a matching dress clings tight to her well-rounded curves. It's maddening how relaxed she is. Fiddling with the end of her long braided hair as though nothing of import was going on. Maddalena would even place a bet on the precise angle of her nose. If the square set of her shoulders was indicative of her mood. Then again, this is just another day for her. She will not be venturing into Atterrir empty-handed, not alone. The wagon behind her horse is filled with all manner of goods. Maddalena counts five trunks in total. A large comfy-looking chair and two other women. A younger woman, glazing about like a newborn, and an older one with a leathered face full of wrinkles. Servants. She suspects. A lady-in-waiting and her nursemaid.
Maddalena can't help but card her finger through her hair. The short brown locks are spiked and stiff. Barely able to poke out beyond her fingers when she grabs a fist full of her bangs on impulse. It's a man's haircut. The Badeaux bothers all sports the same style. An economical length that allows for quick grooming and does not get in the way of wearing a combat helmet. It's far from alluring or even pretty. She catches the Southern King's glare and drops her hand into her lap. Eyes following the corded muscles of her forearm to the defined meat of her bulging bicep. Another part of her was built for combat. Not beauty.
She is so different from the Princess of the South, Maddalena might well have been a man. Hell - she rides a horse like one. Swaying with strength in the saddle, she guides her temperamental beast forward on cue. Like the obedient princess, she needs to be. Her father doesn't even say goodbye. There is no room for weakness. Knees digging into her stallion's flanks to keep him from bucking when a woman in the wagon spins like a top. Keen to watch the drama unfold as they follow their Princess into the Atterrir ranks. She tugs her cloak closed a little more. Shielding the exposed skin her short sleeve tunic will not cover. It is a feeble shield against the fading sound of feminine snickers, but it's all she has.
Battling back the tears that threaten to fall. Maddalena steels herself for the next five, dreadful, years. Surrounded on all sides by enemies. She is utterly Alone.
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Freedom is not within Maddalena's grasp. She is still stuck in the Southern Kingdom at the age of twenty-two but at least she is no longer alone. Happiness finally seems like an attainable thing. Especially out here. Lost amongst the wildflowers. The emerald field is ripe with their bright hues. Bobbing in the light breeze that does little to steal the heat from her supple skin. She is wearing a gown of white gossamer silk. It's the one the Queen hates.
The Wind captures the abundant fabric of her gown in its current. Making it ripple in slow cresting waves. If not for the chemise of identical color laid beneath, the gown would be sheer in the summer sunshine. Improper. Vulgar. The Monarch often chides in the haughtiest tone her nasal voice can impress. But, refuses to confiscate it from Maddalena's wardrobe. The Southern Queen likes picking away at the foreign princesses' self-esteem. Bit by bit, with venomous claws. It's like a game.
One she can never win. The other noble ladies that flutter around the court remind her of that often. Maddalena no longer looks like a man after her defined muscles wilted with lack of exercise. But she still doesn't quite look like a lady. Though she has tried hard to conform to the standards of beauty it seems all men of this warmer climate crave. The Aldrik aesthetic he seems to like if her observations are anything to go by.
Aldrik--her guard. Her personal knight. Her... He is an infallible man of chaste virtues. It's the only reason She is permitted to be alone in this way. A rare grace that nurtures a friendship that often feels like something more. Something beyond duty. Like they share certain feelings that she dares not name. Maddalena couldn't go on living if she poured her heart out to him and he laughed at her like all others at court do. She trusts him too implicitly. Trusts him with her happiness. Allowing the silly thoughts she represses to roll off her tongue without thinking. Trusts him with her unreasonable fears that force her to run to his side in the night. He wields a candle like a sword, then. Chasing away her ghosts plagues her nightmare. He is far too gallant for his own good. Indulging her whims at times when he should not. Like now. This impromptu outing would result in a harsh punishment for him if discovered.
A disagreement with the Southern Queen sparks the revival of Maddalena's rebellious nature. Carefree and bold. The Northern Princess feels more like her old self. This far from the sprawling castle town, no one but the Knight that guards her person will see this side of her. The 'shameful' dress eggs on her less-than-royal countenance. Long nails dig into the soft topsoil. Rending whole root systems of carefully selected flowers from the field. She will secret them back to her room and plant them in the boxes that edge her balcony. She is sick and tired of looking at weeds. Maddalena bounds back to her Knight. A bundle of dirty flowers cradled in her arms like precious cargo. She flops down on his cloak laid out like a blanket. A breathy giggle bubbles up as she shows off her bounty to his appraising eye. Aldrik takes them with care. Wrapping the roots before tucking them into the cloth sack that had once held their lunch.
There is no judgment on his face or repulsion in his body language as he takes her sullied hands in his own larger ones. He uses the hem of his tunic to clean each finger. One by one. When he puts a respectful distance between them once more, all be it unwilling. Her hands gleam in the sunshine. There isn't even dirt left under her fingernails. All evidence that she was rooting around like a boar is gone. His chivalrous gesture makes her chest squeeze. She will skirt the Queen's ire when she returns to her gilded cage.
Maddalena pulls a satin ribbon the color of the sunset from her short, scraggly, brown hair. Aldrik's face tumbles through emotions. Finally coming to rest on a carefully neutral look that was broken with a soft smile more radiant than the sun. A token, for her gallant Knight. With a heart that flutters as fast as a hummingbird's wing, She ties with care to the hilt of his sword, under the guard. A spot chosen at random, but one that will caress his skin. Maddalena's cheeks stain with a crimson flush. Besotted. Hopelessly besotted. If Aldrik was to sneeze right then and there she would seize upon the opportunity and bestow another.
Would such a gift mean anything to him? Her fears well up without warning, and the rosy blush drains from her cheeks. Maybe the acceptance was simple courtesy. Maddalena can't sit still under Aldrik's raking gaze. She needs to do - something, anything. She craves distraction from the swirling negative thoughts that branch into uninvited tangents. There are better women than her in his court. Ones that not only act like ladies but look like them as well. Maddalena knows she can not compare when placed side by side. She envies the Nobel daughters who parade around. Attempting to attract his affectionate eye in ways she can only dream of.
Maddalena hops to her feet. Skirts swish as she spins on her toes with a hollow giggle. The fake smile she likes to hide behind fastened in place. She knows most of his tics. Goating Aldrik into a game of chase is an easy feat. She watches the puzzled look lingering on his face as he plays along. Following hot on her heels as she blazes a trail down to the creek bank devoid of any foliage larger than a water weed. Aldrik gabs for her elbow. Fingertips not gaining a firm hold on the slippery silk. Maddalena evades with a step to the right. She avoids his next lunge with a sidestep to the left. A chuckle bubbled up from both unbidden. Aldrik is lost to the game. His strong jaw set with determination. Eyes alight with a fire that fans her own.
He moves with the grace of a mountain cat. Herding her towards a patch of slimy rock where she won't be able to flee unless she crosses the water. Maddalena fears the water. He knows she can't swim. So he presses his advantage with a cocky smile. The final dodge has her falling into his trap. Her slippers hit the cool water. The hem of her gown grew heavy, twisting about in the thrashing water. Aldrik sloshes after her as she retreats deeper with a true joyous scream of delight.
A mistake.
Maddalena's gown tangles around her legs. The next step has her falling backward, arms flailing about in a futile attempt to keep her balance. Aldrik is there in a flash. Taking hold of a wrist, and pulling her into the protective embrace of his arms. It does little to remedy the situation. His boots slip in his rush. His bulk pulled them both down into the meandering stream with a huge splash.
Maddalena spits a mouth full of water with a cough. Raking the hair out of her eyes she takes stock of the blue sky and the puffy white clouds that drift over her head. She is safe. Breathless, but safe. Her landing was blunted enough that she escaped without a signal bruise. Aldrik isn't as lucky. His forearms take the brunt of the damage she should have received. Nasty bruises will bloom within the hour. The rounded stones on the creek bed don't go unnoticed by Maddalena. She can feel them against her back as he withdraws his arms from around her torso. Shifting his position in a mad scramble to raise his weight off her body. The world moves very slowly for Maddalena then. Aldrick towers over her half-submerged body on his knees. He plants his hands on either side of her head. His eyes are blown wide. Pouting mouth, a gap.
The gown and by extension her chemise, underneath, is drenched. The fabric clings to her body like a second skin. See-through. She watches with bated breath as the hint of something she doesn't wish to name sparks in her Knight's eyes. Dark and passionate. She followed his lingering gaze down to her chest. Pebbled nipples tent the fabric, staining through in their dusky pink hue.
Maddalena moves first when the shock ebbs away. Shifting her legs to get up. It only makes things worse. Aldrik's hips settle into the valley her parted legs provide. The knotted tie of his breeches settled upon the little nub of flesh at the apex of her legs. She bites down on her lip in reflex. Her gown is a lackluster barrier. Its roughness only adds to the wicked, coiling, ache that settles into her lower belly. When he moves to correct the awkward positioning, it's damn near torture.
Maddalena's back bows on pure instinct alone. Chest surging upwards until clothing presses against clothing. The column of Aldrik's neck catches her heated gaze. Once she had deemed it safe to look upon. Now, in this breathless moment that drags by at a crawl - she is swift to re-evaluate that assumption. Never in her life has she wanted to put her lips upon something so badly. To bite down like a crazed animal and claw her way through his clothing. She grabs Aldrik's hips, hands slipping to the swell of his ass and-
________________________________________
Maddalena's body jolted upright to attention. Heart beating with jarring thumps. Bleary eyes dart about the darkened room searching out threats. A Dream? It takes a moment, but her senses come alive one by one. She smells the smoke from the smoldering rough-hewn hearth built towards the far wall. She hears the playful chants of children playing in the street. Finishing their last game in the vanishing light. She feels the grounding roughness of the homespun thread. A blanket. Her blanket was clutched to her chest with white knuckles. Maddalena licks her lips with a dry tongue. She doesn't taste the lingering flavor of another. Maddalena doesn't see Aldrik keeping a vigil from the shadows.
A dream. Why now? She hasn't thought about him like that in years. Where does she draw the line? It is getting harder to separate the wonton fever dream from the real memories of that day. Perhaps, everything after eating the noon meal is all a figment of her imagination. A fantasy she dreamed up to make her feel less lonely. Less scared. Less sad. In the end, it doesn't matter. Maddalena doesn't care whether he gives in to his lust or shies away, the outcome will always end up being the same. Aldrik is not here with hers. He never will be. The throbbing ache between her legs makes that abundantly clear. It pulses with the rhythm of her pounding heart and no amount of restless squirming will assuage it.
Maddalena crumples in on herself, sheltering against her knees. She breathes in and expands her lungs to the limits of their capacity. Hold the air. Then deflates in a methodical way. Slow. Measured. It's not calming in the least because - God she wants for him more than she wants for air. She misses his company. His voice. His touch. Maddalena batters her forehead against a knobby knee. She loves him. How stupid could she be? How stupid was it to fall in love with her Enemy? Her eyes water at the thought. Maddalena pulls the threadbare blanket over her head. She still acts like a child at the age of twenty-eight.
"Aldrik," Maddalena whispers into the dark like a prayer.
Speaking that hollowed name will not grant a miracle. Aldrik will not descend from the sky bathed in a pillar of golden light. Hand outstretched to take her burdens. His lips will not place a tender kiss upon her forehead to soothe her fears. If he is ever summoned from the heavens by her feeble cries, he will descend as an angel of vengeance. It is easy to imagine. The clap of thunder that will herald his arrival when her time is up. A flash of lighting catches on the glossy black feather of the wings arching his back. He looks like a carrion bird in her mind's eye. Graceful. Deadly. Ready to skewer her chest with the razor-sharp sword that never leaves his side. The icy glint of revenge smoldered in his glare.
It's almost preferable. A quick death at the hands of the man she loves. One last look into the glorious eyes. A final touch upon her skin that is meant to do not more than hold her down, but she will savor nonetheless. Much more preferable when what the Southern King has in store for her. He will execute her as he executed her father, Eamond. If not worse. Because Maddalena basked in their hospitality for years. Ate their food. Sheltered under their roof. Was protected from harm by Prince Aldrik, their son. While their daughter was murdered in Eamond's care. A victim of his madness. Her body returned to her homeland like a butchered animal. Surrounded by white roses to dull the stink of decay. Brought the Southern army down upon the Kingdom of Atterrir. The invasion was swift and surgical and over in the blink of an eye. Atterrir fell in less than two years.
King Eamond was the first noble the Southern King executed. Chained to a whipping post in the center of the castle town his citizens witness it all. He was flogged until his back was raw. Stoned until his bones broke. Scalded with oil just to wring a final hoarse scream before he was shown the mercy of a rope. Maddalena knows she will suffer worse as the final ruler of the monarchy. Her demise will be a marked example to the population. A warning against rebellion. It will be ten times as painful and last ten times as long. When the noose is finally looped around her neck - she knows, without a doubt. The rope will be too slack to snap her neck when the gallows hatch drops away. A life for a life.
If he followed you... Not all is lost... Aldrik may still care... May still be searching for you even after five years... He is a dear friend, is he not? The little devil on her shoulder whispered in her ear to keep those false hopes alive.
It matters little now. If by some slim chance, Aldik cared for her beyond friendship or duty she could offer him nothing. Her Kingdom- destroyed. Her throne- stolen. She had no title. She has no land. She has no wealth. Maddalena is nothing more than a dirty peasant. Common. Plain. Ugly. He would still be of noble birth- of royal blood. A man of honor. A man of duty and virtue. A man who will be forever out of her reach for one reason or another.
Safe within her blanket cocoon, the tears come in earnest. Racking her shoulders and soaking her chemise. It is some time before the fallen princess finds the resolve to move. Uncoiling herself and pushing to the edge of her straw-stuffed mattress. The back of her hands scrub the tracks on her cheek, A long loud sniffle clears her red nose. She looks haggard in the fading light of day but still finds the energy to hang a pot on the spider hook over the hearth. The deft strike of flint on steel showers fresh kindling in sparks. A gentle puff of air from her plump lips ignites the flames. Buttriced by the camomile tea, Maddalena's nerves have ceased their trembling. Thoughts of her Knight, of those happy times, she has packed them away as one would pack away an ill-fitting dress. Forgotten but not discarded. She could never discard something more precious to her than her own life.
A visitor announces themself with a quick rap of knuckles on her wooden door. When she doesn't stir from her seat at the table, the visitor knocks again with a heavier hand. Insisting to be heard with a pounding that threatens to tear the door's hinges from the wall.
"Maddalena!" A male voice hisses outside. "I know you're awake. I can see you through the cracks. Let me in."
Elrik... This night can't get any worse.
He is... Her ally for a price. Maddalena would call him a thief, but that would be giving him too much finesse. He is a brigand. A scoundrel who only sniffs around the village when there is a coin to be had. He is far more at home in the wilds. Rolling around in the mud and stalking the roads for helpless merchants. He thumps upon the door again making enough of a ruckus to wake the dead. Or at least pull her more nosey neighbors from their night meals. The gossip mongers would seize their opportunity. Maddalena already raises enough eyebrows with her antics. Being unmarried at her age and living alone is not uncommon in the aftermath of the war. However, receiving male guests at twilight still is.
With a roll of her eyes, Maddalena stomps towards the door, scooping up the blanket from her bed on the way. Wrapping it tight around her shoulder to preserve her modesty. She won't change a lecherous stare. The man is a notorious rouge in these parts. The heavy wooden chest she uses to bar the door in place of a proper bolt, scraps across the floor. Elrik nearly breaks Maddalena's nose as he flings the door open the moment he can without care. Pushing past her into the soft glow of the firelight heedless of her narrowed eyes. Elrik is a tall, lean man with short-cropped black hair. Built for speed and power rather than stealth. The dark leathers and black cottons he wears can not camouflage his physique. He looks out of place walking around a fishing village with arms and legs the width of tree trunks.
"There is a job tonight that I need you for. Put this on." He said. Tossing a balled-up dress at her face without warning. The cream-colored apron fell loose at her feet. Maddalena takes a surprised step back. She lets go of the blanket to struggle with the many voluminous layers that entomb her head.
"What?" Maddalena replies. When she gains her bearings and rights the dress with a snap of her wrists, her mouth hangs agape. Clutched in her finger is the low-cut dress of a barmaid. One size too small in the hips and two sizes too small across the breast. Borrowed from Elrik's lover, no doubt. "No!"
"Yes! You owe me for the use of this house. Remember?"
Maddalena snaps her gaping mouth shut. Lips thinning into a line. Elrik makes himself at home. Sinking into the only chair she owned, heels crossed and resting on top of the only table. He picks up her half-finished cup of tea and sniffs at it like a dog, face souring after a sip. Apart from the creaky bed and rudimentary hearth, there is nothing else. She owns no screen to dress behind. Maddalena shifts from foot to foot uncomfortable under Elrik's green hawk-like eyes. Vulnerable. Exposed. The deep smirk that etches itself into his face makes her feel like prey. Angeling her chin a little higher in the air, her lungs inhaled a measured breath to puff out her chest.
"Turn Around." She demands. An air of degrading authority laced her words making her sound, every bit, like a Southern Royal.
Elrik is at a momentary loss. He gives the cup in his hand a contemplative look before replacing it on the table. Feet slipping from the tabletop to the floor. The elation Maddalena feels is short-lived. Elrik doesn't stand. Doesn't even turn his head. Unceremonious, he settles his elbows on the wood without a sound. The soft lines of his carefree face were gone. Lost within the creeping shadows of night. Elrik rests his chin in the open palm of one hand. A day's worth of stubble biting into the calloused skin. Casual in his demeanor, if not for the wicked-looking dagger he pinches, between thumb and forefinger, in his other. Maddalena hadn't even seen him draw it from the sheath slung across his chest.
"You are going to get changed. Right. Now." Elrik states in a level voice, with a half-bored look. The knife swung like a pendulum toward Maddalena. She has seen his skill with a throwing knife before. Even as he is now, slouched at an odd angle to one side, he can land a blow on any part of her. Her leg. Her arm. Her belly where her guts writhe with the instinct to flee. She swallows hard to keep the tea from rushing back up.
"The ship I have been waiting for months has finally arrived. A reliable word says it's loaded with valuable cargo. Gold, jewels, and other finery for the Southern lord taking up residence in the castle. You will not deprive me of such a bounty- Understand?"
All she can seem to muster is a slight head wobble in agreement. Her voice has left her, and so too has the color in her cheeks. Face, now a ghastly white as she is mesmerized by how the hearth flames dance along the steel's length. Maddalena yanks the front tie of her chemise without a second thought. Spinning on her heel to face her front door, still open a crack. The linen flutters down the length of her back exposing creamy, unblemished, skin. She lifts her arm to toss the dress over her head and hears the clunk of the knife impaling the table. With the fire at his back, Elrik can see it all. The cleft of her round ass. The curve of her slim waist. The parts of her large breasts that her slim rib cage fails to hide.
If Elrik is going to kill her tonight, he won't do it here in this dingy little room. He needs her too much for whatever he is plotting. Why she let the destructive thought that they were friends fester, she can't say. Loneliness, perhaps. A poor excuse for letting down her guard. But it was all she could come up with on the spot with the strangling feeling of sadness welling up once more. The butter yellow of the dress slips over her face obscuring her only escape route.
__________________________________________
The village of Baleine had little to do with the war tucked away as it was in the north. Backed against the sea and hemmed in by a rugged mountain range, few refugees had chosen to flee this way. Maddalena, too, had thought it daft. The castle's fall- her father's death was still a fresh wound then. Running to save her skin, like most other nobles had done felt...wrong. Not when the rights of the Freemen of Atterrir were being ripped away. Forced to serve new Southern Lords under a feudalistic style of governance. A system completely foreign to their more capitalistic way of life.
It had steeled her resolve to remain in the heart of her Kingdom for as long as possible. Playing little games of cat and mouse with the enemy forces. Always staying one step ahead of the lapdogs of Southern Conquer when they turned to give chase. The victories were minuscule at best. A torched enemy encampment here. Stolen supplies there. But the stubborn show of defiance to his false reign drew other like-minded people to her side. At first, it was only the vestiges of loyal knights and usurped nobles who had escaped the witch hunts. But then commoners began to gather wherever Maddalena's small group made camp. Following the rumors of where the Rebel Princess would attack next. Unwittingly Maddalena had sown the seed of rebellion.
Maddalena directed her crusade towards a strategic fort that had fallen out of use and been lost to time. A good defensible position where her rag-tag army could dig in their heels and build a base. Hidden well on the outskirts of Atterrir's lowlands. It was the ideal massing point for more complex tactical maneuvers. The fort's access to the waterways of the Kingdom was unfettered. The Rebel Army needed that mobility. Needed that access to fresh water and the abundant food the sea could provide. Maddalena hadn't even been able to march her troops halfway there before they fell into a trap. All she could do was call for a full retreat. Fracture her forces and scatter them to the four winds for a chance at survival.
That battle had been six- No, eight months ago. With precious little information on what became of her soldiers. Maddalena found herself drifting north, alone. The plan had been to swallow her terror of water and board the next merchant ship heading across the sea. Her mother had made allies there. Powerful ones with coffers deep enough to back rebellion in any way she needed. Short of that she would seek assistance from one of the more marauding nations. Vikings came to mind. Fearsome raiders with a reputation for snatching victory from the jaws of defeat. Maddalena did not know what to offer them. The Kingdom's recourse? Is it vast wealth or what little was left after the Southern King's plunder? Perhaps herself? An offer of arranged marriage for her body and everything that went with it. Not the ideal trade, but the most valuable one she had. If those barbarians, whom she knew very little about, valued such power.
"We haven't missed them!" Elrik said, pointing to the rocky beach where a small contingent of men milled about. Attempting to dodge the many tidal pools that pox-marked the harbor at low tide as they unloaded. Carrying much of what they brought to a horse-drawn wagon parked upon solid ground. The heavy-looking strong box still sitting pretty in one of the two dinghies, left for last.
Maddalena's footfalls came to an abrupt halt. Face blanching at the sight of the ship anchored farther offshore. It was a three-masted behemoth. Bigger than any Galley ship she had ever seen. The flag that flies at the top of the tallest mast is silhouetted against the full moon. The crest of the Southern Royals flaps with all its glory in the gentle wind coming off the sea. Maddalena feels bile hurdle up her throat. A hand clamps over her mouth to hold back her sick. A ship that side can hold hundreds upon hundreds of sailors. Hundreds upon hundreds of enemies.
Aldrik...
Gods! She needs to run. Pack what little she owns and leave this village right now. Take her chances with the wolves in the woods. Maddalena turns on her heel, but Elrik's firm grip on her arm makes her freeze mid-stride. Her thin frame is spun about like a top. Her back crashes into his chest. The guard of the dagger strapped here digs into her body as he tightens his hold with the arm slung around her abdomen.
Maddalena panics. Opens her mouth to cry out as he pulls her into the deep shadows created by two closely constructed huts. "ALDR-"
Elrik's meaty hand clamps over her mouth. He tastes of dirt and sweat. The hiss he lets out next to her ear is snake-like, low, and menacing "Shut your mouth woman, or we will be caught!"
Maddalena hears it then, the sound of grinding stones. Someone is approaching their location. So focused on the ship she had missed a singular smudge of dark swaying clothing that had broken from the group.
The man, no boy, hikes up the uneven terrain with little trouble. He is in his late teens. A cabin boy, perhaps. Left behind by the wagon to guard the boats. He carries a hammer in one hand and a piece of parchment in the other as he strolls past them unaware. Heading for the fishmonger's stall a little ways past. Maddalena watches wide-eyed as he slaps the parchment against the weathered wood. The sharp tink of metal striking metal breaks the silence of the night. He finishes the task in short order and meanders down the road to repeat his task at the next unlucky piece of wood.
"What the hell is he doing?" Elrik asks when the coast is clear.
Releasing Maddalena, Elriks strides forward with quick steps. Fingers scratching at his chin as he regards the posting. The black scrolling script stands stark against the bone-white color of the page. He can't read but doesn't need to, to understand what it is. A wanted poster with a hefty reward for the capture of this outlaw, alive.
"One thousand gold coins... Holy fuck." Elrik says. "What could this poor lad have done to warrant such a bounty? He can't be much older than sixteen."
The face Maddalena stares at is her own, albeit horrendously done. The Eyes are too small and set into an unduly thin face. Even with longer hair the portrait looks too masculine to be a woman of twenty-eight years of age. The artist commissioned to paint this likeness must be referencing the outdated material. Paintings from within the castle, no doubt. A source created firsthand by her father before she left for the South. So the accuracy had not been called into question.
"It's Atterir's princess," Maddalena finds herself correcting out of spite. Her appearance had changed by leaps and bounds since then. Still, she can not escape that tomboy persona.
Elrik laughs so hard that he snorts. "No way. I don't believe you. That's a budding man, not a princess. No Royal can be that ugly."
To her credit, Maddalena keeps her lips sealed even though she bristles like a feisty cat. Elrik had unwittingly touched upon an old wound. The nobles of the southern court often jeered about her appearance like Elrik had. Delighting in riling up her anger till she lost face. Answering their slanderous accusations about her dead mother with concise violence.
It's how she met Aldrik. He had interceded in a quarrel that Maddalena had been having with a nobleman's daughter. Taking the blow that had been meant for that bitches nose on the chin. His intimidating stare made her rage burn wild. Maddalena had thrown her good sense to the wind and struck out at him again and again. Landing a few good shots before he dropped her to her down with a singular punch to her core.
‘...I am sorry. You must understand I don't normally raise my hand against wome but…’ Aldrik had said that day.
Maddalena had shot back a quip instantaneously between her gasping breaths. Something stupid, cavalier, and still full of fight and fire ‘...good thing I'm not a woman.’
When they turn back to the beach the wagon is gone. Elrik tugs Maddalena along to follow the tracks left in the soft mud. Thoughts of fleeing have left Maddalena's mind. The poster is a new tactic. One the Southern King, most likely, employed in every other town before reaching this one. Someone will recognize her face, if not her face then her name etched on the missive. Be willing to commit treason for the gold. They will have a proper depiction of her soon. It's only a matter of time. Doing what Elrik wants tonight and then laying low- here, is the only way she will survive.
Dim light filters out of the tavern's back door as they approach. Still keeping to the shadows so as not to be seen. It has been left open to vent the hot air from the dining hall full of people. Her enemy included. Maddalena spotted the wagon parked alongside the tavern as they cozied up to the back wall. Tucked close to the wall in the shadows. Guarded by only one lazily man pacing to stave off boredom, while his fellows eat and drink inside. The locals are nothing more than lowly fishermen and farmers. They pose no threat.
"Get the key to the strong box." Elrik whispers, "Get outside. That's all you have to do. The men I have scattered about will do the rest."
It takes everything Maddalens has to nod in assent. She gathered her long earthen locks into a ball. Securing it at the base of her neck with a white handkerchief stained with berry juice. Elrik pulls free out two tendrils of silky to frame her entrancing blue eyes. Wetting his finger with spit so the curls he works into the lengths stay. Critically, he paws at her dress to smooth out the pleats. The already exaggerated collar of the gown slipped lower with each tuck. Lacey fringe barely conceals her nipples by the time he finishes.
Maddalena's face resembles a tomato by that point. The tightness of the gown hardly lets her breathe. She can suck in little more than a shallow breath before it constricts her chest like a snake. The world narrows to the creamy swath of flesh that bounces with each jarring inhale. Her squashed breasts are pushed impossibly high drawing the eye to her birthmark. Tattooed onto the swell of skin above her heart. It is a light pink thing. Similar in shape to a budding rose. Teardrop in formation with a small burst pattern along its lowermost curve. Her mother had that mark and her mother before her. A thing of pride. Undeniable proof that she was of the royal bloodline.
Maddalena feels... cheap; for lack of a better word. Leveraging the stained skin to capture the attention of male eyes while she pockets the key.
She takes what solace she can in the fact that her enemy is largely unaware of the identifying mark. The only soul in the Southern Kingdom that had gleaned that mark was Aldrik. That day- when she fell in the river and was soaked to the bone. Maddalena swallows hard. Would he have told his father about it in the aftermath of the peace treaty's betrayal?
"Good enough. Go!"
Elrik slaps her ass. Maddalen jumps from the sting of it much like a horse would when cracked with a whip. She stumbles forward through the door. Nodding to the bartender as she passes. A fat older man with a crown of balding hair. He has been bribed handsomely to look the other way and to keep his mouth shut if questioned. He is ill-suited to do much more than that. Maddalena is alone in this wolf's den of debauchery.
Find the key and get out. Find the key and get out. Maddalena repeats in her head like a mantra. Her shaking hands each plucking a tankard from the counter as she ventures out into the crowd. Forcing the sexiest swing she can muster into her stiff hips.
The tables are full tonight. Locals mostly. Friendly faces if nothing else. The entourage from the boats looks, decidedly, less friendly. Maddalena can spot their congregation without effort. Huddled around a window that gives a clear line of sight to their cargo. Most wear chain mail. The few that do not sport padded gambesons. All, by her quick tally, are armed with swords they have not removed from their belts.
Eight foot soldiers are spread across three tables. Four knights and two squires, in the advanced years of their training, take up the fourth. Fighting is not an option. No matter how many bandits Elrik talked into coming down from the mountains. They are outmatched in both equipment and skill.
Five. There are five knights in total. Maddalena stills like a deer on high alert. The knight had approached her from behind. Footfall concealed by the cacophony of conversation. The smell of alcohol is evident in his breath as he chuckles. He is not drunk yet, but it won't take long before he loses his reason. The gloved fingers that dance across her collarbone make Maddalena squirm. The weight of the chain mail that settles on her chest is unpleasant. The pomme of his sword jams into her side when he presses up against her back. Hand groping her backside in languid circles. A note of approval hummed right in her ear. Maddalena bristles with that. Eyes narrowing on an indistinct spot on the far wall. Lips pinched into a thin line as she reigns in her temper. What she wouldn't give to hit this asshole?
"Come. Sit with me." The knight said. Motioning to a table with his countrymen. A queasy feeling of dread settles in the pit of her stomach. Without awaiting a reply he guides her by the arm to the relatively quiet corner. A lamb guided to its slaughter. The fake laugh she used so often in the Southern Kingdom bubbled up as she pulled down upon his lap. She will play her part. Entertain this man for as long as need be, so as not to arouse suspicion.
Maddalen steels her resolve. Swallowing back bile, she locks eyes with the next knight who stares openly. There is a string around his neck that drops out of sight underneath his surcoat. The bulge of the fabric speeds up her heart.
The key?
The tavern faded. The village faded. The last of Maddalena's fight faded as well. She curled against Aldrik's breastplate as he stole her away. The metal--cold against her cheek. The insignia of the Southern King--abrasive against her side. A reminder that Aldrik was here for a reason. An unpleasant one that made him fly through the streets as though the devil licked at his heels.
When she chanced a glance at his stoney face, fire was there--smoldering below the surface, waiting for the right fuel to roar again. She could see the anticipation in the tendons of his neck. Pulled tight as he deadpanned the path ahead. Maddalena might as well have been a sack of grain at that moment. An object in need of transport. A brushing grip to ensure she doesn't slip away again. Or perhaps Aldrik's crawling fingers digging into the yielding flesh of her thigh is so he doesn't lose control. Act impulsively. Even in the moonlight, Maddalena can see the twitch of his jaw. The jittery tick of clenching muscles. She knew the signs of his ire well. After all, she had been the cause of the majority of his headaches.
The same look fluttered across his face the first time she dressed below her station. Opting for practical peasant clothing for their day trips after the disastrous fall into the creek. That had made Maddalena avoid all contact for nearly two weeks. Until her lust was better under control. They had chosen to sneak away to the forest in the cooling weather of Autumn. When the meadow of wildflowers felt too exposed.
Dappled in the shadows of the changing leaves, Aldrik had looked every part the wildman. A brawny barbarian who wielded a woodcutter's axe with a painful grace forged in battle. She had secretly admired those defined arms. Watched the flex of his body with every measured down swing. Each piece rent from the block of wood made her squirm. The heated tint to her cheeks... Had nothing to do with the roaring fire at the center of the hunters shack. They sheltered there often, after blindly stumbling across it. Avoiding the rain and the early snows. On uglier days they avoided the world.
The day Maddalena and Aldrik parted was an... ugly day when the Castle felt like an oppressive beast. The dull, overcast sky had given way to torrential rains that pummeled the windows. A melody--for Maddalena's broken heart.
Aldrik had been the topic of gossip. His sordid love affairs came to light in vivid detail over the tea. Each entangled lady at the table recounted their tale. Watched witch cat-like grins as Maddalena twitched with the nerves of a dying bug. Tipping over the sugar. Dropping her spoon. Spilling milk tea down the front of her dress with shaking hands. Her feelings for her Knight–a terribly kept secret amongst the beautiful swans of court.
They poked and prodded. Breaking the news of his unannounced betrothal to an unnamed nobel in a cruel way. Maddalena had come away from what should have been a jovial event hollow. A sunken look darkened her usually bright face. Aldrik too had looked tired when she had spied him talking to his Father. Duty weighing down his proud shoulders. Fatigue drawing his face into long lines. So, with a heavy cloak in hand, Maddalena asked him to come away. To the forest. To the hunters' shack. To the place where they could be happy. Even if it was just until night forced them back.
The smell of wet earth and sharp pine clung in the air as they played their games of chase. The slickness of the moss after the rain. The gnarled tree roots that crested the ground. Maddalena had not accounted for these things as she dashed through nature at full speed. Desperate to keep pace with Aldrik's retreating back.
She fell. On her face. Hard. Clumsy as ever. Twisting her knee in a way that made her yelp. Destroying the care free afternoon in one fell swoop. Aldrik rounded then, sinking into the mud at her side in a heartbeat. Throwing up the hem of her long skirt with a practiced ease that made her chest constrict. Maybe those stories, told at tea, had not been such outlandish lies after all.
Aldrik's hands were firm, but gentle, roved over her leg. Checking for injury. Broken bones. Cuts. Dislocations. The puffy kneecap caught his practiced eye. The skin was hot to his touch. His calloused hand gripped her thigh. Held her still as he fussed over the joint. Maddalena did the unthinkable then. Cupped his hand, slid it down, with an inviting gaze. Down the inside of her thigh. Across the toned muscles that quaked with anticipation. Towards the thicket of curls--
Maddalena had felt like a porcelain that day. More so then, than even now. As Aldrik settles himself on a rock on the edge of the road. Positions her like a fragile little doll with a painted on pout. Cracked. Waiting with bated breath for the final blow that would shatter her to pieces. Aldrik's words... He still felt the burn of that terrible day. The venom of the lies she had told to keep him close to her side. The stab of the truth when her own marriage contract had been revealed. An arrangement orchestrated by her father to a foreign king, nearly twice her age.
The Badeaux triplets--elite knights under her father's direct control--had manifested from the brush at twilight, like vengeful fae. Demanding Maddalena's return. Reminding her of her own duty. Her own part in her father's plan. She had watched, slack jawed, as Aldrik was wrenched from her side and struck for his insolence. Punished for the touch she had invited. She wanted and craved. In the end, Maddalena had thrown herself into the crossfire. Had shielded his body with her own taking the final blows upon her ribs with a mousy squeak. Begged on hands and knees for the violence to stop. For her Knight... For Aldrik, to be spared a killing blow. Rage she had never seen before clung to Jacob Bedeaux's face as he shifted his grip on his drawn sword. A disgusted sneer on the eldest brother's face--Lucas Badeaux--as he plucked her from the ground like one would a misbehaving child. Caring her off without ceremony. Leaving Aldrik laying in the dirt. Conscious or unconscious--she didn't know.
What had Aldrik thought as he layed in the mud?
What had he thought when he buried his sister's decaying body?
What had he thought when her castle had fallen? When she had slipped out of a secret passage and into the night?
Escaping death by mere moments. Escaped justice.
The dark thoughts Maddalena struggles to ignore, bubble to the surface. Twisting the man before her--her Knight--into a villian. A callous embodiment of justice. That offers up a familiar face to torture her at the end on her struggles. Somber. Silent. Disgraced. Dethroned. What remains of her dignity will flee the moment the Knight of Justice draws his blade.
Maddalena can't stop the shiver that runs through her body. Even as a demon of her nightmares, Aldrik is kind to her. Wrapping her slender fingers around its hilt and helping her aim. The blade's tip poised just right, so she can fall upon it for a quick end.
An eye for an eye. A tooth for a tooth. A life... for a life... A Southern law that rings loud in her head. Before a more depressing thought rivals it. Skewering my heart means less blood to dirty his shoes...
Her morose eyes catch on the ribbon tied to the hilt of his blade. The irony of where it is placed is not lost on her. The token of her love looks tattered. Its color faded to a dull pastel. A phantom of its former self. Much like herself. A shade moving through life. Without a reason to go on. Without the will to live. But... that is not quite true. She has reason pushing her forward, giving her an iron will, and allowing her to dig deep for a fight.
Aldrik...
A stupid, stubborn, man that scoured the earth to bring her to heel. He would balk at how low she had to crawl to survive in those early days, and scoff at how fast she needed to run in the latter. Acting the part of a floozy in a tavern is the highlight of Maddalena's bedlam. Would he still regard her as worth the effort if he knew she had spent time in a brothel? Or masqueraded as a Nun for a time?
God. She had made Aldrik chase her to the ends of the earth, hadn't she? His good humor still intact gave her a small sliver of hope. Those things were not as dire as her Uncle had claimed. Perhaps his personal feelings would usurp his duty. The lines between them had blurred so long ago that she can hardly remember the true catalyst.
Maddalena recalls a fumbling--almost kiss--while touring the ramparts of the curtain wall. The nerve she had built up over weeks of rehearsing in the solitude of her room, was lost at the critical moment. The unfortunate accident of blackening his eye with her forehead couldn't have been endearing. If anything it had been comical. Aldrik had a broad smile for weeks as it healed and Maddalena hadn't been able to look him in the eye. Her cheeks are a permanent hue of red.
Little Starlight...
The endearment that is carried on his tiered sigh sweeps over her like a wave. It pulls her down into its familiar depths and for once in her life she doesn't mind the feeling of downing. It is an odd feeling that leaves her boneless on his lap. Sagging into his touch he threads his finger through her earth colored hair. The longest it's ever been in her life. Maddalena hadn't even noticed that the scarf she had tucked her locks into had come undone. It must look like a mess. She had no time to brush it before she had left her lodgings with Elrik. She fluffs her bangs in a self conscious way. Mouth open to apologize for her unkempt appearance. For an unwashed odor that radiates from her body. A bumbling excuse about ice forming on the rivers was notched on her tongue and ready to fly. Until she catches that pensive look. His eyes were heavy with sadness. Heavy with the pain she caused him. Suddenly, the fact she smelled like a wet dog doesn't matter anymore.
He wanted an answer. A reason for the abandonment. A reason for her actions that followed that day in the forest.
"Aldrik...", Maddalena's voice came out so soft she was scared he wouldn't hear it. Her eyes dropped to her lap to fidget with the ripped seam of her skirt. "...I...It wasn't a matter of trust or belief. You have proven your valor time and time again. I was a coward--I am a coward... I. I met a man... A grumpy man. One that was blunt and stoic, with an intimidating face that could make a child cry. Many were weary of this man, but he swept me off my feet with his gentleness. His kindness. And the unlimited patients of a saint for my foolish bumbling that left him hurt more often than not."
Maddalena raises her chin. Glassy stare locked with his. Her lips cracked in a self-deprecating way.
"He is my world. My everything. There wasn't a day he didn't make me blush. We were in the woods one day. At an old hunter's shack that he had fixed with his own hands. Just for me. Just so I would have a place to hide away from the world. And I had this delusional thought of running away with him. Asking him to break his betrothal and I would break mine. I wanted to live like the peasants do, some place far away. Start a life together in some place quiet and remote. The request was on the tip on my tongue when he touched my thigh. You have got to believe me..." Maddalena's voice wobbled. Her fingers thread through Aldrik's beard. His chin settled into the meat of her palm.
"...But we were interrupted. F-for his sake, I left him. Returned to my castle. I hadn't intended to stay. I never intended to stay. But then I saw your sister's body... and the war broke out and... and... the execution orders... the rebellion... Suddenly survival was my only concern. Running. Hiding. Living. Just. One. More. Day. Hoping to find a way back to that grumpy man. So I could talk to him one more time. Explain everything. Ask for his forgiveness. Confess... Maybe even grovel for his mercy, if he hated me too much after everything my family had done."
"Aldrik, call me Little Starlight again. I have missed that name so much." Maddalena swallowed thickly, her voice choked. Her nose burned with the sensation of withheld tears.
"I may have not betrayed you, but my selfish choice led to everything. Do you hate me now? Do you want me dead? Punished? Imprisoned?”
When she chanced a glance at his stoney face, fire was there--smoldering below the surface, waiting for the right fuel to roar again. She could see the anticipation in the tendons of his neck. Pulled tight as he deadpanned the path ahead. Maddalena might as well have been a sack of grain at that moment. An object in need of transport. A brushing grip to ensure she doesn't slip away again. Or perhaps Aldrik's crawling fingers digging into the yielding flesh of her thigh is so he doesn't lose control. Act impulsively. Even in the moonlight, Maddalena can see the twitch of his jaw. The jittery tick of clenching muscles. She knew the signs of his ire well. After all, she had been the cause of the majority of his headaches.
The same look fluttered across his face the first time she dressed below her station. Opting for practical peasant clothing for their day trips after the disastrous fall into the creek. That had made Maddalena avoid all contact for nearly two weeks. Until her lust was better under control. They had chosen to sneak away to the forest in the cooling weather of Autumn. When the meadow of wildflowers felt too exposed.
Dappled in the shadows of the changing leaves, Aldrik had looked every part the wildman. A brawny barbarian who wielded a woodcutter's axe with a painful grace forged in battle. She had secretly admired those defined arms. Watched the flex of his body with every measured down swing. Each piece rent from the block of wood made her squirm. The heated tint to her cheeks... Had nothing to do with the roaring fire at the center of the hunters shack. They sheltered there often, after blindly stumbling across it. Avoiding the rain and the early snows. On uglier days they avoided the world.
The day Maddalena and Aldrik parted was an... ugly day when the Castle felt like an oppressive beast. The dull, overcast sky had given way to torrential rains that pummeled the windows. A melody--for Maddalena's broken heart.
Aldrik had been the topic of gossip. His sordid love affairs came to light in vivid detail over the tea. Each entangled lady at the table recounted their tale. Watched witch cat-like grins as Maddalena twitched with the nerves of a dying bug. Tipping over the sugar. Dropping her spoon. Spilling milk tea down the front of her dress with shaking hands. Her feelings for her Knight–a terribly kept secret amongst the beautiful swans of court.
They poked and prodded. Breaking the news of his unannounced betrothal to an unnamed nobel in a cruel way. Maddalena had come away from what should have been a jovial event hollow. A sunken look darkened her usually bright face. Aldrik too had looked tired when she had spied him talking to his Father. Duty weighing down his proud shoulders. Fatigue drawing his face into long lines. So, with a heavy cloak in hand, Maddalena asked him to come away. To the forest. To the hunters' shack. To the place where they could be happy. Even if it was just until night forced them back.
The smell of wet earth and sharp pine clung in the air as they played their games of chase. The slickness of the moss after the rain. The gnarled tree roots that crested the ground. Maddalena had not accounted for these things as she dashed through nature at full speed. Desperate to keep pace with Aldrik's retreating back.
She fell. On her face. Hard. Clumsy as ever. Twisting her knee in a way that made her yelp. Destroying the care free afternoon in one fell swoop. Aldrik rounded then, sinking into the mud at her side in a heartbeat. Throwing up the hem of her long skirt with a practiced ease that made her chest constrict. Maybe those stories, told at tea, had not been such outlandish lies after all.
Aldrik's hands were firm, but gentle, roved over her leg. Checking for injury. Broken bones. Cuts. Dislocations. The puffy kneecap caught his practiced eye. The skin was hot to his touch. His calloused hand gripped her thigh. Held her still as he fussed over the joint. Maddalena did the unthinkable then. Cupped his hand, slid it down, with an inviting gaze. Down the inside of her thigh. Across the toned muscles that quaked with anticipation. Towards the thicket of curls--
Maddalena had felt like a porcelain that day. More so then, than even now. As Aldrik settles himself on a rock on the edge of the road. Positions her like a fragile little doll with a painted on pout. Cracked. Waiting with bated breath for the final blow that would shatter her to pieces. Aldrik's words... He still felt the burn of that terrible day. The venom of the lies she had told to keep him close to her side. The stab of the truth when her own marriage contract had been revealed. An arrangement orchestrated by her father to a foreign king, nearly twice her age.
The Badeaux triplets--elite knights under her father's direct control--had manifested from the brush at twilight, like vengeful fae. Demanding Maddalena's return. Reminding her of her own duty. Her own part in her father's plan. She had watched, slack jawed, as Aldrik was wrenched from her side and struck for his insolence. Punished for the touch she had invited. She wanted and craved. In the end, Maddalena had thrown herself into the crossfire. Had shielded his body with her own taking the final blows upon her ribs with a mousy squeak. Begged on hands and knees for the violence to stop. For her Knight... For Aldrik, to be spared a killing blow. Rage she had never seen before clung to Jacob Bedeaux's face as he shifted his grip on his drawn sword. A disgusted sneer on the eldest brother's face--Lucas Badeaux--as he plucked her from the ground like one would a misbehaving child. Caring her off without ceremony. Leaving Aldrik laying in the dirt. Conscious or unconscious--she didn't know.
What had Aldrik thought as he layed in the mud?
What had he thought when he buried his sister's decaying body?
What had he thought when her castle had fallen? When she had slipped out of a secret passage and into the night?
Escaping death by mere moments. Escaped justice.
The dark thoughts Maddalena struggles to ignore, bubble to the surface. Twisting the man before her--her Knight--into a villian. A callous embodiment of justice. That offers up a familiar face to torture her at the end on her struggles. Somber. Silent. Disgraced. Dethroned. What remains of her dignity will flee the moment the Knight of Justice draws his blade.
Maddalena can't stop the shiver that runs through her body. Even as a demon of her nightmares, Aldrik is kind to her. Wrapping her slender fingers around its hilt and helping her aim. The blade's tip poised just right, so she can fall upon it for a quick end.
An eye for an eye. A tooth for a tooth. A life... for a life... A Southern law that rings loud in her head. Before a more depressing thought rivals it. Skewering my heart means less blood to dirty his shoes...
Her morose eyes catch on the ribbon tied to the hilt of his blade. The irony of where it is placed is not lost on her. The token of her love looks tattered. Its color faded to a dull pastel. A phantom of its former self. Much like herself. A shade moving through life. Without a reason to go on. Without the will to live. But... that is not quite true. She has reason pushing her forward, giving her an iron will, and allowing her to dig deep for a fight.
Aldrik...
A stupid, stubborn, man that scoured the earth to bring her to heel. He would balk at how low she had to crawl to survive in those early days, and scoff at how fast she needed to run in the latter. Acting the part of a floozy in a tavern is the highlight of Maddalena's bedlam. Would he still regard her as worth the effort if he knew she had spent time in a brothel? Or masqueraded as a Nun for a time?
God. She had made Aldrik chase her to the ends of the earth, hadn't she? His good humor still intact gave her a small sliver of hope. Those things were not as dire as her Uncle had claimed. Perhaps his personal feelings would usurp his duty. The lines between them had blurred so long ago that she can hardly remember the true catalyst.
Maddalena recalls a fumbling--almost kiss--while touring the ramparts of the curtain wall. The nerve she had built up over weeks of rehearsing in the solitude of her room, was lost at the critical moment. The unfortunate accident of blackening his eye with her forehead couldn't have been endearing. If anything it had been comical. Aldrik had a broad smile for weeks as it healed and Maddalena hadn't been able to look him in the eye. Her cheeks are a permanent hue of red.
Little Starlight...
The endearment that is carried on his tiered sigh sweeps over her like a wave. It pulls her down into its familiar depths and for once in her life she doesn't mind the feeling of downing. It is an odd feeling that leaves her boneless on his lap. Sagging into his touch he threads his finger through her earth colored hair. The longest it's ever been in her life. Maddalena hadn't even noticed that the scarf she had tucked her locks into had come undone. It must look like a mess. She had no time to brush it before she had left her lodgings with Elrik. She fluffs her bangs in a self conscious way. Mouth open to apologize for her unkempt appearance. For an unwashed odor that radiates from her body. A bumbling excuse about ice forming on the rivers was notched on her tongue and ready to fly. Until she catches that pensive look. His eyes were heavy with sadness. Heavy with the pain she caused him. Suddenly, the fact she smelled like a wet dog doesn't matter anymore.
He wanted an answer. A reason for the abandonment. A reason for her actions that followed that day in the forest.
"Aldrik...", Maddalena's voice came out so soft she was scared he wouldn't hear it. Her eyes dropped to her lap to fidget with the ripped seam of her skirt. "...I...It wasn't a matter of trust or belief. You have proven your valor time and time again. I was a coward--I am a coward... I. I met a man... A grumpy man. One that was blunt and stoic, with an intimidating face that could make a child cry. Many were weary of this man, but he swept me off my feet with his gentleness. His kindness. And the unlimited patients of a saint for my foolish bumbling that left him hurt more often than not."
Maddalena raises her chin. Glassy stare locked with his. Her lips cracked in a self-deprecating way.
"He is my world. My everything. There wasn't a day he didn't make me blush. We were in the woods one day. At an old hunter's shack that he had fixed with his own hands. Just for me. Just so I would have a place to hide away from the world. And I had this delusional thought of running away with him. Asking him to break his betrothal and I would break mine. I wanted to live like the peasants do, some place far away. Start a life together in some place quiet and remote. The request was on the tip on my tongue when he touched my thigh. You have got to believe me..." Maddalena's voice wobbled. Her fingers thread through Aldrik's beard. His chin settled into the meat of her palm.
"...But we were interrupted. F-for his sake, I left him. Returned to my castle. I hadn't intended to stay. I never intended to stay. But then I saw your sister's body... and the war broke out and... and... the execution orders... the rebellion... Suddenly survival was my only concern. Running. Hiding. Living. Just. One. More. Day. Hoping to find a way back to that grumpy man. So I could talk to him one more time. Explain everything. Ask for his forgiveness. Confess... Maybe even grovel for his mercy, if he hated me too much after everything my family had done."
"Aldrik, call me Little Starlight again. I have missed that name so much." Maddalena swallowed thickly, her voice choked. Her nose burned with the sensation of withheld tears.
"I may have not betrayed you, but my selfish choice led to everything. Do you hate me now? Do you want me dead? Punished? Imprisoned?”
Maddalena looked at Aldrik like a lost puppy. Eyes wide and searching attempting to find the smallest sliver of a falsehood. Shifty eyes. Twitchy fingers. A trip in his speech. Anything, at all, that would paint him as dishonest. To justify the growing panic thrumming in her breast. Her eyes narrowed an almost imperceivable fraction as she made another critical pass. The set of his shoulder, the angel of his brows, the forest at his back.
It was laughable, her paranoia. A breath ago Maddalena had proclaimed Aldrik's honor infallible. Believed those words with conviction. Such conviction, that she melted into his touch without hesitation. Now, as the shock of his sudden appearance petered out, doubt began to creep in. She must be on the verge of madness. One step away from tumbling over the drop. Because Maddalena felt far from safe in her protector's arms.
Sequestered. Alone. In the dark of the forest. She was so... vulnerable... If--conversation had been his goal, they could have seized privacy in the village. Tucked away from prying eyes on some deserted street. Or, perhaps retired to her rented room for the evening to cuddle in front of her meager hearth. Instead, Aldrik had scooped her up and tore a path for the outskirts. Finally settling far into the wilds, where the light of the houses did not reach. Where her screams would not be heard, where aid had no hope of arriving, it all felt... planned...
Adrik's promised safety. Was safety personified but...
Maddalena had learned that promises of safety were treacherous. Lured by honeyed words. She had encountered more than one devious design. Drawn like a moth to a flame, she chased the shadows of her heart's most ardent desire. Prince Aldrik had been the perfect bait. A juicy worm wiggled in front of her face by the tacticians of the Southern Army. Fabricated announcements of the Crown Prince's whereabouts. Scribbled love letters, penned by a hand that was not his, dripped with alacrity to meet at some lonely place. The bone-white warhorse Aldrik favored so she wouldn't have to walk, had been in their last ploy.
The personal effects dangling from the saddle bags were unmistakable. Clothes she remembered him often wearing. The food he would often pack for their adventures beyond the curtain wall. The token she had bestowed--not the real one, as she had come to realize--tied, in plain sight, to the horn of the saddle. His preferred place to rest his hand so she could rest her on top of it. The smear of blood on the leather seat launched bile up her throat. Drew Maddalena off the beaten path. Deep into a box canyon. Right into the epicenter of an ambush.
A silk shirt dyed a rich red, looked like blood in the fading afternoon light. Strained moans reverberated off the cliff face. Aldrik's light armor thrashes against the stoned earth. A broken Shoulder? A broken Arm? A broken leg? All these theatrics had made Maddalena dismount her mare. Kneel at his side. Gently turning his head to face her and--stared deep into the brown eyes of an imposter.
A cacophony of shouts came then. The whiz of arrows. The rhythmic thump of pounding hooves. Maddalena had scrambled away on hands a knees. Her own terrified scream, eaten by in the chaos. In the end, it was mounting the white stallion instead of her haggard brown mare, that had saved her life. Aldrik's horse was worth a king's ransom, after all. Only fools would gamble on their aim and chance its harm.
Little Starlight...
This Aldrik was her Aldrik. The real Aldrik. Not some shadow silhouetted against dim torch light. Or even a disembodied voice calling out to her in a crowded market. He strokes her hair with the glassy gaze. The hand he rests on the small of her back pulls her closer. Presses harder. Fists the loose fabric of her dress in a death grip. His Adam's apple bobbed in time with a particularly hard swallow. Real emotions. Real safety. Real truth or another trap, this time baited with the real Prince?
I could never hate you...
Tricks!
Lies!
Maddalena's self-preservation wails come from some forgotten corner of her mind. The primal voice sounds so alien, like a reptilian hiss of warning. Don't listen. Don't trust. Something isn't quite right. Something bad is near. Her stomach tingles with the sensation. Stiffening her spine. Coiling her shoulders with tension as she strains her hearing in the silence. To catch any footfalls encroaching from behind.
Was that a branch breaking?
The languid patterns Maddalena strokes in Aldrik's beard grind to a halt. Those tiny hands encircle Aldrik's throat. The pads of her thumbs tested the give of his windpipe. In preparation to put down a threat? A steeling of nerves that are a flimsy as the spider silk? She looks like a frightened doe as another branch breaks, jumping at the sound. Head snapping in its direction. Soldiers sneaking up from the right? or did that sound come from the left? In front? Or behind? Dressed as she is, her bare hands are her only defense against the perceived snare.
Aldrik steals her attention back with a tilt of her chin, locking her gaze. Her stomach fluttered in an entirely different way. Swooping into her shoes as he leaned into her hand, unafraid. Trusting her more than she trusts herself.
Tricks! Tricks!
Tricks and lies and--
Love?
Love.
Love in his touch. Love his eyes. Love on his lips...
Maddalena's first kiss.
She is carried away in its tide. Desperate passion flaring unbridled within her breast. Focusing her thoughts solely on the feel of his lips. The sweep of his tongue. The possessiveness of his fingertips dancing along her jaw. Only to leave it in favor of grasping the back of her neck. His strength crushed her against his armor in the most delightful of ways.
Another twig snaps. Then another and another, footfalls hedging through the dark line of the trees. Maddalena knows she should be rounding on it. Finding a weapon. Taking a stance...
Aldrik will have none of that. He is as strong as a bear, she finds. A revelation that makes Maddalena groan against his mouth. He keeps her in place with a fistful of knotted hair and a firm press between her shoulder blades. Infallible in his confidence that there is nothing wrong. Nothing to fear. He is in control of the world around them. In control of her fraying spirit. With each press of his soft lips, he stitches her together. Makes her a little more whole.
The mournful howl of a wolf makes her body shiver. It was just an animal skulking about the wilds, as they often do. Not a contingent of soldiers. Not a trap.
Maddalena's cheeks burn from her stupidity or perhaps the toe-curling kiss. She isn't quite sure after feeling Aldrik bite her bottom lip. Licks and bites and roving hands, that seem everywhere at once. On her cheek. In her hair. The smaller back. The back of her neck. She submits to it all. Shifting in his lap to face him more. Her legs straddle a thick thigh. The fabric of her gown bunches around her knees as she braces her hands on his pauldrons. The metal was scarred from battle and icy to the touch.
When Maddalena pulled away for air. She is a gasping mess. Aldrik is much the same. His shoulder heaving like lapping waves as he sucks air through flared nostrils.
"I forbid it." Maddalena somehow finds the spare breath. A breathy command that packs very little power, other than the ability to steam the chilly air. "I forbid you from doing that. laying down your life would be meaningless. I would just follow you."
The second kiss was far too brief. Far from enough.
"Aldrik, your throat..." She takes a long deep breath the puffs at her chest. Then lets the air escape through her swollen lips with a measured release. Would an apology be enough? "I have just been alone for so long... It seems I jump more easily than before... I, grow tired of running and hiding and fighting. Forgive me."
The weight of his forehead was a grounding. Maddalena watched Aldrik's lips as he spoke. Flushed red with blood and making all sorts of sinful shapes, just a breath away from her own. The velvet purr settled low in her body. Makes her respond. A subtle shifts of her hips that drag her bottom along the length of his leg. The small intimacy makes her shiver more than the biting wind that leaves gooseflesh in its wake.
Snow was on its way. A storm blowing in from the sea. Maddalena feels the cold sink into her joints. Her knees are stiff. Her hands are stiff. It's a struggle to cup Aldrik's face and smooth her thumbs over the crests of his cheeks. But she powers through. Tentivily pressing her lips against his. Before throwing caution to the wind, deepening the kiss with a flick of her tongue across his bottom lip. A nip pinches his flesh. Makes him gasp and return her advance.
Propriety be damned. Maddalena thought.
Leveraging her body up on bended knee she towed it above Aldrik's still-sitting form. All the sleepless nights spent reminiscing about his touch. All the dreams about him that left her breathless, funneled into this moment. Fueling her desire. Her devotion. Her aspiration for a brighter tomorrow. Brighter, simply because he was in it.
The next time Aldrik's tongue retreated from her mouth, Maddalena chased it. Chased it as deep as her tongue would allow. She swept over its soft, smooth, surface as it rose for domination from below. A domination, she would not let him have. At least, not easily. Aldrik arched his body against hers for leverage. Stiffening when Maddalena unexpectedly tugged on his lower lip with her teeth. She imagined the pain was bliss from the sounds he made. Or maybe not... Adrik broke away with a look she could not read given her inexperience. But she was proud. Her Prince looked ravaged. The tip of his pink tongue lavished the spot.
"Take me someplace far away. Where my duty... my betrothal to King Henery of Bearla won't matter. I have only ever wanted you Aldrik. In my life. In my heart..." A wicked little grin surfaces on her face. "...In my dreams. So I do believe you will have to spell many things out with that tongue of yours. If you offer for my hand still stand?”
It was laughable, her paranoia. A breath ago Maddalena had proclaimed Aldrik's honor infallible. Believed those words with conviction. Such conviction, that she melted into his touch without hesitation. Now, as the shock of his sudden appearance petered out, doubt began to creep in. She must be on the verge of madness. One step away from tumbling over the drop. Because Maddalena felt far from safe in her protector's arms.
Sequestered. Alone. In the dark of the forest. She was so... vulnerable... If--conversation had been his goal, they could have seized privacy in the village. Tucked away from prying eyes on some deserted street. Or, perhaps retired to her rented room for the evening to cuddle in front of her meager hearth. Instead, Aldrik had scooped her up and tore a path for the outskirts. Finally settling far into the wilds, where the light of the houses did not reach. Where her screams would not be heard, where aid had no hope of arriving, it all felt... planned...
Adrik's promised safety. Was safety personified but...
Maddalena had learned that promises of safety were treacherous. Lured by honeyed words. She had encountered more than one devious design. Drawn like a moth to a flame, she chased the shadows of her heart's most ardent desire. Prince Aldrik had been the perfect bait. A juicy worm wiggled in front of her face by the tacticians of the Southern Army. Fabricated announcements of the Crown Prince's whereabouts. Scribbled love letters, penned by a hand that was not his, dripped with alacrity to meet at some lonely place. The bone-white warhorse Aldrik favored so she wouldn't have to walk, had been in their last ploy.
The personal effects dangling from the saddle bags were unmistakable. Clothes she remembered him often wearing. The food he would often pack for their adventures beyond the curtain wall. The token she had bestowed--not the real one, as she had come to realize--tied, in plain sight, to the horn of the saddle. His preferred place to rest his hand so she could rest her on top of it. The smear of blood on the leather seat launched bile up her throat. Drew Maddalena off the beaten path. Deep into a box canyon. Right into the epicenter of an ambush.
A silk shirt dyed a rich red, looked like blood in the fading afternoon light. Strained moans reverberated off the cliff face. Aldrik's light armor thrashes against the stoned earth. A broken Shoulder? A broken Arm? A broken leg? All these theatrics had made Maddalena dismount her mare. Kneel at his side. Gently turning his head to face her and--stared deep into the brown eyes of an imposter.
A cacophony of shouts came then. The whiz of arrows. The rhythmic thump of pounding hooves. Maddalena had scrambled away on hands a knees. Her own terrified scream, eaten by in the chaos. In the end, it was mounting the white stallion instead of her haggard brown mare, that had saved her life. Aldrik's horse was worth a king's ransom, after all. Only fools would gamble on their aim and chance its harm.
Little Starlight...
This Aldrik was her Aldrik. The real Aldrik. Not some shadow silhouetted against dim torch light. Or even a disembodied voice calling out to her in a crowded market. He strokes her hair with the glassy gaze. The hand he rests on the small of her back pulls her closer. Presses harder. Fists the loose fabric of her dress in a death grip. His Adam's apple bobbed in time with a particularly hard swallow. Real emotions. Real safety. Real truth or another trap, this time baited with the real Prince?
I could never hate you...
Tricks!
Lies!
Maddalena's self-preservation wails come from some forgotten corner of her mind. The primal voice sounds so alien, like a reptilian hiss of warning. Don't listen. Don't trust. Something isn't quite right. Something bad is near. Her stomach tingles with the sensation. Stiffening her spine. Coiling her shoulders with tension as she strains her hearing in the silence. To catch any footfalls encroaching from behind.
Was that a branch breaking?
The languid patterns Maddalena strokes in Aldrik's beard grind to a halt. Those tiny hands encircle Aldrik's throat. The pads of her thumbs tested the give of his windpipe. In preparation to put down a threat? A steeling of nerves that are a flimsy as the spider silk? She looks like a frightened doe as another branch breaks, jumping at the sound. Head snapping in its direction. Soldiers sneaking up from the right? or did that sound come from the left? In front? Or behind? Dressed as she is, her bare hands are her only defense against the perceived snare.
Aldrik steals her attention back with a tilt of her chin, locking her gaze. Her stomach fluttered in an entirely different way. Swooping into her shoes as he leaned into her hand, unafraid. Trusting her more than she trusts herself.
Tricks! Tricks!
Tricks and lies and--
Love?
Love.
Love in his touch. Love his eyes. Love on his lips...
Maddalena's first kiss.
She is carried away in its tide. Desperate passion flaring unbridled within her breast. Focusing her thoughts solely on the feel of his lips. The sweep of his tongue. The possessiveness of his fingertips dancing along her jaw. Only to leave it in favor of grasping the back of her neck. His strength crushed her against his armor in the most delightful of ways.
Another twig snaps. Then another and another, footfalls hedging through the dark line of the trees. Maddalena knows she should be rounding on it. Finding a weapon. Taking a stance...
Aldrik will have none of that. He is as strong as a bear, she finds. A revelation that makes Maddalena groan against his mouth. He keeps her in place with a fistful of knotted hair and a firm press between her shoulder blades. Infallible in his confidence that there is nothing wrong. Nothing to fear. He is in control of the world around them. In control of her fraying spirit. With each press of his soft lips, he stitches her together. Makes her a little more whole.
The mournful howl of a wolf makes her body shiver. It was just an animal skulking about the wilds, as they often do. Not a contingent of soldiers. Not a trap.
Maddalena's cheeks burn from her stupidity or perhaps the toe-curling kiss. She isn't quite sure after feeling Aldrik bite her bottom lip. Licks and bites and roving hands, that seem everywhere at once. On her cheek. In her hair. The smaller back. The back of her neck. She submits to it all. Shifting in his lap to face him more. Her legs straddle a thick thigh. The fabric of her gown bunches around her knees as she braces her hands on his pauldrons. The metal was scarred from battle and icy to the touch.
When Maddalena pulled away for air. She is a gasping mess. Aldrik is much the same. His shoulder heaving like lapping waves as he sucks air through flared nostrils.
"I forbid it." Maddalena somehow finds the spare breath. A breathy command that packs very little power, other than the ability to steam the chilly air. "I forbid you from doing that. laying down your life would be meaningless. I would just follow you."
The second kiss was far too brief. Far from enough.
"Aldrik, your throat..." She takes a long deep breath the puffs at her chest. Then lets the air escape through her swollen lips with a measured release. Would an apology be enough? "I have just been alone for so long... It seems I jump more easily than before... I, grow tired of running and hiding and fighting. Forgive me."
The weight of his forehead was a grounding. Maddalena watched Aldrik's lips as he spoke. Flushed red with blood and making all sorts of sinful shapes, just a breath away from her own. The velvet purr settled low in her body. Makes her respond. A subtle shifts of her hips that drag her bottom along the length of his leg. The small intimacy makes her shiver more than the biting wind that leaves gooseflesh in its wake.
Snow was on its way. A storm blowing in from the sea. Maddalena feels the cold sink into her joints. Her knees are stiff. Her hands are stiff. It's a struggle to cup Aldrik's face and smooth her thumbs over the crests of his cheeks. But she powers through. Tentivily pressing her lips against his. Before throwing caution to the wind, deepening the kiss with a flick of her tongue across his bottom lip. A nip pinches his flesh. Makes him gasp and return her advance.
Propriety be damned. Maddalena thought.
Leveraging her body up on bended knee she towed it above Aldrik's still-sitting form. All the sleepless nights spent reminiscing about his touch. All the dreams about him that left her breathless, funneled into this moment. Fueling her desire. Her devotion. Her aspiration for a brighter tomorrow. Brighter, simply because he was in it.
The next time Aldrik's tongue retreated from her mouth, Maddalena chased it. Chased it as deep as her tongue would allow. She swept over its soft, smooth, surface as it rose for domination from below. A domination, she would not let him have. At least, not easily. Aldrik arched his body against hers for leverage. Stiffening when Maddalena unexpectedly tugged on his lower lip with her teeth. She imagined the pain was bliss from the sounds he made. Or maybe not... Adrik broke away with a look she could not read given her inexperience. But she was proud. Her Prince looked ravaged. The tip of his pink tongue lavished the spot.
"Take me someplace far away. Where my duty... my betrothal to King Henery of Bearla won't matter. I have only ever wanted you Aldrik. In my life. In my heart..." A wicked little grin surfaces on her face. "...In my dreams. So I do believe you will have to spell many things out with that tongue of yours. If you offer for my hand still stand?”
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Artistic content is often subject to personal interpretation. If something I produce breaks the rules and/or is offensive, it is 100% unintentional and a result of human error. Please message me about the offending material, and I will remove the content in its entirety immediately.
Artistic content is often subject to personal interpretation. If something I produce breaks the rules and/or is offensive, it is 100% unintentional and a result of human error. Please message me about the offending material, and I will remove the content in its entirety immediately.