Chapter Text
Running. You were running.
Cutting your bare feet on unkempt patches of bracken and thorned bramble, you had finally reached the forest just outside of the castle walls, your lungs burning as you kept your pace. You weren't ever going back there - not after what your father, the King, had told you.
Dragging the trail of your dress through the shallow brook as you made the jump from one side of the bank to the other, you didn't even stop to dry off.
You reach a clearing after a few minutes, the ache of your breathing forcing you to stop, the bitter tang of blood on your tongue. Heaving lungfuls of air into your burning body you pause, leaning back against the trunk of a grand oak tree to steady yourself.
The tears were already coming thick and fast, tracking your cheeks as you tried your best to hold your sanity together.
You were to be married, your father had told you. A perfectly good suitor from a family to the West was to attend the ball of your debutante at the end of summer, for you to then be married a few days afterwards if negotiations went well. It stung, the soreness that had opened up beneath your breast - betrayal was the only name you could give it.
And so you'd ran, devising your plan over candlelit pages and fleeing from your chambers that very night with ambitions of starting anew, making your own life for yourself. You'd snuck down to the pantry, filling a small satchel with some needed supplies before you'd donned your darkest cloak and slipped out of your window - the only exit that wasn't being guarded by your knight.
Your knight. That's why this suitor business had you almost ill with such melancholy.
Sir Higuruma had protected you for your entire life, his sole purpose was to watch over you and keep you from harm - but he'd done that and much more. Over the years as you blossomed into your womanhood, you found that you quite fancied the man, the two of you becoming firm friends. It was definitely below your station and you know your father would reject such deplorable thoughts, but you had loved him for quite some time.
He had been there for you in more ways than one, with a stoic kindness that was only broken by bouts of wicked humour - all only serving to make your adoration more potent.
For your birthday last year, he'd gifted you a garden of flowers that he'd spent years cultivating, the lush colours a favoured background for your reading and embroidery in the summer where you'd take your lunch with him beside you.
You would be leaving him behind along with that garden, once your betrothed ripped you away from your home.
Which is why you had to leave of your own accord. It made sense in your head, the decision painful to say the least - but it was yours.
Having calmed down enough, you start walking again. It's pretty, the way the full moon paints the scene before you in ghostly white. Long-limbed oak trees partly blot the sky above with bountiful leaves, allowing only the peppered pattern of the moon down onto the grass before you.
Stepping over it, you hold out your hands and let the silver light run over your skin, filling the cupped well of your palms as you put them together, looking up. Suddenly feeling smaller, you silently ask the moon for her guidance, your eyes beginning to brim again with crystalline tears.
She doesn't answer, of course - she never does.
The snap of a twig behind you has you turning frantically, any water from your eyes long forgotten as your eyes catch on a shaded figure standing back amongst the thick line of trees from whence you came.
You open your mouth to cry out, deciding at the last moment instead to use that valuable air to make a run for it. Sore feet moving, you pick up your pace again, brushing deeper into the thicket through low hanging twigs that snag in your hair and scratch your face.
A yelp of pain escapes you and you hear the figure beginning to sprint to make up the distance, leaving you bounding over the overstretched roots of another tree in a bid to get away. You miss your landing terribly, stumbling fatefully as your ankle twists in an unnatural way, your legs giving out beneath you.
Not even a scream leaves your lips for fear of giving yourself away as you huddle closer to the trunk of the tree, hoping its majestic breadth will keep you hidden from sight and your pursuer will simply run past. Holding your breath you hear the wet thump of spring leaves being trodden underfoot, the noise growing louder before it just… stops.
Maybe they went down another path?
You frown, kneeling to peek around the side of the tree to see if you could spot your pursuer, finding only the silver sheen of shin guards meeting your eyes.
“Princess.” He tsks, that voice low and thick, like an exotic fabric that drapes over your shoulders.
Raising your eyes, you can barely make out his profile from the shadows that cast over his face, hidden in darkness by the trees eclipsing the moon. Not that you would need the light of the moon, you would know the shape of his face even if you were born blind.
“Higuruma. You scared me.” You're trying your best to keep your composure. After all, he was the reason that these terrible events to come would cause you such tremendous heartache.
He paces to walk around the side of your wooden hiding spot, crouching in front of you with a familiar clink of his metal armour. He gathers your poor ankle, leaning in to inspect it closely.
“Forgive me, Princess. It wasn't my intention.” He murmurs, and you feel him squeeze it gently, leaving you hissing through your teeth at the sharp sting it brings. He huffs through his nose, a mischievous little sound, as he pulls a length of cloth from his pack and begins to bind it.
Working in silence for a few moments, he speaks again, “What has you so vexed this evening, anyway? I know you didn't take any supper like you usually do.”
You realise then with a start that after your heated argument with your father, your hatching of a plan and your departure tonight - you hadn't actually had a chance to speak with him at all.
The thought had you leaning in, clasping your hands over his as you searched his eyes, which glinted in the dark as they snapped up to meet yours. They looked dangerous.
“You really don't know?” You whisper, watching his head turn from side to side slowly - no.
“I’m to be married at the end of summer. Father has found a suitor worthy of my hand, so I’ll be leaving to live in the West once we are wed.” The words tumble out and before you know it, you're crying again. You wished bitterly that you'd been born a peasant, able to choose whom you wished to spend the rest of your life with, instead of being used as some political pawn to push for favours.
Long fingers tip your chin from where it rests, pulling it up to meet that glimmering gaze, as black as the night itself. He seems to be thinking, paused only to watch your wretched face as the tears flow freely there.
Delicately, the pads of his thumb wipe them away.
“You were leaving.” He states carefully, and you nod in the hold of his fingers, “Why?”
“Beshrew it all,” you breathe, making up your mind - it was now or never. “My heart belongs to you alone.”
The words make him still, as though he had turned to stone like a character from one of your fables. A blink, then another. His hold on you doesn't change as he takes in your confession, turns it over in the light of the moon.
“You love me?” It's scarcely a whisper, but it has your heart hammering like a caged beast, tongue forked and wings beating behind the bars of your ribs. It takes all of you to simply nod in response.
“Princess.”
And then his mouth is on yours, warm and wet as he kisses you. You make a small noise as his hand travels up to cradle the nape of your neck, lost as his tongue swipes against the plump of your bottom lip.
You'd never kissed before, never been kissed before. But my, how those sonnets you once pored over now made sense - to be held in his arms, forfeiting your heart as his mouth slotted over yours. You try kissing back, moving your lips as he does.
He laughs, a dry sound swallowed by your waiting lips as he leans back in, his hands guiding you backwards until you're both resting in the tall grass that swayed at the base of the oak tree, the one you were hiding behind mere moments ago. The irony of it isn't lost on you, but you can barely think whilst the weight of his body presses down on yours, a comfortable pressure keeping you from floating away.
The sharp pull of his teeth does, though. They close around your lip gently, testing how you'd react to such a barbaric act wrapped in the velvet of his kiss. You gasp, finding that your stomach was beginning to burn hotter when he did that.
Higuruma grins against your mouth, like he'd won a personal wager he'd had with himself, before he mouths at your jaw.
You squeal as his mouth casts a ticklish path to the side of your neck, your hands rising to toy with his hair in your impatience. You'd heard before about what noblemen and their lady wives did in their bedchambers, strands of hushed gossip from the maids piquing your interest but stopping before you could find out what happened.
He nips again, harder this time, and you understand now why this prized information had been kept from you all of this time - you'd never want to stop.
“Tell me, Princess,” his voice is breathy and low in your ear, eliciting a strangled noise from you, “How does this make you feel?”
Gasping for air, you notice how hot your skin feels beneath your dress, your womanhood almost uncomfortably wet as you pull down on his breastplate, wanting it off.
“Good. I feel good but… I would like more.” Your words seem to surprise him, but he doesn't argue against them. Instead, he raises one hand from your neck to unfasten the ties of his armour slowly, as though you might change your mind at any moment. Down to his doublet and hosen, he stops to look at you with an unspoken question in his eyes.
“More.”
If someone were to find you both now, he'd surely be killed. Not that either of you seemed to care, as he strips down to his braies, a thin pair of linen shorts that did little to conceal what he was hiding underneath.
The sight of his engorgement made you nervous, and the naivety must've shown on your dimly lit features, as he slowed in his crawl back up your body.
You swallow, your throat suddenly tight, “Higuruma, I’ve never-” you feel so ridiculously underqualified for this.
“I know,” He replies, his lips a mere inch from yours as he leans closer again, “I know.”
And then his hands are on you again, managing to find a path under your outer gown, fingertips skimming the chemise underneath until they find your bare flesh. You squirm, feeling them dance over your hot skin, over the expanse of your stomach and down further to where you ached the most for his touch.
He grazes a spot that has you lurching forwards, your face meeting the side of his neck as you pant against his skin. He grins, repeating the motion again and again until you can feel your lower stomach swaying, muscles tightening as you try to hold it together. You try to call out his name quietly, unsure if you might faint as the feeling in your body only grows, taut as a thread ready to snap.
It does and your jaw is slack as a tremendous pleasure washes over you, leaving you unspoiled and crying on his shoulder as he utters sweet words of encouragement into your hair.
You're sure you've died. You must have, the remnants of your soul wrung out, your body left unoccupied and ready to be judged. What you'd done was sinful, you had no doubt about it. But you wanted more even still.
Grasping at him, you lean back in his hold, feeling him pull you into his lap. He seemed quite satisfied that you were finished, much to your disdain.
“More.”
He blinks, you can barely make it out in the waning light of the moon.
“Princess I-”
“I said more.”
“You’re to be wed. Do you know what would happen if you let me bed you now?” He tilts your chin up, his soft gaze now hardened by the sincerity of what you were suggesting.
Your eyes fill with tears again, any leftover warmth from your climax dissipating, exchanged for the cold hard blow of reality. It wasn't fair at all, this was all you'd ever wanted.
“If I'm to be wed, to be taken away from you, at least let me have this one happiness to remember.” Your forehead touches his, simple and tender. You feel him puff a breath through gritted teeth, his hardness pressing against the front of your pelvis where you sat between his legs.
“I’d be put to the gallows, and you'd be labelled spoiled.” He spits the last word, like he can't bear to think of you spoken of like that. But despite his reasoning, he wasn't telling you no.
Trembling, you reach down to grasp at the hardness protruding from his linen. Your hand closes around it, feeling how thick and weighty it is in your palm. You stroke over it, unsure on what you were supposed to do. You needed the guidance, needed him to show you how this was supposed to go.
He hisses through his teeth at the contact, barely restrained by whatever thin thread of conscience he had left. You let your fingers run over the top of him, marvelling at the way he jolts under such a gentle touch. It's a sight you'd never once thought you'd have the privilege of seeing awake - your knight, unclothed and unbound by his honour, the tight muscles of his stomach rippling as he holds himself back from claiming you.
You do it again, scarcely feeling your back hitting the ground as his pins you effortlessly, so rapidly that you didn't even realise it had happened.
He's braced over you now, breathing heavily as he settles his body between your open legs. So close.
“You’re sure?” He strokes himself slowly, hand snaking back under your chemise, fingertips brushing against your wetness like he can't believe it either.
You nod, watching the dusting of the moonlight on the bare skin of his back as you speak softly, “If I’m to go back with you, let me do it having made at least one decision for myself. Let me return spoiled.”
Dark eyes meet half-lidded ones, his forehead coming forward to kiss yours as he gathers himself in hand, slipping away from his linen as he edges in closer. Every nerve in your body was vibrating with anticipation, feeling the large, blunt head of him pressing gently over your entrance.
He swipes down the length of you, collecting whatever wetness he can from you before he stills, eyeing you one last time with a strange sheepishness you'd never seen from him before.
“This may hurt you, Princess.” You scoff, incredulous at the idea before you realise - he's being deathly serious.
Now nervous for a different uncertainty than before, you brace your hands on his shaking biceps, “I can handle it.”
The breach of him inside of you was indescribable, the burning stretch of him forcing his way in making you tip your head back, your gaze finding a patch of stars that had broken through a patch of grey cloud. He meets resistance, scooping the back of your neck up to cradle you close.
“I can stop.” It’s a question, dressed in layers of restraint and desire. You shake your head no. Keep going.
A lurch as he makes his way through, the smarting sting of pain dancing through your body as you whine against his shoulder - you wanted this, you keep telling yourself. Wanted to be his.
You feel the solid base of him meeting you, barely able to breathe as he sways you softly to and fro, murmuring honeyed words to get you through. Slowly but surely, the ache of him wears away, leaving nothing but the glimmering roll of pleasure beneath. He must feel you clench as he pulls back slightly, pushing back in with a low moan that sweeps over your skin.
The noise elicits something from you, that now familiar heated pressure that pulses in your lower body, a promise of something good. So you chase it, realising unabashedly that you won't get to do this soon, be with him like this.
You pull yourself back, your hips rolling into his messily as you crash back down, chasing that high to his complete surprise.
“Pretty little maiden,” he grunts, using large hands to cant your hips upwards, a counterweight to the thrust of his cock as he slammed back down, “Spoiled, aren't you? Spoiled for me.”
His words are doing something to you as you cry, keen towards him. Beshrew anyone who found you, they could hang for all you cared, not when you were so close to-
A thumb, his thumb, it's circling that spot again. You whine as he fucks into you, the sensation of him from all angles making you come undone as you did before. It's extraordinary, the way you convulse around him, calling his name in pitching moans as you see the stars above, waves of pleasure licking over you like tumultuous waves.
You're crying again, as you come back down to earth to find him still thrashing into you with a brutality you'd never experienced. The skin of your collarbone was between his teeth, claiming you with a marred purple mark that you could feel swelling under his abuse.
“Higuruma, please.” You're begging, though you're not sure what you're begging for. It was shameless, the way he ran his hand up the expanse of your stomach, settling over your breast to feel the thundering of your heart, filling your insides up to the hilt over and over again.
The thumb returns, pulling you back towards that delicious abyss as he stutters against you, the rhythm of him becoming sloppier.
“Princess.” He moans, and you want to stitch that sound into your skin, to carry it with you forever.
He's as close as you are, barely visible dark brows furrowed with intense concentration, his mouth slightly parted, teeth pulling in the corner of his lower lip with sheer exertion. You pull him close, kissing those bruises sweetly, meeting his unfocused gaze with your own.
“It’s yours.” You gasp, settling your hand over his, over your heart.
It's enough to make you both go into that abyss together, speechless as the tidal wave hits you both. He pulls himself out of you with a slick sound, shooting his spend onto the grass beside you as you protest breathlessly, wishing that he hadn't. He kisses your hair before dragging out those last strands of pleasure with the lazy stroke of his thumb, leaving you limp in his hold.
You watch the stars together, breathing as one. After some time he dresses, carrying you home with his hand still crossed over your heart.
Approaching the castle you thought you'd left behind, your blood drying on your inner thigh, you try not to think about what awaits you on the road ahead.