#queen of the period piece

[maelialuv]

A Farmer's Friend. a Bridgerton fanfic <3

part one: A Chance Encounter

Summary: division brings unity. secrecy creates infatuation. a king's venture into the real world reveals desire.

Warnings: slow burn! strangers to friends to lovers! (Charlotte does not exist) smut! cold showers are on me.

Wordcount: 3.4K

The country side , to you, was heaven on earth. The far roaming hills, the deep valleys. The wide expanse of nothing but lush green fields. There was truly nothing more beautiful.

Your father's farm, to you, was the most beautiful of all. Located at the farthest edge of the county, miles and miles away from the city of London, it was a haven of tall grass, fruitful crops and rich orchards. That is where you spent most of your time, perched between the trunk and wide branches of a tall apple tree in the deepest part of your family's gardens. Far away from the bustling farm house, the uproar of live stock and the erratic, but loving, nature of your home.

From the moment the sun rose over the hills and danced across your face in the morning, to the moment it tucked itself into the valley at night, you were out in the fields. Tucked away indoors, you found yourself claustrophobic. Cased in, stir crazy and a tad hysterical. From a young age, your parents had to heard you inside at the end of a day much like the sheep dogs would heard the lambs back into their pens. It was no different, even as you approached adulthood.

You had your back to the trunk of a tree, a book clutched in one hand and an apple - freshly plucked from the branch above you- in the other, when you caught sight of one of the stable boys chasing after your father in the field ahead of you.

A man of great strength and pride, your father took his work in the fields very seriously. Even after the death of his own father, he was back shearing sheep after just two days. This is why it confused you ever so much , brows furrowed in a frown, to see your father drop his shears at once in front of the stable boy and clutch his chest. The pair raced down the field, sprinting in the direction of the house with the dogs trailing behind them in a flurry of brown and grey and white.

You took a pensive bite of the apple, crunching deliberately. 'Whatever is the matter?' you thought. 'What is the meaning of such fuss?' You tried desperately to get back to your book, the words of the author falling on distracted thoughts as your mind pondered such a reaction from your father. You snapped your book shut with a huff, annoyed and now positively rabid with curiosity.

John, an Orcher in his late fifties, was plucking apples from a tree just next to yours. You peered your head over to him. "John," you called, "have you any reason for father's fuss with the stable boy?"

John's face paled, almost frightfully white, at your question. He took his cap off with the type of remorse one shows with deep apology. "I'm terribly sorry, madam. I thought all the children were aware." You quirked a brow at his words, irritated that the farms people still saw you as one of the children despite being the eldest daughter in the house. His voice was gruff and gravely, years of shouting at yardsmen wearing on his vocal chords. "There is to be a royal visit, madam. Today."

Your eyebrows shot up so fast , you wondered for a moment if they were still on your face. "A royal visit? Here?" The Dowager Princess had not been out in the country since the passing of the late King. Your brows furrowed in deep confusion. "Whatever for?"

John shrugged his shoulders earnestly.

"Lord knows but I, madam. Some sort of review of the farmland, but that's between the King and his advisors."

"The King?" you squawked. You hiked your skirt up, throwing your legs over the branch and jumping down. You stalked to the bottom of the ladder John was standing on. "The King is coming here?"

In all your eighteen years, you'd only ever seen one monarch. Even so, it was a painting of His late Majesty. All you knew of the current King was that he made no visits to the towns, nor galas or balls. He had been labelled somewhat a recluse of a man. You wondered how that could be healthy for such an old person. At least, you assumed he was old. The previous king had died aged seventy and two, so this king must have been creeping into his late fifties now.

"Yes, madam." John said. "Your father has been called now, to prepare. He is due to arrive soon."

Your feet sprang into action, galloping down the aisle of the orchard at lightening speed as you raced toward the direction of the house. You never cared for pompous displays, or the royal family as a whole, very much at all. But today was different. The king himself was visiting your home. Your fields, your valleys and your hills. You felt oddly protective. As if this inspection was to be one with an insulting conclusion. You reassured yourself that they would see the beauty in your home. In the sway of the grassy hills in the wind.

Knowing your mother would not let you close enough to see even the Royal carriage make its way through the wooden gates of your home, you rounded the corner of the brown farm house and clambered your way up the large oak tree in the middle of the drive way. From high above in the branches, you would not be seen by your mother - as she so preferred. She yearned for a daughter more like the ones her sisters had. Lady like and proper and ones that smile at every pleasing farmer their mothers set them up with.

Your mother was disappointed in the lack of girlishness in you. She was displeased in your fascination with reading, and your taking to the outdoors. She was put off by the closeness between you and your father, finding it strange that the two of you could be friends as well as father and daughter. She found your desire to spend all day outdoors odd, and you found her desire to marry a farmer whilst hating farms to be odd in return.

You gripped on to the tallest branches, peering through leaves in the hopes of seeing the gleams of gold as the carriage approached. You saw your father and the farmer boys line up in front of the door below, and your mother and younger brothers waited just behind them. In the distance, you heard a low thrumming sound. It got louder, and seemingly closer, as more seconds ticked by. You realised, as you heard the clop clop clop noise, that it was the sound of horses' hooves on the dirt tracks as the carriage came into view.

The carriage halted in front of your door, and your father outstretched his hand to an older gentlemen in a plush blue suit. Though your fathers clothes- an old grey shirt and black trousers- were not as elegant, he looked just as regal as he shook hands with the stranger, who you assumed to be the King. He had greying hair, curled into ringlets by his side. There were several other men beside him, ranging from young to old to very old.

You craned your neck to hear their voices, a chorus of low hums and stiff lipped compliments from the old man you saw to be the king. Several minutes ticked by, boredom creeping in as you swung your legs back and forth over the branch, before the group of men finally split to tour the farm land with your father. You rejoiced, a grumble in your belly making any words they said inconsequential. You began your decent from the tree.

With scraped palms and knees, you made it to the ground with a thud. A successful spying , you thought as you wiped your hands on the skirt of your dress. Your monologing was interrupted by the stifled chuckle of a man behind you. You whipped round, narrowing your eyes at the man. Dressed in a simple white shirt and the same black field trousers as your father, he looked to be a fielder himself.

"Hello," he said, voice even and light. He stood with his hands behind his back, polite and effortlessly straight. He was young, younger than the rest of the group you assumed he had been standing with. He must have been no more than three years older than you, as his cheeks still had the faintest roundness to them.

"What are you doing?" he asked when you did not say anything.

You knew your eyes were wide, those of someone caught. There was no use in lying , nor excusing. This man had watched you climb down the tree, from where you had spied. You outstretched your hands, as if stating the obvious. "I was climbing down. From the tree."

"From the tree?"

"Yes, from the tree."

"From that tree?" the man asked, voice teasing and smile irritating as he pointed to the tall oak you had previously been perched in.

"Yes, that tree."

"Whatever for?" He placed his hands behind his back once more, slowly pacing around you in a circle.

"I was hungry, you see." You deadpanned.

"Ah," he affirmed, "and you did not bring food when you climbed up the tree." He was enjoying teasing you, as the smirk on his face grew larger at your squirming. "Or simply not enough."

"Well," you trailed off, waiting for the man to introduce himself to you.

"Forgive me," he said, outstretching a hand. "I am George."

"Well George," you continued. "Usually the trees I climb have some sort of fruit or such for me to eat while I climb, or lounge, or read. This is not my typical tree to climb." You explained.

"And I suppose you have a typical tree?" His face was oddly gleeful, as if this conversation with you - a stranger- was the best part of his day. His smile was wide, showing teeth.

"Yes, I do."

"Which is?" He asked, stepping closer toward you. His smirk was a teasing grin now.

"The apple tree," you stated, that protectiveness creeping back into your tone. "at the farthest end of the orchard."

"Now," he said, voice lilted with mock impress, "I must see this tree, that you so fondly and regularly climb." His voice was a stage whisper.

"Alas, I cannot." You teased back, some what enjoying the banter yourself. "I do not simply show my tree to strangers."

"Ah, but I am not a stranger," he said, closer again now. "I am just George." He stuck his hand out again, waiting for you to shake it. Hesitantly, you did. "I would be honoured to see your tree."

"Do you not have business to attend to?" You asked, gesturing in the direction the other men and the Royal herd had walked in. George shook his head, waving off your remark.

"They are fine themselves. They have no use for my agreements here and questions there." He said. "And even so, if I were to re-join them now," he took another small step closer to you, eyes searching in the distance, "my mind would think of nothing but this apple tree at the farthest end of the orchard."

You smiled at the man as he looked down at you, and felt the strangest urge to lead him by the hand to your sacred reading spot. Something about George made you trust him, utterly and completely, as if you'd known him your whole life. As if you'd run through the fields with him as children, and he knew where the tree was already.

"All right, just George."

A bright, down right contagious smile etched itself on to his face. You couldn't help but smile just as brightly.

The two of you strode side by side through the back field of the farm, chatting idly as you lead him to the orchard. George told you he was a keen farmer himself, but his family bound him to the city. "Why don't you just leave them?" you asked as you opened the large wooden field gate for him.

George paused, leaning on the gate with both arms crossed. "It is not that simple," he said, his face contort in a frown. "I am obliged to stay there. It is a duty, of sorts." He looked around at the tall grass, the wild flowers that bloomed in the field at his feet. "If it were up to me, I would spend all my time in the country."

You felt immensely sorry for him. The thought of being away from the country for more than a day put a nasty pit in your stomach. Gently, you placed your hand on his arm. He looked up at you with glum eyes. You gave him your best reassuring smile as you squeezed his arm lightly. He smiled back at you.

You fell back into stride with one another after that. George asked about your family, and you told him about your father and your three younger sisters. He asked where they were, and you let out a haughty laugh. "They cower at the sight of mud. They are cooped inside with my mother, embroidering or learning the pianoforte or some other nonsense."

"You see no value in these tasks, then?" George asked with a small smirk.

"I see no point, given where we live. What use have I for musical impress or intricate sewing when I spend my time outdoors?" You paused your walking, gesturing to the cows grazing near by. "Any man I encounter in these parts will be as impressed by my pianoforte as those cows."

"Ah, I see." George chuckled to himself. "You are to be a spinster then." You whipped round to face him, annoyance turning your brows into a tight v shape. George laughed again.

"For a stranger you are certainly bold."

"I do not hear a defence."

"No, I am not to be a spinster." You crossed your arms, uncrossing them when George cocked his head to the side slightly. You must have looked ridiculous, like an petulant, spoilt child. You huffed.

"I am not to be a spinster. At least not by intention." You both began walking again, rounding the corner to the long aisle of the orchard. "There," you said, pointing to your tree at the very end.

You turned when George remained silent. His mouth was agape slightly, brown eyes wide and almost honey in the mid day sun. "Beautiful," he sighed out.

It caught you off guard, the strange desire to lead him by the hand to your tree and show him the very best branches. The way he looked at your favourite spot with such awe made you near desperate to share it with him. You had to restrain yourself from reaching out and touching his hand that was inches from yours at your side. You shook your head slightly, as if a jitter would rid of of such peculiar feelings. "Come along, then."

George walked obediently at your side, keeping perfect pace with you. As you walked, he couldn't help but notice the sway of your hair in the light breeze, the way it framed your face so gently. Or the patches of freckles that spotted the bridge of your nose, or the subtle fullness of your bottom lip, how it was slightly larger than the top.

"You said you are not to be a spinster by choice," he began as you reached the foot of the tree. "Whatever do you mean?"

"What I mean is," you said as you reached up to a near branch, pulling yourself up with little struggle, "no man here is in need of a wife, and I am in no need for an elderly husband." You frowned when George laughed again. "You must stop that!" You cried.

"Stop what?" He smiled through his teeth again.

"Laughing at me!"

"I am not laughing at you, forgive me." He said, reaching up to the same branch and - just as you had- hauled him self up with ease. "I simply find it hard to believe no one here is in need of a wife."

"Everyone is already married, or too old, or far too young." You deadpanned. "I do not want to marry a frail old man."

"Let me rephrase," George began. He reached across you, and for a moment you thought he was going to touch your cheek. You sucked in a nervous breath. He plucked an apple that was hanging just above you ear. "I find it hard to believe no one here wants you for a wife."

You found it hard to form words, stuttering over a response. George bit into his apple , smugness radiating off of him in reams.

The two of you sat in peaceful silence for a moment, your backs leaning against the trunk of the tree while your legs stretched out next to each other. "Do you sit out here all day?" George asked softly, turning his head toward you. His breath fanned over your face slightly. You nodded.

"Most days," you sighed contently. "I am usually the one that goes into the towns if needed. Otherwise, I am left alone to sit here as I please." You looked out as the sheep roamed the field ahead of you.

George rested his head back against the trunk of the tree.

"I am envious of you, truly." He said, looking at you from the corner of his eye. You turned your head to face him. Your shoulders were brushing against each other with every breath.

"You are welcome to come here," you said, in an uncharacteristically soft voice. "You can bring a book, and you may sit here for as long as you like, whenever you please. Whenever your family allows you to be in the country."

This close to him, you noticed the flecks of gold in George's eyes. The small freckle above his eye brow. The rosiness of his cheeks. His words echoed in your head.

'I find it hard to believe no one wants you for a wife."

In the distance, you heard the ruckus of the men returning to the front of the house. George shot up. You shot up with him.

"I must go," he said hurriedly. He swung his legs over the branch and jumped off. As you moved to do the same, you saw him waiting on the ground with his hands outstretched. He was helping you down. You reached a hand out to him, and he pulled you down. Expecting a thud, you noticed he had steadied you with a hand on your waist. "I wish I could stay longer, I truly do. Alas, they will run like chickens without heads if I am not back soon."

You wished to find some poetic goodbye, but all you could muster was a soft sigh. "Will you be back?" His hand was still gripping yours.

George chuckled breathily.

"Of course," he said, as if it was obvious. "I must bring a book and see if this really is the best spot for reading."

The voices in the distance got louder, calling George's name now. He looked over his shoulder, then back to you. "I am back in the country in two weeks time. May I see you then?"

You smiled at his politeness, hoping your hasty nod came across as friendly and not desperate. "Of course."

"Splendid."

He brought your hand to his lips then, placing a gentle kiss on the top of your knuckles. "It has been a pleasure, madam." He said with a gentlemanly bow.

He turned to walk away then, and you felt as though the wind had been knocked right out of you. Your feet were glued to the ground, unable to move you from that same spot.

"Oh," George called from a distance. "The inspection went fantastically. Your farm shall have a wonderful review." He grinned, all boyish and joyful, before turning back and sprinting in the direction of the loud voices.

His words only sunk in after he'd rounded the corner gate, and you nearly collapsed onto a log.

Not only had you spent your afternoon with a total stranger, telling him your deepest thoughts and secrets, scandalously close should a gossiping eye see it.

You'd just spent your afternoon with the King of England.

#queen charlotte #bridgerton #bridgerton netflix #queen charlotte netflix #king george #king george x reader #king george bridgerton #corey mylchreest #bridgerton fanfiction #bridgerton x reader #period piece #slow burn #friends to lovers #strangers to lovers #strangers to friends #fluff #smut #fanfic #bridgerton queen charlotte

[dearabsolutelynoone]

“Heaven was a dance in the arms of one’s true love.”

Julia Quinn, On the Way to the Wedding (Bridgertons, #8)

#bridgerton #the feminine urge to settle for nothing less than a love on par with one right out of the pages of a dramatic period piece #oh they set the bar so high #saphne #kanthony #charlotte x george #simon hastings #daphne bridgerton #anthony bridgerton #kate sharma #queen charlotte #king george #queen charlotte a bridgerton story #the viscount who loved me #the duke and i #kathony #george x charlotte #simone ashley #jonathan bailey #india amarteifio #corey mylchreest #phoebe dynevor #regé jean page #julia quinn

[bubblegumbeaches]

oh if only I was a wealthy socialite in an unrealistic period piece

#period piece #bridgerton #coquette #lana del ray aka lizzy grant #pride and prejudice #sofia coppola #marie antoinette #marie antoniette 2006 #girlblogging #effie gray #queen charlotte #mental illness #music #television #aesthetic

[blacknarcissus]

Queen Christina (1933)

#queen christina #greta garbo #royalty #romance #oscars #period piece #period drama #old hollywood #classic film #1930s #decade: 1930s

[pensbridge]

It's not a period piece; it is a period peace I find solace in because it feels like a warm hug I find comfort, content, and light in.

#period piece #atonement #i say stupid things #anne of green gables #anne with an e #bridgerton #emma 2020 #lady chatterley's lover #little women #jane austen #queen charlotte: a bridgerton story #sanditon #sense and sensibility #titanic #other

[asha-mage]

Here's a pride month flavor musing for you:

There's something to be said about the fact that even when works of period art are deliberately using a fun house mirror version of history so they can have more modern/progressive sensibilities for either race (Bridgerton) or feminism (Mrs Masiel) they still almost always maintain a period accurate attitude twords homosexuality and queerness.

It's almost like this weird tacit acknowledgement that though we can expect the audience to accept a desegregated British Aristocracy or a 1950s house wife doing stand-up comedy that speaks to modern feminist struggles, we can't expect an audience to accept gay people having happy fulfilling lives and relationships in the same way. Queerness still has this edge of enforced tragedy, secrecy, and shame to it. Of course Shy Baldwin is forced to marry a woman in order to keep his fame and to loose his best friend after nearly being outed. Of course Suzie's one romance is a tragic heartbreak that embittered her to love and left her "happy to be alone". Of course Reynolds and Brimsley must steal moments in secret and ultimately be separated- without even a passing explanation as to why their not together in the "later" timeline. Their is certainly no scene of them reuniting in the same way George and Charlotte get. Reynolds and Brimsley are queer, it's assumed they don't get to be happy and end up together, even as the show lauds the undying and unyielding love of a interracial Queen Charlotte and King George.

I know that it's just a reflection of where our society is and yet....I can't help but wish it was different. I love all these big budget glossy period pieces that look back at our history and ask "what if it had been different? What if we had been kinder and more accepting and less hateful?" and I genuinely do believe that is a question worth asking. I just think it's a question worth asking for everyone.

#random musing #queen charlotte #bridgerton #the marvelous mrs. maisel #queer #gay #queer issues #historical fiction #period pieces #shy baldwin #susie myerson #brimsley #reynolds #Pride Month #One day I'll get my glossy big budget regency era but with gay marriage love story between two emotionally stunted gentlemen #one day

[earlymodernbarbie]

Genevieve Bujold as Anne Boleyn in Anne of the Thousand Days

#anne boleyn #queen anne boleyn #anna bolina #anne of the thousand days #genevieve bujold #tudor history #henry viii #the tudors #english history #tudor era #tudor rose #tudor england #tudor period #house of tudor #period film #period drama #period piece #costume drama #1960s cinema #1960s movies #vintage movies #vintage films #1960s

[charlotte021195]

The way the last episode of queen Charlotte, a Bridgerton story had me SOBBING. I WAS NOT READY NOR AM I EMOTIONALLY STABLE ENOUGH. And BRIMSLEY DANCING ALONE. NOBODY TOUCH ME.

#queen charlotte #bridgerton #period piece #sobbing so hard #my soul left my body #theyre gay your honor

[mermaidsirennikita]

The best part about everyone losing their shit about The Serpent Queen is that I watched the pilot and not only is it the best product Starz has put out in years based on money spent, writing, and casting—it also possessed way more attention to historical detail than anything the Tudor shows have been serving…. Maybe ever?

Not y’all being too simple to realize that a woman can be presented as Not Always Good and sympathetic at the same time…. And letting that cloud any openness to the show at all.

#the serpent queen #but idk maybe that happens when you exit what has basically become like #a period piece extended universe #the TUDORVERSE where you don’t have to be accurate because the same fictional beats have been told a million times #anyway accuracy isn’t my priority #but it was interesting to see them bring in details as character beats #which is what you SHOULD do imo vs quibbling over dates and anecdotes #but liv and samantha are bringing IT

[fkevin073]

whatever our souls are made of, his and mine are the same. 

- Emily Bronte, Wuthering Heights.

#becoming elizabeth #becomingelizabethedit #Elizabeth I #the tudors #the tudor dynasty #queen elizabeth i of england #perioddramaedit #perioddramagif #period piece #period piece edit #costumes #robert x elizabeth #robert dudley #wuthering heights #quote #dailytvfilmgifs #starz #period drama #1500s #praying for a season 2 rn #the Spanish princess

[leatherlesbianstuff]

The Favourite (2018) d. Yorgos Lanthimos

#period piece #yorgos lanthimos #film stills #film #movies #english history #England #Queen Anne #lesbian #lesbians #royalty

[theersatzcowboy]

The Woods (2006)

Director: Lucky McKee

Cinematographer: John R. Leonetti

Starring: Agnes Bruckner, Patricia Clarkson, Bruce Campbell, Lauren Birkell, and Rachel Nichols.

#the woods #2006 #independent film #agnes bruckner #patricia clarkson #lucky mckee #bruce campbell #final girl #scream queens #rachel nichols #lauren birkell #horror films #horror movies #00s film #00s cinema #00s movies #00s #period piece #boarding school #independent horror #indie cinema #indie film #indie horror film #indie horror

[finexbright]

a couple weeks ago in class we were discussing ethinic and racial identities and its representation in media and while yes many forms of media are slowly becoming inclusive of various ethnicities and racial identities, especially when it comes to films and shows, it still isn't enough. while we can all appreciate the inclusion of actors and artists from racially and ethinically diverse backgrounds, there's no genuine reasoning behind it. meaning, these actors and artists are hired to fit a certain criteria (i can't find the link, but i remember seeing how basically many award shows had a checklist of actor backgrounds that needed to met in order to get nominated, including things like "at least one supporting cast from a racial minority", "at least one supporting cast who is queer") and that's where my problem is. yes, hiring racially and ethinically diverse actors does a lot for the community, but when you whitewash the characters they're hired to play, it completely takes away from their identity. what i'm trying to say is, if you're hiring a poc actor, hire their identity too, give their characters more depth and background. one example that comes to my mind is the second season of bridgerton where the protagonist is an indian character but her whole identity is anglicised and if it weren't for the colour of her skin, you'd completely forget that she was indian. moreover, the history and culture of it. indian lifestyle, family structure is vastly different to that of a british one and especially when you take into consideration the era they set the show in, it was when india was still colonised by britain. and that's why while i applaud the inclusivity and the opportunity for the actors, however i wish there was more inclusivity and effort put into the accuracy of a character rather than using their character's identity as a point to get a shot at winning an award and completely forgetting how the characters identity would affect the plot.

#i could go on and on about this #like i feel this on a personal level #especially when you look at period pieces or stories set in older times when racial equality didn't exist and poc where literally on the #lowest level in a societal hierarchy structure #also i have special beef with bridgerton because while it's really fucking good to see a black queen it's still not historically accurate #and as a poc watching it. it just takes away from the story for me. it makes me realise just how unreal and fake it is #let's not forget that kate is very much not indian in the books #and in no universe or no situation will a name like kathani be shortened to kate like please make it make sense #like if i were to shorten kathani i'd probably go for kathu or something never kate

[belle-primrose]

Princess Victoria of Saxe-Coburg-Saalfeld, Portrait by George Dawe

Princess Victoria of Saxe-Coburg-Saalfeld (17 August 1786 – 16 March 1861), later Princess of Leiningen and subsequently Duchess of Kent and Strathearn, was a German princess and the mother of Queen Victoria of the United Kingdom. As the widow of Charles, Prince of Leiningen (1763–1814), from 1814, she served as regent of the Principality during the minority of her son from her first marriage, Carl, until her second wedding in 1818 to Prince Edward, fourth son of King George III. The Duchess of Kent was extremely protective, and raised Victoria largely isolated from other children under the so-called "Kensington System".

#victorian era #victorian fashion #new post #historical fashion #period piece #new to tumblr #queen victoria #victorian #Kensington #royalty #uk royals #royal style #regency #regency era #regency england #regency period #king george iii #george iii

[saetoru]

can someone tell me where

i convinced myself that even with hp% and flat defense this artifact had real potential w the double crit stats and honestly i brought this suffering upon myself

#i’m not even gonna level it to 20 #what would be the point even if it rolls crit that last one #:’) #it’s pretty much useless #well actually it could be a yelan piece i suppose #if i did 2pc hod #but #i would run her on 4pc emblem if i HAD her #but i LOST the 50/50 :/ #and since she’s rumored to run before zhongli i have to SKIP her #i hate u yelan 😒 #but u are so fine 🥹 #I WANT HER #no #ykw #no i do not #only hydro queen i need is miss kokomi #period

[animediddy]

Hi there!! I have an AO3. It’s Vegetatarian. (NOT VEGETARIAN) and you will soon be able to read more of this! Until then, here’s chapter one. The piece will be entitled, “The Isolated Queen”.

Cement walls painted with murals so detailed they could have passed as vivid memories loomed over marble floors. Marble flooring had only just become available, and they’d been installed with haste, but precision. Every inch of the palace was designed to portray only the finest, and of course most expensive, in taste. Every window was painted glass that revealed scenery precious to you. Flowers never failed to bloom at the castle you inhabited. It was one of the few things you found solace in.

The sun shined brightly on this day, and the royal blue banners fluttered majestically atop the palace roof, symbolizing your presence and health. They did not, however, reflect your mood.

Members of the royal court spoke in hushed tones, frantically trying to discuss what would be happening to the king consort. Their discussions halted when you rounded the corner dressed from head to toe in your signature royal blue, though your demeanor was a stark contrast to its usual warmth.

As you walked down the hall, heading to your throne room, a foolish courtier opened his mouth and blurted out the question on everyone’s minds.

“Your majesty, is it really true? Has the king consort really committed adultery?”

You stopped and turned to him, rage burning in your stomach. “What king consort? There is no such person living here. Only a fancily clothed fool in the dungeon along with the harlot he took to my bed.”

The collective gasp was loud. It reverberated throughout your entire body, but you didn’t react. Instead you turned and went on your way.

It wasn’t long after that the members of court witnessed the king consort being dragged through the hall, kicking and begging for mercy. He screamed your name, and you heard it from your throne room where you waited for him to sit at his knees in front of you.

You smoothed your dress with one hand, impatiently drumming my fingers on the arm of your throne with the other.

“Y/N!” He screamed, tears rolling down his face.

You raised an unsympathetic eyebrow. “Now you scream my name?”

“My beloved Y/N, I’m being set up!” He sobbed.

You let out a laugh. “So you weren’t in my bed with another woman?”

“Of course not! I would never.” He said, his blonde hair hanging in his face.

“So now you’re accusing me of lying? What I saw with my own two eyes? Or the cries of passion that flooded my ears?”

His demeanor completely changed. He hadn’t considered that you had seen him.

“It goes without saying that you’re being stripped of your title.” You said, crossing your legs. “But you’re also being shipped back to your country, where your father will deal with you.”

His eyes widened in fear. “What? No! You can’t send me back! My father will kill me!”

You stood up and grabbed the front of his shirt. “You should have considered that before you brought another woman into my bed!” Your eyes were red with anger and you threw him back onto the floor. “I gave you a life that any other king consort would have killed for, and more, and you had to fuck it away!”

He started sobbing again. “Y/N, we love each other. Don’t do this to me!”

You could feel your face turning red with rage. “Don’t do this to you? YOU DID THIS TO YOURSELF! I married you, I gave you everything you ever could wish for, I gave you my heart! You did this to BOTH OF US!”

You looked over at the guards. “Get him out of my sight. Out of the palace and onto the ship to his homeland as soon as you can.”

They nodded and dragged him out, kicking and screaming obscenities at you.

“Your Majesty, you should eat. The kitchen prepared a large breakfast for you with all of your favorite breakfast foods.” Hange, your right hand woman said.

“I’m not hungry.” You shook your head.

Hange shot Nanaba a concerned look.

“Your Majesty, please. You mustn’t starve yourself.”

You sighed. “Fine.”

~~~~~~~~

The next several months, you’d been tending to your duties, but spending your free time alone. You’d been so disgusted with the bed you’d once shared with that man that you’d had it replaced, and even had the knights burn the tainted bed to ash.

You had been dreading your birthday, not wanting to be around smiling faces. The queen of a neighboring country had mocked you for not simply getting on with your life until you’d sent an army to her front door demanding that she keep your affairs out of her mouth. She’d been silent since then, especially having her invitation to your birthday revoked.

Ever since your heart had been shattered, you wasted no time when someone attempted to disrespect you. You made sure they knew who they were dealing with.

“Rose, what should I do?” You asked. “I don’t feel like entertaining guests.”

“You cannot miss your own birthday party, your majesty.” Rose, your lady in waiting said with a disapproving click of her tongue.

You sighed deeply, resting your head on your hand as you pouted. “I am a queen. I can do as I please, you know.”

Rose shrugged. “Of course, your majesty. Forgive me.”

“Oh hush, you know I’m just being difficult. It takes the fun out of it if you don’t scold me for being childish.” You crossed your arms. “Lord knows I’ve got nothing else interesting going on. Some verbal sparring now and then stimulates my mind.”

Rose shook her head, not trying to hide the amused smile on her lips. “I do not negotiate with children or childish people, your majesty.”

You dragged yourself out of bed, yawning loudly. “If I must really attend this idiotic party this weekend, I’ll need to look my best. Let my presence radiate power so that the others will be too intimidated to bother me.” You said with an evil grin.

“Childish.” Rose tutted, holding your bedroom door open. “Breakfast is ready, majesty.”

Before you could lie about your hunger, your stomach growled loudly. “Alright. I’ll have a bath after I eat, if you’ll have it ready for me, Rose.”

“Of course.” Rose bowed her head. “I’ve already taken the liberty of having your favorite bath scents prepared just in case.”

“Thank you, Rose. I’d most certainly lose my sanity if not for your diligence.”

“I know.” Rose chuckled, watching you exit the room.

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