Princess

(Disclaimer: This ain't mine. I didn't even write this. Wait - yes I did. Still ain't mine.)

A/N: This is called 'fluff'. It's rather like cotton candy, with ten times the sugar and none of the nutritional benefits. (Wait, nutritional benefits? What?) Ahem. Right. It's like cotton candy. Consume responsibly, which means if you don't like fluff, I would strongly suggest not reading this; but it's your stomachache.

He always called her princess.

At first, it was part of a joke that never quite found its punchline. He used it as part of his repertoire, pretending that he was just another ladies' man and she was just another one of his conquests – or would be, once she finally admitted that she found his charms irresistible. If you had asked her about it, she would have rolled her eyes in amused exasperation and replied that it was her punishment for some crime in a past life. If you had asked him, he would have grinned and replied, "It's all part of the game." He would not have added that it was the most serious game of his life, or that he wasn't quite sure if they were playing by the same rules.

Not long afterward, it turned into a title of respect. He would never openly admit his respect for her – he had a reputation as a scoundrel to maintain, after all – so he found other ways to say it. She knew what he meant, like she always knew, and for his sake kept on pretending that it drove her mad, letting him know with her eyes, or her smile, that she understood.

For him, it had another meaning, one it had had since the beginning. If he feigned rebellion for his sake, he faked indifference for hers. Every time he said it he reminded himself how far above him she was. The princess in the fairy tale never married the scoundrel, after all; she married the prince or the giant-slayer or the dragon-killer or the honest pauper. She never guessed at this meaning; or if she did, she dismissed it quickly – perhaps for reasons unknown even to herself.

For her, it never meant more than the time he didn't say it. It wasn't really him, of course; and that was how she knew it wasn't him. The man in the cave laughed and smirked in the same way with the same eyes and the same smile, but he called her sweetheart. Anyone could call her a pet name or shorten her name into one of a thousand annoying nicknames, but he called her princess. When she came out of that cave, bleeding in a thousand places, some no medicine could help, he caught her, and whispered to her it was all right; and when he called her princess, she knew she could believe him.

Once, he almost used it to change her mind. She told him she didn't think she could bear to take him where she was going. Her words, her eyes, her tone all told him her decision was still being whipped about inside by the winds of indecision. He knew better than anyone what words could turn her mind one hundred and eighty degrees. He knew better than anyone how badly he wanted, almost needed, to go with her. But he couldn't do it. She was a princess, after all, and princesses have duties paupers can know nothing about.

The next time he called her princess, he didn't hide it as a joke, or feigned insubordination, and only the stupidest and blindest could have seen it as indifference. With one word, he told her everything; and just in case she missed it, he repeated it every time he twirled her, between every kiss, as loudly as his choked throat could say it. And when she looked up at him with shining eyes, he said it once more, to add force to a question that didn't really need it.

Now it is her title; as much hers as her name. It isn't just hers anymore; she shares it with a precious few, who have as much of her heart as of his. On occasion he still uses it as a joke, or as a callback to old days they're both very happy are gone. Mostly, however, it expresses perfectly in one word what she is, has always been, and always will be, to him -

A princess.