QUEENOFKLAROLINE ASKED: In spirit of my watching once upon a time ... Royalty Klaroline - in order to reunite two enemy lands Caroline must marry the one man she hated since she was a little girl. Prince klaus. But after the wedding is when their true feelings start to show? ;)
A/N: I did something sorta similar post/12211930204 and here: post/22492015651 (WAYYYY back in the day), but this is a bit of a lighter (more historical romance-y) approach to the prompt.
She's a royal, but she is no princess. He knows this the moment she hikes up her skirt, decency be damned, and whips out a dagger to his throat. The point of the knife instantly sobers him, not that he was all that drunk to begin with. The alcohol had merely been a facade, a silent rebellion against this arranged marriage, this merger of countries that he did not want. Now, he regrets even the paltry alcohol he has consumed.
"I had thought I would be the one doing the stabbing, so to speak, on the wedding night," he says, hands upraised, palms facing forward.
Her face contorts into one of repulsion and she says as much, "You disgust me."
He opens his mouth to retort when she pushes the dagger that much more firmly against his throat.
"Enough, I do not wish to hear you speak more filth in attempts to sound clever. You've done enough of that throughout the entire wedding party," she drawls. "I just want to set some clear terms about this relationship. Most importantly about its consummation."
He raises his eyebrows in amusement.
"To be precise, it will notbe happening without my say so," she says with an air of superiority. "Unless you want your unmentionables compromised that is."
His amusement darkens and he steps towards her despite the pressing pressure against his neck.
"Oh? And is your paltry dagger what is going to keep me from claiming my marriage right?"
For a second he can see the veil lift from her eyes, the realization that he is no fool prince. That all those dark and morbid rumors about him have bearing.
She startles when he slaps the dagger from her hand. It clatters to the stone floor and skitters across the room. He closes the distance between them with a single step and grabs her wrist, not enough to hurt, but firm enough so that she understands that he has the upper hand.
"What will you do now without that pretty little knife of yours?"
To her credit she does not flinch, does not move. Only her eyes steel and they are cold things that make him shiver though he does not quite understand why. In her stillness, he notices how absurdly pretty she is with her golden locks and pale skin. But before he can make careful observation his world abruptly turns on its head and he finds himself staring at the ceiling, having the feet swept out from under him.
He attempts to stand, enraged at her insolence to attack him not once but twice, only to find that his legs disobey him. He opens his mouth to speak, but finds his tongue has turned to lead. He struggles to sit up and from the corner of his eyes he sees her crouch beside him, a sly smile gracing her face.
"The dagger was for show," she tells him. "The poison in your wine during dinner however…"
He is equal parts infuriated and impressed.
"Like I said, it will not be happening without my say so," she says simply.
He watches her get up, undo her hair from its braids, shaking it out and stretching her arms heavenward.
"You shouldn't have acted like a buffoon at the party. It took me days to plan, you know," she admonishes. "I'll be retiring to the bed now. Don't worry, the paralysis should wear off by morning, though you might be sporting a sore back. The floor is not very soft."
He is reminded then that though their "arrangement" has made her a wife, she is no less a queen. Suddenly the prospect of marriage doesn't seem quite as dull as he had expected.