A S T H E prince made his way to the dining room for breakfast, he whistled a soft tune and walked with enthusiasm. As of late, things had been wonderful with Louelle. Although they were needing to keep things quiet due to obvious reasons, they'd been growing closer with the newfound romance that blossomed between them.
It had made things simpler in the castle for the prince. He was not in such a terrible mood around the king, his days no longer dragged on, and he was no longer feeling weary. She was the first person he saw in the morning and the last at night, often falling asleep beside her or with her in his arms. He never meant to fall asleep beside her, but the peace and serenity he felt when it was the two of them alone, it was impossible not to.
He figured it was also why his days had been smoother. When he and Louelle weren't on the best of terms, sleep evaded him. He was kept awake with the dreaded thoughts of her not being in his life any longer.
He did not have to worry about it any longer. His Louelle was back at his side (of course, in secret), just as she should have been all along.
Thatcher greeted the two guards stationed outside of the dining hall with a smile before entering. King James had already taken his seat, per usual, and was speaking with Barclay, also a normal occurrence.
"His Majesty." The prince bowed slightly at the king and tugged on his chair to pull it away from the table. "Lady Maryann," he addressed the lady who was already seated. She was wearing a tightened expression, seemingly annoyed.
His eyes flickered to the opposite side of the table to his true lady. He frowned upon seeing the same pinched look written on her face as well.
She met his eyes and he pushed aside the fluttering of his heart.
What did I miss? he questioned silently.
Louelle subtly shook her head and readjusted the silverware placed in front of her. Not now, was her telepathic response.
He tried his best to ignore the tension between the two sisters, aware there was some kind of squabble that happened between them. But with the snide remarks shot across the table by both parties every so often, it was difficult for him to. Instead, he attempted to focus on the conversation King James and Barclay were having. Even then, it seemed impossible for him. He was growing exhausted from constantly hearing about Spain.
Perhaps there was a solution he could draw up and present at one of the meetings, regardless of him having been told he must remain silent. The king more than likely would dismiss any idea the prince had, but Thatcher had to prove he was trying. That way, the king would see his capabilities of running the country when the time came to be, and the arrangement with Maryann could be dropped.
He enjoyed the privacy between him and Louelle, but he wanted her to know he was trying to get out of it - while keeping his position on the throne. He also was growing tired of keeping them secret, afraid to be caught by a simple breath of air.
And it would be known.
Her being his, that was.
After breakfast, Louelle was quick to exit the dining room without another glance at the prince. His frown deepened. When he'd see her later that night, he would be sure to get an answer of the unspoken hostility between the sisters.
He dropped his cloth napkin onto his emptied plate and moved his chair back to stand. But Maryann stopped him by placing a hand on his forearm.
"May I please steal you away, Thatcher?" she asked when he glanced at her expectantly.
The prince so badly wished to deny her, that no, she was unable to steal him away. However, he was aware of the king's presence and did not wish to upset him. Additionally, as he decided, Maryann was not worth the sacrifice of the king's consequences.
He forcefully smiled in a polite manner. "It would be my pleasure, Lady Maryann."
Although she was capable of doing so herself, he assisted her with getting her out of her seat, on behalf of the eyes of the king set on them. He did not dare disrespect a lady in the presence of King James and King James' fellow men. With Maryann's arms linked in his, they exited the dining room. While passing the king, the prince nodded curtly in his adieu. In return, the king smirked and winked suggestively.
He felt a wave of nausea overcome him. What was the meaning of that gesture? Was Maryann once again whisking him away as part of another plan conspired against him? What would she speak about this time? He'd spent more time with her throughout the day so as to not raise any suspicions, and he'd kept away from his Louelle for the very same reason. He was under the assumption he was doing everything right.
Hadn't he?
Without a word exchanged, the two walked to the Clemens' apartment and his heartbeat quickened the closer they arrived. What were they doing at the Clemens' apartment? He expected a comfortable walk through the gardens as the two had done every day. Maryann claimed she wished to enjoy the sun as much as possible before colder weather arrived. The prince never argued, but his stomach still had twisted with guilt whenever they entered, having memories with Louelle replay of the two playing and growing throughout the years.
"Lady Maryann," he finally spoke after finding his voice. "I believe this is where we stop."
As they slowed until they were standing still, she gazed at him with a pained expression.
Quickly, he rebounded. He stepped in front of her and held her hands as a means to comfort her. They did not feel the same as Louelle's. Maryann's hands were too warm and her grip had been too tight. They didn't fit in his like Louelle's did.
He briefly closed his eyes to dismiss the thought. Of course, the hands of Maryann would not feel the same as his Louelle's. The prince's entire relationship with the older sister was pretend - on his side of things, that was. After the castle had long been asleep, he would have the pleasure of being in the real thing with the youngest - his Louelle.
"It is not that I do not wish to enter your quarters with you Maryann -" He didn't. He really didn't - "However, it is unruly to do so. I do not wish to anger your parents or mine in the case we were found out."
Maryann was silent for a few moments while she contemplated what he'd said. She peeled her eyes away from him and down to their conjoined hands. He noted the look of disdain was still etched onto her face. It was difficult for him to read her.
Perhaps she had pulled the prince away due to the tension between the two sisters and wished to speak to him on it. He wondered if there had been an argument related to him, though he did not want to sound vain. It could have very well been a normal sisterly fight regarding a missing dress or a shoe. He figured it was what the sisters would argue for, anyhow. He'd heard plenty of Louelle's complaints regarding Maryann taking Louelle's things and claiming them as her own.
Whatever it had been, dampered Maryann's mood. She was her unusual self at breakfast. She would have usually touched him at any given chance and talked until he decided to cut his own ear off, or pour candle wax in it from one of the candles burning in the center of the table. But she hadn't. She hardly joined the political conversations surrounding them, much like she had often done. He knew she felt important and praised by others by doing so.
The prince didn't think it was an ordinary disagreement regarding jewelry and hair brushes that occurred between the two sisters. If it was, Maryann would have been the same Maryann he was slowly, but surely, getting accustomed to.
"The thing is, Prince Thatcher," Maryann began, breaking him out of his wandering thoughts. She continued, "I do not know what you wish for us. When we speak, it is only me speaking. You reply quite vaguely, and quite honestly, I do not know if you listen to me majority of the time." She took a deep breath in and firmly focused her eyes on his. "Do you find any interest in me at all?"
Thatcher felt the blood run from his face. He didn't think she had noticed his dull replies or disinterest in the gossip she'd spew. From the way she was behaving around him, he reckoned things with the arrangement were sailing smoothly. There weren't any complaints from the king, and Maryann grew more attached to him with every passing second.
"Of course," he said.
She did not seem to be convinced. "Why do you not prove it, then?" she asked in challenge.
He audibly swallowed.
"Prove it?"
"Yes. Prove to me that you find interest in me as much as I in you." She straightened her posture and a testing smirk tugged on the corner of her lips. She batted her eyes with flirtation. "Provide me with the proof I request with a kiss."
Thatcher felt as if he'd been struck by the king's whip. Breathing had become a forgotten act. His hands immediately began to clam, and he was positive with the deathly grip she held him with, she was able to feel the dankness seeping from his skin.
Maryann wanted him to kiss her. If it was Louelle in front of him, asking the same thing, he would not have hesitated to do so. But it was because he wanted to kiss Louelle at every waking and breathing moment. Maryann on the other hand, although she was a beautiful lady, he was horrified.
How did he not think of the possibility of her coming onto him or expecting an act of interest, such as a kiss? If he did comply with her request to kiss her, would she later expect more from him? Would she expect him to sneak into her bedroom and lie with her at night? On how many occasions would he have to let her down because he was with Louelle instead?
In the midst of his mind spiraling, Maryann released his hands and was ahead of him, nearly to her family's apartment.
"Maryann, please wait," he pleaded as he rushed after her.
He knew if he did not oblige with her request, word of the encounter would travel to the king who would surely have a conversation with him. He wished to avoid any confrontations with the king, especially while he was attempting to make it believable he was trying in the arrangement with Maryann.
He wiped his hands against his pant leg before grasping her elbow lightly, just as her hand reached for the doorknob. "I only want our first kiss to be special for you," he fibbed, but internally winced when he realized it was similar phrasing to what he told Louelle.
Maryann glanced over her shoulder with a saddened look. "You make me feel unwanted, Prince Thatcher."
"I do not mean for it." He tugged on her elbow gently to coerce her to turn and face him once more.
She did and defensively crossed her arms over her chest. He was sure it was to push her breasts upward in a way to seduce him, yet the expression on her face told him otherwise.
"Do you not want to kiss me?"
"Do not be daft, Maryann," he answered. "Of course, I want to kiss you."
As if something strange overcame her, Maryann threw herself into the arms of the prince. Out of instinct, he wrapped his arms around her small waist as she gripped his shirt.
"Then do it, Prince Thatcher! Kiss me! Please make me feel the wanting you have been depriving me of!"
He was at a loss of words - and a loss of action. If he was anyone else, perhaps his brother, he'd accept the opportunity of any lady begging him for a simple kiss. But he wasn't anyone else. He was crowned Prince Thatcher Darling, the man who was, and forever would be, devoted to Louelle Clemens.
By kissing Maryann, he feared the trust Louelle had in him would vanish. He had only gotten her back what seemed like minutes ago. He did not wish to risk losing what they had by giving into Maryann's demands.
Thatcher was stuck between a rock and a hard place with the decision to kiss Maryann. He did not want to kiss her. Kissing her hand was even a difficult task for him. But after she quite literally threw herself at him, he did not have a choice. If he didn't follow through, King James would find out.
The consequences that would positively follow sickened him more than the thought of kissing her.
It was why he did it. Out of fear of upsetting those involved in the arrangement, especially the king, he lowered his lips to hers.
Kissing Maryann was nothing in comparison to kissing Louelle. Nothing compared to the sensation he felt when his and Louelle's lips were connected. It was as if they shared their love through touch. The kisses shared between the two brought him to life - made him want to risk being caught, knowing it was her he'd take a consequence for.
But kissing Maryann felt like a chore. It was something required by him, unlike where with Louelle, he yearned to do it.
Maryann's lips were soft, but they weren't lips he was used to having on his. It felt wrong. It felt immoral. Kissing her made him feel as if the whippings would have felt better than it.
Word Count: 2,343