The Very Thought of You. (Closed for TheRPGuru)

“Some people are born more fortunate than others, such is the case with me, I suppose. Though I am quite convinced otherwise.” The blonde tasted the words as she said them, large green eyes looking at herself in a mirror as her maids were behind her, one hand from a woman held her corset in place, whilst another pulled at the lacings. When there was a jerk, Emma hiccoughed a desperate breath and continued. “What little girl doesn’t dream of growing up to be a princess? But some palaces are not at all what you think, even a palace can be a prison.”

She stood looking at herself in the mirror, a version of herself that looked quite a bit more grown up than she’d ever been in her life. The princess watched as her lady in waiting adjusted her breasts, or at least the swell of them over her corset so they would be more pronounced in the dress that had been picked for her. As the sheath slide over her head, Emma sighed and tried to turn her head toward the person she was speaking with, he’d be behind a screen, as he always was.

“You know, some princesses don’t have a servant to walk them downstairs, or taste their food, or even escort them around at a ball. You are quite the looming figure. You intimidate anyone fun that would approach me.” The girl chided before jumping a bit when a pin was placed amid her blond ringlets and scraped her scalp. “You may as well come out, I’m not in my all together anymore.” Emma flapped her hand toward another woman motioning to her to fold up the divider that had been placed in its usual place. The man behind it had been her constant escort these last few years, but in her youth, he’d been a playmate for the most precious jewel in world. Far more valuable than the rubies and gold in the crown that was being placed in her hair, carefully perched around the nest of yellow tresses, the maid on a stool to stabilize the decoration. She felt like a doll, being posed this way and that, both hands being held out; while one maid each put on her white elbow length gloves.

“Well, they’ve sent their emissaries to investigate their investment.” Emma confided in the man behind her, the tone in her voice was one that neither her tutors, nor her father would be fond of. It was sarcastic and bored, something that had she looked younger would have been described as petulant. She’d been kept in the trappings of a child for so long that, Emma barely noticed at what point she’d grown up. Everything in her life had been about preventing that. Her closet was filled with frilled petticoats and high collars, little girl colors of yellow, white, pale pink. But she looked at the woman in the mirror with something akin to amusement and surprise.

“I don’t think that this much skin has ever seen the light of day.” White gloved fingers ran themselves over the hills of cleavage before poking at the pale white flesh and laughed when it merely stayed in place thanks to the straps and boning and fabrics that were meant to keep it there. Emma turned toward her friend, paint being applied over her eyes, her cheeks, her lips. She’d been about to say something, but the head lady in waiting shushed her so that the shining paint could be brushed over her lips, making her usual pert pink smile something more of a sultry red.

Darkened lashes brushed upward finally and Emma reached out her hand for her servant to help her down from her small platform so he could balance her while the maids put on her shoes.

“What do you think?” Emma quarried, trying to resist looking back at the mirror to examine herself further. “They’ve painted up my face to look like those baboons that they brought from Africa, with the bright red bottoms.” This was where she puckered her lips at him playfully as they walked from the room, trying to emulate the female’s advertisement that they were ready to mate. But she couldn’t hold the face for long, because Emma started laughing, resting her hand in his once they came to a set of steps. One of the more extreme measures put into place in her home. She wasn’t to be damaged in any way, and to walk down the steps always required an additional person to ensure her safety.

“You know, the king has sent his men.” She whispered conspiratorially to her friend and escort. “I’ve been expressly told that I’m to look sultry, but innocent. I’m to make small talk, however nothing flirtatious. I’m to be the dutiful virgin, in the trappings of…whatever it is that I am.” Emma looked down over her dress, lace and satin. “I’m nervous.”

Marcus had been born into servitude, his family came from a long line of royal servants. As a child he had been chosen as a playmate for Princess Emma, as lucky of a job as servant could get. Marcus was luckier still that Emma wasn't cruel or violent towards her playthings as other rulers were rumored to be. She and Marcus grew together to be fast friends. Marcus even got treated with special royal privilege being friends of the princess. Though he was a slave technically, he had hit the jackpot as far as it could be taken.

Once Marcus reached puberty he was taken from Emma as a playmate, and training instead to be a guardian. He became a companion and a protector from anyone or anything that could mean her harm. Kingdoms often shared uneasy alliances these days and the potential danger to Emma followed her everywhere, even if she mostly ignored it. After all, it wasn't her concern, it was his.

Marcus spent night and day with Emma, never being far from her side even when she showered or shit. Or like today, when she was being dressed for her first royal meeting with her future kingdom's emissaries. She had long since been promised to the Prince of the Neighboring kingdom of Tar Valon, a promised marriage to unite the two kingdoms and strengthen the peace in the land. Today she was to be presented to a pair of visitors to judge her worthiness as a bride and future queen.

Emma wasn't shy about expressing how little she cared about this event. Throughout her fitting, she commented on the skin she was to show, and the makeup on her face. Marcus hid behind a screen, as it was unacceptable for him to see her in her short clothing, but every remark she made had him smirking to himself.

Finally Emma ordered the screen removed, and she stood before Marcus. As much as she made fun of her little situation, she did look amazing. As regal and as beautiful as she had ever looked, it would take the breath away of any man that saw her. Even Marcus, who could never and should never think of her in such ways, felt his pulse speed up just a little.

For her Marcus must always be strong, like now, when she was nervous he was to be her rock. For it was his duty and he would die before he failed her. She had given him the most wonderful life a servant could ever have, and he owed her his loyalty for that.

He smiled and came to her, taking her hands gently in his. "You have nothing to be worried about Emma. You are a vision to behold. If anyone should be nervous...it is the king's men." He assured her. "You shall have their blood racing, of that, I have no doubts."

Marcus is wearing:

Emma gave Marcus a long look, trying to decipher if she should believe him or not. She halted her first step when he told her that she would have the King’s men’s blood racing. Merely pausing on their first step down, then she skipped to the second and paused again. She was obviously thinking that over, hesitating as she did in her tutoring lessons on if she wanted to ask the question or not. After all, there was a point where one was inquisitive and it was quite another to be plainly stupid. She received a fine education in music, maths, art, languages, etiquette, geography and much more. But her experience with men was little to none. The little being Marcus himself. She preferred his company, maybe she was a little vain that way, she had her ladies and when she’d been small several of the children from the kitchen’s staff had come to play with her. But she preferred men. The boy who always prepared her horse for a ride, the footmen that served her, the staunch butler who snuck her sweets from the kitchen. She’d been showered with attentions her whole life, for being nothing more than what she was.

“You make it sound as if they’ll be slathering over me like a stuck and roasted pig with an apple in its mouth.” Emma finally said, clutching his hand more firmly to continue down the stairs. “I’d be much more comfortable with an afternoon visit, maybe hunting. This seems altogether too formal, and my mother has been harping on me for days.” Obviously, Marcus would know that because he’d been in the room for all the talks she’d been given. About morals, about decorum, about watching what she said, watching what she ate, being the very picture of perfection. “Do you really think we will pull the wool over their eyes? With all this?” Emma again attempted to press at the swell of flesh bubbling out from her dress, but gave up the ghost of even shifting her breasts an inch. Everything was much too tight for any movement.

As they came to the landing, the footmen were standing there to escort Marcus and herself to dinner. Here was where she was supposed to let go of his hand, and she did, but instead of walking freely she tucked her hand into the crook of his elbow, a more casual and comfortable way to be walked around her own home.

“What do you think of all this?” The young blonde leveled her green eyes on him yet again. “Why must I be inspected anyway? The King has finally decided he’ll have me and now I’m to be paraded about…” There was a long pause just before she got to the crux of the matter. “We will leave this place you know, if they approve.” Emma said it cautiously. “Father’s told me you are to go with me, he’s not assured of Tar Valon’s safety for me.” She was in a very delicate situation as the only child of two rulers. Her mother had come to her father with the crown of Lochmere, and thus the kingdom had merged with Shadowlore. It had been a happy marriage of two countries that would continue its peace with its neighbors once she was a Tar Valon bride. But the building of empires was only peaceful within its borders, there were many who didn’t want to see so much power in the hands of one girl. Pausing at the decorative door of the main hall, Emma tried to pull in a deep breath, as deep as she could, given the trappings she was sporting and blew it out.

“Right.” Emma unwound her hand from Marcus’ arm, and they instantly went to pat her hair that couldn’t possibly be out of place. And as the door opened and she walked forward, the room paused. Music stopped, people who had been conversing were silenced, even those serving tables straightened up and looked at her. It was already hot in the room, but Emma merely put a wan smile of indifference on her face as the muted sound of gloved clapping greeted her as she walked fully into the room. A gray-haired man, Tar Valon’s representative in their court came forward, and took her hand and gave it a small kiss, before turning her to another impossibly large man. Dark haired, a scar running across his face. He didn’t have the easy smile of the courtiers, but he attempted one that looked like a grimace.

“Greetings, Princess.” She gave a slow head nod, but tried to catch Marcus’ eye as she did, raising her eyebrows as if to ask. ‘This? This is what they send?’

Her hand was passed from one man to another, and the foreboding emissary started to escort her across the room, she didn’t have to look back to know that Marcus was following. Though she was unsure of the look that she was receiving from the titled gentleman, he did bring her toward the door that would lead out to the Garden. Thank goodness for small favors, she felt as if she would roast if told she was going to have to dance somewhere in the crowd.

“The King has told me to send you his greetings. There are many things to work out in preparation for your journey. But there is a pressing issue that he'd like me to clear up.” To her surprise the man looked back at her servant. “There have been rumors you see, about your...man.”

Emma’s eyebrows drew together. “About my man?” This had her turning around to Marcus, retrieving her fingers and letting them clutch together in front of her. But she couldn’t hide the smile she was trying to keep in check.

“Did you know there were rumors about my man, Marcus?” She was having a spot of fun, which her mother said was forbidden. “And what exactly are the rumors of this man exactly?” Her green eyes were popping open with feigned innocence. “Marcus, have you been causing a scandal?”

(OCC: Lol Paltrow is a little old for this role aint she? )

Marcus smiled and turned to lead Emma out of the room, holding her by the hand as she so often encouraged. Emma liked touching him when she could, holding his hand, or nocking her palm into his elbow which she did once they reached the first landing. He didn't understand why, but it was obvious to Marcus that she felt more comfortable that way. Much in the way she had always been more comfortable running in the fields rather than practicing her curtsy. Emma was special, she was a princess who rarely acted as such. That's what Marcus found so unique about her.

Marcus shrugged at her question, "It's not really my place. I suppose your husband to be merely wants to ensure you can meet the standards of his land? Tar Valon is very different from Lochmere or even Shadowlore, I cannot speak for certain but this may be nothing more than a typical custom for them." He suggested gently. Then he smirked and wiggled his elbow in her grip. "Just bare with it, you'll be out of that contraption they call a corset soon enough and you be able to take deep breaths once more."

Marcus averted his eyes as Emma's hands came up to try and tuck her lushious looking breasts deeper into her clothing. He always averted his gaze when she did something like that. It was not his place to see her womanly bits, nor pay attention to them when she did such things to point them out. He smiled at her again once they got to the door and she tried to take a deep breath but found it difficult.

Emma proceeded into the event hall, warm with the people and food being brought to tables. Marcus held himself back just a step to let Emma lead him around and allow him to take his place as her guard. He watched Emma meet with the tall men who represented Tar Valon, noticing her questioning eye at him but not giving heed that he saw.

The question of rumors came up as the approached the open doorway which lead to the palace garden. The heat of the room was abated somewhat by the fresh air. Marcus felt himself tense but a bit, he didn't like the talk of rumors as it always lead somewhere unpleasant. His eyes widened when he heard that the rumors were about him. There were never rumors about him.

Emma played it off casually, almost amused that such a thing could be brought toward her servant and guard. Marcus glanced at the Tar Valon man and waited to hear what the rumor upon his head would be. For a moment tense fear knotted his stomach, a rumor about him could ruin this chance for the Tar Valon King to agree to the union with Emma. He would absolutely die if he had done something to ruin her chances at success. Yet despite his fear, he could think of nothing that would cause any alarm.

(OOC: Don't wanna step on your toes here, so I'll let you reveal the rumor.)

(OOC: I LOVED HER CLOTHES! I can’t help it. She looked so pensive. *SIGHS* There is your fresh-faced virgin. )

Marcus absolutely didn’t find anything remotely funny. She liked him much better when he laughed at her jokes. But here in thehall he was supposed to be invisible. She’d had years of Marcus standing behind her when young men had put themselves in line on her dance cards. Emma able to confess to him the men who were ridiculously abhorrent at dancing, or rather their version of dancing which was stepping on her toes so often that she felt her feet had swelled to twice their size.

The problem also was that Tar Valon’s emissary also refused to look at the servant with her, even while accusing him of who knew what. She’d run into that before. Unfortunately, Marcus was like an extension of herself, she could hardly remember a day without him. They’d shared all sorts of childhood illnesses, she’d made him listen as she tried to drone on with the small talk she was expected to know and participate in, he’d repaired her dolls, and had improvised shoelaces and excuses when she would come in late. But she’d put herself into quite a pickle as neither of the men spoke or even acknowledged each other. With a frustrated sort of sigh, Emma straightened herself.

“This is some sort of indelicate test then?” Emma finally asked. “I’ve eyes on me, My Lord. On all sides. If there are rumors you can be assured that they are false. My life is an open and well-perused book.” Now she was every inch a princess, there was no muffled smile or even a wink of amusement. “You can assure your master I’m untouched. By both the hands of my man and by your line of questioning.” That notched her chin up, and she gave a short but obvious nod of dismissal. “I’ve many people I must see before you lock me up with your company.”

And there she was done with the man. That was one of the perks of being in such high regard, when she looked away from him, it was final. Her eyes gazed around the room, smiling at women who gave her small waves. She relaxed a little when the emissary left, and dutifully she went to greet her Father and Mother, other members of the court, and of course she danced. She preferred impromptu frolicking in the flowers to a pavane. But she started in with a smile, the five-step dance taking her away from Marcus, and as she touched the fingers of the partners she was passed between, even giggling when girls with their dresses, like the petals of flowers, twirled around her.

By the time, she came off the floor, her cheeks were red with pleasure and she reached for a glass of wine that had been brought to her, handing it toward Marcus as she’d been trained to do.

“I’m starved. Get a little bit of something so I can sit in the gardens.” She told the liveried man with the flagon of wine, before she went for the doors yet again, the cool air was a delight, and Emma could do as she pleased on the paths through the gardens, she skipped a little ahead of her friend, tossing herself onto a stone bench. She closed her eyes for a long moment and then looked up at Marcus.

“What is The King worried about? Stolen kisses?” It still plagued her mind, “Rumors…” She snorted at that, exactly when could she have stolen a kiss? There were servants on all sides, and her ladies, and her parents, and the court. “Rumors of you and I, it’s ridiculous.” Emma put her chalice to her lips and drank deeply. Though as she repeated it to herself, she begun to think it over. She looking him over in silence behind her glass, from his shoes to his eyes, traveling slowly. She stared into his own for a long moment, before putting her glass aside, Emma reached out her hand for him.

“Take off my gloves.” Wiggling her fingers at him she tried to entice him, though it had been a command. “It’s far too stifling in there for them.”

(OOC: LMAO She looks like Leslie Knope )

Marcus went completely flushed with the thought of what the rumor could be. He realized the implication of what the Tar Valon men spoke of by Emma's comments. Unlike most of the servants, Marcus wasn't stupid, because he had to be by her side at all times he had been present for all of her schooling. At least until their middling years where he went to learn ways of the blade while she learned the ways of the pen. How such rumors could even start blew Marcus' mind. He was but a servant, and no one of such royal blood would ever dream of touching a servant in such a way. Royalty must breed royalty, not filth.

It haunted Marcus through out the evening, even as he followed her through the dance floor. Marcus dancing with no one, yet keeping himself in line with her steps as she danced with other invite guests. Once Emma tired herself out with dancing she stepped from the floor and he was right there beside her. A suitor brought her a glass of wine, which she fluidly handed to Marcus. Marcus took a sniff and a taste, part of his training was to test for poisons in her food and drink. Dangerous, yet quite pleasant because Marcus got to try foods he never would have gotten as a normal servant. Rich meats, and cheeses far beyond the reach of your standard maid or stable hand. Yet another reward given to him for his companionship of the Princess.

As the Princess sipped her wine, she bemused herself with the questions regarding the aforementioned rumors. Marcus tried to keep his face from turning red, but the way Emma looked at him, made such a task impossible. "Who knew stolen kisses could spark such things?" He told her softly. "We were but kids then, you wanted to know why the adults always kissed." He smiled weakly, "Twas a shame we almost got caught. Perhaps we did, and thus the rumor made it's way to Tar Valon? You know what they say about rumors, every new ear only makes the secret bigger." He explained.

Emma looked at him over her wine glass, seemingly analyzing him. Her gaze roamed over his body before she locked eyes with him. Marcus could see the beautiful glint, and the spark of a naughty idea sure to get her into trouble. She set her glass on a nearby stand and held her hand out toward him, wiggling her fingers and demanding her gloves removed.

He took her hand without hesitation and gently pulled her long gloves off. He obeyed every order without question, at this point he basically did them automatically. Without thinking and without questioning. Once her gloves were free he gently folded them and tucked them into his breast pocket. "Feel better?" He asked, "Let me know if your little fingers get cold and I'll give them back." He teased softly, winking at her.

(OOC: SHHHHHH! HAHAHA)

“Sure, we were children, though most would argue I’m a child still. Harmless kisses between children is nothing to worry about.” It amused her to try out a few of her feminine wiles on him. She didn’t often get the opportunity to do so. There were always a handful of men at the ready for her to try out her coltish legs in courtly flirtation, but Marcus wasn’t one of them. Though what he’d said was true. She abhorred waiting for anything, her mother, father, tutors, ladies, the whole household revolved around Emma and what pleased her. She’d been blessed with doting if overprotective parents. Once she’d become aware of kissing, it was just a matter of time before Marcus was dragged into it.

Emma had a clear memory of her demand for a kiss between lessons, the two of them looking at a globe that she was studying and mapping coordinates. It had been a brief thing, they’d heard the door handle give way and they’d both planted their bottoms on the stools they’d been given on opposite sides of the globe.

She’d not seen much by way of intimacy in kissing. Her hand was kissed, her cheeks were kissed, once or twice a lusty knight had tried to back her into a corner in order to deliver something much more than that. But Marcus was as much the guardian of her chastity as he was anything else. Frustrating at times, no matter what screens were put up, that never stopped ladies from gossiping, or Emma asking about encounters that were had about the castle. Lady or maid, both thrilled her with stories, ones that she was sure Marcus had been thankful for a screen between them when either talked about a poor performance by a lad. Emma had been thankful once or twice that he’d been semi present when it had been talked about, otherwise her eyebrows wiggling in his direction would have been lost when they spied a lord who'd given his best to one of the older misses.

Emma waited patiently as Marcus removed her gloves and she was able to fetch up her glass again, sending him a smile when he told her he would have them in safe keeping.

“Oh, feel free to keep them.” She told him flippantly. “They will look stunning with your attire.” That made her giggle, but she wasn’t getting up to walk back to the party, torches were up amid the trees and bushes and the path would wind around for a while. Eventually she would head back, but she was going to avail herself of her freedom before she was supposed to go back to the man whom represented Guy de Piers, the King of Tar Valon. He was an imposing figure, which made her think that he’d been sent for just that reason. She had paintings of course of the King of Tar Valon, but she’d never been to the court. She knew the history; his mother had been called “The She-Wolf of Valon”. A title that made her quite an imposing figure, though it was because the woman had been shrewd, beautiful, manipulative and cruel. There was a chance that her issue could be the same, though she knew that The She-Wolf had been executed when the current king had been quite young. Still, it could be a test. All of it probably was. Emma wondered how she was being graded.

“I’m afraid I don’t know what I’m being evaluated on this evening.” She finally shared her thoughts, she’d been walking and thinking a few steps ahead of Marcus, until this inclusion into her mind. “I can’t do anything except vehemently deny we’ve been together. Why even ask?” It was courtly intrigue that she’d never been good with. For a girl who appreciated gossip and stories, when it came to the game she played, it was one where she could lose her head in the end.


“What does The King value? Candor or humor? Innocence or experience? Am I supposed to laugh over stories of conquest, or do I merely blush and hide behind my fan? I’ve been instructed on everything, but nothing. And before I go to sit with that man I’ve got to have what I will do in my head.” She was determined, now when she paused, she started to pace near the sleeping blooms, having lost their sunlight they were at rest, unlike the Princess.

“What would you want?” The blonde turned to her confidant, offering out her glass to him once more, so she could work through a plan.

Marcus pondered along with Emma. It was clear that Tar Valon was testing her, perhaps trying to shake her or test her willingness to this union. Tar Valon was a nation that valued strength and confidence, perhaps that is why they brought up such rumors, to see how Emma would react to it. They had a history of strong and often brash leaders, anything less would most likely be confused as weak and therefore unacceptable to them. Marcus never understood the need for such a union between their kingdoms, they already had peace, what need was a marriage to keep it? Surely there were other kingdoms more war hungry to try and make peace with, but that was a level of royal politics that Marcus just didn't understand and frankly wasn't his place to question.

Emma pondered aloud as they slowly strolled deeper into the gardens, guided by lit candles in the outdoor brazers. Then she turned to him and asked him, "What would you want?"

Marcus stopped in midstep, taken off guard by the question. He had never thought of a woman in such a way, well that wasn't completely true. He had fantasies of course, but never acted upon them. He had let his eyes wonder upon women before, but never did anything about the stirring he felt in his loins.

"Me?" He asked softly. He shook his head, "I don't know I never thought about that." The look on Emma's face told him that she wasn't about to accept that as an answer. He sighed and shrugged, "Confidence I suppose. I would want a woman to be strong and to know what she wants. Tar Valon might be looking for something like that. You know the history of their leaders, perhaps they are testing you with false rumors to see if you are strong enough to handle them. I think you handled it well, almost as if it were a joke that the concept alone was outrageous. That would suggest that you are confident in yourself to know that weak false rumors can do nothing to you." He explained.

"I don't understand the royal politics nor the need to play head games like that, but I believe you handled it well. If I were them, I would be pleased." He paused and looked at her, "But if I were you, I am not sure I would want them pleased. You never did like people making decisions for you, and this marriage is a decision made for you. If I may step out of line, what harm would come from not pleasing Tar Valon? If the King decides to pass of this marriage, would it cause great harm, or would it merely free you to do and marry whomever you wish?" He asked.

Emma was much like her own father. She was headstrong, she very much liked to be outdoors instead of inside listening to endless idle chatter, she was smart, witty, friendly but with a temper that could flay the flesh of anyone who danced about with her rage. And she valued solid advice, from anyone. Low born or high, and recognized when either could be of service to her. For all their years, together, Marcus had always offered her a different perspective, solid counsel and usually followed her line of thinking better than anyone. Because he knew her better than anyone.

She paused in her pacing to stand still and process what he was offering her. She smiled in the dim light when he told her she was headstrong because frankly, that didn’t do it justice. The blonde put her hands on her hips to listen, nodding slightly with his evaluation of what she’d done in the hall to dispel the rumors. And when he assured her that if he had been Tar Valon he would have been pleased, there was a small part of her that was smug with the satisfaction that she was playing this game well. And, another voice in her head that shivered at the fact that Marcus said he was pleased with her. All things considered, Marcus had rarely been asked if he approved of something. His life was black and white from her perspective. He was to guard her against all foes no matter what they would be. But she had an acute fondness for her friend and she liked to think he felt the same.

Emma was basking in the warm feelings that his words had wrought forth when Marcus continued, and though they were the same age, she realized that life was much simpler in Marcus’ world.

“If I may step out of line, what harm would come from not pleasing Tar Valon? If the King decides to pass of this marriage, would it cause great harm, or would it merely free you to do and marry whomever you wish?"

She blinked a bit taken aback at his assumptions, and they stirred in her a few frustrations. Not at him, but at the world she herself lived in alone, no matter how many brushes Marcus had on the fringes.

“You think I would like to marry someone at war with my father? Do you know how many acts of revenge could be taken out of my flesh? I marry Tar Valon because he is our peaceful ally, this alliance will enable us, upon my parent’s death to defend all three countries from those on the outside. And say I do not please him, and we marry, my husband is judge, jury and executioner in his lands. And that is to say nothing of what could happen to you, my dear Marcus.” Emma stepped forward, her small hands resting over his heart. “You will travel with me, but surely you know that Tar Valon won’t stand for a subject that values my wellbeing over his orders. You’ll be sent home, but Father has assured me that you’ll not be left uncompensated. You’ll be knighted, you could do whatever you wished from there. And I will be very much alone.”

But the words brought her closer because they were painful. She couldn’t remember a time when she’d been separated from his company. And it was also with discomfort that she realized there could have been a reason for the rumors. They’d already put traction on the awareness of Marcus in her world, a hand wound up over his shoulder and along the tight cords of his neck to play with the short hairs at his nape.

“I will never be able to marry whom I wish, I can only hope for a peaceful union. But never love, I’ll never have that.” There was a sadness, but acceptance. It was what it was, but she enjoyed looping her fingers around Marcus’ neck.

“What say we play like children again?” Emma asked. “You say that you’d want confidence, someone who knew what they wanted? Then I say that I want to be kissed.”

Marcus could tell that she was pained by his words, but not in a way that he would have thought. Emma was a strong willed girl, always was, she rarely took no for an answer and it had led her into more mischief than her fair share. As they grew older though, Marcus watched more and more of her freedoms get taken away. He began to understand the cost of royal blood. From a servant's point of view, living in a palace and having everything catered for you seemed like gold. Marcus watched as Emma's life slowly got taken from her, every choice pre-made long before she could choose for herself. Her husband long since chosen for her, a man she never even met. She lived under constant watch, so she couldn't even enjoy the luxury of privacy most of the time.

She stepped toward him and brought her arms up to curl her fingers around his neck. She loved holding him like this, a special embrace he had only ever seen her use for him. Normally he would have relaxed and let her touch him however she wished, but this was not the time nor place for such things. Especially in light of the current rumors.

Marcus frowned as she demanded a kiss. "Princess, we can be seen, and perhaps with the rumors it might be better if we don't." He whispered, "At least not until after the party. Once the emissaries ride off, and we are back in your quarters I shall kiss you all night if that is your wish. But...in the interest of the situation....perhaps it is best to wait?" He suggested, knowing that if she insisted he would not fight her.

However his job was to protect her, first and foremost. Even if in this case, it was to protect her from herself. Tar Valon was most certainly looking for her, and perhaps watching her even now. This embrace alone could cause issues, but a kiss would seal their opinions and possibly cause major conflict. He hoped she would see that and they could return to the party with a strong face.

"Besides. You don't have your gloves on, and your fingers are rather cold." He teased with a smirk, trying to make light of his previous resistance.

Her hands fell slowly back to her sides, there was no way to hide from the disappointment nor the sting of rejection. It wasn’t a pain that she was used to feeling, she had to try and push down the immediate reaction to Marcus’ solid plan of not doing the things she was accused of. But as she stepped back, she felt stiff and mechanical, her eyes looking at Marcus and then away again, to pick up the heavy skirts of her gown away from her feet as she turned to walk back to the party with purpose.

The path was much shorter, not so winding now that she knew her destination and what she would say. Everyone had strong hopes that she would be a competent and steady Queen, eventually a Queen of three countries that were depending on her for their future hopes of peace and tranquility. But currently she was coming from a place of weakness, Marcus was right. And Emma knew that if she gave this ground now, she’d never be able to recover it.

When she again burst into the hall again, this time there was no fanfare, no stopping of music and her sharp eyes were looked across the room to spy the gray-haired man that had greeted her immediately on her arrival and she walked toward him, dropping the bottom of her dress so that her strides looked more like a glide on the floor beneath her. If Marcus could keep pace behind her, that would be his own issue, but Emma had all the courage of the Queen she was supposed to be.

“Ambassador, Tar Valon has decided to insult his future bride.” It sounded flippant, but anyone in the vicinity would know that there was a danger to the words. A small whisper was rippling like disturbed water, it was just a matter of time before the disturbance reached her mother and father. “I do not like being accused of wrongdoings on his emissary’s meeting of me. If this is how things are done in Tar Valon, then we shall see if I am suited for it. I shall leave on the marrow with my own questions in hand and I alone will judge Tar Valon’s suitability!” At this she’d raised her voice, a smile would soften the insult, but it was there just the same. A Princess of the realm going to inspect her own potential husband’s lands and adequacy, was unheard of, but Emma was a very modern princess for all her protections and rules. “My ladies we leave on first light!” It was louder still, the room had once more gone quiet.

“We shall bring Shadowlore to Tar Valon, and if we find it a fitting and habitable home. I shall be more than happy to excuse the insult.” With a smug nod of her own toward the Ambassador, Emma started back toward the door, exiting the very party that had been meant for her to meet with Tar Valon’s emissaries. But there would be no going back now, she’d done it. Footmen held open the door and Emma told them to tell her maids to pack her belongings for the journey, and the stables to ready their finest horses and carriages. And still her work was not done, one of the maids was startled when Emma touched her arm as she walked past murmuring about the kitchens and preparing food for the journey. The princess knew she’d completely upended their household, but still she marched, chin in the air, the victorious smile on her face. And with her newfound energy, she skipped up the steps two at a time until Marcus caught up with her.

“You will see, Marcus. I can play this game, and I will play it far better than the King. The Queen after all is the most powerful piece on the board.” She was a little drunk on her own power now, and her smile was broader, her eyes more focused and she waited until her companion opened her door to step inside her private chambers, finding her maid’s absent.

“Come, you’ll help me out of this. I doubt anyone will think of coming now with their new instructions.” Emma walked to where her perch was in front of her mirror, turning her back to him and presenting her lacings.

Marcus regretted his words as soon as he said them, but what choice did he have but to reject her at this time. He knew that tonight all eyes would be on her, even if they couldn't directly see any eyes. The fact that there was already rumors of her and Marcus together meant that letting her hang on him wouldn't do her denial any good. Yet the look on her face as she peeled herself away from him, almost made him cave and do as she had asked. Before he could, though, her face changed again. From disappointed, to determined Emma seemed to steel herself before marching off back towards the party.

She moved quickly and with strong purpose, Marcus following at her heels the best he could. Emma burst into the hall, pushing past people with hardly a glance. He followed behind her, pushing through the people just as quickly but managing to mutter apologies regardless.

He was slightly behind her, and he had missed the beginning of what she told the Tar Valon man. What he did hear was a proclaimation of her intent to visit Tar Valon and do her own little inspection. Her words came out like venom, and Marcus watched the Tar Valon man straighten up and stiffen as he was clearly unused to someone speaking to him in such a manner. Marcus glanced around and could see the tension of her declaration burn through the room, such an outburst was rarely seen in Shadowlore.

Marcus stepped back and Emma spun and shoved passed him. He spun on his heel and followed quickly, even as her Father rose to his feet and began to try and calm the situation down. No doubt Emma had been insulting, but Marcus couldn't help but hide a smile. It might be odd, and definitely grandiose, but it might have been the very thing to gain her respect in Tar Valon. It showed that she would not be just a prize for the King to collect, but rather that she would very much be a ruler in her own right.

Emma stated as much as they got back to her rooms and locked themselves away inside. Marcus beamed at her, "You played the game well Princess. If I was keeping score I would most assuringly have you in the lead." He told her, stepping close to her as she spun her back to him.

Marcus had helped her undress many times, he knew how to undo her outfits better than she did. He was always a gentleman about it as well, averting his eyes before ever seeing any inappropriate parts of her delicate flesh. His fingers worked the laces of her corset quickly, bringing a deep gasp from Emma as she was finally able to bring in a true breath. Once everything was loose enough for her to disrobe, Marcus turned his back.

"So we are indeed to go to Tar Valon?" He asked her. "I must say I am excited at such an idea. I have never been outside the kingdom, and I have a curiosity about other lands. I would very much like to see new sights, at your side of course." He said eagerly.

“Oh yes, Marcus. We are surely going to Tar Valon.” She was excited as well, it made the color rise on her face, pink with happiness and anticipation. Once the dress was loosened, Emma shrugged off the outer layer, letting it fall around the pedestal and pool at her feet. Next was the ruff at her throat which too was unbuttoned and tossed aside. She stood in her chemise and stepped from her platform in the white cotton, and walked again toward her servant.

“You’ll need to pull the pins from my hair.” It was lucky that she was shorter than he, Marcus would be responsible for fishing the delicate fastenings from her blonde hair, and remove her crown that had been made for her, for just this occasion. It had gotten a few hours’ wear; the jewels were to be combined with the crown jewels of Tar Valon and unite them in another crown to signify the transition of her power. She waited until she could feel Marcus’ fingers gently massaging her scalp in his searching for any rogue hair pins, before her small hands started on his own buttons, undoing one, then another wordlessly. Her focus on the task at hand, and she didn’t spare a look upward to Marcus’ face. Once she could reach his undershirt, she let loose the tie and was gifted with just the smallest glimpse of flesh, the pads of her fingers touching the patch she’d uncovered over his heart, with a smile. Ever curious Emma tried to shift her attention but the fabric limited her explorations, but she looked up with a smile on her face to her friend. However, the Princess turned away from him this time reaching for her own long undergown and pulled it over her head. Climbing into her large four-poster bed and stretching out on her stomach, her bare flesh was a series of slopes and flat valleys, turning her face to the side, her long, loose blonde hair was pushed over her shoulder.

“Marcus, come and rub my back.” She whispered, afraid that if she said anything too loud there would be a giggle and she would have given up the game. As it was she closed her eyes and brought her arms up under her cheek. There was a new mood she was in now; the emissary’s words had made her curious. And the Princess possessed a feline capacity for intrigue. When the other man had spoken of indelicate situations with her servant, she too had the image now in her mind. And also, there was fear. Tar Valon could be cruel, he could be cold, he could be anything and she would submit. But Marcus’ was none of those things. And before her flesh experienced something traumatic, she wanted to know what soft touches it could receive.

“There is oil, just there.” Emma pointed to a table by her bedside, a small blue bottle with a diamond topper, before folding her arm back. “Start with my neck and shoulders?” The girl questioned, or rather suggested, before shifting her naked hips back and forth to move up over her covers and squarely on her pillow. For a while, the Princess was quiet, but that wasn’t the way Emma existed. She was a litany of ideas and words.

“How do you find it?” She finally opened her eyes, “My flesh? Is it pleasing do you think?”

Marcus felt nervous all of a sudden as Emma was acting very strange. She stood before him in her shortclothes, her fingers working through the buttons on his turncoat. He felt the soft warmth of her hands as she slid her hands into his open coat to run across his chest, this strange behavior seemingly queued by the rumors put into her mind. That was his only explanation for it.

He watched her step towards her elegant bed and his eyes widened as she unabashedly peeled her final garment over her head and discarded it without a glance. Marcus's eye were greeted with her fully nude backside before he quickly averted his gaze, the sudden image of her nakedness burning into his mind's eye in an instant. He had not seen her in such a way since before she started growing tits. To have her full womanliness presented to his eyes so suddenly....he turned beet red from the thought of it all.

"Marcus come rub my back." She said softly. He felt his heart begin to race, just her being nude was enough to send his pulse racing without even having to look at her.

He should protest this, stop such indecency before it had a chance to begin. But he had been raised from birth to obey her. Here, locked safely away in her private chambers, he had no excuses to disobey her. There were no eyes here, no ears within the walls to hear such wrongdoings. He took a step towards the table near the bed where he oil lay, purposely not looking her direction, trying to avoid filling his eyes with her wonderful nakedness. Though as he picked up the bottle slowly, he knew that looking upon her flesh was inevitable as he would have too in order to rub her down.

As he tugged the diamond topper out of the bottle, Emma shifted herself higher up the bed to lay her head upon her pillows. Marcus turned to her slowly and eased himself beside her on the bed, hovering on his knee above her. Now her complete naked form lay beneath him, ready and waiting for his touch.

"How do you find it?" She asked suddenly.

Marcus gasped and jerked as if he had been stung. "I...what?"

"My Flesh? It is pleasing do you think?"

Marcus groaned inwardly as his eyes took in her body again. "It is the finest thing I have ever seen in my life." He told her softly, honestly. "Princess, my eyes should never be granted this pleasure." He told her, the oil bottle firmly in his grip. "Perhaps a robe before I rub your...." He trailed off.

"It is the finest thing I have ever seen in my life."

That warmed her further, and the grin finally broke out on her face when Marcus’ spoke up with the resistant compliment. She turned her face so she could look at him, the soft bounce and the sound of her stuffed mattress across the tight knots of the ropes that held it into place, made her roll slightly toward him, but as he started to protest, Emma clucked her tongue.

“No, I don’t think so Marcus’. But I won’t tell if you won’t.” Those words curled around her tongue and to her surprised came out much huskier than she’d intended. But as the sconces on the wall burned, the sound of the fuel feeding the flames was the only sound for a several minutes. But when she was done waiting, reached out to take the hand that was not holding the oil dropper, urging it forward and rested it on her hip.

“You don’t want to? This is nothing, a touch maybe a kiss?” Emma asked, eyebrows drawing together. “Marcus I don’t know what sort of place we are headed into. I’d like feel relaxed before I go to sleep, the sun comes up early and we’ll be in a carriage for days.” Here was where she closed her eyes again for patience, turning on her side now, pulling her leg up for her thigh to hide her sex, but she didn’t make any move to cover her pert breasts, currently on display.

“Touch me.” It was half request, half command.

This was unlike any request she had ever given him. Her nakedness was almost fully on display to him, the curves of her bodyline, the swells of her breasts, all of it made his blood and body boil in a way he wasn't used too. His hand flex upon her body where she had pulled his palm to touch her. The smooth silkiness of her skin seemed to radiate through his arm and rippled through his body.

Touch me. Her orders echoed through him. He swallowed and slowly slid his hand from the swell of her hip, up softly along her side. He caressed her skin until his thumb accidentally brushed against the bottom of her breast and he quickly moved his hand away. The whole time his face was bright red, and despite his reluctance he could feel his crotch stiffening in arousal he couldn't control. He had not known the sights of a fully naked woman before, and his body was reacting. It didn't matter that it was the princess and he shouldn't even have his eyes on her, let alone his hand.

Again his hand went down to low, brushing over her ass and onto her thigh. He didn't pull away, instead he took a deep breath and just tried to steel himself to do as he was ordered. That was all there was too it. She had given him a command, and if he touched her wrong, she would surely tell him.

So his palm pressed to her skin and ran up and down the side of her body. His gaze moved to her face, looking at the way she seemed to savor his touch. "Should I use the oil? Or just keep going?" He asked her softly, trying to calm his heart beat. What in the world was happening to him, and why couldn't he make the stiffness in his pants go away? These sexual thoughts were going to be the death of him.

She watched him, an inquisitive gaze that studied the way that the redness on his face crept up from the collar of his shirt. Emma gulped as Marcus’ fingers spread wide over her bare hip, lips parting to steady her breathing as his palm inched ever upward, his thumb grazing the side of her breast which had her gasp shallowly in the partial darkness. But he continued and she too did the same, merely watching his face, and glancing at his hand that made momentary indentations on her skin. Skin that very few had ever seen.

But Emma couldn’t deny her enjoyment at it. It was strange but not alien. Of course, as she’d been growing she’s discovered the inclinations of her own body. The heat that flushed out her pale skin, the pins and needles that prickled her from the sudden rush of excitement. This were those small moments prolonged, dragged out and instead of pressing her thighs together to relieve the anticipation, it took every ounce of her to remain relaxed, to turn away from Marcus and lay her head back on the pillow again, trying to guess where his hands would be next.

"Should I use the oil? Or just keep going?"

“I don’t know. Yes. Just…yes.”

The young Princess already knew her voice would be unsteady before she said anything. She tried to keep her own movements to a minimum but inching her thighs wider, it was the wondering that was making her do this. She was an incurable scholar, however when the bend of Marcus’ thumb caught under her backside, pushing the flesh upward and out, the arch of her back was involuntary, as if her skin craved contact with his, and Emma rested her face in her hands so she could smother the soft sound of satisfaction. Once she had her cheek on her pillow once more was when the princess spoke again.

“I’m afraid he won’t be gentle…Tar Valon.” These were just whispers between friends, and Emma held her eyes closed for fear that she’d catch his. “You’re always gentle.” She sighed, knowing that whatever it was they were doing needed to end, the rumor had caught hold of her and in her impulsiveness, she’d commanded her servant to do something against his will. Her unease didn’t make that right.

“Marcus’ if you wish you can stop.” The Princess assured him. “Or you can give me one of the kisses you promised in the garden. I can’t decide that for you. Now, here, I think you are your own man.”

Marcus didn't know what to say to her then. He could never be his own man, even if she wished it of him. Since childhood he belonged to her, he knew nothing but what he needed to know to serve her better. The idea of freedom never crossed him mind, nor did his own personal desires. There was never any reason for it to come up. He had everything he could want while in her service, food, a good bed, nice clothing, in many ways he lived like a King without the pressure of being royalty.

Yet now as she looked upon him and waited for him to make his choice, her breathing making the loveliness of her breasts raise and fall before him, he didn't know what to do. What was the right move? In some ways the right thing to do would be to leave her untouched for her future husband, yet in other ways he was to do as she clearly wanted. Freeing him only made the choice harder, because if he left her alone in that moment she might hate him because everything about her words suggested that she wanted him to continue with her. But.....how could he not?

Marcus bit his lower lip and slowly leaned towards her, her head tilting to greet his as his lips came ever closer to hers. "How could I ever resist you?" He whispered just before kissing her. As his lips pressed to her's he brought his palm up to cup her breast fully, squeezing her soft sweet flesh gently as instinct drove him forward into the passion that she had ignited in them both. He felt himself hard and eager in his trousers and yet confined and safe in a vail that should never be breached between them. His hands upon her naked body was already too far, a kiss pushed the line further, lord help him if she insisted on going further. Wrong as it might be, as dangerous as it could be for both of them, Marcus knew he could not deny her.

Her gasp was smothered by his kiss. How long she’d laid there staring into his eyes, searching for something, anything that indicated that what she asked of him was somehow allowed. Marcus’ face was like a mirror of her own feelings, the way he bit his lip with reservations, but his eyes feasted on her, she could practically feel them raking over her skin, the way his fingers did.

But he made his choice, his fingers brushing the sensitive nub of her nipple before his warm palm enveloped her breast. Reaching out, Emma wrapped her arms around his neck, urging him to lay with her as she turned on her back, feeling very much like a buffet offered to him. It was incredibly erotic, her fingers resting across his own, tickling against the back until she reached his fingertips. Emma had to crane her neck to kiss him as deeply as she wanted. Her attempts were coltish, eager and uninhibited. Her life was a series of formal manners and strict schedules, here she could linger where she would, moving on when she wanted. Emma smiled against his lips, untangling her hands to rest them at his throat, pulling one of the ties to expose his throat, she abandoned his lips for the trail of his sharp jawline.

“I like that.” Emma murmured against his jaw. Nuzzling him and nipping at his earlobe, her snicker of amusement was delicately curled around the shell of his ear, “Your hands, they’re rougher than mine.” Again her head was laying back against the pillowcase so she could watch him, taking his hand so she could inspect it. Graceful fingers touched the coarse callouses of his palm. She’d never taken much notice, occasionally his hands would catch a bit on the silk of her skirts or gloves. He was more tan than she, it was a stark contrast when she lay his hand palm down between her breasts.

Marcus felt things in himself that he had never felt before as his lips brushed against Emma's. He became hyper aware of her body, and the way her soft skin felt to his touch. This was beyond anything he had ever felt before, and every fiber in his body screamed at him to stop yet he could not. He didn't want too, even though he knew that he should. Emma's breathing became heavier and her breath against his was wonderful. He shifted himself on top of her, over her as she lay herself back, a position that felt so right to him.

He kissed her, suckled upon her sweet lips, and everything was perfect. Yet even perfection had to be broken, and Emma moved her face to press against his ear. Her hands took his and held him. She seemed to ponder over his skin, exploring what it was like to touch upon him as well.

She whispered something about how much rougher his hands were than hers, and he felt bad about it. He felt bad that his rough skin might have harmed her soft, perfect skin. He blushed and shifted to the side of her so he could rest on his side and look at her while not actually pulling away from her grasp. "I'm sorry Princess. Training with a blade has made my hands rough, the leather of the hilt you see?" He explained with apology.

Indeed the training had been hard upon him. He went from a danty boy who spend his childhood doing things with a girl, into a hardened mass of manly muscle. He remembered the work, the training, that changed his form from soft and girlish, into a powerful hunk of muscle and manliness. In order to protect her, he needed to become strong and good with all manner of weapons. And so he had, there wasn't a blade or bow he couldn't wield with deadly power if he needed to.

Regretably it had made his skin unpleasant for her to touch. He shifted up and away from her, gently pulling his hand from her grip. "I should let you get some rest." He told her softly. "You have decided to make a very tiring trip in the morning." He explained with a smile. "I shall be but a hollar away as always." His room was little more than a closet in the same room, a small cove where he could store his clothing and rest, while still technically being by her side at all times.

"I'm sorry Princess. Training with a blade has made my hands rough, the leather of the hilt you see?"

“It’s alright, I liked it. I liked it Marcus…” But her words seemed lost on him
“Wait…” Emma hadn’t meant her inspection of his hands to turn him away from her. She was, noticing, and enjoying expecting he'd take her invitation to move his hands lower. But obviously, it hadn't been taken another way. The Princess sat up as her man pushed himself away, now an arm was across her chest and gripping her own shoulder.

“Marcus I didn’t mean it like that…” She called to him, or rather, tried to impress upon him. She’d not wanted it to stop, she’d wanted his hand to move further across her skin, she’d wanted to enjoy more of his touching and his lips on hers. But he slipped from her bed and walked away.

"I shall be but a holler away as always."

“You are a coward.” Was her frustrated rejoinder, louder than it probably should have been, and there she was left lying in her bed alone, with just her kiss swollen lips and memories of Marcus’ hands on her body. And anger, she’d also been left with her anger.

And it served her the next day, erasing any nervousness that would have come with such an impulsive journey, the servants seemed to be on pins and needles, avoiding asking The Princess anything, and it had been a low-key goodbye to her loving parents. As Marcus’ had been a close friend and confidant throughout her life, she often treated him with more respect, more notice than other people got from her. But she tried her very best to ignore him, even when she took his hand to walk down the steps.

“Do you really think that I would judge you for calloused fingers?” Emma asked softly, looking forward with a frown, her small slippers walking in step with Marcus’ boots. “Did you or did you not want me last night?” Blazing green eyes looked in his direction for a moment, daring him to tell he that he hadn’t. But they’d reached the end of the outside staircase and now as she walked toward her carriage, the staff was in two lines, bowing and curtsying to her as she walked through them with a nod of her head for their deference, before stepping inside her comfortable carriage. Seating herself on the bench and shifting so she would be facing away from Marcus and looking out the small window at her side.