But Its Ok Using This As An Excuse To Bump Heh - Tumblr Posts

Seven Years Close

Do you accept Leon's proposal to marry? You can't tell if he's trying to get into your bed or if he has genuine feelings.

a/n: so this was supposed to be knight leon and then somewhere along the road i was lost in lana and taylor and so now you get this asjkfwfioasajwqe do you fw me???

tw: sweetie pie fluff <3

wc: 2.9k

You cast a distasteful glance at the platter of raspberry tarts being passed around the room, servants anxiously staring up at you, wide eyes silently pleading you to take one. Taking pity, you curl your fingers around one of them and slowly nibble, leaning back against the wall.

Your twin sister, Rebecca, the heir to your family legacy, is nowhere to be seen. It’s become a rare occurrence to even see her around the estate, since she’s almost always frolicking off with one of her new suitors, twirling her hair and giggling as they make such fools of themselves, performing advanced melodies on their lutes and harps.

What good is art if there is no soul behind it? In twenty one years, you have not yet met a single man with a personality outside of the court, outside of succeeding to their family’s expectations, siring heirs before retiring to their homes on the coast, living out the rest of their miserable lives listening to the redundant waves wash onto the shore.

“What’s a lovely miss like you doing here, all alone?” You don’t recognize the voice and have to look up to match the tone to the face, and the face you see is not one you wish to see. 

The prince of the kingdom, the man every woman wishes for and sees in their dreams. Leon Kensington. Believe it or not, it hurts you every time you see him, because anytime he meets your eyes, all you can remember is…

“Take it. Don’t be shy, it’s my gift to you!”

“Good evening, Your Highness,” you mumble, the once sweet fruit tasting infinitely bitter on your tongue. You resist the urge to scrape it on the back of your hand and instead offer a polite nod, shifting your weight so you’re facing away from him. “How nice to see you here.”

“There are times when I look at you and wonder what my life would be like if we had never met,” he says wistfully, completely ignoring your greeting.

“And?”

Leon smiles. “And my breath hitches, like my body’s reminding me that not meeting you would be like living a life with no air.”

“That will not work on me, dear prince,” you drone, steeling your mind against the sweet line. As much as you wish to believe it is true, you know he’s just trying to get into your bed. “I’m not as incapable as your lovers.”

“Indeed,” he agrees, stepping even closer to accommodate for the space you very deliberately just put between you two. “It is a nice gathering, yes?” You note the subtle change of subject and resist smirking.

“Nothing I wouldn’t expect from the House of Redfield,” you jest. “They are known for their majestic sceneries.”

“I didn’t know the Duchess was accustomed to the wilderness,” he replies with fake shock, arching his hand on his chest. “I always took you for a lady afraid to get your slippers wet.”

And just like that, in one mercurial swing, you’re back to irritation. 

“Duchess is a title reserved for my sister,” you hiss from behind clenched teeth. “If you put effort into every woman you woo with your irresistible charm, you might’ve known that.”

You’re mad, but you can’t pinpoint the exact reason why. It’s not like you recognize the man in front of you. He’s older, more mature, and it shows in the defined slants of his face. But you can’t forget what you’ll always remember.

You don’t wait for a response. Instead you stroll away, seething in anger, searching the crowd for your sister. When you finally spot her usually tame, brown locks, somehow already tousled, you link your arm through hers and pull her away from the Baron Wesker, who looks far too old for her.

She lets out a yelp of protest, fixes her face and wiggles her fingers in goodbye to the man, before turning to you and huffing.

“How dare you!” she whines, smoothing out her dress. “Where are you taking me?”

“We’re going home,” you grumble. “I will not stand a second longer in this wretched place.”

“Excuse you! Duchess Claire is one of your closest friends!”

“And, unfortunately for us, she’s fallen ill, and her brother is tending to her. So unless you get in the carriage, I will be forced to resort to shoving my slippers up your-”

“I get it!” she groans. “You ruin all my fun.”

Aren’t I the only one.

<><><>

When Jillian hobbles into your room, you already know that something’s been arranged. The woman raises her eyebrows and lets out an amused chuckle when you groan.

“Are you far too busy to be bothered by His Royal Majesty himself?” she muses, handing you an envelope tightly clutched in her frayed hands. Streaks of gray already line her dusty hair. She’s old enough to be your mother, so, lacking a parental figure, you and Nysa consider her to be. 

“Your uncle has requested you attend the-”

“Absolutely not.” 

Jillian frowns. “Child.”

You’ve already skimmed the letter, and after getting past the first line, your mind has already been made up. Of all the things your uncle could force you to do under the illusion of ‘it’s what’s best for the family’, this was one you simply could not comply with.

“The arrangement for alliance between House Kensington and House Chambers? Seriously? That isn’t even my true name!” you protest, pointing directly to where the loopy handwriting, signed by the prince himself, ends.

“This is not an offer, girl,” Jillian lectures in return, her long, simple ivory dress sweeping the dust from the wooden planks. “You are expected to attend. Tonight.”

“What if I choose not to?” you reply defiantly, glaring up at her. She looks down at you for a moment, fingers tightening around the roll of newspapers in her hand before frowning and immediately proceeding to whack your back with the paper.

You scramble from your chair and she chases you around the room, pummeling you until you finally agree, panting heavily. For someone who looks old enough to be Queen, she sure is quick on her feet.

Later that evening, her nimble fingers thread your hair into complex twists, weaving in strands of worn-out gold, like a tapestry not quite finished.

“I wore these when I met my lover,” she whispers as she works, her faded eyes finding yours in the mirror. “He said I looked radiant, outshining the sun itself.” She presses a soft, tentative kiss to the top of your head. “Do not lose this one, child. I only wish to see you happy.”

You can’t tell if she’s talking about the braids or if she’s talking about Leon. Giving your hand to him in marriage seems like the worst possible idea you’ve ever had, and although you are sure you will deny everything Leon thinks of you, some part of your mind wants to make this woman happy, wants to gain her approval, wants to see her smile again, because you did this for her, no? You’ve done everything you’ve ever done for her.

The self-defense training, the balls, galas, everything you dreaded growing through your teenage years, it was all so much more tolerable with Jillian’s comfort, however weary.

That’s exactly why you put on your brightest, most stunning smile as you approach His Royal Highness, his wife, and of course, his two eldest sons.

Steven, heir to the throne, sulks in his chair, lazily slouched with his feet draped on his armrest. He is the image of one of the seven deadly sins; sloth. 

You were raised in a family where sins were forbidden and to even think of them would require serious action. Rebecca chose to ignore your uncle’s rules after your parents’ passing while you strove to stick to them, knowing that if it were not for your uncle, there would never be a future for either of you.

“Your Majesty,” you finish, curtsying in front of Leon. You feel his gaze on your neck, dropping everywhere on your body, and you feel Rebecca tense besides you, because she doesn’t know why he’s not paying attention to her.

You do. He hasn’t taken his eyes off of you since you walked in. 

While your uncle converses with Their Majesties for wedding plans, you all are excused to mingle in the common room. You realize that this is the perfect chance to leave Leon alone, therefore providing you with solitary comfort, but then Jillian flashes through your mind, and you realize you have to make this work, however uneasy you feel.

His eyebrow arches as you approach to stand next to him, while your sister shoots off to bat her eyelashes at Steven.

“You’re much more boring than you usually are,” Leon drones, thumbing the sleeves of his linen jacket. “I was expecting something more extravagant.” 

“If you wanted extravagant,” you retort, “you should’ve picked one of your bedchamber women to marry.”

“You think I want to marry you?” Leon scoffs, as if the idea’s never crossed his mind. You hope it hasn’t. “Heavens no. This is for the sake of the throne.”

“Your father thinks marrying into our bloodline is best for the kingdom?” You restrain from making a sarcastic sound of your own. “Pardon, but he’s thoroughly mistaken.”

“How so?” Leon twists to face you, eyes sparkling with a newfound curious light.

“Truly? A bastard orphan and a woman who’s already shared her bed with multiple other men,” you drawl. “Is that the ideal legacy you’d like to uphold?”

“We would be in shambles without you,” he admits, looking down at you, thin, golden eyelashes framing his pensive eyes. “And even if you don’t wish to marry me, I assure you that I will do my best to be whatever you need.”

“I… suppose I can reciprocate that,” you stumble over your words, finally coming to some kind of unspoken agreement. At your flushed state, Leon smirks.

“What if I asked for your firstborn child?”

You can’t hold back a grin. “What, are you suggesting you participate in witchcraft?”

He chuckles, a gentle, unrestrained sound that seems to resonate through you. “No, of course not. I was simply curious.”

“Hm,” you hum, debating the reality of the question. “You are the prince, yes? I have sworn my undying loyalty to you, so if you asked for my child, however heart wrenching, it is my duty to hand whatever you wish over.”

“Heart wrenching?” Leon pauses, then shrugs, laughing softly. “Have you forgotten already, my dear? Your firstborn child is mine either way.”

“Oh.” You flush an even deeper red, realizing the true meaning of his words. “Yes… I suppose that is correct.”

“Why are you always like this around me?” he queries after a beat of silence. “You seem… tense?”

“I’m not tense,” you assure, far too quickly to convince him.

“Don’t lie,” he says, voice lower, quieter. It has a new level of intimacy you weren’t prepared for. “Tell me what you are thinking about.”

“Right now?” 

He nods. “Right this moment.”

You inhale sharply. “I’m… thinking about our ceremonial day back when we were in school.”

Leon tilts his head to the side. “Why on Earth would you be thinking of that?”

“I have this image of you in my mind, as a small boy, with mud in your suit and branches in your hair, and you came up to me.”

“I… handed you a leaf,” he continues slowly, as if just remembering the memory. “Yes, I recall that day. You were wearing that lovely pink dress.”

“Do you…”

“Recall that I asked for your hand in marriage?”

There’s a beat of silence before you hesitantly answer, “Yes?”

“Can I ask why this is bothering you?”

“You are so… different, now,” you rush to finish, wanting to get all your thoughts out quickly. “You’re not the same Leon.”

“Are you the same?” he asks in return. “It has been seven years. A lot has changed, between the two of us.”

“We were so close,” you whisper, slightly dazed.

“We are close now, too,” he says, but you get the sense he’s not talking about emotionally. He’s moved to sit near you, breath fanning your nose, eyes searching yours with a familiar warmth, yet deeper. A spark stirs in your core, fading embers rekindling.

"The boy who gave me leaves cared deeply," you say softly. "As I hope the man does."

Leon smiles. "As does the woman. You still love me?"

You scoff. “Still? You’re still as cocky as ever.”

Leon grins boyishly. “Some things will never change, hm?” His hand finds yours, fingers entwining. But where innocent affection left off, desire awakens, smoldering beneath your skin.

Eyeing lips but a breath apart, Leon whispers, "May I?"

Your pulse quickens as you nod. As his lips meet yours, the fluttering flame within blossoms into a radiant glow, spreading warmth through your veins with sentiments left unspoken for too long. You finally realize that avoiding your past was the worst mistake you’ve ever made.

When he pulls away from you, curling his fingers along the side of your cheek, the longing in his face is evident, like he’s finally seeing something he forced himself to block out for so long. 

“Why did I ever let you go?” he asks, voice feather soft, but you understand he’s asking himself, pitching his regret. His expression is gentle as his gaze shifts to your hair. “Was your hair always golden?”

“I do think you have been paying attention to me over the years,” you muse, lying your head against the sofa. “I’m flattered.”

“Who didn’t?” Leon arches a golden eyebrow. “Surely you’ve noticed the amount of suitors trailing you around everywhere you go? Just last month I rode past your estate and there was a line of men waiting to call on you.”

“And they were all such boring lads,” you drawl, groaning just from the memory. Leon leans on his fist, propping himself up against the wood to face you.

“No one is as charming as me,” he says sweetly. “It pleases me to hear that you’ve finally realized this.”

“Yes, Leon,” you manage through snickers. “You are indeed very charming.”

“Yes, very well, go on,” he replies, the corner of his mouth lifting. “What else do you find lovely about me?”

“You’re truly asking for this?” Leon nods eagerly, so you consider him for a moment.

"Let's see..." you ponder thoughtfully. "Your ego knows no bounds.”

Leon pretends to wince. "You wound me, my dear!" He declares with feigned drama.

"Your hair remains equal parts charming and disastrous, as in days of your youth." He runs a hand through his tousled locks, shifting them so the sun hits them perfectly, an effervescent glow around them.

"Your smile is as radiant as the summer sun. Your eyes are as warm as a crackling hearth," you continue, gazing deep into azure depths.

"My, such flattery! When did you become such a poet?" he quips, returning your easy smile.

You cock your head sideways. "There is one quality more that makes you singular amongst men..."

Raising his eyebrows, Leon leans forward as if onto a delicious secret. "And what quality is that, pray tell?"

"Your boundless arrogance knows no competition!" you exclaim as Leon clutches his chest in exaggerated fashion.

“Wounded yet again!” he whines, but there’s a playful twinkle in his eyes. “And here I was, blindly assuming your adoration for me was sincere.” 

“Of course it is,” you say dotingly. “But someone must keep that ego in check.”

“Who better for the job than my future wife?” 

You tilt your head, regarding him with amusement. "Is that a proposal, my prince?”

"Would you accept, if it were?" Leon returns casually, yet beneath you spot profound hope. Perhaps there is a way to not only get what you want, but also to win Jillian’s praise.

“Yes. Yes, I would.”

“Lovely,” your uncle states from across the room. You peek over the top of the cushion to see your uncle and Their Majesties standing behind you. You don’t know how long they’ve stood there, and you’re not sure you want to. “Then the wedding will be set.”

“Do you know where Steven is?” I hear the Queen murmur.

“I’m quite sure he disappeared off to his chamber.”

The Queen sighs. “With the girl?”

“With the girl,” the King confirms. “I suppose this would also mean that we will need to plan their wedding, as well?”

“Splendid!” your uncle coos. “The royal family will be covering all expenses, correct?”

You assume they nod, because your uncle starts to gush about all the decorations and banquets and how your wedding will be the most stunning wedding of the century.

You cast a wary look at Leon. “Are you still sure you want to marry me?” Leon rests his hand on top of yours, looking at you with utmost sincerity. 

“Are you being serious? Because, darling, I would love nothing more than to spend the rest of my life in love with you.”