Chapter Text
The difference between a fox and a rabbit is simply the food they eat. Any hunter can fall victim to the temptation of a golden apple, but it’s not always a bad thing to submit to. At least, that’s what I think. It’s fun to learn the rules before you break them, or however that phrase went.
The dining room is ringing with silence with the occasional clinging of utensils from my parents eating their meal. I’m sat in silence at the table and staring down at my food. My mother quickly gulps down her dinner as my father takes his time. I really don’t think I’m eating tonight.
“It was our silver anniversary.” My father finally says, breaking the deafening silence.
I sigh. “I said I wouldn’t do it again—” Slam! The side of his fist meets the table. I jump back from surprise and my mother stands to leave the room as a maid quickly grabs her empty plate from the table and scurries off before my father can continue his little tantrum about me. Here we go again, I think in my head as I roll my eyes.
“This behaviour is insufferable.” He continues. “You need to act like a lady!”
I nod my head as he continues to yell, barely listening to anything he’s saying, but responding with the typical yes, no, and maybe. I wonder what he’ll do now.
Earlier today, my parents—the literal King and Queen of Venari—were publicly celebrating their 25th wedding anniversary for the press. It was meant to be a fancy brunch and an excuse to invite nobilities from different kingdoms to socialize and pick out my future (unfortunate) spouse. Now, I can behave—trust me, I’m a princess. I was just not interested in getting married. In fact, I’m not even interested in becoming Queen of Venari. Does it mean I’m not going to inherit the country? No, I know what my responsibilities are, but why can’t I have fun in the meantime?
It was a bright and sunny day with a slight chill breeze; the perfect midsummer weather for a perfect day. Now, I’m not saying what I did was bad, I’m just saying that what I did seemed to hurt the pride of my potential suitor and that made my father upset with me. I was told that I should spend a minimal amount of time on my phone during the event and was grounded from all social media by my PR team as it’s best for me to “clean up my image” before I’m crowned. It’s not like I’m a huge party animal, I think my personality just seems to be the opposite of what a princess should be.
The brunch took place in an outdoor setting in the castle’s garden next to a small open field for croquet. Tables, chairs, and canopies were all put out for the guests to enjoy as waiters and waitresses served everyone their food and drinks. I sat at the edge of the fountain beside the field watching some guests play croquet. I took a deep breath. It smelled like apples. It was faint, but it’s there. I looked beyond the garden and towards the forest. The apple trees should be bearing fruit soon.
“Princess Blair,” One suitor called out. I turned to meet his gaze. He looked well dressed, wearing a royal blue suit with a yellow tie and matching pocket square to accompany it. Modern, cute, but definitely something you’d see on Disney Channel or whatever. “Would you care for a walk?” He lends out his hand. I’m hesitant to accept as I was not very interested. After watching a bunch of them attempt to impress me, it didn’t matter if they were human or a witch, they never caught my interest. I took a quick glance over to my parents, who were entertaining guests. The two of them were dressed in casual, yet elegant attire reminiscent of a bride and groom, decorated with silver accessories to signify their 25th. “Princess?” The suitor (who I assume is a prince) called out.
“What was that?” I asked. “Also, you may just refer to me as Blair.”
“As you wish, Blair.” He smiled. “Would you like to accompany me for a walk?”
I look back over at my father gleefully laughing away while my mother gossips and socializes mindlessly before turning back to the man attempting to court me. “If you can beat me in a race to the river over there,” I replied as I pointed over the garden towards the edge of the forest. “I’ll go on a walk with you.”
“And if I lose?” He questioned.
“I push you into the river.” I smiled.
I snap back to my father’s reddened face of anger. Oh right, I think to myself, we’re pretending to have dinner. He’s continuing his rant about how I won’t be able to find a proper husband or whatever until he finally catches my attention again.
“You’re lucky I spoke to the Cartier family.” He says, taking a breath. “Prince Aiden agreed for your hand in marriage.”
“What?” I stand up, nearly knocking my chair over. “He’s literally the one I pushed into the river!”
“Yes, Blair. I know.” He scolds. “We’ve invited him to stay with us in our castle until your coronation.”
“Dad, I already told you that Jason can take the throne—”
“Jason is dead!” He begins to raise his voice again. I groan. There’s nothing confirming that. “He’ll be arriving here tomorrow night, so be sure to pick out a proper caretaker before noon. I don’t want him seeing you misbehaved like this.”
I stand there for a second as he stands up to leave the dining room. “Wait—what do you mean by picking a caretaker?”
“Blair, were you not paying attention again?” He says, annoyed. I don’t say anything. He groans, pinching his nose bridge from stress, then begins to walk to the exit. “We’ve gathered a list of caretakers to assist and discipline you.”
“Discipline?” I repeat, quickly following him. “Dad! I don’t need that—”
“Look,” He quickly turns around, making me stop in my tracks and staring up at him, angrily. “It’s only until your coronation.” I stand my ground as he indirectly expresses his anger. “You will pick out a caretaker, you will learn to behave, you will be crowned Queen, then you will get married to Prince Aiden.” He leans down and lowers his voice. “End of story.”
He walks out the door.
“For fuck’s sake.” I say under my breath. “You’re the one that tried to kill me when I was born!” I scream at the shut door of the dining room. “Ugh, so annoying.” I turn around and see the maids speed walking to the kitchen, carrying the remnants of our dinner—all except for my untouched plate. Oh, I guess I am eating tonight. That’s so thoughtful of them.
I walk back to the dining table and sit at my chair, staring down at my food. “He should’ve left me to the wolves when he had the chance.” I mutter to myself as I take a bite of my meal. I notice one of the maids peek out from the kitchen, watching me. She notices me looking and quickly makes her way towards my seat, setting down a plate of apple bunny slices. I smile at her. “Thank you.”
✧༺✦✮✦༻∞ ∞༺✦✮✦༻✧
I was not a princess when I was born. My parents weren’t King and Queen yet either. When I was born, my father was a Duke and was disappointed I was not a boy. He left me outside our manor in hopes that the wolves and foxes would get to me. Maybe even the cold autumn weather of the night would get to me first. Fortunately, I was found by our gardener and was brought to the hospital immediately. The original King was my cousin’s father and my uncle, the late King Damien—the older brother of my father, King Dylan. The death of King Damien was sudden and unexplainable, but the theories say he was poisoned and made to look like he committed suicide. It would have been more convincing if the poison he drank wasn’t the one he retrieved the day before. Unfortunately, it was labeled as a cold case and my father took his place on the throne.
The late King Damien was a nice man and a very welcoming uncle. My cousin, Jason—the Prince of Venari and rightful heir to the throne (in my opinion)—was a little rough around the edges, but we were close and got along well. We were around fifteen years old when King Damien passed, and it wasn’t even a week after where the Queen had taken her own life too. Jason had gone missing soon after and I found no trace of him anywhere. My parents told me nothing, but quickly after, I was brought to the castle and told that I were to live there and be called Princess.
Princess Blair Whittemore.
Ugh, I hate it, I thought the first time I tried on the crown. In the last five years of attempting to adjust, I guess I’ve had a more difficult time than my father would’ve thought. Growing up at the Whittemore Manor, I had a lot more freedom, but I still did everything I could to please him. I knew at a very young age that I was the spitting image of the child he doesn’t want, so I tried to learn and do things that he wanted in a son. Archery and athletics were areas I began to excel in. Every spare moment I had, I didn’t waste it learning my duties as a noble lady, I was shooting apples. However, it didn’t matter how skilled I am at archery or hunting; I was never going to be his son. I came to that realization the moment people started calling me Princess Blair instead of Lady Blair. The smell of apples splitting suffocated me in the castle as much as it did back at the Whittemore Manor. Fresh, sweet, and something I wanted to enjoy but could never find myself to love.
I may be bitter, but at least I’ve grown to accept it.
Laying on my bed, I stare out towards the open balcony with a clear view of the full moon over the forest. I’ve already finished up my dinner and thought about what my father had yelled at me for tonight. I hear a buzz from my phone and check to see a text message from Wes: wanna sneak out tn? I hesitate for a moment before getting another text from him: your read receipts are on lmao come out.
I smile at the phone screen and quickly get dressed into a silk pink crop top, white high waisted jeans, a dark oversized cardigan, and a simple pair of boots. Taking a quick glance at myself in the mirror, I ruffle out my short hair—wavy from braids all day—and tame the mess enough that it doesn’t look too bad. Walking onto my balcony, I look down to see Wes waiting for me in a car on the other side of the gate. After climbing down the side of the wall, I hop into the passenger’s seat as he quietly drives into the city.
Wesson “Wes” Barret is someone I met shortly after I became Princess of Venari. His family is loyal and works closely to us, and it was only recently I found out that the gardener that found me when I was young was his father. We quickly hit things off, being similar ages, and soon enough, he became my best friend. He’s the person I’d usually go to whenever I have trouble adjusting to something or need some time to getaway. I’m sure he heard about what I did to Prince Aiden, so this must be his way of cheering me up.
“So, where should we go?” He asks me, tuning the radio to find a station he’s interested in. “If you want, we can hit up a bar or club.”
“Maybe,” I reply, nonchalantly. “Somewhere fun.”
“A gay bar?” He suggests, finally staying on a radio station he’s satisfied with. “Or club.”
“What about you?” I ask him. “Where do you wanna go?”
He thinks for a moment. “A gay club.”
I laugh. “You’re feeling for dick tonight?”
“No, I’m feeling for ass, thank you very much.” Wes laughs, then makes a turn. “I think you need some time away from men, anyway.”
“You know me so well.” I roll my eyes sarcastically as he laughs, and soon enough Wes pulls up on the side of the curb a few streets away from the club. “Which place is this?”
“Um, it’s a new place.” Wes replies, a little distracted as he checks himself in mirror. “Leave your cardigan in the car.”
“Relax, this isn’t my first time at a club.” I scoff, shrugging it off and tossing it to the back. “What, is there someone you wanna impress?”
He laughs nervously. “The club owner’s just an old friend, I guess.”
I shoot him a look as he rolls his eyes. “Let’s go.”
We walk to the doors of the club and are led upstairs to a VIP section by a bouncer. As we enter, we’re greeted by a man who immediately welcomes us as Penn Weaver. I allow myself to get distracted an absently look around. By the rail, the whole club is in view, showing people drinking and enjoying themselves (in more ways than one). The atmosphere of the club feels somewhat different than others I’ve been to. I find the warmer and gold-toned lighting an interesting choice, but it’s a lot more welcoming than one would expect it to be.
Through the crowd, I spot a woman with red hair twirling swiftly across the dancefloor over to the bar downstairs. I continue to watch her from the rail to try to get a better look. The velvet dress she’s wearing hugs her body tightly, but a hint of elegance and slyness remains as her long sleeves juxtapose the low-cut neckline and slit on the side of the skirt. She sits at the bar, her back towards where I am, and speaks to the bartender—ordering a drink, I’m assuming. Another woman sits beside her and attempts a conversation, but the redhaired woman slowly leans in to whisper something in her ear. Barely able to see her face, she continues to whisper then for a split second, she glances up to the balcony and sees me. I quickly avert my gaze, but the curiosity gets the better of me and makes me look again. The woman she was talking to has gotten up to leave, but she’s still staring. Then smiles. It’s a smile I can’t read, but I begin to feel myself flush from embarrassment. What the fuck was that?
“Blair?” Wes pulls me into the conversation. I snap back to Wes and Penn to see them both mid-conversation. “Do you wanna wander around?”
“Oh,” I blurt out, then notice the hint that Wes wants some time alone with his friend. “Yeah, I’ll see you in a bit.” He nods and turns back to his conversation with Penn.
I go back over to the rail and no longer find the redhaired woman at the bar. Deciding that there’s really nothing else for me to do, I head downstairs to where the dancefloor is. Looking around, I find no trace of her anywhere. Making my way over to the bar, I take the first open seat I find.
So much for talking to her, I think. Not that I’d be able to, anyway. Let’s be real. If I were to actually talk to her, what would I even say? It’s not like I’m some master seductress. I usually let people come to me—which is weird for someone with my personality. Whatever, maybe I should just order a drink and waste time until Wes wants to go home.
“Hi,” I call out to the bartender. “A cosmo, please?”
“No problem.” The bartender smiles, then turns around to cast a spell.
I exhale in disappointment, then spin the barstool around to watch everyone at the dancefloor. Enjoying themselves without a care in the world; free to do whatever they please. Oh, how I wish I could find myself with the same freedom. It’s impressive how big the urge to spite the rules given to me is something I find the most enjoyment in.
“They look like they’re having fun, huh.” I jump at the sound of the voice. It was quiet, but still caught me off guard. I turn to find the woman with red hair and a velvet green dress sitting next to me. “Your cosmo’s here.” She nods her head to the table and takes a sip from her own drink, then pulls out a blunt. “Everyone looks like they’re having fun.”
“Almost everyone.” I smile nervously and spin my seat around to face the table to take a sip of my drink. It’s pretty good. Huh, it’s no wonder water witches have the highest hire rate for mixologist these days.
“Are you talking about me or you?” She smirks, bringing me back to the conversation. Her light eyes pierce through half-lidded and sleepy eyes. I find them very hard to read, and that makes me nervous. The way I act around people I meet is influenced by the way they are around me, but how the fuck can I match her energy if I don’t get anything? The woman plays with the blunt between her fingers and waves at the bartender. He rolls his eyes at her.
“I don’t want the smoke anywhere.” He speaks. “Lunar witches these days...”
The woman laughs, then turns back to me. “So?” She continues.
“Maybe both.” I shrug. Oh, fuck. She’s insanely hot and a witch. Okay, cool. Does that make me even more nervous? Probably. Will that stop me from getting played? No, I’ve already mentally prepared for the pain. “Are you not having fun?”
She thinks for a moment. “Not to the degree I would like to.” I nod. “You?”
“About the same.” I reply. I struggle to maintain eye contact with her, but her gaze never leaves me. I look away, then spot her snap a small flame to life floating above her fingers.
“What degree of fun are you into?” She questions. The woman elegantly goes in for another sip of her nearly finished drink. “I’m curious.”
“Whatever you’re into,” I say. Oh my god, I sound desperate. Why did I just blurt that out without thinking? I quickly turn my head and take a gulp from my drink, but once I put it down, she holds the blunt to my lips. “What are you doing?”
“Having a little fun.” She smiles, tauntingly. “Open.”
A command? She waits for me to follow, but I’m not that easy. “How about you make me do it yourself?” I tease with a hint of rebelliousness in my tone.
“How coy,” she replies, lowering her hand. Her eyes drop from mine and glance over to my lips. “Should I really be doing all the work for you, doll?”
“Maybe you should.” Our eyes meet again.
She pauses, then drops her arm. “Maybe I will.” Her expression remains calm, and her voice is steady. Suddenly I feel a hand travel over my thigh. I quickly look around and hope that no one is watching, but the woman gently tilts my head back over to her. “Eyes on me,” she says, but they shift over to the dancefloor, seeing how distracted everyone is. She slowly starts to brush her fingers over the area where my clit is on my jeans. The feeling is barely there, but the urge to push into her hand is present.
“But…” I begin to say as I stare off. I’m not sure if I’m thrilled or anxious. Maybe both. There’s a crowd that might see what we’re doing. But we’re at a club and there’s a shit ton of people making out in the open. Plus, I’m wearing jeans, so what’s the worst that’ll happen? I look back at the woman who’s keeping her calm expression.
“Should I continue? No one will see.” She asks. Her fingers start to trace the inner seams leading up to the bottom of the zipper. It’s funny when I look at her and feel that if she told me something completely stupid, I’d believe it without a doubt. No one will see? Of fucking course someone will see, but is that about to stop me from letting her do this to me? I’m willing to give in to her desires as much as my own. “Go on. Tell me.”
“Rena,” The bartender suddenly calls out. I immediately blush and pull myself away as I’m suddenly brought back to the club and notice the loud music and people dancing again. “You said 11 PM, right? Time’s up.”
The woman groans and leans back to the counter. “Should I stay for another hour?”
“You’re the one who told me when you should leave.” He says to her. “Don’t you have a job interview tomorrow? Go home.” The bartender walks over to other customers.
“Job interview?” I repeat. The woman, whose name is supposedly Rena, hops off the barstool and tucks some of her red hair behind her ear. “Are you leaving?”
“Yeah. It’s late.” She leans down and grabs my hand, placing her unsmoked blunt between my fingers, then smiles. “Hope I see you again, bunny.”
Rena walks away while I continue to sit at the bar, not bothering to stop her. I’m already secretly thanking the universe for this interaction, but I found that the traces she leaves behind are so subtle I barely noticed it.
She smells like apples.