A/N: Here's a little Valentine's Day present for my readers! I hope you enjoy. I'll be hosting a livechat tonight at 9pm PST (link will be posted on my Tumblr) to flail after the episode. I hope you'll join us!
This was originally a prompt for the Glee Kink Meme, but I loved the setup too much to make it pure wank.
Thank you to my flawless team of betas, terriblemuriel, FrogsRcool, lovebugxstories and HangedLikeADog. You are the best harem I could ask for.
The Making of a Queen
A few months before her eighteenth birthday, Princess Santana was called to the royal sitting room in the castle where she lived in the kingdom of Fleetwoodshire. Santana's mother, Queen Aurelia, called upon her to inquire about – no, demand to know – her ideas for her Presentation Ball.
Her fucking Presentation Ball.
Princess Santana knew her mother wouldn't listen to her ideas; she might as well have thrown up her hands and told her mother to plan the Presentation Ball she would have wanted to have if she had been born royal. Which she hadn't; Santana's grandmother, a villager, had bedded the king and then blackmailed him into making her daughter Aurelia a princess. So Aurelia and Prince Antonio – now King Antonio – had had an arranged marriage and that was that. Nine months later Santana was born and the kingdom hadn't known what hit it.
Why must princesses throw a ridiculous party announcing to the kingdom they were now fit to be married? Santana groaned; she knew if she wasn't married within the next year she would be considered unfit to rule the kingdom she so rightly deserved. The idea was preposterous. Of course she was fit to rule. And yet some archaic law dictated that she couldn't rule alone.
The young men in the kingdom were poised and waiting for the day Princess Santana turned eighteen. They knew the precise date and time she would become of age, and would no doubt be lined up, greased and tailored and drooling while she went through the motions of the stupid Presentation Ball, not even pretending she was excited about her impending nuptials.
Because in truth, she wasn't.
Santana had far too much fun with her friends in the woods behind the palace to think anything good of married life. Most nights after the King and Queen had retired for the evening, she would sneak out of her tower and run across the fields behind the palace to where her band of maidens gathered by the stables. Though the thought of calling them maidens made Santana giggle: they were the wickedest, wildest, most cunning and downright naughty courtiers Santana had ever met. They would tie their skirts into knots at their sides and ride the horses just like the men did – sidesaddle was for wilting violets like Duchess Emma – and gallop into the forest where they tethered their horses and danced, sang, and ate with gypsies and peasants from the village. If Santana were to be married, her husband would surely not approve of his bride leaving her side of the bed every night for less noble companions. Especially if he ever found out what happened in the woodland clearing.
Apart from the dancing and singing and eating, wine flowed more freely than in the Dionysian fields and clothing was sometimes scant on hot summer nights. Maidens made passes at peasant men, stable girls flirted with young, disobedient stewards, and princesses – truth be told – bedded gypsy girls. Well, at least one princess did.
So when her mother asked her what her plans were for her Presentation Ball, Santana bit her tongue and said "Whatever pleases you, mother," before curtsying and turning to go. But as she reached the door of the throne room, her eyes darted to a young steward she had seen disappearing into the thicket the night before with his arm around one of her handmaidens. She knew the only reason her handmaiden had gone with him was because they had all been wearing masks brought to the clearing by a mystical peddler selling trinkets, jewelry, silk scarves and masks. His cart of wares seemed to cast a spell over the clearing. Santana, drunk off the wine in the leather pouch tied at her waist, had reached between her breasts and pulled out her coin purse. "Masks for everyone," she had said with a wave of her hand. Her friends and fellow debauchers cheered and tilted their flasks high. That night their revelry had been even more boisterous than usual. Obscured by their masks, the shiest of milkmaids grew forward with the stable boys and the gypsy men chased the young girls of the court, catching their skirts and falling to the ground together in fits of laughter.
So when Santana caught the young steward's eye, she turned back to the Queen. "On second thought, Mother, I do have one request," she said, tossing her raven locks over her shoulder. "Do what you will with the food and the music and the decorations. I couldn't concern myself less with such trivial things. But everyone will be in masks that night."
"Don't be foolish, Santana," the Queen chided. "You can't have suitors in masks - you won't see what they look like! Trust me, you'll want to see the face of the man you'll be lying in bed with for the rest of your life."
"Everyone must be in masks that night, or I'm not going," Santana said, stamping her foot. "And don't you forget, mother, I'm royal blood. On that day, I'll be eligible for the throne, and my word will be law over yours. So everyone will be wearing masks, and if anyone disobeys me, including you, I'll have their head chopped off."
Queen Aurelia gaped at Santana for a moment. She had grown used to the princess' sharp tongue, but never had Santana executed her soon-to-be royal status over the Queen. But she knew what Santana said was true, so she shut her mouth and nodded.
Why?
Because Santana Lopez was a fucking princess and she wanted everyone to wear masks. So that's what she got.
On the night of her Presentation Ball, Santana sulked while her servants pushed and prodded and stuffed her into her gown. The sleeves were too puffy and the waist too tight, and while her breasts weren't hoisted quite as high as she would have liked, they looked decent. She would have offset her mood by stuffing herself with the little finger sandwiches she kept seeing carried by on trays, but if she indulged, her dress would have become even tighter and her demeanor ever more sour. She snapped at the royal hairdresser, who kept tugging too hard as he swept Santana's flowing locks up into a nest of pins and curls on her head. Once her hair was in place, she felt she had a nest of needles weighing down upon her head. What a burden. Still, it was no heavier than a Queen's crown, so she supposed she should get used to it.
The Ball itself was lovely. Her mother, despite being cold and distant, did have exquisite taste. The music was pleasant, the food was delicious – so Santana heard – and everyone had a grand time. Well, everyone except for Santana. She was glad she was wearing a mask and could scowl all night and her parents were none the wiser.
She went through the motions of dancing with all the eligible young men at the party; handsome courtiers and knights and even the odd prince from a neighboring kingdom. She knew her mother was hoping she would choose Duke Noah, who was strong and valiant and handsome, but Santana knew Aurelia secretly coveted him for herself. Besides, Santana had bedded him a few years ago and although their exchange had been mutually enjoyable, it was nothing like the inspired lovers she took in the forest.
Santana's mother would also have applauded Santana choosing Sir Finnion. But Santana despised him. One night he had appeared in the clearing and, drunk off a particularly potent wine, she had laid with him. Her head had scarcely had time to tangle in the brush before he was finished and she sighed and picked herself up to go in search of a naughty gypsy girl.
Her father was hoping she would choose the dashing young Prince Samuel from a neighboring kingdom. He had high hopes of a military alliance with Samuel's father, but Santana quickly tired of even conversing with the featherbrained Prince Samuel, and knew their embraces would be equally unsatisfying. He was charming, but not quick-witted enough for the Princess.
Santana retired to her chamber early, hell-bent on removing her ridiculous dress and taking the pins out of her hair. By the location of the moon in the sky, she guessed it was no later then ten o'clock. No sooner had she shut the door then she was snatched by both arms, shrieking as she was lifted off the ground by masked figures.
"Shh! It's only us!" came the voice of her most loyal handmaiden, Lady Quinn. "We're taking you to the forest."
"Let me take off this damned dress first!" Santana protested as they carried her into a secret corridor.
"We will, Princess," they giggled. "Once we get to the forest, we'll all take our dresses off." Santana laughed and began to scamper of her own accord down the narrow stairwell that spiraled toward the grounds.
When they got to the courtyard, Santana saw that their horses were tethered to the gate, hooving the ground; they knew once they got to the forest they would feast on apples and hay and the freshest of carrots. Santana was as impatient to gallop away as they were. She kicked off her shoes, leaving them in a flowerbed, and climbed onto her favorite red stallion.
When they got to the clearing, she begged her friends to unbutton the hundred tiny buttons down her back. They did so, giggling, and Santana felt a rougher pair of hands join in, holding first her waist as another pair of hands offered her a flask. Soon she felt rough hands running over her back as her dress fell around her waist. Taking a sip of wine first, she gave her friends a wicked grin and pushed the dress to the ground. "Dress, girl," she demanded of a nearby gypsy, snapping her fingers. The girl obeyed, quickly ridding herself of the garment and handing to Santana. Santana slipped the shift on – ahh, it felt so good after the restricting embroidered gown – and laced the corset up. She had a special fondness for corsets; they were one of the many garments she had never been allowed to wear. As a young girl she had stamped her foot and screamed at Nurse Susan, demanding she be allowed to wear the same outfits as her other friends in the palace. But Susan, the only woman in the kingdom equipped to handle Santana's willfulness, had held her ground and insisted Santana wear the frocks her mother selected for her. So whenever Santana came to the clearing, she shed her royal garments, offering them to a nearby maiden or courtier before donning the attire of a gypsy orstable girl herself. She always managed to find a corset and fasten it tight, breasts heaving and glowing in the warm the light off the fire.
Walking further into the clearing and taking another sip of wine, she spied a girl wearing the most intricate mask she had seen all night. On one side, a sun seemed to actually cast light into the clearing, sparkling through the gypsy's golden hair, and on the other side of the mask, a pearly moon glowed amidst stars painted against a sky so dark it seemed to stifle any light around it. The girl's smile was bright and honest, and Santana was drawn to her like she had never been drawn to anyone before. She was entranced, seeing nothing but the vision before her.
"What's your name, gypsy girl?" Santana asked, lifting the gypsy's chin and offering her a sip of wine.
"My name is thine, and thine is mine, for we are all the same in the forest," the girl replied, refusing Santana's flask with a wicked smile. Santana saw her eyes flash beneath her mask, piercing blue and sparkling brighter than the fire before them.
"A trickster, I see," Santana responded. "So what shall I call you, if I am to know you from the rest?"
"Surely thou canst know me without a name," the girl replied. "But you can call me peasant or Queen or lass or mistress, be it thy choosing or my demeanor."
"With words like that, your mouth is sure to work wonders," Santana murmured, taking the girl by the arm and leading her into a tent at the edge of the clearing. "And I do desire to know thee in the most sinful of ways."
Kissing the girl's teasing mouth as they sank to the ground of the tent, Santana wasted no time trying to pry the girl's muddied skirt and blouse from her body. But the gypsy pushed Santana's hands away, pressing her down into the ground. The tent was small and offered only a rug to lie on, but both were content. Indeed, it wouldn't have bothered them to be out in the leaves and dirt, so enraptured were they in their embrace. But as Santana's tongue slid forward between the girl's lips and she reached to undo the girl's mask, the girl giggled and caught Santana's hands, binding them with a ribbon from her hair and securing it to the tent post.
"Remove my garments at once," Santana ordered, tugging at her bindings as blonde hair fell in a curtain around them.
"Such orders from a girl in simple robes," the gypsy girl laughed.
"Remove my garments, I bid thee kindly," Santana replied, gritting her teeth.
"I'll remove them when I see fit," said the girl. She smirked and pulled the top of Santana's dress down over her corset, revealing Santana's breasts, nipples already hardened.
Santana was about to open her mouth to demand the gypsy girl take off her dress completely when she felt her skirt being lifted and the girl's head settling between her legs. A she felt warm kisses being placed delicately on the inside of her thighs, she exhaled, ceasing her tug against the ribbon that bound her hands. When the gypsy girl's mouth fitted to her center, she gasped, head reeling as if she had drunk half the wine in the kingdom.
The maiden's tongue spun Santana into a frenzy. Santana had long since forgotten their surroundings; all that existed was the soft ground beneath her, the air she fought to hold in her lungs, and the girl whose mouth was working with the magic of all the kingdom's conjurers. When she reached the precipice, she tumbled over into the gypsy's mouth, crying out for the stars to catch her as she fell.
The gypsy girl sat up and wiped her mouth with the back of her hand, grinning like a sphinx.
"Take off your mask, Gypsy," Santana panted, "Let me see your face." Santana tugged at her bindings and managed to free one hand. She reached for the girl's mask, but the gypsy flinched away.
"I can't do that," the gypsy girl grinned wider, shaking her head. "The princess has ordered us all to keep our masks on until the clock strikes twelve."
"But I'm the princess. And I bid thee take yours off!" Santana insisted, still reaching for the ribbons of the mask.
The gypsy girl caught her hand and held it between them. She leaned forward. "We're all equals in the forest," she breathed into Santana's ear. "For all you know, I'm a queen disguised as a gypsy."
Santana frowned and jerked her hand out of the gypsy's grasp. She seized the girl's mask and pulled it off, tearing one of the ribbons as she did. But no sooner had the mask been lifted then the gypsy girl darted out of the tent, disappearing into the night.
Santana lunged after her, freeing her other hand as she scrambled to her feet and ducked through the flaps of the tent. She looked frantically around her for the mysterious girl and caught a glimpse of her feet running between the trees and moonlight glinting off her hair. Santana dashed after her, waiving the gypsy's mask and calling out for her to stop. She chased her until she was out of breath, still dizzy from their liaison. At last she gave up, slumping over to steady herself on her knees. No sooner had she stopped running when she heard the bells of the castle tolling midnight.
"Blast!" She cursed herself for her impatience. If only I had waited, I could have known who she was! Patience had never been one of Princess Santana's virtues.
With heavy feet, she retraced her path back to the tent. She seemed to walk forever and just when she thought she was lost, she spotted something gleaming in the leaves a few paces before her. She knelt, seeing a soft, golden-leather sandal with a moon painted on the sole. The very same moon that was painted on one half of the mask Santana held in her hand. But something was different about the mask; the moon didn't seem to glow as it had before, and as she turned the sandal over in her hand, the glow she had seen peeking through the leaves seemed to fade.
Shoulders slumped, she wandered back to the clearing. All her friends were still gallivanting around a bonfire, drinking wine and teasing the men of the kingdom as they pressed their pale hands to their chests and laughed with their heads tilted back, mouths wide in a most unladylike fashion. But Santana didn't feel like reveling anymore. She tossed her wine flask to one of her friends and, with heavy limbs, pulled herself up onto her red stallion. As the horse trotted slowly back to the castle, she leaned her head against its mane and sighed, wondering if she would ever see the mysterious gypsy girl again. She ran her finger over the soft leather of the gypsy's sandal, the glow of the moon etched there ever fading with every stride taken away from the clearing. Upon returning to the castle, she fell into her bed, not bothering to remove her peasant garb.
When Santana awoke the next day, her head throbbed as if she had emptied her flask and several more the night before. Yet she hadn't; she had barely had a sip. She felt herself being dressed and washed and brushed as her servants attended to her, yet she felt lifeless and limp like a marionette. When her handmaidens asked her what was wrong, she shook her head and gazed out the window at the castle grounds.
When at last she had to face her mother in the royal dining room, she did her best to stay tight-lipped and appear proper. If the Queen noticed the dullness in her eyes, she didn't say anything. Yet her father did. As soon as the bell rang signaling the end of the meal, the Queen departed and the King beckoned for Santana. Santana walked over and dipped her knees, bowing her head as was expected.
"Santana, my princess, whatever is the matter?" he murmured, putting his hand on her arm. "I've never seen you so sad after a night in the forest with your friends.
Santana was startled and her eyes darted up to him. Many of the courtiers must have known about her escapades in the forest, but surely they must have also known to keep their lips sealed around the king.
She fumbled for words, unsure if she should be ashamed or acknowledge at her father's quiet admission.
"I… I met someone after the ball last night I was hoping to come to know," Santana mumbled. "Someone who made me feel like a princess without knowing I was one."
"And how did you meet this person?" the king asked with a smile.
Santana blushed. "Dancing," she fibbed.
"Let me guess," the king said, his smile ever constant. "She was the most beautiful person in the entire kingdom and you didn't even see her face."
Santana was startled further still, blinking up at the king. She had never told her father of her conquests, be they courtiers or townspeople or gypsies. And she had certainly never told him that she liked the gypsy girls – with all their spells and their dances and their mysterious wiles – best of all.
She pursed her lips and gave him the faintest of nods, not daring to look up at him for fear of what he might say. But she needn't have feared. His face was as kind and calm as ever, the creases by his eyes deepening as he smiled wider still.
"Well, I cannot wait to meet the maiden who has put such an enchantment on my daughter," the king hummed. "And never fear, Princess. Whatever magic brought her to you will bring her back."
Santana nodded and felt her heart clench, both at the kindness of the king's words and the fear that she might never see her mysterious gypsy girl again. But she was also overjoyed; she had the king's blessing to marry a maiden if she pleased.
As Santana plodded heavily up the stairs to her chamber, anticipating the relief of her bed and a mid-morning slumber, she remembered she had placed her gypsy's mask and sandal in the wooden chest at the end of her bed. Locking the door, she retrieved them and ran her thumb over the leather of the sandal, wishing instead it were the gypsy's graceful hand. She sighed as she fell into the downy relief of her comforter, cradling the shoe to her chest as she quickly sank into sleep.
As she dreamed, she was blind: she heard only the lilting laughter of a girl that drifted in and out of her consciousness. But then she saw flashes of color; the muddied hem of a skirt, the illuminated fringe of a shawl, and bright streaks of golden hair in the firelight as it darted between trees and around tents.
Catch me, catch me! the girl's voice taunted, giggling and shrieking as Santana chased her through the forest. Yet Santana could never quite reach her, nor could she put together the flashes and pieces of the girl who so cleverly taunted her.
When at last she gave up again and slumped forward panting, she heard the gypsy's voice beside her, whispered as if her lips had been pressed right to her ear.
I'm waiting. Come find me.
Santana jolted awake, clutching the sandal closer to her breast. She panted, alarmed and unsure if she had actually been dreaming. Her ear felt warm, as if the gypsy had just whispered into it. She looked around, perplexed and saddened to find her chamber was still empty.
Her father gave her a knowing grin when she presented him with the sandal and a nervous yet firm request to search for the gypsy girl. He nodded and beckoned his footmen over, instructing them to stop at nothing in aiding his daughter to find the owner of the shoe.
They searched far and wide throughout the kingdom, stopping for neither wind nor rain nor snow nor scorching heat. They scaled mountains, forded streams and fought their way through thickets. Santana, who ordinarily sat in her carriage whining about every breeze or ray of sun, journeyed on foot, clutching the gypsy's mask in one hand and the shoe in the other. Just when her hope was waning, she would find something that made her heart sing and pulled her feet forward; at the edge of a clearing she found the gypsy's shawl; at a stream, a coin from the gypsy's belt. Every night she slept on the ground with the gypsy's shoe pressed to her chest, and every night she dreamed of chasing the gypsy through the forest.
As the days wore on, Santana's feet grew calloused and cracked, and her unspoiled skin darkened like burnt caramel in the sun. They searched for days, and from days into weeks, and from weeks into a month, until Santana's hope of ever finding her gypsy girl grew dimmer than the faintest stars that hung above her as she slept.
When the sun set after thirty days of searching, Santana collapsed to the ground, famished and weary, sobbing into her muddied gown.
"Forgive me, footmen," she sobbed, "I can go no further! Only allow me to rest a while and we can return to the castle come morning."
Her heart sank deep in her chest as she sighed in defeat. What could she do but abandon her quest? They had searched everywhere, and the mysterious gypsy girl was nowhere to be found.
Though the princess had been less than kind to her father's footmen as a girl, over their weeks of searching she had softened. They looked upon her for the first time with pity; surely there was a reason the princess was willing to search so far and wide for the owner of a simple sandal. Surely there was a reason for her tears.
Her father's most loyal servant, Sir David, knelt beside her and lifted her up, cradling her in his giant arms. She hung limp like a ragdoll as tears rolled down her face.
"There's a cottage a few paces hence," he murmured to her. "We'll ask for shelter there for the night."
Santana only nodded and wiped her face on his shoulder. What more could she do? She was hungry and heartbroken and couldn't go another step further. She was sure her gypsy was lost to her forever. She had turned over every stone, climbed every hill and forded every stream in the kingdom. She had searched marshes and thickets and caves she had never dreamed of exploring before. She had befriended peasants and farmers and seers along her journey. Each day she had searched tirelessly on, and now it was as if all her weariness passed through her at once.
Sir David carried her toward the cottage, which was humble yet bright with the light of a fire. Before he had even lifted his hand to the sturdy wooden door to knock, the door flew open, revealing none other than the mysterious gypsy girl. Her face lit up upon seeing Sir David with Santana in his arms.
"It worked!" the gypsy cried. "The spell worked!" She fluttered on her feet in the doorway of the cottage.
Revived by the sound of the gypsy's voice, Santana tumbled from David's arms and landed on her feet, overjoyed and in disbelief that her search was over. But no sooner was she standing then she stumbled forward, weak and overcome with relief. The gypsy caught her and held her up.
"Spell?" Santana asked.
The gypsy nodded and smiled with the light of a thousand stars. "I cast a spell on the clearing that night that only my true intended mate would see me."
Santana sank further into the gypsy's arms, pressing her head to the pale skin of her shoulder. "I saw you that night and every night since," she murmured. "I have seen nothing but you in waking and in sleep as I journeyed to find you."
"Oh, you must be exhausted," the gypsy cooed. As Sir David ducked out of the cottage with a smile, the gypsy guided Santana to a chair by the fire, bringing her water, bread and cheese. As Santana ate, the gypsy removed her shoes and washed her feet. As the gypsy's hands ran over the calloused skin that had tread over rocks and through marshes to find her, Santana felt warmth soak up through her legs. When she looked down, she saw her feet were healed completely.
"I knew the old gypsy saying was true," the girl murmured.
"What saying?" Santana wondered, watching the gypsy's face as it glowed in the firelight.
The gypsy smiled, drying Santana's feet and placing them back on the ground. "When the pure of heart and the fearless in spirit meet, their souls shall be forever intertwined. But they must then travel to the ends of the kingdom before they meet again."
"You journeyed to find me too?" Santana asked in wonder.
"Of course!" said the gypsy girl, tilting her head with a curious smile. "The saying goes that the pure of heart and the fearless of spirit must both travel to the ends of the kingdom. I tried to let you know I was searching too."
Santana recalled the shawl in the clearing and the coin in the stream, and smiled at the girl before her. "And what might I call the pure of heart?" she asked
"My friends call me Brittany," the girl said, "but you may call me Lover or Gypsy or Fool, for I am all three for you."
At that Santana wept for joy, for she knew her search hadn't been for naught. She drew Brittany to her chest and held her there until she could no longer keep her eyes open. They then nestled into a bed of hay and slept until the sun was high in the sky.
When they returned to the castle the following day, the king embraced them both, presenting them to the kingdom as the future rulers of the land. Within days they were married and Santana was crowned Queen with her Gypsy Queen ruling equally by her side. Together they ruled the kingdom with open minds and loving hearts, never asking more of their kingdom dwellers than they could give. And I'm sure you don't need to be told the end: they lived happily, happily ever after.